Copernick's Rebellion

Chapter Eight JUNE 17, 2003

MAJOR GENERAL Hastings walked stiffly into the office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“Good morning, George. Have a chair. What can I do for you?” General Powers said.

“Good morning, sir. A number of strange and possibly interconnected events have been occurring over the last few years that I feel I should bring to your attention.”

“Like what?”

Hastings took a list from his attache case.

“Item one. Despite the fact that the tree houses have directly killed thousands of people and have seriously disrupted the economy of the western world, no single major power—except for United India—has passed regulations concerning them.”

“The same thing could have been said about the automobile a hundred years ago, George. I’m as sorry about your family as I can be, but you must not let that tragedy affect your judgment.”

“Sir, I believe that my judgment is unaffected. May I continue? Item two. Because of the probable economic repercussions, work on rejuvenation was stopped— worldwide—about ten years ago.

“The U.S. Congress contains almost six hundred members. More than half of them are over sixty-five years of age. Yet in the past four years, not one single congressman has died of old age.”

“That seems statistically improbable,” Powers said.

“It’s nearly impossible, sir. But it is a fact. It is also a fact that the members of the British House of Commons aren’t dying of old age, either. Nor are members of the Politburo. Nor the French National Assembly. Nor the Chinese People’s Council.

“But the Grand Council of United India does have people dying of old age.”

“So you are saying that somebody has secretly developed longevity and is using it to bribe our own government? That’s a serious accusation, George. Can you back it up?” Powers asked.

“Yes, sir. I can. The process apparently requires repeated treatments. Thirty-two senators and one hundred fifty-five members of the House visit a single building in Crystal City at different times, but each on a given day of the month. They will reschedule overseas visits, even election rallys, to keep these appointments. And every one of them was previously quite ill but is now quite healthy.”

“Interesting, but circumstantial. Have you gotten anyone inside the building?”

“No sir. But I’ve lost five good men trying.”

“So it is still circumstantial. Go on.”

“Item three. Heinrich Copernick—the man who raised the fuss about rejuvenation seven years ago—is the nephew of Martin Guibedo, the man who designed the tree houses.

“Item four. On the same day that Guibedo was imprisoned, my telepaths stopped functioning. One of them is able to receive somewhat—”

“And is quite insane,” Powers said. “I’ve seen the report, and I’m really not impressed with a computer analysis of the ravings of a madman.”

“Yes, sir. But to continue. Item five. Echo tracings show that Guibedo escaped from jail by means of a tunnel fifteen miles long. No engineering firm in the world could duplicate that tunnel in three weeks.

“Item six. Within a mile of the tunnel opening, eighty-five families were killed during that time period. This atrocity has generally been accredited to a raid by the Neo-Krishnas, despite the fact that there was no supporting evidence. And despite the fact that all of those people were killed with knives and that they were given Christian tombstones.”

“Come now, George. The tabloids have been working that weird incident for years. Don’t you try to tie it in,” Powers said.

“It does tie in, sir. Item seven. We believe that Copernick and Guibedo are in Death Valley, that tree-house city. It is certain that Copernick owns the land. Over two hundred thousand people come and go freely in that valley, apparently without incident. People that we have questioned later report nothing unusual, and no security precautions at all.

“Yet I have never been able to get an agent into it! I have lost nineteen trying. The FBI reports similar losses. I submit that there is a correlation between the jamming of my telepaths and Death Valley’s ability to identify and liquidate every one of our agents without having a visible security system.”

“You say ‘liquidate.’ Were all these men killed?” Powers asked.

“No, sir. That’s item eight. The majority of them seem to have defected, generally after sending back misleading messages. One of my agents did return to Washington. He reported in and then armed a grenade in the debriefing room. We lost eighteen people before we were forced to kill him. I suggest that they have brainwashing techniques that are far superior to our own.”

“George, you keep talking as though this were a military matter. Certainly you have turned up something here, but it is a civil matter best left to the FBI,” Powers said.

“No, sir. This is a military matter. I received these satellite photos today.”

“These are remarkably clear photos, George. The air must be very clean there. But what are these things?”

“They appear to be an intelligent, engineered life form. They are certainly deadly—the profiles of those daggers in their forearms correspond to the entry wounds in the corpses of eighty-five families. And the things must be numerous; Engineering guesstimates that it would have taken at least ten thousand of them to dig Guibedo’s escape tunnel.”

