The Long War
Terry Pratchett
Stephen Baxter
Dedication
For Lyn and Rhianna, as always
T.P.
For Sandra
S.B.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
Also by Terry Pratchett and Stephen Baxter
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
ON AN ALTERNATE WORLD, two million steps from Earth:
The troll female was called Mary by her handlers, Monica Jansson read on the rolling caption on the video clip. No one knew what the troll called herself. Now two of those handlers, both men, one in a kind of spacesuit, faced Mary as she cowered in a corner of what looked like a high-tech laboratory – if a beast built like a brick wall covered in black fur could be said to cower at all – and she held her cub to her powerful chest. The cub, itself a slab of muscle, was similarly dressed up in its own silvery spacesuit, with wires dangling from sensors attached to its flat skull.
‘Give him back, Mary,’ one of the men could be heard to say. ‘Come on now. We’ve been planning this test for a long time. George here will haul him over into the Gap in his spacesuit, he’ll float around in vacuum for an hour or so, and then he’ll be right back here safe and sound. He’ll even have fun.’
The other man stayed ominously silent.
The first approached Mary, a step at a time. ‘No ice cream if you keep this up.’
Mary’s big, very human hands made gestures, signs, a blur. Rapid, hard to follow, but decisive.
As the incident had been replayed over and over there had been a lot of online speculation about why Mary hadn’t just stepped away at this point. Probably it was simply that she was being held underground: you couldn’t step into or out of a cellar, into the solid rock you’d find stepwise. Besides, Jansson, a retired lieutenant formerly of Madison Police Department, knew there were plenty of ways to stop a troll stepping, if you could get your hands on the animal.
The theory of what these men were trying to do was much discussed too. They were in a world next door to the Gap – a step away from vacuum, from space, from a hole where an Earth ought to be. They were building a space programme out there, and wanted to see if troll labour, highly useful across the Long Earth, could be exploited in the Gap. Not surprisingly adult trolls were very reluctant to step over into that drifting emptiness, so the GapSpace researchers were trying to habituate the young. Like this cub.
‘We haven’t got time for this,’ said the second man. He produced a metal rod, a stunner. He walked forward, holding the rod out towards Mary’s chest. ‘Time for Mommy to say goodnight for a while—’
The adult troll grabbed the rod, snapped it in two, and jammed the sharp, broken end into the second man’s right eye.
Every time you saw it, it was shocking.
The man fell back screaming, blood spilling, very bright red. The first guy pulled him back, out of shot. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’
Mary, holding her cub, her fur splashed with human blood, repeated the gestures she had made, over and over.
Things happened quickly after that. These space cadets had tried to put down this troll, this mother, immediately. They even pulled a gun on her. But they’d been stopped by an older guy, more dignified, who looked to Jansson like a retired astronaut.
And now retribution was on hold, because of the attention focused on the case.
Since this lab recording had been leaked it had become an outernet sensation in itself, and had led to a flood of similar reports. There was cruelty to beasts, and especially the trolls, it seemed, all over the Long Earth. Internet and outernet were alight with flame wars between those who believed in mankind’s right to do as it wished with the denizens of the Long Earth, all the way to putting them down when it suited – some referring back to the Biblical dominion given to humans over fish, fowl, cattle, and creeping things – and others who wished that mankind didn’t have to take all its flaws out into the new worlds. This incident at the Gap, precisely because it had taken place at the heart of a nascent space programme, an expression of mankind’s highest aspirations – and even though it betrayed a kind of insensitivity, Jansson thought, rather than downright cruelty – had become a poster case. A vociferous minority called for the federal government on Datum Earth to do something about it.
And others wondered what the trolls thought about it all. Because trolls had ways of communicating too.
Monica Jansson, watching the clip in her apartment in Madison West 5, tried to read Mary’s hand signs. She knew the language trolls were taught in experimental establishments like this one was based on a human language, American Sign Language. Jansson had had a little familiarization with signing in the course of her police career; she was no expert, but she could read what the troll was saying. And so, she imagined, could millions of others across the Long Earth, wherever this clip was being accessed:
I will not.
I will not.
I will not.
This was no dumb animal. This was a mother trying to protect a child.
Don’t get involved, Jansson told herself. You’re retired, and you’re sick. Your crusading days are over.
There was, of course, no choice. She turned off the monitor, popped another pill, and started making calls.
And on a world almost as far away as the Gap:
A creature that was not quite a human faced a creature that was not quite a dog.
People called the humanoid’s kind kobolds, more or less inaccurately. ‘Kobold’ was an old German name for a mine-spirit. This particular kobold, peculiarly addicted to human music – in particular 1960s rock music – had never been near a mine.
