r the first time, no inquisitive puppy eyes peeked out.
"I still can't see anything, Pham." It was Ravna from high above.
"What's going on?"
Quick glance behind him. "We're okay," he gasped. "Woodcarver's packs
are tearing up Steel's. But Blueshell -- " He peered between in the shields.
It was like looking into a kiln. Right by the castle wall there might be a
breathing space. A slim hope, but --
"Something is moving in there." Pilgrim had tucked one head briefly
around the shield. He withdrew it now, licking his nose from both sides.
Pham looked again through the crack. The fire had internal shadows,
places of not-so-bright that wavered ... moved? "I see it too." He felt
Johanna stick her head close to his, peering frantically. "It's Blueshell,
Rav.... By the Fleet." This last said too softly to carry over the fire
sound. There was no sign of Jefri Olsndot, but -- "Blueshell is rolling
through the middle of the fire, Rav."
The skrode wheeled out of the deeper oil. Slowly, steadily making its
way. And now Pham could see fire within fire, Blueshell's trunk flaring in
rivulets of flame. His fronds were no longer gathered into himself. They
extended, writhing with their own fire. "He's still coming, driving straight
out."
The skrode cleared the wall of fire, rolled with jerky abandon down the
slope. Blueshell didn't turn toward them, but just before he reached the
landing boat, all six wheels grated to a fast stop.
Pham stood and raced back toward the Skroderider. Pilgrim was already
unlimbering his shields and turning to follow him. Johanna Olsndot stood for
a second, sad and slight and alone, her gaze stuck hopelessly on the fire
and smoke on the castle side. One of the Pilgrim grabbed her sleeve, drawing
her back from the fire.
Pham was at the Rider now. He stared silently for a second. "...
Blueshell's dead, Rav, no way you could doubt if you could see." The fronds
were burnt away, leaving stubs along the stalk. The stalk itself had burst.
Ravna's voice in his ear was shuddery. "He drove through that even
while he was burning?"
"Can't be. He must have been dead after the first few meters. This must
all have been on autopilot." Pham tried to forget the agonized reaching of
fronds he had seen back in the fire. He blanked out for a moment, staring at
the fire-split flesh.
The skrode itself radiated heat. Pilgrim sniffed around it, shying away
abruptly when a nose came too close. Abruptly he reached out a steel-tined
paw and pulled hard on the scarf that covered the hull.
Johanna screamed and rushed forward. The forms beneath the scarf were
unmoving, but unburned. She grabbed her brother by the shoulders, pulling
him to the ground. Pham knelt beside her. Is the kid breathing? He was
distantly aware of Ravna shouting in his ear, and Pilgrim plucking tiny
dogthings off the metal.
Seconds later the boy started coughing. His arms windmilled against his
sister. "Amdi, Amdi!" His eyes opened, widened. "Sis!" And then again.
"Amdi?"
"I don't know," said the Pilgrim, standing close to the seven -- no,
eight -- grease-covered forms. "There are some mind sounds but not
coherent." He nosed at three of puppies, doing something that might have
been rescue breathing.
After a moment the little boy began crying, a sound lost in the fire
sounds. He crawled across to the puppies, his face right next to one of
Pilgrim's. Johanna was right behind him, holding his shoulders, looking
first to Pilgrim and then at the still creatures.
Pham came to his knees and looked back at the castle. The fire was a
little lower now. He stared a long time at the blackened stump that had been
Blueshell. Wondering and remembering. Wondering if all the suspicion had
been for naught. Wondering what mix of courage and autopilot had been behind
the rescue.
Remembering all the months he had spent with Blueshell, the liking and
then the hate -- Oh, Blueshell, my friend.
The fires slowly ebbed. Pham paced the edge of receding heat. He felt
the godshatter coming finally back upon him. For once he welcomed it,
welcomed the drive and the mania, the blunting of irrelevant feeling. He
looked at Pilgrim and Johanna and Jefri and the recovering puppy pack. It
was all a meaningless diversion. No, not quite meaningless: It had had an
effect, of slowing down progress on what was deadly important.
He glanced upwards. There were gaps in the sooty clouds, places where
he could see the reddish haze of high-level ash and occasional splotches of
blue. The castle's ramparts appeared abandoned, and the battle around the
walls had died. "What news?" he said impatiently at the sky.
