Dian stood up, too, reaching on tiptoe to kiss him. “I always do.”
Todd gave her a confident smile and left her to her work. But once outside Project Search, a wave of doubt rose. Muscle. More muscle, and heavy tech counterdeterrents. Damn. He had to get his people some protection, yet he hated the idea of still more armed guards and outsiders poking around his property. Clutter, getting in the way of his people. Jael and Pat traveled everywhere with squads of sharpshooters, muscle, and rough-tactics specialists. Did that mean the entire family would have to?
He gazed around the reception area. Iris, busy filtering calls and answering dumb queries, she and her staff efficiently fielding the more obvious nuisance communications for ComLink’s New Washington HQ. If someone was threatening the people in Project Search, adjacent to this reception area, were Iris and the others safe? Troops, outside. But what if the voice behind the calls had an unknown force to override those troops? Inside the building, there was only old Charlie, who had never had to do more than oust an obstreperous salesman. The new shutters and the enforcement police ought to handle trouble, but . . .
He would have to hire a security adviser, he supposed. More ident checks. Heavier com locks. Insulting Todd’s people. Maybe if he removed Project Search from the line of fire . . . but the data feeds were here. And would that eliminate the problem? Remove them to where? The new recruits weren’t space-oriented. And no planetside location would be any safer than this one, probably less so. As far as that went, space side wasn’t safe, either, not after what had happened at Goddard.
“Mr. Saunder?” Todd came up out of his bleak speculations, glancing toward Iris. She indicated her desk monitor. “Call for you, but they say it’s personal, want you to take it in your private office.”
Todd sighed and walked over to her desk. On the big display screen behind her, a paid-for political speech by Pat was droning away. More paranoia. More anti-Spacer propaganda. Things like that tempted Todd. He could pull the plug. Pat would have hard going without ComLink’s outlets. Riccardi’s Incorporated Network and Nakamura’s Worldwide TeleCom facilities weren’t nearly as good, and they would cost Pat ten times what he was paying into Todd’s accounts. If the rest of the family wanted to play rough, he could, too. How would big brother talk to the world without SE ComLink’s translator-splitter and all those lovely global systems?
He knew what that would bring. Suits and countersuits within the family structure, tearing them apart even more. The gaps were getting pretty large, anyway. Maybe there wasn’t much more to lose.
“Did you get a name?”
Iris bit her lip. “They used your private line number, boss.”
Then it had to be Pat or Jael, or maybe Carissa. Todd wouldn’t allow himself to hope it might be Mariette. “Okay. Hold any other incoming. You can transfer and say I’ll be there in a minute.”
Deep in thought, he took the elevator, moving almost by reflex. He realized he had been immobilized inside the cage at the fourth level for at least a minute with the door open, the elevator waiting patiently for him to get off at his destination. Todd roused himself and stepped off, walking into his office.
“Okay, Iris,” he said, then waited. The screen flipped, green dead space. The lower light indicator showed him Iris was off the line and had safety-locked the incoming call, so the circuit was clear. Where was the important other end of the communication?
Maybe it was Carissa. She was going to have to stay in New York-Philly quite a long while, maybe until she gave birth. Pat had taken her to an obstetrical specialist after Ward’s anniversary memorial, and the doctor’s orders had confined ‘Rissa to the family’s residence there. Complete bed rest. She had com and monitor contact with her family and friends and the outside world, of course. Yet it was bound to be a situation to try the spirit. Everyone felt sorry for her. Todd tried to rein in his impatience, reminding himself of ‘Rissa’s problems.
Seven, maybe six months to go and she would be free again. And if all went well, at its present rate of acceleration, the alien messenger might be approaching Jupiter’s orbit by then, or perhaps be even farther along on its course toward Earth. Two new arrivals—the little third-generation Saunder and the alien messenger.
“Carissa . . . hey? Are you there?” Todd said, punching the override to assure the connection was responding at the other end. Maybe ‘Rissa was handling two calls simultaneously and hadn’t noticed he was ready.
