DV 3 - The Lazarus Effect Read online

  The swimmer did not change course.

  Twisp swung wide and pulled up alongside the man, cut the motor and extended a hand.

  Now in the coracle's shadow, the swimmer twisted his head upward and gave Twisp a frightened look, seeing the extended hand.

  "Come aboard," Twisp said. It was a traditional Islander greeting, matter-of-fact. Not even an implied question, such as "What in Ship's name are you doing out here?"

  The swimmer took Twisp's hand and Twisp pulled him aboard, nearly swamping the coracle as the man clumsily tried to grasp a thwart. Twisp pulled him to the center and returned to the tiller.

  The man stood there a moment, looking all around, dripping a damp pool into the bilges. His bare chest and face were pale, but not as pale as most Mermen's.

  Is this a Merman who lives a lot topside? Twisp wondered. And what the hell happened to him?

  The swimmer looked older than Brett but younger than Twisp. His green utility pants were dark with seawater.

  Twisp glanced to where the sub had been. Only a slow roiling of the water showed where it had gone down.

  "Trouble?" Twisp asked. Again, it was the Islander way -- a laconic overture that said: "What help do you need that I can give?"

  The man sat down and lay back against the coracle's deck cover. He drew in several deep, shuddering breaths.

  Recovering from shock, Twisp thought, studying him. The man was small and heavyset, with a large head.

  An Islander? Twisp wondered. He put it as a question, hoping directness would shock the man back to normal.

  The man remained silent, but he scowled.

  That was a reaction, anyway. Twisp took his time examining this strange figure from the sea: dark brown hair lay dripping against a wide forehead. Brown eyes returned Twisp's gaze from beneath thick brows. The man had a wide nose, wide mouth and square chin. His shoulders were broad, with powerful upper arms thinning to rather delicate forearms and slender hands. The hands appeared soft but the fingertips were calloused and shiny. Twisp had seen such fingertips on people who spent a lot of time at keyboard controls.

  Hooking a thumb back to where the sub had gone down, Twisp asked: "You care to tell me what that was all about?"

  "I was escaping." The voice was a thin tenor.

  "The sub's hatch was still open when it went under," Twisp said. That was just a comment and could be taken as such if the man desired.

  "The rest of the sub was secured," the man said. "Only the engine compartment will flood."

  "That was a Merman sub," Twisp said; another comment.

  The man pushed himself away from the deck cover. "We'd better get out of here," he said.

  "We're staying while I look for a friend," Twisp said. "He was lost overboard in that last wave wall." He cleared his throat. "You care to tell me your name?"

  "Iz Bushka."

  Twisp felt that he had heard that name before, but could not make the connection. And now as he looked at Bushka there was a sensation that Twisp had seen this face before -- in a Vashon passage, perhaps . . . somewhere.

  "Do I know you?" Twisp asked.

  "What's your name?" Bushka asked.

  "Twisp. Queets Twisp."

  "Don't think we're acquainted," Bushka said. He sent another fearful gaze across the water around the coracles.

  "You haven't said what you were escaping from," Twisp said. Another comment.

  "From people who . . . we'd all be better off if they were dead. Damn! I should've killed them but I couldn't bring myself to do it!"

  Twisp remained silent in shock. Did all Mermen speak so casually of killing? He found his voice: "But you sent them down under with a flooded engine room!"

  And unconscious, too! But they're Mermen. They'll get out when they recover. Come on! Let's get out of here."

  "Perhaps you didn't hear me, Iz. I'm looking for a friend who went overboard from Vashon."

  "If your friend's alive, he's safe down under. You're the only thing on the surface for at least twenty klicks. Believe it. I was looking. I came up because I saw you."

  Twisp glanced back at the distant white line of the surf. "That's on the surface."

  "The barrier? Yeh, but there's nothing else. No Merman base, nothing."

  Twisp considered for a moment -- the way Bushka said "Merman." Fear? Loathing?

  "I know where there's a Search and Rescue base," Bushka said. "We could be there by daybreak tomorrow. If your friend's alive . . ." He left it there.

