The Children of the Sky

There was a lot to hear: the distant pounding of steam engines, the steady crash, crash, crash of the assembly line, wheels on supply lines clattering across the factory floor. In an open-topped room directly below, several Tines had their heads together, almost like a coherent pack. Maybe in fact, they were: A steep stairway led from there up to where she now stood. But she heard no Interpack gobbling. “Hear what?” she said.

“Mindsounds! From all up and down the row. The factory is a-roar with them.” He jabbed a snout in the direction of the silent little foursome who had accompanied them along the walkway. “Have you wondered who this fellow is?”

“Well…” The question seemed a complete non-sequitur.

The foursome squeaked something in Interpack, but almost inaudibly high-pitched.

From the radio singleton, Vendacious gave out a sigh, “Yes, my lord, I’m told you are pointing at Aritarmo. I admit my weakness. I’ve never been able to come to the factories in person. The radio provides me voice and ears to accompany my lord Tycoon. My assistant Aritarmo sends descriptions of what it sees, what the radio might have missed noticing.” He gobbled something more in Interpack.

Tycoon laughed. “Quite right, Vendacious. But my point was simply that this factory hall is a mild form of the Choir. Not all packs can tolerate it.”

Godsgift had been silent to this point—at least where humans could hear. The pack had crowded close the railing and all of it was looking down. “In fact, my lord Tycoon,” it said, “this is Choir territory, not part of your Reservation.”

“Ah, um. Quite so.” Then almost to himself: “It’s beyond me how a mob of millions can remember fine print that some godsgift saw seven years ago.”

More of Tycoon came to the railing, stuck some heads over, then retreated. “It takes real strength of character to face that roar. A bracing test of discipline.… My point is that these factories are fundamentally different from those of the north. These are factories that know their goals, and can manage the flow of raw material coming in and finished product rolling out. There are waves of attention and decision crashing back and forth the length of the hall. My assistants provide the overall design, the basic product models, but it is the mob that makes the details work. See down there, that room with five Choir members all heads together? I’ll wager there’s some local bottleneck in production, something that requires coherent attention. Those five are a form of godsgift.”

“A very temporary form,” said the godsgift standing by the railing.

“How flexible can they be?” asked Ravna. “You say this factory’s current run goes only four more days, but how long does it take for a factory to retarget on something entirely different?”

“Entirely different? That depends,” said Tycoon. “What the Choir can’t do is the original design and invention, however much a godsgift may brag. It’s been my genius that has lifted the Choir out of its eternal misery.”

Where is Ritl when we need her? thought Ravna.

“The Choir was not miserable,” objected the godsgift.

“We could argue about that, my friend. I remember how you lived when I first negotiated the Reservation. Physically at least, what you have now is a paradise.”

“Well, physically, of course.” The godsgift waved dismissively. “The Choir would never cooperate with you if that much were not true.”

“Whatever,” said Tycoon and gave his heads a little roll of exasperation. “The hardest part of any new product is convincing the Choir that the effort is needed. That takes a combination of market research and animal handling. I’ve become very, very good at it. Once I have a new invention properly working and a factory and shipping plan, it takes one to ten tendays for the Choir to build and start a new factory. Do you understand now why I couldn’t hide from the Domain anymore, even if I wanted to?”

All of Tycoon was staring at Ravna now, as if he thought what he said had impressed her. And it certainly does, she thought. Tycoon’s bragging amounted to massive understatement. Without a shred of real automation, he had recapitulated the power of an early technological civilization.… And done almost everything she’d been attempting the last ten years.

•  •  •

That night, back in their air-conditioned, perhaps snooped-upon dungeon:

“In fact, Tycoon does have automation,” said Jefri. “He’s persuaded the Choir to be his personal automation. Powers! This is more than the Old Flenser ever dreamed of doing.”

“This pack is no Flenser. Tycoon is a…” Ravna looked around at the walls, thought better of saying naive buffoon.