Bordeaux

by Matthew Thayer

  “That’s a pipe dream now,” Jones said. “Vault is 100 feet underwater.”

  “Even so, I think we should still keep up with our journals,” she said. “There are back-up drop zones. As unlikely as it sounds, these computers may make it.”

  Jones shook his head.

  “Man, I had my whole life on my machine. Pictures of my family, thousands of hours of music, all my favorite books and movies. Conked out last week, was in for repairs. I’m gonna miss that shit, man.”

  “Well, your new computer won’t have all of the personal data, but you may find some music and books you like. There’s a basic entertainment package, as well as reference guides, an expansive encyclopedia and even a little porn. Once you activate your computer, it links with your helmet to automatically download and back up data stored there. The square in the top left corner is a sketchpad for drawing and mapmaking.

  “When we’re done with this briefing, you guys should each grab a computer from a spare kayak and log on, record what has been happening while it is still fresh in your mind. The security codes will be familiar. Pick good passwords, ones you can remember, because the tech support around here sucks. Thankfully, I had my personal computer with me. I’ll use the one in my kayak as backup just to be safe.

  “Speaking of safety, there are some important things to know about this boat. I still can’t believe they let you launch without a briefing. You’re lucky you weren’t blown up.”

  “Blown up how?” Jones hissed behind his visor.

  “These kayaks have a self-destruct code which seems far too easy to me. See these three buttons right here under the dash? Red, white and blue right? By pushing the buttons in one sequence, you set it to explode if it is moved without being disarmed. Another sequence sets a time delay for self-destruct that can last anywhere from five minutes to five years. Punch red, white and blue in order three times to set the booby trap. Punch blue, white and red in order three times to set self-destruct. You time the delay by using the computer.”

  We finished the tour with a few of the boat’s more basic features. Jones sounded pleased that the paddles are cross-designed as weapons. Made of the same sturdy material as the kayak, they are effective for both jabbing and chopping an enemy. The doctor moved on to our jumpsuits, gloves, boots, helmets and backpacks.

  “What did they tell you about these cute outfits?”

  “Put ’em on, that’s about it,” Jones said.

  “Well, the same company which manufactured the kayaks made this gear. They too are virtually indestructible. But we all saw the bodies from the river detail yesterday. There were quite a few rips and tears in their suits. Even if we don’t go through a blender like that, I’ve never seen any clothing which didn’t fray after a while. We’ll just have to see.

  “The suits are fireproof, waterproof and nearly puncture proof, truly a lightweight armor. Motion creates charge, the same as the kayaks. Without the ship to serve as mother, the com lines are good for about a mile. All voice transmissions on the com lines and all conversations within about 15 feet of the helmet are recorded and automatically downloaded to your kayak’s computer upon link-up. That will be a big help with journal entries. I have found it easy to cut and paste direct quotes.

  “When sealed properly, the suits also mask scent, but I can assure you from personal experience, they are not perfect.”

  “What personal experience?” I asked.

  She paused for half a minute before continuing in a different voice.

  “We were testing in the Arctic, trying out prototypes of the suits, kayaks and some other gear. This was about three months before the jump. The suits have a basic heating and cooling system. We found even with a lot of clothes underneath, we still shivered our butts off.

  “Back in the air truck, headed to camp, our guide flew over a mama polar bear with two cubs–kind of a big deal since the Big Melt. We landed nearby to observe them for a while. All of a sudden, a zoologist named Earl Tanaka, truly a brilliant guy, seals up his gear, gets out of the truck and walks right up to the bears.”

  “Doesn’t sound so brilliant to me,” Jones said.

  “The factory reps were laughing it up inside the cab. Until the bear put her snout straight in the air and started searching. Tanaka was perfectly blended against a stunted pine and must have figured his best chance was to remain rock still. It worked for a while, but she nosed him out while the guide was still fishing his gun from the back of the truck. I didn’t have my helmet on then, but I listened to the recording afterward. Gruesome. Here’s a guy you work with for two years being crushed like toothpaste in a tube.

