by Piers Platt
Falken set his own saw between his teeth, and hauled himself up into the nearest tree. After ten minutes, the smaller tree the two scientists were working on toppled over at shoulder height and crashed to the ground with a thump. The two older men dragged it off to one side, before moving to clear the branches that Weaver and Falken had already cut down.
“Carefully, now,” Saltari chided Falken, seeing his foot slip from a branch as he moved to reposition himself in the tree. “No sense getting hurt right before we send you home.”
Falken nodded and settled himself, then focused on sawing through the branch. With a splintering crack, it split from the trunk, and tumbled to the ground.
“One more,” he called out, glancing down. Saltari waved by way of acknowledgement, and grabbed the fallen branch at one end, pulling it over to a pile nearby.
Falken transferred his saw to his other hand and stretched the fingers of his right hand, grimacing at his aching muscles. On the ground below, he could see that Weaver had already descended from his tree, having cleared all of the branches that overhung the launch tube. As Falken watched, the bookkeeper set his saw down and took a sip of water, catching his breath.
“Four of the moons are up,” Weaver said to Ngobe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than two or three in the sky at the same time. And look – there’s a fifth on the horizon.”
Ngobe tossed aside a branch and then looked up at the sky, frowning. The first light of the sun was just touching the horizon, and New Australia’s fifth moon was half-risen, too. “Five, you say? Ah! I’d forgotten about the alignment in all the excitement over the Khonsu. Today marks a very special day, if I’m not mistaken—”
But Weaver had clamped a hand over the physicist’s mouth, and quickly pulled him to the ground. Saltari, returning from the pile of branches, saw them hit the dirt, and paused in his tracks, confused. Weaver pointed urgently toward the beach below. The doctor prostrated himself as well.
Falken followed Weaver’s finger: below the hill, a single jeep was driving slowly along the waterline, its headlights off. As he watched, the jeep stopped, and half a dozen inmates climbed out, led by a taller man who walked with the unmistakable swagger of one long accustomed to commanding others. As he emerged from the shadow of the truck, the moonlight fell on his face.
Archos.
Falken glanced around, but he was in the uppermost portion of the tree – the branches were thin, and the trunk was no thicker than his leg. I’m totally exposed up here. He peered down at the ground, judging the distance in the gloom. No. Way too far to jump. He looked back at the group of inmates, who were gathering in a loose circle in front of the lead jeep. Shit. If they look up here, they’ll see me for sure.
Below, a new man appeared from farther down the beach, hurrying toward the group by the truck.
Who the hell is that?
Archos’ men stopped the new arrival and frisked him, searching him for weapons. One drew the man’s work knife from his belt and handed it to Archos. Falken squinted, and then the man turned around as they continued searching him.
I know him, from the colony. That’s the old guy from Supply that met us when we first landed on New Oz.
He turned around again, and faced Archos. In the gentle onshore breeze, Falken could just barely hear their conversation.
“I’m fucking tired,” Archos was saying. “This better be worth waking up in the middle of the night for.”
The inmate from the colony nodded emphatically. “It is, I promise. Did you bring food?”
“In the truck,” Archos said, pointing the knife’s blade at the truck. “You can have it when we’re done. Now talk.”
“Big news. We spent all day debating it in a town hall meeting. They found a ship, some kind of one-man spacecraft.”
“On New Australia? Where?”
Falken saw the man shrug. “It’s a secret. Only they know where it is.”
“Who’s ‘they’? “ Archos barked.
“Ngobe and Saltari,” the man said. “They’re gonna use it to send one of the others back to Earth.”
“It’s operational?” Archos asked, incredulous. “When are they going to launch?”
“They didn’t say. But they’re getting it ready now.”
“Who are they sending?” Archos asked.
“One of the new guys,” the old man told the warden. “Falken.”
“Bullshit,” Archos said. “They’re sending me now.” He stepped forward suddenly, and plunged the man’s knife deep into his chest. The man gripped the hilt, giving a surprised gasp which quickly turned into a strangled cry of pain. He fell forward onto the sand, still clutching vainly at the wound.
