by Joe Haldeman
I squeezed his arm. “You’ll do.”
“The other two,” Dustin said, “did they have separate social lives? Different circles of friends?”
“Yes and no . . . we overlapped, and everyone we knew was aware that there were three of me. It’s not really complicated. Most of my friends have at least one avatar.”
“Feel lonely now?” Alba asked.
“Yeah. You never doubled?”
“Couldn’t afford it. Actually, it was pretty low on the list of stuff I wanted.”
He nodded. “Well, when you get older . . . if it’s ever possible again.”
He was starting to tremble. I stroked his arm and his smooth head when he faced me. “You got a sister back, anyhow.”
“A younger sister.” He smiled. “That’s stranger than my dupes.”
After a pause, Alba said, “Any way you can get them back?”
He grimaced. “Yes and no. The physical bodies are just . . . spoiled meat. Some version of their personalities ought to be hard-filed somewhere. Ought to be. I could sue if they’re not.”
“Carmen, you want to get me a bite?” Paul called back. “Better not leave the stick.” The autopilot would take us straight to Fruit Farm unless the power went out. Then it would be nice to have someone up there who knew how and where to point the plane.
I rummaged through the bag of stuff from the NASA vending machine and got him a cookie and some nuts, and a bottle of water. He gave me a peck on the cheek when I delivered the snacks.
There were two auxiliary screens on, one with some porn thing and the other with page 13 of Pride and Prejudice. He probably wanted me to comment, but I wouldn’t.
The top part of the windshield was darkened to blot out the sun. It was solid clouds underneath, as far as I could see. “I wonder how far the clouds go.”
“No telling. Feels funny, not having the weather.” His voice dropped. “How is your brother doing?”
“Hard to say. Trying to sort things out, I suppose.”
“He may be more help than Dustin, dealing with the commune.”
“Maybe. I’ll talk to them.”
“Ply him with peanuts,” he said, crunching down on a mouthful.
Maybe a near beer. I picked up a couple and put them on the table and sat down.
“Thanks. Are we on course?”
“Headed west, anyhow.” I watched him pop the can and take a drink. “What do you think these communists will be like?”
“Communists? Like people in the commune?”
“What would you call them, then?”
“Earthers. Most of them. Not sure what they call themselves.”
“You’ve never been up there?”
“God, no. It’s at the other end of the state. Long way to go for fresh vegetables. Wish I had, now.”
“Yeah; we don’t really know what to expect.”
Dustin put down his book. “Quietly crazy. That’s what I expect. Who knows, though, after seventy years.”
“Noisy and crazy,” Card said. “Trigger-happy hillbillies. That’s a cube cliché.”
That was interesting. “With a basis in fact?”
“Not Fruit Farm specifically. Back around the turn of the century, 2100, some communes in the East got together and raised some hell. They tried to secede from the United States, piecemeal. They were followers of that guy . . .”
“Lazlo Motkin,” Alba said.
“Yeah. They had a regular little war.”
“They weren’t even one geographical area,” Alba said. “Spread out over three or four states. They claimed there was an ‘existential border’ between them and us.”
“They had lawyers to prove it?”
“Lawyers and guns,” Card said. “What more do you need?”
“Anything come of it?” I asked.
Card shook his head. “All over in a couple of months. Some people jailed, some leaders executed. Lazlo Motkin himself died in a military action.”
“Which was embarrassing to America,” Alba said. “He was running for president at the time. He was just a rich crackpot until he died. Then he became a symbol of government oppression.”
I had a vague memory of him sending us a loony message on the starship. If we were good Americans, we would do a kamikaze strike on the Others’ home world.
“We ought to start out assuming they are nice rational people,” Elza said, “who have some nineteenth-century ideas about things like electricity.”
“Wonder if they’ll have power after Wednesday,” Alba said. “The only people in the whole country?”
“Not if the Others do the same thing as before,” Dustin said. “Everything stopped working, even batteries. Stuff like hydroelectric power and wind machines. Kept turning around, but without making any juice.
“The question is whether living with this archaic technology makes the Fruit Farmers better equipped for dealing with the brave new world that’s coming. We’re assuming so, but you can argue that their technological primitivism is only skin-deep. They’ve had electricity all along—home-made, but what’s the difference?”
Namir had gone to the head in back of the plane, and he emerged with a bottle of whisky and a stack of cups. “Let’s drink to NASA and their legendary foresight.”
I had a small glass of the stuff, smoky and smooth, and before I finished it, a curtain of fatigue fell over me like a sedative. I walked unsteadily back to my seat, reclined it, and was asleep before my head hit the plastic pillow.
