The Collected Stories of Vernor Vinge (47 page)

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Authors: Vernor Vinge

BOOK: The Collected Stories of Vernor Vinge
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Sirbat was silent for a long moment. It was the first time I’d seen a Shiman in a reflective mood. Finally he said, “As you have knowledge, Professor, we Shimans come to birth in great groups. The fact is that those who first saw life seven hundred and nine days before now will give up living tomorrow.” He turned and spoke to Brother Gorst. The other bobbed his head and buzzed a response. Sirbat translated, “There is a death place only three kilometers from here. It is necessary for people of Gorst’s Order to be on hand at the time of the group deaths. Brother Gorst says that he is willing to take you there. But it will not be possible for you to get nearer than fifty or sixty meters to the place of the deaths.”
“That’ll be fine,” I said. “Fifteen minutes is all I need.”
“Then this is a very happy chance, Professor. If it was not for the group death tomorrow, you would have to take nine more days here.” As he spoke, a caterwauling rose from below us. Moments later someone was pounding at our door. Gorst scuttled over and opened it a crack. There was a hysterical consultation, then the reverend slammed the door and screamed at our interpreter.
“Christ help us!” said Sirbat. “There has been a smash out at the second school two kilometers from here. A large group of young is coming this way.”
Gorst came back to his chair, then bounded up and paced around the room. From the way he chewed his lip, I guessed he was unhappy about the situation. Sirbat continued, “We have to make the decision of running or not running from the young persons.”
“Are there any other hideouts you could dig up in this area?” I asked.
“No. Gorst is the only living person I have knowledge of in this place.”
“Hm-m-m. Then I guess we’ll just have to stay put.”
Sirbat came to his feet. “You have little knowledge of Shiman conditions, Professor, or you wouldn’t make that decision quite so easily. It is too bad. You are probably right. Our chances are near zero, one way or the other, but …” He snarled something at the other Shiman. Brother Gorst replied shortly. Sirbat said, “My friend is in agreement with you. We’ll be safest at the top of the building.” Gorst was already out the door. Tsumo scooped her
‘mam’ri
off the table, and we followed. A spiral stairway climbed twenty meters to end on a flat roof no more than ten meters square. A cross towered over the open space.
It was well past midnight. Below and around us were the sounds of running feet and automobile engines being lit. The cars screeched away from their parking slots, and headed west. One by one the lights in nearby buildings went out. The traffic got steadily noisier. Then after five or ten minutes, it subsided and the neighborhood was still.
The church spire reached several stories above the nearby buildings, and from there we could see Berelesk spread many kilometers, a mosaic of rough gray rectangles. Shima’s single moon had risen and its light fell silver on the city. Near the horizon bomb flashes shone through the thinning smog, and I could hear the faint
thudadub
of artillery. Berelesk wasn’t on good terms with its neighbors.
Tsumo pulled at my arm. I turned. Vast, blue, the glowing Earthpol ship hung above the bay. I jerked my outfit’s dark veil down across my face. It wouldn’t matter how good Tsumo’s equipment was if her superiors actually eye-balled us.
Gorst hustled over to the low parapet, and leaned out to look straight down. At the same time, Sirbat studied the empty streets and quiet tenements. Finally I whispered, “So where’s the action, Sirbat?”
The Shiman glanced at the Earthpol ship, then sidled over to us. “Don’t you see why things are so quiet, Professor? More than three thousand children are free in this part of Berelesk. And they are coming our way. Everyone with any brain has run away from here. Children will eat everything they see, and it would be death to fight them: they run together and they are very bright. In the end, they will be so full that the authorities can take care of them one by one. We are probably the only living older persons within three kilometers—and that makes us the biggest pieces of food around.”
Tsumo stood behind me, close to the cross. She ignored us both as she played with her
‘mam’ri.
From the parapet Brother Gorst shrilled softly. “Gorst is hearing them come,” Sirbat translated. I turned to look east. There were faint sounds of traffic and artillery, but nothing else.
