Kelda said, ‘I’ve noticed it too.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think they’ll come to us about it if they possibly can.’
‘What might stop them?’
‘They could be involved in something they can’t confide.’
‘Nembrak would never allow himself to be conned.’
Kelda said quietly, ‘Don’t underestimate Sladey. If there was anyone capable of turning the screws, he’s the top banana.’
‘Eagle’s noticed it.’
Kelda said, ‘What Eagle doesn’t notice is simply not worth noticing. And if I know Eagle, he’ll have a stab at figuring out what’s really going on around here.’
‘Should I speak to him, Kelda?’
‘I wouldn’t. He’ll send out his own smoke signals and we can’t read them. And he’s too shy to admit that he’s taking the initiative — if that’s what he means to do.’
‘You realise it leaves him totally unprotected?’
‘Eagle is a Brave, Trell. If he wants to pass the pipe to us he’ll let us know.’
‘Granted. What I do not like is that he seems to feel he has so little to lose.’
Kelda turned away. The sensation of a welling tear in her eye was too much for her. ‘And I’ll never know why,’ she said.
Minus Two
Nembrak said to Eagle, ‘Here. Try one of own brand of Specials.’
‘It tastes like motor oil, Nembrak.’
‘Sure thing. What do you expect from General Motors?’
Eagle thought, that’s it! Nembrak’s trying to be jokey and on the outside it’s funny, but behind those eyes that’s no joke, Nembrak’s really scared about something and he’d like to confide it but I don’t think he’s free to, somehow.
Aloud, Eagle said, ‘No one ever knows what to expect from General Motors, Nembrak, but it usually comes out okay. This stuff is the exception.’ He looked up and met Nembrak’s eyes.
Nembrak looked away, managed to keep up the grin. ‘You’ll disappoint our Market Research people.’
‘Well, Nembrak, you should put your Market Research people in touch with your taste-buds. There’s something about this concoction that doesn’t seem right.’ What the hell’s up? … ‘Do you think Dr Kelda should give you a check-up?’
‘Your face is enough.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not the subject of the conversation, Nembrak.’ — Only what in God’s name is?
‘That’s right. We were talking about the GM Special.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ Eagle’s eyes were terribly penetrating now. He decided to try once more. ‘I could always get a second opinion.’
‘I’d … rather you didn’t.’
Eagle shook his head. ‘Must be tough.’ Then his face broke into a sympathetic smile as he abandoned the attempt to help the guy out. ‘Nembrak, this really is a great drink, I mean it makes the time-honoured mickey finn seem like so much Jaffa Juice.’
Nembrak said, ‘Maybe I should’ve cleaned out the can.’
‘Maybe you should get out of the soft-drinks market before the next audit. You see, I think that pouring this pink stuff down the tractor may not improve its performance. We only have one spare engine so let’s get back to Standard Oil before the tractor quits on us, and don’t feed this muck to my horses, even through an oil filter. They might come out in pink stripes and then we really will have zebras.’
Nembrak gazed at his shoes, then walked away.
*
Sladey said, ‘You sure we can get that spare engine up top on time, Scorda?’
‘I told you.’
‘If you told me the world was round I’d case the library for an atlas.’
‘Well, you do it better, then.’
‘Scorda, I am not a garage man. I dislike noisy machinery intensely, so I’m forced to rely on you. It’s a considerable strain on my nerves but anything’s better than getting mixed up in the motor-works. Ever heard the Foden Motorworks Band?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I suppose you couldn’t tell the difference but there’s a distressing gap in timbre between that and Sir Adrian Boult conducting the Manhattan Transfer, or whomsoever it is he waves his baton at … You have no doubts about the location of the supply depot?’
Scorda unfolded a soiled map. ‘It’s right here.’
‘Where? Under your gritty fingermarks? — You really are a bit of a scrubber, Scorda. When you’re not picking your nose you’re leaving a trail of grubby smudges all over the Mediterranean. I take it you mean Corsica?’
‘Of course I mean Corsica.’
‘Well, well! A mere chuck of a pebble away.’
