“Participation by otherwise disinterested people makes them come alive. It allows us to decide among ourselves. Instead, you pursued the methods of a kangaroo court. The whole situation is wack-a-doodle.” Walter’s face felt red and flustered.
“Kangaroos! What a delightful description. I do adore wildlife. This kangaroo court, as you call it, will yield numerous benefits to the Alpine’s occupants.”
“What benefits, pray tell?”
“I think the participation of otherwise lost souls, a guarantee of justice, strengthened relationships within the community, closure for the aggrieved and greater intention among the occupants for their future actions—all are possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, someone will walk away and assume some responsibility for their lives and the lives of others, just as you are now.”
“That is a weak resignation. You must aspire to something greater than us, not some convenient idea you pulled from some past failures. You wager Hani’s life against some made up notion of personal accountability?”
“What would you have me do? The old systems of justice are long forgotten, and from what I understand, they were not that effective in the first place. All we have now is each other. We must look to each other to achieve anything in this world. I also understand that we have not received any fruitful response from the southern platforms regarding our situation with the little girl and the jellyfish. Now I must count on other occupants to travel beyond our waters to seek assistance, for we are helpless by ourselves. I have spoken to the members of the fleet, but they are weak, and they are cowards. They would not sail more than a day from the Alpine, and even then, only with the promise of crab and sardine. If you will, I think that girl Sage is the best choice. She is young but already an experienced sailor. She would be a capable successor.”
“Tell me that you are you absolutely sure that this is worth pursuing.”
“It is impossible to maintain confidence about anything after the Second Plagues, but with some assurance, it feels right, where any alternative would feel wrong. Throughout history, mankind aspired to do great things. But in this time, in this world is it even possible to aspire to anything? We are lucky if we have enough sense to cling to our humanity. To what do you aspire, might I ask?”
Walter did not have an immediate response. Sycamore was still going to stand aside as Buckminster’s men executed an innocent man. There was not much time left. What was he going to tell the Braided Woman? How could he show his face to Naamah?
“Our ancestors stood aside and allowed and encouraged the scarring of our planet. I think they stopped caring. What on Earth were our ancestors doing that they could justify ripping this planet out from under us? Whatever it was, I hope it was worth it.”
Walter backed out of the room and left Sycamore to rummage through his ancient blueprints.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HANI KATHARDA
Hani was thrown to the ground outside the platform. Hail snapped at his face. He was wet and shivering, on his knees, and surrounded by both Roughnecks and security.
He sat low with his head slumped. All of these bodies were eager to complete their task, even though they were at each other’s throats only an hour ago. He smiled to himself, funny how his death would unite these idiots.
A small flare occasionally warmed his skin. In those brief moments, it was a few comfortable degrees above freezing, but he took little comfort in that fact. The water was cold regardless. The water was always cold and it sprayed his face with each wave. He was shivering and his left foot had fallen asleep. He tried to shake it off.
Beatrice Plantain stood over him in front of the crowd. “I hope you are feeling well, Hani,” she uttered in her gruff and guttural way.
“Is this necessary?”
Hani looked up for a moment
Next to the Braided Woman stood a man, clean shaven, which was unusual for the Alpine. But with pale skin, less unusual. The man’s fingernails were unduly long. Perhaps this mate took himself as a type of prophet or father figure. Hani was occasionally so annoyed by his own fingernails that he regularly ripped them to a more suitable length, so these were a curiosity. They were unadorned, without the decoration of dyes or clasps, but they were long to the point of impractical excess, curling in on themselves several times over and ready to betray their own fingers. He was neither Roughneck nor security.
And there was Buckminster Jackhammer. Shit.
“The bodies of our compatriots sink to the bottom of this ocean even as we speak, with only the weight of the ocean above their necks. Others, as fate has it, fall from the skies. If I have to stand in this cold, then I am going to execute something,” Buckminster said.
