In this state, Wili found it hard to imagine failure. All the details were there before him. As long as he was on hand to watch and supervise, there was nothing that could take him by surprise. It was a false optimism perhaps. He knew that Paul didn’t feel it when he was linked up and helping. But Wili had gradually realized that Paul used the system without becoming part of it. To Paul it was like another programming tool, not like a part of his own mind. It was sad that someone so smart should miss this.
This real dream of power continued for several hours. As the cells slowly drained, operations were necessarily curtailed. The slow retreat from omniscience matched his own increasing drowsiness. Last thing before losing consciousness and power, he ferreted through Peacer archives and discovered the secret of Delia Lu’s family. Now that their cover was blown, they had moved to the Livermore Enclave, but Wili found two other spy families among the ‘furbishers and warned the conspirators to avoid them.
Heat, sweat, dust on his face. Something was clanking and screaming in the distance. Wili lurched out of his daydreaming recollection of the previous evening. Beside him Rosas leaned close to the peephole. A splotch of light danced across his face as he tried to follow what was outside in spite of the swaying progress of the banana wagon.
“God. Look at all those Peacers,” he said quietly. “We must be right at the Pass, Wili.”
“Lemme see,” the boy said groggily. Wili suppressed his own surprised exclamation. The wagons were still ascending the same gentle grade they’d been on for the last hour. Ahead he could see the wagon that contained Jill. What was new was the cause of all the clanking. Peacer armor. The vehicles were still on the horizon, coming off an interchange ahead. They were turning north toward the garrison at Mission Pass. “Must be the reinforcements from Medford.” Wili had never seen so many vehicles with his own eyes. The line stretched from the interchange for as far as they could see. They were painted in dark green colors—quite an uncamouflage in this landscape. Many of them looked like tanks he had seen in old movies. Others were more like bricks on treads.
As they approached the interchange the clanking got louder and combined with the overtones of turbines. Soon the banana wagons caught up with the military. Civilian traffic was forced over to the rightmost lane. Powered freighters and horse-drawn wagons alike were slowed to the same crawl.
It was late afternoon. There was something big and loud behind them that cast a long shadow forward across the two banana wagons, and brought a small amount of coolness. But the tanks to the right raised a dust storm that more than made up for the lowered temperatures.
They drove like this for more than an hour. Where were the checkpoints? The road ahead still rose. They passed dozens of parked tanks, their crews working at mysterious tasks. Someone was fueling up. The smell of diesel oil came into the cramped hole along with the dust and the noise.
All was in shadow now. But finally Wili thought he could see part of the garrison. At least there was a building on the crest they were approaching. He remembered what things looked like from above. Most of the garrison’s buildings were on the far side of the crest. Only a few positions—for observation and direct fire—were on this side.
Wili wondered what sort of armor they had back there now, considering what he was seeing on this side.
Wili and Mike traded time at the peephole as the spot on the horizon grew larger. The outpost sat like a huge boulder mostly submerged in the earth. There were slots cut in the armor, and he could see guns or lasers within. Wili was reminded of some of the twentieth-century fantasies Bill Morales liked to watch. These last few days—and hopefully the next few as well—were like Lucas’ Lord of the Rings. Mike had even called Mission Pass the “front door” last night. Beyond these mountains (actually low hills) lay the “Great Enemy” ‘s ultimate redoubt. The mountains hid enemy underlings that watched for the hobbits or elves (or Tinkers) who must sneak through to the plains beyond, who must go right into the heart of evil and perform some simple act that would bring victory.
The similarity went further. This enemy had a supreme weapon (the big bobbler hidden in the Valley), but instead depended on earthly servants (the tanks and the troops) to do the dirty work. The Peacers hadn’t bobbled anything for the last three days. That was a mystery, though Wili and Paul suspected the Authority was building up power reserves for the battle they saw coming.
Ahead of them, civilian traffic stopped at a checkpoint. Wili couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but one by one—some slowly, some quickly—the wagons and freighters passed through. Finally their turn came. He heard Paul climb down from the driver’s seat. A couple of Peacers approached. Both were armed, but they didn’t seem especially tense. Twilight was deep now, and he could barely make out the color in their uniforms. The sky came down to the near horizon that was the crest of the Pass. The Earth’s shadow, projected into the sky, made a dark wall beyond them. One carried a long metal pole. Some kind of weapon?
Paul hurried up from the back wagon. For a moment all three stood in his field of view. The troopers glanced at Paul and then up at where Allison was sitting. They obviously realized the two wagons were together. “Watcha got here, uncle?” asked the older of them.
“Bananas,” Naismith replied unnecessarily. “You want some? My granddaughter and I’ve got to get them to Livermore before they spoil.”
“I have bad news for you, then. Nothing’s getting through here for a while.” The three walked out of sight, back along the wagon.
“What?” Paul’s voice rose, cracked. He was a better actor than Wili would have guessed. “B-but what’s going on here? I’ll lose business.”
The younger soldier sounded sincerely apologetic. “We can’t help it, sir. If you had followed the news, you’d know the enemies of Peace are on the move again. We’re expecting an attack almost any time. Those damn Tinkers are going to bring back the bad old days.”