‘Okay. But who’s building the boat?’
‘General Motors.’
‘Now I know you’re crazy!’
‘Being crazy helps.’
‘I wish you’d talk straightforward.’
‘— ly. Straightforwardly. It’s an adverb.’
‘So it’s an adverb, so what, so you’re crazy.’
‘Scorda, a boat upside-down is not a boat.’
‘Not for long. It kinda sinks.’
‘I meant, while it’s being built, you oik. Upside-downwise.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Quite so. I designed a rather special “shed”, you see — a very strong shed — you might say a cattle shed if we’re going to talk about Jesus — but anyway it’s a very odd shed, because it has a great slice of lead running along the top —’
‘— The keel!’
‘You’re so right. The keel. But to General Motors it just seems like a very strange sort of roof. They’re far too busy with their revolt-ing orgies — with the accent, fortunately, on the volts — to ask impertinent questions about my strange architectural ideas. They just make with the volts.’
‘And when it’s the other way up —’
‘— We stick the engine on the back and Bob’s you uncle — though I’m glad to say he’s not mine. Is he your uncle?’
‘No. What in hell are you talking about?’
‘It’s all in jest, Scorda. Were pals, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So you run off and work out a way of getting hold of that engine, there’s a good boy.’
‘What if they need it for the tractor?’
‘Who needs a tractor? My dear Scorda, with the soil they’re working they could drive that tractor-thingy around in ever decreasing circles for the next five years — they still wouldn’t get enough corn to make a loaf of unleavened bread for you know who.’
‘Wheat, Sladey. Wheat.’
‘There’s science for you.’
*
‘Trell?’
‘Kelda, you’re crying … Look, let’s go and talk on the beach.’
‘Anywhere we go they’re … they’re trying to undermine you, Trell. I can’t bear to watch.’
‘They haven’t succeeded yet. Come on, now! I’ve got you, how can I possibly be unhappy? Let them snigger and call me a Yid all they like … Half of them don’t even know what a “Yid” is supposed to be. They just parrot what Sladey says. Anyway, it’s only a few of them. Knowing what that bunch are like, I’d feel insulted if they forgot themselves and behaved all nice and friendly … Here, let’s park ourselves on Nembrak’s Lovers’ Bench, Gee I wouldn’t care to try it on this thing, would you? — Whatever do those General Motors people get up to that makes them think of a gadget like this?’
‘Trell. Thanks for trying but I can’t laugh.’
‘Nor can I, deep down.’
‘Fulda’s misery about Nembrak?’
‘No. Strictly Operations. Sladey and his mob really did get that map reference — the bastards.’
‘And what’s on the map?’
‘There’s only one thing it could be: supplies. Buried supplies. What else? That’s what Nembrak thinks, anyway. And there’s something really gnawing at that guy, Kelda. He has the key to something and I’m damn sure he’s in a trap. Is Nembrak
trying to tell us something he can’t say outright?’
‘Even if he is, he won’t go any further. Eagle couldn’t get anything out of him.’
‘Did he say that — Oh, I get it. It’s what he didn’t say, that’s what bugs you, Kelda. It’s one thing for us to leave him to work things his own way, quite another for Eagle to keep it from us. You know that.’
‘I wonder what the hell is going on.’
‘We can’t afford to wait and find out. If they know where the supplies are, we have to get there first.’
‘How can we? — When they’ve ripped the pages out of the Log? Nobody ever found Treasure Island without some kind of chart.’
‘Okay. It so happens I do have a theory about Nembrak’s dilemma. I can’t prove it and we mustn’t challenge him. But in outline it makes sense.’
‘You’d better say.’
‘Kelda. Suppose you were being threatened by Sladey’s team? Wouldn’t I have to play ball to protect you?’
‘You’d find a way around it.’
‘Sure. Likewise, Nembrak will find a way around it —’
‘— But until he does?’
‘Until he does he may have to keep his mouth shut … Here’s Krand riding up.’
