The pain in his head pulsed. The throbbing got worse. Now of all times. Walter shut his eyes. This was worse than the morning. The pulses were slower, more throbbing. That was the exhaustion taking its toll. When did he start feeling these things? It was recently. That much he knew. Before this, he never felt this type of pain in his head without something specific happening around him. These headaches simply weren’t something that he was used to.
Something made these headaches suddenly appear. It wasn’t random. Maybe it had something to do with the storm and the chemicals. A bad response to something in the air. Walter didn’t like that possibility since he didn’t have any control over the air that circulated through the platform, but it was definitely there.
He was so exhausted. Here he sat, taking up space instead of making himself useful. He couldn’t figure out what to do. He had to work through the pain in his head before he could process what was happening in front of him. Of all times, why did he have to deal with this pain here in Makrigga and Melia’s pod?
Odds were, his back would cramp up and he would spend the rest of the day in the baths trying to recover. And there was Naamah to think of. Undoubtedly, she expected him to return to their pod at some point during the night. If he didn’t return, then that only meant he was up to no good. But he wasn’t up to any good. He was trying to gain some sense of justice for a dead boy, maybe save Hani in the process, and now he was trying to help the man that supplied him and the whole platform with whale meat and shark steaks for the past twenty-five years. Had he known Makrigga that long? It felt longer.
Walter should definitely check in with Naamah instead of passing out in Melia’s crate. If only he wasn’t so exhausted, and if only he didn’t feel so nauseated. A few minutes. A few minutes to rest his feet. To rest his eyes. Then Walter would head back to his pod for a decent hour of sleep. Then he could deal with the Hani problem. Over the steady breeze that coaxed itself into the crate, Walter could hear Melia’s frustration as she tried to wake up Makrigga, but Makrigga didn’t wake up.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HANI KATHARDA
Hani Katharda raced through the platform, crowbar locked in his trembling hands, evading debris and flame. He watched tanks and the jettisons of fire thrust outwards. He knocked into debris that fell onto other Roughnecks. He pulled them to their feet and kept moving, not sure of what to do, of what happened. He heard the yelling and screaming and shouting, but none of it registered. More pipes burst and white plumes of gas shot forth. He ripped off his thick coat to cover and insulate some person from the hot steam of a burst pipe.
The riots continued around him. As the people scrambled and flailed, some of them slipped on the still-present layers of ice. They knocked their limbs into walls like hockey players and cursed themselves for their clumsiness. He evaded and dodged each of these calamities. Hani continued to run around the platform while all around him the screaming continued. He did not understand it and could not begin to process it. There was still too much confusion. Like before, during the storm. The words were lost in the disorder. But the screaming persisted, and grew louder. Maybe that meant his focus was returning. Maybe that meant his hearing was recovering. But his head was still numb from the blast. It mattered little, as long as he continued to run.
The screaming was on top of him. He couldn’t just ignore it. The shouts were angry. Aggressive. He turned his head and tried to determine the source, but there were too many people around him. The mob raced to the opposite edge of the platform, shadowing his path like a school of Atlantic salmon. They were right behind him.
Why was he of all people leading the way? He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know what the mob was trying to accomplish.
The platform was large, Hani knew, and there were too many trying to reach this specific edge. They would certainly plow themselves into the ocean. The crowd that raced in that direction should not have held such large numbers.
It will be best if I am not in the way, Hani thought as he turned around a corner and escaped the bursts of steam behind him. He found a corner with a steel staircase. From there he could climb down into the lower levels and escape the madness above into relative safety. Maybe he could reach the docks and get into the sailboat. That would guarantee that he wasn’t in the middle of this nonsense. So he ran. His feet kicked up, his thighs burned as water oozed into his shoes, leaving his socks and feet soaked and cold and sopping wet. It slowed his gait, but he pressed onwards.
“We’re going to drown your face in waste water, Chum-Man.”
Chum-Man? Are they coming after me?
Hani chanced a glance behind him. It was a Roughneck. All of them were Roughnecks. He shouldn’t be getting out of their away. He should be running away from them.
“Buckminster wants your tongue.”
Hani tried to move faster but the tight corners and network of pipes kept slowing him down. He skidded on a patch of black ice. He checked his shoulder into a wall and held onto a lateral line pipe to maintain his balance.
Something cracked against his legs and his feet lost their forward motion. He felt another crack and tilted left. His nose and head banged against a piece of exposed iron. He crashed sideways and fell violently to the ground and dislocated his right arm. Warm blood from his nose mixed with the water and ice on the floor.
Hani spit saliva and blood as he tried to stand but could not. Something held him in place. There was a sharp pain in his calves. He pushed himself to his elbows, and a seemingly great weight pressed on his upper back, forcing him back into the floor. He tried again, but the same weight pushed him violently into the floor. His heart was racing. Maybe he was being trampled beneath a stampede of wild boars and wildebeests. His head was smashed into the ground, breaking his nose. Blood rolled into his eyes.
He had to fight through this stampede and reach the fresh air.
“What did I do?”
“It’s worse that you don’t even know,” the Roughneck said. “Too bad none of your whaling goons are here to defend you.”
