A Deepness in the Sky Part 10

"That's the main thing," said Nau. "Perhaps we should have been open about it, but the training period wasn't complete. Focus can make the difference between life and death in the present circ.u.mstances. Ezr, I want Anne to take you over to Hammerfest and explain it all to you. You'll be the first. I want you to understand, to make your peace with it. When you have, I want you to explain Focus to your people, and do it so they can accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive."

And so the secret Vinh had pushed to know, the secret that had driven every dream for Msecs, was now to be revealed to him. Ezr followed Reynolt up the central corridor to the taxi lock. Every meter was a battle for him. Focus. The infection they could not cure. The mindrot. There had been rumors, nightmares, and now he would know.

Reynolt waved him into the taxi. "Sit over there, Vinh." In a paradoxical way, he preferred dealing with Anne Reynolt. She didn't disguise her contempt, and she had none of the s.a.d.i.s.tic triumph that oozed from Ritser Brughel.

The taxi sealed up and pushed off. The Qeng Ho temp was still tied down to the rockpile. The sunlight was still too bright to allow it to be released. The purple sky had faded back to black, but there were a half-dozen comet tails streaking the stars-sundry blocks of ice that now floated some kilometers away. Wen and Xin were out there somewhere.

Hammerfest was less than five hundred meters from the temp, an easy free jump if Reynolt had wished it. Instead they floated across the s.p.a.ce in shirtsleeve comfort. If you hadn't seen it all before the Relight, you might not guess the disaster that had happened. The monster rocks had long since stopped moving. Loose ice and snow had been redistributed across the shadow, larger chunks and smaller and smaller and smaller, a fractal pile. Only now there was less ice, and much less airsnow. Now the shadowed side of the jumble was lit as by a bright moon-the light reflected from Arachna. The taxi pa.s.sed fifty meters above crews working to reemplace the electric jets. Last time he had checked, Qiwi Lisolet was down there, more or less running the operation.

Reynolt had strapped down across from him. "The successfully Focused are all on Hammerfest. You can talk to almost anyone you please."

Hammerfest looked like an elegant personal estate. It was the luxurious heart of the Emergent operation. That had been some comfort to Ezr. He'd told himself that Trixia and the others would be treated decently there. They might be held like the hostages of Qeng Ho history, like the One Hundred at Far Pyorya. But no sensible Trader would ever build a habitat rooted in a rubble pile. The taxi coasted over towers of eerie beauty, a fey castle spiring up from the crystal plane. In a short time, he would know what the castle hid.. . .Reynolt's phrasing finally took hold of his attention. "Successfully Focused?"

Reynolt shrugged. "Focus is mindrot on a leash. We lost thirty percent in the initial conversions; we may lose more in the coming years. We had moved the sickest ones over to the Far Treasure Far Treasure ." ."

"But what-"

"Be quiet and let me tell you." Her attention flicked to something beyond Vinh's shoulder, and she was quiet for several seconds. "You remember becoming sick at the time of the ambush. You've guessed that was a disease of our design; its incubation time was an important part of our planning. What you don't know is that the microbe's military use is of secondary importance." The mindrot was viral. Its original, natural, form had killed millions in the Emergents' home solar system, had crashed their civilization. . .and set the stage for the present era of expansion. For the original strains of the bug had a novel property: they were a treasure house of neurotoxins.

"In the centuries since the Plague Time, the Emergency has gentled the mindrot and turned it to the service of civilization. Its present form needs special help to break through the blood-brain barrier, and spreads throughout the brain in a nearly harmless way, infecting about ninety percent of the glial cells. And now we can control the release of neuroactives."

The taxi slowed and turned precisely to match Hammerfest's lock. Arachna slid across the sky, a full "moon" nearly a half-degree across. The planet gleamed white and featureless, cloud decks hiding its furious rebirth.

Ezr scarcely noticed. His imagination was trapped in the vision that lurked behind Anne Reynolt's dry jargon: the Emergents' pet virus, penetrating the brain, breeding by the tens of billions, dripping poison into a still-living brain. He remembered the killing pressure in his head as their lander had climbed up from Arachna. That had been the disease banging on the portals of his mind. Ezr Vinh and all the others on the Qeng Ho temp had fought off that a.s.sault-or maybe their brains were still infected, and the disease was quiescent. But Trixia Bonsol and the people with the "Focus" glyph by their names had been given special treatment. Instead of a cure, Reynolt's people had grown the disease in the victims' brains like mold in the flesh of a fruit. If there had been even the slightest gravity in the taxi, Ezr would have vomited. "But why why ?" ?"

