The Children of the Sky

“Yes, sir,” said Ravna. “We saw all manner of your goods while we were in the Wild Principates.” That was flattery, but again the absolute truth—and another mystery resolved. “But how do you design the actual steps to be performed, the—” Workflow was the term she would have used if she were dealing with Oobii.

Tycoon waved airily. “That is where my genius for detail work comes into play. There is the high-flying inventor part of me and then there is my interest in the smallest detail”—Two of him had been looking back as he spoke, and now suddenly he was off on a new topic.—“Timor! You are delaying me!”

Tycoon had separated Timor from Ravna when they entered the hall. Since then, the boy had been limping along behind the Ta singleton. “Sorry,” he said, hustling forward.

“Where is your rickshaw?” said the eightsome.

“Um, back at—oh, there’s another one.” Timor pointed at a small utility wagon by the outer wall.

Tycoon reached out a member and snagged the little red wagon, dragging it back to Timor. “Get in. I won’t have you holding things up.” Two of him glanced at Ravna, “Normally I have a servant to take care of this, but there isn’t room for one with this crowd.” He waved at the various packs accompanying them—and then seemed to notice Jefri. “You!” he said. “Come over here and pull this wagon.”

“Yes, sir.” Jefri gave a Tinish bow and came forward. Ravna thought she saw a smile hiding just below his solemn manner.

“Now, where was I?” Tycoon said, proceeding along the walkway. “Yes. Details! In fact, I’ve discovered an assistant for that. Timor is quite good at detail planning, better than any pack besides myself. He’s even devised methods for planning the planning. Quite remarkable.”

Ravna glanced at Timor, now riding along in the little wagon. Timor looked back, smiling hesitantly. “I hope it’s okay, Ravna. It’s the sort of thing you do, but you do it so much better.”

She grinned. “That’s only when I have Oobii. Good for you, Timor.” And now she knew who had given Tycoon the glowing job recommendation for her.

As Jef pulled Timor along, the boy pointed out features of the factory floor, where intermediate parts were brought through side doors, how the racks on the steam-powered main line held the parts so that simple Tinish actions could complete each assembly step. For a wonder, Tycoon kept quiet, letting someone else do the bragging.

Jefri nodded, looking down into the mob. Finally, he glanced at Tycoon. “Everyone is working so closely. I don’t see a single pack.”

The question and tone were very polite, but Ravna held her breath.

Tycoon walked along for several seconds, not replying, maybe waiting for Timor to answer. When the eightsome finally spoke, he seemed to ignore the question: “You know, I pioneered the factory line. I had the original idea back in the Long Lakes even before I fissioned. Then I actually implemented the invention when I moved to East Home. The easterners are open-minded; they even had a primitive form of the idea. You see, most work doesn’t need a full mind. In fact, if you really had to think about what you’re doing, you’d go mad with boredom. So I thought to myself, why not take the idea of a sentry line and make it a just a little more complicated, having each member do some simple, repetitive task?”

Ravna nodded. “We have something similar in the Domain. Street diggers work as a large team, then when they’re done with their shift they revert to separate packs, and collect their pay—and enjoy the rest of the day.”

Tycoon made an irritated noise. “As I said, primitive forms of the idea have always been around. I raised it to a high art at East Home. I’m sure you in the Domain heard of me there. The problem was, there were those bothersome labor guilds, and the local aristocracies had to be bought off—”

“And your other inventions were becoming too grand for a place so small as East Home.” That was Vendacious’ voice coming out of Ta.

“Yes, yes. I’m not forgetting you, Vendacious. Your, um, advice about my other inventions was indispensable even then. I had to find larger pools of labor, without petty squabbling—and out of the view of Woodcarver’s Domain.”

Ahead, the walkway opened into a kind of terrace, wide enough so that—if the two gunpacks stayed at the ends of it—all the rest of their party could stand together. Tycoon stopped there, and some of him walked to the edge of the terrace, waving for Ravna to follow. “Here in the Tropics is the place for my ideas. The workers can be molded into whatever form fits my purpose. No northern factory could function with this perfection.…” His heads tilted slyly at her. “You really can’t hear it, can you?”