A Fire Upon the Deep

by Vernor Vinge

  Note 1094

  And of course, even though Flenser was “everywhere at once”, he wasn’t any smarter than before. After the first jarring experiments, he got the hang of seeing/hearing scenes that were radically different — but it was as difficult as ever to carry on multiple conversations. When he was bantering with Steel, his other members had very little to say to Amdijefri or to Rangolith’s scouts.

  Note 1095

  Lord Steel was done with him. Flenser walked along the parapets with his former student, but if Steel had said anything to him it would have taken him away from his current conversation. Flenser smiled (carefully so the one with Steel would not show it). Steel thought he was talking to Farscout Rangolith just now. Oh, he would do that … in a few minutes. One advantage of his situation was that no one could know for sure everything Flenser was up to. If he was careful, he would eventually rule here again. It was a dangerous game, and the cloaks were themselves dangerous devices. Keep a cloak out of sunlight for a few hours and it lost power, and the member wearing it was cut off from the pack. Worse was the problem of static— that was a mantis word. The second set of cloaks had killed its user, and the Spacers weren’t sure of the cause, except that it was some sort of “interference” problem.

  Flenser had experienced nothing so extreme. But sometimes on his farthest hikes with Rangolith, or when a cloak’s power faded … there was an incredible shrieking in his mind, like a dozen packs crowding close, sounds that scaled between sex madness and killing frenzy. Tyrathect seemed to like times like that; she’d come bounding out of the confusion, swamping him with her soft hate. Normally she lurked around the edges of his consciousness, tweaking a word here, a motive there. After the static, she was much worse; on one occasion she’d held control for almost a dayaround. Given a year without crises, Flenser could have studied Ty and Ra and Thect and done a proper excision. Thect, the member with the white-tipped ears, was probably the one to kill: it wasn’t bright, but it was likely the capstone of the trio. With a precisely crafted replacement, Flenser might be even greater than before the massacre at Parliament Bowl. But for now, Flenser was stuck; soul surgery on one’s self was an awesome challenge — even to The Master.

  Note 1096

  So. Careful. Careful. Keep the cloaks well charged, take no long trips, and don’t let any one person see all the threads of your plan. While Steel thought he was seeking Rangolith, Flenser was talking to Amdi and Jefri.

  Note 1097

  The human’s face was wet with tears. “F-four times we’ve missed R-ravna. What has happened to her?” His voice screeched up. Flenser hadn’t realized there was such flexibility in the belching mechanism that humans use to make sound.

  Note 1098

  Most of Amdi clustered round the boy. He licked Jefri’s cheeks. “It could be our ultrawave. Maybe it’s broken.” He looked beseechingly at Flenser. There were tears in the puppies’ eyes, too. “Tyrathect, please ask Steel again. Let us stay in the ship all the dayaround. Maybe there are messages that have come through and not been recorded.”

  Note 1099

  Flenser with Steel descended the northern stairs, crossed the parade ground. He gave a sliver of attention to the other’s complaints about the sloppy maintenance around the practice stands. At least Steel was smart enough to keep the discipline scaffolds over on Hidden Island.

  Flenser with Rangolith’s troopers splashed through a mountain stream. Even in high summer, in the middle of a Drywind, there were still snow patches, and the streams running from under them were icy cold.

  Flenser with Amdijefri edged forward, let two of Amdi rest against his sides. Both children liked physical contact, and he was the only one they had besides each other. It was all perversion of course, but Flenser had based his life on manipulating others’ weakness, and — but for the pain — welcomed it. Flenser buzzed a deep purring sound through his shoulders, carressing the puppy next to him. “I’ll ask our Lord Steel the very next time I see him.”