“My God! An alien army on U.S. soil?” Powers summoned his aide. “Call an emergency meeting of the chiefs of the General Staff, and—”

“Sir, wait! These creatures are fantastic tunnelers. Conventional military action would only result in their scattering. If their reproduction and growth rate are as quick as those of the tree houses, it could be fatal if even a few of them escaped. Sir, indications are that they are all concentrated in Death Valley.

“Our planes have been carrying atomic bombs for sixty years without an accidental detonation. I think that it is time that we had one.”

“That would take presidental approval.”

“Yes, sir,” Hastings said.

Powers paused for ten seconds.

“Then let’s see if we can talk to the President.”

Patricia spent a morning hiking out to the parking lot. She looked up Hank Dobrinski, who still had her car keys.

“Well, ma’am. I had begun to worry about you. Even had the telephone check and see that you were all right.”

“Thanks, Hank. I guess I should have called.”

“I truly wish you had. As it is, you just missed Meg again, and she’s going to be hard to live with for a week. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I need my car, Hank. There are a few things I’ve got to do.”

“I’ll give you a lift out to it, ma’am. It might take a bit to get it started, after all these months. You heading back to New York?” They got into a shiny new four-wheel—drive pickup.

“No, Hank, I’m dropping out and staying here. I’ve just got some loose ends to tie up. I’ve got to quit my job, do something about my apartment and bank accounts, and get the Lincoln back to the rental agency at the airport.”

“Then I guess I’d better follow you into Shoshone.”

“Shoshone? But—”

“They got a bank there, and a rental agency and what not. You ain’t the first one doing this, ma’am. Seems like I drive four, five people out there and back each week.”

“Thanks, Hank.”

“My pleasure. Now as I remember, that’s yours over there.”

Hank removed the tarp and shook out great billowing clouds of dust. The car windows were so dirty that you couldn’t see out of them, but Hank had a bucket and squeegee in his truck.

The Lincoln’s engine fired up without difficulty and in a half hour Hank followed her into the small desert town. Patricia had to stand in line at the car rental agency and the bank, but armed with her NBC card, everything went quickly. She was doing what thousands before her had done, and the clerks had it down to a pattern. Her apartment phone was disconnected, her New York landlord satisfied, a trucking company engaged to move her belongings west. Her bank account was transferred to Shoshone. It was surprisingly large—for three months, her paychecks had been deposited and she hadn’t spent a cent of the money.

Finally she rented a motel room for an hour so she could make a very private phone call. Most of her business had been taken care of in only two hours, but everything in town seemed so cramped, so tiny, so crowded. She was tempted to take a shower at the motel, but one look at the tiny shower stall dissuaded her.

Finally, taking a deep breath, she called her boss, feeling guilty about not having contacted him in three months.

“Oh, hello, Patty. It’s not Friday so it must be Tuesday.”

“What?”

“You always call on Fridays and Tuesdays. The calendar says Thursday so something is finally happening.”

“I don’t.know what you’re talking about, boss.”

“Patty, are you feeling all right?”

“Well, maybe not. Anyway, well, I’m quitting.”

“Are you on some kind of drugs, kid?”

“No, I’m not on drugs, dammit! I’m quitting. Dropping out. Going away!”

“Look, Patty, you can’t quit…”

“The hell you say! I’m a free woman in a free country! I’ll quit if I damn well want to!”

“What about your show, Patty? It’s still waiting for you.”

“Let Mary handle it.”

“She has been, and her ratings aren’t half what yours are.”

“I told you so. And I’m still quitting.”

“Patty, I’m worried about you. How about if I have some of the people from the Chicago office drop by to see you?”

“Chicago?”

“Well, you’re still in Wisconsin, aren’t you?”

“Wisconsin? Boss, this conversation is just too weird. Look. I’m quitting! Going away! Saying bye-bye!” She slammed the phone down. The man had to be drunk or stoned or insane or all three!

She found Hank in the saloon and drove with him back to Life Valley. On the way, she borrowed his jack—knife and cut her NBC credit card into very fine shavings.

The next day, Patricia decided she needed to be useful, so she volunteered to help Mona run the training room and kennel for the Transportation, Recreation, and Construction units in one of Pinecroft’s huge subbasements.

“As you can see, all the TRACs are variations on the same basic theme,” Mona said.

“Really?” Patricia turned her head slowly to take in all the TRACs in the room. Forty huge animals were frisking around, ranging in size from a one-person speedster, barely larger than a horse, to things as big as a gravel truck.

“Oh, there are minor differences in size and function,” Mona said, “but the basic design is similar. Two eyes in front plus one in the cockpit. Internal and external ears. Voice membranes inside and out. They all use the same sort of double-ended lung structure that permits continuous breathing. And take a close look at the legs. The jointing on all of them is such that the body has a smooth motion at any speed.”

