Chapter Three

Carmen turned away from the locked stairs door, moving down the steps silently and quickly despite her numb chest wound. She knew she had only moments before whoever had broken down the exterior door showed up in the center of the building. Half-way down the steps she froze.

She saw flakes of crystalline, synthetic bitumen on the floor below; she heard a telltale footfall. The dumbwaiter was on the courtyard side, she remembered, and the kitchen reached back from her right to the end of the building, near where they had beached. She steeled herself, descended a few more steps. Taking a breath she leapt off, careened off the opposite wall – veering right she launched herself through the door into the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind her. She felt her chest wound seeping again, and a dull ache blossomed there. Pulses blasted the doorjamb above and behind her sending a plaster shower down into the corridor she had just left. In a half-crouch she pivoted sideways round the second corner, and was up and running for the large walk-in freezer half-way down the kitchen. She snagged its handle, pulling hard as she passed. Pulses slammed into the inside surface of the open door. She heard their steps and reached her hand out, firing a burst with the maser. She heard a body fall, followed by the sound of feet rushing up the corridor.

‘Not more of them,’ she thought, groaning in frustration.

She almost collapsed with relief when she heard her friends’ maser beams.

“Hey guys,” Carmen called weakly to her friends.

More pulses spat and sizzled on the other side of the freezer door. She was looking for a service door into the dining room on the inner courtyard side. She backed slowly away, stepping sideways, her back against the freezer. She slipped around a protrusion and skittered sideways against the perishables cooler. Beams bit again into the freezer door, far behind. She heard a crash in the back corridor she had just passed through, turned and saw another of Levrok’s men come barreling through into the kitchen. She looked to her other side past the cooler, and saw the dining room door. She reached it in a half-crouch, slivered it open and pushed through. There was no way of locking it.

She had entered what looked like the dining room of a luxury liner after several decades on the ocean floor. Tables lay up-ended, chairs were thrown back, broken glass and porcelain were everywhere underfoot. She crossed towards the wall that led out into the courtyard, its length made to appear longer by the French windows onto a promenade deck every few yards. She looked up, suddenly aware of daylight from above, and was surprised by the skylight, shaped like the end of a flattened cone. Dust motes danced in the daylight streaming down. It occurred to her that the building couldn’t be easily secured, not with so many points of ingress. She was half-way across to the nearest window when she heard the kitchen doors swing open. She froze, a low laugh made her shiver, and she swung around.

A man stood watching her, motionless. She glanced back at the windows, and from the corner of her eye it was like he slid away. She looked back and he had not moved. She was aware of the maser in her hand, but any thought of using it fled at the sight of her pursuer. He stepped lightly to the side, and she was shocked to see a distortion of his movement repeating in its wake. She tore her eyes away, and again it was like he retreated inward. She swiveled her eyes back in his direction. His stillness was absolute, yet his eyes glittered with alert malevolence. ‘He’s there,’ she thought, ‘and he’s somehow also where he will be.’ She shook her head to clear it. He reached back over his shoulder, his arm moving as if in a loop, and suddenly a knife appeared in his hand. He started walking towards her, a blur that made her dizzy, yet he was walking slowly.

Carmen heard the crash as if from a distance. Dazed, she raised her head, and
saw Turok struggling on the floor with her attacker. The knife lanced upward toward Turok’s lower chest, as his hand slammed into the man’s arm, gripping it round the wrist and wrenching it to the side and down, the elbow of his other arm fishtailing up into the man’s face, smashing his nose back. Turok slammed the man’s knife-hand down on his knee, then again, and the knife skittered along the floor. The man looked up into Turok’s eyes.

Turok released him and staggered back, dropping into a crouch.

The beam hit the man square in the forehead, sheering away the top of his skull. He stood suspended, swaying, as though awareness still pulsed in his eyes, weakening, flaring, and then – gone. He fell heavily.

“Not a moment too soon,” Turok said, catching his breath.

Carmen lowered her arm, the maser dropping to her side. She looked dully at the body on the floor. “How were you able to–?”

“Shoot for the center,” he said.

“What?”

“When he moves, you focus on the center,” he repeated, shrugging. “That’s what Seamus said.”

“I don’t understand.”

