Omega к-4

by Джек Макдевитт

  They’d done the calculations again, and the cloud was not compensating for its new position, was probably unable to compensate, and would consequently reach Lookout when it was early afternoon on the Intigo. Since it was coming out of the night, that meant it should expend most of its energy on the far side of the world.

  Halleluia! Add that to the cloud cover Marge was putting up, and the Goompahs had a decent chance.

  “Don’t get too confident,” Whit had warned him. “Conditions here will still be extreme.”

  Digger had seen only the shimmering haze of Whit’s lightbender, and considered how difficult it was to communicate when you couldn’t see people’s expressions. Was he becoming seriously pessimistic? Or cautious? Or was it just a reflex that you never claim victory lest you tempt the fates?

  “And don’t forget the round-the-world mission,” he’d added, apparently determined to dampen the mood. He’d been like this since they’d lost Collingdale. The others had expressed their regrets, had been sorry; but Collingdale reportedly hadn’t been easy to get to know. Digger, in fact, had barely had time to say hello as he passed through the wedding and took Kellie and the Hawksbill out to chase the omega. Kellie had spoken little about him since her return. He hoped she was too smart to assign any guilt to herself for the loss, but she had made it clear she didn’t want to talk about the experience.

  Whit, however, must have been closer to Collingdale than anyone had realized. He’d been visibly shaken by his death.

  The round-the-world mission had been gone ten weeks. Bill was keeping an eye on them and reporting periodically. They’d lost a couple of sailors. One had fallen overboard; another had contracted a disease of some sort and been buried at sea. Otherwise, not much was happening. The wind stops, they stop. The wind picks up, and they’re off again. “They’re steering crooked,” Bill had been saying the last three days. “They’re off course. Had almost a week of bad weather, so I guess they can’t see the stars to navigate.”

  The ships were approaching the eastern continent and would soon, Digger thought, have to turn back.

  The rain around the pavilion was almost torrential. It had been falling steadily for a night and a day. Marge, it seemed, was very good at what she did for a living.

  A couple of signs were posted announcing an afternoon slosh at Broka Hall, giving the time by sundial. In the event of rain, bells would be rung at intervals. A moraka was also scheduled that evening at the edge of the park, weather permitting. Music and snacks. Compliments of the Korkoran Philosophical Society.

  Whit had known what a slosh was. But he had not seen the term moraka previously.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Digger had told him.

  “Try.”

  “It’s an orgy.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “The orgy starts at nine?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sponsored by the Philosophical Society?”

  “Apparently so.” Digger grinned.

  “This place has some unique aspects.”

  There was no one about. He could see a Goompah adjusting shutters in one of the buildings lining the park, and another hurrying across a street. And that was it.

  Bill broke into his musings. “Weather update,” he said in a voice copied from weather reports back home. He enjoyed doing that. “Expect continued rain in the central sections of the isthmus at least until tomorrow.”

  “Bill,” he said, “we only have three chimneys up. Are they more effective than we thought?”

  “I do not think so, Digger. I believe what we are seeing is partially due to natural meteorological conditions. The arrival of a low-pressure area from the west coincided—”

  “—It’s okay, I don’t need the details. Is there any chance the rain will remain with us over the next few days?”

  “Until the cloud arrives? No. The weather system will pass over the isthmus by midday tomorrow. After that, it will be up to Marge’s chimneys.”

  The streets and cafés in the cities were virtually deserted. The Goompahs were staying home in substantial numbers.

  Signs had been posted announcing sloshen to discuss “recent unsettling events.” Digger and Whit had posted projectors at a couple of them so they could watch from the ship. Ironically,the unseasonable weather had added to native disquiet, as had reports of voices and disembodied eyes, mystical flashes in the sky (which might have been the chimneys or the AV3, or both). There’d been zhoka sightings on the highways and, most terrifying of all, the levitation of Tayma, the priestess at Savakol, followed by a window opening in midair. Witnessed by hundreds.

  Digger, Whit, and Kellie had watched fully a dozen Goompahs rise and swear they were there, or knew someone who was there, when it happened. “She literally rose out of the sea,” one bull-sized male had said, “and floated through thin air across the water, over the water, until she was set down by an unseen hand on the beach.”

  The consensus seemed to be that the confluence of supernatural events portended approaching catastrophe. But they wondered, if such a thing were actually about to happen, why the gods were permitting it. Where were they, anyhow? There was a palpable sense of irritation that the local deities were not on the job.

  Earlier that day, Digger had stood outside a schoolroom and listened to the teacher and students discuss the approaching cloud. The students were probably a young-adolescent equivalent. It was hard to tell. But some of them wanted to know whether the teacher still believed that supernatural events did not happen.

  “It is simply,” the teacher had argued, “that there are parts of the natural world we do not yet understand.”

  The youth in Avapol may have been too polite to laugh, and too smart to argue: but even Digger, who had not yet begun to learn the nuances of nonverbal communication among this alien race, could see what they thought of that opinion.

  As Whit put a projector in a tree, he caught a glimpse of Digger. When he’d finished, he turned, looked toward the pavilion, and waved. Digger waved back.

