But by then they had become real friends. Carter blinked, sighed, found himself staring at the crumpled water pack in his hand. He spiked it into a trash can, turned . . . and froze.
In front of his eyes, the cliff face wavered and changed. A silver tail of water fell down from the rocky lip, exploding into white mist in a shallow basin far below. Ferns sprouted from the rocks and emerald grass covered the shady ground between trees.
The postcard — that was it — only it was real. For the space of three heartbeats, Carter stared at that green vision. Then — it vanished. Only dust and water worn rock remained above the dry hollow that had once been ringed with ferns. “Mother of God,” Carter said out loud. The falls stayed dead and he looked around, half embarrassed by his exclamation. The lot was still empty. The blond man was leaning on the rail that edged the parking lot. He was staring at the falls, ignoring Carter.
Fatigue, Carter told himself. Stress. Better watch the driving. He started for the car, uneasy, more disturbed by his momentary vision than he wanted to admit. He had never hallucinated in his life. And there had been a strange feeling of . . . reality to that brief vision. As if it wasn’t a vision at all, as if, for an instant, he had stepped back through time into the green, unbelievable past. He unlocked the car door.
“Hey, soldier? Hang on a minute.”
Carter stiffened, turned, saw the blond man limping toward him. He leaned on a stick and his legs looked crooked, as if they didn’t bend just right. He was wearing a faded shirt and worn jeans, and his long, sunbleached hair was tied back into a thin tail. He looked as if he might be about Carter’s age, maybe early thirties, but it was hard to tell. His tanned face had the lined, sundried look of a drylands native.
“You heading east?”
“To Bonneville.”
“Can I get a ride? I was hitching in the truck, but the guy sleeps afternoons and I’m not sleepy.” He gave Carter a crooked grin.
He didn’t look like much of a threat. He was a head shorter than Carter, slender and wiry. “Sure.” Carter reached inside and popped the car’s hatch-back. “Put your pack and your stick in back. This thing’s got as much room as a tuna can.”
“Thanks.” The stranger stuck out a hand. “My names’ Jeremy. Jeremy Barlow. I appreciate the ride.”
“I’m going there anyway.” Carter returned Jeremy’s firm grip. His hands were misshapen, the joints thick and ugly, and he handled his pack clumsily.
“You coming from Portland?” Carter started the car and took the eastbound ramp.
“Yeah.” Jeremy shrugged. “Looking for a job, but jobs are tight and there are a lot of things I can’t do too well.” He held his hands up briefly. “Rawlings keeps saying that the depression is over, but I think he’s talking for the next election. So I guess I’ll hit the road again.”
“The president has been saying that things are looking up since the last election. The line still seems to work, don’t ask me why. Or he thinks it does.” Although if Johnny was right about the Alliance breaking up, that might not be enough to get him through the next election. Carter and the car ducked as another triple rig roared past. “What do you do? On the road?”
“I’m a magician. I do a few card tricks and stuff.” He looked at Carter, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t run off the road, okay?”
A tiny dragon appeared on the dashboard in front of Carter. Its green scales glittered in the sun and it glared at Carter with ruby eyes. Abruptly it reared back, snorted a tiny tongue of flame, and vanished.
“Good thing you warned me.” Carter stared at the spot where the dragon had stood. “Holo projector?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy held out a small, gray box. It resembled an ordinary notebook except for the lens at one end. “It fools people.”
“I’m impressed. That’s a damn sophisticated gadget. You’re some electronics whiz.”
“Not me,” Jeremy said a shade too quickly. “I got it from this old guy. Now there was a whiz, alright.”
Stolen? Well someone had done something pretty marvelous. “This seems to be my day for visions,” Carter said lightly. “I was looking at that old waterfall beside the rest area and, for a moment, I could see it just like it must have looked back before the Dry. With water. Green.” He shook his head, pierced by unexpected longing. “It was . . . beautiful.”