In the distance, the edge of the sun appeared out over the ocean, casting its first rays onto the beach below. Falken looked down at the hill – the mounds of dirt stood up in sharp relief, each casting a long shadow across the earth.
If they look up, they’ll see us. They’re gonna see us.
Archos stood over the dying man, watching as his body shuddered, and then went still. “Mount up,” he called to his men. “Let’s go wake up some farmers.”
They have to see us now. We’re going to have to fight them off.
Archos turned suddenly, as a movement caught his eye. Falken looked, too – another man had appeared from the trees and was walking toward the jeep.
Another one?! Falken thought. But there was something familiar about this man.
“Stop there,” Archos called warily.
The man stopped, his back turned to Falken. “I know where the ship is,” he said, and a cold fear gripped Falken as the sound of the man’s voice reached Falken.
No! Falken thought. He looked down at the hill below him, but just Saltari and Ngobe remained hiding behind a dirt pile. Weaver! What the fuck are you thinking?
“I’ve seen the ship. I’ll show you where it is,” Weaver offered. He stepped, slowly, in a wide circle, keeping his arms out to the side, palms held open, until his back was to the ocean. Archos and his men remained focused on him, watching him carefully.
He’s distracting them. Drawing their attention away from the hill. Falken lowered himself carefully to the next branch below him, trying not to shake the tree.
“How did you find us here?” Archos asked.
“I followed him,” Weaver said, indicating the dead inmate on the beach between them. “I thought he was going for a food stash.”
Archos considered this in silence. “Feels weird, boss,” one of his men opined.
“It’s true,” Weaver pleaded. “I’m starving.”
“Is that why you’re offering to help?” Archos asked.
Weaver nodded. “I just want to eat. I’ll help you if you’ve got food.” Falken could hear the fear in his friend’s tone, even from a distance. “I even know how to launch it.”
“Tell me,” Archos ordered him.
Falken reached a break in the branches and stopped, looking for another branch to step on, but he had cut the nearest branches away. Below, Weaver was shaking his head. “If I tell you, you’ll kill me, just like you killed him.”
Archos stepped close to Weaver. The warden towered over the smaller man.
“If you’re lying, I’ll make you pay dearly for this. His death will seem merciful when I’m done with you.”
“I’m not lying,” Weaver managed. “I swear. The ship’s right by the facility.”
Archos grabbed Weaver by the neck, and pulled him toward the truck. “Put him in the back.”
Falken let out a strangled cry of alarm, but the noise of the jeep starting up drowned it out. He tossed the saw away and let the trunk slide between his hands, crashing into the next row of branches. He felt a large splinter gouge his calf, but he ignored it, trying to descend faster. He hit the ground running, but as he ran past the hole, the truck carved a wide circle in the sand of the beach, and then drove away, disappearing into the forest in the direction of the facility.
“Wea
ver!”
Chapter 28
Falken dashed down to the beach, his boots churning up the sand. He reached the spot where the truck had been parked, but the vehicle was already out of sight, its empty tire tracks disappearing into the woods far ahead. He sank onto his knees, panting.
“God damn it. God damn it, Weaver.”
Ngobe and Saltari arrived on the beach a moment later. Saltari hurried over to the old man lying on the sand and turned him face up. He took a quick look at the knife, still embedded in the man’s chest, and then grimaced, and held two fingers against the man’s neck. Finally, he shook his head.
“Dead?” Ngobe asked.
“Yes,” Saltari said.
“He’s going to kill Weaver, too,” Falken said, his mind racing.
Saltari stood up. “Yes,” he sighed. “He will.”
“He distracted them. He knew they would spot us once the sun came up, so he made sure they were looking away from the hill, at him.”
“It was a very brave thing,” Ngobe said, sadly. He held out his hand, and helped Falken stand. “He’s a good man. Too good for this place.”
