A Deepness in the Sky Part 27

The Right of Pet.i.tion to the Podmaster was a convenient tradition. It even had a basis in historical fact, though Tomas Nau was sure that centuries ago, in the middle of the Plague Times, the only pet.i.tions granted were matters of propaganda. In modern times, the manipulation of pet.i.tions had been Uncle Alan's preferred way of maintaining popularity and undermining rival factions.

It was a clever tactic, as long as you avoided Alan's mistake of allowing a.s.sa.s.sins as pet.i.tioners. In the twenty-four years since their arrival at OnOff, Tomas Nau had pa.s.sed on about a dozen pet.i.tions. This one today was the first that had claimed "time is of the essence."

Nau looked across the table at the five pet.i.tioners. Correction: representatives of Pet.i.tioners. They claimed one hundred backers, and on just 8Ksec notice. Nau smiled, waved them to their seats. "Pilot Manager Xin. You are senior, I believe. Please explain your Pet.i.tion."

"Yes, Podmaster." Xin glanced at his girlfriend, Rita Liao. Both were Emergents from the home world, from families that had contributed Focused and Followers for more than three hundred years. Such were the backbone of the Emergent culture, and running them should have been easy. Alas, nothing was easy out here, twenty light-years from civilization. Xin was wordless for a second more. He stole a nervous glance at Kal Omo. Omo's returning look was very cold, and Nau suddenly wished he'd taken time to be briefed by the podsergeant. With Brughel currently off-Watch, there would be no one to blame if he had to deny the Pet.i.tion.

"As you know, Podmaster, many of us are working with the ground a.n.a.lysis. Many more have a general interest in the Spiders we watch-"

Nau gave him a gentle smile. "I know. You hang out at Benny's and listen to the translations."

"Yes, sir. Um. We very much like 'The Children's Hour,' and some of the story translations. They help us with our a.n.a.lysis. And . . ." His eyes got a faraway look. "I don't know. The Spiders have a whole world down there, even if they aren't human. Compared to us, sometimes they seem more-" Real, Real, Nau was sure he was going to say. "I mean, we've come to be fond of some of the Spider children." Nau was sure he was going to say. "I mean, we've come to be fond of some of the Spider children."

As planned.The live translations were heavily buffered now. They had never discovered precisely what caused the mindrot runaway-or even if it had been connected with the live show. Anne figured that the current risk was no more than that of their other operations. Nau reached to his right, gently touched Qiwi's hand. She smiled back. The Spider children were important. This was something he might never have understood if not for Qiwi Lisolet. Qiwi had been so good for so much. Watching her, talking to her, deceiving her-there was so much to learn. Real children would be an impossible drain on L1's resources, but something something had to subst.i.tute. Qiwi and her schemes and her dreams had shown him the way. "We're all fond of the cobblies, Pilot Manager. Your pet.i.tion has something to do with the kidnapping?" had to subst.i.tute. Qiwi and her schemes and her dreams had shown him the way. "We're all fond of the cobblies, Pilot Manager. Your pet.i.tion has something to do with the kidnapping?"

"Yes, sir. It's been seventy Ksec since the abduction. The 'Accord' Spiders are using their best comm and intelligence gear more intensely than ever before. It's not doing them them any good, but our zipheads are getting a lot from it. The Accord microwave links have been full of intercepted Kindred messages. Most of the Kindred encryption is algorithmic, not one-time pads. The Accord can't break any of it, but the algorithms, are easy for us. For the last forty Ksec, we-I-have been using our translators and a.n.a.lysts. I think I know where the children are being held. Five a.n.a.lysts give near certainty that-" any good, but our zipheads are getting a lot from it. The Accord microwave links have been full of intercepted Kindred messages. Most of the Kindred encryption is algorithmic, not one-time pads. The Accord can't break any of it, but the algorithms, are easy for us. For the last forty Ksec, we-I-have been using our translators and a.n.a.lysts. I think I know where the children are being held. Five a.n.a.lysts give near certainty that-"

"Five a.n.a.lysts, three translators, and part of the snoop array over on the Invisible Hand. Invisible Hand. " Reynolt's voice was loud and implacable, overriding Xin's. "In addition, Manager Xin has been using almost a third of the support hardware." " Reynolt's voice was loud and implacable, overriding Xin's. "In addition, Manager Xin has been using almost a third of the support hardware."

