The Long War Read online

  They had a hell of a time getting Dan to sleep after that. Helen blamed the dessert: too much chocolate. Joshua, meanwhile, went off to find Bill, who’d spent his own raucous night with the crew.

  13

  THE GOOD PEOPLE of Four Waters City, deep in a stepwise Idaho, seemed happy to see the USS Benjamin Franklin appear in the skies above their town. They quickly threw a kind of mass lunch for the dirigible’s entire fifty-person crew; the beef was so flavour-some and so relished that the ghost of the steer was probably looking down approvingly, Maggie thought.

  But afterwards the conversation soon grew tricky, to say the least.

  Captain Maggie Kauffman strolled along the main, indeed the only, drag of Four Waters City. Somewhere in the region of a hundred and fifty thousand steps from the Datum, set in a typical Corn Belt farming world, the place was neatly laid out and was bustling with people. It looked at first glance like Dodge City without the gunplay, but with, of course, the inevitable mobile communications tower courtesy of the Black Corporation. Maggie’s local guide, Mayor Jacqueline Robinson, pointed out with some pride various other civic improvements, including a reasonable hospital which the town shared with similar cities in neighbouring stepwise worlds.

  But the mayor, a tough-looking woman of about fifty, was oddly tense, nervous. Maggie wondered if that was because of the small stands of cannabis she saw flourishing in one or two gardens, along with a few other exotic blooms, out in open view, by the street.

  When Mayor Robinson finally noticed Maggie looking, she said, ‘Actually, that’s mostly just hemp. Blameless. Gives a good fabric for working clothes. My maternal family were originally Czech. My grandfather told me that one day the cops raided what was eventually to have been his new shirt . . .’

  Maggie let that stand. She knew when to let silence do the questioning. Then she said, ‘Mostly?’

  Robinson admitted, ‘Look, as for the other usage – the kids don’t seem interested, and the opinion of the town meeting, in this town, is that for mature people it’s OK, but keep the kids off it. Also, I have to tell you, there’s some local stuff – an exotic flower in the woods to the west, native to this world apparently. Wow, that blows your head off. Even a walk in the woods – well.’ She was talking too quickly; eventually she ran down, and shrugged. ‘No offence to you, Captain, seeing as you are, in theory at least, a representative of the government. We have our own set of values here. I mean, we regard ourselves as American, bound by the Constitution. But we don’t believe in any remote authority telling us what we should or should not be doing, or thinking for that matter.’

  Maggie said, ‘I’m a serving Navy officer. I’m not a cop; in fact, traditionally the Navy has specific directives against carrying out internal policing functions. Mayor Robinson, I’m not here to criticize or judge. On the other hand, we in the dirigible fleet are here to offer help. As Captain, I do have a lot of discretion in how I interpret my orders.’ She wasn’t sure how convincing that was. The mayor still betrayed that odd nervousness. ‘Look – is there something else you want to tell me?’

  Suddenly the mayor looked as if she’d been caught out doing something bad. ‘What would you do? I mean, about something serious.’

  Maggie repeated deliberately, ‘I’m not a cop. Maybe we can help.’

  Robinson still looked uncertain. But with a nervous defiance she said at last, ‘There has been . . . a crime. In fact two crimes. We’re not sure how to handle the situation.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A child was harmed. Drugs. OK – it was drugs. And a murder.’

  Maggie felt her stomach turn. But she had thought that garbled defence of the local drug culture had been a little forced.

  ‘Look,’ Robinson said, ‘I don’t want to talk any more out here. We’d better go into my office.’

  14

  THE CREW OF the USS Benjamin Franklin did not have a specifically military mission, even though the dirigible was a Navy vessel.

  The Franklin’s voyage, a long jaunt across the Long Earth, was strictly speaking an exercise in maintaining the integrity of the United States Aegis, the concept of which was still prized in Datum Washington, DC, if nowhere else. Oh, the voyage did have scientific purposes. Every stepwise world was to be logged, every Joker recorded. The crew was to sample novel life forms, geological formations and climatic conditions – and was specifically tasked to search for sapience wherever it could be found. So, a ship fit for such a mission, the Benjamin Franklin was no cargo scow: it was an extremely modern aircraft, bristling with scientific sensors – as well as weapons.

