The Long War by Terry Pratchett, Stephen Baxter Read Free Book Online Page B

exerted a necessary pressure on humanity: you had to be hungry to innovate, and you needed to be surrounded by competitors to be driven to achieve. And in the Long Earth, with bellies filled too easily and plenty of space to spread out into, invention had stalled. Still, none of Nelson’s predecessors here, not even the most recent, had had access to anything like the technology at his fingertips now, retro or not.
    And every single one of them had been unable, just like Nelson, to make the antique toilet work properly. He liked that reflection; it helped keep him down to earth.
    The cooking done, he returned to his study – the Lobsang search was still in progress – and as he ate he logged into the Quizmasters.
    This was a little-known chat room, access to which would only be vouchsafed to you by invitation – and the invitation was a series of tests. Nelson, intrigued by a quiz he’d been sent without explanation, had completed it after evensong one day a few weeks ago. It took him twenty-seven minutes. His reward was to be sent another quiz, of similarly fiendish intricacy. Over the following days more quizzes turned up randomly. Nelson had been impressed by the questions, which demanded not only knowledge in a vast number of fields but also the ability to make use of that knowledge against the clock, while drawing on a multiplicity of disciplines, including un -disciplines . . . In the nerdosphere, in pursuit of the elusive and the strange, the strongest intellect, Nelson knew, was good for nothing without a propensity for pack-rat fact accumulation, an appreciation of serendipity, and an endless interest in the incongruous, the out of place. And that was what the Quizmasters’ tests seemed to select for.
    The room had opened for him on the seventh day. That was the first time he’d learned the group’s name for itself. Initially the Quizmasters seemed like any other chat room, except that everybody in it knew that in some way they had been chosen , which gave a frisson to the proceedings. A self-selecting elite of the nerdosphere – and very useful, he’d found, if directed to a task.
    But time and again conversations in that room came round to the monopoly known as the Black Corporation, which was for the most part detested by the circle members. That itself being a puzzle, of course.
    When Nelson went online, or, more accurately, on lines , he mixed in cyberspace with a lot of people who had a marked dislike of black helicopters, governments, washing more than once a week, and above all, secrets – and, just to top it off, particularly didn’t like the Black Corporation. Which was kind of strange if you thought about it, since the infrastructure of the nerdosphere itself nowadays was more or less supported by Black products. Certainly the nerdosphere was always full of speculation, scuttlebutt and downright lies about what was happening in the most ultra-secret laboratories of the organization.
    Yes, everybody knew Black’s story, the elements of which had become as familiar, it sometimes seemed to Nelson, as the Nativity. It was a classic American narrative of its kind. It had all started when Douglas Black and his associates had set up ‘just another computer company’, with the help of Black’s late grandfather’s oil-money bequest. This was the early 1990s; Black had only been in his mid-twenties. From the beginning Black’s lines had included such much-longed-for-by-customers products as computers with long battery power and fault-free software, machines that were your partners, not just a gadget for extracting money from you, not just an ad for some superior future version of themselves. Machines that seemed mature. And from the beginning Black had begun to make philanthropic donations of various kinds around the world, including a scholarship programme in South Africa that Nelson himself had benefited from.
    With time the Black product line went from strength to strength, and began to