Ralph found the knobs described and turned them against the slight resistance of the springs. He looked up and saw that a tiny red light at the top of the panel had blinked on.
“That’s it. Perfect.” Behind Spencer’s voice could be heard a mechanical chattering, like a rapid typewriter. “The printout’s started. This is going to take a little while so just relax and keep those knobs in that position.” The voice clicked off, leaving Ralph in silence.
After a few seconds, the bridge of his nose started to itch but he ignored it. I wonder if Senator Muehlenfeldt ever comes here. An image came into his mind of the old man—on television and in the newspapers the tangled eyebrows were like snow on a weathered cliff-face—bent over the control panel as though it were some kind of altar. Maybe, thought Ralph. Who knows what somebody with all that money does? Spencer might even be right about him. Who could know?
The red light continued to glow as more time passed. His arms began to ache from being held in one position for so long. In the van—hidden in a dark corner of a parking lot in the real world—the members of the Alpha Fraction were right now huddled around some piece of equipment, reading the printout as it extruded and coiled on the floor. A secret history was passing through him, as unreadable as his heartbeat. First thing, he thought, when I get out of here, is to get my hands on that printout.
The light went out, its red facets dying into black. Ralph held the knobs in position, waiting for Spencer’s voice. The device resting in his lap remained silent. He glanced down at it, feeling a slow crawl of seconds across his back. A suspicion of something having gone wrong coiled around him and tightened.
He jerked his hands from the knobs on the panel and pressed the switch on the device’s bottom. “Spencer?” The box was still silent when he released the switch. “Are you there?” he called, pressing it again.
There was no answer. The chair fell over as he pushed away from the panel and stood up. He grasped the device’s two wire loops and twisted the dial. A metal bucket slammed into a row of mops in the darkness, knocking one over and striking Ralph on the shoulder.
Carrying the device in one hand, he closed the broom closet door behind him and ran down the corridor to the service elevator. The unmarked doors flicked past the periphery of his sight. Panting, he pressed the button and heard the faint whine of the pulleys bringing the elevator to him.
The doors finally drew open, revealing one of the squadron of real janitors, resting his weight on the chrome handles of a floor-buffer. The man glanced at Ralph as he scrambled on, then yawned and looked away.
At the ground floor, Ralph squeezed through the elevator doors as soon as they were partially open, and ran across the building’s loading dock towards the rear exit. “Hey!” Alarmed, the janitor with the buffer called after him. “What’s going on?”
Under the harsh blue lights the lot stretched forever. He finally sighted the van’s shape, hidden in the lot’s unlit corner, and ran toward it.
Gasping for breath, he pulled open the door on the driver’s side. A wave of relief coursed over him. “What the—” he said, almost laughing. Mendel was stretched out on the seat, asleep. “You’re sure taking this easy.” He reached down and shook the short man’s shoulder. The body rolled over and fell to the van’s floor, the head lolling against the accelerator and brake pedals. The seat was shiny with blood.
Ralph backed away, clutching the device in his sweating hands. He forced himself to walk to the rear of the van and to pull the doors open.
Spencer’s body couldn’t be seen. A wadded mound of paper was smoldering into ashes between the banks of electronics. The interior was filled with smoke.
Gunther, he thought dully. Sarah was right about him. He found out somehow, or something else happened to make him snap. And now they’re all dead. Spencer and Mendel and Sarah—
Something moved inside the van. He peered into the smoke and saw a man’s vague outline. Was he holding something out to him? Suddenly, Ralph fell back as a flash of light appeared in the obscured hand, followed by a muffled pop. The window in one of the doors shattered around a bullet hole.
Raising himself from the asphalt, he looked up and recognized the figure standing above him. Gunther.
The hand with the gun pointed down at him. His heart stopped for a moment, then he reached up, grasped the van’s door and swung it towards Gunther. The edge of it caught the gun and sent it clattering into the darkness beyond the van.
He was running across the lot before his mind was functioning again.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Gunther’s silhouette separate from the outline of the van and start after him. He realized he still had the device gripped in one hand. The image filled his mind of a place where he’d be safe. For a moment, at least.
The service elevator was still open on the ground floor. As he punched the button inside and the doors slid shut, he saw Gunther run onto the loading dock. Then the elevator jerked upwards.
Ralph leaned against the side of the elevator. His lungs burned with each breath. He considered trying to elude Gunther in the building, then making it out into the street. No, he decided, If I can get into the broom closet and into the field I can wait until morning. Chances will be better when the building’s full of people. The elevator rattled upwards in its shaft, each floor falling slowly past.
Finally the doors pulled open and he stepped out into the corridor. A sound froze him. Somewhere on the floor, one of the passenger elevators was closing. He ran, turned the corner, and saw Gunther hurtling toward him from the other end of the corridor. The broom closet was between them. Cradling the device to his chest, Ralph ran for the door.
He made it into the dark space but before he could close the door, Gunther had pulled it away from him. The man’s weight toppled him backwards against the mops. As the enormous hands circled his throat, he grasped the device’s wire loops and twisted the knob.
