The Price of Flight – part twenty
After my brush with that emissary of Pestilence called Covid-19, let's get back into it now my enthusiasm has returned.
There is an Arms Race going on between two superpowers. This could be called the Syrrittan Flying Sheep Crisis, where Klatch and Ankh-Morpork are in a staring contest while the rest of the Disc watches to see who blinks first.
In which planning and action step up a notch
V0.3, awaiting those damn typos to reveal themselves, as well as those nominated by eagle-eyed revisions, and spot rewrites to add extra detail and little improvements to clunky text. Gods damn. One missed bloody typo that changed Vetinari's gender. Can't have this.
The skies over Ankh-Morpork. Friday 7th Grune, late afternoon.
"Valkyrie Leader to Drop-Bear and White Death. Form on me, standard vic. Acknowledge. Over."
-Got it, Pilkunnussija. Over.
-Right with you, Valkyrie. Hey, this bastard really moves!
"Valkyrie Leader to flight. Now you know how to fly these birds, let's give them a performance. On my mark, move to flight pattern Synchro One. Three, two, one…."
Crowds had turned out in the street to watch this. The MIG-21 was not in any way a stealth broom. With the thaumic sonic generator set on full, it made noise. It didn't have to. But Hanna von Strafenburg had argued the fact that if you couldn't easily hide it, let's turn that to advantage, and introduce an element of shock and awe.
And as she had reminded Darleen and Kiiki, they'd done this aerobatic stuff before, on 109's and on the problematical 262's. You know the moves. Let's give them a show to watch.
And the streets were full, the rooftops crowded, shops and factories had turned out, and as Hanna had glimpsed briefly, the garden at the Klatchian Embassy was full of people looking up, and watching.
Perfect.
The three pilots launched into a display of precision, synchronised, flying. Twisters, rolls, corkscrews, acceleration to ten thousand in an unbelievably short length of time, then a slalom roll and what Hanna called the stuka(1)-dive, almost as if they were on a bombing run. As they pulled up from the dive almost at rooftop level, the three brooms over-flew the Klatchian Embassy, the slipstream shaking windows and dislodging roof-tiles, the noise causing people on the ground to run away holding their ears. After a low-level crossing of Hide Park, they climbed again. (2) This time the three activated smoke-generators on their broomsticks, trailing a crowd-pleasing trail of red, white and blue. More aerial manoeuvres followed.
-White Death to Pilkunnussija. See that big rug, half-angel low? Looks like the mulkkus we can't touch, because they point to the diplomatic plates and tell us to go perkele. Over.
-Valkyrie to White Death. Up here, try "Valkyrie", for a change? It's shorter. I see them. Drop Bear, White Death, go to Synchro Five, as we come out of the roll we overfly them with all smoke on. Acknowledge. Over."
-Got it, Valkyrie. Stupid bastard should know to keep clear while we're up here. Let's choke the bastards. Over.
The alchemical smoke used in air displays has to be thick and dense so as to be visible from the ground and to allow it to persist in the air for long enough. This is not a problem for the pilot as she is usually moving quite quickly. However, for a relatively slower-moving carpet whose crew might perhaps be wondering why their comms to their own control had suddenly failed, who appeared to be having a heated discussion over the equipment occupying a lot of room on the carpet, a sudden ear-splitting roar followed by half-glimpsed somethings in the air above them, followed by thick blinding coloured smoke descending like fog as the three battle-brooms overflew them, crossing from different directions, each broom discharging smoke….
Darleen looked back over her shoulder and grinned at the havoc left in their wake. This was flying. A chance to be a crazy bastard and still get paid for it.
-Valkryie to flight. It's dissipating. And they still have control of the carpet. A great shame when you discharge from that close, it stains anything it touches. Over.
The three flew on, adding a few more spectacular spins and stunts. Eventually Hanna noted they were running low on magic, and ordered a return to the Air Station.
The Thaumatalogical Park, Unseen University.
Ponder Stibbons was finding Gertrude Schilling to be quick-minded, well-read and capable of understanding complex information very quickly. Currently she had an Omnicon on the workbench in front of her, disassembled and with the parts methodically laid out.
"You were able to rebuild the two that the Klatchians attacked. Whatever spell they used was directed at the controlling Imp and destroyed that, along with the primary thaumic relays. The CPU was untouched and could be built into the replacement, with no damage."
She looked down thoughtfully at the parts. A cluster of Research-Wizards looked on, who didn't seem to be all that much at ease with having a technically-minded witch among their number.
"Same damage on both devices. Therefore the same attack spell. So what we should be looking at is to provide protection for the Imp and the relays."
She looked thoughtful and studied the parts again.
"How would it be, Ponder, if we had something in there, like a fuse, that would take the shock of any impact? A deliberate weak point the attacking spell would burn itself out on, leaving the rest untouched? The pilot or a ground-tech could simply replace the fuse. An in-service mod."
"This implies the rest still has to somehow be shielded, though." Ponder said. "And if you shield the crucial parts, that takes away the need to build in a sacrificial fuse."
Ponder frowned. He tried to remember something Johanna had mentioned in passing. Shielding. It had been lost in the pleasure of seeing Mariella and Rivka arrive, and after Irena turned up with vital intelligence, they'd been occupied in mission planning.
Ponder, I wish you'd talk to Ruth….
Something surprising his youngest daughter had done. He frowned, then helped Gertrude, or rather provided little bits and pieces as she set up a sacrificial Omnicon to experiment on.
He watched as, with a Mark One fuse in place, it took two goes to burn out an Omnicon, with a simulated Imp taking the place of the real thing. (3)
Gertrude looked thoughtful.
"Works once." she said. "Then all the attacker needs to do is to fire the spell again. This time it gets through, there's nothing to stop it. It's the shielding problem. It has to stop spells getting in, but the user still needs to receive and send comms. Hmmm."
"The shielding perhaps just needs to protect the critical components." Ponder suggested. "Although we haven't run that crucial experiment yet, we can surmise the CPU itself is pretty much invulnerable. The omniscope fragments themselves survived a powerful burst of magic that burnt out everything around them."
Gertrude considered this.
"Somehow, they're impervious to magic. Or additional magic. Maybe because they're saturated with it. Okay, let's leave them alone for now. Ponder, this interception of our signals. Can you bring me up to date on this?"
Poner Stibbons, recognising that despite the surface appearance of a shy, diffident err-saying mousy-looking young woman, Gertrude was a Witch who was completely at home here, replied
"Well… this is what we know so far…"
Pseudopolis Yard, Ankh-Morpork.
