Close Up the Sky (14 page)

Of course the
degree to which people subscribed to superstition was in direct proportion to
their level of civilization, modern man being separated from his savage
forebears only by a thin veneer that could be quickly stripped away. In that
regard, man had changed little over the centuries. Though Egypt of 1250 B.C.
was supposedly one of the most civilized nations of the time, Leahy did not
delude himself by minimizing the danger. On the contrary, he knew that strangers,
especially those of another race, were usually regarded with suspicion. Time
expeditions were dangerous even under the most favorable circumstances, and
this one would be doubly so. Attempting to locate someone who may not want to
be found entailed asking questions, and strangers asking questions could lead
to problems. The investigation would have to be handled delicately to say the
least. In 1250 B.C. they would be strictly on their own, with no police badges
to back them up.

His linguistic
instruction continued for another three days, after which Taylor pronounced him
ready for a course in desert survival. A Marine officer, Captain Charles
Williams, had been selected to conduct this part of his training. Williams took
him into the desert where he spent five miserable days learning how to find
water and food where there appeared to be none. It was during this period that
he began to appreciate the black jumpsuits. The temperature ranged from burning
hot during the day to almost freezing at night, yet the silvery lining of the
garment screened out most of the heat and cold.

"These
clothes do a good job keeping the weather out," Leahy observed one night
as they were sitting around their campfire.

Williams was lying
on his back looking up at the stars. In spite of Leahy’s repeated attempts to
generate conversation during their time together, the Marine had remained
taciturn. He knew his job, and had taught Leahy things about the desert that
could not be learned from books. He now knew how to get water from the evening
air by heating rocks and stretching a piece of canvas over them. As the rocks
cooled, condensation formed on the canvas and could be collected in a canteen. He
had learned how to identify which desert plants had edible roots, and which
were poisonous to humans. They had brought a minimal amount of food and water
with them, and Leahy had forced himself to eat things he would rather forget. However,
if ever he
was
unfortunate enough to be caught in the
desert without provisions, he would remember and appreciate the things that
Williams had taught him. The Marine was an excellent instructor, good at his
job, and asked very few questions. Leahy knew the purpose of the training, but
he doubted that Williams did. If so, he had given no indication of it.

"It's called
an element suit," Williams responded to Leahy’s comment. "L-suit for
short. I found out about it from some of the other officers. The lining has
hundreds of tiny capillaries filled with a special chemical. When your body
heat goes up or down, the chemical responds by getting hotter or colder. It's
something they developed in one of the labs at Apache Point. The lining is
super-tough, but you have to be careful not to rupture it. I understand the
chemical is corrosive. Take the skin right off you in a matter of seconds.” He
shot Leahy a glance. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that."

Matt looked at his
suit and rubbed a piece of the sleeve between his thumb and finger. "Has
anyone ever ruptured one?"

"I wouldn't
know, but it pays to be careful. You worried?"

"I've had
this skin all my life. I'd like to keep it if I can."

"No sweat. The
outer material is almost as tough as metal. It would take a hell of a lick to
tear it. A special tool is required just to cut it."

"It feels
like ordinary nylon," Leahy observed, stroking his chest.

Williams stood up
and pulled a long, glittering knife from his boot. He walked over to Leahy and
took him by the arm. Leahy had seen him chop brush with the knife and knew it
was razor sharp. He clamped his teeth together as Williams positioned the knife
across his forearm and gave it a vicious pull.

“Hey!” Leahy
jerked away and scrambled to his feet. He expected to see blood gushing from a
severed muscle, but where the cut should have been, the fabric was undamaged. For
a few seconds he stood there staring at Williams in dumb amazement, his heart
pounding, then anger took over.

"Are you
crazy! You could've cut my arm off with that thing!" he shouted.

Williams grinned
and slipped the knife back into his boot. "Sorry, Matt. I just didn't want
you worrying about your skin." He lay back down and resumed his vigil of
the night sky.

