A Fire Upon the Deep zot-1, page 40
part #1 of Zones of Thought Series
Certainly this nest had done a number on Woodcarver’s army. It had waited quietly until the troopers were within its inner loudness. Then outlying wolves had used synchronized mimicry to create sonic “ghosts", tricking the packs into turning from the nest and shooting uselessly into the trees. And when the ambush actually began, the nest had screamed concentrated confusion down on the Tines. That attack had been a far more powerful thing than the “stink noise” they’d encountered in other parts of the forest. To the Tines, the stinkers had been painfully loud and sometimes even frightening, but not the mind-destroying chaos of the wolf-nest attack.
More than one hundred packs had been knocked out in the ambush. Some, mostly packs with pups, had huddled. Others, like Scrupilo, had been “blasted apart". In the hours following the attack, many of these fragments straggled back and reassembled. The resulting Tines were shaken but unharmed. Intact troops hunted up and down the forested cliffs for injured members of their comrades. There were places along the dropoff that were more than twenty meters deep. Where their fall wasn’t cushioned by tree boughs, members landed on naked rock. Five dead ones were eventually found, and another twenty seriously injured. Two carts had fallen. They were kindling, and their kherhogs were too badly injured to survive. By great good luck, the gunshot had not started a forest fire.
Three times the sun made its vast, tilted course around the sky. Woodcarver’s army recovered in a camp in the depths of the valley forest, by the river. Vendacious had posted lookouts with signaling mirrors on the northern valley wall. This place was about as safe as any they could find so far north. It was certainly one of the most beautiful. It didn’t have the view of the high forest, but there was the sound of the river nearby, so loud it drowned the sighing of the dry wind. The lowland trees didn’t have root flowers, but they were still different from what Johanna had known. There was no underbrush, just a soft, bluish “moss” that Pilgrim claimed was actually part of the trees. It stretched like mown parkland to the edge of the river.
On the last day of their rest, the Queen called a meeting of all the packs not at guard or lookout. It was the largest collection of Tines Johanna had seen in one place since her family was killed. Only these ones weren’t fighting. As far as Johanna could see across the bluish moss, there were packs, each at least eight meters from its nearest neighbor. For an absurd instant she was reminded of Settlers Park at Overby: Families picnicking on the grass, each with its own traditional blanket and food lockers. But these “families” were each a pack, and this was a military formation. The rows were gently curving arcs all facing toward the Queen. Peregrine Wickwrackscar was ten meters behind her, in shadow; being Queen’s consort didn’t count for anything official. On Woodcarver’s left lay the living casualties of the ambush, members with bandages and splints. In some ways, such visible damage wasn’t the most horrifying. There were also what Pilgrim called the “walking wounded". These were singletons and duos and trios that were all that was left of whole packs. Some of these tried to maintain a posture of attention, but others mooned about, occasionally breaking into the Queen’s speech with aimless words. It was like Scriber Jaqueramaphan all over again, but most of these would live. Some were already melding, trying to make new individuals. Some of these might even work out, as Peregrine Wickwrackscar had done. For most, it would be a long time before they were fully people again.
Johanna sat with Scrupilo in the first rank of troopers before the Queen. The Commander of Cannoneers stood at Tinish parade rest: rumps on the ground, chest high, most heads facing front. Scrup had come through it without serious damage. His white head had a few more scorch marks, and one of the other members had sprained a shoulder falling off the path. He wore his flying cannoneer muffs as flamboyantly as always, but there was something subdued about him—maybe it was just the military formation and getting a medal for heroism.
The Queen was wearing her special jackets. Each head looked out at a different section of her audience. Johanna still couldn’t understand Tinish, and would certainly never speak it without mechanical assistance. But the sounds were mostly within her range of hearing—the “low” frequencies carried a lot better than higher ones. Even without memory aides and grammar generators she was learning a little. She could recognize emotional tone easily, and things like the raucous ark ark ark that passed for applause around here. As for individual words—well, they were more like chords, single syllables that had meaning. Nowadays, if she listened really carefully (and Pilgrim weren’t nearby to give a running translation) she could even recognize some of those.
