The Lazarus Effect

  “He says the kelp keeps your identity, all your memories, everything,” Bushka said.

  Scudi pulled Brett close and whispered: “That may be possible.”

  Brett merely nodded, looking down at where Bushka had been torturing the captive. He found the thought of what Bushka had done revolting.

  Sensing Brett’s reaction, Scudi said: “Do you think Iz would really have killed and burned him?”

  Brett swallowed in a dry throat. Honesty forced him to say: “I harpooned the guy in the foil.”

  “That was different! That one would’ve killed you. This one was tied and helpless.”

  “I don’t know,” Brett said.

  “He scares me,” Scudi said.

  The foil lurched slightly, and again. Something uncoiled into the sea behind them.

  “Net,” Brett whispered. “Twisp cut it loose.” And it broke his heart, he thought. Fish dying for nothing always breaks his heart.

  A chill wind passed over them and they both looked up. Thin clouds had begun a drift in from the north and there was a light chop to the water where the kelp opened that strange lane. The lane still pointed them directly toward Vashon.

  “I thought it was going to stay hot,” Brett said.

  “Wind’s changed,” Twisp said. “Let’s get this boat aboard. Vashon might be in for a bad time after all.”

  They secured the boat, sealed the hatch and joined Scudi and Bushka in the pilot house. Scudi took the command chair, with Bushka standing to one side, flexing his fingers. Rage still seethed in Bushka’s eyes.

  “Iz,” Twisp said, his voice low. “Would you really have cooked that Merman alive?”

  “Every time I close my eyes, I see Guemes and Gallow.” Bushka glanced aft where they had left the Merman secured. “I’d be awful sorry, I know, but …” He shrugged.

  “Not much of an answer.”

  “I think I’d burn him,” Bushka said.

  “That wouldn’t help you sleep any better,” Twisp said.

  He nodded at Scudi.

  “Let’s get this thing to Vashon.”

  Scudi fired up the ram and gently lifted the foil up onto its step. In a minute they were scudding along the kelp channel with a slight bouncing motion against the chop.

  Twisp directed Bushka to a couch at the rear of the pilot house. Sitting beside Bushka, Twisp asked, “Did he say how they captured Keel?”

  “Off another foil. They had two foils then.”

  “Where’s Gallow?”

  “He’s gone to Outpost Twenty-two on the other foil,” Bushka said. “That’s the rocket pickup station. He thinks there’s an army in the hyb tanks. Whoever opens them owns them. He wants control of both launch and recovery and obviously he thinks he can get it.”

  “Is it possible?”

  “An army in the hyb tanks?” Bushka snorted. “Anything’s possible. They could come out shooting for all we know.”

  “What does he want with Keel?”

  “Trade. For Vata. He wants Vata.”

  “Gallow’s crazy!” Brett blurted. “I’ve been downcenter and seen the Vata support system. It’s big. They couldn’t possibly …”

  “Cut out the whole support complex with a sub,” Bushka said. “Seal it off, tow it out. They could do it.”

  “They’d need doctors—”

  “They have their doctor,” Bushka said. “When they snatched Keel they picked up Kareen Ale. Gallow’s covering all angles.”

  Silence came over the pilot cabin while the ram pulsed around them. The foils slapped the seas in a well-absorbed rhythm.

  Twisp looked forward to Scudi in the pilot’s seat. “Scudi, can we make radio contact with Vashon?”

  “Anyone could hear,” she spoke without looking back. Twisp shook his head once in frustrated indecision.

  Without warning, Bushka yanked the lasgun from Twisp’s pocket and jammed it against his ribs.

  “Up!” Bushka snapped. Stunned, Twisp obeyed. “Very careful how you move,” Bushka said. “I know how strong you are.”

  Brett saw the lasgun in Bushka’s hand. “What’s—”

  “Sit!” Bushka ordered.

  Brett sank back into the seat beside Scudi. She glanced aft, eyed the scene and jerked her attention back to her course.

  “Whether we radio or take the message to Vashon in person, it’s all the same,” Bushka said. “Gallow learns that his secret is out. But right now, we have the advantage of surprise. He thinks this is his foil.”

