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 make trouble. It will need no staff, since it’s for containment, not treatment.”
“So, a prison camp?”
“No. An embassy! The Tropicals’ Embassy. Sometimes absurdity is the best solution.” Honking laughter backed up Harmony’s words. Tines could do that, provide their own audio accompaniment. Mostly it was cute, but then there was Harmony Redjackets. “Of course, there will be some fences needed, and in the early days guarding the exterior will be good practice for all those soldier packs the Queen keeps on payroll. But the compound will include a little farmland, enough for hardicore grass and a yam garden. We all know that Tropicals don’t like meat.”
Johanna glared back at the pack. Tines were omnivores, but they all loved meat. The only vegetarians among them were the very poor. Harmony had definitely won the argument if that was all the comeback she had. She glanced at Pilgrim. “Well, then,” she finally replied, “I suppose that’s a solution.”
In fact,” said Pilgrim, “it might even be a good solution, depending on the details. You have to realize, this situation could go on for several years. I’m not sure that—”
“And that,” interrupted Harmony, “is, thank goodness, not my problem. You can take your concerns about the future to the Queen, as I’m sure you will continue to do.”
“Um, yes,” Pilgrim replied.
Behind her, Johanna could feel one of Pilgrim pulling gently at her waistband, telling her it was time for an orderly retreat. Pilgrim was afraid she would try to get the last word. He knew her too well. Okay, this time she would prove Pilgrim wrong. She came to her feet, careful not to crack her head on the ceiling. “Well then, Sir Harmony. Thank you so much for solving this problem in such a timely and, um, graceful way.” See, I can be diplomatic. She bent a little more, but it wasn’t a bow; she was just trying to back out of the office.
Harmony made a little “don’t go yet” gesture. “You know, I had an excellent chat with Her Majesty. I think that she and I have come to think very much alike on issues of probity and public health. After all, broodkenning is one of the foundations of a happy nation. I think we in the East understand that much better than most people here. The reaction against Flenser’s excesses was bad enough. You humans have added your own confused ethics to the mess.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” said Johanna, waving a gesture she was fairly certain Harmony would not recognize. She really had to get away from this guy.
Unfortunately, Harmony was the kind who liked to rub it in. Or maybe he thought that the time to press ahead is when you’ve already scored some points. “You should understand, Johanna, that your crazy influence on the Royal Broodkennery is coming to an end. We simply don’t have the resources for your notion of a Fragmentarium.”
That got her attention. “You’re giving up on the war veterans, the accident victims?” She took a step back in Harmony’s direction, pulling against Pilgrim’s jaws.
Harmony seemed oblivious to her tone. “No, not that. The Queen is quite explicit. Though the odds are against success, and merges of adult fragments are often ineffectual packs, even so we owe the veterans our best efforts. It’s the foolishness that has to go. Pack members get old, they get incurably ill, and they die. I’m sorry, I have to say it. Despite all your wishful thinking, members die. It’s not our job at the broodkennery to prolong that process—and we simply do not have the resources to do so.”
“But the old ones die in any case, Harmony. Why should you care that their last year or two is pleasant?”
The redjackets shrugged. “That’s why, when I first came to this job, I thought your foolish ideas were harmless. But have you noticed? Your unhealthful approac
h has just encouraged normal packs to linger over their dying parts. We have more and more of these sick and unproductive parts here. They aren’t getting any better. We agree, they never will get better. But they are filling up our floorspace, taking away from the cases—including those adult singletons you so seem to love—that we could save. Someone has to make the hard decisions. There needs to be a thinning.”
Pilgrim stuck a head back into the room. “You may have trouble justifying your ‘hard decisions’ to soft-hearted western packs who want to carry on with their oldest members.”
Harmony steepled a couple of his heads judiciously. “It will ultimately be the choice of the packs involved. We’ll simply tell them our assessment of their weaknesses and point out that we no longer have the resources to care for their morbid members. They’ll be free to let us deal with them—or they can take that responsibility themselves, as decent packs have always done.” Traditionally, that meant that when a member could no longer keep up with normal hunting, well, it would fall behind. In fact, “to fall behind” was the Interpack euphemism for member death.
