“Let me show you.” Seepah’s system blinked off. Callistra appeared. A bright azure light near the window. Then a dim yellow star near the door. Seepah. And, finally, off to one side and still farther away, almost flat against the door, a tiny red light. The asteroid.
“I’m going to draw an arc around Callistra, at Seepah’s range,” Alex said. He pressed a pad on his notebook and the arc appeared, to the extent the dimensions of the room would permit it. It passed through the dwarf star.
Next, we got a second arc, drawn through the asteroid. “The distance from Seepah,” he said, “to the asteroid is more than two thousand light-years.”
“Okay.”
“But the distance between the arcs is only five hundred eighty-one light-years.”
“Alex, you say that as if it has some significance.”
“The Lantner incident occurred thirty-six years ago. The loss of the Seepah signal happened six hundred seventeen years ago. As the good Professor Saberna would put it, do the math.”
It didn’t take a genius. “But it can’t be the same thing happening in both places,” I said. “They’re too far apart.”
“I’ll tell you something else: The Lantner and the Origon didn’t disappear. At least not in the way we’ve been led to believe.”
“Explain.”
“The ship that was sent to look around found something other than what was reported. That’s why it blew up a couple of days later. So nobody would be in a position to contradict the official story. It’s why the captain who carried Vicki out there disappeared.”
“They saw something?”
“Yes. The second vehicle would have been manned by Nicorps people. It was a cleanup operation. They got rid of whatever was left.”
“So what actually happened? Was it the Mutes?”
“I doubt it. But the answer is out at the asteroid.”
The train pulled into Marinopolis. We grabbed our luggage and headed for the doors. I was still not happy as we climbed down onto the platform. “Don’t be angry,” he said. “You know we have to do it this way.”
I noticed a uniformed police officer watching us. Looking down at a notebook. He started in our direction.
Alex saw him, too. “Split,” he said.
He grabbed his bag, gave me a shove, and hurried off in the opposite direction. The officer began talking into his link and took after Alex.
I waved down a taxi and went for a ride. I didn’t have a destination. “Just take me to the spaceport,” I told it. Then I tried to reach Alex on his link.
An unfamiliar voice answered: “Ms. Kolpath, is that you?”
Damn. They had him.
“Please answer. We’re not trying to hurt anybody. This is the police.”
I broke the circuit and called Peifer. “Rob, they took Alex.”
“Damn.”
“Can you do a story? Put some pressure on Wexler?”
“Sure. Give me the details. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not easy to write.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Look, I’ll check the police reports. We should be able to find out what’s happening with him, anyhow.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t know where to go from there. “Rob, I need to get out to the asteroid. Can you make me part of a news team or something? And we both go? If we did that, I could probably get through. And you might get your story.”
“But why, Chase? We keep going around in a circle. Did you guys find evidence of the rift?”
“There’s no rift, Rob. At least, I don’t think there is.”
“What, then?”
“I don’t know. Alex thought we’d find out if we could get to the asteroid.”
“Great.”
“So can you help, Rob?”
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll get back to you.”
I moved into a hotel in the center of the city. And I sat in it, watching newscasts, watching talk shows, and I saw nothing about Alex. Heard no mention of him. There were reports, though, of another encounter with the Mutes. The administration announced that plans were going ahead to increase “substantially” the size of the fleet. And work had begun on another group of shelters. Administration officials appeared everywhere and were reassuring. “We’re protected by a cosmic ocean,” one of them said. “The Mutes are coming out here because they think we’re an easy target. We’re going to fix that.”
“Then why,” asked an interviewer, “do we need all those shelters?”
“We’re sending a message,” he said. “If they come here, we’ll stand our ground and go to all-out war if need be. Once they see that, once they see we aren’t going to just sit here and let them run us off, we’re confident they’ll understand that this Administrator is not going to tolerate recurring attacks.”
I don’t usually drink alone, but I had a couple that night, in my room, while I wondered what was happening to Alex, where he was, whether they were trying to press him to find out where I was.
Eventually Peifer called. “Sorry, kid,” he said. “But it’s no go.”
“Which part of it?”
“All of it. When I told Howie—my editor—he ran it past the fifth floor. That’s our senior people. I’m not sure what’s going on, but somebody up there vetoed it. They told Howie we weren’t to touch any part of the story. The official line is that it’s pointless, that nobody knows anything, and to just let it go away.”
“Rob—”
“Chase, if you can come up with something solid, I’ll do something with it. But I can’t hang everything out there when we don’t even know what it’s about.”
“Okay.”
“Also, I checked on Alex.”
“And—?”
“The police claim they released him an hour after they picked him up. They’re saying it was a case of mistaken identity.”
“Rob, he’d have called me.”
“And he hasn’t?”
“Not a peep.”
“Well, maybe he—”
“What?”
“All right, look: I’ll keep checking. If you hear from him, let me know.” He looked tired. “Do you need a place to stay? We’ve got a spare room.”
