Into the Light

by David Weber

  “There is no price for it, Mr. Prime Minister,” Dvorak said levelly. Agamabichie’s eyebrows arched, and Dvorak shook his head. “We’re making this tech available as broadly as we can on the basis of need,” he said. “In fact, we’re probably sending more of it to northern Europe and Scandinavia than to Canada, despite the logistic issues. Their need, frankly, is far worse than yours, because most of Europe lost cohesion when the Puppies moved in.

  “Yours—and President Garçāo’s, down in Bahia—are the two largest geographic areas to maintain unified government. You’ve faced harsher environmental issues; he’s faced a lot more civil unrest—warlordism, to call it by its true name. But nobody in Europe managed to hold society together on the same kind of scale. And that means the two of you will be able to use what we can provide more efficiently, without its being hijacked, or diverted, or simply lost, than anyone else. Which means what we give you will go farther … and that we have to give proportionately more to the areas where it won’t be used efficiently, because we’ll have to compensate with quantity to overcome the lack of efficiency. Within that limitation, though, you’ll get everything we can send you. No price tags, no strings attached.”

  Agamabichie sat back in his chair, his eyes suddenly intent, and Dvorak leaned back and crossed his legs.

  “I … find that difficult to believe,” the Prime Minister said after a long, thoughtful pause. “And—” visions of Adam LaCree danced in his imagination “—I expect that some of my ministers and advisors will find it even more difficult to believe than I do.”

  “I won’t pretend President Howell doesn’t hope his willingness to assist will buy some goodwill, Sir.” Dvorak flashed another brief smile. “Probably a proper diplomat would beat around the bush and put that ever so much more delicately, but I don’t think President Howell picked me because I’m a ‘proper diplomat.’ He picked me, I think, because I have a tendency to call a spade a spade, as we put it back home. But you’re a smart man, so you have to be as aware as I am that helping your people get through this winter has to earn us at least some good press up here in Canada.

  “On the other hand,” the smile vanished again, “there is such a thing as common decency, Mr. Prime Minister. Our … core constituency in North Carolina’s probably in better shape than any other spot on the face of the planet. You would not believe—or want to see—what the satellites are showing us out of China.” He shook his head, his face suddenly decades older than it had been. “We don’t know who issued the call for a general uprising, but the casualties were beyond catastrophic. We’re trying to reach out to China, but so far we’re having an awful time finding anyone in all that chaos in a position to cooperate effectively with us.

  “But that only underscores the fact that anywhere we can help, we must help. No matter what we do, we’re going to lose too many more people, and at least some of the survivors will blame us for it, after the dust settles. They won’t believe we couldn’t have done more for the people they loved, and it’s hard to blame them for that. Whatever they think, though, it won’t be because we didn’t do everything we damned well could, because all of us need to live with ourselves afterward.”

  Agamabichie nodded slowly, digesting the sincerity behind that not-a-diplomat’s eyes.

  “You do hope we’ll join this scheme of yours to merge Canada and the States, though, don’t you?”

  “Of course we do. And I hope that after I’ve had a chance to share our intelligence on why the Shongairi attacked us in the first place—and why it’s imperative for us to get ourselves organized as a species before the Hegemony gets around to round two—you’ll agree with us.”

  “Round two?” Agamabichie sat straighter, his expression suddenly intent.

  “Yes, Sir,” Dvorak said grimly. “Our belief, which we believe you’ll share after looking at the records and the data we’ve captured, is that this was only the first wave. Given the limitations of even the ‘Galactic Hegemony’s’ faster-than-light technology, they won’t be back next week, or next year, or even next decade, but they will be back, and we have to be outnumbered literally trillions to one. So the one thing we can’t afford is to still be squabbling with one another when the next Hegemony starship drops out of phase-drive somewhere around Jupiter.”

