Pagina creata il 16 Novembre 1997
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The motor, powered by a battery under the seat, was almost noiseless as it thrust the boats slowly through the darkness. The only sounds were the night breeze and the rustling of the incoming tide, combined with a soft gurgling astern made by water being forced from the motor’s jet chamber. A child could have managed the thing, so simple was it to run. But Conan was suddenly faced with complications he had not anticipated, and every passing minute added to them.
The first step was to navigate safely the channel that led from the basin. This was no more than a sunken street, bordered on either side by submerged structures.
Earlier, it had seemed the easiest of tasks to run the length of the channel to deep water, and then swing right in the direction of the rock. To help him hold a straight course, Teacher had given him a homemade compass to place between his feet, and a flashlight with a bit of red plastic tied over it. The plastic was to dim the light, not only so that no one would notice it ashore, but also to enable him to see the compass needle without ruining his night vision. But navigating by compass, he quickly discovered, was something that couldn’t be learned in a moment—especially in the dark with nothing visible ahead to guide him.
In the first few minutes he ran out of the channel twice, and scraped over submerged objects, before he realized he was not making proper allowance for the tide. Then he made the discovery, known to every experienced sailor, that at night he could see far better out of the corner of his eye than directly in front of him. This enabled him to reach the end of the channel without further trouble.
He thought his difficulties were over when he finally turned right in deep water and headed northward. But by now the night had darkened, and a thin mist was creeping around him. He seemed to be moving in a void. When he tried to check his course with the compass, he was dismayed to see the needle spinning erratically.
This whole area, he realized, must be filled with sunken equipment that would affect a compass. But knowing the cause of it was hardly a help. How was he going to find the rock before dawn?
The tide, as nearly as he could judge, seemed to have been quartering in that general direction. Maybe it would be wiser just to drift with the tide. With the motor running he could easily miss his destination entirely, and even be carried out to sea.
He turned off the switch and sat listening and searching the dark while he drifted. At the time he’d left the basin, there’d been no doubt in his mind that the night lights in the food factories would always be shining as a beacon, so that he couldn’t possibly go astray. But now he was unable to make out the faintest gleam of a light in any direction. Nor was there a sound, save the slapping of wavelets against the two boats and the vague murmur of the wind.
It seemed impossible that he could have become lost so quickly. But lost he was, and until the compass straightened out there wasn’t much he could do about it.
To avoid thinking of what might be happening to Teacher, he turned his mind to High Harbor and Lanna. Never had she seemed so far away as she did now, in this hour of escape....
* * *
Lanna, at this moment, was praying for rain. Not that rain would solve anything, but at least it would make it impossible to hold the meeting tonight. And by the time another date would be set, maybe she could quietly have enough young people lined up to put a stop to Orlo.
So far she and Mazal had managed to talk to only a few, for someone had to stay close to the office whenever Shann was away. If the office nurse was more often herself, it was only right. In emergencies she was better than Mazal at splinting fractures and sewing up cuts. Tomorrow she planned to organize the neighboring young ones and have them go around and talk to the various groups, which were scattered all over. Those nearer the community farm, of course, were probably hopeless, because Orlo had already frightened them. Orlo did no work whatever—but he always took the best of everything that grew, and no one dared try to stop him.
But Orlo had to be stopped.
Please, she prayed. Let it rain. Let it rain, and rain, and rain!
Then she realized she ought to be praying for the young ones who were sick, and for Teacher and Conan who even now might be trying to escape. Last evening Mazal hadn’t been able to receive a thing. But this was another evening, and maybe something would come through.
The deepening twilight reminded her there was a great deal of work to be done before dark. She flew through the kitchen, building up the smoldering fire, filling the kettle, setting the table, and putting out cold fish and odds and ends left over from yesterday. The meal looked awfully skimpy, for there’d been no time to cook since breakfast, but maybe she could find something fresh in the garden.
Outside, she instantly forgot the garden when she saw Mazal coming from the tower. One look at her aunt’s drawn face and her spirits sank to a deeper low.
"What’s happened, Mazal?"
"I couldn’t get a word. Not a word. Of all times! I—is Shann back yet?"
