Beowulf's Children

by Larry Niven

  “Hey. Chaka? Do you know about a crab that lives in the tops of horsemanes?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wondered why the grendels didn’t eat them all.”

  “Grendels never did climb the big horsemanes. They knocked down smaller ones and ate them. Anything that lived in the top of a big one of those might survive. These do. Dad’s studied them. They breed by getting the attention of the pterodons, who see a wiggle of prey in the top of a horsemane, and dive, and get eggs on their feet.”

  Edgar’s fingers were still molding the shape of a hurricane. “What brought it to mind was my back. When Aaron and I climbed that tree. Raced for it. I was winning. I got just in reach of the top, and something with teeth flashed right at my eyes. I dropped right past Aaron.”

  He watched the hurricane raging at the hangars. Nodded to himself. He said, “I was a long time healing. Cassandra was still relearning the old medical techniques she lost to Greg’s fire. Trish, Chaka, this should do it, and it’s set to go. I should be on duty throughout.”

  “Then we’d better get on the stick,” Chaka said. “Here.” He’d made Edgar a second cappuccino. Trish set it down for him, and kissed him. Chaka watched that for a bit, then stepped outside.

  ♦ ChaptEr 17 ♦

  edgar’s storm

  But the king covered his face,

  and the king cried with a loud voice,

  O my son Absalom, O Absalom, my son, my son!

  And Joab came into the house to the king, and said,

  Thou hast shamed this day the faces of all thy servants,

  which this day have saved thy life.

  In that thou lovest thine enemies, and hatest thy friends.

  —2 Samuel 19:4-6

  Hendrick Sills winced as he glared at Cassandra’s view of the coming storm. It was a nightmare swirl of reds and blacks, pressure zones and cold fronts, sweeping down from the north. Within a few hours it would be hammering the island, the worst storm in a decade.

  The onboard barometer had yet to drop far, but fat raindrops were splashing against the windscreen. The dirigible was anchored down tight, and he was making a final check of all compartments. Make sure that all equipment is secure, triple-check the mooring lines, and then scoot to shelter.

  Toshiro Tanaka scrabbled briskly up the chrome ladder connecting the command deck with the cargo hold. He saluted, half-seriously. “We’re secure, sir,” Toshiro said. Good kid. They were all good kids, really. Pity Zack had landed on them so hard, but it was for their own good.

  “All right,” Hendrick said. “I’m getting back to camp before that storm hits. You probably don’t want to stay aboard—it won’t be fun if the wind picks up.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  Hendrick left Toshiro there in the control room, and climbed down the ladder to the main level. He paused at the door, trying to remember if there was something, anything that he had left undone. It felt as if there was something. But he couldn’t put a name to it.

  Oh, well . . .

  He climbed down the gangplank. The great reptilian bulk of Robor loomed above him. Clouds were gathering, but it still didn’t look like a nightmare of a storm. You could never tell about these things. Better to trust Cassandra.

  He hopped into his skeeter and revved it, spinning up into the darkening sky. He dove at the mountains, whipping through the passes, hitting each beacon in turn. Despite his odd feeling about the storm warning, the air was choppy. He didn’t want to have an accident.

  There were no guards at the main supply depot. None were needed. Technically, there were no guard duties anywhere in the camp.

  But on the other hand . . .

  Twenty years ago, Cadmann Weyland had taken dogs, and supplies, and a skeeter, and begun his own encampment up on the Bluff. On two other occasions, colonists had emulated him, starting branches up in the eastern mountains without formal permission. All three incidents had followed disagreements, arguments, harsh words at Camelot. The Star Born were certainly upset, and there was precedent for, well, freelance requisitioning.

  So in the evenings, it was not uncommon to find Earth Born busying themselves at special duties around the livestock, the landing pads, the central supply depot . . .

  Tonight, Carolyn McAndrews had drawn the short straw.

  She counted cartons of Concord grapes shipped in from the eastern drops.

  She heard something behind her, and turned. The warehouse was shadowed, and she touched a button on her belt, turning the lights up. “Zack? That you?”

