After the Zap

by Michael Armstrong

  “Got me,” I said. “I haven’t the foggiest. But I think you had better play this the way we planned: Nike exchanges the coke for you.”

  Dungbreath shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he said. “That coke is ours.”

  “Excuse me,” K-2 said. She looked at Max and me. “Perhaps I can help. Who does this ‘coke’ belong to?”

  “Me,” said Max.

  “Us,” said Dungbreath.

  “They get a share,” Max conceded. “I hired Dungbreath’s brother to help make sure I got the coke when the Wonderblimp came. But the blimp never came.”

  “Deal’s a deal, though,” Dungbreath said.

  “Yeah,” Max said. “Deal’s a deal. Snow Angels get a ten-share.”

  “Fifty,” said Dungbreath.

  “Twenty-five,” said Max.

  “Wait,” said K-2. “What’s so special about this cocaine?” She smiled. She knew. The memor line worked pretty fast. What we had told those memors in Ship Creek had to have made it up to Sue City already.

  “It’s not really cocaine,” I said. “It’s like cocaine, though.”

  “I see,” said K-2. “It’s like cocaine but it’s not cocaine.”

  “No, no, I mean—okay, it’s this white powder you snort up your nose. But it does more than cocaine. Nike calls it lazy. It’s a pre-Zap drug. But it works well for the Zapped.”

  “How’s that?” K-2 asked.

  “The brain works better.” I let her chew on that.

  K-2 nodded. “People might remember a few things?”

  “Yeah,” Max said. “They might remember how to read.”

  K-2 bit her lower lip, then smiled. “It makes sense,” she said. “The message:

  Up the nose like snow

  All thought returns, then it goes

  Memory in a vial.

  “You pay Dungbreath a thirty-share,” she said, “and Dungbreath gives me half of that.” She looked at Max. “The memors would be most interested in obtaining the rest of the coke—the lazy.”

  Max grinned. I knew what he was thinking. The coke was worthless anyway—worthless, at least to people who had an aversion to sucking gamma rays up their noses. But if K-2 didn’t know that, then he might be able to pawn it off on her. And at least he’d get the Snow Angels off his back. “Thirty, then,” he said.

  “Okay,” said K-2. “Then I suggest you go through with the original trade, as planned.”

  Max put his hands flat on the table, leaned forward. “How am I supposed to make the coke trade with Big Mac?” he asked Lucy.

  “Like we planned. Nike doesn’t know who Big Mac is, but he knows that it’s part of this project we have in mind. So we make the trade, he gives you the coke”—she pointed at Max—“and then you give a thirty-share to Dungbreath. Everyone is happy.”

  “Well enough?” K-2 asked.

  Max looked at me. I shrugged; hell, it was his coke. I was just along for the ride. “Sounds fair,” Max said.

  “Good,” said K-2. “We’ll make the exchange at dawn tomorrow. Tell Nike that we have Lucy here in protective custody.”

  Lucy smiled. “Piece of cake,” she said. “I’ll go back to the Wonderblimp tomorrow. And you’ll go back to the blimp now, Holmes.” The braid slid under the table to my lap. “When I return, I can explain everything.” She grinned, and I felt my spine melt.

  “Everything,” she said.

  * * *

  Morning broke over the mountains east of Sue City, a dawn that lit the town and Denali beyond in hellfire. With the sunrise Rindi came driving a sled out from town and across the airstrip to the Wonderblimp. Max and I were having breakfast in the galley lounge when Bron—he had the first watch—sounded the alarm over the intercom. We gulped our coffee down and went outside.

  Rindi came across the field driving ten dogs and the big freight sled. Lucy was in the basket, and two Snow Angels skied alongside her. Nike and Ruby joined us on the packed snow; Bron was up in the forward nacelle. I’d told Nike about the exchange the night before, so he wasn’t surprised to see Lucy. Rindi stopped the sled before the gangplank, set the snow hook in. The dogs laid down and Lucy got out.

  “Welcome back,” Nike said.

  “Yeah,” Lucy said. She had on the pink clothes we’d given her at Down Town. She’d cut a hole in the wool hat, and the pink braid twitched around in the cold. Lucy waved at Dungbreath and the other Snow Angel. “These guys are here from Big Mac. They want the coke.”