"No." Shann had been gone all day.
"Oh, dear. That virus, or whatever it is, must be spreading." Mazal shook her head. "I—I wish something good would happen."
Her aunt, Lanna saw, was badly upset and on the point of tears. In her own anxiety she almost felt that way herself.
"Mazal, can’t you tell me what’s wrong?"
"That’s just the trouble," Mazal wailed. "I don’t know. All I can get is a feeling." They went on into the kitchen as they spoke, and sank down at the table. Now Mazal added helplessly, "It’s that awful sick-in-the-stomach, bad sort of feeling you get when the bottom’s dropped out of everything. Something’s gone wrong I just know it. Something’s happened that’s going to keep them from escaping."
"Don’t talk that way, Mazal."
"I can’t help it. I can’t shake the feeling. Something’s happened. I’ll bet they’ve found out who Teacher is."
"No! "
"I’ll just bet they have. And if I’m right, they’ll never get away!"
"Conan will manage somehow."
Mazal stared at her. "You’ve got a tremendous lot of confidence in Conan, haven’t you?"
The question startled Lanna. She’d never thought about it in just that way. But it was true. A thousand little things, going back to the time when she was little, had created that confidence. And not the least of it was the way Teacher felt about him.
She told Mazal, "I heard Teacher say once that if he ever had to find someone to do what couldn’t be done, he wouldn’t have to look any farther than Conan. And that was a long time ago, when Conan was only—"
She was interrupted by a loud knocking upon the front door. It was an imperative sound that brought her to her feet and drove her resentfully through the cottage with Mazal at her heels. She knew that knock.
Upon opening the door she was confronted by the blocky, black-bearded figure she had expected to see.
"Where’s the doctor?" Commissioner Dyce demanded. "He promised to meet me in his office, but there’s no sign of him."
"Some of the young ones are sick," said Lanna. "I’m afraid he’s been delayed."
"I’m not in the habit of being kept waiting. If he expects me to do favors for him—"
"Favors?" Mazal cut in sharply, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
The commissioner glared at her, then turned as someone came stumbling down from the shadows of the pines.
"Shann!" Mazal cried, and ran out to him. "Are you all right?"
"I’m all right," Shann mumbled. He came slowly up the steps with her, dropped his bag, and stood leaning against the wall while he looked at the commissioner. In his eyes was something Lanna had never seen in them before. He was the mildest and kindest of persons, but this evening he was almost frightening. What could have happened?
"Last night," Shann said softly, "I begged you for help. You refused to give it. Today I begged you again —and again you refused me."
"You know why," snapped the commissioner. "I’ve no authority to give away medical supplies without permission."
"Are you such an unfeeling octopus that you have to have permission to do a simple act of mercy?"
"Mind your tongue with me, Doctor! I told you I would radio home for instructions, and that I would discuss the matter with you here this evening. Now didn’t I?" The black beard was thrust forth menacingly.
"So you did. And now you’ve finally brought what I need—about ten hours too late."
"Eh? Too late for what?"
"To save a little girl," Shann replied, almost in a whisper. "Her name—but it would mean nothing to you, and now it no longer matters. I’ve just come from burying her."
Lanna gasped, and caught Mazal’s stricken look. But before either of them could say anything, Shann spoke again, his voice suddenly harsh.
"So you’ve brought your pills, enough to immunize everybody. But I’m sure there’ll be a price. What are you charging for them, Commissioner?"
The envoy of the New Order did not even bat an eye. "The two aircraft," he said promptly.
Shann drew a long breath. "I can’t fight you now. Take the aircraft. But you’ll have to make your own arrangements about removing the smaller one."
"I’ve already made arrangements," came the smug reply. "There’s just one more thing."
"We’ve made our deal! Now let’s have those pills!"
"Not—so fast, Doctor. The aircraft are utterly worthless without a small part that has been taken from the mechanism of each. I want those parts."
"I—I don’t know what you’re talking about," Shann faltered.
"Don’t trifle with me, Doctor! You must know." Menacingly the commissioner tapped a plastic case he was carrying under one arm. "I have in here enough units to give everyone in High Harbor complete immunization. But without those parts you’ll get not a one."
