“No, sir. The guy that called made it sound like the Grand Terminator dropped in and began swinging—the shuttles just started making noise and belching steam, or whatever. I took the liberty of calling the Astro station in Nuperz, and they're flying a team up here now.” He glanced at his notes on the console and continued. “They're flying them straight to the museum and should arrive by eighth hour. The guy at the museum said it was about fifth hour when it all started."
“Okay,” Harko said. “If anybody's looking, I'll be at the museum."
Fitful sleep or not, Harko felt much better. He pushed the transport down the track toward the museum at full speed plus. So the shuttles weren't as dead as everyone had always thought them to be. But why? What reason lay at the bottom of this, and how did Kaznov fit into the pic?
Harko set the transport to automatic. The East End line fell behind, and he watched the information that they had gathered the night before scroll up on the small screen on the dash in front of him. There had to be a way to weave a fabric from the multitude of loose threads. All he needed to do was find how the threads best fit together.
The three groups had surfaced within a few years of one another, around the year Paz two hundred, but, like any disease, they'd probably been incubating for some time before that. At the time the first reports had been logged, each of them had a character that had remained unchanged since. They hadn't evolved in the manner that was normally the case for randomly developing movements. Generally, movements like these would tend to grow in different directions. The basic premise upon which they had been formed might be constant, but the expression of their ideas always mutated with time, often twisting the basic premise as well. Only one of the three had changed, but it was merely an altered theme and the premise stayed. They had all begun within a short span of time—three actors coming out on stage as if on cue. That was the first of the threads.
The second thread was the fact that they were unique among groups sharing behavioral traits in that they did not change with age. He had enough for a small knot, but not a tapestry.
All three were geneticentric, and the gene pool of preference was the same. All Gammas. All of them direct-line descent. Thread number three.
The fourth thread for his cloth was a little harder for him to understand, common or not. They all wanted Deltas. Maybe ... maybe they needed the Deltas. Since there was but one Delta who was direct-line, they couldn't all have their own. Perhaps they didn't know there was only one of them to be found. That was reasonable—no one at Apps had been aware of that until he'd requested the records. There were multitudes of every other seed lot, and there would be no reason to think the same wasn't true of the Delta lots.
On the other hand, he couldn't recall ever coming across a Delta in his work, and if these groups were actively looking for one, the searchers would have realized that Deltas were rare. All of them were able to tap the system, of that he had little doubt, so it was conceivable that they might have known of the Delta shortage long before he had stumbled over it. Allowing for their geneticentric bent, why would they want to introduce a different seed lot into their midst? The Kaznov issue remained an enigma, but it was still the fourth thread.
They were all heading in what appeared to be different directions, that was—on the surface. But, having thought it over, he wasn't too sure about that, either. It seemed to him they were all going in the same direction—each with wildly differing motivation—but the same direction. Bound for a common place. What they wanted remained distinct, apart, different, but the place where the three trails converged was the museum and the shuttles. Why the shuttles? What was there about those machines that drew those people to them? Maybe the what was as different as their goals and was only important in understanding their motives. The where was important—the fifth thread.
All three were global. They had started out that way, with connections everywhere, activities at all points on the planet—instantly. As far as the record was concerned, every geneticentric or deviant behavioral group had had its start as a local organization with little direction and grown to be not much more than regional, rarely spreading out to fill a Sector before they collapsed for various reasons. Thread number six was their instantly global structure and amazing cohesiveness.
An idea was taking shape in his head, a disgusting, ugly idea that made Brand Harko shudder. He was feeling violated, deceived, and cheated. The reason for that was because he thought a cruel, cynical tag of high technology was the net result of his life. If what he was thinking turned out to be true, he was nothing but another piece of a sick game instituted by the Fathers and that...
“Central, this is One."
“Central."
“Is Sax around?"
“Yes, sir. Hang on a sec and I'll punch him up."
The screen went blank for a couple of seconds, then the image of Sax appeared.
“Yeah, Chief."
“Listen, Sax, I want you to pull up all the records we have on these three groups. In the list of known members, I want to know what generation they are, using their Ancient as number one. Then, I want to know who was the originator of each group. That one may be a little tough—just look for the first and loudest voice to show up in the record. After that, get the lot numbers of the membership—not the individual Ancient designators—just the lot numbers. Know what I mean?"
“Sure, boss. Is that all?"
“No, but it'll be enough for the time being."
The destination proximity warning came on, and he took over control for docking at the museum. He could see a huge, flat cloud of ice crystals hanging over the building and trailing off to the east.
* * *
Chapter XIX
“Careful with that."
“Lana, I know what I'm doing."
“Oh? Worked on one of these before, have you?"
“No."
“Then, how can you know what you're doing?” Lana Sorenson chuckled.
“Lana."
“It was a good question."
“Mm-hmm, but right now what I need you to do is rotate that bar in my direction. Slowly, huh?"
Sorenson wrapped the mechanical hands of her shell around a short bar protruding from the edge of the docking ring and pushed it toward Lindermann while she kept a watchful eye on the meter.
