by Vernor Vinge
“But they can help!”
“Maybe. I’d call them in an instant if we had better information and better network penetration. But if we reveal ourselves unnecessarily, we could unite them all against us—or alternatively, provoke Pedure into attacking them immediately. We must save them, and we must not sacrifice ourselves.”
Rita wavered. To Nau’s right, but just in the shadows, Ritser Brughel glowered at her. The younger Podmaster had never really grasped the fact that the old, Emergent rules must change. The idea of someone giving back talk still sent him into a rage. Thank the Lord he’s not running things. Nau was a tough nut, smooth and ruthless despite all the nice words—but you could do business with him.
No one else spoke in support of Rita’s position, yet she made one more try. “We know Sherkaner Underhill is a genius. He would understand. He could help.”
Tomas Nau sighed. “Yes, Underhill. We owe him a lot. Without him, we’d probably be twenty years short of success, not just five. But, I’m afraid…” He glanced down the table at Ezr Vinh. “You know more about Underhill and Dawn Age technology than anyone, Ezr. What do you think?”
Gonle almost laughed. Vinh had been following the conversation like a spectator at a racquet match; now the ball had hit him square between the eyes. “Um. Yes. Underhill is remarkable. He’s like von Neumann, Einstein, Minsky, Zhang—a dozen Dawn Age geniuses wrapped into one body. Either that or the guy is just a genius at picking graduate students.” Vinh smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Rita. For you and me, the Exile time has only been ten or fifteen years. Underhill has lived it all, second by second. By Spider standards—and pre-tech human ones—he’s an old man. I’m afraid he’s at the edge of senility. He’s lived through all the easy technical payoffs, and now he’s hit the dead ends… What was flexibility has become superstitious mush. If we have to give up our Lurk advantage, I’d suggest we just contact the Accord government, play things as a straight business deal.”
Vinh might have continued, but the Podmaster said, “Rita, we’re trying for the safest outcome for everyone. I promise, if that means throwing ourselves on the Spiders’ mercy—well, so be it.” His glance flickered to his right, and Gonle realized that the message was directed at Brughel as much as anyone. Nau paused a moment, but no one had anything more to say. His voice became more businesslike. “So, the Schedule is suddenly very much advanced. Tas forced on us, but I am pleased by the challenge.” His smile flashed in the fake sunset. “One way or another, our Exile will be over in a year. We can afford to—we must—expend resources. From now till we’ve saved the Spider world, almost everyone will be on-Watch.”
Wow.
“We’ll start running the volatile plant at redline duty cycle.” Heads went up all around the table. “Remember, if we still need it in a year, we will have lost. We have an awful lot of planning in front of us, people—we need to unleash every last bit of our potential. As of now, I’m dropping the last community use limits. The ‘underground’ economy will have access to everything except the most critical security automation.”
Yes! Gonle grinned across the table at Qiwi Lisolet, saw her grinning right back. So that was what Qiwi had meant by “soon”! Nau went on for some seconds, not so much making detailed plans as undoing this and that stupid rule that had kept operations so hobbled over the years. She could feel the enthusiasm building with every sentence. Maybe I can start a futures market on groundside trade.
The meeting ended on an incredible high. On the way out, Gonle gave Qiwi a hug. “Kiddo, you did it!” she said softly.
Qiwi just grinned back, but it was a wider smile than Gonle had seen her wear in a long time.
Afterward, the four visiting peons walked back up the hillside, the last of the sunlight throwing long shadows before them. She took a last look behind her before they entered the forest. Presumptuous, this park. But still it was beautiful, and I had something to do with it. The last light of the sun showed from under far clouds. It might be Nauly manipulation or the random outcome of the park’s automation. Either way, it seemed auspicious. Old Nau thought he manipulated everything. Gonle knew that this sudden, final liberalization was something the Podmaster might try to stuff back in the bottle later on, when imagination and sharp trading was more a risk than the alternatives. But Gonle was Qeng Ho. Over the years, she and Qiwi and Benny and dozens of others had chipped away at the Emergents’ tight little tyranny, until almost every Emergent was “corrupted” by the underground trade. Nau had learned that you win by doing business. After the Spider markets were opened up, he would see there was no advantage to stuffing freedom back in the bottle.
