Chapter 06
Ravna had plenty of time to think about that terrible surprise at the Sign of the Mantis. More accurately, she couldn’t think about anything else. Everything she’d ever said or done looked different now that she imagined it through the eyes of the Deniers.
In the beginning, the Children had all lived in the New Castle on Starship Hill, just a hundred meters from the academy. The youngest ones still lived there with older siblings or Best Friend packs. Most of the others—grown and with the beginnings of families—lived on Hidden Island or in the string of houses south of the New Castle.
But Ravna still lived aboard the starship Out of Band II—thirty thousand tonnes of unflyable junk, but with technology from the stars.
She must seem crazed and remote, hunkered down aboard the supreme power in this world.
But I have to be here! For the Oobii had a small library, and Ravna was a librarian. The tiny onboard archive comprised the technological tricks of myriads Slow Zone races. Humankind on Earth had taken four thousand years to go from the smelting of iron to interstellar travel. That had been more or less a random walk. In the wars and catastrophes that followed, humans were like most races. They had blown themselves back to the medieval many times, and sometimes to the Neolithic, and, on a few worlds, even to extinction. But—at least where humankind survived at all—the way back to technology had been no random walk. Once the archeologists dug up the libraries, renaissance was a matter of a few centuries. With Oobii, she could cut that recovery time down to less than a century. To thirty years, if bad luck will just stay out of my way!
That afternoon, at the Sign of the Mantis, bad luck showed it had been around all the time. How could this have blindsided me? Ravna asked herself that question again and again. The Children had always been full of questions. Many times over the years, she and the Tines had told them the story of the Battle on Starship Hill, and the history before. They all had walked around Murder Meadows, seen how the land looked when Lord Steel had killed half the Children. But they had only Ravna’s words about other half of the battle, how Pham had stopped the Blighter fleet and the price that had been paid. The Children had always had lots of questions about that, and about what had happened to their parents at the beginning of the disaster. The Children had gone from a world with families and friends, to waking up surrounded by Tines and a single human adult. All they had was her word about what had made that happen. Foolish Ravna, she had thought that that would be enough.
Now the Children had more than doubts. Now they had something called the Disaster Study Group.
Just hours after the Sign of the Mantis, she and Johanna and Jefri (and Amdi of course) had another chat. These were the first two kids Ravna had met Down Here. Ten years ago, they had shared a terrible few hours. Ever since, Ravna had felt they had a special relationship—even when Jefri hit his teenage years and seemed lost to all reason.
Now Johanna was livid about the Disaster Study Group—but even more angry with Jefri, since he hadn’t told her of the group’s latest lies.
Jefri had flared right back at her. “You want to go on a witch hunt, Jo? You want to flush out everyone who believes some part of the DSG claims? That would be just about everybody, you know.” He paused, his glance flickering doubtfully in Ravna’s direction. “I don’t mean the worst of it, Ravna. We know you and Pham were good guys.”
Ravna had nodded, trying to look calm. “I know. I can see how natural some of the doubting is.” Yeah she could see, with brilliant hindsight. “I just wish I had known before.”
Johanna bowed her head. “I’m sorry I never talked to you about this. The DSG says some despicable things, but both Nevil and I thought it was so nuts it would just die away. Now, the whole thing seems much more organized.” She cast a look at Jefri. They were back on the Oobii’s bridge, a good place for very small, very private meetings. Amdi was out of sight, hiding around under the furniture. “You and Amdi obviously knew that the DSG has turned a whole lot more nasty.”
Jefri started to snap back, then gave a reluctant nod. In fact, Ravna suddenly realized, he looked ashamed. Jefri had the same stubbornness as his sister; he just frittered it away on aimless frustration. Their parents were the closest thing to heroes in the sorry High Lab mess. They had worked miracles to get the kids here. When Jefri finally spoke, his voice was soft. “Yeah. But like Øvin said, the worst of the claims are just third-hand … repeated by foolish people like Gannon Jorkenrud.”
