The War of Immensities

by Barry Klemm

  “You know, mon cherie. You begin to frighten me.”

  She wasn’t frightened herself. She was exhilarated. As they flew, she operated a video camera but that she pointed only vaguely in the right directions. She didn’t want to see it through a viewfinder. She wanted to see with her own eyes. She could use the camera to zoom in on relative spots. Still she kept it running, just in case it might pick up something she was missing.

  Ten remote automatic cameras on the ground were also recording the scene, spaced equally all around the island, as they were on several other nearby volcanic islands, and in the Cook Islands too. Never had there been such a preparedness for an eruption, but this time she had the hottest seat in town.

  Around they went again as the sun crept nearer the horizon. It was twenty-one minutes before official sunset and the light was clear and nothing was happening. Or so it seemed. Then there was the sudden shock ripping through her body, the moment of nausea that was all so familiar and she knew it was about to happen. Her eyes locked on the mountain, straining for signs.

  For it took Jami a moment to realise that there was something going on, and then even longer to grasp what it was. At first there was dust kicking up here and there in the forest below. Earth tremors causing landslides? she wondered. Below the cliffs at the foot of the peak, the trees of the forest on the gentler slopes seemed to be shrinking. Startled flocks of birds flew everywhere.

  Trees can’t shrink, Jami told herself. She focused with the zoom to get a better idea. Trees fall, they don’t shrink...

  There were some trees that toppled now, but apart from them, the whole forest seemed to be descending into the ground. Then she realised she was perceiving it the wrong way around. The forest on the slopes was staying where it was—it was the cliffs that were rising out of the ground!

  She looked at several places at once. Everywhere, the volcanic rock of the steep cliff faces were rising, dragging themselves out of the ground as if by the roots. She could even see, in places, a line of darker rock appearing above the tree line as stone previously underground was exposed to the daylight. She saw it now—the whole upper pinnacle of the mountain was rising upward.

  “Merde!” Pierre said.

  Jami grabbed his arm as he tried to move the rudder. “Don’t go yet. It’s still safe.”

  Pierre could hardly react. He was staring and blank astonishment at the impossible.

  Jami knew what was happening. The pinnacle, all of it, was a giant volcanic plug and now the pressures below were forcing it out, indeed exactly like a cork out of a bottle. Clouds of dust were rising everywhere, and soon her view would be obliterated. She wanted to hang on these last few seconds, to see it all. And even as she thought that, the plug began to break up, with giant cracks opening and flame and smoke bursting through. And then the whole top of the mountain was lost in smoke and the cloud rushed toward them.

  “We can go now,” she told Pierre.

  But the pilot was in a paralysis of terror and she needed to belt him about the head. He nearly vomited, wide-eyed and gagging convulsively.

  Jami jerked the rudder to swing them away from the blast and then Pierre had it. He opened the throttles and dived low and away they went, with what sounded like rain beginning to pelt on the skin of the plane.

  Stones, Jami knew, and then rocks.

  There were several severe crashes as boulders bounced off them but somehow they remained airborne. Pierre, a great pilot after all, dived for speed and then swooped upward to get above the igneous hailstorm. The plane bumped and jolted wildly and the windscreen was awash with mud, blinding them. But Pierre was climbing and knew which way out to sea was—he didn’t need any visibility.

  “Stupid bitch,” he was shouting in English. “Stupid stupid bitch.”

  He seemed to be addressing this to the aeroplane, but Jami supposed that it was more likely her. She didn’t care. Long before they had escaped the danger zone, scurrying ahead of a great wall of fire, she flopped back in her seat with a huge smile.

  “Wow,” she cried. “That was fantastic.”

  *

  Far out to sea, the shockwave hit the Orion as a severe bump. The technicians were all watching their instruments and only Felicity, looking out a side window, saw the huge cloud rise above the horizon. It was, she observed, exactly like a nuclear mushroom cloud, soaring upward, illuminated from beneath by fire and throughout by bolts of lightning. The technicians babbled jargon, only a little of which she understood. She didn’t ask for explanations—she would get all the details she wanted later. For the moment, she picked up what she could from what had become a cacophony of voices and whirring engines and beepers.

