by John Shirley
Roland Wallace wouldn’t take the minisub unless Bill gave him the signal. But there was something he’d have to do then. About Ryan. And Rapture. He had made up his mind that if he succeeded today, in Ryan’s office, he would send his family to safety but stay in Rapture, at least for a time, and try to create a new leadership, make a peace deal with Atlas. He had helped build this place—he felt an obligation to the survivors. Eventually he could rejoin Elaine and Sophie …
The survivors. Quite a surprising number of people had died here or been executed. Ryan was starting to put the corpses up on stakes at the entryway to Central Control. Rapture had become a police state—it had turned into its own opposite.
Bill let out a long, slow breath, reached into his pocket for the pistol. Checked the load for the fourth time. Put it back in his blazer. Could he do this? Then he remembered Sam and Mariska Lutz.
“Got to face it, old man,” he told himself. “Got to be done.” He put the pistol back, took out the little radio. He clicked it and murmured into it. “Wallace?”
A crackle. Then, “Yes, Bill.”
“It’s time.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. Going to take care of my business and then bring the family for the … picnic.”
“Okay. I’m ready. Meet you there.”
He put the radio away. Heart pounding, he straightened his tie and opened the door. A security camera swiveled to take him in as he stepped through. He had his ID flasher on, and it let him pass without releasing the security bots. Ryan still trusted him.
He strode past the crucified corpses, smelling them but steadfastly not looking at them, and went to the door of Ryan’s office. He was scanned by a turret—and it let him pass. He reached for the door just as Karlosky came out. Bill almost jumped out of his shoes.
Karlosky looked at him curiously. “Something making you nervous, Bill?”
“Me, no, it’s just them bodies out there—give me the willies.”
Karlosky nodded sympathetically. “Don’t like that decoration either. Sometimes necessary. I’m going to get sandwich for me and Mr. Ryan. You want something?”
“Me? No, I…” Christ, how could he eat sandwiches with these bodies stuck up out here? However … “Well, yes, Ivan. Whatever … whatever you’re having.” The longer Karlosky stayed away, the better.
Karlosky nodded and strolled out. Bill went into Ryan’s office.
Andrew Ryan was standing by the window, gazing out at the sea, leaning on his walking stick. He wore his tailored three-piece gray silk suit, and, in that moment, Bill felt his heart go out to him. Ryan had built this brave new world to match his dream. And it had become a nightmare.
But Bill reminded himself of those men and women crucified in the outer room. And he took a deep breath and pulled the pistol.
Ryan didn’t turn around. He seemed to know. “Go on, do it, Bill. If you’re man enough.”
Bill raised the gun—and it trembled in his hand.
Ryan smiled sadly. “What was it you said, Bill? You’d stay with me, ‘from A to Zed.’ Well, we’re not quite at Zed yet. But it seems you’re taking your leave.”
“No,” Bill said, his voice breaking. “I’m staying … for a while. Can’t desert all these people. I helped bring ’em here.”
Ryan turned toward him, hefting the gold-topped walking stick. “Bill, you’re a weak link on the Great Chain—and I cannot leave that weak link in place…”
Bill aimed the gun as Ryan stalked toward him.
Bill’s mouth was dry, his pulse thudding.
Ryan was almost in reach. “A man chooses, Bill—a slave obeys. Choose. Kill me or obey your cowardice and run away!”
Andrew Ryan, the man who’d plucked him from obscurity—who’d elevated Bill McDonagh in this great city—raised the walking stick to strike him down. It was in Ryan’s hardened eyes, his twisted mouth: the aging tycoon had every intention of using that gold-headed cane to crush Bill’s skull.
Shoot him!
But Bill couldn’t do it. This man had reached down from Olympus and raised him up to Olympus Heights. Andrew Ryan had trusted him. He couldn’t.
The walking stick came whistling down—and Bill caught it, wincing at the impact as he grabbed it with his left hand. They struggled a moment, Ryan panting, his teeth bared—and then Bill acted instinctively. He struck down with the butt of the pistol like a club, cracking Andrew Ryan on the forehead.
