Water Rites

by Mary Rosenblum

  Sandusky was fumbling with the door. A dying geranium sulked in a pot on the narrow, concrete porch. A door opened somewhere and Carter heard a woman’s laughter before it slammed shut again. The wind buffeted the geranium, yanked at his uniform.

  “Is it always like this?” Carter shielded his face.

  “Windy, you mean? Yes sir. It either blows up or down the Gorge. Down is usually worse, sir.” Sandusky picked up Carter’s carryall and pushed the door open. “Here you are, sir.”

  Carter stumbled over the threshold, blinking in the sudden glare of the florescent ceiling lights. The door was gasketed to keep dust out and cool air in. Sandusky grunted as he yanked it closed behind them.

  “Anything else, sir?” He flicked on a small air conditioner set into the wall and saluted without meeting Carter’s eyes.

  “No, I guess not. Thanks for the ride.”

  He shouldn’t have been so short with the kid. You couldn’t blame him for being curious about Chicago. Carter looked over the two-room suite. It was smaller than what he’d had on the lakebed. The main room held a wide sofa bed, two upholstered chairs, and a big screen video. A refrigerator/single burner stove combo and sink had been fenced off into a kitchen by a Formica-topped breakfast bar. Doors led to the bedroom and a tiny bathroom, which was equipped with a digester toilet and a self-contained shower cabinet.

  It looked impersonal without his books and his sound equipment, like a cheap motel room. Carter took his carryall into the bedroom, trying not to wonder if this had been Colonel Watanabe’s quarters. The warm, dry air smelled of disinfectant. The clock said ten. Midnight, Chicago time. He flopped onto the double bed that nearly filled the small room, still bleary from his nap in the car. What he needed right now was a beer, a shower, and about eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Now what? Carter stomped across the apartment and jerked the door open.

  A civilian stood on the threshold, dressed in jeans and a faded denim shirt.

  “Welcome to The Dalles, Colonel.” The stranger walked past him as if Carter had invited him in. “I know it’s late, but I thought I’d better drop by and introduce myself.” He waited while Carter closed the door, smiling wryly. “I’m Dan Greely. You’re Carter Voltaire, yes?” He extended a hand. “Welcome the The Dalles, Carter.”

  Carter kept his hand at his side, wide awake now. He looked the tall, lanky man over. Greely had weathered brown skin, dark eyes, and brown hair streaked with gray. Carter placed him in his forties. No sign of a weapon. “You’re the leader of the sabotage ring here,” Carter said deliberately. “What the hell are you doing here? Who gave you a pass?”

  “If you mean the Coalition, we aren’t behind the sabotage,” Greely said. “I think we’re on the same side, Colonel.”

  “That’s not what General Hastings told me.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be.” Greely grimaced. “That’s why I wanted to introduce myself in person. There isn’t much . . . official communication between the Corps and the Coalition right now. Hastings hates my guts, to put it bluntly.”

  Carter crossed his arms, a bit impressed by this guy’s cool. “Tell me why I shouldn’t call the MPs?”

  “You could do that. You could even make a trespass charge stick, because I am trespassing. I didn’t come in through the gate.” A grin flashed and faded on his face. “That’s it, though. If you could get away with anything else, Hastings would have locked me up long ago.”

  Carter tugged at his lip. “You showing off for me? Or what?”

  Greely’s expression sobered. “I’m here because we want to find out who’s sabotaging the Pipe, too. We don’t want to take on the Corps, or stop the water. We’re a bunch of farmers who’re trying to keep crops alive long enough to make harvest. Someone’s sabotaging the Pipe, but it’s not us. Colonel Watanabe knew that, too. He listened to us.”

  “Colonel Watanabe’s dead,” Carter said softly.

  “Yeah.” Greely held his eyes. “Think about that, okay? Think about this, too; What the hell do we gain by cutting off our own water? Don’t let Hastings sic you on us. It’s the wrong trail.”

