The Children of the Sky (65 page)

Tycoon looked back and forth at himself, nonplussed. “Didn’t you look out the windows as you flew here?”

“Yes. We saw hundreds of kilometers of chaos, and then this reservation you’ve built in the middle of it all. Is there some secret weapon that we missed?”

“I suppose
I’m
the secret weapon.” The voice came from the other side of room, from the harlequin-cloaked Tropical. “Or in proper terminology, I should say that I represent the secret weapon. I am the Choir’s gift.”

“Godsgift?” said Ravna. “We ran into another of you up North.”

“You murdered another of him up North,” said Tycoon.

Next to her, Jefri was all but shaking with outrage.
Lies and truth, how to untangle them?

The local version of Godsgift was watching them intently. “Don’t bother to deny the murder,” it said smoothly. “Some of that godsgift escaped, enough to tell us how it left part of itself behind to attempt negotiating. We know what happened.” It waved the issue away. “It’s not a great matter. We gifts come and go, rather like a feeding clump in a city square, though we are rarer and globally significant.” The pack slid off its seats and strolled around the other packs to come closer to the humans. The gunpack had to retreat to make room.

The Tropical walked up to them with the ease of a pack who knew humans—or who didn’t fear losing its mind in others. In either case, it had none of the aggressive posture of Tycoon or Vendacious. “Our secret weapon has been all around you. The Choir.” It gestured through the high windows at the mountain range of pyramids.

“And your god is speaking through you?” Sarcasm edged Jefri’s voice.

The godsgift cocked a head. “Oh no. Or only indirectly. But by this evening the Choir will know everything that is being said here now.” The creature pointed again at the pyramids. “Surely you see the gathering?”

Ravna looked through the crudely made plate glass. Sunlight was coming almost straight down, mottling the golden surface of the grand pyramid.

Jefri’s voice was soft and wondering: “Those shadows, Ravna—I think they’re mobs of Tines.” Individual members were visible as dots on the closest of the second-degree pyramids. On the great pyramid, the thousands were a finely mottled discoloration, creeping higher and higher. This surpassed Pilgrim’s most extreme Choir tales.

“Are you impressed?” said Tycoon. “
I’m
impressed, and that is not easy to do.”

Ravna looked way from the windows. “… Yes,” she said. “But just how does this make a secret weapon? I know the Tropical Choir has existed at least as long as the northern civilizations, but it has never mattered except as a barrier to land travel between the north and the south. There’s no way that the Choir could be any smarter than an individual pack or human.”
Not down here in the Slow Zone.
There were group minds in the Beyond, but even they were never more than witless hedonists. You had to go into the Transcend to do better—and
there
large group minds were just one of a number of paths to real Power.

“Ha ha!” said Tycoon, his high-pitched voice like a child teasing. “They doubt your Choir’s godhood.”

Godsgift had settled itself on the carpet around the humans. Now it laughed. “
You
doubt the Choir’s godhood, too, O Tycoon.” The pack shifted around in its harlequin cloaks. Its mangy pelt had big bare patches, altogether consistent with the ragamuffin clothing. Ravna wondered how uncomfortable the fellow was with Tycoon’s air conditioning.

Godsgift continued with a kind of sly diffidence: “In truth, all
I
remember from the Choir is an enormous feeling of well-being. I pity you Northern packs who won’t give yourself to it. I pity the humans even more that they can never become part of it, even if they wished. Both you and they are so upset about the murders the humans committed. How little you have to lose that you squabble over a member here, a pack there.” But now it paused. “I suspect that as a matter of cold fact, Ravna Bergsndot is right about us. The Choir is
not
smarter than a unitary pack. But there are places and times—millions of places and times every day—where it is almost as smart. And sometimes, the Choir’s gifts—those such as myself—last longer. It is a sacrifice, since for a time I am left as limited as you.

“So yes, the Choir as a whole may not have what you call intelligence, but it
is
a happier way to know reality than is your stunted existence.” Godsgift was silent for a moment, most of the fellow staring out at the pyramid—doing a good imitation of thoughtful yearning. Abruptly the pack gave a start. “It just occurs to me that you two humans could satisfy your curiosity about the Choir in a way that no unitary pack ever could.”

Tycoon leaned forward. “What can they do that
I
cannot?”