The Braided Woman was practically on top of Hani, wrapped in a protective rain coat, and kept a close eye on her charge. Water and spit flew from her mouth onto Hani’s head. She peered down at Hani, curled in a protective ball with a leg in the midst of a knee-jerking dance. “Do you know what happens when you drown?”
Hani looked up at his oppressor. The pasty braided officer that stood over him was tightly wound, from her hair to her socks. She was one of Sycamore’s, tasked with fulfilling the will of the people. He guessed what they were going to do with him, and thought that the occupants assigned the burden would enjoy it, perhaps as much as he enjoyed making chum, maybe more. He remained silent.
She shrugged. “Well if you have no thoughts on the subject...”
“You will do what Sycamore Johnston wants you to do. You will always do what Sycamore Johnston wants you to do. Anything I might say won't change that.”
“Pardon me?” This Braided Woman gave Hani an upturned and accusing eyebrow. Hani, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out where this seething hatred for him came from. Did he wrong this girl in some other life? Buckminster understood. But then, Buckminster was an asshole. He hated everyone.
Buckminster spoke up. “One more asinine comment from you and I will tie you naked to the platform. You can watch your clothes sink to the bottom of the Atlantic before we throw you in. The cold air will turn your skin into ice as your testicles shrivel.”
See? Asshole.
Hani returned his head to its lowered position. “Nothing.” He considered that this man, with all the decorum of a ballistic missile, truly wanted to shame him. And the man with the fingernails probably wanted to see it happen, too. But the Braided Woman? Wasn’t she the Alpine’s enforcer? Would she really let Buckminster kill him?
“Yes, of course. It would be easy enough for us to throw you overboard, let your useless flesh drown. But I can do something better,” Buckminster warned.
The Braided Woman grabbed a plastic face mask with a black tube and a small tank. She handed it to Buckminster.
Buckminster continued. “You see, I am going to give you this oxygen, so that you don’t actually drown. No. That would be too easy. Too quick. Instead, what is going to kill you is the pressure. You are going to breathe as you sink. The water will suddenly turn calm. You won’t even realize that there is a storm up here. It will completely smother your body, but it will be calm. No wind. No fire. And the further down you go, the calmer it will get, and the pressure will increase. You will feel the slow progress. It will be like there is too much blood in your head.”
He continued speaking as he slapped Hani’s head back and forth.
“It will converge on your eardrums, until they pop. Blood will trickle out and cold water will rush into your brain. And it will be cold. You will curse me, down there, in the dark. You will curse the Alpine. And you will curse the whole of the world. You will curse your friends as you wonder why they did not save you. And you will curse yourself for letting us drag you into this level of hell.”
He was picking up steam.
And the Braided Woman next to him. Was she smiling? Hani did not understand how this girl could relish such brutality. Is anything that he did so monstrous that he should be needlessly tortured? Was Crane's life that important? Perhaps to B
uckminster. But to the girl?
The Chum Man scowled. Buckminster Jackhammer was the reason behind all of this. That self-important coward couldn't take responsibility for his own failure on the derrick. He needed to pass the blame to someone. Hani was the easiest target. And Buckminster was right in front of him. The overwhelming gut, the pasty skin and relentless wheezing that followed every move. He hated him. Sycamore might be the man in charge, but now he was going to die because of Buckminster Jackhammer.
Sycamore was going to let it happen. The Braided Woman was going to let it happen.
So, Buckminster Jackhammer runs the platform now.
The impulse was to unleash what little energy he had to break free from the Braided Woman. He would get caught. He didn't doubt that at all. But it would give him an opportunity to take Buckminster Jackhammer with him. The frustration cleared from his mind with the sense of purpose as a breeze cooled his face. He tried to work through how to make it happen. After he cleared through the Braided Woman and the Mate. Then there was Buckminster. He could do it if only he wasn’t the worst of the bunch.
He would take Buckminster with him to the bottom of the ocean. If he couldn’t do that, then maybe he could escape. Maybe he could reach one of the other platforms, come across a fishing vessel.
