by John Hunt
“Governor, this loss is a great tragedy. It will not look good at all.” Captain Zamrano could not have found a more assured way to incite Marcos’s anger than that particular, not intentionally inflammatory, statement. Marcos was already acutely aware of how bad all this would appear on their return home. He was fully cognizant that the whole endeavor had been a failure. He spat back at the captain, “That ship will be forgotten soon enough! And this whole fiasco will be forgotten!” He turned brusquely and marched away for a moment before stopping and turning.
“Captain, are you ready to make way?”
“Yes, sir. The engines are running. I am awaiting your signal.”
“My son will be arriving soon with another guest. When they are on board, let us immediately depart this place.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcos turned with a grunt and strode to the companionway that led below decks. He made directly for his berth — actually, his double berth — and stretched out upon it. He was desperately in need of a rest after all the walking. He fell asleep within five minutes.
Juan Marcos was running. Splashing water in all directions, he leapt gracefully over the foamy waves that rolled up the sand. He was a gazelle, a deer, a lemur, leaping as if gravity was irrelevant — or a myth. On his face was a smile of unadulterated and innocent glee. And beside him, laughing along with him was a beautiful woman, reaching to hold his hand, kicking water playfully as she too ran through the shallow water drifting rhythmically up the gently sloping beach. He stopped suddenly but the woman’s hand broke free of his and she took a few strides more before halting. He looked down at his abdomen, thin, tight, tanned muscles firm and glistening with a thin film of perspiration. He looked up at the girl: svelte, modest in demeanor yet much-exposed, with a graceful, sophisticated, and self-confident stride the likes of which of which one rarely observes. Maria walked slowly toward him — now just an arm’s length apart, cool salt water covering their naked feet. Then she was in his arms, passionately rubbing his muscled shoulders…
“Father, arouse!” His son interrupted the perfect scene. “We are back on board, father. We need you awake!” And then, turning away and speaking in a quieter voice, not expecting the comment to be heard: “Fat fool.” But it was heard. Juan Marcos snapped his eyes open, instantly fully awake, and glared as his son walked away.
“Enrico! I am well awake.” The man strained as he hefted his bulk to sit up in the bed. He glanced downward, hoping to see firm abdominal muscles, instead seeing only his swollen, protuberant, and undulating belly — stretched skin over ever-thickening pads of adipose. “Where is this man you found to run the laser weapon at the observatory?”
Enrico turned around. “He is aboard as well. Up on deck. Taking a last close-up look at his island.”
“Is he cooperating?”
“Unquestionably. He is just a scientist. A weak man, terrified for his life. He was easy to convince.”
“Good. Do you understand this weapon they have created?”
“Not at all. It is highly complicated. Even Sergeant Gonzales does not have a solid grasp on the thing. But Professor Harrigan, our new guest, has become strongly motivated to tell us all about it. And he will kindly build us our own, if we wish.
This was exactly what the elder Marcos wished. “Does he need any of his equipment to accomplish the task?”
Enrico shook his head. “He says not. He says with a few hundred thousand American dollars, he can build a much better prototype. In fact, he calls this one ‘junk,’ and scoffs at it. He actually laughed when I told him we would pay him handsomely — and let him live — if he would build a device such as the one inside that observatory.”
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
“He seems to have no great fondness for Bjarnasson. Yes, I think he is telling the truth.”
Juan Marcos smiled — slightly, suspiciously. “Perhaps we should not go through with this, Enrico. Perhaps if we do, we will eliminate the only chance for us to get our hands on that weapon.”
“We have no choice, father. With the British Navy only eight hours away, and already very much within striking distance by air, we need to leave. Immediately.”
“Should we not salvage some of it?”
“Harrigan assures me that it is simple enough to recreate.”
It was a rare moment when Juan Marcos shared his feelings with anyone, particularly with his son. He did so now. “Enrico, this is important. We must not go back empty-handed. My failure here will be complete, if we do.”