  The administrator had been in a couple of hours earlier for a sour exchange of opinions. Zack had been irritable, stubborn, and unreasonable, wanting tomorrow’s ledger results yesterday. “Zack?” she called out. “You know, you’re not going to get things faster by bugging me every couple of minutes, you know?”

  No reply.

  She walked down the narrow corridor. She could swear that she had heard something back there. The camp was relatively quiet, folks settling in for the evening. She could hear rain beginning to patter against the roof, and the wind was picking up. Good weather for putting your feet up in front of a fire, and—

  A shadow detached itself from the others along the corridor, a small female shadow, and Carolyn felt sudden, swift joy. “Ruth! What brings you out here?”

  Ruth smiled hesitantly. There was something different about the girl. Carolyn had noticed it in the past week. She walked a little differently, combed her hair a little more carefully. Rachael had noticed it too, she was certain, but there had been no conversation about it. Carolyn was pretty sure she knew what the telltale signs meant, and it was hard to repress a grin.

  Welcome to the other side, sweetheart. Who was he? Was he nice to you?

  “Hello, Ruth. What do you need? The avocados have turned ripe—”

  “I’m sorry,” Ruth said. Her face had changed. The smile had been a mask. There was sorrow and fear there—and something else. Excitement.

  Carolyn had only a moment to think: Ruth?

  Then light exploded behind her eyes. Pain, so abrupt it barely had time to register before she fell over onto her side, unconscious.

  Trish dropped the grendel gun to her side. She stepped out of concealment and stared at Carolyn with eyes that were cool and unconcerned. An hour of sleep, and she would be as good as new. The capacitor darts had been very carefully adjusted.

  Ruth stood with her hands clasped very tightly together. She looked white as a ghost.

  “You did fine, honey,” Trish said. “Just fine.”

  She gave a low whistle. Little Chaka and Derik emerged from the shadows. Chaka bent to roll Carolyn out of her contorted position and push her purse under her head. He looked at Ruth and might have spoken, but set to work instead.

  Little was said in the next few minutes, although much was done.

  Hendrick was twisting through one of the last mountain passes when he caught a glimpse of something traveling north, in from the main encampment. Two skeeters, locked for heavy cargo, carrying a pallet of some kind. It looked heavy.

  They were lost in shadows before he could see anything else.

  Hendrick triggered the radio. “Hello. This is Skeeter Eleven. Skeeter . . . ” He checked their IDs on the dashboard display. They were Skeeters VIII and XII. Eight was registered to the kids at Surf’s Up, the other to the main encampment. He felt mild curiosity. “You guys better get settled in. Looks like a bad one.”

  Aaron Tragon’s voice came back. “Thanks for the warning. We’ll be down in twenty minutes. See you when this mess is over.”

  “Roger and out.”

  Hendrick headed in toward camp.

  Carlos Martinez wandered into the main communications center. Edgar Sikes was the only one on duty, and that bothered Carlos. The boy had grown more introverted since his father’s death. He tended to hang out at Surf’s Up more, and talk to the First a little less, perhaps. But the big change was that he had become an absolute workhorse. Burying himself
in his job, as if it were his only salvation. And since most of the communications center could be handled by one energetic operator, he spent an inordinate amount of time alone.

  Carlos stood in the doorway, watching the screens as they displayed images from the various satellites. Geographic’s skeletal framework hovered just above the blue mist of Avalon’s upper atmosphere. From another angle, Tau Ceti was just sinking below the horizon.

  Another image was of gathering storm clouds, swirling just off the subcontinent. It was almost hurricane dimensions, possibly the storm of the decade.

  So far, only a few droplets.

  “Edgar?” he said quietly. “Muchacho, aren’t you pushing yourself a little hard?”

  Edgar almost jumped, he spun around so hard. “Carlos! Give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you.”

  Carlos chuckled. Edgar was definitely working too hard. But why so jumpy? On the other hand, with a storm that large coming in, nervousness was easy to understand.

  “Everything battened down on the coast? The waves could get pretty rough.”