Breath came again, along with the cool fluorescent light. His ears were filled with a wailing, siren-like noise. He stood up but the noise didn’t end. The alarm’s been tripped, he realized. They’ll find me if I stay here.
Something hard seemed to grow inside him, swelling in his chest. He stepped backward against the wall of the small room, tightened his grip on the device’s wire loops and turned the dial.
Gunther was still in the broom closet, waiting, his hands spread and tensed. He started to turn as he felt Ralph’s presence behind him, but then staggered as the flat metal box struck the side of his head. Ralph swung the device again and Gunther fell heavily to the floor of the closet. The device dropped to the concrete as Ralph’s hands started to tremble. He forced a breath and ran out to the corridor and toward the elevator.
Several blocks away from the Muehlenfeldt Center, he found a phone booth and called a taxi. As he stripped off the janitor coveralls he saw that the front of them was stained with blood. That’s from the van, he thought vaguely—his emotions were burnt out from exhaustion. He left the coveralls in a trash can outside the booth.
“You look like you’ve really been through it,” said the taxi driver as Ralph climbed into the back seat.
“Yeah.” He reached up and kneaded the side of his face.
“Must’ve been some party. Hey, let me know if you’re going to be sick and I’ll pull over to the curb, okay?”
At the downtown bus terminal, he got out and paid the driver. A few of the people inside the brightly lit building glanced at him as they stood or sat beside their luggage. The automatic doors swung open as he approached them and he hurried toward the ticket counter.
A few moments later, he sat in the building’s lobby, waiting. He leaned forward and studied the ticket, though he had already memorized everything on it. Norden, he thought, and then back to the base. Maybe that’ll be the last place they’ll look for me. Maybe there’ll be enough time to figure out what to do. But L.A.’s not safe any longer. He leaned back against the bench, a hollow feeling growing inside hi
m. No place would be safe again.
PART THREE
The Base And Beyond
Chapter 11
The sun came up as the bus crossed the desert. Ralph awoke from fitful sleep—dreams of more fangs, sliding in the sockets of armored jaws—and saw the red light staining the earth. Blood, he thought. A residue of fear and nausea lingered in his stomach.
Nothing had become clarified in his mind by the time the bus pulled into Norden. He had no plans other than getting more sleep, letting the fatigue poisons drain away and seep into the carpet in his apartment on the base. The door of the bus hissed shut behind him as he stood on the sidewalk. The proprietor of the town’s miniscule grocery store glanced at him, then continued drawing up the store’s window shades.
On the path that led to the base, a lizard scurried away from him and disappeared into the rocks at one side. Ralph wondered if the two bright little eyes were watching him from some dark space as he passed. And who else is watching me right now? The thought chilled him despite the morning’s growing heat, until he forced it farther back into his mind. A little time’s all I need, he thought. To figure out what to do next.
The town had long disappeared behind the hills’ sand and scruffy brush. A few more yards and the buildings of the Opwatch base appeared inside the encircling fence, square and almost featureless, the same color as the dunes beyond them. The sun bounced off the blank walls with such intensity that he lowered his eyes and walked toward them with his head bent, as though through a storm.
He stepped through the unguarded gate and trudged towards the Rec hall, passing between the other buildings as they slowly sucked up their own shadows. The familiar scent of the Rec hall’s air-conditioned interior hit him in the face like a silent blow. The door of dark glass swung shut behind him. Another copy of the L.A. Times was spread out on the table.
Goodell raised his eyes from behind the sports section. Farther down the hall Kathy was fumbling her hand around inside her mailbox. Suddenly he felt even more tired than before he had come in, his fatigue now extending above him like the sides of a deep well. Right down here at the bottom, he thought. Where nothing ever changes. This is better than L.A.?
The chair across from Goodell was empty. It sighed as Ralph lowered himself into it. Idly, he leaned forward and pulled part of the newspaper toward himself. It was open to the editorial page. The first one read ‘XIMENTO—Was It Worth It?’
Goodell lowered the section he was holding. “Back kind of early, aren’t you?” he said. “I thought you were taking a whole week off.”
Without looking up, Ralph nodded. “There wasn’t anything to do. Really.” He sensed Kathy standing behind his chair but didn’t turn around.
“I thought it was kind of quick,” she said. “For you to hear about it and come back to see. It only happened last night.”
He twisted around and looked up into her placid expression. “It? What’s it? What happened last night?”
“You haven’t heard yet?” said Goodell.
“What?” He felt a spasm of irritation. They were both grinning.
“You’ll see.” Kathy giggled.
“You must not have gone up to your apartment yet,” said Goodell.
“You’ll see it when you get there.”
Their amusement at his ignorance was too much for his exhausted and frayed temper. He got up and strode out of the Rec hall without saying anything.
As he crossed the grounds to the apartment buildings, a current of fear rose and diluted his anger. Something that happened last night? he wondered. While I was— back there in L.A.?
He unlocked the door to his apartment, pushed it open, and peered into the dim space. Nothing seemed different. He stepped inside slowly. The air was stale, and a thin film of dust had fallen on everything during the few days he’d been gone. The window, he thought. That must be what they meant. He crossed the front room to the sliding door and pulled the curtain aside. Seconds passed before what was out there translated from his senses to his mind. Then he felt something—a universe?—drop sickeningly away from his feet.