Omo came on like a chorus, perhaps the first time Nau had ever seen Reynolt and Security in such concert: "And furthermore, it couldn't happen unless the Pilot Manager and a few other privileged managers were using emergency resource codes." Sergeant Omo's glance flickered across the pet.i.tioners. They shrank before his gaze, the Emergents more fearfully than Qeng Ho. Abuse of the community's resources. Abuse of the community's resources. It was the primal sin. Nau smiled to himself. Brughel would have been still scarier, but Omo would do. It was the primal sin. Nau smiled to himself. Brughel would have been still scarier, but Omo would do.

Nau raised his hand, and silence spread across the room. "I understand, Podsergeant. I want a report from you and Director Reynolt as to any lasting damage that might result from this . . ." He wouldn't actually use the words. ". . .activity." He was silent for a moment more, schooling his expression as if to hide the conflict of a just man trying to reconcile the desires of individuals with the long-term needs of the community. He felt Qiwi squeeze his hand. "Pilot Manager, you understand that we can't reveal ourselves?"

Xin looked completely cowed. "Yes, Podmaster."

"You of all people should know how thin we are stretched here. After the fighting, we were short on Focus and staff. After the rotting runaway of a few Watches back, we are even more lacking in Focus. We have no capital equipment, few weapons, and scarcely even an in-system transport capability. We might might be able to intimidate a Spider faction or ally ourselves with one, but the risks would be enormous. Our surest course is the one we have pursued ever since the Diem Ma.s.sacre: We must wait and lurk. We are just a few years short of this world's Information Age. Eventually, we will establish human automation in the Spiders' networks. Eventually they will have a civilization that can restore our ships, and one that we can safely manage. Till then. . .till then, we dare not take any direct action." be able to intimidate a Spider faction or ally ourselves with one, but the risks would be enormous. Our surest course is the one we have pursued ever since the Diem Ma.s.sacre: We must wait and lurk. We are just a few years short of this world's Information Age. Eventually, we will establish human automation in the Spiders' networks. Eventually they will have a civilization that can restore our ships, and one that we can safely manage. Till then. . .till then, we dare not take any direct action."

Nau's gaze took in each of the pet.i.tioners: Xin, Liao, Fong. Trinli sat a little apart, as if to show that he had tried to dissuade the others. Ezr Vinh was off-Watch, else he would surely be here. They were all troublemakers by Ritser Brughel's measure. Every Watch, their tiny pod here at L1 drifted further and further from the norms of an Emergent community. Part of it was their desperate circ.u.mstances, part of it was Qeng Ho a.s.similation. Even in defeat, the Peddler att.i.tudes were corrosive. Yes, by civilized standards, these people were troublemakers-but they were also the people who, along with Qiwi, made the mission possible.

For a moment no one spoke. Tears leaked silently from Rita Liao's eyes. Hammerfest's microscopic gravity wasn't enough to tug them down her cheeks. Jau Xin's head bowed in submission. "I understand, Podmaster. We withdraw the pet.i.tion."

Nau gave a gracious nod. There would be no punishment, and an important point had been made.

Then Qiwi patted his hand. She was grinning! "So why not make this a test for what we will do later? True, we can't reveal ourselves, but look at what Jau has done. For the first time, we're really using the Spiders' own intelligence system. Their automation may be twenty years short of an Information Age, but they are pushing computers even harder than in Earth's Dawn Age. Eventually, Anne's translators will be inserting information back into their systems, why not start now? Each year we should do a little more meddling and a little more experimentation."

Hope shone in Xin's eyes, but his words were still in retreat. "But are they that far along? These creatures just launched their first satellite last year. They don't have pervasive localizer nets-or any localizer nets at all. Except for that pitiful link from Princeton to Lands Command, they don't even have a computer net. How can we get information back into their system?"