He smiled. “I don’t either. Time radiation, he called it.”

She gave him a blank look.

They heard the deadbolt on the kitchen door give way. There was a scuffle of footsteps as Mick and Aleesha came barreling in. They stopped dead, glancing quickly at the body on the floor.

Mick exhaled heavily, and smiled. “I thought for sure … I’m relieved to be wrong.” He made his way to one of the floor-length windows as Aleesha walked over to Carmen.

“It’s very quiet all of a sudden,” Turok said.

“They must all be holed up in the next building,” Mick said.

From across the courtyard came the sound of hinges creaking open. Mick looked out. On the deck before the next building’s door there stood a figure, a bit unsteady on his feet.

Mick chuckled. “It’s Giorgi.” The others rushed over.

They stepped hesitantly out into the courtyard. Their friend looked up and saw them, a smile spreading across his face. He waved, and stepped down off the deck onto the grass.

“It’s okay!” he shouted, waving.

As the others walked forward Mick turned and looked up at the roof two floors above. “Seamus, how does it look?”

Seamus looked down into the courtyard. “After those crashes,” he said, his voice carrying easily, “one of them came out of this end of the other building. He ran off into the swamp out behind … looked like.”

Mick looked off towards the end of the building and the swamp beyond.

“Probably long gone,” Mick replied. “You might as well join us down here – if you want.”

Seamus shrugged, and stood up slowly.

After crossing the courtyard, Mick walked up to Giorgi and reached out his hand.

“You okay?”

“Never better!” their friend declared, despite looking a little disoriented.

Seamus joined them on the building’s wide front deck. Leaning towards Mick he volunteered to recon the area behind the building. Mick sensed that the adolescent’s real reason was just to be alone. Mick thought of Joel’s body down on the shore. Mick hoped that Seamus would want to join their group. He nodded at the young man, and suggested he wait for the others before venturing into the swamp.

As they trooped behind Giorgi into the building’s wide vestibule Mick glanced back and saw Sorel join them. The vestibule opened out onto a landing before a wide staircase. Giorgi started up the stairs.

“Are you and Franklin the only ones left here now?” Mick asked.

“And Rainer,” he said. “He’s from the south. He’s not from this place, Nebu City. And … he’s dying.”

He pointed to a door down the hall. “That room at the end was where they kept us, the three of us. I was only here one night, but that was enough,” he said. “Double-locks on the door, bars on the windows, the whole nine yards.”

Turning away he set off down the long corridor. “They’ve been dumping all the bodies into the swamp,” he said as he walked.

“What!” Carmen asked.

He turned and looked at them levelly. “Many of Levrok’s men, and Rainer’s people before that, died of the CTT.”

“CTT?” Mick asked.

“Cellular temporal – something. Rainer’s name for some local disease.”

He stopped suddenly in front of a large double door, and pulled it open. They found themselves peering into a large room with high windows, bright with late afternoon sunlight. Off to the right a high-backed Morris chair was silhouetted against one window. A man in his early 60’s turned and looked in their direction.

“Are these the newcomers?” he asked.

“Yes,” Giorgi answered.

“Well, come in, come in,” the old man said impatiently.

Mick and Turok glanced about as they entered the room.

The old man rose and crossed toward them. “I am Franklin,” he said.

The others introduced themselves.

“What do you think of our world?” Franklin asked, gesturing out the window.

“We’ve seen better,” Turok said.

Franklin smiled. “I don’t doubt it. But to be fair, we aren’t seeing her at her best. Far from it.”

“What was her best?” Carmen asked, curious.

He shrugged. “What she was – before. The normal cycle of seasons before the stilling began.” He raised a hand, as if to push away their questions, and looked at them more closely. “Excuse me. Where are Joel and Seamus?”

Mick cleared his throat. “Seamus is outside. I’m sorry, but Joel was killed in the swamp.”

The old man inhaled abruptly, and looked away.

“How?” he asked softly.

“One of the guard animals,” Mick said.

“A mute,” the old man said. He seemed to gather himself. “I must speak with Seamus.”

“He’s in the grounds out back,” Mick said.

Franklin nodded, and glanced towards to a low partition that extended out from the furthest window, near the corner. “Rainer is resting there,” he said. “He wants very much to speak with you.” The old man walked out of the room.

