Leo Frankowski - Copernick's Rebellion

“My future?” Hastings’ voice was cold. “You destroy my country. You murder my family. And then you expect me to settle down in your filthy city.”

“George, we both know that four years ago the world was on a collision course with absolute disaster. Come over to my house sometime and I’ll show you the figures. Our mechanically based technology had to go, yet our economic system was totally supported by that technology. And our political and social structures were completely supported by those economics. Our survival as a race depended on making the changeover to a biological economy. And we couldn’t change a part of that system without changing it all.

“I’m truly sorry about your family. They died because of an engineering error. We corrected it as soon as we found out about it. It was an accident.

“On the other hand, you deliberately tried to kill my family. Twice. But like I said, the war is over.”

“You filthy hypocrite. What about the eighty-five families your monsters butchered?” Hastings said.

“Another error. No one had ever tried to educate an intelligent engineered species before. It simply never occurred to me to tell them that they weren’t supposed to kill people. That error has also been corrected. In the last three months the LDUs have saved the lives of millions of people. A fair penance, I should say.”

“Saved them? Saved them from the hell that you’ve caused with your damned metal-eating bugs!”

“Not guilty,” Copernick lied. “That plague was completely natural. We have been doing everything in our power to fight it.”

“You must think that I’m awfully gullible. At the precise moment when you and your damned biological monsters are about to be wiped out, a totally new species comes along and destroys the technology that you’re openly fighting. You warn your spys and traitors to get out of Washington. And then you have the gall to say it’s natural.”

Hastings dropped his cigar. He reached down to pick it up and lit the fuse of the bomb on his ankle. He stretched his leg under Copernick and waited.

“Perhaps God was on our side,” Copernick said.

“In a pig’s eye.”

“You can still settle down here, George. We could use you. You don’t have to die.”

The plastique hadn’t gone off.

“Naturally we disabled your bomb. You’re quite a heavy sleeper. The CCU predicted that you would be willing to commit suicide in order to kill me, but I was hoping that you’d change your mind.”

The bomb went off, completely severing Hastings’ right foot from his leg. The legs of Copernick’s chair were virtually powdered, and wood fibers were blown into the feet, calves, and knees of both men.

Though protected somewhat by the seat of his chair, and more so by the strange directionality of high explosives, Copernick was blown four feet into the air and across the room, cracking his skull on a brass footrest.

Hastings was bounced off the opposite wall and came to rest across Copernick’s left arm.

LDUs had been monitoring the situation, and medical teams were on site within seconds.

It was three months before Hastings’ foot was regenerated, but Copernick was back on the job in five days.

The first three months after the plague started were hard on our race, but the end was in sight. At least in the western hemisphere, the long lines of refugees had found their various destinations. Over half of the human race lived crowded in or around tree houses, and virtually every family, group, and individual person had planted a tree house, the only means of shelter possible.

The other half of humanity lived in a ragged collection of plastic tents and lean-tos surrounding the food trees, waiting for them to start producing. In most cases some conventional food was available, much of it brought in on the broad backs of LDUs, but the “survival of the fattest” became a standing worldwide joke.

Once there was a reasonable probability of personal survival, a serious attempt was made to rescue as much as possible of the world’s cultural artifacts. Countless people crawled through crumbling museums, libraries, and laboratories to haul out and store artworks, books, and other artifacts. Much of the world’s art and virtually all of its literature, down to the lowliest technical manual, were thus preserved.

Other people, with less noble motives, sought to preserve for themselves much of the world’s wealth. One enterprising group found that the steel vault doors at Fort Knox had crumbled after the nearby guard units had disbanded. They made it inside and onto the incredible piles of gold ingots, lying free for the taking. Then the entranceway collapsed, sealing them in. They kept their treasure for the rest of their lives. About three days.

Throughout the western hemisphere, a million LDUs worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They hauled grain from crumbling elevators in Chicago and fought plagues in Georgia. They taught people in New England which wild plants were edible and built a wooden bridge across the Hudson to evacuate Manhattan and Long Island. It returned lost children and interrupted fourteen attempts at human sacrifice.

The nation-state had relied on dependable transportation and communication for its survival. These had ceased to exist. It had depended on economics, billions of dollars, pounds, and rubles to pay the millions of soldiers, politicians, and tax collectors that were the governments of two hundred nations. Economics had also ceased to exist; a paper dollar couldn’t get you a bite to eat, but a tree house would feed you for free. The world’s nation-states had ceased to exist.

Founded on a bewildering array of political, religious, and philosophical premises, new political organizations sprang up to fill the void, an incredible hodge-podge of societies, families, companies, cooperatives, churches, fraternities, and gangs. It was rare for any group to have more than a thousand members.

Slowly, painfully, a kind of order emerged as the food trees finally bore fruit.

Patricia and Mona had spent every day for two months traveling in Winnie, giving food, directions, and hope to everyone they could find in the Southwest. They had spent every other night on the road, and they were both physically and mentally exhausted.

“Time we took a couple of days off, Patty,” Mona said.

Their passengers that trip had included Lou von Bork and Senator Beinheimer. The women had dropped them off in one of the new suburbs, and Winnie was trotting back to Pinecroft.

“We certainly need it. But there’s still so much to be done,” Patricia said.

“The worst of it’s over. We can send out Winnie and Bolo to pick up the stragglers and bring them in.”

Dirk had gone with Guibedo, and Bolo, injured by a falling building, had taken on the guard duty.

“Suits me.” Winnie dropped the girls off at the front door, and trotted downstairs again to eat.

Of all the tree houses in the valley, Pinecroft was the only one that had not been turned into a hotel for refugees. Oakwood had more than fifty people living in it and the last thing Patricia needed was another crowd.

“Okay if I spend the night here, Mona?”

“Sure. Take the guest room off the kitchen,” Mona said. “Hey. Look at that. Heinrich made a new elevator.”

“I’m surprised he took the time for it,” Patricia said. “He looked so tired last time I saw him.”

“He should. Between his injury and worrying about the LDUs making another mistake, he hasn’t slept in three months.”

“Mistake? What do you mean?”

“In the early days, the LDUs were pretty naive. They didn’t understand human value systems, and they tended to take orders too literally. Look, I’m bushed. I’ll see you in the morning. Take the guest room off the kitchen,” Mona said, heading upstairs. “I’m going to sleep till noon.”