A Deepness in the Sky Part 20

In some ways, his time with Sura at Namqem was like their first days on the Reprise. Reprise. But this went on and on, the imaginings and the teaming ever richer. And there were wonders that his hard head with all its grandiose plans had never considered: children. He had never imagined how different a family could be from the one of his birth. Ratko, Butra, and Qo were their first little ones. He lived with them, taught them, played blinkertalk and evercatch with them, showed them the wonders of the Namqem world park. Pham loved them far more than himself, and almost as much as he loved Sura. He almost abandoned the Grand Schedule to stay with them. But there would be other times, and Sura forgave him. When he returned, thirty years later, Sura awaited, with news of other parts of the Plan well under way. But by then their first three children were themselves avoyaging, playing their own part in founding the new Qeng Ho. But this went on and on, the imaginings and the teaming ever richer. And there were wonders that his hard head with all its grandiose plans had never considered: children. He had never imagined how different a family could be from the one of his birth. Ratko, Butra, and Qo were their first little ones. He lived with them, taught them, played blinkertalk and evercatch with them, showed them the wonders of the Namqem world park. Pham loved them far more than himself, and almost as much as he loved Sura. He almost abandoned the Grand Schedule to stay with them. But there would be other times, and Sura forgave him. When he returned, thirty years later, Sura awaited, with news of other parts of the Plan well under way. But by then their first three children were themselves avoyaging, playing their own part in founding the new Qeng Ho.

Pham ended up with a fleet of three starships. There were setbacks and disasters. Treachery. Zamle Eng leaving him for dead in Kielle's comet cloud. Twenty years he was fleetless at Kielle, making himself a trillionaire from scratch, just to escape the place.

Sura flew with him on several missions, and they raised new families on half a dozen worlds. A century pa.s.sed. Three. The mission protocols they had devised on the old Reprise Reprise served them well, and across the years there were reunions with children and children's children. Some were greater friends than Ratko or Butra or Qo, but he never loved them quite so much. Pham could see the new structure emerging. Now it was simply trade, sometimes leavened with family ties. It would be much more. served them well, and across the years there were reunions with children and children's children. Some were greater friends than Ratko or Butra or Qo, but he never loved them quite so much. Pham could see the new structure emerging. Now it was simply trade, sometimes leavened with family ties. It would be much more.

The hardest thing was the realization that they needed someone at the center, at least in the early centuries. More and more Sura stayed behind, coordinating what Pham and others undertook.

And yet they still had children. Sura had new sons and daughters while Pham was light-years away. He joked with her about the miracle, though in truth he was hurt at the thought she had other lovers. Sura had smiled gently and shook her head. "No, Pham, any child I call my own is also of you." Her smile turned mischievous. "Over the years, you have stuffed me with enough of yourself to birth an army. I can't use that gift all at once, but use it I will."

"No clones." Pham's word came out sharper than he intended.

"Lord, no." She looked away. "I. . .one of you is all I can handle."

Maybe she was just as superst.i.tious as he was. Or maybe not: "No, I'm using you in natural zygotes. I'm not always the other donor, or the only other donor. Namqem medics are very good at this kind of thing." She turned back, and saw the look on his face. "I swear, Pham, every one of your children has a family. Every one is loved.. . .We need them, Pham. We need families and Great Families. The Plan needs them." She jabbed at him playfully, trying to jolly the disapproval from his face. "Hey, Pham! Isn't this the wet dream of every conquering barbarian lord? Well, I'll tell you, you've outfathered the greatest of them."

Yes. Thousands of children by dozens of partners, raised without personal cost to the father. His own father had unsuccessfully attempted something much smaller with his campaign of regicide and concubinage in the North Coast states. Pham was getting it all without the murder, without the violence. And yet. . .how long had Sura been doing this? How many children, and by how many "donors"? He could imagine her now, planning bloodlines, slotting the right talents into the founding of each new Family, dispersing them throughout the new Qeng Ho. He felt the strangest double vision as he turned the situation around in his mind. As Sura said, it was a barbarian wet dream. . .but it was also a little like being raped.

"I would have told you at the beginning, Pham. But I was afraid you would object. And this is so important." In the end, Pham did not object. It would would advance their Plan. But it hurt to think of all the children he would never know. advance their Plan. But it hurt to think of all the children he would never know.

Voyaging at 0.3c, Pham Nuwen traveled far. Everywhere there were Traders, though beyond thirty light-years, they rarely called themselves "Qeng Ho." It didn't matter. They could understand the Plan. The ones he met spread the ideas still farther. Wherever they went-and farther, since some were convinced simply by the radio messages Pham sent across the dark-the spirit of the Qeng Ho was spread.

Pham returned to Namqem again and again, bending the Grand Schedule almost to its breaking point. Sura was aging. She was two or three centuries old now. Her body was at the limit of what medical science could make young and supple. Even some of their children were old, living too long in port amid their voyaging. And sometimes in Sura's eyes, Pham glimpsed unknowable experience.

Each time he returned to Namqem, he tossed the question up at her. Finally, one night after love almost as good as they had ever had, he came close to bawling. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be, Sura! The Plan was for both of us. Come away with me. At least, go avoyaging." And wecan meet again and again, however long we live. And wecan meet again and again, however long we live.

