Terraplane (28 page)

"But have you inkling as to cure?" I asked.

"None will be found here for years," she said, the tendons on her
neck bulging as if attempting to rip themselves free. "Even with
expanded mental capabilities I can do little more than guess without access to a computer with which I might estimate all known
variables. Millions of possibilities would have to be checked with
an unknown disease so peculiar as this one. There're too many
maybes. Why the virus manifests itself so virulently. Why the
incubation period can be so extreme. How neurological functions
can be so intensified." She paused, catching her breath; blue
bruises showed at her wrists. "Why I have it and you don't. The
disease would seem to be so widespread among the population that
simple breathing might be the method of transmission. Yet in such
a case there should be unavoidable immunity in some. What has
made you so fortunate and me so unlucky?"

"Unless we've something worse that hasn't shown yet," I said.
"Unless we've caught it since Doc did his tests."

"I doubt that there is anything worse," she said. `And while it is
certainly possible that the virus has shown in your blood since the
tests were made, I would suspect that your reaction might not be so
much more different from mine. Possibly unknown preventative or
enabling factors are at work here." As she brushed her head with her
hand, long strands of hair fell out; pimples appeared on her cheeks
and neck as her metabolism spiraled out of control. "This disease
would be so much more fascinating in the broader sense if I didn't
have it."

".'here's no possible action?" Jake asked, his good hand wrenching the dusty couch arm as if to rip it free. 'T'hough he remained
blanked, his frustration-raw voice forewarned that he was on the
verge of burst. "Nothing to be done?"

"Return. That is what must be done," she said. "Otherwise we
may as well walk into the ocean, one by one."

The situation seemed so unbearable that I had to lose myself in
anything else; the morning's rags lay near. Hauling them up, I
gleaned the heads; read more carefully. They must have seen my
stare.

"What's up?" Jake asked. "What's the word on the Big Boy?" he
said, eyeing what I read. WHERE IS STALIN? the News asked.
KREMLIN ADMITS PREMIER'S DISAPPEARANCE, read the Times in
upper right; Stalin Last Seen Friday Night. In the Mirror: TOP RED
VANISHES; frontpage-pictured were shots of the Big Boy, and of
Amelia Earhart and Ambrose Bierce. Perhaps Oktobriana could
have spotted the connection immediate, but I didn't. Trotsky Keeps
Mum. SOVIET LEADER STALIN MISSING, REPORTS CLAIM, announced the Herald-Tribune and Mail's head. Trials Suspended
Until Further Notice.

"Oktobriana," I said. "Did such as this occur in our history?"

"No," she said, studying the banners. "Stalin, in our world's
June 1939, was secluded within the Kremlin, on one hand
deciding to deal with Hitler in regards to Poland and the Baltic
States while on the other hand making up lists of who else among
his countryfolk should be killed. This is so unlikely as to-"

Clapping her hand to her forehead, she let the papers slide from
her lap. When she took away her hand she showed a small black
bruise left behind.

"You've connected?" I asked. "What's meant?"

"I've connected," said Jake. `Alek's behinding this fadeout."

"Such an utter fool," she said. "It must be Sanya. Took him
three weeks to get through but he obviously did."

"Wait. What's inferred-"

"The Kremlin would not lose Stalin," she said, her eyes fury
bright. "If they did they would never admit it unless, as is certain,
they have no knowledge of how he got away. Sanya has done what
he must have planned all along-"

"He's transferred this world's Stalin into ours?"

She nodded. "As we were leaving they must have been returning.
More than a fool. He not only has brought enormous danger into
our world but has committed deliberate retrocide in this one,
destroying the future as it would have been by interfering with the
past. "

"There'll be no danger of political upheaval in ours," I said.
"Krasnaya has no desire to hold a living Big Boy. They'll gulag him
from now till-"

"Think, Luther," she said. "What is it that is killing me? Sanya
must have been immune or else not picked it up or the disease
would have spread through Dubna following his first return. But if
Stalin carries the virus, and as he has lived through its ravages, then
it is certain that he has brought it now into our world's air. Even as
we speak, it spreads. "

"Meantime in this one," Jake said, "with Roosevelt exed,
Churchill gone-"

"And Stalin removed from the scene," she concluded, "Hitler
remains to act as he pleases. The possibilities are enormous. Sanya
has committed crimes against humanity in both worlds."