“They all have two arms near the doors,” Patricia said, looking for similarities among the bizarre animals.

“Yes, and they can reach any part of their bodies with them,” Mona said. “Let’s give one a workout. Rolls! Here, boy!”

A twenty-footer broke off from playing with something that resembled a flatbed truck and trotted over to them. It had eight legs, four across in front and four in back. Its streamlined, rigid body was six feet wide and five high, and was covered with sleek gray fur.

“Rolls, I want you to meet Patty. She will be working with us from now on.”

“Hi, Patty.” For all his size, Rolls had a young boy’s voice.

“Open up, Rolls. We’re going for a ride,” Mona said.

“Oh, goodie!” Rolls opened both doors in his side. Patricia sat comfortably in a seat designed for two, but Mona, with her large frame, was somewhat cramped inside.

“They’re all only about three quarters of their adult size,” Mona said, “and their speed and endurance are only half of what they will be. When he grows up, Rolls will be able to hold eight people. Rolls, do a few laps.” The animal began a graceful lope for the perimeter of the cavernous subbasement.

“He certainly makes up for it in enthusiasm,” Patricia said.

“With good reason. Heinrich tied the pleasure centers of the TRACs’ brains in with the pressure sensors under the seats. They’re only really happy when they’re running somebody around.”

“Well, it works both ways.” Patricia ran her fingers through the thick fur on the seat next to her. “It feels like chinchilla.”

“Heinrich says that if you are going to do something, you might as well do it right. Not that it costs anything extra. We have twenty-five variants of passenger animals, from Vet, who’s a single seater, to Greyhound, who will be able to seat sixty-four. And Winnie’s an animal version of a motor home, for vacationing.

“The others here are for heavy transportation, like Reo and Mack, or construction, like Le Tourneau.”

“You certainly gave them cute names,” Patty said.

“They picked their own after Uncle Martin talked with them,” Mona said. “Mole over there is for tunneling. The plan is to build an underground road system, for practical, aesthetic, and safety reasons.”

“What’s safe about a tunnel?” Patricia asked.

“A hollow root lines the thing, so there’s little danger of a cave-in,” Mona said. “The safety comes from a clean, dry roadbed without any children playing on it.”

“Rolls, run us over to Uncle Martin’s house.”

Without slowing, the TRAC ran up a circular ramp, then headed down the tunnel to Guibedo’s house.

“TRACs have an excellent sense of direction and an amazing ability to remember maps. Not that it’s needed yet. The few tunnels we have had to be dug by the LDUs.”

“I thought the LDUs were designed for construction work,” Patricia said.

“Yes and no. They’re certainly efficient, and they’re good sports about it. But an LDU has an IQ of 150, and it isn’t healthy for any being to work too far below his abilities. Once the moles get going, we’ll eventually have a tunnel entrance to every tree house in the world.”

“How long is that going to take?” Patricia asked.

“About thirty years. TRACs reproduce in a fashion similar to fauns, except that since their function is simpler, training is quicker and they can reproduce more rapidly. A typical litter will be a dozen until there are enough of them to go around.”

They arrived at Oakwood and got out.

“Coffee?” Patricia said.

“Love some. Rolls, go home and send back Lincoln.” Mona patted his sleek gray flank.

“Aw, gee,” Rolls said.

“No. You’ll be grown up in a month and then there’ll be as much work as you want. Now move,” Mona said as she and Patricia walked up to the tree house.

“I’m going to have fun working with them,” Patricia said over coffee.

“You do seem to be enjoying yourself here in the valley.”

“I am, but I shouldn’t be.”

“Uncle Martin’s acting crotchety again?”

“Oh, there have been some little things. Like he wouldn’t wear the sweater I knitted him for his birthday. And sometimes he’s a little brusque—we went canoeing, and when I tried to sit next to him, he just sort of pushed me off and told me I was being ridiculous. But most of the time he’s awfully nice.”

“So what’s troubling you?” Mona asked.

“It’s just that I spent nine years working my way up in the broadcasting industry, and just when I was getting close to the top, I quit.”

“A lot of people are dropping out, Patty. Why work when you don’t have to?”

“But I liked my job. It was my whole life. Then I visited Martin and flushed my whole career down the absorption toilet.”

“Sounds like love, girl,” Mona said.

“Oh, Martin’s wonderful, of course, and I wouldn’t want anybody else. But we could have worked something out where I could have continued with my career.”

“Have you talked this over with Uncle Martin?”

“No. I don’t want to go back to New York. It’s just that I should want to.”

