Visions of Liberty

“But they weren’t murderers.”

“Cain was, and God made him wander the Earth forever.” Arina smiled. “And Cain was the father of us all.”

“True enough. That seed of evil might be in all of us, but perhaps your situation here doesn’t nurture it. The lack of want might not be the lack of temptation, but it does seem to do away with much of it.” Flynn drew Arina into a hug. “God be with you, my dear. Don’t be working too hard.”

Arina pulled back and smiled. “Thank you, Dennis. I am tired, but I needed this. I’ll be more than ready to hang up the harness when this business is done, but for the moment it’s good to remember who I was before…”

“I know, Rina. It’s good to have you back.” He shook hands with the Zsytzii. “Now, Captain Lavaryn, I expect you to be taking good care of her.” “We treasure our mentor.” The Zsytzii smiled as two of his juniors hugged Arina’s legs. “We have learned much, and will learn more, much more.”

“Very good, the both of you. All luck and peace.” Flynn plucked a small bag from one of the juniors. “Now, the lot of you, get back to work. I’ll expect to hear how it turned out.”

“You will, Dennis, you will.” Arina waved to him, then retreated with the Zsytzii brood out of the building.

Father Flynn shouldered his bag and entered the departure lounge. He set his bag down on a bench, sparing only a brief nod in the direction of an amorous couple over in the corner. Before he could seat himself, however, a woman approached him, slowly drawing down the hood of her cloak.

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.