Slant

by Eikeltje

  is soaked. He smells sour. Jonathan wonders if he's wearing a complete monitor

  kit for medical emergencies. He hopes so; he doubts a heart attack will evoke

  much sympathy in these people.

  Giffey frowns at the control board and display. The display shows that the

  elevator goes up forty floors, to an observation deck near the top. But it also

  shows a ten-floor drop, at least a hundred feet below ground level.

  "What's down here?" Giffey asks Marcus, pointing to the lower levels.

  "Infrastructure," Marcus says huskily. "Medical. Food. Plant. Air, water,

  I

  power."

  "Too big a drop for a building this size," Giffey says. "Even with fuel cells

  and hydrogen storage. Where's the security center?"

  Marcus closes his eyes as if expecting to be struck. He says nothing. Nobody

  strikes him. He opens his eyes and seems almost disappointed.

  Giffey rubs his chin, scraping stubble. "Defenses and security below, but

  I'll bet they have machine tubes, tracks, whatever. Between floors. Pop-up gates

  on every floor. How many and how large? More Ferrets?"

  Vith a look at the others, Giffey smiles and shakes his head. "Just thinking

  out loud. Let's go up and see what there is to see."

  "Think we can take out the security?" Jenner asks. Charlie is crowding him.

  He has both his arms extended and resting on the Hammer's shiny skin.

  "I'm going to let it make the first move," Giffey says. It's a gamble with

  high stakes, but the initial response is so light that he's betting Omphalos's

  defenses are not up to full strength. Jenner looks like he needs a little reassurance,

  however, and he's no dummy; all of his concerns are justified. "We're

  being sized up. It's looking for our weaknesses. We just make sure we don't

  show any."

  /

  SLANT 267

  "Assuming these folks are important enough not to risk killing," Pickwenn

  says softly.

  Giffey inclines; that is the assumption.

  The door closes and the elevator rises smoothly.

  Giffey catches Jonathan's eye and gives him a wink. Jonathan wonders if

  the man is out of his head. Jonathan knows the building does not have to meet

  any federal or even normal state standards; there could be anything from a

  simple alarm system alerting republic police--which would be almost use-less--to

  a full-fledged open-market military response, more warbeiters, even

  human troops, though he doubts that.

  He can't stay silent. "It's murder," Jonathan says. "I have a wife and children.

  It's murder to put us into a crossfire or use us as shields."

  "You wanted to see what this place is about," Jenner says contemptuously.

  A fleck of spit lands in Jonathan's eye and he blinks rapidly, reaches up to

  wipe it. Jenner realizes he has sprayed, and his face flushes. Flustered, he knocks

  Jonathan's hand aside with the flight guide of his pistol.

  "Leave me alone," Jonathan demands. Jenner lowers the weapon.

  Giffey senses something is, in fact, going wrong. Jenner is especially twitchy,

  and Pickwenn seems distracted, as if listening to a voice nobody else can

  hear. And in Giffey's own head--

  "Jonathan's right," Marcus says. "The rest of the world may have gone soft,

  but they hang murderers here."

  "Doesn't sound like there'll be anything left to hang," Giffey says dryly.

  The elevator reaches its mid-point, a floor labeled DISEMBARKATION AND

  /OUTING. The door opens.

  The room beyond is surgical white and glacier blue, a broad cylinder with

  nine man-sized, circular vault-like hatches mounted in the curving wall. Each

  door is marked by a number in large black letters, 10 through 18. The Hammer

  does not need to be told to leave the elevator first; it steps forward, pushing

  between Hale and Giffey, and surveys the area. Baker, the second flexer/controller,

  follows. The room is quiet.

  "There are hidden eyes and other sensors in this area," Baker announces.

  "They are active. We are being watched."

  Giffey pushes past Jonathan and Jenner and walks slowly to the center of

  the room. The room remains quiet and cool. Air is flowing freely. Giffey is

  beginning to wonder if the security system is completely constrained from

  shutting off air or power.

  Maybe they're just not in the right place yet for a full response. He visualizes

  the rough layout of the ground floor and pulls up his pad. The map shows this

  elevator shaft to be some way toward the rear wedge of the Omphalos.

  The hatches are arranged in such a way that they could lead to corridors

  about fifty to sixty feet long.

  "We could have hibernacula on this level," he tells Hale. "All the floors

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  GREG BEAR

  below, down to the ground level, could have them, as well." He shows Hale

  the map on the pad; the fit with what they have seen so far has been pretty

  good. The information is sound.

  "What about above?"

  "The map says it could be a medical center and more support--cryogenics,

  mostly, I'd guess."

  "What in the hell are you looking for? You want to rob the dead?" Marcus

  asks, incredulous. "My God, you are the cheapest, stupidest bunch of simpletons.

  Who pushed you into doing this?"

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time," Hale responds. He gives Giffey

  another grin, quick, confident.