  “Thank you.” A puppy nuzzled at his cloak, then mercifully moved away; Flenser was a mass of sores beneath that cover. Perhaps Amdi realized that, or perhaps — more and more Flenser saw a reticence in the children. His comment to Steel had been a slip into the truth: these two really didn’t trust him. That was Tyrathect’s fault. On his own, Flenser would have had no trouble winning Amdijefri’s love. Flenser had none of Steel’s killing temper and fragile dignity. Flenser could chat for casual pleasure, all the while mixing truth with lies. One of his greatest talents was empathy; no sadist can aspire to perfection without that diagnostic ability. But just when he was doing well, when they seemed about to open to him — then Ty or Ra or Thect would pop up, twisting his expression or poisoning his choice of phrase. Perhaps he should content himself with undermining the children’s respect for Steel (without, of course, ever saying anything directly against him). Flenser sighed, and patted Jefri’s arm comfortingly. “Ravna will be back. I’m sure of it.” The human sniffled a little, then reached out to pet the part of Flenser’s head that was not shrouded by the cloak. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, and his attention drifted back to —

  Note 1100

  — the forest and Rangolith’s troops. The group had been moving uphill for almost ten minutes. The others were lightly burdened and used to this sort of exercise. Flenser’s two members were lagging. He hissed at the group leader.

  Note 1101

  The group leader sidled back, his squad shifting briskly out of his way. He stopped when his nearest was fifteen feet from Flenser’s. The soldier’s heads cocked this way and that. “Your wishes … My Lord?” This one was new; he had been briefed about the cloaks, but Flenser knew the fellow didn’t understand the new rules. The gold and silver that glinted in the darkness of the cloaks — those colors were reserved for the Lords of the Domain. Yet there only two of Flenser here; normally such a fragment could barely carry on a conversation, much less give reasonable orders. Just as disconcerting, Flenser knew, was his lack of mind sound. “Zombie” was the word some of the troops used when they thought themselves alone.

  Flenser pointed up the hill; the timberline was only a few yards away. “Farscout Rangolith is on the other side. We will take a short cut,” he said weakly.

  Part of the other was already looking up the hill. “That is not good, sir.” The trooper spoke slowly. Stupid damn duo, his posture said. “The bad ones will see us.”

  Note 1102

  Flenser glowered at the other, a hard thing to do properly when you are just two. “Soldier, do you see the gold on my shoulders? Even one of me is worth all of you. If I say take a short cut, we do it — even if it means walking belly deep through brimstone.” Actually, Flenser knew exactly where Vendacious had put lookouts. There was no risk in crossing the open ground here. And he was so tired.

  The group leader still didn’t know quite what Flenser was, but he saw the dark-cloaks were at least as dangerous as any full-pack lord. He backed off humbly, bellies dragging on the ground. The group turned up hill and a few minutes later were walking across open heather.

  Rangolith’s command post was less than a half mile away along this path —

  Note 1103

  Flenser with Steel walked into the inner keep. The stone was freshly cut, the walls thrown up with the feverish speed of all this castle’s construction. Thirty feet over their heads, where vault met buttresses, there were small holes set in the stonework. Those holes would soon be filled with gunpowder — as would slots in the wall surrounding the landing field. Steel called those the Jaws of Welcome. Now he turned a head back to Flenser. “So what does Rangolith say?”

  “Sorry. He’s been out on patrol. He should be here — I mean, he should be in camp — any minute.” Flenser did his best to conceal his own trips with the scouts. Such recons were not forbidden, but Steel would have demanded explanations if he knew.

  Note 1104

  Flenser with Rangolith’s troops sloshed through water-soaked h
eather. The air over the snowmelt was delightfully chill, and the breeze pushed cool tongues partway under his wretched cloaks.

  Note 1105

  Rangolith had chosen the site for his command post well. His tents were in a slight depression at the edge of a large summer pond. A hundred yards away, a huge patch of a snow covered the hill above them and fed the pond, and kept the air pleasantly cool. The tents were out of sight from below, yet the site was so high in the hills that from the edge of the depression there was a clear view across three points of the compass, centered on the south. Resupply could be accomplished from the north with little chance of detection, and even if the damn fires struck the forests below, this post would be untouched.