“No. Thanks.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Get your story, I guess.”
“What do you mean? How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to the asteroid. And find out what this is about.”
“Yeah, good. How are you going to manage it? Grab a taxi?”
TWENTY-SIX
There are times when you must stand in the night with no place to put your feet.
—Love You to Death
Maybe Peifer had something. My father always said, if you’re serious about getting somewhere, take a taxi. There was, of course, no way I could ride a taxi to a destination thirty-three light-years out. But I might be able to use one to get to the space station.
Okay. Cabs will take you up to a couple of kilometers, but they aren’t designed for high-altitude flights, let alone one that that would run out of the atmosphere altogether. But it was an option.
I’d have to wait until the sun went down. Most people would think that, if you went up in the daytime, up to orbital altitudes, you’d freeze. But in fact, the sun would turn the taxi into an oven. So I waited until late afternoon. Then I went over to Central Mall and grabbed a sandwich and a fruit drink. And some dessert. Wasn’t sure when I’d eat again. Afterward, I stopped by a general supply shop and got some tape. I went shopping for a plastene jacket and settled on one that looked almost airtight. It wasn’t something I’d want to wear in public, particularly, garish green with a salacious dragon on the back. But it was exactly what I needed.
Next stop was home furnishings. I browsed among the window curtains and bought a tieback, a soft strip of blue-green fabric that would have been perfect for my living room.
I carried the jac
ket and the tape and the tieback to the roof and picked out my cab, a late-model Karaka that looked sturdy and well maintained. It waited patiently for me, and I climbed in. “Taxi,” I said, “let’s go fill up. I’m going to ask you to take me to Quahalla. And bring me back.”
Quahalla was halfway across the continent.
“I have adequate fuel, ma’am,” she said.
“I get nervous about long trips. Humor me. Let’s fill up anyhow. I’ll be much more comfortable.”
“As you wish, ma’am.”
It takes next to no fuel to keep the antigrav unit running. The jets, of course, were another matter. So the plan was to leave them off. What I needed was to get to the right altitude and stay there. I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere once I’d arrived. But that was okay.
“Where in Quahalla do you want to go?”
“I’m still deciding. I have several errands to run.”
“Very good.” We pulled into a depot and filled the tank. The antigrav unit and the jets used the same fuel. I’d have liked to fill two or three extra tanks and put them in the cab, but I’d have no way of getting the fuel into the system.
When we’d finished, we rode over to Kreitzel’s Sea Sports and picked up an oxygen tank and a mask. Next I needed two blankets.
When everything was on board, I asked the AI whether the taxi was safe at higher altitudes.
“Absolutely,” she answered.
“No leaks?”
“None.”
There are rules everywhere about how high skimmers can go. In most places the limit’s about three klicks. Although they are by law restricted to low altitudes, they’re nevertheless equipped with a life-support system. Any piece of equipment with an antigrav unit can go pretty high if something unforeseen happens, like a drunk, so an air supply was standard. It, plus the tank, would give me roughly six hours, but if I didn’t get rescued long before that, I would be in deep trouble.
I connected the mask to the oxygen tank and tied everything down so it wouldn’t float around in the cabin when we lost gravity. I put one of the blankets on top of the tank and tucked it in so the tank wasn’t visible. Then I put tape around doors and windows and anywhere else I could find where air might escape. When I’d finished, I told the AI to take us up.
We lifted off, but the taxi immediately started asking questions. It was designed to refuse foolish instructions in any case, so I disconnected the AI and took over manual control. That’s illegal, too, of course, barring an emergency.
I suspected it had automatically sent out a signal to law enforcement, but I didn’t see anybody in the area. We rose gradually out of the traffic streams and headed for the clouds. I took it easy, in order to conserve fuel. I was going up to thirty-one thousand kilometers, the altitude of the space station. Once I reached it, I would need as much as was left to keep me up there.
The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon when a red light began blinking. The radio burped and came to life. “You in the taxi: Please answer up. Push the black button to the right of the meter to reply.”
“Hello,” I said. I tried to sound panicky. “It keeps going up.”
“This is Sky Traffic Fourteen. What’s happening? You’re too high.”
“Don’t know. It won’t talk to me. It just keeps going up.”
“All right. Keep calm, ma’am. Let me talk with the AI, please.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The AI isn’t saying anything.”
“All right. Apparently you must have done something to shut it off. You need to reactivate. In order to do that, you need first to get into the front right-hand seat. Are you alone in the vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Now let’s start by opening the main function panel. It’s to your left. Are you in the front right-hand seat yet?”
He gave me detailed instructions. I reported back, step by step, that I was following everything he told me to do. “It still won’t work.”
“Okay. Keep calm, ma’am. There’s no reason to worry. We’ll get you down. Do you know how to operate the vehicle?”
“No,” I said.
