Manhattan Transfer

by John E. Stith

  Another tree dweller approached with a small twig that burned at one end, and Matt suddenly realized how much damage fire could do to this city. He looked up and saw that on the level above them, a large group of tree dwellers stood around a huge ring of what looked like large water balloons made from skin or some translucent plant tissue.

  The tree dweller with the burning stick reached the body on the platform. The alien applied the flame near the body's feet, and in moments the exposed surface of the platform was in flames. Inside the flickering brightness, the body darkened and burned.

  The tree dwellers in a ring around the platform hung their heads, so Matt did the same. The fire burned for five or ten minutes, and when it died out, nothing remained except an uneven pile of ashes, not even bones.

  Two tree dwellers approached, scooped the ashes into a small pan, and then poured water from a bladder into the pan and stirred the ashes. They poured the remainder of the water onto the platform, where it hissed and then grew quiet. The sludgy mixture of water and ashes was spread on the bark of the nearest tree.

  When they got back to the meeting room, one of the tree dwellers made marks on the pad, at which time Abby said, "They say it's time to eat a meal. I think they understand we shouldn't risk trying their food without some testing."

  Matt asked Abby, "Do they mind if we send someone to get our food?"

  Soon Abby said, "No. That's fine."

  Matt looked at Rudy. "Would you do it?"

  Rudy nodded. He left in the company of a couple of the tree dwellers.

  When Rudy got back, the four humans and the four tree dwellers ate a meal, each species using its own food. Matt was glad they had their own supply, not just because he knew it would be safe, but also because the tree dwellers' food pellets smelled like something that had been in the refrigerator too long.

  Not long after lunch, Abby was able to determine that the tree dwellers had not yet been able to decode their message from the captors, either. She suggested that with only one language, and with a reliance on thought more than a written vocabulary, the tree dwellers might be the last to decode it.

  By mid afternoon, Matt's attention was beginning to wander. The tree dweller they had killed wouldn't have had to die if this expedition hadn't been undertaken. And all they'd learned so far was what they had expected—that other cities had received the same treatment as Manhattan.

  Abby was leaning over drawing a couple of symbols on the slate when suddenly she jerked upright. "Oh, God."

  "What's the matter?" Matt asked.

  "Ah, ah, I don't want to say. Maybe it's nothing. I just remembered that the cremation platform was cross–shaped. The cross may be their symbol for death."

  "So?"

  "Let me try to find out something. I'll tell you as soon as I actually know anything."

  Abby quickly scratched lines through everything she'd been working on and started a new drawing. Her fingers trembled as she drew.

  The tree dwellers drew figures in response.

  After about ten more minutes of interaction, the blood drained from Abby's face. On the pad was another version of the large circle with a series of crosses around its perimeter.

  Abby turned toward Matt. "Oh, God. The rest of them were killed. I've been praying there's a chance I was wrong, but I don't think so." She took a deep breath. "They know this because they're telepathic. I'm still a little uncertain on time units, but as near as I can make out something like twenty days after they were captured, while this ship was still near their planet, fire rained from the sky, and every single person remaining on their planet was killed."

  Chapter 8

  Armed and Dangerous

  Two men picked their way through steam passageways and sewer tunnels beneath the southern–most section of Broadway. Flashlights powered by rechargeable batteries generated beams that cut through the haze, forming crude light–sabers whose points danced on the dark walls ahead.

  Benny Kellermund, the man following, was a short man with a crew cut and a boxer's build. He'd wanted to be in the Mafia, but entrance requirements had toughened to the point that he didn't qualify. He had a reputation for unpredictability, and neither of the two guys he knew well enough to recommend him had been willing to do so.

  Lucky Stiles, the man in front, had the body of a fighter and the charm of an IRS agent in the middle of a tax–evasion audit.

  Benny took a long final drag and finished his last cigarette, which was probably to be nearly his very last cigarette. Instead of flicking the end into the scummy water filling the trough that ran along the center of the tunnel, Benny stuffed the last quarter inch of tobacco into his pocket. Later in the week, he'd assemble the remaining sections into the last cigarette he might ever smoke.

