A Deepness in the Sky Part 38

Past the armored-gla.s.s doors there were no more intruders. Things were suddenly quiet, and it was much too warm for jackets and leggings. As he shed the insulation, he saw Underhill and his guide-bug standing just around the corner, out of the reporters' sight. In the old days, Sherk would have come outside to greet him. Even at the height of his radio fame, it hadn't bothered him to come outside. But nowadays Smith's security had its way.

"So, Sherk. I came." I always come when you call. I always come when you call. For decades, every new idea had seemed crazier than the last-and changed the world still again. But things had slowly changed with Sherkaner too. The General had given him the first warning, at Calorica, five years ago. After that, there had been rumors. Sherkaner had drifted away from active research. Apparently his work on antigravity had gone nowhere, and now the Kindred were launching floater satellites, for G.o.d's sake! For decades, every new idea had seemed crazier than the last-and changed the world still again. But things had slowly changed with Sherkaner too. The General had given him the first warning, at Calorica, five years ago. After that, there had been rumors. Sherkaner had drifted away from active research. Apparently his work on antigravity had gone nowhere, and now the Kindred were launching floater satellites, for G.o.d's sake!

"Thanks, Hrunk." His smile was quick, nervous. "Junior told me you would be in town and-"

"Little Victory? She's here?"

"Yes! In the building somewhere. You'll be seeing her." Sherk led Hrunkner and his guards down the main hall, talking all the while about Little Victory and the other children, about Jirlib's researches and the youngest ones' basic training. Hrunkner tried to imagine what they looked like. It had been seventeen years since the kidnappings. . .since he had last seen the cobblies.

It was quite a caravan they made trooping down the hall, the guide-bug leading Sherkaner leading Hrunkner and the latter's security. Underhill's progress was a slow drift to the left, corrected by Mobiy's constant gentle tugging on his tether. Sherk's lateral dysbadisia was not a mental disease; like his tremor, it was a low-level nervous disorder. The luck of the Dark had made him a very late casualty of the Great War. Nowadays he looked and talked like someone a generation older.

Sherkaner stopped by an elevator; Unnerby didn't remember it from his previous visits. "Watch this, Hrunk.. . .Press nine, Mobiy." The bug extended one of its long, furry forelegs. The tip hovered uncertainly for a second, then poked the "9" slot on the elevator door. "They say no bug can be taught numbers. Mobiy and I, we're working on it."

Hrunkner shed his entourage at the elevator. It was just the two of them-and Mobiy-who headed upward. Sherkaner seemed to relax, and his tremor eased. He patted Mobiy's back gently, but no longer held so tight to the tether. "This is just between you and me, Sergeant."

Unnerby sharpened his gaze. "My guards are Deep Secret rated, Sherk. They've seen things that-"

Underhill raised a hand. His eyes gleamed in the ceiling lights. Those eyes seemed full of the old genius. "This is. . .different. It's something I've wanted you to know for a long time, and now that things are so desperate-"

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened. Sherkaner had taken them all the way to the top of the hill. "I have my office up here now. This used to be Junior's, but now that she's been commissioned, she has graciously willed it to me!" The hall had once been out-of-doors; Hrunkner remembered it as a path overlooking the children's little park. Now it was walled with heavy gla.s.s, strong enough to hold pressure even after the atmosphere had snowed out.

There was the sound of electric motors, and doors slid aside. Sherkaner waved his friend into the room beyond. Tall windows looked out on the city. Little Victory had had quite a room. Now it was a Sherkaner jumble. Over in the corner was that rocket bomb/dollhouse, and a sleeping perch for Mobiy. But the room was dominated by processor boxes and superquality displays. The pictures shown were Mountroyal landscapes, the colors wilder than Hrunk had ever seen outside of nature. And yet, the pictures were surreal. There were shaded forest glens, but with plaid undertones. There were grizzards sleeting across an iceberg eruption, all in the colors of lava. It was graphical madness. . .silly videomancy. Hrunkner stopped, and waved at the colors. "I'm impressed, but it's not very well calibrated, Sherk."

"Oh, it's calibrated, all right-but the inner meaning hasn't been derived." Sherk mounted a console perch, and seemed to be looking at the pictures. "Heh. The colors are are gross; after a while, you stop noticing.. . .Hrunkner, have you ever thought that our current problems are more serious than they should be?" gross; after a while, you stop noticing.. . .Hrunkner, have you ever thought that our current problems are more serious than they should be?"