“Oh no!” The anguish in the old man’s voice seemed a compound of his personal problems and this new forecast of doom.
There was the sound of side curtains being dragged off the wagon. “Hey, Sarge, these things aren’t even ripe.”
“That’s right,” said Naismith. “I have to time things so when I arrive they’ll be just ready to sell. . . . Here. Take a couple, officer.”
“Um, thanks.” Wili could imagine the Peacer holding a clump of bananas, trying to figure what to do with them. “Okay, Hanson, do your stuff.” There was a rasping and a probing. So that’s what the metal pole was. Both Wili and Miguel Rosas held their breath. Their hiding space was small, and it was covered with webbed padding. It could probably deceive a sonic probe. What about this more primitive search?
“It’s clean.”
“Okay. Let’s look at your other wagon.”
They walked to the forward wagon, the one that contained the bobbler and most of the storage cells. Their conversation faded into the general din of the checkpoint. Allison climbed down from her driver’s seat and stood where Wili could see her.
Minutes passed. The band of shadow across the eastern sky climbed, became diffuse. Twilight moved toward night.
Electric lamps flashed on. Wili gasped. He had seen miraculous electronics these last months, but the sudden sheer power of those floodlights was as impressive as any of it. Every second they must eat as much electricity as Naismith’s house did in a week.
Then he heard Paul’s voice again. The old man had taken on a whining tone, and the trooper was a bit more curt than before. “Look, mister, I didn’t decide to bring war here. You should count yourself lucky that you have any sort of protection from these monsters. Maybe things will blow over in time for you to save the load. For now, you’re stuck. There’s a parking area up ahead, near the crest. We have some latrines fixed there. You and your granddaughter can stay overnight, then decide if you want to stick it out or turn back. . . . Maybe you could sell part of the load in Fremont.”
Paul sounded defeated, almost
dazed. “Yes sir. Thanks for your help. Do as he says, Allison dear.”
The wagons creaked forward, blue-white light splashing all around them like magic rain. From across the tiny hiding place, Wili heard the whisper of a chuckle.
“Paul is really good. Now I wonder if all his whining last night was some sort of reverse whammy to get our spirits up.”
Horse-drawn wagons and Authority freighters alike had parked in the big lot near the crest of the Pass. There were some electric lamps, but compared to the checkpoint it was almost dark. A good many people were stuck here overnight. Most of them milled around by cooking fires at the middle of the lot. The far end was dominated by the squat dome they had seen from far down the highway. Several armored vehicles were parked in front of it; they faced into the civilians.
The armored traffic on the highway had virtually ceased. For the first time in hours there was an absence of clank and turbines.
Paul came back around the side of the wagon. He and Allison adjusted the side curtains. Paul complained loudly to Allison about the disaster that had befallen them, and she was dutifully quiet. A trio of freighter drivers walked by. As they passed out of earshot, Naismith said quietly. “Wili, we’re going to have to risk a hookup. I’ve connected you with the gear in the front wagon. Allison has pulled the narrow-beam antenna out of the bananas. I want contact with our . . . friends. We’re going to need help to get any closer.”
Wili grinned in the dark. It was a risk—but one he’d been aching to take. Sitting in this hole without processors was like being deaf, dumb, and blind. He attached the scalp connector and powered up.
There was a moment of disorientation as Jill and he meshed with the satellite net. Then he was looking out a dozen new eyes, listening on hundreds of Peacer comm channels. It would take him a little longer to contact the Tinkers. After all, they were humans.
A bit of his awareness still hung in their dark hiding place. With his true ears, Wili heard a car roar off the highway and park at the Peacer dome. The armor at the far end of the lot came to life. Something important was happening right here. Wili found a camera aboard the armor that could transmit to the satellite net. He looked out: The car’s driver had jumped out and come to attention. Far across the lot, he could see civilians—somewhere among them Paul and Allison—turn to watch. He felt Mike crawl across him to look out the peephole. Wili juggled the viewpoints, at the same time continuing his efforts to reach the Tinkers, at the same time searching Authority RAM for the cause of the current commotion.
A door opened at the base of the Peacer station. White light spread from it across the asphalt. A Peacer was outlined in the doorway. A second followed him. And between them . . . a child? Someone small and slender, anyway. The figure stepped out of the larger shadows and looked across the parking lot. Light glinted off the black helmet of short hair. He heard Mike suck in a breath.
It was Delia Lu.
34
Staff seemed satisfied with the preparations; even Avery accepted the plans.
Delia Lu was not so happy. She looked speculatively at the stars on the shoulder of the perimeter commander. The officer looked back with barely concealed truculence. He thought he was tough. He thought she was more nonprofessional interference.
But she knew he was soft. All these troops were. They hadn’t ever been in a real fight.
Lu considered the map he had displayed for her. As she, through Avery, had required, the armored units were being dispersed into the hills. Except for a few necessary and transient concentrations, the Tinkers would have to take them out a vehicle at a time. And satellite intelligence assured them that the enemy attack was many hours away, that the infiltrators weren’t anywhere near the net of armor.
