A Deepness in the Sky Part 21

Pham felt a smile steal across his face. Zamle Eng, may your slave-trading soul rot in h.e.l.l. You caused me so much grief. Maybe you can dome some posthumous good. Zamle Eng, may your slave-trading soul rot in h.e.l.l. You caused me so much grief. Maybe you can dome some posthumous good.

TWENTY-THREE.

"The Children's Hour of Science." What an innocent name. Ezr returned from his long off-Watch to find that it had become his personal nightmare. Qiwi promised; how could she let this happen? Qiwi promised; how could she let this happen? But every live show was more of a circus than the last. But every live show was more of a circus than the last.

And today's might be the worst yet. With good luck it might also be the last.

Ezr drifted into Benny's about a thousand seconds before show time. Till the last moment, he'd intended to watch it from his room, but masochism had won another round. He settled into the crowd and listened silently to the chatter.

Benny's booze parlor had become the central inst.i.tution of their existence at L1. The parlor was sixteen years old now. Benny himself was on a twenty-five-percent duty cycle; he and his father shared the running of the place with Gonle Fong and others. The old wallpaper had blistered in places, and in some places the illusion of three-dimensional view was lost. Everything here was unofficial, either appropriated from other sites in the L1 cloud, or made from diamonds and ice and airsnow. Ali Lin had even come up with a fungal matrix that allowed the growing of incredible wood, complete with grain and something like growth rings. Sometime during Ezr's long absence, the bar and the walls had all been paneled in dark, polished wood. It was a comfortable place, almost what free Qeng Ho might make. . . .

The parlor's tables were carved with the names of people you might not have seen for years, people on Watch s.h.i.+fts that didn't overlap your own. The picture above the bar was a continuously updated copy of Nau's Watch Chart. As with most things, the Emergents used standard Qeng Ho notation. A single glance at the chart and you could see how many Msecs-objective time or personal-it would be before you ever met any particular person.

During Ezr's off-Watch, Benny had added to the Watch Chart. Now it showed the current Spider date, in Trixia's notation: 60//21. The twenty-first year of the current Spider "generation," which was the sixtieth sun-cycle since the founding of some dynasty or other. There was an old Qeng Ho saying, "You know you've stayed too long when you start using the locals' calendar." 60//21. Twenty-one years since the Relight, since Jimmy and the others had died. After the generation and year number, there were the day number and the time in Ladille "hours" and "minutes," a base-sixty system that the translators had never bothered to rationalize. And now everyone who came to the bar could read those times as easily as they could read a Qeng Ho chron. They knew to the second when Trixia's show would begin.

Trixia's show.Ezr ground his teeth hard together. A public slave show, and the worst of it was that no one seemed to care. Bit by bit, we arebecoming Emergents. Bit by bit, we arebecoming Emergents.

Jau Xin and Rita Liao and half a dozen other couples-two of them Qeng Ho-were cl.u.s.tered around their usual tables, babbling about what might happen today. Ezr sat at the periphery of the group, fascinated and repelled. Nowadays, even some of the Emergents were his friends. Jau Xin, for instance. Xin and Liao had much of the Emergent moral blindness, but they also had touching, human problems. And sometimes, when no one else might notice, Ezr saw something in Xin's eyes. Jau was bright, academically inclined. Except for his good luck in the Emergent lottery, his university days would have ended in Focus. Most Emergents could double-think their way around such things; sometimes Jau could not.

"-so afraid this will be the last show," Rita Liao looked genuinely distraught.

"Don't gloom on it, Rita. We don't even know if this is a serious problem."

"That's for sure." Gonle Fong drifted in headfirst, from above. She distributed flasks of Diamonds and Ice all around. "I think the zipheads-" She glanced apologetically at Ezr. "-I think the translators have finally lost it. The ads for this show just don't make any sense."

"No, no. They're really quite clear." It was one of the Emergents, with a fairly good explanation of what the "out-of-phase perversion" was all about. The problem wasn't with the translators; the problem was with the human ability to accept the bizarre.