  Five volcanoes had erupted—three in the Society Islands and two in the Cook Islands, all exactly as predicted. 7.8 on the scale. The epicentre was far from any island but they were checking thirty kilometres outward from the centre for signs of habitable places.

  “Shit!” someone shouted. “There’s a ship. There’s a fucking ship, ten klicks from the epicentre.”

  That, Felicity knew, was her own cue. She undid her seat belt and moved over to the operator who had spoken, leaning over his shoulder to look at the radar screen before him. She could plainly see the ship within the sweep.

  “Any idea what?”

  “Looks like a destroyer. Both the Americans and French have warships in the area.”

  “Yes, I know,” Felicity said. You couldn’t blame them for wanting to gather their own data, but at what cost? She felt the Orion banking steadily. She picked up a headset and spoke to Captain Taylor, the pilot.

  “I assume we are going to overfly that ship.”

  “Yes,” Taylor answered. “We’re in contact with Fleet Task Force Command right now.”

  “Hard to make out,” the radio operator reported. “The Yanks seem to have lost contact with one of their ships. USS Barton. Ahh, they’re calling us.” There was a pause. And then. “They admit loss of contact. They want to know if its safe to approach her.”

  “Tell them, yes,” Felicity said automatically. “There are no contaminants involved here. From a medical point of view, they can approach the ship, and board it, safely. They can expect to find everyone in a state of unconsciousness, from which they’ll recover in eight days.”

  The radio operator gazed at her quizzically. “Do you really want to transmit that?”

  “Yes I do.”

  Within minutes they located the USS Barton, looking remarkably awkward and cumbersome despite its trim lines as it rolled with the turbulent sea. The violence of the sea itself seemed incongruous, under the gentle yellow glow of a twilight suddenly extended. Three tidal waves, of increasing size, had departed the area that they knew of, to batter the coastal communities all the way around the Pacific rim. The waves crashed over Barton’s decks and she bobbed about like a cork in a stream. A French frigate, they had been assured, was on the way to take her in tow.

  “To where?” Felicity demanded.

  “Papeete.”

  “Is there a dock left to tow her to?”

  “Early reports suggest only superficial damage there.”

  Felicity nodded, moving in the cramped thundering confines of the cluttered tunnel that was the interior of the Orion. Everything was illuminated only by the monitor screens and dial lights. She pulled off the domed helmet they had given her and extracted with considerable effort, a mobile telephone from her pocket and punched out a number. An excited voice answered.

  “Jami. Are you okay?”

  “Wow, Felicity, you should have seen it.”

  “I’m rather glad I didn’t, kiddo. How are things there?”

  “Orohena blew all right, but it all went straight up—the entire top of the mountain. It rained boulders for a while. Hailstones the size of television sets. They’d hit and bounce. I saw one go straight through the roof of a house, out the front door and into the house across the road. I guess there’s a lot of people killed or injured, but the town is sti
ll standing and its nowhere near as bad as we feared.”

  “Is it possible for a ship to dock in the harbour?”

  “Oh yes. And the runway at the airport is still okay. Everything is working here, more or less. A few fires. Practically no panic. Mostly there are people all around the island standing and watching the show.”

  “As long as you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. What happened at your end?”

  “We have a ship load of sleepers, compliments of the US Navy.”

  “You should have seen it, Felicity. The whole top of the mountain rose like a Saturn rocket and then—wham-o.”

  “Take care of yourself, Jami.”

  “I will. Bye Fee.”

  Felicity broke the connection. For a moment, she thought of the serenity of whisking about the polished sterile floors of the hospital, of the warmth of nights on the couch in front of the television, of the gorgeous aroma when Wendell had just mowed the lawn. That was who she really was. Not this unfortunate thing in a hellish dark tin can, all atangle with wiring. She fitted her helmet again, returning to her android self, and spoke to Captain Taylor.