“Well, sir,” replied the godsgift, “you
could
experience the Choir, but it’s unlikely your parts would ever reassemble into that unitary self you value so much. On the other, um, hand,” he waved a paw in an artificial flourish, “these two humans could ascend with the crowds. They could witness the highest pinnacle of the Choir, where myriads stand within the diameter of a single song, where even such as I would dissolve. Their minds would survive—by the fact that, alas, they can never be more—and they could report back on the experience!”

Vendacious perked up. “I think that is a capital idea!”

Tycoon had his heads together, apparently giving the suggestion serious thought. “I don’t think it is as simple as you say. A few years ago, I had Remasritlfeer build a closed and padded rickshaw wagon, one that he could propel from the inside. The idea was similar to what you’re suggesting but without the humans—and of course the rickshaw couldn’t have climbed any pyramids. Even so, the project was a failure. Remasritlfeer wasn’t more than twenty meters outside the Reservation when the mobs attacked his rickshaw and tipped it over.” Tycoon was watching Ritl, but the singleton just continued grooming its claws, oblivious. “He would have died in the experiment, except that we had a cable attached to the wagon and were able to drag it back before the mob could get to him.”

“Ah, but consider the ecstasy lost!” said the godsgift, carried away by an ecstasy of its own salesmanship. “I think it’s likely the Choir was simply trying to free what it regarded as imprisoned members. I know you Northerners have all sorts of terrible myths about the Choir, but in fact, except for boundary fights and occasional pyramid sacrifices, individual foreign Tines are rarely killed by the Choir. For humans it should be even safer, since the creatures have no mindsounds to provoke aggression.”

“Hmm,” said Tycoon. His technical curiosity reminded Ravna a little of Scrupilo: nothing was too gross if it had an experiment in it somewhere. “But wouldn’t the two-legs be dealt with as corpses or invading animals?”

“Oh, no, I doubt that would happen.” The godsgift waved breezily. “In fact, I’d wager that no human would ever be harmed at the heart of the Choir.”

Ravna glanced at Vendacious. She saw a smile flicker across the members Tycoon couldn’t see. So Vendacious knew this claim was false. The godsgift and Vendacious were doing a good job of maneuvering herself and Jefri into a front row seat at the Tropical sacrifices. The godsgift didn’t have Vendacious’ air of palpable menace, but maybe that just meant that he was the more dangerous of the two.

The godsgift rattled on enthusiastically, ignorant of or ignoring Vendacious’ sly smile. “I tell you, I almost wish I could be human. You could go to the very top. You could see everything there is to see—and still exist afterwards to remember it! Maybe there is something beyond the sounds of mind there. Either way, you would
know
!”

Ravna raised a hand. “No. I think we’ll pass.” She noticed Jefri nod emphatically. “Perhaps another time.”
When we’re not being held prisoners under threats of torture and death.
“In any case, I thought your point was that the Choir was Tycoon’s secret weapon.”

“Oh! You want the crass details.” The pack sounded hurt that it had failed to sell them on a hike up sacrifice hill.

“Enough of this religious talk,” said Tycoon. “The crass details are the important part. Here we’re sitting cool and comfortable in the middle of endless mind death. From the safety of the Reservation, I
do business
with the Choir. The combination of their multitudes and my genius makes me the greatest power in the world.” He waved at the radio-cloaked Tines that sat silently on a nearby stool. “With my radio network, I am watching across a market domain that is ten times wider than your royal Domain. My factories create more goods than all the other businesses in the world put together. I’ll wager you’ve seen some of them yourselves. My presence simply can’t be disguised anymore. My inventions are changing the entire—”

Ritl had been uncharacteristically quiet. Now she let loose a chittering complaint.

Jefri leaned close to Ravna’s ear. “Ritl says Tycoon brags too much!”

Tycoon gave the singleton a couple of heads of attention, and gobbled a rather mellow form of “Keep quiet.” Ritl grumbled almost the way she used to around the campfire, but settled back on her seat.

For a brief moment, Tycoon looked a little embarrassed. “The whole of that one was a good employee,” he said. He looked back and forth at himself, as if recovering his train of thought “Nevil Storherte understands the situation. In less than a tenday, he and I will reveal our alliance. But even now, if I can convince you of my power, there could be a place for you in the new order of things.”

