Zones of Thought Trilogy

by Vernor Vinge

  Pack and singleton stopped a few courteous meters away from the prince. When the singleton spoke, Amdi’s voice-over translation sounded in Ravna’s ears: “Well done, my good pack. You delayed the fugitives a fine amount of time.”

  Prince Purity gobbled back, Amdi’s voiceover as snotty as ever: “It was at great expense, my lord. We all suffered, setting aside the Great Square for so many hours, pretending to enjoy this monstrous performance. Surely there will be some additional consideration for the unexpected unpleasantness of it all.”

  Ravna looked sharply at Amdi. “Quit exaggerating.”

  “I swear,” said Amdi, “Purity really said that.”

  “Oh yes, Purity is as s-silly as your eightsome says.” The new voice sounded like a frightened little girl, though the sense of the words was sardonic. It was the singleton, speaking Samnorsk.

  Amdi rocked back on his haunches, all his eyes on the singleton. “Who are you?”

  Now the singleton sounded like an adult human, vaguely familiar: “You’ll find out soon enough, my fat friend.”

  The radio cloak covered most of the singleton’s pelt pattern, but in any case, it was hard to identify a pack from a single member. Somewhere out there, each wearing its own cloak, was the rest of this pack. But where did the little-girl voice come from?

  Prince Purity was staring at them all, perhaps realizing he was out of his depth. He repeated his demand for money, but more tentatively. The radio-cloaked singleton laughed and pointed its snout at the wheelbarrows of coin already collected.

  The humiliation! Purity rose in heroic anger, his puce cloaks fluffed wide. All around the square, his soldiers unlimbered their crossbows. Two more gunpacks descended from the airships, and the local thugs wilted. Apparently they had seen what these firearms could do. Purity’s gaze swept the guards, the crowd. He came down from himself and walked with stiff dignity from the square. No doubt tonight’s story would be recast in his later speeches—but only when the contradicting facts were far away. His packs dragged the loot from the plaza. The crowds were gone, though Ravna could still see commoners, hiding in the shadows, watching with fearful fascination.

  Tycoon’s packs left Jef and Amdi and Ravna alone in the center of the square while the radio-cloaked singleton directed a search of the pavilion and the circus wagon. They grabbed both lamp interfaces and all the emitters, even the ones placed on the far side of the plaza. Then they took jaw axes to the beautiful circus wagon. Strange, thought Ravna, I never really thought of the tinted wood and worn filigree as beautiful till now when it’s being hacked apart. The radio singleton showed no care for the folk art, but it directed the operation with great caution, evidently thinking there might be more magic toys to be found. All they found were the maps.

  Meantime, Ritl had been released from the pavilion. She wandered around the demolition of the wagon. She looked mystified and maybe even sad, but soon she was giving advice to the ax-wielding packs. When her blathering was recognized as non-informative, the radio-cloak singleton took her aside. There was a short conversation. Then Ritl gave out a whoop and danced across the square, heading toward the airship with the Tycoon logo. She ran through the center of the square, gobbling even louder than usual. She dodged into Amdi’s personal space and warbled something questioning. Amdi lunged out at her, jaws snapping.

  Across the plaza, the radio singleton said something imperative. Ritl backed off, looking at Amdi with her head cocked, very doglike. Then she turned and resumed her run to the airship.

  “What did Ritl say, Amdi?”

  Amdi had piled into a defensive bunch, glaring in the direction of the departing Ritl. “I don’t want to discuss it,” he said.

  The tech trinkets, including the maps, were all put aboard the ship that bore the sign of Tycoon. The radio-cloaked singleton walked back to the center of the square. One of the gunpacks followed, with Screwfloss. The remnant was complaining about something. The chord for “loyalty understanding” kept popping up. The singleton just ignored the remnant. He looked at the two humans and spoke in the adult human voice it had used before. “Such a long chase, but now it has ended happily. Come along.” It started off for the airship that had landed first. Then it stumbled and turned. Its little girl voice spoke: “Correction. The humans go aboard Tycoon’s ship … squeak rattle gobble—” That last was some command to the gunpacks.

