"Good!" that was from both Ravna and Nevil, and very emphatic. There were things Johanna could do as a two-legs that gave the Pilgrim-Johanna team great advantages-that was Jo's argument, anyway. Ravna was far from convinced that it justified her presence on a spy mission.

"I wish you were back here," said Nevil.

"I'm fine, Nevil. Like I said, keeping a low profile."

A strange sound came over the radio link, probably a chord from Pilgrim. Ravna smiled, imagining the pack and the girl hunkered down by their commset. It would be early morning on the east coast now. She wondered just where they were hiding.

Flenser-Tyrathect was shaking his heads, grinning.

"What?" Ravna said to him.

The pack gave a shrug. "Isn't it obvious? There is no need for spies high in Scrupilo's organization. Who stole the Oliphaunt computer? I know I could use Oliphaunt to engineer all-"

Woodcarver's shriek would have been downright painful but for Oobii's sound damping. Three of her leaped partway onto the table, their claws clicking on the surface. "You confess to treason, do you now?" she said.

Flenser showed lots of teeth even as he replied: "Don't be an idiot. Ah, but I forgot, you're already the idiot who didn't kill Vendacious when you had the chance. You're already the idiot who let him escape and who still blames me for stealing Oliphaunt."

This brought another of Woodcarver onto the meeting table. There was a time when Ravna could have been the peacemaker in such confrontations. Now? Ravna fleetingly wondered if Woodcarver might take a swipe at her if she tried to intervene.

Nevil was braver, or faster, or perhaps just more foolish. As Woodcarver scrambled forward, he was already on his feet. "It's okay, Your Majesty!" He started to extend a hand toward her, then seemed to realize he was cajoling someone who was seriously not human. "Um, this is just one of those burdens of a wise ruler."

The stilted, medieval approach seemed to work. Woodcarver didn't retreat, but her forward surge subsided.

"Flenser has a point," said Johanna, sounding unperturbed, perhaps because the sounds of jaws and claws had not survived the low-quality radio transmission. "Tycoon may really be Vendacious plus Oliphaunt, but spies in Scrupilo's labs could also explain his success."

That satisfied all except Scrupilo: "I do not have spies in any of my labs!" But not surprisingly, he was perfectly happy to talk about technical fixes to such nonexistent espionage. Monitoring user access to Oobii was relatively easy. The problem was to correlate that with exactly what inventions were appearing elsewhere.

Nevil was looking more and more unhappy. "We have to get this nailed down. Surely there must be clues at the Tycoon end of this. You're due to leave East Home almost immediately, aren't you, Jo?"

"That was the plan." There was mumbled conversation between Johanna and Pilgrim, too scattered for Oobii to clean up. "Our equipment is in good shape and we have a safe hidey-hole outside of the city. We're good to stay a while if it will help, especially if you can feed us some clues to follow up on."

Nevil was clearly torn. Ravna could guess how much he'd been looking forward to Johanna's return.

"Do we have any clues to feed them?" Ravna asked.

Pilgrim said, "There's Scrupilo's lab logs. We could look for coincidences in detail."

Woodcarver-now back on her seats-had a different angle. "From what Johanna and Pilgrim say, Tycoon grows steadily more powerful. If they come back now, we may have hard time getting this close again."

"We should have a full-time gang of spies over there," said Flenser-Tyrathect.

Woodcarver shrugged agreement. The two were almost talking to each other.

In the end, that meeting was almost the sort of Exec Council meeting they should be having these days-except that now Johanna and Pilgrim would be absent for at least another twenty days.

Twenty days. Johanna and Pilgrim wouldn't be back till after Ravna's big speech. Since that night by Pham's grave, she had not had much chance to talk to Johanna. The younger woman had been off spying most of the time, and when she'd been back she'd been mainly with Nevil. Now Ravna would have virtually no chance to chat privately with her.

And Woodcarver seemed to be in a bigger snit than ever.