Saltari cleared his throat, and eyed Falken. “Archos will be back. Weaver’s subterfuge will only be able to last so long … and then he’ll either have to tell Archos the truth, or Archos will head to the colony to torture the truth out of Luo.”
Falken was still staring off into the distance, toward the facility.
“Falken, did you hear me?” Saltari asked. “We need to get you on board that escape pod. To ensure that Weaver’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”
“You’re bleeding,” Ngobe noted, seeing the gash on Falken’s left calf. Falken tore his gaze away from the trees and glanced down. Saltari clucked his tongue with annoyance and led Falken to the water’s edge, where he washed the wound with a few handfuls of water. Then they walked back to the dry sand.
“Is it bad?” Falken asked.
“It’s an ugly cut, but it’s clean now.” Saltari told him. He bent over and tore a piece of fabric off of Falken’s pant sleeve, then wrapped it around the wound and double-knotted the bandage.
“Can I run on it?” Falken asked.
“If need be,” Saltari said. “It will bleed some, but … it’s not serious enough to warrant keeping you here on New Australia, and sending someone healthier up into orbit. You can still go home.”
“I’m not going home,” Falken said. “Not yet. I’m going after Weaver.”
Saltari’s jaw dropped open. “You’re … what?”
“Don’t argue with me on this, Salty. No more lectures. I’m going after Weaver. I’m going to get him out of there, and back to the colony.”
“What about the pod?” Ngobe asked.
“It’ll have to wait,” Falken said. “If I don’t come back, one of you can go in my place.”
He felt cool moisture around his ankles and looked down in surprise to find that his feet were back in the water. Saltari and Ngobe looked down, too.
“The water’s … rising?” Saltari said, frowning.
They stepped back out of the sea and onto the beach, and watched as the waterline – slowly but surely – crept toward them, encroaching on the shore.
“What’s going on?” Falken asked. “Has it ever done that before?”
Ngobe snapped his fingers. “The moons! The alignment! Weaver reminded me, I had completely forgotten it was today. And of course, while I was worrying about the celestial bodies, I neglected to think about their impact on us here on the surface.”
“What are you blathering about, you fool?” Saltari asked.
“It’s a tide,” Ngobe said.
“But Oz has no tides,” Saltari told him. “It never has.”
“Normally, no,” Ngobe agreed. “A planet’s tides are caused by the gravitational pull of its moon, right? On Earth, the tide rises when the moon is closest to that hemisphere, as the water feels the attractive force of the moon’s mass.” He took Saltari by the elbow, and pointed him out toward the ocean. “But here, with six moons in constant orbit at different speeds and distances around the planet, they essentially cancel each other out. Except once every forty-eight years, the moons fall into perfect alignment. Today is that day.”
Falken looked up into the sky. Four of the moons were already high in the sky, and grouping closer together. The fifth moon had just cleared the horizon.
“The sixth, and closest, moon is … there!” Ngobe pointed. Falken could just barely make out a sliver of moon, low in the sky. “In a few hours, they’ll all be risen, and in near perfect alignment. And their combined mass will cause the ocean to rise. Well, clearly, it’s already rising.”
“How high?” Saltari asked, brusquely.
“Hm?”
“The tide. How high will it get?”
“Oh. I don’t know,” Ngobe admitted.
“Think, Ngobe,” Saltari said, sternly. He hurried over to the nearest tree. He pointed at the tree’s bark, where the first several feet were encased in their hard, white shell. “Could it rise several feet?”
“It’s certainly possible ….” Ngobe said. “And given the island’s terrain is extremely flat, I imagine the tide will go quite far inland.”
Saltari looked up and caught Falken’s eye. “This is it,” he said, with dread certainty. “This is why nothing grows on the ground, why the trees grow their armored trunk, why the blue-balls abhor being low down. A flood is coming.”
“But it’s just water,” Falken said. “We drink it, we use it to water the crops.”