The others looked at each other. Carmen stepped across to the corner, the others following. “Hello,” she said from her side of the partition, “can we do anything for you?”

A mild voice addressed them. “No. But please, come around so I can see you.”

Carmen stepped past the partition, Mick and Turok following behind. A middle-aged man lay in a low bed – it had been pulled out from the wall so it caught the light from the window. The bed was more of a cot, easy to move from room to room. There was little else, except for the analgesic patches laid out on a side table. The man was looking out the window, gazing absently at the sky. He turned and looked at them.

He waved off their introductions.

“You know that I am Rainer,” he replied. “I heard you and Franklin. He’s not half as frail as he appears.” He smiled. “Or as – unhelpful.” He looked again out the window. “In fact, he may be more help to you, eventually, than you can imagine.”

“Are you injured?” Carmen asked.

“I am from south of here, from a much larger city than this,” he said without emotion. “Before I left, most of my people had succumbed to Nebura’s – unique disease.”

Carmen knelt by his bed.

“Cellular temporal – ?” Mick said.

“Tetraparesis. CTT,” Rainer said, nodding. “Or more simply, bioatomic paralysis. It cascades, reaches groups of cells, then specific cells.” He looked at the ceiling, and seemed far away. “As the Kalaal had to adjust, so have we, their descendants. Levrok found that amusing.” He turned to look up at them. “The Kalaal settled this world almost three centuries ago.” He looked out the window. “Nebura has had no rainfall for some time. Even the ocean is affected.” Carmen held the back of her hand to his forehead.

Mick nodded, thinking of the waveless harbor and ocean, the windless skies.
“When did it start?”

“A few months ago,” Rainer said. “In my father’s day there were some who spoke of … the slowing, they called it. As no one but they could sense it, their warning was ignored. To be sure, the effects were minimal.” He shrugged. “No one wanted to believe the same phenomenon of two centuries ago had returned.”

“How many of there are you?” Carmen asked.

“Down south, very few. Here –?” He shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

“Maybe we can join forces,” Mick said, intervening. “There are six of us, and the three of you held here.”

Rainer smiled.

“There are others, from Seamus’s group,” Mick added. “Hiding somewhere in Nebu City.”

The invalid again turned his face to the window. “So many were lost.” He sighed. “When we arrived we hoped these people would help.” He looked at the buildings around the courtyard. “They did, at first … or pretended to. But over the weeks the CTT took most of them.” He shrugged. “Levrok blamed us. He is of the Siqdori, ancient enemies of the Kalaal.”

“We’ve only been here a couple days,” Mick said.

“Ah. You have a starship?”

“A launch shuttle,” Mick said. “And two others the same size in orbit, but their reserves are finished.”

“So you’re marooned here,” Rainer said, and smiled again.

“For the present, yes.”

“You hope for rescue?” he asked. “A neutronics beacon won’t work in Nebura space, but I suppose you found that out. There may be an alternative. The Kalaal, ever resourceful, developed a form of holoreal technology – on the cusp between material and virtual.”

Carmen leaned forward. “Is there nothing we can do for you?”

He shook his head. “If your people fall ill – there is a time of false recovery. Walking ghost phase. Ten to fourteen days later.”

Mick wondered if some of what the dying man said was the product of his disease.

“It could be worse,” Rainer continued. “Some, after walking ghost …” He paused to catch his breath. “Disorientation, aggressive neurosis, body shifting … A few of Levrok’s men were like that.”

Turok glanced at Carmen. “Time radiation?”

Rainer looked at him sharply. “The weapons of two centuries ago … were proscribed.” He fell into a sudden fit of coughing. They looked on awkwardly.

When the spasm passed the wizened man gestured at himself. “The last phase,” he said, “you see before you … lasts two or three days.”

No one said anything.

“I heard of your ship,” he gasped, struggling again. A brightness shone in his eyes. “This disease, and the planet’s disease, are different – I’m sure of it. Each needs … a different cure.” He raised his shoulders painfully, his eyes hooded, his throat muscles constricting suddenly. He clutched Carmen’s arm, his eyes bulged. “The slowing ... swallows worlds.”