"I told you I know nothing about them!" Shann cried, exasperated. "What kind of wretch are you that would let children die—"
"Wait a minute," Mazal interrupted. "I remember . . . " She struck her clenched hands together, then added tensely, "Years ago Teacher told me to take those parts and keep them in a safe place—" Abruptly she whirled and ran into the cottage. She was back in seconds with a pair of small but heavy metallic boxes wrapped in thin plastic.
"Are these what you want? Teacher called them converters."
"Converters," said Dyce, his rumbling voice almost a purr. "Exactly." He opened his case, removed several transparent bags filled with tiny blue pellets, replaced them with the two metallic boxes, and closed the case with the air of a man very pleased with what he has done.
"I trust," he said, turning to leave, "that everyone is happy."
"I’m not," said Shann, thrusting the bags of pellets into Mazal’s hands. "Just a moment!"
"Well?"
"Before you go, Commissioner, I’d better set some things straight. I’m not such a fool that I don’t know what you’re up to here. I’m certain now that you turned this virus loose on us purposely."
"Nonsense! If you don’t watch your tongue—"
"You dirty liar," Shann told him in a shaking voice, "I know what you did! You and the New Order will stoop to anything to get what you want. You could have given us this stuff last night. You didn’t need permission. So that not only makes you a liar, but a murderer. You would kill children! If you could have seen that little girl—"
"Shut up!" Dyce suddenly shot forth a big hand and straight-armed Shann with a force that sent the frail doctor staggering backward against the wall. It knocked the breath out of him. But only for a moment.
Gasping, Shann sprang toward the outthrust beard and seized it with both hands. He jerked, and there was such a burst of pent-up fury behind the jerk that Dyce was hurled down the steps and thrown flat on his back in the yard.
Shann leaped after him and snatched up a stone that edged the walk. "You damnable monster!" he cried. "Get out of my sight before I brain you!"
Lanna was not even aware that she had followed Shann until the commissioner had scrambled out of the yard and vanished in the dusk. Then she saw the heavy stick in her hand. It was one Mazal always kept on the porch for climbing, but she had no memory of getting it. She trembled and dropped the thing, and instantly forgot it as the first raindrops splashed in her face.
It was pouring before she could reach the porch.
"Thank you, God!" she breathed. "Oh, thank you!"
Then she realized that the threat to High Harbor had suddenly become greater than ever, and that the rain and a delayed meeting would change not a thing.
* * *
Some of Lanna’s turmoil must have been communicated to Conan, for he was all at once shaken by a wave of worry that seemed to have nothing to do with his own predicament. In an effort to throw it off he tried to concentrate on the problem of locating his position in the darkness.
A brief glance at the compass under the red beam of the flashlight showed him that the needle was still unsteady. How long had he been drifting? A half hour? All of that, and possibly more. Would he have been carried a mile in that time?
He decided that wind and tide together would have taken him at least halfway to the rock. If, of course, he’d guessed right about the direction of the drift.
Then, with a sudden feeling of shock, he thought of something he knew he should have considered earlier. The tide had been coming in when he left the basin— but what was it doing now?
Teacher had said that the tide would be low at dawn. In that case it ought to be high now, or even beginning to ebb.
Instantly he began scrambling forward, climbing over the disorder of equipment and groping for the coil of line and the piece of broken concrete that, because of the scarcity of metal, had to serve as an anchor. He found the concrete finally, started to heave it over the bow, but thought better of it and began lowering it carefully. It was well that he did so, for he paid out nearly the entire coil before the line went slack, and when he reached the end he found that it had not been made fast to the cleat on the foredeck.
He whistled softly, shaken by the closeness of his escape. Losing the precious line would have been bad enough. But the depth of water was evidence that the tide had turned, and that he was already being carried out to sea.
After checking the towline to the other boat, he wrapped a blanket about him and tried to squirm into a comfortable position in the pile of gear.
He dozed and wakened intermittently. Finally he sat up with a start, suddenly aware that the mist had lifted. The pale-blue lights of the food factories were clearly visible ashore. And off to port, much nearer than he’d imagined, loomed the dark shape of the rock against a paling sky.