Maintain constant rotation speed and let the pressure vary as required, Lana, just like I told you, Lindermann thought.
When the bar reached thirty degrees from the vertical, the force applied dropped suddenly to near zero.
“Force dropped, master."
“Good. Keep it coming until it seats,” Lindermann said, holding his light steady on a saddle clamp in the side of the ring.
The rod settled into the recess of the clamp's base, and the top half of the clamp swiveled out of the ring to lock it in place. Sorenson detached the mechanical hands and drifted back.
“Well?"
“Well, what?"
“Nothing's happening, Mr. Mechanical Genius."
“I can see that, Lana."
“Have any incantations?"
“Any what?"
“Magic words that open doors, Shaul."
“Not today, but we could cut that cover plate and get at the internal wiring to—"
“Oh no, you don't. We try anything like that and this thing could go defensive on us."
“Right. Where would I be without my conscience?"
“In a lot more trouble than you're in already, that's for sure. So, we go back, or what?"
“Maybe. Hang on a sec,” he said as he switched to the shuttle's frequency.
“Dani, my dear?"
“I know, I've been monitoring. No luck, huh?"
“No. Not yet. Is there anything we've missed in the record? Anything at all to do with the entry codes? I found a panel over here with a keyboard in it that's probably intended for manual access."
“Yeah, I saw it. Whatever you do, don't go playing around with it."
“That's right, I do—so, don't play around with it."
“Yes, dear. It's dangerous moving around over here. Nothing to latch on to. We'll try another airlock, if you want—but under screaming protest."
“Your zeal for doing your job is noted, Shaul. Here comes the read. One second."
Lindermann studied the pictures he had made of the panel's keyboard while he waited. It looked pretty straightforward to him.
“No, Shaul. Nothing on the access codes."
“So, what do you think, professor?"
“Let's get back to the Hermes. Maybe we can figure out something and try it again. No sense risking a good EVA shell by guessing."
“She does love me, Lana. You heard her, right?"
“I heard her say something to the effect that EVA shells are expensive. Is that what you mean?"
* * * *
“Twenty-three, what's all the noise and vibration?"
“The reactors have been activated, Pasha. The vibration is the result of all mechanical systems being brought on line. The vibration is being transmitted and amplified through—"
“That's enough. A simple response will be fine."
“Yes, Pasha."
“What do you think, Trina?"
“I think all that noise scared them to Nuperz and beyond."
“Twenty-three, is there anyone in the area?"
“Specify what is meant by ‘anyone', Pasha."
“Person, man, human being—anyone."
“Forty positive readings at three hundred meters. An additional one hundred and forty-three at five hundred meters on all points."
“Not quite Nuperz,” Antaris observed, “but at least they are not inside the museum."
“Which one of us is going for food and something to drink with a little more taste than this stuff from the atmosphere?"
“I will go,” Antaris said. “I need the exercise and a real toilet. I doubt I will ever get accustomed to these things the Fathers used."
“All right, but hurry. We don't know how long it'll be before they get the nerve to come back."
Pasha stayed on the catwalk while Antaris scurried through the empty frames where the entrance doors had been. She was worried about Niki. He had been gone longer than anticipated, and nothing was happening as they had planned. For all she could tell, he could be waiting outside for an opportunity to slip past the Enforcement people who had the museum surrounded, or he could be injured—maybe dead. There was no way to know and, in the meantime, they were trapped in the shuttle with no food. She looked anxiously over the rail and saw Antaris, arms full of brightly colored boxes, running for the lift.
“Pasha,” she shouted. “Be ready to close that door—I have been seen."
Pasha stepped into the airlock and put both hands on a red and white striped handle. The sound of running feet and the shouting of men echoed through the area as the guards made a desperate attempt to stop the lift before Antaris reached the catwalk. They were successful in halting it a meter short of the platform but not quick enough to keep the athletic Antaris from jumping up onto the walk before they could get it reversed.
“Close that damned door,” she shouted as she dove into the chamber.
Pasha yanked the handle down and, as the outer door sealed, stared at Antaris in wide-eyed amazement.
“What? What are you staring at?"
“You. You were fantastic. I ... I didn't know you could move like that. I'm impressed."
“Yes, well, I have never been chased by men like that, either.” Antaris straightened her clothes and arranged the boxes neatly in her arms. “I meant, I have been chased by men before, of course, but not like that."
The two shared a nervous laugh as they made their way back to the forward cabin. The men outside were certain they were in the shuttle, so it made no difference if they could be seen. The excitement of the moment passed quickly, and Pasha's thoughts returned to Niki. Where was he—how was he?
“Twenty-three."
“Yes, Pasha."
“Is there any way to know how Niki is?"
“No, but the transponder is bearing three hundred forty-eight degrees at a range of one hundred sixty kilometers and closing at one point three meters per second."
“How long until he arrives?"