What could he possibly do against this kangaroo court? He couldn’t even count on Makrigga with a chunk of leg missing. “Does Sycamore know what you’re doing?”
“Sycamore has as much pull over Buckminster as a rat in the High Fires. And if Buckminster wants you, you know you’re in for a good time.”
Hani’s head swirled as he turned and spotted a pair of black boots. Maybe another occupant stopped to help, but of course not. It was another Roughneck standing over him. At least they weren’t going to do anything to him until he got to Buckminster. That’s something. With some measure of relief, Hani tried once more to push himself to his elbows and clear the blood that trickled down his face. He extended a free hand to one of the Roughnecks. A blunt collision hit his face and Hani’s hands dropped to the floor.
This is hell, and someone turned off the lights.
As Hani Katharda regained consciousness, he found himself lying prostrate against a heap of mangled pipes and tanks. Blood covered the right side of his face, blurring his vision. He was woozy. Trying to focus, he realized that he was surrounded by the Roughnecks.
He was pulled roughly to his feet, and someone shoved him through a gap in the crowd. He couldn’t maintain his balance and fell into the open arms of waiting Roughnecks. Their arms wrapped around his body and then he was twisted around and spun into a nearby tank and again tumbled to the ground.
“He cannot even stand,” someone said.
Hani lay face down against a small pile of rubble, his cheek in a puddle of oil. The indistinct morass of pipes and equipment confused his orientation, and some sharp object protruded into his belly. The object hurt. It strained his breathing.
“Drag him.”
Hani’s feet were pulled upwards and, for a brief moment, he felt his whole body levitate above the floor, before crashing downwards. The blunt impact forced the air from his lungs. He heaved and coughed, smacking his chin against the stiff b
ottom of concrete, cutting it open in a wide gash. His arms trailed behind him.
The whole Roughneck crew was gathered on the main deck with Hani as their prisoner. They were accustomed to a hierarchy of position and experience, but a unison collective of motive overcame their traditional roles. So it was that Hani was beaten and dragged through the various surface levels on the Alpine, barely conscious, repeatedly pushed down onto the floor and pulled to his feet only to collapse under his own weight. He was tossed and thrown and tumbled into hot tanks, burnt rubble, and hard equipment. His flimsy body passed from the hands of one Roughneck to the next.
Hani was afraid.
They were bringing him to Buckminster. He didn’t have any idea what the Roughnecks intended to do with him from there. But they were bringing him to Buckminster. And that wasn’t good. Especially not when he had his deviant piranha squad in tow. They moved and dragged and moved again, seemingly confident that something would happen, and details mattered little, except to ensure that Hani suffered for it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WALTER “THE WALRUS” TURPENTINE
The Braided Woman stood over Walter, staring at him, looking down on him.
Walter slowly came to the realization that he was looking up. The pain in his skull was still there. He shut his eyes so that he could suppress the pulsing in his head. This was definitely a recurring problem. Walter accepted as much. There was something going on in his head. Maybe it was a symptom of old age. He didn’t know.
Whatever it was, he would mention it to the good doctor when he had a chance. Maybe he could convince her to part with some of her limited supply of expired painkillers. That was worth a trip to the medical bay.
Before he could do that, he had to deal with the Braided Woman. He blinked a couple of times to get rid of the confusion. The cold steel was actually soothing, but it wouldn’t do to lie down like this while facing an inquisition. Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt as long as it helped alleviate the pounding in his head. It would give him a chance to think through whatever was happening around him in relative peace.
The Braided Woman’s feet were nearly pressed against his shoulders. Walter returned the Braided Woman’s glare with a flash of a cruel smile. From his perspective, she looked upside down. Upside down and backlit. “Nice to see you too, Beatrice.”
“Talk to me.”
“That's not very cordial. Can I have some tea first? Or a tall Alpine special? I've been meaning to take a nap, and now that I have, I could definitely use a drink to freshen up. It has been a very long day for me.” Walter struggled to push himself to his elbows. He rolled over to his left side and pressed his right palm into the floor. The steel chilled his palm.
“No drinks. You can drink later. I'm not in the mood for any games. Talk to me.”
Walter gave her a quick glance. He didn't sense any waiver in her voice. Around him were the usual signs of the platform's interior—steel walls, green lights and that stupid drone.
Drrr. Drrr. Drrr.
Just the drone. No surf. It was the surest sign that he was back inside the platform. This wasn’t Melia’s shack anymore. And the place wasn't decorated with the usual signs of residential life. There wasn't any random paraphernalia, relics of life on land. This was a work-space. Had he been in here before? He must have been in here before. At some point or another, he looked over every nook and cranny on the platform, including each and every pod. This was probably the age swirling in his head. The confusion. What was this space? And why did the Braided Woman bring him here? Did she drag him here all by herself?
“What about...”
“You've been tracing my steps ever since the explosion, poking around in things that are no longer your responsibility. Now, everywhere I turn, I hear two names: Hani Katharda and Walter Turpentine. Sycamore won’t shut up about Hani. That’s the Jackhammer’s doing. I know it. But you have something else going on here. Talk to me.”
