Eccles nodded. “Of course, if he used the right frequency. That’s what the old iridium phones did, before they started blinkering to de-clutter the spectrum.”
“Could we set up one of our vikings to do that?”
Eccles shook his head. “In theory, it would be easy. But only in theory.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, continuous high-powered radio emissions from within the host’s body would be a cancer risk. And for another, the satellite depends on the signal processor to relay properly encoded streams. There’s no provision to encode a stream in orbit, even assuming the viking implants were rerouted to the appropriate frequency.”
Bezovnik leaned back in his chair, a hint of cheer stealing across his blunt features.
“So any transmissions like that would get ignored by the satellite?”
“They’d probably be logged. I think meteorology uses radio traffic to study the composition of the atmosphere. But that’s about it.”
“In other words, we’re stuck with a scenario where all viking broadcasts go through the signal processor?”
Eccles was puzzled. “Yes. Is that a problem?” Where was this leading?
“No, no. Just wanted to be sure I had the picture.” Bezovnik gazed at the ceiling for a moment, apparently pondering. “Okay. Now, let’s go back to the question of wandering out of range for a minute. You’ve probably heard that some of our vikings just turned up.”
Eccles nodded.
“We thought we’d lost them in the stampede, but somehow they hiked all the way back to base camp.”
“Pretty amazing.” Something in Bezovnik’s expression told Eccles not to be more enthusiastic.
“When they got back to the module, we didn’t pick up their implants—just some bleeps from the emergency beacon.”
“That’s because we moved the signal processor to our new headquarters. They’re still out of range.”
“I’m sending out our planetside commander, Heward, to pick them up and fly them in. Will we get their transmissions through the skimmer?”
“Before they get back, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“We ought to. The relay should redetect the implants automatically, same as the main signal processor.”
Bezovnik pursed his lips. “Eccles, you know I ran a diagnostic scan of the comlinks after the stampede.”
It sounded more like a question than a statement, so Eccles nodded.
“You probably wondered what I was thinking, taking everybody offline during the search, and ordering you out of the room. I admit, it must have looked slightly odd.”
Eccles tried to keep his expression neutral.
“I was looking for a spy, Eccles. Industrial espionage. It’s a big problem in this business. We had reason to believe someone was leaking information about the Erisa mission to a competitor—information vital to our success and the company’s future. At first I suspected the earthside crew, including you.”
Here his sharp eyes stabbed at Eccles unmercifully. Eccles squirmed.
“Anyway, after a while I realized the leak must be coming from planetside. And I thought maybe a viking was double broadcasting. That’s what the diagnostic was about. I was looking for a direct satellite feed.”
“The scan wouldn’t have picked up that sort of thing.”
Bezovnik nodded slowly. “I realize that now. And it doesn’t really matter, because if what you said is true, they wouldn’t be transmitting that way at all. They’d simply piggyback an extra signal through the processor.”
“A routine scan wouldn’t pick that up, either.”
“True. Routinely, if you have a dozen vikings, you quit looking after you find a dozen signals. But I didn’t quit.”
“What did you find?”
“Well, let’s just say the stampede took one of our vikings off someone else’s payroll.”
Eccles blinked while his mind adjusted to this new idea. It explained certain things, though some of Bezovnik’s logic seemed a bit cockeyed.
“Now he’s back.”
“Who?”
“Orosco.”
“Oh.”
“And I want to make sure he doesn’t get a second stream through to the satellite. Especially not now, when we’re sitting on the story of the century.”
“Naturally.”
“Can we do that?”
Eccles ran a finger through his hair. “Those planetside signal processors are designed to pick up everything automatically, so when crewmembers get lost and found again, we don’t have to do anything. Exactly our situation here. I can reprogram the unit, but it’ll take me a couple hours.”
“You don’t have that long. Heward will probably be flying home in forty-five minutes.”
