An hour before dawn, Schröd began to stretch and groom, waking both Sam and Hugh. Eventually Schrödinger climbed into the front seat; then he found it necessary to relieve himself a few minutes later. McCahan, still half asleep, discovered the condition in the most natural way. At the point of relief itself, the sensation of being peed upon by a large cat is unforgettable.
“For Christ sake, Schröd!” Hugh snarled. “At least you could go in the back seat!” Schröd, reluctant to exit the vehicle, was exiled immediately to the rear of the sedan.
Under the stress of the moment, Sam’s sense of control and reserve gave way. Hugh’s irritation with her pet led to uncontrollable giggling. After a minute, Hugh finally cracked, his laughter bringing him eventually to tears. When Hugh had stopped laughing to catch his breath, he turned to Sam.
“Time to roll out?”
“Okay, big guy,” Sam said shaking her head. “God, I could use some coffee.” Soon, she brought the Hovercraft’s fans to operating RPM. The vehicle rocked back and forth, but held in place. “Guess what?” she asked sweetly.
Hugh conceded defeat “I’ll go.” After all, parking in a creek bed had been his idea. He spent the next six minutes rocking the car back and forth outside in the early dawn, the snow blowing in his face from the fan wash, until the Nymbus seemed to be completely free. Then Hugh noticed that his pants had frozen stiff as a board. The cat urine had solidified.
Inside, the heater was blowing hot air from several vents. Schröd stood directly in the path of the breeze from the front panel, eyes closed, his rear feet planted on the back seat, front paws and chin on the back of Hugh’s seat.
“Hugh slid into his seat. Mind if I take my pants off?”
“Sure,” Sam started to reply, then broke out again in fatigue-driven hysterical laughter. “My mother…ha, ha…my mother…” Hugh then lost control and joined in the laughter. Sam’s statement was never completed.
After regaining her composure and a minute of relative silence, and when Schrödinger’s purring was nearly as loud as the Hovercraft’s 450 horsepower electric motors, Sam asked, “Are we ready now?” Hugh was dressed only in shirt and shorts. He nodded. Sam gunned the rear fans and the Nymbus resumed its meandering path through the pines. “How much longer should we stay in this creek bed?” She asked.
“An hour at most, I’d say. I believe it intersects with the new Trans-Canada at an overpass perpendicular to our heading.”
“Got it.”
“We might need to find another ride if we travel much farther in public.”
“Say one without windows?” Sam asked.
“Hah.”
“You really think we need to change cars?”
“Probably…” At that point, Schröd pushed his head against Hugh’s arm. Hugh gently scratched the large cat in the area behind his head. “…He is beautiful,” Hugh said. “I didn’t know any type twos were still alive.”
“Schröd’s markings are like a type two, but actually he’s an entirely new variety. Never registered…never disclosed. My uncle Jim – he and Aunt Nadine own the LeFevre ranch near Saint-Exupery’s Village – Jim has made a special vocation of cat intelligence augmentation.”
“You mean…beyond selective breeding?”
“Yes,” Sam replied. “Schröd’s genes have been augmented.”
“Not with human genes, I hope?
“Uncle Jim won’t say, but whatever he did, it is outside the law…Most everything is these days, even in Quebec.”
“But Schröd is safe to take out?” Hugh asked.
“My aunt and uncle know the local cops pretty well. But what isn’t risky? Schröd is a very careful cat. And his family does just fine as long as they stay on the ranch. Isn’t that so, Baby?” Sam reached out and scratched Schröd’s head. “Anyway, about changing cars? I rented this in Montreal.”
“Okay…” Hugh still seemed concerned.
“I used another name.”
“Good, good. Did any of your friends and colleagues at Columbia know where you were really going?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief. Let’s hope no one has figured it out.”
“My story is solid enough. Everyone knows I was to meet Jim and Nadine and stay at their ranch. In fact I rented this car under the assumed name with Mr. Falstaff’s help.”
“Not bad field-craft. I’ve never heard of Saint-Exupery’s Village. Is it very far from Toad Hall?”