  Farscout Rangolith was lounging about his signal mirrors, oiling the aiming gears. One of his subordinates lay with snouts stuck over the lip of the hill, scanning the landscape with its telescopes. He came to attention at the sight of Flenser, but his gaze wasn’t full of fear. Like most long-range scouts, he wasn’t completely terrorized by castle politics. Besides, Flenser had cultivated an “us against the prigs” relationship with the fellow. Now Rangolith growled at the group leader: “The next time you come prancing across the open like that, your asses go on report.”

  “My fault, Farscout,” put in Flenser. “I have some important news.” They walked away from the others, down toward Rangolith’s tent.

  “See something interesting, did you?” Rangolith was smiling oddly. He had long ago figured out that Flenser was not a brilliant duo, but part of a pack with members back at the castle.

  Note 1106

  “When is your next session with Craddleheads?” That was the fieldname for Vendacious.

  Note 1107

  “Just past noon. He hasn’t missed in four days. The Southerners seem to be on one big squat.”

  Note 1108

  “That will change.” Flenser repeated Steel’s orders for

  Note 1109

  Vendacious. The words came hard. The traitor within him was restive; he felt the beginnings of a major attack.

  “Wow! You’re going to move everything over to Margrum Climb in less than two — Never mind, that’s something I’d best not know.”

  Under his cloaks, Flenser bristled. There are limits to chumminess. Rangolith had his points, but maybe after all this was over he could be smoothed into something less … ad hoc.

  “Is that all, My Lord?”

  “Yes — No.” Flenser shivered with uncharacteristic puzzlement. The trouble with these cloaks, sometimes they made it hard to remember things. By the Great Pack, no! It was that Tyrathect again. Steel had ordered the killing of Woodcarver’s human — all things considered, a perfectly sensible move, but…

  Flenser with Steel shook his head angrily, his teeth clicking together. “Something the matter?” said Lord Steel. He really seemed to love the pain that the radio cloaks caused Flenser.

  “Nothing, my lord. Just a touch of the static.”

  Note 1110

  In fact there was no static, yet Flenser felt himself disintegrating. What had given the other such sudden power?

  Flenser with Amdijefri snapped his jaws open and shut, open and shut. The children jumped back from him, eyes wide. “It’s okay,” he said grimly, even as his two bodies thrashed against each other. There really were lots of good reasons why they should keep Johanna Olsndot alive: In the long run, it assured Jefri’s good will. And it could be Flenser’s secret human. Perhaps he could fake the Two Leg’s death to Steel and —No. No. No! Flenser grabbed back control, jamming the rationalizations out of mind. The very tricks he had used against Tyrathect, she thought to turn against him. It won’t work on me. I am the master of lies.

  Note 1111

  And then her attack twisted again, became a massive bludgeoning that destroyed all thought.

  With Flenser, with Rangolith, with Amdijefri— all of him was making little gibbering noises now. Lord Steel danced around him, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. Rangolith goggled at him in frank amazement.

  Note 1112

  The two children edged back to touch him, “Are you hurt? Are you hurt?” The human slipped those remarkable hands under the radio cloak and brushed softly at Flenser’s bleeding fur. The world blurred in a surge of static. “No. Don’t do that. It might hurt him more,” came Amdi’s voice. The puppies’ tiny muzzles reached out, trying to help with the cloaks.

  Flenser felt his being pushed downwards, towards oblivion. Tyrathect’s final attack was a frontal assault, without rationalizations or sly infiltration, and…

  … And she looked out upon herself in astonishment. After so many days, I am me. And in control. Enough butchering of innocents. If anyone is to die, it is Steel and Flenser. Her head followed Steel’s prancing forms, picked out the most articulate member. She gathered her legs beneath her, and prepared to leap at its throat. Come just a little closer … and die.

  Note 1113

  Tyrathect’s last moment of consciousness probably didn’t last longer than five seconds. Her attack on Flenser was a desperate, all-out thing that left her without reserves or internal defense. Even as she tensed to leap upon Steel, she felt her soul being pulled back and down, and Flenser rising up from the darkness. She felt the member’s legs spasm and collapse, the ground smash into its face…

  … And Flenser was back in control. The weakling’s attack had been astonishing. She really had cared for the ones who were to be destroyed, cared so much she was willing to sacrifice herself if it would kill Flenser. And that had been her undoing. Suicide is never something to hang pack dominance on. Her very resolve had weakened her hold on the hindmind — and given The Master his chance. He was back in control, and with a great opportunity. Tyrathect’s assault had left her defenseless. The innermost mental barriers around her three members were suddenly as thin as the skin of an overripe fruit. Flenser slashed through the membrane, pawed at the flesh of her mind, spattering it across his own. The three who had been her core would still live, but never again would they have a soul separate from his.

