A fire upon the deep zot.., p.33
A Fire Upon the Deep zot-1, page 33
part #1 of Zones of Thought Series
Pham came down from the ceiling, pulled close to the screen. It looked like serious bargaining was about to begin. The Skroderiders had arrived in a spherical room perhaps fifty meters across. Apparently they were floating near the center of it. A forest grew inward from all directions, and the Riders seemed to float just a few meters from the tree tops. Here and there between the branches, they could see the ground, a mosaic of flowers.
Saint Rihndell’s sales creatures were scattered all about the tallest trees. They sat(?) with their ivory limbs twined about the tree tops. Tusk-leg races were a common thing in the galaxy, but these were the first Ravna had known. The body plan was totally unlike anything from home, and even now she didn’t have a clear idea of their appearance. Sitting in the trees, their legs had more of the aspect of a skeletal fingers grasping around the trunk. Their chief rep—who claimed to be Saint Rihndell itself—had scrimshaw covering two-thirds of its ivory. Two of the windows showed the carving close up; Pham seemed to think that understanding the artwork might be useful.
Progress was slow. Triskweline was the common language, but good interpreting devices didn’t work this deep in the Beyond, and Saint Rihndell’s folk were only marginally familiar with the trade talk. Ravna was used to clean translations. Even the Net messages she dealt with were usually intelligible (though sometimes misleadingly so).
They’d been talking for twenty minutes and had only just established that Saint Rihndell might have the ability to repair OOB. It was the usual Riderly driftiness, and something more. The tedium seemed to please Pham Nuwen, “Rav, this is almost like a Qeng Ho operation, face to face with critters and scarcely a common language.”
“We sent them a description of our repair problem hours ago. Why should it take so long for a simple yes or no?”
“Because they’re haggling,” said Pham, his grin broadening. “‘Honest’ Saint Rihndell here—” he waved at the scrimshawed local, “— wants to convince us just how hard the job is… Lord I wish I was out there.”
Even Blueshell and Greenstalk seemed a little strange now. Their Triskweline was stripped down, barely more complex than Saint Rihndell’s. And much of the discussion seemed very round about. Working for Vrinimi, Ravna had had some experience with sales and trading. But haggling? You had your pricing data bases and strategy support, and directions from Grondr’s people. You either had a deal or you didn’t. What was going on between the Riders and Saint Rihndell was one of the more alien things Ravna had ever seen.
“Actually, things are going pretty well… I think. You saw when we arrived, the bone legs took away Blueshell’s samples. By now they know precisely what we have. There’s something in those samples that they want.
“Yeah?”
“Sure. Saint Rihndell isn’t bad-mouthing our stuff for his health.”
“Damn it, it’s possible we don’t have anything on board they could want. This was never intended to be a trade expedition.” Blueshell and Greenstalk had scavenged “product samples” from the ship’s supplies, things that the OOB could survive without. These included sensoria and some Low Beyond computer gear. Some of that would be a serious loss. But one way or another, we need those repairs.
Pham chuckled. “No. There’s something there Saint Rihndell wants. Otherwise he wouldn’t still be jawing… And see how he keeps needling us about his ‘other customers’ needs’? Saint Rihndell is a human kind of a guy.”
Something like human song came over the link to the Riders. Ravna phased Greenstalk’s cameras toward the sound. From the forest “floor” on the far side of Blueshell, three new creatures had appeared.
“Why… they’re beautiful. Butterflies,” said Ravna.
“Huh?”
“I mean they look like butterflies. You know? Um. Insects with large colored wings.”
Giant butterflies, actually. The newcomers had a generally humanoid body plan. They were about 150 centimeters tall and covered with soft-looking brown fur. Their wings sprouted from behind their shoulder blades. At full spread they were almost two meters across, soft blues and yellows, some more intricately patterned than others. Surely they were artificial, or a gengineered affectation; they would have been useless for flying about in any reasonable gravity. But here in zero-gee… The three floated at the entrance for just a moment, their huge, soft eyes looking up at the Riders. Then they swept their wings in measured sweeps, and drifted gracefully into the air above the forest. The entire effect was like something out of a children’s video. They had pert, button noses, like pet jorakorns, and eyes as wide and bashful as any human animator ever drew. Their voices sounded like youngsters singing.
