Against The Tide Of Years Part 1

Against the Tide of Years.

Island in the Sea of Time.

by S.M. Stirling.

PROLOGUE.

Since the Event, everything has changed. We've had to just accept it-those who didn't go into shock and never come out-like time itself, a mystery we'd never solve. Many couldn't couldn't accept it, and I think that accounts for a lot of the craziness that bubbled up in the first year or two. On top of it all, William Walker headed off to England with his band of thugs, to set himself up as a king, and we had to fight a war to stop him. If he'd stayed up in the twentieth, maybe Walker would never have been more than a mildly amoral officer in the Coast Guard instead of a warlord and emperor, and his b.i.t.c.h-queen Hong would certainly never have had the opportunity to rival Elizabeth Bathory and Giles de Rais in the atrocity league. accept it, and I think that accounts for a lot of the craziness that bubbled up in the first year or two. On top of it all, William Walker headed off to England with his band of thugs, to set himself up as a king, and we had to fight a war to stop him. If he'd stayed up in the twentieth, maybe Walker would never have been more than a mildly amoral officer in the Coast Guard instead of a warlord and emperor, and his b.i.t.c.h-queen Hong would certainly never have had the opportunity to rival Elizabeth Bathory and Giles de Rais in the atrocity league.G.o.d knows, I like to think the rest of us have improved on the original history a bit, where we could-spreading potatoes and sanitation, putting down human sacrifice and slavery. Mind you, there are still times when I wake up and expect to hear radios and cars! Now we've had a few years of comparative comparative peace, and things are looking up. For now. What really worries me is that we couldn't finish Walker off. peace, and things are looking up. For now. What really worries me is that we couldn't finish Walker off.From the personal journals of Founding Councilor Ian Arnstein, as quoted in David Arnstein, An Introductory History of the Republic of Nantucket.Ch. 4, the Crisis of the Second Decade(Nantucket Town: Oceanic University/Bookworks Press, 57A.E.)

(May, Year 2 A.E.-After the Event) Agamemnon, son of Atreus, King of Men, High Wannax of Mycenae, and overlord of the Achaeans by land and sea, decided that he loved cannon."You did not lie," he said, smiling like a wolf at the shattered section of fortress wall. He inhaled the stink of burnt sulfur as if it were perfumed oil. "You can make more of these?"The outlander bowed. "If I have the metal and workmen I need, Lord King," he said in fluent Greek with a whistling, nasal accent."By Zeus Pater Zeus Pater, Zeus Father of G.o.ds and men," Agamemnon swore. "You shall have what you require-and besides that, you shall have land of me, houses, gold, comely women, fine raiment, weapons-yes, and honor in my house among my ekwetai ekwetai, my sworn companions!"The outlander bowed again. Wil-liam Walkeearh, that's his name Wil-liam Walkeearh, that's his name. Hard to remember the foreign sounds... there were murmurs at the king's back, from n.o.bles displeased at seeing an outlander raised so high among them mere weeks after he arrived at Tiryns, Mycenae's port. Fools Fools."Never have I seen or heard of anything like this," he said, as the gathering began to disperse. "Not even among the Hitt.i.tes or the clever Sudnu, the Sidonians."Agamemnon's personal guard fell in behind them, sunlight breaking red off the bronze blades of their ready spears, eyes wary under their boar's-tusk helmets."And to find such among the savages of the northlands..." The king shook his head. "Where comes this knowledge of throwing thunderbolts?""Ah, my lord king," the tall stranger said. "That is a very long story." is a very long story."

CHAPTER ONE.

March, Year 8 A.E.(June, Year 2 A.E.) Get that G.o.d-d.a.m.ned moa under control!" a voice shouted from the street. It was a quarterdeck soprano, trained to carry mast-high through a gale; the accent was pure Carolina sea-island gumbo.Marian, Jared Cofflin thought as he joined the councilors crowding to the windows, using his six feet two of lanky height to peer over their heads. One of the big birds was sprinting down Broad Street, heading for the harbor-or just away from the handlers with poles trying to catch it. People tumbled out of its way, bicycles toppled, ponies reared, a cart overset and bags of stone-ground flour burst in a beige mist."d.a.m.ned funny-looking things, aren't they?" someone said.Jared Cofflin agreed. And they were a lot cuter as chicks And they were a lot cuter as chicks, he thought. Sort of fuzzy and about the size of a turkey; the Eagle Eagle had picked them up in a New Zealand that the Polynesians had yet to reach, during her survey voyage in the Year 1 had picked them up in a New Zealand that the Polynesians had yet to reach, during her survey voyage in the Year 1 But, oh, how fast they grow But, oh, how fast they grow. The head still looked fairly chickenlike, although it was bigger than a German shepherd's, now; the eye bore a look of fixed stupidity leavened with terror. The bird itself stood twelve feet tall and weighed more than a cow, with a long neck, a bulbous body, and absurd, enormous three-toed feet-pile driver feet, and a man threw himself out of the way of a kick that could have snapped his neck. The ponies drawing another cart bolted, spilling barrels of whale oil, and the slipping, sliding chaos that followed would have been funny if it hadn't been so dangerous.A steam-hauler puffed out onto Broad from Easy Street, pulling three wagons under tight-laced tarpaulins; it looked a little like an old-time locomotive, with the wheels of a heavy-hauler truck. The driver and fireman took one look and bailed out the other flank of their open-sided vehicle to get out of reach of the moa's six-foot neck, but they tripped the brake and exhaust valves first and it coasted to a halt in a huge whuff of whuff of white vapor that made the giant bird flinch and slow. white vapor that made the giant bird flinch and slow.Then someone vaulted onto the tarpaulins, a tall slender black woman with a long curved blade in her hands.Marian, all right, Cofflin thought. Which explained why she wasn't here already; it took a genuine emergency to make Commodore Marian Alston-Kurlelo late for anything. For a Southerner, she had a positively Yankee att.i.tude toward punctuality. Maybe it was the twenty years she'd spent in the Coast Guard before the Event.The katana katana flashed in a blurring arc as the huge bird tried to stop, turn, and peck at the annoying human all at the same time. Another flash of sunlight on steel, and there was a flashed in a blurring arc as the huge bird tried to stop, turn, and peck at the annoying human all at the same time. Another flash of sunlight on steel, and there was a crack crack sound; Alston went to one knee on the tarpaulin, and shavings of beak spun free. The moa braked frantically on the slippery asphalt, then fell on its rear with an audible thud and an ear-stunning cry of sound; Alston went to one knee on the tarpaulin, and shavings of beak spun free. The moa braked frantically on the slippery asphalt, then fell on its rear with an audible thud and an ear-stunning cry of SKWAAAK! SKWAAAK!"Get that G.o.d-d.a.m.ned thing under control befo' it hurts somebody, Ah said!" she shouted again.Before the moa could scramble upright the keepers were on it, and one of them clapped a bag on the end of a long pole over its head. A yank on a cord drew the bag tight, and the fight went out of the cow-size ma.s.s of gray feathers."CHHHHirrrr-aaak," it sounded in m.u.f.fled protest, following meekly as the keeper hauled on the cord. Two more came behind and to either side, carefully avoiding the reflexive kicks."Come on, Tastes Like Chicken," the keeper said. "You've got an appointment with an ax.""Whose bright idea was it to let one of those things loose in town?" Cofflin asked. Actually they taste more like veal Actually they taste more like veal, he added to himself.Angelica Brand coughed discreetly. "Well, Chief, we're roasting a couple of them for the Event