“Happily. As a matter of fact, I've been trying to speak to you for the past…however long…twenty-four hours or so. I quite agree. What happens here is no longer my responsibility. I've been trying to pass on this burden my whole life. You seem capable enough. But try as I might, I seem to be a magnet for trouble on this platform. That and I have enough sense to look a problem in the eye and deal with it before it blindsides me. Such is my curse. So what can I tell you about, eh?”
“First of all, Makrigga. What happened to him?”
Walter had almost forgotten. Between this stupid headache and his physical exhaustion, it’s a miracle that he had any of his wits about him. He was with Melia when he passed out, but that could be hours by now. Makrigga was unconscious. According to Melia, he had been running around the platform, crazed and screaming. How could that have so completely slipped his mind? He felt confused again. How could he have dismissed what happened so quickly? What had happened to them? Where was Melia? What was Makrigga's condition? The Braided Woman seemed to know something about all of this.
“Makrigga? Where is he?”
“He is with the good doctor in the medical bay, which is where you should have brought him the moment you saw him. Someone with your experience should have done as much. But you didn't. You did that with the boy, even though you should have left him in the corridors for me to see what happened. I don’t know why you didn’t bring Makrigga to the doctor.”
“Melia said…” Walter stopped himself. It didn’t matter what Melia said. “Is he alive?”
“Yes, he is alive. And well, as far as I know. Is there any reason that he shouldn't be?'
The Braided Woman turned his concern back against him. He didn't like it when people were difficult for the sake of being difficult, as though it helped anything.
“I don't really know. Melia didn't even know. He was crazed, but unconscious when we found him. He is with Amanda? What did she say?”
“She said that someone probably poisoned him. But I think that you knew that. What was used to poison him?”
“I don't know. Melia didn't know either. Why would I know? Where is she?”
“With the doctor.”
That’s some progress. Makrigga was with the good doctor.
The Braided Woman shifted her heel and pressed her foot into Walter's collar bone.
Walter winced. “Stop! Stop! I'm an old man! What are you doing?” He tried to push her foot off but she didn’t budge. The attempt was actually pretty pathetic.
The Braided Woman removed the pressure on Walter's collar bone, but kept her foot in place. “Keep talking.”
“I am talking! What else do you want to know?” Walter tried to shift his shoulder to alleviate some of the pain. “And do I need to be on the floor to answer your questions?”
The Braided Woman lifted her foot, but she didn't let him stand up. She bent over and dragged him. She pulled on the fabric over Walter's shoulders. His body jolted and scraped against the ground until she lifted his waist up and pressed his back against a wall.
“I'm an old man, you know.” Walter made a point to wince.
“Stop exaggerating. Listen, I know that you used to run this place, but the more I watch you, the more I see a troublemaker trying to see what he can gain from everyone's problems.”
Walter slowly edged himself upwards into a more comfortable position. He still felt disoriented. Maybe the delirium was from exhaustion. That was very possible.
Where was this place? Was it new? Maybe Sycamore modified something on the platform. That was always possible.
Don’t let your mind wander, Walter told himself. He saw the utter contempt in the Braided Woman’s eyes. He had apparently used up whatever patience the woman had. It wasn't intentional, but it happened anyway. Walter always perceived himself as a pretty amicable fellow, easygoing under the circumstances, knowledgeable about how to get things done. If he ever found himself on someone's bad side, it was usually the situation that was at fault. Maybe the whole problem with the dead kid left her with a shor
t fuse. Whatever it was, he definitely rubbed her the wrong way.
Maybe it would be best for his well-being if he played a more civil game instead of acting the fool.
“You're mixed up in all of this, somehow. I can't place it, but you are. First the kid, then Makrigga. These lunatics trampled all over my security teams, killed some of my best men. And instead of dealing with that, Sycamore has me running around in circles trying to solve a problem that keeps circling back to you. Why you, of all people? The only responsible thing for me to do is to throw you into a holding cell, or confine you to your pod.”
Sounds reasonable, Walter thought. The pod is where he belonged anyway.
“Only problem is, even though you're mixed up in all of this, I also don't think it will stop if I keep you out of the way. From the moment you asked that Whaler girl to sneak you a steak, everything on this platform started circling back to you. Riots. Dead bodies. And somehow, I find you, of all people, taking a nap next to a comatose Whaler that was a raving lunatic not even an hour ago. You’re the center of all of this. Sycamore's manhunt for Hani is enough to keep things hot here for awhile, and I don’t think anything will settle down until I straighten out how all of it connects to you.”
Walter waited. She was leading herself up to a question. He could feel it.
“You didn't kill that child,” she said.
“Right.”
“And you didn't poison Makrigga.”
“Also right.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Did you see Hector before you found his body?”
“See him…ever?”
“Recently. During the storm. This morning.”
“No.”
“How are you connected to the missing twin?”
“I don't know that I am.”
“Do you know Vector?”
“I don’t think so.”
Walter felt a break in tempo. His last answer threw the Braided Woman off her train of thought for some reason. What could be significant about whether or not he knew some random kid? As she was so quick to point out, that wasn’t a responsibility that he had to worry about.
The Platform Page 18