  “What do you mean?” Twisp asked.

  “Turn this foil around, Scudi,” Bushka ordered. “We’re going after Gallow. I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”

  Chapter 33

  Don’t call me her father. I was nothing more than an instrument of Vata’s conception. “Father” and “daughter” don’t apply. Vata was born more than the sum of our parts. I caution the sons and the daughters after us: Remember that Vata is more mother to us than sister to you.

  —Kerro Panille, Family Papers

  Shadow Panille stood in the gloom of Current Control thinking that at last he had found the woman of his life. With Kareen Ale, he had the faith that only Merman-normal offspring could evidence.

  Current Control was aswarm with work, the usual routines preempted by the impending launch and the code yellow grounding of Vashon.

  “Too many people working too hard for too long,” he muttered to himself. Impulses moved out into the kelp from Current Control, signals of drift sensors flashed in their cobalt-blue numerals. LTA reports were rolling on the number six screen.

  Wouldn’t get me up in one of those things, he thought. Lighter-Than-Air craft challenged a medium where unstable currents and the unforeseen were standard issue. Air was much more dangerous than water.

  Safest down under, he thought. Safety had taken on a new attraction to him. He wanted to live to spend more time with this woman.

  Where is Kareen right now? He found himself facing this question constantly since their separation. By now she would be at Launch Base. Panille didn’t like to think of the distance separating them … distance was time, and after that last night he didn’t want to spend any time without her.

  His head had ached and he had been dizzy with fatigue but still sleep had not come. Every time his eyelids slipped his head filled with visions of Guemes survivors littering the triage floor. Torn flesh, blood, moans and whimpers still ghosted around him in the dim bustle of Current Control.

  Kareen, too, had been drained of energy. They had gone to her quarters with little discussion, each aware only of the need to be together, alive after wading through all that death. They had walked from the tube station, holding hands. Panille had held himself under tight control, sure that a white-tipped anger might explode if he once relaxed. Something hot and twisting clenched his guts.

  Where plaz lined the corridors, the ripple effect of surface light combined with the cadence of their steps to mesmerize Panille into a dreamy detachment. He felt that he floated above himself, watching their swaying progress. There was tenderness in the arms, the bone-weary arms, and in Kareen’s cheek as it brushed his shoulder. Her muscles worked their smooth magic and he no longer suspected that she might try to rule him with her body.

  At her quarters, Panille had stared out at a different kind of undersea, a garden lush with ferns waving and butterfly fish grooming the leaves. A thick column of kelp spiraled upward out there, twisting and untwisting with some distant surge.

  No death here. No signs of the Guemes disaster.

  Just at the edge of visibility lay the Blue Reef with corridors of pale blue vine-tulips that opened and closed like small mouths beyond the plaz. Bright orange flashes of minuscule shrimp darted in and out, feeding on the vine-tulip stamens. Kareen led him to her bedroom.

  They did not hesitate. Kareen stood tiptoe and pressed her mouth against his. Her open eyes watched his eyes and he saw himself reflected in her black pupils. Her hands pressed at first against his ch
est, then slipped around his neck and unfastened his braid. Her fingers felt strong and sure. Surgeon’s fingers, he thought. His black hair spread over his shoulders. Panille brought his hands down from her shoulders to her tunic, releasing it clasp by clasp.

  They undressed each other slowly, wordlessly. When she stepped out of her underwear, the light caught and danced in the flaming red triangle of her hair. Her nipples pressed like children’s noses against his ribs.

  We have decided to live, he thought.

  The vision of Kareen Ale was a mantra that shut out all doubts about his world. Nothing existed in memory except the two of them and their perfectly complementary bodies.

  As they had started slipping into sleep, Kareen startled them both with a sudden cry. She clung to him then like a child.

  “Bad dreams,” she whispered.

  “Bad reality is worse.”

  “Dreams are real while you’re in them,” she said. “You know, every time I think of us, the bad goes away. We heal each other.”

  Her words and the pressure of her against him stirred Panille fully awake. Kareen sighed, rolled astride him in one smooth movement and gripped him deep inside her. Her breasts brushed his chest as they swayed back and forth. His breath was her breath then, and she called out his name as she collapsed, gasping, against him.

  Panille held her gently, stroking her back. “Kareen,” he said.

  “Mm?”

  “I like to say your name.”

  He remembered this as he stood watch in Current Control and murmured her name under his breath. It helped.

  The main entry hatch to Current Control behind Panille swung open with a sharp hiss, indicating quick entry without waiting for the outer lock to seal. Surprised, Panille started to turn and felt hard metal pressed against his back. A downward glance showed him a lasgun against his flesh. Panille recognized the man holding it—Gulf Nakano, Gallow’s man. Nakano’s bulky form stepped clear of the entry way, pushing Panille ahead of him. Nakano was followed by three other Mermen, all dive-suited, all armed and all thin-lipped serious.

  “What is this?” Panille demanded.

  “Shhhh,” Nakano hissed. He motioned the others around him, then: “All right! Everybody stand up!”

  Panille watched the other intruders move swiftly, methodically to equidistant positions near the center of the room. One operator protested and was clubbed to the deck. Panille started to speak but Nakano thrust a huge palm against his mouth, saying, “Stay alive, Panille. It’s better.”

  The three attackers set their lasguns on short-flame and began demolishing Current Control. Plaz melted and popped, control boards sizzled. Small black snakes of vinyl precipitated out of the air. Everything was done with a chilling deliberation. In less than a minute, it was all over and Panille knew they would be at least a year replacing this … brain.

  He was outraged but the destruction daunted him. His assistants leaned against one wall, shock and fear in their eyes.

  One woman knelt over the downed operator, dabbing at the side of his face with a corner of her blouse.

  “We have Kareen Ale,” Nakano said. “I’m told that would interest you.” Panille felt his chest tighten.

  “Your cooperation insures her safety,” Nakano said. “You are to come with us, on a litter as a casualty we’re transporting for the medics.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “That’s not your concern. Just tell me whether you will come quietly.”

  Panille swallowed, then nodded.

  “We’re welding the inner hatch closed as we leave,” Nakano said. “Everyone here will be safe. When the next shift tries to get in, you’ll get out.”

  One of the Mermen stepped forward. “Nakano,” he whispered past Panille, “Gallow said we should—”

  “Shut up!” Nakano said. “I’m here and he’s not. The next shift doesn’t come in for at least four hours.”

  At Nakano’s nod two of his men brought an emergency litter from the space between the hatches. Panille lay on the litter and was strapped to it. A blanket was tucked around him.

  “This is a medical emergency,” Nakano said. “We hurry but we don’t run. Carry him through all hatchways headfirst. Panille, you close your eyes. You’re unconscious and I want you to stay that way or I’ll make it real.”

  “I understand.”

  “We don’t want anything nasty happening to the lady.”

  This thought haunted Panille as they maneuvered through the hatchways and corridor.

  Why me? Panille couldn’t imagine being that important to Gallow.

  They stopped at a transport tube and Nakano tapped out the Emergency code. The next car stopped and a half-dozen curious faces peered out at Panille’s form on the litter.

  “Quarantine!” Nakano said, his voice curt. “Everybody out. Don’t get too close.”

  “What’s he got?” one woman asked. She skirted the litter widely.

  “Something new picked up from the Mutes,” Nakano said. “We’re getting him out of Core. This car will be sterilized.”

  The car emptied quickly and Panille’s bearers hustled him inside. The doors snicked closed and Nakano chuckled. “Every sniffle, every ache and pain will have sickbay crowded for days.”

  “Why all this rush?” Panille asked. “And why cook Current Control?”

  “Launch countdown has been resumed now that the Guemes matter is over. Medical emergency guarantees us a fast, nonstop trip. The rest … trade secrets.”

  “What does the launch have to do with us?”

  “Everything,” Nakano said. “We’re headed for Outpost Twenty-two, the recovery station for the hyb tanks.”