Day festivities, and... well, it's a lot easier to get tons of bird into town if they walk, and they're usually quite docile, this was just a little trouble...""Someone could have gotten hurt," he said sternly to the Councilor for Agriculture. He could hear Marian's quick step in the hallway outside. "Let's get back to business.""Executive Council of the Republic of Nantucket will now come to order," the recording clerk droned. "All are present. Fourth meeting of the Year 8 After the Event, March twenty-first. Chief Executive Jared Cofflin presiding."d.a.m.n, but we've gotten formal, Jared Cofflin thought. And single-digit years still sounded funny; granted, using "B.C." and "A.D." was just plain silly, since n.o.body knew if or when-when, if you listened to Prelate Gomez of the new Ec.u.menical Christian Church-Jesus Christ was going to be born in this mutant history. The younger generation found the new system natural enough.He brushed a hand over sandy blond hair even thinner on top than it had been at the Event; he was fifty-six now, honest, straightforward years even if he had looped around like this. Fisherman, Navy swabby, chief of police... and since the Event, head of state.Christ."Okay," he said at last, when the reading of the minutes was over. "Let's get down to the serious stuff. Martha," he went on to his wife, smiling slightly, more a movement of the eyes than the lips.Martha Cofflin, nee Stoddard; ex-librarian, now Secretary of the Council, with a long, bony Yankee face like his and graying brown hair."First item is immigration policy," she said. "Before the Council are pet.i.tions to allow increases in the yearly quota of immigrants and temporary workers to the Island from Alba." The White Isle, what this era called Britain.Odd, Cofflin thought again. There were plenty of islands, but everyone knew what you meant when you said the the Island these days. Island these days. I suppose it was inevitable we'd develop our own slang I suppose it was inevitable we'd develop our own slang.And our own feuds, he thought as hostile glances went up and down the Council table. On the one hand, Nantucket needed the hands. Everything took so much much work, with the limited technology they had available; on the other hand... work, with the limited technology they had available; on the other hand...Angelica Brand of Brand Farms nodded; so did half a dozen others."I'm trying to get sugar-beet production started, and-""We need that next dry dock badly badly-""If we could only get some coal, there are surface deposits up in Nova Scotia-''Our budding plutocrats, Cofflin thought. People on the Council tended to have useful knowledge and to be more energetic than most-that was why he'd picked them. Good people, mostly, but you had to watch them."Wait a minute!" said Lisa Gerrard of the School Committee, static crackling from her silver-white hair. "We're already overburdened. All these immigrants are illiterate-what with the adult education cla.s.ses my people are working around the clock, the teacher-training program is behind schedule, and and the crime rate's up!" Thoughtful nods. the crime rate's up!" Thoughtful nods.Cofflin looked at his younger cousin George, who'd taken over his old job as head of the Island's police. "Ayup. Mostly Sun People. Can't hold their liquor, and then they start hitting. Or if a girl tells them to get lost, or they think someone's dissed them...""And besides that," Martha said, "if we're the majority, we can a.s.similate them them. Too many, and it'll start working the other way 'round, or we'll end up as a ruling cla.s.s with resentful aliens under us. And as George says, many of them just don't understand the concept of laws.""Or why it's a bad idea to p.i.s.s up against walls," someone laughed."Actually," a voice with the soft, drawling accent of the Carolina tidewater cut in, "we may have something of an outlet for their aggressions."A couple of the Councilors looked over sharply; Marian was usually extremely quiet at Council meetings, except when her defense and shipbuilding specialties came up."From the reports," she went on, "Walker is leavin' us no choice but another war to put him down."Thank you, Marian, he thought, letting one eyelid droop slightly. Her imperceptible nod replied, You're welcome You're welcome."Well, perhaps we should move on to item two," he said neutrally."Item two," Martha said dryly, giving him a glance.All right, all right, so I've learned to be a politician. Someone has to do it."William Walker," she continued.This time the expressions down the table were unanimous. n.o.body n.o.body liked the renegade Coast Guard officer, or any of the twenty-odd other traitors with him. Nantucket had had to fight an expensive little war to stop him over in Alba-and had ended up with a sort of quasi protectorate-hegemony-c.u.m-alliance over most of southern England. liked the renegade Coast Guard officer, or any of the twenty-odd other traitors with him. Nantucket had had to fight an expensive little war to stop him over in Alba-and had ended up with a sort of quasi protectorate-hegemony-c.u.m-alliance over most of southern England.Cofflin cleared his throat and looked at the Councilor for Foreign Affairs and his Deputy-Ian Arnstein and his wife, Doreen. They handed around their summary, and Ian began, sounding much like the history professor he'd once been."Our latest intelligence reports indicate he managed to get all the way from the English Channel to Greece, arriving about three months after the end of the Alban War, and-"There were long faces at the table when he finished; many had hoped they'd seen the last of Walker when he fled Alba years ago. Someone sighed and said it out loud."Wishful thinkin'," Alston snapped. "We should have made sure of him, no matter what it took. I said so then.""And the Town Meeting decided otherwise," Cofflin said. The Republic was very emphatically a democracy. Back then they'd decided that the margin of survival was too thin to keep hundreds under arms combing the endless wilderness of Bronze Age Europe.And they were right, Cofflin thought. Not much prospect of catching Walker, and if they'd chased him hard back then he'd have settled somewhere deep in the continental interior, where the Islanders couldn't touch him. Leave him alone, and his arrogance and l.u.s.t for revenge would make him stop within reach of salt water-planning to build a navy someday and come back for a rematch.Marian had once said she was unsuited to Cofflin's job because she was a hammer... and saw all problems as nails. But she's a very But she's a very good good hammer, and some problems hammer, and some problems are are nails nails, he mused, and went on aloud: "I think we can prod the Sovereign People into some action now, though." His statement was only half ironic. The people were were sovereign here, very directly. "The screaming about how we're spending too much on defense ought to die down a little, at least. Marian?" sovereign here, very directly. "The screaming about how we're spending too much on defense ought to die down a little, at least. Marian?"Marian Alston pulled out a sheaf of papers. "Here's what I propose," she began.Little of it was a surprise to him. Contingency planning cost nothing, and he had a limited discretionary fund to work with for more concrete preparations. At least we could lay the groundwork, since the Alban War At least we could lay the groundwork, since the Alban War. The new Marine regiment was coming along fairly well, from the reports-young Hollard was a doer, and the Republic had grown enormously over the last eight years, in numbers and capacities.Cofflin wondered grimly what Walker and his renegades had been doing in those same years. Walker wasn't the kind to let gra.s.s grow under his feet, d.a.m.n him. If they didn't didn't do something about him, eventually he would do something about do something about him, eventually he would do something about them them."Oh, sweet f.u.c.king Jesus Christ on a Harley," William Walker muttered in English, before dropping back into archaic Greek. "Seventy alternative meanings?" alternative meanings?"Thick adobe walls kept the heat