Zones of Thought Trilogy

by Vernor Vinge

  Nevil was standing behind a high lectern at one end of the stage. Three humans were with him, and two packs, one wearing crowns. Downhill, beyond the stage, Ravna had a view of Out of Band II in all its iridescent splendor. Nevil had positioned his stage so that all the participants were within the field of fire of the ship’s beam gun. With his admin authority, Nevil figured he could kill anyone here, pack or human. He could burn the meadow clean if he wished. Was Nevil really capable of such monstering? I better assume so. In any case, it was his top threat against anyone who truly knew him.

  Except perhaps for me, thought Ravna. Oobii was smart enough to recognize a human face. And Nevil, by putting this scene in its line of sight, had guaranteed that Oobii could see her. If it recognized her … She leaned against Jefri, letting him steady her. She looked at the ship and said softly, “Ship! Give me a milliwatt of red if you hear me.” Her voice was whipped away in the breeze. Jefri himself didn’t seem to hear her.

  As they walked on, Ravna stole an occasional glance at the ship. There was no sign, no red glint. Okay, that had been a long shot.

  Tycoon had reached the edge of the crowd. Nevil’s guards made way for them, keeping humans and packs away from Tycoon and Zek and Ritl. Ritl? The singleton trotted along like an official part of the delegation.

  Now that Tycoon was past the barricades, some of the younger Children pushed forward, eluding both Nevil’s guards and other older kids who tried to stop them. Tycoon shied back slightly, then walked forward, not showing the loathing he must feel. He actually acknowledged the greetings with something like cordiality. He was doing better than most of the first-timers she’d encountered in the circus.

  Zek lagged back from Tycoon and spoke to Ravna and Jefri with Vendacious’ voice. “Remember remember, up in the sky.” Yes, Vendacious and Amdi up in the sky. The other airship drove along, heading into another turn.

  Then she and Jef were in the crowds. The kids closed in, arms outstretched to both of them. Some shied back when they saw her face, others kept coming. She hugged one or two, even as the gunpack’s snouts were pushing at her knees.

  Closer to the stage, she noticed something new. On one side, she saw people like Wilm and Poul Linden, who had never approved of Nevil and company. On the other, were those who had avoided her after the vote. The human world had split into camps, a civil war waiting to happen. They all looked uneasy, shying away from Tycoon. Some flinched when they saw Ravna’s face.

  “What did they do to her?” she heard one of the Children say.

  Ravna continued forward, trying to smile, biting back the things she wanted to shout to everyone. Today she wore an invisible muzzle.

  Timbered steps led to the top of the stage. The risers were high, more for humans than Tines. That would be Nevil making a statement about human superiority, obliging Tycoon and his Tinish company to scramble up the steps.

  The stairs reached a platform, still twelve steps short of the main stage. Three older Children stood at the top of the stairs, all Nevil’s pals. Strange, none of them was Bili Yngva; had there been a falling out? The three stepped back a little nervously as Tycoon clambered heavily toward them. Ravna heard a little of the indignant hiss that Tycoon cast their way. Zek and Ritl climbed up after him, followed by Ravna and Jefri.

  She gave Nevil a hard glance, then noticed that he was wearing the remaining head-up display—a link to Oobii. For a moment her gaze caught on the device’s crystal facets. Then she forced herself to look away.

  Flenser was sitting nearby, looking indolent and relaxed. He gave Ravna a friendly, ambiguous nod. To the right of Flenser, past a sound baffle, was Woodcarver. All her heads were turned to look at Jefri and Ravna. The pack was a picture of tense alertness. And anger. There was the Puppy from Hell, perched on one member’s shoulders. But wait … a second puppy was shyly looking up from between the legs of another member. The Queen had become eight!

  Ravna stepped out onto the platform, moved a little way around Tycoon. Woodcarver shifted slightly apart, and Ravna heard her whisper: “What of Pilgrim?”

  Ravna gave her head a little shake.

  Nevil’s voice boomed over the crowd. “Let us welcome Tycoon, come all the way from the East Coast. Unwise policies of the past set us against people who would be our friends. Today we unite against those who bring violence upon both our peoples. Today—”

  The words were misleading nonsense, but his frank openness was almost what Ravna remembered. Almost. Even though Nevil hadn’t been kidnapped and chased through wilds, the guy had lost some weight. The time since he had grabbed power had not been kind to him. That had been true even before Ravna’s kidnapping. Apparently things had not improved since. And what was this about an attack earlier today?

