Free Vortex by Robert Charles Wilson

sound so loud it cut the darkness like a knife. It was a deep-throated hooting, continuous and inhuman but familiar, familiar … dazed, I couldn’t place it at first; but when I recognized it I felt what I had not felt for many days: hope.
    I kicked at Turk to rouse him. He opened his eyes and rolled upright, blinking.
    “Listen!” I said. “You know what that is? It’s the alarm, Turk, it’s the call-in, the come-to-shelter, ” struggling to translate Voxish words into ancient English, “it’s the fucking air-raid siren !”
    The wailing was broadcast from the highest towers of Vox Core. It was a signal to get inside the walls, that some kind of attack was imminent, and surely that was true. But here was the important thing: if Vox Core was able to sound the siren, at least some of its power must have been restored.
    Vox Core was alive!
    “Means what?” asked Turk, still fighting sleep.
    “It means we have a chance of getting out of this!” I managed to wiggle upright so I could have a look. Vox Core was still mainly dark … but even as I registered that fact a searchlight rayed from the nearest watchtower and swept over the treeless meadows, lighting up the Farmers as they doused their fires and hurried to suit up for war. Then there were more lights: tower by tower, block by block, Vox Core began to reclaim itself from the darkness. Smaller lights like fireflies scattered from the high aerodromes, and those were aircraft, armed and lethal.
    It made me giddy. I heard myself shouting into the noise: Here we are! Come and get us! Something stupid like that. Treya’s old loyalties bursting out of my throat.
    Then the weapons rained down, and the Farmers began to die.

CHAPTER FIVE
    SANDRA AND BOSE

    Sandra booked off two hours for lunch, making creative use of a free hour she had originally scheduled for her next consultation with Orrin Mather. The restaurant where she had arranged to meet Bose was crowded with employees from the carpet wholesaler across the highway, but the table she snagged was out of the way and screened from the worst of the noise by a hedge of plastic ficus. Quiet enough for conversation. Bose nodded approvingly when he arrived.
    He wasn’t in uniform. He looked better out of police drag, Sandra thought. Jeans and a white shirt that set off his complexion. She asked him whether he was on duty today.
    He said he was. “But I don’t always wear the blues. I work out of Robbery/Homicide.”
    “Really?”
    “That’s not as impressive as it sounds. HPD went through massive reorganization after the Spin. Departments were dismantled and put back together like Lego blocks. I’m not a detective. I just do grunt work. I’m relatively new in the division.”
    “So how does that connect you to Orrin Mather?”
    He frowned. “I’ll explain, but can we talk about the document first?”
    “I notice you call it ‘the document.’ Not ‘Orrin’s document.’ So you don’t believe he wrote it?”
    “I’m not saying that.”
    “You want to hear my opinion before you give me yours, in other words. Okay, well, let’s start with the obvious. The pages you sent me appear to constitute an adventure story set in the future. The vocabulary is way beyond anything I’ve heard from Orrin. The story isn’t especially sophisticated but it displays a grasp of human behavior more nuanced than anything Orrin demonstrated in the short time I had to speak with him. And unless it was corrected in transcription, the grammar and punctuation are a big notch up on Orrin’s verbal skills.”
    Bose nodded at this. “But you’re still reserving judgment?”
    She considered the question. “To a degree, yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Two reasons. One is circumstantial. It seems obvious Orrin isn’t the author, but then why is he being cagy about that, and why are you asking for my opinion? The second reason is professional. I’ve talked to a lot of people with personality disorders of various kinds and I’ve