FIVE.

Jefri Olsndot had few clear memories of the ambush and saw none of the violence. There had been the noises outside, and Mom's terrified voice, screaming for him to stay inside. Then there had been lots of smoke. He remembered choking, trying to crawl to clear air. He blacked out. When he woke, he was strapped onto some sort of first-aid cot, with the big dog creatures all around. They looked so funny with their white jackets and braid. He remembered wondering where their owners were. They made the strangest noises: gobbling, buzzing, hissing. Some of it was so high-pitched he could barely hear it.

For while he was on a boat, then on a wheeled cart. Before this, he had only seen pictures of castles, but the place they took him was the real thing, its towers dark and overhanging, its big stone walls sharply angled. They climbed through shadowed streets that went skumpety skumpety beneath the cart's wheels. The long-necked dogs hadn't hurt him, but the straps were awfully tight. He couldn't sit up; he couldn't see to the sides. He asked about Mom and Dad and Johanna, and he cried a little. A long snout appeared by his face, the soft nose pushing at his cheek. There was a buzzing sound he felt all the way down to his bones. He couldn't tell if the gesture was comfort or threat, but he gasped and tried to stop the tears. They didn't befit a good Straumer, anyway.

More white-jacketed dogs, ones with silly shoulder patches of gold and silver.

His cot was being dragged again, this time down a torch-lit tunnel. They stopped by a double door, two meters wide but scarcely one high. A pair of metal triangles was set in the blond wood. Later Jefri learned they signified a number-fifteen or thirty-three, depending on whether you counted by legs or fore-claws. Much, much later he learned that his keeper had counted by legs and the builder of the castle by fore-claws. Thus he ended up in the wrong room. It was a mistake that would change the history of worlds.

Somehow the dogs opened the doors and dragged Jefri in. They clustered around the cot, their snouts tugging loose his restraints. He had a glimpse of rows of needle-sharp teeth. The gobbling and buzzing was very loud. When Jefri sat up, they backed off. Two of them held the doors as the other four exited. The doors slammed shut and the circus act was gone.

Jefri stared at the doors for a long moment. He knew it was no circus act; the dog things must be intelligent. Somehow they had surprised his parents and sister. Where are they? He almost started to cry again. He hadn't seen them by the spaceship. They must have been captured, too. They were all being held prisoner in this castle, but in separate dungeons. Somehow they must find each other!

He climbed to his feet, swayed dizzily for a moment. Everything still smelled like smoke. It didn't matter; it was time to start working on getting out. He walked around the room. It was huge, and not like any dungeon he'd seen in stories. The ceiling was very high, an arching dome. It was cut by twelve vertical slots. Sunlight fell in a dust-moted stream from one of them, splashing off the padded wall. It was the room's only illumination, but more than enough on this sunny day. Low-railed balconies stuck out from the four corners of the room just below the dome. He could see doors in the walls behind them. Heavy scrolls hung by the side of each balcony. There was writing on them, really big print. He walked to the wall and felt the stiff fabric. The letters were painted on. The only way you could change the display was by rubbing it out. Wow. Just like olden times on Nyjora, before Straumli Realm! The baseboard below the scrolls was black stone, glossy. Someone had used scraps of chalk to draw on it. The stick-figure dogs were crude; they reminded Jefri of pictures little kids draw in kinderschool.

He stopped, remembering all the children they had left aboard the boat, and on the ground around it. Just a few days ago, he'd been playing with them at the High Lab school. The last year had been so strange-boring and adventurous at the same time. The barracks had been fun with all the families together, but the grownups hardly ever had time to play. At night the sky was so different from Straum's. "We're beyond the Beyond," Mom had said, "making God." When she first said it, she laughed. Later when people said it, they seemed more and more scared. The last hours had been crazy, the coldsleep drills finally for real. All his friends were in those boxes... He wept into the awful silence. There was no one to hear, no one to help him.

After a few moments he was thinking again. If the dogs didn't try to open the boxes, his friends should be okay. If Mom and Dad could make the dogs understand...

