Where Are They Now, Extinctions Log

Date: 72.78 days since the Fall of Sjandra Kei Key phrases: vast new attack, the Fall of Sandor Arbitration Text of message: As best we can tell, all our High Beyond sites have been absorbed by the Blight. If you can, please ignore all messages from those sites.

Until four hours ago, our organization comprised twenty civilizations at the Top. What is left of us doesn't know what to say or what to do. Things are so slow and murky and dull now; we were not meant to live this low. We intend to disband after this mailing.

For those who can continue, we want to tell what happened. The new attack was an abrupt thing. Our last recollections from Above are of the Blight suddenly reaching in all directions, sacrificing all its immediate security to acquire as much processing power as possible. We don't know if we had simply underestimated its power, or if the Blight itself is somehow now desperate-and taking desperate risks.

Up to 3000 seconds ago we were under heavy assault along our organization's internal networks. That has ceased. Temporarily? Or is this the limit of the attack? We don't know, but if you hear from us again, you will know that the Blight has us.

Farewell.

Crypto: 0 Syntax: 43 As received by: OOB shipboard ad hoc Language path: Optima->Acquileron->Triskweline, SjK units From: Society for Rational Investigation [Probably a single system in the Middle Beyond, 7500 light-years antispinward of Sjandra Kei]

Subject: The Big Picture Key phrases: The Blight, Nature's Beauty, Unprecedented Opportunities Summary: Life goes on Distribution:

Threat of the Blight

Society for Rational Network Management

War Trackers Interest Group

Date: 72.80 days since the Fall of Sjandra Kei Text of message: It's always amusing to see people who think themselves the center of the universe. Take the recent spread of the Blight [references follow for readers not on those threads and newsgroups]. The Blight is an unprecedent change in a limited portion of the Top of the Beyond-far away from most of my readers. I'm sure it's the ultimate catastrophe for many, and I certainly feel sympathy for such, but a little humor too, that these people somehow think their disaster is the end of everything. Life goes on, folks.

At the same time, it's clear that many readers are not paying proper attention to these events-certainly not seeing what is truly significant about them. In the last year, we have witnessed the apparent murders of several Powers and the establishment of a new ecosystem in a portion of the High Beyond. Though far away, these events are without precedent.

Often before, I have called this the Net of a Million Lies. Well, people, we now have an opportunity to view things while the truth is still manifest. With luck we may solve some fundamental mysteries about the Zones and the Powers.

I urge readers to watch events below the Blight from as many angles as possible. In particular, we should take advantage of the remaining relay at Debley Down to coordinate observations on both sides of the Blight-affected region. This will be expensive and tedious, since only Middle and Low Beyond sites are available in the affected region, but it will be well worth it.

General topics to follow: The nature of the Blight Net communications: The creature is part Power and part High Beyond, and infinitely interesting.

The nature of the recent Great Surge in the Low Beyond beneath the Blight: This is another event without clear precedent. Now is the time to study it....

The nature of the the Blighter fleet now closing on an off-net site in the Low Beyond: This fleet has been of great interest to War Trackers over the last weeks, but mainly for asinine reasons (who cares about Sjandra Kei and the Aprahant Hegemony; local politics is for locals). The real question should be obvious to all but the brain damaged: Why has the Blight made this great effort so far out its natural depth?

If there are any ships still in the vicinity of the Blight's fleet, I urge them to keep War Trackers posted. Failing that, local civilizations should be reimbursed for forwarding ultrawave traces.

This is all very expensive, but worth it, the observations of the aeon. And the expense will not continue long. The Blight's fleet should arrive at the target star momentarily. Will it stop and retrieve? Or will we see how a Power destroys the systems which oppose it? Either way, we are blessed with opportunity.

FORTY-ONE.

Ravna walked across the field toward the waiting packs. The thick smoke had been blown away, but its smell was still heavy in the air. The hillside was burned-over desolation. From above, Steel's castle had looked like the center of a great, black nipple, hectares of natural and pack-made destruction capping the hill.

