citizens in the bleachers who were watching them. Spur forced a smile and waved as well, and then led her up the hill toward town hall.
'Ngonda will file his protest,' she said, 'and it'll be summarily rejected. We've been in continuous contact with the Forum of the Thousand Worlds.' Her speech became choppy as she walked. 'They know what we're doing.' Climbing the gentle hill left her breathless. 'Not all worlds approve. Consensus is hard to come by. But the L'ung have a plan… to open talks between you… and the pukpuks.' She rested a hand on his shoulder to support herself. 'Is that something you think worth doing?'
'Maybe.' He could feel the warmth of her hand through the thin fabric of his shirt. 'All right, yes.' He thought this must be another ploy. 'But who are you? Who are the L'ung? Why are you doing this?'
'Be patient.' At the top of the hill she had to rest to catch her breath. Finally she said, 'You spoke with the High Gregory about gosdogs?'
'In the truck this morning.'
'It was at the instigation of the L'ung. Understand that we don't believe that gosdogs think in any meaningful sense of the word. Perhaps the original Peekay intelligence rating was accurate. But if they were found to be more intelligent, then we could bring the issue of their treatment here to the Forum. It would require a delicate touch to steer the debate toward the remedy the L'ung want. Tricky but not impossible. The Forum has no real power to intervene in the affairs of member worlds and your Chairman Winter has the right to run Walden as he pleases. But he depends on the good opinion of the Thousand Worlds. When we're finished here, the L'ung will propose to return the gosdogs to a preserve where they can live in their natural state.'
'But there is no natural habitat left. The pukpuks destroyed it.'
'Ah, but ecologies can be re-created.' She gestured at the lawn stretching before them, at the rose hedges along its border and the trees that shaded it, their leaves trembling in the summer breeze. 'As you well know.'
'But what does a gosdog preserve have to do with the pukpuks?'
'Come away from the sun before we melt.' Memsen led him to a bench in the shadow of an elm. She sagged onto it; Spur remained standing, looking down at her for a change. It eased the crick in his neck.
'The preserve sets a precedent.' She clicked her rings. 'In order for it to be established, the growth of the forest must be controlled, which means the Transcendent State will be blocked from spreading across Walden. Up until now, the Cooperative has refused to negotiate on this point. And then comes the question of where to put the preserve. You and the pukpuks will have to sit down to decide on a site. Together. With some delicate nudging from the Forum, there's no telling what conversations might take place at such a meeting.'
'But we can't!' Spur wiped the sweat from his forehead. 'The Transcendent State was founded so that humans could live apart and stay true to ourselves. As long as the pukpuks live here, we'll be under direct attack from upsider ways.'
'Your Transcendent State is a controversial experiment.' Memsen's face went slack and she made the pa-pa- pa-ptt sound Spur had heard before. 'We've always wondered how isolation and ignorance can be suitable foundations for a human society. Do you really believe in simplicity, Spur, or do you just not know any better?'
Spur wondered if she had used some forbidden upsider tech to look into his soul; he felt violated. 'I believe in this.' He gestured, as she had done, at Littleton Commons, green as a dream. 'I don't want my village to be swept away. The pukpuks destroyed this world once already.'
'Yes, that could happen, if it's what you and your children decide,' said Memsen. 'We don't have an answer for you, Spur. But the question is, do you need a preserve like gosdogs, or are you strong enough to hold onto your beliefs no matter who challenges them?'
'And this is your plan to save Walden?' He ground his shoe into the grass. 'This is the luck that the High Gregory came all this way to make?'
'Is it?' She leaned back against the bench and gazed up into the canopy of the elm. 'Maybe it is.'
'I've been such an idiot.' He was bitter; if she was going to use him, at least she could admit it. 'You and the High Gregory and the L'ung flit around the upside, having grand adventures and straightening up other people's messes.' He began to pace back and forth in front of the bench. 'You're like some kind of superheroes, is that it?'