“Patty, stop me if I start sounding too much like my husband, but you were raised in a culture that said that a woman had to have a career outside of her family and friends just to prove that she was a full-blown person. You were programmed with that idea. In its time and place it was a good one. But here in the valley, nobody has to prove anything to anyone. There is no question of economic worth because there is no longer such a thing as economics. You are completely free to do anything you want, to grow in any direction that suits you.”

“That’s fine for the artists, but I’m a working girl.”

“Lord knows there’s enough work to be done around here! You should have caught on by now that the world out there is as obsolete as a dinosaur. The future is here! If you want to make a meaningful contribution, the place is here and the time is now,” Mona said.

“But that still doesn’t explain the sudden change I went through three months ago,” Patty said.

“I keep telling you, girl. You’re in love.” As Mona laughed, Guibedo walked into the kitchen and pretended he hadn’t heard the last line.

“Hi, Mona. Patty, you can’t use the pool unless you want to swim in salt water.”

“Salt water! What are you up to now?” Mona asked.

“Boats.” Guibedo grinned. “I figure we got everything we need to make living comfortable on land, but there’s the other three quarters of the world we ain’t doing nothing with. So I got some sailboats and a dirigible growing in the swimming pool.”

“A dirigible in the swimming pool?” Mona said.

“Well, it ain’t growed up yet. Bucky Fuller, he worked it out in the fifties, how if you make something big enough and only a couple degrees warmer on the inside than it is out, the problem gets to be holding it down, not up. It’s gonna need some special animals, so I got to talk to Heiny about it. You got them TRACs going yet?”

“We rode one over here,” Patricia said.

Mona turned to the I/O unit on the wall. “Telephone! Send back Lincoln and send Reo over instead. He’ll be here in ten minutes, Uncle Martin.”

“Good. I’ll get my tapes and drawings.

“Mr. Copernick? This is Lou von Bork. I’m calling from a pay phone in Washington.”

“Why are you still there? Didn’t you get my message?”

“I just got it. The courier got delayed. Permanently.”

“Oh, my God—who did it?” Copernick said.

“One of General Hastings’ goons. Luckily, I had one of our Rejuves in his steno pool. She got the message to me and split.”

“Well, then. Follow your instructions. Drop everything. Get yourself and your people out of D.C. and back here to Life Valley.”

“Don’t you think that you owe us an explanation?” von Bork said.

“No. I’m just trying to save your lives.”

“What about our contacts? Do I tell them, too?”

“Sorry. Somebody would notice that many congressmen leaving.”

“One other thing, boss. The Pentagon is like a beehive. I can’t find out what it is because I don’t have anybody high up in the military. Hardly anybody there is old enough to get a handle on. Even Senator Beinheimer is in the dark. Think I should stick around and work on it?”

“No, dammit! I want you to get your tail back here. Now!”

“Yes, sir,” von Bork said.

Lou von Bork had never heard Copernick so adamant, so naturally he disobeyed his orders. He went back to his office, pulled out the thick phone directory of all his friends and contacts, and started calling. He told everyone he could get hold of to leave the cities and head for the hills. Some of them did.

He worked for six hours before the news carried the story of the bombing of Life Valley.

At Pinecroft, Guibedo found his nephew in the simulations room.

“So what are you up to, Heiny?”

“Hi, Uncle Martin. Birds.”

“You mean some peacocks and flamingos, maybe, for decoration?”

“Of course not! There’s a war on, remember? I have two species about ready to go. One is a flying hypodermic needle that looks like a sparrow. It can synthesize either a stunning agent or a fast-acting poison.

“The other is an aerial defense unit designed to command the sparrows. I had to go to a twenty-foot wing span to support a brain net identical to an LDU’s but it should be able to communicate with them.”

“What for, Heiny? We already decided that there ain’t going to be any war. Those metal-eating bugs are going to eat up everybody’s weapons and that’s going to be the end of it.”

“They’re not proven yet, Uncle Martin. We don’t really know that they’ll work.”

“They worked well enough to eat the frame off my microscalpel,” Guibedo said. “Think of it! Just one viable cell I left sitting around, and two weeks later my microscalpel is a pile of circuits on the floor.”

“It should teach you not to be so careless, Uncle Martin. One viable cell plus a large pile of food equals a lot of viable cells. We’re just lucky those insects didn’t spread and tip our hand. Are you back in business yet?”

“Yah. Jimmy Saunton, he made me a new frame and cabinet. Only he went and made it out of silver.”

