DV 3 - The Lazarus Effect

by Frank Herbert

  "You have a very beautiful body," he said. "I don't mean to stare."

  "Yours, too, is nice," she said. She placed her hand in the middle of his chest, pressed her palm against him. "I just wanted to touch you," she said.

  "Yes," he said, because he didn't know what else to say. He put his left hand on her shoulder, felt her strength and her warmth and the easy smoothness of her skin. His other hand came up to her shoulders, and she kissed him. He hoped that she liked it as much as he did. It was a soft, warm and breathless kiss. When she leaned against him her breasts flattened on his chest and he could feel the hard little knots of nipples focused there. He felt himself hardening against her thigh, her thigh of such strength and grace. She stroked his shoulders, then tightened both arms around his neck and kissed him hard, her small tongue tapping the tip of his own. The boat took a sudden lurch and they both fell in a heap on the deck, laughing.

  "How graceful," he said.

  "And cold."

  She was right. The suns had set as Twisp and Bushka departed. Already there was a stiff chill in the air. It wasn't the hardness of the deck that bothered him, but the sudden shock of cold metal against his sweaty skin. When they sat up he heard the strange unpeeling sound of damp skin. It was the sound that sheets of skin made when a friend had unpeeled his sunburned back as a boy.

  Brett wanted to loll with Scudi forever, but Scudi was already trying to get up amid the unsteady rocking of the foil. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. He didn't let go.

  "It's nearly dark," he said. "Won't we have trouble finding the base? I mean, it's always a lot darker underwater."

  "I know the way," she said. "And you have a night vision that could see for us both. We should go now . . ."

  This time he kissed her. She leaned against him for a blink, soft and good-feeling, then pulled back. She still held his hand, but there was an uneasiness in her eyes that Brett translated as fear.

  "What?" he asked.

  "If we stay here we will, you know . . . we'll do what we want to do."

  Brett's throat was dry and he knew he couldn't talk without his voice cracking. He remained quiet, wanting to hear her out. He didn't know much about what it was that they wanted to do, and if she could give him a few clues, he was ready. He did not want her to be disappointed and he did not know what she expected of him. Most important, he did not know how much experience she'd had in these matters and now it was important for him to find out.

  She squeezed his hand. "I like you," she said. "I like you very much. If there's anyone I'd like to . . . to get that close with, it's you. But there is the matter of a child."

  He blushed. But it was not out of embarrassment. It was out of anger at himself for not thinking of the obvious thing, for not considering that the step from child to parent could very well happen all at once and he, too, was not ready.

  "My mother was sixteen, too," she went on. "She cared for me, so she was never free. She never knew the free movement that others knew. She made the best of it, and I saw much through her. But I didn't see other children except occasionally."

  "So she lost an adulthood and you lost a childhood?"

  "Yes. It is not to be regretted. It is the only life I know and it is a good one. It is twice good now that I have met you. But it is not a life to repeat. Not for me."

  He nodded, took her by the shoulders and kissed her again. This time their chests did not touch but their hands held tight to each other and Brett at least felt relief.

  "You are not angry?" she asked.

  "I don't think it's possible for me to be mad at you," he said. "Besides, we're going to know each other for a good long time. I want to be with you when the answer is 'yes.'"

  . . . self has somewhat the character of a result, of a goal attained, something that has come to pass very gradually and is experienced with much travail.

  -- C. G. Jung, Shiprecords

  Vata dreamed that something tangled her hair. Something crawled the back of her neck, tickling her in a legless way, and settled over her right ear. The thing was black, slick and shelled like an insect.

  She heard the sounds of pain in her dream, as she had in so many dreams past, and projected all of this into Duque, where it took on more the character of consciousness. Now she recognized some of the voices as leftovers from other dreams. She had made many excursions into this void. Someone named Scudi Wang was there and the thing that slithered through Vata's hair snapped cruel jaws at Scudi's voice.

  Duque realized that Vata did not like the thing. She twisted and tossed her head to get rid of it. The thing dug in, set its jaws into her hair and pulled up clumps of hair by the roots. Vata groaned a deep-throated groan, half-cough. She snatched the wet little bug out of her hair and crushed it in her palm.