at bay, but light lanced in like spears of white through small, high windows. The room was a rectangle, whitewashed plaster on the walls and hard-packed earth covered in gypsum on the floor; it smelled of the damp clay in a tub, and of clay tablets drying in wicker baskets.The Achaean scribe sat patiently on his stool. "Yes, lord," he said, humoring the newly-come stranger the High King had set him to serve. "There are seven tens of meanings for this sign."His pen was a reed with a sharp thorn set in the tip, and his writing surface moist clay pressed on a board. The thorn scratched a circle divided by two straight lines, like a four-spoked wheel."This is the sign ka ka," he said. "Also the sign for ga, kha, kai, kas, kan ga, kha, kai, kas, kan..."And you have to figure out which from context, Walker thought. What an abortion of a writing system What an abortion of a writing system.The real real joker was that the script wasn't even well suited to Greek. The main ancestors of these clowns had arrived in Greece as illiterate barbarian war bands from the north; they'd picked up writing from the Minoan Cretans, along with most of what other feeble claims to civilization they had. The original script had been designed for a completely different language; all the signs for sounds ended in a vowel, and there were a whole bunch of Greek sounds that didn't have a sign at all. joker was that the script wasn't even well suited to Greek. The main ancestors of these clowns had arrived in Greece as illiterate barbarian war bands from the north; they'd picked up writing from the Minoan Cretans, along with most of what other feeble claims to civilization they had. The original script had been designed for a completely different language; all the signs for sounds ended in a vowel, and there were a whole bunch of Greek sounds that didn't have a sign at all.Pathetic. Which was all to the good, of course. Not a day went by that he didn't bless Whoever or Whatever had caused the Event."Thank you, Enkhelyawon," he said to the scribe. No f.u.c.king wonder nearly everyone's illiterate here No f.u.c.king wonder nearly everyone's illiterate here. "Now, how have you progressed with my people's script?"In the original history, if "original" meant anything here, Mycenaean civilization was going to go under in another fifty years or so in a chaos of civil war and barbarian invasion; this writing system would be completely lost, and when the Greeks became literate again after their Dark Age it would be by borrowing the ancestral alphabet from the Phoenicians. The Romans would get it from the Greeks and then pa.s.s their version down to Western civilization... and here he was, teaching it to the ancestors of the Greeks. More weird s.h.i.t More weird s.h.i.t."Lord, a child could master that script you showed me," Enkhelyawon said tolerantly. "Twenty-six signs? That is nothing."He picked up another slab of prepared clay and quickly wrote out the Roman alphabet. "It is interesting, lord-I have yet to find a word that cannot be written in it.""You won't," Walker said dryly. "And it can can be learned by a child-that's the whole point." be learned by a child-that's the whole point."The scribe was a middle-aged man, which meant mid-thirties here, with a few streaks of gray in his pointed black beard. Walker could watch the thought percolating through, and some of the implications popping up like lightbulbs. It was a look he'd become deeply familiar with since the Event. The locals weren't necessarily stupid; show them a concept and they'd often grasp it PDQ-the smarter and less hidebound ones. Not all of them thought that So it was in the days of our fathers So it was in the days of our fathers was the answer to every problem, when you showed them an alternative. The trick was finding the right ones. was the answer to every problem, when you showed them an alternative. The trick was finding the right ones.Enkhelyawon looked down at the clay tablet. "And... ah, I see. The sounds of the letters seldom change.""Small need for us scribes, then," the Achaean went on after a moment, his voice subdued."No, more more need for scribes," Walker rea.s.sured him. "The more that can be written, the more will be written. And here you write on skins as well as clay, true?" need for scribes," Walker rea.s.sured him. "The more that can be written, the more will be written. And here you write on skins as well as clay, true?""Of course, lord," Enkhelyawon said. "Clay is for rough notes, for monthly tallies. We transfer to parchment for lasting use; parchment is costly, of course."Because it was a by-product of the sheep-and-goat industry, the hide sc.r.a.ped and pumiced until it was thin and smooth. Meat was an upper-cla.s.s luxury here, and leather had a hundred other uses."Here is something we call paper paper.""Ahh," the scribe said again, handling the sheet. "Like the Egyptian papyrus?""No. Notice it's more flexible. And it's made out of linen rags; this sample piece was made here in Mycenae. Nearly as cheap as clay, and it's much easier to write on."More lightbulbs went on. Walker nodded and rose; one thing he'd learned in Alba, before those interfering b.a.s.t.a.r.ds from Nantucket upset his applecart, was that power was like an iceberg-nine-tenths of it was invisible, the unspectacular, organizational side of things. At least here he didn't have to start from absolute ground zero with a bunch of savages who didn't even have the concept concept of organization beyond family and clan. of organization beyond family and clan."Think about these things, Enkhelyawon," Walker said. "I will need a man who understands both the new and the old ways of writing and record keeping. Such a man could rise high, in my service. You must speak with my va.s.sal Edward son of John." Who had been a CPA, before the Event. Double-entry bookkeeping...He nodded to the Achaean's bow and walked out into the main hallway of the house Agamemnon had granted him-his town house; there were also estates in the countryside down by Tiryns, and the land in the vale not yet called Sparta.This was a typical n.o.bleman's mansion for this day and age. The bas.e.m.e.nt storerooms and the lower course of the wall were made from big blocks of stone, neatly fitted; above that were two stories of ma.s.sive adobe walls and a flat roof. The outside was whitewashed, the walls inside covered in smooth plaster and then painted with vividly colored frescoes of fabulous beasts, war, and the hunt; the beams and stucco of the ceilings were painted too. In the center of the hall was a big circular hearth, sunken into the floor and stone-lined, surrounded with a coaming made of hard blue limestone blocks. Even in a summer a notional fire was kept going, the smoke wafting up to a hole in the ceiling; four big wooden pillars surrounded it, running through the second story and up to a little extra roof with a clay quasi chimney in it. A gallery surrounded the pillars with balconies from which you could look down into the great hall.It all sort of reminded him of Southwestern style, Pueblo-Spanish, like the old Governor's palace in Santa Fe but gaudier. He'd been raised on a ranch in the Bitterroot country of Montana, but he'd been down that way competing in junior rodeos. It was a little gloomy, since most of the light came through the roof or from the antechamber at one end, but his followers were already putting up oil lamps. The local olive-squeezings weren't as bright as whale oil, but the still should be operational in a couple of days. Alcohol gave a nice bright light, when you knew enough to use a woven wick and a gla.s.s chimney.Guards stood by the entranceway of bronze-bound wood, his own men from Alba. They wore equipment he'd made up there before the war, iron chain-mail hauberks and conical iron helmets with nasals; they carried steel-headed spears and round shields blazoned with his device, a wolfshead.Another came and bowed his head, his helmet tucked under one arm. His blond hair was cropped at his ears like Walker's, and he sported a close-trimmed yellow beard."Wehaxpothis," he said-"Lord" in the tongue spoken by the Iraiina tribe in remote northwestern