  But the true reason for the voyage of the Benjamin Franklin was to travel the stepwise Earths within the footprint of the United States of America and to show the flag to as many of the new colonies out there as it could locate – or indeed discover; many of them had not registered their existence with any Datum authority. It was the job of the Franklin to find, and count, Americans, and to remind them that they were Americans.

  The operation had been launched three weeks before, on an April day in Richmond, Virginia, Datum Earth. Maggie Kauffman had stood there in the open, in a downtown park, with her officers and crew, Executive Officer Nathan Boss and ship’s chief surgeon Joe Mackenzie at her side, before an empty stage with an unoccupied podium, a big Stars and Stripes dangling limply to either side, and a huge banner draped above: UNITY IS STRENGTH. This downtown park wasn’t far from the north bank of the James, and, this being Datum Earth, high-rise buildings had loomed out of the smog, some obviously abandoned, their windows boarded up like poked-in eyes.

  The hundreds of Navy personnel drawn up here were separated by a barrier from members of the public, lured in from across the Datum city and even neighbouring worlds for the show. And it was quite a show, even if you weren’t too impressed by rows of Navy grunts standing on their hind legs. The twains themselves were a staggering sight, you had to admit that, six brand-new state-of-the-art military-specification airships hanging in the sky, proudly constructed by a consortium of United Technologies, General Electric, the Long Earth Trading Company and the Black Corporation: Shenandoah. Los Angeles. Akron. Macon. Abraham Lincoln. And Benjamin Franklin, thirty-eight-year-old Maggie’s own command. Proud old names on proud new vessels, and the mightiest in the fleet save only for the experimental USS Neil Armstrong, already dispatched on its own exploratory mission into the very remote stepwise West.

  At last there had been a stir by the podium, and here came President Cowley, a heavy-set man visibly sweating in his dark suit, and with lustrous hair sprayed so thick it was like a plastic sculpture sitting on his head. He was flanked by security guys in regulation black suits and glasses.

  On stage he was greeted by Admiral Hiram Davidson, USN. Based in Camp Smith, Hawaii, Davidson controlled the newly formulated Long Earth military command, USLONGCOM. He in turn was shadowed by an aide, Captain Edward Cutler, a straight-as-a-die bureaucrat if ever Maggie had met one, and he was welcome to the desk he commanded as far as she was concerned.

  The famous, or notorious, Douglas Black was present in person too, one of a group of pols and other dignitaries already lined up on the stage to shake Cowley’s hand. Black was surprisingly short in person, Maggie thought, staring curiously. In his seventies, kind of wizened, bald, wrinkled, he looked like Gollum in sunglasses. Of course it was Black who had donated the basic technology behind these military twains, the same technology that underpinned all stepping twains; he had a right to be here if anybody had. And whether or not he was handing over money to Cowley’s re-election campaign (he was probably funding both sides and a gaggle of independent candidates, Maggie’s cynical side suspected), his presence was going to make this telegenic event even more so for Cowley.

  As the handshakes and backslaps proceeded on the stage, a chopper clattered overhead, a Little Bird, a sign of protection and menace. This mission and the launch event had been planned for some time, but in response to the Valhalla Declaration the military sym
bolism had been beefed up.

  But as Cowley approached the podium, despite all the hoop-la and the obvious politicking, Maggie Kauffman felt a visceral thrill to be standing here in front of the President himself.

  Cowley started to speak, his voice amplified, his face projected on a screen behind him. After some good-old-boy introductory stuff, he cut to the chase. ‘On Step Day it was as if a tremendous door opened in the wall of the world, to reveal a beguiling new landscape. And what were people going to do with that? Why, some of them were just going to walk away – those who believed that a better life waited for them out there, rather than on this fine green world God gave to us, which we must now call the Datum.

