The Peace War (32 page)

Paul's stooped figure passed through Wili's narrow field of view. His disguise was
pretty good; he didn't look anything like the blurred pictures the Peacers were circulating.
A second later he saw Allison — in farmer's-daughter costume — walk by. There was a
slight shifting of the load and the monotonous clopclopclop of the team resumed. They
pulled out of the rest stop, past a weigh station moldering toward total ruin.

Wili pressed his face against the opening, both for the air and the view. They were
hundreds of kilometers from Los Angeles; he had expected something more exciting.
After all, the area around Vandenberg was almost a jungle. But no. Except for a misty
stretch just after Salinas, everything stayed dry and hot. Through the hole in the bananas,
he could see the ground rising gently ahead of them, sometimes golden grass, sometimes
covered with chaparral. It looked just like the Basin, except that the ruins were sparse and
only occasional. Mike said there were other differences, but he had a better eye for
plants.

Just then a Peace Authority freighter zipped by in the fast lane. Its roar was surmounted
by an arrogant horn blast. The banana wagon rocked in the wash and Wili got a faceful of
dust. He sighed and lay back. Five days they had been on the road now. The worst of it
was that, inside the wagon, he was out of touch; they couldn't disguise the antennas well
enough to permit a link to the satellite net. And they didn't have enough to power for Jill
to run all the time. The only processors he could use were very primitive.

Every afternoon was like this: hotter and hotter till they couldn't even pretend to sleep,
till they started grumping at each other. He almost wished they would have some
problems.

This afternoon he might get that almost-wish. This afternoon they would reach Mission
Pass and Livermore Valley.

The nights were very different. At twilight Paul and Allison would turn the wagons off
Old 101 and drive the tired teams at least five kilometers into the hills. Wili and Mike
came out of their hole, and Wili established communication with the satellite net. It was
like suddenly coming awake to be back in connection with Jill and the net. They never
had trouble finding the local Tinkers' cache. There were always food and fodder and
freshly charged storage cells hidden near a spring or well. He and Paul used those power
cells to survey the world through satellite eyes, to coordinate with the Tinkers in the Bay
Area and China. They must all be ready at the same time.

The previous night the four of them had held their last council of war.

Some things that Allison and Mike had worried about turned out to be no problems at
all. For instance, the Peacers could have set checkpoints hundreds of kilometers out along
all highways leading to Livermore. They hadn't done so. The Authority obviously
suspected an attack on their main base, but they were concentrating their firepower closer
in. And their reserve force was chasing Wili's phantoms in the Great Valley. Now that the
Authority had wiped away all public Tinkering, there was nothing obvious for them to
look for. They couldn't harass every produce wagon or labor convoy on the coast.

But there were other problems that wouldn't go away. The previous night had been
their last chance to look at those from a distance. "Anything after tonight, we're going to
have to play by ear," Mike had said, stretching luxuriously in the open freedom of the
evening.

Paul grunted at this. The old man sat facing them, his back to the valley. His wide
farmer hat drooped down at the sides. "Easy for you to say, Mike. You're an action type.
I've never been able to ad lib. I get everything worked out in advance. If something really
unexpected happens I'm just no good at real-time flexibility." It made Wili sad to hear
him say this. Paul was becoming indecisive again. Every night, he seemed a little more
tired.

Allison Parker returned from settling the horses and sat down at the fourth corner of
their little circle. She took off her bonnet. Her pale hair glinted in the light of their tiny
camp fire. "Well then, what are the problems we have to solve? You have the Bay Area
Tinkers, what's left of them, all prepared to stage a diversion. You know exactly where
the Peacer bobble generator is hidden. You have control of the enemy's communication
and intelligence net — that alone is a greater advantage than most generals ever have."

Her voice was firm, matter-of-fact. It gave support by making concrete points rather
than comforting noises, Wili thought.

There was a long silence. A few meters away they could hear the horses munching.
Something fluttered through the darkness over their heads. Finally Allison continued, "Or
is there doubt that you do control their communications? Do they really trust their
satellite system?"

"Oh, they do. The Authority is spread very thin. About the only innovative thing
they've ever done was to reestablish the old Chinese launch site at Shuangcheng. They
have close and far reconnaissance from their satellites, as well as communications — both
voice and computer." Wili nodded in agreement. He followed the discussion with only a
fraction of his mind. The rest was off managing and updating the hundreds of ruses that
must fit together to maintain their great deception. In particular, the faked Tinker
movements in the Great Valley had to be wound down, but carefully so that the enemy
would not realize they had put thousands of men there for no reason.

"And Wili says they don't seem to trust anything that comes over ground links," Paul
continued. "Somehow they have the idea that if a machine is thousands of kilometers off
in space, then it should be immune to meddling." He laughed shortly. "In their own way,
those old bastards are as inflexible as I. Oh, they'll follow the ring in their nose, until the
contradictions get too thick.
By
then we must have won.

