The Archivist (30 page)

Then, I reach in my mouth and pull off a large wad of gum. Taking a chip bag, I locate a spot under the seat, where it fits with about a half an inch of clearance. Then I affix several pieces of gum to the bottom side of the bag and set it in place.

Once it is positioned and I am certain that it is not going to move, I use another piece of gum to secure one of the wire leads in place on the bag. The aged substance may not hold long, but a few minutes is all I need.

Now comes the fun part. Vaporizing Wolfengarde, Vater and all those within several miles might serve the greater good, but as long as Danae and I are here, it definitely does not serve our good. Taking another sticky piece of gum, I embed the other wire in the gum and reach under the seat carefully to secure it just above and crosswise to the first lead.

Just as I am about to set the wire, Danae fires a shot outside, and I jump. Fortunately, I only skin my knuckles, but my hand trembles a bit as I reach back in. Taking a deep breath, I steady my hand, place the second lead and make sure it is well set.

Danae fires several more shots. While I would love to booby-trap the other bomb as well, it sounds like we have run out of time.

“Are you almost done in there?” Danae calls out. “I got a couple of them, but one of them ducked back in and I’m sure he went to get reinforcements.”

“Finished,” I say as I toss the other vending machine items behind the nukes and close the hatch. We dash across the roof and duck behind the cover of a rusty, long-dead water tower just as a small group of Disciples emerges.

One of them is Vater, followed by his senior staff. They step around the two bodies sprawled next to the door. Deep Throat tries to make the leader wait while the rooftop is secured, but the android shakes him off and strides toward the ship.

I am certainly not going to stop him. Vater opens the hatch, then pauses and turns to Deep Throat. The Disciple leader’s voice carries across the open roof. “The time has come for me to ascend to the heavens. You are now the Earth Father. I taught you well, now lead them in the way.”

“But I don’t understand,” the new leader practically whines.

“Don’t worry, you don’t need to understand. Not that you could, even if you tried.” With that, Vater climbs in and swings the hatch closed.

About twenty seconds later, the craft lifts up into the air and the remaining Disciples fall down on the rooftop, prostrating themselves.

The ship rises quickly and silently, and I feel a pang of regret.

Professor Leasson would have handed over his firstborn just to examine that generator for five minutes; he has said as much more than once. The best I can do now is bear witness that it indeed worked just as he thought.

Vater’s ship is ascending and not likely to come back, so I grab Danae and dash toward the roof exit, trying not to disturb the Disciples as we pass behind them. They are chanting some sort of prayer as we run past. I stop halfway to the door. One particularly alert devotee starts to rise, before he sees me pointing the gun at him, and stops.

“Quickly, get up.” I gesture at Number Three. That spark of decency should be preserved. “If you value your life, you need to get off this roof immediately.”

“You should be on your knees,” Deep Throat protests haughtily, looking up. “We are witnessing a miracle, and we have to consecrate this holy moment for all time.”

“You go right ahead and do that,” I encourage him. I have no idea what yield those nuclear devices were designed for, but I am certain that I do not want to witness it for myself. I look back to Number Three, who is still halfway up on his knees. “A great flash of Truth is about to smite your false leader, and if you remain here, it’ll smite you as well. Stay or don’t stay, but I’m hauling ass to those stairs.”

I glance up. Vater’s ship is now just a silver dot in the sky. I am guessing that he is at least three thousand feet up. I have no way of gauging how quickly that chip bag will expand, but I do not think we have much time.

Number Three seems to believe me; he leaps to his feet and starts running, and Deep Throat moves to follow, until I point my gun at him. After what he did to Angie, I would love to shoot the bastard, but now I think a worse fate awaits him. “No. You stay and consecrate.”

But I do relieve him of the satchel that contains my e-reader before I race for the stairs, where Danae pushes on the door futilely. I turn the handle and throw my shoulder against the door a couple of times, but it still refuses to budge. I am getting desperate when I realize that it swings toward me, and I haul the door open.

I literally throw Danae through the doorway and leap through. The Disciple jumps through as well, and just as I pull the door shut, a blast of light as bright as the sun bursts through every seam around the doorway.

