The Children of the Sky

They spent most of the time at the portholes, watching their progress from forest to jungle and swamp. They were flying so low that when the rain lessened, they could see flowers in the treetops and wader birds in the open swamps. This was very much like the environment of equatorial Nyjora, when the Techie had battled both the exploiters and the plague that was killing the last of their men. She glanced at Jefri; how little of that history made any sense here.

Jef didn’t seem to notice her look. He was staring downward more intently than ever. “I still don’t understand what Vendacious and Tycoon are doing here. We seem to be as far south as coherent packs can survive.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can see a bit under the trees when we pass over rivers. There are Choir settlements—at least that’s what I think they are. When these settlements begin to connect together, there’s no way that packs can penetrate and still keep their minds. Look down there. Around the trees. That mottling, I think that’s floating shacks.”

“… Yes.” She could see a change in the texture of the river shore. And here and there, she saw polygonal shapes that might have been real buildings. Within an hour, they were flying over settlements in open clearings. As the day darkened into true twilight, the settlements merged and the forest was replaced by an unending, chaotic jumble of vegetation, swamp, and artifact.

By the time their little steward showed up, it was night outside—and pitch black in their cabin. The cabin had a small mantle lamp but it had seemed to be disabled. Besides delivering dinner, the steward showed them how to light the lamp. The foursome was a cheerful creature, not at all the jailer Ravna would have expected.

After dinner, the rain slackened and—strangely—the air became steadily warmer. They doused the cabin lamp and returned to the portholes. There was no more lightning, but no stars or moonlight either. Here and there, what looked like campfires shone below. The air coming in the ports smelled faintly of compost and sewage.

“We’re descending,” said Jefri. “We’ll come down in the middle of that.” But an hour passed. Two. They fell asleep as the rain increased and the air grew choppy.

•  •  •

The door bolt clicked, lifting open. Someone was scratching at the cabin door. Ravna struggled to wakefulness, confused. The steward would have tapped politely on the door and sung out for them to rouse themselves.

Jefri was up on his elbows. “What—?” he said, but very softly.

“Maybe we’re finally landing?” Ravna noticed that she was whispering too. Pointlessly. Any Tines on the other side of that door could hear them fine.

The furtive scratching continued.

She put out a warning hand, but Jefri was already at the door. The hall beyond was lit by a single gaslamp. Two members were visible, but only in silhouette. One stuck a snout into the room, peering about. Then it wriggled past Jefri.

Powers above, it was Ritl! And quieter than Ravna had ever seen her. The singleton looked over her shoulder and gestured at the—pack?—beyond.

Not a pack, a piece of Mr. Radio; in the lamplight, Ravna could see an occasional glint off its cloak. The creature hesitated, perhaps communing with far off employers. Then it squeezed past Ritl and blundered around in the dark, evidently not much good at echo location. It flinched back every time it stepped on their legs, but there wasn’t very much human-free floorspace. It ended up scrunched against the wall.

Ritl slid the door almost shut, then sprawled across Ravna’s shins and pressed her head close to the narrow door opening, as if listening out into the hall. The light from the hall lamp made it easy for Ravna to see, though for the Tines, the room must seem very dark. The radio-singleton looked seriously nervous. And Ritl? Well, maybe she was scared quiet, but more likely she was just being animal crafty.

After a moment, Jefri said dryly—but softly!—“Well, who do we have here?”

The radio singleton looked up at the sound and seemed to relax. “Jefri, is it just you and Ravna there?” The words were barely the breath of whisper … but the voice belonged to Amdi.

Jef gave a stifled whoop. “Amdi! Are you okay? How—?”

“Shh shh! Gotta be very quiet. If you get discovered, it’ll be almost as bad as if I do. But I’m fine, specially now that I’m talking to you. Part of our good luck is that Vendacious is indisposed, some kind of upchuck bug. That’s why you didn’t see him in person; he’s still talking snooty, but he’s barfing from half his mouths. Anyway, two of me are jammed in Ut’s off-duty compartment. Ut and Il are the radio-cloak members on this ship. Your guy is Zek. Anyway, we have the door cracked open and the rest of me is next door. There’s just enough of a sound path that I can think straight.”

Jefri was silent for a moment, seemingly stunned by the turn of events.