  Talks a bit like an Islander, acts a lot like a Merman, Twisp thought. Damn! Where have I seen him?

  Twisp glanced at the distant surfline. "You called that a barrier."

  "Mermen are going to have land on the surface. That's part of it."

  Twisp let this sink in, not believing it or disbelieving it. Fascinating, if true, but there were other muree to fry at that moment.

  "So you scuttled a sub and you're escaping from people who would be better dead."

  Twisp did not believe half of this Bushka's story. The hospitality of the sea said you had to listen. Nothing said you had to agree.

  Bushka sent an agitated gaze over their surroundings. Second sun was up but in this season it made a quick sweep and the half-night would be on them soon. Twisp was hungry and irritated.

  "Do you have a towel and some blankets?" Bushka asked. "I'm freezing my ass off!"

  Abruptly contrite because he had failed to provide for the man's comfort, Twisp said: "Towel and blankets are rolled up in the cuddy behind you."

  As Bushka turned and found the roll, Twisp added: "You saw me so you came up hoping I'd save you."

  Bushka looked out from beneath the towel with which he was drying his hair. "If I'd left them under CO2 any longer it would've killed them. I couldn't do it."

  "Are you going to tell me who they are?"

  "People who'd kill us while eating lunch and not miss a bite!"

  Something in the way Bushka said this set Twisp's stomach trembling. Bushka believed what he said.

  "I don't suppose you have an RDC," Bushka said. He spoke with more than a little snobbishness.

  Twisp kept his temper and uncovered the instrument near his feet. His relative drift compensator was one of his proudest possessions. The compass arrow in its top was pointing now far off their course.

  Bushka approached and looked down at the RDC. "A Merman compass is more accurate," he said, "but this will do."

  "Not more accurate between Islands," Twisp corrected him. "Islands drift and there's no fixed point of reference."

  Bushka knelt beside the RDC and worked its settings with a sureness that told Twisp this was not the first time the man had used such an instrument. The red arrow atop the housing swung to a new setting.

  "That should get us there," Bushka said. He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder how we found any place without Merman instruments."

  We? Twisp wondered.

  "I think you're an Islander," Twisp accused, barely holding in his anger. "We're a pretty backward lot, aren't we!"

  Bushka stood and returned to his position near the opening of the cuddy.

  "Better work a bit more with that towel," Twisp said. "You missed behind your ears!"

  Bushka ignored him and sat down with his back against the cuddy.

  Twisp fed more power to his motor and swung around on the course indicated by the RDC arrow. Might as well go to this Rescue Base! Damn that Bushka! Was he one of those down-under Islanders who had become more Merman than the Mermen?

  "You going to tell me what happened on that sub?" Twisp asked. "I'm through playing and I want to know what I'm into."

  With a sullen expression, Bushka settled himself into his former position against the deck. Presently, he began describing his trip with Gallow. When he got to the part about Guemes Island, Twisp stopped him.

  "You were at the controls?"

  "I swear to you I didn't know what he was doing."

  "Go on. What happened next?"

  B
ushka picked up his story after the sinking of the Island. Twisp stared at him with a hard expression throughout the recital. Once, Twisp felt under the tiller housing behind him for the lasgun he stored there -- a real Merman lasgun that had cost him half a boatload of muree. The cold touch of the weapon settled his mind somewhat. He couldn't help asking himself, What if this Bushka's lying?

  When Bushka finished, Twisp thought a moment, then: "You strapped the crew into their seats, including this Gallow, and sent them to the bottom. How do you know you didn't kill them?"

  "They were tied loose enough to get free once they came around."

  "I think I'd have . . ." Twisp shook his head sharply. "You know, don't you, that it's your word against theirs and you were at the controls?"

  Bushka buried his face in the blanket around his knees. His shoulders shook and it was a few blinks before Twisp realized the man was sobbing.

  For Twisp, this was the ultimate intimacy between two men. He had no more doubts that the story was true.

  Bushka lifted a tear-streaked face to Twisp at the tiller. "You don't know all of it. You don't know what a perfect fool I was. Fool and tool!"