  “How many men on a ship like that?”

  “About two hundred. Men and women in the US Navy these days.”

  “Instruct them to follow full quarantine procedures. Ask for permission for me to board the ship at the earliest possible opportunity.”

  “They said not without the appropriate security clearance.”

  “Tell them those sailors aren’t in the US Navy anymore. They now belong to Project Earthshaker.”

  “I think you better tell them that yourself, Dr Campbell,” Taylor said with a chuckle.

  11. ELECTROMAGNETIC RODENT GHOSTS

  On this radiant Athens evening, Andromeda watched the pilgrims flood into the city. Away to her left were the orange remnants of a glorious sunset, over the right shoulder a tumid full moon was rising, at her back they had turned on the lights that floodlit the Acropolis especially for the occasion. From her high vantage point, she watched for some sign of the convoy advancing through the streets but it was Lorna Simmons, sitting beside her and watching the procession on a video monitor, who would give the signal to begin.

  Athens had taken them to her bosom as only Athens could. Originally they had booked the amphitheatre at the foot of the Acropolis for the concert that would follow, expecting only the pilgrims to be there. But soon it became apparent that the whole city was determined to get into the act. As the convoy advanced along the road from Corinth, the people came out of their farmhouses and villages to line the way and watch the procession pass, after which they fell in behind, swelling the numbers to an uncountable host.

  Lorna and the governors of the city went into a panic and hastily expanded arrangements. There was a huge scaffold built by the men renovating the Acropolis with a high platform that clung to the cliffs just below the walls on the crest. The giant speakers, as big as shipping containers, had been positioned there and the lights moved and now the crowd could gather on the broad slope below, and back into the excavations of the Agora, and down through the throats of the streets that led to those places from the body of the city beyond.

  It was expected by the general public that the procession would pass straight through the city and carry on, presumably to Jerusalem. But it would not. It would end here. Early that morning—twelve hours ago now, Andromeda had felt the tremor through her body and, with a glance sideways at Lorna, acknowledged that the time of the pilgrimage had passed.

  “Do you think they’ll still come?” Lorna wondered.

  Out on the road, Brian Carrick had reported that while a great cry had arisen from the travellers and there was some brief panic, they were too much caught up in the momentum of the event to deviate from their course.

  Lorna and Andromeda sat in the communications tent, awaiting news of friends.

  “Sure is a strange sensation, Babe. When it ends,” Andromeda said.

  “Something like it must have been to have our umbilical cords cut,” Lorna supposed.

  “I don’t remember that, Sugar. I’m thinkin’ it’s more like when a love affair ends.”

  “I never felt that good when someone walked out on me,” Lorna said grimly.

  “Uh-uh. It’s like the way you feel when you walk out on them. You got that moment of doubt when you’re sayin’ to yourself—maybe I oughta go back and make it up—but then you say, hell no! And you walk on Baby. You got a stab of pain, a moment of sadness, and then comes the flood of relief that all that shit is over.”

  Through the speech, she saw Lorna watching her quizzically. “I wouldn’t know, Andy. I always went back.”

  Soon, word was relayed that Felicity and Jami were both okay and the moment of relief and jubilation was followed by sadness as information about the devastation in the Society Islands came through.

  “Now that was the same sort of feeling going backwards,” Lorna remarked.

  “No. Those are real emotions. The Shastri thing is different,” Andromeda was sure.

  But things were happening and it was time to get on the move.

  “Are you going to be alright to go on straight after all this emotional trauma?” Lorna asked with serious concern—it was a technical question.

  “You bet, sweetheart,” Andromeda grinned. “I never felt so exhilarated in all my life.”