“And the ones you take care of, how do you kill them, hmm?” Johanna took another step back into the room, far enough that Harmony finally understood the threat.
Two of him surged forward, blustering, but the others were staring up at her a little nervously. “Th-there are traditional ways, not at all painful or distressing. You poor two-legs, trapped in a single mortal body, I can’t expect you to understand our point of view.” Now all of him seemed to have recovered courage. Five pairs of toothy jaws were waggling around in front of her.
Behind her, all of Pilgrim had grabbed her pants and the bottom of her jacket. No more subtlety; he was doing his best to drag her from the room. His voice was diplomatic, belying the effort: “Well, thank you for the advance notice, dear Harmony.”
The redjackets gave a gracious wave. “My pleasure—though it was the Queen’s suggestion that I inform you.”
“I’ll thank her myself,” said Pilgrim, “the next time we’re together.”
There were implications in Pilgrim’s words that should give the chief broodkenner pause. For packs, “being together” could mean literally “being of one mind.” It was certainly a stronger retort than anything Johanna could think of. She let her toothy friend lead her away.
Jo didn’t speak until they were out of the building, beyond even Tinish earshot. “I hope you meant what you said, Pilgrim. About talking to Woodcarver.”
“Oh yes indeedy. Harmony takes his redjackets much too seriously. His kind is the worst thing about the East Coast.” But Pilgrim sounded more amused than enraged.
“He’s a monstrous sonsabitches,” said Johanna.
Pilgrim was looking around at the multistoried barracks that stood on both sides of the path. From here, you couldn’t even see the exercise field and the valley beyond. “This place has really gotten overcrowded, you know,” he said.
• • •
The rest of the afternoon was spent in something unusual: a screaming argument with Pilgrim. Fortunately for her hearing, it was Johanna who did all the screaming. How could her best friend in the world be so lukewarm about the murders planned at the Fragmentarium? By sundown, Johanna was convinced that he was taking her case to Woodcarver just to keep Jo mellow. Pilgrim was certainly doing his best to avoid arguing the issues with her. He really didn’t understand why thinning the old members was murder. And he didn’t want Johanna to come along to talk to the Queen.
“It’s an intimate thing, Johanna. You know, sex and mindtalk.” He waggled his heads salaciously.
Normally that excuse worked. She certainly had no place in a Tinish love affair—but tonight she suspected Pilgrim thought that Jo and her weird human notions would just cause trouble. “Okay, then,” she said. “You do your thing with Woodcarver. But make her understand! This redjackets crap is just as bad as the Old Flenser.”
“Oh, I will, I promise. I’ll do my very best.” The fivesome danced around nervously, then finally chased himself out the door. Coward.
She should follow him up to the New Castle, maybe talk to Woodcarver herself. Pilgrim just didn’t have the proper fire.
Fortunately, some shred of common sense remained, and Jo stayed inside until Pilgrim was well gone. She could give Ravna Bergsndot a call. Along with Woodcarver, Ravna was Queen of the Realm. Ravna might not take her title seriously, but she was the most powerful person in the world. She could tell Woodcarver what to do about this, and by the Powers Above, her word would rule. Yeah, the trouble was that Ravna was too much of a compromiser. She would compromise about anything, as long as it didn’t get in the way of fighting the Blight.
Johanna stepped out into the twilight and took a few deep breaths. The northwest still held sunset colors, but elsewhere the sky was darkening blue, with stars already visible in the east. She cursed this world often enough, but summer was mostly a beautiful time. You could forget how deadly a natural world could be. You could even sometimes forget what you had lost. This little cabin that she shared with Pilgrim was an upper-class residence by the standards of the locals. If Ravna’s plans for heating water with the starship’s beam gun could be implemented, houses like this would be more comfortable than any old Tinish castle.