Ravna: "I still can't see much around you, Pham. Large numbers of Tines
are retreating northwards. Looks like a fast, coordinated retreat. Nothing
like the 'fight-to-the-last' that we were seeing before. There are no fires
within the castle -- or evidence of remaining packs either."
Decision. Pham turned back to the others. He struggled to turn sharp
commands into reasonable-sounding requests. "Pilgrim! Pilgrim! I need
Woodcarver's help. We have to get inside the castle."
Pilgrim didn't need any special persuasion, though he was full of
questions. "You're going to fly over the walls?" he asked as he bounded
toward him.
Pham was already jogging toward the boat. He boosted Pilgrim aboard,
then clambered up. No, he wasn't going to try to fly the damn thing. "No,
just use the loudspeaker to get your boss to find a way in."
Seconds later, packtalk was echoing across the hillside. Just minutes
more. Just minutes more and I will be facing the Countermeasure. And though
he had no conscious notion what might come of that, he felt the godshatter
bubbling up for one final takeover, one final effort to do Old One's will.
"Where is the Blighter fleet, Rav?"
Her answer came back immediately. She had watched the battle below, and
the hammer coming down from above. "Forty-eight light-years out." Mumbled
conversation off-mike. "They've speeded up a little. They'll be in-system in
four-six hours.... I'm sorry, Pham."
-=*=-
Crypto: 0
As received by: OOB shipboard ad hoc
Language path: Triskweline, SjK units
Apparently From: Sandor Arbitration Intelligence [Not the usual
originator, but verified by intermediate sites. Originator may be a branch
office or a back-up site.]
Subject: Our final message?
Distribution:
Threat of the Blight, War Trackers Interest Group, Where Are They Now, Extinctions Log
Date: 72.78 days since the Fall of Sjandra Kei
Key phrases: vast new attack, the Fall of Sandor Arbitration
Text of message:
As best we can tell, all our High Beyond sites have been absorbed by
the Blight. If you can, please ignore all messages from those sites.
Until four hours ago, our organization comprised twenty civilizations
at the Top. What is left of us doesn't know what to say or what to do.
Things are so slow and murky and dull now; we were not meant to live this
low. We intend to disband after this mailing.
For those who can continue, we want to tell what happened. The new
attack was an abrupt thing. Our last recollections from Above are of the
Blight suddenly reaching in all directions, sacrificing all its immediate
security to acquire as much processing power as possible. We don't know if
we had simply underestimated its power, or if the Blight itself is somehow
now desperate -- and taking desperate risks.
Up to 3000 seconds ago we were under heavy assault along our
organization's internal networks. That has ceased. Temporarily? Or is this
the limit of the attack? We don't know, but if you hear from us again, you
will know that the Blight has us.
Farewell.
-=*=-
Crypto: 0
As received by: OOB shipboard ad hoc
Language path: Optima->Acquileron->Triskweline, SjK units
From: Society for Rational Investigation [Probably a single system in
the Middle Beyond, 7500 light-years antispinward of Sjandra Kei]
Subject: The Big Picture
Key phrases: The Blight, Nature's Beauty, Unprecedented Opportunities
Summary: Life goes on
Distribution:
Threat of the Blight, Society for Rational Network Management, War Trackers Interest Group Date: 72.80 days since the Fall of Sjandra Kei
Text of message:
It's always amusing to see people who think themselves the center of
the universe. Take the recent spread of the Blight [references follow for
readers not on those threads and newsgroups]. The Blight is an unprecedented
change in a limited portion of the Top of the Beyond -- far away from most
of my readers. I'm sure it's the ultimate catastrophe for many, and I
certainly feel sympathy for such, but a little humor too, that these people
somehow think their disaster is the end of everything. Life goes on, folks.
At the same time, it's clear that many readers are not paying proper
attention to these events -- certainly not seeing what is truly significant
about them. In the last year, we have witnessed the apparent murders of
several Powers and the establishment of a new ecosystem in a portion of the
High Beyond. Though far away, these events are without precedent.
Often before, I have called this the Net of a Million Lies. Well,
people, we now have an opportunity to view things while the truth is still
manifest. With luck we may solve some fundamental mysteries about the Zones
and the Powers.
I urge readers to watch events below the Blight from as many angles as
possible. In particular, we should take advantage of the remaining relay at
Debley Down to coordinate observations on both sides of the Blight-affected
region. This will be expensive and tedious, since only Middle and Low Beyond
sites are available in the affected region, but it will be well worth it.