Saltari shook his head. “There’s something more. There has to be.” He rapped his hand on the bark’s hard crust. “This tree didn’t evolve such an extreme defensive adaptation to protect against water alone.”
“How long do we have?” Falken asked.
Ngobe rubbed at his temple, looking out at the moons. “It’s already begun. But I’d say high tide will be in about … two hours. And it’s likely to last for several hours after that before receding again.”
“I need to warn the colony,” Saltari said. “We’ll need to get everyone up onto the roofs of the buildings.”
“You better hurry,” Falken replied. “They’ll be sleeping still. And there could still be foraging parties out from last night.” He turned and pointed at Ngobe. “You’ve got the captain’s keycard?”
Ngobe patted his shirt pocket. “Right here.”
“Good,” Falken said. “Stay here with the Khonsu. Make sure everything’s ready to go for the launch.”
“Stay on top of Lookout Hill,” Saltari called, as he started inland. “Don’t get caught below the high-water mark on the trees.”
“Where are you going?” Ngobe asked Falken, seeing the younger man stoop to lace his boots tighter.
“To the facility. To get Weaver.”
“You won’t make it in time,” Ngobe said. “It must be six or seven miles from here.”
But Falken was already up and running.
Chapter 29
Falken concentrated on his breathing.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Keep up the pace.
The dull ache of his injured calf had changed into a hot, burning sensation less than an hour into the run – Falken quickly realized that his salty sweat had soaked through the bandage and was stinging the open cut. For a while, he used the pain, letting it spur him onward. But soon enough, the freshness of the pain ebbed, and subsided into the background mix of physical complaints – his exhaustion, his hunger-cramped stomach, his raw hands from shoveling and sawing all night. And of course, the fire in his lungs from the extended run.
Nearly there. You must be.
He had chosen to stay close to the beach, figuring that while the overland route might be more direct, he could easily stray off course in the woods without any reference points, and miss the facility if he wasn’t careful.
The beach will lead me right there.
But the water had continued to rise, slowly cu
tting off more and more of the beach, and Falken had had no choice but to divert inland, still staying close to the water, but running now under the cover of the trees.
I can still see where the trees end, he reassured himself. I’m still near the beach … or where the beach used to be.
Through the branches above him, he could see four of New Australia’s moons rapidly converging directly overhead, with the fifth and sixth gaining height as well. He glanced apprehensively out to sea, but the surface of the water remained glassy and calm, unrippled by wind or wave. The water near him looked the same as it always had – blue-black, opaque, still.
Whatever’s going to happen, it hasn’t started yet.
Then, miraculously, he caught a glimpse of a gray concrete wall through the trees ahead. He stopped, leaning against a tree trunk, and caught his breath for a moment. Falken knelt by the water’s edge, and took several deep drinks, willing his breathing and heart rate to return to normal. Then he stood and faced the facility.
Okay, warm up’s over. Time for the main event.
Falken strode out of the forest. He spotted the fence-like gate at the top of the garage ramp off to his right – the same gate he had escaped out of, months before. He jogged over to it, and tugged on it, but it would not budge. His repeated shouts went unanswered, so he continued around the outside of the wall, looping back toward the ocean. He rounded the corner of the building, and saw the remains of the space elevator, scattered out along the shallows of the shore. In falling, the elevator had torn a chunk out of the side of the facility, leaving a great tear in the building open to the ocean. Crumbled cement lay in a pile at the foot of the hole – the rising tide was starting to cover the lowest rocks. Falken hurried over to the pile, and started clambering up.
At the top, roughly even with the building’s first floor, he crossed through into a room open to the air, finding himself in what looked to be an abandoned office. A battered metal desk stood in one corner under a cracked vidscreen, and a fake plastic plant gathered dust in the corner. Falken tried the door to the office, and it swung open into a corridor. Falken looked both ways down the hall, frowning. He decided to go left, and found that the hallway intersected another hallway – again, he was faced with choosing which path to take.