Even the slivers of light that somehow find a crack are bright enough to blind us momentarily. There is a thick layer of concrete above us, but I am sure we still got more rads than I care to think about.

I have no idea how high up Vater was when the nuke went off, but I figure that it was at least a few miles. A concussion wave will hit soon, but we have a few seconds, and I want to see something.

Swinging the door open, Number Three glances outside with me. The three Disciples who remained are wandering, dazed, their exposed skin already redder than the worst sunburn I have ever seen. They are blind, judging from the way they are stumbling. With any luck, Deep Throat will wander off the edge of the roof.

I slam the door shut again and grab one of the lit torches left by the rooftop believers. Number Three can follow if he wants, but I am not going to worry about it. I grab Danae, and we almost fly down the steps. Within fifteen seconds, we manage to get down to the club suite concourse. Then the entire building shakes, as if hit by an enormous earthquake.

I am counting on the inherent strength of the arched roof and the fact that the blast was almost directly above us, but I still pull Danae down and cover her with my body, in case there is any falling debris. The building holds, and I sing silent praise to the long-dead engineers and workmen who designed and built this structure.

When I stand up and pull Danae to her feet, I see Number Three on the steps behind us. He staggers to his feet as well, then turns to face me. I reach into my gray coveralls pocket and grasp my gun, but I will not pull it out until I know whether or not I have to shoot this man.

That will not be necessary, as it turns out.

Number Three drops to his knees and bows his head to the floor at my feet. “You knew what was going to happen. The hand of God is upon you, and the fire of His wrath smites your enemies. You are the true Vater, and I submit myself to your will. Your command is my only wish.”

Danae looks at me with rolling eyes, and I just shrug. Someday I may set this guy straight about my relationship with the Almighty. But not today. “What is your name?” I ask.

“Erik Alvarez,” the man answers, and bows his head again.

I step forward and raise him to his feet. “You are to lead these people and do no harm to others, believers and unbelievers alike. I will return when the time is right, bearing a new truth for you to follow.” It will be interesting to see what kind of eclectic scripture I can dig up in the Archives. Maybe I can bring together Christian love and compassion, Buddhist tolerance and a Sikh passion for peace.

“Now it’s time you tended to your new flock.” I turn Erik and direct him down the stairs.

“My place is at your side,” Erik says, clearly reluctant to leave.

“Thanks, but I already have someone at my side,” I say, as I pull Danae to me. “Your flock downstairs suffers from their iniquity and needs you. Go and lead them back onto a path of peace, mercy and compassion.”

“Very well, it shall be as you say,” he replies and then takes a torch as he dashes down the steps.

“We still need to get out of here. Why did you send him away?” Danae asks.

“The problem with the easily converted is that they are easily unconverted. I’d rather be somewhere else when his new faith is tested.”

After Erik disappears down the stairwell, I embrace Danae and we kiss for more than a few moments. Her arms wrap around my neck and I bury my face in her hair, wanting to cherish her completely. As my hands caress her, I feel the tension ease in her back and shoulders.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“I’m fine, aside from the fact that it feels like someone tried to shove a watermelon up my ass.”

“And our baby?” I ask, dreading her response.

Although Sarah and I talked a few times about having a child before I left Mars, since that time I have never considered the possibility that I might be a father. The concept was as alien to me as Intellinet, until Danae shattered it with those two words, ‘I’m pregnant’.

During the past thirty years, nothing has mattered more to me than knowing, right now, that Danae and our child are okay.

I meant it when I told Danae I loved her, and I feel a sense of release that the generator is now gone, along with any chance of ever returning to Mars. It took almost losing everything for me to realize in the hallway before I rescued Danae that I left the past behind me a long time ago. My life is with her, now; with our family.

She pulls back and touches my face, tears welling out of her eyes as she replies, “Only time will really tell, but I think it’s fine.”

I hold her waist as I say, “It occurs to me that when Father Alendo performed that ceremony in Port Sadelow, he didn’t use either of our names. So it doesn’t matter what you told him my name was.”

