The Long War

“And today,” Cowley boomed on, “I announce their first significant mission: Operation Prodigal Son.” More scattered applause, a little puzzled. “I’m sure the name I chose is self-explanatory. This is a mission, not to oppose any foe, but to reach out to our own lost children. A demonstration not of military power but of the firm hand of strong parenting. In these six fine new aircraft, companies of our young warriors will set out across the worlds, heading West—and showing their strength to the ‘colonies’,” and he emphasized the quotes with crooks of his fingers.

There were a few whoops at that, and cries of “Kick butt!” and “Turn Valhalla into a twain park!”

Cowley held up his hands. “Let me emphasize again. This is not a punitive mission. Indeed, my administration has nothing but support for those entrepreneurs who are busily developing the economies of the so-called Low Earths, as contributions to the overall national good. Our argument is not with them. Our argument is with those who live further out, some living entirely unproductive and feckless lives—who are prepared to accept the protection of life in the American Aegis, and yet contribute nothing to its upkeep.” More applause and whoops.

Now Cowley held up a bit of paper. “I have here their so-called ‘Declaration of Independence’. Nothing but a mockery of this nation’s finest hour.” Theatrically he ripped up the paper, to more cheers. “This operation will reach a climax when its overall commander, Admiral Davidson here, stands on the steps of the city hall at the rebel enclave of Valhalla, and welcomes those particular prodigals back into the bosom of the national family. America has scattered across the worlds. Now is the time to gather those lost flocks back together again. Time to pick up the pieces, and grow strong again, in unity,” and he gestured up at the slogan over his head.

Now he turned to the troops ranked before him. “And to fulfil this holy mission, I turn to these fine young people. Isaiah six, verse eight: Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me. Who shall I send on Operation Prodigal Son? Who will go for us?”

They had been coached to respond: “I’ll go. Send me! Send me!” The discipline of the ranks softened a little, as the sailors and marines whooped and yelled.

Beside Maggie, Joe Mackenzie grunted in grudging appreciation. “Cowley may be a slimeball, but he is still the President.”

“And he’s supple, Doc,” Maggie murmured. “Here he is pleasing one constituency by appearing to take on the colonists, while appeasing the colonists by presenting our mission as a kind of embrace.”

Mac glanced up at the heavily armed twains. “Some embrace. That isn’t Santa’s sleigh up there. We’ll be lucky if we don’t provoke some kind of shooting war.”

“It won’t come to that.”

“Well, however it turns out you can’t beat being given a mission to fulfil.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” said Maggie.

Of course, once they were actually out in the Long Earth, they had encountered much wariness about their mission.

Many Long Earth pioneers, at least the first generation, had left the Datum precisely because they had been intensely suspicious of central government, deriving from a country in which from its founding that sentiment had always run deep. What could the Datum government offer a far-stepwise colony now? It could threaten to tax, but provided damn few services—and over the years had withdrawn what little it had once offered. Protection? The major problem with that argument was that there was no detectable adversary, no bad guys to spy on or shadow, no bogeymen to point to as hostiles. China was still reeling from its own post-Step Day revolution. The parallel Europes were filling up with peaceful farmers. A new generation of Africans were reclaiming their ravaged continent, or stepwise copies of it. And so on. There was no threat to counter.

However weak the case, Maggie Kauffman knew she was expected to diplomatically remind these estranged colonial sheep that they were part of a bigger flock, because back in DC there was a profound sense that, under the American Aegis, this newly extended country was fragmenting—and that, it was instinctively felt, couldn’t be allowed. That had been true even before the provocative “Declaration of Independence” that had come out of Valhalla.

All that was for the future. Right now Maggie found the present hard enough to manage: a horrible ethical and legal knot for her raw crew to untangle, in a ship still being shaken down, that they’d encountered just weeks after Cowley’s send-off.

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