"The Children's Hour of Science" had been one of the first voice broadcasts that Trixia and the others had translated. Just mapping audio to the previously translated written forms had been a triumph. The early shows-fifteen objective years ago-had been printed translations. They'd been discussed in Benny's parlor, but with the same abstract interest as the latest ziphead theories about the OnOff star. As the years pa.s.sed, the show had become popular for itself. Fine. Fine. But sometime in the last 50Msec, Qiwi Lin had worked a deal with Trud Silipan. Every nine or ten days, Trixia and the other translators were put on exhibit, a live show. So far this Watch, Ezr hadn't spoken more than ten words to Qiwi. But sometime in the last 50Msec, Qiwi Lin had worked a deal with Trud Silipan. Every nine or ten days, Trixia and the other translators were put on exhibit, a live show. So far this Watch, Ezr hadn't spoken more than ten words to Qiwi. She promised to look afterTrixia. What do you say to someone who breaks such a promise? She promised to look afterTrixia. What do you say to someone who breaks such a promise? Even now, he didn't believe Qiwi was a traitor. But she was in bed with Tomas Nau. Maybe she used that "position" to protect Qeng Ho interests. Maybe. In the end, it all seemed to benefit Nau. Even now, he didn't believe Qiwi was a traitor. But she was in bed with Tomas Nau. Maybe she used that "position" to protect Qeng Ho interests. Maybe. In the end, it all seemed to benefit Nau.

Ezr had seen four "performances" now. More than any normal human translator, far more than any machine system, each ziphead put emotion and body language into the interpretation.

"Rappaport Digby" was the zipheads' name for the show's host. ( Wheredo they get those crazy names? Wheredo they get those crazy names?People still asked that. Ezr knew the names came mostly from Trixia. That was one of the few things he and Trixia could really talk about, his knowledge of the First Cla.s.sicism. Sometimes she asked him for new words. In fact, Ezr Ezr had suggested the "Digby" name, years ago. The word fit something she saw in the background of this particular Spider.) Ezr knew the translator who played Rappaport Digby. Outside of the show, Zinmin Broute was a typical ziphead, irritable, fixated, uncommunicative. But now, when he appeared as the Spider Rappaport Digby, he was kindly and garrulous, a patient explainer to children.. . .It was like seeing a zombie briefly animated by someone else's soul. had suggested the "Digby" name, years ago. The word fit something she saw in the background of this particular Spider.) Ezr knew the translator who played Rappaport Digby. Outside of the show, Zinmin Broute was a typical ziphead, irritable, fixated, uncommunicative. But now, when he appeared as the Spider Rappaport Digby, he was kindly and garrulous, a patient explainer to children.. . .It was like seeing a zombie briefly animated by someone else's soul.

Each new Watch saw the Spider children a little differently. After all, most Watches were only a twenty-five-percent duty cycle; the Spider children lived four years for every one that most s.p.a.cers lived. Rita and some of the others took to visualizing human children to go with the voices. The pictures were scattered across the parlor's wallpaper. Pictures of imaginary human children, with the names Trixia had chosen. "Jirlib" was short, with tousled dark hair and a mischievous smile. "Brent" was larger, not as c.o.c.ky-looking as his brother. Benny had told him how Ritser Brughel once replaced the smiling faces with pictures of real Spiders: low-slung, skeletal, armored-images from the statuary Ezr had seen in his landing on Arachna, supplemented with low-res pics from the snoopersats.

Brughel's vandalism hadn't mattered; he didn't understand what was behind the popularity of "The Children's Hour." Tomas Nau obviously did did understand, and was perfectly content that the customers at Benny's booze parlor could sublimate the greatest personnel problem his little kingdom faced. Even more than the Qeng Ho expedition, the Emergents had expected to live in luxury. They had expected that there would be ever-expanding resources, that marriages planned at home could result in children and families here in the OnOff system. . . . understand, and was perfectly content that the customers at Benny's booze parlor could sublimate the greatest personnel problem his little kingdom faced. Even more than the Qeng Ho expedition, the Emergents had expected to live in luxury. They had expected that there would be ever-expanding resources, that marriages planned at home could result in children and families here in the OnOff system. . . .