Europe, or "chief of he clan.""The men are settled and we are unpacking the goods. The rahax rahax here has sent slaves, with many loads of fine things-cloth, and furniture. The Lady Hong and the Lady Ekhnonpa your wives are directing them." here has sent slaves, with many loads of fine things-cloth, and furniture. The Lady Hong and the Lady Ekhnonpa your wives are directing them.""Good, Ohotolarix," Walker said. "That's Wannax Wannax Agamemnon, by the way. You and the others will have to learn Achaean, and quickly. It is needful." Agamemnon, by the way. You and the others will have to learn Achaean, and quickly. It is needful."It shouldn't be too difficult, either. The proto-whatever that Ohotolarix's people spoke was only about as different from this archaic Greek as French was from Italian."And your handfast man Bill Cuddy wishes to speak with you on the setting up of his lathes lathes and of Martins's and of Martins's forge forge," the young guard-captain went on.He managed the English words well; the twenty Americans among Walker's followers still used the language a fair bit, though he doubted their grandchildren would. Probably there'll be a lot of loan words Probably there'll be a lot of loan words. Even the civilized languages here lacked a lot of concepts."Let's go," Walker said, settling the katana katana and pistol at this belt. "We'll put in a forge, but the rest of the machinery's going down to Sparta. Oh, and get Alice." and pistol at this belt. "We'll put in a forge, but the rest of the machinery's going down to Sparta. Oh, and get Alice."Alice Hong was a doctor; he'd need to see to sanitation and water supply with her, here and at their other locations. Bad water was dangerous dangerous. He'd nearly c.r.a.pped himself to death more than once since the Event. And she could get a start on modernizing the royal textile plant, too. The palace had hundreds of slave women spinning and weaving, but he had models and drawings for spinning jennies and kickpedal looms with flying shuttles; back in Alba they'd gotten them working well. After a lot of experiment, but it was all basic Early Industrial stuff, well within the capacities of a local carpenter. The machines would free up a lot of labor for other work and make the king properly grateful for all the extra wealth.Hmmm, he wondered, how long before we give the King of Men the heave-ho how long before we give the King of Men the heave-ho?Not for quite a while, he decided reluctantly. He'd have to thoroughly understand the politics here and make some allies first.Walker laughed aloud and slapped his henchman on the shoulder. "Let's get to work," he said. "I want to be ready ready before we meet my old skipper again." before we meet my old skipper again."Ohotolarix was a hardy man, born to a warrior people. Nevertheless, he shivered slightly at the sound of his lord's laughter."Got it," Lieutenant Vicki Cofflin said, giving the bolt a final turn. it," Lieutenant Vicki Cofflin said, giving the bolt a final turn.The new carburetor stood out against the pre-Event machining of the aircraft engine. It looked... clunkier, somehow. Just make it easy to replace, make a couple of dozen, and switch as they wear out Just make it easy to replace, make a couple of dozen, and switch as they wear out.She wiped her hands on a rag and then turned to Ronald Leaton. "You want to do the honors, Ron?"The tall, lanky engineer shook his head, stepping back. "It's a Coast Guard project," he said. "Seahaven's just the prime contractor. All yours, Lieutenant."Vicki nodded. "All right, then."She took a deep breath. The converted hangar near Nantucket's little airport was always cluttered, with parts and workbenches and machine tools. Right now it was even more so, with a big bag of goldbeater's skin-sc.r.a.ped whale intestine-hanging from the ceiling. A tube ran down from that to the Cessna engine mounted on a timber framework in the middle of the concrete floor. The rest of the team gathered around, in stained blue Coast Guard coveralls or the equally greasy unbleached gray cotton that Seahaven Engineering favored. The hangar smelled of hot whale-oil lubricant, and other things less familiar these days-gasoline fumes and a faint, nose-rasping hint of ozone.Another deep breath, and she pushed the ignition b.u.t.ton. The engine coughed, sputtered, blatted... and then settled down to a steady roar. Some of the watchers covered their ears, unused to something Nantucket had heard little of since the Event-an internal combustion engine at full throttle."Great!" Vicki shouted. "Let's take her up and down, and vary the mix. Standby!"The engine snarled, coughed again as the mixture of hydrogen from the gasbag and methanol altered. Four hundred fifty horsepower, or thereabouts Four hundred fifty horsepower, or thereabouts. About what it had put out in its first incarnation as half the engines on a Cessna puddle jumper."Get that adjusted!" Vicki said. The tests continued, sweating-hot work on a summer's day, until at last she tripped the switch and wiped her hands again, smiling fondly as the engine sputtered into silence."d.a.m.n, you know, I think this is going to work," she said."No reason why it shouldn't," Leaton said. "Methanol, hydrogen, gasoline-it's all an inflammable gas by the time it reaches the piston."Vicki chuckled indulgently; she was twenty-seven, nearly two decades younger than Leaton, and she still felt motherly toward him sometimes. One reason was the otherworldly way he had of forgetting everything everything but the task at hand. but the task at hand."I meant the whole Emanc.i.p.ator Emanc.i.p.ator program, not just the engine," she said. program, not just the engine," she said."Oh. Oh, yes, that too. All right, people, break for lunch!"He and Vicki and a young man in Guard fatigues walked over to a sloping table by the concrete-block wall. Plans were pinned to it, showing a tapering teardrop shape five hundred feet long and a hundred and ten wide at its broadest point, with a cruciform set of fins at the rear that looked like, and were, wings from light aircraft. Along the bottom of the forward one-third was a gondola curving down from the hull, with three engines in pods mounted along either side of it. Those looked like cut-down sections of aircraft wing too, and were."Never thought I'd be piloting a dirigible dirigible, of all things," she muttered to herself, feeling a rush of excitement. It would be her first command in the Guard, period, unless you counted a harbor tug. If I get it If I get it, she thought. That hadn't been decided yet.The younger man-his name was Alex Stoddard, a fourth cousin once removed of the Chief's wife-looked up from examining the blueprints."If you don't mind me asking, Lieutenant Cofflin, what did did you think you'd be piloting?" he said. you think you'd be piloting?" he said."F-16s," she said. "I was going to go to Colorado Springs, the year the Event happened." At his blank look, she went on: "The Air Force Academy, in Colorado. Up in the twentieth.""Oh," he nodded, polite but somehow... not indifferent. Just as if I was talking about flying to the moon. Real, but not really real not indifferent. Just as if I was talking about flying to the moon. Real, but not really real.It was amazing what an effect it had-exactly how old you'd been at the Event. Even a couple of years, and the outlook was entirely different.I was on the cusp, she thought. Eighteen. Not quite an adult but not a kid either Eighteen. Not quite an adult but not a kid either. Alex had been sixteen on that memorable day; not a little little kid, she judged, but unambiguously a kid, she judged, but unambiguously a kid kid. He had grown up in a world where steam engines were high tech, and schooners and flintlocks everyday realities. He probably didn't get that occasional feeling of alienation, as if a gla.s.s wall had dropped between him and the world.Vicki ran a hand over her close-cropped reddish-brown hair and turned her attention back to the drawings. The frame of the airship was made up of two long strips that curled from bow to stern, crisscrossing each other in an endless series of elongated diamonds like a stretched-out