  “That’s the last one,” Kellie told him. She was in the lander. This was her first day back at work, giving Julie a well-earned chance to sleep in a bed again.

  The last one in Avapol. They still had two cities to visit.

  It was getting tight. The Goompahs would have three more days of relative calm. During the midafternoon of the third day, the omega would hit the far side of the planet, and conditions would deteriorate. The cloud that had struck Moonlight had delivered most of its energy during the first seven hours. It had systematically picked out every city around the globe still standing and demolished it. Then it had abated.

  At Lookout, the actions of the Hawksbill had thrown the omega off schedule. Furthermore, Marge’s weather would hide the targets. The cloud, not knowing better, would raise hell on the other side of the planet, and the Goompahs, during the first few hours, would get their feet wet. During the course of the evening the Intigo would rotate beneath the main body of the storm, but by the time it arrived in the lethal zone, the thing would be starting to dissipate. And it would, they hoped, not even see the cities.

  “You guys ready to come home?”

  Digger watched Whit moving steadily through the rain. “Give us thirty minutes to get there.”

  She would pick them up on a hilltop on the northern edge of town. “I’ll be there,” she said.

  Digger got up from his bench.

  “By the way,” she said, “the media have arrived.”

  “Really?”

  “The Black Cat Network, of all people.” The Black Cat Network tended toward sensationalist journalism. “They’re asking permission to send in a ground team.”

  “Tell them no. We have no authority.”

  “I already told them.”

  He sighed. He couldn’t really blame them. This was a pretty big story. And they’d come a long way for it. He was tempted to tell them to go ahead, but if he did, Hutch would fry his rear
end. “They can do whatever they need to with telescopes.”

  “Okay.”

  “And tell them they can have access to the pickups.” He thought about that. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. For one thing, they’d undoubtedly find out about the morakas. “Do we have guidance from the Academy on any of this?”

  “Hutch says cooperate, but they are not to set foot on the surface. If they do, they will be prosecuted. She says they’ve been warned.”

  “Okay. Tell them we’ll help where we can. Don’t mention the pickups.”

  “Good,” she said. “I think that’s prudent.”

  BLACK CAT REPORT

  Thanks, Ron. This is Rose Beetem in the skies over Lookout. At the moment, we can’t show you the cities of the Goompahs. They’re under a heavy cover of rainstorms. I have to report to you that we have been asked not to land on the planetary surface, because of the Noninterference Protocol, and we are adhering to that request.

  But we expect to be able to follow the action on the ground as the situation develops. Meantime, it is late evening over the Goompah cities, which are concentrated on a relatively small landmass in the southern hemisphere. What you are looking at now is the rim of the omega. It is just rising, and, as you can see, it is an incredible spectacle.

  Avery Whitlock’s Notebooks

  It is hard not to conclude that my entire life has been a prelude to and a preparation for this moment. If we do not succeed here, nothing else I’ve done will have mattered very much.

  — December 12

  chapter 45

  On board the Jenkins.

  Sunday, December 14.

  “WE’LL BE LEAVING orbit in thirty minutes.” Kellie’s voice came over the speaker from the bridge. She’d resumed command of the Jenkins.

  They were running through the night beneath the cloud. The Intigo was on the daylight side of the globe, approaching evening. In a couple of hours, when it rotated beneath the omega, and the ship had withdrawn to a safe distance from Lookout, they would put Digger’s plan into effect and see whether the Goompahs could be persuaded to head for the high country. They’d have the night and much of the following day to get out of town. Then, at about midafternoon the omega would impact the far side, weather conditions would worsen, and the event would begin.

  The projectors were in place, and the chimneys were up. Clouds were spreading out from T’Mingletep on the south to Saniusar in the north.

  The situation was promising. The omega would, as predicted, hit the wrong side and spend the bulk of its fury before the cities of the Intigo rotated into its path.

  Moody and dark and silent, lit by only an occasional flicker, it had almost completely blotted out the stars. The Goompahs could no longer see it, but the crew of the Jenkins knew. Digger hated looking at the thing. There was a tendency on the ship to walk softly, to hold one’s breath, and to speak in low tones, as if a little noise might draw its attention.

  The plumes reached well past Lookout and lost themselves in the dazzle of the sun. On the surface of the threatened world, seas had become rough, in anticipation of the onslaught. Around the Intigo, the weather had grown cold and wet.

  On the Jenkins, as they counted down the last few minutes, they talked about the ongoing debates over enhanced intelligence, about a report from Hutch that clouds did not survive their encounters with their hedgehogs, about an assassination attempt in the NAU Senate, about a new teaching system designed to bolster lagging literacy scores. The approaching omega was the elephant in the room, the thing no one mentioned.

  The promised celebration of the marriage between Kellie and Digger never really happened. They’d had a few drinks and exchanged embraces all around, but that was about it. Maybe it seemed inappropriate after Collingdale’s death, or maybe nobody really wanted to celebrate anything until they had the results on Lookout.

  “Daylight coming,” said Kellie.