Reynolt ignored him. She opened the lock hatch and led him into Hammerfest. When she spoke again, there was something close to enthusiasm in her flat tones. "Focusing enn.o.bles. It is the key to Emergent success, and a much more subtle thing than you imagine. It's not just that we've created a pyschoactive microbe. This is one whose growth within the brain can be controlled with millimeter precision-and once in place, the ensemble can be guided in its actions with the same precision."

Vinh's response was so blank that it penetrated even Reynolt's attention. "Don't you see? We can improve the attention-focusing aspects of consciousness: we can take humans and turn them into a.n.a.lytical engines." She spelled it out in wretched detail. On the Emergent worlds, the Focusing process was spread over the last years of a specialist's schooling, intensifying the graduate-school experience to produce genius. For Trixia and the others, the process had been necessarily more abrupt. For many days, Reynolt and her technicians had tweaked the virus, triggering genetic expression that precisely released the chemicals of thought-all guided by Emergent medical computers that gathered feedback from conventional brain diagnostics. . . .

"And now the training is complete. The survivors are ready to pursue their researches as they never could have before."

Reynolt led him through rooms with plush furniture and carpeted walls. They followed corridors that became narrower and narrower until they were in tunnels barely one meter across. It was a capillary architecture he had seen in histories. . .pictures from the heart of an urban tyranny. And finally they stood before a simple door. Like the others behind them, it bore a number and speciality. This one said:F 042 042EXPLORATORY LINGUISTICS.

Reynolt paused. "One last thing. Podmaster Nau believes you may be upset by what you see here. I know outlanders behave in extreme ways when they first encounter Focus." She c.o.c.ked her head as though debating Ezr Vinh's rationality. "So. The Podmaster has asked me to emphasize: Focus is normally reversible, at least to a great extent." She shrugged, as though delivering a rote speech.

"Open the door." Ezr's voice cracked on the words.

The roomlet was tiny, lit dimly by the glow from a dozen active windows. The light formed a halo around the head of the person within: short hair, slender form in simple fatigues.

"Trixia?" he said softly. He reached across the room to touch her shoulder. She didn't turn her head. Vinh swallowed his terror and pulled himself around to look into her face. "Trixia?"

For an instant she seemed to look directly into his eyes. Then she twisted away from his touch and tried to peer around him, at the windows. "You're blocking my view. I can't see!" Her tone was nervous, edging into panic.

Ezr ducked his head, turned to see what was so important in the windows. The walls around Trixia were filled with structure and generation diagrams. One whole section appeared to be vocabulary options. There were Nese words in n-to-one match with fragments of unp.r.o.nounceable nonsense. It was a typical language-a.n.a.lysis environment, though with more active windows than a reasonable person would use. Trixia's gaze flickered from point to point, her fingers tapping choices. Occasionally she would mutter a command. Her face was filled with a look of total concentration. It was not an alien look, and not by itself horrifying; he had seen it before, when she was totally fascinated by some language problem.

Once he moved out of her way, he was gone from her mind. She was more. . .focused. . .than he had ever seen her before.

And Ezr Vinh began to understand.

He watched her for some seconds, watched the patterns expand in the windows, watched choices made, structures change. Finally, he asked in a quiet, almost disinterested voice, "So how is it going, Trixia?"

"Fine." The answer was immediate, the tone exactly that of the old Trixia in a distracted mood. "The books from the Spider library, they're marvelous. I have a handle on their graphemics now. No one's ever seen anything like this, ever done anything like this. The Spiders don't see the way we do; visual fusion is entirely different with them. If it hadn't been for the physics books, I'd never have imagined the notion of split graphemes." Her voice was distant, a little excited. She didn't turn to look at him as she spoke, and her fingers continued to tap. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he could see small, frightening things. Her fatigues were fresh but there were syrupy stains down the front. Her hair, even cut short, looked tangled and greasy. A fleck of something-food? snot?-clung to the curve of her face just above her lips.