Tomas Nau’s second meeting was later in the day, aboard the Invisible Hand. Here they could talk, far from innocent ears. “I got Kal Omo’s report, Podmaster. From the snoops. You fooled almost everyone.”
“Almost?”
“Well, you know Vinh—but he didn’t see through everything you said. And Jau Xin looks…dubious.”
Nau glanced a question at Anne Reynolt.
Reynolt’s reply was quick. “Xin is one we really need, Podmaster. He’s our only remaining Pilot Manager. We would have lost that pinnace if not for him. The ziphead pilots glitched when they saw the cavorite orbit. Suddenly all the rules had changed and they just couldn’t deal with the situation.”
“Okay, he’s a secret doubter.” There was no help for that really. Xin had been near the operational center of too many things. He probably suspected the truth behind the Diem Massacre. “So we can’t ice him, and we can’t fool him, and we’ll need him at the bloodiest stage of the job. Still…I think Rita Liao is a sufficient lever. Ritser. Make sure Jau knows that her welfare depends on his quality of service.”
Ritser gave a little smile, and made a note.
Nau scanned Omo’s report for himself. “Yes, we did quite well. But then, telling people what they want to believe is an easy job. No one seemed to catch all the consequences of pushing the Schedule forward five years. There’s no way we can pull a smooth network takeover now, and we need an intact industrial ecology on the planet—but there’s no need for the whole planet to participate. Right now”—Nau glanced at the latest reports from Reynolt’s zips—“seven Spider nations have nuclear weapons. Four have substantial arsenals, and three have delivery systems.”
Reynolt shrugged. “So we engineer a war.”
“A precisely limited one, one that leaves the world financial system intact and controlled by us.” An exercise in disaster management.
“And the Kindred?”
“We want them to survive, of course—but weak enough that we can bluff full control. We’ll throw a bit more ‘good luck’ their way.”
Reynolt was nodding. “Yes. We can tailor things. Southland has long-range missiles but is otherwise backward; most of its population will be hibernating through the Dark. They’re very frightened of what will be done to them by the advanced powers. Honored Pedure has plans for taking advantage of that. We can make sure she succeeds—” Anne went on, detailing what frauds and miscues could be implemented, which cities could be safely murdered, how to save the Accord sites that held resources the Kindred did not yet have. Most of the deaths would be delivered by their proxies, which was just as well, considering the sorry state of their own weapons systems… Brughel was watching her with a certain bemused awe—the way he always did when Anne talked like this. Dispassionate and calm as ever, yet she could be as bloody-minded as Brughel himself.
Anne Reynolt had been a young woman when the Emergency came to Frenk. If history were written by the losing side, her name would be legend. After the Frenkisch military had surrendered, Anne Reynolt’s ragtag partisans had fought on for years—and not as a fringe nuisance. Nau had seen the Intelligence estimates: Reynolt had tripled the cost of the invasion. She had taken an inchoate popular opposition and come within a hairsbreadth of defeating the Emergency’s expeditionary force. And when her cause had ultimately failed—well, enemies such as that were
best disposed of quickly. But Alan Nau had noticed that this enemy was peculiar to the point of uniqueness. Focusing the higher, people-oriented skills was normally a losing proposition. The very nature of Focusing tended to leave out the broad sensibilities that were necessary to manage people. And yet…Reynolt was young, brilliant, with an absolute dedication to principle. Her fanatical resistance was like nothing so much as a ziphead’s loyalty to its subject matter. What if she could be profitably Focused?