“So what’s wrong with that? It’s what he’s used to working with. Silver is a suitable metal and we have more of it than we need,” Copernick said.

“But somebody told him that my mother was Polish, so he designed the cabinet in something he calls Neo-Polski. You got to see this thing, Heiny! It took Jimmy and four apprentices a whole month to make. The display screen is supported by four silver fauns, and the whole panel has got little curlicues all over it. For lateral transverse I got to twist this little cherub, and the laser firing studs are shaped like little harps and beehives. All the labels are in Fraktur German.”

Copernick laughed. “It sounds great, Uncle Martin. Would you ask him to make me one?”

“You’re kidding, Heiny.”

“Not at all. I’m going to need a new one anyway, once we launch the insects. We can seal off the computers, but I hate to be without a microscalpel. Its dubious artistic value makes a good cover story. We can’t have word get out on what we’re doing.”

“Okay. You want it, you’ll get it. I wish I could give you mine, but that would hurt Jimmy’s feelings.”

“Just tell him that I’m a pure-bred Polack, and we’ll see what he comes up with.”

“Okay, okay,” Guibedo said. “So how is the bug project going?”

“It’s pretty much ready to launch right now. LDUs are finishing up implanting the food-tree seeds and the larvae into the vector birds. The CCU figures it will have completed their flight programming by tomorrow night. Actually, we can start launching any time, although I’d just as soon hold off until everything is ready.”

“Me, too, Heiny.”

“What are those disks and drawings, Uncle Martin?”

“Well, you ain’t going to like this, but I still don’t figure we need any more war animals. What I did was I worked out a biochemistry for floating plants on the ocean. I figured that’s three quarters of the world we ought to be doing something with. Anyhow, I got some sailboats and floating islands. And I got a dirigible.”

“A dirigible?”

“Sure. Bucky Fuller in the fifties, he—”

“The airborne cities. I’m familiar with his work. Go on.”

“Anyhow, I need some animals to go with them. Some kind of fish that will protect the boats and islands from other fish. And something to provide motive power for the dirigible.”

“Well, let’s see what you have.” Copernick inserted the disk into his control panel then spent a few minutes studying the display and Guibedo’s drawings.

“I’ve got to say I like your basic concept, Uncle Martin. But I’d like to make a few suggestions.”

“Like what?”

“Your anchored floating islands are fine, but they’re all one-family dwellings. Shouldn’t you make some bigger ones?”

“Ach. We’re going to need maybe fifty designs before we’re through. This is just a start. Anyhow, you want something bigger, you tie two little ones together.”

“Okay. These boats. You’ve designed them like conventional sailboats. Let’s do the standing rigging as part of the boat plant, but make the running rigging and rudder control parts of an animal sentient enough to handle navigation.”

“Heiny, you’ll take all the fun out of sailing.”

“The four you’ve done so far should satisfy the yachtsmen, but I think most people will want something that just goes where it’s told.”

“Okay. We build some your way and some mine, and people can take what they want. What else?”

“Motive power. They really ought to have some form of auxiliary power for getting in and out of harbors and for moving when becalmed.”

“So I’ll make the oars and you make the muscles for when we run out of wind. Anything else? You want maybe the decks should be orange and the sails pink?”

“They’ll have to stay green for photosynthesis.” Copernick ignored the jibe. “But as to size, you’ve made these four fifty-, one hundred-, one hundred twenty-five, and one hundred fifty feet long, which is fine, but we also ought to build some in the thousand-foot range.”

“So who’d want an ocean liner when he could sail his own yacht?” Guibedo said.

“Not ocean liners. Troop ships.”

“Are you on that again, Heiny?”

“I’ve never been off it. We are heading into a period with too many unknowns. The only thing I’m sure of is that revolutions are never easy. When you act with inadequate information, you inevitably make mistakes. Better to err on the side of security. If we end up with more military power than we need, we have wasted time and energy. If we have too little, we have wasted our lives and the lives of everyone we care about.”

“Okay. We call them troop ships now and ocean liners later.” Guibedo was getting worried about his nephew. Paranoia?

“Now about this dirigible. I really like it, but it’s going to require something pretty novel to power it. Wings that size are out of the question, and oars would be far too inefficient.”

“Well, this is just a first cut to see if the thing really will fly. No motive power and it can’t make seeds. On the next one I think maybe I can grow a big propeller. It grows rigid to its bearings until it’s full size, then it breaks loose. I give you a crank between two bearings, and you make muscles to it like the cylinders in a radial engine. Once it’s going, the propeller eats bearing grease that the dirigible makes to stay alive. I figure I can make it good for seventy-five rpm.”

