Rifters 2 - Maelstrom

by Peter Watts

  "Oh yes," Lenie said, and she was looking right at Tracy. "Definitely."

  * * *

  After breakfast the next morning Tracy went down by the water. There was a little shelf of rock that stuck out over a steep drop-off; Tracy could lean over the edge and see her own dark reflection staring back up at her. The clear, gray-blue water faded darkly behind. Sometimes Tracy would drop little rocks into the water and follow them down, but the darkness always swallowed them before they hit bottom.

  Suddenly, just like the night before, there was another reflection looking back at her.

  "It's beautiful down there," Lenie said at her shoulder. "Peaceful."

  "It's deep," Tracy said.

  "Not deep enough."

  Tracy squirmed around on the rock and looked up at the strange lady. She'd taken off her white contacts; her eyes were a pale, pale blue.

  "I haven't seen any fish down there yet," Tracy said.

  Lenie sat down beside her, cross-legged. "It's glacial."

  "I know," Tracy said proudly. She pointed at the icy ridge on the far side of the lake. "That covered half the world, a long time ago."

  Lenie smiled a little. "Did it, now?"

  "Ten thousand years ago," Tracy said. "And even just a hundred years ago it came almost to where we are now, and it was twenty meters high, and people would come and ride on it with snowmobiles and things."

  "Did your dad tell you that?"

  Tracy nodded. "My Dad's a forest ecologist." She pointed to a clump of trees a little ways away. "Those are Douglas fir. There's lots of them around now because they can survive fires and droughts and bugs. The other trees aren't doing so well, though." She looked back down into the cold clear water. "I haven't seen any fish yet."

  "Did your—dad say there were fish in there?" Lenie asked.

  "He told me to keep looking. He said maybe I'd get lucky."

  Lenie said something that ended in igures.

  Tracy looked back at her. "What?"

  "Nothing, sweetie." Lenie reached out and ruffled Tracy's hair. "Just—well, maybe you shouldn't believe everything your daddy tells you."

  "Why not?"

  "Sometimes people don't always tell the truth."

  "Oh, I know that. But he's my dad."

  Lenie sighed, but then her face got a little brighter. "Did you know there are places where the fish glow like lightsticks?"

  "Are not."

  "Are too. Way down at the very bottom of the ocean. I've seen them myself."

  "You have?"

  "And some of them have teeth that are so big—" Lenie held her hands apart, almost wide enough for Tracy's shoulders to fit— "they can't even close their mouths all the way."

  "Now who's lying?" Tracy asked.

  Lenie put a hand on her heart. "I swear."

  "You mean like sharks?"

  "No. Different."

  "Wow." Lenie was very strange, but she was nice. "Dad says there aren't very many fish left."

  "Well, these are way down deep."

  "Wow," Tracy said again. She flipped back onto her stomach and stared down into the water. "Maybe there's fish like that down there."

  "No."

  "It's really deep. You can't see bottom."

  "Believe me, Trace. It's just a lot of gravel and old punky driftwood and insect casings."

  "Yah, well how would you know?"

  "Actually—" Lenie began.

  "Dad said to keep looking."

  "I bet your dad says lots of things," Lenie said in a strange voice. "Isn't that right?"

  Tracy looked back at her. Lenie wasn't smiling any more. She looked very serious.

  "I bet he touches you sometimes, doesn't he?" Lenie was almost whispering. "When the two of you double up, at night."

  "Well, sure," said Tracy. "Sometimes."

  "And he probably said it was okay, right?"

  Tracy was confused. "He never talks about it. He just does it."

  "And it's your little secret, right? You don't—you didn't talk about it with your mom."

  "I don't—" Mom— "He doesn't want me talking about—" She couldn't finish.

  "That's okay," Lenie smiled, and it was sad and friendly smile all at once. "You're a good kid, you know that, Tracy? You're a really good kid."

  "She's the best," Tracy's dad said, and Lenie's face went as blank as a mask.