  Agamabichie’s blood ran cold, but he couldn’t pretend he was really surprised. And he was looking forward to poring over any records Howell’s people might have. But in the meantime …

  “You have to understand how many reservations Canadians are going to have about losing their identity and control of their own destinies if they merge with something like the United States. Assuming President Howell can put your own country back together again, you’ll easily outnumber us many times over, and I can’t believe anyone in North America would suggest a system of governance in which population doesn’t count for a lot when it comes to elections.”

  “Of course you have reservations!” Dvorak chuckled. “In your place, I’d have a lot more than just ‘reservations,’ Sir! But the President’s given quite a bit of thought to this.” And, he did not add out loud, he’s discussed it a lot with the poor son-of-a-bitch he drafted as his Secretary of State, too. “And as a consequence, what he intends to propose is a step back towards the compromise between the larger states and the smaller states at the time our own Constitution was drafted.”

  “Ah?” Agamabichie leaned forward, elbows on his chair arms, and tented his fingers under his bearded jaw. “I have to admit I don’t know as much about your early history as I do about Canada’s.”

  “You probably know a hell of a lot more about U.S. history than I do about Canada’s history,” Dvorak said. “Most Americans don’t read or study Canadian history at all, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m not surprised, given the … disparity in our populations.”

  “Gracious of you, and probably more gracious than your typical U.S. citizen would be. I mean, after all, we routinely call ourselves ‘Americans,’ as if all the rest of you live on another continent somewhere. That’s one of the things President Howell would like to fix.”

  “How?” Agamabichie’s tone was blunt. “Frankly, that reminds me of the story about Hercules and the stables.”

  “Basically, he intends to propose a Constitution based on the original U.S. Constitution, minus one or two of its amendments. Specifically, he intends to exclude the Seventeenth Amendment.”

  “Which would be the one that—?”

  “It would be the one that establishes the direct election of Senators,” Dvorak said. “Originally, Senators were chosen by their state legislatures and represented the states’ interests in a federal system that emphasized a much broader degree of local sovereignty than became the case in the last century.”

  “And why does he want to change that?”

  “Because he’s looking at a bicameral legislature, with a Senate and a House of Representatives, and each sovereign nation which ratifies his new constitution and joins his Continental Union will have the same number of Senators, regardless of population. That is, in the upper house, the former Canada and the former United States will have equal representation, and the Senate will retain not simply its legislative role but its right of advice and consent for cabinet officers, members of the judiciary, and everything else it oversees under the current U.S. Constitution. Which means Canada and the U.S. will have equal voices on those issues.

  “In addition, he wants to incorporate the Electoral College. Before the invasion, a lot of people in the States felt that the Electoral College system was antidemocratic, and they were right. Its function was to ensure that smaller states, all of whom had a minimum of two Senators and at least one or two Representatives, wouldn’t simply be steamrollered by a few bigger states which happened to have far more massive populations. Those issues aren’t new; they confronted the original thirteen states, and the Electoral College was the compromise adopted to protect the little guys. Which is why President Howell wants to
extend that same protection to any smaller sovereign nation that signs on the dotted line. Money bills will originate in the new House of Representatives, and every seat in the House will be up for reelection in every general election, which means the nations with more people will still have far more clout than ones with smaller populations, but the Senate—especially if its members owe their loyalty to their home nations rather than to the Continental Union’s federal power structure—will prevent the federal republic from becoming a centralized democracy. What member states of the Continental Union want to do within their former national borders will be largely up to them, with as much local autonomy as possible, as long as minimal human rights guarantees are met.”

  Agamabichie frowned thoughtfully. That was a far more generous offer than he’d anticipated, but it made sense. Assuming Howell truly understood the … un-wisdom of forcing other nations to ratify his new constitution, that was.

  “Should I assume you’ve brought a more detailed version of what you’ve just described along with you?” he asked finally.

