Visions of Liberty

Flynn let the surprise fully register on his face. “You ought not to be here, Mrs. Abrams.”

She raised her wrist and tapped the blackout device. “As far as Covenant knows, I’m not.” She withdrew a small velvet-covered box from within her cloak and pressed it into his hands. “You will see to it that this gets back to its rightful owners.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t bear to keep the cherengata when I knew how it had been stolen.” Veronika shook her head. “I would have sent it back directly, but Sam, he’s so funny about that sort of thing. He thrills in shaving deals on the dark side of things, taking risks like that. To give this back would suggest he was wrong in having bought it in the first place. He didn’t mind it being stolen back away from him. He greatly enjoyed the daring nature of the theft, and that the thief had done the impossible just to take something from him. It meant he was still important. He pretty much chortled about the theft, and has been alive planning how to secure things in the future.”

Flynn nodded. “And since Covenant knows you don’t want stolen pieces as gifts, your husband will not have the opportunity to buy same from now on.”

“Right.”

“It will be my pleasure to get this back to the Jirandicheren to whom it belonged.” He gave her a smile. “Thank you for setting this all in motion. Arina needed this. After her husband’s death, she wondered if she had somehow lost her edge, and that’s why he died. She needed time to mourn, and then she needed to be reminded that she is good, she’s strong, she’s smart. Working on this whole theft and murder might have exhausted her physically, but she’s so alive mentally, well, it’s good to see. Wonderful.”

“I agree, Father.”

“Excuse me, Father, would you want some help with your bag? We’ll be boarding, soon.”

The priest turned and smiled at the man from the corner. “Despite your looking a fair sight more alive than when last I saw you, Mr. Fonteneau, I’m thinking Miss Thompson there will be more appreciative of your help than I will.”

“Father, that was just a brain-dead clone they made to kill, not me.”

“I know, Stephen, I know.” The priest shivered. “That was the nastiest bit of this deception, cloning you to kill. Now, your Miss Thompson, she’s forgiven you the dying?”

“Nothing to forgive, Father. I knew he wasn’t dead all along.” Deana slipped her arm through Fonteneau’s. “When Covenant weighed the two problems of Mrs. Abrams needing to get rid of the cherengata without incurring her husband’s wrath, and Arina Gadja’s need for redemption of her self-esteem, it came up with this plan, built out of pieces of Arina’s past. It hired me, an actress, to play the part of Stephen’s lover. That we actually fell for each other made things that much more convincing. Covenant saw having an innocent led to believe her lover had died as being harmful, hence I was brought in to act the part.”

Fonteneau raised an eyebrow. “Of course, she knew she was looking for me before I knew of her, but it worked. I’m glad I came because when Covenant located me, I’d been hidden away good. I’d gone straight you know, Father, after escaping. Here I got the chance to use my skills for good, got a new identity and records expunged in the real world, and love to boot.”

Veronika smiled. “And Regan Park never existed, so the hunt for him can continue, as will the searches for the sources of the blackout chips. A little rebellion is good for people, gives them things to think about, talk about, and keeps the world alive for people who thrive on intrigues. The hint of danger is all we need.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed. In many ways, it seemed, Arina’s game analogy had not been far off. The will of the people determined the direction in which Covenant would allow things to flow. The computer did not govern or control, but encouraged and facilitated harmony with the will of Apogea’s people. Despite the complexity of society’s needs, the balance was maintained and the world’s community flourished.

“Anything beyond a hint of danger is probably more than folks here desire, and with good reason.” Flynn smiled, then leaned in and kissed Veronika on the cheek. “Fortunately, the serpents in this garden all seem benign. Enjoy the peace that brings you, and know how lucky you are.

PAKEHA by Jane Lindskold

Ambrose Kidd, an old Kiwi sailor who remembered those days, was the first to tell Faelin about Aotearoa, yarning over a tankard of winter ale in a San Francisco pub. This was back when Faelin—an orphan of twelve—was still lying about his age to get a job clearing tables and such in a bar.

“Maybe if we hadn’t been so spoiled then,” the old salt would always begin, “we could’ve kept things the way they were, but we were spoiled—telephone, the Internet, cruise ships, jet airplanes—New Zealand weren’t just a bunch of volcanic islands off the hither side of Australia; we were part of the first world. It might make you laugh, but tourism was a major part of our economy. Anybody with enough money could reach New Zealand in less than a day.

“Most folks skipped out when they saw what the petroleum virus was doing. You born-since can’t imagine what that virus meant. Seems like just about everything then had petroleum by-products in it. Not just the obvious stuff like fuel and plastics, but clothing, medicines, even food was full of the stuff. Hell, I ain’t telling anything you haven’t heard before, son.”

He wasn’t, either. Faelin had heard stories like this a million times before. What fascinated him was where the story went from here. The New Zealanders had taken a novel approach to the crisis. While most nations strove to keep things as much the same as possible—laying new, untainted cables for telegraph and telephone for example—New Zealand’s remaining population resolved to make a radical change.

“I remember my folks talking about it,” Kidd went on. “Lady name of Christine Pesh had the idea, as I recall. Bright lady, fancied for prime minister if the oil bugs hadn’t got loose. In a way, that makes it odd she should come up with such a plan, but then again, as they tell it, she’d always been one of those who contrary to reason—given they make their money outta government—think that a government that governs least governs best.”

Faelin laughed and scooped up the old man’s tankard, replacing it with another, filled while the boss’s back was turned.

“Sounds to me,” he commented, swiping circles on the tables with a dirty rag, “like this Christine Pesh was just lazy.”

Ambrose Kidd snorted. “Not at all. It’s harder work to make folk think for themselves than to think for ’em. Anyhow, Christine Pesh proposed—and got her proposal out while the communication system was still working pretty well—that government be phased out. She argued that those Kiwis who remained would have enough to do keeping mutton and fish on the table without supporting deadbeat politicians. I don’t know how she managed it— remember, son, I was younger than you are now when this happened—but she got her measure passed.”

Faelin was California born and bred. He’d heard of wilder schemes, but he knew how governments worked.

“Seems like someone would have appealed,” he said.

“There were those who tried,” Kidd agreed, “but Pesh and her cronies told ’em there was no government anymore to listen to their appeal. Meantime, while these pro-government factions blustered and debated—’cause they couldn’t even agree among themselves which way things should be run, if they got government started again—the petroleum virus kept chewing away at stuff. Telephone failed. Computers flashed nonsense and died—lord how I cried when I couldn’t get my games to run! Cars and trucks—all of which needed petroleum to go and even if they hadn’t were so full of plastic parts that they crumpled up…”

“Just like here,” Faelin interrupted, knowing he was being rude, but eager to hear the real story.

“That’s right,” Kidd said, thin lips shaping the half smile of an old man who realizes that the great events of his life are dull fodder to the eager young. “And so Pesh got her way. There were some riots, but most of those who disagreed simply got on ships and left. Most, I hear, got only as far as Australia, where they found more government than anyone could want—but that’s another tale.

“You’re wanting to hear about New Zealand, or Aotearoa as they renamed it, saying that since the nation was certainly new but had nothing to do with Zeeland—some Dutch place, I recall—they might as well go back to