Dean Koontz - (1989)
Page 49
several FBI data banks, both those approved for wide access and those
supposedly sealed to all but bureau agents. If he could sit at a VDT,
link in to Sun, and through Sun link to a Bureau computer, then he could
transmit a call for help that would appear on Bureau computer screens
and spew out in hard copy from the laser printers in their offices.
They were assuming, of course, that the restrictions on outside contact
that applied to all other phone lines in town did not apply to the lines
by which Sun maintained its linkages wit the broader world. If Sun's
routes out of Moonlight Cove were clipped off, too, they were utterly
without hope.
Understandably, Sam was reluctant to enter the houses of the people who
worked for New Wave, afraid that he would encounter more people like the
Coltranes. That left only two ways to attain a cess to a PC that could
be linked to Sun.
First, he could try to get into a black-and-white and use one of their
mobile terminals, as he'd done last night. But they were alert to his
presence now, making it harder to sneak into an unused patrol car.
Furthermore, all of the cars were probably now in use, as the cops
searched diligently for him and no doubt, for Tessa as well. And even
if a cruiser were parked behind the municipal building, that area was at
the moment, bound to be a lot busier than the last time he had been
there, Second, they could use the computers at the high school on
Roshmore Way. New Wave had donated them not out of a normal concern for
the educational quality of local schools but as more means of tying the
community to it. Sam believed, and Tessa agreed, that the school's
terminals probably had the capacity to link with Sun.
- 365 Moonlight Cove Central, was the combination junior or-senior high
school was called, stood on the west side of Roshmore Way, two blocks
west of Harry's house and a full block south. In ordinary times it was
a pleasant five-minute walk. But with the streets under surveillance
and every house potentially a watchtower occupied by enemies, reaching
Central high School now without being seen was easy as crossing a
minefield.
Chrissie said, "they're still in class at Central.
You can't just walk in there and use a computer."
"Especially," Tessa said, "since you can figure the teachers were among
the first to be converted."
"What time are classes over?" Sam asked.
"Well, at Thomas Jefferson we get out at three o'clock, but they go an
extra half hour at Central.
"Three-thirty," Sam said.
Checking his watch, Harry said, "Forty-seven minutes yet. But even
then, there'll be after-school activities, won't there?"
"Sure," Chrissie said.
"Band, probably football practice, a few other clubs that don't meet
during regular activity period. What time would all that be done with?"
"I know band practice is from a quarter to four till a quarter . to
five," Chrissie said, "because I'm friends with a kid one year older
than me who's in the band. I play a clarinet. I want to be in the
band, too, next year. If there is a band. If there is a next "year."
"So, say by five o'clock the place is cleared out."
"Football practice runs later than that. Would they practice today, in
pouring rain?"
"I guess not."
"If You're going to wait until five or five-thirty," Tessa said, then
You might as well wait just a little while longer and head over there
after dark.
" Sam nodded. "I guess so."
"Sam, You're forgetting," Harry said.
What? series, time shortly after you leave here, maybe as early as six
O'clock sharp, they'll be coming to convert me.
Jesus.
"That's right!" Sam said.
Moose lifted his head off his master's lap and from beneath the arm Of
the wheelchair. He sat erect, black ears pricked, as if he understood
what had been said and was already anticipating the doorbell or
listening for a knock downstairs.
" I believe you do have to wait for nightfall before you go, you'll have
a better chance," Harry said, "but then you'll have to take Tessa and
Chrissie with you. It won't be safe to leave them here.
"We'll have to take you too," Chrissie said at once.
" You and Moose. I don't know if they convert dogs, but we have to take
Moose just to be sure. We wouldn't want to have to worry about him
being turned into a machine or something."
Moose chuted.
"Can he be trusted not to bark?" Chrissie asked.
wouldn't want him to yap at something at a crucial moment.
I guess we could always wind a long strip of gauze bandage around his
snout, muzzle him, which is sort of cruel and would probably hurt his
feelings, since muzzling him would mean we don't emtirely trust him, but
it wouldn't hurt him physically, of course and I'm sure we could make it
up to him later with a juicy steak or- " Suddenly recognizing an unusual
solemnity in the silence of her companions, the girl fell silent too.
