Chapter 9: Wreckage
Dumas lounged over a couple of cargo crates. He was sitting near Mel, and while his dark glasses hid his eyes and his focus from the others, all of his attention was on her. Mel's face was damp and white, her terror palpable, her every breath a soft whimper at the back of her throat. It was all his doing, and he felt no pain about it.
He took responsibility for it. When young Gherta Hawksbee had finished her postgraduate work and completed her Master's degree, Dumas had seen to it that she was installed as the director of the GED group, at an age where many of her fellow students were begging for internships or settling for unrewarding commercial work. And when GED had come to the end of its usefulness, Dumas supplied her with the means and support to establish the Rugen institute in its place, this time with complete freedom to pursue whatever research she chose.
But none of this changed or made amends for the fact that Dumas had scarred Mel's soul so deeply that it caused her terrors even into her next life.
This he had done for reasons that, at the time, he believed to be good. In the quest for his long-lost sister, he had tortured Mel, killed Hesma, and ended the Greecian lives of Agi and his associates. And killed Georca, though few seemed to regret this. Dumas certainly did not.
And, in the end, it had proved meaningless. Tina had been found, but she did not choose to leave Earth. She, of all people, must deplore the steps he had taken to find her.
And how was it different, what he was doing now? Was he making the same misguided choices over again? It had almost been a relief when the departure of Ian's foolish little sister stopped him from another crime of convenience, but now she was back, and all would move forward as he had planned.
Mel shuddered and seemed to grip harder at Tina's hand. Dumas wondered if his presence made her terrors worse. Probably.
But in his blackened, hardened heart, he felt no pain, no sorrow, no remorse, no horror at what he had done to this woman.
Just a sense of responsibility, and a thin, contemptible pity.
Dumas disgusted himself.
Belle stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the Greecian body suit grudgingly. It was an unlovely thing, and the fabric was weird and uncooperative. No matter how she had tried to stretch and tuck and adjust it, and even though the clothes themselves seemed to be trying to conform to her body shape, there was just no disguising the fact that it had been designed by a geek, and for a man, and for someone much taller than she was. It wasn't fair—Flo, Helga and Doctor Hawksbee's outfits had obviously been custom tailored for them, at least. Finally, after a long war with the garment, she resigned herself to looking hideous and left the bathroom.
Ian was nowhere in sight. Belle frowned. She hadn't been THAT long. He could have waited. She finally saw he was up front in the control room. Belle would have joined him, but that Flo was standing in the main passage between the bathroom and the cockpit. Belle squeezed to the side, between two stacks of metal crates, but saw she'd have to pass Damien if she went that way. She tried a crevice in the other direction, and tripped over Teo, who was curled up in a nook, reading. "Excuse me please," Teo said, VERY politely. Once she had turned the corner, though, that way turned out to be a dead end, and she had to clamber over Teo again on the way back.
Flo was still standing there.
"You're in my way," Belle announced.
"Are you ready for your training?" Flo asked.
"Yes, I am," Belle said, trying to push past, but Flo moved to block her.
"Would you prefer to start with the uses of the energy pack, or just start out getting the hang of the motion assists?" Flo asked. At Belle's blank expression, Flo pulled the metal canister off her belt and squeezed it. It transformed somehow into a long, lethal-looking blade. "Energy pack," Flo said helpfully. "It collects ambient energy, maintains the charge of the suit, can be used to power small devices or activate data records, or—"
"No, thanks," Belle said. "Ian's going to teach me."
"Ian asked me to teach you. He's busy, and has a lot on his mind right now."
Belle scowled. "Then I'll wait until he's not busy."
"And I'll teach you about the energy pack while you're waiting," said Flo.
Really, couldn't she take a hint? Did Belle have to come right out and tell her to get lost?
"Some of the functions of the energy pack, such as the conversion to the Enma blade, are activated by a direction of will, and it may take some practice to reliably—"
"Not interested," Belle said, dropping to sprawl on a couple of crates and turning her head aside. It would be so childish to cover her eyes and plug her ears, but really, if Flo just WOULDN'T give it up, she might have to.
