The Children of the Sky (6 page)

Here and there a head raised to watch her. Some of the visiting packs—the ones who valued their old selves enough to be united—honked greetings and even whole sentences of Samnorsk. There were grateful folk here, but all in all it was too much like the dark ages of human prehistory,
like what we Children ourselves must face Down Here.

The broodkenners’ office was at the upslope end of the encampment, beyond the exercise field and the barracks for able-bodied fragments. There was one more shortcut they could take, but Johanna and Pilgrim stayed well away from the war criminals’ compound.
That
was an institution that many Tinish kingdoms supported, though usually it was a public pillory where partially executed enemies of the state could be put on display. Woodcarver had never been such a sadist. Pilgrim often assured Jo that the Children were fortunate to have fallen in with the kindliest despot in the world. Since Flenser was rehabilitated and Vendacious had escaped, there was only one war criminal left in the Domain, and that was Flenser’s monster, Lord Steel. The original Steel had been cut down to three members. His remnant had a prison cell with its own little exercise yard. She hadn’t seen that fragment in two years. She knew her brother came here occasionally to talk to the threesome, but then Jefri and Amdi had personal issues with Steel. She hoped the visits were not meant to taunt the creature. Steel was thoroughly mad, surviving in a weird tug of war between Woodcarver’s caution and Flenser’s demand that the remnant not be destroyed. Today she heard shrieks of rage coming from the prison compound, demands to be released. The Remnant Steel knew something was going on, and apparently there was no keeper to let it out into its exercise yard.

“So where are the broodkenners?” said Johanna. Not even Carenfret was around, and she was obsessively dutiful.

“Harmony’s here. I can hear him talking.” Pilgrim jabbed a snout toward the admin office.

“He’s here?” Damn. Harmony was the chief broodkenner, a pack of the old school and a real jerk. Now she could hear Tinish gobbling ahead. It was loud enough; she’d mistaken it for the usual random shouting that came from the patients’ barracks. Yes, the pack was talking on the telephone. That was probably a good thing, since Harmony’s judgment could only benefit from outside advice. She lifted the high bar on an inner gate and let herself and Pilgrim through. The admin building was actually a dorm for the overnight broodkenners, most often Carenfret. It was big enough for two or three packs, but right now there seemed to be just the one voice within. The front door was open. She bent low and awkwardly waddled indoors, preceded and followed by Pilgrim.

Harmony was way in the back, in his official office. That wasn’t as large as Harmony would probably like, but it was the room with the telephone, and the Chief Broodkenner had claimed it his first day on the job. Johanna was pleased that no one had ever told him how easy it would be to wire the phone into a different room. She wasn’t the only one who thought ill of this pack.

Harmony was just racking the phone when Pilgrim and Johanna stuck heads into his room. “Well, well,” he said, sounding cordial. “Here is the source of so many of my problems.” He gestured at the floor in front of his desk. “Do please have a seat, Johanna.”

Jo settled herself on the floor. Now she had to look up to see Harmony’s heads. Well, it beat standing stooped over to avoid the ceiling beams. Pilgrim settled himself in the hall, with just one head poked around the door. He could participate in the discussion without his mindsound interfering too much.

Johanna had put together a little speech, but this phone call might change things. “So,” she said, winging it, “you’ve heard about the shipwreck.”

“Of course. I just finished discussing the matter with the Tinish Queen Herself.”

“Oh.”
So what did Woodcarver say?
Harmony looked too self-satisfied for it to be anything good. “There are almost two hundred surviving Tropicals, sir. Pilgrim tells me that’s substantially more than in the average South Sea wreck.”

Harmony gave an irritated little ripple of his heads. “Yes. I understand you are largely responsible for this problem.”

“Well, I helped too,” Pilgrim put in cheerily.

Harmony waved a dismissive snout at Pilgrim. The Chief Broodkenner always tried to ignore Pilgrim. The two packs were about as different as packs could be, one as tightly held as a human’s clenched fist, the other so loose that sometimes it seemed to dissolve into lesser parts. Unfortunately for Harmony, Pilgrim was the queen’s consort, had been for more than two years. Part of the queen herself was now from Pilgrim. Harmony was far too cautious to say anything reportable against him. All his heads turned back in Johanna’s direction: “No doubt you’re wondering where my assistants are this afternoon.” He meant the other broodkenners, most of whom were very nice people.

