Nest of Worlds

by Marek S. Huberath

  Gavein saw him through a thickening cloud and couldn’t tell if the man was still moving his nose from ear to ear.

  “If he survives the gas, it will be a vivisection, not an autopsy.”

  “That should take care of him, senator,” Siskin said. “We’ll leave the organs out, in the air, because he’s an Aeriel. To make sure he doesn’t come back.”

  “What about his wife?” asked Wilcox.

  “Still alive.”

  “Is she Death too?”

  “We’re not sure. Probably not, since she has cancer.”

  The voices were coming from inside Gavein’s skull. They grew softer. It was harder for him to distinguish among the speakers. Only he, in the black jacket, said nothing. It was harder also to form thoughts. The gray mist before his eyes spread like mold. He felt no pain. His field of vision was the diameter of the face of a watch, and all the figures in it were dwindling. Soon it resembled a small metal ball, blinking with different colors as it hung in the darkness of outer space.

  The ball began to rotate. To jump in all directions. Gavein felt a sharp, deepening pain. The ball meanwhile had floated away, far away. He lost consciousness.

  54

  When he woke, it was to two torments: the ache throughout his body and an awful tedium. He threw up once, twice, three times. There was nothing left to bring up, but his stomach muscles still spasmed. His heart hammered wildly. Then he drifted back into oblivion.

  When he came to again, it was cold. He moved. He was partly covered with something, battered, naked. Vomit stank around him, but another smell bored into his nostrils. His eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and he saw it wasn’t completely dark. It was surprisingly easy to move his head. He brushed rubble from it, raising a cloud of dust, which made him sneeze several times. He tried changing position, but a thousand edges, corners, and the dust itself all began to claw at his skin.

  He freed his left arm first. Slowly, methodically, he removed stone after stone, brick fragment after brick fragment. He was badly bruised but, in all the rubble and dust, had apparently sustained no serious injury. He dug himself out with new energy. It was hardest to extricate his right leg from under the gurney, which was locked in place by the mound of rubble. He wriggled out from under the mound carefully, so it wouldn’t fall on him.

  He tried to stand, but the ceiling was too low. Everything had a mysterious cast to it because of the red glow. The acrid smell of sulfur burned his nose. A deafening roar—it came from outside, not from within his head. He felt his body all over: the sore places, the innumerable scrapes and bruises. There was dull pain at the touch, but no more. Moving did not present a problem. He was caked with sweat and brick powder. He was afraid to take a step, not wanting to cut his feet on the broken glass that was everywhere. The floor had risen, in defiance of the horizontal, and somewhere in the darkness it met with the ceiling. The operating room looked as if a giant had knocked it over for a joke and then stepped on it, crushing one of the walls.

  Soon it became light enough for Gavein to see the flooring and avoid the glass. It was warmer now, perhaps because of his exertion. He climbed the slope of the floor toward a dark opening, a door visible at the top. Unfortunately, it led only to the dressing room. At least he found some clothes. He beat the dust from them, wiped his face with some rag or towel, and put on a hospital outfit; the uniform of the DS staff. The hospital slippers were rather light, but he could find nothing better. Through them his feet unpleasantly felt the larger fragments. The second door was blocked, so he returned to the operating room.

  The roar had increased. He approached the gaping air beyond the collapsed wall. The sun was coming up, and the roar now intensified in waves. He would have to find another exit. The vibration in the floor alarmed him. This damaged building could crumble at any moment.

  He noticed a hand jutting from the rubble. It took him a moment or two to uncover some of Nylund’s body. The nurse had had no luck: her head was flattened by a section of wall.

  Gavein had been more fortunate. The operating table and the overturned gurney together had shielded him from the falling wall, and then all that slid onto him were stones and bricks.

  He groped his way around the room, looking for an exit. The floor began to sway. He needed to leave this precarious ruin immediately.

  55

  Through the pulsing roar, which at times was like a series of explosions, he heard a voice. In the rubble he could make out the shoulders and head of Saalstein.

  “Are you all right?”

  “My left arm, it hurts, hurts badly. I can’t move,” Saalstein answered, cogent.

  “Lie still. You may have broken bones,” said Gavein and set to work. He removed pieces of sheetrock. He was afraid the man’s spine might be injured.

  “That was a quake and a half,” said Saalstein. “It began the moment Barth gave you the third injection. Everything went head over heels.”

  “I thought it was my brain doing somersaults.” Gavein finished his digging. “Try to get up on your own, Saalstein. I don’t want to make you a paraplegic if your back is broken.”

  The biologist moved an arm, a leg, then awkwardly began to scrabble out.

  “Not so terrible,” he said. “The pain in my left arm goes right through me, but I think my back is all right. Help me up, Throzz.”

  Gavein lifted him.

  “We better get out of here,” Saalstein said. “A sling would be good. My arm is killing me.”

  “I don’t know if I can find anything for you here. Maybe in another room. Let’s try the hall. Careful, there’s a lot of broken glass in that direction.”

  The floor shook again.

  “We really should hurry.”

