Zones of Thought Trilogy

by Vernor Vinge

  The exhibit began with paintings and mosaics, generations old. The idea behind videomancy went back long before modern times, to the superstition that if you could only picture your enemies perfectly, you would have power over them. The notion had inspired a lot of art, the invention of new dyes and mixing formulas. Even now, the best pictures were only a shadow of what the Spider eye could see. Modern videomancy claimed that science could produce the perfect picture, and the ancient dreams would be realized. Daddy thought the whole thing was hilarious.

  Viki walked between tall racks of glowing video tubes. A hundred still landscapes, fuzzy and blurred…but the most advanced tubes showed colors you never saw except in extreme lamps and sunlight. Every year, the video tubes got better. People were talking about picture radio even. That idea fascinated Little Victory—forget the mind-control quackery.

  From somewhere beyond the far end of the hall there were voices, frolicsome jabber that sounded like Rhapsa and Little Hrunk. Viki froze in startlement. A few seconds passed…and two babies came bounding through the far entrance. Viki remembered Jirlib’s sarcastic prediction that Rhapsa and Hrunk would show up, too. For an instant she thought he’d been right. But no, two strangers followed them into the hall, and the children were younger than her little sister and brother.

  Viki squeaked something excited and raced down the hall toward the children. The adults—the parents?—froze for an instant, then swept up their children and turned in retreat.

  “Wait! Wait, please! I just want to talk.” Viki forced her legs down to a casual walking gait and lifted her hands in a friendly smile. Behind her, Viki could see that Gokna and Jirlib had left the Distort display, and were staring after her with expressions of stark surprise.

  The parents stopped, came slowly back. Both Gokna and Viki were clearly out-of-phase. That seemed to encourage the strangers more than anything.

  They talked for a few minutes, politely formal. Trenchet Suabisme was a planner at New World Construction; her husband was a surveyor there. “Today seemed like a good day to come to the museum, what with most of the day-off people up in the mountains playing in the snow. Was that your plan, too?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Gokna—and for her and Jirlib maybe that was so. “But we are so glad to meet you, a-and your children. What are their names?” It was so weird to meet strangers who seemed more familiar than anyone but family. Trenchet and Alendon seemed to feel it too. Their children squirmed around loudly in their arms, refusing to retreat to Alendon’s back. After a few minutes, their parents set them back on the floor. The babies took two big hops each and ended up in the arms of Gokna and Viki. They scrambled around, chattering nonsense, their nearsighted baby eyes turning this way and that with excited curiosity. The one climbing all over Viki—Alequere, she was—couldn’t be much over two years old. Somehow, neither Rhapsa nor Little Hrunk had ever seemed so cute. Of course, when they had been two, Viki had been only seven and still out to get all the attention she could for herself. These children were nothing like the surly oophases they had met before now.

  The most embarrassing thing was the adults’ reaction when they learned exactly who Viki and her siblings were. Trenchet Suabisme was silent for a shocked second, “I-I guess we should have known. Who else could you be?…You know, when I was in my teens, I used to listen to your radio program. You seemed so awfully young, the only Outies I had ever heard. I really liked your show.”

  “Yeah,” said Alendon. He smiled as Alequere wormed her way into the pocket on the side of Viki’s jacket. “Knowing about you made it possible for me and Trenchet to think about having our own children. It’s been hard; we lost our first baby welts. But once they get eyes, they’re cute as can be.”

  The baby made happy squeaking noises as it scrambled around in Viki’s jacket. Her head finally emerged, waving eating hands. Viki stretched back to tickle the little hands. It made Viki proud to know that some had listened and gotten Daddy’s message, but—“It’s sad you still have to avoid the crowds. I wish there were more like you and your children.”

  Surprisingly, Trenchet chuckled. “Times are changing. More and more, people expect to be awake right through the Dark; they’re beginning to see that some rules have to change. We’ll need grown children around to help finish the construction. We know two other couples in New World who are trying to have children out-of-phase.” She patted her husband’s shoulders. “We won’t be alone forever.”