  “I have,” Dvorak acknowledged. “And, with your permission and agreement, we intend to present a copy of those same plans to King Henry in Bristol. I don’t think many of us folks from below the forty-ninth parallel really understand how the Commonwealth works, but it did occur to us ignorant colonials that it would probably be a good idea to get the Crown to sign off on this. For that matter, I might as well admit that President Howell sees the Continental Union as only the first step. And I don’t think he’d object at all if the entire Commonwealth ‘spontaneously’ decided to get in on the ground floor, as it were.”

  “At least I doubt anyone’s ever going to accuse President Howell of thinking small,” Agamabichie said dryly.

  “No.” Dvorak shook his head. “No, I don’t think that would be the very best way to describe him, somehow.”

  Agamabichie chuckled, then leaned back again.

  “If you could deliver that communication center to Bristol at the same time as you deliver President Howell’s proposals, I think that would be a very good thing,” he said. “In the meantime, you’re absolutely right about the amount of help we’re going to need, and those new reactors of yours sound wonderful! My people have already drawn up provisional lists to ask for. Once we’ve had a chance to look at what sort of help you can deliver, we’ll fine-tune them. And I’ll consult with the Cabinet and the Opposition on President Howell’s … political initiative. I have to tell you, though, that while I’m far more optimistic about their ultimate willingness to consider it now that you’ve described the safeguards President Howell has in mind, it’s going to take a while to bring them around. And I think all of them will insist on studying the data—the intelligence—you’ve gathered on the Shongairi and this ‘Hegemony.’”

  “And they damned well should,” Dvorak responded. “I would, in their place, at any rate!”

  “I’m glad you understand. And I also hope—” Agamabichie’s eyes narrowed again “—that you’ll shed a little light on just what the hell really happened to the Shongairi?! All anyone here in Canada seems to really know is that one minute they were about to kill the entire human race and the next minute President Howell had control of all their assets in the solar system!”

  “I thought we’d told everyone how that happened.” Dvorak raised his good hand shoulder high and waggled it back and forth in a tipping motion. “Didn’t the broadcast come through here in Regina?”

  “Oh, the broadcast came through,” Agamabichie assured him. “It’s just that nobody really believes it.”

  “Well they should,” Dvorak replied.

  “Really?” Agamabichie’s skepticism was abundantly clear, and Dvorak chuckled.

  “Really,” he said. “It really was Vlad Tepes, or Vlad Drakulya, or whatever you want to call him, and if he isn’t a classic ‘vampire,’ he’s certainly the most convincing counterfeit to come around in a long time.”

  “Vampires?” Agamabichie shook his head. “In this day and age?”

  “Well, he’s been around for five hundred years or so,” Dvorak pointed out, “so you might say he predates ‘this day and age.’ I’ll concede that quite a few people have problems believing it until they’ve actually met him … or one of the other vampires, anyway.”

  “So you’re seriously suggesting there are more of them around?”

  “Oh, yes!” Dvorak chuckled. “In fact, I’ve brought one of them along. She’s Vlad’s personal representative to President Howell’s cabinet. I think you’ll like her. And—” there was a curiously steely twinkle in his eye “—Jasmine is very, very convincing. Trust me.”

  . XIV .

  GREENSBORO, NORTH CAROLINA,

  UNITED STATES

  “Thank you for fitting me in, Mister President.”

  “Frankly,” Judson Howell smiled a bit thinly as he pointed at the chair on the other side of his desk, “it’s more a matter of squeezing you in, I’m afraid. The delegation from Fort Worth is inbound. I expect they’ll be on the ground within the next twenty minutes, and I can’t keep them waiting. This ‘visit’ will probably decide whether or not Texas rejoins the Union voluntarily.”

  “I understand that,” Fabienne Lewis said, settling into the indicated chair, “and I promise I’ll be as brief as possible. This is something I need you to put into your ‘Things to Consider Down the Road’ mental file, though. And, frankly, it’ll almost certainly have some bearing on Invictus.”

  “Ah?” Howell cocked his head. “What sort of bearing?”