  As one of the gunpacks herded Ravna and Jefri across the square, another moved to stop Amdi and Screwfloss from following. The singleton turned to Amdi: “Not you, my fat friend. You go on my airship.”

  Jefri wheeled. “Now wait a minute! We all stay together or—” He closed in on the singleton, towering over him. The creature staggered back, its butt striking the cobblestones. One of the gunpack’s members shifted its shoulders and its twin barrels slid forward till the muzzle silencers were well past its head. Another member stepped behind it, sighting between the barrels at Jefri. Ravna noticed that the other member of the gunpack was watching her attentively.

  The singleton came awkwardly to its feet, but its adult human voice sounded amused. “I think in this case, you will not stay together. Fatso and the remnant are coming with me.”

  Jefri glanced at the twin barrels facing him. His hands were in fists.

  Amdi came around his friend, pulling him back from the confrontation. “We have to, Jefri. Please. I’ll be okay.” But Ravna noticed that Amdi was trembling.

  The singleton chuckled, started to say something, and then its voice shifted to the tones of the little girl: “Don’t be s-scared. You’ll like m-my ship.”

  Jefri unclenched his fists and stepped back. The anger in his face was replaced by wonder. “This thing”—he gestured at the singleton— “isn’t anybody. It’s just a comms network!”

  Amdi was nodding. “What a dumb use for radio cloaks. We never guessed they’d be so—”

  “Enough!” said the singleton, and the gunpacks pushed and prodded the captives toward their respective flying jails.

  At the base of the ship, the air stank of fuel oil. It smelled exactly like Scrupilo’s concoction. But Tycoon’s industrial plagiarism was not complete; the dropdown stairs were pack-wide, grandiose compared to Scrupilo’s design. I wonder if they got the trick of stabilizing the hydrogen in the lift bags?

  Partway up the steps, she turned and looked across the square. There was no sign of Prince Purity, but she could see townsfolk and peasants still watching from the shadows. We had a great show tonight. The thought flitted inanely through her mind. Over by the other airship, the radio-cloaked singleton was still on the ground; Screwfloss and most of Amdi had already gone aboard. Two of Amdi’s heads looked their way, and he chirped something encouraging.

  Jefri stooped to look out from under the curve of the hull. He waved back at Amdi. Then the pack beside Ravna waggled its gun barrels and Jef continued up the steps, Ravna close behind. To aft, the steam induction engines were buzzing up to speed.

  ─────

  Tycoon’s airship was the collision of Tinish imagination with the engineering realities of Oobii’s original design. The passenger carriage had been crudely split into two levels, the resulting interior decorated in a grand East Coast style. The main corridor was polished softwood veneer (easy on the hearing, you know), with frequent padded turnouts; packs could walk past each other with only moderate mental discomfort. The ceilings were mostly one meter thirty high—airy for Tines, but not high enough for a human to stand.

  “I wonder what Nevil thinks when he comes visiting?” said Jefri. The two humans had been stuffed in a—well, to be fair, it might be a stateroom. The distance from the door to the outer hull was about two meters. The walls were heavily padded, probably thick enough to make a pack comfortable even though there might be other passengers within centimeters, in the rooms on either side.

  “I guess Nevil’s allies have about the same respect for him as he has for Tines,” said Ravna.

  A pair of fifteen-centimeter
portholes were mounted in the hull, far enough apart to give a pack a good parallax view. The ship had turned and moonlight splashed across the cabin. “There’s some kind of metal lid here in the corner.” She lifted the cover. There was a faint whiff of potty smell, and the engine noise came louder. Ravna laughed. “A stateroom with its own toilet.” The sanitary facilities aboard Tycoon’s flying palace might be adequate—as long as you didn’t care about the folks living in the lands below.

  Jefri crawled to the hull and looked out one of the portholes. His face was a pale blur in the moonlight. “We seem to be heading south. I don’t see the other airship.” He stared out for a long moment. “Nothing!” He turned away from the port and continued more quietly, “I’m so afraid for Amdi.”

  “I don’t know, Jef. Tycoon seems to be treating us decently.” Her optimism sounded weak even to Ravna herself.