  “I guess that’s for me to decide,” Carter said. This guy had balls. Carter lifted the phone and called base Security. “I have an unauthorized civilian in my quarters,” he snapped. “I want an escort for him.” He cradled the phone and faced Greely’s wary stare. “I’ll tell you this much,” he said slowly. “I’m the CO here, which means my people and the Pipeline come first. But I’ll make up my own mind about things. If you want to cooperate, come talk to me. I’ll listen to you.”

  Knuckles rapped briskly at the door. “Base Security, sir.” The grizzled sergeant’s face was expressionless as Carter opened the door. “You have an unauthorized civilian, sir?”

  A retreaded Green Beret? They made up the bulk of MPs these days. “Escort this man off the base, Sergeant,” Carter said coldly. “I want him to go through the gate in exactly the same condition he is in now. And then you tell your CO that I expect to see him here in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s salute was precise. “Ten minutes, sir. This way,” he said to Greely and his tone was absolutely neutral.

  Greely looked over his shoulder. Gave Carter that crooked smile. “Glad to have met you, Colonel. If you want to talk to me, leave a message at the government store in town. I don’t have a phone.”

  “Greely.” Carter waited until the man met his eyes. “Any more killings will screw everything up.”

  “I’d like to give you a guarantee, Colonel.” Greely paused in the doorway, his expression grim. “We’re trying to stop this. Think about Watanabe, okay?”

  Yeah, he was thinking about Watanabe. Carter watched the clock, frowning. The sergeant’s commanding officer, a young captain, arrived in exactly five minutes. He left ten minutes later, his back ramrod straight. No one in Security was going to sleep well tonight, Carter thought grimly. Not until they’d found the hole Dan Greely had walked through.

  “Sir?” This time, the man at the door was a major, dark haired, with a long face that gave him a Saturnine air. “Major Delgado reporting, sir.” He saluted. “I understand you had trouble here, tonight?”

  It hadn’t taken him long to get dressed and over here. Carter gave him a point or two for that. “A trespasser,” Carter said. “At ease, Major. Come in.” He stood aside, tired and twitching with tension now. God, what a beginning. “Security’s dealing with it.”

  “Security had standing orders to arrest Greely any time he turned up on Corps property,” Delgado said tightly.

  “On what charge?” Carter eyed the major. “Trespass?”

  “Yes, sir.” Delgado’s eyes glittered.

  Carter shook his head, too tired to deal with any more of this tonight. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said. “In my office at oh-nine-hundred. I don’t want to be disturbed any more tonight, unless it’s a major emergency.”

  “Yes, sir.” Delgado saluted, his spine still rigid with anger. “Tomorrow, sir.” He marched out of the apartment, his stride parade ground stiff.

  No one else knocked. Frowning, Carter stripped out of his sweaty clothes. Dan Greely had sounded sincere. Which might make him nothing better than a damn good used car salesman. He tossed his clothes into the corner and flopped naked on the bed. Two votes against Greely — Hastings and Delgado — and the situation felt more and more like another Chicago. The bottom line was he didn’t know squat about what was going on here, and he’d better start fixing that first thing in the morning. Carter grabbed for the sheet, way too wired to sleep, and was out before he’d pulled it all the way up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The shrill beep of the alarm jerked Carter out of sleep just as he took aim at the sun-bright windshield of the VW. Groggy, he reached for the alarm . . . and nearly fell out of bed as his hand missed the nightstand that wasn’t there. The adrenalin rush woke him up fast.

  He was in
The Dalles, not Chicago. The nightstand was on that side of the bed. He slapped off the alarm. Four-thirty. He blinked at the glowing red digits. Five hours should have been enough, but it felt more like ten minutes. Carter threw back the sheet and stumbled to the bathroom. Day one as Old Man on this base. Time to start getting a feel for what the hell was going on here, and judging by last night, he’d better do it fast.

  He wasn’t sleepy anymore. He turned on the water, gasping as cold hit his skin. Lousy insulation on the storage tanks. Carter made a mental note to get on Building Maintenance’s ass. No one needed a cold shower to start the day.