  ‘And off they went! Every family that ever felt dispossessed, every gang or cult or faction that felt it could do better someplace else – the restless, the antisocial, the just plain curious – all of them went stepping off down the trek trails into the blue yonder. I can’t deny the appeal of it. It was a door that couldn’t be locked, not ever again. History will show that we lost fully a fifth of mankind from the Datum Earth, the true Earth, in the first few years after Step Day.

  ‘And we all know the consequences of that.’ He waved a hand at the mute buildings around the park, the boarded-up high-rises, and there was a growl of agreement from sections of the crowd. ‘We are poorer, we who remained in our homes to care for our families, to do our duty. We are poorer, we who were left behind. Not only that, suddenly our secure world was opened up to threats – new kinds of threats, pan-dimensional threats we never faced the like of before.’

  The screen behind him filled up with images, a kaleidoscope of horrors, from notorious would-be assassins, terrorists, rapists, child abductors and murderers who’d quickly learned to exploit the destructive potential of stepping, to a gaggle of grubby High Meggers bandits who looked as though they’d stepped out of a spaghetti western, to some of the existential weirdness that had come down the turnpike from the strange new worlds: of distorted-looking humanoids wearing mockeries of human clothing – and Mary, the gentle-eyed yet murderous troll, a picture that brought boos from the crowd.

  ‘That is why I, as your commander in chief, have assembled a new force from across our fine armed services to deal with these new situations. It is called USLONGCOM, as an analogy with our nation’s other geographical commands. Many of its members are gathered here today, in the historic heart of Richmond, Virginia. And many thousands more are in training at sites around the world, and indeed in the nearby stepwise neighbourhood. Let’s show them our appreciation.’

  He led applause, which rippled around the watching crowd.

  ‘And today,’ Cowley boomed on, ‘I announce their first significant mission: Operation Prodigal Son.’ More scattered applause, a little puzzled. ‘I’m sure the name I chose is self-explanatory. This is a mission, not to oppose any foe, but to reach out to our own lost children. A demonstration not of military power but of the firm hand of strong parenting. In these six fine new aircraft, companies of our young warriors will set out across the worlds, heading West – and showing their strength to the “colonies”,’ and he emphasized the quotes with crooks of his fingers.

  There were a few whoops at that, and cries of ‘Kick butt!’ and ‘Turn Valhalla into a twain park!’

  Cowley held up his hands. ‘Let me emphasize again. This is not a punitive mission. Indeed, my administration has nothing but support for those entrepreneurs who are busily developing the economies of the so-called Low Earths, as contributions to the overall national good. Our argument is not with them. Our argument is with those who live further out, some living entirely unproductive and feckless lives – who are prepared to accept the protection of life in the American Aegis, and yet contribute nothing to its upkeep.’ More applause and whoops.

  Now Cowley held up a bit of paper. ‘I have here their so-called “Declaration of Independence”. Nothing but a mockery of this nation’s finest hour.’ Theatrically he ripped up the paper, to more cheers. ‘This operation will reach a climax when its overall commander, Admiral Davidson here, stands on the steps of the city hall at the rebel enclave of Valhalla, and welcomes those particular prodigals back into the bosom of the national family. America has scattered across the worlds. Now is the time to gather those lost flocks back together again. Time to pick up the pieces, and grow strong again, in unity,’ and he gestured up at the slogan over his head.

  Now he turned to the troops ranked before him. ‘And to fulfil this holy mission, I turn to these fine young people. Isaiah six, verse eight: Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me. Who shall I send on Operation Prodigal Son? Who will go for us?’

  They had been coached to respond: ‘I’ll go. Send me! Send me!’ The discipline of the ranks softened a little, as the sailors and marines whooped and yelled.

  Beside Maggie, Joe Mackenzie grunted in grudging appreciation. ‘Cowley may be a slimeball, but he is still the President.’

  ‘And he’s supple, Doc,’ Maggie murmured. ‘Here he is pleasing one constituency by appearing to take on the colonists, while appeasing the colonists by presenting our mission as a kind of embrace.’