  The enthusiasm flowed across to Viki. Alequere and the other cobblie—Birbop?—were as nice as Rhapsa and Little Hrunk, but they were different, too. Now finally they might know lots of other children. For Viki it was like opening a window, and seeing all the sunlight’s colors.

  They walked slowly down the videomancy hall, Gokna and Trenchet Suabisme discussing various possibilities. Gokna was all for having the house on the hill turned into a meeting place for oophase families. Somehow, Viki suspected that would not fly with either Dad or the General, though for different reasons. But overall…something could be worked out; it made strategic sense. Viki followed the others, not paying much attention. She was having a very interesting time jiggling little Alequere. Playing with the cobblie was far more fun than seeing the snow could have been.

  Then behind all the chatting, she heard the distant ticking of many feet on marble. Four people? Five? They’d be coming through the same doorway that Viki had, just a few minutes before. Whoever it was would have an interesting surprise—the sight of six oophases, from babies to near-adults.

  Four of the newcomers were current-generation adults, big as any of Mother’s security people. They didn’t pause or even act surprised when they saw all the children. Their clothes were the same nondescript commercial jackets that Viki was used to back in the house on the hill. The leader was a sharp, last-generation cobber with the look of a senior noncom. Viki should have felt relief; these must be the people Brent had seen following them. But she didn’t recognize them—

  The leader held them all in her gaze, then gestured familiarly at Trenchet Suabisme. “We can take it from here. General Smith wants all the children back inside the security perimeter.”

  “W-what? I don’t understand?” Suabisme lifted her hands in confusion.

  The five strangers walked steadily forward, the leader nodding pleasantly. But her explanations were nonsense: “Two guards just aren’t enough for all the children. After you left, we got a tip there might be problems.” Two of the security types stepped smoothly between the children and the Suabisme adults. Viki felt herself pushed un-gently toward Jirlib and Gokna. Mother’s people had never behaved like this. “Sorry, this is an emergency—”

  Several things happened at once, totally confused and nonsensical. Both Trenchet and Alendon were shouting, panic mixed with anger. The two biggest strangers were pushing them back from the children. One was reaching into his pannier.

  “Hey, we’ve missed one!” Brent.

  Very high up, something was moving. The videomancy exhibit consisted of towering racks of display tubes. With inexorable grace, the nearest came toppling down, its pictures flickering out in showers of sparks and the sound of crumpling metal. She had a glimpse of Brent sailing off the top, just ahead of the destruction.

  The floor smashed up at her when the display rack hit. Everywhere was the bang of imploding video tubes, the buzz of uncontrolled high voltage. The rack had come down between her and the Suabismes—and right on top of two of the strangers. She had a glimpse of colored blood oozing across the marble. Two motionless forehands extended from under the rack; just beyond their grasp lay a snub-barreled shotgun.

  Then time resumed. Viki was grabbed roughly round her midsection and hauled away from the wreckage. On the other side of her abductor, she could hear Gokna and Jirlib shouting. There was a dull crunch. Gokna shrieked and Jirlib went silent.

  “Teamleader, what about—”

  “Never mind! We bagged all six. Move it. Move it!”

  As she was carri
ed from the hall, Viki got one glance back. But the strangers were leaving their two dead pals—and she couldn’t see beyond the fallen rack to where the Suabismes would be.

  TWENTY-NINE

  It was an afternoon that Hrunkner Unnerby would never forget. In all the years he had known Victory Smith, it was the first time he’d seen her come close to losing control. Just past noon the frantic call came over the microwave communications link, Sherkaner Underhill breaking through all military priorities with word of the kidnappings. General Smith dumped Sherkaner from the line and pulled her staff into emergency session. Suddenly Hrunkner Unnerby went from being a projects director to something like…like a sergeant. Hrunkner got her tri-prop on the flight line. He and lower staff checked background security. He wasn’t going to let his General take chances. Emergencies like this were just the things that enemies like to create, and when you’re thinking that nothing matters but that emergency, then they strike at their true targets.