  And it was true. In her time she had been possessed of every sort of self-doubt and stage-fright and for a long time she needed to be stoned just to get out on the stage. But all that was behind her now. She walked to her spot on the stage, in the darkness with the lights of the entire city before her, and she knew she was going to be fantastic, that this would be her greatest performance ever. In a moment they would hit the flood lights and the music and her voice would carry out over the city, and everyone who was in the streets would hear her. And in Athens on such a warm clear evening, the streets were invariably crowded. She had a full orchestra and a rock band—the Tum-thumpers—hottest in the business right now. But mostly, she had herself. This would be Andromeda Starlight’s greatest performance—what do you think of that, Edna Krebbs of Trinidad?

  Down there she could see right along an arterial road, and away in the distance, she saw Chrissie. Saint Christine. A pristine white figure on the back of a truck with her arms raised to the heavens. Behind her, all manner of moving lights and pandemonium seemed to be going on. Anxiously, she turned toward Lorna, hidden away behind and at the same moment, Lorna said. “Hit it!”

  The lights came on blindingly and Andromeda threw her arms wide and went into The Age of Aquarius from Hair and she could feel the earth stand still and every face turn toward her in her dazzling brilliance. She sang with her mightiest voice and behind her the thirteen ladies of the backing group seemed insignificant by comparison. She went straight on with several other popular songs designed to draw people toward her and although she could see little with the dazzling lights in her eyes, she sensed them gathering below her.

  Now she went into her full repertoire of gospel songs, bouncing back and forth between herself and the backing group, and while that happened, she saw Chrissie climbing the hill, moving through the gathering crowd with a big Italian chap clearing her way. Chrissie, the lights making her white robes glow mystically, ascended the steps—it was almost surprising that she didn’t simply levitate herself onto the stage, such was her aura of spirituality. She took her place beside Andromeda on the stage, thumping on a tambourine of all things, and completely off the beat. By then, an enormous crowd had gathered all around and police and soldiers were struggling to control them and Andromeda sang Amazing Grace to quiet them and bring Amazing Chrissie to centre stage.

  Andromeda, exhausted, soaked in sweat, utterly triumphant, flopped in the seat beside Lorna, away in a dark part of the stage. Lorna handed her a flask of athletic juice.

  “I hope there’s some scotch in this,” Andromeda said with a gasp.

  “Aren’
t you going to ask me how it went?” Lorna asked with a grin.

  “I know how it went.”

  “Then consider the unfortunate lot of the humble PR girl. You’ve upstaged my wildest promotional exaggerations.”

  Out there before her now silent audience, Chrissie led them in prayer and then spoke to them of the Hand of God and how it had brought them here and how to prepare themselves for the Apocalypse.

  “Only nine months to go,” Andromeda remarked ruefully.

  “Harley says most of us will be dead some time before then,” Lorna said quietly.

  Soon she would go into her second bracket—her Earthshaker performance complete with the dazzling light show, hot from Vas Vegas. But for the moment, there was the tranquility of Saint Chrissie, guiding the devoted along the path to paradise.

  “I wonder where Harley is. He ought to be here,” Andromeda realised.

  “Oh. He rang. While you were on stage. He’s in Washington and—get this—watching you live on television.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. The networks dumped their regular programs and took you live. You’re the biggest hit in history.”

  “Well, that’s how it feels,” Andromeda admitted and then jerked her head toward Chrissie. “Only is it me or is it her.”

  “For all our sakes,” Lorna said grimly. “It better be you.”

  *

  Glen would have been a pushover, for anyone except poor Jami Shastri, Lorna was thinking. She sat opposite him in the cafe, watching his eye roam as he talked about himself and his importance to the project. Lorna listened to none of it. He was a good looking bloke and far too aware of it, athletic and proud of his successes, intelligent but unable to allow that to shine through his conversation.

  A weird sort of loyalty to Jami had caused Lorna to decide to hate him and she was pleased to discover that it was no difficult task. It would have been akin to white-anting one of Chrissie’s rare boyfriends, to which she had never succumbed despite many temptations. It was a joy, to sit and listen to Glen trying to ‘hit on her’ as the yanks put it. This was going to be the biggest fresh-air shot in history and the thought pleased her deeply.