  Mac glanced up at the heavily armed twains. ‘Some embrace. That isn’t Santa’s sleigh up there. We’ll be lucky if we don’t provoke some kind of shooting war.’

  ‘It won’t come to that.’

  ‘Well, however it turns out you can’t beat being given a mission to fulfil.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said Maggie.

  Of course, once they were actually out in the Long Earth, they had encountered much wariness about their mission.

  Many Long Earth pioneers, at least the first generation, had left the Datum precisely because they had been intensely suspicious of central government, deriving from a country in which from its founding that sentiment had always run deep. What could the Datum government offer a far-stepwise colony now? It could threaten to tax, but provided damn few services – and over the years had withdrawn what little it had once offered. Protection? The major problem with that argument was that there was no detectable adversary, no bad guys to spy on or shadow, no bogeymen to point to as hostiles. China was still reeling from its own post-Step Day revolution. The parallel Europes were filling up with peaceful farmers. A new generation of Africans were reclaiming their ravaged continent, or stepwise copies of it. And so on. There was no threat to counter.

  However weak the case, Maggie Kauffman knew she was expected to diplomatically remind these estranged colonial sheep that they were part of a bigger flock, because back in DC there was a profound sense that, under the American Aegis, this newly extended country was fragmenting – and that, it was instinctively felt, couldn’t be allowed. That had been true even before the provocative ‘Declaration of Independence’ that had come out of Valhalla.

  All that was for the future. Right now Maggie found the present hard enough to manage: a horrible ethical and legal knot for her raw crew to untangle, in a ship still being shaken down, that they’d encountered just weeks after Cowley’s send-off.

  15

  THE OFFICE OF the mayor of Four Waters City was predictable pioneering architecture, though a veritable mansion compared with anything that Daniel Boone would have known, Maggie thought. However, he would have recognized and approved of the drying pelts, the jars of pickles in the corner, the miscellaneous shovels and other gardening implements – all the detritus of a pioneering life busily being lived. And there was a basement, which suggested that the mayor and her family were thoughtful people, and perhaps mildly paranoid (or sensibly cautious): it was impossible for an intruder to step into an underground room—

  ‘The child,’ Robinson blurted. ‘Let’s get to it, Captain.’

  ‘Fine.’ Maggie sat down.

  ‘Her name is Angela Hartmann. It happened a week ago. She was found by her family, stoned out of her mind . . . Sorry. She wouldn’t wake up, she wa
s in a kind of coma, took days to come out of it. We know who did it, who gave her the drugs and got high with her. And we know who committed the murder.’

  What murder? ‘Where are these people now?’

  The mayor shrugged. ‘It never dawned on us before to build a jail. We were building a stone ice house for the winter. We used that. It’s pretty well made. I don’t think anyone could possibly get out of it, it’s real big and heavy.’

  ‘And this is where you put the guy who gave the kid the drugs?’

  Robinson glanced at her. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve misunderstood, I’ve not been clear, I kind of gabble stuff out when I’m nervous. That bastard isn’t in the ice house. That bastard’s in the mortuary. Such as it is. The guy we’re keeping in the ice house – he was the father of the little girl.’

  ‘Ah. So the father found the pusher—’

  ‘And killed him.’

  ‘OK.’ Maggie began to see it. ‘Two crimes: the drugs, the murder.’

  ‘Nobody’s denying any of this. But as a result of all this, we are – riven. About how to handle this. What to do with the father.’

  Why me? Maggie thought to herself. She was supposed to be cheerfully showing the flag, and maintaining goodwill. Right now Nathan Boss, her XO, was out bartering for fresh vegetables. And now this. Well, why not me? This is what I came out here for. ‘I take it you haven’t tried to contact the Datum authorities.’

  Robinson flushed. ‘To tell you the truth, we were scared. We never even told the Datum that we were here. We thought it wasn’t their business, after all.’

  ‘And there’s no local justice system, in the stepwise neighbourhood?’