Uncle Alan’s long shot had paid off. Reynolt’s only academic specialty had been ancient literature, but Focus had somehow captured the more subtle skills of her accidental career: warfare, subversion, leadership. Alan had kept his discovery carefully out of sight, but he had used this very special ziphead over the following decades. Her skills had helped establish Uncle Alan as the dominant Podmaster of the Home Regime. She had been a very special gift to a very favored nephew…
And though he would never admit it to Ritser Brughel, sometimes when Tomas looked into Reynolt’s pale blue eyes…he felt a superstitious chill. For a hundred years of her lifetime, Anne Reynolt had worked to undo and suppress everything that was important to her unFocused self. If she wanted to cause him harm, she could do so much. But that was the beauty of Focus; that was the reason the Emergency would prevail. With Focus you got the capabilities of the subject without the humanity. And given attentive maintenance, all the ziphead’s interest and loyalty stayed squarely on its subject matter and its owner.
“Okay, get your people on it, Anne. You have one year. We’ll probably need a major vessel in low orbit during the final Ksecs.”
“You know,” said Ritser, “I think the groundside of this is working out for the best. With the Kindred, one or two guys are in charge. We’ll know who to hold responsible when we give orders. With that pus-be-damned Accord—”
“True. There are too many autonomous power centers within the Accord; their nonsovereign-kingship thing is even crazier than a democracy.” Nau shrugged. “It’s the luck of the draw. We have to take what we know we can control. Without the cavorite, we’d have another five years of slack. By then, the Accord would have a mature network, and we could take over everything without anyone firing a shot—more or less the goal I’m still hoping for in public.”
Ritser leaned forward. “And that is going to be our biggest problem. Once our people realize this is a major Spider fry and their special friends are the main course—”
“Of course. But handled properly, the final outcome should appear to be an unavoidable tragedy, one that would have been much more horrible without our efforts.”
“It will be even trickier than the Diem thing. I wish you hadn’t given the Peddlers increased resource access.”
“It’s unavoidable, Ritser. We need their logistical genius. But I will withhold full network processing from them. We’ll bring out all your security zips, do really intense monitoring. If necessary, there can be some fatal accidents.”
He glanced at Anne. “And speaking of accidents…is there any progress on your sabotage theory?” It had been almost a year since Anne’s maybe-accident in the MRI clinic. A year and not a sign of enemy action. Of course, there had been precious little evidence before the event, either.
But Anne Reynolt was adamant. “Someone is manipulating our systems, Podmaster, both the localizers and the zipheads. The evidence is spread through large patterns; it’s not something I can put into words. But he’s getting more aggressive…and I’m very close to nailing him, maybe as close as when he got me before.”
Anne had never bought the explanation that a stupid mistake had wiped her. But her Focus had been out of tune, even if so subtly it slipped past his own checks. Just how paranoid should I be? Anne had cleared Ritser of suspicion in the affair. “He? Him?”
“You know the suspect list. Pham Trinli is still at the top of it. Over the years, he’s wrung my techs dry. And he was the one who gave us the secret of the Qeng Ho localizers.”
“But you’ve had twenty years now to study them.”
Anne frowned. “The ensemble behavior is extremely complex, and there are physical-layer issues. Give me another three or four years.”
He glanced at Ritser. “Opinion?”
The junior Podmaster grinned. “We’ve been over this before, sir. Trinli is useful and we have a hold on him. He’s a weasel, but he’s our weasel.”
True. Trinli stood to gain much with the Emergents, and lose even more if the Qeng Ho ever learned of his traitorous past. Watch after Watch, the old man had passed every one of Nau’s tests, and in the process become ever more useful. In retrospect, the fellow was always just as sharp as he had to be. Of course, that was the strongest evidence against him. Pus and Pest. “Okay. Ritser, I want you and Anne to set things up so we can pull the plug on Trinli and Vinh at an instant’s notice. Jau Xin we’ll have to keep alive in any case—but we have Rita to keep him in line.”
“What about Qiwi Lisolet, sir?” Ritser’s face was bland, but the Podmaster knew there was a smirk hidden just below the surface.
“Ah. I’m sure Qiwi will figure things out; we may have to scrub her several times before the crisis point.” But with luck she might be of use right to the end. “Okay. Those are our special problem cases, but almost anyone could twig the truth if we have bad luck. Surveillance and suppression readiness must be of the highest order.” He nodded to his Vice-Podmaster. “It will be hard work, this next year. The Peddlers are a competent, dedicated crowd. We’ll need them on duty till the action begins—and we’ll need many of them in the aftermath. The only letup may be during the takeover itself. It’s reasonable that they be simply observers then.”
