Ghosts of Columbia (45 page)

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Authors: L.E. Modesitt Jr.

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Alternate History, #United States, #Literature & Fiction

BOOK: Ghosts of Columbia
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O
n Thursday morning I was looking at the latest pile of ungraded tests on my desk—these from the Environmental Politics 2A class. I’d persuaded Regner Grimaldi to give it for me while we’d been in Asten. That meant I’d have to return the favor at some point, but I had to admit my schedule was lighter than his. That was always the case with younger faculty. I could afford to tell our honored chair what he could do with an ill-considered idea. Poor Regner couldn’t. Nor had Llysette much leverage, and that was another reason why she couldn’t afford not to perform in Deseret … or in the Federal District—especially when performing might lead to her obtaining such leverage.
I put those thoughts aside, picked up the first test, and began to read: “… Speaker Aspinwaald liked mines and lumbermen so he got the excise taxes passed to help them… .” I winced at the spelling of the former Speaker’s name and the answer, which quickly got worse. I had said that Speaker Aspinall never met a tree or a mine he didn’t like, but he pushed through the excise taxes
despite
that. Somehow, about a third of the students never heard the whole story. I picked up the next test, wondering if they had the same problem with whatever else they read, like novels, but before I could concentrate, the wireset chimed.
“It’s Watch Chief Waetjen for you, Doktor,” said Gilda in the formal tone that indicated David was standing by her elbow.
“Thank you.” I waited, then answered, “Yes, Chief?”
“Professor Eschbach, was anything missing?” asked Waetjen.
“Llysette and I have looked, Chief, but neither of us has discovered anything that was missing.” I juggled the handset to the other ear and restacked the tests I’d already graded. “There was even a twenty-dollar bill on the corner of the desk—I guess I’d left it half tucked under some papers and the thief fumbled through the papers and uncovered it but left it.”
“No thief I ever heard of.”
“It could be that was when your officers arrived,” I pointed out. “You said that he left in a hurry.”
“I have my doubts, Herr Doktor Professor.”
“Doubts or not, Chief, we haven’t found anything missing yet, and we’ve looked.” Like the chief, I wasn’t exactly happy about the missing burglar or what he’d been rummaging through the house to find. I was afraid I knew—he wanted the information and technologies on de-ghosting—and that meant very big problems, especially with our upcoming trip to the Federal District.
“Do you have any idea what he sought?” pressed the chief.
I tried not to pause in answering. “It could have been a number of things, Chief, but he didn’t leave any clues.”
“You didn’t leave your difference engine on while you were gone, did you?”
“No. He must have turned it on, but none of the files were altered, and it didn’t look like he’d copied anything. I can’t imagine what he’d want with all those academic records.”
“Do you keep your financial records there?” pressed the chief.
“No—nothing like that. I don’t need anything elaborate. I get a salary and some consulting income and a modest pension. We’re comfortable, but hardly wealthy.”
“Let me know if you happen to discover anything else.”
I promised that I would, which was a safe promise, because I doubted that I’d find out anything more.
Then it was a dash down the stairs and out to Natural Resources 1 A, the previously graded quizzes under my arm.
Gertrude and Hector were turning the flower beds in front of Smythe, spreading bark mulch along the base of the hedges by the walk. The two zombies were turned the other way, and I didn’t say anything.
The classroom wasn’t too hot, probably because the day was gray and cool, not cold … not yet, despite the dark clouds looming to the northeast.
Unfortunately, Mister Ferris was waiting. “Professor Eschbach, you said that we should know all of the material on the water cycle on the test. Does that include the stuff on aquifer and recharge zones? And what about radionuclides in water?”
“All of it.” I forced a smile as I continued handing out the quizzes and ignoring the groans.
“Oh… .”
“It won’t all be on the test, Mister Ferris, as I told you the last time. I’m just not telling you what will be.” After shuffling away the three quizzes belonging to absentees, I looked at the black-haired sleeping student in the last row. “Miss Gemert!”
“Sir?”
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell the class about upland wetlands.”
“Upland wetlands?”
I nodded pleasantly.
“Ah … sir … I’m on the soccer team … and we had an away game yesterday …”
“Those caravan rides are a good time to read, Miss Gemert. And Coach Haarken isn’t the one who takes your tests.” I kept a smile on my face. “Mister Andervaal?”
“Uh … are those the ones … the intermittent wetlands … with maples and stuff like that?”
“That’s a start. What else can you tell us?”
Young Andervaal glanced desperately around, but no one would meet his eyes. It was going to be one of those classes. I repressed a sigh.
Getting an answer to each discussion question took about three students, and I was sweating under my cravat by the time the bell chimed.
Llysette had a faculty meeting at noon so she wouldn’t get lunch, and I wouldn’t get to see her. I picked up a nearly inedible sandwich from the student center and, after gulping it down, headed out for the post centre, passing Hector on the green.
The zombie nodded without pausing from his raking, and I returned the gesture.
Another unmarked manila envelope rested in our postbox, and it went into my inside jacket pocket. While I didn’t want to open it—more trouble—I did, but only after I got back to the office and closed my door.
Again, only clippings were in the envelope, and there were two.
GREAT SALT LAKE CITY, DESERET (RPI). An unannounced series of police raids in the warehouse district near the Deseret and Western rail yards early this morning resulted in no arrests but the confiscation of “material of a pornographic and objectionable nature,” according to police spokesman Jared Bishopp.
Calls to several foreign legations alleged that the raids were designed to harass businesses whose owners had expressed reservations about recent “revelations” made by President Wilford W. Taylor before the Council of Twelve. Among those revelations were language suggesting that multiple conjugal relationships were a matter of individual choice, not an absolute tenet of the first prophet, for those able to support additional familial units.