  It all came out, then -- the bookish Islander who wanted to be a Merman, the way Gallow had fastened on this dream, luring the innocent Islander into a compromising position.

  "Why didn't you take the sub back to this Rescue Base?" Twisp asked.

  "It's too far. Besides, how do I know who's with them and who's against? It's a secret organization, even from most Mermen. I saw you and . . . I just had to get away from them, out of that sub."

  Hysterical kid! Twisp thought. He said, "The Mermen won't care a lot for your scuttling their sub."

  A short, bitter laugh shook Bushka. "Mermen don't lose anything! They're the greatest scavengers of all time. If it goes to the bottom, it's theirs."

  Twisp nodded. "Interesting story, Iz. Now I'll tell you what happened. The part about Guemes, I believe that and I --"

  "It's true!"

  "I'd like to disbelieve you, but I don't. I also think you got sucked into it by this Gallow. But I don't think you're all as innocent as you let on."

  "I swear to you, I didn't know what he intended!"

  "Okay, Iz. I believe you. I believe you saw me on the sub's scanner. You came up intending to be rescued by me."

  Bushka scowled.

  Twisp nodded. "You swam at an angle away from me so I'd be sure to go after you instead of making a try for the sub. You wanted to pass yourself off as Merman, have me take you to this base, and you were going to use your knowledge of the Guemes destruction to insure that Mermen really made good on keeping you down under. You were going to trade that for --"

  "I wasn't! I swear."

  "Don't swear," Twisp said. "Ship's listening."

  Bushka started to speak, thought better of it and remained silent. A religious bluff usually worked with Islanders, even if they claimed nonbelief.

  Twisp said: "What did you do topside? What Island?"

  "Eagle. I was a . . . historian and pump-control tech."

  "You've been to Vashon?"

  "A couple of times."

  "That's probably where I saw you. I seldom forget a face. Historian, eh? Inside a lot. That accounts for your pale complexion."

  "Have you any idea," Bushka asked, "of the historical records the Mermen have preserved? The Mermen themselves don't even know everything they have. Or the value of it."

  "So this Gallow saw you as valuable to record his doings?"

  "That's what he said."

  "Making history's a little different from writing it. I guess you found that out."

  "Ship knows I did!"

  "Uh huh. Bushka, for now, we're stuck with each other. I'm not going to throw you overboard. But your story doesn't make me comfortable, you understand? If there's a base where you say there's one . . . well, we'll see."

  "There's a base," Bushka said. "With a tower sticking out of the water so far you can see it for fifty klicks."

  "Sure there is," Twisp said. "Meanwhile, you stay over there by the cuddy and I'll stay here at the tiller. Don't try to leave your position. Got that?"

  Bushka put his face back into the blanket without answering. By the rocking of his body and the shaking sobs, it was obvious to Twisp that he'd heard.

  What's so tough about making love to a Mute? Finding the right orifice.

  -- Merman joke

  Following Ale at a pace painful for his old and weak legs, Ward Keel stepped through a hatchway marked by a red circle. He found himself in a roomful of noisy activity. There were many viewscreens, every one attended by a tech, at least a dozen console desks with Merman-style control switches and graphics. Alphanumerical indicators flashed wherever he looked. He counted ten very large viewscreens showing underwater and topside vistas. It all had been crowded into a space only a bit larger than Ale's quarters.

  But it's not cramped, he thought.

  Somewhat like Islanders, these Mermen had become skillful at using limited areas, although Keel noted that what they thought small an Islander would see as spacious.

  Ale moved him around the desks and screens for introductions. Each worker glanced up when introduced, nodded curtly and returned to work. From the looks they shot Ale, Keel could tell that his presence in this room was particularly distressing to several of the Mermen.

  She stopped him at a slightly larger desk set on a low dais to command the entire room. Ale had called the young man at this desk "Shadow" but introduced him as Dark Panille. Keel recognized the surname -- a descendant of the pioneer poet and historian, no doubt. Panille's large eyes stared out with demanding focus over high cheekbones. His mouth moved only minimally from its straight line when he acknowledged the introduction.

