by Neal Asher
"Jesus, I'd I like to go with you."
"You'll get your chance soon. As far as Gerhardt and I are concerned, it's all open. No monopoly."
"Even the seventh chamber?"
"In time. They haven't asked about that yet."
Kirchner raised his eyebrows. "Weren't they told?"
"I have no idea what they tell their military men. Certainly they'll know pretty soon. The Russian science team is not exactly mixing with the soldiers—military doesn't count for much in their eyes, apparently. But word will get around." He paused for a long moment. "Any word from Earth?"
"Not a thing. Some radar activity in the Arctic Ocean—maybe a few surface ships. Can't see much. Smoke is covering most of Europe, Asia, the United Stales. They can't be concerned with us, Garry."
Kirchner walked across the compound and climbed into a track going to the zero elevator entrance. Lanier knocked on the barracks door.
Janice Polk answered. "Come on in,' she said. "She's awake and I took her some food a few minutes ago."
Hoffman sat on the couch in the small lounge. Beryl Wallace and Lieutenant Doreen Cunningham, former head of compound security, sat on chairs across from her. Cunningham's head was bandaged, evidence of the laser burn she had received before the surrender of the first compound.
They stood as Lanier entered; Cunningham made as if to salute, then smiled sheepishly and lowered her hand.
"Ladies, Mr. Lanier and I have some catching up to do," Hoffman said, placing a half-full glass of orange juice on the tank-baffle table. When they were alone, Lanier sat and pulled the chair closer.
"I think I'm ready for a briefing," Hoffman said. "I haven't heard anything since I left Earth. Was it like what the libraries showed us?"
"Yes," Lanier said. "And the Long Winter is starting."
"Okay." She pinched her nose with two fingers and rubbed it vigorously. "End of the world. All that we know." She sighed and the sigh threatened to shudder into a sob. "Shit. First things first."
Lanier held out his hand and she shook it.
"They'll think we're lovers," she said.
"A purely Druckerian relationship," Lanier said.
She laughed and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.
"How are you doing, Garry?" she asked.
He didn't answer for a long moment. "I lost my aircraft, Judith. I was in charge—"
"Bull."
"I was in charge, and I did everything I could to prevent the war. I failed. So I can't really say how I am, just yet. Maybe not too well. I don't know. I'm giving them tit for tat in the negotiations. But I'm very tired."
She tapped his hand with her fingers and nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on his. "Okay. You still have my full confidence. You know that, Garry?"
"Yes."
"After things settle down, we can all take our turn sticking our heads through the hole in the Sisyphus mural. Now tell me about the invasion and everything that's happened since."
Lanier had a vague daydream of taking Mirsky to the second chamber library alone, or with at most only one bodyguard apiece. When he arrived at the cafeteria negotiating tables, Mirsky, Garabedian, two of the three surviving political officers—Belozersky and Major Yazykov—and four armed SSTs awaited him. He quickly asked Gerhardt and Jaeger to accompany him, and to balance the forces, four marines joined the group.
They rode in silence from the first chamber to the second chamber's zero bridge. One of Mirsky's troopers drove the track for the first half of the short journey. Mirsky glanced at Lanier several times during the trip through the city, sizing him up, Lanier suspected. The Russian lieutenant general was a closed book to Lanier; not once had Mirsky revealed any of his private side. Still, Lanier had a much higher regard for Mirsky than for Belazerksy. Mirsky might listen to reason; Belozersky wouldn't even know what reason was.
Halfway across the bridge, the truck stopped and a marine took over the driving duties. They passed through the shopping district Patricia had described as "quaint" and then disembarked in the library plaza. One marine and one SST stayed behind to guard the truck. They squared off at opposite corners of the vehicle and studiously avoided
conversation.
Gerhardt engaged Belozerksy in conversation through Jaeger. This gave Lanier an opportunity to lead Mirsky a few steps ahead and prepare him for what they would find.
"I'm not sure what your commanders told you about the Stone," he began, "but I doubt you had the complete story."
Mirsky stad ahead stonily. "The Stone is a better name than the Potato," he admitted, lifting his eyebrows. "Calling it the Potato makes us worms, no? I have been told the Stone was built by humans."
"That's not the half of it."
"Then I am interested to hear the rest."
Lanier told him the story in some detail as they entered the library and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
In the reading room, Lanier found a section of Russian volumes in the stacks and emerged with three, handing one to Mirsky—a translation of the Brief History of the Death—and one each to Belozersky and Yazykov.
Belozersky stood with his book firmly clutched in both hands, staring at Lanier as if he had been insulted. "What is this supposed to be?" he asked. Yazykov opened his volume hesitantly.
"Read it for yourself," Lanier suggested.
"It is Dostoevsky,' Belozersky said. He traded books with Yazykov. "And Aksakov. These are supposed to interest us?"