Can she even bathe herself?Vinh glanced downward, at the doorway. The place wasn't big enough for three, but Reynolt had stuck her head and shoulders through the opening. She floated easily on her elbows. She was staring up at Ezr and Trixia with intense interest. "Dr. Bonsol has done well, even better than our own linguists, and they've been Focused since graduate school. Because of her, we'll have a reading knowledge of their language even before the Spiders come back to life."

Ezr touched Trixia's shoulder again. Again, she twitched away. It wasn't a gesture of anger or fear; it was as if she were shrugging off a pesky fly. "Do you remember me, Trixia?" No answer, but he was sure she did-it simply wasn't important enough to comment on. She was an ensorcelled princess, and only the evil witches might waken her. But this ensorcellment might never have happened if he had listened more to the princess's fears, if he had agreed with Sum Dotran. "I'm so sorry, Trixia."

Reynolt said, "Enough for this visit, Fleet Manager." She gestured him out of the roomlet.

Vinh slid back. Trixia's eyes never left her work. Something like that intentness had originally attracted him to her. She was a Trilander, one of the few who had shipped on the Qeng Ho expedition without close friends or even a little family. Trixia had dreamed of learning the truly alien, learning things no human had ever known. She had held the dream as fiercely as the most daring Qeng Ho. And now she had what she had sacrificed for. . .and nothing else.

Halfway through the door, he stopped and looked across the room at the back of her head. "Are you happy?" he said in a small voice, not really expecting an answer.

She didn't turn, but her fingers ceased their tapping. Where his face and touch had made no impression, the words words of a silly question stopped her. Somewhere in that beloved head, the question filtered past layers of Focus, was considered briefly. "Yes, very." And the sound of her tapping resumed. of a silly question stopped her. Somewhere in that beloved head, the question filtered past layers of Focus, was considered briefly. "Yes, very." And the sound of her tapping resumed.

Vinh had no recollection of the trip back to the temp, and after that, little more than confused fragments of memory. He saw Benny Wen in the docking area.

Benny wanted to talk. "We're back earlier that I'd ever guessed. You can't imagine how slick Xin's pilots are." His voice dropped. "One of them was Ai Sun. You know, from the Invisible Hand. Invisible Hand. She was in Navigation. She was in Navigation. One of our own people, Ezr. One of our own people, Ezr. But it's like she's dead inside, just like his other pilots and the Emergent programmers. Xin said she was Focused. He said you could explain. Ezr, you know my pop is over on Hammerfest. What-" But it's like she's dead inside, just like his other pilots and the Emergent programmers. Xin said she was Focused. He said you could explain. Ezr, you know my pop is over on Hammerfest. What-"

And that was all Ezr remembered. Maybe he screamed at Benny, maybe he just pushed past him. Explain Focus to your people, and do it so theycan accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive. Explain Focus to your people, and do it so theycan accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive.

When reason returned . . .

Vinh was alone in the temp's central park, without any recollection of having wandered there. The park spread out around him, the leafy treetops reaching across to touch him from five sides. There was an old saying: Without a bactry, a habitat cannot support its tenants; without a park, the tenants lose their souls. Even on ramships deep between the stars, there was still the Captain's bonsai. In the larger temps, the thousand-year habitats at Canberra and Namqem, the park was the largest s.p.a.ce within the structure, kilometer on kilometer of nature. But even the smallest park had all the millennia of Qeng Ho ingenuity behind its design. This one gave the impression of forest depth, of creatures great and small waiting just behind the nearest trees. Keeping the balance of life in a park this small was probably the most difficult project in the temp.

The park was in deepening twilight, darkest in the direction of down. To his right the last glimmer of skylike blue shone beyond the trees. Vinh reached out, pulled himself hand over hand to the ground. It was a short trip; all together, the park was less than twelve meters across. Vinh hugged himself into the deep moss by a tree trunk and listened to the sounds of the cooling forest evening. A bat flickered against the sky, and somewhere a nest of b.u.t.terflies muttered musically to itself. The bat was likely fake. A park this small could not stock large animals or scamperers, but the b.u.t.terflies would be real.

For a blessed s.p.a.ce of time, all thought fled . . .

. . .and returned with knives resharpened. Jimmy was dead. And Tsufe, and Pham Patil. In dying, they had killed hundreds of others, including the people who might know what to do now. Yet I still live. Yet I still live.