  Panille felt the hot surge of adrenaline. The hyb tanks!

  “Why take me there?” he asked.

  “We’ve set up a new current control. You’re going to direct it.”

  “I thought you were too smart to get caught up in Gallow’s wake,” Panille said.

  A slow smile touched Nakano’s heavy face. “We’re going to free hundreds, maybe thousands, of humans in hyb. We’re going to liberate the prison they’ve endured for thousands of years.”

  Panille, strapped on the litter, could only look from Nakano to the three henchmen. All three wore the same bliss-ninny grins.

  “People from the hyb tanks?” Panille asked, his voice low.

  Nakano nodded. “Genetically clean—pure humans.”

  “You don’t know what’s up there,” Panille said. “Nobody knows.”

  “Gallow knows,” Nakano said. There was hard belief in his voice, the kind of tone that indicates the necessity to believe.

  The transport capsule’s overhead panel came to life and a recorded male voice droned: “Lighter-Than-Air, Base Bravo loading facility.”

  The hatches hissed open. Panille’s litter was picked up and carried out onto the loading platform with near-surface light trickling through heavy plaz panels overhead.

  Panille watched as much as he could through slitted eyelids.

  An LTA facility? he wondered. But they said we were … The truth dawned—they were going to fly him to the outpost!

  He almost opened his eyes but restrained himself. Blowing it now would not bring him closer to Kareen.

  The litter moved with swift lurches and Panille heard Nakano’s voice behind him: “Medical emergency, clear the way.”

  Panille’s slitted eyes showed him the LTA gondola interior—a squashed sphere about ten meters in diameter. It was nearly all plaz, with a canopy of gray above the orange hydrogen bag. He found himself both excited and fearful, filled with confusion at this fierce activity. He heard the hatch seal behind him and Nakano’s unruffled voice.

  “We made it. You can relax, Panille. Everybody in here is secure.” Panille’s straps were loosed and he sat up.

  “Tether release in two minutes,” the pilot reported.

  Panille looked up at the orange canopy—the bag was a taper of pleats, its long folds hung down against the
cabin’s plaz. Once they were up and clear of the tube, more hydrogen would flow into the bag and fill it out. He glanced right and left, saw the two hydrogen jets that would propel them once they were topside.

  The whine of a cable winch filled the gondola then. The pilot said, “Strap down, everyone. A bit rough up there today.”

  Panille found himself dragged backward into a seat beside Nakano. A strap was fitted around his waist. He kept his attention on the pilot. No one spoke. Switches clicked like the hard-shelled chatter of mollusks.

  “Topside hatch open,” the pilot said, speaking into a microphone at his throat. A halo of white light filtered around the bag above them.

  The cabin lurched and Panille glanced out to his left, momentarily dizzy with the sensation that the gondola had stayed stationary and the launch tube was moving downward past him at increasing speed.

  The winch sound silenced abruptly and he heard the hiss of the bag against the tube’s walls. The bag cleared the tube then and light washed the cabin. Panille heard a gasp behind him, then they were clear of the water, into a cloudy gray day, swaying beneath the expanding hydrogen bag. The jets swung out with a low whine and were ignited. The swaying motion of the gondola steadied. Almost immediately, they entered a rain squall.

  “Sorry, we won’t be able to see the rocket launch because of this weather,” the pilot said. He flicked a switch beside him and a small screen on the panel in front of him came alight. “We can watch the official coverage, though.”

  Panille couldn’t see from where he sat and the pilot had the sound turned down. The gondola emerged from the rainstorm, still pelted by the runoff from the bag overhead. They began swaying wildly and the pilot fought to control the motion. His flurried movement had little effect. Panille noted with some satisfaction that the Merman guards had green expressions that had nothing to do with their camouflage.

  “What’s going on?” This was a woman’s voice from behind Panille. A voice he could not mistake. He froze, then slowly turned and stared past his captors. Kareen. She sat beside the entry hatch where she had been hidden from him as he entered. Her face was very pale, her eyes dark shadows above her cheeks, and she did not meet his gaze.