She blinked at Harry, Sam, and frowned at Tessa, who still sat on the
bed beside her. the Darker clouds had begun to plate the sky since they
had come upstairs, and the room was receding deeper into shadows. at
the moment Tessa could see Harry Talbot's face almost clearly in the
gray dimness. She was aware of how he was struggling to conceal his
fear, succeeding for the most part, managing a genuine smile and an
unruffled tone of voice, betrayed only by his expressive eyes.
To Chrissie, Harry said, "I won't be going with you, honey."
"Oh," the girl said. She looked at him again, her gaze slipping down
from Harry to the wheelchair on which he sat.
"But you came to . our school that day to talk to us. You leave the
house sometimes. You must have a way to get out."
Harry smiled.
"The elevator goes down to the garage on the cellar level. I don't
drive any more, so there's no car down there and I can easily roll out
into the driveway, to the sidewalk."
"Well, then!" Chrissie said.
Harry looked at Sam and said, "But I can't go anywhere on these streets,
steep as they are in some places, without soma - 367 e chair has brakes,
and the motor has quite a lot of power, but half the time
not enough for these slopes."
"We'll be with you," Chrissie said earnestly.
"We can help."
--Dear girl, you can't sneak quickly through three blocks of occupied
territory and drag me with you at the same time," Harry said firmly.
"For one thing, you'll have to stay off the streets as much as possible,
move from yard to yard and between as much as you can, while I can only
roll on pavement, especially in this weather, with the ground so soggy."
'We can carry you."
,No," Sam said.
"We can't. Not if we hope to get to the school and get assistance and
get a message out to the Bureau. it's a sho d' bW full of danger, and
we've got to travel light. Sorry, Harry."
"No need to apologize, " Harry said.
" I wouldn't have it any other way. You think I want to
be dragged or
shoulder-carried like a bag of cement across half the town?"
In obvious distress, Chrissie got off the bed and stood with her small
hands fisted at her sides. She looked from Tessa to Sam to Tessa again,
silently pleading with them to think of a way to save Harry.
Outside the gray sky was mottled now with ugly clouds that were nearly
black.
The rain eased up, but Tessa sensed that they were entering a brief
lull, after which the downpour would continue with greater fury than
ever.
Both the spiritual and the physical gloom deepened.
MOOse whined softly.
Tears shimmered in Chrissie's eyes, and she seemed unable to bear
looking at Harry. She went to a north window and stared down at the
house next door and at the street beyond-staying just far enough back
from the glass to avoid being spotted by anyone outside.
Tessa wanted to comfort her.
She wanted to comfort Harry too.
MO, than that . . . she wanted to make everything right.
All writer-producer-director, she was a mover and shaker, at taking
charge, making things happen. She always knew how to solve a problem,
what to do in a crisis, how to keep the ball rolling once a project had
begun. But now she was at She could not always script reality with the
assurance she brought to the writing of her films; sometimes the real
world resisted conforming to her demands. Maybe that was why she had
chosen a career over a family, even after having enjoyed a wonderful
family atmosphere as a child. The real world of daily life and struggle
was sloppy, unpredictable, full of loose ends; she couldn't count on
being able to tie it all up the way she could when she took aspects of
it and reduced them to a neatly structured film. Life was life, broad
and rich . . . but film was only .n essences. Maybe she dealt better
with essences than with life all its gaudy detail.
Her genetically received Lockland optimism, previously as bright as a
spotlight, had not deserted her, though it definitely had dimmed for the
time being.
Harry said, "It's going to be all right."
"How?" Sam asked.
"I'm probably last on their list," Harry said.
"They wouldn't be worried about cripples and blind people. Even if we
learn something's up, we can't try to get out of town and get help. Mrs.
Sagerian-she lives over on Pinecrest-she's blind, and I'll bet she and I
are the last two on the schedule. They'll wait to do us until near
midnight. You see if they don't. Bet on it. So what you've got to do
is go to the high school and get through to the Bureau, bring help in
here pronto, before midnight comes, and then I'll be all right."
Chrissie turned away from the window, her cheeks wet with tears. "You
really think so, Mr. Talbot? You really, honestly think they won't
come here until midnight?"
With his head tilted to one side in a perpetual twist that was,
depending on how you looked at it, either jaunty or heartwrenching,
Harry winked at the girl, though she was farther away from him than
Tessa and probably didn't see the wink.