The soldiers silently made way for her. More than one cast an uneasy glance at the starship grounded behind her. She walked slowly past them toward the ones who waited. Eerie the way they sat, like picnickers but all uneasy about each other's presence. This must be the equivalent of a close staff conference for them. Ravna walked toward the pack at the center, the one sitting on silken mats. Intricate wooden filigree hung around the necks of the adults, but some of those looked sick, old. And there were two puppies sitting out front of it. They stepped precisely forward as Ravna crossed the last stretch of open ground.

"Er, you're the Woodcarver?" she asked.

A woman's voice, incredibly human, came from one of the larger members. "Yes, Ravna. I'm Woodcarver. But it's Peregrine you want. He's up in the castle, with the children.

"Oh."

"We have a wagon. We can take you inwards right away." One of them pointed at a vehicle being drawn up the hillside. "But you could have landed much closer, could you not?"

Ravna shook her head. "No. Not ... anymore." This was the best landing that she and Greenstalk could make.

The heads cocked at her, all a coordinated gesture. "I thought you were in a terrible hurry. Peregrine says there is a fleet of spacers coming hot on your trail."

For an instant Ravna didn't say anything. So Pham had told them of the Blight? But she was glad he had. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the numbness. "Y-yes. We are in a great hurry." The dataset on her wrist was linked to the OOB. Its tiny display showed the steady approach of the Blight's fleet.

All the heads twisted, a gesture that Ravna couldn't interpret. "And you despair. I fear I understand."

How can you? And if you can, how can you forgive us? But all that Ravna said aloud was, "I'm sorry."

The Queen mounted her wagon and they rolled across the hillside toward the castle walls. Ravna looked back once. Down slope, the OOB lay like a great, dying moth. Its topside drive spines arched a hundred meters into the air. They glistened a wet, metallic green. Their landing had not been quite a crash. Even now, agrav cancelled some of the craft's weight. But the drive spines on the ground side were crumpled. Beyond the ship, the hillside fell steeply away to the water and the islands. The westering sun cast hazy shadows across the islands and on the castle beyond the straits. A fantasy scene of castles and starships.

The display on her wrist serenely counted down the seconds.

"Steel put gunpowder bombs all around the dome." Woodcarver swept a couple of noses, pointing upwards. Ravna followed her gesture. The arches were more like a Princess cathedral than military architecture: pink marble challenging the sky. And if it all came down, it would surely wreck the spacecraft parked beneath.

Woodcarver said that Pham was in there now. They rolled indoors, through dark, cool rooms. Ravna glimpsed row after row of coldsleep boxes. How many might still be revivable? Will we ever find out? The shadows were deep. "You're sure that Steel's troops are gone?"

Woodcarver hesitated, her heads staring in different directions. So far, pack expressions were impossible for Ravna to read. "Reasonably sure. Anybody still in the castle would need to be behind lots of stone, or my search parties would have found them. More important, we have what's left of Steel." The Queen seemed to read Ravna's questioning expression perfectly. "You didn't know? Apparently Lord Steel came down here to blow all the bombs. It would have been suicide, but that pack was always a crazy one. Someone stopped him. There was blood all over. Two of him are dead. We found the rest wandering around, a whimpering mess... Whoever did Steel in is also behind the rapid retreat. That someone is doing his best to avoid any confrontation. He won't be back soon, though I fear I'll have to face dear Flenser eventually."

Under the circumstances, Ravna figured that was one problem that would never materialize. Her dataset showed forty-five hours till the Blight's arrival.

Jefri and Johanna were by their starship, under the main dome. They sat on the steps of the landing ramp, holding hands. When the wide doors opened and Woodcarver's wagon drove through, the girl stood and waved. Then they saw Ravna. The boy walked first quickly then more slowly across the wide floor. "Jefri Olsndot?" Ravna called softly. He had a tentative, dignified posture that seemed much too old for an eight-year-old. Poor Jefri had lost much, and lived with so little for so long. She stepped down from the wagon and walked toward him.