"How should I know? Everything is new." Unnerby let himself sag. "Yeah, things are on an infernal slide. This Southland mess is every nightmare we imagined. They have nuclear weapons, maybe two hundred, and delivery systems. They've bankrupted themselves trying to keep up with the advanced nations."

"Bankrupted themselves, just to kill the rest of us?"

Thirty-five years ago, Sherk had seen the shape of all this, at least in general outlines. Now he was asking moron questions. "No," said Unnerby, almost lecturing. "At least, that's not how it started out. They tried to create an industrial/agricultural base that could stay active in the Dark. They failed. They've got enough to keep a couple of cities going, a military division or two. Right now Southland is about five years further into the cold than the rest of the world. The dry hurricanes are already building over the south pole." Southland was a marginally livable place at best; at the middle of the Bright Time, there were a few years where farming was possible. But the continent was fabulously rich in minerals. Over the last five generations, the Southlanders had been exploited by northern mining corporations, more avariciously each cycle than the last. But in this generation, there was a sovereign state in the South, one that was very afraid of the North and the coming Dark. "They spent so much trying to make the leap to nuclear-electrics that they don't even have all their deepnesses provisioned."

"And the Kindred are poisoning whatever goodwill there might otherwise be."

"Of course." Pedure was a genius. a.s.sa.s.sination, blackmail, clever fearmongering. Whatever was evil, Pedure was very good at. And so now the Southland government figured that it was the Accord that planned to pounce on them in the Dark. "The news networks have it right, Sherk. The Southies might nuke us."

Hrunkner looked beyond Sherkaner's garish displays. From here, he could see Princeton in all directions. Some of the buildings-like Hill House-would be habitable even after the air condensed. They could hold pressure, and had good power connections. Most of the city was just slightly underground. It had taken fifteen years of construction madness to do that for the cities of the Accord, but now an entire civilization could survive, awake, through the Dark. But they were so close to the surface; they would quickly die in any nuclear war. The industries Hrunkner had helped to create had done miracles.. . . So now we're more at risk than ever. So now we're more at risk than ever.More miracles were needed. Hrunkner and millions of others were struggling with those impossible demands. During the last thirty days, Unnerby had averaged only three hours' sleep a day. This detour to chat with Underhill had scuttled one planning meeting and an inspection. Am I here out ofloyalty. . .or because I hope that Sherk can save us all again? Am I here out ofloyalty. . .or because I hope that Sherk can save us all again?

Underhill steepled his forearms, making a little temple in front of his head. "Have. . .have you ever thought that maybe something else is responsible for our problems?"

"d.a.m.n it, Sherk. Like what?"

Sherkaner steadied himself on his perch, and his words came low and fast. "Like aliens from outer s.p.a.ce. They've been here since before the New Sun. You and I saw them in the Dark, Hrunkner. The lights in the sky, remember?"

He rattled on, his tone so unlike the Sherkaner Underhill of years past. The Underhill of old revealed his weird speculations with an arch look or a challenging laugh. But now Underhill spoke in a rush, almost as if someone would stop him. . .or contradict him? This Underhill spoke like. . .a desperate man, grasping at fantasy.

The old fellow seemed to realize that he had lost his audience. "You don't believe me, do you, Hrunk."

Hrunkner shrank back on his perch. What resources had already been sunk into this horrifying nonsense? Other worlds-life on other worlds-that was one of Underhill's oldest, craziest ideas. And now it was surfacing after years of justified obscurity. He knew the General; she'd be no more impressed by this than he was. The world was teetering on the edge of an abyss. There was no room to humor poor Sherkaner. Surely the General did not let this distract her. "It's like the videomancy, isn't it, Sherk?" All yourlife, you've made miracles. But now you need them faster and more desperately than ever before. And all you have left is superst.i.tion. All yourlife, you've made miracles. But now you need them faster and more desperately than ever before. And all you have left is superst.i.tion.

"No, no, Hrunk. The videomancy was just a means, a cover so the aliens wouldn't see. Here, I'll show you!" Sherkaner's hands tapped at control holes. The pictures flickered, the color values changing. One landscape morphed from summer to winter. "It'll be a moment. The bit rate is low, but channel setup is a very big computation." Underhill's head tilted toward tiny displays that Hrunkner could not see. His hands tapped impatiently on the console. "More than anyone, you deserved to know about this, Hrunk. You have done so much for us; you could have done so much more if only we'd brought you into it. But the General-"

On the display, the colors were s.h.i.+fting, the landscapes melting into low-resolution chaos. Several seconds pa.s.sed.

