R.W. III - The Dark Design

by Philip José Farmer

  They received the news with evident relief. Like her, their nerves were pulled tightly, overtightly, on a rack. So much so that she had been forced to change the four hours of guard duty at the dome to two. Some of the guards were hallucinating, seeing ghostly forms in the fog, hearing voices coming from the corridor. One man had even fired at what he thought was a huge form running at him from the mists.

  The first search of the ship had found no bombs or transmitters. Fearing that the crew might not have covered every square centimeter, and also wanting to keep them busy, she ordered another search. This one was extended to the outside surface of the dirigible, too. Men went to the top and prowled the walkway, shining their lamps alongside it. Others swept their lights across the exteriors of the tail structures.

  No bombs were located.

  Jill was not relieved. If Thorn had planned from the beginning to hide explosives, he could have placed some inside a gas cell. If he had, he had thwarted them, since there was no way they could get into the cells without releasing the irreplaceable hydrogen. It was true he'd need a transmitter, but that was a small object. It could even be disguised as something else.

  This thought set off a third search in which every small mechanical or electrical device aboard was inspected to make sure that it was indeed what it appeared to be. All were what they were supposed to be, but the idea that there could be a disguised transmitter added to the general nervousness.

  Of course, as long as Thorn was kept inside the sick bay, he could not get to a hidden transmitter. A lock had been installed on the door to sick bay, and there were always two guards on the inside and two outside.

  Jill talked to Cyrano about another problem.

  "Sam's going to be bloody furious when he hears that he can't do anything if he ever does get here. There's no way he can get to the top of the tower from the surface of the sea. And if he did achieve the impossible, he still could do nothing to get in.

  "It's possible that one or more of his crew might be able to enter the tower, if he could get to the top. But even then, what guarantee is there what happened to Piscator wouldn't happen to them?"

  "Whatever that is," Cyrano said gloomily. He had been almost as fond of the Japanese as he was of Firebrass.

  "Did Firebrass tell you, too, about the laser hidden on the Mark Twain?"

  Cyrano came alive. "Aha! What a stupid man I am! The laser! Yes, Firebrass told me about it, of course. Would he tell you and not me? I should hope to kiss a pig under its tail he would not!"

  "Well, it's possible that this metal might resist even a laser beam. But we won't know unless we try it, will we?"

  The Frenchman swiftly lapsed into gloom.

  "But what do we do about the fuel situation? We cannot fly to Clemens' boat and get the laser and return here and then get back to Parolando or the boat. We do not have enough oil for that."

  "We'll get the laser from Sam and then go to Parolando and make some more oil and then come back here."

  "That will take much time. But it is the only thing to do. However, what if that hardheaded Clemens does not let us use the laser?"

  "I don't see how he could refuse us," Jill said slowly. "That is the only means we have for getting into the tower."

  "Ah, yes, true: But you are saying that logic will sway Clemens. He is human, which means that he is by no means always logical. But we will see."

  Jill was so on fire with this idea that she saw no reason in waiting for Piscator any longer. If he were hurt or held prisoner by some mechanical device or by living beings, he wasn't going to be gotten free without the laser.

  First, though, Thorn had to be questioned. After ordering Coppename to wait until she had returned, she walked down to sick bay with Cyrano. Thorn was sitting up in bed. His right leg was enclosed by a shackle attached to a chain, the other end of which was locked to the frame of the bed.

  He said nothing as they entered, and Jill was also silent for a moment as she studied him. His thick jaw was locked; his chin, even more outthrust; his dark-blue eyes, half-lidded. He looked as stubborn as Lucifer himself.

  She said, "Do you want to tell us what this is all about?"

  Thorn did not reply.

  She had made sure that he was to be left ignorant of the crash of the helicopter until she told him.

  "We know that you set off that bomb. You murdered Firebrass and Obrenova, everybody on the chopper."

  Thorn's eyes opened fully, but his expression did not change. Or was that a slight smile at the corners of his lips?

  "You're guilty of premeditated murder. I can have you shot, and I may do it Unless you tell me everything."

