The Heretic

flapping of the dried-out skin of the victims as the desert wind blew through the declivity.

Yes, imagine trying to keep one eye closed while the other shrivels like a raisin in the sun, Raj said. Seems as if they couldn’t manage it, poor bastards, and died with both eyes open.

And then they rode up to Gaspar, who approached on foot and looked up at Abel mounted on the dont. “These are Schlusels,” he said. “I think they killed them all and either took the women and children, or slaughtered them, too, but without the honor of a lingering death.”

“And who were these an example for, do you imagine?”

“Around here are good lands. There are larger tribes in the Highsticks. Or there were. We are all Redlanders now,” Gaspar said with a dry laugh. “This is what Rostov intended to do to the Remlaps, too, had I not convinced him that pursuing us into the Voidlands, that place you came across us, would take too much of his precious time and kill off too many of his precious donts.”

“Well, it seems this is the fate you dodged,” Abel replied, gesturing toward the staked-out tribesmen.

“Indeed,” Gaspar said. “Although there was the slower contingent trailing behind our main group, some older people and very young children. The Blaskoye got those.” Gaspar poked a pricklebrush wand into the arm of one of the corpses. It had practically turned to leather, and the wand did not puncture it, but merely left an indentation. “We didn’t expect him to be so fast, you see. He has bred his stock with donts he’s stolen from the Valley. Racing donts, I wouldn’t doubt.”

“Taken, or just as likely traded for,” Abel replied. “In any case, this Rostov seems to be a very organized and dedicated man.”

“He is a thrice-cursed handful of shit, is what he is,” Gaspar said. “It is my belief that the donts run fast because they want to shake him and his kind off themselves and get clean. But they never can, and so they keep running when other animals might tire.”

Abel nodded and left the Remlap chief to his thoughts. He hobbled his dont and set it to forage, and then walked deeper into the mass graveyard. The other squads would arrive and ride through soon, but for now it was just himself and the advance party. He brought his carbine along on the general principle that it did not pay in the Redlands to be more than a pace or two from your weapon at any given time.

Gradually, the shock at the sight of the dead left him, and he examined more closely the object upon which they’d met their deaths. He tried to imagine these masses of what looked like pockmarked stone functioning as a water ram or a gate latch or-

Observe:

The Redlands at about eye-height for a man, but moving through the landscape quickly, as a hunting flitter on a low-gliding path might. Moving over hills, winding through a valley. Enclosed, surrounded by more glass than he’d seen probably in his entire life.

Windows on all sides. A solid roof above to keep out the unremitting sun.

No wind from the forward movement.

So this truly is a mere simulation.

Yes, but a complete one. The front windscreen blocked the wind. Sitting in a groundcar was as wind-calm as sitting in a room of stone.

So they-

Drove in comfort. There was also climate control within, of course.

Abel gave himself over to the experience. His hands on the steering mechanism, a wheel of some sort. Set an elb in front of him and just below sightline: a smooth black tablet or stone with lights and strange hieroglyphics upon it, not of the Land.

Dashboard, vehicle status readouts such as speed, amount of charge in the electrostatic capacitors, antigrav levitation height from ground. I am presenting to you a sports modification of the Maikler 3F Comet, which is a close approximation of what would have been locally configured models.

I want to see this thing! Can you take me outside?

Abel was flying alongside the onrushing groundcar. Its name was not quite accurate, for it hovered at least three elbs off the surface of the ground using some sort of magic.

Antigrav static generators.

It was a sleek creature, made for speed. It was a dark red in color and on the end-

Even in the vision, Abel felt startlement.

Silver. Silver exactly like the Blaskoye’s knife. What had Center called it?

Chrome. These are the bumpers of the groundcar. They are meant to ward off collision damage, but also serve the purpose of ostentatious display.

Rostov’s knife is a car bumper made into a blade?

That is an accurate assessment. Analysis indicates he acquired it from this former parking lot, in fact.

Enough. Take me back inside. I want to drive.

He was back behind the wheel.

How fast?

I will translate the velocity and acceleration readouts-

Abel could suddenly read them: twenty-one leagues per hour.

The control at your right foot affects acceleration.

He pressed down, and the speed increased.

Careful.

The landscape flashed by at eye level. This was better than the ride through the sky he’d taken in his youth. So low to the ground, the speed was exhilarating.

This isn’t real. I want to go even faster.

Your simulation is comprehensive. You can and will crash.

All right, I’ll slow down. Where am I?

You’ve driven about ten leagues from the site.

In how long?

The clock time on this internal simulation is ten point three seven minutes. Of course, barely an eyeblink has passed externally.

I could circle the Redlands in a day, he thought in amazement.

People frequently did. It was considered a fine holiday outing. There were waypoints with vistas or with eating and drinking establishments. There were inns where visitors could stay for an evening before returning to the Valley. This was the parking lot of such an establishment. The edifice itself is under a nearby sand drift. And, as I mentioned, some of the more affluent built houses in the Redlands for recreational use.

Like a garden plot or a steam house.

Precisely.

But a hundred leagues away.

More, if they wished to fly. There are self-contained dwellings-vacation homes-scattered all over the planet. Most were merely a patch of remains on the landscape at the time I completed my orbital survey. Duisberg has a harsh environment by human standards. It has a comparatively large iron-nickel core that is highly magnetized and extremely active plate tectonics. This is another reason that Zentrum’s plans are erroneous. He is incapable of integrating the entire range of facts simply because he is not a fast enough, big enough computer.

And you are?

Yes. I am a generation past Zentrum, and my capacity is based on quantum gravitational physics. His is a spin-physics-based mind. Highly serviceable for the tasks he was intended for: planetary defense, traffic direction, weather calculations, and such. But not amenable to the Seldonian calculus and its subsequent application in psychodynamic topography. But this is academic.

Abel had hardly been listening, but was coursing down a hillside at the fastest speed he felt he could safely muster, flying over shrubs and pricklebushes, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake, tearing forward, hugging the landscape-and completely exhilarated.

We’ll get this back? Driving? When the Republic shows up?