"Maybe a demonstration of the motion enhancement system would interest you," said Flo. Suddenly she dashed to one side, leaping. She kicked off the side of one stack of crates, rebounded off the opposite heap, and with a few more lightning-quick moves (Belle had to snap her gaping mouth shut and remember to look unimpressed) kicked off again from the ceiling. On her way down she did a flip, drawing the sword and raising it over her head. As she landed in front of Belle, black cloak billowing around her, she brought the sword down with a ferocious shout, slicing Belle from head to floor and landing on one knee.
Belle was unhurt. It must be some kind of fake practice sword. She was glad her complete shock had paralysed her and kept her from flinching. As Flo came to her feet, Belle delicately raised one hand to cover her mouth and yawned.
Something seemed to snap in Flo. "All right, little girl," she said. "You want to play tough? We'll play tough. Tarlant! Hasmodai! Bring the scanner."
Flo spun and walked to the cockpit door, Teo and Kalie scrambling to follow her. So, they were going to tattle on her to Ian? Let them! They'd see whose side Big Brother was on.
Hers.
Right?
In one of his lifetimes, Agi could no longer remember which, his host family had owned a reliable cart horse. It wasn't pretty, or fast, or friendly, but you could put down the reins or even fall asleep, and the horse would bring you home.
Agi missed Hesma.
On their travels, whenever Agi had been exhausted or discouraged or too wounded to go on struggling, he knew he could quietly lay back for a short time and recover his strength while Hesma, like the reliable cart horse, pulled the group on with his relentless determination and focus.
After the countless years they had spent together, Agi knew all the strengths and weaknesses of his team, and his own as well.
Hasmodai, brilliant in the laboratory, was not cut out for a hard life. He needed to be motivated and pushed, he tended to moan and complain, and he easily let himself be led astray. On the other hand, the same open heart that caused him to share his sorrows and gloom led him to share joys and comforts as well. His poetry, his encouragement and his remembrances had helped them to keep their humanity alive over the years. And, perhaps because of his own emotional vulnerability, he could be counted on to never say anything hurtful.
Tarlant was undisciplined and easily distracted from his goals. His hard-headed self-sufficiency made it difficult to get through to him, and Agi had occasionally been forced to chastise Hasmodai harshly for lapses they had both been guilty of, knowing that Tarlant would be more affected by his friend's punishment than his own. They would not have survived without his mechanical skills, or his stubborn perseverance.
Mel and Palza—even now it was hard to think of them separately. Their unfailing dedication and love for one another and their positive attitude had been a source of stability and hope for the entire group. Agi wondered how many lifetimes Palza had spent hiding his crumbling spirit under that cheerful facade. It was Agi's mistake and responsibility: he had thought both of them perfectly steady. Then Palza broke, and Mel became little more than a ghost of herself. If only Agi had recognized Palza's disintegration in time, could he have stopped it? Could he have saved them both? Though Mel had returned to them at the last, she was wounded in other ways now. It made Agi sick to see Dumas sitting there beside her without a care, knowing his presence must be making Mel's horrors even more intense. What Mel could use right now, Agi thought, was less Dumas, and less hand-holding, and something to take her mind off her fears.
Soreto was strong. Her warmth and kindness had sometimes been all the difference between survival and despair. When all their efforts failed, she found creative new approaches. If she had a weakness, it was that she was too easy-going. She could rarely bring herself to be harsh with the others, even though a leader sometimes needed to be. There were times Agi despised his own actions and words, even when he knew what he did was necessary.
Hesma had helped with that as well. When harsh words were necessary, Agi had been free to let them pour from Hesma, like water from a tap, without doing more himself than setting the flow in motion and putting a stop to it when enough had gushed forth.
And now there was no Hesma, no reliable cart horse, no easy way out. No more sleeping at the reins. Agi had to be strong all the time. Agi had to harden his heart and deal out all the reprimands and rebukes himself. His people came to him for answers, for structure, for guidance, for decisions, for reassurance, for discipline. For leadership, in short. There was no rest or cease.
If he showed weakness, they would lose faith in him, and they would have nowhere to go, nobody to turn to. They would be lost.
He could not fail them.
In some ways, Agi could almost have let Dumas step into Hesma's shoes, but Dumas was amoral and devious and filled with hatred for them. He would never inspire the respect and loyalty Hesma had, and didn't want to. Agi had to protect his team from Dumas, could not use Dumas's obsession to make them stronger, as he had been able to use Hesma's.