  She waited. He glared steadily at her.

  "We know about the little spheres on the forebrains of Firebrass and Obrenova."

  That had pierced him, had struck something sensitive. His skin paled, and he grimaced.

  "Is there a sphere on your brain?"

  He groaned, and he said, "I was X-rayed. Do you think Firebrass would have taken me along if there had been one?"

  "I don't know," Jill said. "He accepted Obrenova. Why would he have accepted her and rejected you?"

  Thorn merely shook his head.

  "Look. If it's necessary, I'll order that Graves remove the top of your skull and take a look at your brain."

  "That would be a waste of time,'' he said. "I don't have any such thing inside me."

  "I think you're lying. What is the purpose of that sphere?"

  Silence.

  "You do know, don't you?"

  Cyrano said, "Where were you headed for when you stole the helicopter?"

  Thorn bit his lip, then said, "I presume that you didn't get into the tower?"

  Jill hesitated. Should she tell him about Piscator? Would that give him some sort of advantage? She could not imagine what it could be, but then she did not know the location of any piece in this jigsaw puzzle.

  She said, "One man did get into it."

  Thorn quivered, and he became even paler.

  "One? Who was that?"

  "I'll tell you if you'll tell me what this is all about."

  Thorn's deep chest rose, and he let out air slowly.

  "I won't say another word about this until we get to the Mark Twain. I'll talk to Sam Clemens. Until then, not a word. You can open my skull, if you will. But that would be cruel, and it might kill me, and it would be totally unnecessary."

  Jill motioned to Cyrano to come with her into the next room. When they were out of Thorn's sight, she said, "Is there an X-ray machine aboard the Mark Twain?"

  Cyrano shrugged and said, "I do not remember. But we can determine that as soon as we get into radio contact with the boat.''

  They returned to the foot of Thorn's bed. He stared at them for a minute. A struggle was obviously taking place in him. Finally, as if he hated himself for having to ask, he said, "Did that man come back?"

  "What does that mean to you?"

  Thorn looked as if he'd like to say something. Instead, he smiled.

  "Very well," Jill said. "We are going to the boat. I'll talk to you when we get there, unless you change your mind before then."

  The checkout tests of the equipment consumed an hour. The ropes were cast off and drawn into the dirigible. The guards and the rope handlers came aboard. With Cyrano in the pilot's seat, the Parseval rose, its propellers swiveled upward to give it additional lift. Water ballast was discharged to compensate for the loss of the valved-off hydrogen. The updraft around the tower lifted the ship higher than was desired, and so Cyrano sent it back down, headed toward the great hold through which they entered.

  Jill stood at the windscreen and stared into the fog. "So long, Piscator," she murmured. "We'll be back."

  The wind hurled the vessel through the hole, spitting it out, as Cyrano said, as if it were a rotten piece of meat from the mouth of a giant. Or, he added, as if it were a baby overeager to be born, shot out from the womb of a mother who couldn't wait to get rid of her nine-months' b
urden.

  The Frenchman sometimes overstrained his metaphors and similes.

  The clear air and the bright sun and the green vegetation made them feel like bursting into song. Cyrano, grinning, said, "If I were not on duty, I would dance! I do not contemplate returning to that dismal place with any pleasure."

  Aukuso had begun transmitting the ship's call letters as soon as it had gained a high altitude. Not until an hour had passed, however, did he report that he had made contact with the Mark Twain.

  Jill started to report to Sam Clemens, but he interrupted her with a furious description of de Greystock's treacherous attack. She was shocked, but she became impatient with his overlong, overdetailed narrative. His boat was not badly damaged; her account was the important thing.

  Finally, he ran down.

  "I've discharged most of my bile, for the moment, anyway. Say, why are you talking to me? Where's Firebrass?"

  "I didn't have a chance to say more than two words," she said. And she described in detail the events from the moment the airship had entered the hole in the mountain.

  It was his turn to be shocked. Except, however, for some explosive curses, he did not comment until she had finished.

