A Deepness in the Sky

She played with the wand, and the display core of the parlor flared into announcement colors, the light splashing back onto the flowered vines. When she spoke, her voice came from a thousand microspeakers, phased so that she seemed at everyone's side. "Hello, everybody. Welcome to the show." Her voice was happy and confident, the Qiwi they all knew.

The display core was sorting itself into multiple views: Qiwi's face, Arachna as seen from theInvisible Hand, Podmaster Nau working at his lodge at North Paw, schematics of theHand' s orbit and the military configuration of the various Spider nations.

"As you know, our old friend Victory Smith has just arrived in Southland. In a few moments she'll be at their parliament, and we'll have a treat none of us have experienced before—a direct human-camera view from the ground. Finally, after all these years, we'll be seeing firsthand." On the big center display, Qiwi's face opened into a smile. "Think of it as a taste of things to come, the beginning of our life with the people of Arachna.

"But before we get to that point, you know we have a war to prevent, and our presence finally to reveal." She looked down at the displays, and her voiced hesitated, as if she were suddenly struck by the enormity of what they were attempting. "We have planned to announce ourselves in just over forty Ksec, when our low-orbit network manipulations are in place, and theHand' s orbit takes it over the capitals of both Kindred and Accord. I think you know how tricky it will be. The Spiders, our hoped-for friends, are poised on more dangerous ground than most human civilizations can survive. But I know you have prepared for this day well. When the time for announcement and contact comes, I know we will succeed.

"So, watch for now. Soon we will be very busy."

FIFTY-TWO

Oddly enough, Rachner Thract retained his rank of colonel, not that former colleagues would trust him to scrape out their latrines. General Smith had treated him gently. They couldn'tprove he was a traitor, and apparently she was unwilling to use extreme interrogation on him. So Colonel Rachner Thract, formerly of the unnamed service, found himself with a salary and per diem worthy of full duty...and nothing whatsoever to do.

It had been four days since that terrible meeting at Lands Command, but Thract had seen his disgrace building for almost a year. When it finally overcame him...it had been such a relief, except for the unhappy detail that he survived it, a living ghost.

Old-time officers, especially Tiefers, would decapitate themselves after such ignominy. Rachner Thract was one-half Tiefer, but he hadn't cut off his head with a weighted blade. Instead, he'd numbed his brain with five straight days of fizz, chewing his way round and round the Calorica Strip.An idiot right to the end. Calorica was the only place in the world where it was too warm to lapse into fizz coma.

So he'd heard the reports that someone—Smith, it had to be Smith—was flying to Southmost, was trying to recover something of what Thract had lost. As the hours counted down toward Smith's arrival at Southmost, Rachner had eased off on the fizz. He sat staring at the news feeds in the public houses. Sat and prayed that somehow Victory Smith could succeed where Thract's life effort had failed. But he knew that she would fail. No one believed him, and even Rachner Thract didn't know the how and why. But he was sure: There was something backing up the Kindred. Even the Kindred didn't know about it, but it was there, twisting every one of the Accord's technical advantages back on itself.

On the multiple screens, live from Southmost, Smith passed through the Great Doors of Parliament Hall. Even here, the rowdiest public house on the Strip, the clientele was suddenly very silent. Thract settled his head upon the bar, and felt his stare become glazed.

And then his telephone began ringing. Rachner hauled it out of his jacket. He held it by his head, stared at it with uninterested disbelief.Itmust be broken. Or someone was sending him an advertisement. Nothing important could ever come over this unsecured piece of junk.

He was about to throw it to the floor when the cobber on the next perch whacked him across the back. "Damn military bum! Get out!" she shouted.

Thract came off his perch, not sure if he was about to follow the other's demand, or defend the honor of Smith and all the others who tried to keep the peace.

In the end, house management decided the issue; Thract found himself out on the street, cut off from the television that might have shown him what his General was attempting. And his telephone was still ringing. He stabbedACCEPT and snarled something incoherent into the microphone.

"Colonel Thract, is that you?" The words were jerky and garbled, but the voice was vaguely familiar. "Colonel? Is your end a secure comm?"

Thract swore loudly. "The bleeding hellno !"