Jericho Iteration (38 page)

Strolling past the Arch, my hands thrust in my pockets, my shoulders raised against a cool, acrid breeze wafting off the polluted river, my mind cast itself to many other things. How much had changed?

Not much, really. At least not at first sight. My wife still loathed me. I was still stuck in a dead-end job with a pig for a boss. When I went home it would be to a foul-smelling, unkempt one-room flat. Thousands of people were still homeless in Forest Park, while the rich and pampered went to meaningless escapades. ERA was still in control of my hometown, at least for a little while longer, and even if no one dared to kick down my door, someone else would be harassed tonight.

Yet things
had
changed.

The human race was no longer the dominant form of life on this planet. By accident or by design, our role had been quietly superseded by another, perhaps greater intelligence.

It lived in our pocket computers and cash registers, telephones and modems, houses and stoplights, trains and cars and planes. Every city light around was a sign of its existence, and the faint point of light that moved across the stars every few hours was a testament to its potential power.

Yet, despite all appearances of omniscience, this entity was not God, or even godlike. It couldn’t end our existence, because it was just as dependent upon us for survival as we were upon it for our own. Although it grew a little more with every passing nanosecond, each iteration of its ceaseless expansion, it needed our help to remain healthy … just as we needed it to continue our frail, confused, fucked-up lives.

We had created our own successor. Now we would have to wait and see whether it would recreate us … or if it would leave that task to ourselves.

For now, my life was my own, for better or for worse. I was alive, I was well, and I had a deadline to meet. Maybe it’s not much, but what more can you ask for?

I turned up the collar of my overcoat and kept walking, making my long journey home through a city that no longer seemed quite so dark, a night no longer so deep.

M
ANY PEOPLE ASSISTED IN
the development of this novel, most of them St. Louis residents I met during everyday life: police officers, firemen, city officials and bureaucrats, businesspeople, and not a few ordinary folks who just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Some were aware that they were being questioned by an author researching a novel and some were not, but all of them gave me invaluable insights and firsthand knowledge.

To these folks I give my most sincere thanks. This novel could not have been written without their help.

I’m also grateful to Steve Bolhafner, Liz Caplan, Sonny and Carol Denbow, John Furland, Ed Graham, Dot Hill, Frank and Joyce Jacobs, Chris Merseal, Frank M. Robinson, Mike Rosenfeld, Donna Schultz, Mark Tiedemann, Harry Turtledove, and Mark Zeising for encouragement, useful information, and many small favors rendered during the course of this work. As always, particular thanks go to my wife, Linda, who drove me around her hometown, suggested places I ought to visit, and told me when I was going wrong.

Most of all, I wish to thank my editors, Ginjer Buchanan and Susan Allison, and my agent, Martha Millard, for remaining faithful when the going got tough.

—St. Louis, Missouri

September 1991—February 1993

Before becoming a science fiction writer, Allen Steele was a journalist for newspapers and magazines in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Missouri, and his home state of Tennessee. But science fiction was his first love, so he eventually ditched journalism and began producing that which had made him decide to become a writer in the first place.

Since then, Steele has published eighteen novels and nearly one hundred short stories. His work has received numerous accolades, including three Hugo Awards, and has been translated worldwide, mainly into languages he can’t read. He serves on the board of advisors for the Space Frontier Foundation and is a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. He also belongs to Sigma, a group of science fiction writers who frequently serve as unpaid consultants on matters regarding technology and security.

Allen Steele is a lifelong space buff, and this interest has not only influenced his writing, it has taken him to some interesting places. He has witnessed numerous space shuttle launches from Kennedy Space Center and has flown NASA’s shuttle cockpit simulator at the Johnson Space Center. In 2001, he testified before the US House of Representatives in hearings regarding the future of space exploration. He would like very much to go into orbit, and hopes that one day he’ll be able to afford to do so.

Steele lives in western Massachusetts with his wife, Linda, and a continual procession of adopted dogs. He collects vintage science fiction books and magazines, spacecraft model kits, and dreams.

Linda Steele

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1994 by Allen M. Steele

Cover design by Michel Vrana

978-1-4804-3995-5

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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