The Children of the Sky

with the evening glowbugs up on the surface; maybe those insects were thinning as the night air cooled. Several seconds passed. Oobii’s guesses were not converging. Finally a little red flag appeared, indicating that clarity was unattainable with the data being received. Sigh. Ravna raised the level of acceptable uncertainty, and waved for the programs to proceed. Sometimes this surveillance reminded her too much of pre-tech fairy tales: She was a sorceress hunched over her crystal ball, doing her best to scry truth from uncertain auguries.

After a moment, Oobii generated its best guess: The displays jigged back a second or two and restarted. Flenser was saying: “Even so, my boy. What problems are troubling you?”

Amdi moved a little closer. “You made Steel and Steel made me.”

Gentle laughter. “Of course. I made Steel, and mainly from my own members. But Steel assembled you from the new-born puppies of geniuses that he purchased, stole, and murdered for—from all across the continent. You are among the rarest of packs, born all at once, all of puppies. Like a two-legs.”

“Yes, like a human.” Oobii’s imagery showed tears in Amdi’s eyes. “And now dying like a human, even though humans don’t begin to get old while they’re still children.”

“Ah,” said Flenser. Ravna noticed that the one with the white tipped ears had tilted its wheelbarrow forward and extended its neck toward Amdi. Wow. The overlapping mindsounds should be loud enough to be emotionally confusing to both packs. But Flenser’s voice—as represented by the surveillance program, always keep that in mind—was as cool as ever: “Haven’t we discussed this before? Unanimous ageing is a tragedy, but your members are still only fourteen years old. Your bad times are easily twenty years in the future, when my grand schemes will finally—”

Amdi’s interruption didn’t quite fit: “I loved Mr. Steel. Of course, I didn’t know he was a monster.”

Flenser shrugged. “That’s how I made him. My mistake, I’m afraid.”

“I know. But you made up for that!” Amdi hesitated, his voice coming more quietly. “And now there’s Jefri’s problem. You.…”

Ravna’s head came up. What about Jefri? But Amdi didn’t finish the sentence.

After a moment, Flenser said, “Yes, I’m doing what I can about that. Now what new problem has ambushed you?”

Amdi was making human crying sounds, the sounds of a small lost child. “I’ve learned that two of me are Great Plains short-timers.”

Ravna had to think for a second. Great Plains short-timers? That was a racial group. They didn’t look different from most other Tines, though they tended to congenital heart disease. Short-timers rarely lived more than twenty years.

In the other windows, Ravna could see Flenser’s heads bobbing. “Those two of you have chest pains?”

“Yes. And eyesight problems.”

“Oh my,” said Flenser. “Short-timers. That is a problem. I’ll check—” The audio faltered, perhaps Oobii grappling with some exceptionally great ambiguity. “I’ll check Steel’s records, but I fear you may be right. It’s a well-known tradeoff among broodkenners: the Great Plains short- timers often have excellent geometrical imaginations. Still and all, it’s not unanimous ageing.”

Amdiranifani was shivering. “When those two of me die—I won’t be me anymore.”

“Every pack faces that, my boy. Unless we get killed all at once, change is what life is all about.”

“For you, maybe! For ordinary packs. But I came into the world all at once, with nothing before. Mr. Steel struck a balance when he brought me together. If I lose two, if I lose even one, I’ll—”

“Woodcarver’s broodkenners can find some kind of match. Or you may find that six is as large as your mind can comfortably be.” Flenser’s tone was overtly sympathetic, but—quite consistent with his usual manner— somehow dismissive at the same time.

“No, please! If I lose any one of my eight, I will fall apart like an arch without a keystone. I beg you, Mr. Tyrathect. You made Mr. Steel. You made the Disaster Study Group. You made Jefri betray everyone. In all that monstering, can’t there be some good miracles?”

Ravna watched, numb, making no move to pause the stream or look at the log window. Now that the scene had surpassed all bounds of credibility, it played on with scarcely a hiccup. Amdi wasn’t talking anymore; there was just the sound of human weeping. That sort of made sense. The eightsome had crumpled into a posture of abject despair. The Reformed Flenser wasn’t saying anything either, but what Oobii was showing in the displays was incredible: All five of Flenser-Tyrathect edged closer to Amdi. The two that had been the original Flenser pushed White Tips and its wheelbarrow forward. Some of them were less than a meter from Amdi’s nearest members. That was almost as unbelievable as anything else. Flenser-Tyrathect was notorious for his fastidious, standoffish behavior. Normal packs, friendly ones, would often send one or two of their number into the space between for a brief exchange of mindsounds. It was like a human social embrace or a light kiss. Flenser- Tyrathect was never so familiar. He was always the pack at the far end of the table, or hunched behind the thickest acoustic quilts.

In this increasingly fantastic video, White Tips had reached forward to cuddle two of Amdi against its neck. Several of the other were almost as close. To a naive human it might look like one crowd of animals giving comfort to another. Between Tinish packs it would be profound intimacy.

And any resemblance to what is really happening is purely coincidental! Ravna angrily flicked all the views into nothingness.

•  •  •

Ravna sat for a long time, staring into the gentle warm darkness of her study. She had pushed the analysis much too far. Oobii’s attempt to make sense out of nearly pure noise was madness. And yet … the proper nouns could scarcely have been introduced by the software without some reason. She knew she was damned to return and return to this scene, to try to tease apart software glitches from signal noise from underlying revelation. Maybe she could get something out of it by starting with external truths—for instance, the fact that Jefri was no traitor.

She went back over the data, only now she wasn’t looking at the lying video. Instead she went down to the surveillance program’s logs. As she suspected, the transmission conditions tonight had been poor to rotten. And yet, it had been almost this bad before and she had still received sensible results. She waved the network logs away and moved up to the program’s analysis. These were probability trees showing the options considered and how those options related to one another. The crisp video Ravna had been watching was simply the most probable interpretation coming out of that jungle of second-guessing. For instance, Amdi had almost certainly asserted that some particular person was behind the Disaster Study Group. She found that node of the analysis, expanded it; reasons and probabilities appeared. Yeah, and Flenser had been named as that person simply because of context and something about Amdi’s posture. Similarly, Amdi had probably said that “someone” had betrayed “something”—but the software had generated the particular nouns from a long list of suspects.

It was amazing that Jefri had even made it onto that list, much less coming out at the top. So what logic had put him there? She drilled down through the program’s reasoning, into depths she had never visited. As suspected, the “why I chose ‘this’ over ‘that’” led to a combinatorial explosion. She could spend centuries studying this—and get nowhere.

Ravna leaned back in her chair, turning her head this way and that, trying to get the stress out her neck. What am I missing? Of course, the program could simply be broken. Oobii’s emergency automation was specially designed to run in the Slow Zone, but the surveillance program was a bit of purely Beyonder software, not on the ship’s Usables manifest. It just happened to work Down Here.

Surely, if something serious happened, there would be warnings? Ravna looked idly through the application’s error logs. The high-priority messages were just what she expected: “Proceeding with Inadequate Data, blah blah blah.” She dipped down into low-priority advisory messages. No surprise. Just for this evening’s session, there were literally billions of those. She sorted them a couple of different ways and spent some quality time browsing the results.…

Ravna froze in her chair, staring at the monster she found lurking: