by Allen Steele
‘Yeah. Can do.’ Boggs was at a loss for words as he turned toward Sasaki. ‘Babe…’ He let out his breath as a mournful sigh. ‘Maybe it’s too late now, but I just want to say that I’m sorry for all the dirty jokes.’
He hesitated, then added, ‘And that I love you…always did.’
Miho didn’t respond at once. She reached out and briefly took Boggs’ gloved hands in her own. ‘We’ll meet again, Waylon,’ she said very quietly. ‘Then I’ll listen to your apology.’
She stopped, then said something in Japanese which might have meant I love you, too.
Sasaki released his hands; Boggs gazed at her one last time, then reluctantly turned and stepped carefully around the nuclear mine. Swigart immediately grabbed his arm and pulled him out of firing range, pushing him behind L’Enfant. Even if Boggs had considered overcoming the commander in that brief moment when L’Enfant’s back was turned toward him, the notion was quickly quashed when the lieutenant swung around to cover him with her rifle.
‘All right. So much for the long good-byes.’ L’Enfant tipped the muzzle of his Steyr toward the nuke. ‘Pick up the device, Seaman Nash. You too, Dr. Sasaki.’
Nash bent down and took one end of the handle of the bomb in his right hand. Sasaki grasped the other end with her left hand. As they hefted the mine, Nash was vaguely surprised at its lightness; it weighed not much more than a heavy suitcase. The bomb was cumbersome, but he could have hauled it by himself. L’Enfant had ordered Sasaki to assist him only because it was a convenient way of getting rid of two of the last three persons who could cause him problems.
‘Now turn around and carry it into the chamber,’ L’Enfant said.
It was the very last thing he wanted to do, but Nash wasn’t about to demean himself by making empty gestures of rebellion or contempt. Boggs was being held at gunpoint, and Nash had little doubt that L’Enfant wouldn’t hesitate to kill another hostage, although he also intuitively knew that the pilot’s life was forfeit once the Akron returned to Arsia Station.
Yet, as they lugged the mine through the doorway and into the darkened crypt, he was surprised that L’Enfant had no final words for him. As they entered C4-20, he heard a metallic clang from behind him, then a faint grinding noise. He looked over his shoulder and saw the pneumatic jack had been kicked away, and the massive portal was sliding shut. They were alone in the Labyrinth.
As soon as the door had closed completely, Sasaki swiftly gestured with her free hand for Nash to put the mine down. He glanced toward a narrow opening in the far wall of the room; in minutes, if not seconds, the pseudo-Cooties would be swarming into the chamber. Miho kept jabbing her finger urgently toward the floor.
‘What are you…?’ he started to say.
She shook her head; her hand now made a shushing gesture, urging him to be quiet. Nash fell silent. Following her lead, he bent over to gently lower the nuke to the floor. As soon as their hands were off the device, Miho grabbed his right wrist, pulled his wristpad toward her and, unexpectedly, switched off his com-link.
She did the same with her own unit, then grasped his shoulders and pulled him close until her helmet faceplate touched his own. ‘Stay off the radio!’ she shouted, her voice a muffled murmur inside his helmet. ‘They home in on electromagnetic frequencies!’
Nash was confused, but he nodded his head. ‘Stand against the wall over there!’ she shouted again. ‘Lie flat against it and stay absolutely still…and turn off everything in your suit! Your lamp, the heaters, the oxygen recirculator…’
‘The life-support system?’ He gaped at her. ‘How are we going to breathe?’
‘The reserve tank will cut in!’ she snapped. ‘You can draw air from it for a few minutes and your suit will retain your body heat! Don’t argue with me! Go!’
Miho released him, then hurried to the wall farthest away from both the nuke and the entrance to the catacombs. Nash glanced again at the opening in the wall; he was astonished to see that several of the stones were moving inward, as if being pried loose from within.
The pseudo-Cooties were already on their way.
