them really knew what Madame Subtrime thought of them. Jirlib claimed that she was no fool, that under all the words lurked a cold counter of cash. “She knows to the tenth-penny how much she can earn for the old cobbers by outraging the public.” Maybe, but Viki liked her even so, and even forgave her shrill and foolish talk. Too many people were so stuck on their beliefs that nothing would bend them.
“Didi’s on duty this hour. You know her.” Madame Subtrime stopped at the entrance to the engineer’s loft. For the first time she seemed to notice the babies peeking out of Sherkaner Underhill’s fur. “My, you do have all ages, don’t you? I… will they be safe with your children? I don’t know who else could take care of them.”
“Quite all right, Madame. I intend to introduce Rhapsa and Little Hrunk to the representative of the Church.”
Madam Subtrime froze. For a full second, all the fidgety legs and hands were simultaneously motionless. It was the first time Viki had seen her really,really taken aback. Then her body relaxed into a slow, broad smile. “Dr. Underhill! Has anyone ever told you you’re a genius?”
Daddy grinned back. “Never with such good reason…. Jirlib, make sure everyone stays in the room with Didi. If I want you to come out, you’ll know it.”
The cobblies climbed into the engineering loft. Didire Ultmot was slouched on her usual perch overlooking the controls. A thick glass wall separated the room from the soundstage itself. It was soundproof, and darned hard to see through, too. The children edged close to the glass. There was someone already perched on the stage.
Didire waved a hand at them. “That’s the Church’s rep out there. The cobber came an hour early.” Didi was her usual, faintly impatient, self. She was a very good-looking twenty-one-year-old. Didi wasn’t as smart as some of Daddy’s students, but she was bright. She was Princeton Radio’s chief technician. At fourteen she had been a prime-time operator, and knew as much about electrical engineering as Jirlib. In fact, she wanted to become an electrical engineer. All that had come across the first time Jirlib and Brent met her, back when they started on the show. Viki remembered the strange way Jirlib had acted when he told them about that meeting; he seemed almost in awe of the Didire creature. She was nineteen then, and Jirlib was twelve… but big for his age. It took her two shows to realize that Jirlib was out-of-phase. She had taken the surprise as an intentional, personal insult. Poor Jirlib walked around like his legs were broken for a few days. He got over it—after all, there would be worse rejections in the future.
Didire more or less got over it, too. As long as Jirlib kept his distance, she was civil. And sometimes, when she forgot herself, Didi was more fun than any current-generation person that Viki knew. When they weren’t onstage, she would let Viki and Gokna sit by her perch and watch her tweak the dozens of controls. Didire was very proud of her control panel. In fact—except that the frame was furniture wood and not sheet metal—it looked almost as scientific as some of the gear at Hill House.
“So what’s this church cobber like?” asked Gokna. She and Viki had pressed their main eyes flat against the glass wall. The glass was so thick that lots of colors could not penetrate. The stranger perched onstage could have been dead for all the far-red you could see of her.
Didi shrugged. “Name’s ‘Honored Pedure.’ She talks funny. I think she’s a Tiefer. And that cleric’s shawl she’s wearing? It’s not just our crummy view from the control room: that shawl really isdark, across all colors but the farthest reds.”
Hmm. Expensive. Mom had a dress uniform like that, only most people never saw her in it.
A wicked smile grew across Didi’s aspect. “I bet she pukes when she sees the babies in your father’s fur.”
No such luck. But when Sherkaner Underhill came in a few seconds later, the Honored Pedure stiffened under her shapeless cowl. A second later, Rappaport Digby trotted onto the stage and grabbed an earphone. Digby had been with “The Children’s Hour” from the beginning, long before Jirlib and Brent had started on the show. He was an old coot, and Brent claimed he was really one of the station owners. Viki didn’t believe it, not after the way Didi sassed him.
“Okay, everybody.” Didi’s voice came amplified now. Daddy and the Honored Pedure straightened, each hearing the words from the speaker on their side. “We’re coming up on fifteen seconds. Will you be ready, Master Digby, or should I play some dead air?”