Not that Hesma didn't have his faults. He was another complainer, but unlike the mournful Hasmodai, he turned his pain into a howling wind of rage and bitterness that tore at everybody's spirits.
Agi remembered, a few years ago, riding the train with his people. Hesma had suddenly burst into a venomous tirade of frustration and anger that had left them all exhausted.
The train had been going through Wattford, the town in which Hesma had been born and lived with his last host family.
Had anybody else made the connection? Did they truly believe Hesma's claim that he was completely detached from his Earth life, that he wanted to go home only out of longing for Greecia?
Or had they remained silent only because, over the centuries, they had learned not to pick at one another's raw wounds? Sympathy, more cruel than any evil or brutality, could slice you to the bone.
Wherever Hesma's soul was now, Agi hoped it was at peace, freed at last from their agonizing artificial cycle of birth, abandonment, despair, death, and rebirth.
The door opened. "Agi?" Soreto entered, a grim set to her jaw, followed by Tarlant and Hasmodai.
They needed him to be strong again. They needed his leadership.
"You respect scientific evidence, don't you, Agi?" Soreto demanded. "I need you to take part in a brief data-gathering experiment. Tarlant can take the controls."
Confused and still half wrapped in thought, Agi let Soreto lead him away from the control panel as Tarlant slipped into the pilot's seat. Just as he was about to ask what was going on, Soreto seized the front of his shirt, pulling him forward, wrapped her other arm around his neck and pressed her lips to his.
It was as if Soreto had thrown a rock through the window of his thoughts, sending an explosion of sparkling shards in every direction.
The rush of unexpected sensations froze him in place: the softness of her lips touching his, the scrambling to remember what he had been trying to think about, the feathery caress of her breath on his cheek, the total confusion, the warmth of her body against his.
It went on for such a time that Agi's brain reorganized enough to wonder what was going on. Was this something else he had missed? Like Palza's shattering, had he totally failed to notice this…whatever it was with Soreto?
Should he do something about it?
And in heaven's name, what?
Then Soreto stepped back, and he took his arms from around her (When had he put them there?) and Soreto said, "Reading, Hasmodai?"
Hasmodai was standing near, holding a scanner, its hourglass-shaped sensor flickering with energy.
"Yes, increased body temperature, heightened pulse rate, blood pressure skyrocketing—"
"Well, that should hardly be a surprise," Agi said with a sudden burst of anger. "The shock alone—"
"Not you," said Soreto. "Belle."
"Her cortical center is about to burn out," Tarlant said. "Known in medical terms as a hissy fit."
"Someone has a serious Big Brother complex, and you need to do something about it," said Soreto.
Agi stood silent for a moment while his numbed brain tried to make sense of…well, of everything.
"Hey, Hasmodai," said Tarlant suddenly. "Take a reading on Agi."
Agi turned such a quelling glare on Hasmodai that the boy immediately shut off the scanner. He turned the glare on Soreto. "Didn't I ask you to train Belle—"
"I am training her, since you won't," Soreto said, her eyes fierce. "This is Lesson One." She kissed Agi again, harder.
Agi was tempted simply to stand there again, lost in the heat of it, to just give in and let somebody else take charge for a while.
But they needed him to be strong, or to at least give the appearance of strength, and this was not helping. He put a hand on Soreto's shoulder and gently pushed her away.
"Soreto," he said warningly. She folded her arms across her chest and met his gaze with calm defiance. Agi turned toward the other two, who were casually trying to look as if they weren't paying any attention.
"If the three of you can't find any better way to fill your time than pulling this sort of…prank," Agi said, "then you will take over flying the ship for the rest of the journey. I will be in the cargo hold, trying to make sure Mel doesn't lose her mind and teaching my sister what she needs to know to survive Antarctica." And giving his heart time to stop pounding.
Agi left the cockpit with the terrible feeling that everything had just become even more complicated.
Pollux's thumbs ached. The only way he could block the fear from his mind was to focus completely on something else. The video games had been good for that, and even the pain in his hands was a welcome distraction. But now he had beaten them all, and they no longer held enough challenge to concentrate his attention.