She pointed to the Mission Pass command post. “I see you stopped all incoming traffic. Why have them park so close to your command point here? A few of those people must be Tinker agents.”
The general shrugged. “We inspected the vehicles four thousand meters down the road. That’s beyond the range the intelligence people give for the enemy’s homemade bobbler. Where we have them now, we can keep them under close watch and interrogate them more conveniently.”
Delia didn’t like it. If even a single generator slipped through, this command post would be lost. Still, with the main attack at least twenty-four hours away, it might be safe to sit here a bit longer. There was time perhaps to go Tinker hunting in that parking area. Anybody they caught would probably be important to the enemy cause. She stepped back from the map display. “Very well, General, let’s take a look at these civilians. Get your intelligence teams together. It’s going to be a long night for them.
“In the meantime, I want you to move your command and control elements over the ridgeline. When things start happening, they’ll be much safer in mobiles.”
The officer looked at her for a moment, probably wondering just who she was sleeping with to give such orders. Finally he turned and spoke to a subordinate.
He glanced back at Delia. “You want to be present at the interrogations?”
She nodded. “The first few, anyway. I’ll pick them for you.”
The parking-lot detention area was several hundred meters on a side. It looked almost like a fairground. Diesel freighters loomed over small horse-drawn carts and wagons. The truckers had already started fires. Some of their voices were almost cheerful. The delay by itself didn’t worry them; their businesses were internal to the Authority and they stood to be reimbursed.
Lu walked past the staff car the general had ordered for them. The officer and his aides tagged along, uncertain what she would do next. She wasn’t sure yet either, but once she got the feel of the crowd. . . .
If she were Miguel Rosas, she’d figure out some way to hijack one of the Peace Authority freighters. There was enough volume in a freighter to hide almost anything the Tinkers might make. Hmm. But the drivers generally knew each other and could probably recognize each other’s rigs. The Tinkers would have to park their freighter away from the others, and avoid socializing. She and her entourage drifted through the shadows beyond the fires.
The freighters were clumped together; none was parked apart. That left the non-Peacer civilians. She turned away from the freighters and walked down a row of wagons. The people were ordinary enough: more than half in their fifties and sixties, the rest young apprentices. They did look uneasy—they stood to lose a lot of money if they had to stay here long—but there was little fear. They still believed the Authority’s propaganda. And most of them were food shippers. None of their own people had been bobbled in the purges she had supervised the last few weeks. From somewhere over the hill she heard choppers. The intelligence crews would be here shortly.
Then she saw the banana wagons. They could only be from the Vandenberg area. No matter what intelligence was saying nowadays, she still thought Middle California was the center of the infestation. An old man and a woman about Lu’s own age stood near the wagons. She felt tiny alarm bells going off.
Behind Delia, the helicopters were landing. Dust blew cool and glowing around her. The choppers’ lights cast her group’s shadow toward the pair by the banana wagons. The old man raised his hand to shade his eyes; the woman just looked at them. There was something strange about her, a straightness in her posture, almost a soldier’s bearing. For all that the other was tall and Caucasian, Delia felt she was seeing someone very like herself.
Delia clapped the general’s arm, and when he turned to her she shouted over the sounds of blades and turbines, “There are your prime suspects—”
“The bitch! Is she some kind of mind reader?” Mike watched Lu’s progress across the wide field. She still wasn’t coming directly toward them, but edged slowly closer, like some cautious huntress. Mike cursed quietly. They seemed doomed at every step to face her and be bested by her.
The field grew bright; shadows shifted and lengthened. Choppers. Three of them. Each craft carried twin lamps hung below the cockpit. Lu’s wolves,
eyes glowing, settled down behind their mistress.
“Mike. Listen.” Wili’s voice was tense, but the words were slurred, the cadence irregular. He must be in deep connect. He sounded like one talking from a dream. “I’m running at full power; we’ll be out of power in seconds—but that is all we have.”
Mike looked out at the helicopters; Wili was right about that. “But what can we do?” he said.
“Our friends . . . going to distract her . . . no time to explain everything. Just do what I say.”
Mike stared into the darkness. He could imagine the dazed look in Wili’s eyes, the slack features. He had seen it often enough the last few evenings. The boy was managing their own problems and coordinating the rest of the revolution, all at the same time. Rosas had played symbiotic games, but this was beyond his imagination. There was only one thing he could say. “Sure.”
“You’re going to take those two armored equipment carriers at . . . far side of the field. Do you see them?”
Mike had, earlier. They were two hundred meters off. There were guards posted next to them.
“When?”
“A minute. Kick loose the side of the wagon . . . now. When I say go . . . you jump, grab Allison, and run for them. Ignore everything else you see and hear. Everything.”
Mike hesitated. He could guess what Wili intended, but—
“Move. Move. Move!” Wili’s voice was abruptly urgent, angry—the dreamer frustrated. It was as unnerving as a scream. Mike turned and crashed his heels into the specially weakened wall. It had been intended as an emergency escape route. As the tacked nails gave way, Mike reflected that this was certainly an emergency—but they would be getting out in full view of Peacer guns.