Krand reined back his horse. ‘Hi, you two … Hey, what’s this, Kelda’ — Tears’
She tried to smile through them. ‘Krand, either that horse is too small for you, or you’re too big for the horse.’
Krand said, ‘It travels, though.’
Kelda said, ‘We gathered … Know all about your trek to the mountains with Helen.’
‘Someone’s squealed.’
Kelda said, ‘I asked the horses.’
‘They should keep their mouths in their nosebags. Helen and me … Our love affair is best-kept secret since the Wooden Horse.’
Trell said, ‘Nuts! Those weren’t wooden horse shoe prints leading halfway up the mountain. Show me the horse with eight legs and I’ll guess again.’
‘They need eight legs with me on board.’
Trell said, ‘Krand, see anything on that trek?’
‘A lot of grass and some sharp things called Alps.’
‘Any people?’
‘No … Wait! Yeah, we did. Our two favourite guys taking a walk. I didn’t think they could make it that far, either White as the sheets they sleep in before every breakfast-time.’
Trell said, ‘Where were they?’
‘Near the northern part of the ravine. Why?’
Kelda said, ‘We just wondered if they seemed … furtive.’
‘Sure they seemed furtive. Eagle says they’re so furtive that if they were tree-trunks they’d lie by the river trying to look like crocodiles … Why?’
Kelda said, ‘Discuss that next meeting. Okay?’
‘Okay … Seen Helen, anywhere? She promised to stand-by with a crowbar — to separate me from this horse.’
‘She’s with Eagle in the stables.’
‘Eagle after my woman?’
Kelda said, ‘He’s after your horse. He calls that one Zebralegs.’
‘Whatever he calls it, he can have it — if there’s any way of levering me off. Last time I’ll try to ride without a saddle! … Kelda, why you been crying?
‘I guess something got in my eye.’
‘That official?’
‘Yes. Official.’
‘Right. I’m off. Only next time I see you unofficially crying I’ll attach Sladey to the tractor by his solitary eyebrow and check his take-off speed.’
*
Eagle thought, I’m not a Damn Brave, and I hate the dark. But something’s awry. I’m going to get it together and investigate what that noise is.
The noise itself was very faint, almost submerged by the air-conditioning system on ZD-One, a kind of clinking-clanking, barely audible. And it crept up your spine like a spider.
Eagle’s eyes carefully scanned what could be seen of Dormitory-Area Charlie in the dim blue light. The breathing around him was regular. No one else was awake. Nevertheless, he moved with extreme caution, easing himself into a sitting position, mind there’s no twang from the bedsprings …
No one else stirred as he climbed out of bed in pyjamas and bare feet. Around his toes the swish of processed air was an irritant. It felt chilled, getting at the nerve ends.
Checking-out the nearest beds, he saw they were all occupied except Milem’s. Milem, he knew, would be camping out with Mendra, somehow keeping warm with a wood fire and a great heap of blankets. Mendra would be surreptitiously seducing her own body, narcissistically passing the palm of her hand over her thighs, then travelling up her body to her breasts, touching her own nipples.
But the corridor. This was something different. It had a kind of pulse, a repetitious electrostatic charge that visibly disturbed tiny particles of dust in the subdued light.
It was as if Huckman himself were there, tugging at the future with a calculating thoughtwave of malice, getting his own back on Futureman for the very fact that, in conspiring to create this fiasco of a community, he had been sliced at the artery by a helicopter blade.
Eagle didn’t question how he knew all this. His actions were now compulsive and instinctual. The animal in him was perfectly tuned to the intellect. He was following sounds as would a hunter — though he’d never thought of himself as a tiger, he was closer to the jungle than he could know.
Clank!
Eagle stopped dead.
For he’d passed the entrance of the gymn. The metallic spasms — mere acoustic pins and needles that were tinkering with the whispers of the night — seemed now to be coming from behind him …
Which made him think of those steel doors … those very doors the twins had discovered, so infinitely long ago. And beyond them they’d seen — of all things — a tractor.
‘Tractor,’ said Eagle under his breath. ‘Well, the tractor isn’t here now. I parked it outside, last thing.