General topics to follow:
The nature of the Blight Net communications: The creature is part Power
and part High Beyond, and infinitely interesting.
The nature of the recent Great Surge in the Low Beyond beneath the
Blight: This is another event without clear precedent. Now is the time to
study it.
...
The nature of the Blighter fleet now closing on an off-net site in the
Low Beyond: This fleet has been of great interest to War Trackers over the
last weeks, but mainly for asinine reasons (who cares about Sjandra Kei and
the Aprahant Hegemony; local politics is for locals). The real question
should be obvious to all but the brain damaged: Why has the Blight made this
great effort so far out its natural depth?
If there are any ships still in the vicinity of the Blight's fleet, I
urge them to keep War Trackers posted. Failing that, local civilizations
should be reimbursed for forwarding ultrawave traces.
This is all very expensive, but worth it, the observations of the aeon.
And the expense will not continue long. The Blight's fleet should arrive at
the target star momentarily. Will it stop and retrieve? Or will we see how a
Power destroys the systems which oppose it? Either way, we are blessed with
opportunity.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
-=*=-
CHAPTER 41
Ravna walked across the field toward the waiting packs. The thick smoke
had been blown away, but its smell was still heavy in the air. The hillside
was burned-over desolation. From above, Steel's castle had looked like the
center of a great, black nipple, hectares of natural and pack-made
destruction capping the hill.
The soldiers silently made way for her. More than one cast an uneasy
glance at the starship grounded behind her. She walked slowly past them
toward the ones who waited. Eerie the way they sat, like picnickers but all
uneasy about each other's presence. This must be the equivalent of a close
staff conference for them. Ravna walked toward the pack at the center, the
one sitting on silken mats. Intricate wooden filigree hung around the necks
of the adults, but some of those looked sick, old. And there were two
puppies sitting out front of it. They stepped precisely forward as Ravna
crossed the last stretch of open ground.
"Er, you're the Woodcarver?" she asked.
A woman's voice, incredibly human, came from one of the larger members.
"Yes, Ravna. I'm Woodcarver. But it's Peregrine you want. He's up in the
castle, with the children.
"Oh."
"We have a wagon. We can take you inwards right away." One of them
pointed at a vehicle being drawn up the hillside. "But you could have landed
much closer, could you not?"
Ravna shook her head. "No. Not ... anymore." This was the best landing
that she and Greenstalk could make.
The heads cocked at her, all a coordinated gesture. "I thought you were
in a terrible hurry. Peregrine says there is a fleet of spacers coming hot
on your trail."
For an instant Ravna didn't say anything. So Pham had told them of the
Blight? But she was glad he had. She shook her head, trying to clear it of
the numbness. "Y-yes. We are in a great hurry." The dataset on her wrist was
linked to the OOB. Its tiny display showed the steady approach of the
Blight's fleet.
All the heads twisted, a gesture that Ravna couldn't interpret. "And
you despair. I fear I understand."
How can you? And if you can, how can you forgive us? But all that Ravna
said aloud was, "I'm sorry."
The Queen mounted her wagon and they rolled across the hillside toward
the castle walls. Ravna looked back once. Down slope, the OOB lay like a
great, dying moth. Its topside drive spines arched a hundred meters into the
air. They glistened a wet, metallic green. Their landing had not been quite
a crash. Even now, agrav canceled some of the craft's weight. But the drive
spines on the ground side were crumpled. Beyond the ship, the hillside fell
steeply away to the water and the islands. The westering sun cast hazy
shadows across the islands and on the castle beyond the straits. A fantasy
scene of castles and starships.
The display on her wrist serenely counted down the seconds.
"Steel put gunpowder bombs all around the dome." Woodcarver swept a
couple of noses, pointing upwards. Ravna followed her gesture. The arches
were more like a Princess cathedral than military architecture: pink marble
challenging the sky. And if it all came down, it would surely wreck the
spacecraft parked beneath.
Woodcarver said that Pham was in there now. They rolled indoors,
through dark, cool rooms. Ravna glimpsed row after row of coldsleep boxes.
How many might still be revivable? Will we ever find out? The shadows were
deep. "You're sure that Steel's troops are gone?"
Woodcarver hesitated, her heads staring in different directions. So
far, pack expressions were impossible for Ravna to read. "Reasonably sure.