And people called these dog-like creatures beagles, equally inaccurately. They were
not beagles, and they were like nothing Darwin had seen from the most famous Beagle of all.
Neither kobold nor beagle cared about names humans gave them. But they cared about humans. Or rather, despised them. Even though, in the kobold’s case, he was also helplessly fascinated by humans and their culture.
‘Trollen unhap-ppy, everywhere,’ hissed the kobold.
‘Good,’ the beagle growled. She was a bitch. She wore a gold finger-ring set with sapphires on a thong around her neck. ‘Good. Smell of c-hrr-imes of stink-crotches stains world.’
The kobold’s speech was almost like a human’s. The beagle’s was a matter of growls, gestures, postures, pawing at the ground. Yet they understood each other, using a quasi-human language as a common patois.
And they had a common cause.
‘Drive stink-crotches back to their-hrr den.’ The beagle lifted her body and stood upright, raised her wolf-like head, and howled. Soon responses came from all across the humid landscape.
The kobold exulted at the chance of acquisition as a result of all this trouble, acquisition of the goods he treasured himself, and of others he could trade. But he strove to hide his fear of the beagle princess, his unlikely customer and ally.
And at a military base on Datum Hawaii, US Navy Commander Maggie Kauffman gazed up in wonder at the USS Benjamin Franklin, an airship the size of the Hindenburg, the brand-new vessel that was hers to command . . .
And in a sleepy English village the Reverend Nelson Azikiwe pondered his little parish church in the context of the Long Earth, a treasured scrap of antiquity amid unmapped immensity, and considered his own future . . .
And in a bustling city more than a million steps from the Datum, a one-time stepwise pioneer called Jack Green carefully phrased an appeal for liberty and dignity in the Long Earth . . .
And at Yellowstone Park, Datum Earth:
It was only Ranger Herb Lewis’s second day on the job. He sure as hell didn’t know how to deal with this angry in-your-face complaint from Mr. and Mrs. Virgil Davies of Los Angeles about how upset their nine-year-old, Virgilia, had become, and how Daddy had been made to look a liar, on her birthday. It wasn’t Herb’s fault if Old Faithful had failed to blow. It was no consolation at all when, later that day, the family found their faces all over the news channels and websites as the geyser’s misbehaviour hit the headlines . . .
And in a Black Corporation medical facility on a Low Earth:
‘Sister Agnes? I have to wake you again for a little while, just for calibration . . .’
Agnes thought she heard music. ‘I am awake. I think.’
‘Welcome back.’
‘Back from where? Who are you? And what’s that chanting?’
‘Hundreds of Tibetan monks. For forty-nine days you have been—’
‘And that dreary music?’
‘Oh. You can blame John Lennon for that. The lyrics are quotes from the Book of the Dead.’
‘What a racket.’
‘Agnes, your physical orientation will take some time yet. But I think it should be possible for you to see yourself in the mirror. This won’t take long . . .’
She could not tell how long, but eventually there was light, very soft but growing steadily.
‘You will feel some pressure as you are lifted to a standing position. It should not be unpleasant. We cannot work on your ambulant abilities until you are stronger, but you will meld into your new body with minimal pain. Trust me, I have been through this myself many times before. You will be able to see yourself about . . . now.’
And Sister Agnes looked down at herself. At her body: pink, naked, raw, and very female. Without feeling her lips move – and indeed without actually feeling her lips at all – Agnes demanded, ‘Who ordered those?’
2
SALLY LINSAY ARRIVED at Hell-Knows-Where fast and furious. But when had that ever been unusual?
Joshua Valienté heard her voice coming from the house, as he was heading back from an afternoon’s work in his forge. On this world, as on all the worlds of the Long Earth, it was late March, and the light was already fading. Since she’d shown up on the day of his wedding nine years ago, a visit from this particular old friend had been rare, and generally meant that something was amiss – amiss in spades. As Helen, his wife, would also know all too well. His stomach knotting, Joshua hurried his step.
He found Sally sitting at the kitchen table, nursing coffee in a local-pottery mug. She was looking away from him, she hadn’t noticed him yet, and he paused at the door to study her, taking in the scene, getting his bearings.
Helen was in the dry store, and Joshua saw she was digging out salt, pepper, matches. On the table, meanwhile, Sally had dumped enough butchered meat to last for weeks. This was pioneer protocol. The Valientés didn’t need the meat, of course, but that was no matter. The deal was that the visiting traveller brought the meat, and the householder repaid the gift not only with a meal, the catch properly dressed and cooked, but also with some of those little comforts that were hard to find in the wilderness, such as salt, pepper, a good night’s sleep in a proper bed. Joshua smiled. Sally prided herself on being somewhat more self-sufficient than Daniel Boone and Captain Nemo put together, but surely even Daniel Boone must’ve craved pepper – just like Sally.
