“Barbara did a regression, but . . . it wasn’t like anything else I’ve experienced. I didn’t settle anywhere, not in past life experiences or in Galderkhaan. I felt like a goddamn stone skipping across a pond. When I finally did stop I was in—you ready for it?”
“Big old thing or scary new one?”
“New,” she said, “which is why I’m questioning my perceptions. Being in another body, back then . . . that’s something I can get my arms around.”
“Yeah, I’m still not there yet, Cai.”
“I know,” she said with a hint of impatience, “and let’s table that. This other journey—was new, different. I was in this golden, talking light. At least, that’s what it seemed to be.”
“Talking . . . how?”
“Not with words but with—this is going to sound crazy—with silence.”
“You’re right. That’s obviously not possible.”
“True, true. Except that—you know the way that black is the absorption of all color? This seemed to be the absorption of all sound, collected in a place and in a way I couldn’t access it. I felt that something was out there.”
Ben nodded. “I see. Sort of like—” he stopped.
“What?”
“I was going to say it’s the same way you had to ease into communication with ascended and transcended souls,” Ben said. “You had to learn to understand them, change your way of listening. The last ones, they had to reach you through Jacob.”
Inside, Caitlin blessed him for his academic detachment and absence of judgment. He began to restore her faith in herself.
“All that is true, though this was beyond anything I’ve experienced since we started, which is why I need more information—to know I’m not making this up, acting out on a subconscious level.”
“You know, of course, what you’re describing.”
“I do, but people who ‘head toward the light’ in near-death experiences don’t get there by regressing, by missing their train stop—in this case Galderkhaan, where I was trying to go. I saw it, tried to find Jacob, and it was gone before I could stop myself.”
Ben huddled closer to her. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Apart from compliment you on your lovely PJs?”
Caitlin didn’t smile. That’s how he knew this was very, very serious. She looked into his eyes.
“More than anyone, except for my son—who I think knew it before any of us, now that I think back on it—you are willing to allow that what’s happening may be real,” Caitlin said. “Or at least, I think, you’re closer to believing it. I need to find a way to get to Jacob. Anita told me about the snake.”
“What about it?”
“It seemed to seek him out,” Caitlin said.
“Maybe,” Ben said. “Big maybe. I have no explanation for that beyond ‘conjurer’s trick,’ ” Ben said.
“Oh, come on—”
“Egyptian magicians created similar images thousands of years ago. ”
“Is that what you really think that was?”
“Honestly, Cai, I was with a Vodou priestess from Haiti—”
“Which, given the history of that region, should give her added credibility.”
“Well, it didn’t . . . maybe because she was so damned recalcitrant. She and her statue of a son. I’m not saying it isn’t possible,” he added to forestall debate, “and she did feel your energy on the roof . . . she said.”
“Did she say where she felt it, or how?”
Ben thought for a moment. “She pointed toward the East Village area. With a cigar.”
Caitlin made a fist and shook it. “That’s exactly where I sent it,” she said. “How would she know if it wasn’t real, if she weren’t legit?”
“As I said, I have no answer, Cai. Just a sort of open mind about her.”
“All right, let’s put her aside for a moment,” Caitlin said. “There’s something else. Even before I knew about the Group mansion, the tiles went dormant. To me, anyway.”
“Suggesting what?”
“I was controlling the lines of power between here and there,” she said. “Between the two stones here and the tiles that are in Antarctica. Something happened to change the arc, to cut me out of the loop.”
“Something at the mansion?”
“Has to be,” Caitlin said. “Flora had one tile in cold storage, I felt that, and the other in some kind of acoustic levitation setup. Remove me from the middle and they would have hooked directly into each other. If they were strong enough to whip me back to Galderkhaan and strand me there—if they could tear a hole in time—imagine what they could do to an old mansion.”
Ben sat back. “That is a very, very big leap.”
“Give me some alternative—” And then Caitlin stiffened, like a dog hearing a car approaching. She turned to the door, a glazed look in her eyes.
“Cai?” Ben said.
“It’s out there,” she answered.
“What is?”
“Yokane’s stone,” Caitlin replied. The first two fingers of her right hand rose, circled, pointed. “I felt it before, when Barbara was here. I’m feeling it again. It’s out there.”
“Where?” Ben asked.
Caitlin let her fingers drift; like a divining rod, Ben thought.
“North,” she said. “It’s stable, just as it was with Yokane. It’s no longer communicating with any other stones.”
“So the other one was destroyed?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t see how. It survived the pressure on the bottom of the ocean.” Caitlin lowered the bars of her bed. “I’m getting out of here,” she announced.
Ben leaned toward her, arms extended. “Cai, hold on—”
She brushed them aside and swung her legs from the bed. “A patient has the right to self-determination and autonomy,” she said. “I’m leaving. I have to follow that stone. It’s the only way back to Jacob. I would love your help, but I’ll do this alone if I have to.”
“I said hold on!” Ben snapped.
“Why?”
“Because this may not be necessary,” Ben said. “Rushing I mean.”