“Only fifty five miles or so. Actually, the village really isn’t on the regular maps, thanks to a private deal between GFE and the Quebec authorities. It’s all part of the new underground economy. But I’ve been going to the family ranch for years. It’s in the middle of the edge of nowhere as far as the rest of the world is concerned.”
Hugh took a moment; then he changed the subject. “Sam, are you as troubled by the timing of all this as I am? I mean…the encryption key, Hoopes, me, Lew Springer, the burglary, Finnegan, Jack, Ruth, you, all in one place? All eggs in one basket? Such a short time window…then a huge, coordinated, take-no-prisoners strike.”
“You’re suggesting that somebody from the GFE inner circle talked?”
“Obviously.”
“My God, you think whoever did this had Finnegan’s entire guest list?”
“Some of the names, maybe, just maybe not yours…But surely they would have had all the obvious suspects, certainly my name, Lew, and Mother Liz…Of course any guest list would not establish who actually made it to the lodge…or whether we are now among dead or alive.”
“Until we surface,” Sam said. She studied the creek bed ahead for a moment in silence. What do you think we should we do, Hugh? I refuse to play dead unless there is no other choice. I’m not going to be able to live with a lot of maudlin, mourning colleagues, let alone a grieving family.”
“But there is a risk…”
“Really, there was nothing to link me with the Gael Lodge as such. There is no record of my consulting work for GFE.”
“Maybe, maybe not. When you do surface, you will need a very plausible, solidly backed cover story.”
“Oh but I already have that. Officially, I’ve been at Uncle Jim’s the whole time. This is part of my annual vacation pattern. The only possible hole is that rental agreement. Falstaff sent me a false drivers’ license, but…maybe, just maybe, I was spotted or followed. I suppose that there is a chance that someone spotted the rental car plates at the lodge.”
“All cover stories have a natural half-life. Yours should hold up for a time.”
“For what? For a week? A month? Six months? I do get your point, Hugh. But whatever I decide to do next, I will have to return Schröd to Uncle Jim’s place.”
“I agree. But, going back to stay at your ranch? The plan works for you, not for me. Maybe I could dispose of this Hovercraft for you, even return it. But Sam, at some point…soon…I really need to get to GFE headquarters in Australia. That may be our only safe-haven for now. You really should consider coming along with me.”
“Well, we are now within an easy drive to Jim and Nadine’s ranch. You and I both need some rest…and I need to drop off my furry friend. Now I know Schrödinger hasn’t been the easiest traveling companion…”
“Schröd is okay…now that he’s relieved himself.” Sam looked at him with mock disapproval; then her expression softened. “He was just marking his territory.”
“Swell.”
“You’ll feel better with new pants.”
“Make that any pants…and a shower.”
“Yes…and a shower. Schröd loves showers.” Samantha grinned wickedly.
“Good. We’ll make it threesome.”
“Dream on…” At that point in the conversation the creek debouched into a wide gravel bed, and a Trans-Canada overpass loomed ahead, its dark mass silhouetted by a series of blue lights attached to the guard rails. Sam brought the Hover-car to a full stop.
“What will it be, big guy? On to the border, to Saint-Exup
ery’s Village, to the ranch?”
“Would your aunt and uncle be willing to put me up for a couple of days?”
“Of course.”
“The ranch it is then.”
With that, Sam expertly maneuvered the ground effect vehicle into the freeway’s slow lane, lowered the recessed wheels, and quickly brought it up to the speed of traffic. “I just love these fan hybrid cars.” As the motors droned, Hugh settled in, rubbing his finger along the glass of the side window. “What do you propose to do?” Sam asked him after a time. “After we get you pants and a shower, I mean?”
“I need to find out what happened to everyone. Ultimately I need to report to Gael and Falstaff. Brace yourself, Sam. We all may have no choice in the matter -- sanctuary in Australia or arrest.”
Sam was silent for a moment. “Hugh…my big question is: Why has this happened?”
“The answer is in the data pack.”
“But isn’t everything lost now?”
“Nope. We always keep a backup copy of the data we sell.”
