Halo: First Strike (20 page)

The Aleph-figure called out to them, "Jerry's very sick," and

Gonzales felt a moment of superstitious awe and guilt, as if he

had been the one to trigger this by thinking about it.

"What can we do?" Lizzie asked.

"We can try to help him," the Aleph-figure said.  "Stay here,

be patientwith all our resources, I can keep him together."

"What's the point?" Gonzales asked.  "We can't stay like this

forever."

"No," the Aleph-figure said.  "But if I have enough time, I

can replicate him here."

Out of her boiling river of light, Diana said, "Please!" her

voice ringing with her urgency and fear.  Gonzales suddenly felt

ashamed that he was quibbling about what was possible here and

what was not, as if he knew.  "I'll do it," he said.  "I'll do

what I can."

"Just watch," the Aleph-figure said.  "And wait.

#

Gonzales came up hard and crazy, his body shuddering

involuntarily, his vision reduced to a small, uncertain tunnel

through black mist, and practically his only coherent thought was,

what the hell is going on?

Showalter's voice said, "Is he in any danger?"

"No," Charley said.  "But we didn't allow for proper

desynching, so his brain chemistry is aberrant."

"Good," Traynor's voice said, and Gonzales was really spooked

thenwhat the fuck was Traynor doing here?  how long had he been

in the egg?

Charley said, "He's pulling his catheters loose.  Let's get

some muscle relaxant in him, for Christ's sake."

Gonzales felt a brief flash of pain and heard a drug gun's

hiss, and  when mechanical arms lifted him onto a gurney, he lay

quiet, stunned.

#

Gonzales came to full consciousness to find himself in a

three-bed ward watched over by a sam.  Charley arrived within

minutes of Gonzales's waking, looking strung out, as if he hadn't

slept in days.  His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair a chaotic nest

of free-standing spikes.  "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm not sure."

"You're basically all right, but your neurotransmitter

profiles haven't normalized, and so you might have a rough time

emotionally and perceptually for a while."

No shit, Gonzales thought.  He'd come out of the egg mighty

ugly some other times, but had never had to cope with anything

like this.  His body felt alive with nervous, uncontrollable

energy, as if his skin might jump off him and begin dancing to a

tune of its own.  Everywhere he looked, the world seemed on the

edge of some vast change, as colors fluctuated ever so slightly,

and the outlines of objects went wobbly and uncertain.  And he

felt anxiety everywhere, coming off objects like heat waves off a

desert rock, as if the physical world was radiating dread.

"For how long?" Gonzales asked.

"I don't know, but it might take a few days, might take more. 

I've been watching your brain chemistry closely, and the

readjustment curve looks to me to be smooth but slow."

"How's Lizzie?"

"In the same boat, but doing a little better than youshe

wasn't under as long as you were.  Doctor Heywood is still in full

interface."

"Why?"

"Because we couldn't start the desynching sequences."

"What?  Why not?"

"Impossible to say.  Same for your memexshe and it are

still locked into contact with Aleph and Jerry.  At some point,

we'll have to do a physical disconnect and hope for the best."

"What the hell is going on here?  What's wrong with Jerry? 

Aleph said he was in trouble."

"His condition has changed for the worse.  We're keeping him

alive now, but I don't know for how much longer.  I don't even

know if we're going to try for much longer.  Ask your boss."

"Traynor.  He is here.  I thought maybe I'd hallucinated

that."

"No, you didn't "  As Charley's voice trailed off, Gonzales

could hear the implied finish:  I wish you had.  Charley said,

"I'll have someone find him and bring him in; he said he wanted to

talk to you as soon as you were awake."

#

Gonzales sat in a deep post-interface haze, listening to

Traynor berate SenTrax Group Halo.  "These people have no sense of

responsibility," Traynor said.

"To SenTrax Board?" Gonzales asked.

"To anyone other than Aleph and the Interface Collective. 

It's obvious that Showalter has let them take over the decision-

making process."

Even in his foggy mental state, Gonzales saw what Traynor

would make of this one.  Showalter was the sacrificial corporate

goat, and whoever replaced her would have as first priority

reasserting Earth-normal SenTrax management strategies.  To put it

another way, through Traynor, the board was taking back control. 

And presumably Traynor would receive appropriate rewards.