  The sun rose over the rim of the world, and the omega dropped down the sky behind them and receded below the horizon until only the plumes remained visible, great dark towers soaring into the heavens.

  “Good riddance,” said Marge.

  “Next time they want somebody to wrestle one of these things,” Digger said, “they’re going to have to find somebody else.”

  “Twelve minutes to departure,” said Kellie. “Lockdown in eight. Anybody needs to do anything, this would be a good time.”

  Digger felt an enormous sense of relief to be putting some distance between himself and the omega.

  Julie commented that she was having the time of her life, and they all looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Well,” she said. “I haven’t been around as long as some of you guys have, but if things go well, or even if they don’t, I expect this will be the high point of my career. How often do you get involved in something that really matters?”

  Mouths of babes, thought Digger. He was jiggling a puzzle on his monitor. Find your way out of the maze.

  They were over ocean. Daylight sparkled off a few clouds, and he saw land in the north. In a little more than an hour it would be getting dark along the Intigo. Their last peaceful night.

  Digger gave up on the maze—he’d never been good at puzzles anyhow—and headed for one of the acceleration couches. It felt good to lie down, punch the button, and feel the harness settle over him. The others laughed at him. “Anxious?” asked Whit.

  “You bet.”

  “I guess we all are.” Julie took one of the chairs; Marge, the other couch. Whit settled in beside Julie. “Congratulations,” he said.

  She smiled. There was a touch of innocence in it, and Digger couldn’t help thinking again how young she looked. When they wrote the history of these proceedings, he suspected she’d get left out, pretty much. Collingdale would be seen as a hero who’d sacrificed himself to turn the cloud aside. He still didn’t have the story from Kellie, but he suspected something else had been at work. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so quiet. But it was okay. You always need heroes.

  Marge would rank up there, too. And Jack, the first victim. That brought a rush of guilt. Killed by the stupidity of a colleague. If the historians ever got the truth, old Digger wouldn’t look very good.

  Bill’s voice broke in. “Marge, Kellie asked me to pass the current weather report along.”

  He wondered why it mattered at that point.

  “What’ve you got, Bill?” she asked.

  “There’s a storm system building to the west of the Intigo.”

  “That’s just what we want, isn’t it?” said Digger. He glanced over at Marge and gave her a thumbs-up. “An assist for the little lady,” he said.

  She frowned. “Maybe not. Bill, what kind of storm?”

  “Electrical. I’d say the isthmus is going to get heavy rains tonight.”

  Digger didn’t like the way she looked. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why is that not good news?”

  “Think about it. How are you going to send signals to the projectors you’ve been planting all over the isthmus? During an electrical storm?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Isn’t it a bit late in the season for thunderstorms?”

  Marge shrugged. “Don’t know. We’ve haven’t really had a chance to look at climatic conditions here. In any case, they could be starting to feel the effects of the omega.” The plumes had been burrowing into the atmosphere for a couple of days.

  It didn’t bother Julie. “I don’t see that it makes that much difference,” she said. “The thing isn’t going to hit the cities anyhow. So even if they don’t get out, they’ll probably be okay.”

  “That’s not so,” persisted Marge. “The omega is going to kick up a very large storm. Think maybe tornado-force winds around the planet.” She looked at Digger with frustration. “I don’t know. We just don’t have enough experience with these things.”

  She released her harness and went back to one of the stations and brought up an image of the Intigo. “The cities are all at or close
to sea level. They’re going to get high water. Maybe even tsunamis. If the population doesn’t get to high ground, the losses are going to be substantial.”

  “Well,” said Julie, “what about this? We can use the landers. They’re still down there. Load the broadcast program into the landers now while conditions are good. Pick out four locations covering the eleven cities and have Bill move the landers. Right? One in each spot. Then when the time comes, just broadcast from the four sites. We can watch the storm and try to pick the best time for each.”

  “Sounds okay to me,” said Digger. “I don’t see any reason it wouldn’t work.”

  Marge’s expression never changed. “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Why not?” asked Digger.

  “The landers are on Mt. Alpha at the moment.”

  “Where?” asked Whit.

  “It’s a mountain near Hopgop. Nice safe place. Nobody could get near it on foot.”

  “—And?”

  “They’re lashed down. To protect them from the winds. They aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Well,” said Julie, “I guess we didn’t think this one through the way we should have.”

  “We can’t release them from here?” asked Digger.

  “They’re just ordinary cables tied to trees.” Marge looked uncomfortable. “Sorry. It didn’t occur to me we’d need them again before this was over.”

  Julie took a deep breath. “It’s out of our hands then. Whatever happens, happens. We’ve done everything we can.”

  Whit looked squarely at Digger. No, we haven’t. But he didn’t say it.

  “Two minutes,” said Kellie. “Marge, you need to belt down.”

  Digger had no idea where the isthmus was. There were too many clouds. The planet looked so big. Surely that little stretch of land with its cluster of cities would get by okay.

  Whit was watching him, waiting for him to say something.

  Digger sighed. “I’ll go down,” he said. “I can use the landers and run the signal from the ground. As opportunity permits.”

  Julie stared at him. “Have you lost your mind?”