“I don’t really know. I’ve seen where they do it but I don’t understand it.”
Twisp looked from the tower to Bushka and back to the tower. The foaming collar of surf around its base had expanded as the coracles drew closer, opening up a wider view. Twisp estimated their distance from the base at more than five kilometers, and even from that distance he saw that the surf reached left and right of the tower for several hundred meters on either side. More human activity could be seen there. One of the big Merman foils stood off in the calmer water beyond the surf with smaller craft shuttling back and forth to the tower. A Lighter-Than-Air hovered nearby, either for observation or use as a sky-crane. The coracles were close enough now to make out Mermen on the breakwater that fanned out from the base near the tower.
The hydrofoil with its hydrogen ramjets sticking out like big egg sacks astern drew Twisp’s attention. He had seen them only at a distance and in holos before this. The thing was at least fifty meters long, riding there easily on its flotation hull with the planing foils hidden underwater. A wide hatch stood open in its side with much Merman activity around the opening—bulky objects being lowered on an extruded crane.
Bushka sat with one arm resting on the cuddy top, his other arm hanging loosely at his side. His head was turned away from Twisp, attention fixed on the Launch Base and its commanding tower. There was no sign yet that the Mermen had taken notice of the approaching coracles, but Twisp knew they had been seen and their course plotted. Bushka’s reason for bringing them to this particular place seemed clear, if you believed his story about Gallow. There was little chance that Gallow’s people would be the only ones at this base. And there would be Merman attention on every detail of this operation. All factions would hear Bushka’s story. Would they believe it?
“Have you thought about how they’re going to receive you and your story?” Twisp asked.
“I don’t think my chances are very good no matter where I turn up,” Bushka answered. “But better here than anywhere else.” He brought his gaze around to meet Twisp’s questioning stare. “I think I’m a dead man any way you look at it. But people have got to know.”
“Very commendable,” Twisp said. He cut the motor and pulled the tiller into his stomach, holding it there until the two boats circled slowly around each other. Time to apprise Bushka of the facts as Twisp saw them after a night’s reflection.
“What’re you doing?” Bushka demanded.
Twisp stretched both arms across the tiller and stared at Bushka. “I came out here to find my apprentice. Kinda stupid of me, I know. I tell you true I didn’t believe there was such a thing as that base, but I thought there would be something, and I came with you because what you said about help from the Mermen made sense.”
“Of course it does! Somebody probably picked him up already and—”
“But you’re in trouble, Bushka. Deep shit. And I’m in it, too, just by being with you. I wouldn’t feel right about just dumping you or handing you over to them.” He nodded toward the tower. “Especially if your story about this Gallow happens to be true.”
“If?”
“Where’s the proof?”
Bushka tried to swallow. Mermen already would be bringing in the Guemes dead and the survivors. He knew this. There was no turning back. Someone at the Launch Base already had these coracles and their occupants on a screen. Somebody would be sent to investigate or to warn them off.
“What do I do?” Bushka asked.
“You sank a whole fucking island,” Twisp growled. “And you’re just now asking yourself that?”
Bushka merely lifted his shoulders and let them fall in a futile shrug.
“Guemes must’ve had small boats out, some in sight of the Island,” Twisp said. “There’ll be survivors and they’ll have their story to tell. Some of them may have seen your sub. You any idea what they’ll be reporting?”
Bushka cringed under the weight of accusation in Twisp’s voice.
“You were the pilot,” Twisp said. “They’ll put you through more than this. You did it and they’ll get every detail out of you before you talk to anybody outside of Merman Security. If you ever get outside their Security.”
Bushka lowered his chin to his knees. He felt that he might vomit. With a terrible sense of wonder, he heard coming from his own mouth a groan that pulsed in a rising pitch: nnnnnh nnnnnnh nnnnnnh.
There’s nowhere I can run, Bushka thought. Nowhere, nowhere.
Twisp was still speaking to him but Bushka, lost in his own misery, no longer understood the words. Words could not reach into this place where his consciousness lay. Words were ghosts, things that would haunt him. He no longer felt that he could tolerate such haunting.
