A Fire Upon The Deep (Zones of Thought series Book 1) by Vernor Vinge

Author:Vernor Vinge [Vinge, Vernor]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2007-03-19T16:00:00+00:00

“By the Fleet, what I wouldn’t give to be out there with them!” Pham Nuwen waved at the views coming in from the skrode cameras. Ever since the Riders left he’d been at the windows, alternately gaping wide-eyed at the ringscape and bouncing abstractedly between the command deck’s floor and ceiling. Ravna had never seen him so absorbed, so intense. However fraudulent his memories of trading days, he truly thought he could make a difference. And he may be right.

Pham came down from the ceiling, pulled close to the screen. It looked like serious bargaining was about to begin. The Skroderiders had arrived in a spherical room perhaps fifty meters across. Apparently they were floating near the center of it. A forest grew inward from all directions, and the Riders seemed to float just a few meters from the tree tops. Here and there between the branches they could see the ground, a mosaic of flowers.

Saint Rihndell’s sales creatures were scattered all about the tallest trees. Each sat with its ivory limbs grasping a tree top. Tusk-leg races were a common thing in the galaxy, but these were the first Ravna had known. The body plan was totally unlike anything from home, and even now she didn’t have a clear idea of their appearance. Sitting in the trees, their legs had more of the aspect of skeletal fingers grasping around the trunk. Their chief rep—who claimed to be Saint Rihndell itself—had scrimshaw covering two-thirds of its ivory. Two of the windows showed the carving close up; Pham seemed to think that understanding the artwork might be useful.

Progress was slow. Triskweline was the common language, but good interpreting devices didn’t work this deep in the Beyond, and Saint Rihndell’s people were only marginally familiar with the trade talk. Ravna was used to clean translations. Even the Net messages she dealt with were usually intelligible, though sometimes misleadingly so.

They’d been talking for twenty minutes and had only just established that Saint Rihndell might have the ability to repair OOB. It was the usual Riderly driftiness, and something more. The tedium seemed to please Pham Nuwen. “Rav, this is almost like a Qeng Ho operation, face-to-face with critters and scarcely a common language.”

“We sent them a description of our repair problem hours ago. Why should it take so long for a simple yes or no?”

“Because they’re haggling,” said Pham, his grin broadening. “‘Honest’ Saint Rihndell here”—he waved at the scrimshawed local—“wants to convince us just how hard the job is…. Lord, I wish I was out there.”

Even Blueshell and Greenstalk seemed a little strange now. Their Triskweline was stripped down, barely more complex than Saint Rihndell’s. And much of the discussion seemed very roundabout. Working for Vrinimi, Ravna had had some experience with sales and trading. But haggling? You had your pricing databases and strategy support, and directions from Grondr’s people. You either had a deal or you didn’t. What was going on between the Riders and Saint Rihndell was one of the more alien things Ravna had ever seen.

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