‘Rissa’s baby. And Jael acting possessive of it. How would she have felt if it had been Mariette who was pregnant, or Dian? Those babies would be out of Jael’s chance of controlling—Spacer-oriented parents and children . . .
The screen went blank momentarily.
Then the room shook all around Todd. Adrenaline raced along his veins before his mind could focus on what was happening. He gripped the edges of the console as the temblor faded.
Earthquake? In New Washington? There had been a few quakes in this region over the centuries, and some bad ones in the Carolinas, but . . .
The room shook again. The screen jittered, came on,
Iris Halevy’s frightened face peered out at him. “Rioters! Mr. Saunder, we . . .”
She was falling away from him, screaming, bodies shoving between her and the screen. Todd heard other people screaming, glass breaking, and loud, crackling noises.
Shadows and light, flickering across the confusion—fire! Right below him! On the first floor of ComLink.
Todd bolted out, skidded to a stop in front of the closed elevator doors, remembering. The circuits wouldn’t let him, and he shouldn’t go that way, anyway. Not in a fire!
Stairs!
He wheeled and ran to the end of the corridor. The automatic opener didn’t function, but the fire regulations, reinforced throughout CNAU after six thousand or more people had died in a United Theocracies prayer meeting, demanded that the door operate manually. It did, though Todd had to throw his entire weight against it to force the heavy door open.
He ran down the plasticrete-lined stairs, ricocheting off the walls and using the rail to keep himself from falling headlong. Todd winged breathless gratitude to the Spirit of Humanity that he hadn’t been in space for several weeks. He was fully readapted to Earth gravity. Panting, his heart thundering from the adrenaline jolt, he was still able to move, and move fast. The strength was there, now when he needed it.
Todd exploded through the main-level rear stairwell door, loping down the hall. He could see the flames licking through the front window-wall—or the space where the window-wall had been. The whole front of the first-floor opening to the street looked smashed, a cavernous door torn through the structure, the protective steel shutters blown apart. Gunfire sounded from the street.
As he tried to stop his rush, the old security guard met him at the reception gate. The man was bleeding profusely from a head cut. Iris was supporting him. She, too, was bleeding, her clothes torn, hair falling in her face.
“Too many of ‘em, boss . . . tried to . . .” The elderly guard groaned and slumped against a wall as Todd and Iris eased him down to the floor.
Todd looked around in rage, wanting something to hit, someone to pay back. “Where are they?”
“In Search!” Iris wailed, pointing.
As she did, the door of the translation rooms burst outward. Noise pounded Todd’s eardrums. Dust and fire billowed through the new-made doorway. The screams were starting again, louder, from inside the room.
“Dian . . .”
Todd paused only to tell Iris to call for more police, then ran for Project Search, leaping over monitor consoles and the wreckage of Iris’s reception desk. His staffers were lying everywhere, some dazed and hurt, others simply cowering in shock. He didn’t see anyone who didn’t belong there, but there were people outside, standing beyond the broken window and throwing things through the fire burning the frame, fighting enforcement officers.
A man crashed into him at the doorway. Todd staggered, giving as good
as he got, and threw the intruder off balance. No one he knew, and the man had a club. Todd wrenched it away and raised it, and the stranger bolted for the outer office.
Clutching the weapon, Todd spun around, roaring into a melee. “Dian? Dian! Where are you?”
“Here . . . !”
Project Search was in shambles, fires blazing in a dozen points around the large room. Other men were toppling files, kicking in monitor screens, hitting Todd’s people.
He charged them, heedless of the odds, unthinking. “Hey! Get out! Let’s go . . .”
They ran over him, not even stopping to hit him. Feet brushed his head and body, and someone kicked his legs and belly in passing. Not deliberately. He was merely an obstacle to their escape.
Todd rolled over, coughing in the rapidly accumulating smoke. He couldn’t get his breath for a moment, his brain refusing to operate properly. “Di . . .”
“Help!”
The systems went into gear again, shakily, but functioning. He half crawled between the wreckage, coughing harder. A blast furnace heat poured over him from the main storage banks of the translator files.
