The Children of the Sky

the remnant not be destroyed. Today she heard shrieks of rage coming from the prison compound, demands to be released. The Remnant Steel knew something was going on, and apparently there was no keeper to let it out into its exercise yard.

“So where are the broodkenners?” said Johanna. Not even Carenfret was around, and she was obsessively dutiful.

“Harmony’s here. I can hear him talking.” Pilgrim jabbed a snout toward the admin office.

“He’s here?” Damn. Harmony was the chief broodkenner, a pack of the old school and a real jerk. Now she could hear Tinish gobbling ahead. It was loud enough; she’d mistaken it for the usual random shouting that came from the patients’ barracks. Yes, the pack was talking on the telephone. That was probably a good thing, since Harmony’s judgment could only benefit from outside advice. She lifted the high bar on an inner gate and let herself and Pilgrim through. The admin building was actually a dorm for the overnight broodkenners, most often Carenfret. It was big enough for two or three packs, but right now there seemed to be just the one voice within. The front door was open. She bent low and awkwardly waddled indoors, preceded and followed by Pilgrim.

Harmony was way in the back, in his official office. That wasn’t as large as Harmony would probably like, but it was the room with the telephone, and the Chief Broodkenner had claimed it his first day on the job. Johanna was pleased that no one had ever told him how easy it would be to wire the phone into a different room. She wasn’t the only one who thought ill of this pack.

Harmony was just racking the phone when Pilgrim and Johanna stuck heads into his room. “Well, well,” he said, sounding cordial. “Here is the source of so many of my problems.” He gestured at the floor in front of his desk. “Do please have a seat, Johanna.”

Jo settled herself on the floor. Now she had to look up to see Harmony’s heads. Well, it beat standing stooped over to avoid the ceiling beams. Pilgrim settled himself in the hall, with just one head poked around the door. He could participate in the discussion without his mindsound interfering too much.

Johanna had put together a little speech, but this phone call might change things. “So,” she said, winging it, “you’ve heard about the shipwreck.”

“Of course. I just finished discussing the matter with the Tinish Queen Herself.”

“Oh.” So what did Woodcarver say? Harmony looked too self-satisfied for it to be anything good. “There are almost two hundred surviving Tropicals, sir. Pilgrim tells me that’s substantially more than in the average South Sea wreck.”

Harmony gave an irritated little ripple of his heads. “Yes. I understand you are largely responsible for this problem.”

“Well, I helped too,” Pilgrim put in cheerily.

Harmony waved a dismissive snout at Pilgrim. The Chief Broodkenner always tried to ignore Pilgrim. The two packs were about as different as packs could be, one as tightly held as a human’s clenched fist, the other so loose that sometimes it seemed to dissolve into lesser parts. Unfortunately for Harmony, Pilgrim was the queen’s consort, had been for more than two years. Part of the queen herself was now from Pilgrim. Harmony was far too cautious to say anything reportable against him. All his heads turned back in Johanna’s direction: “No doubt you’re wondering where my assistants are this afternoon.” He meant the other broodkenners, most of whom were very nice people.

“Well, yes.”

“You’re the reason for their absence. That’s what I was just discussing with the Queen. It’s bad enough that you’ve transformed this shipwreck from a commonplace opportunity into a serious inconvenience. But it’s inexcusable that you directed them to come here for refuge.”

“What? I did no such thing.”

Pilgrim said. “Hei, I was there, Broodkenner. Of course, Johanna did no such thing. I doubt if any of the Tropicals knows a word of Samnorsk.”

Harmony all came to his feet, his various members adjusting the trim red jackets of his uniform. Two of him came partway over his desk, gesturing emphatically at Johanna. “Forgive me then. This is simply what I would expect of you. It’s what my assistants thought too. Every one them is downhill from the broodkennery right now, holding off the onslaught of Tropical riffraff. We all speculated just who put the creatures up to this.”

Johanna crossed her arms and leaned forward. She knew that the main body of the mob was still on the beach being herded toward Cliffside village by the shore patrol. There couldn’t be more than thirty or forty who had slipped free—and those would be wandering across the hillsides. As for the idea that she had suggested the Tropicals come here: well, bunk. Harmony had done this sort of thing to her in the past, making wild accusations that turned out to be exactly what she was about to suggest. This time she refused to be disarmed. “Sir, if your staff thought I directed the Tropicals here, maybe that’s because it’s a good idea. The Tropicals are creatures just like your own members, just like the singletons whom we help here at the Fragmentarium.”

“Here at the broodkennery,” Harmony corrected. Broodkenning was an essential part of Tinish civilization, a cross between marriage counsellor, animal breeder, and reconstructive surgeon. Johanna respected most broodkenners, even hardclawed ones who couldn’t stand the sight of her. It took real skill to properly recommend which puppies should go with which packs or whether a whole new pack should be made. It took even greater talent to create well-functioning packs from adult singletons and duos. Some of the local broodkenners were geniuses at their craft. Harmony Redjackets wasn’t one of them. He was an East Coast expert who had somehow flimflammed Woodcarver when she was in the dumps for having lost two of her oldest members. The redjackets of the East took a harsher attitude toward individual members than most packs out here. In a way, they were like the Old Flenserists—though she would never suggest that straight out to Woodcarver.

“That’s the fundamental problem with your meddling,” continued Harmony. “Your notion of fragments as patients. I can understand it. It’s based on the fundamental human weakness. You simply can’t help it.”

Johanna almost interrupted with a sneering comment. If we Children weren’t lost in this pre- tech wilderness, we could replace any part of our bodies, and easier than you, Mr. Harmony, can imagine. Unfortunately, that might tend to support Harmony’s main point. At a loss for a cutting response, Johanna let the other’s argument roll on.

“We packs can choose what we are. We can live beyond our members of the moment and always be the best that can be.”

At least Pilgrim had a reply: “I’ve been around long enough to know that’s not always true.”

“Loose pack that you are,” said Harmony.

“Ah, true. But a loose pack who has the ear of the Queen. So tell me, Harmony, you’re just going to turn away the mob that came ashore this morning?”

“Yes.” The redjackets was smiling.

“There’s more of them than usual,” said Pilgrim. “As a Choir, they’re a loud nuisance. As singletons and duos they’ll soon be drifting around our towns, making an even bigger nuisance of themselves. Neither villagers nor merchants will approve. And I know Woodcarver would not approve killing them.”

Harmony was still grinning. “That would not be such a problem if you two had only let nature take its course with the superfluous ones.” He shrugged. “No one is talking about killing the survivors. I’m quite aware that eventually the remnants will sail away with what trinket garbage we provide. Woodcarver has told me that it happens every few decades.” He gave a pointed and unanimous look in Pilgrim’s direction. “You are not the only one with the ear of the Queen.” He waved at the telephone. “Marvelous instrument, this. Certainly the best toy you two-legs have brought to civilization.”

Damn, fumed Johanna. I could have called both Woodcarver and Ravna during the flight up here. Instead I just wasted my time fuming.

But Harmony was still talking. “The Queen and I agreed it would be absurd to cram more bodies into the Royal Broodkennery. Without extensive enlargement, there is simply not enough room. More important, housing a Choir of Tropicals is quite the opposite of the purpose of this institution.” He paused, as if inviting Johanna or Pilgrim to object. “But you need not worry about them burdening the alleys and markets of Newcastle town or Hidden Island. I’ve suggested an alternate option to Her Majesty, and she has enthusiastically blessed it. The Tropicals will be guided to a new enclave, built specially for them.”

“A second Fragmentarium?” asked Pilgrim.

“Not at all. This will be at the south edge of Starship Hill, far from all the places where such creatures can