Ryan grunted and fell backward. He lay gasping on the floor, eyes half-closed. Bill found that he had the walking stick in his own hand. He dropped it beside Ryan, then knelt and took Ryan’s pulse. Ryan was stunned, unconscious, but his pulse was strong. Bill knew, somehow, that Ryan would survive intact.
Bill squeezed Ryan’s hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ryan. I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t kill you. Best of luck, guv…”
He stood, pistol in hand, and started for the door, walking mechanically, feeling all lumbering and heavy like a Big Daddy. He stuck the pistol in his pocket and found his way out past the double line of dead men on stakes, out past the swiveling camera.
He stepped into the hallway, trying not to look like he was in a hurry. He and Elaine and Sophie would have to take a circuitous route. It was a long trek yet to get where they were going. He didn’t have much time. Karlosky would find Ryan, and there would be an alert … security bots, Ryan’s thugs …
He had to hurry or lose everything. They were waiting for him in the cemetery, a separate little park off Arcadia …
Cemetery near Arcadia
1959
Burials at sea were cheap. But some preferred Rapture’s charming little cemetery.
Bill had liked visiting the place, and it was usually deserted, so he’d arranged to meet Elaine and Sophie here. Old-fashioned, rustic in style, the cemetery near Arcadia reminded him of the churchyard where his grandfather was buried.
But when he stepped through the archway, he found it had lost its charm.
Five paces away, a naked man, painted blue, was hunched threateningly over Elaine and Sophie, who were cowered in front of a tombstone. The man was a Saturnine, one of the “pagan” cults who’d sprung up in the vacuum of religion in Rapture, sneaking about starkers to paint their cryptic graffiti, getting high on ADAM and coloring themselves blue. “Harness the flame, harness the mist!” the man chanted in a grating voice. The blue-painted savage gripped a large kitchen knife in his right hand. Its blade was brown with dried blood.
The man’s bare foot was pressing Elaine’s purse to the ground, as if crushing a small animal.
“I will give you to the flame,” the Saturnine muttered. “I offer you to the mist!”
The Saturnine raised his knife high, to slash down at Elaine—
“Here’s some flame, you bastard; harness this!” Bill shouted, to make him turn his way.
The Saturnine whirled to confront Bill, his face a caricature of ADAM-warped savagery, teeth bared, red foam coming from his nostrils. He threw the knife as Bill dodged to the left—the knife slashed at his right shoulder, just a razor-thin cut, and Bill shot the pagan point-blank in the chest.
The Saturnine swayed, went to his knees, and flopped facedown.
Sophie was sobbing, her hands covering her eyes. Elaine jerked her purse from under the dead man’s foot, pulled out the pistol, slung the purse over her shoulder, and, with a look of steely determination in her eyes that Bill admired, pulled Sophie to her feet. “Come on, baby,” Elaine told her. “We’re getting the hell out of this place.”
“I’m scared, Mama,” Sophie said.
“I know the feeling, love,” Bill said, giving the child a quick hug. “But you’ll like the surface world. Don’t believe what you’ve heard about it. Come on!”
* * *
They were surprisingly close. Bill, Elaine, and Sophie were hurrying up to the open bathysphere that would take them up the shaft of the lighthouse, to where Wallace should be waiting.
A rogue splice
r slid down the cable, jumping off the bathysphere’s top and tumbling through the air like an acrobat. He landed on his feet in front of Bill. The splicer wore a small harlequin-style New Year’s Eve mask, splashed with the blood of the body he’d taken it from; he had long, dirty brown hair, a streaked red-brown beard, and glittering blue eyes. His yellow teeth were bared in a rictuslike grin. “Hee, that’s me, and ooh, that’s you!” he cackled. Leaping from right to left, back again, blur-fast, an elusive target. “Look at the little girly-girl! I can sell her to Ryan or keep her for play and maybe a quick bite!” He had a razor-sharp curved fish-gutting blade in each hand …
Sophie whimpered in fear and ducked behind her mother—Elaine and Bill fired their pistols at the splicer almost simultaneously … and they both missed. He’d leapt in the air, flipping over them and coming down behind: SportBoost, and lots of it.