  “Holmes told me the deal,” Nike said. “Just a thirty-share now?”

  “Yeah,” Dungbreath said. “That’s for us. And Big Mac wants to check it out. If it’s okay, we’ll come for the rest.”

  Nike looked at Max. “That okay with you?”

  Max nodded. “I’ll sell the coke to Big Mac if he wants it.”

  They were all lying through their teeth. Max didn’t give a flying hoot where the coke wound up, as long as the Snow Angels were happy. No one seemed to want to mention K-2 and the memors.

  “I’ll go with them,” Max said.

  “Sure,” said Nike. “This satisfy our deal?”

  “Pretty much. I’ll be back for the rest of the coke—or Big Mac will come. Either way, I’ll trust you.” Max stared into Nike’s eyes. Nike blinked, looked away.

  “Sure,” he said. “Lucy, get inside. The Wonderblimp leaves as soon as Max picks up the rest of his coke.” He glared at me. “Holmes, you too.”

  “Wait a second,” I said.

  “I’m not going to keep going through this every time we make a potty stop or something. You want to go north? Or should I just dump you here? Make up your mind.”

  I glanced at Max. He smiled. “I’ll be back. To get my stuff,” he explained to Nike. We knew what he meant. But I also knew Max. He wasn’t going to leave me alone—not just then.

  “I’ll stay with the blimp,” I said.

  Max nodded, got in the sled and went off with his coke. I followed the crew inside.

  * * *

  Up in the galley, Lucy sat at a table. Nike stood next to her, Bron at one of the passageways, Ruby at the other. Nike held a cup of warm tea, started to hand it to Lucy, then threw it in her face. She leapt back, wiped the hot liquid off her, but didn’t utter one word.

  “What is this crap?” he yelled. He grabbed her wool hat, yanked it from her head, pulling the braid with it. The braid slipped out of the hole, slid back down Lucy’s back. Nike put his right hand on her scalp, squeezed his fingers shut, then ripped her scalp off. I jerked forward, then stopped; Lucy had had a bald wig on around that braid. Nike ripped the plastic off her head, and long pink hair fell out from under the fake skin.

  “Just a disguise, Nike,” she said.

  “No, what is this crap?” he asked. “Snow Angels. Bear Baiters. God Weirders. What’s all this crap you’re trying to pull?”

  Lucy combed the tangled pink hairs, ran her pale right hand across her head. “I don’t understand, Nike. I was just playing it the way you said. You know, so we’d get Holmes there . . .” She smiled at me. I didn’t smile back.

  “No, Lucy.” He shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” He nodded at Bron, Bron nodded back, stepped up to Lucy, stood beside her. Lucy stopped with the hair combing, let her hands fall down to the table. “What’s all this Big Mac stuff?” Nike asked.

  Lucy looked around at Bron, Ruby, me. “Just a game,” she said. “You know that. I had to scare Holmes here. And Max.”

  “The Snow Angels, Luce,” he said. “The Snow Angels.”

  “Well, I couldn’t be sure Nivakti and Rindi would bring me up here. While I was with the Bear Baiters, I got a message to the Angels.” She smiled at me. “You saved them some trouble, Holmes. All they had to do was nab us outside of Ship Creek.”

  “Swell,” I said.

  “Crazy bitch,” Nike said. “Well, you’re back, but I don’t like what you’ve been up to. Here—” He threw her hat. “Stay in your quarters. Get cleaned up.” Lucy took the hat, walked to the
hallway out of the lounge. “And Lucy,” Nike yelled after her. She paused. “Don’t use up all the frigging hot water.”

  * * *

  I went back to my quarters, too—not Lucy’s cabin, but my original cabin next door. I opened the chest of drawers, pulled out the I Ching. The Oracle and I needed to have a little talk. Things were not as they seemed and there was great mystery in the world. So I asked the Oracle what the hell was going on here, and the Oracle told me.

  I got a changing line at the bottom—a changing yin, unbroken line changing to broken line—then a young yang, and yins all the way to the top, giving me a mighty powerful hexagram, T’UNG JÊN, Fellowship with Men, heaven over the flame. That didn’t bode well, but I knew what it meant. That flame had to be the nukes, and heaven could be the mountain, or it could be the Wonderblimp.