Anybody still in the castle would need to be behind lots of stone, or my
search parties would have found them. More important, we have what's left of
Steel." The Queen seemed to read Ravna's questioning expression perfectly.
"You didn't know? Apparently Lord Steel came down here to blow all the
bombs. It would have been suicide, but that pack was always a crazy one.
Someone stopped him. There was blood all over. Two of him are dead. We found
the rest wandering around, a whimpering mess... Whoever did Steel in is also
behind the rapid retreat. That someone is doing his best to avoid any
confrontation. He won't be back soon, though I fear I'll have to face dear
Flenser eventually."
Under the circumstances, Ravna figured that was one problem that would
never materialize. Her dataset showed forty-five hours till the Blight's
arrival.
Jefri and Johanna were by their starship, under the main dome. They sat
on the steps of the landing ramp, holding hands. When the wide doors opened
and Woodcarver's wagon drove through, the girl stood and waved. Then they
saw Ravna. The boy walked first quickly then more slowly across the wide
floor. "Jefri Olsndot?" Ravna called softly. He had a tentative, dignified
posture that seemed much too old for an eight-year-old. Poor Jefri had lost
much, and lived with so little for so long. She stepped down from the wagon
and walked toward him.
The boy advanced out of the shadows. He was surrounded by a near mob of
small-size pack members. One of them hung on his shoulder; others tumbled
around his feet without ever seeming to get in his way; still others
followed his path both in front and behind. Jefri stopped well back from
her. "Ravna?"
She nodded.
"Could you step a little closer? The Queen's mind sound is too close."
The voice was still the boy's, but his lips hadn't moved. She walked the few
meters that still separated them. Puppies and boy advanced hesitantly. Up
close she could see the rips in his clothing, and what looked like wound
dressings on his shoulders and elbows and knees. His face looked recently
washed, but his hair was a sticky mess. He looked up at her solemnly, then
raised his arms to hug her. "Thank you for coming." His voice was muffled
against her, but he wasn't crying. "Yes, thank you, thank poor Mr.
Blueshell." His voice again, sad but unmuffled, coming from the pack of
puppies all around them.
Johanna Olsndot had advanced to stand just behind them. Only fourteen
is she? Ravna reached a hand toward her. "From what I hear, you were a
rescue force all by yourself."
Woodcarver's voice came from the wagon. "Johanna was that. She changed
our world."
Ravna gestured up the ship's ramp, at the glow of the interior
lighting. "Pham's up there?"
The girl started to nod, was preempted by the pack of puppies. "Yes, he
is. He and the Pilgrim are up there." The pups disentangled themselves and
started up the steps, one remaining behind to tug Ravna toward the ramp. She
started after them, with Jefri close beside her.
"Who is this pack?" she said abruptly to Jefri, pointing to the
puppies.
The boy stopped in surprise. "Amdi of course."
"I'm sorry," Jefri's voice came from the puppies. "I've talked to you
so much, I forget you don't know -- " There was a chorus of tones and chords
that ended in a human giggle. She looked down at the bobbing heads, and was
certain the little devil was quite aware of his misrepresentations. Suddenly
a mystery was solved. "Pleased to meet you," she said, angered and charmed
at the same time. "Now -- "
"Right, there are much more important things now." The pack continued
to hop up the stairs. "Amdi" seemed to alternate between shy sadness and
manic activity. "I don't know what they're up to. They kicked us out as soon
as we showed them around."
Ravna followed the pack, Jefri close behind. It didn't sound like
anything was going on. The interior of the dome was like a tomb, echoing
with the talk of the few packs who guarded it. But here, halfway up the
steps, even those sounds were muted, and there was nothing coming through
the hatch at the top. "Pham?"
"He's up there." It was Johanna, at the base of the stairs. She and
Woodcarver were looking up at them. She hesitated, "I'm not sure if he's
okay. After the battle, he -- he seemed strange."
Woodcarver's heads weaved about, as if she were trying to get a good
look at them through the glare of the hatch lights. "The acoustics in this
ship of yours are awful. How can humans stand it?"
Amdi: "Ah, it's not so bad. Jefri and I spent lots of time up here. I
got used to it." Two of his heads were pushing at the hatch. "I don't know
why Pham and Pilgrim kicked us out; we could have stayed in the other room
and been real quiet."