The thrum of the coracle’s little motor being switched on brought Bushka’s attention back from its hiding place. He did not dare look up to see where Twisp might be taking them. All of the wheres were bad. It was just a matter of time until someone somewhere killed him. His mind floated on a sea while his muscles pulled him into a tighter and tighter ball so that he might fit into that sea without touching anything there. Voices cried to him, high-pitched screeches. His mind exposed glimpses of a universe fouled by carnage—the shredded Island and its broken shards of flesh. Dry heaves shook his body. He sensed movement in the coracle, but only vaguely. Something inside of him had to come out. Hands touched his shoulders and lifted him, laying him over the thwart. A voice said: “Puke over the side. You’ll choke to death in the bilge.” The hands went away, but the voice left one last comment: “Dumb fuck!”
The acid in Bushka’s mouth was bitterly demanding, stringy. He tried to speak but every sound felt like sandpaper bobbing in his larynx. He vomited over the side, the smell strong in his nostrils. Presently, he dropped a hand into the passing sea and splashed cold salt water over his face. Only then could he sit up and look at Twisp. Bushka felt emptied of everything, all emotion drained.
“Where can I go?” he asked. “What can I tell them?”
“You tell ’em the truth,” Twisp said. “Dammit. I never heard of anybody as dumb as you, but I do believe you’re a dumb fuck, and I don’t think you’re a killer.”
“Thanks,” Bushka managed.
“What you did,” Twisp said, “you’ve marked yourself. No Mute will ever get the stares you’ll get. You know what? I don’t envy you one bit.”
Twisp nodded toward the tower ahead. “Here comes someone to get us. One of their little cargo boats. Ship! I’m done for! I know it.”
Chapter 23
At any given moment of history it is the function of associations of devoted individuals to undertake tasks which clear-sighted people perceive to be necessary, but which nobody else is willing to perform.
—A. Huxley, The Doors of Perception, Shiprecords
After seeing Scudi expose the master control panel for her father’s quarters, find the hatch controls and trace out the exit hatch circuiting, Brett was ready to believe his new friend a genius. She quickly argued against this when he praised her.
“Most of us learn how to do this very young.” She giggled. “If your parents try to lock you in …”
“Why would they lock you in?”
“Punishment,” she said, “if we—” She broke off, threw a circuit breaker and closed the panel cover. “Quick, someone is coming.” She leaned close to Brett’s ear. “I have set the emergency hatch on manual and the same with the main hatch. Emergency is the little hatch in the middle of the big one.”
“Where do we go when we get out?”
“Remember the plan. We have to leave here before they guess what I’ve done.” Scudi took his hand and hurried Brett out of the service room, down a passage and into the entry lounge.
Hastings and Lonfinn were already there and involved in a heated conversation with Keel.
The Chief Justice raised his voice as Brett and Scudi entered the room: “And furthermore, if you try to blame Islanders for the Guemes massacre, I shall demand an immediate c
ommittee of investigation, a committee you will not control!”
Keel rubbed his eyelids with both hands. The eye looking directly at Hastings focused a hard glare on him. Keel found he enjoyed the small shudder that the man could not hide.
“Mr. Justice,” Hastings said, “you are not helping yourself or those youngsters.” He glanced briefly at Brett and Scudi, who had stopped just inside the room.
Keel studied Hastings for a moment, thinking how abruptly the mood had turned ugly. Two hatchetmen! He passed a glance across Hastings and Lonfinn, noting that they blocked the way to the exit hatch.
“I was always told there were no dangerous insects down under,” Keel said.
Hastings scowled but his partner did not change expression. “This is not a joking matter!” Hastings said. “Ambassador Ale has asked us to—”
“Let her tell me herself!”
When Hastings did not respond, Keel said: “She lured me down here under false pretenses. She saw to it that I didn’t bring any of my own staff. Her stated reason, even as sketchy as that was, does not wash. I have to conclude that I am a prisoner. Do you deny that?” Again, he sent a cold gaze across the two men standing between him and the hatch.