  He had filled up his big daypack and Tracy's little one. Tracy scrambled up and got hers. Her dad was looking at Lenie, and he seemed a little bit puzzled, but then he said, "We're going to check out an old animal trail back around the ridge. Maybe see us a deer or a badger. Few hours, anyway. You're welcome to join us if you—"

  Lenie shook her head stiffly. "Thanks, no. I think I'll just—"

  And then she stopped, and looked at Tracy, and looked back at Tracy's dad.

  "Yeah, okay," she said. "Maybe I should, at that."

  Blip

  Health Warning

  From: CSIRA Regional HazWatch, N'AmPac WH

  Distribution: All pacification and surveillance personnel, N'AmPac Refugee Strip

  Type: Deficiency sydrome

  Scale: local

  Rating: 4.6

  Be advised that the local incidence of deficiency symptoms within the refugee population has increased between 46 and 47 N. Latitude. Be on the watch for early symptoms such as hair loss, skin flaking, and shedding of fingernails; more advanced cases are developing massive bruising and symptoms of second-stage starvation (loss of >18% body mass, edema, incipient kwashiorkor and scurvy). Blindness, spasms, and full-blown diabetes have not yet been observed, but are expected to develop.

  This appears to be a terminal condition, the cause of which remains undetermined. Although the symptoms are consistent with advanced malnutrition, samples taken from local Calvin cyclers are nutritionally complete. The cyclers are also producing the prescribed concentrations of SAM-g, but we have found less than half the effective dosage in blood samples from some individuals. BE AWARE THAT SOME REFUGEES MAY BE OFF THEIR MEDS, AND MAY THEREFORE BE UNCOOPERATIVE OR EVEN HOSTILE.

  We suspect that something is interfering with metabolic processes at the cellular level and are currently running samples against the CSIRA pathogen microarray. So far, however, we have failed to isolate the agent.

  IF YOU OBSERVE THESE OR ANY OTHER UNUSUAL SYMPTOMS WHILE ON PATROL, PLEASE INFORM THIS OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.

  Womb

  The lies drove Clarke into the water.

  She'd sat around that foldaway table with Gord and Tracy, eating supper from the cycler. It was a high-end model, and the bricks it laid were much tastier than the ones she'd eaten back on the Strip. She'd concentrated on that small pleasure as Gord had run his fingers through his daughter's hair, made affectionate cooing daddy's-little-girl-sounds, each gesture containing—what? Clarke knew the signs, she thought she knew the signs, but this fucker was damned good when there were witnesses around; she hadn't seen a single thing that proved what was lurking underneath. He could've been any father, loving his daughter the right way.

  Whatever that was.

  His display, not to mention his incessant small talk, had driven her outside. Gordon had seemed almost relieved when Clarke grabbed her knapsack and stepped into the night. Now she stood looking down through a motionless tract of liquid glacier, deep and inviting and flooded with amplified moonlight. Her eyecaps transmuted the surrounding forest to gunmetal and silver in high contrast. Her reflection in the still water, once again, was…

  …moving…

  …and the same old bullshit started again, as something in her brain began serving up another happy lie about loving parents and warm fuzzy childhood nights--

  She was on her knees, tearing through her knapsack.

  She got the hood on, felt the neck seal fuse against her tunic. There were other accessories, of course, fins and sleeves and leggings, but there was no time—she was six years old and being tucked in and nothing bad was going to happen to he
r, nothing at all, by now she fucking knew it, and she wasn't going to put up with that shit any more, not so long as there was the ghost of a chance—

  —it started when I came back up maybe if I go back down—

  She didn't even take off her clothes.

  The water hit her like an electrical shock. Freezing and viscous, it flayed her bare arms and legs, fired icy needles along crotch and shoulders before the 'skin of her tunic clamped around her limbs to seal the breach. The canister of vacuum in her chest sucked all her air away. Welcome icewater surged in its place.

  She dropped like a stone. Watery moonlight faded with each second; pressure amassed. Her exposed limbs burned, then ached, then went dead.

  Curled into a ball, she bumped against the bottom. Grit and rotten pine needles rose in a small cloud.