Eccles blanched. His time was mostly spent on the enormously sophisticated electronics that recorded, decoded, and displayed the viking broadcasts once they reached Earth. The signal processors were supposed to be maintenance-free; he rarely did anything except test the comlink when they powered up. It would take him an hour just to find the relevant section of the manual.
“I’ll try,” he said, leaping to his feet with worry flooding his face.
“You’re not paid to try,” Bezovnik growled. “I expect a call in half an hour, with this all wrapped up.”
37
Rafa looked out from his bunk as a crackle sounded in his ear. Across the room, Chen had been napping; now she sat up as well. Abbott opened his eyes, but otherwise did not stir. He was battling some sort of infection—from the crabbies, no doubt—and had been feeling feverish and nauseated for several hours now.
Erisa Explorer, this is Dr. Edvardsen. The emergency beacon tells us you’re there and alive, but it isn’t set up to relay your implants. So I’m afraid this will be a one-sided conversation.
First of all, heartfelt apologies and congratulations on your trek through the wilderness. We had some technical difficulties during the stampede, and ended up losing the whole crew’s signals for a while. By the time comlinks were back up, you’d been given up for lost. The trampling was unbelievable. Several acres crushed completely dead. From the air it looked impossible that you could have survived.
I’m glad we were proven wrong.
We’ve dispatched Mr. Heward to pick you up in the small skimmer. He should arrive shortly with food and water and medical supplies.
As you obviously guessed, the team had to move rather suddenly. I imagine that was a nasty shock. We’ll let Heward fill you in on the details, but rest assured that the crew is generally intact and glad to have you back.
My day’s mostly over, so I’ll be offline by the time you get back to camp. But I’ll be sitting in on your debriefing tomorrow morning, before the shift starts.
Until then.
The vikings’ eyes met. Chen was mostly radiating relief. They hadn’t known for sure that the rest of the crew was alive—or even on the planet’s surface any more, for that matter. Abbott also looked somewhat brighter, though there was a weakness, a weariness to his eyes that stopped his expression well short of cheer.
Rafa felt a certain resurgence of hope as well, but for him, the emotion was swallowed up by anger. “Technical difficulties” was about as lame an explanation as he could imagine. The fact was, the crew had given the stampede grounds no more than a casual glance before flitting off to greener pastures. Undoubtedly they had gone with MEEGO’s impatient approval.
That the trio had survived a harrowing hike back to base earned them no more than a pompous pat on the back—plus the promise of an early interview tomorrow to further abbreviate their rest.
For once he wished Whemper were available to supply a salty epithet. He couldn’t think of anything sufficiently emphatic.
* * *
Heward showed up a few minutes later, as the sun was going down. The skimmer landed with a rattling chop on a relatively flat stretch of ground near the module.
By then they’d begun fidgeting restles
sly; long periods of silence were punctuated with short, clipped phrases of joking tension-relief and even briefer rejoinder. They were too emotionally spent to let the words flow freely.
Abbott sat up, claiming his fever had slacked off.
At the first muted sounds of approach Chen darted down the slanting corridor in a flash. Rafa watched her go but made no move to follow. Abbott pulled himself somewhat unsteadily onto an overturned plastic carton.
In a couple minutes she was back, dogging Heward’s heels.
“Hi,” Rafa said flatly. He looked away.
“So you made it.”
“Barely,” said Abbott, after Rafa did not respond.
Heward studied the inadequately bandaged cuts all over the Jamaican’s face and arms. “You don’t look all that great, man. What did you do, pick a fight in a razor factory?”
“Something like that.”
Chen began searching a carryall that had been looped over her shoulder. “We’ve got more antibiotics in here.”
“I see you found some food we left behind,” said Heward, kicking disdainfully at the wrappers around the ration box.
“You bring any more?” asked Rafa.
“Naw. Figured you’d be back soon enough.”
Rafa wasn’t about to dignify that observation with a response. Instead he closed his eyes and asked, “What are you guys living in, anyway?”