  T’ung Jên told me that “clarity is within, and strength without.” It said that a “peaceful union of men . . . needs one yielding nature among many firm persons.” That idea came from the broken line surrounded by unbroken lines. I had a hunch I was the broken line right in the middle, the one who’d have to yield to a whole bunch of righteous, unyielding jerks. T’ung Jên said that the “private interests of the individual” must submit to the “goals of humanity.” The hexagram was telling me to hang out with other folks, in the words of the Judgment:

  FELLOWSHIP WITH MEN in the open.

  Success.

  It furthers one to cross the great water.

  The perseverance of the superior man furthers.

  That “great water” business didn’t mean a great water literally, but it’s nice when there’s an actual physical thing to pin the symbol on. I did; the Sue River looked like a great water to me. Crossing, crossing, crossing . . . the hexagram was hinting very strongly that I stay with people. I could see that, but who? The image gave me some ideas. It said that “the superior man organizes the clans” and “makes distinctions between things.” Was that what I was going to do? I didn’t know.

  The changing yang meant the first line had a special message for me, to wit: “Fellowship with men at the gate. / No blame.” I’d go with the mountain being some kind of gate, but a gate to where and with whom I hadn’t the foggiest. The new hexagram might have a clue to that. I turned to it, and about dropped my socks.

  TUN, Retreat. Yes sir, that one wasn’t too sneaky. Heaven on the top still, but that changing line gave me Kên, Keeping Still, Mountain. Okay, okay. Denali loomed ahead and the portents were sucking me to it. But there was more to this mountain than rock, for the Image said:

  Mountain under heaven: the image of RETREAT.

  Thus the superior man keeps the inferior man at a

  distance,

  Not angrily but with reserve.

  The Oracle told me not to fight, but to save my strength for the fight to come. I didn’t know what that meant or where I was going or even who I was to fight, but I knew all would be revealed. All would be revealed. And soon enough, it was.

  * * *

  “Holmes!” Nike’s voice screeched over the blimp’s intercom. “Get your ass back to sick bay.”

  I rose from a light nap, rolled out of my bunk, and walked over to the intercom on a post along the catwalk. “Yo?” I asked. “Come again?”

  “Get to sick bay. Pronto.”

  “Right.”

  I slipped on my sneakers, walked aft, then down to the lab, aft of the storage bay where we’d lost Levi. I’d been in the Wonderblimp sick bay only once, back when Doc North had put me under and etched that scar in my chest. Sick bay had that sickly sweet smell that all hospitals have, like the breath of death’s end diabetics. The walls were painted a pale green “to cancel the red of the blood,” Doc North had explained to me that time before. The room had been sliced in half by a plywood wall, not a steel bulkhead as in the rest of the blimp. The port room was the operating room, the starboard room for recovery.

  In the corner of the recovery room was a small desk and a lab table. Nike had pulled three chairs up to the lab table. He was sitting in one, Max in another. Nike motioned to me to sit.

  “You’re back,” I said to Max.

  “No kidding,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave you to deal with these jerks alone.” I raised an eyebrow at that, but Max just smiled. “Had to come back for my coke, anyway.” Something was up; as the Ching had hinted, I could feel danger in the air, electricity crawling along the tiny hairs of my neck.

  “Is Big Mac going to take it?” I asked Max.

  “Big Mac has it,” Nike said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked him. “What’s going on?”

  “It occurred to me that you might want to leave at Sue City,” he said.

  “I told you I was staying with the blimp.” I stared at Max; he shrugged. “Why should I change my mind?”

  “No reason,” Nike said. “But I can’t risk you leaving.”

  “I don’t think I’m leaving,” I said. “Unless you have a reason I should.”

  “Ah, I do,” Nike said. “But it’s also the reason you’ll stay.”

  “Back up,” I said. “Assume I’m an ignorant cluck. Explain.”