"Okay." Vimes grated, taking a draw on his cigar, which was close enough to the young man's face for him to feel the glow of the coal, and definitely close enough for him to savour the smoke. He eyeballed the interrogee.
He stopped eyeballing the young man for long enough to nod at the older couple sitting in the room, who had to be there as the suspect was under sixteen. They'd already said enough to blow the boy's cover story into tiny bits.
"Let's go through this again, shall we? You are an apprentice to Mr Sprigget, the glass-cutter. You have been heard complaining that your master is a tight-fisted old skinflint who barely pays you a few pennies over bed and board. Mr Sprigget, incidentally, is helping us with our inquiries a few rooms down. Tight-fisted he may be, but there isn't a law against that. He is also, as far as we can tell, innocent in what we are concerned with here. And he is bloody furious, let me tell you, that somebody has imperilled a City and University contract which he describes as "silly money, just for cutting a few bits of glass."
Vimes continued to eyeball the boy.
"And suddenly a young lad, who is paid only a few pennies a day over his bed and board, is in a position to open a bank account, a savings account, with three payments of two hundred dollars each. We've got the bank books. This interests me."
Vimes shook his head at the obliging stupidity of a criminal who, far from hiding the cash in a sock under the bed, then opens a savings account at the Royal Bank. In his own name.
"Laudable, prudent, one eye on the future, starting sensible savings habits young, well done."
Vimes eyeballed him again.
"When asked, you said it was a legacy because your grandfather died…"
"That's a load of nonsense, Mr Vimes." The boy's father said, glaring. "My dad's still alive and so is me father in law."
Vimes nodded appreciation.
"Thank you, Mr Mythamroyd." he said.
"'sides, if either of 'em died, such money as is, we'd see it first." The father said, glaring at his son. His mother joined in with the glare.
"So we've established the story is complete boll… nonsense. Care to tell me where it really came from?"
The boy licked his lips, nervously. He looked up pleadingly at Vimes.
"Will I be hanged, Mr Vimes?"
Sam Vimes decided to go more gently.
"Interesting choice of words there. What makes you think you're going to be hanged? That's usually for the more serious crimes. Like, for instance, murder. Besides, you're way under eighteen."
Vimes very carefully did not mention behaviour likely to imperil or damage the City and its interests. He reflected he may have to raise this later.
"A stay in the Tanty, perhaps. But it's decently run these days. I could have a word with Deputy Governor Bellamy, and mention you did something stupid, once, and you could make a good citizen. Eventually."
The boy looked pleadingly at his parents. His mother looked angry. His father said
"Just tell them what you've done, you silly little bugger."
And the tale emerged. Of the Klatchian who had approached the boy and asked if he'd like to earn a few dollars. After ascertaining that what he had to do to earn a few extra dollars wasn't the thing he'd suspected – you know the Klatchians invented that sort of thing, Mr Vimes - he just had to get his hands on a few fragments of glass waste, but it had to be the right sort of glass.
And when the bloke from the University come round and the old skinflint cut the glass. You knew it was something special because they wanted the splinters back as well, you know, the left-overs. I got the idea it was special glass. Well, my job was to sweep the worktop down afterwards. I put the shavings and bits and the powder in a bag, just pretended to put it in the bin, then give it to the Klatchian. He paid really good dollar for it.
"Can't have been big shavings." Vimes remarked.
"Din't need to be, the Klatchian said. He said even the powdery bits have value. Went away thinking that was the end of it, but he comes back askin' for more. After that, it got to be a habit."
Eventually the boy was taken away. Vimes assured the parents that the court would take age into account, and he, Vimes, would be sure to have a quiet word with people.
Errr… what happens to the money, Mr Vimes?" the father asked. "Only, he's not going to have much use for it where he's goin', and he's under age, an'…"
"We're his responsible guardians, like." his mother said. "We should get it. To look after."
Vimes took a deep breath and showed them out.
Later there was a case conference.
"Looks like we've found the leak." Vimes remarked. "Better brief the Palace. And wherever Olga is right now, get her brought up to date."
"All the others are clean, sir." Carrot reported. "No involvement."
"OK, Carrot. Let them go."
The Thaumatalogical Park, Unseen University.
"So, that's it." Ponder said to Gertrude. "We did everything right here. It was the glassblower's apprentice who was the weak link."
Gertrude Schilling nodded understanding.
"Ponder? You told me this works because all the broken fragments of one Omniscope remain forever in contact with each other." she said. Which is the heart of our Comms system. And you have them cut down into regular small squares to conserve supply and make mass-production easier."
"The optimum size is three-quarters-of-an-inch square." Ponder agreed. "But that's for ease and practicality. You know, final assembly."
Gertrude smiled, as if she'd worked something out.
"But there's no lower limit, Ponder." she remarked. "If I hear you correctly, fragments of that Omniscope will still link to each other however small they are. Even if you got all the larger bits back from the glass-cutter, the powder and the tiny tiny pieces, the ones the apprentice swept up and sold to the Klatchians, the bits nobody paid any attention to because they were just workshop waste…"
"And in theory, Omniscope glass is indestructible…" Ponder said.
"Take a little bit of that Omniscope glass, the waste, the powdery gritty leftovers, and cast it into some normal molten glass from the furnace…" Gertrude said. "Let the magic permeate. I can't believe you've never tried this, Ponder."
"And you get a new Omniscope. Oh, Gods…"
Gertrude patted him on the shoulder.
"Why don't we try?" she said.
The Patrician's Palace, Ankh-Morpork.
Lord Vetinari was taking the air on a flat rooftop at the Palace. He followed the manoeuvres of the demonstration flight with absorbed attention. Periodically, the three pilots, maintaining a tight formation and impeccable discipline, passed low and close enough for them to hear the roar and to be buffeted by the slipstream of their passing. Standing attentively to the rear, his personal secretary Rufus Drumknott seemed hardly able to contain his excitement. To Vetinari's right, Captain Olga Romanoff had her personal Omnicon switched on, locked to the control network, so that she and Vetinari could follow the conversation between the pilots and Control.
They watched the three combat brooms sweeping almost vertically upwards at full speed, dwindling to tiny dots, the roar of the technomancy diminishing with them. Then they heard Hanna von Strafenburg call "Stuka…" and saw them come down again.
The party on the Palace rooftop turned in the direction of the insanely near-vertical power-dive.
Vetinari raised an eyebrow as the three brooms, trailing coloured smoke, came out of the dive and made a low-level near-rooftop pass over the Turnwise of the City, somewhere over Hide Park, and then gained height again.
