The Peace War (39 page)

"yes"

Wili moped across the lawn, his hands stuck deep in his pockets, his face turned
downward. He kicked up little puffs of dust where the grass was brownest. The new
tenants were lazy about watering, or else maybe the irrigation pipes were busted.

This part of Livermore had been untouched by the fighting; the losers had departed
peaceably enough, once they saw bobbles sprout over their most important resources.
Except for the dying grass, it was beautiful here, the buildings as luxurious as Wili could
imagine. When they turned on full electric power, it made the Jonque palaces in L.A.
look like hovels. And most anything here — the aircraft, the automobiles, the mansions-could be his.

Just my luck. I get everything I ever wanted, and then I lose the people that are more
important.
Paul had decided to drop out. It made sense and Wili was not angry about it,
but it hurt anyway. Wili thought back to their meeting, just half an hour before. He had
guessed the moment he'd seen Paul's face. Wili had tried to ignore it, had rushed into the
subject he'd thought they were to talk about: "I just talked to those doctors we flew in
from France, Paul. They say my insides are as normal as anything. They measured me
every way" — he had undergone dozens of painful tests, massive indignities compared to
what had been done to him at Scripps, and yet much less powerful. The French doctors
were not bioscientists, but simply the best medical staff the European director would
tolerate — "and they say I'm using my food, that I'm growing fast." He grinned. "Bet I will
be more than one meter seventy."

Paul leaned back in his chair and returned the smile. The old man was looking good
himself. He'd had a bad concussion during the battle, and for while the doctors weren't
sure he would survive. "I'll bet too. It's exactly what I'd been hoping. You're going to be
around for a long time, and the world's going to be a better place for it. And..." His voice
trailed off, and he didn't meet the boy's look. Wili held his breath, praying Dio his guess
wouldn't be correct. They sat in silence for an awkward moment. Wili looked around,
trying to pretend that nothing of import was to be said. Naismith had appropriated the
office of some Peacer bigwig. It had a beautiful view of the hills to the south, yet it was
plainer than most, almost as if it had been designed for the old man all along. The walls
were unadorned, though there was darker rectangle of paint on the wall facing Paul's
desk. A picture had hung there once. Wili wondered about that.

Finally Naismith spoke. "Strange. I think I've done penance for blindly giving them the
bobble in the first place. I have accomplished everything I dreamed of all these years
since the Authority destroyed the world... And yet - Wili, I'm going to drop out, fifty
years at least."

"Paul! Why?" It was said now, and Wili couldn't keep the pain from his voice.

"Many reasons. Many good reasons." Naismith leaned forward intently. "I'm very old,
Wili. I think you'll see many from my generation go. We know the bioscience people in
stasis at Scripps have ways of helping us."

"But there are others. They can't be the only ones with the secret."

"Maybe. The bioscience types are surfacing very slowly. They can't be sure if
humanity will accept them, even though the plagues are decades passed."

"Well, stay. Wait and see." Wili cast wildly about, came up with a reason that might be
strong enough. "Paul, if you go, you may never see Allison again. I thought-"

"You thought I loved Allison, that I hated the Authority on her account as much as any."
His voice went low. "You are light,
Wili, and don't you ever tell her that!
The fact that
she lives, that she is just as I always remembered her, is a miracle that goes beyond all
my dreams. But she is another reason I must leave, and soon. It hurts every day to see
her; she likes me, but almost as a stranger. The man she knew has died, and I see pity in
her more than anything else. I must escape from that."

He stopped. "There's something else too. Wili, I wonder about Jill. Did I lose the only
one I ever really had? I have the craziest dreams from when I was knocked out. She was
trying like hell to bring me back. She seemed as real as anyone... and more caring. But
there's no way that program could have been sentient; we're nowhere near systems that
powerful. No person sacrificed her life for us." The look in his eyes made the sentence a
question.