  It was still dark as he left the apartment and walked quickly through the yellow-lit streets. He turned right, feet crunching in gravel. He’d memorized the layout here. Lights glimmered on his right — enlisted personnel housing according to the map. Toys cluttered the grass-carpeted front yards — bikes and three-wheelers, a battered doll lying spread-eagled beside the sidewalk. The base was closed here, as in Chicago; you lived on post. Inside the cage. It was hard on the families.

  Headquarters was a long, low, concrete building, ugly and functional. The duty sergeant showed Carter to his office and gave him a quick tour of the layout. His office was about as shabby as Hastings’, Carter decided. Flow reports in hardcopy lay neatly on his desk, waiting for his signature. Carter leafed through them quickly. No problems, but he would know if there’d been any problems. A map of the Pipeline covered one wall and a blowup of The Dalles sector covered another. Veins, Carter thought as he studied the blue tracery. Those veins made him uneasy. I wanted someone with more experience, Hastings had said. Hastings could go take a flying leap. But those veins carried the lifeblood of this damn, dusty here-and-now. Cut them, and a lot of people would suffer. Die. How close to a war were they, out here?

  Carter turned around at the sound of a cleared throat.

  “Sir.” A gray haired sergeant with the wiry build of a jockey slauted. “Sergeant Willis, sir. Anything you need?”

  This would be the topkick — the senior NCO. The duty sergeant had called him, and probably Delgado, as well. The new CO was up and roaming around. “Everything’s fine, Sergeant.” Carter looked around at his cramped office. “Notify all the COs that there will be a staff meeting at oh-seven-thirty,” he told Willis. “Right now, I need coffee. And some breakfast.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll take you over to the dining hall,” Willis said.

  “Ten minutes.” Carter turned to the computer to take the pulse of the Columbia riverbed. It was interesting that Delgado hadn’t arrived yet. Perhaps the duty sergeant hadn’t called him after all. Or had Willis ordered him not to? Carter frowned at the numbers on the screen in front of him. What did Willis have to say that he didn’t want Delgado to hear? He would listen during his tour. He’d listen very carefully.

  The sun was well up as Willis showed him around the base. A light wind brushed Carter’s face but it was going to be hot, later. Half asleep this morning, he’d forgotten sunscreen. Bad move. He had dark hair, but his fair skin never tanned. The dusty street ended at the vast wall of the dam. “This was a power company dam.” Carter looked up in awe at the enormous intakes that yawned like cave mouths in the stained concrete. “It never stored an acre foot of water for ag or drinking.”

  “I guess they had plenty of water back then, sir.” Willis shrugged. “We wouldn’t be so tight now if the Trench Reservoir had been built sooner.”

  True. Carter remembered his momentary vision of the waterfall. How could you worry about water when you looked at that every day? By the time the federal condemnation of private water rights had finally made it through the courts, it had been almost too late. Not that it could have kept the climate from changing, or the seas from eating Florida and much of Los Angeles, but it would have helped. If they’d started sooner, the Trench might be full clear to capacity. Now — if Johnny was right, and Canada shorted them on the tundra water — it might never fill.

  “The O club’s down there, sir.” Willis nodded. “We use it as the officer’s mess. Enlisted mess is the 101 Building — that green monster down there. The exchange and the drill hall are across the street. This is Main. The MEQ is down there.” He pointed south, down the street Carter had walked up in the darkness.

  “How tight is it on base?” Carter asked. He watched Willis think about his answer.

  “It’s tight.” The corporal’s eyes flicked away.

  “How tight?” Morale mattered. These were his people now.

  Willis frowned, clearly picking his words. “The kids’ve gone, so my wife and I took a single-bedroom unit.”

  “You’re entitled to more.”

  “Yes, sir.” Willis nodded. “There’s two families sharing the three-bedroom unit we had, sir.” Willis cleared his throat. “Colonel Watanabe authorized extra air conditioners, sir. For some of the units.”

  He was waiting to see how Carter would react, or maybe Delgado had pulled the extra units. “Good move,” Carter said and watched Willis not show his relief. Carter shaded his eyes, squinting into the harsh sunlight. The gray wall of the dam zigzagged across the dusty gouge of the riverbed. The Corps buildings and residences clustered on the Oregon side, sheltered by the concrete wing of the dam. Firs and a few thirsty maples shaded the dusty streets. An old spillway had been converted into a tunnel that led to the west gate. Beyond the dam, the spidery span of a highway bridge arched over the riverbed. People still used it.