“But you don’t have the decryption key.”
“I’m sure Falstaff has the Hoopes’ key with him.”
“Where is the backup data?”
“We have a secure server; we call her Big Bird.”
Sam drove on a moment in silence. “Did I hear correctly, that Gael and Falstaff have a fleet of shuttles?”
“Three that I know of. The Kiwi, the Snark, and the Sparrow. Actually, I’ve heard rumors of a fourth ship. The Snark is reserved for Gael’s use. Reportedly, Falstaff wanted one exclusively for himself. If he got it, it would be the newest of the fleet.”
“What do they do with those things? I mean economically?”
“High-tech communications gear in space is constantly being repaired, recycled, and replaced. With all patent protection gone, as it is, there’s a high premium on secrecy. If you own a small fleet of shuttles you can offer door to door service and secrecy.”
“So why did Gael need a shuttle in Quebec?”
“It was to be the perfect escape, I think. Remember Ruth’s references to the ‘taxi’? Once aboard, you can stay aloft, so to speak, for weeks and come down on any continent. I think that Ruth’s family taxi is the Snark.”
Sam nodded. “How do you get the data out of Big Bird?”
“Gotta do a house call. There’s no on-line access. It was set up one way. Data can go in via a dedicated backbone, but it’s a one way, one time transfer. You have to be there in the flesh with ID and memorized codes to get it to release the data to you. Once you pull it out, it is gone from the server forever.” Hugh suddenly thought about the situation. “Damn. I should leave to take care of that immediately…after my shower, I mean.”
“Hey, we’re almost home. We both need more sleep. We catch up, then we compare notes? Rethink this whole thing…Fair enough?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Samantha Delaney,” Hugh said. He paused. “Oh…will anybody be missing you? Maybe someone expects a call-in? Ah, are you…”
Sam drove on for a full minute in silence. “It wasn’t a long marriage. And no, no one expects to see me for at least two weeks…”
Hugh slumped in his seat, his face opaque. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry about your private life…”
“I suppose somebody like you is…”
“Never married? It wasn’t a long marriage.” Hugh kept looking ahead thoughtfully.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Sure, sure…” After a long pause, Hugh turned to face Sam. “Did you know Liz Hoopes?”
“No, but I did meet her before you came.”
“She seemed like such a grand lady.” They drove on in silence for a while. “So…does Schröd normally stay with your Aunt and Uncle?”
“Yes. I borrow him from time to time, especially when I travel alone. Uncle Jim hopes to breed a lot of them as soon as all the legal problems are cleared up. They are great pets…highly intelligent and completely reliable. The African original is almost extinct, as you know. Schröd is the very first of the new line…and now you’ll get to meet Lady Macbeth and the kittens.”
“‘Legal problems’ is a euphemism for criminal problems, Sam. Sounds like a risky avocation for your aunt and uncle.”
“I know. People are so unreasonable about genetic modifications, even though they’ve been doing it to dogs for five thousand years, albeit the slow way. For Jim, it’s more like a mission. What we have is almost a new species, sort of a feline Cro-Magnon.”
“…As opposed to, say, a feline Neanderthal?”
“Right…and with a higher reproduction rate. If you know the history of the natural African Cheetah, having lots of kittens is the key to avoiding extinction. We also have a breed that is far more adaptable to living comfortably among humans and, at least in Schröd’s case, is as bright as an adult chimp.”
“Schrödinger,” Hugh said, turning to the back seat. “It was an honor. Really, I mean that.”
“Don’t let that go to your head, Schröd.”
“Sam,” he added, lightly touching her arm. “You do know that some people in the States have gone to prison for using this kind of genetic technology.”
“Not in Quebec. Not so far. And yes, we know. And just so you know…I am trusting you with Schröd’s life.” Sam glanced meaningfully in Hugh’s direction.
“Safe with me,” he said. Sam’s tone had been light, but her eyes had betrayed her.
Another long pause followed. “Hugh, I usually don’t talk about my private life.”
“Sorry.”
“But, we’re sort of in a different place. Just don’t try to define me.”