It was a question that had hovered in Wili's mind ever since Jill had driven him out of the
crawler. He thought back. He had known Jill... used the Jill program... for almost nine
months. Her projection had been there when he was sick; she had helped him learn
symbiotic programming. Something inside him had always thought her one of his best
friends. He tried not to guess how much stronger Paul's feelings must be. Wili
remembered Jill's hysterical reaction when Paul had been hurt; she had disappeared from
the net for minutes, only coming back at the last second to try to save Wili. And Jill was
complex, complex enough that any attempt at duplication would fail; part of her
"identity" came from the exact pattern of processor interconnection that had developed
during her first years with Paul.

Yet Wili had been inside the program; he had seen the limitations, the inflexibilities.
He shook his head, "Yes, Paul. The Jill program was not a person. Maybe someday we'll
have systems big enough, but... Jill was j just a s-simulation." And Wili believed what he
was saying. So why were they sitting here with tears on their eyes?

The silence stretched into a minute as two people remembered a love and a sacrifice
that couldn't really exist. Finally, Wili forced the weirdness away and looked at the old
man. If Paul had been alone before, what now?

"I could go with you, Paul," and Wili didn't know if he was begging or offering.

Naismith shook himself and seemed to come back to the present. "I can't stop you, but I
hope you don't." He smiled. "Don't worry about me. I didn't last this long by being a
sentimental fool all the time.

"Your time is now, Wili. There is a lot for you to do."

"Yes. I guess. There's still Mike. He needs..." Wili stopped, seeing the look on Paul's
face. "No! Not Mike too?"

"Yes. But not for several months. Mike is not very popular just now. Oh, he came
through in the end; I don't think we'd've won without him. But the Tinkers know what he
did in La Jolla. And he knows; he's having trouble living with it."

"So he's going to run away." Too.

"No. At least that's not the whole story. Mike has some things to do. The first is Jeremy.
From the logs here at Livermore I can figure to within a few days when the boy will
come out of stasis. It's about fifty years from now. Mike is going to come out a year or so
before that. Remember, Jeremy is standing near the sea entrance. He could very likely be
killed by falling rock when the bobble finally burst. Mike is going to make sure that
doesn't happen.

"A couple years after that, the bobble around the Peacer generator here in Livermore
will burst. Mike will be here for that. Among other things, he's going to try to save Della
Lu. You know, we would have lost without her. The Peacers had
won,
yet they were
going ahead with that crazy world-wrecker scheme. Both Mike and I agree she must have
bobbled their projector. Things are going to be mighty dangerous for her the first few
minutes after they come out of stasis."

Wili nodded without looking up. He still didn't understand Della Lu. She was tougher
and meaner, in some ways, than anyone he had known in L.A.. But in others — well, he
knew why Mike cared for her, even after everything she had done. He hoped Mike could
save her.

"And that's about the time I'm coming back, Wili. A lot of people don't realize it, but
the war isn't over. The enemy has lost a major battle, but has escaped forward through
time. We've identified most of their bobbled refuges, but Mike thinks there are some
secret ones underground. Maybe they'll come out the same time as the Livermore
generator, maybe a lot later. This is a danger that goes into the foreseeable future.
Someone has to be around to fight those battles, just in case the locals don't believe in the
threat."

"And that will be you?"

"I'll be there. At least through Round Two."

So that was that. Paul was right, Wili knew. But it still fell like the losses of the past:
Uncle Sly, the trek to La Jolla without Paul. "Will, you can do it. You don't
need
me.
When I am forgotten, you will still be remembered — for what you will do as much as for
what you already did." Naismith looked intently at the boy.

Wili forced a smile and stood. "You will be proud to hear of me when you return." He
turned. He must leave with those words.

Paul stopped him, smiled. "It's not just yet, Wili. I'll be here for another two or three
weeks, at least."

And Wili turned again, ran around the desk, and hugger Paul Naismith as hard as he
dared.

Screeching tires and,
"Hey! You
wanna get killed?"