As he crossed the base by the downward slope of the desert behind the apartment buildings, it had been hidden from him. He had seen it once before in a magazine article but it was much bigger than he could have guessed from the flat photographs of it.
An enormous jetliner, like a horizontal skyscraper, sat poised in the level area behind the base. The space was too small for it—one high dune at the edge actually touched the tip of one wing. Its polished silver surface reflected the sun like a mirror. But even through the dazzling glare, the precise black lettering on the tail section could be read, boldly proclaiming the name of its owner and his international headquarters—MUEHLENFELDT.
Ralph backed away from the glass, his heart accelerating. Hearing somebody pass by the apartment’s open door, he spun around, ran out into the corridor, and recognized the figure heading away from him.
“Glogolt!” he called. “Hey, come here!”
The fat watcher stopped, turned around, and ambled back to him.
“What’s the matter?” he said.
Ralph pointed towards the sliding door and the apparition visible through it. “What’s that thing doing here?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” mumbled the other. “It just kinda dropped out of the sky late last night. When we got off our shift there it was. They gave us orders not to go out and bother them. Okay by me.” He resumed his slow progress down the corridor.
I know why it’s here, thought Ralph. He went back into the apartment and stared with a bitter dismay at the silver jet. Because of me. They know I’m here and who knows what else. He threw himself on the couch and pressed his fists against his eyes, trying futilely to shut out the reflected light from outside. There would be no breathing space in this universe, no time to figure out what to do next.
* * *
Commander Stiles surveyed the remnants of his lunch—crumbs and a wilted lettuce leaf—then pushed his chair away from the desk. “I don’t know why he wants to see you,” he said. “All I was told was to send you out there.” His complexion was strangely mottled and he didn’t look up.
Jealous, thought Ralph. The old guy’s jealous because he wasn’t invited out to the jet. “All right,” he said and turned to leave.
“How do you rate. Metric?”
He looked back and saw the base commander’s face formed into a childish scowl. “Just lucky, I guess.” He headed to the building’s exit.
A resigned fatalism had gradually overtaken him, and it darkened as he crossed the base. The brilliant noon sun battered the ground but he was barely aware of it. Even if I just get a couple crummy little answers, he told himself. Then I won’t mind whatever they’re going to do to me.
To reach Muehlenfeldt’s jet, it was necessary to go out the base’s only gate and then circle around outside the fence. He stepped off the road and started over the yielding sand, keeping the fence a few feet from his side.
Inside it, the base buildings hulked and waited.
The sloping ground behind the base shimmered in the heat as he stood by the fence and looked down into the depression. When he had seen the jet from his apartment, the enormity of it had confused his sense of direction. He saw now that it was much farther away than he had thought.
It would take a considerable hike to reach it. He started down the slope but lost his footing and half-slid, half-ran to the bottom.
His shirt was clammy with sweat by the time he stood in the shade cast by the enormous fuselage. The end of one of the jets mounted beneath the backswept wing gaped over his head. He could see no ramps or steps extending to the ground, only the giant wheels sunk part way in the sand.
From beneath the plane, no doors or windows were visible. “Hey!” he shouted at the silver curve of its belly. His voice echoed from it and then was absorbed in the desert.
With a hissing noise an oval section slid aside and a metal stairway extruded fro
m the opening. Ralph backed up and watched its measured descent until its bottom tread settled on the ground. He gripped the rail, raised his head and peered up into the opening. No one was visible at the top. Here goes, he thought, forcing his breath to slow. His shoes rang on the metal steps as he climbed up.
When he reached the top a hand grasped his elbow and pulled him off the steps and into the plane. He turned and found himself looking into a young, unsmiling face. The man’s eyes were too small and hard. On the sleeve of his jacket was a patch with the letters FSA. Another man with the same eyes and patch stood a few feet away.
“Mr. Metric?” said the first one, still gripping Ralph’s elbow. Without waiting for a reply the man propelled him farther into the jet. “The senator’s been waiting for you.”
As the man pushed him through, he stumbled over the bottom rim of a door. His forearm tingled when the grip on his elbow was released, allowing the blood to circulate again. The man closed the door between himself and Ralph.
An enormous aquarium formed a wall up to the arched ceiling of the jet. A mottled fish as large as Ralph’s head opened its ruffled fins, gaped at him, then moved sluggishly into the tank’s depths. Ralph stepped around the end of the tank and into the vast open area on the other side.
The high-backed chair swivelled around. He recognized its occupant from news pictures of him, but, like those of the jetliner, they hadn’t done the figure justice.
“Come in, Mr. Metric.” Senator Muehlenfeldt formed a cage with his long, age-browned fingers. “Seat yourself.”
Warily studying the seamed face with its wings of snow-white hair above the eyes, Ralph pulled a smaller chair away from the desk. He sank back into its padding without breaking his silence or his gaze.
“You look rather worried.” The senator smiled. “Is there something troubling you?”
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