His shoulders sank slowly. His locked throat seemed to send a roiling wave down through his body. His eyes locked in place, unseeing.

Carmen placed a finger on his neck. “He’s gone,” she said.
______________

With a heavy heart Turok started digging graves for Joel and Rainer, and gradually everyone joined in, taking turns digging. The reunions with Giorgi and Franklin were subdued. It was a chance to take their first tentative steps in adapting to the trials the coming months, or years, might bring. The labor of digging graves was not as demoralizing as Mick had feared.

Each group felt the other’s loss almost as intensely as its own. They looked hesitantly at each other, waiting for someone to volunteer a few words. It was better for anyone to say anything, Mick decided, than to let the awkwardness become something worse. He remembered his grandfather’s favorite Psalm, which he had said at his grandmother’s funeral. He couldn’t remember all of it. But no matter, better to start, he told himself.

He said the familiar words – “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” The others waited patiently.

Carmen almost whispered, “He bids me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside the still waters.” They felt the rightness of the words. The survivors wended their way haltingly through the Psalm, offering up phrases, verses, or just single words. The recitation went around the small gathering several times.

Finally it reached Seamus. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” he said, his voice breaking.

A silence settled over them. They looked at each other, tears streaming down their faces.

The distant call of a seagull dragged Mick’s eyes up. The bird stood out nakedly free in a landscape where they had heard nothing – not the call of any living thing –
since they had disembarked from the Arc-4 two days ago. He turned away from the twin graves. Mick reflected that a similar ceremony back on the Surprise would have left them speechless with grief over a friend’s death, or awkwardly detached if it had been a stranger. Turok fell in quietly beside him.

They left Carmen and Seamus kneeling by the graves. Seamus wept silently.
______________

Mick watched as their bedraggled group of eight emerged from the fetid water of the swamp. Though it was only a few hours since they had last stood on this embankment, it seemed like a great expanse of time had elapsed. They were relieved, but also a bit surprised, to see the scooters were as they had left them. Their beamsuits, unsealed for the walk back, were quickly removed. Mick and Turok finished first, and after stowing the guns and other gear in the sidecar, the line of scooters moved swiftly out of the park precincts.

Thinking back on their last hour at the compound, Mick felt a renewed gratitude for Franklin’s idea about the mutes. The old man had taken Mick and Turok to the mutants’ control array. They had stood there in the small ground floor room, puzzled by what he was showing them. He had been right that the console was not shielded by security protocols. Standing behind Franklin, they had watched as he brought up the screen showing the twenty-one cybernetically-altered animals dispersed about the swamp, still patrolling.

“Like I said, we can’t reprogram their target parameters,” Franklin said.

“But you can turn them off?” Turok asked.

“Yeah, this will erase their target and attack subroutines.”

With a flourish he pressed a key on the keyboard, and the red and yellow icons on the inset map of the park grounds winked out, leaving the light green markers for each of the animals.

“Look at that!” Turok said, as each of markers suddenly stopped dead. What had been the smooth, purposeful patrolling movement of twenty-one deadly mutants was transformed.

“What’ll happen to them?” Mick asked.

“I have no idea,” Franklin admitted. “They weren’t just genetically altered. They’re true hybrids, organic and synthetic. They couldn’t occur in nature.”

“Won’t instinct take over?” Mick asked.

“What instinct? These animals have never existed independent of their programming.”

“But if they’re partial organics,” Mick mused out loud, “no amount of genetic overlapping could erase the inherited instinct entirely?”

Carmen ducked her head into the room. “Hey guys,” she said.

Engrossed by the image on the monitor, and each other’s comments, Mick and Franklin nodded without turning around.

“Or not,” she had said, smiling, and was gone.

Mick was abruptly brought out of his reverie when he was forced to bank his scooter on a tight corner. He reminded himself Seamus was in the lead. Apparently Franklin had told Seamus that the youth’s band had not been brought across to the compound – they must have suspected a raid was coming, and broken camp. Seamus was now taking them to where he thought they might have fled. But after seeing two safe-houses in the past thirty minutes, they still had not turned up. He said this third try was a long shot, in a rundown section of the lower town near the docks.


Chapter Four