Omega к-4

by Джек Макдевитт

  And brown-eyed Chola. And Kamah, who was the most timid of all. And Lokar, who had never read anything in his life.

  “I only need two,” he said.

  BLACK CAT REPORT

  Ron, it’s becoming hard to see any separation between the cloud and the planet. The bulk of it is over ocean at the moment. Our sensors indicate that rock and dust are being hurled into the atmosphere, that conditions in the atmosphere are becoming, to say the least, turbulent.

  The good news is that the Goompah cities are moving away from it, out onto the other side of the world. For the moment, at least, they’re shielded. They’re beginning to get some flooding, but other than that they’re still in pretty good shape. Tonight will be critical, Ron, when the Goompahs rotate into the heart of the storm.

  This is Rose Beetem reporting from Lookout.

  Avery Whitlock’s Notebooks

  It has been the fashion since Darwin to attack religious belief on grounds that it is oppressive, that it closes the mind, that it leads to intolerance and often to violence. And not least of all, that most of the faiths are necessarily wrong, as they contend against each other.

  Yet there is much that is ennobling in the belief that there is, after all, a higher power. That there is a purpose to existence. That we owe loyalty to something greater than ourselves. And it strikes me that, even when we get the details wrong, that belief can produce a happy result.

  chapter 46

  On the ground between T’Mingletep and Savakol.

  Monday, December 15.

  “HOW COULD YOU tell them that?” demanded Julie.

  “How could I tell them what?”

  “That the goddess would be with them. They’re on their own, and they’ll find that out quickly enough.”

  Digger shook his head. “She’ll be with them,” he said. “They’ll discover they’re stronger and more capable than they ever thought. Anyhow, what would you have done? Tell them to go ahead and leave Grandma?”

  Pictures were coming in. Throughout Savakol and the cities of the Triad in the south, in Saniusar and Mandigol and Hopgop in the north, across the midbelt of the Intigo, the Goompahs were on the move. Lykonda was appearing outside cafés and metalworking shops, theaters and public buildings, on bridges and docks. In Roka, she stood above the incoming tide; in Kagly, she showed up in the private home of the squant, a member of the town council. At T’Mingletep she took over the yardarm of a long-beached schooner. In Mandigol she stood on a river. Everywhere the word went through the streets. They got some interference from the storms, and occasionally the goddess broke up into an eruption of color. But it was working. They chose their times carefully, initiating the programs when the rains slackened and the lightning died down. To the Goompahs it must have seemed that the elements were bowing to her will.

  “Get to high ground.”

  It was Kellie’s contralto. With, he thought, some majesty mixed in.

  “I will be with you.”

  THE WIND ROSE during the night.

  They flew over Kagly, north up the coast. The shoreline curved almost due west between Kagly and Avapol, which was about forty kilometers away. There were a number of islands. Lykonda had appeared on one, and they noted with satisfaction that the sea was full of lights. A small flotilla was moving back and forth between the islands and the mainland. The word was getting around.

  Near dawn they hovered over Kulnar and watched cold, tired masses of Goompahs plodding out of the city and climbing into the hills. The storm abated and the sky became quiet, but it was still heavy with Marge’s clouds, cloaking the horror that hung over their heads.

  The isthmus road was full of moving lights. The countryside, the crests of hills, trails leading into the uplands, were all alive with traffic. In the harbors, ships were pulling out, making for deep water.

  Bill relayed pictures of the omega. It was coming alive, enormous lightning bolts rippling through it, crashing down into Lookout’s upper atmosphere. The sun rose, and the bolts brightened the western sky. But they were falling behind as the isthmus rode into the dawn.

  “Last day,” said Julie, shivering.

  Rain continued to fall in varying degrees of intensity across the peninsula. “This is the sort of thing,” Whit said, “that constitutes the stuff of legends.”

  “You mean they’ll tell this story to their grandkids,” said Julie.

  Digger smiled. “And nobody who wasn’t here will believe it.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” said Whit. “One day this might all become part of a sacred scripture.”

