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 Ovin 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
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
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
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.”
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
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.