Saint Rihndell and his buddies sidled around their tree tops. The tallest visitor sang on, its wings gently flexing. After a moment, Ravna realized it was speaking fluent Trisk with a front end adapted to the creature’s natural speech:
“Saint Rihndell, greetings! Our ships are ready for your repairs. We have made fair payment, and we are in a great hurry. Your work must begin at once!” Saint Rihndell’s Trisk specialist translated the speech for his boss.
Ravna leaned across Pham’s back. “So maybe our friendly repairman really is overbooked,” she said.
“… Yeah.”
Saint Rihndell came back around his treetop. His little arms picked at the green needles as he made a reply. “Honored Customers. You made offer of payment, not fully accepted. What you ask is in short supply, difficult to
… do.”
The cuddly butterfly made a squeaking noise that might have passed for joyous laughter in a human child. The sense behind its singing was different: “Times are changing, Rihndell creature! Your people must learn: We will not be stymied. You know my fleet’s sacred mission. We count every passing hour against you. Think on the fleet you will face if your lack of cooperation is ever known—is ever even suspected.” There was a sweep of blue and yellow wings, and the butterfly turned. Its dark, bashful eyes rested on the Riders. “And these potted plants, they are customers? Dismiss them. Till we are gone, you have no other customers.”
Ravna sucked in a breath. The three had no visible weapons, but she was suddenly afraid for Blueshell and Greenstalk.
“Well, what do you know,” Pham said. “Butterflies in jackboots.”
CHAPTER 27
According to the clock, it took less than half an hour for the Skroderiders to make it back. It seemed a lot longer to Pham Nuwen, even though he tried to keep up a casual front with Ravna. Maybe they were both keeping up a front; he knew she still considered him a fragile case.
But the Riders’ cameras showed no more signs of the killer butterflies. Finally the cargo lock cracked open and Blueshell and Greenstalk were back.
“I was sure the wily tusk-legs was just pretending there was strong demand,” said Blueshell. He seemed as eager to rehash the story as Pham was.
“Yeah, I thought so too. In fact, I still think those butterflies might just be part of an act. It’s all too melodramatic.”
Blueshell’s fronds rattled in a way that Pham recognized as a kind of shiver. “I wager not, Sir Pham. Those were Aprahanti. Just the look of them fills you with dread, does it not? They’re rare these days, but a star trader knows the stories. Still… this is a little much even for Aprahanti. Their Hegemony has been on the wane for several centuries.” He rattled something at the ship, and the windows were filled with views of nearby berths in the repair harbor. There was more Rider rattling, this time between Greenstalk and Blueshell. “Those other ships are a uniform type, you know. A High Beyond design like ours, but more, um,… militant.”
Greenstalk moved close to a window. “There are twenty of them. Why would so many need drive repairs all at once?”
Militant? Pham looked at the ships with a critical eye. He knew the major features of Beyonder vessels by now. These appeared to have rather large cargo capacity. Elaborate sensoria too. Hm. “Okay, so the Butterflies are hard types. How scared is Saint Rihndell and company?”
The Skroderiders were silent for a long moment. Pham couldn’t tell if his question was being given serious consideration or if they had simultaneously lost track of the conversation. He looked at Ravna. “How about the local net? I’d like to get some background.”
She was already running comm routines. “They weren’t accessible earlier. We couldn’t even get the News.” That was something Pham could understand, even if it was damned irritating. The “local net” was a RIP-wide ultrawave computer and communication network, perhaps a billion times more complex than anything Pham had known—but conceptually similar to organizations in the Slow Zone. And Pham Nuwen had seen what vandals could do to such structures; Qeng Ho had dealt with at least one obnoxious civilization by perverting its computer net. Not surprisingly, Saint Rihndell hadn’t provided them with links to the RIP net. And as long as they were in harbor, the OOB’s antenna swarm was necessarily down, so they were also cut off from the Known Net and the newsgroups.