Hastings sighed. “You are being protected for your own good. You are an important Islander; there has been a crisis—”
“Protected from whom?”
Keel watched Hastings deciding what to say, choosing and discarding alternatives. Several times Hastings started to speak and thought better of it.
Keel rubbed the back of his neck where the prosthetic support already had begun to chafe his neck raw after his brief rest.
“Are you protecting me from whoever destroyed Guemes?” he prompted.
The two Mermen exchanged an unreadable glance. Hastings looked back at Keel. “I would like to be more candid with you, but I can’t.”
“I already know the structure of what’s happening,” Keel said. “Very powerful political forces are on a collision course among the Mermen.”
“And topside!” Hastings snapped.
“Oh, yes. The two wild cards—my Committee and the Faith. Wiping out Guemes was a blow at the Faith. But liquidating me would not deter the Committee; they would simply replace me. It’s more effective to keep me incommunicado. Or, if I were liquidated, Islanders would be distracted enough while selecting a new Chief Justice that Mermen could take advantage of the confusion. I no longer think I can stay down here. I am returning topside.”
Hastings and his companion stiffened. “I am afraid that is impossible just now,” Hastings said.
Keel smiled. “Carolyn Bluelove will be the next Chief Justice,” he said. “You won’t have any better luck with her than you have with me.”
Impasse, Keel thought.
A loaded silence fell over the room while Hastings and Lonfinn studied him. Keel could see Hastings composing new arguments and discarding them. He needed the Chief Justice’s cooperation for something—blind cooperation. He needed agreement without revealing the thing to which Keel must agree. Did Hastings think an old political infighter could not see through this dilemma?
Where they stood just inside the room, Scudi and Brett had listened carefully to this argument. Scudi now leaned close to Brett’s ear and whispered. “The guest head is that hatch over to the right. Go in there now and open the sealed switch plate by the hatch. Throw a glass of water into the switch. That will short out all the lights in this section. I will unlock the emergency hatch. Can you find it in the dark?”
He nodded. “We can be out before they even know we’re running,” she whispered.
“The passageway lights will shine in through the emergency hatch when you open it.”
“We have to be quick,” she said. “They will try to use the main controls. It will be a blink before they realize they’ll have to use the manual system.”
He nodded again. “Follow me and run fast,” she said.
Where he stood confronting Keel, Hastings had decided to expose part of his knowledge.
“Justice Keel, you are wrong about the next Chief Justice,” he said. “It’ll be Simone Rocksack.”
“GeLaar Gallow’s choice?” Keel asked, working from the knowledge he had gained at the late Ryan Wang’s comconsole.
Hastings blinked in surprise.
“If so, he’s in for another surprise,” Keel said. “C/Ps are notoriously incorruptible.”
“Your history’s slipping,” Hastings said. “Without the first Pandoran C/P, Morgan Oakes, Jesus Lewis would’ve been just another lab technician.”
A solemn expression settled over Keel’s face. Petitioners before him on the high bench had seen this look and trembled but Hastings only stared at him, waiting.
“You work for Gallow,” Keel said. “Of course you want total political and economic control of Pandora and you’re going to work through the Faith. Did the C/P know you were going to destroy her family on Guemes to do it?”
“You’re wrong! It’s not like that!”
“Then how is it?” Keel asked.
“Please, Mr. Justice! You—”
“Someone has latched on to a basic truth,” Keel said. “Control the food supply, control the people.”
“We’re running out of time for argument,” Hastings said.
“When we actually run out, will I then become one of the Guemes casualties?” Keel asked.
“The future of Pandora is at stake,” Hastings said. “Right-thinking people will steer a safe course through these hard times.”
“And for this, you will kill anyone who opposes you,” Keel said.
“We did not destroy Guemes!” Hastings said, spacing out his words in a low, cold voice.
“Then how do you know that whoever did it will not turn on you?” Keel demanded.
