Ezr was trembling, a growl of rage climbing up his throat. He caught the growl, made it a sobbing sound, made his trembling anger an exhausted quavering. “Y-yes. We’ve got to go along.”
“Good man.” Trinli patted him on the shoulder again, then turned to find his way back through the treetops. Ezr remembered Ritser Brughel’s description of Trinli after the Relight. The old man was immune to Tomas Nau’s moral manipulation. But that didn’t matter, because Trinli was also a self-deceiving coward. You gotta go along to get along.
One Jimmy Diem was worth any number of Pham Trinlis.
Tomas Nau had maneuvered them all so cleverly. He had stolen the minds of Trixia and hundreds of others. He had murdered all those who might have made a difference. And he had used those murders to make the rest of them into his willing tools.
Ezr stared up at the false stars, at the tree branches that curved like claws across the sky. Maybe it’s possible to push someone too far, to break him so he can’t be a tool anymore. Staring up at the dark claws all around him, Vinh felt his mind spin off in separate directions. One part watched passively, marveling that such disintegration could happen to Ezr Vinh. Another part drew in on itself, drowned in pools of sorrow; Sum Dotran would never return, nor S. J. Park, and any promise of reversing Trixia’s Focus must surely be a lie. But there was a third fragment, cool and analytical and murderous:
For both Qeng Ho and Emergents, the Exile would last for decades. Much of that time would be spent off-Watch, in coldsleep…but they still had years stretching before them. And Tomas Nau needed all the survivors. For now, the Qeng Ho were beaten down, raped, and—so Tomas Nau must be led to think—deceived. The cool one within him, the one who could kill, looked out upon that future with grim intent. This was not the life that Ezr Vinh had ever dreamed would be his. There would be no friends he could safely confide in. There would be enemies and fools all around. He watched Trinli’s light vanish at the entrance to the park. Fools like Pham Trinli could be used. As long as it didn’t implicate competent Qeng Ho, Trinli was a sacrifice piece in the game. Tomas Nau had set him a role for life, and his greatest reward might be nothing more than revenge. (But maybe a chance, the original watcher tried to say, maybe a chance that Reynolt wasn’t lying about Trixia and the reversibility of Focus.)
The cool one took a last long look down the years of patient work that lay ahead…and then for the moment, it retired. Surely there were cameras watching. Better not to seem too calm after all that had happened. Vinh curled in upon himself and surrendered to the one who could weep.
PART TWO
FOURTEEN
Only the most literal-minded would dispute the saying “New sun, new world.” It’s true, the core of the planet is surely unchanged by the New Sun, and the continental outlines are mostly the same. But the steam-storms of the first year of the sun scour back the dry wreckage of all previous surface life. Forests and jungles, prairies and swamps, all must start again. Of Spiderkind’s surface works, only stone buildings in protected valleys may survive.
Spore-borne life spreads quickly, torn apart in the storms to sprout again and again. In the first years, higher animals may poke their snouts from deepnesses, may try to gain advantage with an early taking of territory, but it is a deadly business. The “birth of the new world” is so violent that the metaphor is strained.
…And yet, after the third or fourth year, there are occasional breaks in the storms. Avalanches and steam surges become rare, and plants can survive from year to year. In the winter season, when the winds have gentled and there is a gap between the storms, there are times when one can look out at the land and imagine this phase of the sun as an exuberance of life.
Pride of Accord was once more complete, a grander highway than ever it had been before. Victory Smith had the sports car up past sixty miles per hour on the straightaway, slowing to just under thirty when they entered a switchback. From his perch in the back, Hrunkner Unnerby had heart-stopping views of each new precipice. He held on to his perch with every hand and foot. Except for that terrorized embrace, he was sure the last turn would have flung him out the side of the auto.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have me drive, ma’am?” He asked.
Smith laughed. “And me sit back where you are? No way. I know how scary it is to watch from the back perch.”
Sherkaner Underhill tilted his head out the side window. “Um, I never realized how exciting this ride was for passengers.”