  She couldn't feel her arms and legs; they'd be dying now, by degrees. Their blood vessels had squeezed down the moment she'd hit the water, an autonomic self-sacrifice to keep body heat in the core. No oxygen making it through those constricted avenues. No warmth. The edges of her body were freezing to death. In a way, it was almost comforting.

  She wondered how long she could push it.

  At least she'd gotten away from that fucking monster Gord.

  If that's what he is. How could I prove it, absolutely? He could explain it all away, fathers are allowed to touch their children, after all…

  But there was no such thing as absolute proof. There was only proof beyond a reasonable doubt. And Lenie Clarke, Lenie Clarke had been there. She knew.

  So did that little girl, Tracy. She was up there alone. With him.

  Someone should do something about that.

  So what are you now: judge, jury, executioner?

  She thought about it a bit.

  Who better?

  She couldn't feel her legs. But they still moved at her command.

  Eclipse

  "She's strange," Tracy said while they cleaned up at the sink.

  Her dad smiled. "She's probably just hurting a lot, honey. The quake hurt a lot of people, you know, and when you're in pain it's easy to be thoughtless. She just needs some time alone, I bet. You know, compared to some people we were actually pretty…"

  He didn't finish. That happened a lot now.

  Lenie still hadn't come back at bedtime. Tracy got into her PJs and climbed into bed with her dad. She lay on her side, with her back against his stomach.

  "That's right, little Lima Bean." Dad cuddled her and stroked her hair. "You go to sleep now. Little Lima Bean."

  It was dark in the cabin, and so quiet outside. No wind to rustle Tracy off to sleep. Moonbeams sneaked in through the window and made a piece of the floor glow with soft silver light. After a while her dad started snoring. She liked the way he smelled. Tracy's eyelids were getting heavy. She closed her eyes to comfy slits, watching the moonbeams on the floor. Almost like her "Nermal the Nematode" night-light at home.

  Home was where Mom had…

  Where—

  The night-light dimmed. Tracy opened her eyes.

  Lenie was looking in through the window, blocking the moonbeams. Her shadow ate up most of the light on the floor. Her face was in shadow, too; Tracy could only see her eyes, cold and pale and almost glowing a little, like snow. Lenie didn't move for a long time. She just stood there, outside, looking in.

  Looking at Tracy.

  Tracy didn't know how she knew that. She didn't know how Lenie could look into the darkest corner of a dark cabin in the middle of the night and find her there, curled up against her dad, eyes wide and staring. Lenie's eyes were covered. Tracy wouldn't have been able to see which way they were looking even in broad daylight.

  It didn't matter. Tracy knew: Lenie was looking right through the darkness. Right at her.

  "Daddy," she whispered, and her dad mumbled something in his sleep and gave her a squeeze, but he didn't wake up.

  "Daddy," she whispered again, afraid to speak up. Afraid to scream.

  The moonbeams were back.

  Across the cabin, the door opened without a sound. Lenie stepped inside. Even in the dark her outlines seemed too smooth, too empty. It was like she'd taken off all her clothes and there was nothing but blackness underneath.

  One of her hands was holding something. The other went to her lips.

  "Shhh," she said.

  Monster

  The monster had Tracy in his clutches. He thought he was safely hidden, curled up there in the dark with his victim, but Lenie Clarke could see him bright as an overcast day.

  She stepped softly across the cabin, leaving icewater footprints. She'd donned the rest of her diveskin to cut the chill; a cleansing fire spread through her limbs, hot blood burning its way back into frozen flesh.

  She liked the feeling.

  Tracy stared up from her father's embrace. Her eyes were like saucers, imploring beacons full of fear and paralysis.

  It's okay, little friend. He doesn't get away with it any more.

  First step…

  Clarke leaned in close.

  …free the hostage.

  She ripped the covers away. The monster opened his eyes, blinking stupidly against a darkness that had suddenly turned against him. Tracy lay stock-still in her pajamas, still too frightened to move.

  PJ's, Clarke thought wryly. Nice touch. On his best behavior when company's present.

  Present company wasn't fooled.

  Quick as a snake, she took Tracy by the wrist. Then the child was safe beside her, Clarke's free arm protectively around her shoulder.

  Tracy howled.