Strange furniture was scattered around the room: low tables and cabinets, and racks like kids' jungle gyms-all made from the same blond wood as the doors. Black pillows lay around the widest table. That one was littered with scrolls, all full of writing and still drawings. He walked the length of one wall, ten meters or so. The stone flooring ended. There was a two-by-two bed of gravel where the walls met. Something smelled even stronger than smoke here. A bathroom smell. Jefri laughed: they really were like dogs!

The padded walls soaked up his laughter, echoless. Something ... made Jefri look up and across the room. He'd just assumed he was alone here; in fact, there were lots of hiding places in this "dungeon." For a moment, he held his breath and listened. All was silent ... almost: at the top of his hearing, up where some machines wheep, and Mom and Dad and even Johanna couldn't hear-there was something.

"I-I know you're here," Jefri said sharply, his voice squeaking. He stepped sideways a few paces, trying to see around the furniture without approaching it. The sound continued, obvious now that he was listening to it.

A small head with great dark eyes looked around a cabinet. It was much smaller than the creatures that had brought Jefri here, but the shape of the muzzle was the same. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Jefri edged slowly toward it. A puppy? The head withdrew, then came further out. From the corner of his eye, Jefri saw something move-another of the black forms was peering at him from under the table. Jefri froze for a second, fighting panic. But there was no place to run, and maybe the creatures would help find Mom. Jefri dropped to one knee and slowly extended his hand. "Here ... here, doggy."

The puppy crawled from beneath the table, its eyes never leaving Jefri's hand. The fascination was mutual; the puppy was beautiful. Considering all the thousands of years that dogs have been bred by humans (and others), this could have been some oddball breed ... but only just. The hair was short and dense, a deep velour of black and white. The two tones lay in broad swaths with no intermediate grays. This one's entire head was black, its haunches split between white and black. The tail was a short, unimpressive flap covering its rear. There were hairless patches on its shoulders and head, where Jefri could see black skin. But the strangest thing was the long, supple neck. It would look more natural in a sea'mal than a dog.

Jefri wiggled his fingers, and the puppy's eyes widened, revealing an edge of white around the iris.

Something bumped his elbow, and Jefri almost jumped to this feet. So many! Two more had crept up to look at his hand. And where he had seen the first one there were now three, sitting alertly, watching. Seen in the open, there was nothing unfriendly or scary about them.

One of the puppies put a paw on Jefri's wrist and pressed gently downward. At the same time, another extended its muzzle and licked Jefri's fingers. The tongue was pink and raspy, a round narrow thing. The high-pitched wheeping got stronger; all three moved in, grabbing at his hand with their mouths.

"Be careful!" Jefri said, jerking back his hand. He remembered the grownups' teeth. Suddenly the air was full of gobbling and buzzing. Hmp. They sounded more like goofy birds than dogs. One of the other pups came forward. It extended a sleek nose toward Jefri. "Be careful!" it said, a perfect playback of the boy's voice ... yet its mouth was closed. It angled its neck back ... to be petted? He reached out; the fur was so soft! The buzzing was very loud now. Jefri could feel it through the fur. But it wasn't just the one animal who was making it; the sound came from all directions. The puppy reversed direction, sliding its muzzle across the boy's hand. This time he let the mouth close on his fingers. He could see teeth all right, but the puppy carefully kept them from touching Jefri's skin. The tip of its snout felt like a pair of small fingers closing and opening around his.

Three slipped under his other arm, like they wanted to be petted too. He felt noses poking at his back, trying to pull his shirt out of his pants. The effort was remarkably coordinated, almost as if a two-handed human had grabbed his shirt. Just how many are there? For a moment he forgot where he was, forgot to be cautious. He rolled over and began petting the marauders. A surprised squeaking sound came from all directions. Two crawled beneath his elbows; at least three jumped on his back and lay with their noses touching his neck and ears.

And Jefri had what seemed a great insight: The adult aliens had recognized he was a child; they just didn't know how old. They had put him in one of their own kinderschools! Mom and Dad were probably talking to them right now. Things were going to turn out all right after all.

Lord Steel had not taken his name casually: steel, the most modern of metals; steel, that takes the sharpest edge and never loses it; steel, that can glow red hot, and yet not fail; steel, the blade that cuts for the flenser. Steel was a crafted person, Flenser's greatest success.