“Okay, I get the message.” Smith slowed, drove more cautiously than any of them might have done alone. In fact, road conditions were excellent. The storm had been blown away by a hot, compressional wind, leaving the concrete surface dry and clear. In another hour, they would be back in the soup. Their mountain route scraped just under ragged, fast-moving clouds, and the lands to the south were dark with the haze of rain. The view was about as open as it ever got along Pride of Accord. The forest was just two years old, hard-barked cones sprouting tear-away leaves. Most of the treelets were scarcely a yard tall, though here and there a sproutling or a softbush might reach six or ten feet. The green stretched for miles, interrupted here and there by the brown of avalanches or the spray of waterfalls. In this phase of the sun, the Westermost Forest was like God’s own lawn and from almost every point on the Pride, the travelers could see down to the ocean.
Hrunkner relaxed the grip on his perch a fraction. Behind them, he could see Smith’s security detail appear around the last switchback. For most of the trip, the escort had had no trouble staying close. For one thing, the storm and rain had kept Victory to very low speeds. Now they were scrambling, and Hrunkner wouldn’t blame them if they were steamed. Unfortunately, their commanding officer was about the only person they could complain to, and that was Victory Smith. Smith wore the uniform of a major in the Accord Quartermaster Corps. The branch wasn’t quite a lie, since Intelligence was construed as a branch of Quartermaster whenever convenient. But Smith was no major. Unnerby had been out of the service for four years, but he still had his old drinking buddies…and he knew just how the Great War had finally been won: if Victory Smith was not the new chief of Accord Intelligence, Unnerby would be enormously surprised.
There had been other surprises though—at least they’d been surprises until he thought things through. Two days ago, Smith had called, inviting him back to the Service. Today, when she showed up at his shop in Princeton, he’d half expected the discreet security—but Sherkaner Underhill’s presence had been totally unexpected. Not so surprising was the pleasure he’d felt in seeing the two again. Hrunkner Unnerby had achieved no fame for his role in truncating the Great War; it would be at least ten years before the records of their walk in the Dark were unsealed. But his share of the bounty for that mission had been twenty times his life’s savings. Finally, an excuse to quit the Service, a chance to do something constructive with his engineering background.
In the first years of a New Sun, there were enormous works to be done, under conditions that could be as dangerous as combat. In some cases real combat was involved. Even in a modern civilization, this phase of the sun was one where treachery—from theft to murder to squatting—was common. Hrunkner Unnerby had done very well, so perhaps the biggest surprise was how easy it had been for Victory Smith to persuade him to accept a thirty-day enlistment. “Just long enough to learn what we’re up to and decide whether you’d like to come back to longer service.”
Hence this trip to Lands Command. So far, it was a welcome vacation, a meeting with old friends (and it’s not often a sergeant got chauffeured by a general officer). Sherkaner Underhill was as much the unhinged genius as ever, though the nerve damage he’d suffered in their ad hoc deepness made him seem older than he was. Smith was more open and cheerful than he had ever seen her. Fifteen miles out of Princeton, beyond the temporary rowhouses and just into the foothills of the Westermost Range, the two let him in on their personal secret:
“You’re what?” Unnerby had said,
almost slipping off his perch. Hot rain was slamming down all around them; maybe he hadn’t heard right.
“You heard me, Hrunkner. The General and I are wife and husband.” Underhill was grinning like an idiot.
Victory Smith raised a pointed hand. “One correction. Don’t call me General.”
Unnerby was usually better at masking astonishment; even Underhill could see this had taken him by surprise, and his grin got even broader. “Surely you had guessed there was something going on between us before the Big Dark.”
“Well…” Yes, though nothing could come of it, what with Sherkaner about to head off for his very uncertain walk in the Dark. Hrunkner had always felt sorry for the two because of that.