Ravna stepped carefully between the pack's lead puppies and pounded on
the hull metal. It wasn't hard-latched; now she could hear the ship's
ventilation. "Pham, what progress?"
There was a rustling sound and the click of claws. The hatch slid
partway back. Bright, flickering light spilled down the ramp. A single doggy
head appeared. Ravna could see white all around its eyes. Did that mean
anything? "Hi," it said. "Uh, look. Things are a bit tense just now. Pham --
I don't think Pham should be bothered."
Ravna slipped her hand past the gap. "I'm not here to bother him. But I
am coming in." How long we've fought for this moment. How many billions have
died along the way. And now some talking dog tells me things are a bit
tense.
The Pilgrim looked down at her hand. "Okay." He slid the hatch far
enough open to let her through. The pups were quick around her heels, but
they recoiled before the Pilgrim's glance. Ravna didn't notice....
The "ship" was scarcely more than a freight container, a cargo hull.
The cargo this time -- the coldsleep boxes -- had been removed, leaving a
mostly level floor, dotted with hundreds of fittings.
All this she scarcely noticed. It was the light, the thing that held
her. It grew out from the walls and gathered almost too bright to bear at
the center of the hold. Its shape changed and changed again, the colors
shifting from red to violet to green. Pham sat crosslegged by the
apparition, within it. Half his hair was burned away. His hands and arms
were shivering, and he mumbled in some language she didn't recognize.
Godshatter. Two times it had been the companion to disaster. A dying Power's
madness ... and now it was the only hope. Oh Pham.
Ravna took a step toward him, felt jaws close on her sleeve. "Please,
he mustn't be disturbed." The one that was holding her arm was a big dog,
battle-scarred. The rest of the pack -- Pilgrim -- all faced inwards on
Pham. The savage stared at her, somehow saw the anger rising in her face.
Then the pack said, "Look ma'am, your Pham's in some sort of fugue state,
all the normal personality traded for computation."
Huh? This Pilgrim had the jargon, but probably not much else. Pham must
have been talking to him. She made a shushing gesture. "Yes, yes. I
understand." She stared into the light. The changing shape, so hard to look
at, was something like the graphics you can generate on most displays, the
silly cross-sections of high-dimensional froths. It glowed in purest
monochrome, but shifted through the colors. Much of the light must be
coherent: interference speckles crawled on every solid surface. In places
the interference banded up, stripes of dark and light that slid across the
hull as the color changed.
She walked slowly closer, staring at Pham and ... the Countermeasure.
For what else could it be? The scum in the walls, now grown out to meet
godshatter. This was not simply data, a message to be relayed. This was a
Transcendent machine. Ravna had read of such things: devices made in the
Transcend, but for use at the Bottom of the Beyond. There would be nothing
sentient about it, nothing that violated the constraints of the Lower Zones
-- yet it would make the best possible use of nature here, to do whatever
its builder had desired: Its builder? The Blight? An enemy of the Blight?
She stepped closer. The thing was deep in Pham's chest, but there was
no blood, no torn flesh. She might have thought it all trick holography
except that she could see him shudder at its writhing. The fractal arms were
feathered by long teeth, twisting at him. She gasped and almost called his
name. But Pham wasn't resisting. He seemed deeper into godshatter than ever
before, and more at peace. The hope and fear came suddenly out of hiding:
hope that maybe, even now, godshatter could do something about the Blight;
and fear, that Pham would die in the process.
The artifact's twisting evolution slowed. The light hung at the pale
edge of blue. Pham's eyes opened. His head turned toward her. "The Riders'
Myth is real, Ravna." His voice was distant. She heard the whisper of a
laugh. "The Riders should know, I guess. They learned the last time. There
are Things that don't like the Blight. Things my Old One only guessed
at...."
Powers beyond the Powers? Ravna sank to the floor. The display on her
wrist glowed up at here. Less than forty-five hours left.
Pham saw her downward glance, "I know. Nothing has slowed the fleet.
It's a pitiful thing so far down here ... but more than powerful enough to
destroy this world, this solar system. And that's what the Blight wants now.
The Blight knows I can destroy it ... just as it was destroyed before."
Ravna was vaguely aware that Pilgrim had crawled in close on all sides.
Every face was fixed on the blue froth and the human enmeshed within. "How,
Pham?" Ravna whispered.