Even half a day ago, knowing what had happened to Trixia would have put him in a rage beyond reason. Now that rage choked on his shame. Ezr Vinh had had a hand in the deaths aboard the Far Treasure. Far Treasure. If Jimmy had been a little more "successful," all those on Hammerfest might be dead too. Was being foolish, and supporting foolish, violent people-was that as evil as committing a treacherous ambush? If Jimmy had been a little more "successful," all those on Hammerfest might be dead too. Was being foolish, and supporting foolish, violent people-was that as evil as committing a treacherous ambush? No, no, no! No, no, no! And yet, in the end, Jimmy had killed a good fraction of those who had survived the ambush. And yet, in the end, Jimmy had killed a good fraction of those who had survived the ambush. And I must make amends. Now I must somehow explain Focus to my people,and do it so they can accept it, so what is left of our mission can survive. And I must make amends. Now I must somehow explain Focus to my people,and do it so they can accept it, so what is left of our mission can survive.

Ezr choked on a sob. He was supposed to convince others to accept what he would have died to prevent. In all his schooling, all his reading, all his nineteen years of life, he had never imagined there could be anything so difficult.

A tiny light swung through the middle distance. Branches shuffled aside. Someone had entered the park, was b.u.mbling nearer the central glade. The light flashed briefly in Vinh's face, then went out.

"Aha. I figured you might go to ground." It was Pham Trinli. The old man grabbed a low-growing branch and settled on the moss near Vinh. "Brace up, young fellow. Diem's heart was in the right place. I helped him out as best I could, but he was a careless hothead-remember how he sounded? I never thought he was that foolish, and now a lot of people got killed. Well, s.h.i.t happens."

Vinh turned toward the sound of the words; the other's face was a grayish blob in the twilight. For a moment, Vinh teetered on the edge of violence. It would feel so good good to pulp that face. Instead, he settled a little deeper in the dark and let his breath steady. "Yeah. It happens." to pulp that face. Instead, he settled a little deeper in the dark and let his breath steady. "Yeah. It happens." Andmaybe some will happen to you. Andmaybe some will happen to you. Surely Nau had the park bugged. Surely Nau had the park bugged.

"Courage. I like that." In the darkness, Vinh couldn't tell whether the other was smiling or if the fatuous compliment was meant seriously. Trinli slid a little closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't take it so hard. Sometimes you have to go along to get along. And I think I can manipulate that Nau fellow. The speech he gave-did you notice? After all the death Jimmy caused, Nau was accommodating. accommodating. I swear, he cribbed his talk from something in our own history." I swear, he cribbed his talk from something in our own history."

So even in h.e.l.l, there are clowns. Pham Trinli, the aging martinet, whose idea of subtle conspiracy was a whispered chat in a temp's central park. Trinli was so totally clueless. Worse, he had so many things backwards backwards . . . . . . . .

They sat in the near-total darkness for some seconds, and Pham Trinli remained mercifully silent. The guy's stupidity was like a load of rock dumped into the pool of Vinh's despair. It stirred things up. The absurdities gave him something to hit on besides himself. Nau's speech. . . accommodating accommodating? In a sense. Nau was the injured party in this. But they were all injured parties. Cooperation was the only way out now. He thought back over Nau's words. Huh. Huh. Some of the phrases really were borrowed, from Pham Nuwen's speech at Brisgo Gap. Brisgo Gap was a shining high point in the history of the Qeng Ho, where the Traders had saved a high civilization and billions of lives. As much as something so large could be tied to a single point in s.p.a.ce-time, Brisgo Gap was the origin of the modern Qeng Ho. The similarities with the present situation were about nil. . . except that there, too, people from all over had cooperated, had prevailed in the face of terrible treachery. Some of the phrases really were borrowed, from Pham Nuwen's speech at Brisgo Gap. Brisgo Gap was a shining high point in the history of the Qeng Ho, where the Traders had saved a high civilization and billions of lives. As much as something so large could be tied to a single point in s.p.a.ce-time, Brisgo Gap was the origin of the modern Qeng Ho. The similarities with the present situation were about nil. . . except that there, too, people from all over had cooperated, had prevailed in the face of terrible treachery.

