Copernick's Rebellion

Guibedo.”

Dirk returned to his monotone. “Vintovka here. Intruder is in sports arena. Children’s gymnastic class now in progress. I will attempt to lure intruder to the band shell, now vacant. Other units converge there.”

Vintovka charged, his easily camouflaged skin glowing international orange. He threw rocks at the intruder, and when one of them caught the man’s head, he opened fire. Vintovka retreated, throwing rocks, maneuvering to keep behind him an area clear of bystanders. Lead tore up the sod at his feet and chips of bark and wood flew behind him, but Vintovka kept himself in full view and retreated toward the band shell.

The children stopped and stared.

Mona and Patricia entered a wide rolling park that was bounded by a library, a band shell, two theaters, a dance hall, and a few bars and restaurants.

“There’s a sports area on the other side of the band shell,” Mona said. “Gymnastics, football fields, that sort of thing. Past that a lake’s going in, but it isn’t done yet.”

“And only two years ago, this was all a desert,” Patricia said.

“The worst hellhole in the world. But everything was here: the sunlight, the soil, the water.”

“The water?” Patricia asked.

“What do you think the white stuff on those mountains is? All Death Valley needed was a little reorganization, which Uncle Martin and Heinrich provided. In twenty years the whole world will be a park like this, only varied and different. When we get to Pinecroft, remind me to show you the plans they have for a town in the mountains east of here. Fantastic!”

“It’s all so perfect.” Patricia noticed that the grass they were walking on was like a putting green.

“It’s getting there. Nightlife is still sort of restricted. There’s no shortage of musicians, but the bars and restaurants are mostly serve yourself and clean up the mess,” Mona said, leading Patricia to an open-air cafe.

“There are two exceptions. One is the Red Gate Inn, which is run by a sort of social group. It’s kind of a fun place, most parts of it anyway,” Mona said.

“What’s wrong with the rest of it?”

“Nothing, really. It’s a matter of taste—the inn is divided up into about twenty different rooms, each with a different motif and each with its own form of entertainment. There’s always at least ten things going on. Like there’s one room for Irish folk songs—interspersed with bagpipes. And there’s a Whopper Room where telling the truth is considered bad form.”

“It sounds like fun,” Patricia said.

“On the other hand, Basin Street is men only. The only women there are waitresses and dancers. They don’t wear clothes. The Guardians of the Red Gate had the nerve to ask me to dance there,” Mona said.

“Did you?” Patricia giggled.

“Only once. Heinrich hit the roof.” Mona laughed. “The other exception is Mama Guilespe’s, over here.”

As they sat at a square table with a red-and-white checked tablecloth, Patricia suddenly realized how few straight lines she had seen all day.

Mama Guilespe bustled over wearing a peasant costume of Ciociaria, near Naples, a red-and-blue floor— length checked skirt, an embroidered purple apron, purple “leg of lamb” sleeves on a white blouse, a red-and-gold scarf, and heavy gold earrings. All of this was wrapped, despite the heat, around 250 pounds of fast—moving woman.

“Eh! Mona! I don’t see you for a week. Such a pretty friend you got!” Mama set down huge cups of coffee in front of them.

“Mama Guilespe, this is Patty Cambridge.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Guilespe.”

“So skinny! They don’t feed you enough?” She was already piling a vast mound of pastry in front of the women. “You got to be new here, and I was talking to such a nice boy only this morning—”

“She’s taken,” Mona got in edgewise.

“Such a pity…” Mama Guilespe was already on her way to the next group of customers.

“Whew!” Patricia said.

“You’ve got to love her,” Mona said. “I know it’s silly, but Mama Guilespe loves to cook. So she has her tree house make flour, sugar, and eggs, bakes these herself, and serves them out here.”

“They are good,” Patty said, munching a Danish, “and the place seems popular enough.”

“I think it really functions as a meeting place, Patty. Mama Guilespe is quite a matchmaker. Drop by here alone sometime if you ever get tired of Uncle Martin.”

“Impossible.”

“I feel the same way about Heinrich,” Mona said.

“You know, I haven’t seen him in five years,” Patty said.

“Well, have dinner with us tonight. But about Heinrich, well, expect some changes. He’s used his bioengineering on himself. He’s seven feet tall now, and gorgeous.”

“Just like Martin, huh?”

“Well, Heinrich has done a few changes to Uncle Martin. Those two are working on something secret. Probably a new auditorium, which we certainly need.”

“Dinner sounds great,” Patty said. “I’d love to come.”

“You’ll have to, unless you want to eat alone. Even Liebchen and Dirk are at Pinecroft,” Mona said.

“You know, we haven’t seen any of Heinrich’s things all day,” Patty said.

“You won’t, either. The TRACs are still kittens, and there are only twenty fauns right now, although they’re all due to have twins of their own in about a week. Fauns can’t take the heat out here anyway. The LDUs tend to stay out of sight. Most people don’t know that they exist until they need a doctor.”

“Doctors?” Patty said. “Is that what they are?”

“They’re just about anything that needs an organized group. Police, fire department, dog catchers, medical corps, construction gang. You name it, they do it. I know they’re hideous to look at, but they’re really fine people. You’ll get used to them.”

A series of sharp explosions sounded.

“What’s that?” asked Patty.

“Probably fire crackers from some damn chemistry class. I hope they don’t wake my babies,” Mona said.

“You have children?”

“Twins. Girls. Michelle and Carolyn.”

“I’d love to see them. But how do you get a babysitter when most things around here are free?”

“Heinrich made me raise the babysitters before he’d let me have the babies. We keep two fauns.”

“Fauns take care of children?”

“It’s what they were made for. You don’t really need a servant in a tree house, everything pretty much takes care of itself. But raising a child properly is a full-time occupation, and two gets impossible. Fauns are teachers, really—walking, talking, reading, writing, arithmetic. It’s really one of Heinrich’s plots. Fauns imprint language early, then have almost no language ability after that. It’ll be thirty years before every family in the world has a faun, but when that happens, every child will get a solid basic education and will speak English as a first language!. So poof! There goes the language barrier.”

“Every child?”

“So how many mothers are going to turn down a free, full-time babysitter?”

Vintovka was hit, and hit again. The pain was intense, but he didn’t think about the pain. Arteries constricted to cut blood loss, redundant systems came on line. Vintovka’s right hand was shot through, and hung by a shred. He continued to throw rocks with his left as he backed down the center aisle of the band shell. He took a sustained burst from the assault rifle and collapsed.

“Vintovka here. Mission complete. I have incurred extensive damage. Five hearts and four brains gone. I am now inoperative. I am sending in my bird for diversion.”