“Okay,” he said uncomfortably. “I won’t…” Flushing, he couldn’t think of anything more to say.
“I suppose I tend to jump into situations very quickly…maybe too quickly.”
“Like trusting Schröd’s life to a burglar?”
“Exactly. I knew you’d appreciate that. Now, we’re going to have to do something about those pants,” she added, suddenly giggling.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - RUTH ON THE RUN
Ruth Rosenbaum’s last clear image of her beloved Toad Hall had been framed in the rear view window of her car. As she drove across the snow-choked road, the building behind her was surrounded with the artificial brightness of an operating theater. She had glanced back only twice, unable to watch while beam weapons from the sky methodically cut it apart. No one who stayed behind could have survived. The minimum toll would be three, their two house guards and Mother Liz.
Assuming we all escaped.
Later, Ruth powered her small Cessna Sparrow Electric into a takeoff. After clearing the runway, a sudden turbulence nearly stalled her plane. It was the wake of the Snark, Finnegan’s new shuttle as it thundered skyward in the west. It was a teardrop sun, piercing the night clouds.
God speed, she thought; then more darkly, How the hell did anyone know? Where was the leak? Finnegan was so damned careful. Just five people, counting Jack Falstaff and Finnegan himself, knew the details…A traitor in that group? Never…
After two hours of flight, her self-imposed radio silence had contributed to an eerie sense of isolation. Ruth’s initial surge of adrenaline had given way to shaking, then to a numbing fatigue.
Time to trust the autopilot.
First, Ruth checked her instruments again and scanned the sky through the EQuartz bubble. Looks clear enough, she thought. Then she crawled out of the pilot’s seat into the back. “I’m getting too damn old for this,” she muttered aloud.
“It’s not the age,” she could imagine Finnegan saying. “It’s the accumulated damage.” Ruth groaned as she crawled back into her seat after using the tiny commode. A moment, later, she took over the controls and banked the plane for a better look at the sky, then let the plane resume the autopilot’s course.
Thank God. No one is following.
The Ontario-North Dakota border was behind her, and Montana was minutes away.
Ruth’s neck and back were aching. She had to move again. Ruth unstrapped to crawl back and stretch her cramping muscles. A few precious stolen minutes, and her mind wouldn’t let go, even for a minute. God. Who would do this? I’m fleeing for my life in this tiny commuter plane because the man I love dared to ask some questions?
After resuming her seat, Ruth slept uneasily, the small plane droning in the background. Sometime later, she awoke, still aching in every muscle. Her stomach growled. She yawned. Loosening her harness, she leaned over the back and started a pot of coffee in the built-in heating unit. The coffee was wonderfully hot and bitter as she sipped it. She put the cup in its holder and carefully fastened the lid. Stretching, she noticed a break in the slate sky overhead. She unclipped the seat harness altogether and peered up through the bubble window.
“Damn!” she said, suddenly very alert.
In a gap in the cloud cover, Ruth noticed two telltale contrails glowing faintly pink in the early sunlight. She squinted. “Finnegan,” she said to herself, “I’m afraid I’ve finally got company.”
She saw two tiny, black, winged needles, one just ahead of each vapor trail. Oh God, this is real! The two combat jet aircrafts were Sharks, all black, non-reactive paint, without government markings. They were holding right at stalling speed in order to track the Cessna’s progress below them.
Then the hole in the cloud cover closed. Ruth bit her lip. Damn. Damn. Damn. She checked her radio, listening for transmitted instructions, but heard only routine chatter between Billings Air Control and a passenger jet. Then: “I just saw the target below. I’m going back.” Her whole body chilled.
“Ruth, you may need to ditch, sometime.” She vividly remembered Jay Robertson’s patient voice during her flight training. “You will then need get the chute in back, put it on and initiate the sequence. It’s really not that hard to do. Really…So much is automated these days.” Like hell, she thought. Methodically she shed altitude and speed, reaching the aircraft’s minimum pre-stall speed.
“And then I actually jump?” she had asked Jay. Oh yeah.
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