"That would have been interestingly close to the Klatchian Embassy, Captain Romanoff." Vetinari remarked.
"I will speak to my pilots, sir." Olga said, non-committal. "Sergeant von Strafenburg is disciplined enough to be aware we do not overfly foreign Embassies and Legations. We steer around them, and respect their airspace."
Vetinari gave her a long cool look.
"Oh, yes. Sergeant von Strafenburg is the very pluperfect soul of discipline." he remarked. "One who would follow any legitimate order from a senior officer to the very letter."
He gave Olga a long searching look. She tried to look as poker and as impassive as she could. Vetiniari smiled slightly and looked away.
"Incidentally, has she changed her call-sign recently? Her wing-mate, or one of them, appears to be using a rather amusing Swommi idiom for her. I understand it to imply that the sergeant is somewhat repressed, and needs to relax more."
"Pilot Officer Pekkisaalen, sir. One of the recalled reservists. Quite simply the best high-altitude pilot I have."
Vetinari smiled benignly.
"Call-sign Belaya Schmert. I am assuming this is making a point to Rodinian pilots in the Service? Or perhaps callsigns such as "valkoinen kuolema" or "Simuna Häyhä" might have put Control at a disadvantage."
Olga looked impassive. Vetinari smiled slightly.
"Collecting languages is a hobby of mine, Captain." he remarked. "And When people tell me the Swommi language is the most difficult on the Disc, with the possible exception of Llamedosian, this is almost a challenge."
He smiled, benignly.
"And she is your highest-attitude pilot."
"Don't you mean high-altitude, sir?" Drumknott asked.
Vetinari smiled slightly.
"Oh, yes. That too."
The three watched the flying display engulf the Klatchian carpet in coloured smoke.
"Drumknott, note this. I anticipate another diplomatic protest from the Klatchians soon." he remarked.
"Is that five or six now, sir?" Drumknott asked.
Vetinari made a pretence of counting them up.
"I believe six. All concerning the conduct of the Air Watch, incidentally. We have countered with five of our own. So I believe they are ahead by one."
A little later, Olga was present at an audience between Vetinari and the Klatchian Ambassador. She stood back, noting the usually urbane Prince Aladdin, a man thought to be sympathetic to Ankh-Morpork, seemed sweaty and ill at ease.
Troubled. Stressed. He really does not want to be here.
She watched the back-and-forth of the discussion and silently assessed.
"Prince Alladin." Vetinari said. "I've known you now for perhaps twenty-five years. I believe we can speak freely between ourselves. I could request Drumknott and Captain Romanoff leave the room, and you can speak completely openly, as I will, with no witnesses or third parties. No listening devices and nobody eavesdropping at doors or windows. You have my word on that. We have some thorny issues to work out."
Olga studied the hunted looking Klatchian ambassador. She even felt a little bit sorry for him. The man who had to mediate, here, the results of whatever lunacy was going on in Al-Khali at the moment. She was prepared to believe it was none of his doing or desire.
"Issues such as…." Vetinari studied a summation sheet Drumknott handed to him, and made a pretence of reading it, "The advent of Prince Cadram ibn-Cadram in Al-Khali. My, I thought we had heard the last of that name. The invasion of Syrrit and Laotan. The militarisation of the flying sheep of Syrrit. The regrettable fact that forces under the command of Prince Cadram impeded the lawful flight of a Pegasus Service mission to our diplomatic mission in Syrrit. The attempt to kill the pilots of that flight and to make it look like misadventure. Prince Cadram's direct attempt to take two Pegasus Service officers prisoner and his explicit intent to steal a Pegasus. And a further attempt to interfere with the flight as it departed."
Vetinari steepled his fingers.
"I make that six separate diplomatic protests from the government of Ankh-Morpork to the government of Klatch. At least. Now would you care to outline your diplomatic protests concerning our behaviour?"
Prince Alladin outlined the pre-existing five diplomatic protests, all of which were to do with the activities of the Air Watch and the Pegasus Service, and added three new ones, all to do with aggressive flying near Klatchian civil and diplomatic carpets going about their lawful business in City airspace.
Olga shook her head.
"Nyet." she said, firmly. "You were told there is an exclusion zone over the Air Station. Do you think we were just making meaningless noise when we told you that?"
"And when one of your pilots steered dangerously near to a flying carpet with diplomatic plates, fully aware the slipstream of her passing would easily knock it out of the air?" the Prince said, persevering on.
"That pilot will be spoken to." Olga said. "The near-miss investigation report will be produced, and made available to you, in due course. I suggest any issues of negligience and liability are addressed then, when all the facts are known. But I advise you, sir, it is the responsibility of any air user in the sky over this city to watch for other air users. And not to assume there is nobody else in the sky. Collisions are rare, but not unknown."
Olga paused, and added
"In fact, sir, a full statement on the part of your air users as to why they were flying and what their intentions were, is a mandatory part of any investigation. I am sure you will provide this as part of any full and open inquiry?"
Olga stood back, feeling obscurely proud of what she'd pulled together from nothing in the spur of the moment. She reflected that as air use over the city increased in volume, there should be some sort of supervisory body which, for instance, would investigate accidents, collisions and near-misses. A Civil Air Authority, or something? She resolved to mention this to Vetinari at a suitable time.
"Capital." Vetinari said. "Without accepting or conceding liability, Captain Romanoff has promised a full and open inquiry into near-misses over this City's air space, which involve members of the Air Watch. Which obliges Klatch, as the other party involved, to provide equally full and open accounts from its fliers. I look forward to receiving these."
He nodded to Olga. There was the slightest hint of approval there.
"And now, Ambassador." he said, smoothly. "A person whose activities are giving cause for concern is called Barakh-ibn-Cadram."
Vetinari and Olga scrutinised the Ambassador, who allowed his expression to wobble and look a lot less assured.
Vetinari received another sheet of paper from Drumknott. Again, he gave every impression of reading it attentively.
"The younger son of the deceased Prince Cadram. Information from various sources says he did, or at least began, a doctoral level course at Brazeneck University. Alas, security at Brazeneck leaves much to be desired, and it is believed he gained access to sensitive work carried out, at least in part, on behalf of this City."
Vetinari paused.
"Drumknott, make a note. To prepare requests to Dean Henry for clarification of certain questions which arise. Point out further research contracts on behalf of this City may be reviewed in the light of recent events. Thank you."
He turned back to the Ambassador.