… Just now, for instance, Woodcarver was saying good things about her audience. Approving ark ark’s came from all directions. They sounded like a bunch of sea’mals. One of the Queen’s heads dipped into a bowl, came up with a small carven doodad in its mouth. She spoke a pack’s name, a multichord tumptititum that if Johanna heard often enough she might be able to repeat as “Jaqueramaphan"—or even see meaning in, as “Wickwrackscar".
From the front rank of the audience, a single member trotted toward the Queen. It stopped practically nose to nose with the Queen’s nearest member. Woodcarver said something about bravery, and then two of her fastened the wooden—broach?—to the member’s jacket. It turned smartly and returned to its pack.
Woodcarver picked out another decoration, and called on another pack. Johanna leaned over toward Scrupilo. “What’s going on?” she said wonderingly. “Why are single members getting medals?” And how can they stand to get so near another pack?
Scrupilo had been standing more stiffly at attention than most packs, and was pretty much ignoring her. Now he turned one head in her direction. “Shh!” He started to turn back, but she grabbed him by one of his jackets. “Foolish one,” he finally replied. “The award is for the whole pack. One member is extended to accept. More would be madness.”
Hmm. One after another, three more packs “extended a member” to take their decorations. Some were full of precision, like human soldiers in stories. Others started out smartly, then became timid and confused as they approached Woodcarver.
Finally Johanna said, “Ssst. Scrupilo! When do we get ours?”
This time he didn’t even look at her; all his heads faced rigidly toward the Queen. “Last, of course. You and I killed the nest, and saved Woodcarver herself.” His bodies were almost shaking with the intensity of their brace. He’s scared witless. And suddenly Johanna guessed why. Apparently Woodcarver had no problem maintaining her mind with one outside member nearby. But the reverse would not be true. Sending one of yourself into another pack meant losing some consciousness and placing trust in that other pack. Looking at it that way… well, it reminded Johanna of the historical novels she used to play. On Nyjora during the Dark Age, ladies traditionally gave their sword to their queen when granted audience, and then knelt. It was a way to swear loyalty. Same thing here, except that looking at Scrupilo, Johanna realized that even as a matter of form, the ceremony might be damn frightening.
Three more medals bestowed, and then Woodcarver gobbled the chords that were Scrupilo’s name. The Commander of Cannoneers went absolutely rigid, made faint whistling noises through his mouths. “Johanna Olsndot,” said Woodcarver, then more Tinish, something about coming forward.
Johanna stood up, but not one of Scrupilo moved.
The Queen made a human laugh. She was holding two polished broaches. “I’ll explain all in Samnorsk later, Johanna. Just come forward with one of Scrupilo. Scrupilo?”
Suddenly they were the center of attention, with thousands of eyes watching. There was no more arking or background chatter. Johanna hadn’t felt so exposed since she played First Colonist in her school’s Landing Play. She leaned down so that her head was close to one of Scrupilo’s. “Come on, guy. We’re the big heroes.”
The eyes that looked back at her were wide. “I can’t.” The words were almost inaudible. For all his jaunty cannoneer muffs and standoffish manner, Scrupilo was terrified. But for him it wasn’t stage fright. “I can’t tear me apart so soon. I can’t.”
There was murmured gobbling in the ranks behind them, Scrupilo’s own cannoneers. By all the Powers, would they hold this against him? Welcome to the middle ages. Stupid people. Even cut to pieces, Scrupilo had saved their behinds, and now—She put her hands on two of his shoulders. “We did it before, you and I. Remember?”
The heads nodded. “Some. That one part of me alone… could never have done it.”
“Right. And neither could I. But together we killed a wolf-nest.”
Scrupilo stared at her a second, eyes wavering. “Yes, we really did.” He came to his feet, frisked his heads so the cannoneer muffs flapped. “Yes!” And he moved his white-headed one closer to her.