  “Not on this world,” insisted Digger. “I keep remembering a sign we saw at one of the schools. ‘Think for yourself.’ If they can really push that, I doubt any of their grandkids will believe Lykonda actually showed up.”

  “Pity,” said Julie. “It’s a lovely story.”

  Bill’s features showed up on-screen. “One of the chimneys is down,” he said. “In the south. Near T’Mingletep.”

  Much of the western coastline was beginning to flood. Marge got on the circuit. “The cloud is hitting the far side pretty hard,” she said. “The isthmus is already seeing the effects. Look for high winds, maybe tornadoes. God knows. It’ll get worse during the day, and they’ll get hammered tonight. Best for you is to skedaddle. Stay on the day side of the planet. Keep it between you and the omega.”

  In fact, the omega was enormously bigger than Lookout, and Digger knew that it would fold completely over the world. And then, finally exhausted, it would pass.

  One night. The Intigo only had to get through one night.

  THEY DRIFTED OVER Mandigol, which was lovely in the gray dawn. There was a waterfall to the northeast, fed by a lake roughly a hundred meters above sea level. A bank of white mist crept down from the lake, drifting over houses and parks, closing in on the center of the city. Some of it had already drifted out onto the docks, where a few torches and oil lamps burned. A half dozen boats floated at anchor, and a single large ship was headed out to sea.

  Mandigol was a city of architects. The inhabitants obviously liked cupolas and rotundas. Most of the public buildings were domed, the westside indoor market area was domed, scores of homes were domed, even the park shelters were domed. Many of these were supported by fluted columns. Cornices and transverse arches were everywhere. Several structures boasted upper and lower galleries, and four steeples marked the corners of the city.

  There was a host of trees and gardens. The inhabitants of Mandigol loved their gardens. Vegetation was an art form, and when the mist moved in to shroud walls and buildings, when everyone had fled so there was no distraction, it took on the appearance of a celestial dwelling place. When the gods retire, one Goompah sage had observed, they will come to Mandigol.

  THE REMAINING RAINMAKERS all let go within a few minutes of each other and drifted away.

  The exodus was painful to watch. Everywhere, exhausted Goompahs had collapsed on the trails. Younger ones, dragged from sleep, screamed. Some took charge and tried to direct traffic. They were drenched by intermittent rain, and they shivered in the autumn air. They carried clothing and food wrapped in skins and bags, drove berbas and other domestic animals before them, sat on wagons, and generally looked miserable.

  “Some aren’t going,” said Whit.

  Digger had seen that there were Goompahs in the windows of many of the houses. “Probably rather die at home,” he said.

  “Or maybe,” said Julie grimly, “they’re rationalists.”

  “Storm’s going to get worse,” said Dig.

  Whit looked depressed. “I wish we could do something for them.”

  “There are limits to what you can do,” said Julie. “Maybe even if you’re a god. At some point they have to take responsibility for themselves.”

  “We could try running it again,” said Digger. He wanted to go down into the town, bang on the doors, tell them for God’s sake to get out.

  “I think Julie’s right,” said Whit. “Deities don’t
make curtain calls.”

  THE ROADS LEADING out of Mandigol were strained to the limit. There were overturned carts, dead pack animals, abandoned supplies. But the Goompahs kept moving.

  The city was fortunate. High ground lay on three sides, and it was neither far nor positioned in difficult terrain. It wouldn’t be an easy night for refugees, and it was, of course, all uphill. But most should be able to get clear. A few looked up as they passed overhead, and Digger wondered if the lightbender had been inadvertently turned off. But the hull was invisible, and he suspected it was his imagination, or perhaps they’d heard the drive, which was quiet but not silent.

  “Look down there,” said Whit, pointing.

  There was a commotion on a forest trail.

  Julie took the lander down to treetop level.