From outside sounded seagull cries, surfs steady beat.

"What's possible, then?" Jake asked.

"Hitler can take Europe in two years," I said, "including
England. Inference from our history's progression suggests he may
or may not hold on to western Russia; depends on when he invades and what strategy he uses under these changed circumstances.
He'll certainly be able to take all of northern Africa, and Egypt. If
he chooses to slow, if he heeds some among his group, Germany
might invade the Middle East, move through Iran from Russia,
join with Japan somewhere in India-" It was the old worst-case
scenario as laid out, the difference here being that all was yet
possible. "That in twenty years or so there might be only Germany,
Japan and North America. If Germany develops the bomb-"

This world, suddenly, seemed even worse than ours.

"Luther," Jake said, pitching me the Times's front unit. "Viz
this." Frontpaged low was an article concerning a meteor's descent.

... neither information detailing its nature, nor even size,
which local residents estimate to be enormous. Several dump
trucks have brought dirt to the area, where bulldozers are being used to build a ramp across the marsh from the site of impact
to Route 3. Members of the New Jersey State Militia have
erected an enclosed tent around the apparent meteorite and
stand guard....

"Deep cover," I said. "Meteorite. They've certified it's not contemporary flight-oriented-"

"Unless they've begun dismantling the controls they know only
that they have in their possession a Russian plane of advanced
capability outfitted with weapons. That they would make the
obvious, if erroneous, connection seems certain. That would easily
explain last night's events, with or without Skuratov's assistance."

"They think Stalin came with us?" Knowing Skuratov, he may
well have told them that he was Stalin.

"It is the obvious inference," she said. "That the ones investigated brutally murdered all members of the investigating party
might conceivably convince them entirely."

But what, I thought, feeling my own mind's line unreeling, if
this tale of disappearance was nothing but disinfo in itself;
Skuratov's scheme. Mayhap he'd broken or lost his tracker during
his drop, and found himself unable to sight Oktobriana's glow as he
earlier had. What better way to set a lure than to let fly a tale of a problem's disappearance, knowing we would make the obvious
decision; to wish return quickly, to find him fast-

Ridiculous, I told myself. The love of plot is my disease.

"In any event, under these circumstances they must be quite
aware that Skuratov would seem to be, to someone, one of great
importance," she said. And so, as it seems evident as well that
Sanya has returned to our world accompanied by his hero, our
hope of escape remains with Skuratov."

"If its still in one piece," said Jake.

"There is one additional possibility to which I must give further
thought," she said.

"What?"

"We had a theory that with Tesla coils of great size conjoined
with resonating towers of equivalent power, the effect produced by
our device might be caused without any such device, that the
energies resulting could split the wall between worlds. We could
never test such theories, for we hadn't funding to build a coil and
tower of the necessary size. So Sanya developed his machine-"

"Where would such a coil be-" I began to ask; remembered her
odd silence of the night previous after passing the fair.

"Inferring what I can in these articles, I would say it is obvious that this Trylon and Perisphere are a tremendous Tesla coil
and resonating tower, and they will be switched on tomorrow
night. "

"We may be able to use it to get back?"

"There are further calculations to make. The danger, nevertheless, will be much greater."

"Why?"

"There will be no control over the effect, if such an effect occurs.
The transferral may be imperfect. There are many awful possibilities but as last resort it is worth investigating," she said, curling
her feet beneath her to slow their unending jiggle, her face drained
of color by the effort's pain. "My mind is useful so long as I have
it. Let me use it." She suddenly paused; turned and looked at
Jake. "What was it you gave me after we crashed?" she asked him.
"Extamyl, was it?"

