The Long War

Even now, looking at Carl, it was hard for Maggie to remember that he wasn’t some kind of chimp or gorilla. He was smarter than that, even if you left out the long call and the trolls’ strange group intelligence. His own communication was more complex than any chimp’s, and he could make and handle tools that would have been beyond the imagination of Cheetah. It was more useful, Mac had advised her, to think of trolls as more like human ancestors. Something between chimp and human. But these beasts, Mac reminded her, weren’t living fossils, but had enjoyed millions of years of natural selection since splitting off from the line that led to humans. They weren’t primitive humans; they were fully evolved trolls. Maggie was just gratified that her trolls, for now, had chosen to stick around.

The cat too, Shi-mi, took to stalking around the flayed-open carcass of the dirigible with every air of ownership and inspection. Maggie never saw Shi-mi communicating with a worker, or even one of the robots… She wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or appalled by the cat’s presence.

What she was faintly appalled by was the omnipresence of the Black Corporation. Every one of those spanners and wrenches that so fascinated Carl was marked with the logo of Black, or one of its subsidiaries.

Black seemed to have moved into the support of the dirigible fleet, and the US military infrastructure in general, in a much bigger and more visible way than she remembered from even before the Franklin’s mission began a couple of months back. Or maybe it was just that much more in her face, now she had a ship of her own. Black’s relationship with the military was long-standing. He had after all donated the twain technology in the first place by making it open source, and was a prime contractor for all the armed services. Since abortive attempts to militarize his operations under eminent domain arguments some years before, his relationship with the military high command and purse-holders seemed to Maggie to have become, not just contractually unbreakable, but institutionalized.

Even so, now she thought about it, now she was so blatantly immersed in it, the situation made her uncomfortable.

That feeling got sharper when the job was done, and the yard boss sought Maggie out to tell her that the offending turbine two had been replaced, gratis, by a more modern Black Corporation model. She instinctively protested, but got no support from her chain of command.

And she remained suspicious when the Franklin was released from dock and made trial runs in the murky Datum sky. The ship was purring along like a sewing machine, running overall distinctly better than before. But she had Nathan Boss and Harry Ryan run a fresh systems and security check, stem to stern, just to make sure the Black people hadn’t left any little surprises aboard, such as tracking devices or control cut-outs or overrides. Nothing showed up.

Not unless you counted the cat, Maggie thought. The damn thing had taken to sleeping, or at least simulating sleep, in a basket in Maggie’s sea cabin. Somehow Maggie didn’t have the heart to kick her out.

Harry Ryan’s scan came through clean. Still Maggie remained suspicious.

That night, the Franklin’s last on the Datum before resuming its mission, Maggie was woken at three a.m. by an urgent message. According to patchy outernet reports leaking down from the High Meggers and beyond, the Neil Armstrong was lost.

53

Morning, on earth East 8,616,289:

Following Yue-Sai, her monitor pack on her shoulder, Roberta stepped gingerly over ground coated with a kind of green moss. They crossed a more or less open plain, under a cloudy sky, with the Chinese airships hanging silent above. There was no tall tree cover; the only significant vegetation was something like a fern, no more than waist height, with broad leaves spread low over the ground. The morning was bright, but the air was cold. Roberta was wrapped up in a quilted one-piece coverall and boots lined with wool, but the chill air stung her exposed skin, her cheeks, her forehead. Already Yue-Sai had nearly turned her ankle when she fell into the burrow of some subterranean animal. The animals turned out to be squirrel-like, although Roberta suspected they had features more like primitive primates than true squirrels. Well, primates or squirrels or something else entirely, they were everywhere, and you had to watch your step. It was not a very welcoming world. The navigators said that on this Earth the tectonic raft that carried South China was at a high latitude, halfway to the north pole. The geographers, straining for glimpses of the rest of the world from the sounding-rockets they sent up, said they suspected that there was a supercontinent on the equator: South and North America and Africa jammed together, the interior desiccated, the global climate distorted.