“I think you’re right,” Danae smiles. “That means…” She leaves the thought unfinished.

“We’ve been married all along.” I complete it for her, and my wife gives a very long kiss. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it,” I say, then take her hand and lead her downstairs.

It is time to wrap up the loose ends in my life.

We are on the club suite concourse behind the main stage, so we just have to follow this level around the arena to get to my destination. The torch pushes back the near total blackness, and though we are well above the main floor, the eerie reverberation of thousands of moaning Disciples in the main arena echoes all around us throughout the dark corridor.

It sounds like Dante himself has opened a portal to the tortured souls in the deepest part of Hades.

Scattered bits of debris got knocked loose by the airborne blast, so we pick our way carefully along the corridor. When we reach the gate that was bound by a chain, we find that it stands wide open. It feels like it has been days since I burned my hand there.

A few moments later, we enter the radio room. As I hoped, the electronics are on an isolated power system; the equipment is still live, and not taken out by the EMP. The blast must have destroyed the antenna, because the radio just picks up static and the satellite controls are offline. So much for contacting Mars and closing the open loop of my past.

I reach to shut down the power when I realize that the panel includes a short-term, voice-activated recording system. There are a couple of new messages, so I gesture for Danae to sit with me. I take her hands and look her in the eyes.

“While looking for you, I came across this room. This equipment sends messages across great distances, so I contacted Mars. I didn’t have time to wait for a response, but they answered, and I want you to hear their messages with me.”

“You’re hoping to hear from your wife,” Danae replies, her glistening eyes reflecting the hurt and pain in her voice.

“No!” I respond passionately, leaning closer to emphasize my point. “My wife is right here, next to me. I’m hoping to hear from someone I once knew and cared about, a long time ago.”

Danae squeezes my hand and nods, and I press the play button. After a brief crackle of static, I hear a woman’s voice.

“Hello, Keith? My name is Persi and you don’t know me, but I know you, even though we haven’t met. I’m your daughter, and Mom told me so much about you. Gosh, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ll start with the hardest part. Mom died a couple years ago. It was an accident out on one of the power fields, a coupling that malfunctioned and burned her pretty bad. So there, that’s out. Anyway, you have a couple of grandchildren, and I don’t expect you’ll ever meet them, but I’ll send you a picture later.”

She goes on to describe how she and Sarah went out to the observation deck in the early evenings and looked at the brilliant globe of Earth through the telescope, wondering if I was there.

“So many times, I imagined you were looking up at us at the same time. Even at the very end, she was thinking of you. Her last words were that you would’ve been so proud of me.”

Then her transmission ends, followed by another brief message. “It’s been about fifteen minutes and we haven’t heard anything back, so we must’ve lost contact. I’m not sure if you will get this but I promise to keep trying. I hope to hear from you one day.”

I look at Danae. Her head is bowed. Teardrops fall from her eyes, and I squeeze her hand gently.

“My husband died a couple years ago as well,” she says quietly. “It turns out we were both widowed at the same time. You know, for the first time, I feel free of my past as well.”

Hearing of Sarah’s death brings feelings of sadness, but not grief. I realize that for me, Sarah crossed that great ocean into the sunset decades ago. Now I can stop looking out across that sea of stars.

There is not much here that I need to salvage, since the Archives has most of this equipment already. The few key components I snatch are the transceiver with the deep space satellite frequency, the PC with the control software, and, of course, the recording of my daughter’s messages. In a few minutes, I have them disconnected and stashed in a large sack, which I sling over my shoulder.

We continue toward the exit from this cursed temple. I wish we still had Angie’s hypo spray, since I am really starting to limp now. We descend down into the main area of the arena, where the congregation still writhes with the largest known case of mass food poisoning.

Erik has rallied a few unaffected people who are sorting through the crowd, gathering the worst cases up on the stage and tending to them. He will be busy for a while.

When we reach the expansive hallway with the entrance leading outside the arena, the space is half-full of men and women wearing the gray togas and sunbursts of servitude. The slaves are lined up along a series of what might once have been ballet bars, but now they are hitching posts. Every slave stands with a chain wrapped around a bar like a horse rein.

