The Children of the Sky

Ravna glanced behind her. The northering sun was peeking under the curve of the balloon. “We’re coming at them from out of the sun.” Ahead, she couldn’t actually see their shadow on the ground, but there was a bright spot, a glory shine, in the heather beyond the compound, marking just where their shadow must be. The roundish light had almost reached the edge of the valley. She vented a little hydrogen. As the Eyes Above sank, the bright spot moved into the compound.

“Brilliant, Milady! Can you keep us in the sun all the way down?”

“I think so.” When the spot of backscatter brightness drifted beyond the compound, Ravna vented a little more hydrogen. Goodness, this was like having a guide program! She felt a small thrill at finding something so convenient built into the raw nature of the world.

They were about 500 meters from the compound, and losing attitude. Ravna had to push up from her seat to see over the basket’s bow. The Eyes Above’s shadow was clearly visible now, surrounded by just a halo of backshine. She vented a bit more gas, brought the shadow to just beyond the Tropicals.

There were a bunch of them down there, standing at the edge of the Queen’s Road, right where it passed closest to the embassy. This crowd plus the ones at the lab would add up to most of the embassy’s total population, though the count was always vague. A number of Tropicals returned south when their wrecks finally slid back to sea. Others had probably been involved in Fragmentarium breakouts over the years.

Ravna could see their ragged jackets and leggings, the body paint on their exposed heads and tympana. There were probably twenty packs’ worth, all tangled together. Yup, an orgy in the making.

Now less than two hundred meters away, none of them looked up to see the Eyes Above. Ravna vented a little more hydrogen, keeping their shadow just out of the packs’ eyes.

Scrupilo had no need for his telescopes now. Five of him had heads stuck over the rim of the basket, staring down. He wriggled his White Head member back to Ravna. “Sst,” whispered White Head. “I can hear them!”

A few seconds passed—and now Ravna could hear them too. The sounds were clear in the wider silence, growing louder as the Eyes Above swept closer, the gobble and hiss of Tinish excitement. The chords were otherwise nonsense to her, but then she could understand very little of the local language, even when the packs were trying their best to be clear.

Scrupilo was not so limited. His White Head reached its nose close to Ravna’s face, where its fore-tympanum could whisper even more quietly. “You hear what they’re saying? The get of bitches already know about the theft! That’s solid proof they’re behind it. No way any of their party could be back from the lab this fast!”

Now the Eyes Above was coasting over them. There was no more point in careful navigation. Ravna left her pilot’s chair and leaned over the edge of the basket. They would pass dead even with the compound’s twisted tower. Directly below, not more than forty meters away, was the mob of Tropicals. These guys did look excited. Then there was a gap in the crowd and she saw the telephone resting on the ground. A thin wire hung down from the nearest telephone pole.

“Oh,” said Scrupilo. Well, that explained their excitement, and why they were standing here by the road. Memo: never give half a solution to these critters.

Just then, someone finally noticed the Eyes Above. Heads turned up all across the crowd, and the Tines started running around, making a racket that seemed impossibly loud coming from dog-sized bodies.

Scrupilo blasted back, and Ravna just hunched down and stuck her fingers in her ears. The battle of the noisemakers continued for several seconds, getting louder on both sides. Were the Tropicals running along beneath them? She was afraid to look and get a direct face full of that tormenting sound.

The Eyes Above slid out over the Margrum Valley. Behind them, Ravna could see the Tropicals ranged along the edge of the drop, still hopping up and down in apparent outrage. It was like human fist-shaking.

Scrupilo huffed indignantly: “Mindless prattlers! All they can talk about is how we’ve abused their ambassador, and how they have every right to splice into our phone lines.… Deceit! Deceit! Deceit!” This last, he chanted in time to the chords he was directing toward the enemy.

Ravna dropped some ballast and kicked on the propeller, bringing the Eyes Above into a long climbing turn that headed back north over the inner channel. By the Powers, it was amazing the range at which Scrupilo and the Tropicals could keep up their long-distance shouting match.

Chapter   08