In some sense, the crafting of souls was nothing new. Brood kenning was a limited form of it, though mainly concerned with gross physical characteristics. Even kenners agreed that a pack's mental abilities derived from its various members in different measures. One pair or triple was almost always responsible for eloquence, another for spatial intuition. The virtues and vices were even more complex. No single member was the principal source of courage, or of conscience.

Flenser's contribution to the field-as to most others-had been an essential ruthlessness, a cutting away of all but the truly important. He experimented endlessly, discarding all but the most successful results. He depended on discipline and denial and partial death as much as on clever member selection. He already had seventy years of experience when he created Steel.

Before he could take his name, Steel spent years in denial, determining just what parts of him combined to produce the being desired. That would have been impossible without Flenser's enforcement. (Example: if you dimissed a part of yourself essential for tenacity, where could you get the will to continue the flensing?) For the soul in creation, the process was mental chaos, a patchwork of horror and amnesia. In two years he had experienced more change than most people do in two centuries-and all of it directed. The turning point came when he and Flenser identified the trio that weighed him down with both conscience and slowness of intellect. One of the three bridged the others. Sending it into silence, replacing it with just the right element, had made the difference. After that, the rest was easy; Steel was born.

When Flenser had left to convert the Long Lakes Republic, it was only natural that his most brilliant creation should take over here. For five years Steel had ruled Flenser's heartland. In that time he had not only conserved what Flenser built, he extended it beyond the cautious beginnings.

But today, in a single circling of the sun about Hidden Island, he could lose everything.

Steel stepped into the meeting hall and looked around. Refreshments were properly set. Sunlight streamed from a ceiling slit onto just the place he wanted. Part of Shreck, his aide, stood on the far side of the room. He said to it, "I will speak with the visitor alone." He did not use the name "Flenser". The whitejackets groveled back and its unseen members pushed open the far doors.

A fivesome-three males and two females-walked through the doorway, into the splash of sunlight. The individual was unremarkable. But then Flenser had never had an imposing appearance.

Two heads raised to shade the eyes of the others. The pack looked across the room, spotting Lord Steel twenty yards away. "Ah-h ... Steel." The voice was gentle, like a scalpel petting the short hairs of your throat.

Steel had bowed when the other entered, a formal gesture. The voice caused a sudden cramp in his guts, and he involuntarily brought bellies to the ground. That was his voice! There was at least a fragment of the original Flenser in this pack. The gold and silver epaulets, the personal banner, those could be faked by anyone with suicidal bravado... But Steel remembered the manner. He wasn't surprised the other's presence had destroyed discipline on the mainland this morning.

The pack's heads, where they were in sunlight, were expressionless. Was a smile playing about the heads in shadow? "Where are the others, Steel? What happened today is the greatest opportunity of our history."

Steel got off his bellies and stood at the railing. "Sir. There are some questions first, just between the two of us. Clearly, you are much of Flenser, but how much-"

The other was clearly grinning now, the shadowed heads bobbing. "Yes, I knew my best creation would see that question... This morning, I claimed to be the true Flenser, improved with one or two replacements. The truth is ... harder. You know about the Republic." That had been Flenser's greatest gamble: to flense an entire nation-state. Millions would die, yet even so there would be more molding than killing. In the end, there would exist the first collective outside of the tropics. And the Flenser state would not be a mindless agglomeration grubbing about in some jungle. The top would be as brilliant, as ruthless as any packs in history. No people in the world could stand against such a force.

"It was an awesome risk to take, for an even more awesome goal. But I took precautions. We had thousands of converts, many of them people with no understanding of our true ambition, but faithful and self-sacrificing-as they should be. I always kept a special group of them nearby. The Political Police were clever to use mob assassination against me, the last thing I had expected-I who made the mobs. No matter, my bodyguards were well trained. When we were trapped in Parliament Bowl, they killed one or two members of each of those special packs ... and I simply ceased to exist, dispersed among three panicky, ordinary people trying to escape the blood swamp."

"But everyone around you was killed; the mob left no one."