"The person in question is then believed to have come to this City. We have information to suggest he was able to bribe an external contractor to Unseen University to provide access to University experimental equipment. Which he then made available to the Klatchian government. He is also reported to be pursuing thaumatological and technomantic experiments in this City. As well as his having made no attempt whatsoever to gain approval for this work with Unseen University, who are the sole licencee for magical work in Ankh-Morpork, we believe his reckless experimentation is interfering with the work of vital City agencies. He is impeding Watch communications. This is detrimental to the interests of this city and I wish it to cease. "
Vetinari looked at Olga.
She sighed, admitting it was all out in the open now.
"You have two choices, ambassador. If this person Barakh ibn-Cadram is at the Embassy and has diplomatic credentials, they are now revoked. He is no longer welcome in this City. If he does not have diplomatic credentials and is at the Embassy, you are required to surrender him as a wanted criminal. This is applicable immediately."
He looked across.
"Captain Romanoff? Tomorrow you will be running a scheduled Pegasus Service flight into Syrrit. As we have agreed."
"Da." Olga said. "As agreed with Lord Vetinari, I am notifying your Government that a Pegasus Service flight will enter the airspace over Syrrit tomorrow, at eleven-thirty local time. My pilots will enter Syrittan airspace, they will be allowed to fly unmolested, to land without opposition, to do their legally constituted work under international law and diplomatic convention, and to leave again unhindered."
She glared at the ambassador and then looked over to Vetinari.
"As Captain Romanoff has made clear, in full accordance with diplomatic convention and international law." Vetinari said. "I am sure no attempt will be made to interfere. Thank you for your time, Ambassador, and please assure Prince Khufuruh of my continuing regard for him personally."
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
"So we should get this Sultan Barakh -ibn-Cadram." Rivka said. "you know, on top of everything else we've got planned. Just to make it emphatic."
Johanna Smith-Rhodes shook her head.
"Tempting." she said. "Especially now we know he was in charge of the people who tried to kill Bekki. I'd find that setisfying too. Problem is, it's not in the contract."
"Yet." Mariella Smith-Rhodes said.
"Vetinari might have a point of view ebout thet." Johanna said. "End anyway. Eccording to Irena's information, this Barakh is ectually here in Enkh-Morpork. Holed up at the Embassy, Miriam says."
"We'll have to find out more." Mariella mused.
"That's all Miriam knew." Johanna said. "But I reckon by now Vetinari will have people on the case. Unfortunately, this is not our concern. Now let's look at this Kletchian airbase."
They discussed the contract in hand for a while. Ideas were mooted and working tools discussed. The advantages of one sort of material over another were debated at length.
Claude the butler walked in.
"The Professor has returned, Your Ladyship." he said. "He is accompanied by a guest. Technical Sergeant Schilling of the Air Watch."
Gertrude's ideas had fired Ponder's imagination; he really wanted to know if it was possible to re-melt fragments of the original Omniscope into molten glass, as if it were some sort of seed-crystal that could be used to create copies of itself. It was such a brilliantly original idea. And if it worked, it would be more circumstantial evidence for how the Klatchians had managed to copy the technomancy.
Some basic research had indicated that it was likely to take at least a day to cast the special glass, allow it to cool, and then silver the back into a mirror. Gertrude had even suggested the silvering was done with one of the magical allotropes, like octargent or perhaps hydrargyrum.
Asking Eddie de Kokamainje to carry on the research work, he took Gertrude for coffee and a quiet chat.
"How do you know these things?" Ponder asked, curiously. She gave him a tolerant look.
"I was at the Quirm Academy till I was thirteen." she said. "Because I was good at sciences they moved me up a few classes. Then I got witchcraft."
Ponder nodded, appreciatively.
"My oldest daughter was like you." he said. "By the time she was fourteen her school decided she was capable of sitting all the exams ahead of time, and there really wasn't a point in keeping her till she was sixteen or seventeen. She went to Lancre to carry on learning how to be a witch." (4)
Gertrude nodded.
"Yes. They put me with Mrs Earwig."
"Oh. I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. I spent most of it with Doctor Earwig. So I suppose I learnt a lot about wizard magic, more than I did about witchcraft."
"How did Mrs Earwig take to that?" Ponder asked.
Gertrude shrugged.
"Oh, she had her other girls. The ones who looked the part more. Projected the image. Taller, slimmer, prettier."
Looking at the plain and homelier Gertrude, Ponder was sensitive enough not to push this.
"So I was the backhouse girl. Mixing up the potions. The elixirs. You know, pretty colours with sparkly bits in. I'm good at alchemy. And I'm a good enough Witch to know they were utterly useless. They just had to look pretty and spangly. Showy. I reasoned if I made up enough sparkly pretty placebos, I wouldn't be hassled too much. Which meant I could be in her husband's workroom doing really interesting stuff and learning wizarding from him. "
She smiled.
"Doctor Earwig is one of the old-time wizards. They believe in a hands-on approach to making everything on site, not clacksing a supplies shop to order off the shelf. I learnt so much practical stuff from him. Like glass-blowing, welding, soldering, constructing, building, making."
Ponder Stibbons, a new-time Wizard who, with a guilty start, realised his approach to needing a difficult bespoke piece of kit was to get somebody else to build it for him, gave her an appreciative smile. He now realised more of why Olga Romanoff had sent her here.
"I didn't get to do as much flying as I wanted. A few basic lessons. But I knew I wanted to fly, or at least to be among people who flew. And after I'd been a couple of years in Lancre, Olga and Irena came by to look over the young girls in the latest coven, to see if anyone wanted a try-out for the Air Watch. Recruiting."
"You tried out." Ponder said.
Gertrude nodded, and looked faraway.
"I was bloody awful." she said, frankly. "I knew it, and I'm sure Olga and Irena saw it straight away. I washed out of all the air tests and I just knew they were looking for a kind way of telling me I just wasn't good enough. So while we were waiting for their decision, I got talking to one of the Teks. You know, the ground technicians. They'd brought a few broomsticks along of various designs to demonstrate, and to put on a bit of an Air Display with, and the Tek I was talking to, when he saw me admiring one, explained it was called an Emm-Ee Two-Sixty-Two.
"I think he was just being kind to the duffer, and thinking this was as near to their special brooms as I was ever going to get, so he was explaining how it works, what it's meant to do, and how when it works it can outfly everything else in the sky. The problem was, there were bugs in there that they'd never been able to iron out. We got talking, and some of the things he was saying about flight tech were really making sense. I got him to fire it up in neutral, you know, just to do workshop tests, not to actually fly it, and when I looked, I could see the lines of force that power the thing. And I could see where the weak point was, the break in the thaumic amplification and doubled retro-reflux train that builds and directs the force… well, I could see the problem. So I said "it's this point here. Where you've opened up the shell and the shaft, and put in this thaumic diversion nodule, in a different magical wood." I said "why don't you try taking it out, reshaping it slightly and putting it in again, but the other way round?"