Silence. Then, "All the zone turbulence ... that was Countermeasure
trying to act, but without coordination. Now I'm guiding it. I've begun ...
the reverse surge. It's drawing on local energy sources. Can't you feel it?"
Reverse surge? What was Pham talking about? She glanced again at her
wrist -- and gasped. Enemy speed had jumped to twenty light-years per hour,
as fast as might be expected in the Middle Beyond. What had been almost two
days of grace was barely two hours. And now the display said twenty-five
light-years per hour. Thirty.
Someone was pounding on the hatch.
Scrupilo was delinquent. He should be supervising the move up the
hillside. He knew that, and really felt quite guilty -- but he persevered in
his dereliction. Like an addict chewing krima leaves, some things are too
delicious to give up.
Scrupilo dawdled behind, carrying Dataset carefully between him so that
its floppy pink ears would not drag on the ground. In fact, guarding Dataset
was certainly more important than hassling his troopers. In any case, he was
close enough to give advice. And his lieutenants were more clever than he at
everyday work.
During the last few hours, the coastal winds had taken the smoke clouds
inland, and the air was clean and salty. On this part of the hill, not
everything was burned. There were even some flowers and fluffy seed pods.
Bob-tailed birds sailed up the rising air from the sea valley, their cries a
happy music, as if promising that the world would soon be as before.
Scrupilo knew it could not be. He turned all his heads to look down the
hillside, at Ravna Bergsndot's starship. He estimated the surviving drive
spines as one hundred meters long. The hull itself was more than one hundred
and twenty. He hunkered down around Dataset, and popped open its cushioned
Oliphaunt face. Dataset knew lots about spacecraft. Actually, this ship was
not a human design, but the overall shape was fairly ordinary; he knew that
from his previous readings. Twenty to thirty thousand tonnes, equipped with
antigravity floats and faster-than-light drive. All very ordinary for the
Beyond.... But to see it here, through the eyes of his very own members!
Scrupilo couldn't keep his gaze from the thing. Three of him worked with
Dataset while the other two stared at the iridescent green hull. The
troopers and guncarts around him faded to insignificance. For all its mass,
the ship seemed to rest gently on the hillside. How long will it be before
we can build such? Centuries, without outside help, the histories in Dataset
claimed. What I wouldn't give for a dayaround aboard her!
Yet this ship was being chased by something mightier. Scrupilo shivered
in the summer sun. He had often enough heard Pilgrim's story of the first
landing, and he had seen the human's beam weapon. He had read much in
Dataset about planet-wrecker bombs and the other weapons of the Beyond.
While he worked on Woodcarver's cannon -- the best weapons he could bring to
be -- he had dreamed and wondered. Until he saw the starship floating above,
he had never quite felt the reality in his innermost hearts. Now he did. So
a fleet of killers lay close behind Ravna Bergsndot. The hours of the world
might be few indeed. He tabbed quickly through Dataset's search paths,
looking for articles about space piloting. If there be only hours, at least
learn what there is time to learn.
So Scrupilo was lost in the sound and vision of Dataset. He had three
windows open, each on a different aspect of the piloting experience.
Loud shouts from the hillside. He looked up with one head, more
irritated than anything else. It wasn't a battle alarm they were calling,
just a general unease. Strange, the afternoon air seemed pleasantly cool.
Two of him looked high, but there was no haze. "Scrupilo! Look, Look!"
His gunners were dancing in panic. They were pointing at the sky ... at
the sun. He folded the pink covers over Dataset's face, at the same time
looking sunward with shaded view. The sun was still high in the south,
dazzling bright. Yet the air was cool, and the birds were making the cooing
sounds of low-sun nesting. And suddenly he realized that he was looking
straight at the sun's disk, had been for five seconds -- without pain or
even watering of his eyes. And there was still no haze that he could see. An
inner chill spread across his mind.
The sunlight was fading. He could see black dots on its disk. Sunspots.
He had seen them often enough with Scriber's telescopes. But that had been
through heavy filters. Something stood between him and the sun, something
that sucked away its light and warmth.
The packs on the hillside moaned. It was a frightened sound Scrupilo
had never heard in battle, the sound of someone confronted by unknowable
terror.
Blue faded from the sky. The air was suddenly cold as deep dark night.
And the sun's color was a gray luminescence, like a faded moon. Less.