“All right.” The voice was male. It was calm. Reassuring. Everything would be okay. “Please take control of the taxi in the following manner—” I could have shut the radio down, but that might have given the game away. So I listened while he gave instructions, warned me against the hazards of high altitudes, and assured me that Sky Traffic Operations knew of the problem and was doing everything necessary to return me safely to the ground.
“I can’t hear you,” I said. “The radio’s shut off.”
“Taxi, can you hear me now?”
I almost said Negative. Instead: “Are you still there? I can’t hear a thing.”
I was passing through white cumulus clouds.
Minutes later I got another call: “You in the taxi, this is Traffic Control. Do you need assistance? What is happening?”
“I don’t know. It just keeps going up.” I wanted to sound scared, and I guess the truth is that it didn’t take much effort.
“All right.” It was a male voice again. “Don’t be frightened. We’ll get you down.”
“This is the first time anything like this has happened to me.”
“It’s okay. It happens all the time. Is the taxi responding?”
He was talking about the AI. “No, sir,” I said. “She just stopped talking. I don’t know what happened.”
“Okay. Help is on the way. Meantime, let’s try something.” He gave me instructions on how to maneuver the taxi, how to get it under control.
“No,” I said. “I’ve never operated one of these things. I’m afraid I’ll kill myself.”
“All right. Just relax, Miss. Everything’s going to be all right.”
I could see them coming. Lots of blinking lights a few klicks behind me. The operator kept talking to me, trying to reassure me. I was above the clouds by then, picking up speed as antigrav units tend to do when they get higher and the air gets thinner. It was all I could do not to pour the juice to it, to get out of there before they arrived. But I didn’t dare. I couldn’t afford to use the extra fuel.
I sat tight and eventually the patrol vehicle pulled alongside. There were two officers in it. One waved. Relax. Take it easy. Then her voice came over the radio: “Miss? Are you okay?”
“So far.”
“All right. Good. Listen, we want to get you out of there before it goes any higher.”
“How do you mean?”
“Let’s try the controls first. Have you popped the panel?” She was talking about the controls, which rotate out when you go to manual.
“What do you mean by ‘popped’?”
“Let it go. Look, here’s what I want you to do.”
She gave me the same instructions the earlier guy had. One step at a time. “Withdraw the yoke.”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Just take it easy.”
I was thinking if they told me one more time to relax, I would scream. “It won’t come loose. It’s stuck.”
We continued like that for another minute or so. Then she sighed. “Okay. Look, I want to get you out of there before we get any higher.”
“Good. I’m for—”
“—We’re going to get above you. I’ll come down and help. But I need you to open the door. Hang on to something when you do because the air pressure in your cabin will try to drag you outside.”
“Outside the door?”
“Yes. So hold on.”
“Listen, I’m not going to open anything up here. That’s crazy.”
“Miss, we’re running out of options fast.”
That was good news. “I’m not opening up. Please find another way.”
“There is no other way.”
“No. I’m sorry.” I found it easy to show them some hysteria. “I can’t do it.”
They tried anyhow. The woman was gutsy. They got above me and matched my rate of ascen
t. They dropped a cable, and she climbed down on it. Right from the start she was getting blown all over the sky. Then she was outside, pounding on the door. I put on my best look of sheer terror and sat frozen in my seat. Her partner, a guy with a voice like a tractor engine, told me how I should grab hold of the chair arm. Hang on to the chair arm and don’t let go, and simultaneously hit the pad and open the door. Jara would take care of the rest.
Right.
I didn’t answer. I sat there and shook my head violently no, not on your life, while the wind bumped her around on the hull of the taxi. She looked through the window at me, and I had to give her credit: She kept the contempt she must have been feeling out of her eyes. She continued to beat on the door, while I felt about as guilty as I ever have in my life. But I stayed put. Pushed back down into my seat, frozen with terror. Finally, she gave up.
“She won’t let me in, Kav.”
“Try it one more time.”
“Miss, please. The higher you get, the more difficult this will become. You’ll be perfectly safe.” Her eyes were a luminous blue, and they pleaded with me. Open up. Get up off your sorry ass and let me in.
If this ended happily, I decided, I would find Jara, apologize to her, and buy her a drink.
Finally, they gave up. We were piling on too much altitude. Kav assured me they’d be back for me, and they pulled away as an airliner passed in the distance. Now all I needed was to get to thirty-one thousand kilometers and get rescued. I was hoping that Sky Traffic Operations was notifying Samuels that a vehicle with a hysterical woman on board was heading up out of control and would need help.
I checked the doors and listened for the sound of escaping air. I didn’t hear any. The taxi seemed as secure as the AI had promised. I checked the altitude gauge. It was marked up to three klicks, which wasn’t much use in determining how high I’d gone. But I could estimate my rate of ascent, so it wasn’t hard to calculate.
I was maybe halfway to my target altitude when Traffic Control started talking to me again: “Miss, are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said.
“We’ve alerted the Patrol and they’ll be on the lookout for you.”
The Devil's Eye Page 20
