Firepower and communications. Ravna grinned at him. Pham's human memories alone would be enough to save the kids on Tines World. He hadn't talked any more of Old One's plans. Old One's plans… in Ravna's mind those were something like fate, perhaps good, perhaps terrible, but unknown for now. And even fate can be weaseled. "How about it, Blueshell?" she said. "Is radio something they can produce quickly, from a standing start?" On Nyjora, radio had come almost contemporary with orbital flight — a good century into the renaissance.
"Indeed, My Lady Ravna. There are simple tricks that are almost never noticed till a very high technology is attained. For instance, quantum torsion antennas can be built from silver and cobalt steel arrays, if the geometry is correct. Unfortunately, finding the proper geometry involves lots of theory and the ability to solve some large partial differential equations. There are many Slow Zoners who never discover the principle."
"Okay," said Pham. "But there's still a translation problem. Jefri has probably heard the word 'cobalt' before, but how can he describe it to people who don't have the referent? Without knowing a lot more about their world, we couldn't even describe how to find cobalt— bearing ore."
"That will slow things down," Blueshell admitted. "But the program accounts for it. Mr. Steel seems to understand the concept of experimentation. For cobalt, we can provide him with a tree of experiments based on descriptions of likely ores and appropriate chemical tests."
"It's not quite that simple," said Greenstalk. "Some of the chemical tests themselves involve search/test trees. And there are other experiments needed to check toxicity. We know far less about the pack creatures than is usual with this program."
Pham smiled. "I hope these creatures are properly grateful; I never heard of 'quantum torsional antennas'. The Tines are ending up with comm gear that Qeng Ho never had."
But the gift could be made. The question was, could it be done in time to save Jefri and his ship from the Woodcarvers? The four of them ran the program again and again. They knew so little about the pack creatures themselves. The Hidden Island Kingdom appeared fairly flexible. If they were willing to go all out to follow the directions, and if they had good luck in finding nearby sources for critical materials, then it looked like they might have limited supplies of firearms and radios inside of one hundred days. On the other hand, if the packs of Hidden Island ended up chasing down some worst-case branches of the search trees, things might stretch out to a few years.
Ravna found it hard to accept that no matter what the four of them did, saving Jefri from the Woodcarvers would be partly a matter of luck. Sigh. In the end, she took the best scheme the Riders could produce, translated it into simple Samnorsk, and sent it down.
Steel had always admired military architecture. Now he was adding a new chapter to the book, building a castle that protected against the sky as well as the land around. By now the boxy "ship" on stilts was known across the continent. Before another summer passed, there would be enemy armies here, trying to take — or at least destroy — the prize that had come to him. Far more deadly: the star people would be here. He must be ready.
Steel inspected the work almost every day now. The stone replacement for the palisade was in place all across the south perimeter. On the cliffside, overlooking Hidden Island, his new den was almost complete… had been complete for some time, a part of him grumbled. He really should move over here; the safety of Hidden Island was fast becoming illusion. Starship Hill was already the center of the Movement — and that wasn't just propaganda. What the Flenser embassies abroad called "the oracle on Starship Hill" was more than a glib liar could dream. Whoever stood nearest that oracle would ultimately rule, no matter how clever Steel might be otherwise. He had already transferred or executed several attendants, packs who seemed just a little too friendly with Amdijefri.