Pham Nuwen's speech had been 'cast across Human s.p.a.ce many times during the last two thousand years. It wasn't surprising Tomas Nau would know it. So he'd spliced in a phrase here and there, sought a common background. . .except that Tomas Nau's notion of "cooperation" meant accepting Focus and what had been done to Trixia Bonsol. Vinh realized that some part of his mind had felt the similarities, had been moved by them. But seeing the cribbing laid out cold made things different. It was all so pat, and it ended with Ezr Vinh having to accept. . .Focus.

Shame and guilt lay so heavily on the last two days. Now Ezr wondered. Jimmy Diem had never been a friend friend of Ezr's. The other had been a few years older, and since they first met, Diem had been his crewleader, his most constant disciplinarian. Ezr tried to think back on Jimmy, think of him from the outside. Ezr Vinh was no prize himself, but he had grown up near the pinnacle of Vinh.23. His aunts and uncles and cousins included some of the most successful Traders in this end of Human s.p.a.ce. Ezr had listened to them and played with them since his nursery days. . .and Jimmy Diem was just not in their league. Jimmy was hardworking, but he didn't have that much imagination. His goals had been modest, which was fortunate since even working as hard as he did, Jimmy was scarcely able to manage a single work crew. of Ezr's. The other had been a few years older, and since they first met, Diem had been his crewleader, his most constant disciplinarian. Ezr tried to think back on Jimmy, think of him from the outside. Ezr Vinh was no prize himself, but he had grown up near the pinnacle of Vinh.23. His aunts and uncles and cousins included some of the most successful Traders in this end of Human s.p.a.ce. Ezr had listened to them and played with them since his nursery days. . .and Jimmy Diem was just not in their league. Jimmy was hardworking, but he didn't have that much imagination. His goals had been modest, which was fortunate since even working as hard as he did, Jimmy was scarcely able to manage a single work crew. Huh. I never thought about him that way. Huh. I never thought about him that way. It was a sad surprise that suddenly made Jimmy the hardnosed crewleader much more likable, someone who could have been a friend. It was a sad surprise that suddenly made Jimmy the hardnosed crewleader much more likable, someone who could have been a friend.

And just as suddenly, he realized how much Jimmy must have hated playing the game of high-stakes threats with Tomas Nau. He didn't have the scheming talent for such things, and in the end he had simply miscalculated. All the guy really wanted to do was marry Tsufe Do and get into middle management. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. Vinh was suddenly aware of the darkness around him, the sounds of b.u.t.terflies sleeping in the trees. The damp of the moss was chill through his shirt and pants. He tried to remember exactly what he'd heard over the auditorium speakers. The voice was Jimmy's, no doubt. The accent was precisely his Diem-family Nese. But the tone, the choice of words, those had been so confident, so arrogant, so . . .almost Vinh was suddenly aware of the darkness around him, the sounds of b.u.t.terflies sleeping in the trees. The damp of the moss was chill through his shirt and pants. He tried to remember exactly what he'd heard over the auditorium speakers. The voice was Jimmy's, no doubt. The accent was precisely his Diem-family Nese. But the tone, the choice of words, those had been so confident, so arrogant, so . . .almost joyful. joyful. Jimmy Diem could never have faked that enthusiasm. And Jimmy would never have felt such enthusiasm, either. Jimmy Diem could never have faked that enthusiasm. And Jimmy would never have felt such enthusiasm, either.

And that left only one conclusion. Faking Jimmy's voice and accent would have been difficult, but somehow they had done it. And so what else had been a lie? Jimmy didn't kill anyone. Jimmy didn't kill anyone. The senior Qeng Ho had been murdered before Jimmy and Tsufe and Pham Patil ever went aboard the The senior Qeng Ho had been murdered before Jimmy and Tsufe and Pham Patil ever went aboard the Far Treasure. Far Treasure. Tomas Nau had committed murders on top of murders to claim his moral high ground. Tomas Nau had committed murders on top of murders to claim his moral high ground. Explain Focus to your people, and do it sothey can accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive. Explain Focus to your people, and do it sothey can accept it, so what is left of our missions can survive.

Vinh stared up into the last light in the sky. Stars glinted here and there between the branches, a fake heaven from a sky light-years away. He heard Pham Trinli shift. He patted Ezr awkwardly on the shoulder, and his lanky form floated off the ground. "Good, you're not bawling anymore. I figured you just needed a little backbone. Just remember, you gotta go along to get along. Nau is basically a softy; we can handle him."

