service’s own net…
“Anyway, the researchers at the Straumli lab—a few of them at least—were not so incautious as you say. They suspected a perverse runaway, and were determined to sabotage it.”
This was news, but—'Doesn’t look like they had much success, does it?”
“I am nodding agreement. They did not prevent it, but they did plan to escape the laboratory planet with two starships. And they did get word of their attempt into channels that ended with my acquaintance at the beach party. And here is the important part: At least one of these ships was to carry away some final elements of the Perversion’s recipe—before they were incorporated into the design.”
“Surely there were backups—” began Pham Nuwen.
Ravna waved him silent. There had been enough grade-school explanations for one night. This was incredible. She’d been following the news about Straumli Realm as much as anyone. The Realm was the first High daughter colony of Sjandra Kei; it was horrifying to see it destroyed. But nowhere in Threats had there been even a rumor of this: the Perversion not whole? “If this is true, then the Straumers may have a chance. It all depends on the missing parts of the design document.”
“Just so. And of course the humans realized this too. They planned to head straight for the Bottom of the Beyond, rendezvous there with their accomplices from Straum.”
Which—considering the ultimate magnitude of the disaster—would never happen. Ravna leaned back, oblivious of Pham Nuwen for the first time in many hours. Most likely both ships had been destroyed by now. If not -well, the Straumers had been at least half-smart, heading for the Bottom. If they had what Blueshell thought, the Perversion would be very interested in finding them. It was no wonder Blueshell and Greenstalk hadn’t announced this on the news groups. “So you know where they were going to rendezvous?” she said softly.
“Approximately.”
Greenstalk burred something at him.
“Not in ourselves,” he said. “The coordinates are in the safeness at our ship. But there is more. The Straumers had a backup plan if the rendezvous failed. They intended to signal Relay with their ship’s ultrawave.”
“Now wait. Just how big is this ship?” Ravna was no physical-layer engineer, but she knew that Relay’s backbone transceivers were actually swarms of antenna elements scattered across several light years, each element ten-thousand kilometers across.
Blueshell rolled forward and back, a quick gesture of agitation. “We don’t know, but it’s nothing exceptional. Unless you’re looking precisely at it with a large antenna, you’d never detect it from here.”
Greenstalk added, “We think that was part of their plan, though it is desperation on top of desperation. Since we came to Relay, we’ve been talking to the Org—”
“Discreetly! Quietly!” Blueshell put in abruptly.
“Yes. We’ve asked the Organization to listen for this ship. I’m afraid we haven’t talked to the right people. No one seems to put much credence in us. After all, the story is ultimately from a Lesser Rider,” Yeah. What could they know that was under a hundred years old? “What we’re asking would normally be a great expense, and apparently prices are especially high right now.”
Ravna tried to curb her enthusiasm. If she had read this in a newsgroup, it would’ve been just one more interesting rumor. Why should she boggle just because she was getting it face-to-face? By the Powers, what irony. Hundreds of customers from the Top and the Transcend—even Old One—were saturating Relay’s resources with their curiosity about the Straumli debacle. What if the answer had been sitting in front of them, suppressed by the very eagerness of their investigation? “Just who have you been talking to? Never mind, never mind.” Maybe she should just go to Grondr ’Kalir with the story. “I think you should know that I am a—” very minor! “-employee of the Vrinimi Organization. I may be able to help.”
She had expected some surprise at this sudden good luck. Instead there was a pause. Apparently Blueshell had lost his place in the conversation. Finally Greenstalk spoke. “I am blushing… You see, we knew that. Blueshell looked you up in the employees’ directory; you are the only human in the Org. You’re not in Customer Contact, but we thought that if we chanced upon you, so to speak, you might give us a kindly hearing.”