In the hangar, technicians had drilled out a hole like a round grave where Castor had marked out his diagram, and they were installing various engines and circuits around it. Soon the central pit would be filled with layers of intricate circular shapes in carbon fiber, designed by Castor on the computer and sent out to countries all over the world to be manufactured at a hundred different companies, so that nobody outside the station would see the full design. There had even been about fifty fake discs designed, for camouflage, and every single design had its own patent application prepared to submit and locked in the safe in Doctor Mellert's office.
Between his constant gaming and Castor's recent work, Pollux had barely seen his twin in days. He returned to their room, which was small and cramped, like almost every room in the station, and lay on his back on the bed.
Outside, he knew, Antarctica was dark. So, so dark, with a few hours of weak, bare sunlight a day. The stars glowed brightly in that terrible night, unwinking in the cold dry air.
But they were not his stars. Not the constellations he knew. Not the ones that had meaning for him.
On Castor's side of the room were a couple of crates filled with spare parts, broken pencils, dismantled electronics and torn pages of half-designed projects. Pollux rummaged through them, collecting as many light emitting diodes as he could find, connecting them together with the thinnest web of wire filament. Then he painstakingly attached them to the ceiling and to the station's electrical system.
Pollux turned off the light and lay on his bed, looking up again. There were his stars.
Since he had first been told the story, he had been captivated. Castor and Pollux, the twins: half brothers who loved each other so much they had been placed in the sky as constellations, so they would never, never be parted. Even now he wasn't sure why the story tore at his heart.
The door opened, letting in the weak artificial light of the station. Castor stood in the doorway, blinking in the unexpected darkness.
"Gemini," Pollux said, pointing at the ceiling. "We'll always be together, right, Castor?"
"You've got it wrong," Castor said, examining the ceiling. With a shrug he went to his desk, opening his computer. Soon the glow of the screen lit his face in the darkness, as he went to work, designing, redesigning, perfecting his diagrams.
"Why are you doing this?" Pollux finally said. "The climate's under control, the air is cleaner, the ocean is recovering. We're doing good things here at Brightwater, Castor. Good things."
"How long do you think Brightwater would do good things if it wasn't profitable?" Castor's voice was cold with cynicism. "We're just a means to an end to them, just like they are to us."
"But why? Why-"
"Don't you get tired of it?" Castor burst out. "Don't you ever just want to get it over with? Don't you just want it all to END?"
Pollux wrapped his arms around his chest and squeezed his eyes shut tight. Tears rolled off the sides of his face, leaving a cold streak from his eyes to his ears. He whispered, "I want to go home."
"We don't HAVE a home!" Castor exploded. He hurled the computer against the wall, where it smashed in flash of electricity and a shower of blue sparks. Castor slammed the door as he left the room.
Pollux lay on the bed a while longer, staring up at his stars. He wondered for the first time if the pain and fear he had felt all his life was all his own.
Was he tired of it? Did he want it all to end?
Yes, he thought he probably did.
And there was a means to end it close at hand, if he could get outside the building and across the ice without being stopped. If the shock of plunging into the Antarctic sea didn't kill you instantly, the cold could incapacitate you and drain your life away in minutes.
He was small. It might work even faster.
"Well, at least he's stopped brooding," was all Soreto said as she strapped herself into the other cockpit chair and swivelled to turn her back to them.
Tarlant shot him a glance that said as clearly as words, "Should have taken a reading on Soreto, too." Hasmodai was glad he hadn't said it aloud. You never knew what Tarlant might blurt out.
The door to the cockpit had been left open, and from the other side, Hasmodai could hear Agi giving orders to Mel. Before long she had a tool kit strapped over her shoulder and was dismantling and carrying out diagnostic checks and adjustments on one of the large energy collectors, hands shaking and Agi barking orders as if he were a sheep dog nipping at her heels.
Agi could be very hard sometimes.
With nothing else to occupy his time, Hasmodai activated the scanner and began a series of routine calibrations and maintenance checks, then gazed out the window for a while. He enjoyed flying, though the enclosed cockpit didn't give the same exhilarating sense of speed and freedom as the fogboats had. He had liked the fogboats, and their all-purpose robot carrier, Wonder, though he had not felt the sense of deep personal attachment Tarlant had. It often amazed him that Tarlant had managed to build his machines out of the primitive and raw elements available to them on Earth, and that Hesma, Palza and Mel had managed to create the energy packs, Enma blades, body suits and other useful gadgets.