"...But there are so many, many things we have to get straight before that can happen."
The sound of helplessness was back in his voice.

Mike sat up. "Okay. Let's take the hardest: how to get from their front door to the
bobble generator."

"Front door? Oh, you mean the garrison on Mission Pass. Yes, that's the hardest
question. They've strengthened that garrison enormously during the last week."

"Ha. If they're like most organizations, that'll just make them more confused — at least
for a while. Look, Paul. By the time we arrive there, the Bay Area Tinkers should be
attacking. You told me that some of them have maneuvered north and east of Livermore.
They have bobble generators. In that sort of confusion there ought to be lots of ways to
get our heavy-duty bobbler in close."

Wili smiled in the dark. just a few days ago, it had been Rosas who'd been down on the
plan. Now that they were close, though...

"Then name a few."

"Hell, we could go in just like we are-as banana vendors. We know they import the
things."

Paul snorted. "Not in the middle of a war."

"Maybe. But we can control the moment the real fighting begins. Going in as we are
would be along shot, I admit, but if you don't want to improvise completely, you should
be thinking about various ways things could happen. For instance, we might bobble the
Pass and have our people grab the armor that's left and come down into the Livermore
Valley on it with Wili covering for us. I know you've thought about that — all day I have to
sit on those adapter cables you brought.

"Paul," he continued more quietly, "you've been the inspiration of several thousand
people these last two weeks. These guys have their necks stuck way out. We're all willing
to risk everything. But we need you more than ever now."

"Or put less diplomatically — I got us all into this pickle, so I can't give up on it now."

"Something like that."

"...Okay." Paul was silent for a moment. "Maybe we could arrange it so that..." He was
quiet again and Wili realized that the old Paul had reasserted himself-was trying to,
anyway. "Mike, do you have any idea where this Lu person is now?"

"No." The undersheriff's voice was suddenly tight. "But she's important to them, Paul. I
know that much. I wouldn't be surprised if she were at Livermore."

"Maybe you could talk to her. You know, pretend you're interested in betraying the
Tinker forces we've lined up here."

"No! What I did had nothing to do with hurting..." His voice scaled down, and he
continued more calmly. "I mean, I don't see what good it would do. She's too smart to
believe anything like that."

Wili looked up through the branches of the dry oak that spread over their campsite. The
stars should have been beautiful through those branches. Somehow they were more like
tiny gleams in a dark-socketed skull. Even if he were never denounced, could poor Mike
ever silence his internal inquisitor?

"Still, as you said about the other, it's something to think about." Paul shook his head
sharply and rubbed his temples. "I am so tired. Look. I've got to talk to Jill about this. I'll
think things out. I promise. But let's continue in the morning. Okay?"

Allison reached across as though to touch his shoulder, but Paul was already coming to
his feet. He walked slowly away from the campfire. Allison started to get up, then sat
down and looked at the other two. "There's something wrong... There's something so
wrong about Paul making a person out of a thing," she said softly. Wili didn't know what
to say, and after a moment the three of them spread out their sleeping bags and crawled
in.

Wili's lay between the cache of storage cells and the wagon with the processors. There
should be enough juice for several hours' operation. He adjusted the scalp connect and
wriggled into a comfortable position. He stared up at the half-sinister arches of the oaks
and let his mind mesh with the system. He was going into deep connect now, something
he avoided when he was with the others. It made his physical self dopey and
uncoordinated.

Wili sensed Paul talking to Jill but did not try to participate.

His attention drifted to the tiny cameras they had scattered beyond the edges of the
camp, then snapped onto a highresolution picture from above. From there, their oaks
were just one of many tiny clumps of darkness on a rolling map of paler grassland. The
only light for kilometers around came from the embers that still glowed at the center of
their camp. Wili smiled in his mind; that was the true view. The tiny light flicked out,
and he looked down on the scene that was being reported to the Peace Authority. Nobody
here but us coyotes.

This was the easiest part of the "high watch." He did it only for amusement; it was the
sort of thing Jill and the satellite processors could manage without his conscious
attention.

Wili drifted out from the individual viewpoints, his attention expanding to the whole
West Coast and beyond, to the Tinkers near Beijing. There was much to do; a good deal
more than Mike or Allison — or even Paul — might suspect. He talked to dozens of
conspirators. These men had come to expect Paul's voice coming off Peacer satellites in
the middle of the West Coast night. Wili must protect them as he did the banana wagons.
They were a weak link. If any of them were captured, or turned traitor, the enemy would
immediately know of Wili's electronic fraud. From them, "Paul's" instructions and
recommendations were spread to hundreds.

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 Della 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 horsedrawn 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.