The rogue splicer was spinning to slash at them—but Bill was turning at the same time, firing. The bullet cracked into one of the curved blades, knocking it away. The splicer slashed out with the other blade, which cut the air an inch from Sophie’s nose.
Enraged, Bill forgot his gun and rushed at the splicer, shouting, “Bastard!” He just managed to duck under the swishing blade, to tackle the splicer around the middle, knocking him onto his back. It was like tackling a live wire—there was not a gram of fat on the splicer; he was all muscle and bone and tension—and Bill felt himself overbalanced and quickly flung off.
The splicer leapt up, stood grinning down at Bill—throwing the hooked blade before Bill could fire his pistol. Bill twisted aside, felt the curved knife shear a piece of skin from his ribs—and then there were three quick gunshots, each one making the splicer take a jerking step back. The third one went through the splicer’s right eye, and the splicer went limp, falling on his back, feet twitching.
Bill turned, panting, to see his wife with the gun in her hand, a wild look in her eyes. Sophie was clinging to her mother’s leg, face buried in her hip.
“You’re a bloody fine shot, love,” he told Elaine, “and thank God for that.”
“I had a good teacher,” she said numbly, staring at the splicer’s body.
“Come on—into the lift…” Elaine nodded and took Sophie into the bathysphere. Bill climbed in after them, found the release hidden under the control panel, and activated it.
They took the bathyspheric lift up the shaft, out of the undersea—the three of them riding up into the lighthouse. Bill had cut power on the security bots and turrets guarding the way out through the lighthouse this morning, but he was afraid they’d be back on, somehow, to greet his family with a spray of bullets as soon as they stepped out of the bathysphere.
But only quiet greeted them, at first, when they stepped out. And the echo of their footsteps in the dome …
Sophie looked around in awe, stunned by the naked daylight coming through the entrance to the lighthouse, the unfamiliar sound of breakers outside—then, eyes wide in fear, she stared up at the enormous electroplated bust of Andrew Ryan, glaring back down at them. Ryan seemed to be holding up a banner, yellow lettering on a red field, reading:
NO GODS OR KINGS.
ONLY MAN.
“It’s Mr. Ryan!” Sophie gulped, stepping back. “He’s watching us!”
“It’s just a statue,” Elaine said.
“Oh, but she’s right,” said Head Constable Cavendish, coming around from the other side of the bathysphere. Bill spun, raising his gun, but then he saw that Karlosky was there too, and Redgrave; they all had tommy guns at the ready in their hands. Redgrave was pushing a despondent Roland Wallace, who had his hands bound behind him. If Bill fired, the constables would return fire, and Elaine would likely be hit. And Sophie. He couldn’t get them all.
Bill lowered his pistol—and then let it slip from limp fingers to the floor.
“Drop it, lady,” said Cavendish, pointing the tommy gun at her.
With a sob, she dropped her gun, and clutched Sophie to her. “Oh God, Bill, we were so close…”
He put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, love. I should have found a better way…”
Karlosky looked grim; Cavendish was grinning wolfishly—but Redgrave looked stricken, uncertain. Deeply sad.
“I tried, Bill,” Wallace said. “I got the boat here. I climbed out to look for you, and there they were. Coming up in boats.”
“You don’t reckon Ryan has cameras none of you know about?” Cavendish sneered. “’Specially outside this place. You think you’re the only ones who tried to leave? Others tried—they’re Big Daddies now. The external camera caught ol’ Wallace here slippin’ out…”
“Ryan—is he dead?” Elaine asked. Her eyes showed hope; her voice was defiant.
“Nyet,” Karlosky said. “A headache. But he is strong man. Not so easy to kill. Your man—he did not have nerve to finish job.”
“Couldn’t do it,” Bill admitted miserably. “He was my friend. There was a time he was like another father to me.”
Redgrave nodded. His voice was husky as he said, “I hear that, Mr. McDonagh. I sure do. It’s the same with me. I’m sorry—I’d like to help you. You were always good to me. But…”
“I know,” Bill said. “But let me ask you one thing. Did he send you to bring my wife and child in? Or just me and Wallace?”
“I…” Redgrave glanced at Cavendish. “I heard him say: ‘Stop Bill McDonagh. And that traitor Wallace.’ That’s all he said.”
