The Children of the Sky

Tycoon mellowed as they proceeded down the production line, and Ravna managed to avoid any further criticism of his originality. It really wasn’t difficult; there was so much that could be honestly praised. By the time they reached the midpoint of the hall, it was raining again. The sound came as a distant drumming on the metal roof, and even the skylights were dark, except for occasional lightning. Electric arc lamps had come on over critical stations on the production line, rather like an automatic system responding to the environment.

Just as in yesterday’s factory, there was a terrace at the walkway’s midpoint. Today, Tycoon waved at the others to stay back, and took Ravna out onto the terrace as if to have a private conversation. She glanced back at the entourage. Private conversation? Certainly Timor or Jefri couldn’t hear what she and Tycoon might say—but the rest? Thunder crashed, and the sound of rain intensified. Okay. If Tycoon focused his voice properly, the others might not be able to hear his words.

On the other hand, maybe it didn’t matter: “You know,” he said, “You could do very well working for me.”

“I’m honored, sir, but I’m not sure I—”

“Oh, I think you understand; I’m really very good at taking the measure of potential employees. You’ve pointed out weakness in my operation, and quite frankly, I agree with you.” He paused, as if to let his high praise sink in. Then: “You know that I’m at the point of an alliance with Nevil Storherte and the Domain?”

“You mentioned something about that, yes. But what about Woodcarver?”

He waved dismissively. “A detail. I’m flying to the Domain in the next day or two, to make it official. My landing is timed to match the arrival of a shipment of 1024 radios, a gift demonstrating the power of my operation. Vendacious assures me that Woodcarver will be impressed by the implications. Cooperating with Nevil and with me will benefit her enormously. And for myself—well, finally coming out of the shadows will be as important as my original entente with Nevil. Now he can provide me with full and direct access to the archives that came with the starship Oobii.”

“Ah.” Tycoon mispronounced “entente” but his point was all too clear.

“Yes. And you could benefit immensely from this, as my employee. You would have protection from Nevil. You would have access to the Oobii archives. You would have access to Choir production for your own religious projects—though that would require separate trades with the Choir. There are two main things that I would ask in return. First, you would persuade your faction among the two-legs to stop opposing Nevil. And second, you would, um, hm, you would use Oobii to help me with my various production problems. As you’ve remarked, I need significant assistance in translating my inventive genius into deliverable products. Nevil has been of some help with that, but I’ve come to believe that you are the master when it comes to the Oobii archives.” He paused, perhaps to let the flattery sink in. “So, what do you say?”

I could repeat the little speech I made to Jefri—but you’ve probably already heard that. Outside the factory, the thunder and lightning was building up to a real storm. Above that, the air would be cold and dry and thinning into the vacuum of interplanetary space. Somewhere thirty lightyears beyond that … the Blight was coming their way, the end for this world and everyone on it, perhaps the end of much more. And today, at this moment, I am closer to stopping it than ever before.

She brought her attention back to the here and now, to the eightsome who waited on her reply. “What of Nevil?”

“Nevil stays in overall charge of the two-legs. I will not betray a current ally to get a new one.” Tycoon bobbed a grin. “Be happy. Vendacious tells me that Nevil will be as unhappy about this deal as you are.”

Hmm. She looked across the terrace to where Jef stood by Timor. They were in the shadows, but then the lightning shone stark blue-white across them all. Both were looking in her direction. Just in front of them, Aritarmo had spread out, no doubt straining to hear.

She turned back, looked at Tycoon, every one. “I want the Children you stole.”

“Timor and Geri. Certainly. I’m … I’m sorry about the third human, even though its death was an accident.” He seemed about say something more, to offer some excuse perhaps. One thing she was learning about Tycoon: he could not abide being in the wrong.

“And no more killing,” she said.

“Of course.” But then a startle rippled through the pack. “No more killing—except to serve justice. Johanna Olsndot murdered my brother. There must be justice for that, no excuses, no compromise.”

Again, lightning flashed. Ravna waited for the thunder to pass and then replied in a quiet, hard voice. “Then deal with Vendacious. He is the one who killed your brother.”