“Well, yes.”

“You’re the reason for their absence. That’s what I was just discussing with the Queen. It’s bad enough that you’ve transformed this shipwreck from a commonplace opportunity into a serious inconvenience. But it’s inexcusable that you directed them to come here for refuge.”

“
What?
I did no such thing.”

Pilgrim said. “Hei, I was there, Broodkenner. Of course, Johanna did no such thing. I doubt if any of the Tropicals knows a word of Samnorsk.”

Harmony all came to his feet, his various members adjusting the trim red jackets of his uniform. Two of him came partway over his desk, gesturing emphatically at Johanna. “Forgive me then. This is simply what I would expect of you. It’s what my assistants thought too. Every one them is downhill from the broodkennery right now, holding off the onslaught of Tropical riffraff. We all speculated just who put the creatures up to this.”

Johanna crossed her arms and leaned forward. She knew that the main body of the mob was still on the beach being herded toward Cliffside village by the shore patrol. There couldn’t be more than thirty or forty who had slipped free—and those would be wandering across the hillsides. As for the idea that
she
had suggested the Tropicals come here: well, bunk. Harmony had done this sort of thing to her in the past, making wild accusations that turned out to be exactly what she was about to suggest. This time she refused to be disarmed. “Sir, if your staff thought I directed the Tropicals here, maybe that’s because it’s a good idea. The Tropicals are creatures just like your own members, just like the singletons whom we help here at the Fragmentarium.”

“Here at the broodkennery,” Harmony corrected. Broodkenning was an essential part of Tinish civilization, a cross between marriage counsellor, animal breeder, and reconstructive surgeon. Johanna respected most broodkenners, even hardclawed ones who couldn’t stand the sight of her. It took real skill to properly recommend which puppies should go with which packs or whether a whole new pack should be made. It took even greater talent to create well-functioning packs from adult singletons and duos. Some of the local broodkenners were geniuses at their craft. Harmony Redjackets wasn’t one of them. He was an East Coast expert who had somehow flimflammed Woodcarver when she was in the dumps for having lost two of her oldest members. The redjackets of the East took a harsher attitude toward individual members than most packs out here. In a way, they were like the Old Flenserists—though she would never suggest that straight out to Woodcarver.

“That’s the fundamental problem with your meddling,” continued Harmony. “Your notion of fragments as patients. I can understand it. It’s based on the fundamental human weakness. You simply can’t help it.”

Johanna almost interrupted with a sneering comment.
If we Children weren’t lost in this pre-tech wilderness, we could replace any part of our bodies, and easier than you, Mr. Harmony, can imagine.
Unfortunately, that might tend to support Harmony’s main point. At a loss for a cutting response, Johanna let the other’s argument roll on.

“We packs can
choose
what we are. We can live beyond our members of the moment and always be the best that can be.”

At least Pilgrim had a reply: “I’ve been around long enough to know that’s not always true.”

“Loose pack that you are,” said Harmony.

“Ah, true. But a loose pack who has the ear of the Queen. So tell me, Harmony, you’re just going to turn away the mob that came ashore this morning?”

“Yes.” The redjackets was smiling.

“There’s more of them than usual,” said Pilgrim. “As a Choir, they’re a loud nuisance. As singletons and duos they’ll soon be drifting around our towns, making an even bigger nuisance of themselves. Neither villagers nor merchants will approve. And I know Woodcarver would not approve killing them.”

Harmony was still grinning. “That would not be such a problem if you two had only let nature take its course with the superfluous ones.” He shrugged. “No one is talking about killing the survivors. I’m quite aware that eventually the remnants will sail away with what trinket garbage we provide. Woodcarver has told me that it happens every few decades.” He gave a pointed and unanimous look in Pilgrim’s direction. “You are not the only one with the ear of the Queen.” He waved at the telephone. “Marvelous instrument, this. Certainly the best toy you two-legs have brought to civilization.”

Damn,
fumed Johanna.
I could have called both Woodcarver and Ravna during the flight up here. Instead I just wasted my time fuming.