Now all that was postponed. Our own out-of-phase taboo. Our own out-of-phase taboo. Couples like Xin and Liao had only their dreams for the future-and the children's words and children's thoughts that came from the translation of "The Children's Hour." Couples like Xin and Liao had only their dreams for the future-and the children's words and children's thoughts that came from the translation of "The Children's Hour."

Even before the live shows, the humans noticed that all the children were the same age. Year by Arachnan year they aged, but when new children came on the show, they were the same age as those replaced. The earliest translations had been lessons about magnetism and static electricity, all free of mathematics. Later the lessons introduced a.n.a.lysis and quant.i.tative methods.

About two years ago, there had been a subtle change, remarked on in the ziphead's written reports-and instantly, instinctively noticed by Jau Xin and Rita Liao: "Jirlib" and "Brent" had appeared on the show. They were introduced as any other children, but Trixia's translations made them seem younger younger than the others. Showmaster Digby never remarked on the difference, and the math and science in the show continued to become more sophisticated. than the others. Showmaster Digby never remarked on the difference, and the math and science in the show continued to become more sophisticated.

"Victory Junior" and "Gokna" were the latest additions to the cast, new on this Watch. Ezr had seen Trixia play them. Her voice had hopped with childish impatience; sometimes she had bubbled with laughter. Rita's pictures showed these two Spiders as laughing seven-year-olds. It was all too pat. Why should the average age of children on the show be declining? Benny claimed the explanation was obvious. "The Children's Hour" must be under new management. The ubiquitous Sherkaner Underhill was credited with writing the lessons now. And Underhill was apparently the father of all the new children.

By the time Ezr had returned from coldsleep, the show was packing the parlor to capacity. Ezr saw four performances, each a private horror for him. And then, surcease. "The Children's Hour" had not been broadcast for twenty days now. Instead, there had been a stern announcement: "After numerous listener allegations, the owners of this broadcasting station have determined that the family of Sherkaner Underhill practices the out-of-phase perversion. Pending resolution of this situation, broadcasts of 'The Children's Hour of Science' are suspended." Broute had read the announcement with a voice quite unlike that of Rappaport Digby. The new voice was cold and distant, and full of indignation.

For once, the alienness of Arachna penetrated all the glib wishful thinking. So Spider tradition only allowed new children at the beginning of a New Sun. Generations were strictly separated, each marching through life as a same-aged group. The humans had only guesses for why this should be the case, but apparently "The Children's Hour" had been a cover for a major violation of the taboo. The show missed one scheduled broadcast, two. In Benny's booze parlor, things were sad and empty; Rita began to talk of taking down the silly pictures. And Ezr began to hope that maybe this was the end of the circus.

But that was too much to hope. Four days ago, the gloom had abruptly lifted, even if the mystery remained. Broadcasts from radio stations all across the "Goknan Accord" announced that a spokesman for the Church of the Dark would meet in debate with Sherkaner Underhill about the "propriety" of his radio show. Trud Silipan had promised that the zipheads would be ready, able to translate this new show format.

Now Benny's show-time clock was counting down the seconds to this special edition of "The Children's Hour."

In his usual place on the other side of the parlor, Trud Silipan seemed to ignore the suspense. He and Pham Trinli were talking in low tones. The two were constant drinking buddies, planning great deals that never seemed to go anywhere. Funny, I used to think Trinli was a loud buffoon. Funny, I used to think Trinli was a loud buffoon. Pham's "magic localizer" claims had not been a bluff; Ezr had noticed the dustmotes. Nau and Brughel had begun using the gadgets. Somehow, Pham Trinli had known a secret about the localizers that had been missing from the innermost sections of the fleet library. Ezr Vinh might be the only one to realize it, but Pham Trinli was not totally a buffoon. More and more, Ezr guessed that the old man was in no part a fool. There were secrets hidden all through the fleet library; there had to be in anything that old and that large. But for a secret that important to be known by this man. . .Pham Trinli must go back a Pham's "magic localizer" claims had not been a bluff; Ezr had noticed the dustmotes. Nau and Brughel had begun using the gadgets. Somehow, Pham Trinli had known a secret about the localizers that had been missing from the innermost sections of the fleet library. Ezr Vinh might be the only one to realize it, but Pham Trinli was not totally a buffoon. More and more, Ezr guessed that the old man was in no part a fool. There were secrets hidden all through the fleet library; there had to be in anything that old and that large. But for a secret that important to be known by this man. . .Pham Trinli must go back a long long way. way.