Johanna shook her head. “Why do you still hang out with that loser?”
“Hei! Gannon was my friend at the Lab, okay? I could talk to him about things even the teachers didn’t understand. Maybe now he is a loser, but…”
Johanna’s angry expression shifted to frank worry. “This is too much, Jef. Suddenly DSG seems like a real threat.”
Jefri shrugged. “I don’t know, Jo. The latest stuff just sort of popped up, one or two people on Meri’s expedition, then more when I got back here. And even if there is a conspiracy, putting pressure on the likes of Gannon is only going to make the Executive Council look thuggish—and Gannon might just start accusing people he’s got it in for. He’s got a mean streak.”
Ravna nodded. “How about this, Jefri: Maybe this is complaining based on legitimate issues—issues I do intend to address, by the way. But maybe this is the doing of a clique of older Children planning some kind of mayhem and exaggerating the real issues for their own ends. You are in a position to find out which is which. Everybody knows, um, that you—”
Jefri’s glance flickered at Johanna, and the boy grinned. He’d always had a nice smile. “Don’t be shy,” he said. “Everyone knows I’ve been a bloody asshole. Still am sometimes. Part of my refugee angst, y’know.”
“In any case,” said Ravna, “people seem quite happy to confide in you. If you act sympathetic toward this evil nonsense, and if there really is a Denier conspiracy, I’ll bet they will approach you more directly. Is this a role that, ah, you’d—”
“You mean, will I find out which of my friends might be behind this and rat them out?” There was no venom in his words, but Jefri didn’t look happy. Fortunately, Johanna remained quiet, keeping to herself any sisterly harangues. Finally, he shook his head. “Yeah. I’ll do it. I still don’t think there is any real conspiracy, but if there is, I’ll find it.”
Ravna realized she had been holding her breath. “Thank you, Jefri.” If the ones like Jefri Olsndot were on her side, then this was something she could get through.
Johanna was smiling, looking a bit relieved herself. She started to say something to her brother, then wisely left well enough alone. Instead she looked around the table. “Hei, Amdi! You got all this? Any problems?”
Silence, and not a head in sight. That was the trouble with Amdi. Sometimes he got distracted with the math problems that forever flitted around in his heads, and was lost to daydreams beyond the imagination of all but an Archimedes or a Nakamore. Sometimes—especially in recent years—he simply fell asleep.
“Amdi?”
“Yup, yup.” Amdi’s little boy voice drifted up from carpet level. He sounded wan, or a little sleepy. “Jefri and I are still a team.”
• • •
Ravna’s chat with Jo and Jef and Amdi had been only the first of several private conversations. Since Pilgrim was out of town, her next stop was Woodcarver.
Ravna’s co-Queen had ruled much of the Northwest for more than three centuries. None of her individual members were that old, of course, but she had been very careful about keeping herself together, and the pack had clear memories going back to a time when she had been a simple artist in a cabin by the sea. For Woodcarver, empire had grown out of that art, the goal to build and mold and carve. Woodcarver was a true medieval lord. Given that she was also a decent (if occasionally bloody-minded) sort, her presence and position of authority were miraculous good fortune for Ravna and the refugees.
Nowadays, the co-Queens shared Starship Hill, Ravna in her starship Oobii and Woodcarver in the New Castle, the Dome of the Children’s Lander.
Walking toward the castle gate, Ravna was always struck by the balance of symbolic powers that she and Woodcarver had achieved. Ravna had the technology, but she lived lower on the hill. Then a bit higher—between them—there was the Academy for Humans and Their packs (or packs and Their Humans), where everyone raced to learn what the future required of them. And finally, at the top, was Woodcarver in the New Castle. Deep beneath the dome of the castle were odd scraps of technology that had come down with the Children. There were the coldsleep caskets, and the Lander with its remnant automation. There was the spot in the Lander where Pham Nuwen had died, and a slime of silicaceous mold that had once been Countermeasure itself.