  “We’re okay. We can pull up into the foothills if there’s any problem.”

  Carlos nodded. “Do we have a live feed from Surf’s Up?”

  “Well, yes, but they control it. The Star Born have their secrets, Tío Carlos. They’ll let us know if they see a problem.”

  Carlos nodded, and ordinarily would have let it drop, but something was nagging for his attention. What, then? “How about Robor? That’s on our line, not Surf’s Up.”

  Edgar switched in an image from one of the coastal security lines. Rain was falling out at the beach. Robor looked secure, and in the night vision its dark, dragonesque bulk swayed ponderously in the increasing wind. Everything looked secure. The side door opened, and a man hurried down the gangplank. Hendrick Sills. Carlos shrugged. “Well, amigo, if you’re happy here, I guess we’re happy to let you. When did you get in?”

  “About five this morning.”

  “Long day.” Ah, that smell was what was twitching at his mind.

  “I like the work,” Edgar said.

  “Goes better with coffee, doesn’t it?”

  “You should know, Tío Carlos.”

  Carlos nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

  Carlos left the bungalow. Outside he looked up at the sky. The sky was drizzling, but not as badly as it had been at the beach. He adjusted his collar.

  Hendrick must be more immune to rain than he was, Carlos thought. Hendrick hadn’t turned his collar up as he came down the gangplank, out of shelter of Robor.

  He walked back toward his studio, mind already drifting toward the work to be done. He wondered where Edgar got his coffee. Even if he was in hiking shape, and that would be nice, Edgar had still been too busy—

  A skeeter’s low roar bent down on his head. He stopped, looking up at the sky, and let the rain patter against his open eyes. He blinked.

  He looked back down, at the buildings around him, their shadows melding with . . .

  Shadows. Robor’s shadow was darker than the surrounding night, and it stretched on the ground as if Tau Ceti had yet to disappear below the horizon.

  But Tau Ceti had set. It didn’t make sense.

  The skeeter had landed. Carlos wanted to ask the pilot about the weather out on the coast. He was two-thirds of the way to the landing pad when he met Hendrick Sills coming the other way.

  He blinked. There was no way in hell . . .

  “Hendrick,” he hailed, raising an arm. “When did you leave the beach?”

  “Twenty minutes ago?” Hendrick wiped water out of his eyes. “Why?”

  Sunset. There was still light. Hence, the shadow. But it was a darker video image, hence Edgar had tampered with it.

  “Was it raining out there yet?”

  “Not much. A few drops.”

  On the screen, it was pouring.

  Alarm bells were cascading in Carlos’s head. “Something’s wrong,” he said. “Was there anything unusual about the beach? Or Robor?”

  “Nothing. Battened down nicely.” He thought. “I saw a couple of skeeters heading toward the beach. Carrying heavy cargo. Thought that was a little odd, considering the storm coming in.”

  “Bad one,” Carlos said cautiously.

  “Supposed to be.”

  As if on cue, the rain died to a light patter.

  “Let’s go over to supply central, see what was so damned important.”

  Carolyn McAndrews had made it to her hands and knees. She was shaking her head like a big, sick dog. “Mierda,” Carlos said. “Hit the alarm.”

  Carolyn said, “Ruth mm. Moss. Sorry,” dropped her head, and tried to vomit.

  The rain was picking up as Carlos ran across the camp. The alarm buzzers sounded, and colonists were pouring out of their houses. “Someone robbed Supply!” he yelled as he raced back to communications. “Get over there. Help Carolyn!”

  His mind buzzed. Who? Why? Jesus . . . what was going on?

  He made it into Communication in another twenty seconds. Edgar saw his face and turned his chair from the screen, his lips pursing in an unhappy whistle.

  Carlos grabbed the pudgy boy by his shirt and lifted him up out of the chair, pivoting and slamming him into the wall. “What in the hell have you done?!”

  Edgar’s lips worked without producing any sound. Carlos hit him, quite hard, with his right fist, in the center of his fat little mouth.