Todd pulled himself upright, using an overturned console as a support. Dian was flailing at something up ahead, the fire a deadly, wavering bright curtain at her back. People were clawing their way past Todd, some of them helping others.
“Get out!” he ordered unnecessarily. “Get everybody out! Stay away from the front windows!”
He moved to Dian, one arm up, frying, the heat making him look out through squinted eyes. His hair felt as if it were singeing off his scalp, his flesh blistering, searing, sucking him dry. He heard Dian’s voice.
“Beth! Beth’s . . . oh, God! Help me, Todd!”
Dian had stripped off her own tunic and thrown the garment over Beth to put out flames. Todd forced himself to lower his arm, then took off his shirt, wrapped it around Dian, and shoved her toward the door.
“I won’t leave her . . . her and Anatole . . . he’s . . .”
Todd could bear the briefest glance deeper into the room, where Dian was pointing. A body lay there, the head thrown back grotesquely, the mouth opened, the clothes blackened and bonded to the crisped dark skin. He gagged, desperately fighting to keep from vomiting, as he picked up Beth.
The woman arched in agony, moaning. “Don’t, don’t, please . . .”
Dian was cradling Beth’s head, hurrying alongside Todd as they both stumbled away from the worst of the fire. Todd felt pieces of skin coming off on his hands where he touched Beth. Helpless, hating to hurt her, he let Dian guide him, struggling to reach fresh air.
Smoke was a boiling, angry sea, closing in on them, fingers of flame reaching out through the clouds toward them. Todd had no sense of time, parts of his brain going numb.
Have to get out. That way. Dian. Right here beside me . . .
“Hang on, Beth . . .”
“Over here,” Dian urged in a raspy voice. “There’s a clear path! Beth?”
The body in Todd’s arms continued to jerk and writhe, making his task nearly impossible. Beth was tall, and her long legs and arms made a good purchase difficult.
I’m hurting her. Her burned skin’s coming off every place I touch her. But I’ve got to . . .
Water! Or liquid of some kind! He didn’t care what it was. It was wet and cold, drenching him, Beth, and Dian, beating back the smoke and the fire. The stream wasn’t so powerful he couldn’t move, though. Gulping and spluttering, he waded through the spray.
Air—cold and smokeless—hit them next. Men in heavy insu-suits were circling them, trying to hurry them along. Firemen.
“Get that big stuff in here! We got a bad one!” one of the firemen yelled over his shoulder. He leaned close to Todd, bellowing in his ear. “Anyone else in there?”
“Ana . . . Anatole . . . dead. He’s dead.”
“Okay! We’ll get the body.”
Todd and Dian were out in the middle of the wrecked reception area by now, helping hands guiding them. “Medics! Beth needs a medic,” Dian was crying. “For God’s sake, someone help her!”
Iris and some other staffers and a couple of the firemen cleared a space on the floor. One of the firemen had emergency-aid equipment, was throwing some kind of gel sheet over the dirty floor, then reaching out to help Todd.
Beth wasn’t twisting about so badly now. Todd didn’t know if that was good or bad. He hoped it meant she wasn’t in as much pain. He knelt as carefully as he could, lowering her onto the gel sheet. The fireman moved in quickly, examining, soothing, wrapping Beth in the sheet.
Not fast enough. Through smoke-abused eyes, Todd had already seen too much. Beth’s long legs were seared red, some places blackening, blood seeping out. Her arms didn’t look too bad, but her chest and left side were hideous, her hair was half gone, and one side of her face was badly blistered.
“Anatole,” Beth whimpered. “He . . .”
Dian bent over her, trying not to get in the fireman-medic’s way, afraid to touch the other woman but speaking gently to her. “We’ll get him, Beth. Just rest. Gonna be okay . . . okay . . .”
She was shaking with suppressed hysteria. “Are you hurt?” Todd asked, He wasn’t sure it was safe to touch her. He had caused Beth so much pain, out of necessity, and he didn’t want to hurt Dian, too.
“She can’t hear you right now, miss,” the fireman told Dian.
Dian sank against Todd, the pent-in tears welling up. She bawled helplessly while he held her, no longer worrying whether he might touch a burned area. She needed the holding more than his excessive caution.