  Gavein moved aside some rubble. Saalstein stood, trying not to faint. His left arm didn’t seem to be broken, but it was seriously crushed. Some rubble slid away, and Gavein uncovered Siskin, who was cold, sliced by glass. Death had overtaken him as he fled from the room. Pulling the corpse out by its legs made it possible to open one of the swinging doors a little. The rest of the glass fell from the metal frame. The shaking increased in strength. The noise outside was like rolling thunder.

  “What’s out there may be worse than an earthquake,” Gavein said.

  Saalstein would have shrugged if he hadn’t had an injured collarbone. “We can bitch to our hearts’ content after we make it to a safe place,” he said.

  They followed the rising, rubble-filled hallway. Here and there the ceiling and floor had been torn open, and they could see through to the levels above and below. They came upon bodies and stopped to see if any were alive, but none were. The survivors had got out long ago. In a puddle of water that had collected around a broken appliance, Gavein washed his hands and face. When Saalstein urged him to hurry, Gavein muttered that maybe it would be better if David Death didn’t live.

  “It’s not that simple,” said Saalstein, kicking a piece of brick and groaning because of his arm.

  The staircase was a ruin—the outside wall had fallen away—but they went down the shaking steps, half of which hung over empty space. Plaster sifted from above.

  Gavein leaned out and looked at the courtyard. “Look,” he cried. “Look at those boulders!”

  The ground was covered with rocks of every size, and more were coming down, an intermittent hail of stone.

  “Watch it, or you’ll fall.”

  They managed to descend two levels. Below that, the stairs broke off. They were on the fourth floor, the administrative offices. The shaking subsided. The sun was now establishing itself in the sky. The abandoned building had a dismal air about it. The ceilings here were intact, but one of the wings had collapsed all the way to its foundation. There were splits in the partitioning walls, and some had been knocked over. Glass crunched underfoot.

  “Saalstein, on which side of the crack are we?”
<
br />   “What are you getting at?” He limped along, clutching his painful arm.

  “On the ocean side or the Davabel side?”

  “There should be a bridge.”

  “There is none now.”

  In one of the offices they found a tablecloth, spoons, forks, and knives. Saalstein paid with a few gasps for the application of a sling, but he perked up afterward, when his arm felt better. His color improved, though his hair was still plastered down with sweat. He tried to find a door to one of the fire escapes.

  He stopped.

  “Throzz, come with me. Let’s check something out.”

  He ran down the hallway. Gavein had trouble keeping up with the wounded man. On this floor there were no bodies. The door they wanted was locked, but the partitions on either side of it had been reduced to mounds of fragmented plasterboard. The floor of a nearby cubicle was covered with banknotes. Gavein sighed. Saalstein knelt clumsily. With his free hand he filled his pockets.

  “You can be executed, if they catch you.”

  “Maybe in Lavath. Here, rescue workers do this all the time. Take as much as you want, go ahead. It’ll help pay for your Magdalena’s operation.”

  Gavein couldn’t deny this last argument. He too began gathering bills. At first he tried arranging them in bundles, but then the rumble of another explosion reached him, hurried him. Imitating Saalstein, he undid the zipper of his hospital coverall and stuffed the money in his chest. Having the use of both hands, he could stuff more than Saalstein. Soon the coverall was filled up. It wasn’t easy closing the zipper. Since he had no underwear, the bills slipped lower.

  “The first time in my life that banknotes tickle my balls.”

  “You can also wipe your ass with them. That’ll be a first time too,” the biologist grunted, struggling with his uniform.

  “Actually, not a bad idea.” Gavein undid his coverall again and stuffed bills in the rear, where there was room for many more.

  “You prefer to be big-assed than have breasts and a beer belly?” Saalstein asked.

  “One breast only, in the center.” Gavein patted the bills in front. He helped Saalstein button up his suit. Without question, it was time to leave. Powerful shocks came, one after another.

  Gavein forced open the emergency door with a shoulder and his back. The metal stairs, a spiral braid of steel, were suspended in space; most of the supporting struts had been broken. At the floor Gavein and Saalstein were on, the stairs were about a meter from the wall of the building, and the next landing, like a small bridge, was at least one and a half meters below them.

  56

  Gavein took a step back.

  “Now what?”

  “We take the other.”

  He leaned out: the other fire escape lay below, twisted on a pile of rubble.

  The courtyard of the Division of Science looked as if giant moles had been at work; it was covered with a great assortment of slabs and chunks. Stones, large and small, still fell, hissing as they flew past. Someone in a white coat lay motionless.

  In the distance the sky was clear. Sun shone on the buildings of Davabel, but over the DS hung a cloud, violet-brown and stinking.

  “Listen, Saalstein. On this floor there are only two fire escapes?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Then that’s the other in the courtyard.”

  Saalstein swore under his breath. “What do we do?” he asked.

  “We jump. A meter across, one and a half meters down . . .”

  “I can’t with this arm.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “What I think I’m seeing outside, it can’t be.”

  “I see it too. A volcano is forming.”

  “If it forms in that trench, we’re done for.”

  “We haven’t got to the trench yet,” said Gavein. “There’s no reason to wait here. No one will come flying in for us.”

  “On the contrary,” Saalstein said under his breath.

