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faith, even if most of its inhabitants scorned the wave of new mysticism preoccupymg much of Earth’s population. “Beautiful,” Todd whispered. “I wish Pat could see things this way and know how it is. Really see it.” He didn’t bother hoping the same for Jael. She had made her attitude clear. She wasn’t going to change. Pat, though, could be persuaded. He had to be persuaded.
“Give me Earthward view, eastern CNAU and oceanic environs.” The screen blinked again and drew from the scans of Geosynch Orbiter HQ. Lower satellites in Com-Link supplemented to provide a complete picture.
The Atlantic was dark and peaceful, a blue-black canyon dividing the continents. ERS deep-sea probes showed the mid-line trench and seabed geothermal and mining activities. A could-be hurricane was brewing off the Azores but didn’t look troublesome yet. Mapper scans drew lines, and idents marked the waters and landmasses, adding appropriate tags to everything. At a distance, the globe looked serene. Closer views showed irreparable scars. Atlantic Inlet was twice the size of old Chesapeake Bay. Monitors, relentlessly searching for data, showed the ruins under the waters. In the Caribbean, a scar left from the two-day conflict fifty years ago had separated Yucatan from the mainland. Todd was grateful that had happened before he was born. If it happened now, it would probably destroy the planetside haven he loved.
“Let’s see Saunderhome.” Zoom lenses took him in low over the Caribbean states of Central North American Union. The viewpoint narrowed to a cluster of natural and artificial islands, then tightened still more. The smoky haze which had obscured the area a week ago was dissipating. Apparently the minor volcanic eruption in the Windwards was over. Saunderhome was washed clean by tropical rain, a jewel-like tropical paradise of green vegetation and reefs and white sands connected by dainty bridges and underwater tunnels. Extreme close-up carried Todd in to twenty meters’ elevation. He could see striations on the reefs, tell deep from shallow waters, follow groundskeepers and security guards riding or walking along the paths or bridges. Security guards. They hadn’t needed them when they first lived at Saunderhome. They hadn’t needed that many servants, either. They had been content to rough it.
“Shift north. Eastern continent view.” Another collective blink from the monitors. Snow was falling through the Great Lakes, good for next spring’s crops. Humanity was long overdue for a favorable climate shift back to “normal,” whatever that was. None of the changes in this century had benefited mankind at all. Fog lay over CNAU from the Maritimes to the United Ghetto States enclaves in Michigan and Ohio and south below Atlantic Inlet. No problem. Like the infrared ERS sateffites, ComLink could penetrate these weather conditions. In theory, Todd knew fog had caused telecom problems years ago. But thanks to Ward Saunder’s genius, all that was history.
“You wouldn’t believe all we’ve done with your inventions, Dad,” Todd said. The monitors waited patiently for an order they could translate. “No, you probably would believe. In fact, you’d be enthralled. You were never afraid of the future. You’d think it was funny that they dreamed up a special name for family corporations like us. They call us quasi-nations. How’s that? Monitor bank two, show Saunder holdings planetside.”
There were enough displays to push the screens’ capacity. The system gauged the in-flow and split signals, faceting the screens to accept a series of shrunken views. Saunder Enterprises rarely bought or leased dwellings or offices or vacation estates; it traded Ward Saunder’s patents for financial power. As a result, Saunder enclaves dotted the globe. Offices, factories, syntha-food plants, fisheries, seabed mines, transit lines, telecom, energy . . . expanding every year. There were science-oriented SE enclaves, most of
“Give me Earthward view, eastern CNAU and oceanic environs.” The screen blinked again and drew from the scans of Geosynch Orbiter HQ. Lower satellites in Com-Link supplemented to provide a complete picture.
The Atlantic was dark and peaceful, a blue-black canyon dividing the continents. ERS deep-sea probes showed the mid-line trench and seabed geothermal and mining activities. A could-be hurricane was brewing off the Azores but didn’t look troublesome yet. Mapper scans drew lines, and idents marked the waters and landmasses, adding appropriate tags to everything. At a distance, the globe looked serene. Closer views showed irreparable scars. Atlantic Inlet was twice the size of old Chesapeake Bay. Monitors, relentlessly searching for data, showed the ruins under the waters. In the Caribbean, a scar left from the two-day conflict fifty years ago had separated Yucatan from the mainland. Todd was grateful that had happened before he was born. If it happened now, it would probably destroy the planetside haven he loved.
“Let’s see Saunderhome.” Zoom lenses took him in low over the Caribbean states of Central North American Union. The viewpoint narrowed to a cluster of natural and artificial islands, then tightened still more. The smoky haze which had obscured the area a week ago was dissipating. Apparently the minor volcanic eruption in the Windwards was over. Saunderhome was washed clean by tropical rain, a jewel-like tropical paradise of green vegetation and reefs and white sands connected by dainty bridges and underwater tunnels. Extreme close-up carried Todd in to twenty meters’ elevation. He could see striations on the reefs, tell deep from shallow waters, follow groundskeepers and security guards riding or walking along the paths or bridges. Security guards. They hadn’t needed them when they first lived at Saunderhome. They hadn’t needed that many servants, either. They had been content to rough it.
“Shift north. Eastern continent view.” Another collective blink from the monitors. Snow was falling through the Great Lakes, good for next spring’s crops. Humanity was long overdue for a favorable climate shift back to “normal,” whatever that was. None of the changes in this century had benefited mankind at all. Fog lay over CNAU from the Maritimes to the United Ghetto States enclaves in Michigan and Ohio and south below Atlantic Inlet. No problem. Like the infrared ERS sateffites, ComLink could penetrate these weather conditions. In theory, Todd knew fog had caused telecom problems years ago. But thanks to Ward Saunder’s genius, all that was history.
“You wouldn’t believe all we’ve done with your inventions, Dad,” Todd said. The monitors waited patiently for an order they could translate. “No, you probably would believe. In fact, you’d be enthralled. You were never afraid of the future. You’d think it was funny that they dreamed up a special name for family corporations like us. They call us quasi-nations. How’s that? Monitor bank two, show Saunder holdings planetside.”
There were enough displays to push the screens’ capacity. The system gauged the in-flow and split signals, faceting the screens to accept a series of shrunken views. Saunder Enterprises rarely bought or leased dwellings or offices or vacation estates; it traded Ward Saunder’s patents for financial power. As a result, Saunder enclaves dotted the globe. Offices, factories, syntha-food plants, fisheries, seabed mines, transit lines, telecom, energy . . . expanding every year. There were science-oriented SE enclaves, most of
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