The Children of the Sky

Scrupilo’s attention was on his telescopes; apparently he didn’t notice what Ravna was saying to the Starship. He pointed a snout downwards. “There are Woodcarver’s troops coming down to the mainland shore! We should tell them that I’ve covered the shore north of us. Forward a call to them, Your Highness.”

Then her science advisor noticed that she wasn’t making the call. “Your Highness!”

“Just a moment, Scrupilo. We may be able to detect the cloaks, even if they’re not turned on.”

“But we need to make that call to Woodcarver!” Even his telescope members were looking around at her. Then he gave a start and began to sniff at his fur. “Wow! Did you feel that, Your Highness? Like a tiny electric shock, but through all my members, all at once.”

Ravna hadn’t felt a thing; maybe that was because she didn’t have six fur-covered bodies. However, she had an explanation. “Oobii just hit us with a very bright pulse. Even if the cloaks are turned off and around a corner, they might give back an echo.”

“Ah!” One good thing about Scrupilo, he really admired clever surprises. “Well, in that case, I’m pleased to be your personal radio pulse sensor.”

Ravna grinned back and put through a call to her starship.

Oobii replied, “Except for known radios, no device echoes detected.”

Scrupilo stuck out his snouts from both sides of the basket and took a naked eye look at the passing scene. “I say we radio pulse every so often. No way this Tropical would guess your clever trick, Highness. Sooner or later he’ll move where Oobii can detect him.”

Ravna set up a surveillance plan with Oobii, got some more winds-aloft advice, and also forwarded Scrupilo’s observations through Oobii to Woodcarver. They continued southwards, climbing another hundred meters. They were almost even with the long row of telephone poles that marched off to the south along the Queen’s Road.

The Eyes Above wasn’t making good time anymore, but it was well ahead of Woodcarver’s search parties. Just a few hundred meters to her left, paralleling the telephone poles, were the “town houses” of older Children and wealthy packs. They might be her most visible achievement of the last ten years. Ravna didn’t know whether to laugh or cry about that. The half-timbered houses were large, each big enough for a married couple, a young child or children on the way, and one or two pack friends. Oobii was able to keep the buildings warm by shining a very low-power beam gun on the hot water towers that stood next to each house. So the town houses were comfortably warm all year round, with hot and cold running water and indoor plumbing. A large part of Oobii’s tech rent had gone into paying for the Children’s town houses. The second-generation kids thought they were heavenly. Their parents regarded the houses as a small step up from purgatory.

“Ha. I felt another pulse,” said Scrupilo. Ravna called the ship. Still no joy.

“We’re almost to Cliffside harbor, Scrupilo. I think that’s beyond where the thief could have come.” In any case, the straits between Hidden Island and the mainland was far busier than the polluted water at North End. There seemed little hope of spotting a suspicious boat here.

“… Yes. I suppose we should turn around and”—Scrupilo had raised his telescopes, pointing them at the highlands ahead.—“but not just yet! The Tropicals may have outsmarted themselves. Something strange is going on near their madhouse. Can you fly there, quietly?”

The embassy compound was just south of the town houses, a fenced-in collection of ramshackle sheds perched on the edge of the Margrum Valley. “I’ll check.” She gave Oobii a quick call, then turned back to Scrupilo. “In that direction, we have a southbound breeze all the way to the ground.” She ran the propeller for another thirty seconds, long enough to put them on a path that would take them past the compound. They were just a few dozen meters above the heather now. She cut the motor, and they coasting along with the breeze, surrounded by eerie silence. “How’s that?”

None of Scrupilo looked up from his intent surveillance. “Excellent. The bastards are up to something. They’re in a crowd off to the northwest of the compound.”

“What, they’re playing with their snow sleighs again?” There’d been heavy snowfall last winter, and the Tropicals had become enamored of large sleighs. Typical of the mob’s long-term planning, they had begged and worked to buy a number of sleighs—getting possession just in time for the spring mud.

“No!” said Scrupilo. “These fellows are by the fence, near the telephone trunk line. I wonder how close we can get before they see us.”