Vernor Vinge - A Fire Upon the Deep

Over the next few days, Ravna kept pushing her boss on the question. Whoever flew the rescue would need instant rapport with humans — human children, in fact. Very likely Jefri Olsndot had never even met a Skroderider. The point was a good one, and it was gradually driving her to desperation — but by itself it would not have changed old Grondr's mind. It took some outside events to do that: As the weeks passed, the Blight's expansion slowed. Just as conventional wisdom (and Old One via Pham Nuwen) claimed, there seemed to be natural limits to how far the Perversion could extend its interests. The abject panic slowly disappeared from High Beyond communication traffic. Rumors and refugees from the absorbed volumes dribbled toward zero. The people in the Blighted spaces were gone, but now it was more like death in a graveyard than death from contagious rot. Blight-related newsgroups continued to babble about the catastrophe, but the level of nonproductive rehashing was steadily increasing. There simply was very little new going on. Over the next ten years, physical death would spread through the Blighted region. Colonization would begin again, cautiously probing through the ruins and informational traps, and residue races. But all of that was a ways off, and for the moment Relay's Blight "windfall" was a shrinking affair.

… And Marketing was even more interested in the Straumli refugee ship. None of the strategy programs — much less Grondr — believed the ship's secret could hurt the Blight, but there was a good chance it might bring commercial advantage when the Perversion finally got tired of its Transcendent game. And the Tines pack-minds had caught their interest. It was very appropriate that a maximum effort be made, that Ravna give up her Docks job and go to the field.

So, for a wonder, her childhood fantasy of rescue and questing adventure would actually come true. And even more surprising, I'm only half-terrified by the prospect!

Target[56]: Im sorry I diddnt anser for a while. I dont feel good a lot. Mister Steel says I should talk to you. He says I need more friends to make me feel better. Amdi says so too and hes my best friend of all… like packs of dogs but smart and fun. I wish I could send pictures. Mister Steel will try to get ansers for all your questions. He is doing everything he can to help, but the bad packs will be back. Amdi and I tried the stuff you said with the ship. I am sorry, it still doesnt work… I hate this dumb keybord…

Org[57]: Hi, Jefri. Amdi and Mr. Steel are right. I always like to talk, and it will make you feel better… There are inventions that might help Mister Steel. We've thought of some improvements for his bows and flamethrowers. I'm also sending down some fortress design information. Please tell Mister Steel that we can't tell him how to fly the ship. It would be dangerous even for an expert pilot to try…

Target[57]: Ya, even Daddy had a hard time landing it. ikocxljikersw89iou43e5 I think Mister Steel just doesnt understand, and hes getting sorta disparate… Isnt there other stuff, though, like they had in oldendays. You know, bombs and airplanes that we could make?…

Org[58]: There are other inventions, but it would take time for Mister Steel to make them. Our star ship is leaving Relay soon, Jefri. We'll be there long before other inventions would help…

Target[58]: Your coming? Your finally coming!!! When do you leave? When will you get here???

Ordinarily Ravna composed her messages to Jefri on a keyboard — it gave her some feeling for the kid's situation. He seemed to be holding up, though there were still days when he didn't write (it was strange to think of "mental depression" having any connection with an eight-year-old). Other times he seemed to have a tantrum at the keyboard, and across twenty-one thousand light-years she saw evidence of small fists slamming into keys.

Ravna grinned at the display. Today she finally had something more than nebulous promises for him: she had a positive departure time. Jefri was going to like message [59]. She typed: "We're scheduled to leave in seven more days, Jefri. Travel time will be about thirty days." Should she qualify that? Latest postings on the Zone boundary newsgroups said the Bottom was unusually active. The Tines World was so close to the Slow Zone… If the "storm" worsened, travel time would suffer. There was about a one percent chance the voyage would take more than sixty days. She leaned back from the keyboard. Did she really want to say that? Damn. Better be frank; these dates could affect the locals who were helping Jefri. She explained the "ifs" and "buts", then went on to describe the ship and the wonderful things they would bring. The boy usually didn't write at great length (except when he was relaying information from Steel), but he really seemed to like long letters from her.

The Out of Band II was undergoing final consistency checks. Its ultradrive was rebuilt and tested; the Skroderiders had taken it out a couple of thousand light-years to check the antenna swarm. The swarm worked great, too. She and Jefri would be able to talk through most of the voyage. As of yesterday, the ship was stocked with consumables. (That sounded like something out of medieval adventure. But you had to take some supplies when you were headed so far down that reality graphics couldn't be trusted.) Sometime tomorrow, Grondr's people would be loading the ship's hold with gadgets that might be real handy for a rescue. Should she mention those? Some of them might sound a bit intimidating to Jefri's local friends.

That evening, she and the Skroderiders had a beach party. That's what they called it, though it was much more like the human version than an authentic Rider one. Blueshell and Greenstalk had rolled well back from the water, to where the sand lay dry and warm. Ravna laid out refreshments on Blueshell's cargo scarf. They sat on the sand and admired the sunset.

It was mostly a celebration — that Ravna had gotten permission to go with the OOB, that the ship was almost ready to depart. But, "Are you really happy to be going, my lady?" asked Blueshell. "We two will make very good money, but you — "

Ravna laughed. "I'll get a travel bonus." She had argued and argued for permission to go; there wasn't much room left to haggle about the pay. "And yes. This is what I really want."

"I am glad," said Greenstalk.

"I am laughing," said Blueshell. "My mate is especially pleased that our passenger will not be surly. We almost lost our love for bipeds after shipping with the certificants. But there is nothing to be frightened of now. Have you read Threats Group in the last fifteen hours? The Blight has stopped growing, and its edges have become sharply defined. The Perversion is settling into middle age. I'm ready to leave right now."

Blueshell was full of speculations about the Tinish "packs", and possible schemes for extracting Jefri and any other survivors. Greenstalk interjected a thought here and there. She was less shy than before, but still seemed softer, more diffident than her mate. And her confidence was a bit more realistic. She was glad they weren't leaving for another week. There were still the final consistency checks to run on the OOB — and Grondr had gotten Org financing for a small fleet of decoy ships. Fifty were complete so far. A hundred would be ready by the end of the week.

The Docks drifted into night. With its shallow atmosphere, twilight was short, but the colors were spectacular. The beach and the trees glistened in the horizontal rays. The scent of evening flowers mixed with the tang of sea salt. On the far side of the sea, all was stark bright and dark, silhouettes that might have been Vrinimi fancies or functional dock equipage — Ravna had never learned which. The sun slid behind the sea. Orange and red spread along the aft horizon, topped by a wider band of green, probably ionized oxygen.