She was forty-three years old now, a few years older than Joshua – and sixteen years older than Helen, which didn’t help their various interrelationships. Her greying hair was tied neatly back, and she wore her usual garb of heavy-duty jeans and sleeveless, multi-pocketed jacket. Just as she’d always been, she was lean, wiry, eerily still – and watchful.
Right now she was watching an object on the wall: a gold ring set with sapphires, hanging on a loop of string from a stubby local-forge iron nail. It was one of the few trophies Joshua had kept of the journey of discovery across the Long Earth that the two of them had made with Lobsang. Or, The Journey, as the world knew it ten years later. It was a gaudy thing, and too large for a human finger. But then, humans hadn’t made it, as Sally would remember. Just below the ring hung another bit of jewellery, a monkey bracelet, plastic and paste: a thing for a kid, gaudy, silly. Joshua was pretty sure Sally would remember the significance of that too.
He walked forward, deliberately pushing the door to make it creak. She turned and surveyed him, critical, unsmiling.
He said, ‘Heard you arrive.’
‘You’ve put on weight.’
‘Nice to see you too, Sally. I take it you’ve a reason for coming here. You always have a reason.’
‘Oh, yes.’
I wonder if Calamity Jane was like this, Joshua thought as he reluctantly sat down. Like a gunpowder explosion going off periodically in the middle of your life. Maybe, though Sally had marginally better access to toiletries.
Helen was now in the kitchen, and Joshua smelled meat on the griddle. When he caught Helen’s eye she waved away his silent offer of help. He recognized tact when he saw it. Helen was trying to give them some space. Tact, yes, but he also feared this was the beginning of one of Helen’s icy silences. Sally after all was a woman who’d had a long, complicated and famous relationship with her husband before he’d even known Helen. Sally had been at his side, in fact, when he first met Helen, then a seventeen-year-old pioneer in a brand-new Long Earth colony town. His young wife was never going to jump for joy when Sally showed up again.
Sally was waiting for him to respond, ignorant of such subtleties, or uncaring.
He sighed. ‘So tell me. What brings you here this time?’
‘Another slimeball killed another troll.’
He grunted. There had been a blizzard of such incidents in the news brought by the outernet – incidents occurring across the Long Earth, from the Datum to Valhalla and beyond, evidently all the way up to the Gap, judging from recent sensational reports of a lurid case involving a cub in a 1950s-type spacesuit.
‘Butchered it, in this case,’ Sally said. ‘I mean, literally. Reported at an Aegis administrat
ion office at Plumbline, just inside the Meggers—’
‘I know it.’
‘It was a young one this time. Body parts taken for some kind of folk medicine. For once the guy’s actually been arrested on a cruelty charge. But his family are kicking up because, what the hell, it was just an animal, wasn’t it?’
Joshua shook his head. ‘We’re all under the US Aegis. What’s the argument? Aren’t Datum animal cruelty laws supposed to apply?’
‘That’s all a mess, Joshua, with different rulings at federal and state level, and arguments about how such rulings extend to the Long Earth anyhow. Not to mention the lack of resources to police them.’
‘I don’t follow Datum politics too closely. You know, here we protect trolls under an extension of our citizenship rights.’
‘Really?’
He smiled. ‘You sound surprised. You’re not the only one with a conscience, you know. Anyhow trolls are too damn useful to have them bothered, or driven away.’
‘Well, not everywhere is as civilized, evidently. You must remember, Joshua, that the Aegis is presided over by Datum politicians, which is to say, buttholes. And they really don’t get it! They are not the kind of people to get mud on their shiny shoes anywhere much beyond a park in Earth West 3. They have no idea of how important it is that humanity stays friendly with the trolls. The long call is full of it.’
Meaning every troll everywhere would soon know all about this.
Sally said now, ‘You know, the problem is that before Step Day most of what trolls knew and understood about humanity came from their experiences in places like Happy Landings, where they lived closely with humans. Peacefully, constructively . . .’
‘If a little creepily.’
‘Well, yes. What is happening now is that trolls are encountering ordinary folk. That is, idiots.’
With a sense of dread he asked, ‘Sally – why have you come here? What do you want me to do about this?’
‘Your duty, Joshua.’
She meant, Joshua knew, that he was to go with her, off into the Long Earth. Saving the worlds once again.
The hell with that, he thought. Times had changed. He’d changed. His duty was here: to his family, his home, this township which had, foolishly enough, elected him mayor.
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