  Nike reached into a pocket of his jumpsuit, pulled out two slim boxes, boxes like Max’s old trigger. Max’s eyes lit up when he saw it. “Ah,” he said. “You remember this? Lucy is very talented. The Zap didn’t fry all the electronics. We had some spare parts. Lucy made me a few triggers back in Kachemak, before the God Weirders got her.”

  “The trigger,” I said.

  “Your trigger,” Nike said, pushing one box to me. “The trigger to the little nuke purring away behind your heart.”

  I clutched my chest, felt my face go white, felt the blood drain down to my toes. “My nuke?”

  Nike nodded. “Your nuke. We slipped a few things in when we planted the football. It’s only a little nuke, not even a gram of plutonium. We’ve refined things a little since the Hammer here got his.” He smiled at Max. “Ah, science. Maggie Benelux is such a clever little lady, isn’t she?”

  “Benelux,” Max said. “She said she wasn’t Benelux.”

  “She doesn’t even know,” Nike said. “Ah, there’s the beauty of it. This little trigger”—he tapped the box—“can blow your nuke, Holmes. It’s a pretty strong signal. I figure you’d have to get three, maybe four thousand miles away before I couldn’t blow you. I blow you, I blow your friends. You can run, kid, but you can’t hide. You run, and you die.”

  I looked at the other box. “Who does the other trigger belong to?” I asked.

  Max reached over, took it. “Me. I had this hunch that they might have a spare.”

  “You wanted both of us,” I said. Nike nodded. “Why? What do you need us for? If you need us now, why didn’t you come back to the Redoubt? You must have known Max would find me? Why did you let me go?”

  “You’re our reader,” he said. “And I never let you go. I knew exactly where you were.” He shrugged. “Well, within a few miles. And besides, you came back, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I came back.”

  “And you brought us both Max and Lucy.” Nike shook his head. “Oh, you are such a gullible jerk.”

  “Gullible?” I said. “Ah, maybe not.” I remembered Lucy from the day before, Lucy with the shaved head, Lucy with the pink braid and the Nissan pointing at my gut. She had said it had been a game, but I didn’t think it was a game. “Big Mac,” I said. “Lucy says she’s Big Mac. I think she’s right.”

  “Oh, she’s right, Holmes.” Nike said. He started laughing, a guttural laugh, a laugh that rose from his diaphragm and rose and rose until he was pounding the desk with hysteria. Max and I waited for him to calm down. Nike coughed, shook his head. “She’s absolutely right. Lucy thinks she’s Big Mac, and she is Big Mac. But she thinks Big Mac is a person. Oh, what a dumb, dumb, dumb little fool. Big Mac isn’t a person. Oh, it is certainly not a person.”

  “So what is it?” I asked.

  “The reason I need you
to stay on the blimp. The reason Lucy put a nuke in your heart.” Nike smiled, the kind of smile a snake might make after it had eaten a rat, a contented, satisfied, bloodthirsty smile. “But what Big Mac is . . . Well, I’m not telling. Yet.”

  * * *

  Nike let me go back into Sue City one last time. He had a sentimental streak in him. Nike told me that if I wanted to say good-bye to my buddies, it was fine with him. “Just get back here before three o’clock,” he said. Damn, I felt like a teenager on Friday night. I walked across the airstrip and down the street to the Talk Roadhouse.

  I wanted to stay at the Talk Roadhouse, let myself be wrapped in yet another lodge of good friends and good food. I wanted to stay there and plan strategy with Rindi and Nivakti, think about as they were thinking about climbing that mountain, but I could not. That nuke itched at my insides and I knew that Nike had some use for me, some use for the nuke, and I knew where he went I must go, too.

  Or I must die.

  Max had to come with me. Nike had made that clear. Nike wasn’t going to let Max stay in Sue City, either, and he damn well wasn’t going to let Max have his coke and trade it to the memors. Nike wanted the rest of that coke for his own. I’m not sure it mattered. The coke had been a ruse all along to lure people to Big Mac, whatever or whoever that was. I wasn’t even sure if all the white powder I had seen was really coke after all. All I had seen were bags of powder in a wooden chest in the vault of the blimp, and that was that. It didn’t matter. The Snow Angels had some of the coke, and the rest was sitting in the nuke vault. In the end Max really had no choice. He had to come with us, too.