“He does not want anyone leaving,” Karlosky said. “Now—all three of you, turn around. We tie your hands; you go with us. We all go back down…”
Bill looked at Karlosky. “I’ll take what’s coming to me. You can tell him anything you want about my girls. Tell Ryan that the splicers got ’em.”
Cavendish snorted. “Karlosky’s not doing any goddamn thing of the sort.”
Bill went on, looking steadily at Karlosky. “We got drunk together, you and me, Karlosky, more than once. Christmas Eves. Holidays. Long nights with vodka. We fought side by side in battle…”
Karlosky licked his lips. Comradeship mattered to Karlosky.
“What’s this horseshit?” Cavendish growled, seeing Karlosky hesitate. “You three turn around, like he said.”
“Yes,” Bill said. “Elaine, Sophie—turn around. Just do it.”
Their eyes welling with tears, his wife and child turned, and Bill locked eyes with Karlosky. “What do you say, mate. One favor. I know you can’t let me go … But you can let them go. With Wallace.”
Redgrave looked back and forth between them, looking like he was trying to make up his own mind …
Cavendish frowned. “What’s all this horsepucky? Come on, let’s move, stop wasting time, Karlosky, you damned Russian drunk!”
Karlosky raised his eyebrows at that, looked thoughtful. But at last he shook his head. “No, Bill—sorry. Too risky.”
Redgrave sighed and pointed his gun at Karlosky. “Ivan—this man here, he and his wife had me over for dinner, more than once. Only white people in this place that done that. I can’t let Bill leave Rapture. But we didn’t get no orders about his family.”
Cavendish snarled, twitched his gun toward Redgrave. “You black-assed son of a—”
But that’s when Karlosky turned and shot Cavendish in the side of the head. Two shots. Blood and brains splashed as Cavendish jerked sideways, took a shaky step—and fell.
“Bastard,” Karlosky said, spitting on the body.
Elaine and Sophie screamed, clutching at each other.
Wallace stared in dull amazement. “Christ, Karlosky!”
Elaine looked around to see what had happened—but she kept Sophie turned away.
Karlosky glared at Redgrave—then looked down at Cavendish. “I don’t like to be pushed around, Redgrave,” Karlosky said. “But Cavendish—he was asshole. Wanted to kill him many times! And anyway—if anyone is going to insult you … will be me!”
Elaine turned slowly to them, clut
ching Sophie to her. She winced at the sight of Cavendish’s shattered head and said, “Mr. Redgrave—can’t you let Bill go with us?” Elaine asked. “Please!”
Redgrave shook his head apologetically, swinging the gun toward Bill. “I’m sorry. Bill and Wallace got to come with me.”
“I understand,” Bill said, meeting Redgrave’s eyes. “Ryan’s the one who gave you a chance. It was the same with me.”
“The launch’s idling out there, Mrs. McDonagh,” Wallace said in a dead voice. “Bottom of the stairs. All you got to do is cast off, press the drive lever, head straight on the way it’s pointing right now—that’ll take you to the sea lanes. Someone’ll see you. There’s a flare gun in the launch…”
Elaine was turning to Bill, looking stunned. “No, Bill…!”
Bill took her hand and kissed it. “Elaine … You know what you have to do now. For Sophie.”
Elaine shook her head.
Bill stepped closer, kissed her tear-stained lips. Then he pushed Sophie into her arms. “For Sophie…”
Her mouth buckled. But she nodded, just once. Face white, lips trembling, Elaine took Sophie by the hand and walked away from him. They walked past the bathysphere, toward the little corridor leading to the stairs …
“What about Daddy?” Sophie asked, as they went, her voice quavering.
“We’ll talk about it later, hon,” Elaine said. “Daddy has some business right now…”
Bill’s daughter looked back over her shoulder at him. Bill tried to fill his mind with the last sight he would have of her. “Good-bye, love!” he called, waving once. “Your old dad loves you!” Then Elaine pulled Sophie along with her, through a doorway, and out of his sight …
Karlosky looked at Bill, then nodded toward a nearby window. Bill walked to the window; through it could see sun sparkling on sea. Blue sky, white clouds sailing by.