  "You're not going to get out of here alive," Marcus growls. "Maybe we

  won't, either, but that will be a small price to pay."

  "Bravely put," Hale says, his patience with the old man wearing thin. "I

  don't believe it for a moment."

  "I'll show you how confident I am," Marcus says. "I get the impression you

  think we have a lot of corpsicles here waiting to be resuscitated. Maybe they're

  stored along with all their assets. You've swallowed that bit of misinformation

  whole, right?"

  Hale nods amiably.

  "Where's your cubbyhole?" Jenner asks Marcus. "We'll slip you in and turn

  on the refrigerator if anything goes wrong."

  Marcus ignores him. "There are no dead here, no bodies," he says, focusing

  on Giffey again. This irritates Hale. "Omphalos isn't a goddamned tomb.

  You've jumped in way over your head, Mr. Giffey."

  [[i

  Giffey hears Jenner muttering, trying to control a spastic motion of his lips.

  is left arm jerks. Pickwenn nudges Jenner with his elbow. Jenner can't stop. "Muh, fuh, shi, muh, shi."

  "Something's wrong with your colleague," Marcus observes contemptuously.

  The old man steps forward and faces Jenner. "Ever had a little mental tune-up? You look pretty sad to me--maybe you need some help just to

  keep up." Marcus turns and glares at Hale, Pickwenn, then Giffey, his eyes

  popped like an angry monkey. "Fugitives from some army training center,

  taking a few hot weapons with you. Come to Green Idaho to perform a little

  caper, rob the dead. I pity you. Especially I pity you," he spits out at

  Giffey.

  Jenner tries to shove forward and grab Marcus, but Hale and Giffey hold

  him. Hale nods to Pickwenn, who takes Marcus's arm with some strength and

  pushes him back beside Jonathan. Giffby decides they'd better get something

  done before the strain pushes young
Jenner over the edge. That's the simplest

  explanation for his behavior: excitement and stress.

  But then there's the voice in his own head, a quiet, not-yet-urgent whisper: You are not what you p/ay. For a moment, Giffey wonders if the old man is

  /

  S L A N T 269

  or energy field that disrupts thinking. That would explain a few things...

  Including the subdued response from Omphalos.

  "Let's go down a few levels, bust some doors, and see what happens," Giffey

  says. "Maybe we'll spill out some truth."

  "Good idea," Jenner says. He swats the air and shakes his head as if trying

  to shoo flies.

  At Seattle-Tacoma Air and Space, Mary carries her own small briefcase and

  pad and nothing else through passenger exam. Four impassive-looking men

  stand beside a rank of security arbeiters arrayed in rows behind the automated

  check-in facades.

  She comes to the head of her line and places the briefcase and pad under

  the patient gaze of a Universal Mitsu-Shin security arbeiter. "Are you carrying

  any contraband software or other intellectual property?"

  "No," she says.

  "All of your pad's routines are registered to you personally, or to your

  employer, which is--" A pause. "Seattle Public Defense?"

  "They are."

  "You have checked all officially licensed weapons with the proper aircraft

  security agent?"

  "Yes."

  "You are carrying no other weapons or devices which could cause harm to

  humans or essential machinery, or could be used to coerce illicit compliance

  from humans or machines?"

  "No other weapons," Mary says.

  "Are you carrying, or have you carried in the past six months, on your

  person, any materials related to nanotechnology, either nanotechnological substances

  or their supporting substances, other than items and substances officially

  registered for household or personal use?"

  "No," Mary answers.

  "Please walk between the detectors, and thank you for your time."

  Mary passes through the dense but shallow forest of poles and plaques and

  sniffers and emerges with the back of her hand ID-encoded with a simple

  dattoo for entry to a passenger aircraft.

  In the waiting area, Mary observes swans and other aircraft and spacecraft

  taxiing and being shuttled along their ramps and loadways. She is approached

  by a man and a woman wearing Federal beige jackets and cockaded berets.

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  GREG BEAR

  "Yes." She's half expected this.

  "Please join us, Ms. Choy." The woman smiles and holds out her hand.

  "I'm Helena Daniels, and this is Federico Torres. We're with the Fderal Bureau

  of Investigation, Special Data and Biological."

  Mary shakes her hand. "Pardon me, but how do you mean, join you?"

  "You've been assigned to help us," Daniels explains. "By a..." She refers

  to her pad.

  "Nussbaum," Torres finishes for her.

  "Nussbaum," Daniels confirms.

  "We have three others traveling with us, all out of Seattle," Torres explains

  as they go to a side area reserved for special boarding. "Do you know Dr.

  Martin Burke?"

  Mary knows the name very well, though she has never met him. "Not

  personally," she says.

  "We'll introduce you. This is a matter of some sensitivity. Can we rely on

  Seattle PD's discretion?"

  "I hope so," Mary says. "Can we rely on yours?"

