Leo Frankowski

war.”
    “Good idea,
Uncle Martin. But this war could last fifteen years.”
    “So long?”
    “Guerrilla wars
are like that.”
    “But why does
it have to be a guerrilla war, Heiny? They’ve got to be the worst kind. How about
the socialist and communist countries? They’re growing my trees. Why can’t we just
move there? If we go to China and they attack us, they’re attacking China, so
we have an ally!”
    “The Eastern
Bloc is growing trees because it solves some of their short-term problems. They
haven’t yet realized that when the means of production and distribution are in each
man’s own home, he doesn’t need a central government any more. Eventually the
commissars
are going to realize that they are being put out of work. People who run
governments like running governments. We don’t have any allies, Uncle
Martin.”
    “Yah. The
big-shot problem. But still, there’s got to be a better way. So what are our chances of
winning this war, anyhow?”
    “Quite good, my
lord,” the CCU said. “I estimate a point two two probability of
success.”
    “That’s
good?”
    “It is, my lord,
compared to the probability that civilization will cease to exist within the
next century if we do not fight this war.”
    “You figured out
how many people are going to die in this thing?”
    The CCU said,
“Best estimates are around two hundred million—two percent of the world’s
population, my lord—assuming that we make preserving human life a major strategic
objective.”
    “So many! You
say that so easy, sitting here,” Guibedo said.
    “My lord, I am
sentient. I do not want to die. But I am immobile, in the center of our opponent’s
major target
area. In none of the scenarios that we have examined do I have any chance
of survival. The probability that I will be dead within two years is one.”
    “Sorry,
fella,” Guibedo said. “Don’t tell me what my own chances
are.”
    “My lord,
throughout history, every major social, political, or religious upheaval has caused the
death of from three to five percent of the population involved. The industrial revolution
cost four point two percent of England’s population through starvation and
disease. The Russian Revolution cost three point seven percent; the French
Revolution, three point six percent; the American Revolution, one point one percent
plus an equivalent two point three percent foreign troops. Even the ‘peace— fill’ division of
India and Pakistan starved out or killed three point five percent of the population.
    “The two percent
estimate I gave you for the upcoming revolution was based on the assumption of
the loss of one billion LDUs and similar beings. This time, perhaps we can
do some of the dying for you.”
    Heinrich Copernick
and Martin Guibedo were silent for a long while.
     
    Patricia and Mona
walked through a series of meadows that dotted the sides of a clear brook, passing over a dozen small
bridges. As they did so, the path wound and twisted past and over trout ponds,
grottoes, and
fountains; it was the antithesis of a superhighway, designed not to be
efficient but to make each step of a journey pleasant and interesting.
    The path eventually
opened onto a long curving meadow. On both sides were tree houses fronted with shops. The owners
evidently lived behind their shops, for the stores were small and the houses were
large.
    “We call this
Craftsman Way,” Mona explained. “It wasn’t really planned this way, but
most people have tended to move near others with similar interests.”
    “Hey, Mona! You need anything
today?” Jimmy shouted from the
open-air metal shop in front of his tree-house. He was wearing a leopard-skin loincloth.
    “I don’t, but
Patty probably does!”
    “I do?”
    “Sure. Uncle
Martin’s tableware is a disgrace, and Jimmy is the best silversmith in the
valley.” Mona herded Patty over to the display case.
    Patty walked from
display to display closely examining the collection of jewelry, silverware,
and serving pieces. Everything was individually crafted, with a rare combination of art
and utility. “I haven’t seen anything this good since I left Pratt!”
    “Your friend’s
taste is impeccable, Mona.” Jimmy winked and bowed grandly to Patty.
“James Sauton, Silversmith, at your service.”
    “This is Patty
Cambridge, Jimmy,” Mona said. “She’s looking for some things to go in
Oakwood.”
    “Oakwood? The professor’s
house?” Jimmy said. “Hey, Patty,
you don’t want none