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The warm night seemed full of sound and light. Todo music throbbed from the
small shops crowding the wide alloy street that mirrored the bodies of those
who walked on it, the crystal windows and bright holograph displays that
soared soundlessly above the walkways. Steward wore a charcoal-colored jacket
over a black T-shirt that featured a liquid-crystal display on the
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Williams, Walter Jon - Voice of the Whirlwind front, one that ran the text of
Jack Totem s poem 551 in three-
inch rainbow letters across Steward s chest...
Our tongues are electrons, tasting the silicon heart of America.
Magic. An incantation. Invoking the local demons, calling them to Steward s
aid.
He was spiraling inward to the meet, trying to get a feel for this town, for
the connections that existed here and for the rhythm of.
its life. He couldn t match any of the locals for knowledge, but maybe he
could taste a little of this city s silicon heart, enough to give him a
purchase on the way things worked here. He walked on tennis shoes with red
balls on the sides, shoes he d been unable to resist buying in his last hour
in Arizona. A
reminder of where he d been, why he was here.
He felt the weight of the package in his pocket and wondered whether or not to
carry it to the meet. Griffith said it was safe.
Not to appear trusting might cost Griffith something with the people he worked
with.
He moved down the bright reflective street, weighing things in his mind.
Griffith was lying on his bed. Smoking, staring at the ceiling.
Breathing easier now. The trembling fit had passed. A message came through.
From Colonel de Prey. He ordered Singh into an alliance with Far Ranger and
Gorky against Magnus and
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Williams, Walter Jon - Voice of the Whirlwind
OutVentures. Ordered us to take the offensive. They didn t even know, back
home, that Gorky had never landed.
We were living behind biologic seals, down in the tunnels. The food vats had
been poisoned. Whenever we went out, we had to wear our environment suits,
live in them every minute. People were getting sick, wasting away. There were
only a thousand of the grunts left, and they d lost all their heavy
equipment... They were just guerrillas now, like the Icehawks, only not as
well trained. Far Ranger was worse off than we were. Singh decided to obey his
instructions. You the Captain you argued against it. Told him that Coherent
Light was months out of touch, couldn t possibly know the situation. But Singh
trusted the
Colonel, said that CL must have based their decision on factors we didn t
know, that there was probably help on the way, or alliances that we didn t
know that would work for us.
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He turned toward Steward. Steward saw the recognition in his eyes, sensed that
he wasn t talking to himself anymore, or to
Steward, but to a dead man. To the Captain.
I heard you and Singh shouting at each other. But I saw you after the
meeting, and you were calm. I remember you quoted
Corman at me. Our old martial-arts teacher. Remember when
Corman was talking Zen? She said that the world, that reality, was like a
whirlwind. That the Zen warrior did not fight the whirlwind, that she gave the
whirlwind nothing to strive against, that the whirlwind passed through her and
left her unaffected, unmoved.
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Williams, Walter Jon - Voice of the Whirlwind
You, Steward thought. He called me you, talking about the
Captain. I m enough like him, then. A feeling, cold and then hot, passed
through his bones.
You were a little sick, like we all were. Feverish. Either the enemy s
biological weapons, or our own preventive vaccines, always had us sick. You d
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