  “They told us the suits were so strong they were bear-proof,” I said.

  “That’s half right,” she said. “The suit stayed intact. We basically poured Earl out of it. Can you guess what his mistake was?”

  Jones and I looked shook our heads.

  “We figured it our later. Tanaka had been sitting on his lunch in the cab, a synthetic chicken sandwich. She smelled the outside of his gear.”

  Duarte took a deep sigh. I used the pause to ask a question.

  “Why did we train in Antarctica and above the Arctic Circle so much? I expected things to be a lot colder.”

  “Well, there is one thing we did get right. They landed us within an hour or two of our target time. Technically, this is the middle of an ice age, but the gentle climate we’ll see is akin to what modern man enjoyed in the 1900s. Do you remember Dr. Gonzalez’s lecture on Interstadials?”

  We both shook our heads again.

  “Shame on you two. Probably sleeping. Interstadials are abrupt warm and moist periods which occurred at least 24 times over the past 130,000 years. They are cycles lasting up to 1,500 years, times when the glaciers pull back and the earth heats up before slowly turning cold again. The phenomena were charted by studying Greenland ice cores long before we were born–before all the glaciers melted away. This part of Europe will start turning dry and bitter cold in less than 500 years. So much of the earth’s water will be tied up in the northern ice sheets, ocean levels will drop dramatically. In fact, this beach will be a mile or more inland in a thousand years.

  “So why did we spend so much time freezing our nuts?”

  “Just hedging our bets. Don’t worry, we’ll see plenty of snow before our time is done here. Let’s finish this briefing.

  “There are security systems to ensure if we end up dead, no Cro-Magnon or Neanderthal can climb into our suit and rule the world. The helmet performs retinal and brainwave scans before activating. If we wanted to trade helmets or suits, we would need a technician to reboot the system before they would function.”

  “They are thought-operated. Request main menu and scroll down to the settings folder.”

  The moment I thought “main menu,” red lights formed words and symbols at the bottom of my visor. There were all kinds of readouts on wind speed, temperature and stuff like that, and also options for setting the suit. I watched Jones as he cycled from shimmering to flat black silhouette to a glowing sun like a ghost in an old movie. The doctor said the glow setting was designed to scare the hell out of animals and natives. She let us fool with the gear for a while, then waved us back to business.

  “The two backpacks in your kayaks, one big and one small, are designed to link with your jumpsuit in a way so they too are invisible, or glowing, or dark. Cross-designed to serve as moveable strong boxes, they can be locked shut and also locked around trees.”

  “Brass didn’t tell us any of this shit,” Jones said. “I thought this gear was just on. All the time. On.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “When viewed through a visor, ‘on’ stands out like a beacon. Even from miles away. It would be a good way to keep tabs on you. And vice versa, to hide.”

  “What about the Italians? Do you still expect them to show up here?”

  “As the hours pass it seems less likely. Jones and I conferred this morning while you were tossing and
turning in your puddle. We’re going back this afternoon to see what they’re up to.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  TRANSMISSION:

  Martinelli: “The computer says we can increase the range of our com lines by switching to channel 4G. Both of you log onto your computers and change your frequencies now.”

  Bolzano: “Lorenzo, what do you feel happened to the Americans?”

  Martinelli: “Each day I grow less hopeful for their return.”

  Amacapane: “We never should have split up.”

  Martinelli: “Wasn’t my idea.”

  Amacapane: “Of what did you quarrel?”

  Martinelli: “As I have told you before, she was hysterical. Crying about her lost friends. My guess, if you must know, is they were eaten by a whale or other great sea monster. Why else would we find no sign of their gear? There are no scraps because they were swallowed whole.”

  Bolzano: “Perhaps, or perhaps they became lost. I am hopeful they will appear.”

  Martinelli: “We can pray for that. Are your helmets set to 4G? Let’s go.”

  From the log of Lance Cpl. Juniper Jones

  Security Detail II

  Nearly was shot twice today. First on the water, bullets inches over my head, and then by my own hand, testing stupid rifle.