She took a sip of her coffee.
"Well, I said there's an imbalance in the field application between port and starboard, and that faulty nodule means it's likely to cut out completely if the pilot does a full-throttle upward banking turn to the left", or something. The Tek kind of looked up, and I saw Olga had been standing there watching, and she said "Why not give it a try? It won't hurt." Then I helped do the rebuild and the field mod. Then Olga patted me on the shoulder and said "I'll know if it works or not after I do the test-flight."
"And she came down again." Ponder said.
"Well, she did make sure she was wearing a parachute." Gertrude said. "But she threw that broom around the sky for a quarter of an hour, everybody was watching, and we were all thinking "I really, really, want to be able to fly like that", and I'm thinking "I'll never get the chance to.", and I was feeling sad about this. When she came down, she took the parachute off and just said to the Tek "Flies better. When you get a chance, same mod on all the two-six-twos". And she took me off to one side. I was thinking "This is it, the moment where she says "Thank you for turning up, but…"."
Gertrude sipped her coffee again.
"Olga actually said she was about to fail me for not being anything like a good enough pilot. But I'd been apprenticed to Mrs Earwig, hadn't I, and she's not into flying, so she could see I'd been disadvantaged there. So here's the deal. You join the Air Watch. But on the ground. You've got natural Tek skills. You are brilliant at it. I want somebody like you."
Gertrude smiled with pride.
"Olga also said they'd give me remedial flying lessons as time allowed, but mainly, I worked on the ground. In Tek and Engineering. And… well, my call-sign is Penguin. A flightless bird."
Ponder grinned.
"The right person in the right place." he remarked.
"I love it." she said. Ponder could now see the girl was only at most eighteen or nineteen. With the glasses and her hair up in a stern bun, she just looked around thirty. He felt… almost fatherly. Avuncular. Or something.
"Tell me about you and your family, Ponder?" Gertrude asked. "I've met Bekki. She's really interesting. But you said you have two other daughters?"
Ponder talked about Johanna and the girls for a while, feeling pride in them and their abilities. Gertrude listened attentively.
"Oh, wow!" she said. "Your little girl actually designed the Universal Time Clock? She had the idea? She was the one?"
"Ruth? Same person. She was worrying away at it for ages as a present for Bekki. Then Olga and Irena saw it, and they want every Pegasus pilot to have one."
"I'm on that project too." Gertrude said. "We've got the larger versions on stream. The Clacks and the Rail Ways want them too. The first production models are rolling out. But the Clockmakers' Guild are way behind on getting them small enough to be pilot-portable. Miniaturising them is the technical problem." (5)
"We'll get there." Ponder said, confidently. He reflected on the fact his youngest daughter was likely to be a lot richer than both her parents combined, even before her age got into double figures. Johanna had seen to things like patents and copyrights.
Then he remembered what Johanna had said.
Ponder, I wish you'd talk to Ruth….
"I'd love to meet her." Gertrude said.
Ponder sighed and talked about Ruth for a while. Gertrude listened attentively.
"Apparently, for whatever reason she's wrapped her whole bed-frame in wire. It looks like some sort of coil, like the ones the tech-Wizards here are winding as part of research into this electricity thing. Until I can find the time to talk to her properly, all I know is what she said about it's there to keep Them out of my head."
"Does it work?" Gertrude asked.
"Huh?" Ponder said.
"To keep Them out of her head. You said she's got some magic and she's already had a run-in with one sort of Them."
Gertrude smiled.
"It's only half-past seven. We started early. We know we can't do any more until we can set up to cast glass in a long flat pane, and the equipment has to be set up, then the glass has to cool, you have to grind it perfectly flat to a high tolerance, then it has to be silvered."
Gertrude Schilling stood up. Ponder noted a Witch demeanour in her. The sort that did not take a refusal easily.
"If it's not an imposition, Ponder, I'd love to meet your daughter. I've had an idea. But I'd love to see what she's done to her bed first, and ask her what it's for. "
"I'll order a cab." Ponder said. "We should get there before her bedtime."
And they arrived at Spa Lane. Ponder realised he was leading Gertrude into a room full of obvious Assassins who were discussing the merits of various kinds of equipment, a lot of which was out in open display on the table. Gertrude was introduced to the three Assassins.
"Well, you got him home et a reasonable time." Johanna said. "Thenk you."
"Captain Romanoff did say that her husband and Professor Stibbons might need to have a diplomatic little voice in their ears telling them when enough was enough, and to get home and go to bed, ma'am." Gertrude said.
"So she sent you." Johanna remarked. "Good choice."
"Where's Ruth right now, Johanna?" Ponder asked.
"Up in her room. Doing things I don't esk about, so long es I'm persuaded they are safe. Why?"
"We might have an idea about what she's doing with her bed." Ponder said. "I discussed it with Gertrude. She has an idea. Apparently."
Johanna looked at Gertrude, curious. So did Mariella and Rivka.
"Errr… I hope this isn't an imposition, Doctor Smith-Rhodes, but I'd really like to meet your daughter." Gertrude said.
Johanna thought about this for a moment.
"Okay." she said. "We'll go up together."
"Wait a moment." Ponder said. "If five or six of us all go up at once, Ruth might get alarmed and wonder if she's in trouble. I'll go up first, just to reassure her? Ask her how many adults she can handle at a time?"
Johanna smiled.
"Good point, Ponder. We'll wait a moment."
He went upstairs, and Gertrude made small-talk with the Assassins. This amounted to asking about some of the equipment items on the living-room table, her making educated guesses as to what they were for, and then her diffidently suggesting this one might work even better if you did a little mod, err, I could sketch it for you?
This broke the ice with Mariella and Rivka, and the three of them traded ideas and suggestions. Johanna stood back and followed the conversation, noting how trade professionals whose spheres of interest overlapped could very quickly start talking shop and swapping ideas.
Geniuses. This house attracts them. Must be Ponder. And Ruth.
"Oh, we're dealing with the same sort of tech for use from brooms. As we're all on the same side here, no secrets, I hope. Now this is a problem we ran into. Do you have the same bother?" Gertrude asked.
Rivka and Mariella were equally absorbed in the discussion, and the three were batting ideas back and forth.