“I’m eager to be convinced, sir,” said Ravna.
Can it be? I actually have some leverage with this guy? Okay, then
: “We’ve always been impressed by your successes, even though we had no idea how you managed them.”

The pack actually preened. “Heh. Be prepared to learn then. This afternoon I’ll show you one of my factories. Multiply that by a thousand and you’ll know what you’re up against Today. Multiply by a million and you’ll know for Tomorrow. You could be a valued junior partner.”

“I’m grateful.” She wondered who had provided the job recommendation. “There is a matter of trust, however—”

“You are not in a position to set conditions, human.”

“Nevertheless, there is the matter of the three young humans that you took.”

From across the room, Vendacious said, “Both humans will be returned unharmed.”

Jefri burst out with, “
Both?
You fucking murderer! And what about the Tines killed in the kidnappings?”

“There were no killings,” Vendacious replied flatly, “not by our packs. Of course, we can’t know all that Nevil Storherte may have done.”

Tycoon’s heads were turning unnecessarily back and forth between Jefri and Vendacious. “Yes,” he said, “humans don’t really care about the lives of packs. Despicable maggots.… Understand: I dislike you two-legs as a race, but I’ve found that business can bring cooperation between anyone.” Heads flicked in Jefri’s direction. “Almost anyone.”

Jef shook his head. “Hei! At least tell us the names of the surviving—”

Tycoon shifted forward, all heads weaving in Jefri’s direction. “You dare make demands of me, Jefri-brother-of-Johanna?” His Geri voice climbed in pitch, stretching into an inhuman hiss. “Jefri-brother-of-Johanna-who-killed-my-brother.”

Jefri came up off the bench, but his anger seemed swept away by shocked understanding. “Brother? Powers above, you’re Scriber Jaqueramaphan’s brother?”

Tycoon swarmed down upon Jefri. Maybe what saved Jef was the fact that godsgift was still sitting close around him. That pack emitted a surprised squeal and exploded in all directions, incidentally getting in the attackers’ way and knocking Jef backwards over his bench.

Ravna dove sideways along the bench, trying to block the surge. She felt two of Tycoon slam into her, then had a glimpse of his members lunging under the bench, claws reaching. At the edge of the fray the gunpack was maneuvering around in confusion—trying for a safe shot?

“Wait! Stop it! Stop!” she shouted, but in fact the madness had ended. It couldn’t have lasted more than a second or two or she wouldn’t have been around to shout. Tycoon was all around her, but his jaws weren’t snapping. Four of him were on the other side of the bench now. They dragged Jefri Olsndot off the floor, set him on the bench behind Ravna’s. Their claws made little spots of blood where their grip sank through his clothes, and two of them had jaws right by Jef’s throat.

For his part, Jefri was sitting very still. Ravna remembered when he was little, how Jef and Amdi would mock fight. Sometimes that would get out of hand, and Jefri had learned the safest thing to do was just become still and submissive. It was certainly the right strategy now.

Tycoon held him tightly for several seconds. The eightsome’s voice boomed around the room, hissing and screaming that certainly wasn’t Samnorsk, and wasn’t Interpack either. Finally he gave Jef a hard push and backed away from him. All eight stared at Jefri for a moment more, then dabbed at the froth that dribbled from various jaws. Finally, he turned a couple of heads toward the uncertain gunpack and gobbled at him. Ravna recognized an imperative and the word “dungeon.”

So maybe no factory tour today.

The “dungeon” was actually a suite of rooms near the audience chamber. It had running water and air conditioning. Was there any closed area in this palace that
wasn’t
air conditioned? Dinner was delivered—more yams and beer.

Once they were alone, Ravna walked around the high-class accommodations. “I assume these walls have ears pressed against them,” she said.

Jefri shrugged. “The truth is one thing that jackass really needs to hear.” Jefri had a long bloody slash on his face where one of Tycoon’s claws had grazed him. He thought a second and then shouted: “Jo didn’t kill your brother, damn it!”

“But do you think he really is Scriber Jaqueramaphan’s brother?”

Jefri sat back on his chair. The seat actually had a back to it, though not quite what would suit a human. “Once upon a time, I think he was. Now, I think the pack is a rebuild.”