In fact, they did make a great team. Sherkaner Underhill had more bright ideas than any dozen people the Sergeant had ever known; but most of his ideas were grossly impractical, at least in terms of what could be accomplished in one person’s lifetime. On the other hand, Victory Smith had an eye for workable results. Why, if she hadn’t been around at just the right time that afternoon long ago, Unnerby would have booted poor Underhill all the way back to Princeton—and his mad scheme for winning the Great War would have been lost. So, yes. Except for the timing, he wasn’t surprised. And if Victory Smith was now the Director of Accord Intelligence, the country itself stood to win big. An ugly thought wormed its way to his mouth, and then seemed to pop out of its own volition: “But children? Not now of course.”
“Yup. The General’s pregnant. I’ll be carrying two baby welts on my back in less than half a year.”
Hrunkner realized he was sucking on his eating hands in embarrassment. He gargled something unintelligible. They drove for half a minute in silence, the hot rain hissing back across the windshields. How could they do this to their own children?
Finally, the General said quietly, “Do you have a problem with this, Hrunkner?”
Unnerby wanted to swallow his hands all over again. He had known Victory Smith since the day she came into Lands Command, a spanking new junior lieutenant, a lady with an unplaced name and an undisguisable youthfulness. You saw almost everything in the military, and everybody guessed straightaway. The junior lieutenant was truly new; she was born out-of-phase. Yet somehow she’d been educated well enough to get into officer school. The rumor was that Victory Smith was the get of a rich East Coast pervert, the fellow’s family had finally disowned him, and the daughter who shouldn’t exist. Unnerby remembered the slurs and worse that had followed her everywhere for the first quarter year or so. In fact, his first glimmer that she was destined for greatness was the way she stood up to the ostracism, her intelligence and courage in facing the shame of her time of birth.
Finally he got his voice. “Uk. Yes, ma’am. I know. I meant no disrespect. I was brought up to believe a certain way,” about how decent people should live. Decent people conceived their children in the Waning years, and gave birth with the new sun.
The General didn’t reply, but Underhill gave him a backhanded pat. “That’s okay, Sergeant. You should have seen my cousin’s reaction. But just wait; things change. When we have time, I’ll explain why the old rules don’t really make sense anymore.” And that was the most disquieting thing about Sherkaner Underhill: he probably could explain away their behavior—and remain blissfully remote from the rage it would cause in others.
But the embarrassing moment had passed. If these two could put up with Hrunkner’s straitlaced nature, he would do his best to ignore their…quirks. Heaven knew he had put up with worse during the war. Besides, Victory Smith was the sort who seemed to create her own propriety—and once created, it was as deep as any Unnerby had known.
As for Underhill…his attention was already elsewhere. His nervous tremor made him look old, but the mind was as sharp—or as flaky—as ever. It flitted from idea to idea, never quite coming to rest the way a normal person’s would. The rain had stopped and the wind became hot and dry. As they entered the steep country, Unnerby took a quick look at his watch and began counting how much craziness the other might come up with in the next few minutes. (1) Pointing out at the hard-armored first growth of the forest, Underhill speculated what Spiderkind might have been like if it regrew from spores after every Dark instead of emerging full-grown and with children. (2) A crack in the cloud cover appeared ahead, fortunately several miles to the side of their path. For a few minutes, the searing whiteness of once-reflected sunlight shone down upon them, clouds so bright they had to shade that side of the car. Somewhere uphill of them, direct sunlight was frying the mountainside. And Sherkaner Underhill wondered if maybe someone could build “heat farms” on the mountaintops, using temperature differentials to generate electricity for the towns below. (3) Something green scuttled across the road, narrowly avoiding their wheels. Sherkaner had a take on that, too, something about evolution and the automobile. (And Victory commented that such evolution could work both ways.) (4) Ah, but Underhill had an idea for much safer, faster transport than autos or even aircraft. “Ten minutes from Princeton to Lands Command, twenty minutes across the continent. See, you dig these tunnels along minimum-time arcs, evacuate the air from them, and just let gravity do the work.” By Unnerby’s watch, there was a five-second pause. Then: “Oops, little problem there. The minimum-time solution for Princeton to Lands Command would go down kinda deep…like six hundred miles. I probably couldn’t convince even the General to finance it.”