  Nevil carried on for a while longer. In the crowd below the stands, there was some milling around, especially among the opposition, but no one walked away and no one shouted objections. Nevil had control such as Ravna had never dreamed. “So the agreements Tycoon and I sign today will return those who have been taken from us”—he waved graciously at Jefri and Ravna—“and begin a technological alliance for prosperity.”

  As he spoke these last few words, Nevil edged back from the lectern. Tycoon was eight, and each of him was a heavy critter. He could project implacable purpose better than anyone Ravna had met on this world—and now he was gliding toward the lectern. The only thing that saved Nevil’s dignity was that Tycoon’s approach was out of sight of most of the audience below.

  Nevil cut his loud voice and leaned down as if to speak courteously to the pack. He jerked a hand at Ravna and Jefri. “Why was it necessary for you to bring them here?”

  “As proof of my goodwill,” said Tycoon.

  “Then you should have brought the young ones.” Another quick glance at Ravna. “This—this Ravna, is just trouble.”

  Tycoon’s heads bobbed in a grim smile. “She can be useful.”

  Nevil’s mouth turned down. He stared blankly for a moment. He might be speaking to someone, but the words were inaudible to Ravna.

  Zek had followed close behind Tycoon. Now he pushed awkwardly through the eight and spoke softly to Nevil. It was Vendacious’ voice. The tone was placating: “It’s okay. Deal as before. My colleague here is too forward.”

  Tycoon gave Zek a hard bump. “I am not forward and you do not speak for me.” Then he advanced, forcing Nevil away from the lectern. He hopped up on himself, leaning against the lectern. Now the pack was in pyramid posture, visible to all. And even without mechanical aid, his words boomed: “I am Tycoon!”

  So much for Tycoon’s promise to avoid human speechifying. The voice that sounded across the meadows belonged to a frightened little girl. It was Geri Latterby’s voice, but transformed by the force and arrogance of Tycoon’s personality. “Nevil Storherte says we all want peace. He wants peace. I want peace. We will have war if you do not make things right!”

  People reacted very differently than they had to Nevil’s smiling nonsense. There was shouting. A woman—it was Elspa Latterby—screamed: “Geri? Geri! Give her back…”

  Tycoon had their attention. “We can’t make up for all the bad things, but you and I will make up for what we can. Or we will have war.” He gobbled something at Zek. A moment later, Vendacious’ airship spun up its engines and coasted across the sky to hang just west of the stage. Nevil watched the ship’s progress with an unbelieving expression. He was talking to someone again. Oobii? Vendacious? But the starship held its fire.

  Tycoon waited for the shouting to die away. Then he said, “I will give you back what can be returned. We bring you wealth, now, and in future trade. In exchange, you will give me access to Oobii. And most important, you give me the human who murdered half of me! I want Johanna Olsndot. I want her here. I want her now!” As he spoke, Tycoon’s heads turned this way and that, jaws snapping.

  Everyone on the platform seemed frozen in horror. Well, everyone except Flenser. He had hunkered down, but his heads were weavi
ng and bobbing. He was enjoying this with the sort of shameful joy that mayhem brought out in him.

  Nevil eased around Tycoon, back to the lectern. He must be truly rattled, because for the first time Ravna could actually see him figuring up the odds, deciding what to do to stay on top. When he spoke, his voice was somber and tense. “My friends, we’ve known of this demand for several days. Tycoon has cause for making the demand.”

  “Tycoon kidnapped our children!” came a voice from the crowd, but wind-whipped and faint. Nevil didn’t quite have the audio control he had aboard ship, but the wind and the open air was almost as effective.

  “Tycoon is reasonable to ask for a human wrongdoer no matter how much she was beloved by me, by us.” Nevil seemed to choke up. Beside her, Ravna could feel Jefri trembling, his gaze alternating between Nevil and the airship above. There were limits, and Jef was being pushed well beyond his.