Enrico felt no sympathy for his father — only disdain. But he pretended to possess a small amount of compassion. “Father, this will work. Harrigan will supply us with the weapon.”
Juan Marcos paid no attention to the drone of the engines as they began working to move the yacht away from the pier. Below decks, they did not notice the gradual turning and accelerating of the vessel, and so it was with some surprise that when the governor emerged on deck he found the sleek yacht already exiting the narrow channel entrance and heading out to sea. The captain was following his orders to depart as soon as the younger Marcos had returned.
He turned to look up at Science Hall, and briefly thought of the people bound within it. Then he caught sight of an older, academic-looking man standing near him at the rail, observed closely by two young sailors.
“Professor…” Marcos could not recall the name his son had passed on.
“Harrigan,” replied the man. “Evan Harrigan. I presume that you are the instigator of all this….” He waved his hand across the boat. “Abducting me, beating me.”
“I am Regional Governor Juan Marcos.” He held out his enormous hand. “And indeed I take full responsibility. But we need have no more of it. It was a complete misunderstanding, I assure you.”
“It has been a painful misunderstanding.”
“Yes, clearly so. I apologize for all of this. My men overstepped their bounds.”
“They threatened to kill me! I presume that was only to induce fear in me, but I fully believed it at the time! I have never been so frightened.” This last he said a great deal more quietly.
“Again, please accept my apologies.” Marcos faked his sincerity, but it was believable enough to mollify the professor. “Now, I understand that your little island-destroying invention is ready to be fired again.”
Harrigan nodded proudly. “Yes, it is. It consumes a great deal of energy, but it recharges surprisingly fast if you feed it well.”
“May we have another demonstration?”
Harrigan looked around awkwardly. He fiddled in his pocket for a moment, then replied hesitantly, “We have no suitable targets. Paradise 5 was just a chunk of barren rock, so I didn’t mind targeting it. But each of the other islands is really quite beautiful.
“Well then,” Marcos appeared to acquiesce, “perhaps you can show us how you can remotely control it.”
“That I can do.” Harrigan was eager to show off his contraption. “As long as we don’t get more than a few kilometers away, that is.”
Marcos frowned. That was unacceptably close. “You cannot control it from farther away than that?”
“I certainly can. The remote control works for probably thirty kilometers. But you wouldn’t be able to see what I was doing, would you?”
Turning to look out over the island, Marcos’s frown turned into a slight grin. “Of course. I see your point. You have the remote control here, I presume.”
“Your son insisted I bring it along.”
“He is wiser than I suspected. Can you show me? Now?”
Harrigan reached into a black satchel that was lying on the deck and removed an aluminum box about the size and shape of a laptop computer. It had multiple switches, several sliding mechanisms labeled “intensity,” and three dials. It could have been a ham radio, or a piece of equipment out of a recording studio. He extended a silver antenna and pressed a small button. Two red lights appeared on the remote control.
> “That’s all there is to it? It does not look all that sophisticated.”
“Well, this is a prototype. This remote is actually more complex than it looks. It took us a great deal longer to design and build this than to build the entire apparatus in the observatory. That’s what I told your son, too.”
Marcos did not reply. Instead, he pointed up toward the top of the high peak, and the observatory that stood prominently there. The mirrors scattered all over the mountainside were still in position, and with a push of a button, Harrigan ordered them to realign with the sun. Twenty seconds later, the collected sunlight from hundreds of expansive mirrors once again focused upon the collection tower near the observatory.
“There,” Harrigan said. “Full control of the whole thing.”
“Excellent. And now Professor, please be so kind as to aim the device at what you call Science Hall.”
Harrigan now appeared uneasy. “Just what are you planning?”
“I wish to put a scare into the people there, that is all. I want Petur Bjarnasson to have a little taste of his own medicine, as you Americans would say. Please aim the weapon.”
