The Long War

said as she walked up, theatrically clamping her hands over her ears. ‘Noise, everywhere you go. We ought to call ourselves Homo clamorans . Noisemaking Man.’
    Helen just looked at her, unsmiling. ‘Travelling with us, are you? The great wanderer hitching a ride on a commercial twain?’
    ‘Well, we’re all going the same way. Why not get reacquainted? We can swap recipes for ice cream.’
    Joshua grabbed his wife’s arm in case she felt like throwing a punch. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
    As he watched this byplay Thomas’s grin was becoming a little more fixed. ‘Ri-ight. I’m sensing a little tension here.’
    Bill murmured, ‘It’s complicated. Don’t ask.’
    Sally snapped, ‘Who’s this character?’
    ‘He’s called Thomas Kyangu,’ Joshua said. ‘An old friend of mine.’
    ‘You don’t know me, Ms. Linsay, but I know of you, through Joshua.’
    ‘Oh, God, a fan-boy.’
    Helen stepped forward. ‘And we still haven’t been properly introduced, Mr. Kyangu. My name’s Helen Valienté, née Green—’
    ‘The wife. Of course.’ Thomas shook her hand.
    ‘“The wife”?’ Sally laughed.
    ‘You have all your bags? I have a buggy just over there. Joshua sent a message ahead; I booked you all a hotel in Downtown Four . . .’ As they walked over the apron, through a dispersing crowd of passengers, Thomas said, ‘You can’t blame a Valhallan for following Joshua’s exploits, Ms. Linsay.’
    ‘He’s a married man,’ Helen said sternly. ‘There’ll be no more “exploits” if I have anything to do with it.’
    ‘Yes, but he did discover this Valhallan Belt itself, during The Journey. A band of North Americas with generous inland oceans, ripe for colonization.’
    ‘“Discover”?’ Sally snapped back. ‘ I was there already, as I recall.’
    They reached Thomas’s buggy, a low, open electric-engine vehicle with eight plastic seats. ‘Please, jump in . . .’ The cart pulled away, heading south.
    ‘Thomas and I are old buddies,’ Joshua said to Sally, by way of explanation, or peacekeeping.
    ‘You mean, he’s a long-term stalker,’ Sally said.
    ‘We met up out in the High Meggers, years ago . . . We were both on sabbatical, though Thomas calls it going walkabout. We’re like minds, kind of. Knowing he was here in Valhalla I asked him to help us out.’
    Helen said, ‘Well, thank you, Mr. Kyangu. But what do you do the rest of the time?’
    ‘Look at him,’ Sally said. ‘Can’t you tell? Look at the way he’s dressed. He’s a comber. A professional drifter.’
    ‘More or less,’ Thomas called over his shoulder as he drove. ‘I grew up in Australia, and I’ve always been fascinated by combers. Many of my family’s people went off to become combers themselves, you know, in stepwise versions of Oz. And I’m intrigued by natural steppers – like you, like Joshua, the whole phenomenon. Though I’m not one myself. I’m also interested in the whole question of how human civilization is going to be shaped by the Long Earth. I mean, it’s still only a single generation since Step Day; we’re only at the beginning. I had a hand in the concept design of Valhalla, of the city itself.’
    Sally snorted. ‘“Concept design!”’
    Thomas was unperturbed. ‘The purest way of life in the Long Earth is the comber – the solitary individual, or maybe a family, a small cohesive group, just wandering, picking the lowest-hanging fruit. The Long Earth is so rich there’s no need to do anything else. But the point of Valhalla is that it’s a city, a genuine city with all the essential attributes of a Datum community, but sustained by combers . . .’
    They were entering a more built-up area now, Joshua saw. He glimpsed a sign: DOWNTOWN FOUR . The buildings, of brick, concrete or timber, were low, squat, massively constructed, and set out in sprawling, empty plots: typical colony-world architecture. If this was a downtown it was definitely a High-Meggers downtown, full of room, with more of the feel of a suburban mall back on the Datum. There were few vehicles on the wide roads, most of them horse-drawn, and few pedestrians to be seen, with most of them wearing Steppers. This wasn’t a place you stayed put in for long.
    But it was evidently a city in political ferment. Some of those big blank walls were adorned with posters and graffiti:
    SUPPORT THE FOOTPRINT CONGRESS
    NO TO DATUM TAXES!
    And:
    DOWN WITH COWLEY THE GENOCIDE
    Thomas was still talking