Tammy flinched, then realized he wasn't mocking her "Okay. If you stay behind, I will." She put her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips. "See you later, Wil Brierson."
A few seconds later, Tammy was disappearing over the trees.
The one who still lives, the one who has not said goodbye? He thought not, but he had a hundred years to decide for sure.
Wil walked along the perimeter of the mist, intrigued by the way heat and cool battled at the edge of the snow. He circled the dorm and found himself staring at the entrance. They were still at it in there. He grinned to himself and started back. What the hell.
He was only partway to the entrance when the doors opened. Only one person stepped out. It was Yel‚n. She surveyed him without surprise. "Hah. I wondered how long you'd stay out here." As she came toward him, he looked for signs of anger in her pale Slavic face. She caught his eye and smiled lopsidedly. "Don't worry. They didn't kick me out. And I'm not leaving in a huff. It's just that all the dickering is a little dull; they've practically got a commodity exchange going in there, splitting up all the stuff that survived our fighting.... Do you have a minute, Wil?"
He nodded and followed her out of the chill, back the way lie had come. "Have you thought: No matter how well things go, we'll still need police services? People really respect you. That's ninety percent of what made companies like Michigan State Police and Al's Protection Rackets successful."
Brierson shook his head. "It sounds like the game we were playing before. A lot of the ungovs might want to hire me, but without threats from you, I can't imagine the governments tolerating the competition."
"Hey, I'm not looking for a cat's-paw. The fact is, Fraley and
Dasgupta are in there right now, colluding on a common offer for your services."
Wil felt his jaw sag. Fraley? After all the years of hatred... "Steve would rather die than disgovern."
"A lot of his people did die," she said quietly. "A lot of the rest aren't taking orders anymore. Even Fraley has changed a little. Maybe it's fear, maybe it's guilt. It really shook him to see how easily one high-tech swindled him and perverted the Republic--even worse, to learn that Chanson did it just to have a thirty-second diversion available when he grabbed for our systems."
Yel‚n laughed. "My advice is to take the job while they still think it's tough. After a couple of years, there'll be competition; I bet you won't be able to make a living off your fees."
"Hmm. You think things are going to be that tame?"
"I really do, Wil. The high-tech monsters are dead. The governments may linger on, but in name only. We lost a lot in the war-parts of our technology may fall to a nineteenth-century level-but with Gerrault's zygotes and med equipment, we're better off than before. The problem with the women has disappeared. They can have the kids they want, but they won't have to be nonstop baby factories. You should have seen the meeting. There are lots of serious couples now. Gail and Dilip asked me to marry them! `For old times' sake.' They said I had been like the captain of a ship to them. What crazy, crazy people." She shook her head, but her smile was very proud. These might be the first low-techs to show gratitude for what she and Marta had done. "I'll tell you how confident I am: I'm not forcing anyone to stay in this era. If they have a bobbler, they can take off. I don't think anyone will. It's a bit too obvious that if we can't make it now, we never will."
"Monica might."
"That's different. But don't be too sure even with her; she's been lying to herself for a long time. I'm going to ask her t, stay." Yel‚n's smile was gentle; two weeks ago she would have -. been scornful. With Gerrault and Chanson gone, a great weight had been lifted from her soul, and Wil could see what --beyond competence and loyalty-Marta had loved in her
Yel‚n looked at her feet. "There's another reason I ducked , out of the meeting early. I wanted to apologize. After I 7
Marta's diary, I felt like killing you. But I knew I needed you -Marta didn't have to tell me that. And the more I depended on you, the more you saw things I had not... the more I hated you.
"Now I know the truth. I'm ashamed. After working with you, I should have seen through Marta's trick myself." Abruptly she stuck out her hand. Brierson grasped it, and they shook. "Thanks, Wil."
The one who still lives, the one who has not said goodbye?
No. But a friend for the years to come.
Behind her, a flier descended. "Time for me to get back to the house." She jerked a thumb at Castle Korolev.
"One last thing," she said. "If things are as slow as I think, you might want to diversify.... Give Della a hand."
"Della's back? H-how long? I mean-"
"She's been in solar space about a thousand years; we were waiting to find the best time to stop. The chase took one hundred thousand years. I don't know how much lifetime she spent." She didn't seem much concerned about the last issue. "You want to talk to her? I think you could do each other good."
"Where-"
"She was with me, at the meeting. But you don't have to go inside. You've been set up, Wil. Each of us-Tammy, me, Della-wanted to talk to you alone. Say the word, and she'll be out here."
"Okay. Yes!"
Yel‚n laughed. He was scarcely aware of her walking to the flier. He started back to the dorm. Della had made it. However many years she had lived in the dark, she had not died there. And even if she was the creature from before, even if she was like Juan Chanson at his ending, Wil could still try to help. He couldn't take his eyes off the doorway.
The doors opened. She was wearing a jumpsuit, midnight black, the same color as her short-cut hair. Her face was expressionless as she came down the steps and walked toward him. Then she smiled. "Hi, Wil. I'm back... to stay."
The one who still lives, the one who has not said goodbye.
AFTERWORD
The author's afterword: that's where he explains what he was trying to say with the previous hundred thousand words, right? Well, I'll try to avoid that. Basically, I have an apology and a prediction.
The apology is for the unrealistically slow rate of technological growth predicted. Part of that is reasonable, I suppose. A general war, like the one I put in 1997, can be used to postpone progress anywhere from ten years to forever. But what about after the recovery? I show artificial intelligence and intelligence amplification proceeding at what I suspect is a snail's pace. Sorry. I needed civilization to last long enough to hang a plot on it.
And of course it seems very unlikely that the Singularity would be a clean vanishing of the human race. (On the other hand, such a vanishing is the timelike analog of the silence we find all across the sky.)
From now to 2000 (and then 2001), the Jason Mudges will be coming out of the woodwork, their predictions steadily more clamorous. It's an ironic accident of the calendar that all this religious interest in transcendental events should be mixed with the objective evidence that we're falling into a technological singularity. So, the prediction: If we don't have that general war, then it's you, not Della and Wil, who will understand the Singularity in the only possible way-by living through it.
San Diego
1983-1985