The Peace War (35 page)

He looked past the lower edge of the periscope ring at the drive sticks. He touched the
left tread control, and the carrier jerked incrementally till it was lined up on the wagons.
Then he pressed both sticks, and he was moving forward! . Mike accelerated to what
must have been six or seven meters per second, as fast as a man could run. It was just like
in the games. The trip was over in seconds. He cautiously slowed the carrier to a crawl
the last few meters, and turned in the direction Paul motioned. Then he was stopped. The
turbine's keening went on.

Allison had already opened the rear of the other vehicle and was sliding the bulky
electronics gear out onto the dirt. Mike wondered at the mass of equipment the Peacers
seemed to need in these vehicles. All of Sy Wentz's police electronics would fit in one of
the carriers with room to spare. "Leave the comm and sense equipment aboard, Allison.
Wili may be able to interface it." While Allison concentrated on the equipment she knew,
Mike and Paul worked to move Wili's processor and the Tinker communications gear out
of the banana wagons.

The boy came out of the gutted wagon. He was off the system now, but still seemed
dazed, his efforts to help ineffectual. "I have used almost all, Paul. I can't even talk to the
net anymore. If we can't use the generators on the these," he waved at the carriers, "we
are dead."

That was the big question. Without foreplanning there wasn't a chance, but Paul had
brought power interfaces and connector cables. They were based on Allison's specs. If, as
with many things, the Peacers had not changed the old standards, then they had a chance.

They could almost fool themselves that the morning was quiet and still. Even the insects
were silent. The air around them got steadily brighter, yet the morning fog was still so
thick that the sun's disk was not visible. Far away, much farther than the ridgeline, they
heard aircraft. Once or twice a minute there was a muffled explosion. Wili had started the
Tinker forces on their invasion of the Livermore Valley, but from the north edge, where
he had told them to mass through the night. Hopefully the diversion would be some help.

From the corner of his eyes, Mike had the constant impression of motion half-seen, of
figures all across the campground working at projects similar to their own. He glanced
across the field and saw the reason for the illusion: Wili had cast dozens of bobbles of
varying sizes, all in a few seconds' time after the big, overnight bobble had burst. Some
must hold just one or two men. Others, like the ones he had put around the main civilian
campsite and the Peacer outpost, were more than fifty meters across. And in every one of
them he could see the reflections of the four of them, working frantically to finish the
transfer before the Peacers down in the Valley realized that the one big bobble had
already burst.

It seemed longer, but the work took only minutes. Leaving most of the power cells
behind, they didn't have more than fifty kilos of hardware. The processor and the larger
bobble generator went into one carrier, while their own satellite comm equipment and a
smaller bobbler went into the other. It was an incongruous sight, the Tinker gear sitting
small and innocent in the green-painted equipment racks. Allison stood up in the now-spacious carrier and looked at Paul. "Are you satisfied?"

He nodded.

"Then it's smoke-test time." There was no humor in her voice. She turned a switch.
Nothing smoked; displays flickered to life. Wili gave a whoop. The rest of the interfacing
was software. It would take unaided programmers weeks. Hopefully, Paul and Wili could
do it while they were on the move.

Allison, Paul and Wili took one carrier. Mike — under protest — took the other. There
was plenty of room for everyone and all the equipment in just one of the vehicles. "They
expect to see rovers in pairs, Mike. I know it."

"Yes," said Allison. 'Just follow my lead, Mike; I won't do anything fancy"

The two vehicles moved slowly out of the parking area, cautiously negotiating the field
of mirrored tombstones. The whine of their engines drowned the sound of aircraft and
occasional explosions that came from far beyond the ridgeline. As they neared the crest,
the fog thinned and morning blue was visible. They were far enough from the parking
area that — even without their electronics working — they might be mistaken for Peacers.

Then they were starting downward, past the last of the outer defenses. Soon they would
know about the inner ones, and know if Allison's news, now fifty years old, was still the
key to the destruction of the Peace.