  Note 1114

  Flenser with Steel sprawled as though unconscious, his convulsions subsiding. Let Steel think him incapacitated. It would give him time to think of the most advantageous explanation.

  Flenser with Rangolith came slowly to his feet, though the two members were still in a posture of confusion. Flenser pulled them together. No explanations were due here, but it would be best if Farscout didn’t suspect soulstrife. “The cloaks are powerful tools, dear Rangolith; sometimes a bit too powerful.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Flenser let a smile spread across his features. For a moment he was silent, savoring what he would say next. No, there was no sign of the weak-willed one. This had been her last, best try at domination — her last and biggest mistake. Flenser’s smile spread further, all the way to the two with Amdijefri. It suddenly occurred to him that Johanna Olsndot would be the first person he had ordered killed since his return to Hidden Island. Johanna Olsndot would therefore be the first blood on three of his muzzles.

  Note 1115

  “There’s one more item for Craddleheads, Farscout. An execution….” As he spoke the details, the warmth of a decision well-made spread through his members.

  Note 1116

  Chapter 35

  Note 1117

  The only good thing about all the waiting had been the chance it gave the wounded. Now that Vendacious had found a way past the Flenserist defenses, everyone was anxious to break camp, but….

  Johanna spent the last afternoon at the field hospital. The hospital was laid off in rough rectangles, each about six meters across. Some of the plots had ragged tents — those belonging to wounded who were still smart enough to care for themselves. Others were surrounded by stranded fencing; inside each of those was a single member, the survivor of what had once been an entire pack. The singletons could easily have jumped the fences, but most seemed to recognize their purpose, and stayed within.r />
  Johanna pulled the food cart through the area, stopping at first one patient and then another. The cart was a bit too large for her, and sometimes it got caught in the roots that grew across the the forest floor. Yet this was a job that she could do better than any pack, and it was nice to find a way she could help.

  In the forest around the hospital there was the sound of kherhogs being coaxed up to wagon ties, the shouts of crews securing the cannons and getting the camp gear stowed. From the maps Vendacious had shown at the meeting, it was clear the next two days would be an exhausting time — but at the end of it they would have the high ground behind unsuspecting Flenserists.

  She stopped at the first little tent. The threesome inside had heard her coming and was outside now, running little circles around her cart. “Johanna! Johanna!” it said in her own voice. This was all that was left of one of Woodcarver’s minor strategists; once upon a time, it had known some Samnorsk. The pack had originally been six; three had been killed by the wolves. What was left was the “talker” part — about as bright as a five year old, though with an odd vocabulary. “Thank you for food. Thank you.” Its muzzles pushed at her. She patted the heads before reaching into the cart and pulling out bowls of lukewarm stew. Two of them dug in right away, but the third sat back for a moment and chatted. “I hear, we fight soon.”

  Not you anymore, but“Yes. We are going up by the dry fall, just east of here.”

  “Uh, oh.” It said. “Uh, oh. That’s bad. Poor seeing, no control, ambush scary.” Apparently the fragment had some memories of its own tactical work. But there was no way Johanna could explain Vendacious’s reasoning to it. “Don’t worry, we will make it okay.”

  “You sure? You promise?”

  Johanna smiled gently at what was left of a rather nice fellow. “Yes. I promise.”

  “Ah-ah-ah…. Okay.” Now all three had their muzzles stuck into stew bowls. This was one of the lucky ones, really. It showed plenty of interest in what went on around it. Just as important, it had childlike enthusiasms. Pilgrim said that fragments like this could grow back easily if they were just treated right long enough to bear a puppy or two.