“You really figure you can make an organic wheel?” Copernick looked surprised. “If it’s possible, why doesn’t the wheel occur in nature?”

“It does. You got to read Berg’s thing on bacteria flagella. The little beggars move by spinning a propeller that’s turned by an ion motor,” Guibedo said.

“Berg, huh. I’ll look it up. So why doesn’t it occur in higher animals?”

“Because there are no intermediary steps possible between a foot and a wheel, Heiny. Natural life forms had to evolve by small design increments. Nature can’t do a radical design like a committee can’t do original thinking.”

“Fascinating!” Copernick said, going over the readouts. “The musculature you describe is absurdly simple, of course. I should have thought of this myself, before I did the TRACs.”

“You leave those TRACs alone. For land travel, wheels are more efficient, but feet are more versatile. And feet don’t get stuck in the mud,” Guibedo said. “I came over here on Reo, one of your trucks. He’s got a real smooth ride. You did a nice job on those leg joints, Heiny.”

“Thank you. I’m proud of them myself. But for strictly tunnel traveling, a wheeled animal would be great.”

“Do it once we have enough tunnels. You had lunch yet?”

“No, thinking about it. Let’s go upstairs.”

No part of the CCU was permitted in a biolab, so Copernick stopped at the CCU’s I/O unit in the hallway. “CCU. Copernick here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I want you to buy at least ten square miles of land with at least two miles of ocean frontage, as close to here as possible. Have the mole dig a tunnel out to it. Set the earliest possible closing dates, and keep me posted.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Guibedo said, “That’s a handy guy you got there.”

“I’d be lost without him.”

The girls had eaten earlier and were working with the TRACs, so Guibedo and Copernick ate alone, served by Ohura, one of the Copernicks’ two fauns. Ohura was a black version of Liebchen, identical except for surface details.

“You know, I think this is the first time we’ve eaten alone together in a year,” Guibedo said as he began his second mug of beer.

“It’s strange to be without the girls, but I’m glad they’re taking an interest in their work.”

“How come you make Mona work so hard? Couldn’t Dirk or one of his buddies do it?”

“They could. LDUs are almost as intelligent as Mona, and they’re a good deal more consistent. But Mona wants to feel that she’s doing something important. And I think that it is important that each intelligent species is trained by a human being. They’ve got to remember that we created them, and that we’re boss. Otherwise, Uncle Martin, I’ve hatched a monster.”

“EMERGENCY!” the telephone barked. “Gamma LDUs report that a U.S. bomber is twelve minutes away. The crew has orders to accidentally drop an atomic bomb on Life Valley!”

“They start quicker than we thought, Heiny!” Guibedo said, but Copernick was already giving orders.

“Notifiy everyone in the valley that the bomber is out of control and heading this way. Get everybody into the basements.

“I want every bird in the air, except the insect spreaders. I want every TRAC loaded with water for fire fighting, dispersed around the valley and under cover. What’s the bomber’s altitude?”

“Twenty-two thousand feet, my lord.”

“Our birds can’t fly that high. Get every Gamma LDU on that plane’s commander. Try to turn him around, or at least get him to come in at five thousand feet.”

“Yes, my lord. They’re on it. But you know how unsuccessful the experiments with telecontrol have been. There is a good probability that the aircraft commander will resist or not even notice our probe.”

“Any suggestions?”

“None, my lord. Dropped from twenty-two thousand feet, that twenty-three hundred pound bomb will be graveling at supersonic speed. There is no chance of disarming it in flight or of significantly deflecting its course.”

“Then pray, my friend. Pray,” Copernick said, heading for the communications center four floors down.

“Just like a practice run, Colonel,” Captain Johnson had the B-3 in manual.

“That it is, Bill.”

“I thought I’d never get a chance to lay a nuke.”

“Just do it by the numbers.”

“And I never thought I’d be bombing Americans.”

“Look, son. You saw who gave the orders.”

“But still, our own countrymen?”

“That’s just it! They’re not our countrymen! These people have dropped out! They have abandoned America and everything it stands for! They are doing everything in their power to destroy our society! It’s a plot more insidious than anything the Communists or the Neo-Krishnas ever thought of! And it’s our job to stop them!”

“But still—”

“Bill, I’ll take the controls now!”

“Colonel?”

“It’s a commander’s job. Anyway, I don’t want you to do anything you’d feel guilty about.”

“But—”

“Enough! Kelly! Put a chute on that egg.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the flight engineer said.

“Colonel, you’re losing altitude,” Captain Johnson said.