“At the current rate of closure, thirty-four hours, eleven minutes, sixteen point nine seconds—rounded to the nearest tenth of a second."
“Pasha, I think you ought not talk to that thing too much."
“You may be right. Twenty-three, give me information about Niki's—well, the position of the transponder every fifteen minutes.” Now it was time to discover what Antaris had in those bright little boxes. Pasha was so hungry no amount of nervousness was going to keep her from eating something—anything.
“I'm starved, Trina. What did you get?"
Antaris smiled and said, “You are going to love this. We have three boxes of misk juice and four cases of lovely lammik candies.” She opened one of the cases of lammik and laughed loudly. Pasha joined her. Both of them hated lammik with a passion, and the juice of the misk plant wasn't much higher on their list of favorite flavors.
“Is this all that was down there?” Pasha asked as she grabbed one of the candies and stuffed it in her mouth.
“Limited selection, and this is all the inventory. We may have to ration this junk,” she said a bit more seriously. “No telling how long we may have to live on this stuff."
Antaris was right, but Pasha hoped the situation would change soon. She wanted Niki back, and she wanted to get the job done. No one but Niki knew what the timing was for the La Paz and ... She looked at the various lights on the panel and realized Twenty-three would have that information. Surely it wouldn't bother Niki now if she knew as well.
“Twenty-three."
“Yes, Pasha."
“Where is the La Paz?"
“There is no record of that name."
“The ship. The ship you came from."
“That would be I-S-C-U Nine."
“I-S-C-U Nine? What does that mean?"
“Interstellar Colonization Unit number nine."
“Where is it?"
“It is currently in the process of establishing an orbit around this planet. The orbit will be secured in two hundred sixty-three hours, forty-one minutes."
“Pasha,” Antaris began, “do you suppose there is any—"
“Transponder bearing three hundred forty degrees. Range, one hundred fifty-eight kilometers. Closing at thirty-three meters per second."
“Oh, good, they're in the transport, Trina. Isn't that—I'm sorry, Trina—but isn't that wonderful? What was it you were saying?"
“I was wondering if there was any way of getting a message to him to warn him about our guests?"
“Twenty-three, can you communicate with Niki? Can I talk to him?"
“No, Pasha. He is equipped with transponder only."
“Well, that's out,” Pasha said, her disappointment obvious. “Maybe we can do something to attract his attention before he gets too close. Start a fire, or something."
“How? We are unable to get out of here to do anything."
“No, but maybe Twenty-three can help."
“That is a possibility. It would not hurt to ask."
“Twenty-three. Is there anything on this shuttle that can be used to start a fire outside?"
“This unit is equipped with six particle beam canons, four high-energy lasers, twenty ATT missiles, and assorted hand-carried weapons in the armory for use by shipboard personnel. All shipboard weapons are capable of elevating temperatures to combustion levels in any material."
“That's it, Trina. We can start a fire in the forest on the north side of the track."
“If you say so."
* * * *
The report of an approaching transport was of little concern to Harko. It had to have come from the north, because they'd sealed this track at East End. T
he only intersecting track was the North Coopersland express route, and traffic flowed routinely between Pel's Field in the east and the North Coopersland mines.
A loud click, sounding like an oversized door latch, and a whine were superimposed over the hum from the shuttle and pulled his attention away from the officer next to him. Unable to move, he watched as a large panel near the forward compartment of shuttle twenty-three swung upward and outward, followed by something that appeared to him to be the largest laser tube he'd ever seen.
What the hell?
The flash momentarily blinded him as the beam neatly bored its way through the one-meter-thick inner and outer walls of the complex and torched a long, straight line of trees on the north side of the track. The heat inside the shuttle display immediately rose to an extremely uncomfortable level, and the area filled with a thick, choking smoke from the molten set-shell. The blast had lasted no more than a fraction of a second, yet it had set the north side of the building and a full kilometer of forest ablaze.
Just as quickly the weapon vanished into the shuttle's hull, and the panel closed over it. If Harko hadn't witnessed the entire scene he would never have known it was there. The bright glare of the laser lingered in his eyes, making it difficult to see much of anything, and closing his eyes exacerbated the problem. With his less than half-vision, Harko groped and stumbled from the building, gagging on the toxic fumes.
Outside the building, Harko looked back to see a tower of blue-gray vapor rising, twisting, mingling with the thick, black smoke from the burning forest. The unnatural cloud trailed off to the southeast on the upper level wind. The heat of the rising columns clashed with the freezing air, adding to the violence of the swirling, red-hot ash as it climbed and cooled in the ice haze above. A small transport hurtled by at a hundred plus and punched a hole in the smoke that was blowing across the track and beginning to invade the docks.
After that demonstration of power, Harko was certain he didn't want to tangle with the shuttle. With all the tools at their disposal no one had been able to do anything more than scratch those machines, and he doubted the idea of blowing a hole in one with explosives would prove any more effective. All he could think to do was to keep anyone else from getting to them, but that would only work if the machines stayed put. He had no guarantee that they would do that.
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