The Flenser-thing shrugged. "That was partly Republican propaganda, and partly my own work: I ordered my guards to hack each other down, along with everyone who was not me."

Steel almost voiced his awe. The plan was typical of Flenser's brilliance, and his strength of soul. In assassinations, there was always the chance that fragments would get away. There were famous stories of heroes reassembled. In real life such events were rare, usually happening when the victim's forces could sustain their leader through reintegration. But Flenser had planned this tactic from the beginning, had envisaged reassembling himself more than a thousand miles from the Long Lakes.

Still ... Lord Steel looked at the other in calculation. Ignore voice and manner. Think for power, not for the desires of others, even Flenser. Steel recognized only two in the other pack. The females and the male with the white-tipped ears were probably from the sacrificed follower. Very likely only two of Flenser really faced him. Scarcely a threat ... except in the very real sense of appearances. "And the other four of you, Sir? When may we expect your entire presence?"

The Flenser-thing chuckled. Damaged as it was, it still understood balance-of-power. This was almost like the old days: when two people have a clear understanding of power and betrayal, then betrayal itself becomes almost impossible. There is only the ordered flow of events, bringing good to those who deserve to rule. "The others have equally good ... mounts. I made detailed plans, three different paths, three different sets of agents. I arrived on schedule. I have no doubt the others will too, in a few tendays at most. Until then," he turned all heads toward Steel, "until then, dear Steel, I do not claim the full role of Flenser. I did so earlier to establish priorities, to protect this fragment till I am assembled. But this pack is deliberately weak-minded; I know it wouldn't survive as the ruler of my earlier creations."

Steel wondered. Half-brained, the creature's schemes were perfect. Nearly perfect. "So you wish a background role for the next few tendays? Very well. But you announced yourself as Flenser. How shall I present you?"

The other didn't hesitate. "Tyrathect, Flenser in Waiting."

Crypto: 0 Syntax: 43 As received by: Transceiver Relay03 at Relay Language path: Samnorsk->Triskweline, SjK:Relay units From: Straumli Main Subject: Archive opened in the Low Transcend!

Summary: Our links to the Known Net will be down temporarily Key phrases: transcend, good news, business opportunities, new archive, communications problems Distribution:

Where Are They Now Interest Group

Homo Sapiens Interest Group

Motley Hatch Administration Group

Transceiver Relay03 at Relay

Transceiver Windsong at Debley Down

Transceiver Not-for-Long at Shortstop

Date: 11:45:20 Docks Time, 01/09 of Org year 52089 Text of message: We are proud to announce that a human exploration company from Straumli Realm has discovered an accessible archive in the Low Transcend. This is not an announcement of Transcendence or the creation of a new Power. We have in fact postponed this announcement until we were sure of our property rights and the safety of the archive. We have installed interfaces which should make the archive interoperable with standard syntax queries from the Net. In a few days this access will be made commercially available. (See discussion of scheduling problems below.) Because of its safety, intelligibility, and age, this Archive is remarkable. We believe there is otherwise lost information here about arbitration management and interrace coordination. We'll send details to the appropriate news groups. We're very excited about this. Note that no interaction with the Powers was necessary; no part of Straumli Realm has transcended.

Now for the bad news: Arbitration and translation schemes have had unfortunate clenirations[?] with the ridgeway armiphlage[?]. The details should be amusing to the people in the Communication Threats news group, and we will report them there later. But for at least the next hundred hours, all our links (main and minor) to the Known Net will be down. Incoming messages may be buffered, but no guarantees. No messages can be forwarded. We regret this inconvenience, and will make up for it very soon!

Physical commerce is in no way affected by these problems. Straumli Realm continues to welcome tourists and trade.

SIX.