Johanna straightened. She and White Head walked out into the open space. Four meters. Six. She kept the fingertips of one hand lightly on his neck. When they were about twelve meters from the rest of Scrupilo, White Head’s pace faltered. He looked sideways, up at Johanna, then continued more slowly.
Johanna didn’t remember much of the ceremony, so much of her attention was on White Head. Woodcarver said something long and unintelligible. Somehow they both ended up with intricately carven decorations on their collars, and were headed back toward the rest of Scrupilo. Then she was aware of the crowd once more. They stretched as far as she could see under the forest canopy—and every one of them seemed to be cheering, Scrup’s cannoneers loudest of all.
Midnight. Here at the bottom of the valley there were three or four hours of the dayaround when the sun dipped behind the high north wall. It didn’t much feel like night, or even twilight. The smoke from the fires to the north seemed to getting worse. She could smell it now.
Johanna walked back from the cannoneers section toward the center of camp, and Woodcarver’s tent. It was quiet; she could hear little creatures scritching in the root bushes. The celebrating might have gone on longer, except that everyone knew that in another few hours they would be preparing for the climb up the valley’s north wall. So now there was only occasional laughter, an occasional pack walking about. Johanna walked barefoot, her shoes slung over her shoulders. Even in the dry weather, the moss was wonderfully soft between her toes. Above her the forest canopy was shifting green and patches of hazy sky. She could almost forget what had gone before, and what lay ahead.
The guards around Woodcarver’s tent didn’t challenge her, just called softly ahead. After all, there weren’t that many humans running around. The Queen stuck out a head, “Come inside, Johanna.”
Inside, she was sitting in her usual circle, the puppies protected in the middle. It was quite dark, the only light being what came through the entrance. Johanna flopped down on the pillows where she usually slept. Ever since this afternoon, the big award thing, she had been planning to give Woodcarver a piece of her mind. Now… well the party at the cannoneers had been a happy thing. It seemed kind of a shame to break the mood.
Woodcarver cocked a head at her. Simultaneously, the two puppies duplicated the gesture. “I saw you at the party. You are a sober one. You eat most of our foods now, but none of the beer.”
Johanna shrugged. Yes, why? “Kids aren’t supposed to drink before they’re eighteen years old.” That was the custom, and her parents had agreed with it. Johanna had turned fourteen a couple of months ago; Dataset had reminded her of the exact hour. She wondered. If none of this had happened, if she were still back at the High Lab or Straumli Realm: would she be sneaking out with friends to try such forbidden things? Probably. Yet here, where she was entirely on her own, where she was currently a big hero, she hadn’t tried a drop… Maybe it was because Mom and Dad weren’t here, and following their wishes seemed to keep them closer. She felt tears coming to her eyes.
“Hmm.” Woodcarver didn’t seem to notice. “That’s what Pilgrim said was the reason.” She tapped at her puppies and smiled. “I guess it makes sense. These two don’t get beer till they’re older—though I know they got some second-hand partying from me tonight.” There was a hint of beer breath in the tent.
Johanna wiped roughly at her face. She really did not want to talk about being a teenager just now. “You know, that was kind of a mean trick you pulled on Scrupilo this afternoon.”
“I—Yes. I talked to him about it beforehand. He didn’t want it, but I thought he was just being… is stiff-necked the word? If I had known how upset he was, well—”
“He practically fell apart out there in front of everybody. If I understand how things work, that would have been his disgrace, right?”
“… Yes. Exchanging honor for loyalty in front of peers, it’s an important thing. At least the way I run things; I’m sure Pilgrim or Dataset can say a dozen other ways to lead. Look Johanna, I needed that Exchange, and I needed you and Scrupilo to be there.”
“Yeah, I know. ‘We two saved the day.’”
“Silence!” Her voice was suddenly edged, and Johanna remembered that this was a medieval queen. “We are two hundred miles north of my borders, almost to the heart of the Flenser Domain. In a few days we will meet the enemy, and more of us will die for we-know-not-quite-what.”