"Three hundred mils to lessen pain and shock," he said, his voice seizing as if he needed lube. "The last of it. It would assist
now, I know-"

"In such massive doses Extamyl decreases the immunity to transient respiratory ailments," she said, tapping lip with finger; she bled
beneath her nails. "Of course. Certainly there would be no concern
ordinarily but I'm afraid that this particular transient takes its vehicle with it when it reaches its stop. Examining the possibilities, I feel
assured now that it was the dosage of Extamyl that likely assisted in
any immediate infection, even if it has had no bearing on the speed
of its progression, which I would gather is rapid."

"I had Diodin-" Jake said, his face drawn tight.

"There are no such side effects with Diodin," she said. "Who's to
say that Diodin might not have lent you greater immunity? Or
temporary immunity?" Bruises blotched her arms and wrists,
where everflexing muscles forced capillaries to break. A vein had
gone at elbow joint, leaving a Rorschach of desperate sign. "Jake,
you showed wise concern and acted properly. There is no reason to
blame yourself."

So, pronouncing sentence on Jake, she faced him full; in his
own look he showed, through his lack of emotion, the strain of
holding it within. Good intentions always killed, or killed often
enough to give pause to any samaritan. I myself would have
thereafter seen a murderer in any mirror, deservedly or not; what
he might see, I never knew. He patted her hand clumsily, as if
fearing he might be struck down for affection's show.

"This explains so many things," she said. "The untoward energy
and euphoric feelings earlier on. I am so tired. Hand me something
to write with, Jake. I'd better set down whatever I have to offer."
Her left eye showed pink, where something else had given way. The
head of a fullpage ad in the opened paper, lying at my feet,
announced: WF. ARE ALL IN'TEREST'ED IN THE FUTURE/For That is
Where We Will Spend the Rest of Our Lives. So I hoped; it seemed
evermore unlikely.

Wanda stood sole and only on the sun porch still, peering
towards oceanedge through bulged-out, rusted screens. I walked
across to where she was, leaving Jake and Oktobriana to be by
themselves a short time longer.

"How're you?" I asked.

"I've been better," she said, avoiding my eyes. "Hurts being
here. "

Hurts us both, I thought, remembering the ambush suffered as
we neared Southampton so long ago. Breaking formation, positioning roadside, we delivered our own messages, rocketing all within
radius. Those hit with phosphorus fire popped up from their burrows as if from a Roman candle. We felt the earth wince with
shellblast as we lay upon it. C-380s swept overhead, bearing napalm
eastward to cauterize dissent's wounds. Ten lost there in the road, for
no purpose, for no reason, to no effect.

"Luther," she said, stirring me from my reverie. "Where are
you?"

"Sorry," I said. "Daydreaming."

"Wish I was like you all, in a way."

"What's meant?"

"I wouldn't feel any of this," she said. "It'd be so much easier."

"Feel? Feel what?"

"That's what I mean. You don't feel anything, do you? Emotions, I mean. You've all gotten rid of 'em somehow Streamlined
'em away. It just seems like you get along easier without them."

"They're there," I said, speaking at least for myself; she was right,
in the broader sense. "We bury them deep enough not to rise
again.

"Can't get 'em down that deep," she said. "It's close in here."

"Let's take outer air," I said. She nodded. Opening the screen
door, its spring shuddering loud as its rust flaked away, we exited.
None rose from underbrush to meet and greet when we showed; no
warning shots blew out our brains. We moved forward, careless as
icebergs. The abandoned garden through which we passed was
overgrown with kneehigh weed; the faint marks of path and a tilted
sundial at center showed where a pattern once used, failed. Reaching an outcrop of rock at beachside, we sat. Blue-and-white butterflies drifted by like paperscraps tossed over fire; I'd not seen one
living since youth. Birdsong rose; eyeing upward I sighted a boiling
feathered cloud cross the sky, aiming inland, towards the east. No
ornithologist, I.

"What are those?" I asked.

"Passenger pigeons," said Wanda. "They set up a preserve for
em somewhere out here 'cause they say they're dying out. When I
was little big flocks'd fly over ever' year and the men'd wait till they
settled in the trees. Then they'd beat 'em down with long sticks.
My grandparents told me they'd black out the sun for hours when
they'd pass, back when they first came here."

"They're over a century extinct in our day," I said.