  "So Firebrass is dead, and you think he was one of Them? Maybe he wasn't, Jill. Did it occur to you that the black sphere might have been implanted in a small number of us for some scientific purpose? That perhaps only one in a thousand or ten thousand has it? I don't know what its purpose could be. Maybe it transmits brain waves which They record for use in some sort of scientific experiment. Or it could be used by Them to keep tabs on certain preselected subjects."

  "I hadn't thought of that," she said. "I'd like to think that you're right, because I hate to think that Firebrass could be one of Them.''

  "Me, too. However, the important thing just now is that a ground expedition is useless. I built those two boats for nothing. Well, not actually for nothing. There's something to be said for life on the boat. It affords luxuries you can't get elsewhere – except on the Rex – and it's the fastest way to travel, although I really have no definite place to go to anymore. But I haven't forgotten King John. I'm going to catch up with him and fix him for what he did to me."

  "You're wrong about one thing, Sam," she said. "I think we can get into the tower. All I need is the laser."

  It sounded to her as if Clemens was strangling.

  "You mean that . . . that Firebrass told you about it? Why, that unjudicious, ungrateful, unprincipled . . . arrgh! I told him not to say a word! He knew how important it was to keep it a secret! Now everybody in the wheelhouse knows it. They've heard every word you said. I'll have to get them to swear not to reveal it, and just how much chance is there they'll not let it slip? If Firebrass were here, I'd choke him with one hand and stick my cigar up his ass with the other!"

  Sam went on, "Besides, you should have waited until you got here before you said anything. For all I know, John's radiomen have been listening in to us for years! They might have figured out how our scramblers work and be taking in every word now, pleased as a hog that's just found a fresh pile of cow flop!"

  "I'm sorry about that," she said. "But it was necessary to mention it. We have to make arrangements for picking the laser up without landing."

  Jill added, "I need the laser. It's the only means we have of getting into the tower. Without it all our long labors and the deaths of several people have been in vain."

  "And I need it to slice up John and his boat. It's a surefire thing, double-guaranteed to get a quick victory."

  Trying to keep the anger out of her voice, she said,' "Think on it, Sam. Which is more important, revenge on King John or solving the mystery of this world, finding out why we're here and who did this?

  "Besides, there's no reason you can't have both. We'll return the laser to you after we use it."

  "Both be damned to hell and back! How do I know you will come back? The next time you may get caught by those people. They can sit inside, smug as mice behind a wall laughing at the cat, if you can't get to them. But when you start cutting with that laser, you think they'll just sit on their hands and allow you to waltz on in?

  "They'll grab you, just as they did Piscator. And then what? Besides, for all you know, the metal of the tower could be resistant to a laser beam."

  "Too right. But we have to try. That's the only way we can find out."

  "All right, all right! You've got logic and right on your side, as if that ever won an argument! But I'm a reasonable man. So, you can have the laser!

  "But, and this is a big but, as the queen of Spain said to Dan Sickles, you've got to get Rotten John for me first!"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I mean that I want you to make a raid on the Rex. Send in a party in the chopper at night and grab John. I'd rather see him here alive, but if you can't get him alive and kicking, kill him!"

  "That's stupid and vicious!" Jill said. "We could lose the chopper and all the raiding party in a useless, vainglorious venture. Not to mention risking lives, we can't afford to lose the chopper. It's the only one we have."

  Sam had been breathing heavily, but he waited until he had regained his wind. Now he spoke smoothly, icily.

  "It's you that's being stupid now. If John is gotten rid of, I won't have any reason to pit my boat against the Rex. Think of the lives that'll be saved. For all I care, his second-in-command, whoever he is, can take over and I'll wish him good luck. All I want is that John doesn't get away with all the crimes he committed and that he doesn't get to keep the beautiful boat I toiled and sweated and plotted and suffered agonies for. And don't forget that he tried to sink this boat, too!

  "I want that miserable excuse for a human being standing in front of me so I can tell him exactly what he is. That's all. I promise I won't kill him or mistreat him, if that's bothering you. Thunderation! Why should it?

