CHILDREN OF THE THUNDER

by John Brunner

  Claudia looked worried. She said after a pause, “But won’t they notice? I mean, if someone who isn’t really an authorized user stays on-line to the program for this long—”

  “Oh, I figured that one out. Thanks to Dad.”

  Peter blinked, and she amplified.

  “Remember all those papers you collected at the computer security conference, just a few days before I—uh—turned up? Well, you didn’t seem to be using them, so I borrowed them, and reading between the lines I found the dodge I needed to fool PNC!”

  She started to chuckle. But the chuckles turned into a hysterical laugh and then into tears. Claudia rushed forward, caught her in her arms, and whispered reassurance in her ear until she calmed.

  When she drew away with a wan smile—but a smile—Claudia glanced at Peter.

  “Know something? You do have a genius for a daughter.”

  Before Peter could reply, the phone shrilled. He caught it up.

  “Jake here,” said the familiar voice. It sounded as though he must have caught up on his sleep during the day. “Featly stuff, just what I wanted. Your fee has been sent to the bank.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Peter said. “Any—ah—progress?”

  Jake hesitated, obviously asking himself what he might safely say. In the end: “So far, no sign. We’re going to risk it.”

  “Good luck!”

  Setting down the phone, he turned to the others. “He likes it and the money’s been paid. And there’s still no sign of Thrower. I suggest we celebrate. Let’s go out for dinner.”

  “No,” Ellen said promptly.

  “Why not? Might as well take advantage of the Comet’s money.”

  “I want to be around to hear that beep,” Ellen said obstinately. “I don’t want to come in late and find the data has been sitting on screen long enough for someone to trace and wipe it.”

  “She has a point,” Claudia put in. “And the way that kind of program runs through data, you don’t want to waste printout paper.”

  “Ah, I suppose not,” Peter sighed.

  “Don’t look so miserable, Dad,” Ellen reproved, patting his arm. “I’m going to make stuffed pancakes, and you always like those. But if you really can’t stand my homemade wine…”

  “Okay, I’ll compromise. I’ll go and buy a decent bottle—won’t be long. Red or white?” he added to Claudia.

  “I don’t mind. I can’t afford either, myself.”

  During the meal they watched the mid-evening news. There was still no mention of Thrower’s disappearance, which was good from their and Jake Lafarge’s point of view, but that fact was outweighed by a number of other depressing items, most notably a report from Bonn that agreement had been reached with East Germany, Czechoslovakia and Austria to monitor and announce daily on TV the declining oxygen levels in those areas that had within living memory been forested. Moreover there was still no bleep from the search program, though Ellen assured them it was still running. “It’s bound to be much slower on my machine, isn’t it?” she added at one point, as though growing worried. And they had to agree. In fact, Peter was privately wondering how she had got it to run at all.

  But one mustn’t look gift horses in the mouth… Given that even the royal racehorses are dying of cancer, how long before people forget what horses used to look like?

  Gradually conversation died. There was another news-bulletin at ten, and since tomorrow was Saturday and there was no school Peter was prepared to let Ellen stay up for it, but a few minutes before it was due she rose despondently and announced her intention of turning in. Perhaps, she muttered, the program wasn’t working properly. So long after narrowing Louis Parker’s location down to a single county, it ought to have come up with more precise data.

  Claudia voiced the suspicion that was dawning on them all.

  “Unless he, or someone protecting him, has covered his tracks. After all, Bernie had no luck, did he? And you told us, Peter: this Parker was a computer expert.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of him as an expert,” Peter muttered. “But it’s true he did work for a computer company.”

  “Well, it was a brave try,” Claudia told Ellen comfortingly, and gave her a good night hug. After kissing her father, she returned downcast to her room.

  Where, within seconds, they heard the rattle of her printer.

  “Got it!” she shouted. “The bocky thing just didn’t beep! Come and see!”

  Peter and Claudia exchanged glances of disbelief, and rushed after her.

  “There!” she said proudly, holding out a sheet of paper. “It did work! It must have found its way to a phone line the name of Louis Parker had been spoken on, and taken ages to locate the right address. But it’s done it.” She was almost shaking with excitement at her success.

  Taking the paper, Peter studied the address. “That’s only a mile or two from Sandhurst,” he murmured.

  “Peter…” Claudia drew a deep breath. “I think I know what’s in your mind. You’re assuming something like this.

  “Louis Parker found out, somehow, that he was fathering children with a gift of—of supernatural persuasiveness. He decided to exploit their power. He’s raised a whole bunch of kids of his own, taught them complete obedience, and is now—what? Planning to hold General Thrower to ransom, for God’s sake?”

  “You were the one who came up with the idea in the first place,” Peter retorted sourly.

  “I did nothing of the kind! I don’t make crazy intuitive leaps like that! You just forget about Thrower’s disappearance. The fact that Parker turns out to be in the neighborhood doesn’t necessarily have any connection with what happened after his meeting last night. The kids may have come from anywhere, a local private school for instance. The more I think about Jake’s theories, and yours, the less I want to take them seriously.”

