The Collected Stories of Vernor Vinge Read Online Free PDF

information link between the two has to transmit more than a billion bits of information per second. If Norman gets beyond a certain point, the time lapse involved in transmission between him and the computer will upset the coordination. It’s something like talking by radio with a spacecraft; beyond a certain distance it is difficult or impossible to maintain a meaningful conversation. When Norman goes beyond a certain point it will be impossible for him to think coherently.”
    Dunbar was struck by an unrelated idea. He added, “Say, I can see one reason why this could get sticky. What if Norman got picked up by foreign agents? That would be the biggest espionage coup in the history of man.”
    Pederson smiled briefly. “Ah, the light dawns. Yes, some of the information this Simmons has could mean the death of almost everyone on Earth, if it were known to the wrong people. Other secrets would merely destroy the United States.
    “Fortunately, we’re fairly sure that the Reds’ domestic collapse has reduced their overseas enterprises to about nil. As I remember it, there are only one or two agents in all of Michigan. Thank God for small favors.”
    BORIS KUCHENKO SCRATCHED AND WAS MISERABLE. A FEW MINUTES BEFORE, he had been happily looking forward to receiving his weekly unemployment check and then spending the afternoon clipping articles out of the NATO Armed Forces Digest for transmission back to Moscow. And now this old coot with his imperious manner was trying to upset everything. Kuchenko turned to his antagonist and tried to put on a brave front. “I am sorry, Comrade, but I have my orders. As the ranking Soviet agent in the Upper Peninsu—”
    The other snapped back, “Ranking agent, nothing! You were never supposed to know this, Kuchenko, but you are a cipher, a stupid dummy used to convince U.S. Intelligence that the USSR has given up massive espionage. If only I had some decent agents here in Marquette, I wouldn’t have to use idiots like you.”
    Ivan Sliv was an honest-to-God, effective Russian spy. Behind his inconspicuous middle-aged face, lurked a subtle mind. Sliv spoke five languages and had an excellent grasp of engineering, mathematics, geography, and history— real history, not State-sponsored fairy tales. He could make brilliantly persuasive conversation at a cocktail party or commit a political murder with equal facility. Sliv was the one really in charge of espionage in the militarily sensitive U.P. area. He and other
equally talented agents concentrated on collecting information from Sawyer AFB and from the elusive First Security District.
    The introduction of Bender’s fusion pack had produced world-wide depression, and the bureaucracies of Russia had responded to this challenge with all the resiliency of a waterlogged pretzel. The Soviet economic collapse had been worse than that of any other major country. While the U.S. was virtually recovered from the economic depression caused by the availability of unlimited power, counter-revolutionary armies were approaching Moscow from the West and the East. Only five or ten ICBM bases remained in Party hands. But the Comrades had been smart in one respect. If you can’t win by brute force, it is better to be subtle. Thus the planetary spy operations were stepped up, as was a very secret project housed in a system of caves under the Urals. Sliv’s mind shied away from that project—he was one of the few to know of it, and that knowledge must never be hinted at.
    Sliv glared at Kuchenko. “Listen, you fat slob: I’m going to explain things once more, if possible in words of one syllable. I just got news from Sawyer that some Amie superproject has backfired. An experimental animal has escaped from their tunnel network and half the soldiers in the U.P. are searching for it. They think it’s here in Marquette.”
    Kuchenko paled, “A war virus test? Comrade, this could be—” the fat Soviet agent boggled at the possibilities.
    Sliv swore.