Today, Ravna pursued the upper corridors, sunlit from dozens of narrow window slots. But the caskets, the mold, and her terrible dream—they were still near in her mind.
• • •
Ravna talked to Woodcarver in the Thrones Room. In the beginning, New Castle had been scarcely more than a shell, Lord Steel’s trap for Pham and Ravna. Woodcarver had filled in the interior spaces, completing the place. The Thrones Room was the most visible addition, a huge, tiered hall. On audience days, all the Children could fit in here, along with a number of packs.
Today it was empty but for one pack and one human. As the guards closed the doors behind her, Ravna started down the long carpet toward the thrones and the altar. Out of the shadows on either side of her, Woodcarver emerged, accompanying her on the walk.
Ravna nodded at the pack; the co-Queens had always observed a careful informality. “So I imagine your bartender-agent has already told you about the charming surprise I encountered at the Sign of the Mantis.”
Woodcarver gave a gentle laugh. Over the years she had experimented with various human voices and mannerisms, watching how humans reacted. When she spoke, her Samnorsk was completely fluent, and she seemed perfectly human—even when Ravna was looking right at the seven strange creatures who together were her co-Queen. “The bartender?” said Woodcarver. “Screwfloss? He’s a Flenser whackjob. My guy was one of the customers up in the loft; he told me all about it, including what Gannon Jorkenrud had to say before you arrived.”
I wouldn’t have guessed about Screwfloss. Weird human words were unaccountably popular as taken names among the local packs; Flenser’s minions were fond of the more satanic variations.
Her co-Queen waved for Ravna to take a seat. Between grand audiences, Woodcarver treated this room like a private den. Up around the altar, she had fur-trimmed benches and disorganized piles of blankets. There was a strong Tinish scent from the well-used furniture, and a litter of drinks and half-gnawed bones. Woodcarver was one of the few with her own radio link to the oracle that was Oobii; her “altar” had a very practical significance.
Ravna plunked herself down on the nearest human-style chair. “How could we miss something this big, Woodcarver? This ‘Disaster Study Group’ operating right under our noses?”
Woodcarver settled herself around the altar, some of her on perches near Ravna. She gave a rippling shrug. “It’s purely a human affair.”
“We’ve always known there are reasonable disagreements about what’s left of the Blighter fleet,” said Ravna, “but I never realized how that was being tied into our rotten medical situation. And I never guessed that the Children might doubt the cause of the disaster that had dumped them here.”
Woodcarver was silent for a moment. There was something embarrassed in her aspect. Ravna’s look swept across the pack in an encompassing glare. “What? You knew about this?”
She made a waffling gesture. “Some of it. You know that even Johanna has been exposed to some of these stories.”
“Yes! And I can’t believe that neither of you have brought this up in Council!”
“Grm. I just heard rumors rumbling in the background. A good leader hears more than she acts upon. If you can’t use spies, you should go out and mingle more with your Children. As long as you’re the remote wizard on the starship, you’ll have unwelcome surprises.”
Ravna resisted the temptation to put her face in her hands and start bawling. But I’m not a leader! “Look, Woodcarver. I’m very worried about this. Leave aside the ‘surprise’ aspect. Leave aside the unpleasant fact that this must mean a lot of my kids despise me. Don’t you see a threat in organized disaffection?”
The co-Queen hunched down slightly, the equivalent of a pensive frown. “Sorry. I thought you had run into this before, Ravna. Yes, I do get reports from Best Friend packs: What Øvin Verring and company told you is true. This is all rumors, exaggerated by the telling. I haven’t found any hard core of believers—though, hmhmm, that may be because the hard core is among the humans without close Tinish friends.”
“… Yes.” That point raised a world of possibility. “Had you even heard of a ‘Disaster Study Group’?”
“Not until Gannon started making noises about it.”