Nash rushed to the wall and put his back flat against the hard surface. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he fumbled with his chest unit, tapping his fingers against the recessed buttons. Red emergency lights flickered on his heads-up display as he hastily switched off the skinsuit’s primary life-support system; he heard a thin hiss of air as the oxygen reserve tank automatically kicked in, taking up the slack from the deactivated oxygen extraction system. He would have to breathe shallowly; the reserves were intended only to be used in case the OLLSS experienced a power failure, and it was expected that the wearer would already be dashing to the nearest airlock.
The suit began to go cold as he turned off the internal heating system. Last to go was the helmet lamp; Miho had already turned off her own lamp, and the chamber was plunged into darkness, broken only by the dim red illumination of his battery-powered heads-up display.
Nash flattened the palms of his hands against the wall, forcing himself to remain still. It was more difficult to remain calm; he could hear a thin scraping noise from the general direction of the opening, presumably more blocks being hauled away. He didn’t want to think about what was invading the chamber, so he concentrated on getting his respiration under control.
Breathe shallow, he told himself. Breathe shallow…little bit in, little bit out…little bit in, little bit out…
The scraping noise increased; either imagined or real, he thought he felt a slight vibration on the floor beneath his boots, as if something was moving into the room. He peered into the frigid blackness, trying to see something, but everything was rendered invisible. For all he knew, one of the minotaurs could be standing directly in front of him, a massive claw rearing up to make a fatal strike…
Stop it, he thought. Don’t assume anything. Just work on your breathing. Little bit in, little bit…
Something scurried across the toe of his right boot.
He stiffened, involuntarily sucking in his breath, but he caught himself before he could move. More vibrations from the floor, but this time all around him. Now he could hear vague, tinny metallic movements, as if the chamber had come alive with nocturnal insects.
Take it easy, he commanded himself. Don’t freak. Just remain still. Breathe in…breathe out…breathe in…
Something else moved across his feet, but this time it didn’t leave. Nash didn’t have to see it to know what it was. His bladder was suddenly full and he desperately needed to urinate, but he knew that if he whizzed now, the pissoir would flood because he had turned off the fluid waste-removal system. Don’t wet your pants, August. Just hold it until…
Another pseudo-Cootie crawled across his feet. He felt a tug at the calf of his left leg, then another at his right. More pseudo-Cooties danced across his feet, but he hardly noticed because tiny little legs were clinging to the fabric of his suit’s outergarment, grasping each fold and wrinkle as they scuttled up his knees, up his thighs, scaling towards his groin and hips.
They were climbing up his body.
He struggled against the sharp impulse to scream, to throw the creatures off his suit and dash…
Where? He was locked in this chamber. L’Enfant had caused the door to close. There was no way out.
Easy, man…easy…easy…
Now they were all over him. Six? Ten? A dozen? Nash had no idea. He could feel them scurrying up his chest, like miniature rock-climbers making an assault on a cliff-face. Their combined weight threatened to drag him to the floor; he locked his knees and hips and forced himself to remain rigid. Pretend you’re a statue, he told himself. He tried to bring forth the immense bronze sculpture of Abraham Lincoln, forever seated within the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, and instead his mind flashed to Control, sitting in the third-floor boardroom of SA’s headquarters, sucking on his filthy stinking briar pipe.
Keep control, he thought crazily, almost on the edge of hysteria. Just keep…
Caught in the amber glow of his heads-up display, a shadowed alien countenance rose in front of his helmet: a pseudo-Cootie, staring straight in through his faceplate.
Nash held his breath, not daring to even move his eyes. No more than a few inches separated him from the pseudo-Cootie. He wanted to blink, so badly that the corners of his eyes itched, but he struggled against the impulse. Eerily, he could see his own face reflected in the multifaceted eyes of the little robot, miniaturized and multiplied as tiny mirror-images. Its antennae flicked back and forth, lightly brushing against those of the other pseudo-Cooties crawling around it on his shoulders. Nash was acutely aware of its sharp, mantis-like forelegs digging into the nylon fabric of the overgarment on either side of his helmet.
He waited for the pseudo-Cootie to move onward, perhaps to climb to the top of his helmet. Maybe it would plant a little flag up there, open a tiny bottle of champagne, take some pictures for the folks back home.