  Hundreds of refugees had gathered on the southern bank of the river the Goompahs called the Orko, which flowed down from the mountains north of Saniusar and emptied into the western ocean. To get to high ground, the population of Mandigol proper had to cross the river. The river was wide and deep, a Mississippi, and it was swollen. There was no bridge, and no place where it could be forded. Crossing was done by ferry.

  To meet the emergency, the Goompahs had collected a small fleet of shallow-draft vessels, flatboats, sailboats, canoes, and rafts. It looked as if everything that could float and could be gotten upriver had been thrown into the effort. But one flatboat had been overloaded. It had foundered in the middle of the river and was sinking.

  As they drew close, Digger saw a couple of Goompahs fall overboard. Ropes were thrown to them from the boat, but hauling them back would do no good: The vessel was minutes from going down. There were close to forty refugees packed onto it, maybe three times its capacity. The deck was half-submerged.

  A small boat, not unlike an outrigger canoe, was hurrying to the rescue, but it was far too small to be able to help.

  Digger activated his e-suit and strapped on the lightbender.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Julie.

  “Rescue drowning Goompahs,” he said. “It’s my specialty.”

  “Where are you going to put them? Anyhow, you damned near drowned yourself last time.” She looked at Whit. “We’re going to open up,” she said.

  Whit understood and activated his own suit. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Just stand by.”

  “You sure you can do this, Digger?” she asked.

  “Are you serious?” In fact it looked a little scary, but he couldn’t sit there and watch a boatload of Goompahs go down.

  When the cabin pressure had equalized, she opened the airlock. Digger switched on his lightbender, activated his goggles so he’d be able to see the outside the spacecraft, and grabbed two coils of cable from the storage locker. He stuck his head through the outer hatch and looked down.

  The vessel’s anchor was a rock. It was tied to a line, located forward at the prow. The line was secured through a hole in the planking. Aft, the tiller had a housing that looked pretty solid. “Lower, Julie,” he said.

  She took him down onto the water and he opened the hatch wide. It may have been that the occupants of the boat were too preoccupied to notice the sudden appearance of a disembodied airlock. Whatever, they paid no attention.

  He slipped out onto the treads and secured each of his two lines to the undercarriage, one toward the front, one in the rear.

  “They told me you were a kind of bookish guy,” Julie said.

  “Books? Yep. That’s me.”

  “I hope,” she continued, “you don’t tear the bottom out of this thing.”

  “Get us in front of the boat,” he said.

  She complied. “I wish we could get a picture of this.”

  Digger was in fact impressed with his own display of audacity. It was out of character. He’d always been willing to help when people needed it, but his enthusiasm usually ran in inverse proportion to any degree of personal risk. He wondered what was happening to him.

  It would have been easier if he could have gotten onto the deck. But there was no room. Working off the tread, he leaned down, pushed one of the Goompahs aside, got hold of the anchor line, and tied the cable to it.

  “Hurry,” said Whit.

  The prow was going under. Goompahs grunted and screamed. More fell into the river.

  Julie took him to the after section on the flatboat, and he jumped into the water, hauled himself up near the tiller housing, and decided it wouldn’t do. Up close it looked spindly.

  He took the line and dived beneath the boat with it, came up on the other side, tried to measure it so he had as much slack as the front line had. Then he looped it around the tread.

  “Okay, Julie,” he said. “Lift.”

  The after section rose first and a couple more went into the river. He didn’t have it quite right. But it was close enough. Most of the passengers hung on, although they were whimpering and sobbing.

  Julie didn’t actually lift the flatboat out of the water. In fact, she couldn’t have even had she wished. The boat was far too heavy. But she was able to keep it afloat. Some of those in the water were picked up by the outrigger. But a few were swept downriver.

  Gradually, with Digger hanging on to one side, the flatboat got across to the northern shore. Several of the survivors declared it a miracle.

