The Future War t2-3

by S. M. Stirling

  "Sure. Let me know how it turns out."

  "You'll be hearing from me," John said over his shoulder. He'd check the Klondike first; if they weren't there they'd probably gone to the Junction. They had a couple of favorite restaurants there.

  Enjoy it while you can, guys. I've got a bad feeling that restaurants are about to become a thing of the past.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DELTA JUNCTION, ALASKA

  John sat in the parking lot of the Longhouse for a good forty-five minutes staring at nothing—wet green trees, wet gray mud, wet pavement, and wet gray sky, all a blur. Dieter's truck was three cars over, but there was still no sign of him and Sarah.

  Maybe I ought to tell them inside, John thought. Cowardly, sure, but probably a good way to ensure that Mom doesn't kill me outright.

  Tightening his lips, he hung his head. She might never speak to him again—at least not as her son—but she probably wouldn't kill him, if only because Skynet would want her to. John opened the door and slid out, ignoring the chill and the spray of rain that struck his face and neck. Then he crossed the longest parking lot on earth…

  But not long enough, he thought, dodging around a vastly bearded man in a bloodred mackinaw who looked like he'd done a summer's drinking with spring yet young. I wish it were somewhere about a light-year long. Or that I could just run away.

  He pushed through the entrance door, through the hall, and through the inner doors—most places around here had that air-lock arrangement, for wintertime. Hot smoky air full of the smells of cooking and beer struck him, noisy with conversation.

  The hostess beside the "Please Wait to Be Seated" sign waved him inside when he told her he was meeting someone already there. He stood at the entrance to a long and dimly lit room, amid a clatter of cutlery and more tobacco smoke than he liked.

  Dieter and Sarah, wineglasses in hand, were laughing together at a table in the dim back corner of the restaurant.

  Candle glow from a small, rustic lamp in the center of the table made his mother look thirty and very pretty.

  It seemed selfish to force his news on them when they were enjoying themselves so much. But then, if they're feeling mellow, maybe Dieter won't kill me either. He walked toward them, forcing a vaguely pleasant expression onto his face. When he reached their table his mother gave him a knowing smile.

  "I was wondering when you'd come over," she said. "But when I saw the look on your face, I wasn't about to invite you."

  John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Can I sit?" he asked.

  Sarah and Dieter exchanged glances and the big man made a gracious gesture of invitation; whereupon John sat, his hands clasped over his stomach. That was beginning to ache with the tension.

  "You want to eat?" Sarah asked, glancing around for a waiter.

  John waved her off. "No." He sat forward, closer to both of them, and his manner made them lean in, too. John looked them both in the eye. "I owe you an apology for my behavior," he said.

  "Both of you, but mostly you, Mom. I have something to tell you."

  He gritted his teeth. "And I swear, I'd rather cut my tongue out than say it."

  Sarah leaned back, tapping the table with one finger, and studied her son. He looked… ashamed. Something curdled deep inside her, some warning of impending disaster. If John were just any young man, she'd think he was going to confess that he'd knocked up some girl and was planning a low-rent lifestyle with her. But John wasn't just any young man, and any disaster that could make him look so defeated and so conscience-stricken must be very, very bad.

  "Do you want to wait until we get home?" she asked softly.

  He shook his head. "I don't think I can stand to wait." He shook his head again. "But I don't know how to tell you."

  Dieter rolled his eyes. "Say it like it's a report," he snapped.

  "Start at the beginning, go on to the end, and stop."

  John gave him a brief smile, then looked down again. "I was reading Mom's report, and in spite of my resistance, I was seeing the sense of it when I asked myself why I was being such a jerk."

  Dieter made a rumbling sound of protest and John stopped him with a look.

  "I know how I've been behaving. So I thought about when it had started, and that brought me back to Red Seal Base." Sarah and Dieter automatically checked to see if anyone was listening, and John was briefly, sadly amused. "Just before the Terminator killed Wendy, she was trying to say something to me. I thought it was 'enter.' So I went to the computer and loaded the disk I found in the drawer. Then the Terminator killed her, we killed it, and we left."