The boy advanced out of the shadows. He was surrounded by a near mob of small-size pack members. One of them hung on his shoulder; others tumbled around his feet without ever seeming to get in his way; still others followed his path both in front and behind. Jefri stopped well back from her. "Ravna?"

She nodded.

"Could you step a little closer? The Queen's mind sound is too close." The voice was still the boy's, but his lips hadn't moved. She walked the few meters that still separated them. Puppies and boy advanced hesitantly. Up close she could see the rips in his clothing, and what looked like wound dressings on his shoulders and elbows and knees. His face looked recently washed, but his hair was a sticky mess. He looked up at her solemnly, then raised his arms to hug her. "Thank you for coming." His voice was muffled against her, but he wasn't crying. "Yes, thank you, thank poor Mr. Blueshell." His voice again, sad but unmuffled, coming from the pack of puppies all around them.

Johanna Olsndot had advanced to stand just behind them. Only fourteen is she? Ravna reached a hand toward her. "From what I hear, you were a rescue force all by yourself."

Woodcarver's voice came from the wagon. "Johanna was that. She changed our world."

Ravna gestured up the ship's ramp, at the glow of the interior lighting. "Pham's up there?"

The girl started to nod, was preempted by the pack of puppies. "Yes, he is. He and the Pilgrim are up there." The pups disentangled themselves and started up the steps, one remaining behind to tug Ravna toward the ramp. She started after them, with Jefri close beside her.

"Who is this pack?" she said abruptly to Jefri, pointing to the puppies.

The boy stopped in surprise. "Amdi of course."

"I'm sorry," Jefri's voice came from the puppies. "I've talked to you so much, I forget you don't know-" There was a chorus of tones and chords that ended in a human giggle. She looked down at the bobbing heads, and was certain the little devil was quite aware of his misrepresentations. Suddenly a mystery was solved. "Pleased to meet you," she said, angered and charmed at the same time. "Now-"

"Right, there are much more important things now." The pack continued to hop up the stairs. "Amdi" seemed to alternate between shy sadness and manic activity. "I don't know what they're up to. They kicked us out as soon as we showed them around."

Ravna followed the pack, Jefri close behind. It didn't sound like anything was going on. The interior of the dome was like a tomb, echoing with the talk of the few packs who guarded it. But here, halfway up the steps, even those sounds were muted, and there was nothing coming through the hatch at the top. "Pham?"

"He's up there." It was Johanna, at the base of the stairs. She and Woodcarver were looking up at them. She hesitated, "I'm not sure if he's okay. After the battle, he-he seemed strange."

Woodcarver's heads weaved about, as if she were trying to get a good look at them through the glare of the hatch lights. "The acoustics in this ship of yours are awful. How can humans stand it?"

Amdi: "Ah, it's not so bad. Jefri and I spent lots of time up here. I got used to it." Two of his heads were pushing at the hatch. "I don't know why Pham and Pilgrim kicked us out; we could have stayed in the other room and been real quiet."

Ravna stepped carefully between the pack's lead puppies and pounded on the hull metal. It wasn't hard-latched; now she could hear the ship's ventilation. "Pham, what progress?"

There was a rustling sound and the click of claws. The hatch slid partway back. Bright, flickering light spilled down the ramp. A single doggy head appeared. Ravna could see white all around its eyes. Did that mean anything? "Hi," it said. "Uh, look. Things are a bit tense just now. Pham-I don't think Pham should be bothered."

Ravna slipped her hand past the gap. "I'm not here to bother him. But I am coming in."How long we've fought for this moment. How many billions have died along the way. And now some talking dog tells me things are a bit tense.

The Pilgrim looked down at her hand. "Okay." He slid the hatch far enough open to let her through. The pups were quick around her heels, but they recoiled before the Pilgrim's glance. Ravna didn't notice...