"Captain Romanoff of the Air Watch, My Lady." Claude announced.
Olga looked tired and thoughtful.
"Hi, everyone. Update, Gertrude. Vetinari made it known to the Klatchians that we know they're eavesdropping our comms. I need to know how close you are to shielding them. Thanks, Claude. Where's Ponder?"
"Following through an idea, ma'am." Gertrude said. "Ponder's upstairs talking to his daughter. If I'm right, we may have a breakthrough."
Olga finished her vodka quickly. She declined a refill, for now, at least.
And Ponder Stibbons came down the stairs.
"Come on up." he said. "Ruth's happy about seeing everybody. She wants to show something off, in fact. Oh, hi, Olga."
"If it's like that clock she built." Olga said, "then I'd love to see it."
And a deputation trooped upstairs to the big room in the front of the house which was occupied by Ponder and Johanna's youngest daughter. By size and floor area, it should have been the master bedroom and occupied by her parents. But Ponder and Johanna had realised early on that genius needs space; they had the second largest room.
Gertrude saw a room given over to music at one end, and to Art at the sunlit end. She took in the signs, among all the creativity, that a little girl lived here: a shelf with dolls and teddy bears on it, and maybe a little bit too much pink in the colour scheme. She also took in the slightly-built dark haired little girl who was diligently working on her latest interest.
"Wow…." she said.
Several used-up wrappers were overflowing the bin. Ruth, using a combination of fingers and crafting tools, was shaping up a life-sized head-and-shoulders bust from modelling clay. The very recognisable features of a Smith-Rhodes woman were emerging.
"What do you think?" she asked, shyly. Gertrude looked down to where several iconographs from the family album were being used as models.
"I would say wow." Gertrude said, honestly.
"I started it off wanting to do Mummy." Ruth said. "But then I thought of Tannie Mariella, after she came to visit and stay for a few days. And my sister Bekki. And it sort of changed."
"Doesn't matter." Mariella said. She was fascinated too. "You could call it, Spirit of Smith-Rhodes, or something. A little of us all in there."
"This is amazing." Gertrude said. "How long have you been doing sculptures?"
"Oh, about a fortnight." Ruth said, shrugging. "It seemed like the next place to go, after doing paintings."
"I'd better introduce myself." Gertrude said. "Gertrude Schilling. I work with Captain Romanoff. You know her?"
"She's nice. I like her." Ruth said.
"Could be worse." Johanna remarked. Olga gave her a slightly irritated look.
Gertrude looked over to the bed. The coiled wire was clearly apparent against the white-and-pink of the frame.
Meanwhile, Ruth carried on working up the definition of an eyebrow.
"Would you like to tell me about your bed, Ruth?" Gertrude asked. "Your daddy says you did the mod to keep Them away."
Ruth looked up. Gertrude smiled.
"Does it work? Does it keep Them out?"
This time Ruth smiled.
"Oh, yes! I don't mind Them, but sometimes I really need to sleep. I wanted a way to keep Them out while I was asleep. Can I show you?"
"Please." Gertrude said, as the little girl leapt off her chair, and insistently took her by the arm, leaving a smear of modelling clay on her tunic. She pulled Gertrude in the direction of the window. The others in the room followed, but at a distance.
Johanna bit back a "Wash your hands, Ruth!" Her daughter was opening up. She didn't want to close her down again. Besides, she was as intrigued as anyone else.
"Do you see it? In the window?" Ruth asked.
Gertrude followed her eyes.
"Oh, yes. That's a dream-catcher. Central Plains Indians use them to trap bad dreams in the net, so they can't get into your head."
They looked at the ornately feathered catch-net.
"Look! Did you see that?" Ruth asked.
Gertrude saw. Something had hit the wire of the net. It had glowed for a second, in fiery red and octarine, then died out.
"Da. I saw it too." Olga Romanoff confirmed. "You too, Ponder?"
"Saw what, exactly?" Rivka ben-Divorah asked, on behalf of the non-magic users.
"Inspiration particles." Ponder explained. "Ruth gets more than most. It's a sort of random magic that if it hits you in the brain, you get the urge to create."
"Which means you have to get out of bed end explore the idea." Johanna said. "End your sleep suffers."
"Yes, mummy." Ruth said. "The one in the window works. It was really kind of Bekki to get it for me. But it's awfully small, and it doesn't stop all of Them."
"Octiron wire." Gertrude said, thoughtfully, touching the dream-catcher. "Octiron is anti-magical. It kills and blocks magic…"
She looked over to the bed again. As did everyone else.
"I thought. This is where I sleep at night. All I need to do is to make my whole bed into a dream-catcher. With octiron wire." Ruth said. "They get caught in the wire. I get to sleep."
Gertrude and Olga looked at each other. Ponder Stibbons suddenly perked up with excitement.
"Ruth?" he said. "Would you like to help us with a little experiment or two?"
Johanna scowled slightly.
"You are not going to use our daughter as an experimental subject, Ponder!"
There were harmonics in her voice. The sort a wise husband heeds.
"But I trust Daddy, Mummy." Ruth said.
"I know, sweetheart. I trust Daddy too. But magic can go wrong, and this is magic. Look, just wash your hands, please? You've got all clay on them. I don't want that on the bedlinen. We'll talk."
Olga and Gertrude were conferring in low voices. They drew Mariella and Rivka in. Olga asked permission to send a few Clacks messages. Johanna stooped to the little door in the otherwise disused chimney-breast, and called for the duty Goblin. Clacks messages were then written and sent.
"Johanna, could Ponder experiment on me? I'm paid to take risks. Thank you." Olga said. "I just need a clacks reply from the Yard, then we can start. Ruth, would you object to me lying on your bed?"
The smell of goblin heralded a return message. This was handed to Olga, who showed it to Gertrude.
"I do not want to talk openly over a compromised Omnicon." Olga explained. "The Klatchians will hear routine comms on the network. The real discussion between Irena and myself will be by clacks. She now has an idea of what we are about to do. The Klatchians do not."
The Assassins indicated understanding and approval. This sort of thinking was natural to them. Olga asked the duty goblin to stand by for more messages. He grinned, appreciating. He was as fascinated as anybody else.
"Horoscho. Now we may begin." Olga said. Standing beside the bed, she thumbed her Omnicon on.
"Control, this is Syren. Am currently in Ostrich mode on Spa Lane, angels… practically zero. Penguin is with me. Reporting in. Over."
-Red Star Control acknowledging, Syren. Reading you loud and clear and confirming your position is Spa Lane. Over.