Sura leaned back from him and slipped her hand behind his neck. Her smile was crooked and sad. "I know. We thought we could both be fly-abouts. Strange that that's the biggest mistake we had in all our original scheming. But, be honest. You know that one of us has to stay in some central place, has to deal with the Plan almost in one long Watch." There were a trillion little details involved in conquering the universe, and they couldn't be handled while you were in coldsleep.

"Yes, in the early centuries. But not for. . .not for your whole life!"

Sura shook her head, her hand brushing gently at his neck. "I'm afraid we were wrong." She saw the look on his face, the anguish, and she drew him down to her. "My poor barbarian prince." He could hear the fond, mocking smile in her words. "You are my unique treasure. And do you know why? You're a flaming genius. You're driven. But the reason I've always loved you is something more. Inside your head, you are such a contradiction. Little Pham grew up in a rundown suburb of h.e.l.l. You saw betrayal and you were betrayed. You understand violent evil as well as the most b.l.o.o.d.y-handed villain. And yet, little Pham also bought into all the myths of chivalry and honor and quest. Somehow in your head, both live at once, and you've spent your life trying to make the universe fit your contradictions. You will come very close to achieving that goal, close enough for me or any reasonable person-but maybe not close enough to satisfy yourself. So. I must stay if our Plan is to succeed. And you must go for the same reason. Unfortunately you know that, don't you, Pham?"

Pham looked out the real windows that surrounded Sura's penthouse. They were at the top of an office spire sticking high out of Namqem's largest megalopolis moon. Tarelsk office real estate prices were in a frenzy that was downright absurd considering the power of network communication. The last time this tower had been on the open market, the annual rental on the penthouse floor could have bought bought a starship. For the last seventy years, Qeng Ho Families-mostly his and Sura's descendants-had owned the spire and huge swaths of the surrounding office territory. It was the smallest part of their holdings, a nod to fashion. a starship. For the last seventy years, Qeng Ho Families-mostly his and Sura's descendants-had owned the spire and huge swaths of the surrounding office territory. It was the smallest part of their holdings, a nod to fashion.

Just now, it was early evening. The crescent of Namqem hung low in the sky; the lights of the Tarelsk business district rivaled the mother world's glow. The Vinh & Mamso shipyards would rise in another Ksec or so. Vinh & Mamso were probably the largest yards in Human s.p.a.ce. Yet even that was a small part of their Families' wealth. And beyond that-stretching ever more tenuously to the limits of Human s.p.a.ce, but growing still-was the cooperative wealth of the Qeng Ho. He and Sura had founded the greatest trading culture in the history of all time. That was how Sura saw it. That was all she ever saw. It was all she ever wanted. Sura didn't mind that she wouldn't live in the era of their final success. . .because she thought it would never come.

So Pham stilled the tears that waited behind his eyes. He slipped his arms gently around Sura, and kissed her neck. "Yes, I know," he finally said.

Pham postponed his departure from Namqem for two years, five. He stayed so long that the Grand Schedule itself was broken. There would be appointments missed. Any more delay and the Plan itself might fail. And when he finally left Sura, something died inside him. Their partnership survived, even their love, in some abstract way. But a chasm of time had opened between them and he knew they could never bridge it again.

By the time he had lived one hundred years, Pham Nuwen had seen more than thirty solar systems, a hundred cultures. There were Traders who had seen more, but not many. Certainly Sura, huddled in planning mode back on Namqem, never saw what Pham did. Sura had only books and histories, reports from far away.

For sessile civilizations, even s.p.a.ce-faring ones, nothing lasted forever. It was something of a miracle that the human race had survived long enough to escape Earth. There were so many ways that an intelligent race could make itself extinct. Deadlocks and runaways, plagues, atmosphere catastrophes, impact events-those were the simplest dangers. Humankind had lived long enough to understand some of the threats. Yet, even with the greatest care, a technological civilization carried the seeds of its own destruction. Sooner or later, it ossified and politics carried it into a fall. Pham Nuwen had been born on Canberra in the depths of a dark age. He knew now that the disaster had been mild by some standards-after all, the human race had survived on Canberra even though it lost its high technology. There were worlds that Pham visited multiple times during his first hundred years. Sometimes, it was centuries between the visits. He saw the utopia that had been Neumars fade into overpopulated dictatorship, the ocean cities becoming slums for billions. Seventy years later, he came back to a world with a population of one million, a world of small villages, of savages with painted faces and hand-axes and songs of heartbreak. The voyage would have been a bust, if not for the chants of Vilnios. But Neumars was lucky compared to the dead worlds. Old Earth had been recolonized from scratch four times since the diaspora began.