But Harmony was still talking. “The Queen and I agreed it would be absurd to cram more bodies into the Royal Broodkennery. Without extensive enlargement, there is simply not enough room. More important, housing a Choir of Tropicals is quite the opposite of the purpose of this institution.” He paused, as if inviting Johanna or Pilgrim to object. “But you need not worry about them burdening the alleys and markets of Newcastle town or Hidden Island. I’ve suggested an alternate option to Her Majesty, and she has enthusiastically blessed it. The Tropicals will be guided to a new enclave, built specially for them.”

“A
second
Fragmentarium?” asked Pilgrim.

“Not at all. This will be at the south edge of Starship Hill, far from all the places where such creatures can make trouble. It will need no staff, since it’s for containment, not treatment.”

“So, a prison camp?”

“No. An embassy! The Tropicals’ Embassy. Sometimes absurdity is the best solution.” Honking laughter backed up Harmony’s words. Tines could do that, provide their own audio accompaniment. Mostly it was cute, but then there was Harmony Redjackets. “Of course, there will be some fences needed, and in the early days guarding the exterior will be good practice for all those soldier packs the Queen keeps on payroll. But the compound will include a little farmland, enough for hardicore grass and a yam garden. We all know that Tropicals don’t like meat.”

Johanna glared back at the pack. Tines were omnivores, but they all loved meat. The only vegetarians among them were the very poor. Harmony had definitely won the argument if that was all the comeback she had. She glanced at Pilgrim. “Well, then,” she finally replied, “I suppose that’s a solution.”

In fact,” said Pilgrim, “it might even be a good solution, depending on the details. You have to realize, this situation could go on for several years. I’m not sure that—”

“And that,” interrupted Harmony, “is, thank goodness, not my problem. You can take your concerns about the future to the Queen, as I’m sure you will continue to do.”

“Um, yes,” Pilgrim replied.

Behind her, Johanna could feel one of Pilgrim pulling gently at her waistband, telling her it was time for an orderly retreat. Pilgrim was afraid she would try to get the last word. He knew her too well. Okay, this time she would prove Pilgrim wrong. She came to her feet, careful not to crack her head on the ceiling. “Well then, Sir Harmony. Thank you so much for solving this problem in such a timely and, um, graceful way.”
See, I can be diplomatic.
She bent a little more, but it wasn’t a bow; she was just trying to back out of the office.

Harmony made a little “don’t go yet” gesture. “You know, I had an excellent chat with Her Majesty. I think that she and I have come to think very much alike on issues of probity and public health. After all, broodkenning is one of the foundations of a happy nation. I think we in the East understand that much better than most people here. The reaction against Flenser’s excesses was bad enough. You humans have added your own confused ethics to the mess.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Johanna, waving a gesture she was fairly certain Harmony would not recognize. She really had to get away from this guy.

Unfortunately, Harmony was the kind who liked to rub it in. Or maybe he thought that the time to press ahead is when you’ve already scored some points. “You should understand, Johanna, that your crazy influence on the Royal Broodkennery is coming to an end. We simply don’t have the resources for your notion of a Fragmentarium.”

That got her attention. “You’re giving up on the war veterans, the accident victims?” She took a step back in Harmony’s direction, pulling against Pilgrim’s jaws.

Harmony seemed oblivious to her tone. “No, not that. The Queen is quite explicit. Though the odds are against success, and merges of adult fragments are often ineffectual packs, even so we owe the veterans our best efforts. It’s the foolishness that has to go. Pack
members
get old, they get incurably ill, and they die. I’m sorry, I have to say it. Despite all your wishful thinking, members die. It’s not our job at the broodkennery to prolong that process—and we simply do not have the resources to do so.”

“But the old ones die in any case, Harmony. Why should you care that their last year or two is pleasant?”

The redjackets shrugged. “That’s why, when I first came to this job, I thought your foolish ideas were harmless. But have you noticed? Your unhealthful approach has just encouraged normal packs to linger over their dying parts. We have more and more of these sick and unproductive parts here. They aren’t getting any better. We agree, they never will get better. But they are filling up our floorspace, taking away from the cases—including those adult singletons you so seem to love—that we could save. Someone has to make the hard decisions. There needs to be a thinning.”