A grin lit Ravna’s face. “Hei! Now we’ve got read access, maybe more. Greenstalk. Blueshell. Wake up!”
Rattle. “I wasn’t asleep,” claimed Blueshell, “just thinking on Sir Pham’s question. Saint Rihndell is obviously afraid.”
As usual, Greenstalk didn’t make excuses. She rolled around her mate to get a better look at Ravna’s newly opened comm window. There was an iterated-triangle design with Trisk annotations. It meant nothing to Pham. “That’s interesting,” said Greenstalk.
“I am chuckling,” said Blueshell. “It is more than interesting. Saint Rihndell is a hard-trading type. But look, he is making no charge for this service, not even a percentage of barter. He is afraid, but he still wants to deal with us.”
Hmm, so something from their High Beyond samples was enough to make him risk Aprahanti violence. Just hope it’s not something we really need too. “Okay. Rav, see if—”
“Just a second,” the woman replied. “I want to check the News.” She started a search program. Her eyes flickered quickly across her console window… and after a second she choked, and her face paled. “By the Powers, no!”
“What is it?”
But Ravna didn’t reply, or put the news to a main window. Pham grabbed the rail in front of her console and pulled himself around so he could see what she was reading:
Crypto: 0
As received by: Harmonious Repose Communication Synod
Language path: Baeloresk-»Triskweline, SjK units
From: Alliance for the Defense [Claimed cooperative of five polyspecific empires in the Beyond below Straumli Realm. No record of existence before the Fall of the Realm.]
Subject: Bold victory over the Perversion
Distribution:
Threat of the Blight, War Trackers Interest Group, Homo Sapiens Interest Group
Date: 159.06 days since fall of Relay
Key phrases: Action, not talk; A promising beginning
Text of message:
One hundred seconds ago, Alliance Forces began action against the tools of the Blight. By the time you read this, the Homo Sapiens worlds known as Sjandra Kei will have been destroyed.
Note well: for all the talk and theories that have flown about the Blight, this is the first time anyone has successfully acted. Sjandra Kei was one of only three systems outside of Straumli Realm known to harbor humans in any numbers. In one stroke we have destroyed a third of the Perversion’s potential for expansion.
Updates will follow.
Death to vermin.
There was one other message in the window, an update of sorts, but not from Death to Vermin:
Crypto: 0
Billing: charity/general interest
As received by: Harmonious Repose Communication Synod
Language path: Samnorsk-»Triskweline, SjK units
From: Commercial Security, Sjandra Kei [Note from lower protocol layer: This message was received at Sneerot Down along the Sjandra Kei bearing. The transmission was very weak, perhaps from a shipboard transmitter]
Subject: Please help
Distribution:
Threats Interest Group
Date: 5.33 hours since disaster at Sjandra Kei
Text of message:
Earlier today, relativistic projectiles struck our main habitations. Fatalities cannot be less than twenty-five billion. Three billion may still live, in transit and in smaller habitats.
We are still under attack.
Enemy craft are in the inner system. We see glow bombs. They are killing everyone.
Please. We need help.
“Nei nei nei!” Ravna drove up against him, her arms tight around him, her face buried in his shoulder. She sobbed incoherent Samnorsk. Her whole body shuddered against him. He felt tears coming to his own eyes. So strange. She had been the strong one, and he the fragile crazy. Now it was turned all around, and what could he do? “Father, mother, sister—gone, gone.”
It was the disaster they thought could not happen, and now it had. In one minute she had lost everything she grew up with, and was suddenly alone in the universe. For me, that happened long ago, the thought came strangely dispassionate. He hooked a foot into the deck and gently rocked Ravna back and forth, trying to comfort her.
The sounds of grief gradually quieted, though he could still feel her sobs through his chest. She didn’t raise her face from the tear-soaked place on his shirt. Pham looked over her head at Blueshell and Greenstalk. Their fronds looked strange… almost wilted.