Yes, how?

But Qiwi was still smiling. It made her look so young, almost like the first years that he'd had her. "You said that the Accord has intercepted Kindred comm related to the kidnapping?"

"Sure. That's how we we know what's going on. But Accord Intelligence can't break the Kindred crypto." know what's going on. But Accord Intelligence can't break the Kindred crypto."

"Are they trying to break the intercepts?"

"Yes. They have several of their largest computers-big as houses-flailing away at both ends of the Princeton/Lands Command microwave link. It would take them millions of years to come on the right decryption key. . .Oh." Xin's eyes got even wider. "Can we do that without them twigging?"

Nau got the point at almost the same moment. He asked the air: "Background: How are they generating test keys?"

After a second, a voice replied, "A pseudo-random walk, modified by what their mathematicians know about the Kindred's algorithms."

Qiwi was reading something in her huds. "Apparently the Accord is experimenting with distributed computation across the link. That's frivolous, since there are less than ten computers on their entire net. But we have a dozen snoopersats that pa.s.s across the lines of sight of their microwavelink. It would be easy to mung up what's going between their relays-that's how we were going to do our first inserts, anyway. In this case, we'll just make small changes when they are sending trial keys. It might be as few as a hundred bits, even counting the framing."

Reynolt: "Okay. Even if they investigate later, it would be a plausible glitch. Do it for more than one key, and I say it's too dangerous."

"One key would be enough, if it's for the right session."

Qiwi looked at Nau. "Tomas, it could work. It's low-risk, and we should be experimenting with active measures anyway. You know the Spiders are more and more interested in s.p.a.ce activities. We may be forced to meddle a lot, fairly soon." She patted his shoulder, cajoling more publicly than ever before. No matter how cheerful she seemed, Qiwi had her own emotional stake in this.

But she's right. This could be the ideal first sending for Anne's zip-heads. Time to be grandly generous. Nau smiled back. "Very well, ladies and gentlemen. You have convinced me. Anne, arrange to reveal one key. I think Manager Xin can show you the critical session. Give this operation first transient priority for the next forty Ksec-and retroactively for the last forty." So Xin and Liao and the others were officially off the hook.

They didn't cheer, but Nau sensed enthusiasm and abject grat.i.tude as the pet.i.tioners stood and floated out of the room.

Qiwi started to follow them, then turned quickly back and kissed Nau on the forehead. "Thanks, Tomas." And then she was gone with the others.

He turned to the only remaining visitor, Kal Omo. "Keep an eye on them, Sergeant. I'm afraid things will be more complicated from now on."

During the Great War, there had been times when Hrunkner Unnerby had gone without sleep for days at a time, under fire all the while. This single night was worse. G.o.d only knew how bad it was for the General and Sherkaner. Once the phone lines were in place, Unnerby spent most of his time in the joint command post, just down the hall from the Accord-secure room. He worked with the local cops and Underville's comm team, trying to track the rumors around town. The General had been in and out, the picture of composed intensity. But Unnerby could tell that his old boss was over the edge. She was managing too much, involving herself at low levels and high. h.e.l.l, she'd been gone now for three hours, off with one of the field teams.

Once, he went out to check on Underhill. Sherk was holed up in the signals lab, right below the top of the hill. Guilt lay like a blight on him, dimming the happy spirit of genius he used to bring to every problem. But the cobber was trying, subst.i.tuting obsession for buoyant enthusiasm. He was pounding away with his computers, coopting everything he could. Whatever he was doing, it looked like nonsense to Unnerby.

"It's math, not engineering, Hrunk."

"Yeah, number theory." This from the scruffy-looking postdoc whose lab this was. "We're listening for . . ." He leaned forward, apparently lost in the mysteries of his own programming. "We're trying to break the crypto intercepts."

Apparently he was talking about the signal fragments that had been detected coming out of the Princeton area just after the abduction. Unnerby said, "But we don't even know if that's from the kidnappers." And if I werethe Kindred, I'd be using one-time code words, not some keyed encryption. And if I werethe Kindred, I'd be using one-time code words, not some keyed encryption.