"Perhaps if you would look at the printing dates, gentlemen," Lanier said quietly. They opened their books, read and then closed them sharply, almost together..
"We must explore these shelves thoroughly," Belozersky said. He did not sound happy at the prospect.
Mirsky held his book open in both hands, thumbing through it and returning several times to the publication notice, once touching the date with his finger. He closed the book on his thumb and tapped its spine on the surface of the reading table, looking up at Lanier. The second chamber library seemed, if anything, darker and gloomier than before.
"This tells the history of the war," Mirsky half asked, half stated. "It is an accurate translation of the English edition?"
"I believe so."
"Gentlemen, Mr. Lanier and I must be alone for a few minutes. Comrade officers, you will please wait with General Gerhardt and his men, and you will take our men with you."
Belozersky placed the book on an empty reading table and Yazykov followed suit. "You should not be long, Comrade General," Belozersky said.
"As long as it takes," Mirsky said.
Lanier had brought along a canteen haif-filled with brandy, hopeful of just such an opportunity. He now poured out a cup for each of them.
"This is much appreciated," Mirsky said, lifting the cup.
"Special service," Lanier said.
"My political officers would accuse you of trying to get me drunk and pump me—that is the idiom?—for information."
"There's not enough left to get drunk on," Lanier said.
"Pity. I am not strong enough for ... this." Mirsky gave the library two widely spaced jabs with the empty cup. "Maybe you are, but I am not. It frightens me to death."
"You'll find strength after a while," Lanier said. "It's as attractive as it is frightening."
"You have known this for how long?"
"Two years."
"I think I will let others find the attraction," Mirsky said. "My people will now have access to all this—unrestricted, any of us, the soldiers and officers, too?"
"That's the agreement."
"How did you learn to speak Russian? In school?"
"In the third chamber library," Lanier said. "It took me just over three hours."
"You speak like a Muscovite. One who has been overseas for a few decades, perhaps, but still ... a Muscovite. Could I learn English that quickly?"
"Probably."
Lanier split the last of the brandy and they toasted each other.
"You are a strange man, Garry L
anier," Mirsky said solemnly.
"Oh?"
"Yes. You are turned inside. You see others but don't let them see you."
Lanier did not react.
"There, see?" Mirsky grinned. "You are that way." The Russian's eyes suddenly resumed their sharp focus on him.
"Why didn't you let the world know about this from the beginning?"
"After you've spent a little more time here, and in the third chamber, ask yourself what you would have done."
It was Mirsky's turn not to react. "There are bitter grievances between our people," he said, dropping the book on the table with a thump. "They will not be easily laid to rest. In the meantime, I do not understand this place. I do not understand our position here, or yours. My ignorance is dangerous, Mr. Lanier, so I will come here, or to the other library, when time permits, and educate myself. And I will learn English using your method, if that is possible. But, to prevent confusion, I do not think all my people will be allowed to come here. Would it not be wise for you to look to
similar restrictions?"
Lanier shook his head, wondering if Mirsky even saw his own contradictions. "We're here to break the pattern of the past, not continue it. As far as I'm concerned, it's open to all."
Mirsky stared at him for an uncomfortably long period of time, then stood. "Perhaps," he said. "That is much easier for you to say than for me. My people are not used to being well informed. Some of my officers will find the thought frightening. Some will not believe any of this ... they will assume it is an American trick. That would be very comforting."
"But you know it isn't."
Mirsky reached out to touch the book. "If a truth is dangerous," he said, "then perhaps it is not true enough."
The strip of parkland in the second chamber where Mirsky's battalion had landed now took the bodies of the dead. A hundred and six American, British and German soldiers had died in the battle and lay in aluminized sacks down a long trench opened by one of the anthropology team's excavators. Three hundred sixty-two Soviets lay in four more trenches. Another ninety-eight Soviets and a dozen Western bloc soldiers were missing and presumed dead, either destroyed in the battle or drifted out of the bore hole to become freeze-dried mummies in orbit around the Stone. A special marker had been set up for the dead of OTV 45 and the crews of the lost heavy-lifters.
Two thousand three hundred people gathered around the trenches. Mirsky and Gerhardt spoke in Russian and English, keeping their words brief and to the point. They were burying more than just their fellows; though there was no marker yet for the dead of Earth, they were burying distant family members, friends; distant cultures, histories, dreams.
They were burying the past, or as much of it as they could part with. The Soviets stood together in ranks. Within the Soviet group, the members of their science team remained isoiated, selected out.
The Soviets stood in silence as a Chaplain Cook and Yitshak Jacob, acting as a rabbi, administered last rites and kaddish. A Soviet Uzbek Moslem stepped forward to offer his prayers.