geodesic dome. Inside that framework was a series of strengthening rings, each braced with spokes reaching in to a central metal hub."That wire's the only metal," Leaton said, his finger tapping a horizontal view of one of the rings. "Everything else is laminated birch-wood and balsa and wicker." He cleared his throat. "Only steel, rather. The clamps will have to be aluminum."Everyone winced slightly. The Republic's new industries, here on the Island and the mainland and Alba, could turn out steel of a sort, iron, copper, bronze, and bra.s.s, but aluminum had to come from pre-Event stockpiles. Leaton had a plan for a small hydropower plant on the mainland to convert Jamaican bauxite; the only unworkable thing about it was it would take the entire national labor force ten years to get it going, in which time they'd all starve to death. Like so much else, it would simply have to wait a generation, or two or three."Good thing we can get the engines burning that liquid fuel-hydrogen mix," Alex said."Ayup," Leaton replied.Vicki nodded. That way, the reduction in lift would precisely match the lesser weight as the methanol or gasoline or whatever burned, meaning you wouldn't have to dump ballast or valve gas, which extended range. So did the middle cell of the five cylindrical gasbags inside the hull. The forward and the rear two would be inflated with hydrogen, cracked out of water with a portable generator wherever the airship was based, to give the ship pretty well neutral buoyancy. The middle one was a hot-air balloon. That That would provide the variable lift, again reducing the need to dump water ballast or release precious hydrogen to rise or fall. would provide the variable lift, again reducing the need to dump water ballast or release precious hydrogen to rise or fall.Leaton rested one hand on Vicki's shoulder and the other on the younger Guard officer's. "d.a.m.ned fine piece of work, if I say so myself-couldn't have done it without you. It's going to work." He cleared his throat again; it was a gesture of his, like knocking on wood. "Once we've got the bugs out of it, of course.""Of course," Vicki said dryly. Then she snorted. "Commodore Alston was... impressed... too, when she saw the plans on Monday.""She was?" Leaton said, brightening; Alex looked eager as well. "What did she say?""She said..." Vicki stretched her Yankee vowels to try and match the sea-island Gullah of the Republic's military leader. "Do Jesus, ah 'm glaaayd ah ain' goin' up on that-theah!''They shared a laugh. "Got to go," Leaton said. "Washington Street Mills is having problems with their new powerloom, and if they don't get it fixed the Commodore will flay me-they've got a big sailcloth order in for the new frigates."The two Guard officers took their boxed lunches and bottles of sa.s.safras tea to a bench outside. It was a warm day, for springtime in Nantucket-seventy-two degrees, according to the thermometer- and the wind in from the south smelled of turned earth from the spring plowing, a rich, not unpleasant odor of fertilizer, and a tang of sea salt under that. The airport no longer looked abandoned, what with the new projects; one huge shed was going up, the frames like giant croquet hoops spanning a stretch of unused runway that furnished a ready-made floor. Besides that, the scout balloon hung high overhead, looking like a miniature inflated version of the Emanc.i.p.ator's Emanc.i.p.ator's plans with a two-person gondola slung underneath, toy-tiny at the top of a thousand feet of cable. plans with a two-person gondola slung underneath, toy-tiny at the top of a thousand feet of cable.An ultralight was going up too, wheeled out of a hangar with ground crew hanging on to the wingtips as they wrestled it around to face into the wind. The fuselage below was a one-person plywood teardrop, with a little lawn mower-style engine and a ducted-fan propeller behind; stubby pylons extended on either side, bearing a brace of black-powder rockets.Jesus, I hate those things, Vicki thought. The electric ignition system for the rockets was... not very sophisticated not very sophisticated-that was a nice, tactful way to put it."You know," Alex said meditatively after a while, "I'm a little surprised that the Emanc.i.p.ator Emanc.i.p.ator got approved. I mean, it'll be got approved. I mean, it'll be useful useful, having something that can scout way around and carry light cargo- and I'm d.a.m.ned glad I'm getting an opportunity to fly-but is it cost-effective?""Not here," Vicki said gently. "Not on the Island.""Not-oh."The younger officer nodded. Vicki Cofflin was the daughter of one of the Chief's sisters, a much closer connection than his to the Secretary of the Council."Well, let's get back to work," she said. "Don't you love being on the cutting edge of technical progress?""d.a.m.ned right," Alex said, nodding.Jesus, Vicki thought, as she followed him back into the hanger. I thought I was joking I thought I was joking.

CHAPTER TWO.

April, Year 8 A.E.

Ranger Peter Girenas grunted as he lifted the gutted whitetail from the packhorse's back and brought it to a nearby cache-tree. Two other deer hung from the white-oak branch already, and he quickly ran the dangling leather cord through a slit between the bone and tendon of this carca.s.s's hind legs.With one hand braced against the flank, he jerked the crossbow bolt free. Easier than digging out a bullet, and cheaper-it was only in the last couple of years that ammunition had gotten cheap enough to use for hunting."Here it is, Pete," Sue Chau said, handing him half the deer liver, spitted on the green stick she'd used to grill it over the low coals of the fire."Thanks. Perks says thanks, too."She laughed and nudged the dog with her toe. Perks didn't normally allow liberties, but right now he was too occupied with the deer head to resent it. Girenas squatted by the fire to wolf the meat down; the smell alone was enough to make a man drool after a day's hard work. It went well with the green smell of summer forest, the leafy-yeasty odor of the mold on the ground, and the spicy sa.s.safras tea boiling in the pot. The rich organ-meat juices filled his mouth and ran down over his chin as he bit into the liver.Have to shave soon, he thought, wiping his chin with a palm. The bristles rasped at his hand. Or mebbe start a real beard Or mebbe start a real beard. He'd tried two years ago, but it had grown in patchy, as well as three shades closer to orange than the ash-blond thatch on his head. Still, he was twenty-one now, old enough to raise a decent crop, and it would be a relief to stop sc.r.a.ping his face. Shaving in the bush was no joke, even with a good Seahaven straightedge.He was conscious of the girl's eyes on him as he stripped off his equipment belt and buckskin hunting shirt and went to the edge of the creek to wash off. Look all you want Look all you want, he thought, grinning as the water's pleasant coolness cut through the sweat and dried blood on his skin. He stood an inch over six feet in his moccasins, with long legs and arms and shoulders heavy with the muscle that logging and hunting put on you. His face was broad in the cheeks, snub-nosed, weathered to a dark tan that made the pale gray of his eyes all the more vivid. He flung back his head in a shower of droplets and turned, still grinning. Sue was a couple of years younger than him, but well past the gawky stage; a looker, too, with exotic slanted blue eyes, amber skin, and long black hair, the heritage of a half-Vietnamese father and a French Canadian mother.Not that any of that old-timer c.r.a.p means anything here, he thought, catching her eye and winking, chuckling when she blushed and looked away. You were a Nantucketer or not, that was the important thing here in the Year 8. So far all they'd done on this hunting trip was hunt, but he had hopes...She frowned as his expression went cold and his eyes slid past her. "Pete-"The man cut her off with a chopping gesture. "What is it, Perks?" he said.The beast stayed in his stiff crouch, head pointing northward and hair bristling along his spine, the beginnings of a battle rumble trickling out of his deep chest; he was a mastiff-wolf