  Jefri shook his head. “Only for the moment. There were two packs speaking through the radio cloak. The one who took Amdi had a voice like in Oliphaunt’s tutor programs. I’m betting that was Vendacious.”

  Ravna bowed her head. “And the other voice, the little girl—”

  “That was Tycoon. The monster said as much. And he dared to use the voice of one of his victims to speak the words.”

  Tines often favored a human voice based on their first language tutor, but the little girl’s voice had been frightened and shrill, almost unrecognizable. How long do you have to torture someone to learn their language? “Geri Latterby,” Ravna said softly.

  ─────

  In the end, their speculation and futile planning fell into uneasy drowsing. Jefri shifted uncomfortably on the cabin’s mat. Of course, neither of them could stand up in the tiny space, but at least it was wide enough for Ravna to lie flat. Jefri was not so fortunate. Even with his feet propped up on the toilet lid, he was still cramped.

  The sound of the airship’s engines was a steady buzz, making the floor and walls hum in sympathy. Sleep eventually came.

  ─────

  Dawn was brilliantly bright. Ravna awoke thoroughly disoriented. Where could she be to see sunlight on embroidered pillows? Then she felt the buzz of the engines. She looked around. Jefri was watching her silently from the other side of their tiny cabin. The sunlight was from the twin portholes. The “pillows” were the room’s acoustic quilting; their soft fabric was decorated with elegant landscapes.… And somehow she had annexed most of the floor space.

  “Oops, sorry,” she said, moving back to her side. “I didn’t mean to thrash around.”

  Jefri just shrugged, but she noticed that he was quick to use the freed space to get close to a porthole. After a moment, he spoke: “It’s all clouds down there, but we’re still heading south. So much for the theory that Tycoon’s headquarters is on the East Coast. I think—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of something rolling down the main corridor. A moment later the door bolt lifted—but the door itself remained shut. Whoever was in the corridor tapped politely, emitting chords that Ravna recognized as a cheerful request to enter.

  Jefri turned on his knees, crawled to the door, and slid it open. Outside stood a small-bodied foursome, dressed all in blue capes, surely a uniform. The creature stepped back a little fearfully, but then—perhaps because Jefri’s eyes were at its own level, or perhaps because it was putting on a brave front—two of it pushed forward with a tray of food. “Twenty-three minutes. Twenty-three minutes, okay?” The words were spoken with Geri Latterby’s voice, but they sounded like rote repetition. This creature scarcely seemed a torturer.

  The food came in soft wooden bowls and consisted of overcooked vegetables and curd soup. Ravna guessed that it had been carefully chosen by someone with a secondhand knowledge of human diet. It tasted so good. Strange that in the clutches of Tycoon she was eating better than in all the time since the kidnapping. She lost herself in the food for a moment. When she looked up she noticed the Jefri had already finished and was watching her intently. Had he said something to her?

  “Um. So what do you think is going to happen in twenty-three minutes?” said Ravna. They take us off to interrogation? They come back for the dirty plates?

  “Dunno. But till then, let’s check out the view.” He returned to his porthole. Ravna downed the rest of her breakfast, then went to the other window. The sun was out of her face now. She could see clear sky above unending, brilliant clouds. Many kilometers away, a thunderhead broke the horizon. Details were lost in the distorted window glass, another example of what happened when Tycoon customized Oobii’s design.

  Abruptly, the engine noise increased and she felt a chilly breeze.

  “Jefri!” Somehow he had managed to open his port! Now she noticed the metal clasps and hinges.

  “Hei, the benefits of low tech,” he said.

  “Um.” Of course, it should be safe. They weren’t more than three thousand meters up, with an airspeed of only a few dozen meters per second. She popped the other tiny hatch and pulled the glass inwards. The engine sound became a buzzing roar, and eddies of frigid air blasted around the cabin. But the view was utterly clear. She stared into the cloud deck, seeing detail within detail.

  Jefri looked down as steeply as he could. “I figure they’re taking us to the Choir!”

  For a moment, Ravna’s mind looked out much farther than the physical windows. So Nevil had been conspiring with just about every one of the Domain’s antagonists. Who was villain-in-chief?