Ravna had written multiple drafts of her upcoming speech. There were so many issues to bring together. Some were joyously good news-how New Meeting Place could be used for increased participation, formal democracy. Some were hard truths-the Blighter threat that loomed in their future, the need to solve underlying technology problems before they took on prolongevity research. Some were proposals to make the hard truths more palatable. Without Woodcarver, now without Johanna and Pilgrim-it all came down to Ravna's own best judgment and Nevil's advice. Over and over, he showed her nuances that she would have missed on her own. For instance: "Arrange things so you can end the speech with the good news that gives realistic reasons to be optimistic about it all." And: "We can merge this speech with your idea for a Public Council, Ravna. My Dad used to say that responsible people can deal with bad news if they have some control over the hardships." So they would announce the meeting as occasion for her speech and as an opportunity for Children and Tines to feed back into the process. "I've talked to Woodcarver about this, Ravna. She thinks it will work." And that was one of the best pieces of news. Woodcarver was still avoiding Ravna, but she was at least indirectly part of the planning.

Nevil and company had figured how to make the New Meeting Place seem bigger, and he was showing her dozens of variations on how they might decorate the place. Finally she just offloaded all that onto him and concentrated on polishing her speech, doing her best to implement his final suggestions.

And then it was the day before the "grand meeting." Ravna was already thinking of the event in countdown terminology. They were at Meeting minus fifteen hours. She had a final chat with Nevil, going over what she would have to know about the physical setup of the New Meeting Place, rehearsing her presentation still again. "Don't worry if the speech doesn't come out one hundred percent perfect. I'll be out there. The Public Council makes it easy for me to stand up, ask a question that gets things back on track-and just as easy for all your friends to show support."

"... You're right," said Ravna. "I'm just chewing on my own nervousness." Ravna glanced at the little clock window she'd been using to time her speech rehearsals. It also showed the countdown: 14:37:33 till show time. She and Nevil were up on the bridge, but they'd set the displays to make it look like her lectern in the New Meeting Place would be in ... well, in 14:36:55. She looked across at Nevil. His face had a certain earnest nervousness of its own-and she decided he was mainly worried about her being so obviously worried. Johanna was so lucky to have this guy.

"Nevil, I want to thank you for everything. Without you, I would still be flailing."

He shook his head. "You can't do it all alone, Ravna. But what you are working toward is absolutely necessary. It's what the rest of us, all the Children, should be helping with. If we pull together, we can't lose."

That was something like the language in her speech, and suddenly Ravna realized that Nevil must really live those words, even as they had come to seem platitudes in her ears. Too much rehearsing, that's for sure.

She stood and walked carefully around the fake lectern, toward where the bridge entrance was tonight. She waved the door open and turned back toward him. "So I'll see you tomorrow then." She smiled. "In a bit less than 14:35:21."

Nevil stood. Maybe there was a little bit of relief in his smile. "That you will, my lady."

He stopped within arm's length from her. "Sleep well and don't worry," he said.

"Thanks, Nevil. G'night."

He smiled. "G'night." And then he was gone.

Of course, it was no surprise that sleep didn't come. In fact, Ravna didn't even head for bed immediately. But I deserve a pat on the back for not doing another rehearsal. She retreated from the platform and lectern and settled down with her usual analysis tools. Nowadays, Oobii ran elaborate threat detection software all the time-sometimes so intensively that it slowed Scrupilo's research programs. During the last tenday, Ravna had not kept up with the security monitoring as much as usual. That fact supported one of her Theories of Worry, namely that every worrywart has a natural Worry Max. When there are other concerns-such as preparing for this meeting-normal obsessions weaken.

Nevertheless, she settled down for a bit of distracting logfile-surfing. Oobii had a system of prioritized alarms, but-as past debacles had shown-there was always the possibility it would miscategorize things.

After some tedious time with the logs, she suddenly realized she wasn't nearly as obsessed with her speech. Ha! And there really wasn't all that much that was troublesome in Oobii's logs either!... She browsed on, through lower priority results.

Here was something interesting in the "old threats" department: Oobii was still watching for any sign of the stolen radio cloaks. Those gadgets were nothing like the Beyonder commset that Pilgrim and Johanna were using, or even the voice-band radios Scrupilo built nowadays. The cloaks made an analog smear of the wearer's mindsounds across a big swath of the radio frequency spectrum. The resultant signal was fairly short range-and essentially impossible for Oobii to translate. Hate, fear, lust-those might be recognized, but mind reading was very much not possible.