Caitlin regarded him. He had a there’s something I didn’t tell you tone in his voice. “What is it?” she asked.
“Let me make a call,” he said.
“To?”
He braced himself. “The Technologist I met outside your apartment this morning.”
Caitlin’s rising frustration came to a sudden, icy stop. “How was that not your lead item, Ben? Freakin’ how?”
“In the General Assembly they call that a battering ram,” he answered. “You don’t use it unless all else fails. It can cause collateral splintering.”
“Such as?”
“The Technologists and the Priests are apparently still at war and the Group was caught in the crossfire,” Ben said. “Both have obviously been watching you. If you go blundering into—”
“Make your call,” Caitlin interrupted. “Now. I have to get to that stone, connect with the others in the South, and save my son.”
“A few minutes ago you weren’t certain that was the way to go.”
“Technologists at my threshold just made me certain,” she said. “Damn you, Ben. You should have told me!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long effin’ night and day and journey for me too.”
Caitlin did not reply. She didn’t seem to have any words left in her. She looked at Ben. After a moment she touched his cheek in apology, then climbed from the bed and pulled her battle-scarred wardrobe from the tray under the bed.
After a long, unhappy breath Ben called Eilifir Benediktsson.
CHAPTER 19
Mikel Jasso pulled the muffler from over his mouth. He didn’t bother with the radio.
“I need fuel!” he yelled at Dr. Cummins.
She rolled down the window. “I don’t understand.”
“I need petrol—gas—all that we can spare.”
The glaciologist looked down at him as he neared the driver’s side of the truck. “To do what? We may need those reserves to go farther or go back.”
“This is more important,” Mikel said, breathless as he reached the cab.
“Than getting back?”
“We can radio for help if it comes to that,” he panted. He jerked a thumb toward the pit. “We have to melt the ice around that, flood the hole, and let it freeze.”
Dr. Cummins’s eyes reflected shock. “You want to cover up the very thing we came out here to study?”
“I do,” Mikel replied. “Quickly.”
“Why?” she asked. “Is it deteriorating or are you afraid of something else?”
“The latter,” Mikel said. “Something happened in New York, something that may set these things loose. As far as I know, cold is the only thing that can stop them.”
“Dr. Jasso, you’ve quite lost me. ‘Loose’?”
Mikel motioned for her to follow as he started toward the back of the truck. She thumped down onto the ice.
“I’m not sure what I mean myself,” he admitted. “These stones obliterate time and distance. I’ve only experienced their ability to create or re-create images, but not to destroy, as I just saw.”
“I’m not even sure what you saw,” Dr. Cummins said, perplexed.
“A forty-thousand-year-old girl and a woman in New York burned to death simultaneously,” he said. “The linked tiles appear to be the cause. We opened a portal. My superior there was screaming for me to shut them down and she is not a screamer. We have to dial this back, quickly.”
Mikel had already begun hauling the spare cans of gas from the back. Dr. Cummins joined him. Her movements were mechanical. She was still trying hard to understand what he was saying.
“You didn’t anticipate any of this?” Dr. Cummins asked.
“I didn’t know about any of this,” he said. “Look, we’ll do this, then take stock of where we are. We can always remove the ice to get back in there.”
“I have to notify Halley,” she said as Mikel began waddling ahead with two of the heavy cans. “They may not approve of you setting fire to the ice.”
“No, this has got to be done,” he said over his shoulder. “Quickly. We are not in a good place if those tiles become active. For all I know the entire ice shelf may be in danger, to Halley and beyond.”
The woman took two cans and looked over at the pit as she followed Mikel. She shook her head. “I don’t see anything that—”
There was a rumble that caused the fuel in the cans to slosh audibly. Dr. Cummins stopped suddenly. So did Mikel.
“You felt that, right?” he asked.
The ground continued to vibrate slightly, as if a subwoofer were turned on nearby.
“That could just be recracking caused by our truck, our activities here,” the glaciologist said.
A low hum rose up through the ice. The piled, windblown shavings jiggled like metal filings on a snare drum.
“That could be an echo from somewhere else,” she said. “Those can move every which way for several minutes.”
“It’s coming from the pit,” Mikel said as he hurried ahead, half walking, half stumbling. He stopped about ten yards from the edge. The ice particles and dead bugs continued to vibrate and move in response to the hum.
Mikel unscrewed the cap of one of the two containers. He pushed it on its side then opened the second one and did the same. The overhang of ice was the greatest here, on the western side.
“Mikel, wait!” Dr. Cummins said as she reached his side. “Shouldn’t we wait a few minutes, just to see?”
“I’m afraid to,” he admitted. “Very afraid.” He ran back to get the last two cans.
His urgency was enough to spur Dr. Cummins on. “Where do you want these?” she asked.
“Make it about twenty yards to the north, half as close,” Mikel said, shouting back after watching the way the petrol flowed. “We’ve got a downward slope of about five degrees here . . . it’s straighter there.”
Dr. Cummins acknowledged with a big nod then hurried off. She did her work quickly as the ground continued to vibrate. They could both see little ripples in the slightly yellowish fuel that pooled on the ice.