With each lifetime, the technology of Earth had advanced, and the materials available to them had improved. By the time of their last rebirth, they had managed to improve their gear almost to the quality of the Greecian-made bodysuits they wore now. The energy packs most of them carried were still those Hesma had created. Modern Greecian units may have been superior in many ways, but the Enma blade was something unique to their team, and the familiar canister on his belt felt like an old friend.
And any familiarity was comforting at the moment. New tensions and undercurrents seemed to be tearing their team apart. Agi, usually a calm tower of strength, seemed to be unravelling at the edges. The usually steady Soreto, who had often smoothed over disagreements and conflicts in the group, seemed more edgy and introverted every day.
Hasmodai suspected there might be a growing attraction between them—after that kiss, how could he not—but knew that neither could possibly be silly, selfish or stupid enough to be reacting this way to it in the middle of a world-threatening crisis. There must be something else.
It made Hasmodai worry. Did they know something important they hadn't shared? He was sure Tarlant, Tina and Seth were out of the loop as well.
He had gone so far as considering asking Dumas about it. He might know. Dumas would surely have no hesitation in giving them upsetting news. In the end, Hasmodai was afraid to ask.
So far, Hasmodai's own research had been rewarding. While it was true that the Orsel imbalance and its effects on Earth and Greecia were continuing, the rate remained fairly constant. Given time, he was certain they could discover how to control the phenomenon. There was absolutely no scientific evidence that their own actions had set it in motion.
Of course, there was no evidence to the contrary, either.
Lack of evidence was the key problem. On Greecia, they had been the most prominent research group investigating the Zone, and after the Tina incident, royal support and funding for Zone research had vanished. Little more had been learned apart from what their team already knew.
But now they had new and better equipment, and as long as they stayed on Earth, they had twenty-seven times the research time. Hasmodai couldn't understand why Agi had capitulated to Dumas's demand for immediate action in place of more study.
At least Antarctica might give them a final chance to learn something useful. If he only managed to stick to his work, who knew? Hasmodai might save the world.
After a while, Tarlant seemed to become bored and started to test the controls of the ship, swooping gently from side to side and dipping down to skim the surface of the ocean. The ship rocked as a tall wave broke over the viewport.
"Stay on course," Agi warned from the rear.
"You don't want to make Teo seasick again," Belle added, unnecessarily in Hasmodai's opinion.
Tarlant sighed and returned to the regular flightpath. Looking back into the cargo space, Hasmodai saw that Agi was training Belle in using the bodysuit's motion enhancers. Mel was still tinkering feverishly with the technical equipment.
Dumas's route had been well planned. Only once did they see any other craft, and Dumas's ship took them under the waves until they were well past the trawler. When Tarlant was tired, Hasmodai took over the controls, as Soreto still seemed preoccupied. The ship's monitoring and sensor systems were extensive, and Hasmodai turned on every view, surrounding himself with projected scenes of what was happening behind the ship, above, below, to each side and in the cargo area, as well as geographic positioning maps, 3D contour area maps, heat detection maps, signal tracking systems and local biological and meteorological readings.
"Don't forget to actually watch where you're going," Tarlant said, but Hasmodai just smiled and leaned back, enveloped by every bit of information he needed in order to know exactly where he was and what was going on around him. Machines made life so much simpler.
Eventually, Soreto took over the wheel, switching off half the displays, then Tarlant again, and again Hasmodai. Occasionally one of them drifted to the rear of the ship for a time. Occasionally one of the others came to the cockpit to visit, though never Agi. The sun was left behind early as they approached the Antarctic circle, and the outer temperature reading dropped steadily as it got darker.
It was on Hasmodai's third flight shift that an alarm started to sound, and the signal tracking system flashed with expanding green circles. Agi and Dumas hurried into the cockpit to check the displays.
"We're approaching the climate control system," said Dumas. "There's no way around it, it rings the globe. We've been picked up by their automated anti-terrorist defense system."
"Is there any danger?" Agi asked.