“At which time, we’ll feed them the story of our noble efforts to limit the genocide.” Ritser smiled, intrigued by the challenge. “I like it.”
They set up the overall plan. Anne and her strategy zips would flesh out the details. Ritser was right; this would be trickier than the Diem wetwork. On the other hand, if they could just maintain the fraud till the takeover…that might be enough. Once he controlled Arachna, he could pick and choose from both Spiders and Qeng Ho, the best of both their worlds. And discard the rest. The prospect was a cool oasis at the end of his long, long journey.
FORTY-FIVE
The Dark was upon them once more. Hrunkner could almost feel the weight of traditional values on his shoulders. For the trads—and deep down, he would always be one—there was a time to be born and a time to die; reality turned in cycles. And the greatest cycle was the cycle of the sun.
Hrunkner had lived through two suns now. He was an old cobber. Last time when the Dark had come, he had been young. There had been a world war going on, and real doubt if his country could survive. And this time? There were minor wars, all over the globe. But the big one had not occurred. If it did, Hrunkner would be partly responsible. And if it didn’t—well, he liked to think that he would be partly responsible for that, too.
Either way, the cycles were shattered forever. Hrunkner nodded to the corporal who held the door for him. He stepped out onto frost-covered flagstones. He wore thick boots, covers, and sleeves. The cold gnawed the tips of his hands, burned his breathing passages even behind his air warmer. The alignment of the Princeton hills kept out the heaviest snows; that and the deep river moorage were the reasons why the city had returned cycle after cycle. But this was late afternoon on a summer day—and you had to search to find the dim disk that had been the sun. The world was beyond the soft kindliness of the Waning Years, beyond even the Early Dark. It stood at the edge of the thermal collapse, when weakening storms would circle and circle, squeezing the last water from the air—opening the way to times much colder, and the final stillness.
In earlier generations, all but soldiers would be in their deeps by now. Even in his own generation, in the Great War, only the die-hard tunnel warriors still fought this far into the Dark. This time—well, there were plenty of soldiers. Hrunkner had his own military escort. And eve
n the security cobbers around the Underhill house were in uniform nowadays. But these were not caretakers, guarding against endcycle scavengers. Princeton was overflowing with people. The new, Dark Time housing was jammed. The city was busier than Unnerby had ever seen it.
And the mood? Fear close to panic, wild enthusiasm, often both in the same people. Business was booming. Just two days earlier, Prosperity Software had bought a controlling interest in the Bank of Princeton. No doubt the grab had gutted Prosperity’s financial reserves, and put them in a business that their software people knew nothing about. It was insane—and very much in the spirit of the times.
Hrunkner’s guards had to push their way through the crowd at the Hill House entrance. Even past the property limits, there were reporters with their little four-color cameras hanging from helium balloons. They couldn’t know who Hrunkner was, but they saw the guards and the direction he was heading.
“Sir, can you tell us—”
“Has Southland threatened preemption?” This one tugged on his balloon’s string, dragging the camera down till it hung just over Hrunkner’s eyes.
Unnerby raised his forearms in an elaborate shrug. “How should I know? I’m just a friggin’ sergeant.” In fact, he was still a sergeant, but the rank was meaningless. Unnerby was one of those rankless cobbers who made whole military bureaucracies hop to their tune. As a young fellow he had been aware of such. They had seemed as distant as the King himself. Now…now he was so busy that even a visit with a friend had to be counted by the minute, balanced against what it might cost the life-and-death schedules he must keep.
His claim stopped the reporters just long enough for his team to get past and scuttle up the steps. Even so, it might have been the wrong thing to say. Behind him, Unnerby could see the reporters clustering together. By tomorrow, his name would be on their list. Ah, for the times when everyone thought that Hill House was just a plush annex to the University. Over the years, that cover had frayed away. The press thought they knew all about Sherkaner now.