The "ship" was scarcely more than a freight container, a cargo hull. The cargo this time-the coldsleep boxes-had been removed, leaving a mostly level floor, dotted with hundreds of fittings.

All this she scarcely noticed. It was the light, the thing that held her. It grew out from the walls and gathered almost too bright to bear at the center of the hold. Its shape changed and changed again, the colors shifting from red to violet to green. Pham sat crosslegged by the apparition, within it. Half his hair was burned away. His hands and arms were shivering, and he mumbled in some language she didn't recognize. Godshatter. Two times it had been the companion to disaster. A dying Power's madness ... and now it was the only hope. Oh Pham.

Ravna took a step toward him, felt jaws close on her sleeve. "Please, he mustn't be disturbed." The one that was holding her arm was a big dog, battle-scarred. The rest of the pack-Pilgrim-all faced inwards on Pham. The savage stared at her, somehow saw the anger rising in her face. Then the pack said, "Look ma'am, your Pham's in some sort of fugue state, all the normal personality traded for computation."

Huh? This Pilgrim had the jargon, but probably not much else. Pham must have been talking to him. She made a shushing gesture. "Yes, yes. I understand." She stared into the light. The changing shape, so hard to look at, was something like the graphics you can generate on most displays, the silly cross-sections of high-dimensional froths. It glowed in purest monochrome, but shifted through the colors. Much of the light must be coherent: interference speckles crawled on every solid surface. In places the interference banded up, stripes of dark and light that slid across the hull as the color changed.

She walked slowly closer, staring at Pham and ... the Countermeasure. For what else could it be? The scum in the walls, now grown out to meet godshatter. This was not simply data, a message to be relayed. This was a Transcendent machine. Ravna had read of such things: devices made in the Transcend, but for use at the Bottom of the Beyond. There would be nothing sentient about it, nothing that violated the constraints of the Lower Zones-yet it would make the best possible use of nature here, to do whatever its builder had desired: Its builder? The Blight? An enemy of the Blight?

She stepped closer. The thing was deep in Pham's chest, but there was no blood, no torn flesh. She might have thought it all trick holography except that she could see him shudder at its writhing. The fractal arms were feathered by long teeth, twisting at him. She gasped and almost called his name. But Pham wasn't resisting. He seemed deeper into godshatter than ever before, and more at peace. The hope and fear came suddenly out of hiding: hope that maybe, even now, godshatter could do something about the Blight; and fear, that Pham would die in the process.

The artifact's twisting evolution slowed. The light hung at the pale edge of blue. Pham's eyes opened. His head turned toward her. "The Riders' Myth is real, Ravna." His voice was distant. She heard the whisper of a laugh. "The Riders should know, I guess. They learned the last time. There are Things that don't like the Blight. Things my Old One only guessed at..."

Powers beyond the Powers? Ravna sank to the floor. The display on her wrist glowed up at here. Less than forty-five hours left.

Pham saw her downward glance, "I know. Nothing has slowed the fleet. It's a pitiful thing so far down here ... but more than powerful enough to destroy this world, this solar system. And that's what the Blight wants now. The Blight knows I can destroy it ... just as it was destroyed before."

Ravna was vaguely aware that Pilgrim had crawled in close on all sides. Every face was fixed on the blue froth and the human enmeshed within. "How, Pham?" Ravna whispered.

Silence. Then, "All the zone turbulence ... that was Countermeasure trying to act, but without coordination. Now I'm guiding it. I've begun ... the reverse surge. It's drawing on local energy sources. Can't you feel it?"

Reverse surge? What was Pham talking about? She glanced again at her wrist-and gasped. Enemy speed had jumped to twenty light-years per hour, as fast as might be expected in the Middle Beyond. What had been almost two days of grace was barely two hours. And now the display said twenty-five light-years per hour. Thirty.

Someone was pounding on the hatch.