  The tri-prop took less than two hours to make it from Lands Command to Princeton. But the aircraft was no flying command center; such things were beyond current budgets. So the General had two hours with only a low-speed wireless link. That was two hours away from the command and control hub at Lands Command or its near equal at Princeton. Two hours to listen to fragmentary reports and try to coordinate a response. Two hours for grief and anger and uncertainty to gnaw. It was midafternoon when they landed, then another half hour before they reached Hill House.

  Their car had scarcely stopped when Sherkaner Underhill was pulling the doors open, urging them out. He caught Unnerby by the arm, and spoke around him to the General. “Thanks for bringing Hrunkner. I need you both.” And he walked them across the foyer, drawing them down to his den on the ground floor.

  Over the years, Unnerby had observed Sherkaner in various tricky situations: talking his way into Lands Command in the middle of the Tiefer War, guiding an expedition right through the vacuum of the Deepest Dark, debating trads. Sherk didn’t always win, but he was always so full of surprise and imagination. Everything was a grand experiment and a wonderful adventure. Even when he failed, he saw how the failure would make for more interesting experiments. But today…today Sherkaner had met despair. He reached out to Smith, the tremor in his head and arms more pronounced than ever. “There has to be a way to find them. There has to be. I have computers, and the microwave link to Lands Command.” All the resources that had served him so well in the past. “I can get them back safely. I know I can.”

  Smith was very still for a moment. Then she moved close to him, laid an arm across Sherk’s shoulders, caressing his fur. Her voice was soft and stern, almost like a soldier bracing another about lost comrades. “No, dear. You can only do so much.” Outside, the afternoon was moving into overcast. A thin whistle of wind came through the half-opened windows, and the ferns scraped back and forth on the quartz panes. A dark green gloom was all that filtered down through the clouds and the shrubbery.

  The General stood with her head close to Sherkaner’s, the two just staring at each other. Unnerby could almost feel the fear and the shame echoing back and forth between the two. Then, abruptly, Sherkaner collapsed toward her, his arms wrapping her. The soft hiss of Sherkaner’s weeping joined the wind as the only sounds in the room. After a moment, Smith raised one of her back hands, gently motioning for Hrunkner to leave.

  Unnerby nodded back at her. The deep carpet was littered with toys—Sherkaner’s and the children’s—but he was careful where he stepped and managed a silent exit.

  The twilight quickly became night, as much a product of the gathering storm as the setting of the sun. Unnerby didn’t see much of the weather, since the house command post had only tiny, beetling windows. Smith showed up there almost half an hour after Unnerby. She acknowledged her subordinates’ attention, then slid onto the perch next to Hrunkner. He waggled hands at her questioningly. She shrugged. “Sherk will be okay, Sergeant. He’s up with his graduate students, doing what he can. Now where are we?”

  Unnerby pushed a stack of interviews across the table toward her. “Captain Downing and his team are still here, if you want to talk to them yourself, but all of us”—all the staff that had come up from Lands Command—“think they’re clean. The children were just too clever.” The children had made fools of an efficient security setup. Of course, they had lived with the setup for a long time, knew Security’s habits, were friends of the team members. And till now, the external threat had been a matter of theory and occasional rumor. It all worked in the cobblies’ favor when they decided to go for a jaunt… But that security team was a creation of General Victory Smith’s own staff. The team members were smart people, loyal people; they were hurting as much as Sherkaner Underhill.

  Smith pushed the reports back at him. “Okay. Get Daram and his team back in the loop. Keep them busy. What’s new with the search reports?” She waved the other staffers close, and she herself became very busy.