And Sherkaner gave a little cry of surprise and unhappiness.

What was left of the picture was recognizable, if much lower bandwidth than the original video. This appeared to be a standard eight-color video stream. They were looking out a camera in Victory Smith's office at Lands Command. It was a good picture, but crude compared to true vision, or even Sherk's videomancy displays.

But this picture showed something real: General Smith stared back at them from her desk. The work was piled high around her. She waved an aide out of the office, and stared out at Underhill and Unnerby.

"Sherkaner. . .you brought Hrunkner Unnerby to your office." Her tone was tight and angry.

"Yes, I-"

"I thought we discussed this, Sherkaner. You can play with your toys as much as you please, but you are not to bother people who have real work to do."

Hrunkner had never heard the General use such tones and such sarcasm with Underhill. However necessary it might be, he would have given anything not to witness it.

Underhill seemed about to protest. He twisted on his perch, and his arms flailed, begging. Then: "Yes, dear."

General Smith nodded and waved at Hrunkner. "I'm sorry for this inconvenience, Sergeant. If you need help getting back on schedule . . ."

"Thank you, ma'am. That may be. I'll check with the airport and get back to you."

"Fine." The image from Lands Command vanished.

Sherkaner lowered his head until it rested on the console. His arms and legs were inward-drawn and still. The guide-bug moved closer, pushed at him questioningly.

Underhill moved toward him. "Sherk?" he said softly. "Are you all right?"

The other was silent for a moment. Then he raised his head. "I'll be okay. I'm sorry, Hrunk."

"I-um, Sherkaner, I've got to go. I have another meeting-" That wasn't quite true. He had already missed both the meeting and the inspection. What was true was that there were so many other things to attend to. With Smith's help he might be able to get out of Princeton fast enough to catch up.

Underhill climbed awkwardly down from his perch and let Mobiy guide him after the sergeant. As the heavy doors slid open, Sherkaner reached out a single forehand, gently tugging on one of his sleeves. More insanity? More insanity?

"Don't ever give up, Hrunk. There's always a way, just like before; you'll see."

Unnerby nodded, mumbled something apologetic, and eased out of the room. As he walked down the gla.s.s-walled hallway toward the elevator, Sherkaner stood with Mobiy at the entrance to the office. Once upon a time, Underhill would have followed all the way down to the main foyer. But he seemed to realize that something had changed between them. As the elevator doors shut behind Unnerby, he saw his old friend give a shy little wave.

Then he was gone, and the elevator was sinking downward. For a moment, Unnerby surrendered to rage and sadness. Funny how the two emotions could mix. He had heard the stories about Sherkaner, and had willed disbelief. Like Sherkaner, he had wanted wanted certain things to be true and had ignored the contrary symptoms. Unlike Sherk, Hrunkner Unnerby could not ignore the hard truths of their situation. And so this ultimate crisis would have to be won or lost without Sherkaner Underhill. . . . certain things to be true and had ignored the contrary symptoms. Unlike Sherk, Hrunkner Unnerby could not ignore the hard truths of their situation. And so this ultimate crisis would have to be won or lost without Sherkaner Underhill. . . .

Unnerby forced his mind away from Sherkaner. There would come a time later, hopefully a time to remember the good things instead of this afternoon. For now. . .if he could commandeer a jet out of Princeton, he might be back at Lands Command in time to chat up his deputy directors.

Around the level of the cobblies' old park, the elevator slowed. Unnerby had thought this was Sherkaner's private lift. Who might this be?

The doors slid back- "Well! Sergeant Unnerby! May I join you?"

A young lady lieutenant, dressed in quartermaster fatigues. Victory Smith as she had been so many years ago. Her aspect had the same brightness, her movement the same graceful precision. For a moment, Unnerby could only boggle at the apparition beyond the doors.

The vision stepped into the elevator, and Unnerby involuntarily moved back, still in shock. Then the other's military bearing slipped for an instant. The lieutenant lowered her head shyly. "Uncle Hrunk, don't you recognize me? It's Viki, all grown up."

Of course. Unnerby gave a weak laugh. "I-I'll never call you Little Victory again."

Viki put a couple of arms affectionately across his shoulders. "No. You're allowed. Somehow, I don't think I'll ever be giving you orders. Daddy said you were coming up today.. . .Have you seen him? Do you have a moment to talk with me?"