mix nearly a yard high at the shoulder, and right now he looked to favor his wild father's side of the cross. Peter's eyes flicked about. They had camped by a little overhang, where the creek ran down from a stretch of rocky hills. A couple of elms had fallen here in some storm, leaving a clearing edged with thick brush. Half a dozen steps in any direction the woods began, white pine north, white oak and chestnut and hickory lower down, all tall enough to shade out most undergrowth. Now that the sun was three hours past noon, the shadows under the great trees were deep and soft, hard on eyes half blinded by the light spearing down into the open s.p.a.ce.Sue had gone silent, her eyes scanning as well. She took three casual steps sideways and picked up the Seahaven-made rifle leaning against a s.h.a.gbark hickory, her thumb going to the hammer to pull it back to full c.o.c.k. Pete walked toward his own bedroll and weapons, equally slowly... no sense in making whoever or whatever was approaching commit themselves.A twig snapped, and four men moved through the scrub at the forest edge. d.a.m.n d.a.m.n, Peter thought as he halted and stood at his ease, his face an unreadable mask. Rather have a bear, or a cougar Rather have a bear, or a cougar."Heel, Perks," he said. The dog trotted to stand beside him, hair bristling on its neck and shoulders, teeth showing long and wet.The Nantucketer raised his right hand with the palm forward."Peace," he said-the gesture was common here, and they might have that much English.Although I doubt it, he decided. They weren't any group he recognized. Stocky, muscular men with bronze-brown skins, dressed in breechclouts, leggings, and moccasins much like his. Hide bundles rode their backs; two of them gripped flint-headed darts set in atlatls, spear-throwing levers; one had a steel-headed trade hatchet in his hand; another, an elaborately carved hardwood club. Their bold-featured faces were as impa.s.sive as his; he watched their eyes, hands, feet, all the clues that told of intentions. Each had the sides of his head shaved and painted vermilion, with the hair up in a roach above and trailing in a queue behind; all the tribes on the coasts near Nantucket did. These had bars of blue pigment across their faces at eyebrow level as well, and a strip of yellow from brow to chin.Whatever the h.e.l.l that means. Maybe from far inland. Or they might not be from any tribe at all, just homeless wanderers from bands broken up in the epidemics. One had heavy facial scarring; he'd seen Indians marked up like that from the chickenpox in the Year 3. Or maybe measles from the year after Or maybe measles from the year after,"Peace," he said again.Uh-oh. They weren't looking at him; they were looking at the camp. It wasn't much, just two bedrolls and traveling gear, but it would be a fortune in steel weapons and tools to locals. And attacking strangers wasn't considered wrong by any of the tribes they'd contacted-not unless oaths had been sworn."You're welcome to share our camp," he said. "Hinyep Zhotopo," he repeated in Lekkansu, the tongue of the seacoast people that the Nantucketers had most dealings with. Hunters from one of the bands who traded with the Americans would have replied in kind; they took hospitality seriously.d.a.m.n. No response at all, except to widen out a little as they came toward the fire. He was conscious of a cold, sour churning in the pit of his stomach and a furious annoyance that Sue was here... and all of it was incredibly distant, like the drumbeat of blood in his ears."Stop!" he said, waving them back, scowling. Can't just Can't just...The spearcast came with blinding speed. Girenas was already dropping and rolling as the ashwood shaft whickered through the s.p.a.ce he'd been occupying to thud three inches deep into a beech tree and stand quivering. The second spearman was aiming more carefully when Sue's rifle went off with a sharp crack and a long jet of off-white powder smoke. The Indian folded around himself with a surprised ooof ooof! like a man who'd been punched in the gut. He wouldn't be getting up again, though, not with an exit wound the size of a baby's fist blasted out the other side of him by the hollowpoint.Girenas flipped himself back to his feet, and the eighteen-inch bowie strapped along his right calf snapped into his fist, then into a gutting swing. The hatchet-man jinked in midleap as he dodged back, his war shriek turning to a yell of alarm. His friend with the club was using it to fend off Perks, the dog showing an endless ratcheting snarl and making little rushes whenever he saw an opening. Ignore it Ignore it. The world sank down to one man and a razor-edged piece of steel on a two-foot wooden shaft. They circled, crouched, their soft moccasins rutching in the fallen leaves and punk of rotten branches. Five seconds pa.s.sed, and then the Indian feinted twice and swung in earnest, a blow that would have chopped halfway through Girenas's face. He met the descending arm with a bladed palm, and the hatchet spun away. The bowie slammed forward, cutting edge up.The Indian's hand slapped down on his wrist. For an instant they grappled chest to chest, the heavy smell of sweat and the bear grease that the man wore on his hair rank in his nostrils; the warrior's body felt like a bundle of rubber and steel. Then Girenas hooked a heel behind an ankle and pushed. They went down; the Nantucketer landed on top of his opponent, one knee in his stomach. The air wheezed out of him in a choking grunt. Girenas pinned him with his left hand and ripped the other free of the weakening grasp, stabbed once, again, again. The body thrashed under him and blood splashed into his face, but he ignored it as he rolled erect.That was just in time to see the third Indian grab Sue's rifle in both hands, trying to wrestle it away from her. In a less serious situation, the look on his face as she hopped up, kicked both feet into her attacker's belly, and fell backward to flip him up and over would have been comical. She spun around on her backside like a top, raising both legs and slamming her heels into the Indian's face as he started to rise-a move from the unmercifully practical school of unarmed combat that Marian Alston had made part of Islander schooling. She scrambled to grab the rifle, came up to both knees and pounded the steel-shod b.u.t.t into the Indian's bloodied face again and again, panting with fright and rage.The last Indian was writhing under a hundred and twenty pounds of wolf-dog, trying to hold the fangs away from his face. Girenas scooped up his crossbow from where it hung on a branch nub and put the short, thick quarrel through the Indian's chest a second before the wide-stretched jaws would have closed on him.That was a mercy, in its way."Reload!" he snapped at Sue. She was pale and her hands shook. "Reload! Now!" She took a deep breath, let it out, and obeyed. He nodded satisfaction. "Heel, Perks."Girenas pumped the iron lever set into the forestock of his cross-bow six times, and the thick steel bow cut down from a car's leaf-spring ratcheted back and clicked into place, ready for the quarrel he slipped into it. The girl pushed up the breech lever of the rifle, her eyes enormous in a face gone pale, thumbing home a paper cartridge, closing the action and priming the pan. They both went to ground behind logs, eyes scanning."Perks! Circle!" he snapped.The dog slipped through the underbrush and made its way around their campsite. The ranger followed, infinitely cautious. He found Perks nosing back along a trail and followed it for a few hundred yards, until he saw a place where all the Indians had paused in a muddy patch."Only the four of them," he said as he stepped back into the campsite. Relief mingled with sadness as he cleaned the knife and looked at the dead men. "d.a.m.n-"Sue Chau had been staring at them too. Abruptly she turned and blundered three yards away before going to her knees and vomiting up a rush of half-digested deer meat. Girenas nodded, sighed, and took her a pannikin of water."Rinse and spit," he said. "Then have a drink of this."The silver flask had been his father's; it had Cyrillic