A Deepness in the Sky (79 page)

Massed together, the Spiders were more a nightmare than he'd imagined, the sort of things you crush and crush and crush and still more of them come at you. Ritser sucked in a breath. One comforting thought was that—if all went well—in just under four days, these particular monsters would be dead.

For the first time in forty years, a starship would fly across the OnOff system. It would be a very short hop, less than two million kilometers, scarcely a remooring by civilized standards. It was very nearly the most that any of the surviving starships could manage.

Jau Xin had supervised the flight prep of theInvisible Hand. TheHand had always been Ritser Brughel's portable fiefdom, but Jau knew it was also the only starship that had not been wholly cannibalized over the years.

In the days before their "passengers" embarked, Jau had drained the L1 distillery of hydrogen. It was just a few thousand tonnes, a droplet in the million-tonne capacity of the ramscoop's primer tanks, but enough to slide them across the gap between L1 and the Spider world.

Jau and Pham Trinli made a final inspection of the starship's drive throat. It was always strange, looking at that two-meter narrowness. Here the forces of hell had burned for decades, driving the Qeng Ho vessel up to thirty-percent lightspeed. The internal surface was micrometer smooth. The only evidence of its fiery past was the fractal pattern of gold and silver that glittered in the light of their suit lamps. It was the micronet of processors behind those walls that actually guided the fields, but if the throat wall cavitated while under way, the fastest processors in the universe wouldn't save them. True to form, Trinli made a big deal of his laser-metric inspection, then was contemptuous of the results. "There's ninety-micron swale on the port side—but what the hell. There's no new pitting. You could carve your name in the walls here, and it wouldn't make any difference on this flight. What are you planning, a couple hundred Ksecs at fractional gee?"

"Um. We'll start with a long gentle push, but the braking burn will be a thousand seconds at a little more than one gravity." They wouldn't brake till they were low over open ocean. Anything else would light Arachna's sky brighter than the sun, and be seen by every Spider on the near side of the planet.

Trinli waved his hand in an airy gesture of dismissal. "Don't worry about it. Many times, I've taken bigger chances with in-system flight." They crawled out the bow side of the throat; the smooth surface widened into the beginnings of the forward field projectors. All the while, Trinli continued with his bogus stories. No. Most of the stories could be true, but abstracted from all the real adventurers the old man had ever known. Trinli did know something about ship drives. The tragedy was that they didn't have anyone who knew much more. All the Qeng Ho flight engineers had been killed in the original fighting—and the pod's last ziphead engineer had fallen to mindrot runaway.

They emerged from the bow end of theHand and climbed a mooring strand back to their taxi. Trinli paused and turned. "I envy you, Jau my boy. Take a look at your ship! Almost a million tonnes dryweight! You won't be going far, but you'll be bringing theHand to the treasure and the Customers it sailed fifty light-years to find."

Jau followed his broad gesture. Over the years, Jau had realized that Trinli's theatrics were a cover...but sometimes they reached out and plucked at your soul. TheInvisible Hand looked quite starworthy, hundred meter after hundred meter of curving hull sweeping off into the distance, streamlined for speeds and environments at the limit of all human accomplishment. And beyond the stern rings—1.5 million kilometers beyond—the disk of Arachna showed pale and dim.A First Contact, and I will bethe Pilot Manager. Jau should have been a proud man... .

Jau's last day before departure was busy, filled with final checks and provisioning. There would be more than a hundred zipheads and staff. Jau didn't learn just which specialties were represented, but it was obvious that the Podmasters wanted to manipulate the Spiders' networks intensively, without the ten-second time delay of L1 operations. That was reasonable. Saving the Spiders from themselves would involve some incredible frauds, perhaps the taking over of entire strategic weapons systems.

Jau was coming off his shift when Kal Omo appeared at Xin's little office just off theHand' s bridge.

"One more job, Pilot Manager." Omo's narrow face broke into a humorless grin. "Call it overtime."

They took a taxi down to the rockpile, but not to Hammerfest. Around the arc of Diamond One, embedded in ice and diamond, was the entrance to L1-A. Two other taxis were already moored by the arsenal's lock.

"You've studied theHand' s weapon fittings, Pilot Manager?"

"Yes." Xin had studied everything about theHand, except Brughel's private quarters. "But surely a Qeng Ho would be more familiar—"

Omo shook his head. "This isn't appropriate work for a Peddler, not even Mr. Trinli." It took some seconds to get through the main lock security, but once inside they had a clear passage into the weapons area. Here they were confronted by the noise of fitting machines and cutters. The squat ovoids racked along the walls were marked with the weapons glyph—the ancient Qeng Ho symbol for nukes and directed-energy weapons. For years, the gossip had speculated just how much survived at L1-A. Now Jau could see for himself.