  The house command post had good maps, a real situation table. With the microwave link, it could double for the command center at Lands Command. Unfortunately, it had no special advantage for comm into Princeton. It would be several hours before that problem was cured. There was a steady stream of runners moving in and out of the room. Many were fresh from Lands Command, and not part of the day’s debacle. That was a good thing, their presence leavening the fatigued despair that showed in the aspects of some. There were leads. There was progress…both heartening and ominous.

  The chief of counter-Kindred operations showed up an hour later. Rachner Thract was very new to his job, a young cobber and a Tiefer immigrant. It was strange to see someone with such a combination in that post. He seemed bright enough, but more bookish than deadly. Maybe that was okay; God knew they needed people who really understood the Kindred. How could traditional values go so wrong? In the Great War, the Kindred had been minor schismatics within the Tiefer empire, and secret supporters of the Accord. But Victory Smith thought they would be the next great threat—or maybe she just followed her general suspicion of trads.

  Thract laid his rain cape on the coatrack and undid the pannier he carried. He set the documents down in front of his boss. “The Kindred are up to their shoulders in this one, General.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” said Smith. Unnerby knew how tired she must be, but she seemed fresh, almost the usual Victory Smith. Almost. She was as calm, as courteous as at any staff meeting. Her questions were as clever as always. But Unnerby saw a difference, a faint distraction. It didn’t come across as anxiety; it was more like the General’s mind was somewhere else, contemplating. “Nevertheless, Kindred involvement was only a low probability this morning. What has changed, Rachner?”

  “Two interviews and two autopsies. The cobbers who were killed had been through plenty of physical training, and it doesn’t look like athletics; there were old nicks in their chitin, even a patched bullet hole.”

  Victory shrugged. “It’s been clear this was a professional job. We know there are domestic threats, trad fringe groups. They might hire competent operators.”

  “They might, but this was the Kindred, not the local trads.”

  “There’s hard evidence?” asked Unnerby, relieved and a little ashamed by the feeling.

  “Um.” Thract seemed to consider the questioner as much as the question. The cobber couldn’t quite decide where Unnerby—a civilian addressed as “Sergeant”—might fit in the chain of command. Get used to it, sonny. “The Kindred make a big thing of their religious roots; but before now, they’ve been careful about interfering with us domestically. Covert funding of local trad groups was about their limit. But…they blew it today. These were Kindred professionals. They went to great trouble to be untraceable, but they didn’t count on our forensic labs. Actually, it’s a test one of your husband’s students invented. See, the ratio of pollen types in the breathing passages of both corpses is foreign; I can even tell you which Kindred base they launched from. These
two hadn’t been in-country for more than fifteen days.”

  Smith nodded. “If it had been longer, the pollen would be gone?”

  “Right, captured by their immune system and flushed, the techs say. But even so, we still would have figured most of this out. You see, the other side had a lot more bad luck today than we did. They left behind two living witnesses…” Thract hesitated, obviously remembering that this was not an ordinary ops meeting, that for Smith the usual definition of operational success might count as catastrophic failure.

  The General didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, the couple. The ones who brought their children to the museum.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And they are half the reason why this thing blew up in the enemy’s face. Colonel Underville”—the domestic ops chief—“has had people talking to them all afternoon; they are desperately anxious to help. You’ve already heard what she got from them right away, how one of your sons brought down an exhibit and killed two of the kidnappers.”

  “And that all the children were taken alive.”

  “Right. But Underville has learned more. We’re almost sure now… The kidnappers intended to steal all your children. When they saw the Suabismes’ little ones, they assumed those were yours. There just aren’t that many oophases in the world, even now. They naturally assumed the Suabismes were our security people.”

  God in the good cold earth. Unnerby gazed out the narrow windows. There was a little more light than before, but now it was the actinic ultras of security lamps. The wind was steadily picking up, driving sparkling droplets across the windows, and bending the ferns back and forth. There was supposed to be a lightning storm tonight.

  So the Kindred screwed up because they had too high an opinion of Accord security. Naturally, they assumed that someone would be with the children.