lettering on it. The contents were pure Nantucket barley-malt whiskey, aged a year in charred oak. The girl obeyed, choking a little, then went to splash her face."Sorry," she began."Nope," Girenas said. "You did pretty good." He kept his tone cool. "Still want to be a Ranger?"She looked at the dead men. The bowel stink was already fairly bad, and the flies were arriving in droves. "This sort of thing, does it happen often?""Nope," Girenas said again. "Sometimes, though. Mebbe once a year."Sue took a deep breath. "Well, I'm not quitting," she said."Good," he said with approval. "Now let's cover them up and get going." He looked at the sun again. "Might make the base if we push it."They broke out the shovels and dug, setting rocks from the stream on top of the earth; Girenas planted the men's weapons as markers at their heads. Silence reigned as they broke camp and headed south toward Providence Base; Sue went in the lead with her rifle in the crook of her arm, then the three packhorses with the kills and gear. Girenas brought up the rear, and Perks went further still, like a hairy gray shadow among the trunks of the huge trees.It was hours before they saw sign of their own people. That was scanty at first, a buried campfire, hoofmarks, a nest of feral honeybees, clover and bluegra.s.s growing wild from seed dropped in horse-dung. Then breaks in the forest canopy where loggers had gone through, clearings scattered with stumps and chips or already rank with tall gra.s.s, brambles, flowers, and saplings. They stepped onto a rutted drag-trail heading downhill, and then the hills parted to show Narragansett Bay gleaming out before them, white-ruffled blue water, banks and islands green to the water's edge, sky thick with wildfowl. Half a dozen craft were in sight-a schooner, fishing boats, tugs hauling rafts. Below ran a road, gravel over dirt, and they could hear the faint shriek of a steam whistle."Home," Sue said.She opened the breech of her rifle and used the cleaning rod to tap the paper cartridge out, stowing it in the pouch at her belt before blowing the priming out of the pan and easing the hammer forward. Girenas slipped the quarrel from his crossbow back into its quiver before pulling the trigger with a flat whung whung sound. sound."Home," he agreed, with a sigh."Get sent to the past, spend all your time annotating reports," Councilor for Foreign Affairs Ian Arnstein muttered, in the privacy of his sunroom-office. "What a dashing life we exiled adventurers lead. Christ, I might as well be back in San Diego grading history papers."Well, not exactly, exactly, perhaps perhaps, he thought, resharpening his goose-quill pen on the razor built into the inkstand and looking down at the report. G.o.d, but I hate these pens G.o.d, but I hate these pens. The last ballpoints had run out years ago, and n.o.body had gotten around to fountain pens yet; it was the usual story-too much else with higher priorities.G.o.d, but I miss my PC. Oh, G.o.d, for a laser printer.He pushed his gla.s.ses back up his beaked nose-and losing them them was something he didn't even want to contemplate, given what the Island lens grinders were turning out as an alternative-and read the paper before him again, winding his fingers absently in his beard. It was a long-standing gesture; unlike many on the Island, he'd had this back before the Event, when shaving was easy. It was bushy and curly and a dark russet brown where it wasn't gray, like what was left of the hair on his head, almost matching the color of his eyes. was something he didn't even want to contemplate, given what the Island lens grinders were turning out as an alternative-and read the paper before him again, winding his fingers absently in his beard. It was a long-standing gesture; unlike many on the Island, he'd had this back before the Event, when shaving was easy. It was bushy and curly and a dark russet brown where it wasn't gray, like what was left of the hair on his head, almost matching the color of his eyes.He tugged harder as he read on. The Keyaltwar tribe over in Alba were building boats... probably war-boats for raiding abroad. Some bright boy in a leather kilt had figured out that while under the Treaty of Alliance they couldn't hitch up their chariots, take down their tomahawks, and hit the neighbors up for cattle and women in the old style-several punitive expeditions had driven that that lesson home- third parties weren't covered. lesson home- third parties weren't covered.Those people are like the f.u.c.king Energizer Bunny. There was a map of Alba in one corner of the room. A line ran from roughly what would have become Portsmouth to what would have become southern Yorkshire. Everything east and south of it was the various teuatha teuatha of the Sun People, the Indo-European-speaking newcomers William Walker had enrolled in his attempt at conquest; these days they were Nantucket allies in theory, a resentful protectorate in fact. West and north of that were the Fiernan Bohulugi, allies in fact. of the Sun People, the Indo-European-speaking newcomers William Walker had enrolled in his attempt at conquest; these days they were Nantucket allies in theory, a resentful protectorate in fact. West and north of that were the Fiernan Bohulugi, allies in fact.Dotted lines marked individual tribes. "Keyaltwar... right, north bank of the Thames." The Sun People tribes weren't much for commerce. What they did did understand was raiding, rustling, rape, and slaughter; and now they were playing Viking. understand was raiding, rustling, rape, and slaughter; and now they were playing Viking."Blond Proto-Celtic Comanches of the Bronze Age," Ian muttered, turning pages to look at the sketch of the ship. Up front was a figurehead that looked for all the world like a dragon's head. Some pa.s.sing Islander trader or priest of the Ec.u.menical Church might well have told told them about the Vikings, like dropping a catalyst into a saturated solution. them about the Vikings, like dropping a catalyst into a saturated solution. As if they didn't get enough ideas of their own. Have to be careful not to push 'em too hard, though As if they didn't get enough ideas of their own. Have to be careful not to push 'em too hard, though.First, radio Commandant Hendriksson to send out more agents. The treaty forbade hindering traders and missionaries, which was convenient for espionage. Find out who exactly was doing this. Note: we might use bribes and economic threats to lean on the Keyaltwar high chief, if he's not involved Note: we might use bribes and economic threats to lean on the Keyaltwar high chief, if he's not involved. Then see which of the Keyaltwar's neighbors had the most blood feuds with them-inevitable that some would. They They could complain to the Alliance Council at Stonehenge, saying that they felt threatened, and that would put it under the treaty's purview... if you stretched that deliberately ambiguous doc.u.ment a point or two. could complain to the Alliance Council at Stonehenge, saying that they felt threatened, and that would put it under the treaty's purview... if you stretched that deliberately ambiguous doc.u.ment a point or two."Note," he wrote at the bottom. "Consult with Doreen"-his wife treated Gordian knots the way Alexander had, and that corrected his tendency to on-the-one-hand-but-on-the-other himself into paralysis-"then talk it over with Marian, Jared, and Martha." He brushed the feather tip of the quill over his nose."Note," he went on. "Talk to Prelate Gomez. Missionaries?"For a moment he chuckled at the thought. A thoroughly secular Jew, helping to spread religion among the pagans of Bronze Age Britain. Ec.u.menical Christianity at that-the federation of denominations here, something rather like very High Church Episcopalian with Unitarian overtones. Another dry chuckle; the snake was biting its own tail with a vengeance, with Americans bringing the Anglican faith to Alba.Then he began writing up an appreciation for the Chief; they'd have to explain things to the Town Meeting. How the ancient Athenians had gotten anything anything done with all decisions made by a committee of thousands baffled him, all the more