  “I think it may speed things up appreciably, maybe even as much as the reductions in redundant safety features we’ve already made,” Lewis replied. “I can’t promise that, but it’s something Director MacQuarie and I have been looking at for the last couple of days. Well, actually, what we’ve been looking at is a report from Damianos Karahalios. You remember him, Mister President?”

  “Vividly.” Howell grimaced and rolled his eyes, and Lewis chuckled.

  Damianos Karahalios was one of the senior computer and IT professors from North Carolina State University. He was also supposed to be a fairly brilliant researcher, and Howell was prepared to accept that. It didn’t make the professor’s meticulous, step-by-step, I’m-making-this-as-simple-as-I-can-for-you-idiots explanations that rambled on forever—interspersed with lengthy pauses which would have led anyone unfamiliar with him to assume he was finished, except, of course, that he wasn’t—any less irritating, though. He really was very well thought of in his field, however, and he’d been a regular consultant for CERT/CC—the Computer Emergency Response Team Coordinating Center—which had been responsible for researching software bugs and Internet security for the Internet as a whole. Unfortunately, CERT/CC had been part of the federally funded Software Engineering Institute at Carnegie Mellon, which had been wiped out when the Shongairi finally lost patience and destroyed Pittsburgh along with virtually every other remaining urban center in the Northeast.

  Leaving Judson Howell with Damianos Karahalios.

  “I know he can be a pain,” Lewis conceded, “but he really is very good at what he does, and he’s completed his preliminary survey of the differences between Hegemony and human computer systems.”

  “Has he?”

  Howell’s eyes narrowed with the first true interest he’d felt since the conversation began. One thing they’d already discovered was that there was often a difference between neural education and true understanding. A neural educator could teach anyone to run an existing Hegemony computer system in barely five minutes, for example, but that didn’t mean the operator was actually familiar with many of its features. And it certainly didn’t mean someone like Judson Howell grasped the fundamental principles of the hardware … or the software! For that matter, even someone who had downloaded the entire neural module for cybernetics and information technology had to learn his way through an absolutely enormous knowledge base. Moreover, because he’d acquired it literally “overnigh
t,” rather than gradually building on his existing platform of knowledge, it was remarkably difficult to make point-to-point correlations between what he’d known before the neural education and what he’d acquired from it.

  From Karahalios’ previous presentations to Howell, the professor found that particularly irritating. In fact, he seemed to consider it a personal affront. The problem was that he possessed two separate, very extensive bodies of knowledge. One of them he’d spent a lifetime building, and he could find his way through with impressive speed and precision. The other was brand new, and using it was like running an online search that led to innumerable branching references, none of which were part of the searcher’s fully digested and internalized database. When that difference—and how incredibly frustrating it must be—had percolated through Howell’s understanding, he’d found that he almost sympathized with Karahalios’ fussy, finicky, nuanced, and unendingly qualified lectures.

  Almost.

  “I have his entire report—which runs to something like twenty thousand words, with charts, diagrams, and quite a few footnotes—and I’ll be forwarding that to you,” Lewis continued. “I assume, however, that you’d prefer me to break it up into … more digestible bites, Mister President?”

  “I have no doubt his report would be fascinating reading if I understood more than, say, one word in thirty,” Howell said dryly. “So, yes, I think you can safely assume I’d prefer the ignorant layman version.”

  “All right, let me begin by saying that while Shongair computing technology is vastly more technologically advanced than our own, it’s an incremental improvement. Well, a little more than just incremental, since, unlike us, they’ve figured out how to use qubits, and that radically changes what you can do with a programming language or with operations. I’m not going to try to get into quantum tunneling or any of the other concepts involved, but to put it very simply—and a bit inaccurately—our computers operate in binary. Data is expressed in ones and zeros, and any given bit can be in only one state at any given time. Think of it as carrying only one meaning, one value, at a time. The computers we’re looking at now use bits—qubits—which can be in superpositions of states. That means a qubit doesn’t have a value of one or zero, but rather contains both of those values as a weighted probability. There’s no way to tell which of the two possible states actually pertains until—”