“You are right about that!” And the two were off in an extended argument about less-than-optimal tunnel arcs and trade-offs against air travel. The deep tunnel idea was really dumb, it turned out.
Unnerby lost track after a while. For one thing, Sherkaner was very curious about Unnerby’s construction business. The fellow was a good listener, and his questions gave Unnerby ideas he might never have had otherwise. Some of those might actually make money. Lots of money. Hmm.
Smith noticed: “Hey, I need this sergeant to be poor and in need of a generous enlistment bonus. Don’t lead him astray!”
“Sorry, dear.” But Underhill did not seem apologetic. “It’s been a long time, Hrunkner. I wish we’d seen more of you these last years. You remember back then, my big, ah—”
“Screwball idea of the moment?”
“Yes, exactly!”
“I remember just before we buttoned up in that Tiefer animal deepness, you were mumbling about this being the last Dark that civilization would ever sleep through. In the hospital afterwards, you were still going on about it. You should be a science-fiction writer, Sherkaner.”
Underhill waved a hand airily, as if acknowledging a compliment. “Actually, it’s been done in fiction. But truly, Hrunk, ours is the first era where we can make it happen.”
Hrunkner shrugged. He had walked in the Great Dark; it still made him queasy. “I’m sure there will be lots more Deep Dark expeditions, larger and better equipped than ours. It’s an exciting idea, and I’m sure the Gen—Major Smith also has all sorts of plans. I could even imagine significant battles in the middle of the Dark.”
“This is a new age, Hrunk. Look at what science is doing all around us.”
They rounded the last curve of dry roadway and plowed into a solid wall of hot rain, the storm they had seen from the north. Smith was not caught by surprise. They had their windows rolled almost all the way up, and the auto was doing only twenty miles per hour when they were enveloped. Still, the driving conditions were suddenly ghastly, the windows fogging almost too fast for the car’s blowers, the rain so thick that even with the deep-red rain lights they could barely see the edge of the roadway. The rain that spattered past the chinks in the windows was hot as a baby’s spit. Behind them, two pairs of deep-reds loomed in the darkness, Smith’s security people pulling closer.
It took a forcible effort to bring his attention back from the storm outside and remember what Underhill had been saying. “I know about the ‘Age of Science,’ Sherk. That’s been my edge in the construction business. By the last Wani
ng we had radio, aircraft, telephones, sound recording. Even during the build-back since the New Sun, that progress has continued. Your auto is an incredible improvement over that Relmeitch you had before the Dark—and that was an expensive vehicle for its time.” And someday, Unnerby wanted to learn just how Sherkaner had obtained it on a grad student’s stipend. “Without a doubt, this is the most exciting era I could ever hope to live in. Aircraft will soon break the sound barrier. The Crown is building a national highway system. You wouldn’t be behind that, would you, Major?”
Victory smiled. “No need. There are plenty of people in Quartermaster who are. And the highway system would happen without any government help at all. But this way, we retain control.”
“So. Big things are happening. In thirty years—by the next Dark—I wouldn’t be surprised if there is worldwide air traffic, picturing telephones, maybe even rocket-borne relays that orbit the world the way the world orbits the sun. If we can avoid another war, I’m going to have the time of my life. But your idea that our entire civilization will sustain itself right through the Dark—pardon me, old Corporal, but I don’t think you’ve worked out the numbers. To do that we’d essentially have to re-create the sun. Do you have any idea of the energy involved? I remember what it took to support our diggers after Dark during the War. We used more fuel in those operations than in all the rest of the War put together.”
Ha! For once, Sherkaner Underhill didn’t have a ready reply. Then he realized that Sherk was waiting for the General to speak. After a moment, Victory Smith raised a hand. “Until now everything has been very sociable, Sergeant. I know, you’ve learned some things that enemies might make use of—clearly you’ve guessed my present job.”