Jaybert what's-his-name just shrugged and continued with his work. Sherkaner didn't say anything either, but his aspect was desolate. This was the best he could do.

So Unnerby had fled back to the joint command post, where there was at least the illusion of progress.

Smith was back about an hour after sunrise. She looked through the negative reports quickly, a nervous edge to her movements. "I left Belga downtown with the local cops. d.a.m.nation, her comm isn't much better than the locals'."

Unnerby rubbed his eyes, trying vainly to put a polish there that only a good sleep could accomplish. "I fear Colonel Underville doesn't really like all this fancy equipment." In any other generation, Belga would have been fine. In this one-well, Belga Underville was not the only person having trouble with the grand new era.

Victory Smith slid down next to her old sergeant. "But she has kept the press off our backs. What word from Rachner?"

"He's down in the Accord-secure center." In fact, the young major did not confide in Unnerby.

"He's so sure this is a pure Kindred operation. I don't know. They are in on it. . .but, you know the museum clerk is a trad? And the cobber working the museum's loading dock has disappeared. Belga's discovered he's a traditionalist, too. I think the local trads are in this up to their shoulders." Her voice was mild, almost contemplative. Later, much too much later, Hrunkner would remember back: The General's voice was mild, but she sat with every limb tensed.

Unfortunately, Hrunkner Unnerby was lost in his own world. All night long he had watched the reports, and stared out into the windy dark. All night long he had prayed to the coldest depths of the earth, prayed for Little Victory, Gokna, Brent, and Jirlib. He spoke sadly, almost to himself. "I watched them grow into real people, cobblies that anyone could love. They do have souls."

"What do you mean?" The sharpness in Victory's voice didn't penetrate his fatigue. He had years afterward to think back on this conversation, this single moment, to imagine the ways he might have avoided disaster. But the present did not feel the desperate gaze of the future, and he blundered on: "It's not their fault that they were brought into the world out-of-phase."

"It's not their fault my slippery modern ideals have killed them?" Smith's voice was a cutting hiss, something that even sorrow and fatigue could not block from Unnerby's attention. He saw that his General was trembling.

"No, I-" But it was finally, irrevocably too late.

Smith was on her feet. She flicked a single long arm across his head, whiplike. "Get out!" "Get out!"

Unnerby staggered back. His right side vision was a coruscating ray of plaid agony. In all other directions, he saw officers and noncoms caught with aspects of shocked surprise.

Smith advanced on him. "Trad! Traitor!" Her hands jabbed with each word, killing blows just barely restrained. "For years you've pretended to be a friend, but always sneering and hating us. Enough!" She stopped her relentless approach, and brought her arms back to her sides. And Hrunkner knew she had capped her rage, and what she said now was cold and calm and considered. . .and it hurt even more than the wound across his eyes. "Take your moral baggage and go. Now."

Her aspect was something he had seen once or twice before, during the Great War, when their backs were against the wall and still she had not yielded. There would be no argument, no relenting. Unnerby lowered his head, choked on words he was desperate to say. I'm sorry. I meant noharm. I love your children. I'm sorry. I meant noharm. I love your children. But it was too late for words to change anything. Hrunkner turned, walked quickly past the shocked and silent staff and out the door. But it was too late for words to change anything. Hrunkner turned, walked quickly past the shocked and silent staff and out the door.

When Rachner Thract heard that Smith was back in the building, he hightailed it down to the joint command post. That's where he should have been during the night, except I'll be d.a.m.ned if I let my crypto get exposedto the domestic branch and the local police. except I'll be d.a.m.ned if I let my crypto get exposedto the domestic branch and the local police. The separate operation had worked, thank goodness. He had hard information for the chief. The separate operation had worked, thank goodness. He had hard information for the chief.

He ran into Hrunkner Unnerby going the other way. The old sergeant had lost his usual martinet bearing. He walked unsteadily down the hallway, and there was a long, milky welt across the right side of his head.