There had to be a better way, and every new world Pham saw made him more sure that he knew that better way. Empire. Empire. A government so large that the failure of an entire solar system would be a manageable disaster. The Qeng Ho trading culture was a start. It would become the Qeng Ho trading empire. . .and someday a true, governing empire. For the Qeng Ho were in a unique position. At its peak, a Customer civilization possessed extraordinary science-and sometimes made marginal improvements over the best that had ever existed before. Most often, these improvements died when the civilization died. The Qeng Ho, however-they went on forever, patiently gathering the best that could be found. To Sura, that was the Qeng Ho's greatest trading edge. A government so large that the failure of an entire solar system would be a manageable disaster. The Qeng Ho trading culture was a start. It would become the Qeng Ho trading empire. . .and someday a true, governing empire. For the Qeng Ho were in a unique position. At its peak, a Customer civilization possessed extraordinary science-and sometimes made marginal improvements over the best that had ever existed before. Most often, these improvements died when the civilization died. The Qeng Ho, however-they went on forever, patiently gathering the best that could be found. To Sura, that was the Qeng Ho's greatest trading edge.

To Pham Nuwen, it was more. Why should we trade back all that welearn? Some, yes. That is largely how we make our living. But let us takethe glittering peaks of all human progress-and hold them for the goodof all Why should we trade back all that welearn? Some, yes. That is largely how we make our living. But let us takethe glittering peaks of all human progress-and hold them for the goodof all . .

That was how the "Qeng Ho" localizers had come to be. Pham had been aground on Trygve Ytre, as far from Namqem as he had ever voyaged. The people were not even from the same ur-stock as the humans of familiar parts of Human s.p.a.ce.

Trygve's sun was one of those dim little M stars, the vermin of the colonizable galaxy. There were dozens of such stars for every one that was like Old Earth's sun-and most had planets. They were dangerous places to settle, the stellar ecosphere so narrow that a civilization without technology could not exist. In the early millennia of Humankind's conquest of s.p.a.ce, that fact had been ignored, and a number of such worlds had been colonized. Ever optimistic, these humans, thinking their technology would last forever. And then at the first Fall, millions of people were left on a world of ice-or a world of fire, if the planet was on the inner side of their star's ecosphere.

Trygve Ytre was a slightly safer variant, and a common situation: The star was accompanied by a giant planet, Trygve, which orbited a bit outside of the primary's ecosphere. The giant planet had just two moons, one of them Earth-sized. Both were inhabited in the era when Pham visited. But the larger, Ytre, was the gem. Tidal and direct heating from Trygve supplemented the sun's meager output. Ytre had land and air and liquid oceans. The humans of Trygve Ytre had survived at least one collapse of their civilization.

What they had now was a technology as high as Humankind ever attained. Pham's little fleet of starships was welcomed, found decent shipyards in the asteroid belt that lay a billion kilometers out from the sun. Pham left crews aboard the ships, and took local transport inward, to Trygve and Ytre. This was no Namqem, but these people had seen other Traders. They had also seen Pham's ramscoops and his preliminary trading list. . .and most of what Pham had did not measure up to Ytre's native magics.

Nuwen stayed on Ytre for a time, some weeks weeks the locals called the unit, the 600Ksec or so that it took giant Ytre to orbit Trygve. Trygve itself orbited the sun in just over 6Msec. So the Ytreisch calendar worked out neatly to ten weeks. the locals called the unit, the 600Ksec or so that it took giant Ytre to orbit Trygve. Trygve itself orbited the sun in just over 6Msec. So the Ytreisch calendar worked out neatly to ten weeks.

Though the world teetered between fire and ice, much of Ytre was habitable. "We have a more climate-stable world than Old Earth itself," the locals bragged. "Ytre is deep within Trygve's gravity well, with no significant perturbers. The tidal heating has been mellow across a geologic time." And even the dangers were no big surprise. The M3 sun was just over one degree across. A foolish person could look directly at the reddish disk, see the whorling of ga.s.ses, see sunspots vast and dark. A few seconds of such sungazing could cause serious retinal burns, since of course the star was far brighter in the near-IR than in visible light. The recommended eye protectors looked like clear plastic, but Pham was very careful to wear them.

His hosts-a group of local companies-put him up at their expense. He spent his official time trying to learn more of their language and trying to discover something his fleet had brought that might be worth something to his customers. They were trying just as hard. It was something like industrial espionage in reverse. The locals' electronics was a little better than Pham had ever seen, though there were program improvements the Qeng Ho might suggest. Their medical automation was significantly backward; that would be his foot in the door, a place to haggle from.

Pham and his staff categorized all the things they might bring from this encounter. It would pay for the voyage and more. But Pham heard rumors. His hosts represented a number of-"cartels" was the nearest translation that Pham could make of the word. They hid things from one another. The rumor was of a new type of localizer, smaller than any made elsewhere, and needing no internal power supply. Any improvement in localizers was a profitable item; the gadgets were the positional glue that made embedded systems so powerful. But these "super" localizers were alleged to contain sensors and effectors. If it was anything more than rumor, it would have political and military consequences on Ytre itself-destabilizing consequences.

By now, Pham Nuwen knew how to collect information in a technical society, even one where he wasn't a fluent speaker, even one where he was being watched. In four weeks he knew which cartel might have the maybe-existent invention. He knew the name of its magnate: Gunnar Larson. The Larson cartel had not mentioned the invention in their trading negotiations. It was not on the table-and Pham didn't want to hint about it when others were present. He arranged a face-to-face meeting with Larson. It was the sort of thing that would have made sense even to Pham's aunts and uncles back on medieval Canberra, though the technical subterfuge behind the meeting would have been unintelligible to them.