“It was.” Jeremy was looking at him, his expression enigmatic. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I just flew in from . . . the Midwest.” Carter let his breath out in a sigh. “It’s something — seeing the country from the air. The Pipeline feeds tundra water into the Missouri, so the Mississippi drainage isn’t too bad. They still do a lot of soaker hose farming there. Biomass crops, mostly. But then you cross the Missouri, fly on over Colorado, Wyoming . . . and all of a sudden, it’s dead. You look down from the airplane and you see desert.”
“The Drylands.” Jeremy’s tone capitalized the word. “That’s where I was born. You can live there, but you got to live by the rules. There’s only so much water. Out there, they take the extra babies and the ones who aren’t perfect, and they leave ’em out somewhere. In the dust.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not kidding.” Jeremy stared through the windshield, rubbing his crooked hands gently on his thighs. “If you don’t do it, maybe your next real dry summer, you get to choose who dies then. There’s only so much water. It’s another world out there, Carter. Sometimes you make ugly choices. It makes it worse that you can see the way it used to be,” Jeremy said softly. “You catch it out here — a flash of yesterday once in awhile.” He looked over at Carter, the faint grin quirking the corner of his mouth again. “No, you weren’t going crazy.”
“Glad to hear it.” That vision had been so damn real. Bonneville, a green sign proclaimed. Next Three Exits. “We’re here.”
The highway curved out and around and now he could see the dam. Bonneville Dam. It stretched across the dry riverbed like a gray wall, broken by the silver arches of a pumping station. Solar arrays spouted like black wings from the top, aimed by their computers at the setting sun. “You want to come to the base?” Carter asked Jeremy. “They might be hiring civilians.”
“Maybe later.” Jeremy nodded. “It’s been awhile since I’ve hit the big Bonneville market. I usually do pretty good there. You can drop me at the next exit, if you would. You stationed here?”
“No. I’m on my way to The Dalles.” The dam was so big. This close, it loomed like a vast cliff. Carter pulled off at the exit ramp and went around to get Jeremy’s pack from the hatch. “Come by the base, if you get up there. Maybe you could at least do some shows for the personnel.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.” Jeremy slung his pack over his shoulder and picked up his stick. “I’ll be along. I stick to the highway towns out here.”
“I imagine the little rural communities are pretty slim pickings.”
“It’s not that.” For a moment, Jeremy’s face was grim. “They don’t like magic out in the drylands. Thanks for the lift. Good luck in The Dalles.” He raised one crooked hand in a salute and walked down the ramp.
Carter pulled back onto the highway, puzzled by Jeremy’s comment about magic. Local traffic cluttered the lanes here in town; pickups and the little electrics, even older hybrids and a few bio-diesels. Below the highway, new silocrete buildings and haphazard shacks cluttered the shelving slope of the old riverbed. Solar arrays sprouted from every rooftop and the ubiquitous wind towers lined the riverbed. Up ahead, a ramp exited left, to curve down behind the dam itself. The turreted castle of the Corps gleamed in the level beams of the setting sun. This was it. Carter slid the little car in behind a rickety old bio-diesel pickup with a goat in the back and turned off onto the ramp. The buildings of the Corps headquarters huddled on the south side of the Pipe, up against the inner wall of the old dam. Rec or mess halls, apartments for enlisted and officers, a playground with a pair of basketball hoop
s — so normal — but Carter felt a sense of foreboding as the shadow of the dam swallowed him.
He had to slow to a crawl as he zigzagged through the anti-bomber barriers. The Green Beret on the gate ran his ID through the computer and didn’t crack a smile until after Carter’s thumbprint had cleared. By then, a corporal had appeared to escort him to General Hastings’ office.
Tight security. All security had to be tight these days, but it didn’t do anything for Carter’s mood as he followed the corporal’s brisk pace. Administration was inside the dam itself, in the space that had once been taken up by the huge turbines and generators. Carter’s sweaty uniform dried quickly in the cool, conditioned air as he followed his guide through a set of gasketed doors and down a long corridor. He looked at the pastel yellow ceiling, imagining that vast bulk of concrete squatting above his head. It gave him the willies. Uniformed men and women wearing the Corps insignia passed him and saluted, but Carter caught their quick, surmising glances. New kid in town. He wondered what rumors had gone around.
“In here, sir.” The corporal opened a door marked General Hastings.