  John picked at a hangnail for a moment, then he looked directly at his mother. "But now I've thought it over and I think what she said… no, I'm sure that what she said was 'erase.' "

  Sarah made a little grunt, as though she'd been punched, not hard but right in the solar plexus. She stared at her son, her mouth slightly open, and moved her hands awkwardly, as though she didn't know what to do with them.

  "You?" she said, unbelieving. She shook her head, then gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Sarah stood, still looking at John. "I need to take a walk," she said, sounding hypnotized.

  She slid out from behind the table. Dieter started to rise and she waved him back. Sarah stopped for a moment to look down at John, who could only bear to shoot brief glances at her. Then she walked away from them, briskly, and without looking back.

  Silence reigned at the table.

  "I'm glad we had dinner before you came in," Dieter said.

  John looked at him, feeling sick. "I don't think I ever want to eat again," he mumbled.

  "You will. You'd better." The big Austrian narrowed his eyes.

  "We've got a mess to clean up."

  That shocked an incredulous laugh out of John. "A mess?

  That's putting it a bit mildly, wouldn't you say?"

  "Yah, but I don't have my violin."

  Genuinely shocked, the younger man stared at him. "I can understand if you don't wanna give me a hug, but I've just realized this whole thing is my fault. I'd appreciate it if you didn't make fun of me, okay?"

  "You made a mistake," Dieter agreed. "But you weren't the only one. I knew you were upset, and hurt. I was the more experienced operative; I should have double-checked your work."

  "It's good of you to want to shoulder some of the responsibility, Dieter," John began.

  Dieter waved that off. "At this juncture assigning blame is meaningless. And in this case it's particularly pointless. We've been in this situation before, John." He nodded his head. "And we've discussed what's happening. Events want to happen a certain way. You and your mother and I have changed things three times. The first two times you had nothing to do with creating Skynet, yet you owe your very existence to it." He sighed. "I suppose it's only reasonable that fate would choose you to bring it into being."

  "We have no fate but what we make for ourselves," Sarah said.

  John jumped and looked up at her. She was wearing her hardest expression, but she wasn't looking at him as though he was the enemy.

  "This was bad luck and poor performance, brought about no doubt by your having hypothermia and John's being wounded and in shock. But we're not going to lie down and wail, 'Oh, it was fate, there's nothing we can do.' We've fought Skynet before and won; we'll go on fighting it until the damn thing's obliterated. Now let's go home and get to work." She turned and walked away.

  Dieter watched her go with awe in his face. "What a woman,"

  he whispered. Then he smiled at John and, reaching over the table, gave him a slap on the back. "Let's go see what we can do, eh?"

  * * *

  NEAR THE MOSQUITO RIVER, ALASKA

  Ninel rode her bike up the weed-grown gravel driveway, then paused just as the house came in sight through the bushes. It was a neat little cottage with a stone chimney and a screened-in front porch. It seemed surprisingly well cared for given the condition of the driveway. Someone moved within the shaded depths o
f the porch and Ninel tightened her lips, embarrassed at being seen spying on the house. She continued riding.

  "Hello the house," she called out.

  A slightly plump woman with short gray hair, wearing a shapeless housedress, opened the screen door and stood on the steps. She had a pleasant, motherly face and alert, intelligent eyes. Ninel warmed to her immediately.

  "Hello yourself," the woman said, and took another step down.

  "You'd be Ninel?"

  "Petrikoff," Ninel agreed and held out her hand.

  "Balewitch," the woman said with a grin and a slight shrug.

  She took Ninel's hand in a firm clasp. "It seemed romantic and interesting when I was young." She rolled her eyes. "Now it just reminds me of how young I once was. Still, a lot of people know me by Balewitch. C'mon in and have some tea." She went up the steps and onto the porch, holding the door open invitingly.

  "Quick, before the mosquitoes get in!"