Six weeks after his landfall on Ytre, Pham Nuwen walked alone through the most exclusive open street in Dirby. Scattered clouds were reminders of the recent rain. They showed pink and gray in the bright twilight. The sun had just set in the deep heart of Trygve. Near the limb of the giant planet, an arch of gold and red was the memory of the sun's pa.s.sing into eclipse. The disk of the giant stood across ten degrees of sky. Silent blue lightning flickered in its polar lat.i.tudes.

The air was cool and moist, the breeze carrying some natural perfume. Pham kept up his pace, pulling the leash tight every time his snarlihunds wanted to investigate something off the promenade. His cover demanded that he take things slowly, enjoy the view, wave in a courtly way to the similarly dressed people who pa.s.sed by. After all, what else would a rich, retired resident be doing out in the open but admiring the lights and showing off his hunds? That's what his contact had claimed anyway. "Security on Huskestrade isn't really tight. But if you don't have an excuse to be there, the police may stop you. Take some prize snarlihunds. That's legitimate reason to be on the promenade."

Pham's gaze took in the palaces that showed here and there through the foliage along the promenade. Dirby seemed like a peaceful place. There was security here. . .but if enough people wanted to pull things down, it could be done in a single night of fire and riot. The cartels played a hard commercial game, but their civilization was coasting through the highest, happiest of its good times.. . .Maybe "cartels" wasn't even the right word. Gunnar Larson and some of the other magnates put on airs of deep, ancient wisdom. Larson was a boss man all right, but the word for his rank meant something more than that. Pham knew the term "philosopher king." But Larson was a businessman. Maybe his t.i.tle meant "philosopher-magnate." Hmm. Hmm.

Pham reached the Larson estate. He turned down a private offway that was almost as broad as the promenade. The output of his head-up display faded; after a few more paces, he had only a natural view. Pham was annoyed but not surprised. He walked on as if he owned the place, even let the hunds take a c.r.a.p behind a two-meter stand of flowers. Let thephilosopher-magnate understand my deep respect for all the mystery. Let thephilosopher-magnate understand my deep respect for all the mystery.

"Please follow, Sir." A voice came quietly from behind him. Pham suppressed a start, turned and nodded casually to the speaker. In the reddish twilight he couldn't see any weapons. High in the sky and two million kilometers away, a chain of blue lightning flickered bright on the face of Trygve. He got a good look at his guide, and three others who had been hidden by the dark. They wore corporate robes, but he couldn't miss the military bearing, or the huds they wore across their eyes.

He let them take the hunds. That was just as well. The four creatures were big and carnivore-looking mean. They might be overbred into gentleness, but it would take more than one twilight walk to make Pham a hund lover.

Pham and the remaining guards walked more than one hundred meters. He had a glimpse of delicately turned branches, moss that sat just so at joints of the roots. The higher the social position, the more these fellows went for rustic nature-and the more perfect every detail had to be. No doubt this "forest path" had been manicured for a century to capture untrammeled wildness.

The path opened onto a hillside garden, sitting above a stream and a pond. The reddish arch of Trygve was enough for him to make out the tables, the small human form that rose to greet him.

"Magnate Larson." Pham gave the little half bow he had seen between equals. Larson reciprocated, and somehow Pham knew the other fellow was grinning.

"Fleet Captain Nuwen.. . .Please take a seat."

There were cultures where trade couldn't begin until everyone is bored unto death by irrelevant chitchat. Pham wasn't expecting that here. He was due back in his hotel in 20Ksec-and it would be well for both of them if the other cartelists didn't realize where Pham had been. Yet Gunnar Larson seemed in no hurry. Occasional Trygve lightning showed him: typical Ytre stock, but very old, the blondish hair thinning, the pale pink skin wrinkled. They sat in the flashing twilight for more than 2Ksec. The old man chatting about Pham's history and the past of Trygve Ytre. h.e.l.l, maybe he's gettingback at me for dumping in his flowers. h.e.l.l, maybe he's gettingback at me for dumping in his flowers. Or maybe it was something Ytreisch inscrutable. On the bright side, the fellow spoke excellent Aminese and Pham wasn't backward in that language either. Or maybe it was something Ytreisch inscrutable. On the bright side, the fellow spoke excellent Aminese and Pham wasn't backward in that language either.

Larson's estate was strangely quiet. Dirby city contained almost a million people, and though none of the buildings were monstrously tall, there was urbanization to within a thousand meters of the high-cla.s.s Huskestrade section. Yet sitting here, the loudest sounds were Gunnar Larson's inane chitchat-and the splashing of the little waterfall just down the hillside. Pham's eyes were well adjusted now. He could see the reflection of Trygve's arching light in the pond. He could see ripples when some large, sh.e.l.led creature breached the surface. I'm actually coming to like the cycle of lighton Ytre. I'm actually coming to like the cycle of lighton Ytre. Three weeks ago Pham would have never thought that time could come. The nights and days were long beyond any rhythm Pham could sustain, but the midday eclipses gave some respite. And after a while you began to forget that almost every color was a shade of red. There was a comfortable safeness about this world; these people had kept a prosperous peace for almost a thousand years. So maybe there was wisdom here. . . . Three weeks ago Pham would have never thought that time could come. The nights and days were long beyond any rhythm Pham could sustain, but the midday eclipses gave some respite. And after a while you began to forget that almost every color was a shade of red. There was a comfortable safeness about this world; these people had kept a prosperous peace for almost a thousand years. So maybe there was wisdom here. . . .