  "What the hell…" The monster was reaching for the lightstick beside the cot. Fine. Let him have light enough to see the tables, turning...

  The cabin flared, blinding her for a moment before her eyecaps adjusted. Gordon was rising from the cot. Clarke raised the billy. "Don't you fucking move."

  "Daddy!" Tracy cried.

  The monster spread his hands, placating, buying time. "Lenie—listen, I don't know what you want—"

  "Really?" She'd never felt so strong in her whole life. "I sure as shit know what you want."

  He shook his head. "Listen, just let Tracy go, okay? Whatever it is, there's no need to involve her—"

  Clarke stepped forward; Tracy bumped along at her side, whimpering. "No need to involve her? It's a little late for that, asshole. It's way too fucking late."

  The monster stopped still for a second. Then, slowly, as if in dawning awareness: "What do you—do you think I—"

  Clarke laughed. "Good one."

  "You don't think—"

  Tracy pulled. "Daddy, help!"

  Clarke held on. "It's okay, Tracy. He can't hurt you."

  The monster took a step forward. "It's okay, Lima-bean. She just doesn't underst—"

  "Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

  He stepped back, hands up, palms front. "Okay, okay—just don't—"

  "I understand, asshole. I understand way fucking better than you think."

  "That's crazy, Lenie. Just look at her, why don't you? Is it me she's scared of? Is she acting like she wants to be rescued? Use your eyes! What in God's name made you think—"

  "You think I don't know? You think I don't remember how it feels, when you don't know any better? You think because you've brainwashed your own daughter into thinking this is normal that I'm going to—"

  "I never touched her!"

  Tracy twisted free and ran. Clarke, off-balance, reached after her.

  Suddenly Gordon was in the way.

  "You goddamned psycho," he snarled, and hit her in the face.

  Something cracked, deep at the base of her jaw. She staggered. Salty warmth flooded her mouth. In a moment there'd be pain.

  But now there was only a sudden, paralyzing fear, resurrected from the dawn of time.

  No, she thought. You're stronger than him. You're stronger than he ever was, you don't have to put up with his vile shit one instant longer. You're going to teach him a lesson h
e won't ever fucking forget just jam him in the belly and watch him expl—

  "Lenie, no!" Tracy cried. Clarke glanced aside, distracted.

  A mountain smashed against the side of her head. Somehow the billy wasn't in her hand any more; it was following some crazy parabola through a world spinning uncontrollably sideways. The rough wooden planking of the cabin floor drove splinters into Clarke's face. Off in some unfathomably distant part of the world, a child was screaming Daddy…

  "Daddy," Clarke mumbled through pulpy lips. It had been so many years, but he was back at last. And nothing had really changed after all.

  * * *

  It was my own damn fault, she thought dully. I was just asking for it.

  If she could only have one moment to live again, she knew, she'd get it right. She'd hang on the billy this time, she'd make him pay like that cop in West Bend I got him all right, his whole middle just a big cloud of chunky soup, nothing left but a raw bleeding backbone holding two ends together and he's not gonna be throwing his weight around after that, what little weight there is left hahaha…

  But that was then. This was now, and a big rough hand on her shoulder was flipping her onto her back. "You twisted piece of shit!" the monster roared. "You lay a hand on my daughter and I'll fucking kill you!" He dragged her off the floor and slammed her against the wall. His daughter was crying somewhere in the background, his own daughter but of course he didn't care about that he only wanted…

  She squirmed and twisted and the next blow glanced off her shoulder and suddenly she was free, the open door was right in front of her and all that safe darkness on the other side, monsters can't see in the dark but I can—

  Something tripped her and she went down again but she didn't stop, she just scuttled out the door like a crab with half its legs gone, while Daddy bellowed and crashed close on her heels.

  Her hand, pushing off against the ground, touched something—

  The billy it flew all the way out here I've got it now I can show him—

  —but she didn't. She just grabbed it and ran, vomiting with fear and her own cowardice, she ran into a welcoming night where everything was bright silver and gray under the moon. She ran to the lake and she didn't even remember to seal her face flap until the whole world was spray and icewater.