In seconds he had the anchor up and the boats headed for the rock.
After circling the huge mass, he closed in cautiously and anchored in two feet of water on the side away from town. It was almost dawn now, and he could easily make out the narrow, ragged beach fifty yards away.
There was no sign of Teacher. But it was still early and there would be plenty of time to walk here before the tide rose and flooded the beach.
As he waited he looked curiously at the cliff that rose straight above the strip of sand and rubble. It was little more than sixty feet high at this point, and it seemed to dwindle in the direction of Industria, but off to the left it continued to rise until it was lost in the dawn haze.
The Change had made the cliff, for the land had broken away as cleanly as if it had been cut with a knife. He was wondering if the fracture under the city extended this far when an odd grinding sound caught his attention. He glanced up and froze. Directly in front of him a broad section of the cliff was moving. In a kind of horrified wonder, he gaped at the slow-motion spectacle of countless tons of earth and rock, sliding and falling, faster and faster, until they crashed with a thunderous roar into the sea.
He sat gripping the gunwale, trembling, drenched by the outflung spray. Was the fracture breaking al ready? Then as the dawn brightened he made out several other spots where portions of the cliff had fallen. These were older falls, and they momentarily reassured him. But in the next breath his imagination took over and he became acutely aware of the danger of remaining on this coast.
Why didn’t Teacher come?
Dawn turned to gray morning, and from seaward came the murmur of the tide that was now flowing in. Soon the narrow beach under the cliff was covered with water.
It was obvious at last that Teacher wasn’t coming. Something had happened.
Sick at heart, Conan jerked back the cover of the tool chest and glanced through Teacher’s instructions. Abruptly he threw them aside and snapped the cover in place. It was just as he’d thought. After rigging the sailing craft, he was to set out for High Harbor alone. Teacher had even drawn a rough chart, suggesting the best route to take.
Evidently Teacher, if he couldn’t make it here, had little hope of ever reaching the other place. And how could he? A frail old man, nearly blind . . .
"What have they done with you?" Conan cried, beating his fist on the chest while he tried to think. "Did they lock you up somewhere?" Of course they had. For Teacher was Briac Roa, the most valuable piece of property the New Order could ever hope to own. They’d locked him up and probably set out guards, for by now Tellit would have reported that the two boats were missing, along with the new helper, and they’d know something was afoot.
What should he do? Go on to the other place, unload the boats, and slip back after dark and search for Teacher? The break in the cliff was miles away, and to go there and return would use up battery power he might be in need of later. But to remain here, in a spot so exposed ...
The matter was suddenly decided for him. The throb of a distant motor caught his attention, and he jerked about in time to see what appeared to be a trawler just coming into view a half mile to seaward. Hurriedly he pulled up the anchor and moved his two boats around to the other side of the rock. Presently, from the edge of his hiding place, he was relieved to see the trawler moving steadily on up the coast, its ancient motor pounding with the dull beat of a primitive drum.
He had heard they had such a craft, but this was the first time he had seen it. So long as the thing was any where in the area, he didn’t dare leave the rock in daylight.
To lessen the risk of being noticed, he moored the boats as close to the rock as possible, and went to the trouble of covering each one with pieces from the roll of gray plastic he had taken from the storehouse. Then he settled down to the long ordeal of watchful waiting until daylight passed.
When he began his return trip to the basin, he left the second boat with most of the supplies moored by the rock. Overhead shone a moon that, ever since the Change, had been partially obscured by stratospheric mists. The glow of it, and later the lights of the food factories, were enough to help him locate the channel.
Once in the channel he had no trouble, and his only concern was not to approach the basin so closely that his boat could be spotted from shore.
As soon as he could make out the edge of the basin he stopped, eased the anchor over, and stripped off his clothes. From the tool chest he took the small wrecking bar and tied it about his waist with a piece of line. He was about to slip into the water when he thought of the flashlight. What if the night turned dark before he could locate Teacher?