  Ninel put the bike on its kickstand and dashed lightly up the steps. Her hostess led her past a tiny sitting room and down a short hall to a sunny kitchen. It was probably the largest room in the house and most likely where Balewitch spent most of her time. The room was painted in soft yellow and pale green with a big farmhouse-style table and ladder-back chairs with rush seats around it. It smelled like fresh bread, with maybe just a hint of the sandalwood scent of pot beneath it.

  "You have a lovely home," Ninel said.

  The woman turned from spooning tea into a pot and smiled.

  "Thank you, honey. I like it." She poured boiling water into the pot and brought it to the table where two mugs already sat. "It's mint from my garden."

  "Oh really, how nice," Ninel said, and sat down.

  "Ron said you used to be a lot more active than you've been the last little while," Balewitch said, pouring the fragrant beverage for both of them.

  "Yeah, I was going to college in Fairbanks and there was a pretty big Luddite presence on campus. But so many people up here are Luddites that I sometimes felt like we were preaching to the converted. You know what I mean?"

  Balewitch nodded as she drizzled honey into her tea.

  "So when the opportunity came up to. take over this trapper's run, I grabbed it. Kyle kept me pretty busy teaching me everything I needed to know, so I didn't even have time to keep up with my friends in the movement, never mind the broader scope of things. But as soon as I could, I got back in touch." She took a sip of tea, smiled approval at her hostess, then shook her head. "But when Ron Labane himself seemed to be answering my postings, well, naturally, my interest soared. Although"—she carefully put her mug on the table—"I have to admit I sometimes doubt it's really him."

  Balewitch chuckled, her eyes sparkling with humor. "Oh, I can understand that. I had my doubts when he got back in touch with me at first. But it's him all right." She gave a firm nod. "No one else would know the things he knows—about me, about my group. It's him all right." She looked at Ninel and smiled. "So tell me all about yourself."

  Perhaps it was her motherly appearance or the sympathy in her smile, but Balewitch was very easy to talk to; she was an intelligent listener who asked all the right questions. Or maybe it was finally being in the company of someone with similar interests and ideas, but Ninel found herself talking more than she probably had all year. When the flow of words ran out, she looked down at her cold tea in surprise. Balewitch grinned and took the cup away from her.

  "Well, you've at least kept up with the literature," she said.

  "I'm a fast reader," Ninel admitted. "When I finally got the opportunity to hit the library, I just devoured everything I could get my hands on. And when I didn't have access, I just"—she shrugged—"well, thought about Mr. Labane's philosophy. My parents thought that Marxist-Leninist philosophy put forth the most important ideas ever known. But they were wrong. Ron Labane's ideas will save the human race from itself."

  After a moment Balewitch said, "I suppose your parents saw themselves as revolutionaries."

  Ninel shook her head, smiling sadly. "Maybe before I was born they were. The fire was pretty much gone before I was ten. When I was in high school I discovered the Luddite movement and tried to get them interested, but it was hopeless. I haven't been back home since I left for college, and I seriously doubt they've noticed I'm gone."

  Balewitch patted her hand. "They've noticed. Maybe they've even discovered the movement."

  Ninel shook her head. "I doubt it. The last time I went to one of their party meetings, the women were trading recipes and the men were talking about baseball. Like I said, the fire is gone."

  "What about your fire?" Balewitch asked. "Still hot?"

  The younger woman leaned forward eagerly. "Give me a chance to prove myself. Ask me to do something and I'll do it. I can be very efficient."

  Balewitch laughed and patted her hand again. "Down, girl!

  First why don't we try to put you in touch with some like-minded young people and see how you get along. Meanwhile, Ron told me to give you this." She got up and retrieved a booklet from a counter.

  Ninel took it and gasped. "Oh! The library didn't have this and they said they couldn't get it."

  "I'll just bet they didn't have it," her hostess said with a grin.

  "And the only way you can get it is with Ron's special permission. I warn you, do not show this around. It's intended for your eyes only. Understand?"

  Her eyes shining, Ninel clasped the booklet to her bosom and nodded. "I'll be careful," she said. "Thank you."