Ezr was trembling, a growl of rage climbing up his throat. He caught the growl, made it a sobbing sound, made his trembling anger an exhausted quavering. "Y-yes. We've got to go along."

"Good man." Trinli patted him on the shoulder again, then turned to find his way back through the treetops. Ezr remembered Ritser Brughel's description of Trinli after the Relight. The old man was immune to Tomas Nau's moral manipulation. But that didn't matter, because Trinli was also a self-deceiving coward. You gotta go along to get along. You gotta go along to get along.

One Jimmy Diem was worth any number of Pham Trinlis.

Tomas Nau had maneuvered them all so cleverly. He had stolen the minds of Trixia and hundreds of others. He had murdered all those who might have made a difference. And he had used used those murders to make the rest of them into his willing tools. those murders to make the rest of them into his willing tools.

Ezr stared up at the false stars, at the tree branches that curved like claws across the sky. Maybe it's possible to push someone too far, to breakhim so he can't Maybe it's possible to push someone too far, to breakhim so he can't be be a tool anymore. a tool anymore. Staring up at the dark claws all around him, Vinh felt his mind spin off in separate directions. One part watched pa.s.sively, marveling that such disintegration could happen to Ezr Vinh. Another part drew in on itself, drowned in pools of sorrow; Sum Dotran would never return, nor S.J. Park, and any promise of reversing Trixia's Focus must surely be a lie. But there was a third fragment, cool and a.n.a.lytical and murderous: Staring up at the dark claws all around him, Vinh felt his mind spin off in separate directions. One part watched pa.s.sively, marveling that such disintegration could happen to Ezr Vinh. Another part drew in on itself, drowned in pools of sorrow; Sum Dotran would never return, nor S.J. Park, and any promise of reversing Trixia's Focus must surely be a lie. But there was a third fragment, cool and a.n.a.lytical and murderous: For both Qeng Ho and Emergents, the Exile would last for decades. Much of that time would be spent off-Watch, in coldsleep. . .but they still had years stretching before them. And Tomas Nau needed all the survivors. For now, the Qeng Ho were beaten down, raped, and-so Tomas Nau must be led to think-deceived. The cool one within him, the one who could kill, looked out upon that future with grim intent. This was not the life that Ezr Vinh had ever dreamed would be his. There would be no friends he could safely confide in. There would be enemies and fools all around. He watched Trinli's light vanish at the entrance to the park. Fools like Pham Trinli could be used. As long as it didn't implicate competent Qeng Ho, Trinli was a sacrifice piece in the game. Tomas Nau had set him a role for life, and his greatest reward might be nothing more than revenge. (But maybe a chance, the original watcher tried to say, maybe a chance that Reynolt wasn't lying about Trixia and the reversability of Focus.) The cool one took a last long look down the years of patient work that lay ahead. . .and then for the moment, it retired. Surely there were cameras watching. Better not to seem too calm after all that had happened. Vinh curled in upon himself and surrendered to the one who could weep.

PART TWO.

FOURTEEN.

Only the most literal-minded would dispute the saying "New sun, new world." It's true, the core of the planet is surely unchanged by the New Sun, and the continental outlines are mostly the same. But the steam-storms of the first year of the sun scour back the dry wreckage of all previous surface life. Forests and jungles, prairies and swamps, all must start again. Of Spiderkind's surface works, only stone buildings in protected valleys may survive.

Spore-borne life spreads quickly, torn apart in the storms to sprout again and again. In the first years, higher animals may poke their snouts from deepnesses, may try to gain advantage with an early taking of territory, but it is a deadly business. The "birth of the new world" is so violent that the metaphor is strained.

. . .And yet, after the third or fourth year, there are occasional breaks in the storms. Avalanches and steam surges become rare, and plants can survive from year to year. In the winter season, when the winds have gentled and there is a gap between the storms, there are times when one can look out at the land and imagine this phase of the sun as an exuberance of life.

Pride of Accord was once more complete, a grander highway than ever it had been before. Victory Smith had the sports car up past sixty miles per hour on the straightaway, slowing to just under thirty when they entered a switchback. From his perch in the back, Hrunkner Unnerby had heart-stopping views of each new precipice. He held on to his perch with every hand and foot. Except for that terrorized embrace, he was sure the last turn would have flung him out the side of the auto.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have me drive, ma'am?" He asked.