Blueshell’s tendrils rustled together sharply. Irritation? Or had he finally caught up to the conversation? “Yes. Well, since we are all being so frank, I suppose we should confess that this might even benefit us. If the refugee ship can prove that the Perversion is not a full Class Two, then perhaps we can convince our buyers that our cargo has not been compromised. If they only knew, my certificant friends would be groveling at your feet, my lady Ravna.”
They stayed at The Wandering Company until well past midnight. Business picked up at the circadian peak of some of the new arrivals. Floor and table shows were raucous all around. Pham’s eyes flickered this way and that, taking it all in. But above all he seemed fascinated by Blueshell and Greenstalk. The two were starkly nonhuman, in some ways even strange as aliens go. Skroderiders were one of the very few races that had achieved long— term stability in the Beyond. Speciation had long ago occurred, varieties heading outward or becoming extinct. And still there were some who matched their ancient skrodes, a unique balance of outlook and machine interface that was more than a billion years old. But Blueshell and Greenstalk were also traders with much of the outlook that Pham Nuwen had known in the Slowness. And though Pham acted as ignorant as ever, there was new diplomacy in him. Or maybe the awesomeness of the Beyond was finally getting through his thick skull. He couldn’t have asked for better drinking buddies. As a race, the Skroderiders preferred lazy reminiscence to almost any activity. Once delivered of their critical message, the two were quite content to talk of their life in the Beyond, to explain things in whatever detail the barbarian could wish. The razor-jawed certificants stayed well lost.
Ravna got a mild buzz on, and watched the three talk shop. She smiled to herself. In a way, she was the outsider now, the person who had never done. Blueshell and Greenstalk had been all over, and some of their stories sounded wild even to her. Ravna had a theory (not that widely accepted, actually) that where beings have a common fluency, little else matters. Two of these three might be mistaken for potted trees on hotcarts, and the third was unlike any human in her life. Their fluency was in an artificial language, and two of the “voices” were squawky raspings. Yet… after a few minutes’ listening, their personalities seemed to float in her mind’s eye, more interesting than many of her school chums, but not that different. The two Skroderiders were mates. She hadn’t thought that could count for much; among Riders, sex amounted to scarcely more than being next-door neighbors at the right time of year. Yet there was deep affection here. Greenstalk especially seemed a loving personality. She (he?) was shy yet stubborn, with a kind of honesty that might be a major handicap in a trader. Blueshell made up for that failing. He (she?) could be glib and talkative, quite capable of maneuvering things his way. Underneath, Ravna glimpsed a compulsive personality, uncomfortable with his own sneakiness, ultimately grateful when Greenstalk reined him in.
And what of Pham Nuwen? Yes, what’s the inner being you see there? In an odd way, he was more of a mystery. The arrogant boob of this afternoon seemed to be mostly invisible tonight. Maybe it had been a cover for insecurity. The fellow had been born in a male-dominated culture, virtually the opposite of the matriarchy that all Beyonder humanity descended from. Underneath the arrogance, a very nice person might be living. Then there was the way he had faced down razor-jaw. And the way he was drawing out the Skroderiders. It occurred to Ravna that after a lifetime of reading romantic fiction, she had run into her first hero.
It was after 02:30 when they left The Wandering Company. The sun would be rising across the bow horizon in less than five hours. The two Skroderiders came outside to see them off. Blueshell had switched back to Samnorsk to regale Ravna with a story of his last visit to Sjandra Kei -and remind her to ask about the refugee ship.
The Skroderiders dwindled beneath them as Ravna and Pham rose into the thinning air and headed toward the residential towers.
The two humans didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. It was even possible that Pham Nuwen was impressed by the view. They were passing over gaps in the brightly lit Docks, places where they could see through the parks and concourses to the surface of Groundside a thousand kilometers below. The clouds there were whorls of dark on dark.
Ravna’s residence was at the outer edge of the Docks. Here the air fountains were of no use; her apartment tower rose into frank vacuum. They glided down to her balcony, trading their suits’ atmosphere for the apartment’s.