Leahy moved over
to the fire and sat down next to him. He examined his arm again, still unable
to believe that the fabric was undamaged. He picked up a stick and jammed it
into the coals at the base of the fire. He poked around in the coals for a few
minutes, listening to the sounds of the desert. In spite of the fierce changes
in temperature and lack of water, there was life all around. Insects and
reptiles that had learned to adapt over the millennia were relatively abundant.
Mice and rabbits were also present, and there were even a few species of birds
that preyed on the smaller life forms. Matt had lived most of his life in urban
areas and knew little about the world beyond the massive steel and concrete
canyons of the city. Life here was different, yet it was similar in many ways. There
were always the hunters and the hunted.

"How long
have you been stationed at Apache Point, Chuck?" he finally asked,
breaking the silence.

"I'm
not," Williams answered flatly. He sat up and ran his fingers through his
short, dark hair. In appearance and attitude he was the typical Marine officer,
always reserved, body straight and strong. Both men were about the same size,
but Leahy guessed Williams to be a couple of years younger, maybe in his mid
thirties.

The first day they
were in the desert he learned that Williams had seen some combat in the Middle
East and had been wounded. A jagged scar ran vertically from his hairline to
just above his left eyebrow. Most of the time it blended with his tanned skin,
hardly noticeable; other times it stood out as if it had been drawn with a red
marker. Leahy had found from experience that the scar usually looked like that
when Williams was irritated or upset about something. It looked that way now.

"What do you
mean, you're not?"

Williams looked at
him, his face expressionless. "Who are you, Matt? Or should I ask
what
are you?"

The question set
off an alarm in Leahy’s brain that warned him to be cautious. This was the
second time someone had asked him that. The events of the last few days rolled
through his mind, especially the sabotage of the Chronocom and the murders of
the time agents. He had naturally assumed Williams was part of the Marine
detachment stationed at the facility because no one had told him otherwise. The
conversation he had had with Gail Wilson and her strange warning flickered in
his thoughts. He was beginning to wonder if anyone knew who anyone else really
was.

"You're not
assigned to the security force at Apache Point?"

"I didn't
even know Apache Point existed until a week ago. I'm here on special assignment
to teach you desert survival. I also just violated explicit orders to keep my
mouth shut and not ask you any questions.” Williams stared at him, waiting for
a response.

So that was the
reason for Williams's reserved attitude, Leahy thought. He had gotten the same
treatment from the technicians who had participated in his language training. They,
too, must have been ordered to keep quiet and reveal no unnecessary
information. Under the circumstances such an order was understandable, but it
infuriated him just the same. In his opinion, Durant, or whoever had issued the
gag order, should have left the matter to him. He was perfectly capable of
deciding for himself what information should or should not be disclosed, and to
whom.

"Sorry,
Chuck. I didn't know you were a newcomer. I thought you just didn't like my
haircut or something," Leahy offered apologetically.

"I don't like
the looks of the situation," Williams responded. He moved closer to the
fire and tossed another piece of scrub wood onto it.

"The
situation?" Matt was puzzled.

“Usually when you
conduct a desert survival course, you’re left alone with the trainee. There’s
not supposed to be help anywhere near the training site. It defeats the purpose
of the course. Yet I’ve seen helicopters a half dozen times circling near our
position. And I’d also like to know who's been following us on foot."

Leahy instinctively
looked over his shoulder and scanned the area around the campsite. If anyone was
nearby, the irregular terrain concealed his presence. He, too, had seen the
helicopters, but had assumed they were simply patrol ships from the base. As
far as he knew, no one had authorization to be on foot. Good judgment told him
that they should extinguish the fire and spend the rest of the night in
darkness.

"How do you
know we're being followed?" he asked.

Williams answered
him. "We've been more or less walking in a big circle for the last few
days, so we've covered the same ground more than once. Twice now I've seen
indications that at least one other person is following the same route. Whoever
it is knows his business. He's done a good job of concealing any sign, but I
can tell he's there."