"Syren to Red Star Control. Stand by, Red Star. Over."
Irena's voice had been loud and clear. Olga nodded.
"Ponder, Gertrude. Can one of you fire a cold light spell at me? Thank you."
Ponder extended a finger and visualised. There were murmurs as Olga was suddenly wreathed in an aura of pale blue light. She walked around the room, the blue glow accompanying her.
"Doesn't hurt. Visually spectacular." she observed. Then she sat on the edge of Ruth's bed and swung herself onto it.
Murmurs of surprise happened as the enveloping blue light was stripped away, hovering at the edge of the octiron-wire coiling, unable to pass onto the bed with Olga.
She grinned. Then she activated her Omnicon again. She announced herself to Control. Nothing happened. She tried again. Then Olga rolled off the bed on the other side. The hovering blue light of the cold fire rolled around the edge of the bed, following the frame, and re-engulfed her. She nodded to Ponder, who dissipated the energy. Olga activated her Omnicon again.
-Red Star Control acknowledging, Syren. Reading you loud and clear. Little glitch just now. Over.
A couple of minutes later a clacks arrived. It read
What the Hells did you do just then, Olga? A channel opened but nobody was on it. Then you were loud and clear. Irena.
"Octiron wire. To shield." Gertrude said. "To block magic. Provided we can still let comms in and out."
Further experimentation demonstrated you could have just enough of a break in the octiron shielding to allow comms to proceed as normal. But the octiron, if fitted correctly, was likely to dissipate and block any incoming spells. It was a fine balance and would need further experimentation.
"So back to the University, then." Ponder said.
"Do it. The sooner we have an effective mod, the better." Olga said. "And, thank you both."
She looked at Ruth, with benevolence.
"And I thank you too. Your idea is likely to save lives. Even if this was not what you intended."
Johanna shook her head. She pulled up a chair close to Ruth's sculpting area.
"I need a break from plenning." she explained. "End, vorbei, there are so many stetues of our family scettered eround the place. We mey es well benefit, end heve them made by a family member. So she gets the sculptor's fee."
She smiled at Ruth.
"I'll be your life model for a while." she said. "End when I get tired of sitting still, Mariella cen take over."
As the other three left for work elsewhere, the Assassins continued to discuss events whilst Johanna did time as an artist's model. _
Ankh-Morpork, evening
Twilight can sometimes be more frightening than full darkness. Light fades and shadows lengthen. Things start to skulk and hide in shifting patterns of shadow.
And the three men on the magic carpet were tired and dead beat. They had returned to base only to find it in some disarray whilst the Wizard brought up a replacement unit to tie into the system and continue the Work of eavesdropping on those un-natural women. The Wizard was also a Prince, or a princeling. You didn't argue with him. Even if you suspected the close overpass by those powerful terrible broomsticks, the one that had caused a magical backlash which temporarily overpowered the listening devices, had not been accidental.
They knew.
The Princeling, the wizard, had been deaf to please and closed to advice. He'd seen and heard the war-birds. These were coming out of their nest in large numbers. He knew the war was not far away. Therefore he wanted the listening, the surveillance, to continue. So go out there again and do your duty to Klatch. Watch them. Follow them. Listen to them. Or we begin by cutting your ears off. As an inducement to listen better.
Knowing the Wizard, one who even terrified the ambassador, was now the power here, linked to the growing Power in Al-Khali, the three crewmen reluctantly took to the air again. They were at the moment the only carpet. Carpet One had been thrown around the air by the terrible warbirds. It was now grounded for thaumomantic repairs. Carpet Two had not only been buffeted around the air, it had been attacked with choking smoke. The ambassador had been told to lodge a diplomatic protest.
Carpet Three, its crew full of the stories of what had happened to Crews One and Two, their imaginations primed, took to the air. The lengthening shadows of summer twilight and some clouds creeping in soon swallowed them up.
The Air Station, Ankh-Morpork
A two-seater broomstick prepared to take off. This would not be announced to Control. Complete Omnicon silence applied. The broom's defensive armament had been removed. This was a deniable mission, after all. The broom, and the metal fairings that covered the bristles,(6) were painted black. Its pilot wore very dark grey. The passenger, the reason why all male staff had temporarily been banished from the flight deck, also wore a long covering dark cloak. The rest of her clothes were in a rucksack on the pilot's back. For later.
Lieutenant Irena Politek, Red Star Control, came out onto the flight deck for just long enough to give the nod. The pilot gave her the thumbs-up. And the mission took off.
"Got to go high, Vampyyri." the pilot said. "Hope you won't get chilly. Then when we spot target, we come down low. Very fast. So hold on."
Sally von Humpeding acknowledged this. She had heard Kiiki Pekkisaalen was one of the best pilots in the Air Watch. Bloody annoying, a bit of a maverick, but one of the best. And tonight, Sally had a very specific job to do. One she was uniquely skilled for.
"And when I say hold on, toothy person, I mean hold on."
Sally fought down a terrified yelp as the broom stood on its bristles and soared. Although it was utterly pointless, and she didn't normally have a modesty complex, she fought to keep the cloak wrapped around her as they ascended.
Kiiki levelled out at perhaps ten thousand. The lights and smell of Ankh-Morpork had diminished somewhat, but were still apparent; Sally tried to orientate herself on the sickly, slightly phosphorescent, snaking line of the river.
"Why so high?" she asked.
Kiiki considered this.
"We see more. Got good eyesight. From up here, easy to spot target."
They circled for a while. Occasionally the taciturn Kiiki pointed out there was an Air Watch broom down there. "You can tell. Octarine trail."
Sally focused in her own way.
"Single heartbeats. Up high. There, there and there."
"Juuu. Where I see octarine."
They continued to circle. The Ankh-Morpork night got darker. Sally wrapped the cloak around her and tried to think warm thoughts.
"Hold on, Vampyyri!"
Sally made a muted shriek as the nose of the broom suddenly pointed downwards. Wisps of cloud passed quickly. And the city spiralled up even faster.
Kiiki pointed. Sally saw it. The target. A klatchian magic carpet with three men aboard, at about a thousand feet above ground. Kiiki levelled out, a few hundred feet above the Klatchians.
"Cloak." she said.
Sally fumbled it off and gave it to her pilot, who bundled it. Then she took a deep breath and threw herself, stark naked, off the broomstick.
