The Long War

Maggie stood on the tarmac with Mac and Nathan. Nathan dug an Mr.E out of his pack, a meal ready to eat, popped it, and dug into a hot beef pie.

Mac looked on, seeming faintly appalled. “Don’t know how you eat like that at a moment like this, man.”

Around a mouthful of pie Nathan said, “Takes years of dedicated training, Doctor. You got any salt?”

“No, I don’t have any salt.” Mac dug a handheld computer out of his own pack, and held it up to the trolls. “I’m trying to identify that song they’re singing… Aha. Bring in your axes, and tell King George we’ll pay no taxes on his foreign tea… It’s a Revolutionary War ballad. The Boston Tea Party. Whoever taught the trolls that is sending us a message. And has a sense of humour.”

Nathan said, finishing up his Mr.E, “But where the hell is everybody else?”

Mac said, “I’m guessing, in other parts of the city.”

“What other parts?… Oh.”

Mac was pointing at random, his fingers cocked at funny angles.

“Stepwise,” Maggie said. “They’ve all gone stepwise?”

“Kind of. I visited, once. This city actually extends stepwise, in a way. I mean, it’s not like a Low Earth footprint of a Datum town, like New York West 1 or East 5, or whatever. Here, the other worlds are more or less unspoiled, and therefore full of stuff to hunt and gather and eat. People live out there, at least some of the time. Together they support the city at the centre. It is kind of quiet today, isn’t it? Usually there’s some sort of critical mass of people actually here.”

“But not today.”

“Not today. Well, I guess they knew this invasion force was on the way. Who wants trouble? But not much of a war, is it, if nobody’s interested in fighting? Not much fun.”

Captain Cutler heard that and turned, glowering. “Fun, officer?”

“Sure, sir,” Mac said with a grin. “War is fun. That’s the terrible secret, why we’ve been doing it back to the Bronze Age, if not before. Well, now we have the Long Earth, everybody can have as much as they possibly want, there’s always room to just walk away. No more need for war, right? Maybe it’s a phase we need to grow out of.”

Nathan raised his eyebrows. “Good luck with that as a guide to your career progression in the Navy, Doctor.”

A whistle blew. The break was over; time to continue their march. The marines began to pack up their kit, and sentries flicked away to summon back their buddies from their stepwise posts.

The city hall, according to the maps they had, was only a couple of blocks north of here.

Soon Maggie could see it, up ahead, over the shoulders of her officers. It was a squat colonial-era-mansion kind of structure, sitting on a bluff, a scrap of high ground. An open square sprawled before it, another road intersection. Two big flags fluttered from poles high above the building’s frontage. One was the Stars and Stripes; the other was a blue field covered with a string of cloud-blue discs.

Mac grunted. “I wondered when we’d get to see that new flag. There’s a bunch of rebel colonies scattered across the Earths, starting with New Scarsdale back around West 100,000 and working their way all the way up to Valhalla, and beyond. They’re the ones who backed the Footprint Congress here at Valhalla, where they composed their Declaration of Independence. And that’s their flag. Multiple worlds, see?…”

Maggie heard a series of soft pops, like bubbles bursting: people stepping in. At last they had company.

Cutler started barking orders, relayed by the marine commanders. The marching formation broke up into a line. Maggie took her own position.

And she glimpsed people, men, women, children, most dressed either like farmers or beach bums or a combination of the two, just popping into the world, all over the square before the city hall. They arrived sitting down, and when one landed on top of another the newcomer would fall away, laughing and apologizing. A babble of conversation started up, like a country fair.

All these people were filling in the space between the marines and the city hall. The dirigibles patrolled overhead, observing, impotent, their turbines growling.

Captain Cutler, red-faced, surveyed this scene. “Bayonets,” he snapped.

“Belay that,” said Admiral Davidson mildly, but clearly enough for all to hear. “We’re here to win hearts, Captain, not to cut them out of warm bodies. And there’ll be no firing either, except on my direct order. Is that clear?”

And still the people kept coming, filling in the square, like human raindrops covering the ground. Some brought picnic baskets, Maggie saw, bemused. Cake, bottles of beer, lemonade for the kids. Others carried gifts: baskets of apples, even strings of big, plump-looking fish that they tried to hand to the marines, and dumped at their feet when they refused.

Captain Cutler pressed Admiral Davidson. “Our mission is to take that city hall and raise the US flag, sir.”

“Well, it rather looks as if Old Glory is already flying.”