The ship had heard none of that. And yet, Oobii had detected something very like cloak noise. By correlating with the changing footprint of the aurora, Oobii guessed the source was high in the Icefangs, about seventy kilometers to the east. The signal was sporadic and at its loudest scarcely more than a suspicious correlation. If this was a radio cloak, there was only one. It was even fainter than a cloak should be at that distance, and it was being worn for only a few minutes in every day.

Ravna played with the results for some minutes. There really wasn't enough signal to do much analysis. If she asked for more, she might get another taste of Oobii's wishful thinking. No thank you.... But what conceivable use was one radio cloak? Without the rest of a Tinish soul wearing the others, a single cloak was the sound of one hand clapping.

She leaned back, imagining: a party of thieves sneaking out of the Domain, travelling through a steep-shouldered mountain pass. Those passes could be deadly, even in high summer. An avalanche could have killed them all. Or perhaps they'd been ambushed by ordinary bandits. One way or another, the cloaks were lost, all but one. The theory almost made sense. But this remnant cloak would need a wearer, and occasional light for power. So how about this: The cloaks were beautiful things, the solar cells as dark as velvet but with glints of gold. Maybe some primitive pack was wearing the remaining cloak as a trophy, totally ignorant of the magic it was making.

What sad irony. She made a note. She should bring up this with the Executive Council-better yet, take it to Woodcarver directly. It might get them talking again. In any case, they should send a search party to the location before winter came crashing down.

Now her countdown window said 13:25:14. She had frittered away an hour, not thinking about her speech once. I really should review it some more, maybe do another rehearsal. She had never been so nervous about talking to the kids. But in the past, it had always been one on one, to small groups; now she would be talking to them all. If she properly made the points that she and Nevil had worked so hard on, so many problems would be solved. But if I mess up ...

CHAPTER 11.

The morning was a dark and blustery thing, perhaps the last rainstorm of the year and autumn's chill goodbye. Ravna had the bridge's windows looking out on a panorama of the gloom, and she gave it all a kind of vague attention as she dressed. Down the hill toward the dropoff, there was a scudding fog, parting now and then for a gray-on-gray glimpse of the inner channel and Hidden Island. The rain came slanting in from the north. Ship's sensors showed it was liquid water, not hail, but it froze as it splashed across Starship Hill, turning the streets of the New Castle's town to ice.

She could see the Children and Tines of the Domain were coming south from Newcastle town and north along the Queen's Road. In the westward view, she could see others emerging from the fog at the top of the funicular. Ravna paused a second, zoomed in on those muffled figures, the clumped packs that accompanied them. They must have left Hidden Island almost an hour earlier-all to make it here on time for the beginning of Ravna's speech. In just 00:25:43.

At least they would be warm and comfortable once they got in their New Meeting Place.

The sight gave her pause. Shouldn't I be dressed as plainly? Not like this: She looked at herself front and back. Somehow the outfit had not seemed so much like a uniform when she and Nevil had decided on the design. Even though Woodcarver wasn't talking to her, she had relayed her desires through Nevil: The Queen intended to wear all her crowns and regalia and she expected that Ravna would show a formal aspect as well. Okay. The Children of the Sky could surely see through such material spin-but if Woodcarver didn't buy into the New Meeting Place as a kind of thrones room then her hostility might never melt.

Ravna looked at herself for a moment more. In fact, this style had an honorable history-even if she was only person in the world who really understood. Blysse herself had worn something like this when she went out to win the support of the archeologists and software engineers.

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.

Fortunately, the speaker's platform and the lectern were just what she had been rehearsing with up on the bridge. Ravna's own queenly throne was just a few paces beyond the lectern, far closer to it than Woodcarver's thrones. There were no other seats on the stage. She'd hoped that the Executive Council would all be part of this, but Johanna and Pilgrim were still on the East Coast. Apparently Nevil hadn't been able to persuade Woodcarver to allow the others up here. Okay, so Woodcarver wanted governance to be simply the two Queens and the People.