Abruptly, without breaking the cadence of triviality, Larson said, "So you think to learn the secret of Larson localizers?"

Pham knew his startled expression didn't go beyond his eyes.

"First I would like to learn if such things exist. The rumors are very spectacular. . .and very vague."

The old man's teeth glinted in a smile. "Oh, they exist." He gestured around them. "They give me eyes everywhere. They make this darkness into day."

"I see." The old man wasn't wearing a head-up. Could he guess at the sardonic expression on Pham's face?

Larson laughed softly. "Oh yes." He touched his temple just behind the orbit of his eye. "There's one resting right here. The others align on it and precisely stimulate my optic nerve. It takes a lot of practice on both sides. But if you have enough Larson localizers, they can handle the load. They can synthesize views from whatever direction I choose." He made an obscure motion with his hands. "Your facial expressions are as clear as day to me, Pham Nuwen. And from the localizers that have dusted your hands and neck, I can even look inside. I can hear your heart beat, your lungs breathe. With a little concentration"-he c.o.c.ked his head-"I can estimate blood flow within regions of your brain.. . .You are sincerely surprised, young man."

Pham's lips tightened in anger at himself. The other had spent more than a Ksec calibrating him. If this had been in an office, away from this garden and this quiet darkness, he would have been much more on his guard. Pham shrugged. "Your localizers are far and away the most interesting thing about the current stage of Ytreisch civilization. I'm very interested in acquiring some samples-even more interested in the program base, and the factory specification."

"To what end?"

"That should be obvious and irrelevant. The important thing is what I can give you in trade. Your medical science is poorer than at Namqem or Kielle."

Larson seemed to nod. "It's worse than we had here before the Fall. We've never recovered all the old secrets."

"You called me 'young man," ' said Pham, "but what is your own age, sir? Ninety? One hundred?" Pham and his staff had looked carefully at the Ytreisch net, gauging the locals' medical science.

"Ninety-one of your thirty-Msec years," said Larson.

"Well, sir, I have lived a hundred and twenty-seven years. That doesn't count coldsleep, of course." And I look like a young man. And I look like a young man.

Larson was silent for a long moment, and Pham was sure that he had scored a point. Maybe these "philosopher-magnates" weren't so inscrutable.

"Yes, I would like to be young again. And millions would spend millions for the same. What can your medicine give?"

"A century or two, looking about as you see me. Two or three centuries after that, visibly aging."

"Ah. That's even a bit better than we achieved before the Fall. But the very old will look as bad and suffer as much as the old always have. There are intrinsic limits to how far the human body can be pushed."

Pham was politely silent, but he smiled inside. Medicine was the hook, all right. Pham would get their localizers in return for decent medical science. Both sides would benefit enormously. Magnate Larson would live a few extra centuries. If he was lucky, the current cycle of his civilization would outlive him. But a thousand years from now, when Larson was dust, when his civilization had fallen as the planetbound inevitably did-a thousand years from now, Pham and the Qeng Ho would still be flying between the stars. And they would still have the Larson localizers.

Larson was making a strange, soft sound. After a moment, Pham realized it was coughing laughter. "Ah, forgive me. You may be a hundred and twenty-seven years old, but you are still a young man in your mind. You hide behind the dark and an expressionless face-don't be offended. You haven't trained at the right disguises. With my localizers I see your pulse and the blood flow in your brain.. . .You think that someday you'll dance on my grave, no?"

"I-" d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n. An expert, using the very best invasive probes, couldn't see that much about another's att.i.tude. Larson was just guessing-or the localizers were even more a treasure than Pham had thought. Pham's awe and caution were tinged with anger. The other was mocking him. Well then, truly: "In a sense, yes. If you accept the trade I'm hoping for, you will live just as many years as I. But I am Qeng Ho. I sleep decades between the stars. You Customer civilizations are ephemera to us." An expert, using the very best invasive probes, couldn't see that much about another's att.i.tude. Larson was just guessing-or the localizers were even more a treasure than Pham had thought. Pham's awe and caution were tinged with anger. The other was mocking him. Well then, truly: "In a sense, yes. If you accept the trade I'm hoping for, you will live just as many years as I. But I am Qeng Ho. I sleep decades between the stars. You Customer civilizations are ephemera to us." There. That shouldraise There. That shouldraise your your blood pressure. blood pressure.

"Fleet Captain, you remind me a little of Fred down there in the pool. Again, no real insult intended. Fred is a luksterfiske. luksterfiske. " He must be talking about the creature that Pham had noticed diving near the waterfall. "Fred is curious about lots of things. He's been hopping around since you arrived, trying to figure you out. Can you see, right now he's sitting at the edge of the pond? Two armored tentacles are tickling the gra.s.s about three meters from your feet." " He must be talking about the creature that Pham had noticed diving near the waterfall. "Fred is curious about lots of things. He's been hopping around since you arrived, trying to figure you out. Can you see, right now he's sitting at the edge of the pond? Two armored tentacles are tickling the gra.s.s about three meters from your feet."