“And the really extreme claims, that the Blight is not evil, that Pham was the bad guy—I’ll wager that is something new, too.”
Woodcarver was silent a moment. “Yes. That’s also new, though there have been weaker versions.” Then she added, almost defensively, “But among Tines, rumors can be impossible to track, especially when there is Interpack sex. Transient personalities pop up with notions that would not have been imagined otherwise. Afterwards there is no one to point to.”
That bit of Tinish insight forced a chuckle from Ravna. “We humans also talk about rumors taking on a life of their own, but it sounds like Tines have the real thing.”
“You think there are conspirators?”
Ravna nodded. “I’m afraid there may be. On this world, you qualify as a modern ruler, but your notion of ‘spies everywhere,’ well, it’s—”
“Hmpf. I know, by civilized standards, my surveillance is pitifully weak.” Woodcarver jabbed a nose in the direction of the radio altar, her private pipeline to Oobii’s archive. In the winter, she used a treadmill to keep it charged. In the summer, she had the sunlight from this hall’s high windows. Either way, Woodcarver practically camped around her radio, studying indiscriminately.
Woodcarver wasn’t the only pack with a spy apparatus. Ravna tried to put the question diplomatically: “This is a case where any information would be welcome. Could you perhaps consult with Flenser-Tyrathect—”
“No!” said Woodcarver, making jaw-snapping sounds. She’d never stopped suspecting that Flenser was plotting a takeover. After a moment she continued, “What we really need are a couple of dozen wireless cameras. Cams and networks, that’s the foundation of surveillance ubiquity.” She sounded like she’d been studying some very old text. “Since we don’t have proper networks yet, I’ll settle for more spy eyes.”
Ravna shook her head. “We only have a dozen loose cameras, total.” Of course, much of Oobii could act as cameras and displays. Unfortunately, when you took a crowbar and pried pieces off those programmable walls—well, you sacrificed a lot of functionality. The twelve cameras they did have were low-tech backups. Ravna recognized the irritated expression spreading across Woodcarver. “Come the day that we can fabricate digital electronics, all this will change, Woodcarver.”
“Yes. Come the day.” The pack whistled a dirge-like tune. She had three of the cameras herself, but apparently she wasn’t volunteering them. Instead: “You know that my illustrious science advisor is squatting on nine cameras?” Scrupilo was doing his best to create networks even though he lacked distributed computation. He had the cameras transmitting from his labs back to the planning logic aboard the Oobii. That trick had actually speeded up materials evaluation tenfold. Any time they could use the starship’s power or logic, they had a win. Those labs were the biggest success story of the last few years.
“Okay,” said Ravna. “I’d be willing to give up part of Scrupilo’s testing system for a tenday or two. I really want to find out if there is an organized conspiracy behind these Denier lies.”
“Then let’s see which cameras I can grab.” Three of Woodcarver hopped onto perches around her radio altar. She warbled something that was neither pack talk nor Samnorsk. Woodcarver had used Oobii’s customizer to make sound substitutes for the usual visual interface. For the pack, the result was almost as convenient as Ravna’s “tiara,” the fragile head-up display Ravna was normally afraid to wear in the casual everyday.
Woodcarver listened to the wheeps and beeps coming back from Oobii. “Ah, that Scrupilo. Oobii says my dear science advisor has been using the cams for more than your product development. Hmm. You ever hear of ‘mass-energy conversion drip’?”
“No.… It sounds dangerous.”
“Oh, it is.” Woodcarver warbled some more, probably “looking up” definitions. “Without adequate process control, the ‘drip’ normally turns into something called a ‘conversion torrent.’ That’s destroyed more than one civilization. Fortunately for most histories, it’s very difficult to create before you know the danger of it.” She queried some more. “Oh good. That was last tenday. Scrupilo dropped the project, took the path of sanity for once. What he’s doing now looks like the materials research he’s supposed to be doing.” There was pause, then a human-sounding chuckle. “Scrupilo will throw a personal riot when we take those cameras from him. It will be fun to see.” The science advisor was another of Woodcarver’s offspring packs. They had turned out to be Woodcarver’s own dangerous experiments.