Inside, a cluttered desk with a computer and two plastic chairs stood on a nondescript magenta carpet. A large framed photograph hung on the wall above the desk. It looked like an old photo of the dam. White water poured through the spillway, and the cliffs of the Columbia Gorge glowed with greenery beneath a gray sky.
“Hard to imagine, isn’t it, sir? All that water, running right over our heads?” The corporal grinned.
He couldn’t really imagine it, but it didn’t help his growing claustrophobia to try. Carter suppressed a shudder as the corporal ushered him into the inner office. “Lieutenant Colonel Carter Voltaire reporting for duty, sir.” He saluted and stood at attention.
The thickset man with the square face and general’s star didn’t even look up from his screen. Carter waited, listening to his own breathing. Bad start? The small office looked as shabby as the corporal’s cubby. The carpeting was worn and the furniture looked like refugees from a flea market. The Chicago base was luxurious by comparison. A large vid screen covered one entire wall. Pictures stood on Hastings’ cluttered desk; a flat photo of a smiling young man in dress greens, holo cubes of a woman holding a baby, and a blond boy leaning on the handlebars of a new bike. Carter stared at the man in the dress greens. I know him, he thought, but the name eluded him.
“At ease, Colonel.” Hastings looked up at last, extending a stiff hand. “Welcome to the Columbia.”
He didn’t sound very welcoming. “Thank you, sir.” Carter returned the general’s strong grip. “My orders, sir.”
“I already looked at the file.” Hastings took the hardcopy, tossed it onto his desk and crossed his arms. “Tell me what you’re going to be doing up in The Dalles.”
A test? “My unit is responsible for maintaining the Pipeline in our sector, including the diversion complex where the Klamath Shunt splits off to the south, sir.” Carter could feel blood seeping into his face. “I’ve reviewed the flow reports for the last year, along with maintenance records and the tech namuals for the Pipeline and the Shunt complex. I understand the requirements for the system and the mechanics of its operation, sir.” I did my homework, General. Screw you, too.
“I hope you understand the mechanics.” Hastings’ expression didn’t thaw. “I hope you also understand the importance of maintaining the Pipeline flow. The Ogalalla aquifer has been pumped out, and the Columbia aquifer will be too low for cost-effective pumping in less than a year. That means the Pipeline is the water source for most of two states.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wanted someone with more years,” Hastings said coldly. “The Dalles isn’t the place for an inexperienced CO, no matter how much of a hotshot you were in the riot.”
Carter flushed. “My name was added to the promotions list very recently. Sir.”
“I didn’t ask you, Colonel.” Hastings stared at him with distaste. “I just hope you can handle the situation. Because of the Shunt valves, The Dalles sector is particularly critical to the function of the Pipeline. We’ve had some local unrest there lately, including acts of sabotage against the Pipe. The integrity of the Pipe must be protected, no matter what the cost. Do you understand me, Colonel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Hastings nodded. “Your predecessor, Colonel Watanabe, was murdered. Did you know that?”
“Yes, sir.” Hell, everyone knew it, just like everyone knew who’d fired the first shot in Chicago. “Has anyone been charged yet, sir?”
“No, but we know who was behind it. The same terrorists who are sabotaging the Pipe.” Hastings was watching him closely, his blue eyes sharp and wary. “They call themselves the Columbia Coalition. A man named Dan Greely heads it. Watch out for him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can get whatever else you need to know from your second in command, Major Delgado.” Hastings waved a dismissive hand. “Sandusky can drive you up there. Report into me when you’re settled.”
“Yes, sir.” Carter saluted smartly and marched out of the room. Great. This was about as bad a start as you could manage.
Corporal Sandusky was waiting in the outer office, his expression carefully neutral. “If you’ll come with me, sir.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll drive you to The Dalles.”
“Fine.” Carter let his breath out in a rush. “I’ve got a Portland car.”
“You can give me the keys.” Sandusky held out a hand. “Is your luggage in the car?”
“Just a carryall and a duffel bag.” He’d shipped the books and the few items too heavy to carry.