Of greater concern was the “clarification” referring to the trade language in the
Doctrine and Covenants
laid out by first president Taylor more than a century earlier. Taylor had revealed that “the people of God should trade only with those who neither threaten nor revile them, who accept the kingdom of Zion, and not with Gentiles who would seek to undo our kingdom… .” Although this trade proscription has often been honored in the breach for nearly half a century, the clarification language was seen by some observers as easing the way to permit significant synthetic diesel and kerosene exports to Columbia. New France has never been classified as a “Gentile” or an unfriendly nation, possibly because it supported Deseret against Columbia in the Utah War and again in the Caribbean Wars … and because it harbors the Colonia Juarez and Dublan enclaves… .
Bishopp denied that the raids were of a political nature.
HEBER CITY, DESERET (DNS). “The ideals of the first Prophet must not fall to the Lamanites of the spirit,” cautioned First Counselor Cannon in opening the annual Latter-Day Saints conference. “Nor must we cease in bringing light to a darkened continent or in our efforts to return those of Laman into the fold of God. Our kingdom is of God, and it shall stand forever.” Cannon went on to praise the role of the arts in opening man to understanding the need for the coming of Zion to the entire world… .
Cannon’s language turned more practical in his assessment of the state of Deseret. “Energy and technology are the keys to the next century, and the wise use of water facilitates both. We will continue with the headwaters project.” The First Speaker went on to pledge additional funding for the advanced natural gas liquification plants, for water reuse technology, and for additional support of the cotton mission initiatives.
I folded the clippings back into the envelope and slipped them into my case. Great—Deseret was building up its liquid hydrocarbon production industry, which certainly needed more water, I suspected, and trying to ease into more normal relations with Columbia despite nearly a century of unease, a century preceded by thirty years of near-war and border skirmishes where Deseret’s independence had only been established through the willingness of New France to provide capital and a trade conduit for technology.
That didn’t bother me so much as the fact that someone wanted me to know it—and I still didn’t know if that someone was the same someone who’d sent me the earlier clips about Llysette and the arts in Deseret. It had the marks of the Spazi, but the lack of cover address continued to worry at me.
I took a deep breath and sat down at my desk, where, in the hour and a half
between returning to my office and Environmental Politics 2 B at two o’clock, I would try to put a dent in the tests from Environmental Politics 2A.
I hadn’t even started grading the short quizzes that I’d given my honors class in environmental studies. Why did I give so many tests? Because too many of the dunderheads wouldn’t study the material unless I did. The attitude seemed to be: “If I’m not going to be tested, I won’t learn it.”
What none of them seemed to understand was that—at least in my life—the world wasn’t too forgiving about what you didn’t know. You didn’t get second chances—like emergency procedures when flying. If I hadn’t known them when I’d been in involved in the Panama Standoff, I’d have been somewhere at the bottom of Mosquito Gulf.
Philosophizing didn’t grade tests, and I began to read and to apply the red ink. While some of the students actually made sense, a lot more merely tried to parrot what I’d said, whether it was in context or not.
I looked at the next paper: “Speaker Colmer followed the strong environmental example set by Speaker Aspinall… .” Environmental example? Hardly! And I’d told them that, but some hadn’t gotten the message. The bottom line was that Columbia was starved for liquid hydrocarbons and the strong Speakers—Roosevelt, Messler, Aspinall, and Colmer, particularly—had recognized that fact and eased through taxes and conservation measures that had immense environmental benefits, but not for primarily environmental reasons. The combination of the high turbojet fuel tax and the astronomical landing fees was really what kept the more environmentally sound and energy-efficient dirigibles and the trains competitive. A lot more people would have been taking turbos and old-style aircraft if it weren’t for the fact that those fares were nearly ten times as much.
Except for the Louisiana fields, and Hugoton Fields in Kansas and the Cherokee lands bordering Tejas, most of the big North American oil fields lay in either Deseret or New France. Had the Saint wars happened a generation later, I suspected, Deseret would have been a part of Columbia no matter what the cost in lives, but the disasters in the Mexican War, followed by the slavery issue and the
Sally Wright
incident, followed in turn by the first Caribbean War, where the Austro-Hungarians had backed both New France and Deseret, had made a full-scale military effort against Deseret highly unpopular … and most impractical. The second and almost abortive 1901 Caribbean War had further reinforced the Deseret-New France ties.
Now … with Deseret’s chemical and synthfuels industries, and continued militarization, not to mention the so-called Joseph Smith brigades, Columbian military action against Deseret would have been an invitation for deGaulle to strike against the comparatively vulnerable Kansas, Louisiana, and mid-California oil fields, and Columbia couldn’t afford that at all, not when Indonesian oil was held by the Rising Sun and the Arabian peninsula by the Austro-Hungarians. There was talk
of development in Russia, but the Romanovs didn’t have the capital, and Russia was so strife-torn and chaotic outside of Saint Petersburg and Moskva that none of the international bankers would consider it, even with what Columbia and the Brits would have paid for the oil.
Instead, it looked like both President Armstrong and Speaker Hartpence would have to court Deseret for liquid hydrocarbons. Better Deseret than New France, I supposed.
More than a third of the honors class quizzes missed those points.
Honors class?
I wondered as I set the few remaining quizzes aside and headed for Environmental Politics 2 B.
They were presenting summaries of their projects, and that meant I just listened and took notes—thankfully.
I got back to the department offices at three-forty-five. Gilda waved before I got to the stairs. “Herr Leveraal called. The number is in your box.”
“Thank you.”
Once in my office, I closed the door and wired Bruce.

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