Scrupilo hunkered bellies to ground. Some of him was whistling deep in the
throat. Weapons, weapons. But Dataset never spoke of this.
The stars were the brightest light on the hillside.
"Pham, Pham. They'll be here in an hour. What have you done?" A
miracle, but of ill?
Pham Nuwen swayed in Countermeasure's bright embrace. His voice was
almost normal, the godshatter receding. "What have I done? Not much. And
more than any Power. Even Old One only guessed, Ravna. The thing the
Straumers brought here is the Rider Myth. We -- I, it -- just moved the Zone
boundary back. A local change, but intense. We're in the equivalent of the
High Beyond now, maybe even the Low Transcend locally. That's why the
Blighter fleet can move so fast."
"But -- "
Pilgrim was back from the hatch. He interrupted Ravna's incoherent
panic with a matter-of-fact, "The sun just went out." His heads bobbed in an
expression she couldn't fathom.
Pham answered, "That's temporary. Something has to power this
maneuver."
"W-why, Pham?" Even if the Blight was sure to win, why help it?
The man's face went blank, Pham Nuwen almost disappearing behind the
other programs at work in his mind. Then, "I'm ... focusing Countermeasure.
I see now, Countermeasure, what it is.... It was designed by something
beyond the Powers. Maybe there are Cloud People, maybe this is signaling
them. Or maybe what it's just done is like an insect bite, something that
will cause a much greater reaction. The Bottom of the Beyond has just
receded, like the waterline before a tsunami." The Countermeasure glared
red-orange, its arcs and barbs embracing Pham more tightly than before. "And
now that we've bootstrapped to a decent Zone ... things can really happen.
Oh, the ghost of Old One is amused. Seeing beyond the Powers was almost
worth dying for."
The fleet stats flowed across Ravna's wrist. The Blight was coming on
even faster than before. "Five minutes, Pham." Even though they were still
thirty light-years out.
Laughter. "Oh, the Blight knows, too. I see this is what it feared all
along. This is what killed it those aeons ago. It's racing forward now, but
it's too late." The glow brightened; the mask of light that was Pham's face
seemed to relax. "Something very ... far ... away has heard me, Rav. It's
coming."
"What? What's coming?"
"The Surge. So big. It makes what hit us before seem a gentle wave.
This is the one nobody believes, because no one's left to record it. The
Bottom will be blown out beyond the fleet.
Sudden understanding. Sudden wild hope. "... And they'll be trapped out
there, won't they?" So Kjet Svensndot had not fought in vain, and Pham's
advice had not been nonsense: Now there wasn't a single ramscoop in the
Blighter fleet.
"Yes. They're thirty-light years out. We killed all the speed-capable
ones. They'll be a thousand years getting here...." The artifact abruptly
contracted, and Pham moaned. "Not much time. We're at maximum recession.
When the surge comes, it will -- " Again a sound of pain. "I can see it! By
the Powers, Ravna, it will sweep high and last long."
"How high, Pham?" Ravna said softly. She thought of all the
civilizations above them. There were the Butterflies and the treacherous
types who supported the pogrom at Sjandra Kei.... And there were trillions
who lived in peace and made their own way toward the heights.
"A thousand light-years? Ten thousand? I'm not sure. The ghosts in
Countermeasure -- Arne and Sjana thought it might rise so high it would
punch into the Transcend, encyst the Blight right where it sits.... That
must be what happened Before."
Arne and Sjana?
The Countermeasure's writhing had slowed. Its light flickered bright
and then out. Bright and then out. She heard Pham's breath gasp with every
darkness. Countermeasure, a savior that was going to kill a million
civilizations. And was killing the man who had triggered it.
Almost unthinking, she dodged past the thing, reaching for Pham. But
razors on razors blocked her, raking her arms.
Pham was looking up at her. He was trying to say something more.
Then the light went out for a final time. From the darkness all around
came a hissing sound and a growing, bitter smell that Ravna would never
forget.
For Pham Nuwen, there was no pain. The last minutes of his life were
beyond any description that might be rendered in the Slowness or even in the
Beyond.
