by Vernor Vinge
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.
“We got a lot from the two civilians, General: the story these fellows used when they walked in, some turns of phrase after things blew up…The kidnappers didn’t intend to leave any witnesses. The Suabismes are the luckiest people in Princeton tonight, even if they don’t see it that way. The two that your son killed were pushing the Suabismes away from the children. One of them had unholstered an automatic shotgun, and all its safeties were off. Colonel Underville figures the original mission was to grab all your children and leave no witnesses. In fact, dead civilians and lots of blood was fine with their scenario, since it would all be blamed on our trad factions.”
“In that case, why not leave a couple of dead children, too? That would also have made the getaway easier.” Victory’s question was calm, but it had a distanced quality about it.
“We don’t know, ma’am. But Colonel Underville thinks they’re still in-country, maybe even in Princeton.”
“Oh?” Skepticism seemed to war with hope. “I know Belga clamped down awfully fast—and the other side had its problems, too. Okay. This will be your first big in-country operation, Rachner, but I want it done arm-in-arm with Domestic Intelligence. And you’ll have to involve the city and commercial police.” The classic anonymity of Accord Intelligence was going to get badly bent in the next few days. “Try to be nice to the city and commercial people. We don’t have a state of war. They can cause the Crown a world of trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am. Colonel Underville and I are running patrols with the city police. When the phones are set up, we’ll have some kind of joint command post with them here at Hill House.”
“Very good…I think you were ahead of me all the time, Rachner.”
Thract gave a little smile as he came to his feet. “We’ll get your cobblies back, Chief.”
Smith started to reply, then noticed two small heads peeping around the doorjamb. “I know you will, Rachner. Thank you.”
Thract stepped back from the table, and a brief stillness spread through the room. The two youngest of Underhill’s children—maybe all who were left alive—walked shyly into the room, followed by the head of their guard team and three troopers. Captain Downing carried a furled umbrella, but it was clear that Rhapsa and Little Hrunk had not taken advantage of it. Their jackets were soaked and drops of rain stood on their glassy black chitin.
Victory had no smile for the children. Her gaze took in their soaked clothes and the umbrella. “Were you running around?”
Rhapsa answered, more subdued than Hrunkner had ever heard the little hellion. “No, Mother. We were with Daddy, but now he is busy. We stayed right by Captain Downing, between him and the others…” She stopped, tilted her head shyly at her guard.
The young captain snapped to attention, but he had the terrible look of a soldier who has just seen combat and defeat. “Sorry, ma’am. I decided not to use the umbrella. I wanted to be able to see in all directions.”
“Quite right, Daram. And…it’s right that you brought them here.” She stopped, just staring at her children for a quiet second. Rhapsa and Little Hrunk were motionless, staring back. Then, as if some central switch had been tripped, the two swarmed across the room, their voices raised in a wordless keen. For a moment they were all arms and legs, scrambling up Smith, hugging her like a father. Now that the dam of their reserve was broken, their crying was loud—and the questions, too. Was there any news about Gokna and Viki and Jirlib and Brent? What would happen now? And they didn’t want to be by themselves.
After a few moments things settled down. Smith tilted her head at the children, and Unnerby wondered what was going through her mind. She still had two children. Whatever the bad luck or incompetence of this day, it was two other young children who were stolen instead of these. She raised a hand in Unnerby’s direction. “Hrunkner. I have a request. Find the Suabismes. Ask them…offer them my hospitality. If they would like to wait this out here at Hill House…I would be honored.”
They were high up, in some kind of vertical ventilator shaft.
“No, it’s not a ventilator shaft!” said Gokna. “Real ones have all sorts of extra piping and utility cabling.”
There was no rumble of ventilator fans, just the constant whistle of the wind from above. Viki concentrated on the view straight above her head. She could see a grilled window at the top, maybe fifty feet up. Daylight shone through, splashing this way and that down the metal walls of the shaft. Here at the bottom they were in twilight, but it was more than bright enough to see the sleep mats, the chemical toilet, the metal floor. Their prison got steadily warmer as the day progressed. Gokna was right. They’d done enough exploring back home to know how real utility cores looked. But what else could this be? “Look at all the patches.” She waved at the disks that were sloppily welded here and there on the walls. “Maybe this place was abandoned—no, maybe it’s still under construction!”
“Yeah,” said Jirlib. “All this work is fresh. They just tack-welded covers on the access holes, maybe an hour’s work.” Gokna nodded, not even trying to get the last word. So much had changed since this morning. Jirlib was no longer a distant, angry umpire to their disputes. He was under more pressure than ever before, and she knew how bitterly guilty he must feel. Along with Brent, he was the eldest—and he’d let this happen. But the pain didn’t show directly; Jirlib was more patient than ever before.