“This has to be precisely on target, Bill. Any error and we kill real Americans outside of Death Valley. We’ll do it with a paradrop from five thousand feet,” the colonel said.

They were thirty miles and three minutes from Life Valley when they spotted a thin black cloud ahead.

Then they were in it.

A twenty-pound Canada goose bounced off the windshield. Followed by another. And another. Ahead of them, like contrails in reverse, eight long lines of eagles, owls, and condors were flying into their jet intakes. One by one the engines choked and froze and died. The fourteenth Canada goose took out the windshield, spraying the cabin with broken plastic and blood. The colonel pulled back on the controls, but they were sluggish. The plane was losing altitude fast.

“Kelly!” the colonel shouted. Communications above the roar was barely possible. “Set the bomb to detonate on impact!”

“Are you crazy?” Kelly yelled, disarming the bomb. “We’re too low to bail out!”

“I know! But we’ve got to! They’re in my head!”

“He is crazy,” Kelly muttered, jettisoning the fuse and bracing for a crash. He hit the lever to jettison the fuel, but he knew he was too late.

The huge plane came in near the center of the valley and erupted in a spray of broken wood and torn aluminum. The wings sheared off, engines ripped loose, and nearly full fuel tanks ruptured. Orange flames and black smoke poured through houses and into basements. Huddled people screamed and died.

One wing tank spun into Pinecroft’s side and burst and burned. The entire side of the hundred-foot-tall tree was a blanket of flame. It went through the windows and up and down the elevator shaft.

Mona and Patricia made it to the surface in Mack, a TRAC tanker loaded with water. They set him to spraying those walls that were not yet burning, and got out.

Copernick’s fauns, Colleen and Ohura, ran out of the tree house, each carrying a human baby. Most of Ohura’s black hair was burned off.

“My babies!” Mona screamed.

The fauns handed the unharmed Copernick children to Mona and Patricia, then turned back to the burning tree house.

When Colleen and Ohura ran inside, they found the elevator bouncing rapidly, convulsed with pain. They ran to the staircase, reaching it just as burning jet fuel was starting to dribble down. Without hesitation they ran up the stairs through the flames. Their hoofs provided some protection, but the fur on Ohura’s legs caught fire midway up. She continued upward to the fauns’ room before throwing herself to the floor and rolling on the carpet to put out the flames.

Cradled in soft niches on Pinecroft’s second floor, the four baby fauns each still lay on its back contently sucking the treenipple just above its mouth.

While Ohura flailed at her smoldering fur, Colleen took the babies from their niches. As Ohura finished she picked up one of her own children and one of Colleen’s. Each carrying two fauns, Colleen and Ohura bounded for the corridor.

The fire and smoke in the hallway had grown much worse, and the fauns had to crawl, babies clutched to their breasts, groping then-way to the service stairway, Colleen in the lead. A wall of flames shot up between them and Ohura gasped, involuntarily inhaling the fire, singeing her lungs. She couldn’t breathe or speak, and the world started to become dark gray. As she became unconscious, she tucked the two children under her, trying to protect them from the heat with her own body.

Colleen reached the service staircase before she realized that Ohura wasn’t behind her. She hesitated for a second, then turned back to grope blindly for her sister. As she crawled, a branch that had supported the third floor gave way, smashing the bones of her left knee and pinning her to the floor. The smoke cleared for an instant and she saw Ohura a few feet in front of her.

“Ohura! I’m over here!” But Ohura didn’t move.

The log pinning Colleen down was two feet in diameter and fifteen yards long. Colleen struggled helplessly, rolling over, trying to rip her own leg off. Anything to save herself and her children.

Suddenly an LDU darted through the smoke, his body silvery white to reflect the heat. His lateral tentacles grabbed for Ohura and the two babies were quickly secured to his underside.

The LDU turned its attention to the trapped faun. I’m Dirk, Colleen.” He tried to lift the log from her leg but failed. “Better give me the children. I can’t move this log.”

The flames were rapidly approaching them as Colleen gave up the baby fauns. The pain in her leg was unbearable. Death would be welcome.

“Sorry, Colleen.” Dirk tapped her behind the head, knocking her unconscious, ending the pain. Then he wrapped a tentacle tightly around her left thigh and with one whack of a dagger-claw severed the leg above the knee.

Dirk placed Colleen next to Ohura and the four baby fauns and raced down the burning stairway to safety.

Copernick stayed at his post in the communications center, giving an almost continuous stream of rational orders to the CCU, most of which had been anticipated and were being put into effect before they were received. Guibedo stayed at his nephew’s side, occasionally making suggestions.