  He watched a bright-blue semi pull a triple trailer across the bridge. Beyond it he could see The Dalles. Metal-sided warehouses and a couple of ancient wooden grain elevators baked in the sun. Fruit, Carter remembered. And wheat. That was what people had grown around here, back when the river was full of water. Now they grew drought tolerant soybeans and sugar beets, all dependent on those blue veins full of water buried under his feet. Wind vanes turned steadily, ranked along the shelving banks like strange, metallic trees. The whomp-whomp-whomp of their turning created a constant base note beneath the sounds of the day. Carter had a feeling he was going to get tired of that sound very quickly. Parallel strands of bright-orange wire fenced the compound on all sides, strung four inches apart on six-foot poles. Carter approached it cautiously.

  “Don’t touch it, sir. It’ll knock you cold.” Willis stepped up beside him. “It could kill you if you got tangled in it. A cut strand or a ground activates an alarm.”

  It hadn’t stopped Greely, Carter thought sourly. Security better have found that hole. He stared at the orange wire, tired with a weariness that went beyond the physical. Why couldn’t the people on the other side of that wire understand that only so much water existed? “Where do you keep the coffee?” Carter asked.

  “This way, sir.”

  “Not today.” Carter shook his head. He needed to know how his people ate, too. That mattered. “We’ll hit the enlisted mess.”

  *

  The noise level dropped by an order of magnitude as Carter walked through the door. The CO. It didn’t quite get silent, but he felt the eyes as he picked up a tray at the end of the serving line. The mess was open, he noticed. Families could pay and eat here. Which meant that the food situation locally wasn’t good — or at least it wasn’t a good idea to shop locally. The families sat on one side of the hall, the active duty personnel on the other. Not many families this early. A very young woman with an infant in her lap was trying to hush a complaining three-year-old girl.

  “The colonel opened the mess, sir. You got to go to Bonneville to buy a lot of stuff, these days.” Willis held out a plate for scrambled eggs. “Gas costs over ten bucks a gallon out here.”

  Which most of the lower grades wouldn’t be able to afford. “Why can’t you shop in The Dalles?” Carter filled a mug with coffee — or what passed for coffee these days. “Local attitude?”

  “It’s not bad, sir.” Willis stressed the words slightly. “The colonel opened the mess before we closed the base. You don’t have much choice outside of the
local market or the government store. The locals don’t live so good, either.”

  This man didn’t hate the locals, anyway. Why did Delgado? Carter picked up a glass of orange juice. Maybe that was why Willis hadn’t included him this morning. Carter had a feeling that Willis was doing a bit of subtle propagandizing: The situation doesn’t have to be this bad. How about it, boss?

  They were all asking, every man and woman on the base. How about it, boss? How are you going to handle things? Carter felt the weight of those silent questions as he picked up his tray and turned away from the line. Then the child threw a bowl onto the floor with a clatter and launched herself into a screaming temper tantrum. The whole room went silent. The woman’s face was red as she tried desperately to silence her daughter, and now the baby was crying. Carter looked away, straight into the agonized face of a Corporal across the room. Dad. Scared that Carter might just get pissed and close the mess.

  It was tough for the enlisteds.

  Carter waited until the woman looked up, then caught her eye. “Kids,” he said, and smiled.

  The food wasn’t bad. Soy eggs and bacon, but who ate the real stuff these days. Johnny, he thought wryly. Maybe not even him. The orange juice was real, even if it was grown in a cell tank. Time breathed down his neck now. The staff meeting was coming up. Carter ate fast and pretended he wasn’t aware of the inaudible and collective sigh of relief as he left the mess.

  Delgado and Captain Arris, Security’s CO from last night, waited for him in his office.

  “There is no breach in the base perimeter.” Arris’s eyes were locked on Carter’s left shoulder. “Sir.”

  “How did a civilian get in here?” From the corner of his eye, Carter watched Delgado scowl.