And when he spoke, his sisters listened. Even if you didn’t count that he was just about an adult, he was by far the smartest of all of them.
“In fact, I think I know exactly where we are.” He was interrupted by the babies, stirring in their perches on his back. Jirlib’s fur was just not deep enough to properly comfort, and he was already beginning to stink. Alequere and Birbop alternated between caterwauling demands for their parents and nerve-racking silence, when they pinched tight onto poor Jirlib’s back. It looked like they were returning to noise mode. Viki reached out, coaxing Alequere into her arms.
“Where is that?” asked Gokna, but with no trace of argument in her voice.
“See the attercop webs?” said Jirlib, pointing upward. They were fresh, tiny patches of silk that floated in the breeze by the grill. “Each type has its own pattern. The ones up there are local to the Princ
eton area, but they nest in the highest places. The top of Hill House is just barely high enough for them. So—I figure we’re still in town, and we’re so high up we must be visible for miles. We’re either in the hill district or in that new skyscraper at City Center.”
Alequere started crying again. Viki rocked her gently back and forth. It was the sort of thing that always cheered up Little Hrunk, but…A miracle! Alequere’s wailing quieted. Maybe she was just so beaten down that she couldn’t make healthy noise. But no, after a few seconds the baby waved a weak little smile at her and twisted around so that she could see everything. She was a good little cobblie! Viki rocked the baby a few more seconds before she spoke. “Okay. Maybe they just drove us around in circles—but City Center? We’ve heard a few aircraft, but where are the street noises?”
“They’re all around.” It was almost the first thing Brent had said since the kidnapping. Slow and dull, that was Brent. And he was the only one of all of them who had guessed what was happening this morning. He was the one who dropped away from the others and lurked in the dark. Brent was grown-up-sized—riding that exhibit down on top of the enemy could have crippled him. When they were dragged out through the museum’s freight entrance, Brent had been limp and silent. He hadn’t said anything during the drive that followed, just waved when Jirlib and Gokna asked him if he was okay.
In fact, it looked like he had cracked one foreleg and injured at least one other, but he wouldn’t let them look at the damage. Viki understood. Brent would feel just as ashamed as Jirlib—and even more useless. He had withdrawn into a sullen pile, and then—after the first hour in their present captivity—had begun to limp around and around, tapping and ticking at the metal. Every so often he would plunk himself down flat, like he was pretending to be dead—or was totally despairing. That was his posture just now.
“Can’t you hear them?” he said again. “Belly-listen.”
Viki hadn’t played that game in years. But she and the others imitated him, sprawling absolutely flat, with no grasping arch at all. It wasn’t very comfortable, and you couldn’t hold on to anything while you did it. Alequere hopped out of her arms. Birbop joined his sister. The two ticked from one of the older children to another, prodding at them. After a moment, the two started giggling.
“Sh, sh,” Viki said softly. That only made the giggling louder. How long had Viki been praying for spirit to return to these two? And now she wanted them just to be quiet for a bit. She shut them out of her mind and concentrated. Hunh. It wasn’t exactly sound, not for the ears in your head, anyway. But all along her underside she could feel it. There was a steady background hum…and other vibrations, that came and went. Ha! It was a ghost of the thrumming life you felt in the tips of your feet when you walked around downtown! And there! The unmistakable burring of heavy brakes making a fast stop.
Jirlib was chuckling. “I guess that settles that! They thought they were so clever with that closed cargo box, but now we know.”
Viki rose to a more comfortable position and exchanged looks with Gokna. Jirlib was smarter, but when it came to sneakiness he had never been in a class with his sisters. Gokna’s reply was mild, partly to be polite, partly because the appropriate tones would have sent the babies back into hiding. “Jirl, I don’t think they were really trying to hide things from us.”
Jirlib shifted his head back, almost his “brother knows best” gesture. Then he caught her tone. “Gokna, they could have gotten us here in a five-minute drive. Instead, we were on the road for more than an hour. What—”
Viki said, “I think that may have been just to evade Mother’s security. These cobbers had several cars running around; they switched us twice, remember. Maybe they actually tried to get out of town, and saw that they couldn’t do it.” Viki waved at their quarters. “If they have any sense, they know we’ve seen way too much.” She tried to keep her voice light. Birbop and Alequere had wandered over to the still-sprawled Brent and were picking his pockets. “We could identify them, Jirlib. We also saw the driver and the lady down in the museum loading area.”
And she told him about the automatic shotgun she’d seen on the floor at the museum. An expression of horror flickered across Jirlib. “You don’t think they’re trads, just trying to embarrass Dad and the General?”
