almost started bawling. Across the room, Zinmin Broute looked as happy as any ziphead Ezr had ever seen. He was sitting cross-legged on the hairy carpet, paging through some kind of Spider picture book.We’re using him, too. We have to, just for a short while more.
“Ezr, it’s only for a short time. This is breaking Anne up, too, but it’s the only sure insight the Spiders have on us. They almost trust the Focused. Everything we say, every assertion, they are talking over with the zips. We don’t have a chance of getting theHand people back without that trust. We don’t have a chance of undoing Nau’s work without that.”
Rita and Jau. The thumb-locked box sat at the top of Ezr’s kit. Strange. The Spiders had not insisted on getting into it or his other things. Ezr crumpled. “Okay. But, after this meeting, no oneowns anyone. The deal dies —I kill the deal—otherwise.” He cut the connection before any answer could come back. After all, it didn’t matter what the other replied.
Almost every day, they took the tortuous climb down to the same ghastly conference room. Zinmin claimed that this was the chief of Intelligence’s private office, a “bright and open-storied room, with nooks and isolated perches.” Well, there were nooks, dark fluting chimneys with hidden lairs at the top. And the video along the walls was a constant nonsense. He and Zinmin had to cross cold stone to sit on piled furs. Four or five Spiders were usually present, and almost always Underville or Coldhaven.
But the negotiations were actually going well. With the Focused to back up his story, the Spiders seemed to believe what Ezr had to say. They seemed to understand how good things could become with only a little cooperation. Certainly, the Spiders could have a presence at the rockpile. Technology would be transferred downward without restriction, in return for human access to the ground. In time, the rockpile and the temps would be moved into high Arachna orbit and there would be joint construction of a shipyard.
Sitting with the Spiders for Ksecs each day was a wearing experience. The human mind was not designed to warm to such creatures. They seemed not to have eyes, just the crystal carapaces that saw better than any human vision. You could never tell what they were looking at. Their eating hands were in constant motion, with meanings that Ezr was only beginning to understand. And when they gestured with their principal arms, the movement was abrupt and aggressive, like a creature on the attack. The air had a bitter, stale smell, which was strongest when extra spiders crowded around.And next time, we bring our own toilets. Ezr was getting bowlegged trying to accommodate himself to the local facilities.
Zinmin did most of the interactive translations. But Trixia and the others were there, and sometimes when the greatest precision was desired, it was her voice that would speak Underville’s or Coldhaven’s words: Underville the implacable cop, Coldhaven the sleek young general officer. Trixia’s voice, others’ souls.
At night, there were dreams, often more unpleasant than the reality he faced in the day. The worst were the ones he could understand. Trixia appeared to him, her voice and thoughts slipping back and forth between the young woman he once knew and the alien minds that owned her now. Sometimes her face would morph into a glassy carapace as she spoke, and when he asked about the change she would say he was imagining things. It was a Trixia who would remain forever Focused, ensorcelled, lost. Qiwi was in many of the dreams, sometimes the bratling, sometimes as she had been when she killed Tomas Nau. They would talk, and often she would give him advice. In the dreams it always made sense—and when he woke he could never remember the details.
One by one, the issues were resolved. They had gone from genocide to commerce in less than one million seconds. From L1, Pham Nuwen’s voice was filled with pleasure at the progress. “These guys negotiate like Traders, not governments.”
“We’re giving up plenty, Pham. Since when have Customers had a site presence like we’ll be giving the Spiders?”
The usual long pause. But Pham’s tone was still bright: “Even that may work out, son. I’ll wager some of these Spiders may eventually want to be partners.” Qeng Ho.
“…One other thing,” Pham continued. “Get through the POW negotiations”—the single remaining agenda item—“and we’ll be able to take Trixia off the case. Lighthill got that as a promise from the Underville faction.”
The last day of negotiation started like the others. Zinmin and Ezr were guided down a—“spiral staircase” was what Zinmin called it. In human terms, it was a vertical shaft cut straight downward through the rock. An endless draft of warm air swept up past them. The shaft was almost two meters across, the walls set with five- centimeter ledges. Their guards had no trouble; they could reach from one side of the shaft to the other, supporting themselves on all sides. As they descended, the Spiders slowly turned round and round with the spiral. Every ten meters or so, there was an offset, a “landing” for them to catch their breath. Ezr was both grateful for and uneasy about the harness/leash outfit the guards insisted he wear.
“These stairs are really just to intimidate us, aren’t they, Zinmin?” He’d asked the question on earlier climbs, but Zinmin Broute had not deigned to answer.
The Focused translator was even more unsteady than Ezr on the narrow ledges, especially since he tried to imitate the splayed stance that made sense only for Spiders. Today he responded to the question. “Yes…. No. This is the main staircase down to the Royal Deepness. Very old. Traditional. An honor—” He slipped, swung out over the chasm, for a moment suspended by his rope and harness from the guard above them. Ezr hugged the damp wall, was almost knocked loose himself as Broute regained his footing.
They reached the final landing. The ceiling was low even by Spider standards, just over a meter high. Surrounded by their guards, they stooped and hobbled toward wide, wide doors. Beyond, the lighting was faint and blue. The Spiders could see across such a wide range. You’d think their preferred lighting would be sun-spectrum broad. But as often as not they went in for faint glimmers—or lights beyond where a human could see.
There was a familiar hiss from the dimness ahead of them.
“Come in. Sit down,” Zinmin Broute said, but the thought was from the Spider within the room. Ezr and Zinmin crossed the stone flags to their “perches.” He could see the other now, a large female on a slightly higher perch. Her smell was strong in the closed air. “General Underville,” Ezr said politely.
The POW issue should have been simple compared with the problems already solved. But he noticed that this time they were alone with Underville. There were no comm links to the outside here; at least none were offered. They were alone, almost in the dark, and Zinmin Broute’s phrasing drifted into threatening turns of phrase. Frightening… yet somewhere out of the depths of Ezr Vinh’s Trader childhood, insights drifted up. This was deliberately intimidating. Underville had promised Lighthill that the translators would be freeafter the POW negotiations were complete. She had been beaten down on so many things; this was her last stab at saving face.
He opened his pack and put on a pair of huds. According to the Spiders, all the humans aboard theHand had survived its forced landing. The starship’s wreckage was strewn across twenty thousand meters of ocean ice, the occupied crew decks virtually the only intact pieces of the vehicle. That anyone had survived was a miracle of Pham’s advice to the ziphead pilots. Once on the ground, however, there had been numerous fatalities. Against all sanity, Brughel and his goons started a firefight with the arriving Spider troops. The goons had all died. With the agility of a true Podmaster, Brughel had abandoned them at the last moment, and attempted to hide among the surviving crew. The Spiders claimed there had been no fatalities after that initial shootout.
“The zipheads you can have back,” said Underville via Zinmin. “We know that they are not responsible, and some of them made our victory possible.” Zinmin’s tone was irritable. “The rest are criminals. They killed hundreds. They attempted to kill millions.”
“No, only a small minority were in on that. The rest resisted—or were simply lied to about the operation.”
Ezr went down the crew list, explaining the roles of the different members. There had been twenty poor souls in coldsleep, Ritser’s special toys. Clearly,they were victims, but Underville didn’t want to give up the equipment. One by one, Ezr got Underville’s permission for release, contingent on access to specialists who could explain the ruins that her agency now owned. Finally, they were down to the toughest cases. “Jau Xin. Pilot Manager.”
“Jau Xin, the trigger man!” said the general. Ezr had pumped up the amplification in his huds. His view was not as dim as before. All through the conversation, Underville had sat very still, the only movement being the