Looking back, Ravna Bergsndot saw it was inevitable that she become a librarian. As a child on Sjandra Kei, she had been in love with stories from the Age of Princesses. There was adventure, a time when a few brave Ladies had dragged humankind to greatness. She and her sister had spent countless afternoons pretending to be the Greater Two and rescuing the Countess of the Lake. Later they understood that Nyjora and its Princesses were lost in the dim past. Sister Lynne turned to more practical things. But Ravna still wanted adventure. Through her teens, she had dreamed of emigrating to Straumli Realm. That was something very real. Imagine: a new and mostly human colony, right at the Top of the Beyond. And Straum welcomed folk from the mother world; their enterprise was less than one hundred years old. They or their children would be the first humans anywhere in the galaxy to transcend their own humanity. She might end up a god, and richer than a million Beyonder worlds. It was a dream real enough to provoke constant arguments with her parents. For where there is heaven, there can also be hell. Straumli Realm kissed close to the Transcend, and the people there played with "the tigers that pace beyond the bars." Dad had actually used that tired image. The disagreement drove them apart for several years. Then, in her Computer Science and Applied Theology courses, Ravna began to read about some of the old horrors. Maybe, maybe ... she should be a little more cautious. Better to look around first. And there was a way to see into everything that humans in the Beyond could possibly understand: Ravna became a librarian. "The ultimate dilettante!" Lynne had teased. "It's true and so what?" Ravna had grumped back, but the dream of far traveling was not quite dead in her.

Life in Herte University at Sjandra Kei should have been perfect for someone who had finally figured out what they wanted from life. Things might have gone on happily for a lifetime there-except that in her graduation year, there had been the Vrinimi Organization's Faraway 'Prentice contest. Three years work-study at the archive by Relay was the prize. Winning was the chance of a lifetime; she would come back with more experience than any local academician.

So it was that Ravna Bergsndot ended up more than twenty thousand light-years from home, at the network hub of a million worlds.

Sunset was an hour past when Ravna drifted across Citypark toward Grondr Vrinimikalir's residence. She'd been on the planet only a handful of times since arriving in the Relay system. Most of her work was at the archives themselves-a thousand light-hours out. This part of Groundside was in early autumn, though twilight had faded the tree colors to bands of gray. From Ravna's altitude, one hundred meters up, the air had the nip of frosts to come. Between her feet she could see picnic fires and gaming fields. The Vrinimi Organization didn't spend much on the planet, but the world was beautiful. As long as she kept her eyes on the darkening ground, Ravna could almost imagine this was someplace in her home terrane on Sjandra Kei. Look into the sky though ... and you knew you were far from home: twenty-thousand light-years away, the galactic whirlpool sprawled up toward the zenith.

It was just a faint thing in the twilight, and it might not get much brighter this night: Low in the western sky, a cluster of in-system factories glowed brighter than any moon. The operation was a brilliant flickering of stars and rays, sometimes so intense that stark shadows were cast eastwards from the Citypark mountains. In another half hour, the Docks would rise. The Docks weren't as bright as the factories, but together they would outshine anything from the far stars.

She shifted in her agrav harness, drifting lower. The scent of autumn and picnics came stronger. Suddenly, the click of Kalir laughter was all around her; she had blundered into an airball game. Ravna spread her arms in mock humiliation and dodged out of the players' way.

Her stroll through the park was just about over; she could see her destination ahead. Grondr 'Kalir's residence was a rarity in the Citypark landscape: a recognizable building. It dated from when the Org bought into the Relay operation. Seen from just eighty meters up, the house was a blocky silhouette against the sky. When factory lights flashed, the smooth walls of the monolith glowed in oily tints. Grondr was her boss's boss's boss. She had talked to him exactly three times in two years.

No more delay. Nervous and very curious, Ravna floated lower and let the house electronics guide her across the tree decks toward an entrance.

Grondr Vrinimikalir treated her with standard Organization courtesy, the common denominator that served between the several races of the Org: The meeting room had furniture suitable for human and Vrinimi use. There were refreshments, and questions about her job at the archive.

"Mixed results, sir," Ravna replied honestly. "I've learned a great deal. The 'prenticeship is everything it's claimed to be. But I'm afraid the new division is going to require an added index layer." All this was in reports the old fellow could have seen at the flick of a digit.

Grondr rubbed a hand absently across his eye freckles. "Yes, an expected disappointment. We're at the limits of information management with this expansion. Egravan and Derche-" those were Ravna's boss and boss's boss "-are quite happy with your progress. You came well educated, and learned fast. I think there's a place for humans in the Organization."