“Tents.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. Nice spot of beach to the southwest. Surfing’s great.”
“What kind of a stupid headquarters is that?”
“The kind you’re stuck with, Orosco.”
“Why?” asked Chen.
“Why what?”
“Why the move? Edvardsen said you’d explain it all.”
“Well, she lied. You’re just going to have to come and see for yourself. Let’s get going.”
Rafa shook his head. “Let Chen get Abbott fixed up a bit. We haven’t had any medicine since the crabbies.”
Heward didn’t bother to ask what “crabbies” were. He turned on his heel and stalked out. “I’ve got a couple more things to load. You’re with me, Orosco. Chen, you’ve got ten minutes, and then I’m leaving.”
* * *
By the time they lifted off, full night had fallen. Heward was in a foul mood, but he had nobody but himself to blame for the delay. He’d insisted on strapping some damaged robots on the deck of the skimmer, despite Chen’s protests that they were unsalvageable. The bulk had taken quite a while to strap down securely—longer than it took Abbott to emerge, pale and dotted with new bandages, and shuffle over to the craft.
They flew out without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. The prospect of other human company—even company as hostile and divisive as the viking crew—was cheering. It was an enormous relief to know they would be part of the group again.
Heward drove. Abbott and Chen took the remaining seats in the forward section of the cockpit. Rafa had to content himself with an awkward position on the bare metal of the deck, his back braced against the smashed equipment. He was too tired to complain about the discomfort, so he slumped forward with his head between his knees in a futile attempt to ignore the cool gale that flowed past.
It was a clear night. Erisa Alpha glinted low to the east, a topaz jewel that easily outshined its neighbors. Overhead, the rings hung sharp and gleaming. Snow on the distant mountains assumed a bluish luster that glowed faintly in the starlight. In the distance, a faint cough of thunder rumbled from an unknown corner of the sky and subsided into stillness again.
They ascended in a smooth arc that took them beyond the high grasslands and over dense forest. The ride was oddly turbulent against the smooth carpet of greenery below them. Ahead, the sandy beaches of the coast glittered palely in the distance.
They’d been in the air for about ten minutes when, without warning, the deck yawed sharply to the right. Chen called out in alarm. Rafa, caught completely unawares, catapulted painfully across the unyielding structures affixed to the deck and skidded toward the railing and the blackness below. He scrabbled with his good arm for a hold on one of the straps, his face stinging from a tremendous scraping slap to the ear and jaw. Tears from the blow clouded his vision.
“Hold on!” Heward shouted tensely. “Stabilizer went out!”
The flight of the skimmer quickly became even more bumpy and erratic, and the sideways heeling worsened. They weaved drunkenly, sank, and then rose again, seemingly at random. Rafa’s feet were dangling over the railing into emptiness. He managed to jam his cast into a gap between the crates, which brought momentary stability but put tremendous strain on the broken arm. Bolts of pain shot through his hand and shoulder. With his other hand he continued to claw desperately for a grip on anything solid. He found nothing. He could feel the fingernails breaking, the knuckles bruising and bleeding. He slid a few centimeters and sensed the fiberglass in his cast beginning to buckle.
“Put us down!” Abbott screamed. He was craning his neck against the tight seatbelt, looking back at Rafa. “Get us down right now or he’s going to fall!”
“There’s no place to land!” Heward shouted back. “The trees would tear us to shreds. We’ve got to make it to the beach!”
Chen retched, and a fine mist of sour, half-digested vomit splattered in Rafa’s face. He blinked it away, spat it out of his open mouth, cursed the sudden added slipperiness on the deck. His mind was whirling. It was hard to tell how high they were. Twenty meters above the trees. Maybe less. The shadowy relief of the canopy flashed past in a blur.