  “My theories? You just put words in my mouth! I—”

  He realized abruptly that Ellen was turning away with lowered head.

  “Darling, what’s wrong?” he demanded.

  Repressing a sob, she mumbled, “I thought you’d be pleased. It took a long time, and lots of hard work, and I probably broke the law by doing it… I did think you’d be pleased!”

  “Of course we are!”

  “You bocky well don’t sound like it!” she flared. Spinning round, she revealed that her cheeks were wet.

  Seeing her tears, Peter felt an appalling pang of guilt. To judge by Claudia’s expression, she was reacting the same way. Finding words as best he could, he said, “Darling, I am sorry! But we are both very tired, and—and anyhow, what can we do about it right this minute?”

  “Not much,” she sighed. “We can go there in the morning, though, can’t we? I mean, it’s Saturday and I don’t have to go to school.”

  “Yes, of course. And I’m sure Claudia would like to find out whether her theory is correct. We’ll have to figure out how to get to this place. We could take a bus, I suppose, or even a train—I think there are still trains around there. And then find a taxi, or rent a car, though on a Saturday that might be difficult, because it’s a wealthy area and they’re probably booked in advance… Ellen love, I’m doing my best to work it out!”

  “All right,” she said after a pause. “Claudia, you’ll come too, won’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. What time do you want me to be here?”

  “You’re going home? At this hour? Don’t be silly.” There was a hint of peremptoriness in her tone.

  Peter hesitated. “Yes, I think it might be simpler if you stay over. I can kip on the living room couch—I have a sleeping bag.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Ellen said again, more forcefully.

  Claudia shrugged and turned toward the door. “Okay,” she said. “Good night.”

  “Good night! And—Dad!” Ellen had closed the gap between them with a single long stride, and thrown her arms around him. “Dad, I’m sorry I snapped at you. I do love you, you know.”

  “I love you,�
�� he said sincerely, and squeezed her hard.

  The unexpected details of an unexpected encounter…

  Claudia had to clean her teeth with his toothpaste on her forefinger. He didn’t have a spare brush, and with the advent of AIDS sharing toothbrushes had become uncustomary. They undressed by the light of a single shaded lamp, not looking at each other. Having removed her jacket and trousers, she hesitated a moment, then discarded her bra and panties as well. He had been intending to don the pajamas lately bought—he said facetiously—in case he, too, had to go to hospital, but on seeing her naked he changed his mind. When he joined her in the bed, she embraced and welcomed him without a word.

  To his surprise, their love-making was excellent.

  Afterward, while he snuggled against her shoulder, she said thoughtfully, “You know, I have a peculiar feeling that I’ve been conned.”

  But Peter was already fast asleep.

  Harry Shay felt uneasy as he slowed the Rolls at the speed limit of the run-down northern town to which David had directed him.

  Directed, in the sense of given orders…

  During the long drive from Surrey, the longest time—come to think of it—that he had been away from David since returning to Britain, he had started to have second thoughts about the course he and Alice had adopted. The way the American economy was collapsing, of course, they had in one sense been lucky; they had pulled out in time to take a considerable fortune with them.

  On the other hand, if anyone ever gets to hear about the way we allow these underage kids to carry on…!

  One of them was beside him, and he kept casting worried glances at her. She looked positively demure in her dark jacket, mid-calf skirt, neat low-heeled shoes, innocent of either makeup or jewelry save for a silver watch. But she had been a prostitute since she ran away from home at twelve—she had somehow caused one of her customers to cut his own throat—she already had a police computer-record longer than his own, who had sailed financially close to the wind before he left for that land of opportunity which now was turning into a disaster zone…

  Grief! Who’d have thought that a few tons of solvents leaking over such a large area could lead to such a crisis? But it’s happening. It’s going to be like Texas when the oil bubble burst. For the first time in living memory California has shown a net annual loss of population…

  He’d learned that by phone from Goldfarb, whom he had rung last week. He hadn’t seen it in the papers, nor on the news services he subscribed to via computer.

  Where have they gone? They surely can’t have died!

  As though sensing his mood, Crystal laid her hand on his and smiled.

  “You’re worried, aren’t you? Why?”

  He was obliged to answer, though he didn’t want to.

  “Well—for one thing, David usually comes on these trips, and I don’t know why he didn’t want to this time.”

  Reassuringly: “Something else has come up—very important. But until now he didn’t really feel he could depute the job to someone else. I’m flattered that he feels I can take care of this one… In any case, it’s the least promising lead so far.”

  “Lead?”

  “To—another of us,” Crystal replied enigmatically.

  “Yes, that’s been bothering me.” Harry drew the car to a halt. “How does he choose our—our recruits?”

  “Through his computers, how else? The same ones that generated this map.” It was a four-color printout showing the town down to house numbers. Leaning close despite the restraint of her seat belt, she spread it before him on the steering wheel, and put her arm around his neck so that she was speaking close to his cheek—so close, he could feel her breath on his skin. “The Hallams live where you see the red star. We have to take the second right, the third left, and the first right. Okay?”