The steel doors were slammed and locked and recessed.
Unmistakably, the noises were coming from behind them.
And Eagle knew that there was only one Authority that could either close or open those doors. And that Authority was the Computer. And he was in no mood to ask the Computer why it had suddenly decided to isolate the hoist.
And Eagle thought, there just has to be another route to that hoist.
Like a cat-burglar in sneakers, he darted into the corridor again, circumnavigated the hoist-shaft — and found it.
It was all there, the vertical, square-section tube, running right up to the top of Kasiga; the storage area, the fork-lift truck, remotely controlled from a micro hooked-up to the Computer itself.
The place was almost in darkness. But familiar voices whispered. And from a circular incision in the bulkhead, Eagle listened …
‘You punched up the trolley?’
‘Sure. I used the micro, offline.’
‘So we get that spare engine?’
‘Affirmative. Just wait two minutes. The fork-lift truck will grab crate number 0707 from Rack 18A.’
‘And slap it on the hoist?’
‘Right.’
Eagle waited, his knuckle pressed against the protruding flange, clamped until so recently by a ring of massive bolts which described the circle of the hold’s entrance. It was through this incision in the bulkhead that he had entered.
The metallic sounds he’d heard from Dormitory Charlie had been the freeing of this armour-plated orifice that had sealed-off the hoist area in which he now stood.
Eagle watched, coldly unmoved, while the fork-lift truck sleazed up to its chosen load, zizzed to the centre of the hoist-platform, and lowered it obligingly. Having done so, it backed away, waltzed through a turn, and trundled back into the darkness.
There came a click. An electrical whine. A smooth engaging of well-lubricated pinions.
Hoist, crate and incubants tautened the hausers. The platform raised its sulky tableau of hooligans toward the freight hatch.
/> Eagle threaded himself back through the bulkhead and tore along the arterial corridor for the passenger elevator aft.
On opening the outlet hatch he was drenched in torrential rain. It slashed down onto the skin of Kasiga with such force that the cloying edges of giant barnacle shells had got prised open. Slithery parasites glistened in the lightning and turned the rain a viscous green.
Another bolt of lightning of such brilliance that it left a reverse-image on Eagle’s retina showed that the equipment hatch for’ard had opened. His vision cleared and he was able to identify Scorda, who recoiled in shell-shock as a thud of thunder — not a drum-roll but a single impact like a howitzer — echo-sounded the hull. A flash revealed faces, glossy in the wet, emerging at the apex of the hoist. The crate was clumsily manhandled onto the shore conveyor and the thieves hurtled down after it — child-maniacs on a nightmare funslide beneath billion-volt discharges of ionised hate.
Eagle clawed his way down the passenger ramp, concealing himself by keeping his head below the safety-guard.
Spasms of lightning revealed in photo-flash more stark outlines in the pelting ram. The conveyor had stopped. The conspirators were churning mud in a chaotic attempt to heave the engine from the conveyor terminal to the improvised jetty.
A triple prong of lightning fizzed and showed more, a series of flickers like jammed movie film.
At the foot of the conveyor stood the mini-tractor, its motor idling evenly enough despite the downpour. Whatever the purpose of smuggling the spare motor ashore it certainly couldn’t have been to keep the tractor-drivers smiling.
Eagle thought, okay, I’ll get those hoodlums, what the hell they take us for? He made straight for the stables — praying that Zebralegs wouldn’t neigh in welcome.
— But there was a Secret Eagle … an Eagle that only Zebralegs — plus an elite selection from the other horses — ever knew about. And he’d got the idea from simply playing Cowboys and Indians.
What the horses knew was that Eagle was frightened of riding them. He had been from the start. Wild horses — especially these wild horses — wouldn’t have dragged out of him a breath of his inner fear, even to the girl that Eagle had secretly loved all along — Kelda. To just the same extent as he could never reveal the deep hurt that kept him awake nights whenever he thought of her and Trell together, so it wasn’t in his nature to betray his terror of horse-riding. He lived, quietly, with both deadly secrets played close to the chest.
The Chromosome Game Page 21