He waved at the sergeant. "You okay?" But Unnerby walked on past him, ignoring Rachner as a beheaded osprech might ignore a farmer. He almost turned to follow the cobber, then remembered his own urgency and continued into the joint command post.

The place was silent as a deepness. . .or a graveyard. Clerks and a.n.a.lysts sat motionless. As Rachner walked across the room toward General Smith, the rattle of work resumed, sounding strangely self-conscious.

Smith was paging through one of the operation logs, just a little too fast to be getting much out of it. She waved him to the perch beside her. "Underville sees evidence of local involvement, but we still don't have anything solid." Her tone was casual, belying or ignoring the astounded silence of a moment before. "Have you got anything new? Any reaction from our Kindred 'friends'?"

"Lots of reaction, Chief. Even the superficial stuff is intriguing. About an hour after the kidnap story broke, the Kindred turned up the volume on their propaganda-especially the stuff aimed at the poorer nation-states. The spew is 'murder after Dark' fearmongering, but more intense than usual. They're saying that the kidnapping is the desperate act of decent people, people who realize that non-trad elements have taken over the Accord. . . ."

Everything was getting quiet again. Victory Smith spoke, a little sharply. "Yes, I know what they say. This is how I'd expect them to react to the kidnappings."

Maybe he should have begun with the big news. "Yes, ma'am, though they did respond a bit too quickly. Our usual sources hadn't heard about this beforehand, but now-well, it's beginning to look like the kidnappings are just a symptom that the Extreme Measures faction has achieved decisive control within the Kindred. In fact, at least five of the Deepest were executed yesterday, 'moderates' like Klingtram and Sangst, and-alas-incompetents like Droobi. What's left is clever and even more risk-attracted than before-"

Smith leaned back, startled. "I-see."

"We haven't known for more than half an hour, ma'am. I've got all the area a.n.a.lysts on it. We see no related military developments."

For the first time, he seemed to have her full attention. "That makes sense. We're years away from the point where a war would benefit them."

"Right, Chief. Not war, not now. The Kindred grand strategy must still be to wear down the developed world as far as possible before the Dark, and then fight whoever is still awake.. . .Ma'am, we also have less certain information." Rumors, except that one of his deep-cover agents had died to get them out. "It looks like Pedure is now the Kindred's head of external ops. You remember Pedure. We thought she was a low-level operator. Apparently she is smarter and more b.l.o.o.d.y-handed than we guessed. She's probably responsible for this coup. She may be first among the new Deepest. In any case, she's convinced them that you and, more particularly, Sherkaner Underhill are the key to the Accord's strategic successes. a.s.sa.s.sinating you would be very difficult, and you've protected your husband almost as well. Kidnapping your children opens a-"

The General's hands tapped a staccato on the situation table. "Keep talking, Major."

Pretend we're talking about somebody else's cobblies."Chief, Sherkaner Underhill has talked often enough about his feelings on the radio, how much he values each child. What I'm getting now"-from the agent who had blown cover to get the word out-"is that Pedure sees almost no downside to grabbing your children, and any number of advantages. At best, she hoped to get all of your children out of the Accord, and then quietly play with you and your husband over a period of-years, perhaps. She figures that you could not continue in your present job with that sort of side conflict."

Smith began, "If they were killed one by one, pieces of them sent back to us . . ." Her voice faded. "You're right about Pedure. She would understand how things work with Sherkaner and me. Okay, I want you and Belga to-"

One of the desk phones chattered, an in-building direct line. Victory Smith flicked a pair of long arms across the table and grabbed the handset. "Smith."

She listened for a moment, then whistled softly. "They what what ? But. . . Okay, Sherkaner, I believe you. Yes, Jaybert was right to pa.s.s it on to Underville." ? But. . . Okay, Sherkaner, I believe you. Yes, Jaybert was right to pa.s.s it on to Underville."

She rang off, and said to Thract, "Sherkaner's found the key. He's deciphered last night's radio intercepts. It looks like the cobblies are being held in the Plaza Spar, downtown."

