The Children of the Sky

The co-Queen hunched down slightly, the equivalent of a pensive frown. “Sorry. I thought you had run into this before, Ravna. Yes, I do get reports from Best Friend packs: What Ovin Verring and company told you is true. This is all rumors, exaggerated by the telling. I haven’t found any hard core of believers—though, hmhmm, that may be because the hard core is among the humans without close Tinish friends.”

“… Yes.” That point raised a world of possibility. “Had you even heard of a ‘Disaster Study Group’?”

“Not until Gannon started making noises about it.”

“And the really extreme claims, that the Blight is not evil, that Pham was the bad guy—I’ll wager that is something new, too.”

Woodcarver was silent a moment. “Yes. That’s also new, though there have been weaker versions.” Then she added, almost defensively, “But among Tines, rumors can be impossible to track, especially when there is Interpack sex. Transient personalities pop up with notions that would not have been imagined otherwise. Afterwards there is no one to point to.”

That bit of Tinish insight forced a chuckle from Ravna. “We humans also talk about rumors taking on a life of their own, but it sounds like Tines have the real thing.”

“You think there are conspirators?”

Ravna nodded. “I’m afraid there may be. On this world, you qualify as a modern ruler, but your notion of ‘spies everywhere,’ well, it’s—”

“Hmpf. I know, by civilized standards, my surveillance is pitifully weak.” Woodcarver jabbed a nose in the direction of the radio altar, her private pipeline to Oobii’s archive. In the winter, she used a treadmill to keep it charged. In the summer, she had the sunlight from this hall’s high windows. Either way, Woodcarver practically camped around her radio, studying indiscriminately.

Woodcarver wasn’t the only pack with a spy apparatus. Ravna tried to put the question diplomatically: “This is a case where any information would be welcome. Could you perhaps consult with Flenser-Tyrathect—”

“No!” said Woodcarver, making jaw-snapping sounds. She’d never stopped suspecting that Flenser was plotting a takeover. After a moment she continued, “What we really need are a couple of dozen wireless cameras. Cams and networks, that’s the foundation of surveillance ubiquity.” She sounded like she’d been studying some very old text. “Since we don’t have proper networks yet, I’ll settle for more spy eyes.”

Ravna shook her head. “We only have a dozen loose cameras, total.” Of course, much of Oobii could act as cameras and displays. Unfortunately, when you took a crowbar and pried pieces off those programmable walls—well, you sacrificed a lot of functionality. The twelve cameras they did have were low-tech backups. Ravna recognized the irritated expression spreading across Woodcarver. “Come the day that we can fabricate digital electronics, all this will change, Woodcarver.”

“Yes. Come the day.” The pack whistled a dirge-like tune. She had three of the cameras herself, but apparently she wasn’t volunteering them. Instead: “You know that my illustrious science advisor is squatting on nine cameras?” Scrupilo was doing his best to create networks even though he lacked distributed computation. He had the cameras transmitting from his labs back to the planning logic aboard the Oobii. That trick had actually speeded up materials evaluation tenfold. Any time they could use the starship’s power or logic, they had a win. Those labs were the biggest success story of the last few years.

“Okay,” said Ravna. “I’d be willing to give up part of Scrupilo’s testing system for a tenday or two. I really want to find out if there is an organized conspiracy behind these Denier lies.”

“Then let’s see which cameras I can grab.” Three of Woodcarver hopped onto perches around her radio altar. She warbled something that was neither pack talk nor Samnorsk. Woodcarver had used Oobii’s customizer to make sound substitutes for the usual visual interface. For the pack, the result was almost as convenient as Ravna’s “tiara,” the fragile head-up display Ravna was normally afraid to wear in the casual everyday.

Woodcarver listened to the wheeps and beeps coming back from Oobii. “Ah, that Scrupilo. Oobii says my dear science advisor has been using the cams for more than your product development. Hmm. You ever hear of ‘mass-energy conversion drip’?”

“No.… It sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, it is.” Woodcarver warbled some more, probably “looking up” definitions. “Without adequate process control, the ‘drip’ normally turns into something called a ‘conversion torrent.’ That’s destroyed more than one civilization. Fortunately for most histories, it’s very difficult to create before you know the danger of it.” She queried some more. “Oh good. That was last tenday. Scrupilo dropped the project, took the path of sanity for once. What he’s doing now looks like the materials research he’s supposed to be doing.” There was pause, then a human- sounding chuckle. “Scrupilo will throw a personal riot when we take those cameras from him. It will be fun to see.” The science advisor was another of Woodcarver’s offspring packs. They had turned out to be Woodcarver’s own dangerous experiments.

Ravna was doing her best to think sneaky: “I bet we can keep the diversion a secret. Two or three of them could officially ‘break.’” Very few of the locals understood what was durable and what was not. Over the years, she had broken all but one of her head-up displays, but the low-tech cams could probably survive a twenty-meter fall. “Scrupilo won’t have to disguise his outrage, just the details of the affair.”

“I like that!” Woodcarver gave a rippling grin, and one of her on a high perch gave Ravna a pat on the head. She spoke some notes to Oobii. “Okay, let’s take three cameras. We should think on where and how to best use them.”

“I want this done quickly. The word is out that I’ve been tipped off. If someone’s behind this, then wouldn’t they move now, to keep us off balance?”

“Just so.”

Three cameras scarcely made a surveillance system, no matter how cleverly they were placed. Ravna decided to ask directly about the others. “What about the three that you’re already using to spy on Flenser? It’s humans who are the greatest threat just now.”

“No. Those stay in place. If there really is a conspiracy here, then I’d bet a champion conspirator is behind it, not one of your naive Children. Flenser is as devious as any creature alive.” And Old Flenser had been another of Woodcarver’s offspring packs, the deadliest—if not the most malevolent—of her attempts at creating genius.

“But this is the reformed Flenser. Only two of his pack are still from you.”

Woodcarver sounded a loud sniff. “So? Old Flenser chose the other three…”

“It’s been ten years.”

“We get along. The three cameras I’ve hidden down in Old Castle, they give me reason to … well, ‘trust’ is not the right word … to tolerate him.”

Ravna smiled. “You’re always complaining that he knows where you’re watching him.”

“Um. I suspect he knows. Always suspect him, Ravna. Then you won’t be disappointed. Maybe … if I can get my people into the castle, we could move the cameras around. I’ve been wanting to do that anyway. Flenser must remain at the top of the suspects list. I don’t want those cameras diverted to anything less likely.”

“Very well.” The Original Flenser had been a scary beast, combining extremes of human history. Ravna would have been as paranoid about Flenser as Woodcarver was if she didn’t have her own special source of information. That source was one the very few secrets that she’d never told anyone, not even Johanna. She wasn’t going to reveal it now just to pry three cameras away from her co-Queen.

One of Woodcarver bumped up against Ravna’s chair and set its paw on her arm. “You’re disappointed?”

“I’m sorry. Yes, a little. We’ve freed up three cameras. Surely there are more targets.”

“And I’ll look at Flenser still more carefully than before.”

Ravna couldn’t respond to that, not without revealing her own source of information.

“Look, Ravna. In addition to the cameras, I’ll bring in some of my agents from the outlands. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Woodcarver was really trying to be cooperative. More than any pack except Scrupilo, she seemed to understand what drove Ravna.

The human reached out to pat the nearest of Woodcarver. This was Sht—hei, that’s what the name sounded