Omo led him down a crawl line past unmarked cabinets. There was no consensual imagery in L1-A. And this was one of the few places left at L1 that did not use the Qeng Ho localizers. The automation here was simple and foolproof. They passed Rei Ciret, supervising a gang of zipheads in the construction of some kind of launch rack. "We'll be moving most of these weapons to theInvisible Hand, Mr. Xin. Over the years we've cobbled together parts, tried to make as many deliverable devices as possible. We've done the best we could, but without depot facilities, that's not a hell of a lot." He waved at what looked like Qeng Ho drive units mated to Emergent tactical nukes. "Count 'em. Eighteen short-range nukes. In the cabinets we have the guts of a dozen weapon lasers."

"I—I don't understand, Podsergeant. You're an armsmen. You have your own specialists. What need is there for—"

"—For a Pilot Manager to be concerned with such things?" Again the humorless smile. "To save the Spider civilization, it's entirely possible that we'll have to use these things, from theInvisible Hand in low orbit. The fitting and engagement sequences will be very important to your pilots."

Xin nodded. He'd been over some of this. The most likely start of a planet-killer war was the current crisis at the Spiders' south pole. After they arrived, they'd be in position over that site every fifty-three hundred seconds, with near-constant coverage from smaller vehicles. Tomas Nau had already announced about the lasers. As for the nukes...maybe they could help with bluffing.

The podsergeant continued the tour, pointing out the limitations of each resurrected device. Most of the weapons were shaped charges, and Omo's zipheads had converted them into crude digger bombs. "...and we'll have most of the network zipheads on board theHand. They'll supply fire-control information for your maneuvers; we may have to make substantial orbit changes depending on the targets."

Omo talked with an ordnanceman's enthusiasm, and quickly left Jau with no place to hide. For a year, Jau had watched the preparations with increasing fear; there were details that could not be disguised from him. But for every treacherous possibility, there had always been some reasonable explanation. He had held to those "reasonable explanations" so fiercely. They allowed him to feel a shred of decency; they made it possible for him to laugh with Rita as they planned what the future would be like with the Spiders, and with children she and he would have.

The horror must have shown on Jau's face. Omo stopped his parade of murderous revelation, and turned to looked at him. Jau asked, "Why...?"

"Why must I spell it out for you?" Omo jabbed a finger at Jau's chest, pushing him away from the crawl line and into the wall. He jabbed again. His hard face showed an angry indignation. It was the righteous indignation of Emergency authority, what Jau had grown up with on Balacrea. "It shouldn't really be necessary, should it? But you're like too many of our pod. You've gone bad inside, become a kind of Peddler. The others we can let drift for a while longer, but when theHand reaches low orbit, we need your intelligent, instant obedience." Omo jabbed him once more. "Do you understand now?"

"Y-yes. Yes!"Oh Rita! We will always be part of the Emergency.

FORTY-EIGHT

More than a hundred zipheads were leaving Hammerfest's Attic. Genius that he was, Trud Silipan had scheduled the transfer as a single move. As Ezr headed for Trixia's cell, he was swimming against a current of humanity. The Focused were being herded in groups of four and five, first out of the little capillary hallways that led to their roomlets, then into the tributary halls and finally into the main corridors. The handlers were gentle, but this was a difficult maneuver.

Ezr pulled himself sideways, into a utility nook, a back-eddy in the flow. There were people drifting past that he hadn't seen in years. These were Qeng Ho and Trilander specialists, Focused right after the ambush, just like Trixia. A few of the handlers were friends of the Focused they guided. Watch on Watch they had come to visit the lost ones. At first there had been many such people. But the years passed and hope had dimmed. Maybe someday...they had Nau's promise of manumission. In the meantime, the zipheads seemed beyond caring; a visit was at most an irritation to them. Only rare fools kept at it for years.

Ezr had never seen so many zipheads moving about. Corridor ventilation was not as good as in the little cells; the smell of unwashed bodies was strong. Anne kept the pod's property healthy, but that didn't mean they were clean and pretty.

Bil Phuong hung on a wall strap by a confluence of streams, directing his team handlers. Most teams had a common specialty. Vinh caught scraps of agitated conversation. Could it be that they cared about what was planned for the Spider world?...But no, this was impatience and distraction and technical gibberish. An older woman—one of the network protocol hackers—pushed her handler, actually spoke directly to him. "When then?" Her voice was shrill. "When do we get back to work?"