Della Lu caught up on the situation reports as she ate breakfast. She wore a fresh
jumpsuit, and her straight hair gleamed clean and black in the bright fluorescent lights of
the command center. One might think she had just returned from a two-week vacation —
not from a night spent running all over the hills, trying to pin down guerrilla positions.

The effect was calculated. The morning watch had just come on. They were for the
most part rested, and had none of the harried impatience of the team that had been down
here all night If she were going to exercise command — or even influence — upon them, she
must appear cool, analytical. And inside, Della almost was. She had taken time to clean
up, time even for a short nap. Physically, things had been much worse in Mongolia.
Mentally? Mentally, she was beginning, for the first time in her life, to feel outclassed.

Della looked across the ranked consoles. This was the heart of the Livermore
command, which itself was the heart of operations worldwide. Before this morning she
had never been in this room. In fact, she and most of the occupants didn't know quite
where it was. One thing was sure: It was far underground, proof against nukes and gas
and such oldfashioned things. Almost equally sure: It was within a few dozen meters of
the Livermore bobble generator and its fusion power source. On some of the displays she
could see command language for directing and triggering that generator. There was no
point in having such control any more or less secure than the generator itself. They would
both be in the deepest, most secret hole available.

A situation board covered most of the front wall. Right now it showed a composite
interpretation of the land around Livermore, based on satellite reconnaissance.
Apparently, the driving programs were not designed for other inputs. Reports from the
men on the ground were entered on the display by computer clerks working at terminals
connected to the command database. So far this morning, the board did not show any
conflicts between the two sources of information. Enemy contact had been about zip for
the last hour.

The situation was different elsewhere in the world: There had been no Authority
presence in Europe or Africa for days. In Asia, events much like those in North America
had taken place. Old Kim Tioulang was as clever as Hamilton Avery, but he had some of
the same blind spots. His bobble generator was just north of Beijing. The smaller
displays showed the status of the conflict around it. The Chinese Tinkers hadn't built as
many bobblers as their American cousins, and they hadn't penetrated as close to the heart
of the Beijing complex. But it was late night there, and an attack was under way. The
enemy had surprised K.T. just as it had the Livermore forces. The two bobble generators
that were the backbone of Peacer power were both under attack, a simultaneous attack
that seemed purposefully coordinated. The Tinkers had communications at least as good
as the Authority's. At least.

According to the main display, sunrise was due in fifteen minutes, and a heavy fog
covered most of the Valley. There were several possible enemy locations, but for now the
Peace was holding off. The Tinker bobblers were extremely effective at close range;
during the night, the Authority had lost more than twenty percent of its tank force. Better
to wait till they had more information on the enemy. Better to wait till Avery let them use
the big bobbler. Then they could take them on by the dozens, and at any range.

Lu finished breakfast, sat sipping coffee. Her eyes wandered about the room, half-consciously memorizing faces, displays, exits. The people in this brightly lit, quiet, air-conditioned bunker were living in a fantasy world. And none of them knew it. This was
the end receptacle for megabytes of intelligence streaming in to the Peace from all over
the world. Before that data arrived, it was already interpreted and winnowed by remote
processors. Here it was finally integrated and put on the displays for the highest
commanders to pass upon. These people thought their cute displays gave them some
ultimate grip on reality. Lu knew that had never been true — and after last night she was
sure the system was riddled with lies.

A door hissed open, and Hamilton Avery entered the command bunker. Behind him
came Peace General Bertram Maitland, the chief military seat-warmer in the American
Directorate. A typical button-pusher. Somehow she had to get past him and convince
Avery to junk remote sensing and fight this one with people.

Maitland and Avery strode to an upper rank of terminals. Avery glanced down at Lu
and motioned her to join them.

When she arrived, the general was already busy at a terminal, a large-screen model in a
flashy red cabinet. He didn't look up. "Intelligence predicts they'll resume the attack
shortly after sunrise. You can see indications of thermal activity on the situation board
already. It's barely detectable, since they don't have powered vehicles. This time, though,
we'll be ready for them." He punched a final command into the terminal, and a faint
buzzing penetrated the walls of the bunker. Maitland gestured to the situation board.
"There. We just put every one of the suspected enemy concentrations into stasis."

