The Children of the Sky

You look good. Hold onto that thought. She grabbed her hud/tiara and left the bridge.

•  •  •

00:03:51 till show time.

The passage from the command deck currently opened onto a space above the cargo bay’s inner wall. Today that small place had the atmosphere of backstage at a classic live theater. For the moment, she was all alone. Ravna paced the length of the darkened space, not bothering to change the light level. On one side she had a window on her speech, especially the opening lines. Don’t botch the opening! On the other side, she had some windows Nevil had set up looking into the New Meeting Place itself. These were very temporary views, fisheye perspectives that were really more limited than was reasonable. Or maybe that was appropriate. She could peek out like an old-time performer gauging the crowd.

All the seats that Ravna could see were filled. Nevil would be there, somewhere in the first rows. It was only Woodcarver and Ravna who were to come from within the ship. Nevil said that was Woodcarver’s desire, more royal psychology apparently.

00:00:50. There was the faint metallic clatter of multiple tines on the floor behind her. Woodcarver. Ravna turned and bowed to her co-Queen. “Ready for the big day, Your Highness?” There was so much Ravna wanted to say to Woodcarver. If this day goes right, perhaps you will listen to me again, and be my friend once more.

Some of Woodcarver’s heads bobbed. That was a smile, though in the semi-darkness there seemed something strange in it. “Oh yes, though it’s you who seem to have prepared the most.” She jabbed a snout at the wall, presumably pointing at the meeting place beyond. “What an … extraordinary … place you have made for yourself.”

“For us, Woodcarver. For us all.”

00:00:00. Her tiara chimed unnecessarily in her ear. Such precision. A minute or two more or less should make no difference. But Ravna was terribly afraid that if she didn’t move forward on a schedule, she might never get herself on stage. So she didn’t try to say any more, but simply bowed for Woodcarver to proceed through the doors that were now opening wide.

Bright sunlight—totally artificial, of course—splashed down upon Woodcarver as the pack stepped through the doorway. The portal was as wide as a Tinish pack-level entrance. Woodcarver proceeded through, all abreast. For that matter, there was room for Ravna, too, but Nevil had learned that the co-Queen thought it best for her to appear and then Ravna separately.

So she waited till Woodcarver had cleared the opening and disappeared toward where her thrones waited on the left. For an instant, Ravna just hesitated, terrified. This is what happens when you truly realize what a make-or-break situation you’ve created for yourself. But it was time, and she had a schedule to keep. She stepped forward. Strangely, the traditional uniform gave her a kind of strength, and a purposeful stride.

As she stepped into the light, unseen trumpets blasted out a jaunty flourish. There was nothing Tinish about the music. It was the sort of honor that went to humans in old historicals. Oh no! That was Glitch Number 1. If there were to be any flourishes, they should have been for Woodcarver.

Ravna turned to the right, started toward her own throne. Then she remembered that she’d intended to turn and bow toward Woodcarver first. Okay, that was Glitch Number 2, but a small one. She had always known there would be glitches.

The stage was well above the level of the audience area. As Ravna walked across it, she looked out at the people and tried to give them a casual wave. It felt more like shaking a stick, but she heard friendly applause. Her eyes strayed upwards for a second and—my goodness what an enormous place this looked to be. She knew the precise dimensions of the latest build out, but Nevil and his friends had played clever little tricks with vision and perspective to make it seem even larger. Gone were the gaming nooks of days past. Today there were slender arches along the walls. They rose and rose into a ceiling so high that flying birds would not have been out of place. The fake sunlight spilled down through a crystal canopy. She recognized the style. This was rainforest architecture of the Middle Recovery on Nyjora. The Princesses had used building materials from the fallen ruins—hence the crystal skylight that would have been impossible for them otherwise. It was a scene that touched her heart, though it would mean nothing to most packs—and perhaps not much to Straumli children.