The Long War

He smiled, not interrupting the rhythm of his work. ‘Actually, yes, it does help with the trolls. I am a constant presence but not an alarming one. But I would not use words like “reduced”. Not around Sister Agnes anyhow. In her eyes I am expanding my personality.’

‘Ah. This was her idea, was it?’

‘I’d got too big for my boots, she says.’

‘That sounds like Agnes.’

‘If I wanted to be part of humanity, I had to become embedded in humanity. Down in the dirt, at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak.’

‘And you went along with it?’

‘Well, there wasn’t much point going to all the trouble of reincarnating the woman if I’m not going to listen to her advice, was there? This is why I felt I needed her, Joshua. Or someone like her. Someone with the sense and moral authority to whisper doubts in my ear.’

‘Is it working?’

‘I’ve certainly learned a lot. Such as, how much less ornamental an ornamental garden seems if you’re the one who has to sweep up the leaves. How to handle a broom, which requires a certain two-handed dexterity and a kind of rolling energy-conservation strategy. And it’s remarkable how many corners you discover there are in the world. Some pan-dimensional paradox, perhaps. But there are chores I particularly enjoy. Feeding the carp. Pruning the cherry trees . . .’

Joshua imagined Agnes laughing her reincarnated head off. But he didn’t feel particularly amused.

Lobsang was aware of his stillness. ‘Ah. The old anger still burns, I see.’

‘What do you expect?’

It had been ten years ago, after he had returned from his journey with a lost avatar of Lobsang to the reaches of the Long Earth, to find Madison a blistered ruin, destroyed by a fanatic’s backpack nuke. He had barely been able to bring himself to speak to Lobsang since.

‘You still believe I could have stopped it,’ Lobsang said gently. ‘But I was not even there. I was with you.’

‘Not all of you . . .’

Lobsang, by nature a distributed personality, had always claimed that the essence of himself had travelled with Joshua into the far stepwise worlds – and that essential core of him had not returned. Whatever Joshua spoke to now was another Lobsang, another personality locus, partially synched with the residual Mark Twain copy thanks to memory stores Joshua had brought back. Another Lobsang – not the same – and not the Lobsang Joshua had known, who presumably still existed far away. But this

was the Lobsang who had witnessed the destruction of Madison, and had stood by.

‘Even then, when the Twain returned, ten years ago, you were . . .’ Joshua groped for the old religious word. ‘Immanent. You suffused the world. Or so you claimed. Yet you let those nutjobs walk into the city with a nuke, you let Jansson and the other cops run around trying to find them, while all the time—’

Lobsang nodded. ‘All the time I could have snapped my metaphorical fingers and put an end to it. Is that what you would have wanted?’

‘Well, if you could have, why didn’t you?’

‘You know, throughout the ages people have asked the same question of the Christian God. If He is omniscient and omnipotent, why would He allow the suffering of a single child? I am not God, Joshua.’

Joshua snorted. ‘You like to act that way, broom and sandals or not.’

‘I cannot see into the souls of men and women. I only see the surface. Sometimes I find I have not even imagined what was lying within, when it is eventually revealed through word or action. And even if I could have stopped those bombers – should I have? At what cost? How many would you have had me kill, in order to avert an action that would have remained entirely hypothetical? What would you have thought of me then? Humans have free will, Joshua. God will not, and I cannot, stop them harming each other. I think you should talk to Agnes about this.’

‘Why?’

‘She might help you find it in yourself to forgive me.’

Joshua thought he could never do that. But he had to put it aside, he knew. With an effort he focused on his surroundings. ‘So, the trolls. What have you learned about them?’

‘Oh, a great deal. Such as about their true language. Which has nothing to do with the crude signing and point-at-the-picture pidgin humans have imposed on them when they want to give them orders.’

‘But even that’s pretty powerful, Lobsang. You see clips of Mary saying “I will not” everywhere. On posters, in graffiti, online, even on animated T-shirts.’