  Torres grins, but Daniels seems dedicated to stiff half-familiarities and no

  humor.

  "Our flight is in ten minutes," Daniels says. "That gives us just enough

  time to get acquainted and see if we can work together."

  "Oh, good," Mary says dubiously.

  Jonathan's fear has become gelid, palpable, but isolated, allowing his mind to

  function with clarity. The colors of the people in the elevator are muted but

  their lines and silhouettes are edgy. He is particularly interested by the blond

  young man with the active scalp, who mutters the same syllables that Chloe

  could not restrain herself from saying.

  Marcus seems to know something about that. How?

  The man named Giffey is focused on the immediate tasks at hand and pays

  Jonathan almost no attention. The warbeiters in the elevator are as still as if

  they have been turned off. Jonathan wonders if the military contractors who

  programmed the nano and assemblers that formed these warbeiters used nutrients

  from his company. Very likely they did.

  The elevator doors slide apart. The display says they are on the third level

  within Omphalos, still above ground. The label announces that this level contains

  a reception area, a chapel, and a library dedicated to the lives of the occu-

  /

  SLANT 271

  Pickwenn pushes Marcus and Jonathan out into the empty lobby. Dark

  green frosted glass rises from walls of faux malachite, surrounding the lobby.

  The effect, contrasted with the velvety gold and green carpet, is dark and

  extremely elegant.

  Marcus, pale and moist, stands in the reception area like a gnome. He

  does not know what to do with his hands. He settles on clasping them before

  him.

  Pickwenn, Jenner, Giffey, and Hale follow after a reasonable interval. Baker

  makes a circuit of the enclosed lobby. Doors are not apparent, though through

  the dark glass, lights and walls are visible as if through the depths of a murky

  sea.

  "This area is under active surveillance," Baker says, and freezes in its curled,

  horizontal position.

  Hale waves his hand. "Hall-oooo!" he says, smiling up toward imagined

  cameras.

  Jonathan contrasts Giffey and Hale. Giffey is by far the smarter of the two,

  and since he controls the warbeiters, he is the more powerful and important;

  but Hale considers himself the leader. Marcus has them judged just about

  right, Jonathan decides.

  Jenner pretends to wipe his mouth, but his hand in fact pushes against his

  lips to still the ghostly syllables. Muh fuh shih kih.

  Marcus levels a gaze of fascination and contempt on Jenner.

  "Baker, is there a door?" Giffey asks.

  "Active mechanisms for a door are in the ceiling." Baker uncurls and crawls

  forward to point out an area opposite the elevator. "They use electromagnetic

  motors and have power."

  "Can you get through this wall?"

  The flexer/controller lifts its head and raps its feet sharply against the faux

  malachite, and then rises higher and raps them against the dark green frosted

  glass.

  "These walls are concrete and are not heavily reinforced. The glass is two

  inches thick and may be reinforced. Baker can't break through this but the

  Hammer can."

  Giffey whispers something to Hale and gets into the elevator. The door

  closes.

  Marcus looks down at the carpet. "I can open this door for you," he says.

  Jenner sputters, "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

  Marcus shakes his head in pity. "Let me in," he says to the door. Micro-seams

  form in the glass and in the wall, and the sections slide to one side.

  Beyond lie a number of armored hatches, as on the floor above, and two doors,

  one marked LIBRARY, the other CHAPEL.

/>   Marcus gestures to the men as if inviting them in. They do not move. Jenner

  and Pickwenn look at Hale.

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  GREG BEAR

  "May I go in and sit down?" Marcus says. "There are benches on the other

  side of the wall. Might as well be comfortable."

  "We'll wait," Hale says.

  Marcus defiantly walks toward the opening.

  Pickwenn blocks him. "You are getting on my nerves," Pickwenn tells

  Marcus.

  "A fucking good way to escape," Jenner observes, waving his pistol at the

  door. "The door closes, and out you go." His scalp shivers. Jonathan suppresses

  a strong urge to reach out and slap the man around the crown of his head, just

  to make him be still. He feels as if he's lost in a freak show: gnomes and giant

  insects and atavistic young men.

  Marcus seems to feel particular animosity toward Jenner. "You don't understand.

  I'm going to give you all a tour. When your rea/boss gets back with

  his.., toy... I'll show you everything you want to see. It doesn't matter what

  you see or what you learn."

  He has come within a step of Jenner. Hale holds out his arm.

  "Rich, shi," Jenner says in an undertone.

  Marcus's glare is pure poisoned delight. "Wonderful," he says. "Wonderful

  example."

  Jenner pushes past Hale's arm and shoves his pistol into Marcus's face.

  Jonathan hears the crunch of Marcus's nose against the flight guide and Marcus

  cries out. Jenner slams Marcus against the green wall beside the opening. "You

  mh shi--" His head shakes. "Youfhfh mh shi--" He can't make the words