The sight sickens me, but also gives me an idea. The town outside will be in utter chaos, and anyone capable of moving will probably be conscripted or questioned, but somehow we need to get out of this town with me limping and carrying a large sack over my shoulder. Danae is skeptical, but willing to try it.

First we return to the arena, and Danae helps me remove the black robe from a Disciple who is curled in a near fetal position on the floor, still wracked with whatever poisoning Franz inflicted on the believers, and in no condition to resist, let alone care.

Then, I carefully remove my gray jumpsuit, and wrap myself in the robe. Danae’s field dressing around my thigh is soaked with blood—some of it a fresh red—but it continues to hold.

When I am done, I go out to the hall and walk up to the nearest slave: an old man about my height and stature who looks beaten, not just by years, but with whips as well. His chain is merely wrapped around the post and looped over a hook. He glances at me furtively as I unhitch him and pull out my knife.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m setting you free,” I tell him, and begin to slice through the straps binding the leather collar on his neck.

“Maître, ‘scuse-moé, j’suis désolé mais j’parle pas anglais,” the old man responds apologetically.

I pause for a moment, then reply with the limited French I know, “Je vous faire libre.”

The Disciple territory extends to the east, bordering on what had once been Quebec. This man must have been captured on a raiding expedition; he appears to be as stunned by the content of my words as the fact they were in his language.

He holds still while I remove the collar, then stands there trembling and looking lost without it. I tug on his toga gently and tell him, “Enlevez. Vous êtes libre, pas portez ça.”

He shivers as he removes the toga. I do not know how long he has been held captive, but based on his scars, I would guess at it was least a couple of decades.

Danae hands him the gray jumpsuit, which he slips into quickly, and he barely glances at the bloodstain on the leg of the garment. When he is dressed, I put my hand on his shoulder and raise his chin so his eyes look directly at me.

“Retournez chez vous maintenant. Vous êtes libre.”

He stops trembling and stands imperceptibly straighter as he looks directly at me. For the first time, I see a spark of life in the man’s eyes. “Merci du fond de mon coeur. Je ne sais pas si j’ai encore une famille, un chez-moi, mais j’y va tout desuite. Merci encore. Adieu.”

He gives a quick bow of thanks before he turns and heads for the exit. At first he moves with a slave-like shuffle, but then as he nears the door, his pace picks up to a brisk walk. By the time he disappears from sight, he is running down the steps outside.

“What was that all about?” Danae asks.

“I told him he was free,” I answer. “Then I instructed him to take off his slave clothing, and after he changed, I said he was free to go home. I’m not sure exactly what he said at the end, but I think he’s going to look for his family.”

I glance at the rest of the slaves. They all keep their eyes on the floor deferentially as I slip the Disciple robe off and wrap myself in the slave toga. The leather collar is a bit small for my neck, but Danae uses a couple pieces of strapping to secure it. The collar just needs to hold long enough to get us out of the city. I sling my bundle of tech items over my shoulder and hand Danae the chain.

“Remember, you’re a nurse sent to provide aid for Disciples injured by the fighting outside the gates. I’m your slave, carrying the medical supplies. When we get to an intersection, if you need to turn right or left I’ll shift the bag to that shoulder. Otherwise just go straight, and with any luck we’ll just walk out the front gate.”

“What if we run into Disciples?” she asks.

“You handle it, and I’ll follow your lead.”

So far, every time Danae has made a snap judgment, her instincts have been spot on. She is a natural; I would take her as a retrieval partner any day. If I decide to stay in the retrieval business, that is.

“Okay.” Danae rattles the chain. “You know, I kind of like this arrangement.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” I quip. “You already have me on the only chain that matters.”

“That chain binds both of us,” Danae replies quietly, then leads me out into the sunshine.

The streets are strangely silent. Debris lies everywhere, and smoke clouds the air as small fires smolder throughout the city. Most of the buildings still stand, but many are badly damaged, and a handful of them have collapsed.