'The L'ung have gathered together to learn statecraft from one another,' she said patiently. 'Sometimes they travel, but mostly they stay with us on Kenning. Of course they have political power in the Forum because of who they are, but their purpose is not so much to do as it is to learn. Then, in a few more years, this cohort will disband and scatter to their respective worlds to try their luck. And when the time comes for us to marry…'
'Marry? Marry who?'
'The High Gregory, of course.'
'But he's just a boy.'
Memsen must have heard the dismay in his voice. 'He will grow into his own luck soon enough,' she said coldly. 'I was chosen the twenty-second Memsen by my predecessor. She searched for me for years across the Thousand Worlds.' With a weary groan she stood, and once again towered over him. 'A Memsen is twice honored: to be wife to one High Gregory and mother to another.' Her voice took on a declaiming quality, as if she were giving a speech that had been well rehearsed. 'And I carry my predecessor and twenty souls who came before her saved in our memory, so that we may always serve the High Gregory and advise the L'ung.'
Spur was horrified at the depth of his misunderstanding of this woman. 'You have dead people… inside you?'
'Not dead,' she said. 'Saved.'
A crazed honking interrupted them. A truck careened around the corner and skidded to a stop in front of the town hall. Stark Sukulgunda flung himself out of the still-running truck and dashed inside.
Spur stood. 'Something's wrong.' He started for the truck and had gotten as far as the statue of Chairman Winter, high on his pedestal, when Stark burst out of the doors again. He saw Spur and waved frantically.
'Where are they all?' he cried. 'Nobody answers.'
'Playing baseball.' Spur broke into a trot. 'What's wrong? What?'
'Baseball?' Stark's eyes bulged as he tried to catch his breath. 'South slope of Lamana… burning… everything's burning… the forest is on fire!'
Fourteen
I walked slowly through the wood to Fairhaven cliff, climbed to the highest rock and sat down upon it to observe the progress of the flames, which were rapidly approaching me now about a mile distant from the spot where the fire was kindled. Presently I heard the sound of the distant Bell giving the alarm, and I knew that the town was on its way to the scene. Hitherto I felt like a guilty person. Nothing but shame and regret, but now I settled the matter with my self shortly, and said to myself. Who are these men who are said to be owners of these woods and how am I related to them? I have set fire to the forest, but I have done no wrong therein, and now it is as if the lightning had done it. These flames are but consuming their natural food. So shortly I settled it with myself and stood to watch the approaching flames. It was a glorious spectacle, and I was the only one there to enjoy it. The fire now reached the base of the cliffs and then rushed up its sides. The squirrels ran before it in blind haste, and the pigeons dashed into the midst of the smoke. The flames flashed up the pines to their tops as if they were powder. - Journal, 1850
More than half of the Littleton Volunteer Fire Department were playing baseball when the alarm came. They scrambled up the hill to the brick firehouse on the Commons, followed by almost all of the spectators, who crowded anxiously into the communion hall while the firefighters huddled. Normally there would have been sixteen volunteers on call, but, like Spur, Will Sambusa, Bright Ayoub, Bliss Bandaran and Chief Cary Millisap had joined the Corps. Cape was currently Assistant Chief; he would have led the volunteers had not his son been home. Even though Spur protested that he was merely a grunt smokechaser, the volunteers' first act was to vote him Acting Chief.
Like any small-town unit, the Littleton Fire Department routinely answered calls for house fires and brush fires and accidents of all sorts, but they were ill-equipped to stop a major burn. They had just one fire truck, an old quad with a 3,000-liter-per-minute pump and 5,000-liter water tank. It carried fifty meters of six-centimeter hose, fifty meters of booster hose, and a ten-meter mechanical ladder. If the burn was as big as Stark described, Engine No. 4 would be about as much use fighting it as a broom.
Spur resisted the impulse to put his team on the truck and rush out to the burn. He needed more information before he committed his meager forces. It would be at least an hour before companies from neighboring villages would arrive and the Corps might not get to Littleton until nightfall. Cape spread a map out on the long table in the
