comfort by the standards of this place! Then there were the parasites, the gut worms and flesh burrowers, and all the diseases—themselves caused by microscopic predators, according to the ever-cheery Dataset. He never used to get the vomits, and now that happened regularly. In the early years of his time here, Vendacious had lost two members to disease. Finding appropriate replacements had been no small challenge, even with an endless stream of raw material to choose from.
And yet … part of Vendacious was gazing to the left, at the magnificent palace Tycoon had built for him. Vendacious couldn’t have risked such magnificence up north, not with Woodcarver’s death sentence hanging over him. Now that two of Vendacious were Tropical, sometimes he actually felt an insane fondness for the place. In Dataset, Vendacious had read about natural selection. The notion was quaint and obvious, but no fun when you were doing it to yourself! It was frightening to realize that if his triumph were delayed long enough, he might
Meantime, he’d have to put up with both the climate and Tycoon. The local fragment of Radio stood just a few meters away, providing a link to the great Tycoon. Ut looked even more miserable than Vendacious felt. Part of that was the heavy, muffling cloak the creature had to wear. Part of it was the fear in the creature’s eyes. Ut had been taught to fear and obey and keep secrets. The lessons necessarily had been delivered in covert ways, unseen by those outside Vendacious’ inner court. After last night, Ut had even more to fear.
Ut fearfully came closer. When it spoke, it was to relay Tycoon’s confident and demanding voice: “Recall, Vendacious, I want both two-legs delivered to me. What’s left of Remasritlfeer, too.”
No doubt Tycoon was lounging about in the comfort of his palace. The fat bastards’ notion of “surviving in style” was to have Vendacious do all the hard work. Eight years of practice had not made it any easier to suck up to the fool, but Vendacious managed a respectful response: “I understand, sir. Their airship is just now being moored.”
“What about the two packs who were captured with the humans?”
Vendacious had been expecting this question. With the right strategy, he wouldn’t have to release them. “They’re loyal dupes, but eventually I should be able to undo the humans’ influence.”
Ut relayed a sigh. “That’s the way it has so often been with these two-legged monsters. One wonders how they can fool anyone.”
“Their
“Of course. But in the end, that will not protect them from me.”
Vendacious grimaced. You couldn’t talk to Tycoon for more than a minute without his ego slopping out. Of course, that was half the reason he was so easy to manipulate. “Your time will come, sir.… I see the ship’s hatch has opened. I’ll have a wagon deliver the humans directly to you.”
Mercifully, Tycoon wasn’t interested in further conversation; there was no need for more groveling. Vendacious stayed near the landing pylon but spread out to watch the prisoners coming down from the other ship:
Ritl. All that was left of Remasritlfeer. He watched the singleton as it pranced regally across the concrete, a bit of flotsam that could still cause trouble.
Ravna and Jefri. With Johanna gone, these were the two most dangerous humans alive. They could destroy everything he had created. From interrogating Amdiranifani and the Steel remnant, he knew how Chitiratifor had botched his mission.
Still, a clean solution might have been possible if Tycoon had not meddled in the follow-up search. And now? Perhaps it was just as well these two weren’t in his clutches. The temptation to end them would have been irresistible and alas, he’d already spent far too much of his credibility by murdering others he’d held for Tycoon.
He watched the rickshaw wagon pull away with the two humans and the singleton. Tycoon’s guard padded along after.
What then was the good news in this debacle? Amdiranifani. He was perhaps the ideal hostage and certainly an entertaining victim. Breaking down a genius was often the most fun, especially in this case, in which the victim still thought it could outsmart the interrogator.
When the airships landed, Timor Ristling was up in his dungeon. The early morning had brought the usual rain, but also a good breeze. Maybe it wouldn’t get too terribly hot today. He sat in the westside window, enjoying the rainy breeze, doing his best to ignore all the old aches and pains. They were still there, but if he gave in to them, he would not have a life.
Timor’s dungeon was in one of the four spires that surrounded Tycoon’s palace. This was the highest point anywhere in the Reservation—though the Choir’s pyramid was so much taller that on sunny mornings most of the palace was in its shade. From his west-side window, Timor could look down on the airfield and the cuttlefish ponds, as well as the factories beyond. He kept his ankles wrapped around the nearest window pillar and leaned back firmly against the wall. Just sitting on a ledge so high up was deliciously scary.
The lead airship was audible now. It slanted down toward the pylon in front of Vendacious’ hangar. Okay, so nothing
He watched the landing crew tie down the first airship. The airships reminded him of insystem freighters floating on agrav; the similarity always made Timor sad.
Several packs got off the first ship—and now the second aircraft was coming down. Tycoon had been unusually secretive about what to expect. In principle that should mean Timor was almost clueless, since very few packs in Tycoon’s palace spoke Samnorsk. On the other hand, the cuttlefish gave him occasional clues in their scatterbrained way, and Timor had become adept at building speculations out of Tycoon’s silences and complaints and brags and favors. Five days ago, these two ships had abruptly left. Tycoon had let slip that Vendacious was aboard, so action against humans was probably planned. If no humans were aboard this second ship … well, that might be a very bad sign.
Someone was coming out of the second ship! It was a singleton or maybe a small human child. Timor’s eyesight was almost as bad as the average pack member’s; all he was sure of was that this passenger was not a pack. Timor climbed down from the windowsill and grabbed the binoculars Tycoon had given him. The gear was heavy and—of course—without a bit of stabilization or enhancement. Timor had had to wheedle a connecting frame out of Tycoon; the guy had complained about the inconvenience of dealing with human limitations, but Timor could tell that he was secretly proud to show off. Tycoon claimed that telescopes were the invention of his own pack brother, more than ten years ago. “We really don’t need you humans, you know.” Tycoon said that a lot.
Timor rested the device on the window ledge and looked through it, seeing nothing but a lot of rain-wet concrete. No sign of that small first passenger. Ah, now he was looking at some part of the airship. The main hatch was hidden beneath the curve of the hull, but he could see a pack near the entrance. It was watching something that it thought was important. Timor looked for a second more, holding the optics as steady as he could.… A gunpack came smartly down the stairs, its gun muzzles down, but watching in all directions. It looked like Mr. Skeetshooter, the fellow who usually guarded Timor.
And then there was a human. A guy, tall. From this angle, it was hard to … that was Jefri Olsndot!
Timor hunched forward, losing the view for a moment. When he found her again, Ravna had descended the stairs. She seemed to be leaning against Jefri. Seeing her here was the best thing he could imagine … or was it the worst? He’d know when he saw which direction they were taking her. Mr. Skeets herded Ravna and Jefri to a little rickshaw wagon. There was the singleton, already aboard.
After a moment the rickshaw driver pulled them away, followed by Mr. Skeets. They were headed here, to the House of Tycoon! The rickshaw disappeared beneath his tower’s view. He watched the airships a few moments