Pham felt a shock of surprise. He had thought those were vines. vines. He followed the slender limbs back to the water. . .yes, there were four eye stalks, four unblinking eyes. They glittered yellow in the waning light of Trygve's sky arch. "Fred has lived a long time. Archeologists have found his breeding doc.u.ments, a little experiment with native wildlife just before the Fall. He was some rich man's pet, about as smart as a hund. But Fred is very old. He lived through the Fall. He was something of a legend in these parts. You are right, Fleet Captain; if you live long enough you see much. In the Middle Ages, Dirby was first a ruin, then the beginning of a great kingdom-its lords mined the secrets of the earlier age, to their own great profit. For a time, this hillside was the senate of those rulers. During the Renaissance, this was a slum and the lake at the bottom of the hill an open sewer. Even the name 'Huskestrade'-the epitome of high-cla.s.s modern Dirby addresses-, once meant something like 'Street of the Outhouses.' He followed the slender limbs back to the water. . .yes, there were four eye stalks, four unblinking eyes. They glittered yellow in the waning light of Trygve's sky arch. "Fred has lived a long time. Archeologists have found his breeding doc.u.ments, a little experiment with native wildlife just before the Fall. He was some rich man's pet, about as smart as a hund. But Fred is very old. He lived through the Fall. He was something of a legend in these parts. You are right, Fleet Captain; if you live long enough you see much. In the Middle Ages, Dirby was first a ruin, then the beginning of a great kingdom-its lords mined the secrets of the earlier age, to their own great profit. For a time, this hillside was the senate of those rulers. During the Renaissance, this was a slum and the lake at the bottom of the hill an open sewer. Even the name 'Huskestrade'-the epitome of high-cla.s.s modern Dirby addresses-, once meant something like 'Street of the Outhouses.'

"But Fred survived it all. He was the legend of the sewers, his existence disbelieved by sensible folk until three centuries ago. Now he lives with full honor-in the cleanest water." There was fondness in the old man's voice. "So Fred has lived long, and he's seen much. He's still intellectually alive, as much as a luksterfiske luksterfiske can be. Witness his beady eyes upon us. But Fred knows far less of the world and his own history than I do from reading history." can be. Witness his beady eyes upon us. But Fred knows far less of the world and his own history than I do from reading history."

"Not a valid a.n.a.logy. Fred is a dumb animal."

"True. You are a bright human and you fly between the stars. You live a few hundred years, but those years are spread across a span as great as Fred's. What more do you really see? Civilizations rise and fall, but all technical civilizations know the greatest secrets now. They know which social mechanisms normally work, and which ones quickly fail. They know the means to postpone disaster and evade the most foolish catastrophes. They know that even so, each civilization must inevitably fall. The electronics that you want from me may not exist anywhere else in Human s.p.a.ce-but I'm sure that equipment that good has been invented by humans before, and will be again. Similarly for the medical technology you correctly a.s.sume we want from you. Humankind as a whole is in a steady state, even if our domain is slowly expanding. Yes, compared to you I am like a bug in the forest, alive for one day. But I see as much as you; I live as much as you. I can study my histories and the radio accounts that float between the stars. I can see all the variety of triumph and barbarism that you Qeng Ho do."

"We gather the best. With us it never dies."

"I wonder. There was another trading fleet that came to Trygve Ytre when I was a young man. They were totally unlike you. Different language, different culture. Interstellar traders are simply a niche, not a culture." Sura argued that, too. Here, in this ancient garden, the quiet words seemed to weigh more heavily than when Sura Vinh spoke them; Gunnar Larson's voice was almost hypnotic. "Those earlier traders did not have your airs, Fleet Captain. They hoped to make their fortune, to ultimately go somewhere else and set up a planetary civilization."

"Then they would no longer be Traders."

"True; perhaps they would be something more. You've been in many planetary systems. Your manifest says you've spent a number of years at Namqem, long enough to appreciate a planetary civilization. We have hundreds of millions of people living within a few light-seconds of each other. The local net that spans Trygve Ytre gives almost every citizen a view on Human s.p.a.ce that you can only have when you come to port.. . .More than anything, your trading life between the stars is a Ruritania of the Mind."

Pham didn't recognize the reference, but he got the other's point. "Magnate Larson, I wonder that you want to live long. You have everything figured out-a universe free of progress, where all things die and no good is acc.u.mulated." Pham's words were partly sarcasm, partly honest puzzlement. Gunnar Larson had opened windows, and the view was bleak.

Barely audible, a sigh. "You don't read very much, do you, son?" Strange. Pham did not think the other was probing anymore. There was something like sad amus.e.m.e.nt in the question.

"I read enough." Sura herself complained that Pham spent too much time with manuals. But Pham had started late, and had spent his whole life trying to catch up. So what if his education was a little skewed?