With the flashlight held aloft in one hand, he swam across the basin to the broken edge of the concrete, then cautiously stood up in the half tide while he examined the waterfront. The black silhouettes of the boat shop and the surrounding buildings cut off all light from the food factories, and the area before him could be made out only dimly by the vague glow of the moon. At the moment he seemed to have the waterfront to himself.
He crawled out, and began moving warily along the water’s edge, ready to immerse himself instantly if he heard anyone coming. His destination was the administration building. For surely, he reasoned, anyone as important as Teacher would be kept in a convenient place where the officials could meet and talk to him.
As he neared the corner of the projecting building, here the waterfront curved, he stopped abruptly. On the other side a light had flashed briefly. Now he heard laughter.
He crept to the corner and peered carefully around it. Fifty feet away he could just make out the shape of the tiny prison where he had spent his first ten days here. In front of it, barely discernible, were two figures with bicycles. Were they the same pair who had brought him his water allowance?
Again a light flashed. There was a cackling laugh, and a woman said jeeringly, "Look at the old fraud! Why, he doesn’t know himself who he really is! Ha!"
"Patch," said the other. "Don’t you know who you are? Come on, Patchy, what’s wrong with you?"
"I’ll tell you what’s wrong with him," came the jeering voice of the first. "He’s flipped. I always said he’d flip and burn out his bearings. Now didn’t I? Sure I did. If Headquarters had only listened to me in the first place . . . "
Conan ground his teeth in a sudden fury. Why had Teacher been locked up here? Didn’t anyone in Industria have the sense to believe him?
Then, realizing he could easily be discovered where he was, he retreated quickly to the edge of the paving and crawled into the water. Presently he heard the clatter of the plastic bicycles and glimpsed the light moving in the direction of the boat shop. The moment it had vanished he leaped from his hiding place and ran to the cell.
"Teacher. it’s me—Conan." he whispered. "Are you all right?"
The faintness of the reply frightened him, and he attacked the door in a frenzy, hardly needing the wrecking bar to rip it from its hinges. Inside, he found the old man collapsed in a corner, unable to rise and almost unable to speak.
"Son, don’t—don’t bother with me.... If they catch you . . . they’ll surely kill . . . "
Conan snatched up Teacher in both arms, backed out of the place, and began running for the boat basin. He had forgotten the wrecking bar, but the flashlight was still clutched in his left hand.
He was almost at the basin when a light swept over him from the shop.
"Hey, you!" someone called. "What’s going on here?" The voice belonged to Tellit.
Conan froze, then gently set his burden down on the broken paving. He did not have to ask himself the reason for Tellit’s presence here. The little man had undoubtedly taken instant advantage of yesterday’s situation and been put in charge of the shop. And he would be just as eager to profit by what he saw now. It might even bring him citizenship.
Somehow, and very quickly, Tellit had to be dealt with.
The fellow had rushed from the shop, but he stopped abruptly as recognition came. "It’s you!" he gasped. "And you come back for him, did you? Well, I’ll be—"
"Tellit, listen to me! If you want to save your neck, you’d better come with us—"
"Don’t hand me any of your crazy gab! You think I’m a fool? What’d you do with the boats? Where are they?"
Tellit’s probing beam swept out over the basin, and instantly Conan heaved the flashlight he had been carrying. It only dazed the man, but it was enough to prevent the outcry that would have followed. In the next instant Conan was on him. He tore off the man’s tunic, ripped it apart and hurriedly tied him with it, and stuffed a piece of it in his mouth. Then he whirled and caught up Teacher and carried him into the basin.
It may not have taken more than three minutes to swim the basin with Teacher, towing him by the collar of his tunic, but it seemed ten times as long. Momentarily he expected to hear an alarm from shore, followed by the stab of lights and fire from weapons. They had weapons here, he knew, and surely the night patrols must carry them.
There was no alarm until he had struggled down the channel and fought the tide to the boat. He was gasping and nearly exhausted now, and it was all he could do to keep Teacher’s head above water while he crawled aboard. He pulled Teacher in after him, then became aware of Tellit’s cries in the distance.
But there was no immediate response to Tellit. By the time the first beam from a searchlight began sweeping the water, he was more than a mile beyond the drowned area and racing for the rock.