The Children of the Sky (68 page)

Jefri was listening with an expression of unguarded surprise.
Be cool, Jef!
But no: “Humans have invented some form of every single thing you’ve made! We did it thousands of years ago! Every civilized race does as much—and then goes on to do the
hard
things!”

Tycoon was silent for a moment. “The … hard things?” He seemed more intrigued than offended.

“There’s always something more, sir,” put in Ravna, and gave Jef a look that she hoped would shut him down.

“Yes,” said Tycoon. “Spaceships. Starships.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I’ve had ideas for those, too.” They walked on a few paces, and perhaps honesty or sanity forced him to say, “Of course, I know those may take some years more work. Is that what the Johanna-brother means by ‘hard’ problems?”

Jefri replied, “Of course not.”

“What then?”

Vendacious popped up with the answer: “We’ve talked about this before, my lord. The sky maggots were trying to become god.”

Tycoon hooted, “Yes! The god thing.” He tilted a glance at Ravna. “That was our original wedge into human affairs, the religious warfare between your two factions.”

Vendacious gobbled enthusiastic agreement, then reverted to Samnorsk, “In fact, their superstitious beliefs are the best argument that they are fools.”

As usual, the godsgift had been drifting along at the edge of the walkway, mainly looking down at the assembly line. Now his heads looked up and he said mildly, “I object to this deprecation of religion.
My
god is real enough. If you doubt that, I invite you to take a walk on the factory floor.”

Tycoon mellowed as they proceeded down the production line, and Ravna managed to avoid any further criticism of his originality. It really wasn’t difficult; there was so much that could be honestly praised. By the time they reached the midpoint of the hall, it was raining again. The sound came as a distant drumming on the metal roof, and even the skylights were dark, except for occasional lightning. Electric arc lamps had come on over critical stations on the production line, rather like an automatic system responding to the environment.

Just as in yesterday’s factory, there was a terrace at the walkway’s midpoint. Today, Tycoon waved at the others to stay back, and took Ravna out onto the terrace as if to have a private conversation. She glanced back at the entourage. Private conversation? Certainly Timor or Jefri couldn’t hear what she and Tycoon might say—but the rest? Thunder crashed, and the sound of rain intensified. Okay. If Tycoon focused his voice properly, the others might not be able to hear his words.

On the other hand, maybe it didn’t matter: “You know,” he said, “You could do very well working for me.”

“I’m honored, sir, but I’m not sure I—”

“Oh, I think you understand; I’m really very good at taking the measure of potential employees. You’ve pointed out weakness in my operation, and quite frankly, I agree with you.” He paused, as if to let his high praise sink in. Then: “You know that I’m at the point of an alliance with Nevil Storherte and the Domain?”

“You mentioned something about that, yes. But what about Woodcarver?”

He waved dismissively. “A detail. I’m flying to the Domain in the next day or two, to make it official. My landing is timed to match the arrival of a shipment of 1024 radios, a gift demonstrating the power of my operation. Vendacious assures me that Woodcarver will be impressed by the implications. Cooperating with Nevil and with me will benefit her enormously. And for myself—well, finally coming out of the shadows will be as important as my original entente with Nevil. Now he can provide me with full and direct access to the archives that came with the starship
Oobii
.”

“Ah.” Tycoon mispronounced “entente” but his point was all too clear.

“Yes. And
you
could benefit immensely from this, as my employee. You would have protection from Nevil. You would have access to the
Oobii
archives. You would have access to Choir production for your own religious projects—though that would require separate trades with the Choir. There are two main things that I would ask in return. First, you would persuade your faction among the two-legs to stop opposing Nevil. And second, you would, um, hm, you would use
Oobii
to help me with my various production problems. As you’ve remarked, I need significant assistance in translating my inventive genius into deliverable products. Nevil has been of some help with that, but I’ve come to believe that
you
are the master when it comes to the
Oobii
archives.” He paused, perhaps to let the flattery sink in. “So, what do you say?”