"You ask me the real point of it all. Each of us must take his own path on that, Fleet Captain. Different paths have their own advantages, their own perils. But for your own, human, sake. . .you should consider: Each civilization has its time. Each science has its limits. And each of us must die, living less than half a thousand years. If you truly understand those limits. . .then you are ready to grow up, to know what counts." He was silent for a while. "Yes. . .just listen to the peace. It's a gift to be able to do that. Too much time is spent in frenzied rushing. Listen to the breeze in the lestras. lestras. Watch Fred try to figure us out. Listen to the laughter of your children and your grandchildren. Enjoy the time you have, however it is given to you, and for however long." Watch Fred try to figure us out. Listen to the laughter of your children and your grandchildren. Enjoy the time you have, however it is given to you, and for however long."

Larson leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be staring out at the starless darkness that was the center of Trygve's disk. The arch of light from the eclipsed sun was dim and uniform all around the disk. The lightning had long since vanished; Pham guessed that seeing it was some function of viewing angle and the orientation of Trygve's thunderheads. "An example, Fleet Captain. Sit and feel and see: sometimes, at mid-eclipse, there is an especial beauty. Watch the middle of Trygve's disk." Seconds pa.s.sed. Pham stared upward. Trygve's lower lat.i.tudes were normally so dark. . .but now: There was faint red, first so dim that Pham thought it might just be a figment of suggestibility. The light brightened slowly, a deep, deep red, like sword steel still too cold for the hammer. There were bands of dark crossing it.

"The light is from the depths of Trygve itself. You know we get some direct warming from the planet. Sometimes, when the cloud canyons are oriented just right and the upper storms are gone, we have a very deep view-and we can see its glow with the naked eye." The light came a little brighter. Pham glanced around the garden. Everything was in shades of red, but he could see more now than he had glimpsed in the lightning. The tall, stranded trees above the pond-they were part of the waterfall, guiding the water in extra swirls and pools. Clouds of flying things moved between the tree branches, and for a few moments they sang. Fred had climbed all the way out of the pond. He sat on multiple leg paddles and his shorter tentacles twitched upward, toward the light in the sky.

They watched in silence. Pham had observed Trygve with multispec on the way in from the asteroids. He wasn't seeing anything now that was news to him. The whole show was just a happenstance of geometry and timing. And yet. . .being tied to a single place, on a course that was determined beyond human control, he could see how Customers might be impressed when the universe chose to reveal something. It was ridiculous, but he could feel some of the awe himself.

And then Trygve's heart was dark again and the singing in the trees died away; the whole show had lasted less than one hundred seconds.

It was Larson who broke the silence. "I'm sure we can do business, my young-old man. In a measure I shouldn't reveal, we do want your medical technology. But still, I would be grateful for your answer to my original question. What will you do with the Larson localizers? Among the unsuspecting, they are an espionage miracle. Abused, they lead to ubiquitous law enforcement, and a quick end to civilization. Who will you sell them to?"

For some reason, Pham answered him frankly. As the eastern limb of Trygve slowly brightened, Pham explained his vision of empire, the empire of all Humankind. It was something that he had never told a mere Customer. It was something he told only certain Qeng Ho, the ones who seemed the brightest and the most flexible. Even then, most could not accept the whole plan. Most were like Sura, rejecting Pham's real goal, but more than willing to profit from a genuine Qeng Ho culture.. . ."So, we may keep the localizers to ourselves. It will cost us trade, but there is an edge edge we need over the Customer civilizations. The common language, the synchronized voyage plans, our public databases-all those things will give our Qeng Ho a cohesive culture. But tricks like these localizers will take us a step beyond that. In the end, we will not be random occupiers of the 'trading niche'; we will be the surviving culture of Humankind." we need over the Customer civilizations. The common language, the synchronized voyage plans, our public databases-all those things will give our Qeng Ho a cohesive culture. But tricks like these localizers will take us a step beyond that. In the end, we will not be random occupiers of the 'trading niche'; we will be the surviving culture of Humankind."

Larson was silent for a long moment. "It's a marvelous dream you have, son," Larson said. The obscure amus.e.m.e.nt was gone from his voice. "A League of Humankind, breaking the wheel of time. I'm sorry, I cannot believe we'll ever reach the summit of your dream. But the foothills, the lower slopes of it. . .those are something marvelous, and perhaps attainable. The bright times could be brighter and they could last longer. . . ."

Larson was an extraordinary person, customer or no. But for whatever reason, he had the same blinders as Sura Vinh. Pham slumped back onto the soft wooden bench. After a moment, Larson continued. "You're disappointed. You respected me enough to hope for more. You see rightly about many things, Fleet Captain. You see marvelously clear for someone from. . .Ruritania." His voice seemed to smile gently. "You know, my family's lineage is two thousand years deep. That's a blink of the Trader's eye-but only because Traders spend most of their time in sleep. And beyond the wisdom we have gathered directly, I and those before me have read of other places and times, a hundred worlds, a thousand civilizations. There are things about your ideas that could work. There are things about your ideas that are more plausibly hopeful than anything since the Age of Failed Dreams. I think I have insights that could be helpful. . . ."

They talked through the rest of the eclipse, as the eastern limb of Trygve brightened, and the sun's disk formed out of the planet's depths and climbed toward open sky. The sky brightened into blue. And still they talked. Now it was Gunnar Larson who had the most to say. He was trying to be clear, and Pham was recording what the old man said. But maybe Aminese was not such a perfect mutual language as he thought; there was a lot of it that Pham never understood.