But it didn’t move.
He couldn’t breathe. His lungs needed to exhale. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were aching. If he didn’t breathe…
The hell with it.
‘Boo,’ he whispered, and cautiously sucked in a breath of air.
The mechanical insect jerked backward slightly, as if startled, but continued to cling to his chest, peering into his helmet like a climber who has found a snake lurking within a cave. All at once, the other pseudo-Cooties went motionless. Nash was all too aware that their pincers could rip through his skinsuit within seconds.
On the other hand, the heads-up display told him that the oxygen reserve was almost exhausted. Asphyxiation or having his skinsuit shredded; either way, it added up to the same thing. He was about to die.
Might as well get this over with…
‘What are you waiting for?’ he murmured under his breath, addressing himself as much as the pseudo-Cootie. ‘If you’re going to do it, get it over with.’
The pseudo-Cootie remained still, yet its antennae lashed back and forth madly, rubbing against those of the others around him. Nash remembered what Kawakami had told him about the possibility of a collective intelligence—a hive-mind—existing amongst these creatures. Maybe these were the equivalent of soldier-ants, searching their environment for enemies or food. He hoped that he was neither…
Then, abruptly, the pseudo-Cootie vanished from his faceplate, and at the same moment he again felt the crawling sensation around his body…but this time, it was heading downward, as if in full retreat.
As swiftly as they had come, the creatures were abandoning him.
He remained stock-still until he felt the last of the pseudo-Cooties leave him; then, very cautiously, he moved his fear-stiffened left hand to the chest unit, groped for the proper buttons, and reactivated his life-support system. There was a rush of cool air through his helmet, clammy against the perspiration on his skin; he hadn’t realized that he had been sweating. He sucked greedily at the air, taking it in as deep draughts, wondering if Sasaki felt the same…
‘Miho,’ he rasped. Did she also…?
Helmet lamplight lanced out from a spot next to him, dazzling him with its unanticipated brightness. He squinted against the glare and almost switched on the comlink before a hand laid itself over his wrist unit. As he blinked and covered his faceplate with his glove, he felt a human form against him and a now-familiar shape thump against his helmet.
‘It’s me!’ he heard her yell through the inductive connection. ‘We made it! Go ahead and turn on your light!’
There was no telling how many pseudo-Cooties had been in C4-20, but the chamber was now completely vacant. One thing was immediately apparent, however.
The nuke was missing.
Sasaki pointed toward the dismantled wall. ‘They must have taken it that way,’ she said, stating the obvious. She glanced at the still-closed door leading into the Labyrinth. ‘Unless we want to stay here…’
‘We’re going to have to follow them,’ Nash finished. Although they had reactivated their skinsuits’ life-support systems, they cautiously remained off the comlink. The helmet-touch system was cumbersome, but in the stillness of the chamber they could hear each other plainly. ‘I don’t get it. Did they crawl all over you too?’
Sasaki nodded her head; he felt her shudder at the recollection. ‘Then why didn’t they kill us?’ he asked. ‘I had one of them looking straight through my helmet, and it couldn’t have mistaken me for anything but a human.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘We weren’t wearing combat armor.’
Of course…Nash closed his eyes. ‘Miho,’ he said, ‘I wish you wouldn’t speak in riddles whenever I ask you a question. Why didn’t they kill us because we weren’t wearing armor?’
‘The only people who have survived encounters with them in this room were Ben Cassidy and Arthur Johnson,’ she replied. ‘They both came down here in skinsuits. Everyone else who came in here was wearing armor…and didn’t Shin-ichi observe that the minotaurs vaguely resembled CASs?’
‘So you thought that they might home in on combat armor?’
‘Yes. Something like that.’ She looked straight at him, smiling slightly. ‘I had a hunch that might be the situation. That’s why I had you turn off everything and stand still. They must perceive combat armor…in fact, anything mechanical and emitting electromagnetic frequencies, like the probes or the Jackalope…as a threat, and immediately act to neutralize it. Probably another one of their tropisms.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Nash was still regaining his breath. It sounded like a plausible explanation. ‘When did you arrive at this conclusion?’