Ravna hesitated at the steps ascending to her throne. The thing was a monster, two meters tall, not counting the steps, drenched in fake gems and precious metals and symbols that didn't mean much beyond certain human legends. I really don't want to go up there. Woodcarver can have the show, but- Ravna glanced across the stage. What Woodcarver sat upon necessarily was different from Ravna's setup. The pack needed a separate perch for each member. Woodcarver's thrones were set at the same height as Ravna's, but the total area was no more than Ravna's single throne, and the individual perches were laid out in short straight rows, not at all the way a pack would arrange itself for forceful thought. This was Glitch Number 3 and far the most serious.

Belatedly, Ravna bowed toward Woodcarver. As she did so, it seemed like a great shadow moved across the wall behind the platform. It was ... herself ... her own image, towering across the ten meter expanse. Just staring up at it made Ravna a little dizzy. There was no place in the hall her image would not intimidate. And the camera must be a fixed tracker. Even when she looked back at Woodcarver, she could tell that the giantess on the wall was still herself, not her co-Queen.

This was when Nevil was to come on stage, introduce the two Queens and Ravna's own very special speech. But Nevil was not to be seen. Surely Woodcarver will let him give his intros?

She gave Woodcarver a second bow, at the same time searching for a private voice channel.

Then Woodcarver showed mercy. She shifted a bit awkwardly on her human-style thrones, bringing her heads closer to one another. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from everywhere, conversational tones that sounded as if she were just a meter or two away. Hopefully, she sounded like that to everyone here. "Welcome all to the New Meeting Place. I hope this place will bring openness and power to those who deserve it."

Ravna's face was still the one on the giant display, but Woodcarver was sitting only a few meters away. Ravna could see that her dress was Tinish queenly, but not much different from the fur cloaks and half jackets that she normally wore. As for her expression-a pack's aspect lay mainly in the posture of its members: sitting on her thrones, Woodcarver seemed to have a sardonic expression. "So today, my co-Queen, Ravna, wishes to tell you what her rule may bring and what it will expect of you." Woodcarver extended a snout in Ravna's direction and waved her graciously toward the lectern.

For an instant, Ravna froze, thoroughly rattled. There were so many things, little and maybe not so little, that already had gone wrong. This is not how it was supposed to be! But she still had her speech and the ideas she had slaved over. And now she had the undivided attention of everyone she had hoped to reach. She turned and climbed the steps to the lectern. A window opened on the familiar, glowing words of her speech. For one moment, she ignored those words and simply looked out at her audience: one hundred and fifty humans, perhaps fifty packs. From her lectern, the main floor was almost three meters down. It spread into a misty, artificial distance. The seating was far plainer than anything on the stage, barely more than wooden benches and perches. Everywhere faces were looking up, and all-even most of the packs-were so familiar to her.

And there was Nevil, right in the first row! He was dressed in the same country-spun quilting as all the Children, and right now he looked cold and soaked and dripping-much like the rest, come in from this morning's rain.

But he'd been here after all, just hidden from her view by the lectern. Sitting right beside him was Timor Ristling, for once without his possessive Best Friend pack. The boy had an enormous smile on his face. He seemed totally taken by Ravna's image on the wall. Then he saw that she was looking at him and he started waving. Something going right at last. Ravna twitched her hand up to wave at them both and Nevil gave her back a wide grin of his own.

Now there was her speech to give. She slid the text window so that wherever she looked, the words were writ large and translucent across her view. If she had been Nevil or Woodcarver or Johanna, she could have ad libbed a new beginning to the talk, something that would mellow all the screw-ups, that would honor Woodcarver and maybe give everybody a good laugh. But she was Ravna Bergsndot and she knew that if she departed from her written speech she would be lost. It was her life raft.

This was where all the rehearsing would come to her rescue. She could looked through the misty words, speak them even as her gaze moved from face to face.

"Thank you, um, Woodcarver." Hei, an ad lib!

She essayed a sympathetic smile. "Thank you all for coming here this morning despite the weather." That wasn't really an ad lib, since Oobii had been confident of this morning's storm front.