  Italians sprung trap around 13:25 hours as Chief Botanist Duarte, Specialist Kaikane and me paddled back toward the bay. More crap than ever in the water today–whole trees, swelled-up animals, vines, anything and everything that floats. Had to keep our boats more than a half mile out. Saved us.

  Was picking my way between limbs of two drowned trees when Kaikane says matter-of-factly over the com line, “Everybody down. Muzzle flash.”

  No sooner bent my head to my toes than a bullet sizzled past my spine.

  “Back paddle. Like this, straight out.” Kaikane the waterman keeping his cool.

  Turned our boats so they faced toward shore, then reverse paddled–offering smaller targets and facing danger. Best we could do.

  “Where’s the shooters?”

  “Eyes on the pines at 11 o’clock. Ten feet above wave line.”

  Duarte quiet, paddling fast and steady, picking up speed. We backed up about 60 yards before the next flashes.

  “In the water.” Kaikane, cool again.

  Rolled out of boats as first shot buzzed overhead. Targeting me. We used kayaks as shields, scissor-kicked out of range. Long time in that spooky water.

  Sgt. Martinelli hailed us during our swim.

  “You can get back in the boats, I will not shoot.”

  “Martinelli?” Duarte sputtered. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Just sending a message. Go on, get in the boats before a whale eats you.”

  Duarte ignored him.

  “Jones, what is the weapon’s effective range?”

  “Thousand yards if it’s a rifle and an expert marksman. Lorenzo and his boys ain’t no experts.”

  “We’re 1,249 yards from shore,” she said. “I guess we’re OK. What do you think, Kaikane?”

  “Let’s give it another 100 yards.”

  We kept swimming, thinking of sharks. Duarte panting on the com line, trying to reason with the idiot.

  “Sergeant, why are you trying to shoot us? We’re all that is left of The Team.”

  “The Team is finito, it is no more. Stay away, heathen thieves.”

  “Stay away?”

  “Yes, far away. I suggest the British Isles or North America.”

  “Are you crazy? Deluded?”

  “You are the fools who are deluded, believing in your theories and numbers, nothing else.”

  “Sergeant, what do you believe in?”

  “I prefer to let the two waves do my talking. They are very clear messages to me. Bottom line, as you Americans are so fond of saying, is this: We must agree to disagree. It is a big world and I’m offering to split it with you. I claim continental Europe, Mid-eastern Asia and Africa. The Americas and entire Pacific rim are yours. That includes Hawaii.”

  “Very generous of you, asshole.” Kaikane wishin’ he could twist Lorenzo’s head off.

  “You can’t just divide up the earth like a pie. We need to discuss this, discuss the protocols of moving forward.”

  “Dottoressa, you may stick your protocols up your tight American ass. There will be no discussion.”

  “Let me speak with the corporals, Bolzano and Amacapane. Perhaps they would prefer their chances with us. Are they listening now?”

  “They are. Sal and Andre say they have no wish to communicate with you.”

  “You’re the big boss, huh? The capo?”

  “There is only one ‘big boss,’ and it is not me. All this talking grows tiresome. Your choices are simple, really. Leave us be, or be dead.”

  Com line went to static. Must have turned it off, or switched to a different frequency. No muzzle flashes as we climbed in our boats and paddled back to the sheltered bay, where I insisted on test-firing my weapon. Magazine splintered on first round. Held gun low, took some impact on hip. Tried to brush it off, but knew I almost bought the farm. Being stupid.

  TRANSMISSION:

  Duarte: “Don’t do it, Jones.”

  Jones: “Their guns work. Work fine.”

  Duarte: “It’s not safe.”

  Jones: “I gotta know.”

  Dr. Duarte: “Be careful.”

  Cpl. Jones: “Just gonna shoot a couple rounds. Take it apart, inspect it again, slow and easy. Cover your ears.”

  From the log of Paul Kaikane

  Recreation Specialist

  Italians tried to kill Jones and me today with an attack that makes no sense.