  The pieces slipped from her fingers and a few muffled screams faded into the dark. Duque experienced the sudden awareness that the dream-thing might be real. He had sensed other thoughts in it for just an instant -- terrified human thoughts. Vata settled herself into a comfortable position and put her mind to changing the dream into something pleasant. As always, she drifted back to those first days in the valley her people had called "the Nest." Within a few blinks she was lost in the lush vegetation of that holy place where she had been born. It was all the best that Pandora's land had to offer, and it was now under many cold meters of unquiet sea. But things could be otherwise in dreams, and dreams were all the geography that Vata retained. She thought how good it felt to walk again, not letting herself know it was only in a dream. But Duque knew -- he had heard those terrified thoughts in a moment of death and Vata's dreaming was no longer the same for him.

  The distresses of choice are our chance to be blessed.

  -- W. H. Auden, Shiprecords

  In that fading moment before the last of the twilight settled below the horizon, like a dimmed torch quenched in a cold sea, Brett saw the launch tower. Its gray bulk bridged a low cloud layer and the sea. He pointed.

  "That's it?"

  Scudi leaned forward to peer through the fading light.

  "I don't see it," she said, "but by the instruments it's about twenty klicks away."

  "We used up some time with Twisp and that Bushka character. What did you think of him?"

  "Of your Twisp?"

  "No, the other one."

  "We have Mermen like that," she hedged.

  "You didn't like him, either."

  "He's a whiner, maybe a killer," she said. "It's not easy to like someone like that."

  "What did you think of his story?" Brett asked.

  "I don't know," she said. "What if he did it all on his own and the crew threw him overboard? We can't believe him or disbelieve him on the little we've heard -- and all of it from him."

  The foil skidded across the edge of a kelp bed, slowing then recovering as its sharp-edged supports cut through the tangled growth.

  "I didn't see that kelp," Scudi said. "The light is so bad . . . that was clumsy of me!"

  "Will it hurt the foil?" Brett asked.

  She shook her head. "No, I have hurt the kelp. We will have to come off the foils."

  "Hurt the kelp?" Brett was mystified. "How can you hurt a plant?"

  "The kelp is not just a plant," she said. "It's in a sensitive stage of development . . . it's difficult to explain. You'll think me as crazy as Bushka if I tell you all that I know about the kelp."

  Scudi reduced the throttle. The hissing roar subsided and the wallowing boat slipped down onto its hull, gently lifting with the heave of the waves. The rams subsided to a low murmur behind them.

  "It is more dangerous for us to come in at night," she said. The red instrument lights had come on automatically as the light dimmed outside and she looked at Brett, his face under-lighted by the red illumination.

  "Should we wait out here for daylight?" he asked.

  "We could submerge and sit on the bottom," she said. "It's only about sixty fathoms."

  When Brett did not respon
d, she said, "You don't prefer it down under, do you?"

  He shrugged.

  "It's too deep to anchor," she said, "but it is safe to drift if we watch. Nothing can harm us in here."

  "Dashers?"

  "They can't penetrate a foil."

  "Then let's shut down and drift. The kelp should keep us stable. I agree with you, I don't think we should go in there at night. We want everybody to see us and know who we are and why we're there."

  Scudi shut off the murmuring rams and in the sudden silence they grew aware of the slap of waves against the hull, the faint creaking of the vessel around them.

  "How far is it to the base again?" Brett asked. He squinted through the twilight murk toward the tower.

  "At least twenty klicks."

  Brett, accustomed to judging distance out by the height of Vashon above the horizon, produced a low whistle. "That thing must be pretty high. It's a wonder Islanders haven't spotted it before this."

  "I think we control the currents to keep Islands clear of the area."

  "Control the currents," he muttered. "Yeah, of course." Then he asked, "Do you think they've seen us?"

  Scudi punched a button on the console and a series of familiar clicks and beeps came from an overhead speaker. He'd heard these sounds from time to time as they skipped across the waves.