Mikel poured gas on the south side. When they were finished, they carried the containers back to the truck and Mikel got a flare pistol and cartridge from the equipment locker in the rear.
“Back the Toyota away,” Mikel told her. “We don’t want to risk igniting the gas in the truck.”
“Way ahead of you,” she said, getting back into the cab. “You watch yourself—stay low, the heat will rise as it rolls out.”
Even as she spoke, the ground began to shake more violently. It wasn’t sound. Mikel couldn’t be sure what it was, whether it was the tiles themselves, the fracturing result of the tiles, or both. As she backed the truck up, he crouched with a knee on the ground well away from the gas and to the west. The wind was blowing east so there wouldn’t be any superheated fumes.
The gun was a single-shot twelve-gauge pistol. Mikel loaded it and, checking that the Toyota was a safe distance off, he fired at the edge of the nearest pool. The gas went up with a soft whoosh, the six-foot-high flames following the flow of the gas and bending immediately in the direction of the wind. After just a few seconds the surface of the ice began to pock and large chunks began to crack, sink, and melt, pouring streams of water and gas toward the pit. The heat and hot water melted more ice and soon large slabs of ice were snapping and sliding toward the edge and over the side, sending a spray of water and flaming fuel into the air. They came back down like the hail of Jehovah.
Mikel rose and backed away, toward the truck. He was surprised to find the vibration continuing to increase, actually shaking loose more and more of the weakened ice.
“Dr. Jasso, hurry!” Dr. Cummins cried, leaning out the door of the truck.
He nodded and ran toward her. The smell of the burning gas was strong, despite the wind blowing away from him. Within moments steam was rising from the pit as water met fire. The heat caused ice on all sides to break away, and he could hear the ice splitting and popping inside, cracking like rifle shots, a symphony of destruction. The long flutes fell with eerie whistling sounds until they knifed into the slush at the bottom.
Or are those ascended spirits, Mikel could not help but wonder, the dead somehow trapped in the tiles?
Suddenly, the vibration stopped. Mikel wasn’t expecting that to happen until the water froze. Had the water itself quieted the tiles?
He stopped a few steps shy of the truck and turned, waited, looked across the smoking, malodorous expanse.
No, he thought with a chill that managed to run up his spine even in this cold. The vibration hasn’t stopped. It’s just gotten lower and more stable.
Something caught his eye to his right, far away, an area free of smoke, on the western horizon where blue sky met the ice. He raised his goggles and peered toward it where he saw a faint glow. Just then he noticed—through the smoke and flame—that the pit he had just inundated was also domed with a hazy yellow light.
“Dr. Jasso?” Dr. Cummins was leaning from the truck.
Mikel was looking at the distant glow. The light here and the light there appeared to be the same color.
Christ, he thought with awful horror. Is this column talking to another buried column?
“Dr. Jasso!” he heard Dr. Cummins yell.
He turned around, toward her, saw her pointing with agitation to the area behind the truck, to the east. There was another dim light on the horizon. This one was in the direction where he had seen the airship crack free of
the ice before sinking just days ago.
Mikel started back toward the cab. “It has to be,” he muttered.
“What?” she asked.
“The towers of the ancient Source network are waking,” he said. “They’re . . . talking to one another.”
“Because of the fire?”
“I—I don’t think so,” he said. “This has to be what Flora was afraid of! We appear to be too late.”
“I’ve got Halley on the radio; they aren’t reading anything, no geologic activity except the thermal signature you created.”
“It isn’t seismic and I don’t think it’s the magma,” Mikel replied as he reached the cab. “Hell, it may not even be just now.”
“What?”
“I opened a path to the past,” he said. “But I’m sure it’s the olivine tiles. They’re awake, they’re linked, and they’re communicating.”
“How is that possible? Magnetically? Electronically? How else would stones ‘talk’?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “When I was below, they were sharing information. Maybe they share the same data pool or—”
He stopped.
“What is it?” Dr. Cummins asked.
“Not a pool,” he said. “Living images.”
“Again?”
“I assumed that what I saw were images. What if they weren’t . . . aren’t. These tiles may not be storage systems—they could be windows!”
“Powered by what?” she asked.
“We’re at the pole—magnetism?”
She checked her analog compass, saw no deviations, went to check the digital device, and the Toyota fell instantly, ominously quiet.
“Did you do that?” Mikel asked.
“No. I did not.”
There was a palpable feeling of something dreadful in the vast ice fields around them. It was more than the vibration, more than the faint glow. It was a sense of something enormous.
“Big drop in air pressure,” Dr. Cummins said.
“Yeah. Like something drained it away.”
The winds died and there was only the cricketing sound of the surface ice snapping.
“Dr. Jasso, talk to me,” the woman said. “Spitball. Give me something to think about.” Dr. Cummins’s voice was without fear or reproach. But there was concern in her movements as she tried to restart the vehicle, then went from button to button trying to activate something . . . anything. “Nothing,” she said. “This vehicle is dead.”
The Sound of Seas Page 22