  We were paddling along the coast when I caught a reflection in the trees, like you might get when the sun hits a visor just right. It didn’t seem important enough to mention. These two are sick of my conversation. I marked the area and kept an eye out to see if I’d spot it again. Suddenly, two bright flames shot from the trees, one right after the other.

  I yelled something over the com line and ducked low as I could in the shallow kayak. Jones says he heard a bullet pass over his head. The one aimed at me sent shockwaves from my hands all the way to my shoulders as it took a half-circle bite out of my paddle.

  They kept shooting. We had to jump into the water. Sgt. Martinelli called on the radio, said it was a warning. Screw that, they were trying to snuff us.

  We’re back at camp, taking a break from talking the whole situation to death. Speaking of death, Jones nearly killed himself about 15 minutes ago. Trying to shoot his rifle. Guy needs a gun in his hands in bad way. He broke the weapon down first, cleaned it real good, had me look it over. We both thought it checked out fine.

  Thing blew up on the first shot. Jones is no dummy, he held the gun low for a hip shot. Walked it off like nothing happened, but the way he dropped the rifle, I could see it jolted him for a second or two. Says he didn’t get bit, which is amazing since the whole chamber exploded about three inches from his hip.

  We’ll have no guns when we visit those nutcases tonight. My shift for guard duty starts in two hours. Nap time.

  TRANSMISSION:

  Kaikane: “Tell me again, why didn’t we train with this gear before the jump?”

  Duarte: “The official line? Or what I think happened?”

  Kaikane: “Both, I guess. We have time.”

  Duarte: “We were told it wasn’t ready. The shipment arrived just days before the jump.”

  Kaikane: “And now, the conspiracy theory.”

  Duarte: “Ha ha. These suits and boats are cutting-edge technology. Very stealthy. Extremely accurate weapons systems. Talk was, Uncle Sam was planning another invasion. Brazil was the hot pick around the lunch table.”

  Kaikane: “For water or oil?”

  Duarte: “Both, plus timber, potassium phosphate, zirconium, nickel, and a handful of other resources.”

  Kaikane: “That’s too bad. I surfed all along the coast of Br
azil. Was pretty in places, out in the country. Coastal cities were a mess. Reminded me of Hawaii. Lots of buildings in the water. City surfing we called it. In Ipanema, there was a wave that broke forever down Avenue Bartolomeu Mitre. ‘Big Barties’ we called it.”

  Duarte: “I have a feeling you are going to tell me about it.”

  Kaikane: “I am. It took a swell from the southeast, waves generated by giant storms off the Horn of Africa. The waves had time to clean themselves up, spread apart as they swept across the Atlantic. The open ocean rollers kicked up off the submerged coast highway, the Delfim Morreira, into a 30-foot tube ride that funneled perfectly between abandoned apartment buildings. It was a sweet left, straight up the avenue to the old park. You could look in third- and fourth-floor windows as you surfed by. Some of the places still had calendars tacked to the walls, like folks left in a hurry and expected to return some day. Hell of a ride.”

  Duarte: “Are you nervous?”

  Kaikane: “Me, nah.”

  Duarte: “Why are you talking so much?”

  Kaikane: “Sorry.”

  Duarte: “I’m nervous as hell.”

  Kaikane: “Don’t worry. Jones is on our side.”

  Duarte: “Why does he paddle so far ahead?”

  Kaikane: “Man’s on a mission.”

  From the log of Lance Cpl. Juniper Jones

  Security Detail II

  Beached and stashed kayaks two klicks down the coast from bay. Swung inland at sunset, followed game trails and clearings under pine forests. Spotted herd of woolly mammoth. Animals did not smell or sense us, though we walked within 25 feet. Huge. Feeling under-gunned with only a canoe paddle as a weapon.

  Full dark, moon not yet up when hill above the bay came in sight. No booby traps or other defensive measures on way up to top. Dr. Duarte and Kaikane move OK, a little noisy, but OK.

  No sign of crew or kayaks on hill or beach.

  TRANSMISSION:

  Duarte: “You think they’re down there?”