Kevin Anderson - Ill Wind

Todd stayed there for a day, helping to repair a long fence to pay for his room and board, then set off again.

He pondered trying to find someplace where he could send a short-wave signal, to let Iris know he was coming. But he was afraid to. He didn’t want to know if she was with somebody else.

Crossing the Sierra Nevada well before the first snows, Todd rode up the flat Central Valley, living off the generosity of farmers who shared their produce with him. In exchange, he told them all the news he knew, entertaining them with stories about the battle for the solar-power farm, Casey Jones and his train, and crumbling Los Angeles.

As he reached Tracy, moving westward to the grassy Altamont Range, he caught his first glimpse again of the white windmill towers lining the hill crests. He pulled Bayclock’s black horse to a halt and stared up at them with a pang. Anxiety shuddered through him, and he seriously considered turning around and heading back to White Sands, or making the long journey off to his parents’ ranch in Wyoming.

But he couldn’t do that. Todd could never live with himself if he gave up now. He had braved armies and murderers and mobs—he could not let a five-foot three-inch woman make him turn tail!

As he approached the Altamont commune, he saw that it had tripled in size in the months since he had been gone. Most of the windmills whirled in the breeze. Looking around the settlement, Todd didn’t recognize most of the people, but they somehow looked less… weird.

Daphne Harris came out to meet him. Her skin was dark and glistening with perspiration as she worked in the garden; her colorful tie-dye blouse looked as startling as a gunshot. She strode up to him with a grin. “Hey, look what the cat dragged in!”

Todd dismounted and tied up the gelding as other people came to see who had arrived. Jackson Harris appeared, his hands grimy from working on wind-turbine rotors, but he clapped Todd on the back. “We already heard what happened! Over the short-wave, Dr. Lockwood made sure we all knew what a hero you were down at the solar-power farm. Even Tibbett at Sandia got excited telling the story, if you can believe that.”

“We were wondering when you would finally haul your butt back here,” Daphne said.

Todd couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “What about Iris? Is she still in the same old place?”

Daphne and Jackson flashed a knowing glance at each other that made Todd uneasy. “Go see her for yourself, Todd,” Daphne said.

On weak knees—which he told himself was just from too many hours on horseback—Todd clumped up to their old trailer. His cowboy boots crunched on the dry grass. He spotted Ren and Stimpy off to the side, munching on dry grass.

The battered white aluminum siding of the trailer looked the same, with water spots and algae in the crevices; the rusty wheel rims still sat on concrete blocks. The metal screen on the door had been fixed; Todd wondered if Iris had done it herself.

He stared for a moment, terrified, then he finally rapped on the door frame.

Deep inside, Todd knew another man was going to answer. And what could he say to that? It was his own fault he had left. He made up his mind just to shake hands and leave.

But Iris opened the door herself, blinking up at him in the bright late-morning sunlight. Her almond eyes widened. She flashed an instinctive, shocked grin, but then she recovered. She cocked her head and looked wryly up at him. “So you came back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He took off his hat, wringing the brim in his big hands. “I’m ready to take you up on that offer—if you still want me. But you’ll have to marry me,” he said doggedly.

She was silent for a long moment, then made a tsk ing sound. “And you still didn’t remember to bring flowers.”

Iris laughed, then she hugged him.

Connor Brooks—Seaman

Miles Uma—Captain, Oilstar Zoroaster

Ed Dailey—Second Mate

Dr. Alex Kramer—Oilstar Microbiogist

Maureen Kramer—his wife

Jay Kramer—his son

Erin Kramer—his daughter

Dr. Mitchell Stone—Alex’s assistant

Jackson Harris—Environmental activist

Daphne Harris—Environmental activist, Jackson’s wife

Todd Severyn—Petroleum Engineer

Dr. Iris Shikozu—Stanford University

William Plerry—Environmental Policy Office

Emma Branson—CEO Oilstar

Walter Cochran—Oilstar executive

Moira Tibbett—Sandia, Livermore researcher

Dave Hensch—Stanford student

Officer Orenio—security guard

Jake Torgens—Environmentalist, radical activist

Reverend Timothy Rudge—Pastor, Holy Grace Baptist Church

Dr. Spencer Lockwood—Physicist, Solar Satellite project head

Rita Fellenstein—Chief technician

Dr. Lance Nedermyer—Department of Energy program manager

Dr. Gilbert Hertoya—Director, Electromagnetic Launch Facility

Juan Romero—technician

Dr Arnold Norton—Sandia scientist

Brig General Bayclock—Commander, Kirtland Air Force Base

David Reinski—Mayor of Albuquerque

Sgt Catilyn Morris—Helicopter mechanic

Colonel David—Commander, Phillips Laboratory

Colonel Nichimya—Commander, Base Personnel

Henry Holback—President of the US

Harald Wolani—Vice President of the US

The Honorable Jeffrey Mayeaux—Speaker of the House

Rita Mayeaux—his wife

Franklin Weathersee—Mayeaux’s Chief of Staff

General Wacon—Chairman, JCS

Heather Dixon—Insurance adjuster (Flagstaff, AZ)

Al Sysco—Manager, Surety Insurance (Flagstaff, AZ)

Dick Morgret—Gas station owner (Death Valley, CA)

Carlos Bettario—Rancher (Death Valley, CA)

Lt Bobby Carron—F/A-18 pilot, USN (China Lake, CA)

Lt Ralph “Barfman” Petronfi—Bobby’s wingman (China Lake, CA)

© 1996 by WordFire, Inc. and Doug Beason

Originally published by Tor Books

Published at Smashwords by WordFire, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

In the future, the dead walk the streets—Resurrection, Inc. found a profitable way to do it. A microprocessor brain, synthetic heart, artificial blood, and a fresh corpse can return as a Servant for anyone with the price. Trained to obey any command, Servants have no minds of their own, no memories of their past lives.

Supposedly.

Then came Danal. He was murdered, a sacrifice from the ever-growing cult of neo-Satanists who sought heaven in the depths of hell. But as a Servant, Danal began to remember. He learned who had killed him, who he was, and what Resurrection, Inc. had in mind for the human race.

They were prisoners, exiles, pawns of a corrupt government. Now they are Dr. Rachel Dycek’s adin , surgically transformed beings who can survive new lives on the surface of Mars. But they are still exiles, unable ever again to breathe Earth’s air. And they are still pawns.