I could repeat the little speech I made to Jefri—but you’ve probably already heard that.
Outside the factory, the thunder and lightning was building up to a real storm. Above that, the air would be cold and dry and thinning into the vacuum of interplanetary space. Somewhere thirty lightyears beyond that … the Blight was coming their way, the end for this world and everyone on it, perhaps the end of much more.
And today, at this moment, I am closer to stopping it than ever before.

She brought her attention back to the here and now, to the eightsome who waited on her reply. “What of Nevil?”

“Nevil stays in overall charge of the two-legs. I will not betray a current ally to get a new one.” Tycoon bobbed a grin. “Be happy. Vendacious tells me that Nevil will be as unhappy about this deal as you are.”

Hmm. She looked across the terrace to where Jef stood by Timor. They were in the shadows, but then the lightning shone stark blue-white across them all. Both were looking in her direction. Just in front of them, Aritarmo had spread out, no doubt straining to hear.

She turned back, looked at Tycoon, every one. “I want the Children you stole.”

“Timor and Geri. Certainly. I’m … I’m sorry about the third human, even though its death was an accident.” He seemed about say something more, to offer some excuse perhaps. One thing she was learning about Tycoon: he could not abide being in the wrong.

“And no more killing,” she said.

“Of course.” But then a startle rippled through the pack. “No more killing—except to serve justice. Johanna Olsndot murdered my brother. There must be justice for that, no excuses, no compromise.”

Again, lightning flashed. Ravna waited for the thunder to pass and then replied in a quiet, hard voice. “Then deal with Vendacious. He is the one who killed your brother.”

Tycoon hooted softly, but all his eyes were on her now. “You lie, or you repeat lies. I have years of evidence, and not just from Vendacious. Nevil Storherte—was he not like a pack lover to Johanna?—he himself reports Johanna’s confession. I’ve sometimes wondered if that was what turned him against her. Maybe he does have some respect for pack life.… I notice your mouth is open, but you aren’t saying anything. Are you surprised?”

“N-no.” For a moment she thought she was going to throw up all over Tycoon. Instead, she swallowed hard and said, “What Nevil said is a lie. What Vendacious says are lies.”

“Ah, so I’m surrounded by liars?” Tycoon gave a shrug. Two of him were looking back at Jefri and the others. “Do you know where Johanna Olsndot is now?”

“No,” Ravna replied shortly, which was not a lie since she had only guesses.

“Well, neither do I. Neither does Vendacious. Neither she nor her friend Pilgrim—nor their flier—has been seen since the night we abducted you. I suspect she’s in hiding back in the Domain, protected by Woodcarver. Vendacious thinks she may be dead, finally crashing that crazy flying machine.
If she is never found, I will never be done with this!
” He gave a little shriek that might have meant despair. “But Vendacious has offered a solution. He tells me that the Johanna-brother may well know what has become of the brother-murderer—and that if he does know, a few days of professional interrogation will retrieve the facts.”

“Don’t you—”

“Vendacious tells me the Johanna-brother would likely survive the questioning, but he makes no guarantees.” All his eyes swiveled back to Ravna.

Ravna stepped into the middle of the pack, all but treading on claws to do so. Now most of Tycoon had to look straight up to see her face. “No more killing!”

Tycoon swarmed up, forming a packish pyramid that put two of his heads above Ravna’s eye-level. He leaned forward, all teeth and bad breath, and rapped a glancing blow to her face. “Make no mistake, human. I will find Johanna Olsndot. If her brother dies in the process, it would be a form of justice. A brother for a brother.”

Two days later, Tycoon’s much-bragged-about expedition to the Domain was ready to depart. Nothing had changed in the standoff between Ravna and the eightsome. The good news was that Jefri was still unharmed and still out of Vendacious’ claws. The bad news … wasn’t entirely clear yet, and probably depended on what Tycoon planned for this trip.

Just after sunrise, a rickshaw took them out onto the airfield. The usual gunpack trotted along behind them. Puddles left by recent rain covered wide stretches of the concrete, but the top of the sky was clear, the air wet and still and almost cool. At the north end of the field, two hangars had opened, and their airships were being dragged out.

They stopped near a rain pool in the middle of nowhere. The gunpack made no objection when Jefri scrambled down from the rickshaw. After a moment, Ravna followed, even though the view standing on the ground must surely be worse than the one from the rickshaw. Jef walked around the wagon.