Avery smiled his controlled smile. Every day he seemed a little paler, a little more
drawn. He dressed as nattily as always and spoke as coolly as always, but she could see
that he was coming near the end of his strength. "That's good. Excellent. I knew if we
waited for a full charge we could make up our losses. How many can we do?"

General Maitland considered. "It depends on the size you want. But we can make several
thousand at least, with generation rates as high as one per second. I have it under program
control now: Satellite recon and even our field commanders can report an enemy location
and automatically get an embobblement." The almost subsonic buzz punctuated his
words.

No!' The two old men looked up at her, more surprised than angry. "No." Delia
repeated more quietly. "It's bad enough to trust these remote sensors for information. If
they actually control our bobbling we could very well use all our reserves and get
nothing."
Or worse, bobble our own people.

Maitland's expression clouded. His antagonist was young, female, and had been
promoted with unseemly speed past his favorites. If it weren't for Hamilton Avery, she
would be out there on some battalion staff — and that only as reward for her apparent
success in Asia. Lu turned her attention to Avery. "Please, Director. I know it's fantastic
to suspect enemy interference in our satellite communications. But you yourself have
said that nothing is beyond this Hoehler, and that whatever is the most fantastic is what
he is most likely to do."

She had pushed the right button. Avery flinched, and his eyes turned to the situation
board. Apparently the enemy attack predicted by Maitland had begun. Tiny red dots
representing Tinker guerillas were moving into the Valley. Already the Authority bobbler
had acted several more times under automatic control.
And what if this is fraudulent, or
even partly so?
There might be Tinkers in the Valley, moving through the deep ravines
that netted the landscape, moving closer and closer. Now that the possibility was tied to
Paul Hoehler, she could see that it had become almost a certainty in his mind.

"And you were the person who predicted he would attack us here," Avery said almost
to himself and then turned to the officer. "General Maitland, abort the programmed
response. I want a team of your people monitoring our ground forces
— no satellite relays.
They will determine when and what to embobble."

Maitland slapped the table. "Sir! That will slow response time to the point where some
of them may get onto the inner grounds."

For an instant, Avery's face went slack, as if the conflicting threats had finally driven him
over the edge. But when he responded, his voice was even, determined. "So? They still
have no idea where our generator is. And we have enough conventional force to destroy
such infiltrators ten times over. My order stands."

The officer glared at him for a moment. But Maitland had always been a person who
followed orders. Avery would have replaced him decades before if that were not the case.
He turned back to the terminal, canceled the program, and then talked through it to his
analysts at the front of the room, relaying Avery's directive. The intermittent buzzing
from beyond the walls ceased.

The Director motioned Lu to follow him. "Anything else?" he asked quietly, when they
were out of Maitland's earshot.

Della didn't hesitate. "Yes. Ignore all automated remote intelligence. In the Livermore
area, use line-of-sight communications — no relays. We have plenty of people on the
ground, and plenty of aircraft. We'll lose some equipment doing it, but we can set up a
physical reconnaissance that will catch almost anyone moving around out there. For
places further away, Asia especially, we're stuck with the satellites, but at least we should
use them for voice and video communication only-no processed data." She barely
stopped for breath.

"Okay, I'll do as you recommend. I want you to stay up here, but don't give orders to
Maitland."

It took nearly twenty minutes, but in the end Maitland and his analysts had a jury-rigged system of aircraft sweeps that produced something like complete coverage of the
Valley every thirty minutes. Unfortunately, most of the aircraft were not equipped with
sophisticated sensors. In some cases, the reports were off eyeballs only. Without infrared
and side-looking radar, almost anything could remain hidden in the deeper ravines. It
made Maitland and his people very unhappy. During the Twenties, they had let the old
groundbased system slide into oblivion. Instead, enormous resources had been put into
the satellite system, one they thought gave them even finer protection, and worldwide.
Now that system was being ignored; they might as well be refighting World War II.