"Thank you, sir." Ravna blushed. Grondr's assessment was casually spoken but very important to her. And it would probably mean the arrival of more humans, perhaps even before her 'prenticeship was up. So was this the reason for the interview?

She tried not to stare at the other. She was quite used to the Vrinimi majority race by now. From a distance the Kalir looked humanoid. Up close, the differences were substantial. The race was descended from something like an insect. In upsizing, evolution had necessarily moved reinforcing struts inside the body, till the outside was a combination of grublike skin and sheets of pale chitin. At first glance Grondr was an unremarkable exemplar of the race. But when the fellow moved, even to adjust his jacket or scratch at his eye freckles, there was a strange precision to him. Egravan said that he was very, very old.

Grondr changed the subject with the clickety abruptness. "You are aware of the ... changes at Straumli Realm?"

"You mean the fall of Straum? Yes."Though I'm surprised you are. Straumli Realm was a significant human civilization, but it accounted for only an infinitesimal fraction of Relay's message traffic.

"Please accept my sympathy." Despite the cheerful announcements from Straum, it was clear that absolute disaster had befallen Straumli Realm. Almost every race eventually dabbled in the Transcend, more often than not becoming a superintelligence, a Power. But it was clear by now that the Straumers had created, or awakened, a Power of deadly inclination. Their fate was as terrible as anything Ravna's father had ever predicted. And their bad luck was now a disaster that stretched across all that had been Straumli Realm. Grondr continued: "Will this news affect your work?"

Curiouser and curiouser; she would have sworn the other was coming to the point. Maybe this was the point? "Uh, no sir. The Straumli affair is a terrible thing, especially for humankind. But my home is Sjandra Kei. Straumli Realm is our offspring, but I have no relatives there."Though I might have been there if it hadn't been for Mother and Dad. Actually, when Straumli Main dropped off the Net, Sjandra Kei had been unreachable for almost forty hours. That had bothered her very much, since any rerouting should have been immediate. Communication was eventually established; the problem had been screwed-up routing tables on an alternate path. Ravna had even shot half a year's savings for an over-and-back mailing. Lynne and her parents were fine; the Straumli debacle was the news of the century for folks at Sjandra Kei, but it was still a disaster at great remove. Ravna wondered if parents had ever given better advice than hers!

"Good, good." His mouth parts moved in the analog of a human nod. His head tilted so only peripheral freckles were looking at her; the guy actually seemed hesitant! Ravna looked back silently. Grondr 'Kalir might be the strangest exec in the Org. He was the only one whose principal residence was Groundside. Officially he was in charge of a division of the archives; in fact, he ran Vrinimi Marketing (i.e., Intelligence). There were stories that he had visited the Top of the Beyond; Egravan claimed he had an artificial immune system. "You see, the Straumli disaster has incidentally made you one of the Organization's most valuable employees."

"I ... don't understand."

"Ravna, the rumors in the Threats newsgroup are true. The Straumers had a laboratory in the Low Transcend. They were playing with recipes from some lost archive, and they created a new Power. It appears to be a Class Two perversion."

The Known Net recorded a Class Two perversion about once a century. Such Powers had a normal "lifespan"-about ten years. But they were explicitly malevolent, and in ten years could do enormous damage. Poor Straum.

"So you can see there's enormous potential for profit or loss here. If the disaster spreads, we will lose network customers. On the other hand, everyone around Straumli Realm wants to track what is happening. This could increase our message traffic by several percent."

Grondr put it more cold-bloodedly than she liked, but he had a point. In fact, the opportunity for profit was directly linked with mitigating the perversion. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in archive work, she'd have guessed all this. And now that she did think about it: "There are even more spectacular opportunities. Historically, these perversions have been of interest to other Powers. They'll want Net feeds and ... information about the creating race." Her voice guttered into silence as she finally understood the reason for this meeting.

Grondr's mouth parts clicked agreement. "Indeed. We at Relay are well-placed to supply news to the Transcend. And we also have our own human. In the last three days we've received several dozen queries from civilizations in the High Beyond, some claiming to represent Powers. This interest could mean a large increase in Organization income through the next decade.