Mirsky threw the first spade of dirt into the Soviet graves. Gerhardt threw a spadeful into the NATO grave. Then, without planning or warning, Gerhardt took a shovel of dirt from the mound to be pushed over his men, and carried it to the first Soviet trench. Mirsky did the same without hesitation.
Belozersky watched with a face permanently locked in disapproval. Vielgorsky kept a silent, dignified demeanor. Yazykov seemed to be somewhere else, and his eyes were moist.
Hoffman and Farley stepped forward and laid a wreath at the head of each site.
As the crowd moved away, the archaeology team immediately began filling in the trenches. The Soviets divided to return to the first and fourth chambers. Farley, Carrolson and Hoffman joined Lanier and Heineman at the zero bridge. They watched people crossing to go to the train terminals. Carrolson edged closer to Lanier and touched his arm.
"Garry, there's something we have to talk about."
"Let's hear it," he said.
"Not here. In the compound," Carrolson said, looking to Hoffman. They gathered in the trucks and crossed the first chamber. Carrolson, Farley, Heineman and Hoffman accompanied Lanier to the deserted administration building, where they gathered around Ann Blakely's desk on the first floor.
"Sounds like bad news coming," he said. His eyes widened in present realization. "Oh, my God," he said. "Where's—"
Carrolson interrupted him. "You've been too busy until now. We're not sure what's happened, but Patricia can't be found anywhere. There are two reports, but one's Russian and it may not be credible. Rimskaya heard it when he was talking with the Russian science team. The other's from Larry. We thought we'd find her, that maybe she was just hiding out somewhere, but—"
Heineman nodded. "What I saw just seems to add to the mystery," he said.
"Patricia left the fourth chamber compound last Wednesday,'' Farley said. "Nobody saw her go, but Lenore is convinced she must have taken a train to the third chamber."
"She said she was going to a library. We were all a little crazy then, and she was taking it very hard," Carrolson said.
"The Russian team says that a Soviet soldier saw an aircraft land near one of the subway terminals in Thistledown, on the northern side—the zero line terminal," Farley said. "Two people got aboard and something the Russian called a devil. One of the ... humans was a man and the other a woman, and the woman fits Patricia's description. The aircraft flew off. White, spade-shaped, but with the nose blunted. It didn't make any noise."
Heineman stepped forward. "I saw a boojum go past when I was down the corridor. Arrowhead-shaped, blunt nose. It was traveling in a spiral around the plasma tube, heading north."
"There hasn't been time until now to put it all together," Carrolsou said. "I'm sorry about the delay."
"It doesn't make sense," Lanier said, shaking his head. "Maybe she was just captured by the Russians. Maybe—"
"Rimskaya's asked around. He thinks not," Carrolson said. "There wasn't anybody in Thistledown but a few Soviet paratroopers off courseno diversionary troops, none of our troops—not at that time. Nobody but Patricia."
"And a boojum," Heineman said. "The coincidence is too close, Garry."
He continued to shake his head. "It's over. Please. I just can't handle much more," he said. "Judith, tell them. I can't do anything now. There's the negotiations, and the—"
"Of course," Hoffman said, gripping his shoulder firmly with one hand. "Let's all get some rest."
Lanier held one hand to his face, as if to smooth the deep grooves of anguish around his mouth. "I'm supposed to take care of her," he said. "She's important. Judith, you told me to take care of her."
"It's all right. There wasn't anything—"
"God damn this place, Judith!" He raised his fists and shook them helplessly. "I hate this fucking rock!"
Carrolson began to cry. Farley held her. "Not just you," Carrolson said. "You put her in my charge."
"Stop it," Hoffman said quietly, looking away. Heineman stood back, embarrassed and uncertain what to do.
"I'm not going to just give up on her," Lanier said, lowering his arms and opening and closing his hands. "She's not just gone. Larry, can we have the tuberider fueled and ready to go soon?"
"Any time you give the word."
"Judith, I think you chose wrong," Lanier said.
"I don't think so. What do you mean?"
"I'm not going to see through. I'm going to run off on a foolish rescue mission, not stay here and argue with a bunch of Soviets. You know me. You know I'm going to do that."
"Okay," she said. "You'll go after her. There are other reasons."
"We're stuck here, aren't we?" Hoffman said. "We have to find out what's down there soon anyway. Larry, does the V/STOL work? The tuberider?"
"They work fine," Heineman said.
"Then we'll plan. But we'll do it carefully. Is that okay, Garry? Not right away, but soon?"
"Okay," Lanier said meekly.
&n
bsp; "I think we all need to relax and eat and rest," Farley said, looking around for agreement.
They stood in silence, a bit shaken by how close to the edge Lanier had come—and by the realization of how close they all were.
"I'd like to go, too," Carrolson said.
*33*
So I suppose you want to get away from it all. Feel like it's very remote.