  DIGGER’S SURPRISE AT his own heroism was dampened by the knowledge that some of the refugees had been lost. But when he got back inside the lander, Julie insisted on delivering a passionate smooch, commenting that she knew Kellie wouldn’t mind, and Whit shook his hand with obvious respect. It might have been the first time in his life that Digger had earned that kind of reaction from someone of Whitlock’s stature. He began to feel he could do anything.

  The winds were getting stronger. “Time to recall the landers,” said Julie. Put everything back on Mt. Alpha and tie it down. And get back into the AV3. Put some heavy metal between themselves and the coming storm. They should, she said, take off and head west. Safety for the next twenty hours or so lay in daylight.

  They returned the landers to Mt. Alpha and spent the rest of the morning securing them as best they could. Another thunderstorm rolled past at lower altitudes, and by noon they had boarded the AV3 and were ready to clear out.

  Digger wondered about Macao, where she was, what she was thinking, and hoped she was okay. He would go back eventually, at least to assure himself that she’d survived. And maybe, if things had worked out reasonably well, he’d say hello.

  Challa, Macao.

  “We’re forgetting something,” Whit said, as they strapped in and prepared for flight.

  “What’s that?” asked Digger.

  Whit heaved a long sigh. Bad news coming. “The round-the-world mission.”

  Digger hadn’t really forgotten. He’d been aware of it, in some remote corner of his mind, but he’d been telling himself the three ships were already as safe as anything he could arrange. They were in deep water, and all they’d have to do was trim their sails, or take them down, or whatever it was you did in one of those things when the wind started to blow. And ride it out.

  Julie brought the AI up. “Bill,” she said, “what do we have on the round-the-world mission? Where are they?”

  “Last sighting is twenty hours old,” he said. “At that time they were doing well. They have reached the coast of the eastern continent and are now sailing north, looking for a passage.”

  Should be as safe as anybody could reasonably expect, thought Digger. At least they’re not standing on an island.

  THE GOOMPAHS, WHIT predicted, would later tell their children that Lykonda was everywhere on this night. She directed traffic in each of the eleven cities, assisted those who had fallen, used a torch to show the way around a flooded valley outside Kulnar, held a bridge in place until several hundred had crossed safely, lifted several who’d been stranded on a rapidly disappearing island, taking them into her hands and transporting them to safe ground.
She will have found a lost child in the rising waters outside Avapol; provided light to those struggling along a narrow mountain ledge; returned to Sakmarung to help those who had refused to leave until the floodwaters came.

  “The legend will grow,” he said.

  “It’s the way religion is,” said Digger.

  “I suppose. But I prefer to think of it as the way human nature is. It’s a great story. On the night when they most needed her, Lykonda came. It tells me that they are a lot more like us than would make some folks comfortable.”

  “I suppose,” said Digger. “All in all, we’ve gotten a lot of use from her tonight.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “How do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to be sure who’s using whom.”

  BILL WAS PICKING up bits and pieces of transmissions from the omega monitors, and also from satellites placed in orbit by the Jenkins.

  The cloud was such an amorphous object that it was impossible to say precisely when it made contact with Lookout. But what was clear was that, by midday on the Intigo, the planet was in its embrace. Rain and high winds swept across the Goompah cities.

  The Jenkins stayed in contact. Giant storms, they said. Some loose rock that had been traveling with the cloud was coming down. The ocean surged from the west and, as they’d expected, submerged wide parcels of land. The river that flowed out of T’Mingletep overwhelmed its banks and spread out in all directions. The city on the island went underwater.

  They were getting ready to depart Mt. Alpha when Bill reported an earthquake on the floor of the eastern ocean. “ Tsunamis coming.”

  “How bad?”

  “They look relatively small. I can’t be certain at the moment because they’re in deep water. But they’re approaching an island chain, and I can let you know then. Just a few minutes.”

  “When are they going to get here?”

  “Hour and a half.”

  He relayed satellite pictures of the islands. The weather seemed quiet. In fact, the sun was out and the beaches were gleaming. Long-legged birds strutted on the sand, which was bordered by forest. “This where the tsunami’s headed?” Digger asked.