The elevator was sliding to a stop, foyer level. "I-Yes, I did.. . .Look, I'm in a bit of rush to get back to Lands Command." After the debacle upstairs, he just didn't know what he could say to Viki.

"That's okay. I'm on minus minutes myself. Let's share the ride to the airport." She waved a grin. "Twice the security."

Lieutenants might manage a security escort, but they are rarely the subject of one. Young Victory's group was about half the number of Unnerby's but, from the look of them, even more competent. Several of the guards were clearly combat veterans. The fellow on the top perch behind the driver was one of the biggest troopers Unnerby had ever seen. When they slid into the car, he'd given Unnerby an odd little salute, not a military thing at all. Huh! That was Brent!

"So. What did Daddy have to say?" The tone was light, but Hrunkner could hear the anxiety. Viki was not quite the perfect, opaque intelligence officer. It might have been a flaw, but then he had known her since she had cobblie eyes.

And that made it all the harder for Unnerby to say the truth. "You must know, Viki. He's not himself anymore. He's all into alien monsters and videomancy. It took the General herself to shut him up."

Young Victory was quiet, but her arms drew into an angry frown. For a moment, he thought she was angry with him. But then he heard her faint mutter, "The old fool." She sighed, and they rode in silence for a few seconds.

Surface traffic was spa.r.s.e, mainly cobbers traveling between disconnected boroughs. The streetlights splashed pools of blue and ultra, glittered off the frost that lined the gutters and the sides of buildings. Light from within the buildings glowed through the rime, showing greenish where it caught flecks of snow moss in the ice. Crystal worms grew by the millions on the walls, their roots probing endlessly for morsels of heat. Here in Princeton, the natural world might survive almost into the heart of the Dark. The city around and beneath them was a growing, warming thing. Behind those walls, and below the ground, things were busier than ever in the history of Princeton. The newer buildings of the business district glowed from ten thousand windows, boasting power, spilling broad bands of light upon the older structures.. . .And even a modest nuclear attack would kill everyone here.

Viki touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. . .about Daddy."

She would know much better than he how far Sherkaner had fallen. "How long has he been into this? I remember him speculating on s.p.a.ce monsters, but it was never serious."

She shrugged, obviously unhappy with the question. ". . .He started playing with videomancy after the kidnappings."

That far back?Then he remembered Sherkaner's desperation when the poor cobber realized that all his science and logic couldn't save his children. And so the seeds of this insanity had been planted. "Okay, Viki. Your mother is right. The important thing is that this nonsense not get in the way. Your father has the love and admiration of so many people"- including me, still. including me, still."No one will believe this c.r.a.p, but I'm afraid that more than a few would try to help him, maybe divert resources, do experiments he suggests. We can't afford that, not now."

"Of course." But Viki hesitated an instant, her hand tips straightening. If Unnerby had not known her as a child, he would have missed it. She wasn't telling him everything, and was embarra.s.sed by the deception. Little Victory had been a great fibber, except when she felt guilty about something.

"The General is humoring him, isn't she? Even now?"

". . .Look, nothing big. Some bandwidth, some processor time." Processor time on what? Underhill's desktop machines, or Intelligence Service superarrays? Maybe it didn't matter; he realized now how much of Sherk's low profile was simply the General keeping her husband from interfering with critical projects. But pray for the poor lady. But pray for the poor lady. For Victory Smith, losing Underhill must be like having your right legs shot off at the hips. For Victory Smith, losing Underhill must be like having your right legs shot off at the hips.

"Okay." Whatever resources Sherk might be p.i.s.sing away, there was nothing Hrunkner Unnerby could do about it. Maybe the best wisdom was the old soldier on, soldier. soldier on, soldier. He glanced at Young Victory's uniform. The name tag was on her far collar, out of sight. Would it be Victory Smith (now, He glanced at Young Victory's uniform. The name tag was on her far collar, out of sight. Would it be Victory Smith (now, that that would catch a superior officer's attention!), or Victory Underhill, or what? would catch a superior officer's attention!), or Victory Underhill, or what?

"So, Lieutenant, how is your life in the military?"