Now the phone by Thract went off. He stabbed the Public On hole, and said, "Thract here."

Belga Underville's voice sounded faint and off-mike: "They have? Well, shut them up!" Then louder: "Listen, Thract? I've got my hands full down here. Now I get a call from your techie-freaks saying the victims are being held on the top floor of the Plaza Spar. Are you cobbers for real?"

Thract: "They're not my techs. It's important intelligence, Colonel, wherever it came from."

"d.a.m.n, I already had a real lead. The city police spotted a silk banner snagged on the Bank of Princeton tower." That was about half a mile from the Plaza Spar. "It was the jacket fabric that Downing described to us."

Smith leaned close to the mike, and said, "Belga, was there anything attached? A note?"

There was an instant's hesitation, and Thract could imagine Belga Underville getting her temper under control. Belga didn't mind complaining to her fellows about all the "b.l.o.o.d.y stupid technology," but not with Smith on the line.

"No, Chief. It was pretty well shredded. Look. The techs could be right about the Plaza Spar, but that's a busy place. I'll send a team to the lower floors, pretending to be customers. But-"

"Good. No alarms; get in close."

"Chief, I think the tower where we found the banner is a better bet. It's mostly vacant, and-"

"Fine. Go after both."

"Yes, ma'am. The problem is the city police. They went off on their own, sirens, everything."

Last night, Victory Smith had lectured Thract on the power of local police. But that power was economic, and political. Just now she said, "They have? Well, shut them up! I'll take responsibility."

She waved to Thract. "We're going downtown."

THIRTY-ONE.

Shynkrette paced about her "command post." Talk about luck. This mission had been designed as a hundred-day lurk-and-pounce. Instead, they'd bagged their targets less than ten days after insertion. The whole op had been an incredible combination of happenstance and screwup. So what else was new? Promotions came from pulling success out of real-world situations, and Shynkrette had survived worse than this. Barker and Fremm getting squashed had been bad luck and inattention. Maybe the worst mistake had been leaving the witnesses-at least it was the worst mistake that could be laid on her own back. On the other hand they had six children, at least four of them the targets. The getaway from the museum had been smooth, but the airport pickup fell through. The Accord's local security was just a little too quick-maybe again because of those surviving witnesses.

This office s.p.a.ce ringed the Plaza Spar, twenty-five stories up. It gave an excellent view of city activity, except directly below. In one sense, they were completely trapped here-who had ever hidden by sticking themselves up in the sky? In another sense-Shynkrette paused behind her team sergeant. "What does Trivelle say, Denni?"

The sergeant lifted the phone from his head. "Ground-floor lobby is about average busy. He has some business visitors. An old coot and some last-generation cobbers. They want to rent office s.p.a.ce."

"Okay. They can look at the third-floor suites. If they want to look at anything else, they can come back tomorrow." Tomorrow, Deep willing, Shynkrette and her team would be long gone. They would have been gone last night, if not for the storm. Kindred Special Operations could do things with helicopters that the Accord military had never imagined.. . .If good luck and competence held another day or two, her team would be back home with their prize. The Kindred book of doctrine had always been big on a.s.sa.s.sinations and decapitating strikes. With this op, the Honored Pedure was writing a new and experimental chapter. Deep, what Pedure would do with those six children. Shynkrette's mind shied away from the thought. She had been in Pedure's inner circle ever since the Great War, and her fortunes had risen accordingly. But she much preferred doing the Honored's fieldwork to being with her in the Kindred torture chambers. Things could get so easily. . .turned around. . .in the chambers. And death could be so slow there.

Shynkrette moved from quarter to quarter, scanning the streets with a reflecting magnifier.. . .d.a.m.n, a police convoy, emergency lights blinking. She recognized the special gear on those trucks. This was the police "heavy weapons" team. Their great success lay in scaring criminals into surrender. The lights-and the sirens she would surely start hearing in a minute-were all part of the intimidation. In this case, the police had made a very large mistake. Shynkrette was already running back around the ring of offices, pulling her little shotgun off her back as she ran.