  "I know you will. You'd better get along now, honey. You've got a fair piece to travel, haven't you?"

  "Yeah." Ninel was taken aback at first to realize that Balewitch knew where she lived, but then told herself that of course she knew. Hadn't she been given directions on how to get here? Naturally they knew her starting point. If not the exact location of her home.

  She thanked Balewitch for her hospitality and for the booklet and started off on her bike. As she rode along it occurred to her that she'd done most of the talking and her new friend knew a great deal more about her than she knew about Balewitch. That wasn't how things usually went with her and she felt a bit uneasy. Still, she had Ron Labane's latest work, actually titled Forbidden Thoughts. No wonder the public library didn't carry it.

  * * *

  "Ron'll be able to smell that shit right through the screen,"

  Dog Soldier said.

  Balewitch didn't bother to turn around; she continued to type her report into the computer, pausing only to take the roach out of her mouth. "It relaxes me," she said shortly in her normal, foghorn voice.

  "Ah, but the boss doesn't approve," Dog said. He flopped down in the overstuffed chair beside the computer table, grinning at her.

  "Then the boss can go fuck himself, or he can give me something to do. Something besides interviewing dewy young things with more sex appeal than brains." She took another toke, then, raising one eyebrow, offered the roach to him.

  Dog waved it away. "Not my failing, old girl."

  "No"—she indicated the computer—"your failings would seem to involve aim, for example."

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. "I blew his fucking brains out. There weren't enough of

  'em left inside his head to fill an eggcup."

  "Then who the hell is reading this report?" she asked.

  "Hell if I know. But I like the way he thinks."

  Balewitch grunted in agreement and, narrowing her eyes at the screen, resumed typing.

  "He can always tell when you're smoking, you know," Dog teased.

  Balewitch glared at him. "Haven't you got anything better to do?"

  He rolled his head back and forth on the chair back.

  "Nah-uh." He watched her type for another moment or two. "So, what've ya got planned for that luscious little poppet, eh?"

  Balewitch gestured at the screen. "That's up to the ghost of Ron Labane, not me."

  Dog snickered. "I l
ike your sense of humor."

  "I don't have one," Balewitch said.

  Dog pulled down the corners of his mouth and closed his eyes again. "That kid has potential," he said at last.

  Balewitch thoughtfully blew out a cloud of fragrant smoke and gave a slow nod. "She might. Being brought up the way she was, there are certain security measures that probably come second nature to her. She talked her head off to me, though."

  "Yeah," Dog agreed. He waggled a finger at her. "But that's one of your more unexpected talents. You can get anyone to open up to you. Partly because you look and sound like the perfect cookie-bakin' grandma."

  Balewitch smiled. "Something I had to grow into," she agreed smugly. "As to the kid, she knows how to live hard and make sacrifices. She seems emotionally self-sufficient. She could be useful. It all depends on how the others evaluate her. I think she's worth taking a chance on."

  "Time's running out," Dog said.

  Balewitch looked at him. "What makes you say that?"

  He patted his slim middle. "Gut feeling. That Skynet thing, that's the catalyst. 01' Ron's hopping mad about it, in case you haven't been reading your mail."

  "Yeah," Balewitch said softly, almost dreamily. "That's the ticket all right. Maybe that's why he's had us step up recruiting."

  Dog nodded agreement. Recruiting, supply gathering, weapons training, not to mention intensive study of Nazi methods of dealing with unwanted civilians. The group had no fewer than ten extermination depots prepared in the lower U.S.

  already.

  The plan was to round people up, put 'em to work producing weapons, producing food, clothing, whatever was needed to win the war. Work 'em to death actually; there were always plenty more where those came from. Little by little there would be fewer and fewer people until there weren't any left at all. Then the world could be at peace and the cycle of life could continue as it was meant to. And for a little while the favored few, him and Balewitch and the others, would get to enjoy it as reward for their hard work.

  He grinned. He could hardly wait for the hard work to begin.