"Hey, Trud!" shouted Rita, pointing at the clock. "Where are your zipheads?" The parlor's wallpaper still looked out on the forests of some Balacrean nature preserve.

Trud Silipan rose from his table and floated down before the crowd. "It's okay, folks. I just got word. Princeton Radio has started the 'Children's Hour' intro. Director Reynolt will bring out the zipheads in a moment. They're still synching with the word stream."

Liao's irritation melted away. "Great! Good going, Trud."

Silipan gave a bow, accepting kudos for what was a zero contribution on his part. "So, in a few moments we should know what strange things this Underhill creature has been doing with his children.. . ." He c.o.c.ked his head, listening to his private data feed. "And here they are!"

The dripping, blue-green forest landscape disappeared. The bar side of the room suddenly seemed to extend into one of the meeting rooms down on Hammerfest. Anne Reynolt slid in from the right, her form distorted by the perspective angle; that part of the wallpaper just couldn't handle 3D. Behind Reynolt came a couple of technicians and five zipheads. . .Focused persons. One of those was Trixia.

This was where Ezr wanted to start screaming-or run off to some dark place and pretend the world didn't exist. Normally the Emergents hid their zipheads deep within their systems, as if they felt some remnant shame. Normally the Emergents liked to get results from computer and head-up displays, all graphics and hygienically filtered data. Benny had told him that in the beginning Qiwi's freak show had just been the zipheads' voices piped into the parlor. Then Trud told everyone about the translators' byplay, and the show went visual. Surely the zipheads couldn't intuit body language from a Spider audio. That didn't seem to matter; the byplay might be nonsense, but it was what the ghouls around him wanted.

Trixia was dressed in loose fatigues. Her hair floated out, partly tangled. Ezr had combed it sleek less than 40Ksec earlier. She shrugged off her handlers and grabbed the edge of a table. She was looking this way and that, and mumbling to herself. She wiped her face on the sleeve of her fatigue blouse and pulled herself down to a chair restraint. The others followed her, looking as abstracted as Trixia. Most were wearing huds. Ezr knew the sort of thing they were seeing and hearing, the midlevel transduction of the Spider language. That was Trixia's entire world.

"We're synched, Director," one of the techs said to Reynolt.

The Emergent Director for Human Resources floated down the rank of slaves, moving the fidgeting zipheads about for reasons that Ezr couldn't guess. After all this time, Ezr knew the woman had a special talent. She was a stone-eyed b.i.t.c.h, but she knew how to get results from zipheads.

"Okay, start 'em running-" She moved up, out of the way. Zinmin Broute had risen against his seat, and was already speaking in his ponderous announcer's voice. "My name is Rappaport Digby, and this is 'The Children's Hour of Science.'. . ."

Daddy took them all to the radio station that day. Jirlib and Brent were up on the top deck of the car, acting very serious and grown-up-and they looked near enough to in-phase that they didn't attract attention. Rhapsa and Little Hrunk were still tiny enough to perch in Daddy's fur; it might be another year before they rejected being called the babies of the family.

Gokna and Victory Junior sat in the back, each on her separate perch. Victory stared out through the smoky gla.s.s at the streets of Princeton. This all made her feel a little like royalty. She tilted her head slyly in her sister's direction; maybe Gokna was her handmaiden.