9
I woke suddenly when the plane’s engine throttled down, and we banked sharply. I raised the curtain on my window and saw that we were angling down over some heavily forested hilly land. There was a small, meandering river.
“Should be only a few miles,” Paul said, his amplified voice flat and crackling. “I’m going down low and dead slow, and will cut the engine as we glide over the commune. Your flatscreens should be showing what’s directly under us.” I reached forward and tapped the screen on the back of the seat in front of me. Treetops rolled by underneath, slowly growing larger as we dropped.
They must hear us coming. Were people running for cover? Running to man the anti-aircraft lasers?
“They won’t have lasers.” Namir was reading my mind. “A shotgun could do some damage, though.”
“Why no lasers?”
“They could. But they aren’t getting megawatts out of twentieth-century solar cells and wind machines.”
The forest abruptly stopped, replaced by squares of pasture and fruit trees in neat lines. We were low enough that I could see cows looking up at us. The engine stuttered off, and we glided with a sound of rushing air.
A stockade wall and a glimpse of blue rectangle—a swimming pool where a half dozen naked people pointed at us. Two of them waved, much better than pointing guns.
Just past the pool was a large low building. “That’s the common,” Dustin said. “We used to go there to watch cube.” Past that were dozens of individual dwellings, I supposed multi-family. It looked as if they all started out with a basic octagonal shape, and grew in various directions.
People with clothes on looked up at us, shading their eyes from the low sun. At the entrance to the stockade, a man had a small assault rifle on a sling hanging from his shoulder. He watched us go over without raising the gun.
There were watchtowers at each corner of the stockade. From our angle you couldn’t see who or what was in them. There was a shed at the entrance to the place, probably where they sold to outsiders. Then a dirt road that cut through more pasture and fruit trees, before it plunged into the forest.
Paul turned the engine back on with a pop and a quiet roar, and we gained a little altitude. “Now let’s see how far we’ll have to walk,” he said.
We followed the winding river for a couple of minutes. A dirt path went alongside it, maybe adequate for a jepé, but not wide or straight enough for landing. Then the gray strip of an autoway slid by. Paul rose up in a banking curl, cross
ing over the river and then back again. He lined up perfectly with the middle lane, and eased the plane down. No sign of any auto traffic, but this probably wasn’t a busy road even under normal conditions.
The brakes chirped a couple of times, and we rolled to a halt just over the river, taking up all of the right-hand lane.
“Namir, you spies could earn your keep here. Take a look around?”
“Got it.” He and Dustin and Elza took weapons and bandoliers from the overhead compartments as the door swung down to become stairs. I was eager to get some fresh air myself, but Paul was right. Send the guns out first. The bridge might be guarded, or at least watched.
“I wonder how safe we are,” Card said. “If a car comes, it should brake automatically, but . . .”
“Trust to our luck,” I said. “So far so good.”
“That makes me feel so safe.”
“You probably couldn’t get onto the autoway if the failsafes weren’t working,” Alba said. “The power shuts down automatically.”
“Government intrusion,” he said. “Any zero can hotwire a car into manual.”
“Can you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I know how.” Yeah, like I know how a starship works.
Namir and Elza were pointing their guns up and down the road, while Dustin jogged to the side of the bridge. He looked over and then signaled with a shrug.
Namir came back up the steps. “I suggest Plan P,” he said. “We probably can’t make it to the farm before dark.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Did I sleep through something?”
“P stands for prudence,” Namir said. “The plane is too conspicuous a target to stay in. So we unload the essentials and hide nearby.”
“Like on the road here.”
“No, we’ll carry stuff back into the woods.” He looked at Paul. “Maybe down by the river?”
“Have to carry it down sooner or later.”
I slung a rifle cross-ways over my back and collected a couple of bags of food and stuff. When Dustin came aboard, I asked him whether the river water would be safe to drink. He counseled caution until we could ask a native. “I drank from it as a kid, but Dad gave me hell.”
After several minutes of no traffic, Card and Alba agreed that the autoway must be turned off. That doesn’t mean someone couldn’t come screaming along on manual, but we could hear them coming and get off the roadway.
There was no actual path from the bridge down to the dirt road along the river. We picked our way down slippery gravel and through a thicket of brambles, the spies preceding us with their guns. After we got to solid ground, they left us with most of the artillery and went up for another load.
It was peaceful and pretty. The river was about ten meters wide, swift, and looked deep.