  After a moment, Nevil found his voice again and continued, as if struggling against tears. “I was very close to Johanna all my life. Infatuated, I see now. But I loved her, and as much as she was capable of it, I think she loved me. Now … well, the proof that Tycoon has provided and her own unguarded words to me … It means I was wrong in my love and my trust. I’m sorry.” He paused, turned toward Tycoon, whose pyramid still topped his own height. When Nevil continued, his voice was firm and statesmanlike. “Sir, however just your demands, they stand moot. Johanna Olsndot has been missing for some tendays.”

  “You lie! Give her over!” roared the eightsome.

  Nevil damped his audio so low that Ravna could barely hear it: “Are you crazy?” he hissed. “Look, she’s dead. I can get you the body. Just—”

  Jefri lunged at Nevil. “You murdering—” Nevil’s friends tackled him before he could do Storherte harm. Tycoon dropped down and lumbered around the fray, gobbling at the gunpack. That pack backed off, shifting its firearms so they weren’t pointing at Jefri.

  As Jefri was bundled off down the stairs, there was a momentary clear area around Ravna, and an unrecognizable voice whispered in her ear: “Watch the wall beside me.” Ravna’s head jerked up. Woodcarver? Maybe. Flenser!

  Tycoon’s heads came up too. He walked across the stage, heads questing toward Flenser and Woodcarver. Had he heard Flenser?

  Now what Ravna heard was the sound of splintering wood. Part of the wall popped a centimeter out. There was a crash and another and another.

  Tycoon flinched back. The wooden panel fell to the stage and … Johanna stepped into the sunlight, carrying a sturdy timber. She was out of breath, her violet eyes wild—and she was very much alive. She dropped the timber and spoke to the eightsome, who stood jaws agape before her. “Hei, sir. I am Johanna Olsndot.”

  Now that he had his hate’s desire, Tycoon hesitated. He stepped back, milled around almost like some of the newbies Ravna had met in the circus. Or a killer savoring the moment.

  Jo dropped to the deck before him and tilted her head back, imitating a submissive singleton about as well as a human could.

  Jaws snapped on either side of her throat. Tycoon jostled himself as members at the rear tried to get at her. Two of him grabbed Johanna’s arms and began dragging her toward the vacant right end of the stage. “We talk before you die,” he said.

  “But—” Nevil started after them, then stopped, apparently realizing that unless he wanted to start shooting, things were totally beyond his control.

  As Johanna was dragged across the stage, Woodcarver’s puppies jumped down and pushed something across the deck to Flenser. Two of Flenser slid it toward Tycoon.

  Maybe it was reflex, maybe it was curiosity, but Tycoon grabbed the object. It was some kind of book, the style that Tines had “hand” printed before the Children landed. It was very old, or it had been through a fire. The pages were black and curling, held together by metal hoops. Ravna got just a glimpse before Tycoon surged around the book. He was completely motionless for a moment, then resumed his march to the far end of the stage.

  Zek had watched all this silently, nervously moving out of the way when necessary. Now he stood still for a second, as if listening. Then he gobbled something desperate and negative and ran across the stage toward Tycoon. Ritl followed a second later.

  Tycoon was having none of it. He swiped claws at Ritl and hissed at Zek, “Back! This is my vengeance.”

  No matter how determined Vendacious might be to spy on Jo’s last words, poor Zek was in no position to enforce that will. Both singletons backed off.

  The confrontation between Johanna and her would-be executioner might be short, but it was not going to be private. The two were in full daylight at the far end of the stage, visible to most of the audience and everyone on the stage. Øvin Verring and the Linden boys rushed the front stairs, backed by several others. Nevil’s friends had been drilling; they used their staffs to knock the kids down the stairs. Wilm was helped up by his brother; their group tried again. Now the crowd was mixing together, fighting in places. Others just stood, watching in horror.

  Nevil was watching in horrified fascination, too. But he was also mumbling to … Oobii? Ravna edged closer to him. Nevil’s audio was not fully damped. He glanced at Vendacious’ airship and his voice raised a fraction, though still barely audible. “So is this worst case or not?”

  His eyes flickered sideways, noticed Ravna’s approach.

  Nevil’s goons were over by the stairs; there was something she could do! “It’s coming apart, Nevil,” she said. “Tell Vendacious that—”

  Nevil’s mouth twisted in contempt. “Shut up. I have ship’s admin authority, remember? I can burn you down where you stand.”

