Free The Peace War by Vernor Vinge Page B

Billions died and fertility dropped to near zero in the years
following the War. The species called Homo sapiens came very close to extinction. The
Russians in the hills became old men, leading ragged tribes.
    But Colonel Kaladze had been captured early (through no fault of his own), before the
viruses, when the hospitals still functioned. There had been a nurse, and eventually a
marriage. Fifty years later, the Kaladze farm covered hundreds of hectares along the
south edge of the Vandenberg Dome. That land was one of the few places north of
Central America where bananas and cacao could be farmed. Like so much of what had
happened to Colonel Kaladze in the last half century, it would have been impossible
without the bobbles, in particular the Vandenberg one: The doubled sunlight was as
intense as could be found at any latitude, and the high obstacle the Dome created in the
atmosphere caused more than 250 centimeters of rain a year in a land that was otherwise
quite dry. Nikolai Sergeivich Kaladze had ended up a regular Kentucky colonel — even if
he was originally from Georgia.
    Most of this Wili learned in the first ninety minutes of Jeremy's unceasing chatter.
    In late afternoon they stopped to eat. Belying his gentle exterior, Jeremy was a hunting
enthusiast, though apparently not a very expert one. The boy needed several shots to
bring down just one bird. Wili would have preferred the food they had brought along, but
it seemed only polite to try what Jeremy shot.Six months before, politeness would have
been the last consideration to enter his mind.
    They trudged on, no longer quite so enthusiastic. This was the shortest route to Red
Arrow Farm but it was still a solid ten-hour hike from Santa Ynez. Given their late start,
they would probably have to spend the night on this side of the Lompoc ferry crossing.
Jeremy's chatter slowed as the sun slanted toward the Pacific and spread double shadows
behind them.In the middle of a long discussion (monologue) about his various
girlfriends, Jeremy turned to look up at Naismith. Speaking very quietly, he said, "You
know, sir, I think we are being followed."
    The old man seemed to be half-dozing in his seat, letting Berta, his horse, pull him
along without guidance. "I know," he said. "Almost two kilometers back. If I had more
gear, I could know precisely, but it looks like five to ten men on foot, moving a little
faster than we are. They'll catch up by nightfall."
    Wili felt a chill that was not in the afternoon air. Jeremy's stories of Russian bandits
were a bit pale compared to what he had seen with the Ndelante Ali, but they were bad
enough. "Can you call ahead, Paul?"
    Naismith shrugged. "I don't want to broadcast; they might jump on us immediately.
Jeremy's people are the nearest folks who could help, and even on a fast horse that's a
couple hours. We're going to have to handle most of this ourselves."
    Wili glared at Jeremy, whose distant relatives — the ones he had been bragging about
all day — were apparently out to ambush them. The boy's wide face was pale. "But I was
mostly farking you. No one has actually seen one of the outlaw bands down this far in...
well, in ages."
    "I know," Naismith muttered agreement. "Still, it's a fact we're being crowded from
behind." He looked at Berta, as if wondering if there was any way the three of them
might outrun ten men on foot. "How good is that cannon you carry, Jeremy?"
    The boy raised his weapon. Except for its elaborate telescopic sight and chopped
barrel, it looked pretty ordinary to Wili: a typical New Mexico autorifle, heavy and
simple. The clip probably carried ten 8-mm rounds. With the barrel cut down, it wouldn't
be much more accurate than a pistol. Wili had successfully dodged such fire from a
distance of one hundred meters. Jeremy patted the rifle, apparently ignorant of all this,
"Really hot stuff, sir. It's smart."
    "And the ammunition?"
    "That too. One clip anyway"
    Naismith smiled a jagged smile. "'Kolya really