“Get as many of the crew out as possible,” Copernick said. “Give them medical treatment in preference to our own people if necessary. We need the bastards.”

LDUs waded ankle deep through burning gasoline, slashing through aluminum and boron-fiber composite with their knife-claws, searching out every scrap of human flesh in the burning bomber.

Tree houses over an entire square mile were searched for the injured, the dying, and the dead.

The fire did not spread past the second subbasement of Copernick’s complex, because of Pinecroft’s green growing wood and the efficiency of the LDUs.

Hundreds of injured people and animals were brought to the third-level medical center. Among them, near the end of the list, were Ohura, with third-degree burns over eighty percent of her body, and Colleen, battered but still alive.

Liebchen was with them, holding four uninjured baby fauns, the size of squirrels.

“Dirk pulled you all out. He says that you’re going to be okay in a month,” Liebchen said. Ohura’s lungs were too seared for her to speak, but she smiled slightly.

“Are our babies all right?” Colleen’s eyes were swollen shut.

“I’ve got them all right here. They’re fine. Lady Mona said you two did everything perfect,” Liebchen said.

“Oh, good. I hope Pinecroft’ll be all right,” Colleen said, before putting herself to sleep.

“What’s the status on the bomber crew?”

“Six of the original eight are alive, my lord. Three of those are capable of talking. Their flight orders were signed by Major General Hastings, chief of the Defense Intelligence Agency.”

“Hastings, huh?” Copernick said. “That’s perfect, politically. I want those three men programmed to make complete confessions to the news media, and I want it done in three hours. They are to say that they had orders to drop an atomic bomb on American citizens, and that they would have done so if their plane had not developed engine trouble. Call for volunteers among the valley’s citizens. I need all roads out of the valley blocked by ‘refugees’ for three hours. We need time to set the stage before the newsmen get here.”

Guibedo said, “What do you figure that’s going to accomplish, Heiny?”

“We were lucky this tune, and we can’t repeat the performance. Bringing that plane down cost us five hundred birds.

“CCU. See that all of the birds are cleaned out of the wreckage. I don’t want the government to know that we have any capability of fighting back. Save any birds that can be saved and… give the rest an honorable burial.

“Uncle Martin, our only hope is to kick up so much political flack that our opponents will wait a few months before attacking again. And with luck, by then they won’t have anything to attack with.”

“Heiny, it’s time we let our bugs loose.”

“Do you want the honor, Uncle Martin?”

“Yah. Now I want the honor. Telephone! Do it!”

In subbasements below their feet, long ceiling-high racks were filled with white eggs the size of beachballs, each connected by a black umbilical cord to the mother—being and by a thin pink string to the CCU.

The eggs began to open. By the thousands, full-sized swans broke soundlessly from their shells and started their silent, orderly, mindless procession upward. They climbed the wide circular ramp four hundred feet to the surface, and beyond, through the burned-out shell that was Pinecroft. They climbed until they were a hundred feet above the ground then dove into the night air. The great white birds circled high, then each flew off to its own separate destination.

Guibedo climbed Pinecroft. Still a wanted man, he couldn’t attend the press conference at the auditorium, but he could see the flash of strobes, the milling crowds. None of Copernick’s creations was in sight. They had been hidden, and the valley’s citizens had been cautioned not to mention them.

He could make out the long line of beds set up near the band shell, an outdoor hospital and morgue.

Guibedo watched the swans flying high and away. “Fly high, my pretty friends. Do your job, and this will never happen again.”

Each of the myriad birds headed to its five-square—mile target zone, then started flying a zigzag pattern. At four-second intervals, it discharged two mosquitoes, one a shiny aluminum, the other a duller iron. When it had discharged 1,024 of each insect, it froze in the air, its programming and life completed. It fell to the ground and became fertilizer for the food-making tree in its breast.

Each of the mosquitoes sought out metal. A car, a plane, a tin can. It laid an egg and flew on to do it again, a thousand times more. And then it died.

Each egg hatched and grew into a larva which, in three days’ time, would eat two ounces of metal and then become a mosquito and lay a thousand eggs of its own.

They would do this for eighty generations, and then their short-lived race would become extinct. Or rather, would try to, for after forty generations there would be neither iron nor aluminum nor any of their alloys left in an unoxidized state on Earth.

Patricia Cambridge came up and stood at Martin Guibedo’s side.

“There were too many old colleagues at the press conference. It sort of hurt, seeing them again. We talked, but I wasn’t one of them anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter, Patty. The world you knew has ended. Now we will build a better one.”

Patricia thought he was talking of love, and snuggled closer.