  "What is this place?" Keel asked.

  "Current Control," Ale said, "You'll learn details momentarily. They are involved in an emergency right now. We must not interfere. You see those orange lights flashing over there? Emergency calls for Search and Rescue teams who are on standby duty."

  "Search and Rescue?" Keel asked. "Are some of your people in trouble?"

  "No," she replied with a tight set to her jaw, "your people."

  Keel clamped his mouth shut. His gaze skittered across the room at the intense faces studying each viewscreen, at the cacophony of typing set up by the blur of two dozen technicians' hands at their keyboards. It was all very confusing. Was this the beginning of that threat Ale had mentioned? Keel found it difficult to remain silent . . . but she had said "Search and Rescue." This was a time to watch carefully and record.

  Immediately after the medics had passed their death sentence on him, Keel had begun to feel that he was living in a vacuum that desperately needed filling. He felt that even his long service on the Committee on Vital Forms had been emptied. It was not enough to have been Chief Justice. There must be something more . . . a thing to mark his end with style, showing the love he had for his fellows. He wanted to send a message down the long corridors that said: "This is how much I cared." Perhaps there was a key to his need in this room.

  Ale whispered in his ear. "Shadow -- his friends call him that, a more pleasant name than 'Dark' -- he's our ablest coordinator. He has a very high success rate recovering Islander castaways."

  Was she hoping to impress him with her benign concern for Islander lives? Keel spoke in a low voice, his tone dry: "I didn't know it was this formalized."

  "You thought we left it to chance?" she asked. Keel noted the slight snort of disgust. "We always watch out for Islanders in a storm or during a wavewall."

  Keel felt an emotional pang at this revelation. His pride had been touched.

  "Why haven't you made it known that you do this for us?" he asked.

  "You think Islander pride would abide such a close watch?" Ale asked. "You forget, Ward, that I live much topside. You already believe we're plotting against you. What would your people make of this set-up?" She gestured at the banks of controls, the views
creens, the subdued clicking of printers.

  "You think Islanders are paranoid," Keel said. He was forced to admit to himself that this room's purpose had hurt his pride. Vashon Security would not like the idea of such Merman surveillance, either. And their fears might be correct. Keel reminded himself that he was only seeing what he was shown.

  A large screen over to the right displayed a massive section of Island hull.

  "That looks like Vashon," he said. "I recognize the drift-watch spacing."

  Ale touched Panille's shoulder and Keel wondered at the proprietary air of her movement. Panille glanced up from the keys.

  "An interruption?" she asked.

  "Make it short."

  "Could you put Justice Keel's fears to rest? He has recognized his Island there." She nodded toward the viewscreen on the right. "Give him its position relative to the nearest barrier wall."

  Panille turned to his console and tapped out a code, twisted a dial and read the alphanumerics on a thin dark strip at the top of his board. The smaller screen above the readout shifted from a repeat of the hull view to a surrounding seascape. A square at the lower right of the screen flashed "V-200."

  "Visibility two hundred meters," Ale said. "Pretty good."

  "Vashon's about four kilometers out from submerged barrier HA-nine, moving parallel the wall," Panille said. "In about an hour we'll begin to take it farther out. The wavewall had it within two-kilometer range. We had to do some shuffling, but nothing to worry about. It was never out of control."

  Keel had to suppress a gasp at these figures. He fought down anger at the younger man's presumption and managed to ask, "What do you mean, 'Nothing to worry about'?"

  Panille said, "We have had it under control --"

  "Young man, diverting a mass like Vashon" -- Keel shook his head --"we're lucky to adjust basic positioning when we contact another Island. Getting out of the way of danger in a mere two kilometers is not possible."

  The corners of Panille's mouth came up in a tight smile -- the kind of know-it-all smile that Keel really hated. He saw it on many adolescents, sophomoric youths thinking that older people were just too slow.

  "You Islanders don't have the kelp working for you," Panille said. "We do. That's why we're here and we haven't time for your Islander paranoia."