Gokna sniffed imperiously. They were alike enough that she was certainly thinking the same thing-with herself as Great Ruler. "Daddy, if you're doing the show today, why are we even along?"

Daddy laughed. "Oh, you never know. The Church of the Dark thinks they own the Right. But I wonder if their debater even knows any out-of-phase children. Underneath all the indignation, she might be likable. In person, she might not be able to breathe fire on little ones just because they aren't the right age."

That was possible. Victory thought of Uncle Hrunk, who hated the idea of their family. . .and loved them at the same time.

The car drove through crowded streets, up the crosstown avenue that led to the radio hills. Princeton Station was the oldest in the city-Daddy said it began broadcasting before the last Dark, when it was a military radio station. In this generation, the owners had built on the original foundations. They could have had their studios in town, but they made a big thing of their great tradition. So the drive to the station was exciting, wrapping round and round a hill that was the tallest ever, much taller than even the one they lived on. Outside, there was still morning frost on the ground. Victory pushed over onto Gokna's perch and the two swayed out for a better look. This was the middle of winter, and they were almost to the Middle Years of the Sun, but this was only the second time they had seen frost. Gokna jabbed a hand out toward the east. "Look, we're high enough now-you can see the Craggies!"

"And there's snow snow on them!" The two squealed the words together. But the distant glint was really the color of morning frost. It might be a couple more years before firstsnow came to the Princeton area, even in midwinter. What would it be like to walk in snow? What would it be like to fall in a drift of it? For a moment, the two pondered the questions, forgetting the other events of the day-the radio debate that had preoccupied everyone, even the General, for the last ten days. on them!" The two squealed the words together. But the distant glint was really the color of morning frost. It might be a couple more years before firstsnow came to the Princeton area, even in midwinter. What would it be like to walk in snow? What would it be like to fall in a drift of it? For a moment, the two pondered the questions, forgetting the other events of the day-the radio debate that had preoccupied everyone, even the General, for the last ten days.

At first, all of the cobblies and especially Jirlib had been afraid of this debate. "It's the end of the show," their elder brother said. "Now the public knows about us." The General had come up from Lands Command especially to tell them there was nothing to worry about, that Daddy would take care of the complaints. But she didn't say they would get their radio show back again. General Victory Smith was used to briefing troops and staff. She didn't quite have the knack for rea.s.suring children. Secretly, Gokna and Victory thought that maybe this flap about the radio show made Mom more nervous than any of the wartime adventures that lurked in her past.

Daddy was the only one who wasn't caught in the gloom. "This is what I've been waiting for all along," he told Mom when she came up from Lands Command. "It's more than time to go public. This debate will bring lots of things out into the open." Those were the same ideas that Mom spoke of, but from Daddy they sounded joyous. The last ten days, he had been playing with them even more than usual. "You're my special experts for this debate, so I can spend all my time with you and still be the dutiful worker." He had sidled dolefully from side to side, pretending to work at an invisible job. The babies had loved it, and even Jirlib and Brent seemed to accept their father's optimism. The General had departed for the south the night before; as usual, she had lots more to worry about than family problems.

The top of Radio Hill was above the tree line. Low furze covered the ground by the parking circle. The children got out, marveling at the chill that was still in the air. Little Victory felt an odd burning all along her breathing pa.s.sages, as if. . .as if frost frost was forming there. Was that possible? was forming there. Was that possible?

"Come along children. Gokna, don't gawk." Daddy and his older sons herded them up the broad old steps of the station. The stone was flame-pitted and unpolished, like the owners wanted people to think they represented some ancient tradition.

The walls inside were hung with photo-impressions, portraits of the owners and the inventors of radio (the same people, in this case). All of them except Rhapsa and Hrunk had been here before. Jirlib and Brent had been doing the radio show for two years, taking over from the in-phase children when Daddy bought the show's franchise. Both boys sounded older than they really were, and Jirlib was smart as most adults. n.o.body had seemed to suspect their true age. Daddy had been a little irritated by that. "I want people to guess on their own-but they're too foolish to imagine the truth!" So finally, Gokna and Victory Junior had been added to the show. That had been fun, pretending to be years older, playing up to the dumb scripts they used on the show. And Mr. Digby had been nice, even if he was no real scientist.