“No, I think I have already proven what you required.”
Exasperated, Marcos turned to the bridge and called out, “Sergeant Gonzales! Come here!”
In a moment, the young technical sergeant was by his side, breathing heavily.
“Gonzales, can you manipulate this device?”
Gonzales had already examined the remote control, and knew what his answer had to be. “I might be able to, but I worry that I would press the wrong buttons and destroy us. There are no labels at all, and trial-and-error might be risky.”
Marcos turned back to Harrigan in disgust. “Well, Professor, it is up to you.”
Harrigan answered, “Well, Marcos, then you’re up a creek.”
Marcos was unaccustomed to disrespect and disobedience, and lashed out at the professor, throwing his fist squarely at his nose, and the professor collapsed to the deck. Blood poured out of his face. His upper incisors wiggled loosely in his gums. In fact, as Harrigan slowly recovered from the blow, he realized that it was the bone in which those teeth were affixed that was moving, not the teeth themselves. He would need surgery, and would be eating through a straw for weeks.
Harrigan struggled up to his knees, and then his feet. He held onto the rails for support, and looked down at the deck. Marcos was at his side.
“And now, you will aim the weapon at Science Hall, Professor Harrigan.”
Harrigan wiped his nose on his sleeve, which instantly soaked up the sticky crimson. His teeth ached, yet were numb at the same time. The deck was splattered with drops of blood.
“Bring Maria to me — immediately.” Marcos said this in Spanish. Harrigan did not understand. A minute later, he spoke to Harrigan. “You will do as I say, or you will pay the price. First, you will be made progressively more uncomfortable. Second, you will not live long enough to take advantage of my offer to work in Mexico. Third, you will not live long enough to enjoy the credit you can expect to receive for creating this incredible weapon. Fourth, you will know that you were directly responsible for the suffering and death of this lovely woman.” He pointed toward the nearest door, which led out of the yacht’s well-appointed lounge, and at the woman who was emerging from it, propelled not-so-gently by one of the soldiers.
Harrigan had met her once at a party, and he recalled that her name was Elisa. He knew little else about her, except that he had had the impression at the time that she was not the least bit attractive. She stood in front of him now, however, certifiably beautiful — beautiful despite her heavily bruised cheek.
She said, “Juan Marcos, do not do this. You will accomplish nothing by destroying the Island.”
“Bjarnasson will be killed, and the British will be left with dust. Aim the weapon, professor.”
Harrigan responded. “Don’t you want to be farther away when I press the button?” It clearly hurt his mouth to talk, and his words emerged as if he had a lisp.
“How far would you recommend?”
“Ten kilometers would be wise.” A drop of bloody saliva fell from his lip.
Marcos called up to the captain on the bridge. “Do you think ten kilometers is far enough away?”
Captain Zamrano shook his head. “I would prefer more, much more.”
“A wave shrinks in power exponentially as it spreads outward,” Harrigan said reassuringly. “Ten kilometers is plenty.” But he spoke with spite in his voice, and Marcos did not trust him.
Marcos nodded. “Captain, tell us when we are fifteen kilometers away.”
Maria, a.k.a. Elisa, shook free of the soldier who had brought her up to the deck. Her withering gaze as he tried to regain hold of her was enough to stop him where he stood, and his brief attempt at grasping her wrist appeared as an aimless flailing through empty air. She moved quickly to stand beside the professor, and examined his bruised and rapidly swelling face.
“You must not help him with this. Do not show Marcos how to do this!”
“Be quiet, girl. The professor will be rewarded for his assistance, and he and you will be treated very well, barring any disagreeable behavior. Disagreeable behavior will be met with a disagreeable response, of course, but I anticipate our professor here will function well as one of my key scientific advisors. Do you agree, professor?”
Harrigan said nothing, but persisted in manipulating the various controls on the box he held. Marcos was satisfied. “And now, we have some time before the big closing event of this drama. Maria, why don’t you accompany me down to my quarters.”