  “I’ll jump first, then you. I’ll try to catch you.”

  Gavein concentrated. The jump wasn’t difficult, but he couldn’t afford to miss. A fall from the fourth floor would break both legs.

  He made it, grabbing a rail to stop himself. He banged his knee painfully.

  The fire escape, connected to the top of the building by only one or two struts, began to jerk like a giant spring. A meter down, a meter up. Gavein held on; he could picture the last strut snapping, the whole fire escape separating from the wall and plunging to the ground.

  Not this time: the oscillation stopped.

  “Your turn, Saalstein. I’ll break your fall.”

  “I can’t,” said Saalstein. “My arm.”

  He jumped then, and Gavein caught him, but unfortunately Saalstein’s arm hit metal. He howled like an animal and moaned until the fire escape ceased its rocking.

  “That’s the end of my arm,” he gasped, when he could speak. “I must have torn nerves.”

  “Stop,” Gavein told him. “We either get off this thing or we fall with it. If you’re dead, your arm will make only an ornament to be set beside you in the coffin.”

  As if to second his warning, the iron structure groaned and was hit by a ball of lava. Carefully, but as quickly as they could, they descended. The accompaniment of roars and hisses increased in volume. The sky over the ocean glowed a rusty red. The flying lava was coming from that direction.

  The fire escape stopped in midair, the stairs ending two and a half meters above the ground.

  “I’ll go first,” said Gavein.

  He chose a level spot and jumped, somersaulting and turning a few times when he hit, hoping in this way to lessen the impact. But even so he fell hard, and it hurt. The hospital coverall and slippers were not made for acrobatics. Overhead, in response to his jump, the fire escape was shaking and groaning again. He ran, limping clumsily, from under the reach of the stairs. But the anchoring metal at the top held.

  Saalstein jumped and landed heavily, on both feet. He tried to remain standing to protect his arm. He had come down on a flat piece of concrete. He screamed from the pain.

  “Something tore in me,” he grunted. “My back too.”

  “You should have fallen as I did. You probably ruptured yourself.”

  They moved away from the falling stones, Gavein limping, Saalstein stepping with exaggerated care, holding the sling with his good arm, not sure if his intestines were in place.

  It was on an incline. The last quake had lifted the ground near the trench. To leave the DS area, they had to climb.

  They passed a figure in a lab coat. It resembled a white moth with wings outstretched. Aurelia had fallen from a window during the shocks. Her head was surrounded by a smear of black blood.

  57

  The sky toward the ocean continued to burn red. Explosions rumbled, light flashed. The cone of the volcano couldn’t be seen—it might not have formed yet. Rocks fell, some breaking into pieces in the air. On the ground, they hissed and steamed. Gavein was struck in the back, but the bills cushioned the blow.

  He and Saalstein had no difficulty crossing the trench, which was partly filled with rubble. But then they had to climb the steep, crumbling escarpment that now formed one of the edges of the trench. Saalstein panted, exhausted.

  When they were almost at the top, Gavein saw a helicopter approaching.

  “We have to show him where we are, so he can pick us up.”

  “Don’t be in a hurry, Throzz. Let’s keep our heads down. Maybe he won’t see us. The sod above us, it’s like a roof.”

  Gavein was astonished.

  “Wait,” said Saalstein. “And watch.”

  The helicopter hovered over the ruins of the DS. Then it circled the volcano’s column of fire and plume of smoke. It was keeping low, to avoid retardation of time, and
went lower still. A line of white dots unexpectedly flew from the copter to the ground. The shots couldn’t be heard in the thunder of the volcano.

  “What is he doing?!”

  “General Thompson is in command. Possibly they saw the body of Aurelia, or someone else’s body.”

  I am stupid, stupid, Gavein thought. Only now did he recall the things that were said as they were putting him to sleep on the gurney.

  Overhead flew a squadron of combat copters equipped with missile launchers. The craft were flying low, at the altitude of real time; the roar of their rotors could be heard over the volcano.

  The two fugitives, under the overhang of sod, were not visible from the air. The squadron executed a model attack, unleashing all its firepower upon what was left of the Division of Science. After completion of this mission, they regrouped, turned above the ocean, and headed back to Davabel. The first copter still hovered, still circled, apparently to oversee and direct.

  A second squadron came, then a third, fourth, and fifth. Each raked the area. The reconnaissance copter also fired at chosen targets.

  “I wonder if Thompson himself is in that one.”

  “Not unlikely. It’s his style. He likes to take part personally. Throzz, bring it down!”

  “If only I could . . .”

  “And you call yourself Death?”

  “At least I have no qualms about this loot,” said Gavein, patting his belly.

  “Doesn’t tickle anymore?”

  “I shifted most of it to the back, where I have the skin of an elephant. All those years, you know, of sitting behind a desk . . .” He stopped. More squadrons were coming from Davabel. The destruction would be methodical. “They’re the same copters. I recognize their markings. They refueled, got more ammo, are going back to work.”

  “Thompson is thorough.”

  “Sparing nothing to put me out of the way.”

  Saalstein nodded.

  “Why that masquerade with the tests?” Gavein asked. “They could have killed me in my house.”