  Edgar licked his lips. He waited, politely it seemed, to see if Carlos would hit him again. Carlos held back, somehow. Edgar said, “Something killed my dad, and Linda too. You Earth Born have been trying to track it down with computer games. It can’t reach you from the mainland, whatever it is, so it’s all very, very safe, but you must have ice on your minds to think you can—”

  “We’re trying!”

  “Do you think you know computers better than I do, Tío Carlos?”

  “Don’t call me Uncle. No, I don’t.”

  “Joe Sikes and Linda Weyland are still dead. Whatever killed them is still running loose. You can’t find it with computer games. You need data for that.”

  “Jesus.” Carlos wiped water out of his face, and hit the communication board. “Cassandra.”

  “Yes, Carlos.”

  “Patch me to Cadmann.”

  “There is interference on that frequency.”

  “Speculate.”

  “Artificial origin. It seems that someone has deliberately scrambled that frequency.”

  “Cabrón!” he shouted.

  Blood bubbled from Edgar’s nose, but in his eyes was a quiet challenge. Edgar had pulled it off. The mad genius had faked a fucking storm, right down to the rainswept image of Robor. Supplies had been stolen, and the communications link with Cadmann had been broken. Precious time was lost. What else did they have planned?”

  “Dios mío,” he said. “They’re stealing Robor to go back to the mainland, aren’t they? Aren’t they, you little shit!” Edgar didn’t answer. Something had to get through the boy’s armor. “You’ve taken back the mainland for Aaron Tragon!”

  That stung, maybe. “Oooh, no,” he said, and stopped.

  Zack and Harry Siep appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?” Zack asked, staring at Edgar.

  “He’ll tell you,” Carlos said. “Tell them all about it, bizquerno, or I’ll break every soft bone in your head. I’m going for Cadmann.”

  Carlos jumped into Skeeter III and pushed the button—and nothing happened.

  He jumped out and tried Skeeter I. Nothing. They had sabotaged the skeeters. He threw his head back and screamed frustration to the clouds.

  Wait. Hendrick had just come in. It was likely that the saboteurs hadn’t had time to damage his machine. He tapped his collar. “Hendrick. What was your skeeter number?”

  There was a moment’s pause as Cassandra routed the call, and then Carlos heard: “Number eleven. What’s going on here?”

  “We’ve got big troubles, that’s w
hat. Get a posse together. I’ll be back in touch in ten minutes.”

  Carlos raced across the skeeter garage, and found XI. He punched the button, uttering a short prayer of gratitude when it coughed to life. He taxied it across the garage and revved, gathered speed along thirty feet of paved runway, and took off.

  He wiped his forehead, only it wasn’t rainwater now, it was sweat. Where was the radio blockade? “Hello. Cadmann. Come in, Cadmann.”

  Nothing. No reply. “Calling command center. Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that whatever this interference is, it’s on Cadmann’s end.”

  He had gained the altitude he needed to dive down toward Cadmann’s Bluff, hitting the red line. The engine couldn’t be cool yet. Hendrick had barely brought it in. He rose up over the edge of the Bluff, and dropped down to land off-center on Cadmann’s skeeter pad. He hopped out and had made it halfway to the house before Cadmann met him at the door. “What the hell is going on?”

  Justin stood behind him in the doorway.

  “I’ve got to talk to you,” he said. He didn’t want to say what he had to say in front of Justin, and that made him feel even worse.

  Cadmann nodded and said, “I’ll just be a minute.”

  And closed the door behind him.

  “Listen,” Carlos said as soon as they were alone, “Edgar fixed the weather report to get us off guard. Supplies have been stolen. Most of the skeeters have been disabled.”

  “Is Robor secure?”

  “No way of knowing. Communications are sealed—we couldn’t even contact you.”

  Cadmann ran, yelling back at Justin, “Bring the other skeeter down, Justin. We’ve got trouble.”

  Cadmann was at Carlos’s skeeter before the blades had stopped spinning, and Carlos could do little save hang on. Below them, he saw Justin rev up the other skeeter, and take it into the air.