He followed the corporal back outside. It was already getting cold, as the daytime heat radiated away into the dry air. The corporal didn’t say much as he transferred Carter’s bags into a motor-pool electric Chevy. It was dark beyond the yellow glare of the base floods. Scattered lights gleamed like a small galaxy across the black gulf of the riverbed. In the old days, the cities had blazed with light. People had squandered it the way they had squandered water — had decorated with it, put up displays of color and dazzle. Not anymore. Electricity cost and the national power curfew cut all power at 10:00 PM local time.
The small galaxy of Bonneville disappeared behind them as Sandusky turned onto the highway and stepped on the accelerator. “Tell me about Colonel Watanabe.” Carter spoke into humming silence.
“A routine patrol found him by the Pipe. Shot in the head at close range, sir. They figure it was a setup. Rumor had it that the colonel got too close to the Coalition, sir.”
“You think they did it? This Coalition?”
“Who else?” Sandusky shrugged. “They’re the enemy around here, sir. A couple of our guys got shot out on patch detail. Hicks picked ’em off with a thirty-ought-six. Bastards. Excuse me, sir.” Sandusky threw Carter a quick, nervous glance in the rearview.
“Yeah, they were bastards.” Carter looked out the window. Darkness filled the Gorge, so thick you could cut it. You could feel the high walls on either side, holding in the darkness, squeezing it down around you. Violence. Maybe you found it anywhere you found water. Maybe you couldn’t separate one from the other. Carter shook himself and took a deep breath of the cool, conditioned air. “What about this Dan Greely person?”
“Don’t know much about him, sir,” Sandusky said briskly. “He bosses the Coalition, and I heard he’s an ex-con. Guess it tells you something about the hicks around here — who they pick to run the show.” He snorted. “The general won’t let him on base, so he doesn’t bother us any.”
Being an ex-con didn’t necessarily mean much. He’d come damn close to being one himself. Carter struggled against a growing sense of foreboding. Hastings wanted to hate his guts and he was walking into what sounded more and more like another Chicago.
“Sir?” Sandusky whipped the Chevy around another car. “I heard about the riot, sir. I just want to say . . . you guys sure kicked ass. Sir.”
/> “Yeah, we kicked ass.” Carter stared out into the darkness.
“Those campies are real scum. The hicks are about as bad, just so you know. Sometimes I think we ought to just go down the whole damn riverbed, run the troublemakers out into the Dry.” Sandusky slapped the steering wheel for emphasis. “Let ’em make trouble out there.”
Carter looked at the shaved back of Sandusky’s head. “It wasn’t just the camps.” He closed his eyes, remembering briefly the equal weight of his rage and the Beretta. It was as if all the darkness, despair, and rage generated by the shriveling, dying land had trickled slowly to the lakeshore, like a dark, ugly oil spill around the feet of the towers. He had been the spark that had set if off. “It was all of us.” Carter sat forward, peering at Sandusky’s young face in the rearview. “It was the towers and the base and the camp. We were all ready to start killing each other. So we did it, and the Corps came out on top, because we had the guns and the organization. Everyone else was just killing. It was hell, and it just happened. Let’s drop it, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sandusky shut up after that. He didn’t understand. He probably saw the world in black and white, Carter thought. That was how you had to look at it, sometimes. Them and Us. Because you had a job to do and shades of gray could make it hell.
He must have drowsed for awhile, because the next thing he knew, they were at The Dalles gate. If anything, this one was better defended than Bonneville. Which said a lot about the situation, Carter thought sourly. The guards positively gleamed — they’d been expecting him. Wearily, Carter returned the razor-sharp salutes. He was the Old Man now, and everybody had to show for him. He stifled a yawn as Sandusky finally pulled the car up in front of a residence block. Security lights shed a yellow glow on the apartments. Ugly boxes, reflective siding and windows defended them from the sun.
Sandusky led him to the front door of the second unit from the end. A gusty wind pushed dust and trash down the concrete street, whirled grit into Carter’s face. Beyond the apartments, he could make out a bulking wall of deeper darkness. The Dalles dam? Like Bonneville, the Corps base seemed to have been built at its foot.
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