A Deepness in the Sky

The Spiders they had known in the translations were mostly absent. Belga Underville, Elno Coldhaven—those were names that Ezr recognized, but they had always been at a distance. They had not been part of Sherkaner Underhill's counterlurk. They must be consulting Victory Lighthill, though. As often as not during the negotiations, Underville would withdraw and there would be hissing conversations with persons unseen.

After the first couple of days, Ezr realized that some of those persons werevery far away: Trixia. Back in their rooms, Ezr called L1. Of course, the link went through Spider control. Ezr didn't care. "You told me that Trixia was in deFocus."

The pause seemed much longer than ten seconds. Suddenly Ezr couldn't wait for the excuses and the evasions. "Listen, damn you! The promise was that she would be in deFocus. Sooner or later you have to stop using her!"

Then Pham's voice came back. "I know, Ezr. The problem is, the Spiders have insisted that she be available, still Focused. It's a dealbreaker if we refuse...and Trixia refuses to cooperate with us in deFocus. We'd have to force it on her."

"I don't care. I don't care! They don't own her any more than Tomas Nau." He choked on the fear, and almost started bawling. Across the room, Zinmin Broute looked as happy as any ziphead Ezr had ever seen. He was sitting cross-legged on the hairy carpet, paging through some kind of Spider picture book.We're using him, too. We have to, just for a short while more.

"Ezr, it's only for a short time. This is breaking Anne up, too, but it's the only sure insight the Spiders have on us. They almost trust the Focused. Everything we say, every assertion, they are talking over with the zips. We don't have a chance of getting theHand people back without that trust. We don't have a chance of undoing Nau's work without that."

Rita and Jau. The thumb-locked box sat at the top of Ezr's kit. Strange. The Spiders had not insisted on getting into it or his other things. Ezr crumpled. "Okay. But, after this meeting, no oneowns anyone. The deal dies—I kill the deal—otherwise." He cut the connection before any answer could come back. After all, it didn't matter what the other replied.

Almost every day, they took the tortuous climb down to the same ghastly conference room. Zinmin claimed that this was the chief of Intelligence's private office, a "bright and open-storied room, with nooks and isolated perches." Well, there were nooks, dark fluting chimneys with hidden lairs at the top. And the video along the walls was a constant nonsense. He and Zinmin had to cross cold stone to sit on piled furs. Four or five Spiders were usually present, and almost always Underville or Coldhaven.

But the negotiations were actually going well. With the Focused to back up his story, the Spiders seemed to believe what Ezr had to say. They seemed to understand how good things could become with only a little cooperation. Certainly, the Spiders could have a presence at the rockpile. Technology would be transferred downward without restriction, in return for human access to the ground. In time, the rockpile and the temps would be moved into high Arachna orbit and there would be joint construction of a shipyard.

Sitting with the Spiders for Ksecs each day was a wearing experience. The human mind was not designed to warm to such creatures. They seemed not to have eyes, just the crystal carapaces that saw better than any human vision. You could never tell what they were looking at. Their eating hands were in constant motion, with meanings that Ezr was only beginning to understand. And when they gestured with their principal arms, the movement was abrupt and aggressive, like a creature on the attack. The air had a bitter, stale smell, which was strongest when extra spiders crowded around.And next time, we bring our own toilets. Ezr was getting bowlegged trying to accommodate himself to the local facilities.

Zinmin did most of the interactive translations. But Trixia and the others were there, and sometimes when the greatest precision was desired, it was her voice that would speak Underville's or Coldhaven's words: Underville the implacable cop, Coldhaven the sleek young general officer. Trixia's voice, others' souls.

At night, there were dreams, often more unpleasant than the reality he faced in the day. The worst were the ones he could understand. Trixia appeared to him, her voice and thoughts slipping back and forth between the young woman he once knew and the alien minds that owned her now. Sometimes her face would morph into a glassy carapace as she spoke, and when he asked about the change she would say he was imagining things. It was a Trixia who would remain forever Focused, ensorcelled, lost. Qiwi was in many of the dreams, sometimes the bratling, sometimes as she had been when she killed Tomas Nau. They would talk, and often she would give him advice. In the dreams it always made sense—and when he woke he could never remember the details.