Smith laughed. "And me sit back where you are? No way. I know how scary it is to watch from the back perch."

Sherkaner Underhill tilted his head out the side window. "Um, I never realized how exciting this ride was for pa.s.sengers."

"Okay, I get the message." Smith slowed, drove more cautiously than any of them might have done alone. In fact, road conditions were excellent. The storm had been blown away by a hot, compressional wind, leaving the concrete surface dry and clear. In another hour, they would be back in the soup. Their mountain route sc.r.a.ped just under ragged, fast-moving clouds, and the lands to the south were dark with the haze of rain. The view was about as open as it ever got along Pride of Accord. The forest was just two years old, hard-barked cones sprouting tear-away leaves. Most of the treelets were scarcely a yard tall, though here and there a sproutling or a softbush might reach six or ten feet. The green stretched for miles, interrupted here and there by the brown of avalanches or the spray of waterfalls. In this phase of the sun, the Westermost Forest was like G.o.d's own lawn and from almost every point on the Pride, the travelers could see down to the ocean.

Hrunkner relaxed the grip on his perch a fraction. Behind them, he could see Smith's security detail appear around the last switchback. For most of the trip, the escort had had no trouble staying close. For one thing, the storm and rain had kept Victory to very low speeds. Now they were scrambling, and Hrunkner wouldn't blame them if they were steamed. Unfortunately, their commanding officer was about the only person they could complain to, and that was Victory Smith. Smith wore the uniform of a major in the Accord Quartermaster Corps. The branch wasn't quite a lie, since Intelligence was construed as a branch of Quartermaster whenever convenient. But Smith was no major. Unnerby had been out of the service for four years, but he still had his old drinking buddies. . .and he knew just how the Great War had finally been won: if Victory Smith was not the new chief of Accord Intelligence, Unnerby would be enormously surprised.

There had been other surprises though-at least they'd been surprises until he thought things through. Two days ago, Smith had called, inviting him back to the Service. Today, when she showed up at his shop in Princeton, he'd half expected the discreet security-but Sherkaner Underhill's presence had been totally unexpected. Not so surprising was the pleasure he'd felt in seeing the two again. Hrunkner Unnerby had achieved no fame for his role in truncating the Great War; it would be at least ten years before the records of their walk in the Dark were unsealed. But his share of the bounty for that mission had been twenty times his life's savings. Finally, an excuse to quit the Service, a chance to do something constructive with his engineering background.

In the first years of a New Sun, there were enormous works to be done, under conditions that could be as dangerous as combat. In some cases real combat was involved. Even in a modern civilization, this phase of the sun was one where treachery-from theft to murder to squatting-was common. Hrunkner Unnerby had done very well, so perhaps the biggest surprise was how easy it had been for Victory Smith to persuade him to accept a thirty-day enlistment. "Just long enough to learn what we're up to and decide whether you'd like to come back to longer service."

Hence this trip to Lands Command. So far, it was a welcome vacation, a meeting with old friends (and it's not often a sergeant got chauffeured by a general officer). Sherkaner Underhill was as much the unhinged genius as ever, though the nerve damage he'd suffered in their ad hoc deepness made him seem older than he was. Smith was more open and cheerful than he had ever seen her. Fifteen miles out of Princeton, beyond the temporary rowhouses and just into the foothills of the Westermost Range, the two let him in on their personal secret: "You're what?" Unnerby had said, almost slipping off his perch. Hot rain was slamming down all around them; maybe he hadn't heard right.

"You heard me, Hrunkner. The General and I are wife and husband." Underhill was grinning like an idiot.

Victory Smith raised a pointed hand. "One correction. Don't call me General."

Unnerby was usually better at masking astonishment; even Underhill could see this had taken him by surprise, and his grin got even broader. "Surely you had guessed there was something going on between us before the Big Dark."

"Well. . ." Yes, Yes, though nothing could come of it, what with Sherkaner about to head off for his very uncertain walk in the Dark. Hrunkner had always felt sorry for the two because of that. though nothing could come of it, what with Sherkaner about to head off for his very uncertain walk in the Dark. Hrunkner had always felt sorry for the two because of that.