Digby’s snout was stuck in a wad of written notes. “Laugh if you like, Miss Ultmot, but air time is money. One way or another, I will—”
“Three, two, one—” Didi cut her speaker and stabbed a long, pointed hand in Digby’s direction.
The cobber picked up his cue as if he’d been waiting in patient alertness. His words had the usual smooth dignity, the trademark that had introduced the show for more than fifteen years: “My name is Rappaport Digby, and this is ‘The Children’s Hour of Science.’…”
When Zinmin Broute spoke in translation, his motions were no longer fitful and compulsive. He looked directly forward and smiled or frowned with emotions that seemed very real. And maybe they were real—for some armored spider creature down on the surface of Arachna. Occasionally there was some hesitation, a glitch in the intermediate conversions. Even more rarely, Broute would turn away, perhaps when some important cue appeared off-center in his head-up. But unless you knew what to look for, the fellow seemed to be speaking as fluently as any human announcer reading from notes written in his birth language.
Broute as Digby began with a little self-congratulatory history of the radio program, then described the shadow that had fallen upon it in recent days. “Out of phase,” “perversion of birth.” Broute rattled off the words as if he’d known them all his life. “This afternoon, we are back on the air as promised. The charges made in recent days are grave. Ladies and gentlemen, these charges of themselves are true.”
The silence was a dramatic three beat, and then: “So my friends, you may wonder what gave us the courage—or the impudence—to return. For the answer to that, I ask you to listen to this afternoon’s edition of ‘The Children’s Hour.’ Whether we continue in the future will largely depend on your reactions to what you hear today….”
Silipan snorted. “What a money-grubbing hypocrite.” Xin and the others waved at him to shut up. Trud sailed over to sit beside Ezr. This had happened before; he seemed to think that because Ezr sat at the edge, somehow he wanted to hear Silipan’s analysis.
Beyond the wallpaper, Broute was introducing the debaters. Silipan anchored a comp to his knee and flipped it open. It was a clumsy Emergent thing, but it had ziphead support and that made it more effective than anything Humankind had created before. He punched the Explain key and a tiny voice gave him background: “Officially, the Honored Pedure represents the traditional Church. In fact—” The voice coming from Trud’s comp paused, presumably while hardware searched databases. “—Pedure is a foreigner to the Goknan Accord. She’s probably an agent of the Kindred government.”
Xin looked around at them, momentarily losing track of Broute-Digby. “Pus, these people take their fundamentalism seriously. Does Underhill know about this?”
The voice from Trud’s hand comp replied. “It’s possible. ‘Sherkaner Underhill’ is strongly correlated with Accord’s security communications…. To date, we haven’t seen any military message traffic discussing this debate, but the Spider civilization is not yet well automated. There could be things we’re missing.”
Trud spoke to the device: “I have a lowest-pri background task for you. What would the Kindred want from this debate?” He glanced up at Jau and shrugged. “Dunno if we’ll get any answer. Things are pretty busy.”
Broute was almost done with his introductions. Honored Pedure was to be played by a Xopi Reung. Xopi was a thin little Emergent. Ezr knew her name only from studying rosters and talking to Anne Reynolt.I wonder ifanyone else here knows the woman’s name? thought Ezr. Certainly not Jau and Rita. Trud would, just as a livestock herder in primitive times would know his property. Xopi Reung was young; she had been brought out of the freezer to replace what Silipan called “a senility failure.” Reung had been on-Watch for about 40Msec. She was responsible for most of the progress in learning other Spider languages, in particular “Tiefic.” And she was already the second-best translator of “Standard Accord” speech. Someday, she might very well be better than Trixia. In a sane world, Xopi Reung would have been a premier academic, famous across her solar system. But Xopi Reung had been selected in the Podmaster Lottery. While Xin and Liao and Silipan led fully conscious lives, Xopi Reung was part of the automation in the walls, unseen except for the occasional peculiar circumstance.
Xopi Reung spoke: “Thank you, Master Digby. The Radio of Princeton secures itself proud by giving us this time to talk.” During Broute’s introduction, Reung’s attention had flickered all around, birdlike. Perhaps her huds were out of adjustment, or maybe she preferred to scatter important cues all about her visual field. But when she