Ravna shaded her eyes and stared at the airships for a moment. At this distance, details were lost, but “This really looks like takeoff preparations,” she said. “And we’re standing nowhere close.”

Jefri came to stand beside her. “I figure this is just more psychological warfare. Tycoon won’t leave you behind. He really needs you.”

Ravna didn’t say anything for a moment. Jef could be right. The last four days had given her some feeling for Tycoon’s bragging and bluffing—and occasional murderous tantrums. She guessed there would be one more confrontation before Tycoon flew off, and even success could come in dark degrees.
Which airship would they put Jefri on? And where are—

“Where are Timor and Geri and Amdi and Screwfloss?” said Jefri, as if reading her mind. “We haven’t seen Timor since you told Tycoon to go to hell.” Jef had ragged on her mercilessly about that recent confrontation. At the same time, he had seemed to admire her “lack of restraint” more than anything she had done in a long time.

They stood for some moments observing the activity around the hangars, watching for more wagons to appear from the palace and Vendacious’ almost-as-grand annex. The expanse of damp concrete had an eerie, open silence to it, a kind of vast obeisance to the pyramids beyond. Pillars of sunlight punched through the eastern clouds, glittering from the gilded surface of the great pyramid. As the sun rose above the thunderheads, an avalanche of light spilled across the field, bright and cheering … and searingly hot once it arrived.

“Tycoon is trying to melt us down,” said Jefri. “We should get back in the wagon.” There was shade there. Their driver had retreated under some of it.

“Yes—” Ravna took one more look around. The sunlight had put everything into sharp contrast. The shallow rain pool she had noticed earlier was further away than she’d thought. And it wasn’t shallow. “Hei, Jefri. We’re only about forty meters from one of the cuttlefish ponds.”

She started walking toward it, and after a moment Jefri followed. The gunpack made a spiky sound of surprise. He trotted around and ahead of them as if to turn them back—but he kept his gun muzzles down and seemed more irritated than imperative.

As they reached the pool, Jefri commented, “A wagon just left the palace. Want to bet that’s Tycoon?”

She looked up. The wagon hardly seemed to be moving at all. Ah, it was headed
here
, not across to the hangars. Yes, one last confrontation. She wasn’t afraid to argue with Tycoon, but she was very afraid of the consequences of losing the argument. This time, things could not end in a draw.

She knelt by the pool, hoping she looked unconcerned to whomever might be watching. Despite the open water, the swarms of bloodsucking insects were no thicker here than anywhere else. Maybe they didn’t have a water larval stage. Or maybe … Here and there across the water, there were flickers of motion, tentacles snapping up through the water’s surface. So in addition to their other virtues, the cuttlefish liked to eat insects.

She leaned over the edge of the pool, looking straight down. The concrete wall was steep; even here, the bottom looked to be a meter or two under water. There was one of the squidlike critters. And another. After a few seconds they seemed to swarming below her.

“We seem to be attracting them,” said Jefri.

“Yeah.” She reached her hand into the warm water.

“Hei, careful!” Jef grabbed her arm, holding her back.

“It’s okay. They get along well enough with the Tines.” Besides, she had a theory she wanted to test.

“But you don’t know what
else
is in the pond.”

The tiny bodies tumbled around her hand, the huge glossy eyes peering curiously up through the water at her. She felt tendrils tugging gently on her fingers. She waggled her hand, lifting the creature up for a better view. It was a small thing to be intelligent, but—

“Hei, hei, hei!” piped a small voice. All around it other voices chimed. “Hei human. Hei humans!” The one who had touched her let go. The crowd darted off, then a moment later was back in even greater numbers. Dozens of little voices were shouting simple Samnorsk greetings.

Jefri’s grip on her arm loosened and he dropped to his knees beside her. “So they really do talk! I wonder how they compare to singletons.”

“Oh, I think they’re considerably smarter.” It was still a theory, but—she glanced across the airfield. The approaching wagon was much nearer, trailed by another gunpack. She recognized the elaborate ornamentation on the wagon; this was Tycoon. Maybe it was time to try to
use
her little theory.