SEVERAL BLOCKS AWAY SOMETHING BRIGHT LIT THE SIDES OF FACING BUILDINGS. There was a muffled, concussive thud. Sirbat and Gorst hissed in pain. The fire burned briefly, then gutted out: the slums of Berelesk were mostly stone—nonflammable, and much more important, inedible. Smoke rose into the sky, blocked the moonlight and laid twisting shadows on the city.
Far away, something laughed, and someone screamed. Voices growled and squabbled. Whatever they were, they seemed to be having a good time. Four blocks up the pike, a street lamp winked out, and there was the sound of breaking glass. In the moonlight the juveniles were fast-moving gray shadows that flitted from doorway to doorway. The little bastards were smart. They never exposed themselves unnecessarily and they systematically smashed every street lamp they passed. I didn’t see anyone run across the street until their skirmish line was nearly even with our church. Behind those front lines more were coming. (How big was the grade school, anyway?) Their lunatic screaming was all around us now. Tsumo looked up from her work, for the first time acknowledging our trivial problems. “Sirbat, aren’t we safe from them here? We’re so far above the street.”
The Shiman made a rude noise, but it was a soft rude noise. “They will smell us even up here, and don’t doubt they will come this high. We’re the best food left. I wouldn’t be surprised if the greater part of the young people are there in the church right now eating the wood seats and giving thought to our downfall.”
Feet pattered around below us, and I heard a low, bubbly chuckle. I leaned over the parapet and looked down on the church’s main roof. A chorus of eager shouts greeted my appearance, and something whistled up past my face. I ducked back, but I had already seen more than enough. There was a mob of them dancing on the deck below us. They were so close I could see the white of their fangs and the drool foaming down their chins. Except that they were near naked, the juveniles looked pretty much like adult Shimans.
Was there any real difference?
Tsumo might have a point after all—but that point would be entirely academic unless we could get out of this fix in one piece.
Gorst stood a meter behind the parapet with a quarterstaff in his claws. The first head that popped up would get a massive surprise. Sirbat paced back and forth, either panicking or thoughtful, I couldn’t tell which. How long did we have before the juveniles came up the wall of the steeple? It was maddening: Properly used, Tsumo’s
o-mamori
could easily defeat this attack, but at the same time such use would certainly put Earthpol onto our location. I looked around our tiny roof. There
was unidentifiable equipment in the shadows beneath the parapet. Memories of a life two centuries past were coming back, and so were some ideas. The largest object, an ellipsoidal tank, sat near the base of the cross. A slender hose led from a valve on the tank. Half crouching, I ran across to the tank and felt its surface. The tank was cool, and the valve was covered with frost.
“Sirbat,” I shouted over the competition from below, “What’s this gadget?” The Shiman stopped his agonized pacing and glared at me briefly, then shouted at Gorst.
“That’s a vessel of liquid natural gas,” he translated the reply. “They use it to heat the church, and to … cook.”
I LOOKED AT SIRBAT AND HE LOOKED BACK AT ME. I THINK HE HAD THE IDEA the instant he knew what the tank was. He came over to the tank and looked at the valve. I turned to follow the hose that stretched along the floor to a hole in the parapet.
“Kekkonen!” Tsumo’s voice was tense. “If you attract Earthpol’s notice, that disguise won’t hold up.” Over my shoulder I could see the glowing hulk of the gunboat. “Forget it, girl. If I can’t do something with this tank, we’ll all be dead in five minutes.” Probably less: the juveniles were much louder now. We’d have to hope that if anyone was aboard the ship, they didn’t believe in old-fashioned detection methods—like photoscanning computers.
The hose was slack and flexible. Four meters from the tank it entered a small valve set in the parapet. I began cutting at it with my knife. Behind me Sirbat said, “This looks good. The vessel is nearly full and its pressure is high.” There were tearing sounds. “And it will get higher now.”