Scrupilo was delinquent. He should be supervising the move up the hillside. He knew that, and really felt quite guilty-but he persevered in his dereliction. Like an addict chewing krima leaves, some things are too delicious to give up.

Scrupilo dawdled behind, carrying Dataset carefully between him so that its floppy pink ears would not drag on the ground. In fact, guarding Dataset was certainly more important than hassling his troopers. In any case, he was close enough to give advice. And his lieutenants were more clever than he at every day work.

During the last few hours, the coastal winds had taken the smoke clouds inland, and the air was clean and salty. On this part of the hill, not everything was burned. There were even some flowers and fluffy seed pods. Bob-tailed birds sailed up the rising air from the sea valley, their cries a happy music, as if promising that the world would soon be as before.

Scrupilo knew it could not be. He turned all his heads to look down the hillside, at Ravna Bergsndot's starship. He estimated the surviving drive spines as one hundred meters long. The hull itself was more than one hundred and twenty. He hunkered down around Dataset, and popped open its cushioned Oliphaunt face. Dataset knew lots about spacecraft. Actually, this ship was not a human design, but the overall shape was fairly ordinary; he knew that from his previous readings. Twenty to thirty thousand tonnes, equipped with antigravity floats and faster-than-light drive. All very ordinary for the Beyond... But to see it here, through the eyes of his very own members! Scrupilo couldn't keep his gaze from the thing. Three of him worked with Dataset while the other two stared at the irridescent green hull. The troopers and guncarts around him faded to insignificance. For all its mass, the ship seemed to rest gently on the hillside. How long will it be before we can build such? Centuries, without outside help, the histories in Dataset claimed. What I wouldn't give for a dayaround aboard her!

Yet this ship was being chased by something mightier. Scrupilo shivered in the summer sun. He had often enough heard Pilgrim's story of the first landing, and he had seen the human's beam weapon. He had read much in Dataset about planet-wrecker bombs and the other weapons of the Beyond. While he worked on Woodcarver's cannon-the best weapons he could bring to be-he had dreamed and wondered. Until he saw the starship floating above, he had never quite felt the reality in his innermost hearts. Now he did. So a fleet of killers lay close behind Ravna Bergsndot. The hours of the world might be few indeed. He tabbed quickly through Dataset's search paths, looking for articles about space piloting. If there be only hours, at least learn what there is time to learn.

So Scrupilo was lost in the sound and vision of Dataset. He had three windows open, each on a different aspect of the piloting experience.

Loud shouts from the hillside. He looked up with one head, more irritated than anything else. It wasn't a battle alarm they were calling, just a general unease. Strange, the afternoon air seemed pleasantly cool. Two of him looked high, but there was no haze. "Scrupilo! Look, Look!"

His gunners were dancing in panic. They were pointing at the sky ... at the sun. He folded the pink covers over Dataset's face, at the same time looking sunward with shaded view. The sun was still high in the south, dazzling bright. Yet the air was cool, and the birds were making the cooing sounds of low-sun nesting. And suddenly he realized that he was looking straight at the sun's disk, had been for five seconds-without pain or even watering of his eyes. And there was still no haze that he could see. An inner chill spread across his mind.

The sunlight was fading. He could see black dots on its disk. Sunspots. He had seen them often enough with Scriber's telescopes. But that had been through heavy filters. Something stood between him and the sun, something that sucked away its light and warmth.

The packs on the hillside moaned. It was a frightened sound Scrupilo had never heard in battle, the sound of someone confronted by unknowable terror.

Blue faded from the sky. The air was suddenly cold as deep dark night. And the sun's color was a gray luminescence, like a faded moon. Less. Scrupilo hunkered bellies to ground. Some of him was whistling deep in the throat. Weapons, weapons. But Dataset never spoke of this.

The stars were the brightest light on the hillside.

"Pham, Pham. They'll be here in an hour. What have you done?" A miracle, but of ill?