Vernor Vinge - Across Realtime 3 - Marooned in Realtime

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2024-11-29 0 0 674.46KB 349 页 5.9玖币

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Dougal Dixon, After Man, St. Martin's Press, New York, 1981.

Christopher Scotese and Alfred Ziegler, as described in "The Shape of

Tomorrow," by Dennis Overbye, Discover. November, 1982, pp. 20-25.

ONE

On the day of the big rescue, Wil Brierson took a walk on the beach.

Surely this was one afternoon when it would be totally empty.

The sky was clear, but the usual sea mist kept visibility to a few kilome-

ters. The beach, the low dunes, the sea-all were closed in by faint haze that

seemed centered on his viewpoint. Wil moped along just beyond the

waves, where the water soaked the sand flat and cool. His ninety-kilo tread

left perfect barefoot images trailing behind. Wil ignored the sea birds that

skirled about. He walked head down, watching the water ooze up around

his toes at every step. A humid breeze carried the smell of seaweed, sharp

and pleasant. Every half minute the waves peaked and clear sea water

flooded around his ankles. Except during storms, this was all the "surf" one

ever saw oil the Inland Sea. Walking like this, he could almost imagine that

he was back by Lake Michigan, so long ago. Every summer, he and Vir-

ginia had camped on the lakeshore. Almost, he could imagine that he was

returning from a noontime stroll on sonic very muggy Michigan day, and

must have noticed him by now. In past weeks, they would have disap-

peared into the sea at the first sight of human or machine. Now they stayed

ashore. As he approached, the younger ones waddled toward him. Wil

went to one knee and they crowded round, their webbed fingers searching

curiously at his pockets. One removed a data card. Wil grinned, tugged the

card from the monkey's grasp. "Aha! A pickpocket. You're under arrest!"

"Forever the policeman, eh, Inspector?" The voice was feminine, the

tone light. It came from somewhere over his head. Wil leaned back. A re-

mote-controlled flier hung just a few meters above him.

He grinned. "Just keeping in practice. Is that you, Marta? 1 thought you

were preparing for this evening's `festivities.' "

"I am. And part of the preparation is to get foolish people off the beach.

The fireworks won't wait till night."

"What?"

"That Steve Fraley-he's making a big scene, trying to argue Yelén into

postponing the rescue. She's decided to do it a little early, just to let Steve

know who's boss." Marta laughed. Wil couldn't tell if her amusement was

directed at Yelén Korolev's irritation or at Fraley. "So please to move your

tail, sir. I have some other people to harass yet. I expect you back in town

before this flier."

"Yes, ma'am!" Wil gave a mock salute and turned to jog back the way

wondered briefly how far Marta would have to chase them to get them

into a safe area. He knew she was equal parts soft-heartedness and

practicality. She'd never scare the animals away from the beach unless

there was some chance they could make it to safe haven. Wil smiled to

himself. He wouldn't be surprised if Marta had chosen the season and the

day of the blow-off to minimize deaths to wildlife.

Three minutes later, Brierson was near the top of the rickety stairs that

led to the monorail. He looked down and saw that lie hadn't been the only

person on the beach. Someone was strolling toward the base of the stair-

way. Over half a million centuries, the Korolevs had rescued or recruited

quite a collection of weirds, but at least they all looked fairly normal. This

. person . . . was different. The stranger carried a variable parasol, and

was naked except for a loincloth and shoulder purse. His skin was pale,

pasty. As he started up the stairs, the parasol tilted back to reveal a hair-

less, egglike head. And Wil saw that the stranger might just as well be a

she (or an it). The creature was short and slender, its movements delicate.

There were faint swellings around its nipples.

Brierson waved hesitantly; it was good policy to meet all the new neigh-

inhabitants. Wil's Indian friends wanted to call it Newest Delhi. The gov-

ernment (in irrevocable exile) of New Mexico wanted to call it New Albu-

querque. Optimists liked Second Chance, pessimists Last Chance. For

megalomaniacs it was the Great Urb.

Whatever its name, the town nestled in the foothills of the Indonesian

Alps, high enough so that equatorial heat and humidity was moderated to

an almost uniform pleasantness. Here the Korolevs and their friends had

finally assembled the rest

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摘要：

DougalDixon,AfterMan,St.Martin'sPress,NewYork,1981.ChristopherScoteseandAlfredZiegler,asdescribedin"TheShapeofTomorrow,"byDennisOverbye,Discover.November,1982,pp.20-25.ONEOnthedayofthebigrescue,WilBriersontookawalkonthebeach.Surelythiswasoneafternoonwhenitwouldbetotallyempty.Theskywasclear,buttheusu...

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