  Maybe. Ravna found the presence of mind not to correct him—at least, not with the truth. Instead: “Burn me in front of all these people? I think not.”

  Nevil glared back, but after a moment gave an angry shrug. He looked around, probably for some thug to drag her off. Alas for Nevil, they were all still busy. If she could just get a little closer to him.… Concentrate on Nevil. She turned away from the nightmare at the other end of the stage and walked casually toward him.

  “Stay back!” Nevil hissed at her. His gaze swiveled back and forth between Tycoon and Ravna. He was waiting for some kind of signal; till then—well, it was fortunate for him that the crowd couldn’t hear him now. Nevil was rattled. “You bitch. You suppressed everything Straumer. Even the fools who love you puke at what you believe.” He nodded in the direction of Tycoon. “If you hadn’t kept dividing us kids, I wouldn’t be allied with these barbarians. Because of you, even more people may have to die. Now stay back or I will burn you down!”

  Across the stage, Johanna had risen to her knees. Blood stained her sleeves; four pairs of jaws hovered near her throat. The charred book lay on the ground right ahead of her knees. Two of Tycoon had opened it and a third was reading the text—a classic Tinish posture. A fourth snout tapped at the text while the rest beat questions down upon her.

  What is that book anyway? thought Ravna.

  Johanna seemed to know. Her head came down and she pointed into the manuscript, then gently raised a page and pointed at something beneath. The ones holding the book looked up at her, and the rest of the creature’s heads came together around Jo’s face.

  Flenser and Woodcarver had crept off their perches, but Tycoon hissed them into silence. Zek paced anxiously just outside that same threat zone. Shrouded in his radio cloak, Zek must be hearing even less than Woodcarver and Flenser. He turned away from Tycoon and ran—staggered—back toward Nevil and Ravna. He cringed as if from invisible blows and collapsed at Nevil’s feet. “I can’t hear what Tycoon is saying,” he said. This was Vendacious talking, but the communication channel was in such pain that the voice stretched across several octaves, almost unintelligible. “You tell me what they are saying!”

  “Huh? I can’t get near enough to hear.” Apparently Nevil didn’t know how to use the HUD for such snooping.

  Maybe Vendacious realized that; his vo
ice became a fraction calmer, but full of crazy surmise: “You. Ravna animal. You always were the smarter. Show Nevil how. Tell me what they are saying. Stop this or I’ll kill Amdi, first one piece then all the rest—where you can see.”

  Zek writhed in pain on the deck before them, one small singleton relaying terrible threats. Nevil stepped back from the creature, uncertain.

  It was the best chance Ravna was going to get. She took three paces toward Nevil and launched herself at him. As a physical attack, the collision was pitiful, but she held on, shouting into his face: “Ship! Usurp, usurp!”

  Nevil’s fists punched into her, sending her flying back. The crash hurt as much as the fists, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She looked up. Nevil was pointing at her, mumbling to himself. Nothing happened. Nevil jabbed his hand again.

  And still Ravna lived. Oobii would be paying close attention now. She struggled for breath, finally gasped out, “Ship! Delete all Nevil authority. Delete—”

  As she spoke, Nevil’s eyes went wide. Now he was ground zero. He scrambled back, then turned and ran down a backstage stairway, out of Ravna’s sight—and Oobii’s.

  She crawled over to Zek. Ritl was nosing around him, licking his face. Zek rolled onto his belly; he was trying to arrange his cloak properly. Words popped into Ravna’s mouth, anything to satisfy the monster: “Okay, Vendacious. Tell me what you want to hear—”

  She heard a strange sound, a low, broad moan. From the crowd. Ravna looked out, saw human and Tinish heads looking in a single direction. Not at Ravna. Not at the jumble that was Johanna and Tycoon. They were looking into the sky.

  She swung around to stare at the airship. Something small and dark was falling from it. A living thing, flailing. A pack member, perhaps slightly overweight. The member fell and fell and fell, surely still alive. It disappeared from view behind the top of the stage.

  Ravna looked down at Zek. “Why?” she said. “You didn’t give me a chance!”

  Zek looked up, his head weaving almost blindly. His whole body was twitching. He gobbled chords she could not understand.