Viki smiled, surely relieved to talk about something else. "It is a great challenge, Sergeant." Formality slipped. "Actually, I'm having the time of my life. Basic training was-hmm, well you know as well as I. In fact, it is sergeants like you who make it the 'charming' experience it is. But I had an edge: When I went through BT, almost all the recruits were in-phase, years older than I am. Heh heh. It wasn't hard to do well by comparison. Now-well, you can see this isn't your average first posting." She waved at the car, and the security around them. "Brent is a senior sergeant now; we're working together. Rhapsa and Little Hrunk will go through officer school eventually, but for now they're both junior enlisted. You may see them at the airport."

"You're all working together?" Unnerby tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Yes. We're a team. When the General wants a quick inspection, and needs absolute trust-we're the four she sends." All the surviving children except Jirlib. For a moment, the revelation just added to Unnerby's depression. He wondered what the General Staff and midrankers thought when they saw a troop of Smith's relatives poking into Deep Secret affairs. But. . .Hrunkner Unnerby had once been deep in Intelligence himself. Old Strut Greenval had also played by his own rules. The King gave certain prerogatives to the chief of Intelligence. A lot of midlevel Intelligence people thought it was simply stupid tradition, but if Victory Smith thought she needed an Inspector General team from her own family-well maybe she did.

Princeton's airport was in chaos. There were more flights, more corporate charters, more crazy construction work than ever before. Chaotic or not, General Smith was ahead of the problem; a jet had already been diverted for his use. Viki's cars were cleared to drive right out onto the military side of the field. They moved cautiously down designated lanes, under the wings of taxiing aircraft. The secondary paths were torn by construction, a craterlike pit every hundred feet. By the end of the year, all service operations were to be conducted without external exposure. Ultimately, these facilities would have to support new types of fliers, and operations in air-freezing cold.

Viki dropped him off by his jet. She hadn't said where she was bound this evening. Unnerby found that pleasing. For all the strangeness of her present situation, at least she knew how to keep her mouth properly shut.

She followed him out into the freeze. There was no wind, so he risked going without the air heater. Every breath burned. It was so cold he could see clouds of frost hanging around the exposed joints of his hands.

Maybe Viki was too young and strong to notice. She trooped across the thirty yards to his jet, talking every second. If it weren't for all the dark omens rising out of this visit, seeing Viki would have been an absolute joy. Even out-of-phase, she had turned out so beautifully, a wonderful incarnation of her mother-with Smith's hard edge softened by what Sherkaner had been at his best. h.e.l.l, maybe part of it was because because she was out-of-phase! The thought almost made him stop in the middle of the runway. But yes, Viki had spent her whole life out of step, seeing things from a new angle. In a weird way, watching her diminished all his misgivings about the future. she was out-of-phase! The thought almost made him stop in the middle of the runway. But yes, Viki had spent her whole life out of step, seeing things from a new angle. In a weird way, watching her diminished all his misgivings about the future.

Viki stepped aside as they reached the weather shelter at the base of his jet. She drew herself up and gave him a well-starched salute. Unnerby returned the gesture. And then he saw her name tag.

"What an interesting name, Lieutenant. Not a profession, not some bygone deepness. Where-?"

"Well, neither of my parents is a 'smith.' And no one knows which 'underhill' Daddy's family might be ascended from. But, see behind you-" She pointed.

Behind him the tarmac spread away from them, hundreds of yards of flatness and construction work, all the way back to the terminal. But Viki was pointing higher, up from the river-bottom flatlands. The lights of Princeton curved around the horizon, from glittering towers to the suburban hills.

"Look about five degrees to your right-rear of the radio tower. Even from here you can see it." She was pointing at Underhill's house. It was the brightest thing in that direction, a tower of light in all the colors that modern fluorescents could make.

"Daddy designed well. We've hardly had to make any changes in the house at all. Even after the air has frozen, his light will still be up there on the hill. You know what Daddy says: We can go down and inward-or we can stand on high places and reach out. I'm glad that's where I grew up, and I want that place to be my name."

She lifted her name tag so it glittered in the aircraft lights.LIEUTENANTVICTORY LIGHTHILL. "Don't worry, Sergeant. What you and Dad and Mother started is going to last a long time." "Don't worry, Sergeant. What you and Dad and Mother started is going to last a long time."

FORTY-SIX.

Belga Underville was getting a bit tired of Lands Command. It seemed that she was down here almost ten percent of the time-and it would be a lot more if she hadn't become a heavy telecomm user. Colonel Underville had been head of Domestic Intelligence since 60//15, more than half the past Bright Time. It was a truism-at least in modern times-that the end of the Brightness was the beginning of the bloodiest wars. She had expected things to be rough, but not like this.