"The collective " Gonzales said.  "Aleph "  He stopped,

simply locking up as he thought of trying to explain to Traynor

how things worked here, how things had to work here, because of

Aleph.

"Easy does it," Traynor said.  "The doctors say you had a

rough time in there, and that's what I mean, Mikhail:  they don't

have a rational research protocol; they don't take reasonable

precautions.  Hell, you're lucky to have gotten off as easily as

you did."

"How did you get here so quickly?" Gonzales asked.  He simply

couldn't find the words to explain to Traynor where he was going

wrong.

"I've consulted with Horn from the beginning."  Traynor

turned away, as if suddenly fascinated by something on the far

wall.  "Standard procedure," he said.  "And as soon as Horn let me

know what was going on, I caught a ride on a military shuttle."

Cute as a shithouse rat, Gonzales thought.  Not that he was

surprised, thoughTraynor moved his players around without regard

to their wishes.  Gonzales asked, "Will Horn replace Showalter?"

Traynor turned back to face him.  "On an interim basis,

probably, as soon as I get a course of action okayed by the board. 

Later, we'll see."

"What now?"

"Some decisions have to be made.  I have let them maintain

Jerry Chapman until now, but as soon as they can solve the problem

of getting Doctor Heywood released from this interface, I intend

to turn control of the project over to Horn and let him take the

appropriate actions."

Gonzales was filled with sadness for reasons that he could

not communicate to this man.  He said instead, "Look, Traynor, I'm

really tired."

"Sure, Mikhail.  You rest, take it easy.  Once you're feeling

better, we'll talk, but I know what I need to at the moment."

Traynor left, and Gonzales lay for some time in the elevated

hospital bed, his mind wheeling without apparent pattern, as the

world around him flashed its cryptic signals and anxiety moved

through him in strong waves.

Fucking asshole, Gonzales thought, Traynor's satisfied smile

looming in his mind's eye.  I hate you.  And he wondered at the

violence of what he felt.

He lay dozing, then sometime later he opened his eyes, and he

knew he needed to try to function.  A sam moved across the floor

toward him and said, "Do you require my assistance?"

"Hang on to me while I get out of bed," Gonzales said.  "I'm

not sure how well I'm moving."

The sam moved next to the bed, extended two clusters of

extensors, and said, "Hold on and you can use me as a stepping

place."

Moving very carefully, Gonzales took hold of the claw-like

extensors, swung his legs out of bed, and stepped onto the sam's

back, then to the floor.  "Thanks," he said.  "I need to wash up."

"You're welcome.  The shower is through that door."

#

The sam told Gonzales where he could find Lizzie and Charley. 

On shaky legs, Gonzales walked down a flight of steps and turned

into a hallway done in blue-painted lunar dust fiberboard with

aluminum moldings.  Halfway down the hall, he came to a door with

a sign that said Primary Control Facilities.  A sign on the

door lit with the message, Wait for Verification, then said

Enter, and the door swung open.

Charley sat amid banks of monitor consoles; in front of him,

most of the lights flashed red and amber.  Gonzales thought he

looked even sadder and tireder than before.  Lizzie stood next to

him, and Gonzales saw her with joy and relief.  "Hello," he said,

and Charley said, "Hi."  Lizzie waved and smiled briefly, but both

her actions came from somewhere very distant, as if she were

saying goodbye to a cousin from the window of a departing train. 

Gonzales's anxiety shifted into overdrive, and he found himself

unable to say a word.

Eric Chow's voice from the console said, "Charley, we've got

a problem."

Charley started to reach for the console, then stopped and

said, "Do you want to watch this?"  He looked at both Lizzie and

Gonzales.

"I need to," Lizzie said.

"Me, too," Gonzales said.

Charley waved his hands in the air and said, "Okay," and

flipped a switch.  The console's main screen lit with a picture of

the radical care facility where Jerry was being maintained.  Half

a dozen people floated around the central bubble; they wore white

neck-to-toe surgical garb and transparent plastic head covers. 

Inside the bubble, the creature that had been Jerry spasmed inside

a restraining net.  His every body surface seemed to vibrate, and

he made a high keening that Gonzales thought was the worst noise

he'd ever heard.

"Eric, have you got a diagnosis?" Charley asked.

Eric turned to face the room's primary camera.

"Yeah, total neural collapse."

"Prognosis?"