  "And when I'm done chewing him out, the most glorious verbal reaming ever given anybody since the dawn of time – it'll make Jeremiah look tongue-tied – then I'll put him ashore and steam away. Of course, I may maroon him among cannibals or grail slavers.

  "I promise you that, Jill."

  "What if he has to be killed?"

  "I'll just have to endure my disappointment."

  "But I can't order my men to go on such a dangerous mission.''

  "I won't ask you to. Just ask for volunteers. If you can't get enough, too bad. You can't have the laser. However, I don't anticipate any dearth of heroes. If there's one thing I know, Jill, it's human nature."

  Cyrano shouted, "I will be honored to enlist, Sam!"

  "Is that you, Cyrano? Well, I have to admit you've not been one of my dearest friends. But if you do go, I wish you good luck. I mean it."

  Jill was so surprised she could not speak for a moment.

  Here was the man who'd said he regarded Mars, the deity of war, as the most stupid of gods.

  When she regained her voice, she said, "Why are you doing this, Cyrano?"

  "Why? But you forget that I, too, was on the Not For Hire when John and his pirates seized it. I was almost killed. I would like to have my revenge, to see the expression on his face when he realizes that the trap is sprung on the trapper, the pirate pirated.

  "This is not your vast, impersonal war initiated by greedy, glory-mad imbeciles who do not care how many thousands are slaughtered, mutilated, driven insane, frozen, starved, dying of disease; how many children and woman blown up; how many women raped or left husbandless or sonless.

  "No, this is personal. I know the man whom I would make my small, wholly justified war upon. So does Clemens, who abhors war as much as myself."

  Jill did not argue with him. At that moment, he seemed like a little child to her. An idiot child. He still wanted to play at war, yet he had seen its miseries and horrors.

  There was nothing for her to do but go along with Sam's proposal . She did not have to obey him, since he had no way of enforcing his orders. But if she wanted t
he laser, and she did, she could only carry out the raid.

  Her last hope that there would not be enough volunteers died as soon as she called for them. There were enough to get into three helicopters if they had been available.

  Perhaps, she thought, they had been so frustrated at the tower that they wanted violent action against a foe who could be seen, who would fight. But she did not really believe that.

  Clemens was right. He did know human nature. Male nature, anyway. No, that wasn't fair. The nature of some males.

  An hour's discussion followed. During this Cyrano said that he could draw accurate sketches of the layout of the Rex. Clemens finally signed off, but not before making sure that he would be notified of the results of the raid the moment the helicopter returned.

  "If it returns," she said.

  Chapter 63

  * * *

  The torpedoes seemed to be dead-on, but Sam ordered the boat swung away and full power applied. A minute later, an observer at the stern reported that the torpedoes had just missed. The dirigible loomed before him, coining swiftly, seeming about to collide with the pilothouse itself. Sam yelled an order to fire a second volley away. Before that order could be obeyed, the airship exploded.

  Four bombs going off simultaneously should have blown in every port, should have caved in the hull of the boat. As it was, many ports were shattered or driven whole into the interior and people were knocked down. The boat, immense and heavy though it was, rocked. Sam was hurled to the deck along with everybody except the pilot, who was strapped in his chair. Byron was knocked unconscious as a windscreen slammed into his face.

  Sam got to his feet as smoke roiled into the control room, blinding him, making him cough violently. An acrid stink surrounded him. He could not hear anything; he was totally deafened for a minute. He groped through the cloud and felt along the control panel. Knowing the location of every dial, gauge, and button, he ascertained that the ship was still on course – if the steering mechanism was still operating. Then he unstrapped Detweiller's bloody, unconscious form and eased him to the floor. By the time he had slipped into the chair, he could see again. The airship, or what was left of it, was in the water. Pieces were scattered over hundreds of square meters, burning. Smoke billowed out from them, but by then the boat was out of the clouds. He straightened her out and headed her up-River. After putting the automatic pilot on, and making sure that it still operated, he went to the starboard to survey the damage.