Still, both Gokna and Junior still had very young-sounding voices. Eventually, someone had overcome their faith in the goodness of all radio broadcasts, and realized that serious perversion was being flaunted across the public's maw. But Princeton Radio was privately owned, and more important, it owned its patch of spectrum and had interference eas.e.m.e.nts on nearby bands. The owners were Generation 58 cobbers who were still counting their money. Unless the Church of the Dark could make an effective listener boycott, Princeton Radio was going to keep "The Children's Hour." Hence this debate.

"Ah, Dr. Underhill, such a pleasure pleasure !" Madame Subtrime came sweeping out of her cubicle. The station manager was all legs and pointy hands, with a body scarcely bigger than her head. Gokna and Viki got plenty of laughs imitating her. "You won't believe the interest this debate has generated. We are forwarding to the East Coast, and copies will be on the shortwave. I tell you without exaggeration, we have listeners from just !" Madame Subtrime came sweeping out of her cubicle. The station manager was all legs and pointy hands, with a body scarcely bigger than her head. Gokna and Viki got plenty of laughs imitating her. "You won't believe the interest this debate has generated. We are forwarding to the East Coast, and copies will be on the shortwave. I tell you without exaggeration, we have listeners from just all all over!" over!"

I tell you without exaggeration. . .Hidden from the manager, Gokna waggled her mouth parts in time with the words. Viki kept her own aspect prim, and pretended not to notice.

Daddy tipped his head to the manager. "I'm glad to be so popular, Madame."

"Oh, yes, indeed! We've got sponsors killing each other for the slots in this time. Simply killing killing each other!" She smiled down at the children. "I've arranged that you can watch from our engineer's loft." each other!" She smiled down at the children. "I've arranged that you can watch from our engineer's loft."

They all knew where that was, but they followed obediently along, listening to her unending gush. None of them really knew what Madame Subtrime thought of them. Jirlib claimed that she was no fool, that under all the words lurked a cold counter of cash. "She knows to the tenth-penny how much she can earn for the old cobbers by outraging the public." Maybe, but Viki liked her even so, and even forgave her shrill and foolish talk. Too many people were so stuck on their beliefs that nothing would bend them.

"Didi's on duty this hour. You know her." Madame Subtrime stopped at the entrance to the engineer's loft. For the first time she seemed to notice the babies peeking out of Sherkaner Underhill's fur. "My, you do have all ages, don't you? I. . .will they be safe with your children? I don't know who else could take care of them."

"Quite all right, Madame. I intend to introduce Rhapsa and Little Hrunk to the representative of the Church."

Madam Subtrime froze. For a full second, all the fidgety legs and hands were simultaneously motionless. It was the first time Viki had seen her really, really really taken aback. Then her body relaxed into a slow, broad smile. "Dr. Underhill! Has anyone ever told you you're a genius?" taken aback. Then her body relaxed into a slow, broad smile. "Dr. Underhill! Has anyone ever told you you're a genius?"

Daddy grinned back. "Never with such good reason.. . .Jirlib, make sure everyone stays in the room with Didi. If I want you to come out, you'll know it."

The cobblies climbed into the engineering loft. Didire Ultmot was slouched on her usual perch overlooking the controls. A thick gla.s.s wall separated the room from the soundstage itself. It was soundproof, and darned hard to see through, too. The children edged close to the gla.s.s. There was someone already perched on the stage.

