The Children of the Sky

“It’s like the Tines are swaying to music.” Truly a Choir.

The airship executed one of its long, slow turns and their view swept across territory that had been directly ahead. Now the nearest lands were hidden by low clouds, but pillars of sunlight shone into the far distance … upon the largest structure Ravna had ever seen on Tines World. “Powers,” she said softly. “There was nothing like this in the approach photography.”

They were too far away to see details, but the main structure was tetrahedral. Its edges were slumped and irregular, but on average, the pyramid’s lines were perfectly straight. Parts of the surface gleamed golden even in the haze. Secondary pyramids sat at the base of the huge one, each quite possibly larger than Newcastle—and at the corners of those were still smaller pyramids. Smaller and smaller, Ravna followed the progression down to the limits of her vision.

Their airship was turning again. The pyramid slid out of sight. “There’s the other airship,” said Jefri. The craft was well below them, descending into the lower cloud deck. It swirled the cloud surface like a fish diving through sea foam. Then it was gone, and a moment after that they, too, were in the clouds. They broke through into a drizzly gray morning. The ground below looked nothing like the jumbled slums or the great pyramid. She caught sight of spires and domes very like the palaces of East Coast royalty. I’ll bet that’s where Vendacious and Tycoon lord it over the locals. Directly ahead of the other airship, the ground was as open and flat as a tabletop. The landing field would have been recognized by any low-tech inhabitant of an earthlike planet, though this one was marred by floodways and several large ponds.

Five structures hulked at the end of the field. They were small by comparison with the pyramid, but each was large enough to shelter an airship. The clamshell doors on two of them had been slid open.

•  •  •

Vendacious stood by his ship’s landing pylon and watched the ground crews work to lash down Tycoon’s airship.

How I hate the Tropics! The thought surfaced every time he returned here. The heat and humidity were as bad as any he’d known in his well-remembered life; this morning’s drizzle counted as comfort by the standards of this place! Then there were the parasites, the gut worms and flesh burrowers, and all the diseases—themselves caused by microscopic predators, according to the ever-cheery Dataset. He never used to get the vomits, and now that happened regularly. In the early years of his time here, Vendacious had lost two members to disease. Finding appropriate replacements had been no small challenge, even with an endless stream of raw material to choose from.

And yet … part of Vendacious was gazing to the left, at the magnificent palace Tycoon had built for him. Vendacious couldn’t have risked such magnificence up north, not with Woodcarver’s death sentence hanging over him. Now that two of Vendacious were Tropical, sometimes he actually felt an insane fondness for the place. In Dataset, Vendacious had read about natural selection. The notion was quaint and obvious, but no fun when you were doing it to yourself! It was frightening to realize that if his triumph were delayed long enough, he might prefer this hellhole to the north.

Meantime, he’d have to put up with both the climate and Tycoon. The local fragment of Radio stood just a few meters away, providing a link to the great Tycoon. Ut looked even more miserable than Vendacious felt. Part of that was the heavy, muffling cloak the creature had to wear. Part of it was the fear in the creature’s eyes. Ut had been taught to fear and obey and keep secrets. The lessons necessarily had been delivered in covert ways, unseen by those outside Vendacious’ inner court. After last night, Ut had even more to fear. What had the animal been up to, playing with the cabin keys? The guards said he hadn’t been wearing his cloak, so whatever it was had been mindless and confined to the ship. That was the only thing that had saved Ut from a proper and final punishment—no matter how suspicious the death might look to Tycoon. Nevertheless Ut faced some strict discipline; no more deviations would be tolerated.

Ut fearfully came closer. When it spoke, it was to relay Tycoon’s confident and demanding voice: “Recall, Vendacious, I want both two-legs delivered to me. What’s left of Remasritlfeer, too.”

No doubt Tycoon was lounging about in the comfort of his palace. The fat bastards’ notion of “surviving in style” was to have Vendacious do all the hard work. Eight years of practice had not made it any easier to suck up to the fool, but Vendacious managed a respectful response: “I understand, sir. Their airship is just now being moored.”

“What about the two packs who were captured with the humans?”