That hose was tougher than it looked. It took nearly a minute, but finally I hacked through the thing. As I stood up, a head full of teeth appeared over the parapet next to me. I straight-armed the juvenile. It fell backwards, taking part of my sleeve in its claws. We were down to seconds now. I looked down at the hose in my hands and discovered the big flaw in our plan. How were we going to get this thing lit? Then I glanced at Sirbat. The Shiman was frantically jamming his coat under the tank. He stepped back and pointed something at the tank. A spark fell upon the coat, and soon yellow flames slid up the underside of the container. Even as those flames spread, he turned and ran to where I stood. But then he slowed, stopped, looked down at the object in his hand. For a long moment he just stood there.
“What’s the matter? The lighter dead?”
“ … No.” Sirbat answered slowly. He squeezed the small metal tube and a drop of fire spurted from the end. I swore and grabbed the lighter
from Sirbat’s hands. I leaned over the parapet and looked down. At least thirty juveniles were coming up the wall at us. Behind me Tsumo screamed. This was followed by a meaty thud. I looked up to see the Earthpol agent swing a long broom down on the head of a second monster. I guess she had finally found something more worrisome than her superiors in the sky to the west. Gorst was busy, too. He swept back and forth along the parapet with his quarterstaff. I saw him connect at least three times. The juveniles fell screeching to the roof below. Maybe that would occupy their brothers’ appetites a few more moments.
I pushed our interpreter toward the gas tank. “Turn that damn valve, Sirbat.” The Shiman returned to the tank. Now the flames licked up around the curving sides, keeping the valve out of reach. He ran to the other side of the cross, picked up some kind of rod and stuck it in the valve handle.
“Turn it, turn it,” I shouted. Sirbat hesitated, then gave the lever a pull. No effect. He twisted the valve again. The hose bucked in my hand, as clear liquid spewed through it and arced out into space. That hose got
cold
: I could feel my hand going numb even as I stood there. I squeezed the lighter. A tiny particle of fire spurted out, missed the stream of gas. On my next try the burning droplet did touch the stream. Nothing happened.
I wrapped the hose in the corner of my jacket but it was still colder than a harlot’s smile. This was probably my last chance to ignite the damn thing. Our gas pressure would fail soon enough, even if the juveniles didn’t get me first.
The liquid gas left the hose as a coherent stream, but about five meters along its arc, the fluid began to mix with the air. Hah! I shook the lighter again and aimed it further out. The burning speck dropped through the aerated part of the stream … . The mist didn’t burn—it exploded. I almost lost my footing as a roaring ball of blue-white flame materialized in the air five meters from the end of the hose. If that fireball had been any bigger we’d have been blown right off the roof. I pointed the hose down over the parapet. The roar of the flame masked their screams, but as I swept the fire along the wall below, I could see the juveniles fall away. The concussion alone must have been lethal. As I dragged the hose along the parapet, I could feel my face blister and my hands go numb. How long did I have before we ran out of gas, or even worse, before Sirbat’s little fire exploded the tank? The ball of blue flame swept across the fourth wall, till no one was left there, till the wall was cracked and blackened. The roof and street below were littered with bodies.
Then Tsumo was dragging at my arm. I turned to see five or six gray forms leap from the trapdoor in the middle of our roof. I didn’t have
much choice: I turned the hose inward. Hunks of masonry flew past us as the exploding gas demolished the intruders along with the trapdoor, the center of the roof, and part of the cross. The floor buckled and I fell to one knee. That hose was some tiger’s tail. If I dropped it, the top of the building would probably get blown off. Finally I managed to twist it around so the steam pointed outward again.
The explosion ended almost as suddenly as it had begun. All that was left was a ringing that roared in my ears. I was abruptly aware of the sweat dripping down the side of my nose, and the taste of dust and blood in my mouth. I dropped the hose and looked down at my numb hands. Was it the moonlight, or were they really bone white?
Over by the gas tank, Sirbat was busy putting out the fire he had set. He looked O.K. except that his clothes were shredded. Tsumo stood by the parapet. Her veil and one sleeve had been ripped away. Brother Gorst lay face down beside the large hole our makeshift flamethrower had put in the roof. If anything was left alive in that hole, it was downright unkillable.
The ringing faded from my ears, and I could hear low-pitched sirens in the far distance. But I couldn’t hear a single juvenile, and the smell of barbecue floated up from the street.

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