  “Okay!”

  She gave him a hug and resumed her place. After that he forgot the doubts that had been plaguing him.

  Pepita Hallam looked about her nervously as she dragged her wheeled shopping bag toward the entrance of the tower-block where she lived. There was going to be trouble when Cynthia found out how much less than usual she had brought home: one carton of cigarettes instead of two, no vodka, barely enough food to keep them going over the weekend…

  But since the detectives had arrested her at the supermarket, since she had actually been taken to court—even though, of course, she had been found not guilty—she had grown terribly uncertain of her own talent. There had always been gaps in it, naturally, and she had made allowances for them. What she hadn’t bargained for was that people out of range of her influence—plus, inevitably, their computers—would be able to work out what she was doing, and pounce.

  I’m going to have to get out of here. Why should I lay my neck on the block for my sick whenzie of a mother?

  The sound of a car made her check and turn. Around here most cars were abandoned wrecks, either because their engines had seized up for lack of oil or because their owners could no longer afford a road-fund license or the annual road-worthiness check, or simply because of the price of petrol. For whatever reason, they served chiefly as shelters for the exploding army of the homeless unemployed.

  But this one was a Rolls Royce.

  And it was drawing up beside her.

  And a girl her own age was first looking at her, then getting out.

  A girl enough like her to be, if not her sister, then at least her cousin.

  Pepita’s mouth was dry, her limbs were frozen. She could only stare.

  “You must be Pepita,” the stranger said with total confidence. Behind her, leaning across to the open passenger door, a serious-faced man was also gazing her way.

  She forced out an admission of identity. She had feared the police, of course, and was at a loss on finding that assumption irrelevant.

  “Was your mother ever known as Sindy?”

  “What?”

  Patiently the girl from the car repeated the question.

  “Well—yes! But how did you know? How do you know me?”

  “All in good time. I’m Crystal. This is Harry.”

  Mumbled: “How do you do?”

  Now Harry too emerged from the car and came to stand at the side of his—daughter? Not very likely; there was a resemblance, but also something about the girl’s manner and attitude…

  “Harry,” she said, and her tone was one of authority.

  “Yes?”

  “Ring David and tell him he was right. Then we’ll help Pepita take this stuff upstairs.”

  Bitterly: “Upstairs is right! Unless they’ve fixed the lifts! Just as well I have a light load today, isn’t it?”

  Why am I saying this? I don’t know these people! I don’t talk to strangers about my problems!

  Crystal came forward and clasped her hand, smiling. A sense of confidence invaded her mind during the brief time it took for Harry to place a call via the phone in the car. In fact it wasn’t really a call, not a spoken one at any rate. What he did was convert the phone buttons into a computer keyboard and punch in a brief code. Pepita had read about that sort of thing, but of course no one in her personal world…

  “Now,” said Crystal encouragingly, “let’s go up.”

  It isn’t happening. It can’t be.

  Where were the howls, the screams, the drunken tantrums? What had made Cynthia remember and revert to the person she must once have been, the polite and gracious girl who made visitors welcome with cups of tea and biscuits? What had made her vanish in order to put on a dress instead of her housecoat, wash her face, comb her hair, apply lipstick? The transformation was incredible!

  Gradually the truth began to dawn.

  This Crystal: she can do what I can. Only better.

  Pepita began to tremble with excitement. Barely an hour after the arrival of the visitors, she was packing her gear into paper bags and plastic sacks. Cynthia was sighing as though she felt it expected of her, but her eyes were shining on her daughter’s behalf, thanks
to the vivid word-picture of the future she could look forward to in the wealthy south…

  Yet no one has actually put it in so many words!

  It didn’t matter. It was real. What she had been dreaming of had come about.

  When she hugged her mother at the door, she knew it was—if so she chose—for the last time.

  Drowsy beside Crystal in the back seat of the Rolls, she whispered, “How did you find me?”

  “Ask David,” Crystal answered. Overhearing, Harry spoke over his shoulder.

  “Yes, ask David! He’s a phenomenon, my son! Half the time even I can’t figure out what he’s doing, but it always seems to turn out right!”

  A dead pause, during which they listened to the purr of the car’s engine and the hush of its tires on the roadway and the wind of its high-speed passage.

  Son?

  Unspoken, the question could be read on Pepita’s face. Sensing what she meant, Crystal donned a wry smile and shook her head. Shaping words in a less-than-whisper, drawing back so Harry could not glimpse her in the rearview mirror, she communicated:

  He’ll catch on. All in good time. All in good time…

  You’re watching TV Plus. Time for Newsframe.

  In South Korea the air force has destroyed a pharmaceutical factory and the surrounding area with incendiary bombs. According to the Ministry of Public Health the operation was necessitated by the escape of organisms containing cancer-causing oncogenes. Two hundred people are reported dead and hundreds more in hospital. Rioting has broken out in several nearby towns. More in a moment.

  Here at home, concern over the disappearance of General Sir Hampton Thrower…