"We humans have been here on the Tines World for a little more than ten years. The packs rescued us and became some of our best friends. But we must remember, both humans and packs, that our coming was part of a vast and tragic debacle." Here she made the proper gesture, dramatically pointing at the heavens beyond the crystal dome. "The evil that chased the humans to Tines World, still waits-even though diminished-in the near interstellar space." And Ravna went on to describe Oobii's best estimate of the status of the Blighter fleet, thirty light years out. She didn't bring up the possibility of further Zone shifts; a real shift would be a game ender, and she had no hint of such beyond the weird glitch Oobii had reported years before. No, the story she told was pretty much what she'd been telling the Children from the day they came out of coldsleep. Nevil had told her that many of the kids had lost sight of that big picture. Telling them one more time, in this awesome setting, could make it clear why their present sacrifices were so necessary.

"In just twenty years, the first light from the Blighter fleet will arrive at Tines World. Will that by itself be a danger? Perhaps, though I have my doubts. But in the decades after that, it's possible that very small payloads, just milligrams, may arrive-all that the Blighters can accelerate to near-light speeds. With sufficiently high technology, even such tiny payloads could conceivably harm Tines World." That was speculation from the nebulous end of Oobii's weapons archive, extrapolating as best it could from their last information on the Blighters and the most exotic weapon systems that had ever been fielded in the Slow Zone.

"What's sure is that if the Blighters still wish us harm, then over the next century, certainly over the next thousand years, they can kill everyone in the world, unless-" here she paused dramatically just exactly as in all her rehearsals, and swept a steely look across her audience "-unless we, both humans and packs, quickly raise this world to the highest technology the Slow Zone can sustain. It's our best hope, perhaps our only hope. It is worth hard sacrifices."

As she spoke, she continued to look back and forth across her audience, occasionally sending a nod in the direction of her co-Queen. Ravna wasn't running any analysis tools, but she had the speech so well rehearsed that there was time to notice the listeners' reactions. Her eyes caught on those she most respected. Nevil-not really a good test case, but a comforting one-was nodding his head at the right times, even though this all was something he'd heard over and over again during the last few days. Others: vin Verring and Elspa Latterby, they were paying close attention, but every so often they would look at each other with a shake of their heads. The tailors, Ben and Wenda Larsndot, they were sitting far in the back with their kids. They had given up listening early on, were spending their time keeping their children quiet. They acted as though they had heard all this before. Which they have, in a dozen dozen conversations with me over the years. Some, the likes of Gannon Jorkenrud, were mugging her words.

I have to move on. If only she and Nevil could have foreseen this reaction when they were planning the speech-or if she were clever enough to amend it on the fly-she would skip forward with some clever segue and keep everyone's attention on the overall message.

The thought made her stumble on the words, almost lose her place. No. Her only hope was to plow ahead. These words might not sing, but she knew they made logical sense.

"So what is the greatest sacrifice that we must make for ultimate survival? It's a sacrifice I see each of us making every day. It's a very hard thing, though I want to convince you that the alternatives aren't really workable. That sacrifice is the relatively low priority that we're putting on biomedical products." That seemed to get everyone's attention. Even the packs perked up heads here and there.

Start with the bad news, build up to the good-but it was taking so long to get there! Okay, she was almost to her ideas for repairing more of the coldsleep caskets and creating an emergency medical committee. "For now we can treat only minor injuries. We have only basic epigenetic triggers. Ultimately, all that will change. In the meantime, how are we to deal with ageing? It's what our ancestors accepted for thousands of years..." Ravna never got to the "but."

"We are not your fucking ancestors!" It was Jefri Olsndot. He was halfway back in the crowd; she hadn't seen him before this moment. But now he was on his feet, enraged.

Jefri? Amdi was clustered all round him, his heads extended in an expression Ravna could not parse.

Jefri was shouting at the top of his lungs. "How dare you dictate to us, you so safe and smug? We refuse to die for you, Ravna! We-" he was still shouting and gesturing, but the sound was gone. Oobii's acoustics had damped his voice.

Now Gannon Jorkenrud and another fellow were on their feet. "We will not die for you, Queenie! We will not die for-" and then their voices slipped away, too.

Then there were Tami Ansndot and others, all shouting yet silent. Ravna cast about for sound controls, but they were bundled in the meeting place's general automation. I don't mean to shut people up!

Her eyes focused back on the words of her speech. She had paragraphs to go! She felt a moment of helpless terror. Then she saw that, down in the first row, Nevil had come to his feet.