"No doubt a few missiles will be fired at us."
A recorded message was coming over the signal tracking now, a warning to turn back or be fired upon.
A cold trickle of sweat ran down the back of Hasmodai's neck. "So, should I take us underwater, or would it be better to gain altitude—"
"Ignore it," said Dumas.
"But—"
"Keep on course."
More alarms started shrieking. Three flashing red dots moved through the 3D area grid, swerving their courses to converge on the central point. Through the rear, lower and right-hand views, Hasmodai could see a cluster of dark things approaching quickly, their vapor trails glowing in the darkness , lit by the fire of their thrusters. His knuckles turned white on the steering controls.
A missile struck on the side of the ship, filling that view with a roiling blast of flame and smoke. Another burst on the ship's belly.
Hasmodai barely felt the bump.
"You see?" Dumas said, as the third blew itself up against the front viewport. "Keep going, once we're past the regulator band they will have no more interest in us. Earth has nothing that can damage this ship."
Another missile was fired at them, Dumas watching its approach with contempt.
It struck, and the ship rocked. Even more alarms started shrieking, and those were nearly drowned by the howl of wind rushing through the torn hull.
"Take it down!" Dumas shouted.
"Down? What?" How could he take the ship underwater at this speed, with a breached hull? It was unthinkable! It was suicide.
Dumas seized the steering control and forced it down. They hit the water with a shuddering thud, and continued. Hasmodai heard the rushing of water from the rear of the ship, felt the first trickle around his boots.
"Always the man of action, eh, Hasmodai?" Dumas said before rushing into the cargo area.
"Tarlant, activate the robots! We need to seal the breach. Everyone else, into the cockpit!" Agi followed Dumas, Tarlant and Soreto behind him.
The sea was filled with chunks of floating ice that would have been barely visible without the 3D readout to define their edges. Steering anxiously around them, Hasmodai still managed to keep an eye on the cargo space. It was in chaos, every piece of unsecured equipment having been thrown forward. Tina was staggering to her feet, shouting for Mel.
"You get in the cockpit, I'll find Mel!" Seth shouted, shoving Tina toward Soreto, who helped her through the door. Dumas had already found Mel and was trying to help her up from a rubble of wrecked machinery.
Another alarm went off, another two red dots appeared on the 3D display. "Incoming!" Hasmodai shouted. "Two of them!"
Tina strapped herself into one of the empty chairs. Soreto was dragging a resisting Belle to the cockpit, while Belle screamed that she HAD to help Ian. Seth leaped over a fallen sensor panel to join Dumas in lifting Mel from the wreckage. Agi struggled to reach the hull breach as one of the robots finally began to move and Tarlant dropped to the floor to propel himself up to the other.
The second missile hit. "IAN!" Belle screamed, throwing herself at the door, but Soreto punched the switch and it slid shut just as the wave of black water hit it and the ship lurched with the impact. Every one of Hasmodai's displays vanished. He was blind: there was nothing to see but the forward viewport, poorly lit by the few remaining working lights. Soreto forcibly strapped the hysterical Belle into the remaining chair. Looking back over his shoulder, Hasmodai could see nothing beyond the transparent wall but blackness. Was anybody there? Were the rest of the crew lost? Were they still back there, drowning in their own ship? Was there still a missile tracking them? Looking forward he tried to make sense of the shifting shades of darkness. Was that an ice floe or just the moonlight filtering down into the ocean? Should he turn? Which way? He had no idea what lay on either side of him, where he could go, whether they were all about to smash into—
He didn't realize Soreto had been shouting his name until she ripped open the flight harness and shoved him out of the pilot seat, taking his place. Hasmodai landed in the cold wash of water on the deck, rolling as the ship turned and yawed violently, and when he fetched up against something hard and tried to raise himself, an icy, choking wave hit him and knocked him over again.
Hands seized the shoulders of his coat, and when he had blinked the water from his eyes, he saw that Tina was trying to help him up. He clutched at her harness straps and her chair, stumbling onto his knees. Over her shoulder, he could see that the entire cargo area was simply gone, the twisted fraction of one wall extending back into the darkness of the sea.
He struggled to stand, but as soon as he managed it the deck of the ship tore itself from under his feet, and there was a blinding flash of hot white light.