"if I'm jiving you, honey, may God strike me with lightning this
instant.
" Rain fell but no lightning struck.
"See?" Harry said, grinning.
Though the girl clearly wanted to believe the scenario that Harry had
painted for her, Tessa knew that they could not count on his being the
last or next to last on the final conversion schedule. What he'd said
made a little sense, actually, but it was just too neat. Like a
narrative development in a film script. Real life, - 369 Tessa had just
reminded herself, was sloppy, unpredictable. She desperately wanted to
believe that Harry would be safe until a few minutes till midnight, but
the reality was that he would be at risk as soon as the clock struck six
and the final series of conversions was under way.
Shaddack remained in Paula Parkins's garage through most of the
afternoon.
TWice he put up the big door, switched on the van's engine, and pulled
into the driveway to better monitor Moonhawk's progress on the VDT. Both
times, satisfied with the data, he rolled back into the garage and
lowered the door again.
The mechanism was clicking away. He had designed it, built it, wound it
up, and pushed the start button. Now it could go through its paces
without him.
He passed the hours sitting behind the wheel, daydreaming about the time
when the final stage of Moonhawk would be completed and all the world
would be brought into the fold. When no Old People existed, he would
have redefined the word "power," for no man before him in all of history
would have known such total control. Having remade the species, he
could then program its destiny to his own desires. All of humankind
would be one great hive, buzzing industriously, serving his vision. As
he daydreamed, his erection grew so hard that it began to ache dully.
Shaddack knew many scientists who genuinely seemed to believe that the
purpose of technological progress was to improve the lot of humanity,
lift the species up from the mud and carry it on eventually, to the
stars. He saw things differently. To his way Of thinking, the sole
purpose of technology was to concentrate Power in his hands. Previous
would-be remakers of the world had relied on political power, which
always ultimately meant the power of the legal gun. Hitler, Stalin,
Mao, Pol Pot, and others had sought power through intimidation and mass
murder, wading to the throne through lakes of blood, and all of them had
ultimately failed to achieve what silicon circuitry was in the process
of bestowing upon Shaddack. The pen was not mightier, than the sword,
but the microprocessor was mightier than vast armies.
If they knew what he had undertaken and what dreams of conquest still
preoccupied him, virtually all other men of science would say that he
was bent, sick, deranged. He didn't care. They were wrong, of course.
Because they didn't realize who he was. The child of the moonhawk. He
had destroyed those who had posed as his parents, and he had not been
discovered or punished, which was proof that the rules and laws
governing other men were not meant to apply to him. His true mother and
father were spirit forces, disembodied, powerful. They had protected
him from punishment because the murders that he'd committed in Phoenix
so long ago were a sacred offering to his real pro-, genitors, a
statement of his faith and trust in them. Other scientists would
misunderstand him because they could not know that all of existence
centered around him, that the universe itself existed only because he
existed, and that if he ever died-which was unlikely-then the universe
would simultaneously cease to exist. He was the center of creation. He
was the only man who mattered. The great spirits had told him this. The
great spirits had whispered these truths in his ear, waking and
sleeping, for more than thirty years.
Child of the moonhawk . . .
As the afternoon w
aned, he became ever more excited about the
approaching completion of the first stage of the project, and he could
no longer endure temporary exile in the Parkins garage. Though it had
seemed wise to absent himself from places in which Loman Watkins might
find him, he was having increasing difficulty justifying the need to
hide out. Events at Mike Peyser's house last night no longer seemed so
catastrophic to him, merely, a minor setback; he was confident that the
problem of the regressives would eventually be solved. His genius
resulted from the direct line between him and higher spiritual forces,
and no difficulty was beyond resolution when the great spirits desired -
371 his success The threat he'd felt from Watkins steadily diminnished
in his memory, too, until the police chief's promise to find him seemed
empty, even pathetic.
He was the child of the moonhawk. He was surprised that he had
forgotten such an important truth and had run scared. even Jesus had
spent his time in the garden, briefly frightened, and had wrestled with
his demons. The Parkins garage was, Shaddack saw, his own Gethsemane,
where he had taken refuge to cast out those last doubts that plagued
him.
He was the child of the moonhawk.
At four-thirty he put up the garage door.
He started the van and pulled down the driveway.