Her face became solemn. ‘About ten minutes ago,’ she said almost inaudibly.
Nash slowly exhaled as he sagged against the wall behind him. ‘Better late than never,’ he muttered. He wasn’t about to split hairs with her. He looked dubiously at the gap in the wall. ‘The point is, if we go in there, will they attack us?’
Sasaki hesitated. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said uncertainly. ‘They could have killed us a few minutes ago and they didn’t. Maybe without the armor we’re not interesting…or perhaps there’s nothing they can salvage from our suits.’
‘That sounds too much like guessing.’
‘It is,’ she admitted. ‘Either way, we don’t have a choice. If we can find our way to Mama’s Back Door, we could get to the D & M Pyramid. There’s bound to be a way up to the surface from there.’
Nash glanced at the digital chronometer on his helmet’s heads-up display; he was surprised to see that only ten minutes had elapsed since L’Enfant and Swigart had forced them into the chamber. ‘We’ve only got two hours until the Akron takes off. If we’re going to make it out of here before the bomb detonates, we’re going to have to hurry.’ He looked back at her. ‘You ready?’
Sasaki slowly nodded her head; despite her outward composure, it was apparent that she was shaken by her near-death experience. Nash gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’
He stepped back, breaking contact with her helmet, but Sasaki continued to clasp his hand. Nash smiled and nodded, then led her across the empty chamber to the broken wall.
Beyond lay darkness, the beginning of the catacombs. Hand in hand, they stepped gingerly across the border into the undisturbed domain of the Cooties.
22. Underworld
BEYOND ROOM C4-20, the tunnel became both wider and higher than the one in the Labyrinth. Instead of narrow corridors of smooth rock, it resembled the passageway of an underground river, with smooth, sloping walls of eroded stone leading further into the depths of the catacombs. Nash was struck by its similarity to cave-systems on Earth; he wondered if the Cooties had indeed built the City on top of an ancient underground waterway, one which had once fed water into the shallow sea where the Acidalia Planitia now lay.
Yet that wasn’t what immediately attracted his attention. On either side of the tunnel rested large, almost shapeless metallic hulks, some the size
of trucks although they could hardly be mistaken for vehicles. Discarded machinery of some sort, yet they all looked oddly stripped-down, as if they were great engine-blocks which had been cannibalized for functional parts. Nash approached one of the hulks and carefully wiped away a patina of red dust from a flat surface; caught beneath the ray of his helmet lamp was a series of tiny holes and grooves, resembling attachment-points for something which had long since been removed.
‘What do you think these…?’ he started to ask before he remembered that he wasn’t sharing a comlink with Sasaki. He turned around and saw her kneeling on the tunnel floor, apparently studying something. As he walked closer, she stood up and clamped her helmet against his.
‘Tracks,’ she said, pointing down at the floor. The red dust was sifted and dragged, showing where hundreds of tiny legs had recently moved through the tunnel. They led straight ahead, past the reach of her light into the darkness.
‘They went thattaway,’ he drawled. She looked at him strangely, and he grinned back at her. ‘Let’s head ’em off at the pass, pilgrim.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Miho smiled tightly. ‘John Wayne. The old American cowboy star. Maksim Oeljanov was a big fan of his movies.’ Her face went serious again. ‘Never mind that now. We need to catch up with them.’
Sasaki broke contact and began walking down the tunnel, carefully keeping the oval spot of her lamp centered on the tracks. She displayed no curiosity about the alien artifacts around her, and Nash couldn’t blame her. She was onto much bigger game now; why waste time in what amounted to an auto graveyard when there was the potential of discovering the source of these relics?
In any case, he had no choice but to follow her. Nash fell into step beside her, making certain that he didn’t lose sight of the tracks himself. Despite the fact that they were running against the clock, he found his own curiosity aroused by what little he had seen thus far. They were the first human beings to have ventured so far into the Cooties’ lair. Not only that, but following the trail of the pseudo-Cooties was their best bet of finding a way out of the catacombs.