Didire waved a hand at them. "That's the Church's rep out there. The cobber came an hour early." Didi was her usual, faintly impatient, self. She was a very good-looking twenty-one-year-old. Didi wasn't as smart as some of Daddy's students, but she was bright. She was Princeton Radio's chief technician. At fourteen she had been a prime-time operator, and knew as much about electrical engineering as Jirlib. In fact, she wanted to become an electrical engineer. All that had come across the first time Jirlib and Brent met her, back when they started on the show. Viki remembered the strange way Jirlib had acted when he told them about that meeting; he seemed almost in awe of the Didire creature. She was nineteen then, and Jirlib was twelve. . .but big for his age. It took her two shows to realize that Jirlib was out-of-phase. She had taken the surprise as an intentional, personal insult. Poor Jirlib walked around like his legs were broken for a few days. He got over it-after all, there would be worse rejections in the future.

Didire more or less got over it, too. As long as Jirlib kept his distance, she was civil. And sometimes, when she forgot herself, Didi was more fun than any current-generation person that Viki knew. When they weren't onstage, she would let Viki and Gokna sit by her perch and watch her tweak the dozens of controls. Didire was very proud of her control panel. In fact-except that the frame was furniture wood and not sheet metal-it looked almost as scientific as some of the gear at Hill House.

"So what's this church cobber like?" asked Gokna. She and Viki had pressed their main eyes flat against the gla.s.s wall. The gla.s.s was so thick that lots of colors could not penetrate. The stranger perched onstage could have been dead for all the far-red you could see of her.

Didi shrugged. "Name's 'Honored Pedure.' She talks funny. I think she's a Tiefer. And that cleric's shawl she's wearing? It's not just our crummy view from the control room: that shawl really is dark, dark, across all colors but the farthest reds." across all colors but the farthest reds."

Hmm. Expensive. Mom had a dress uniform like that, only most people never saw her in it.

A wicked smile grew across Didi's aspect. "I bet she pukes when she sees the babies in your father's fur."

No such luck. But when Sherkaner Underhill came in a few seconds later, the Honored Pedure stiffened under her shapeless cowl. A second later, Rappaport Digby trotted onto the stage and grabbed an earphone. Digby had been with "The Children's Hour" from the beginning, long before Jirlib and Brent had started on the show. He was an old coot, and Brent claimed he was really one of the station owners. Viki didn't believe it, not after the way Didi sa.s.sed him.

"Okay, everybody." Didi's voice came amplified now. Daddy and the Honored Pedure straightened, each hearing the words from the speaker on their side. "We're coming up on fifteen seconds. Will you be ready, Master Digby, or should I play some dead air?"

Digby's snout was stuck in a wad of written notes. "Laugh if you like, Miss Ultmot, but air time is money. One way or another, I will-"

"Three, two, one-" Didi cut her speaker and stabbed a long, pointed hand in Digby's direction.

The cobber picked up his cue as if he'd been waiting in patient alertness. His words had the usual smooth dignity, the trademark that had introduced the show for more than fifteen years: "My name is Rappaport Digby, and this is 'The Children's Hour of Science.'. . ."

When Zinmin Broute spoke in translation, his motions were no longer fitful and compulsive. He looked directly forward and smiled or frowned with emotions that seemed very real. And maybe they were real-for some armored spider creature down on the surface of Arachna. Occasionally there was some hesitation, a glitch in the intermediate conversions. Even more rarely, Broute would turn away, perhaps when some important cue appeared off-center in his head-up. But unless you knew what to look for, the fellow seemed to be speaking as fluently as any human announcer reading from notes written in his birth language.

Broute as Digby began with a little self-congratulatory history of the radio program, then described the shadow that had fallen upon it in recent days. "Out of phase," "perversion of birth." Broute rattled off the words as if he'd known them all his life. "This afternoon, we are back on the air as promised. The charges made in recent days are grave. Ladies and gentlemen, these charges of themselves are true."

The silence was a dramatic three beat, and then: "So my friends, you may wonder what gave us the courage-or the impudence-to return. For the answer to that, I ask you to listen to this afternoon's edition of 'The Children's Hour.' Whether we continue in the future will largely depend on your reactions to what you hear today. . . ."

Silipan snorted. "What a money-grubbing hypocrite." Xin and the others waved at him to shut up. Trud sailed over to sit beside Ezr. This had happened before; he seemed to think that because Ezr sat at the edge, somehow he wanted to hear Silipan's a.n.a.lysis.