“Who are you to talk about killing?” Hastings asked. “How many thousands have you destroyed under the authority of your Committee? Hundreds of thousands? You’ve been at it a long time, Mr. Justice.”
Keel was momentarily stunned by this attack. “But the Committee—”
“Does what you tell it to do! The almighty Ward Keel points his finger and death follows. Everybody knows that! What’s life to someone like you? How can I expect a mind that alien to understand our Merman dilemma?”
Keel was at a loss how to meet this attack. The accusation stung him. Reverence for life guided his every decision. Lethal deviants had to be weeded out of the gene pool!
As Keel stood silently, wondering what might happen next, Brett stepped toward the hatch to the head. Lonfinn moved to stand between the hatch and the exit. Brett ignored the man and went into the head, closing the hatch behind him.
Brett studied the small room for a moment. The switch plate was a gasketed cover beside the hatch. It had two exposed sealing screws. Brett found the tool Scudi had told him about in the drawer under the sink: a fingernail file. He removed the cover, revealing a paired junction, shiny green and blue conducting plastics. The n and p circuits lay exposed to his view beneath the shielded depressions that changed polarity and activated the switch.
Glass of water, Scudi had said.
There was a glass beside the sink. He filled it and, putting one hand on the hatch dog, flung the water at the exposed switch. A blue-green spark flashed up the wall and all the lights went out. In the same moment he opened the hatch and slipped out into darkness. Hastings was shouting, “Get Keel! Hold him!”
Brett slipped to his right along the wall and bumped into Scudi at the hatch. She touched his face, then pulled his shoulder close. Abruptly, the little hatch opened and she was through it, rolling to one side. Brett dove through behind her and Scudi dogged the little hatch. Leaping to her feet, she darted off down the passage. Brett scrambled up and followed.
It was the first time in his life that Brett had run more than a hundred meters at one stretch. Scudi was far ahead of him, darting into a side passage. Brett skidded around the corner behind her just in time to see h
er feet disappear through a tiny round hatch low to the deck. She practically pulled him in behind her as he knelt at the opening. The hatch swung closed and she sealed it in darkness. Brett was panting from the exertion. Sweat stung his eyes.
“Where are we?” he whispered.
“Service passage for the pneumatic system. Hold on to my waistband and stay close. We have to crawl through the first part.”
Brett gripped her waistband and found himself almost dragged along a low, narrow passage where his shoulders brushed the sides and he frequently bumped his head against the ceiling. It was very dim even for him in here, and he was sure she was operating in total darkness. The passage turned left, then right, then sloped upward for a time. Scudi stopped and reached back. She gripped his hand, taking it forward and placing it on a ladder that disappeared somewhere above them.
“Ladder,” she whispered. “Follow me up.”
He didn’t remind her that he could see.
“Where’re we going?” he asked.
“All the way up. Don’t slip. It’s twenty-one levels with only three ledges to take breaks.”
“What’s up there?”
“The docking bay for my father’s cargo foils.”
“Scudi, are you sure you want to do this?”
Her voice came to him small and tightly controlled. “I won’t believe anything without proof, but they’re holding the Justice and they’d have stopped us. That’s wrong, and it’s Ale’s doing. The Islands should know at least that much.”
“Right.”
She pulled away from him, the slither of her clothing and their breathing were the only sounds.
Brett followed her, his hands occasionally touching Scudi’s feet on the rungs. The climb felt long to Brett, and he knew it must seem interminable to Scudi, operating in total darkness. He regretted that he had not started counting the rungs, that would help keep his mind off the ever-growing drop to the deck below. It was stomach-tightening for him to think about it, and when he did his hands didn’t want to move from rung to rung. He couldn’t see to the bottom or the top, just Scudi’s trim form working ahead of him. Once, he stopped and looked behind him. Several diameters of pipes were faintly visible to him. One was hot to the touch. There was cold condensation on another. It felt slick when he ran his fingers over it.
The Lazarus Effect Page 23