  Benny cleared his throat. He'd been trying to breathe without paying attention to the stench, but he'd been unsuccessful. He wasn't all that crazy about opening his mouth, but he was curious. "How come you don't get lost down here? It all looks the same." His voice generated spooky echoes.

  "Practice, practice, practice," said Lucky.

  Benny shut up. His back was sore from having to bend forward to balance the bulky load he carried, but Lucky carried a similar load, and he wasn't complaining. They passed dark side passages and turned corners from time to time, but only once did Lucky seem in doubt about which way to turn next. Occasionally, light filtered down from a grate high above, but mostly it was just dark. Benny didn't shine his light down any of the side tunnels or unexpected cavities. He preferred not to know what the darkest corners held.

  Benny's adrenaline level was up, but his pulse was close to normal. Even though the Mafia wouldn't take him, he'd found his own ways to belong. He'd formed a street gang, and he'd done jobs like this often enough that it was almost routine, except for being underground. He felt good, knowing that when he was finished, the mayor would think twice about doing anything that might cause their captors to retaliate. People shouldn't be rocking the boat. They could all have a nice life in Manhattan. The island was all he knew of Earth, and all he cared about on Earth. The preacher was right; rocking the boat could only cause trouble.

  Something moved in the water as Benny and Lucky moved along a new section of tunnel. Benny made a point of not looking, but he couldn't help think of the stories of baby alligators flushed down toilets. Alligators were mean enough as it was. What if they remembered being flushed down a toilet?

  "Are we almost there yet?" Benny asked. His voice generated more metallic echoes.

  "If you gotta take a leak, you can just turn left."

  "I'm fine. Just curious." No way was Benny undoing his zipper down here. He wasn't even sure if he'd keep his shoes when he got back to the surface.

  "We're close, okay?"

  "Okay." Up on the streets, Benny felt equal to Lucky, sometimes maybe more than that, but down here he felt reliant on Lucky. Here Lucky was clearly the expert.

  Benny started to shift his load to his other shoulder, but realized that would make walking in the curved tunnel difficult. Something behind Benny scraped against concrete. He didn't look around, but the hair on the back of his neck bristled. Benny could hold his own in any fight, but this place made him distinctly uncomfortable.

  They passed a series of iron rungs set into the concrete, leading up into the darkness, and for a few seconds Benny regretted watching the Aliens films so many times. He almost wished he had a flamethrower.

  The explosives in his shoulder pack seemed to grow more awkward by the minute. In the light gravity, the pack wasn't too heavy, but the bulk still made it hard to turn or stop instantly. He followed Lucky into another tunnel, this one with a huge number of pipes of varying sizes running along the length of the tunnel roof. His foot kicked a candy bar wrapper aside, and his next step generated the crunch of a beetle or a roach being ground into the cement. Benny wasn't about to stop and decide which.

  After another few minutes, Lucky actually had to stop and consult a small map befo
re pointing into a tunnel that seemed to slope perceptibly downward.

  At the other end of the tunnel was a junction where six tunnels met, and Benny could feel vibrations through the soles of his shoes.

  "Here," Lucky said as he unshouldered his pack and started to put it on the ground. At the last minute, he hung the strap on a bolt holding a pipe at chest level.

  Benny acted as a nurse to Lucky's doctor impression as Lucky requested materials from the packs and he carefully set them into position. "Packet," meant Lucky wanted another greasy, plastic–wrapped brick of explosive. "Glue," meant lucky wanted the glue gun to fasten something into place, once a fuse, once a timer.

  This part of the trip made Benny the most nervous. Not many of Benny's friends called him things like "imaginative," but he sure was. He could see himself and Lucky getting blown to bits by just a quick accident. The wrong thing dropped, the timer begin defective. For all he knew, accidentally putting the explosive next to a hot pipe would trigger it.