so now that he'd seen direct democracy in action. done with all decisions made by a committee of thousands baffled him, all the more so now that he'd seen direct democracy in action.He sanded and blotted the paper, rose, stretched, and looked at his watch, Four-thirty, and he'd been working since eight. "Christa," he said to his second a.s.sistant, ambling out into the sitting room and then down the corridor to her her office. "Get fair copies of these typed up, would you? And run one over to the Chief's, and one to Commodore Alston-Kurlelo at Guard House." office. "Get fair copies of these typed up, would you? And run one over to the Chief's, and one to Commodore Alston-Kurlelo at Guard House."Almost unfair, he thought, looking around at the filing cabinets and map boards. Preliterate cultures just didn't appreciate the advantage that being able to store and collate information like this gave you. But then again, as Marian Alston-Kurlelo is wont to say, fair fights are for suckers But then again, as Marian Alston-Kurlelo is wont to say, fair fights are for suckers.Ian trotted up the first flight of stairs, to one of the converted bedroom suites that served as Doreen's office. The former student astronomer looked up; she was sitting across a table from a short, dark man in a long woolen robe, flowerpot hat, and curled beard, repeating a sentence in something guttural and polysyllabic. Papers were scattered on the surface, some covered with ordinary writing, others with what looked like Art Deco chicken tracks.Akkadian, Ian knew, with a shudder-the Semitic language spoken in Hammurabi's Babylon; he had to learn it too. Akkadian was the diplomatic language in today's Middle East, the way French had been in Louix XIV's Europe. At least they'd been careful with their language teacher this time, after the nasty experience with Isketerol of Tartessos in the Year 1. Shamash-nasir-kudduru-the G.o.d Shamash is Guardian of the Boundary Stone, or Sham for short-was a weedy little Babylonian date merchant whom one of the Islander ships had picked up in a brief initial survey of the Persian Gulf; he' d been living on Bahrain (Dilmun to the locals) and not doing very well. In fact, he looked a lot like Saddam Hussein after a long, strict diet."My lady," he said in a thickly guttural accent, with a sidelong glance at Ian, "here we have the... it is to say... symbol, meaning 'day.' " He drew one wedge with the broad end upright, and two more springing off to the left and slanting upward. "It to be is able also to be the symbol for a sound sound.""Which sound?" Doreen asked with a sigh."It is sound ud ud," the Babylonian said. "That is first sound. Also symbol is for tu tu or or tarn tarn or or par par or or likh likh or or khish . khish . . ." He drew another, with an upright wedge, three horizontal to the side, and an arrowhead to the left. "It is sound . ." He drew another, with an upright wedge, three horizontal to the side, and an arrowhead to the left. "It is sound shu, qad, qat shu, qad, qat. Can mean quatu quatu, it is meaning in your speech, 'hand.' Also emuqu emuqu, 'strength,' or gamalu gamalu, 'protection,' or..."Ian cleared his throat. "What say we commit some dereliction of duty?" he said."G.o.d, yes," she groaned. "Sham, you can knock off too. Same time tomorrow."The Babylonian made a bobbing gesture over folded hands and collected his writing materials. Doreen tidied her own desk; she was neater than Ian, perhaps because as Doreen Rosenthal before the Event she'd been a budding astronomer in her late twenties rather than a bachelor-well, widower-professor of cla.s.sical history just past fifty. She also looked extremely extremely good bending over like that in a light summer dress, with her long black hair falling down and half hiding a wonderful view of decolletage. She'd been positively chunky when he'd first seen her, back the day after the Event. That was when she was working as an intern at the Maria Mitch.e.l.l Observatory, where she'd used the little reflector telescope to pinpoint the real date from the stars. good bending over like that in a light summer dress, with her long black hair falling down and half hiding a wonderful view of decolletage. She'd been positively chunky when he'd first seen her, back the day after the Event. That was when she was working as an intern at the Maria Mitch.e.l.l Observatory, where she'd used the little reflector telescope to pinpoint the real date from the stars. Of course, we all lost weight those first six months, and G.o.d knows we're not likely to sit around watching TV anymore Of course, we all lost weight those first six months, and G.o.d knows we're not likely to sit around watching TV anymore. Nowadays she could have modeled for a statue of Ishtar, one of the s.e.xier kind."Let's pick up David and grab something to cook down at the docks-couple of lobster, we'll boil 'em up and throw together a salad."Their housekeeper-nanny had the boy in the kitchen with her while she sat with a cookbook, reading slowly, her lips moving. Back at the end of the Alban War the Islanders had insisted that the defeated Sun People tribes let all their slaves go free. Denditwara had been one of many who came to Nantucket, since she had no surviving family. The gap in living standards was so enormous that even the most lowly job here was luxury by Bronze Age standards.Sort of like Mexico and California, only more so, Ian thought. "If you haven't started dinner yet, Denditwara, don't bother," he said. "We'll handle it-Quigley's Baths first, and then the evening's yours.""Thank you, boss," she said, dipping her head; she was half his age and short, a round-faced blonde who looked extremely English, physical types evidently being much more constant than culture or language. The Alban gave them a shy smile of grat.i.tude for the free time; she was seeing a young man who worked in the whalebone mill.Ian and Doreen winced slightly. Getting her to use something else besides the Sun People term for "master" had been difficult. So had getting across the concept of being an employee and working for wages."Can I see the boats, Daddy?" David asked. He showed signs of sharing his father's height, but the face had Doreen's oval shape and olive tone and black ringlets hung around his ears."Yes, you can see the boats if you promise to keep close to me and your mother," Ian said. He could see the six-year-old considering the bargain."Will," he said. "I want want to see the boats." to see the boats."That's a relief, Ian thought, chuckling. Nantucket was a better place for children than L. A., but there were still street hazards."What a zoo," Ian muttered an hour later, as they watched Denditwara scamper off to meet her bone grinder and David started to tell them about a game of catch he'd played with one of the other children in the baths. The roar of traffic nearly drowned the child's treble piping."All right, all right, hold your horses, we'll get out of the way," Ian said, as a carter cried for s.p.a.ce. He and Doreen were standing on the broad, flat expanse of the Steamship Dock, where the ferry from the mainland had tied up to drop off cars and trucks and tourists, back before the Event.Arnstein looked up reflexively as he remembered that never-to-be-forgotten night... G.o.d, eight years ago. G.o.d, eight years ago. A little more, since the Event had been in March and it was into July now. The crawling dome of fire over the island, and then the terror next day as the impossible truth sank in. Then the even worse terror: seventy-five hundred Americans on an island that produced little besides daffodils and a few gourmet vegetables. Fear of starvation, food riots, cannibalism... h.e.l.l of a thing for a middle-aged professor of cla.s.sical history to get himself caught in. h.e.l.l, he'd almost canceled his spring vacation on Nantucket that year. A little more, since the Event had been in March and it was into July now. The crawling dome of fire over the island, and then the terror next day as the impossible truth sank in. Then the even worse terror: seventy-five hundred Americans on an island that produced little besides daffodils and a few gourmet veg