Beyond the wallpaper, Broute was introducing the debaters. Silipan anch.o.r.ed a comp to his knee and flipped it open. It was a clumsy Emergent thing, but it had ziphead support and that made it more effective than anything Humankind had created before. He punched the Explain key and a tiny voice gave him background: "Officially, the Honored Pedure represents the traditional Church. In fact-" The voice coming from Trud's comp paused, presumably while hardware searched databases. "-Pedure is a foreigner to the Goknan Accord. She's probably an agent of the Kindred government."

Xin looked around at them, momentarily losing track of Broute-Digby. "Pus, these people take their fundamentalism seriously. Does Underhill know about this?"

The voice from Trud's hand comp replied. "It's possible. 'Sherkaner Underhill' is strongly correlated with Accord's security communications. . . .To date, we haven't seen any military message traffic discussing this debate, but the Spider civilization is not yet well automated. There could be things we're missing."

Trud spoke to the device: "I have a lowest-pri background task for you. What would the Kindred want from this debate?" He glanced up at Jau and shrugged. "Dunno if we'll get any answer. Things are pretty busy."

Broute was almost done with his introductions. Honored Pedure was to be played by a Xopi Reung. Xopi was a thin little Emergent. Ezr knew her name only from studying rosters and talking to Anne Reynolt. I wonder ifanyone else here knows the woman's name? I wonder ifanyone else here knows the woman's name? thought Ezr. Certainly not Jau and Rita. Trud would, just as a livestock herder in primitive times would know his property. Xopi Reung was young; she had been brought out of the freezer to replace what Silipan called "a senility failure." Reung had been on-Watch for about 40Msec. She was responsible for most of the progress in learning other Spider languages, in particular "Tiefic." And she was already the second-best translator of "Standard Accord" speech. Someday, she might very well be better than Trixia. In a sane world, Xopi Reung would have been a premier academic, famous across her solar system. But Xopi Reung had been selected in the Podmaster Lottery. While Xin and Liao and Silipan led fully conscious lives, Xopi Reung was part of the automation in the walls, unseen except for the occasional peculiar circ.u.mstance. thought Ezr. Certainly not Jau and Rita. Trud would, just as a livestock herder in primitive times would know his property. Xopi Reung was young; she had been brought out of the freezer to replace what Silipan called "a senility failure." Reung had been on-Watch for about 40Msec. She was responsible for most of the progress in learning other Spider languages, in particular "Tiefic." And she was already the second-best translator of "Standard Accord" speech. Someday, she might very well be better than Trixia. In a sane world, Xopi Reung would have been a premier academic, famous across her solar system. But Xopi Reung had been selected in the Podmaster Lottery. While Xin and Liao and Silipan led fully conscious lives, Xopi Reung was part of the automation in the walls, unseen except for the occasional peculiar circ.u.mstance.

Xopi Reung spoke: "Thank you, Master Digby. The Radio of Princeton secures itself proud by giving us this time to talk." During Broute's introduction, Reung's attention had flickered all around, birdlike. Perhaps her huds were out of adjustment, or maybe she preferred to scatter important cues all about her visual field. But when she started talking, something feral came into her eyes.

"Not a very good translation," someone complained.

"She's new, remember," said Trud.

"Or maybe this Pedure really does talk funny. You said she's a foreigner."

Reung-as-Pedure leaned out over the table. Her voice came silky and low. "Twenty days ago, we all discovered a corruption afester in what millions of people had been taking for years into their homes, into their husbands' and children's ears." She continued for several moments, speaking awkward sentences that seemed very self-righteous. Then: "So it is fitting that the Radio of Princeton should now give us opportunity to cleanse the community's air." She paused, "I-I-" It was as though she couldn't think of the right words. For an instant she seemed the ziphead again, fidgeting, her head c.o.c.ked. Then abruptly she slammed her palm against the surface of the table. She pulled herself down to her chair and shut up.

"I told you, that one's not much of a translator."

TWENTY-FOUR.