“The deeper you go, the more toxic the oxygen in your tank will become, thousands of pounds per square inch. Eventually, you will feel a crackling in your bones. You might even hear the succession of pops, if the pain doesn’t drown out the noise in your head. It will feel like your neck will rip from your spine from the stress. Your muscles will involuntarily tense as you fight the building pressure. The idea sends brittle shivers down my spine. Barracuda, that feels good.”
He paused to catch his breath.
“You may not feel your limbs, and your eyes may not work, but you will have just enough awareness left to feel the extra warmth that once gave you life fill up your face before abandoning you altogether. As all of that pressure kicks in, your body will give up. Your vision will fade as the whole world becomes a big, cold, spinning blur. Your blood will leave your extremities altogether and they will go numb, dead from weight of the ocean above you, and you might still have just enough of your brain left to feel them go grey and limp.”
It won’t be so bad if I can drag you down with me.
“You won’t be able to see any of this. It will be too dark by then. You might wrap yourself into a ball to create a more compact form, but that will only spare you a moment of panic. Your ribs will be the first to crack. Blood will seep into your lungs. You might even cough up blood into your oxygen mask. Then the crunch will go through your entire body. You will collapse. And you will die. ”
Buckminster seemed satisfied.
The Braided Woman took a close look at Hani’s face before returning to her position on the boat, still with an eye on her charge.
Hani gazed at the deep black ocean in front of him. This platform was a great hulking monster that rose from the ocean depths, and its feet would be his final resting place. He considered diving into the ocean and swimming as deep as he could before his survival instinct kicked in and forced him to clamor upwards for air. He would still die, drown before he could reach the surface, but he could at least grant himself a quick death, in circumstances under his control. Yet, even as he confronted his own end so immediately, he was afraid. And what if they caught him in his escape?
Beatrice was good. She wouldn’t let him get far. There wasn’t any doubt in Hani’s mind that the Braided Woman could out-swim him.
And Buckminster would stretch his imagination to its limits.
So he stayed where he was, huddled, cold and wet.
The standing Mate kicked Hani’s gut so that he could not fight and squirm, doubling him over. They tied his hands and feet together. Beatrice secured the oxygen tank to his face, wrapping it tight to prevent water from seeping in. Then they dragged him to his feet to roll him over the railing. For a moment, Hani Katharda was bent into the railing, halfway between the Alpine and the plunge, his lungs pressed into the steel bar.
“May I speak?” The oxygen mask muffled his voice.
Hani heard a snippy “What do you want?” from the Braided Woman.
“It is only fair that I have final words in the presence of others.”
“Fine.”
Beatrice removed the clasps that kept the oxygen mask on Hani’s face. He nudged the mask aside and looked Beatrice in her eyes. “The ocean is my home. Its creatures are part of me. It is and I know it. The weight of the ocean will bear itself upon each of you.”
“Is that all?”
Hani responded with silence.
The Braided Woman held him firm, apparently not yet ready to throw him into the water. “What did you do to Makrigga?” Her expression was stern. There was urgency in her tone, as though she didn’t want to waste this final opportunity to ask a few questions.
But if she was going to kill him all the same, he wasn’t going to play the part.
“When.” The Chum Man had no interest in the question.
“Today.”
“I saved him from the sand tiger.” Sort of. Not really.
“That's not what I'm talking about. I’m talking about today.”
Hani couldn't bring himself to engage in a conversation with this woman. He scrutinized the ocean, a penetrating stare that tried to see the very bottom. The vast depths stared right back. The Braided Woman's sudden concern over Makrigga irritated his final moments on this Earth.
“Makrigga's insanity. What did you do to him? How did you send him careening around the platform? How did you make him lose his mind?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Hani spit out. “I didn’t see Makrigga today. Why don’t you try the girl? Or Feret? If that maniac managed to escape the riots. Didn’t you lose half of your precious security guards in those pits? Unlikely that an erratic goon like Feret survived.”