  “Wow.” Jefri’s voice was muffled by the wind, but it brought her back to the physical view. The thunderhead was closer now, its tower a maze of light on dark, its anvil climbing out of sight above them. Flying with Pilgrim on the antigravity skiff, Ravna had come much too near such things. Pilgrim loved to fly right into the vertical drafts of great storms.

  The pitch of the engines changed. The ship was angling away from the storm, but losing altitude at the same time. Soon the cloud deck had become fog, curling up to them. The turbulence grew.

  “I hope these people know what they’re doing,” said Ravna.

  “Maybe that was what the steward pack meant when it said ‘twenty-three minutes.’”

  Yes, a courteous warning.

  The clouds closed darkly around them. They motored along for some minutes. Still descending? The clouds had come into their cabin. She felt tiny droplets of moisture condensing on her face and eyelashes. Outside, lightning flashed electric blue, diffused by the dense mist. The deck tilted as thunder crashed. Their breakfast bowls were scattered all over the cabin.

  The lightning gradually diminished and after some minutes the airship broke through the bottom of the clouds. There were still more clouds below, but they were scattered flotsam in the grayish-green depths. A steady rain ricocheted off the hull. The turn and descent had brought the other airship into view. It was pacing them, perhaps a thousand meters away, but it was almost invisible except when silhouetted by the glow of distant lightning. Jefri was silent for some time, just watching the other craft.

  ─────

  In the hours that followed, the thunder and lightning were more distant, but the airship was not the stable platform of before. It rode up and down like a boat on ocean swells, except that this motion was much more arbitrary and abrupt.

  They spent most of the time at the portholes, watching their progress from forest to jungle and swamp. They were flying so low that when the rain lessened, they could see flowers in the treetops and wader birds in the open swamps. This was very much like the environment of equatorial Nyjora, when the Techie had battled both the exploiters and the plague that was killing the last of their men. She glanced at Jefri; how little of that history made any sense here.

  Jef didn’t seem to notice her look. He was staring downward more intently than ever. “I still don’t understand what Vendacious and Tycoon are doing here. We seem to be as far south as coherent packs can survive.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can see a
bit under the trees when we pass over rivers. There are Choir settlements—at least that’s what I think they are. When these settlements begin to connect together, there’s no way that packs can penetrate and still keep their minds. Look down there. Around the trees. That mottling, I think that’s floating shacks.”

  “… Yes.” She could see a change in the texture of the river shore. And here and there, she saw polygonal shapes that might have been real buildings. Within an hour, they were flying over settlements in open clearings. As the day darkened into true twilight, the settlements merged and the forest was replaced by an unending, chaotic jumble of vegetation, swamp, and artifact.

  By the time their little steward showed up, it was night outside—and pitch black in their cabin. The cabin had a small mantle lamp but it had seemed to be disabled. Besides delivering dinner, the steward showed them how to light the lamp. The foursome was a cheerful creature, not at all the jailer Ravna would have expected.

  After dinner, the rain slackened and—strangely—the air became steadily warmer. They doused the cabin lamp and returned to the portholes. There was no more lightning, but no stars or moonlight either. Here and there, what looked like campfires shone below. The air coming in the ports smelled faintly of compost and sewage.

  “We’re descending,” said Jefri. “We’ll come down in the middle of that.” But an hour passed. Two. They fell asleep as the rain increased and the air grew choppy.

  ─────

  The door bolt clicked, lifting open. Someone was scratching at the cabin door. Ravna struggled to wakefulness, confused. The steward would have tapped politely on the door and sung out for them to rouse themselves.

  Jefri was up on his elbows. “What—?” he said, but very softly.

  “Maybe we’re finally landing?” Ravna noticed that she was whispering too. Pointlessly. Any Tines on the other side of that door could hear them fine.

  The furtive scratching continued.

  She put out a warning hand, but Jefri was already at the door. The hall beyond was lit by a single gaslamp. Two members were visible, but only in silhouette. One stuck a snout into the room, peering about. Then it wriggled past Jefri.