The Children of the Sky

So perhaps Tycoon was not a villain … not naturally a villain. They sat for a moment in silence. “Okay, then,” said Ravna. “We know what we’re up against. That has to be an improvement. We’ve got to convince this fellow of the truth—”

“—without triggering more violence.” He gave another smile, this one not despairing. “I’ll be my very nicest, no provocations.”

“I’ll be properly respectful, too. We’ve got to find out which children are still alive.”

Jef nodded. “Yeah. I’m afraid for Geri. Tycoon’s Samnorsk vocabulary is adult; he’s obviously been reading. But Geri’s voice, when Tycoon uses it, that’s like a confession of—”

Of torture at least, thought Ravna. She raised a finger to her lips. If there were ears pressed to the walls, there was much that should not be spoken. “Another thing: somehow we have to learn more about Johanna.”

Jefri gave a little nod, and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Yes. Tycoon wants her dead—which means he thinks she’s still alive. But he doesn’t seem to know where she is. And no one mentioned Pilgrim, either.”

They stared at each other for a moment. When Pilgrim and Johanna were missing together they were generally off snooping in the agrav skiff. She had told Jefri about their mission to the mouth of the Fell. In the past, Johanna and Pilgrim had hidden for tendays at a time near foreign cities. Hiding within Tycoon’s operation would be much more difficult than any of that, but it was possible that right now the two were—she leaned toward Jefri and traced a circle with a dot on the arm of his chair—right here.

He gave another little nod. “It could be. It’s another thing to watch for.”

•  •  •

The next morning, they were wakened by a pack bringing breakfast. It waited impatiently for them to dress and eat and then hustled them out of their cool “dungeon” and down all the stairs they’d had to climb the day before.

It had been raining, but now the sky above was brilliant blue. Thunderheads still hid both the great pyramid and the sunrise. The air was sopping wet, but this was probably the nicest moment of a tropical day. Considering how much cooler and drier it had been back in the dungeon, Ravna could not fully savor the moment.

She and Jef were piled into one of the rickshaw wagons and rolled across the landing field, accompanied by the usual gunpack. On the north side of the field, two of the hangars were open. Packs were working around the airships, but at this distance it was impossible to tell what they were doing.

Maybe it didn’t matter, because their driver was not taking them toward the hangars. This might be the factory tour Tycoon had advertised. Their course angled to the south, occasionally crossing bridges over the floodways they had seen from above. The morning air was much clearer than on their flight in. What had been lost in cloudy mists was now visible … dozens of the long, barracks-like buildings. But even now, she could not see the most distant of them.

As they neared the first structure, she realized it was at least fifteen meters from floor to ridge and almost forty meters wide. The ground around it was littered with huge piles—of what? Refuse? No. Up close she saw lumber and finished metal stampings, all more or less neatly set on pallets. Lines of Tropicals dragged carriers back and forth, moving the … factory inputs, that’s what they had to be … into the main entrance. Their rickshaw had to angle even further south to avoid that traffic.

They turned again and rolled straight toward one corner of the entrance, out of the way of the haulers. An eightsome was standing under the portico: Tycoon, here to greet them in person. And there was his radio singleton and the godsgift pack. There might have been another gunpack back in the shadows.

“Powers be praised,” Jefri said dryly, “I don’t see Vendacious.” There was only one other pack in the apparent entourage, a small-bodied foursome.

As Ravna climbed down from the rickshaw, she heard a childlike human voice. At first she thought it was Tycoon, but the voice was shouting, “Ravna! Ravna!”

She turned and saw—“Timor!”

The boy had come through Tycoon and was limping toward her as fast as he could go, his arms outstretched. Ravna ran across the concrete toward him, Jefri right behind her. They met just a few meters short of the waiting packs. Ravna knelt, hugging him as she might a child as young as Timor looked. Today, he didn’t object. “I am so glad to see you!”

“I’m so glad to see you!”

When she set him down and let go, Ravna saw the tears streaming down Timor’s face. He was laughing or crying, maybe both. After a moment, he looked away from Ravna and took a step toward Jefri.

“Hei, Timor,” Jefri said solemnly and stretched out his hand. “How are you?”

Timor reached out, shook his hand. “I’m fine. Are you helping Ravna now?”

“I—” Jef glanced at Ravna. “Yes, Timor, I am.” He hesitated, then nodded. “I really am.”