“Look, I want to take Ravna away for a bit. Learn what you can, and I’ll be back.”
“Yes, Sir Pham.” And they seemed to droop even more.
It was an hour before Pham returned to the command deck. When he did, he found the Riders deep in rattling conference with OOB. All the windows were filled with flickering strangeness. Here and there Pham recognized a pattern or a printed legend, enough to guess that he was seeing ordinary ship displays, but optimized to Rider senses.
Blueshell noticed him first; he rolled abruptly toward him and his voder voice came out a little squeaky. “Is she all right?”
Pham gave a little nod. “She’s sleeping now.” Sedated, and with the ship watching her in case I’ve misjudged her. “Look, she’ll be okay. She’s been hit hard… but she’s the toughest one of us all.”
Greenstalk’s fronds rattled a smile. “I have often thought that.”
Blueshell was motionless for an instant. Then, “Well, to business, to business.” He said something to the ship, and the windows reformatted in the compromise usable by both humans and Riders. “We’ve learned a lot while you were gone. Saint Rihndell indeed has something to fear. The Aprahanti ships are a small fragment of the Death to Vermin extermination fleets. These are stragglers still on their way to Sjandra Kei!”
All dressed up for a massacre, and no place to go. “So now they want some action of their own.”
“Yes. Apparently Sjandra Kei put up some resistance and there were some escapes. The commander of this fleetlet thinks he can intercept some of these—if he can get prompt repairs.”
“What kind of extortion is really possible? Could these twenty ships destroy RIP?”
“No. It’s the reputation of the greater force these ships are part of—and the great killing at Sjandra Kei. So Saint Rihndell is very timid with them, and what they need for repairs is the same class of regrowth agent that we need. We really are in competition with them for Rihndell’s business.” Blueshell’s fronds slapped together, the sort of “go get ’em” enthusiasm he displayed when a hot deal was remembered. “But it turns out we have something Saint Rihndell really, really wants, something he’ll even risk tricking the Aprahanti to get.” He paused dramatically.
Pham thought back over the things they had offered the RIPers. Lord, not the low zone ultrawave gear. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do we have to give ’em?”
“A set of flamed trellises! Hah hah.”
“Huh?” Pham remembered the name from the list of odds and ends the Skroderiders had scrounged up. “What’s a ‘flamed trellis’?”
Blueshell poked a frond into his satchel and extended something stubby and black to Pham: an irregular solid, about forty centimeters by fifteen, smooth to the touch. For all its size, it didn’t mass more than a couple of grams. An artfully smoothed… cinder. Pham’s curiosity triumphed over greater concerns: “But what’s it good for?”
Blueshell dithered. After a moment, Greenstalk said a little shyly, “There are theories. It’s pure carbon, a fractal polymer. We know it’s very common in Transcendent cargoes. We think it’s used as packing material for some kinds of sentient property.”
“Or perhaps the excrement of such property,” Blueshell buzz-muttered. “Ah, but that’s not important. What is, is that occasional races in the Middle Beyond prize them. And why that? Again, we don’t know. Saint Rihndell’s folk are certainly not the final user. The Tusk-legs are far too sensible to be ordinary trellis customers. So. We have three hundred of these wonderful things… more than enough to overcome Saint Rihndell’s fears of the Aprahanti.”
While Pham had been away with Ravna, Saint Rihndell had come up with a plan. Applying the regrowth agent would be too obvious in the same harbor with the Aprahanti ships. Besides, the chief Butterfly had demanded the OOB move out. Saint Rihndell had a small harbor about sixteen million klicks around the RIP system. The move was even plausible, for it happened that there was a Skroderider terrane in the Harmonious Repose system—and currently it was just a few hundred kilometers from Rihndell’s second harbor. They would rendezvous with the tusk-legs, exchanging repairs for two hundred seventeen flamed trellises. And if the trellises were perfectly matched, Rihndell promised to throw in an agrav refit. After the Fall of Relay, that would be very welcome… Hunh. Ol’ Blueshell just never stopped wheeling and dealing.