Wili looked up in startled shock as the half-tonne truck swerved around him and
accelerated down the street. It wasn't the first time in the last ten days he'd nearly
daydreamed himself into a collision. These automobiles were so fast, they were on top of
you before you knew it. Wili trotted back to the curb and looked around. He had
wandered a thousand meters from Paul's office. He recognized the area. This part of the
Enclave contained the Authority's archives and automatic logging devices. The Tinkers
were taking the place apart. Somehow, it had been missed in the last frantic bobbling, and
Allison was determined to learn every Peacer secret that existed outside of stasis. Wili
sheepishly realized where his feet had been leading him: to visit all his friends, to find
out if anyone thought the present was worth staying in.

"Are you okay, Mr. Wachendon?'' Two workers came running up, attracted by the
sounds of near calamity. Wili had gotten over being recognized everywhere (after all, he
did have an unusual appearance for hereabouts), but the obvious respect he received was
harder to accept. "Damn Peacer drivers," one of them said. "I wonder if some of 'em don't
know they lost the war."

"Sí. Fine," answered Wili, wishing he hadn't made such a fool of himself. "Is Allison
Parker here?"

They led him into a nearby building. The air-conditioning was running full blast. It was
downright chilly by Wili's standards. But Allison was there, dressed in vaguely military-looking shirt and pants, directing some sort of packing operation. Her men were filling
large cartons with plastic disks — old-world memory devices, Wili suspected. Allison was
concentrating on the job, smiling and intent. For an instant Wili had that old double
vision, was seeing his other friend with this body... the one who never really existed. The
mortal had outlived the ghost.

Then the worker beside him said diffidently, "Captain Parker?" and the spell was
broken.

Allison looked up and grinned broadly. "Hey, Wili!" She walked over and draped an arm
across his shoulders. "I've been so busy this last week, I haven't seen any of my old
friends. What's happening?" She led him toward an interior doorway, paused there and
said over her shoulder, "Finish Series E. I'll be back in a few minutes." Wili smiled to
himself. From the day of victory, Allison had made it clear she wouldn't tolerate second-class citizenship. Considering the fact that she was their only expert on twentieth century
military intelligence, the Tinkers had little choice but to accept her attitude.

As they walked down a narrow hall, neither spoke. Allison's office was a bit warmer
than the outer room, and free of fan noises. Her desk was covered with printouts. A
Peacer display device sat at its center. She waved him to a seat and patted the display. "I
know, everything they have here is childish by Tinker standards. But it works and at least
I understand it."

"Allison, a-are you going to drop out, too?" Wili blurted out.

The question brought her up short. "Drop out? You mean bobble up? Not on your life,
kiddo. I just came back, remember? I have a lot to do." Then she saw how seriously he
meant the question. "Oh, Wili. I'm sorry. You know about Mike and Paul, don't you?"
She stopped, frowned at some sadness of her own. "I think it makes sense for them to go,
Wili. Really.

"But not for me." The enthusiasm was back in her voice. "Paul talks about this battle
being just Round One of some `war through time.' Well, he's wrong about one thing. The
first round was fifty years ago. I don't know if those Peacer bastards are responsible for
the plagues, but I do know they destroyed the world we had. They did destroy the United
States of America." Her lips settled into a thin line.

"I'm going back over their records. I'm going to identify every single bobble they cast
during the takeover. I'll bet there are more than a hundred thousand of my people out
there in stasis. They're all coming back into normal time during the next few years. Paul
has a program that uses the Peacer logs to compute exactly when. Apparently, all the
projections were for fifty/sixty years, with the smallest bursting first. There's still
Vandenberg and Langley and dozens more. That's a pitiful fraction of the millions we
once were, but I'm going to be there and I'm going to save all I can."

"Save?"

She shrugged. "The environment around the bobbles can be dangerous the first few
seconds. I was nearly killed coming out. They'll be disoriented as hell. They have nukes
in there; I don't want those fired off in a panic. And I don't know if your plagues are
really dead. Was I just lucky? I'm going to have to dig up some bioscience people."

"Yes," said Wili, and told her about the wreckage Jeremy had shown him back on the
Kaladze farm. Somewhere, high in the air within the Vandenberg stasis, was part of a jet
aircraft. The pilot might still be alive, but how could he survive the first instants of
normal time?