  "Nothing's tracking us," she said. "It would howl if we were targeted. They might know we're here, though. This just means we're not under observation." Brett bent over the button Scudi had punched and read the label: "T-BEAM TEST."

  "Automatic," she said. "It tells us if we're targeted by a tracking beam."

  The foil lurched suddenly counter to a wave. Brett, used to the uncertain footing of Islands and coracles, was first to catch his balance. Scudi clutched his arm to right herself.

  "Kelp," Brett said.

  "I think so. We had better --" She broke off with a startled gasp, staring past Brett at the rear hatch.

  Brett whirled to see a Merman standing there, dripping sea water, green paint striped across his face and dive suit in a grotesque pattern. The man carried a lasgun at the ready. Another Merman stood in the shadowy passage behind him.

  Scudi's voice was a dry whisper in Brett's ear: "Gallow. That's Nakano behind him."

  Surprise at the stealth that had allowed the Merman to come this close without detection held Brett speechless. He tried to absorb the import of Scudi's rasping whisper. So this was the Merman that Bushka blamed for sinking Guemes! The man was tall and smoothly muscled, and his dive suit clung to him like a second skin. Why the green pattern on it? Brett wondered. His eyes could not help focusing on the business end of the lasgun.

  The Merman chuckled. "Little Scudi Wang! Now that's what I call luck. We've been having our share of luck lately, eh, Nakano?"

  "It wasn't luck saved us when that stupid Islander sank us," Nakano growled.

  "Ahhh, yes," Gallow agreed. "Your superior strength broke the bonds that held you. Indeed." He flicked a glance around the cockpit. "Where's the crew? We need your doctor."

  Brett, at whom Gallow aimed the question, met Gallow's demanding stare with silence, thinking that the interchange between these two Mermen tended to confirm Bushka's odd story.

  "Your doctor!" Gallow insisted.

  "We don't have one," Brett said, surprised at the force of his voice.

  Gallow, noting the accent, flicked a scornful glance at Scudi. "Who's the Mute?"

  "A -- a friend," Scudi said. "Brett Norton."

  Gallow looked Brett over in the dim red light, then turned back to Scudi. "He looks almost normal, but he's still a Mute. Your daddy would haunt you!" He spoke over his shoulder. "Have a look, Nakano."

  The slop-slop of wet footsteps sounded behind Gallow as Nakano turned back down the passage. He reappeared presently and spoke a single word: "Empty."

  "Just the two of them," Gallow said. "Out for a little cruise in one of the big boats. How sweet."

  "Why do you need a doctor?" Scudi asked.

  "Full of questions, aren't we," Gallow said.

  "At least we have the foil," the second man said.

  "That we have, Nakano," Gallow said.

  Nakano pressed past Gallow into the cockpit and Brett got a full view of the man. He was a hulking figure, his upper arms as thick as some human torsos. The scarred face filled Brett with a sense of foreboding.

  Gallow strode forward to one of the command seats. He bent to read the instruments. "We watched you coming in," he said. He turned and sent a baleful glare at Scudi. "You were in one big hurry and then you stopped. That's very interesting for someone in an empty foil. What're you doing?"

  Scudi looked at Brett, who blushed.

  Nakano guffawed.

  "Oh, my," Gallow taunted, "love nests get more elaborate every year. Yes, yes."

  "Disgusting." Nakano laughed, and clicked his tongue.

  "There's a watch-alert out on this foil, Scudi Wang," Gallow said. His manner sobered too quickly for Brett's comfort. "You stole it. What do you think, Nakano? Looks like the Green Dashers have captured a couple of desperadoes."

  Brett looked at the grotesque green dive suits on the two Mermen. Blotches and splashes and lines of green spilled over from their suits into patterns painted on their faces.

  "Green Dashers?" Scudi asked.

  "We are the Green Dashers," Gallow said. "These suits are the perfect camouflage underwater, particularly around the kelp. And we spend a lot of time in kelp, right Nakano?"