Maybe she should walk up to Newcastle town. That was where most of the Children lived, and all of the toddlers. Her brother might be up there. No, Jef and Amdi were in the north woods this tenday, learning to be scouts. But there were other Children she could talk to. Nevil? He was probably still down in Cliffside village. He’d be perfect to talk to; he’d understand. Too bad the phone lines hadn’t been strung that far, or else she’d call him for sure.
Johanna walked downhill, away from the New Castle and the town that surrounded it. There really was no one to talk to tonight. Maybe that was best; she was so bloody angry. Packs could be lovable, nicer than most humans. But even the nicest of them didn’t really see their members as persons. She walked a little faster, letting the old frustration grow. Today had brought a lot of that to a head, and she wasn’t going to let it go. In the past, she had seen members die; they were people, even if she could never convince the packs of that.
Well, if talking could not make a difference, maybe there were actions that would. She let that thought rattle around in her mind for a few moments, imagining what she could do if she had some of the powers that every Straumer—even every Straumer child—had had before they fell Down Here. Ravna’s starship, that was nothing compared to a few merge toys and braemsjers. She’d raise the fragments to mindfulness, give them tools that would wipe the smug expression from packs like Harmony.
It really felt good to imagine such a turn of fortune. And it would have all been possible, not dreaming at all, before they were cast down from the Top of the Beyond. Before everything had gone so terribly wrong at the High Lab.
She looked around, realized she’d walked more than a kilometer. She’d reached the edge of the Margrum Valley. The moon had risen, showing the far side of the valley afloat above an evening fog. The path—its official name was the Queen’s Road—became a bit twisty, zigzagging back and forth as it descended the north wall of the valley. During the day, there would be plenty of wagon traffic here, the kherhog handlers arguing about their right of way.
While she was imagining impossible revenge, her feet had carried her halfway back to the Fragmentarium. Maybe her feet were smarter than her head. Harmony complained about not having floorspace, and Woodcarver agreed. Well, there were ways of making floorspace. There were ways of making everyone look up and listen! Her pace picked up. Now both head and feet were cooperating—what a Tinish thing to say—as she realized how much change she could make all by herself. Somewhere in the back of her mind a little voice was saying that what she could do might be worse than not doing anything at all. But for the moment that voice was easy to ignore.
She came around the last turn before the Fragmentarium. The top of the cloud
layer had just submerged the buildings, so all she could see were a few dim lights, probably from the old-members barracks. Admin would be hidden around on the other side of the compound. The Queens’s Road continued on its winding path down to Cliffside village, but the turnoff to the Fragmentarium was just another fifty meters or so. She walked forward, into the fog.
“Hei, Johanna.” The voice came from a little way ahead.
Jo gave a squeak of surprise, her mind cycling through variations on fight, flight, or make friendly social conversation. She peered into the mist. Aha. Friendly conversation was in order. It was a pack of four. No, five if you counted the puppy in a pannier.
“Hello,” Johanna said. “Do I know you?”
The four adult members brought their heads together. Even a meter or two of fog was enough to soak mindsound into silence; the pack was trying to think clearly. After a moment the voice replied: “Not understand, Johanna. Sorry.”
Jo made little sweep of her hand. Most packs seemed to take that motion to be like the Tinish head gesture for “That’s okay.” Of course, it might be too dark for the pack to see.
After a moment, they all continued along the path. As usual the fog was playing little tricks with sound. There was a buzzing sound that might have been some beat frequency of mindsounds. Or maybe it was just humming nervously. “I, hmmm,” it said—trying to think of the Samnorsk words? “I … am,” there was a Tinish chord that might have been familiar, “I … work … New Castle, um … work stone.”
“You’re a mason at the New Castle?”
“Yes! Right word. Right word.”
Before the humans came, before the Children’s Academy, stonemason work was a fairly high-standing tech profession; it was still quite respectable. They walked together in silence, divided by a difficult language barrier. Now she realized that they were not alone; there was a pack pacing along behind them, and maybe another behind that. Certainly Mr. Stonemason had heard them, so it seemed more mysterious than sinister to Johanna.
The Children of the Sky zot-3 Page 5