In fact, they did make a great team. Sherkaner Underhill had more bright ideas than any dozen people the Sergeant had ever known; but most of his ideas were grossly impractical, at least in terms of what could be accomplished in one person's lifetime. On the other hand, Victory Smith had an eye for workable results. Why, if she hadn't been around at just the right time that afternoon long ago, Unnerby would have booted poor Underhill all the way back to Princeton-and his mad scheme for winning the Great War would have been lost. So, yes. Except for the timing, he wasn't surprised. And if Victory Smith was now the Director of Accord Intelligence, the country itself stood to win big. An ugly thought wormed its way to his mouth, and then seemed to pop out of its own volition: "But children? Not now of course."

"Yup. The General's pregnant. I'll be carrying two baby welts on my back in less than half a year."

Hrunkner realized he was sucking on his eating hands in embarra.s.sment. He gargled something unintelligible. They drove for half a minute in silence, the hot rain hissing back across the windshields. How could theydo this to their own children? How could theydo this to their own children?

Finally, the General said quietly, "Do you have a problem with this, Hrunkner?"

Unnerby wanted to swallow his hands all over again. He had known Victory Smith since the day she came into Lands Command, a spanking new junior lieutenant, a lady with an unplaced name and an undisguisable youthfulness. You saw almost everything in the military, and everybody guessed straightaway. The junior lieutenant was truly new; she was born out-of-phase. Yet somehow she'd been educated well enough to get into officer school. The rumor was that Victory Smith was the get of a rich East Coast pervert, the fellow's family had finally disowned him, and the daughter who shouldn't exist. Unnerby remembered the slurs and worse that had followed her everywhere for the first quarter year or so. In fact, his first glimmer that she was destined for greatness was the way she stood up to the ostracism, her intelligence and courage in facing the shame of her time of birth.

Finally he got his voice. "Uk. Yes, ma'am. I know. I meant no disrespect. I was brought up to believe a certain way," about how decent peopleshould live. about how decent peopleshould live. Decent people conceived their children in the Waning years, and gave birth with the new sun. Decent people conceived their children in the Waning years, and gave birth with the new sun.

The General didn't reply, but Underhill gave him a backhanded pat. "That's okay, Sergeant. You should have seen my cousin's reaction. But just wait; things change. When we have time, I'll explain why the old rules don't really make sense anymore." And that was the most disquieting thing about Sherkaner Underhill: he probably could explain away their behavior-and remain blissfully remote from the rage it would cause in others.

But the embarra.s.sing moment had pa.s.sed. If these two could put up with Hrunkner's straitlaced nature, he would do his best to ignore their. . . quirks. Heaven knew he had put up with worse during the war. Besides, Victory Smith was the sort who seemed to create her own propriety-and once created, it was as deep as any Unnerby had known.

As for Underhill. . .his attention was already elsewhere. His nervous tremor made him look old, but the mind was as sharp-or as flaky-as ever. It flitted from idea to idea, never quite coming to rest the way a normal person's would. The rain had stopped and the wind became hot and dry. As they entered the steep country, Unnerby took a quick look at his watch and began counting how much craziness the other might come up with in the next few minutes. (1) Pointing out at the hard-armored first growth of the forest, Underhill speculated what Spiderkind might have been like if it regrew from spores after every Dark instead of emerging full-grown and with children. (2) A crack in the cloud cover appeared ahead, fortunately several miles to the side of their path. For a few minutes, the searing whiteness of once-reflected sunlight shone down upon them, clouds so bright they had to shade that side of the car. Somewhere uphill of them, direct sunlight was frying the mountainside. And Sherkaner Underhill wondered if maybe someone could build "heat farms" on the mountaintops, using temperature differentials to generate electricity for the towns below. (3) Something green scuttled across the road, narrowly avoiding their wheels. Sherkaner had a take on that, too, something about evolution and the automobile. (And Victory commented that such evolution could work both ways.) (4) Ah, but Underhill had an idea for much safer, faster transport than autos or even aircraft. "Ten minutes from Princeton to Lands Command, twenty minutes across the continent. See, you dig these tunnels along minimum-time arcs, evacuate the air from them, and just let gravity do the work." By Unnerby's watch, there was a five-second pause. Then: "Oops, little problem there. The minimum-time solution for Princeton to Lands Command would go down kinda deep. . .like six hundred miles. I probably couldn't convince even the General to finance it."

"You are right about that!" And the two were off in an extended argument about less-than-optimal tunnel arcs and trade-offs against air travel. The deep tunnel idea was really dumb, it turned out.