Wu Mim and several of the new techs were sitting on nearby pieces of wreckage, most burned or bleeding. Some looked as if the attackers had hit them with clubs. Sirens and loud feet and clattering equipment assaulted their senses. There were more medics coming in now, taking over the extra patients from the fireman who was treating Beth. One of the techs refused an injection, insisting too loudly that he was a member of the New Genetic Coalition. No foreign substance would enter his body. It was a genuine religious conviction, and the man probably spoke in sincerity. Yet, considering his condition, it seemed like lunacy to object to a pain killer when his arms were oozing pools of skinless tissue.
Todd knelt in the middle of the holocaust, embracing Dian, wanting to hit someone, wanting to cry. He couldn’t. No target. And his eyes felt burned dry.
“Mr. Saunder?” Someone was draping a cool, wet garment around his shoulders and bare back. Todd peered up, blinking. A dark face. A helmet. Enforcement. One of the officers who had escorted him from the Science Council meeting, a thousand years ago.
“My people. . . help my people . . .”
Iris was fussing over the elderly security guard, a fireman-medic alongside her. That poor guard! He had never a chance. And the enforcement troops posted outside?
Todd heard sporadic gunfire, not as much as before. There were shouts and incoherent curses from the streets, troops angry that the quarry was getting away. Wind gusted through the broken window-wall and ruined shutters. A few flakes of snow were settling over the wrecked furniture.
“We will, sir,” the guard promised. The mask-face gave way for a split second. “We’ll get them. Those sons of bitches killed five of my people. Full-scale attack. Wasn’t rioters. Organized . . .”
Another officer, one wearing an investigator’s ident, leaned over Todd. “Take it easy, Mr. Saunder. We’ll get them,” he repeated. “I understand you got some of your employees out of that fire. Nice going.”
Todd didn’t feel like accepting a hero’s compliments. The reminder of Beth had made Dian stiffen and beat her fists helplessly on his chest and cry still louder. Todd cradled her head on his shoulder, gently stroking her smoke-saturated hair.
“Who did this?” he asked between coughs. “I want you to find out who did this!”
The investigator was talking softly into a pasta mini-com, apparently conferring with some distant superior, For all Todd kne
w, the man was calling an arson squad.
Arson? Civil insurrection? The officer’s bitter remark’ rang in Todd’s mind—organized, The same anonymous threatener who had warned Beth she would be killed if she didn’t leave Project Search?
The CNAU Enforcement people wouldn’t find them. Organized, Hiding behind military scrambler locks. A lot bigger than the criminals and rioters the troops were equipped to handle. Anything this well planned wouldn’t leave handy tracks and handprints pointing to the perpetrators.
Wouldn’t leave a brand name on a missile heading for Goddard Colony . . .
Enforcement troops were trying to snake order out of the mess, helping the firemen-medics lift people onto stretchers, holding curiosity-seekers outside the windows. “No-good bastards,” one of the officers snarled. “Ought to take ‘em all out and shoot ‘em . . .”
How often had that been said? During the past decade? The past century? Centuries before then?
“I . . . I got a good look at one of them,” Todd said, then had to pause and cough.
“That’s great!” the investigator exclaimed. “We’ll want you to check our files, sir, when you’re okayed by the medics. We’ll take you and the lady to Emergency Facility.”
“Not necessary.” More coughing, seeming to pull Todd’s lungs inside out.
“Better do it, sir. You take care. We’ll catch these bastards.”
Todd peered toward the doors of Project Search. No doors. Nothing within the big room now. The firemen apparently had knocked down the conflagration before it could spread to the other floors. At least that meant no one else would be hurt.
Project Search. The consoles, the tapes, the data banks, all their carefully amassed material—gone. Some might be salvaged. But most of it was ruined by fire or water or chemicals. There were duplicates elsewhere. They could rebuild. But the focus, the excited, concentrated, dedicated effort, all those wonderful minds and the talent, working together on the messages that would change the future—broken, burned, some of them dead, most of them hurt.
Tomorrow’s Heritage Page 23