She spat at him, but the wind crossing the decks blew it away. “There are three chances of you ever getting me into your bed, Marcos: Slim, Fat, and None! And I believe the Fat chance is the one most likely to apply.”
Marcos, always sensitive about his obesity, slapped her across her already bruised cheek. But he could do no more, else risk the tenuous hold he had on the professor. If he crossed the line, Harrigan might gather the nerve to rebel. And he had to accept that he needed Harrigan now.
The girl almost lost her footing but regained her balance. Her left cheek was deep red from the assault, but her right cheek was equally reddened in anger. “Marcos, I’ve grown tired of your ways.”
“You may not have to tire of my ways for much longer, if Professor Harrigan does not come through.”
The luxury yacht cut through the water at more than twenty knots. The sky was a deep blue, with not a cloud visible, and only a long trail of gray mist downwind of where Paradise 5 used to lie. There were swells moving along the sea, invariably at this latitude in the middle of the ocean, but the wind was light and there was not an ominous sign anywhere — except for the control box to which Professor Harrigan tightly clung.
Petur worked busily at the tape that held his arms so tightly. The more he pulled and wriggled, the more like rope the duct tape became. Others in the restaurant were becoming resigned to the notion that it would require outside help to free them. The Mexicans had bound them all, separately and thoroughly, to various fixed objects throughout the place. But despite the evident futility, Petur continued to struggle at his bindings.
Joseph was in a position to see Marcos’s yacht leave the wharf and move through the lagoon, now filled with silt, and into the open ocean. “It’s out of sight now, Petur. They went off to the east.”
“They’re going home,” Petur replied.
“We won. I cannot believe it, but we won.” Joseph was gleeful.
“We’ve lost Elisa,” Isaac sadly reminded him.
Onbacher responded only with silence. Nobody spoke for several minutes until Dr. Standall broke the peace by excitedly shouting, “Look over there! The observatory… it’s moving!”
All eyes turned, although less than half could see the top of the mountain from the vantage of their hitching posts. It quickly became clear that the weapon at the observatory was turning to aim at Science Hall
and the people within it. They all renewed their efforts to free their bonds, with the energy derived from near-panic — everyone except Petur, who simply continued as he had before.
“Petur, this does not bode well,” Joseph said. “I think Governor Marcos plans doing to us what you did to Paradise 5.”
Isaac, sitting quietly while making an attempt at his bonds, replied. “I highly doubt he can get it to work.”
Standall said, “He’s making some progress at it, though. The solar array is aligning now. In a moment that contraption of yours will be powered up. Our own technology is being used to destroy us.”
Joseph cut in, “Perhaps it is fitting. Perhaps our great technical success will turn out to have been our tragic flaw.”
“Ready or not, Joseph,” Petur said, “humanity needs what we’re providing. It is now or never for us as a species. You know that argument as well as I do by now.” Petur had managed to wriggle one hand out of the tape to the level of the base of his thumb, where he was now hung up.
“It may be out of our hands soon.” Standall was staring out the window at the observatory. “What did you build up there, Petur? What kind of a weapon is it?”
“It’s not a weapon, Doctor. Not at all.”
“Perhaps, but it seems capable of causing significant destruction. Couldn’t you see that when you were building it?”
“We were aware.”
At the top of the mountain, the tiny half-horsepower motor at the base of the observatory was calmly twisting the giant reflecting telescope and surrounding dome toward Science Hall. Simultaneously, the gimbals, which kept the telescope aligned with its target stars, were slowly allowing the cylinder and giant mirror to dip down to the level of the horizon, and then farther down still.
Sophia had been watching intently. “The solar array is lined up on the tower now, and the telescope is aiming directly at us.”
Petur said calmly, “I would recommend, then, that we all turn away and close our eyes.”
“Governor, we are now fifteen kilometers from Paradise 1.”