Along the way, they hit a deal for Pham's entire medical manifest, and for the Larson localizers. There were other items-a breeding sample of the mid-eclipse song creatures-but overall the trading was very easy. There was so much benefit going in both directions. . .and Pham was overwhelmed by the other things that Gunnar Larson had to say, the advice that might be worthless but that had the stench of wisdom.

Pham's voyage to Trygve Ytre was one of the more profitable of his trading career, but it was that dark-red conversation with the Ytreisch mystic that stuck the deepest in Pham Nuwen's memory. Afterward, he was certain Larson had used some kind of psychoactive drugs on him; Pham could never have been so suggestible otherwise. But. . .maybe it didn't matter. Gunnar Larson had had good ideas-the ones Pham could understand, anyway. That garden and the sense of peace that surrounded it-those were powerful, impressive things. Coming back from Trygve Ytre, Pham understood the peace that came from a living garden, and he understood the power of the mere appearance appearance of wisdom. The two insights could be combined. Biologicals had always been a critical trade item. . .but now they would be more. The new Qeng Ho would have an ethic of living things at its heart. Every vehicle that could support a park should have one. The Qeng Ho would gather the best of living things as fanatically as they did the best of technology. That part of the old man's advice had been very clear. Qeng Ho would have a reputation for understanding living things, for a timeless attachment to nature. of wisdom. The two insights could be combined. Biologicals had always been a critical trade item. . .but now they would be more. The new Qeng Ho would have an ethic of living things at its heart. Every vehicle that could support a park should have one. The Qeng Ho would gather the best of living things as fanatically as they did the best of technology. That part of the old man's advice had been very clear. Qeng Ho would have a reputation for understanding living things, for a timeless attachment to nature.

Thus were the park and bonsai traditions born. The parks were a major overhead, but in the millennia since Trygve Ytre, they had become the deepest and most loved of all the Qeng Ho traditions.

And Trygve Ytre and Gunnar Larson? Larson was millennia dead, of course. The civilization at Ytre had barely outlived the man. There had been an era of ubiquitous law enforcement, and some kind of distributed terror. Most likely, Larson's own localizers had precipitated the end. All the wisdom, all the inscrutability, hadn't helped his world much.

Pham shifted in his sleep hammock. Thinking about Ytre and Larson always left him uneasy. It was wasted time. . .except tonight. Tonight he needed the mood of the time after that meeting. He needed something of the kinesthetic memory of dealing with the localizers. There must be dozens in this room by now. What was the pattern of motion and body state that would trigger them to talk back to him? Pham pulled the hammock wrap fully over his hands. Inside, his fingers played at a phantom keyboard. Surely that was too obvious. Until he had rapport, nothing like keystrokes should have an effect. Pham sighed, changed breathing and pulse yet again . . .and recaptured the awe of his first practice sessions with the Larson localizers.

A pale blue light, bluer than blue, blinked once near the edge of his vision. Pham opened his eyes a slit. The room was midnight dark. The light from the sleep panel was too faint to reveal colors. Nothing moved except the slow drifting of his hammock in the ventilator's breeze. The blue light had been from elsewhere. From inside his optic nerve. Pham closed his eyes, repeated the breathing exercise. The blue, blinking light appeared once more. It was the effect of a localizer array's synthesized beam, guiding off the two he had set by his temple and in his ear. As communication went, it was very crude, no more impressive than the random sparkles that most people ignore all the time. The system was programmed to be very cautious about revealing itself. This time he kept his eyes closed, and didn't change the level of his breath or the calmness of his pulse. He curled two fingers toward his palm. A second pa.s.sed. The light blinked again, responding. Pham coughed, waited, moved his right arm just so. The blue light blinked: One, Two, Three. . .it was a pulse train, counting binary for him. He echoed back to it, using the codes that he had set up long ago.

He was past the challenge/response module. He was in! He was in! The lights that flickered behind his eyes were almost random stimuli. It would take Ksecs to train the localizer net to the precision that this sort of display could have. The optic nerve was simply too large, too complex for instantly clear video. No matter. The net was reliably talking to him now. The old customizations were coming out of hiding. The localizers had established his physical parameters; he could talk to them in any number of ways from now on. He had almost 3Msec remaining in his current Watch. That should be time enough to do the absolutely necessary, to invade the fleet net and establish a new cover story. What would it be? Something shameful, yes. Some shameful reason for "Pham Trinli" to play the buffoon all these years. A story that Nau and Brughel could relate to and think to use as a lever against him. What? The lights that flickered behind his eyes were almost random stimuli. It would take Ksecs to train the localizer net to the precision that this sort of display could have. The optic nerve was simply too large, too complex for instantly clear video. No matter. The net was reliably talking to him now. The old customizations were coming out of hiding. The localizers had established his physical parameters; he could talk to them in any number of ways from now on. He had almost 3Msec remaining in his current Watch. That should be time enough to do the absolutely necessary, to invade the fleet net and establish a new cover story. What would it be? Something shameful, yes. Some shameful reason for "Pham Trinli" to play the buffoon all these years. A story that Nau and Brughel could relate to and think to use as a lever against him. What?