  If Lucky shared Benny's fears, he kept them to himself. Seconds later Lucky finished his work, and they moved down another tunnel. A couple of minutes later, Lucky was again at work.

  "Okay, that just about does it," Lucky said finally.

  Benny realized he was sweating. "You're sure that'll do it?"

  "Sure I'm sure. That huge pipe there? It's the one of the tunnel ventilation tubes. When this baby goes—poof—it starts suckin' air from right here down into the tunnel. And that first job, back in the other tunnel? That'll rupture the biggest water–line for blocks around. This whole tunnel will be flooded, and guess where the water's gonna want to go?"

  "So, how much time do we have?"

  Lucky looked at his watch. "About two—two and a half minutes."

  "What? Let's get the hell out of here!"

  "Fine by me."

  Lucky hoisted his pack and started moving back the way they had come. Benny was right behind.

  "Hurry it up, will you?" Benny said.

  "Keep your pants on. Oh, did I say two minutes? I meant twenty minutes." Lucky laughed his screwy laugh, sounding like something halfway between a hiccup and a belch.

  "You moron."

  "Had you going. Am I right?"

  "Get outta' here."

  For an instant, Benny considered tipping Lucky into the trough of scummy liquid flowing along the bottom of the tunnel, but he knew he'd never find his way out on his own.

  He followed Lucky through turn after turn, thinking of ways to get even. A pair of red eyes illuminated by his flashlight took his mind off the problem temporarily.

  "Hold up," Lucky said suddenly. He stopped so abruptly Benny almost bumped into him. Lucky turned so Benny could see he was looking at his watch. "Should be just about now."

  Benny listened carefully, suddenly too aware of the creaks and slithering sounds and the soft buzzing that could have been flies caught in a big spider web nearby. "Why should I believe you this—"

  "Shhh!"

  And then it came. Two dull cracks, then silence, then a slow thundering noise as the rumbling made the tunnel walls vibrate. Grit fell from the ceiling, and somewhere a pipe clanked three times.

  "Yes!" said Lucky.

  "All right!" Benny turned to face the way they had come, and the rumbling seemed a little louder. He visualized the water flooding into the Battery Tunnel. That should give the mayor second thoughts about whether she should have people down there. "You're a wizard," he said softly.

  "Tell me somethin' new," said Lucky.

  The two men moved off into the tunnel. Occasionally Benny looked back nervously, a little worried that he'd see a wall of water coming toward them. If that happened, it probably wouldn't even matter that he couldn't swim.

  #

  Blood pounded in Matt's ears. "Their entire population killed?" he said, disbelieving.

  Abby looked from the alien diplomats to Matt. "Yes. They heard the dying screams of a planetful of their race. A lot of what they heard wasn't coherent, but they got the strong impression of the whole atmosphere being on fire. From a live person there's always a residual amount of noise. Only when someone of their race dies does that person go completely silent. And silence is what they heard afterward. I'm amazed they haven't all gone mad."

  "God above," Matt said slowly. "How sure are you that you're correctly understanding them? And is there any chance that the bubble being in place is what cut off the rest of the transmissions?"

  Abby said, "I'm virtually positive I'm understanding them correctly, but I'll try to go at it a different way to make absolutely certain."

  As Abby started drawing on the tree dwellers' slate again, Rudy leaned forward and caught Matt's attention. Softly he said, "As horrific as that sounds, we do already have some evidence that suggests what they're telling us is true."

  Matt thought for a moment. "You're talking about the flashes of light over the horizon in the transmission we received? What we figured was a huge lightning storm?"

  "Yes. If our captors really do destroy the planet after a city they take is off the surface, that lightning storm could have been caused by them. That lightning storm could have been something far worse."

  Abby exchanged several more drawings before she said, "What I've already told you has to be the right interpretation. These people could be lying to us, but I really think that's what they're saying."

  Matt nodded. "Do these—people—'hear' anything from our captors?"