The bottom dropped out of Johanna’s stomach. If she couldn’t get back to the ship, couldn’t finish what Mom and Dad had started… “Please, Woodcarver! It is worth it!”
“I know that. Pilgrim knows it. The majority of my council agrees, though grudgingly. But we of the council have talked with Dataset. We’ve seen your worlds and what your science can do. On the other hand, most of my people here,” she waved a head at the camp beyond the tent, “are here on faith, and out of loyalty to me. For them, the situation is deadly and the goal is vague.” She paused, though her two pups continued gesturing forcefully for a second. “Now I don’t know how you would persuade your kind to take such risks. Dataset talks of military conscription.”
“That was Nyjora, long ago.”
“Never mind. The point is, my troops are here out of loyalty, mostly to me personally. For six hundred years, I have protected my people well; their memories and legends are clear on it. More than once, I was the only one who saw a peril, and it was my advice that saved all those who heeded it. That is what keeps most of the soldiers, most of the cannoneers going. Each of them is free to turn back. So. What should they think when our first ‘combat’ is to fall like ignorant… tourists… onto a nest of wolves? Without the great good luck of you and part of Scrupilo being at the right place and alert, I would have been killed. Pilgrim would have been killed. Perhaps a third of the soldiers would have died.”
“If not us, perhaps someone else,” Johanna said in a small voice.
“Perhaps. I don’t think anyone else came close to firing on the nest. You see the effect on my people? ‘If bad luck in the forest can kill our Queen and destroy our marvelous weapons, what will it be like when we face a thinking enemy?’ That was the question in many minds. Unless I could answer it, we’d never make it out of this valley—at least not going northward.”
“So you gave the medals. Loyalty for honor.”
“Yes. You missed the sense of it, not understanding Tinish. I made a big thing of how well they had done. I gave silverwood accolades to packs who showed any competence during the ambush. That helped some. I repeated my reasons for this expedition—the wonders that Dataset describes and how much we lose if Steel gets his way. But they’ve heard all that before, and it points to far away things they can scarcely imagine. The new thing I showed them today was you and Scrupilo.”
“Us?”
“I praised you beyond the skies. Singletons often do brave things. Sometimes they are halfway clever, or talk as though they are. But alone, Scrupilo’s fragment wouldn’t be much more than a good knife fighter. He knew about using the cannon, but he didn’t have the paws or mouths to do anything with it. And by himself, he would never have figured out where to shoot it. You, on the other hand, are a Two Legs. In many ways you are helpless. The only way you can think is by yourself, but you can do it without interfering with those around you. Together you did what no pack could do in the middle of a wolf-nest attack. So I told my army what a team our two races could become, how each makes up for the age-long failings of the other. Together, we are one step closer to being the Pack of Packs. How is Scrupilo?”
Johanna smiled faintly. “Things turned out okay. Once he was able to get out there and accept his medal,” she fingered the broach that was pinned to her own collar; it was a beautiful thing, a landscape of Woodcarver’s city, “once he’d done that, he was totally changed. You should have seen him with the cannoneers afterwards. They did their own loyalty/honor thing, and then they drank a lot of beer. Scrupilo was telling them all about what we were doing. He even had me help demonstrate… You really think the army bought what you said about humans and Tines?”
“I think so. In my own language, I can be very eloquent. I’ve bred myself to be.” Woodcarver was silent for a moment. Her puppies scrambled across the carpet, and patted their muzzles at Johanna’s hands. “Besides… it may even be true. Pilgrim is sure of it. You can sleep in this same tent with me and still think. That’s something that he and I can’t do; in our own ways, we’ve each lived a long time and I think we are each at least as smart as the humans and other creatures that Dataset talks about in the Beyond. But you singleton creatures can stand next to each other, and think and build. Compared to us, I’ll bet singleton races developed the sciences very fast. But now, with your help, maybe things will change fast for us, too.” The two puppies retreated, and Woodcarver lowered heads to paws. “That’s what I told my people, anyway… You should try to get some sleep now.”