Both Gokna and Viki gestured no. Gokna said, “I think they’re soldiers, Jirl, no matter what they say.” In fact, there had been lies on top of lies. When the gang appeared at the videomancy exhibit, they’d claimed to be from Mother’s security. But by time they dumped the cobblies here, they were talking like trads: The children were a horrible example for decent folk. They weren’t to be harmed, but their parents would be revealed as the perverts that they were. That’s what they said, but both Gokna and Viki noticed their lack of fire. Most traditionalists on the radio positively fumed; the ones Viki and Gokna had met in person got all torn up just at the sight of oophase children. These kidnappers were cool; behind the rhetoric, it was clear that the children were just cargo. Viki had noticed only two honest emotions under their professionalism. The leader was truly angry about the two that Brent had squashed…and every so often, there was a hint of distant regret for the children themselves.
Viki saw Jirlib flinch as the implications hit home, but he remained silent. Two shrieks of laughter interrupted his grim introspection. Alequere and Birbop weren’t paying any attention to Gokna and Viki, or Jirlib. They had discovered the play twine that Brent kept hidden in his jacket. Alequere hopped back, drawing the twine out in a soaring arc. Birbop jumped to grab it, ran in a quick circle around Brent as if to trap him round the legs.
“Hey, Brent, I thought you had outgrown that stuff,” said Gokna, a forced cheeriness in her teasing.
Brent’s answer was slow and a little defensive. “I get bored when I’m away from my sticks ’n’ hubs. You can play with twine anywhere.” For what it was worth, Brent was an expert at making twine patterns. When he was younger, he’d often roll onto his back and use all his arms and legs—even his eating hands—to wrap ever more complicated patterns. It was the sort of silly, intricate hobby that Brent loved.
Birbop grabbed the tip of the rope from Alequere and raced ten or fifteen feet up the wall, nimbly taking advantage of every grasp point the way only the very young can. He wiggled the rope at his sister, daring her to try to drag him down. When she did so, he jerked it back and climbed upward another five feet. He was just like Rhapsa used to be, maybe even a bit more nimble.
“Not so high, Birbop, you’ll fall!”—and Viki was sounding just like Daddy now.
The walls stretched up and up above the baby. And at the top, fifty feet above them, was the tiny window. Behind herself, Viki saw Gokna start with surprise. “Are you thinking what I am?” Viki said.
“P-probably. When she was little, Rhapsa could have climbed to the top.” Their kidnappers weren’t as smart as they thought. Anyone who had looked after babies would know better. But both the male kidnappers were young, current-generation.
“But if he falls—”
If he fell, there would be no gymnet base web, not even a soft carpet. A two-year-old might weigh fifteen or twenty pounds. They loved to climb; it was as if they sensed that once they got big and heavy, they’d be stuck with climbing stairs and making only the most trivial jumps. Babies could fall a lot farther than grown-ups without serious injury, but long falls would still kill them. Two-year-olds didn’t know that. A simple suggestion would send Birbop off for the window at the top. The chances were good that he would make it…
Normally, Viki and Gokna would jump into any wild scheme, but this was someone else’s life…The two stared at each other for a moment. “I—I don’t know, Viki.”
And if they did nothing? The babies would likely be killed along with the rest of them. There could be terrible consequences whatever they chose. Suddenly Viki was more frightened than she had ever been before; she walked across the floor to stand under the grinning Birbop. Her arms reached u
p as if with a life of their own, to coax the baby back down. She forced her arms down, forced her voice into a light, teasing tone. “Hi, Birbop! Do you think you can carry the twine all the way to that little window?”
Birbop tilted his head, turned his baby eyes upward. “Sure.” And he was off, scuttling back and forth from weld patch to pipefitting, upward and upward. I owe you, little one, even if you don’t know it.
On the ground, Alequere squawked outrage that Birbop should have all the attention. She jerked hard on the twine, leaving her brother dangling by three arms from a narrow ledge twenty feet up. Gokna scooped her off the floor and away from the twine, and handed her to Jirlib.
Viki tried to shake off the terror she felt; she watched the baby climb higher and higher. And if we can get to the window, then what? Throw out notes? But they had nothing to write with—and they didn’t know just where they were or where the wind might carry a note…And suddenly she saw how one thing might solve two problems. “Brent, your jacket.” She jerked her hands, waving for Gokna to help him take it off.
“Yes!” Gokna was pulling at the sleeves and pants almost before Viki finished talking. Brent stared in surprise for a second, and then he got the idea and started helping. His jacket was almost as big as Jirlib’s, but without the slits down the back. The three of them stretched it flat between them and sidled this way and that, trying to track the lateral movements of the high-climbing Birbop. Maybe, even if he fell…It was the sort of thing that always worked in adventure stories. Somehow, standing here holding the jacket, it seemed absurd to imagine such success.