The Klatchian carpet crew felt a growing deep unease. The Wizard must know they were aware. Or were they? There seemed to be a lot of Air Watch chatter going on in the night. Lots and lots of it. Pilots cracking jokes and chatting among themselves, occassionally calling in reports, the normally stern Red Star Control letting them get on with it. The Klatchians felt overwhelmed at the sheer volume of it.
And they felt a growing unease. Getting closer...
Kiiki saw the naked girl with the short black hair spreadeagled against the sky. She wondered, briefly, if she was going to be following Sally down to an inevitable splat, and played with the idea of doing a mid-air rescue... and then the girl's body appeared to dissolve, in a sudden eruption of bats... Kiiki grinned, but felt a different sort of chill, and decided not to get too close, at least not yet.
And the world for the Klatchians became one of dread, primal terror and fear. They were now flying in the middle of a cloud of vicious black bats. They ineffectually tried to swipe them away, but the existential dread was too strong, Numbly, in terror, the pilot allowed himself to be herded down to street level, forced down by the evil soul-less bats.
They paid no heed to the broomstick following on at a safe distance behind, dark against a darkening sky.
The carpet settled into a badly lit alley. The dreaded bats seemed to have dissapeared, and the fear receded. They blinked as reality asserted itself. And discovered that reality included a petite naked girl, apparently in her early twenties.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" she called. Then went "tcch!" impatiently, as a couple of stray bats flew into her and appeared to reabsorb, somehow, into her body.
She walked forwards, nonchalantly.
"I am your vampire for tonight, and I hope the blood-sucking experience will be an enjoyable one. For me, at least. Now if you just lean forward and stretch your necks out, and try not to resist, please."
"I know this city." a braver Klatchian said. "Vampires must wear the black ribbon here. You do not suck blood any more."
Sally grinned.
"That's more of a guideline." she said. "And besides, do you see me wearing a black ribbon right now? Dressed like this, where do you think I'd actually pin a black ribbon?"
She spread her arms. And a black shadow formed behind her, stretching up to the eaves. She grinned, revealing teeth.
And three Klatchians succumbed to primal mind-destroying terror...(7)
"Hey, Vampyyri. Got your clothes."
Sally turned to see the taciturn Air Watch pilot.
"Oh, it's you, Thanks."
"Get dressed fast, Vampyyri. Foot patrol on its way."
The foot patrol was commanded by Victor Tugelbend of the Particulars. He supervised a search of the three Klatchians, and ensured both the magic carpet and the listening apparatus on it were bundled onto the back of a hurry-up wagon.
"Carpet goes to the Air Police. Tell Lieutenant Politek "mission accomplished" and hope she's got room for another trophy. But first, get this piece of kit to Professor Stibbons and Sergeant Schilling, absolute priority. Be careful with it."
Victor turned to a Watchman on the patrol.
"Nobby, I want these three to look as if they've been mugged and completely cleaned out. Even if it means stripping them down to their underpants. Got that? I want the Klatchians to think this was a crash, and some of our public-spirited citizens got to the scene first."
"Leave it to me, sarge." Nobby Nobbs said, saluting.
"Nobby? Anything that helps the ongoing enquiry comes to me. You can dispose of the rest. Hope that's clear."
Sally and Kiiki grinned.
"Hey, Vampyyri. Hop on. Give you lift back to the Yard."
"Be quick. Best we're not here when they wake up." Victor said, practically.
TO BE CONTINUED. With lots of bangs, screams and loud noises.
(1) Actually she called it the Sturzkampfflugzeug. Everybody else shortened it to Stuka. Hanna wanted a dedicated dive-bombing broom; the Teks and other interested people with input would shortly have prototypes to show her.
(2) All three had deliberately left their Omnicons on "transmit" during the close pass. Un-noticed in the wake of the Air Show, an Air Witch on a boringly normal broom had pulled in close to the Klatchian Embassy and made a test transmission. It had been received clearly and perfectly by Control.
In Cold War days, a Royal Air Force jet bomber once performed a wave-top close pass to a Russian spy trawler in the North Sea that was intercepting British military comms. The effect of a big powerful aircraft passing so close was to blast and destroy a lot of sensitive electronics on the Soviet ship just by sheer power and proximity. The feedback of the Vulcan jet bomber's comms being on, and transmitting their own engine roar, set up a massive, massive, feedback into the spy ship's own systems during the close pass that simply overloaded everything. With the desired result. Hanna was applying the same principle to the Klatchian listening station.
(3) Imps are at least partially sentient. Ponder had ethical qualms about deliberately killing one. It was too much like vivisection. The imp-simulation was a bundle of spells designed to mimic the real thing.
(4) Of course, you will have read Strandpiel (Book one)
(5) Also in Strandpiel Book one.
(6) Old-schoool witches objected to covering up the bristles, arguing that the magic needed to breathe free, and covering them up with bloody metal? The Air Watch, however, counter-argued that this was basically a prejudice, it had never been proven that enclosing the bristles in a metal fairing killed the magic. Our observations are that this absorbs the tell-tale octarine glow and makes it harder to spot the passage of a stealth broomstick by night; and if you use the right metal alloy, say octaluminium with carefully placed octiron bindings, it serves to shape and direct the flow of the thaumic force. Cut out the Tek-speak, it makes the broom goes faster. Any resemblence to the fairing and configuration of a jet engine on our world is wholly coincidental.
(7) And there is the courtesy detail that this induces complete amnesia afterwards. It's a vampire skill.
Notes Dump: The ground dispersal area where spare parts are stored in a dusty neglected hangar, on the off-chance they might be needed to get a story up in the air.
Majokko – cute Japanese-girl witch
Simo "Simuna" Häyhä – renowned Finnish sniper in WW2, known to Russians as Belaya Smert, The White Death. In Russian, "belaya smert" is apparently also a term for processed white sugar. As the person using this callsign is an acquired taste, like that great Finnish confectionary called salmiakki, it will be doubly appropriate.
Finnish sources describe that Häyhä was nicknamed "The White Death" by the Red Army (Russian: Белая смерть, Belaja smert; Finnish: valkoinen kuolema
Lost dialogue;
"Have you ever seriously tried to kill one?" she asked.
Ponder blinked.
"Well… they're rare… they're expensive… Arch-Chancellor Ridcully wouldn't like it…"
I didn't want Ponder and Gertrude to go further down this route - of seeking to quantify how much power it takes to "kill" an Omniscope fragment - because it occured to me, as it no doubt would have occured to Ponder, that as all Omniscope fragments are forever linked, if you destroy one, then you may well be simultaneously destroying the lot, thus doing a better job of destroying the network than any Klatchian could hope for. bit of an own goal there.