Ravna was doing her best to think sneaky: “I bet we can keep the diversion a secret. Two or three of them could officially ‘break.’” Very few of the locals understood what was durable and what was not. Over the years, she had broken all but one of her head-up displays, but the low-tech cams could probably survive a twenty-meter fall. “Scrupilo won’t have to disguise his outrage, just the details of the affair.”
“I like that!” Woodcarver gave a rippling grin, and one of her on a high perch gave Ravna a pat on the head. She spoke some notes to Oobii. “Okay, let’s take three cameras. We should think on where and how to best use them.”
“I want this done quickly. The word is out that I’ve been tipped off. If someone’s behind this, then wouldn’t they move now, to keep us off balance?”
“Just so.”
Three cameras scarcely made a surveillance system, no matter how cleverly they were placed. Ravna decided to ask directly about the others. “What about the three that you’re already using to spy on Flenser? It’s humans who are the greatest threat just now.”
“No. Those stay in place. If there really is a conspiracy here, then I’d bet a champion conspirator is behind it, not one of your naive Children. Flenser is as devious as any creature alive.” And Old Flenser had been another of Woodcarver’s offspring packs, the deadliest—if not the most malevolent—of her attempts at creating genius.
“But this is the reformed Flenser. Only two of his pack are still from you.”
Woodcarver sounded a loud sniff. “So? Old Flenser chose the other three…”
“It’s been ten years.”
“We get along. The three cameras I’ve hidden down in Old Castle, they give me reason to … well, ‘trust’ is not the right word … to tolerate him.”
Ravna smiled. “You’re always complaining that he knows where you’re watching him.”
“Um. I suspect he knows. Always suspect him, Ravna. Then you won’t be disappointed. Maybe … if I can get my people into the castle, we could move the cameras around. I’ve been wanting to do that anyway. Flenser must remain at the top of the suspects list. I don’t want those cameras diverted to anything less likely.”
“Very well.” The Original Flenser had been a scary beast, combining extremes of human history. Ravna would have been as paranoid about Flenser as Woodcarver was if she didn’t have her own special source of information. That source was one the very few secrets that she’d never told anyone, not even Johanna. She wasn’t going to reveal it now just to pry three cameras away from her co-Queen.
One of Woodcarver bumped up against Ravna’s chair and set its paw on her arm. “You’re disappointed?”
“I’m sorry. Yes, a little. We’ve freed up three cameras. Surely there are more targets.”
“And I’ll look at Flenser still more carefully than before.”
Ravna couldn’t respond to that, not without revealing her own source of information.
“Look, Ravna. In addition to the cameras, I’ll bring in some of my agents from the outlands. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Woodcarver was really trying to be cooperative. More than any pack except Scrupilo, she seemed to understand what drove Ravna.
The human reached out to pat the nearest of Woodcarver. This was Sht—hei, that’s what the name sounded like to human ears. Member names were normally little more then broodkenner tags, mostly meaningless even to Tines. Little Sht was just a few tendays old, a necessary addition in the careful balancing of youth and old age that was a coherent pack. This baby was so young that it had only basic sensory sharing with the rest of Woodcarver. Beyond that, all Ravna knew was that the puppy was not the biological get of any in Woodcarver or Pilgrim. In dealing with Tines, puppies were often a problem, especially if a pack’s lifegrooming was careless. Woodcarver had done much better with her own soul than with her offspring packs; she had maintained a steady purpose for nearly six hundred years. Ravna shouldn’t have to worry. She petted the small creature’s fine dense pelt and felt comforted. Hei, if there was a change it might be like the congenial evolution that Woodcarver had engineered for herself in the past.