Card came and stood beside me, looking into the water. “Remember the Galápagos?”
“Sure.” We’d had a day there before we left for Mars on the space elevator. “You ever go back?”
“I did about twenty years ago. Diving and fishing.”
“You became a sportsman?”
“Kind of. Took a motorsled to the North Pole once; that was interesting.”
“Living off polar bears and penguins?”
“No penguins there. Mostly beers and hot dogs. I did see a polar bear, but it ran away.”
“Never went back to Mars?”
“Never really wanted to. Got out as soon as the quarantine lifted. So glad to get back here.” He took a drink of water from a plastic bottle and offered it to me. I took a drink even though I wasn’t thirsty.
“That’s Mars,” he said.
“I guess.” Impolite to refuse water.
“You liked it there.”
“It’s home. Became home.” I shook my head. “Was home. Never going back.”
“No one ever can. If you want to be philosophical.”
“Ever go back to Florida?”
“Yeah. The old house was still there, but with big condos all around it. One quaint old cottage with the rose bushes still there. Same pink gravel lawn. Surrounded by sky-highs.”
“That’s funny.”
“What?”
“Must’ve been some zoning peculiarity.”
He laughed. “Carmen . . . it’s a fucking museum. It’s the last place on Earth where the Mars Girl lived.”
“Oh, shit.”
“You ought to go. Maybe they’d let you in for free.”
“I could wear my authentic Martian cuntsuit.” What adults called a skinsuit.
“In Florida? You’d be arrested.”
“They don’t seem too inhibited here. You see the people around the pool?”
“Yeah, California. Love it.”
Dustin and Elza were struggling down the slope with the NASA mail cart. We went up to help them through the brush.
“Paul’s making a list,” Elza said. “What we can leave on the plane.”
“Does it lock up?” Card asked.
“He says yes. But you could get in with a can opener.”
“Probably smart to take all the weapons and ammunition,” Elza said.
“Assuming the nice folks at Fruit Farm will feed us,” I said.
“If they don’t, we’ll be on our own in a couple of days anyhow,” Elza said unnecessarily.
Namir came out of the woods, kicking aside brambles. “Found a place where we can spend tonight.”
“A motel?” My brother said.
Namir ignored him. “Small clearing with plenty of overhead cover.”
“In case the prez sends his space force?” Elza said.
“Could happen. Or the folks at Fruit Farm might come down the road looking for us.”
“Armed with pitchforks and trowels,” Dustin said.
“They have weapons. We should be ready for anything.”
Of course. I gestured to Alba. “Let’s go up and get a load.”
We picked our way up and found that Paul had made a neat stack of stuff beside the plane.
I picked up one of the three laser rifles, I think the one I’d had at Camp David. Not much charge.
Paul came down the steps and answered my question before I could ask it. “It’ll be useless junk after Wednesday, but I didn’t want to leave them behind. Somebody could get them tonight or tomorrow and use them on us.”
“This one’s almost dry.”
“Still a potent psychological weapon, till Wednesday.” He set down the two bags he was carrying, food and the flare guns from the motor pool. “Or you could throw it in the river. Two’s probably enough.” We also had the powder weapons from Alba’s trunk, and the ones Namir had “found.”
“Take out the fuel cell before you throw it away,” Alba said. “I’ll carry it till Wednesday.” I extracted it and gave it to her, then tossed the thing spinning over the side. It hit the water with a quiet splash, bobbed up once, and sank.
Paul was balancing a flare pistol in his hand. “I could torch the plane,” he said. “Burn our bridges literally.” He shook his head. “We might need it if the farm doesn’t work out. Go find that island.”
“Native girls with bare boobs,” I said. “You have them here.”
We went down to Namir’s clearing and made a laughable kind of campsite out of it. If it rained, we would just have to get wet. But we got enough pine boughs to make a couple of large beds. Needed only be sleeping five at a time, two on guard.
It was getting cool as the sun went down, but we decided against making a fire.
I was on the first guard shift, seven till nine, hiding in some bushes between the road and the river. Sipped cold instant coffee and listened for anything that wasn’t water and wind. I had a laser rifle and one of the flare pistols. Elza had the same armament, hiding in the woods north of our camp. If we saw or heard something, we were supposed to close our eyes, to preserve dark vision, and shoot a flare straight up. Perhaps starting a forest fire.
At first I felt all crawly, but convinced myself it wasn’t
bugs. Just skin crud. Dried sweat from crossing ten or twelve time zones. Maybe we could take a dip in the river before we left.