  Moments later Abby said, "No. They've never been able to communicate with anyone who's not a member of their race. Apparently they can 'hear' electrical noise when it's generated, but to them that's all it is: noise." Abby hesitated. "God, I hate to even think this, but it's the obvious conclusion. If the people on their planet were destroyed after the city was captured, and that was what happened to the people who've been transmitting, that probably means the same thing—the same thing has happened to everyone on Earth. Or that it might happen soon, if it hasn't already."

  Matt felt suddenly as if he'd been punched. He felt very old and afraid. The other three members of the human contingent were silent for a long moment, no doubt trying to get over the shock. Under his breath, Matt said, "Jesus, not Earth."

  Finally Matt summoned strength and said, "But why would they be doing this? Why would they take a city and then destroy the rest of the population?"

  Rudy said, "They could be killing the rest to make sure no one ever tries to get the cities back."

  Bobby Joe fidgeted. "If all these cities constitute a gigantic zoo, then they could represent an investment. If you had a collection of anything, wouldn't it be worth more if it contained the only ones in existence?"

  Matt looked at Abby. "These people say it took about twenty days between the city capture and the destruction of the population. But the transmission we received from the other dome makes it seem that it started immediately. I wonder why the difference."

  Abby shook her head.

  The aliens watched quietly as the humans talked.

  Matt leaned toward Bobby Joe. "If the dome stopped RF from the computer, how does it transmit whatever frequencies are used for their telepathy?"

  Bobby Joe spread his hands. "Can't tell for sure. If their telepathy isn't confined to line of sight, it could be that it uses long–wave RF and the dome stops only short wavelengths. It could be telepathy uses spread spectrum transmission, and again the dome cuts only part of that. Could be they were sending through the black base material instead of the dome."

  "We've got to leave," Matt said suddenly. "Can you tell them we've got to get out of here right away? If there's a chance that Earth is still alive, we can't just sit here."

  Abby hurriedly made more marks on the drawing board, and within seconds the humans were being escorted out of the meeting room.

  As they descended the knotted ropes, Matt tried to imagine reasons their captors would destroy the remaining populations on their home planets, but he could think of nothing that made
sense, at least nothing that would make sense if their captors thought like human beings. But there was no reason at all to believe their captors shared anything about the human outlook.

  Large crowds of the tree dwellers watched from each of the layers the human team passed on the way down, no doubt as curious about humans as the humans were about them, and no doubt all aware the humans were leaving suddenly.

  The team reached the ground, and Rudy moved to open the door into the tunnel. One at a time they dropped down into the hole and moved sideways into the tunnel. As Rudy and Bobby Joe folded the black cutout back into place, Matt walked along the tunnel toward the still borer for a full minute before he switched on his walkie–talkie, just in case the frequency it used was harmful to the tree dwellers.

  "Manhattan base, this is Rover," Matt said into the mike.

  "Go ahead, Rover."

  "We've got bad news, and we're coming back. Please contact the mayor and request an emergency session in—" Matt made a quick estimate. "—in about four hours."

  "Will do. What's wro—hey, what the hell!" The Manhattan transmission cut off abruptly.

  "Hello, Manhattan base. Hello!" Matt took his thumb off the transmit switch and listened. Nothing.

  "Hello, Manhattan base. This is Rover. Do you read me?" Still nothing. What the hell was going on? He left the walkie–talkie on and went back to the others.

  "We've got more problems," he said. Abby, Rudy, and Bobby Joe stopped what they were doing and looked at him. "The transmission from Manhattan base was just cut off."

  "What the hell is happening?" asked Bobby Joe.

  "This is unbelievable," said Abby.

  "True. But it's happening."

  "What's the next step, then—go back?" Rudy asked.

  Matt thought for several seconds. "Abby and I are going back. We need to get back to Manhattan and have a quick meeting to decide what we should do next. Rudy, I want you and Bobby Joe to keep the borer going as fast as you can. Keep heading for the dome that's been transmitting, and we'll catch up as soon as we can."