“Don't be dense. Makrigga was shouting obscenities and lashing out at people earlier. What would have set him off?”
The Chum Man wasn't going to bother repeating himself.
“He tried to stop you, so you poisoned him. With what?” Now the Braided Woman added a flash of anger to her voice.
“What are you doing, Beatrice,” Buckminster demanded. It wasn’t a question.
“I haven't seen him since we came back with the sand tiger. I don't know what you're talking about.” It occurred to Hani that maybe he should ask what exactly it was she thought Makrigga tried to stop him from doing. He hadn't seen Makrigga since they went hunting. He certainly didn't do anything to him. Maybe he was a fall guy for some other problem, just like with the Crane. And yet, here he was, taking the fall once again for some other person's sins. But then Hani dismissed the thought as tedious. It wouldn't help his current predicament anyway.
He was a dedicated scapegoat.
He let himself curl his lip in a tainted smile. In the afterlife, that's how they would know him. Not as the Chum Man, but as the Scapegoat.
Nonetheless, it looked like Beatrice believed him. The Chum Man had nothing to do with Makrigga's hysteria. He may be capable of inflicting unspeakable sins on his fellow man, but Makrigga was not one of those men. It was someone else entirely. She would have to go back to where she came from to get answers after they threw him into the Atlantic.
Buckminster looked expectantly at the Braided Woman. “Throw him in. We’re done here.”
Hani looked up at the Braided Woman with expectant eyes as she worked through the situation. She could take all the time in the world, for all he cared. He was half tempted to ask about Makrigga, to find out if he was hurt. But it wouldn't help his situation. It would only frustrate Buckminster, prompt him to do unspeakable things. The smug cod fish. So he kept his mouth shut. He had worked with Makrigga on this platform for over two decades. He couldn’t guess how many times they sailed together. The man could take care of himself, and he had no
thing to do with Makrigga getting poisoned. Unless Sand Tiger Sharks were poisonous, but that was unlikely. Sage would have said something.
The Braided Woman looked down on him. Hani thought that she looked almost surprised. Maybe.
“Strap on the tank,” the Braided Woman said.
“About time,” Buckminster complained.
The Mate strapped the oxygen tank to the Chum Man's back cinching the straps enough to elicit a pained exhale from his prisoner. Then he pulled Hani’s hair back, jammed the regulator into his mouth and strapped the face mask back over his eyes. The Chum Man tried to spit the regulator out, but the Mate kept it firmly in place. Hani fought off a gag reflex as oxygen flowed from the tank. The Mate strapped the regulator to the Chum Man's face with duct tape. They didn’t appear concerned with whether he could see. Only that he could breathe as he went down. Dribbles of saliva bubbled on the corners of his mouth.
He had to get Buckminster before this happened. He couldn't let this execution happen before he took that coward with him. The Chum Man squirmed around to free himself from the Mate, pushing himself to his knees and launching himself through the barrier of the Braided Woman.
It didn't work.
The Braided Woman gripped the straps around his shoulders and rammed his face into the steel floor, then pulled him around. It felt like she was going to break his neck and he couldn't do anything about it. He had absolutely no control. He sputtered some more into the mask. Tears welled up into the corners of his eyes. Buckminster would never fall if the Braided Woman paralyzed him. Nothing would stop them from throwing him into the ocean.
Hani let his body go limp.
The Braided Woman eased the pressure on his neck and pulled him up by the straps so he was back on his knees.
Hani was relieved to breathe again, even if the air came from a tank. He tried to rip off the mask. Maybe they would listen to reason. If only he could explain. Certainly the Braided Woman would understand his need for justice for himself. If she was determined to make this happen out of some sense of integrity, certainly she wouldn't deny him the chance for a little piece for himself. She must see that Buckminster was deranged. Why didn’t she care?
The Platform Page 23