"Maybe we
better put out the fire, Chuck. There's not supposed to be anyone out here but
us. I wish you had said something sooner."

Williams got to
his knees and leaned toward the fire. “This isn’t some kind of test is it,
Matt?” he asked. "I mean, like a security test or something?"

"I can't
explain right now," Leahy answered. "You'll just have to trust me
until we get back to the base." He scooped up a double handful of sand and
tossed it into the fire. The flames flickered and a shower of red embers shot
into the air. He was about to toss on some more when a white-hot pain ripped
the back of his neck. Thinking one of the embers had settled on him, he slapped
his hand to the spot. It came away covered with blood.

“Damn!” Williams
hissed when he saw the blood. He reacted instantly, reaching out to shove Leahy
away from the fire. But before he could touch him, there was a muffled
whump
and he pitched sideways onto the
ground. He grabbed his chest and grunted, writhing in pain.

Leahy’s reaction
was instantaneous. He dove away from the fire, belly-crawling into the
darkness. When he was safely away from the light, he lay still, barely
breathing. He could see Williams's shadowy form lying twenty feet away in the
circle of dying firelight. From that distance there was no way to tell if he
was alive or dead. Nothing else was visible.

There was a
throbbing pain in the back of his neck, but he resisted the urge to touch it. Something
warm trickled down into the collar of the L-suit. He did not have to see it to
know it was blood. There had been no sound, but he knew that a bullet had
grazed his neck and another had hit Williams in the chest. Since they had heard
nothing prior to the impact, it was apparent that whoever had fired on them was
using a silencer. He listened intently for any noise while he mentally
reconstructed the shooting. Without moving, he cut his eyes in the direction of
the campfire. From the direction in which Williams had fallen, he guessed the
bullets had originated from a point to the left of where he now lay. Though he
could not see it in the darkness, he knew that about fifty yards in that
direction was a gentle rise in the landscape. The other side of that rise would
be the most advantageous spot from which a sniper could shoot. From that
location the assailant could cover their entire campsite with his weapon.

Leahy assumed that
whoever had fired on them could not see him at present, and was probably
wondering how badly he had been wounded. If the sniper wanted to finish the
kill, he would have to wait for his prey to reveal himself before firing
additional shots. He decided that the best course of action was to lie still
and wait for the other man to move. In one of his lectures on survival,
Williams had reminded him that blind people were highly sensitive to sound, and
that by closing your eyes you could increase your own hearing ability. Though
he hated to lose what limited vision the darkness afforded, he closed his eyes
and concentrated on listening.

He knew the black
jumpsuit added to his concealment and would make it nearly impossible for
anyone to see him unless they were close enough to step on him. If the sniper's
weapon
was
equipped with an infrared scope, the
special lining of the suit would keep his body heat from revealing his
position. The only exposed parts of his body were his face and hands, so he
buried his face in the crook of his arm, shoved his hands into the sand, and
tried to keep his breathing low. He wondered how badly he was hurt. It felt as
though someone had pulled a hot poker across his flesh. However, he knew the
wound could not be serious as he was still able to move. A deep cut in that
area would have severed the neck muscles and probably paralyzed him. If the
sniper did not force him to move in the next few minutes, the blood would
probably clot.

Over the last few
days he had become familiar with the night sounds of the desert. He listened
intently, trying to isolate anything unusual. His ragged nerves turned the
minutes into hours, but no sound came to him except the subtle movements of the
land itself. A light breeze stirred the scrub and whispered in his ears as it
drifted across the sand. The air was turning colder, but his body stayed warm
inside the suit. Occasionally, he opened his eyes and peered toward the
campsite. The fire had gone completely out and he could no longer see Williams's
body. He considered trying to crawl to him, but thought better of it. The
sniper would be expecting him to do exactly that.