One of the woman's team members shouted something like "Yeah, the stackface is stale!" and moved in on the handler from the other side. Away from their inputs, the poor things were going nuts. The entire team began screaming at the handler. The group was the nucleus of a growing clot in the stream. Suddenly, Ezr realized that something like a slave revolt could really happen—if the slaves were taken from their work! This was clearly a danger the Emergent team handler understood. He slid to the side, and yanked the stun lanyards on the two loudest zipheads. They spasmed, then went limp. Deprived of a center, the others' complaints subsided into diffuse irritability.

Bil Phuong arrived to calm the last of the combative zipheads. He spared a frown for the team handler. "That's two more I have to retune." The team handler wiped blood from his cheek and glared back. "Tell it to Trud." He grabbed the lanyards and floated the unconscious zipheads out over their fellows. The crowd moved on, and in a few seconds Vinh had a clear jump to the end of the corridor.

The translators weren't going with theInvisible Hand. Their section of the Attic should have been peaceful. But when Ezr arrived, he found the cell doors open and the translators clogging the capillary corridor. Ezr wormed his way past the fidgeting, shouting zipheads. There was no sign of Trixia. But a few meters up the hall he ran into Rita Liao coming from the other direction.

"Rita! Where are the handlers?"

Liao raised both hands in irritation. "Busy elsewhere, of course! And now some idiot has opened the translators' doors!"

Trud had really outdone himself, though most likely this was only a related glitch. Ironically, the translators—who weren't supposed to go anywhere—had needed no urging to leave their cells, and now were loudly demanding directions. "We want to go to Arachna!" "We want to get in close!"

Where was Trixia? Ezr heard more shouting from around an upward corner. He followed the fork, and there she was, with the rest of the translators. Trixia looked badly disoriented; she just wasn't used to the world outside of her cell. But she seemed to recognize him. "Shut up! Shut up!" she shouted, and the gabble quieted. She looked vaguely in Ezr's direction. "Number Four, when do we go to Arachna?"

Number Four?"Um. Soon, Trixia. But not on this trip, not on theInvisible Hand. "

"Whynot ? I don't like the time lag!"

"For now, your Podmaster wants you close by." In fact, that was the official story: only lower network functions were needed in close orbit of Arachna. Pham and Ezr knew a darker explanation. Nau wanted as few people as possible on theHand when it performed its real mission. "You'll go when it's safe, Trixia. I promise." He reached out toward her. Trixia didn't flinch away, but she held tight to a wall stop, resisting any effort to draw her back to her cell.

Ezr looked over his shoulder at Rita Liao. "What should we do?"

"Wait one." She touched her ear, listened. "Phuong and Silipan will be here to stuff 'em back in their holes, just as soon as they get the others settled down on theHand. "

Lord, that could take a while. In the meantime, twenty translators would be loose in the Attic maze. He gently patted Trixia's arm. "Let's go back to your room, Trixia. Uh, look, the longer you're out here, the more you're out of touch. I'll bet you left your huds in your room. You could use them to ask fleet net your questions." Trixia had probably left her huds behind because they were offline. But at this point, he was just trying to make reasonable noises.

Trixia bounced from wall stop to wall stop, full of indecision. Abruptly she pushed past him and flitted back to the downward fork that led to her little room. Ezr followed.

The cell reacted to Trixia's presence, the lights coming to their usual dim glow. Trixia grabbed her huds, and Ezr synched to them. Her links weren't completely down. Ezr saw the usual pictures and splashes of text; it wasn't quite live from groundside, but it was close. Trixia's eyes darted from display to display. Her fingers pounded on her old keyboard, but she seemed to have forgotten about contacting the fleet information service. Just the sight of her workspace had drawn her back to the center of her Focus. New text windows popped up. Glyphics nonsense shifted so fast across it that it must be a representation of spoken Spider talk, some radio show or—considering the current state of affairs—a military intercept. "I just can't stand the time lag. It's not fair." Again a long silence. She opened another text screen. The pictures beside it went through a flickering series of colors, one of the Spiders' video formats. It still didn't look like a real picture, but he recognized this pattern; he had seen it often enough in Trixia's little room. This was a Spider commercial newscast that Trixia translated daily. "They're wrong. General Smith will go to Southmost instead of the King." She was still tense, but now it was her usual, Focused absorption.