So try metaphor and simile: It was like ... it was like ... Pham stood
with Old One on a vast and empty beach. Ravna and Tines were tiny creatures
at their feet. Planets and stars were the grains of sand. And the sea had
drawn briefly back, letting the brightness of thought reach here where
before had been darkness. The Transcendence would be brief. At the horizon,
the drawn-back sea was building, a dark wall higher than any mountain,
rushing back upon them. He looked up at the enormity of it. Pham and
godshatter and Countermeasure would not survive that submergence, not even
separately. They had triggered catastrophe beyond mind, a vast section of
the Galaxy plunged into Slowness, as deep as Old Earth itself, and as
permanent.
Arne and Sjana and Straumers and Old One were avenged ... and
Countermeasure was complete.
And as for Pham Nuwen? A tool made, and used, and now to be discarded.
A man who never was.
The surge was upon him then, plunging depths. Down from the
Transcendent light. Outside, the Tines' world sun would be shining bright
once more, but inside Pham's mind everything was closing down, senses
returning to what eyes can see and ears can hear. He felt Countermeasure
slough toward nonexistence, its task done without ever a conscious thought.
Old One's ghost hung on for a little longer, huddling and retreating as
thought's potential ebbed. But it let Pham's awareness be. For once it did
not push him aside. For once it was gentle, brushing at the surface of
Pham's mind, as a human might pet a loyal dog.
More a brave wolf, you are, Pham Nuwen. There were only seconds left
before they were fully in the depths, where the merged bodies of
Countermeasure and Pham Nuwen would die forever and all thought cease.
Memories shifted. The ghost of Old One stepped aside, revealing certainties
it had hidden all along. Yes, I built you from several bodies in the
junkyard by Relay. But there was only one mind and one set of memories that
I could revive. A strong, brave wolf -- so strong I could never control you
without first casting you into doubt....
Somewhere barriers slipped aside, the final failing of Old One's
control, or His final gift. It did not matter which now, for whatever the
ghost said, the truth was obvious to Pham Nuwen and he would not be denied:
Canberra, Cindi, the centuries avoyaging with Qeng Ho, the final flight
of the Wild Goose. It was all real.
He looked up at Ravna. She had done so much. She had put up with so
much. And even disbelieving, she had loved. It's okay. It's okay. He tried
to reach out to her, to tell her. Oh, Ravna, I am real!
Then the full weight of the depths was upon him, and he knew no more.
There was more pounding on the door. She heard Pilgrim walk to the
hatch. A crack of light shone in. Ravna heard Jefri's piping voice: "The sun
is back! The sun is back!... Hei, why is it so dark in here?"
Pilgrim: "The artifact -- the thing Pham was helping -- its light went
out."
"Geez, you mean you left off the main lights?" The hatch slid all the
way open, and the boy's head, along with several puppies', was silhouetted
against the torchlight beyond. He scrambled over the lip of the hatch. The
girl was right behind him. "The control is right over here ... see?"
And soft white light shone on the curving walls. All was ordinary and
human, except.... Jefri stood very still, his eyes wide, his hand over his
mouth. He turned to hold onto his sister. "What is it? What is it?" his
voice said from the opened hatch.
Now Ravna wished she could not see. She dropped back to her knees.
"Pham?" she said softly, knowing there would be no answer. What was left of
Pham Nuwen lay amid the Countermeasure. The artifact didn't glow any more.
Its tortuous boundaries were blunted and dark. More than anything it looked
like rotted wood.... but wood that embraced and impaled the man who lay with
it. There was no blood, and no charring. Where the artifact had pierced Pham
there was an ashy stain, and the flesh and the thing seemed to merge.
Pilgrim was close around her, his noses almost touching the still form.
The bitter smell still hung in the air. It was the smell of death, but not
the simple rotting of flesh; what had died here was flesh and something
else.
She glanced at her wrist. The display had simplified to a few
alphanumeric lines. No ultradrives could be detected. OOB status showed
problems with attitude control. They were deep in the Slow Zone, out of
reach of all help, out of reach of the Blight's fleet. She looked into
Pham's face. "You did it, Pham. You really did it," she said the words
softly, to herself.
The arches and loops of Countermeasure were a fragile, brittle thing
now. The body of Pham Nuwen was part of that. How could they break those
arches without breaking...? Pilgrim and Johanna gently urged Ravna out of
the cargo hold. She didn't remember much of the next few minutes, of them
bringing out the body. Blueshell and Pham, both gone beyond all retrieval.
They left her after a while. There was no lack of compassion, but
disaster and strangeness and emergency were in too abundant a supply. There
were the wounded. There was the possibility of co