  Nakano grunted, then said: "We should've let the kelp finish us. We --"

  Gallow silenced him with a flicking gesture. "We secured our outpost with one sub and a handful of men. It'd be a pity to waste such talent in the kelp."

  Brett saw that Gallow was one of those types who love to hear themselves talk -- more, he was one of those who loved to brag.

  "With one little sub and this foil," Gallow said with a sweep of his hand, "we can make sure there's never any more land than we can control. You don't have to be in charge to run the show. Just ruin it for those who do. People will have to come swimming up to me soon enough."

  Scudi took a deep, relaxing breath. "Is Kareen one of you?"

  Gallow's eyes shifted and almost met Scudi's. "She's . . . insurance . . ."

  "Safe deposit box," Nakano blurted, and both men laughed in that loud way men have when they crack a crude or cruel joke.

  Brett realized from Scudi's deep sigh that she was relieved at Gallow's bragging. Were her doubts about her father's involvement with Gallow finally laid to rest?

  "What about the doctor?" Nakano asked.

  Darkness had settled over the ocean and the cockpit was illuminated only by the red telltales and instrument lights on the console. A macabre red glow filled the space around the two Mermen. They stood near the control seats, put their heads close together and whispered while Scudi and Brett fidgeted. Brett kept eyeing the hatchway where the Mermen had entered. Was there a chance to escape down there to the main hatch? But Guemes had been destroyed by a sub. These Mermen had not swum here from the Launch Base. Their sub lay nearby, probably directly beneath the foil's hull. And they needed a doctor.

  "I think you need us," Brett said.

  "Think?" Gallow asked with a patronizing lift of his eyebrows. "Mutes don't think."

  "You have an injury, somebody needs a doctor," Brett said. "How do you intend to get help?"

  "He's quick for a Mute," Gallow said.

  "And you're not strong enough to go in and take a doctor from Launch Base," Brett said. "But you could trade us for a doctor."

  "Ryan Wang's daughter could be traded," Gallow said. "You're fishbait."

  "If you hurt Brett, I won't cooperate," Scudi said.

  "Cooperate?" Gallow snorted. "Who needs cooperation?"

  "You do," Brett said.

  "Nakano will break you two into small pieces if I give the order," Gallow said. "That's cooperation."

  Brett went silent, studying the two m
en in that blood-red light. Why were they delaying? They said they needed a doctor. Twisp had always said you had to look beyond words when dealing with people who postured and bragged. Gallow certainly fitted that description. Nakano seemed to be something else -- a dangerous unknown. Twisp liked to probe such people with outrageous questions or statements.

  "You don't need just any doctor," Brett said. "You want a particular doctor."

  Both Mermen focused startled glances on Brett.

  "What have we here?" Gallow muttered. The smile he flashed across the dark cabin did not disarm Brett in the least.

  Nervous, Brett thought. Keep looking. He knew the Merman fear that Islanders had mutated into telepathy, and played on it.

  Nakano said, "Do you think --"

  "No!" Gallow warned.

  Brett caught a bare flicker of hesitation in Gallow's face, which did not show in the voice. The man had superb control of his voice. It was his tool for manipulation, along with his ready smile.

  "That other foil should be along soon," Nakano said.

  A particular foil with a particular doctor and a particular cargo, Brett thought. He glanced at Scudi. Her tired face was clear to him in the dim lights of the cockpit.

  "You don't need us as a trade, you need us as a diversion," Brett said. He held his fingertips to his temples, repressing an excited smile.

  One of Gallow's eyebrows lifted, a dark ripple in the smeared green of the camouflage.

  "I don't like this," Nakano said. There was fear in the big man's voice.

  "He's thought something out," Gallow said. "That's all. Look at him. Almost normal. Maybe he has a brain after all."

  "But he's hit on --"

  "Drop it, Nakano!" Gallow kept his attention on Brett. "Why would we need you as a diversion?"

  Brett dropped his hands and allowed the smile. "It's pretty simple. You didn't know we were the ones on this boat. It's dark out there and all you saw was a foil. Period."

  "Pretty good for a Mute," Gallow said. "Maybe there's hope for you."