Underville got to the staff meeting early. She was more than a little nervous about what she intended; she had no desire to cross the chief, but that was exactly how her pet.i.tion might look. Rachner Thract was already there, getting his own show in order. Grainy, ten-color reconnaissance photos were projected on the wall behind him. Apparently he'd found more Southlander launch sites-further evidence of Kindred aid for "the potential victims of Accord treachery." Thract nodded civilly as she and her aides sat down. There was always some friction between External Intelligence and Domestic. External played by rules that were unacceptably rough for domestic operations, yet they always found excuses for meddling. The last few years, things had been especially tense between Thract and Underville. Since Thract had screwed up in Southland, he'd been much easier to handle. Even the end of the world can have short-term advantages, Even the end of the world can have short-term advantages, Belga thought sourly. Belga thought sourly.

Underville flipped through the agenda. G.o.d, the crackpot distractions. Or maybe not: "What do you think about these high-alt.i.tude bogies, Rachner?" It was not meant as an argumentative question; Thract should not be in trouble when it came to air defense.

Thract's hands jerked in abrupt dismissal. "After all the screaming, Air Defense claims only three sightings. 'Sightings' my a.s.s. Even now that we know about Kindred antigravity capabilities, they still can't track the cobbers properly. Now the AD Director claims the Kindred have some launch site I don't know about. You know the chief is going to stick me with finding it.. . .d.a.m.n!" Underville couldn't tell if that was his one-word summary answer, or if he had just noticed something obnoxious in his notes. Either way, Thract didn't have anything more to say to her.

The others were trickling in now: Air Defense Director Dugway (seating himself on a perch far from Rachner Thract), the Director of Rocket Offense, the Director of Public Relations. The chief herself entered, followed almost immediately by the King's Own Finance Minister.

General Smith called the meeting to order, and formally welcomed the Finance Minister. On paper, Minister Nizhnimor was her only superior short of the King himself. In fact, Amberdon Nizhnimor was an old crony of Smith's.

The bogies were first on the agenda, and it went about as Thract had predicted. Air Defense had done further crunching on the three sightings. Dugway's latest computer a.n.a.lysis confirmed that these were Kindred satellites, either pop-up recon jobs or maybe even the tests of a maneuvering antigravity missile. Either way, none of them had been seen twice. And none of them had been launched from any of the known Kindred sites. The director of Air Defense was very pointed about the need for competent ground intelligence from within Kindred territory. If the enemy had mobile launchers, it was essential to learn about them. Underville half-expected Thract to explode at the implication that his people had failed once more, but the Colonel accepted AD's sarcasm and General Smith's expected orders with impa.s.sive courtesy. Thract knew that this was the least of his problems; the last item on today's agenda was his real nemesis.

Next up, Public Relations: "I'm sorry. There's no way we can call a War Plebiscite, much less win one. People are more frightened than ever, but the time scales make a Plebiscite flatly unworkable." Belga nodded; she didn't need some flack from Public Relations for this insight. Within itself, the King's Government was a rather autocratic affair. But for the last nineteen generations, since the Covenant of Accord, its civil power had been terrifyingly limited. The Crown retained sole t.i.tle to its ancestral estates such as Lands Command, and had limited power of taxation, but had lost the exclusive right to print money, the right of eminent domain, the right to impress its subjects into military service. In peacetime, the Covenant worked. The courts ran on a fee system, and local police forces knew they couldn't get too frisky or they might encounter real firepower. In wartime, well, that's what the Plebiscite was for-to suspend the Covenant for a certain time. It had worked during the Great War, just barely. This time around, things moved so fast that just talking about a Plebiscite might precipitate a war. And a major nuclear exchange could be over in less than a day.

General Smith accepted the plat.i.tudes with considerable patience. Then it was Belga's turn. She went through the usual catalogue of domestic threats. Things were under control, more or less. There were significant minorities that loathed the modernization. Some were already out of the picture, asleep in their own deepnesses. Others had dug themselves deep redoubts, but not to sleep in; these would be a problem if things went really bad. Hrunkner Unnerby had worked more of his engineering miracles. Even the oldest towns in the Northeast had nuclear electricity now, and-just as important-weatherized living s.p.a.ce. "But of course not much of this is hardened. Even a light nuclear strike would kill most of these people, and the rest wouldn't have the resources for a successful hibernation." In fact, most of those resources had been spent on creating the power plants and underground farms.