They may not think so at the moment, but virtually all of the town’s inhabitants were lucky to be inside the arena. A handful of less fortunate individuals now wanders the streets, blinded, and in some cases, badly burned.

We work our way through the city, navigating around a couple of partially collapsed walls and past abandoned carts. While Danae takes my cues to turn, the few uninjured inhabitants we encounter are occupied with fighting scattered blazes, so they ignore us—at least, until we reach an intersection, and several men carrying a victim into a building stop us.

“What are you doing?” one of the men challenges Danae.

“There are injured men outside the gate,” Danae answers. “I’m going to help.”

“You’re a doctor?” he asks, examining her.

“No, my father is. I’m his assistant, and he sent me to get supplies.”

“So what? I’m more concerned about the injured right here. I need you inside, now.”

The three men wait expectantly for Danae to move. When she does, they follow us into the building.

Immediately I am assaulted by the sickly odor of rubbing alcohol, mixed with those of blood and burning flesh. A dozen cots line the room.

At the back is a table with a screaming woman being held down on it, as someone uses a saw to amputate a shattered forearm. Another person stands by with a red-hot poker to cauterize the limb. Danae stands frozen in shock, taking in the horrifying scene while the blood drains from her face.

I am afraid she is about to faint, when the man who ordered us inside points and says, “Take that one over there.”

Danae looks like she just got slapped, then glances at a man across the room who lies moaning on a cot, with an arm twisted at an odd angle. Her face becomes businesslike as she steps over to him, examines his head and looks at his eyes. When her fingers prod his shoulder, the man screams in agony.

While she works on her patient, I step next to a shelf and start discreetly tossing some bandages, bottles of an unidentified liquid and a few implements into my bag. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity to bolster our cover.

Taking a bandage, Danae sticks it in her patient’s mouth. “Bite down as hard as you can,” she tells the man, and as he chomps down on it, without warning she yanks on his arm, then shoves it in. A loud pop is drowned out by another scream.

“Dislocated shoulder,” she yells to the doctor, who is working on the amputee. Then over her shoulder she adds, “He’s also got a concussion that you should keep an eye on. Can I go now?”

The man stares at her. Before the doctor can respond, the amputee patient wrenches her other arm loose and desperately flails at the man. Without hesitation, Danae snatches up my chain and heads for the door.

We force our way past another incoming victim. I am only too glad to get out of that 1850s-era clinic. I would tell the new patient to go somewhere else, but at the moment this is probably as good as it gets in Wolfengarde.

Danae’s face is pale as she whispers to me, “You know, I wasn’t sure I was going to get out of there without passing out.”

“You handled that as well as anyone I have ever worked with. That was impressive, how you reset that shoulder.”

Danae shoots me a raised eyebrow. “I picked up an awful lot from helping Papa all the time, and he said I was the best assistant he ever had. It was always blood that I couldn’t handle, but I realized something in there.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“It was after my mother died that I started falling apart. When that cougar ripped her open, her blood was everywhere, but mostly I remembered that it covered me. From that time on, whenever I saw blood it took me back to the meadow, and how helpless I felt. Realizing that in there gave me the power to put it behind me.”

“That was when you went to help that man,” I observe.

“Yes!” she says with a small smile. “I enjoy helping people, and I’m good at it. Maybe Papa was right about me all along.”

We resume our trek toward the gate. It is maybe an hour or so before we get to the gate that I bolted through that morning. By the position of the sun, I estimate that it is early afternoon. People are now arriving from outlying communities to help both the wandering blind and the poisoned congregants.

As we approach the busy gate, several Disciple guards look down from a small tower on one side. A guard moves to intercept Danae ten feet from the threshold we need to pass through.

“Where are you going?” the man queries her, after giving me a quick and dismissive glance. “We are under full alert and it’s not safe out there.”

Danae stops to turn a haughty stare on the man while I keep my head down, but watch from the corner of my eye. She puts one hand on her hip and says, “Yeah, and you know some of your patrols out there have suffered casualties. I’m a nurse and I’ve been sent to tend to the wounded.”