No telling how far from the beach. He couldn’t hold on much longer. The cast was definitely giving now, and every bump made it worse. A few feet forward there was a place where the gear wasn’t flush with the railing—a small gap that might be big enough for his boot. He stretched, felt a sudden scraping as his cast popped loose, and shifted all his weight desperately forward.
The craft pitched downward with a nauseating suddenness and rolled until the deck was nearly vertical. Rafa slid completely off the deck and felt a sickening pop as his ankle caught in the gap, ligaments stretched and tore, and bones wrenched free. The boot twisted and stuck in the gap, dangling him head-down toward the forest like a lifeless rabbit from a hunter’s belt.
It happened with such swiftness that his dazed nervous system didn’t register the agony in his leg for several seconds. When it did, he shrieked a wordless scream that was torn away by the wind. A dark haze of unconsciousness began to crowd in, dulling his mind. The throbbing pressure of blood in his temples pounded. His eyes bulged.
Dimly he was aware of Abbott’s shouts, the rapid flight of the crazily-tilted craft, the rending chaos in his ankle with every motion of the skimmer. But it had a dreamlike, detached quality to it that was fading into oblivion.
Then the skimmer bobbed and plunged again, and Rafa’s boot twisted loose. His mind snapped from hazy retreat to a terrifying hyperconsciousness, recording his fall in clear, detailed slow motion. He saw Heward fighting with the controls of the skimmer, the taut nausea in Chen’s posture, the horror in Abbott’s wide eyes, the grotesque skew of his ankle flashing across the underbelly of the skimmer as he cartwheeled down into the blackness.
In the instant of complete detachment before he hit the trees, a hundred thoughts burned in his brain. His body crushed and broken and lost in a nameless jungle. A search party scanning for signals from the implants and finding the carrion-eaters that would devour his remains. Julie smiling on their wedding day. Julie weeping at the trial. And some lines he’d once memorized to please a favorite English teacher. To die, to sleep. And by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. The promise of death seemed at once welcome and bitter.Death is a nurse mother with big arms: ‘Twon’t hurt you at all; it’s your time now; you just need a long sleep, child; what have you had anyhow better than sleep?
Then the slashing fingers of the forest whipped ov
er his neck and face and swallowed him into obscurity.
38
Julie aborted her call with a sigh. She’d been trying to contact Geire all day, with no success. His secretary claimed she was mystified as to the boss’s whereabouts.
She’d left a couple messages, explaining that she now had proof that Rafa was alive. She’d even attached one of the decoded clips in the hopes that it would help the agency take her seriously. But it was maddening to talk to an impersonal machine. She wanted to see his face and get some kind of personal assurance that help would be dispatched to Rafa before it was too late.
Plus she wanted a little protection herself.
She was jumpy and worried. Maybe some of Satler’s paranoia was beginning to rub off. He didn’t want her to leave the hotel, or eat alone, or even call home.
The house arrest was marginally tolerable—at least until she talked to Geire—but Julie drew the line at a call. Electronic transactions, such as the debit to her account to cover the cost of the call, were supposed to be untraceable except under the legal duress of a subpoena—especially if you routed through an anonomizer. Besides, her mom and dad had expected her back yesterday, and they were watching the twins. They deserved to know something about what was going on.
Her mother had said she was crazy to come to Houston in the first place; as expected, Julie’s news provoked a tight-lipped lecture about chasing rainbows and how she should go straight to the police.
For once, Julie was able to listen without taking offense. She couldn’t fault Lydia for being simultaneously relieved to hear from a missing daughter, and worried about her being in hiding.
When her mother began to wind down, Julie took a deep breath and dropped the second bombshell. Rafa was alive, despite MEEGO’s assertion to the contrary, and she had decided not to get a divorce after all.
That triggered a long stretch of wordless astonishment. Julie could almost see the wheels turning in her mother’s head, considering how to talk her out of this foolishness; if the conversation hadn’t been anchored in so much frustration and sad history, it would have been funny. She launched a pre-emptive strike before her mother could collect her thoughts.
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