A Grey Moon Over China (24 page)

Then came an image of the tunnel, swelling before us now to swallow us whole. We would never be the same, I thought. Not I, not Chan, not Tuyet Pham. Only Polaski would be unchanged, his sights set fixedly on the course I’d set him, unencumbered by the doubts that haunted me, unconcerned by the deaths we’d caused.

I’d come to distrust Polaski deeply, yet I knew that I would not stop him any more than I’d sever my own hand. On the threshold of our passage into the tunnel, there was now another journey to be made, and just as I would not stop Pham for my fascination with her, I would not stop Polaski for my need of him. I was doomed to follow behind him, I thought, hating him as I went, approving of what he did in its every detail.

T
he familiar voice of a news broadcaster filtered up through the lift as I descended, speaking in the clear, short cadence of the British public schools. Then all at once I was surrounded by the lights of the MI decks, and the voice became clear.

“—conceded,” the man was saying, “as the fire entered its forty-seventh day, that no part of the Amazon basin is now expected to survive. That blunt assessment came even as a spokesperson for the environmental policy organization, Worldwatch Institute, announced that the institute are as of this moment unaware of any credible proposals for restoring a self-sustaining atmosphere, now with the critical loss of the rain forests.”

Peters had an elbow up on the communications panel, stroking the top of his bald head as he stared at the floor. Anne Miller looked relaxed and was watching me with a hint of a smile, while next to her Pham sat hunched forward, eyes closed and face pale.

Chan sat down next to her, eyes still red and lips tight, and began to wipe a cloth across her screens. Between us sat Elliot, humming to himself through the radio broadcast.

Polaski was watching me.

“Where have you been?” he said.

“Elsewhere.”

“Really? Don’t go crapping out on us, Torres.”
Or else
.

“In economic news,” the announcer was saying, “the government of Indonesia are now prepared, according to a Ministry of Trade spokesperson,
to release plans for Indonesia’s newly developed quantum cell, whether or not the World Enterprise colonists, now in their final hours in the Solar System, transmit to Earth the plans and release codes for the existing batteries as promised. Indonesia’s action is believed to come in response to pressure from other Pacific Organization states, and is designed to forestall renewed hostilities should the colonists remain silent. This is in light of mounting tensions between the United States and the Japanese-California coalition regarding secondary markets for the Enterprise batteries.”

Mindless columns of digits passed on my screen, unnoticed as I listened to what would be our last news from home. Our former home.

“In related but tragic news today, the constabulary of Wansbeck, Northumberland, disclosed that an early morning explosion on an inter-town bus near Morpeth was the result of yet another spontaneous detonation by an Enterprise battery. Three school children were killed in that explosion. Renewed calls were heard in Commons this afternoon for re-introduction of petrol motors in civilian transport, but the Indonesian announcement earlier in the day served to postpone any debate.”

I went on looking at my screen, though I knew that Pham was watching me.

“In other news, a report published today in the
Chinese Journal of Microbiology
states that clinical trials in the city of Tianjin have demonstrated the efficacy of monoclonal rDNA gene replacement in reversing several forms of malignant cancers. The report goes on to say that the technique is expected to address nearly all forms of the disease, and that therapeutic administration of the procedure will be available worldwide in fewer than eighteen months.

“On a different note, the government of the United States today announced stepped-up measures to stem what it referred to as an ‘unstoppable tide’ of Mexican boat-persons attempting to reach U.S. shores. Beginning in the early hours of this morning, according to Department of Defense sources, all unauthorized craft approaching U.S. waters are being sunk without warning by cannon or machine-gun fire from U.S. military and Coast Guard vessels, abandoning all past attempts to turn the craft away. No corroboration of the new policy’s implementation has so far been obtained by the BBC.”

I shut my eyes against the image of cannon fire ripping into families huddled in wooden boats.

“His Majesty today, in remarks before the Royal Archaeological Society, surprised his audience by mentioning the Enterprise colonists, broaching for the first time an issue that may temper the broad condemnation of them heard until now. His Majesty said, in part:

“ ‘While we continue to oppose violence and the practice of economic
terrorism in all its forms, we must at the same time take care not to hold too plain a view of a desperately complex issue.

“ ‘We are given pause, then, as more and more we are told the truth of the Earth’s condition, when we look upon the departing Enterprise spacecraft and at the regional fleets in their wake, with many thousands of British subjects on board, and at the fleets even now under construction, and understand that they may carry with them not only humankind’s great dream of adventure, but our very seed as well. It is for that reason alone, and none other, that I now wish them Godspeed.’

“His Majesty’s remarks were received with light applause.

“That is the news at this hour; Greenwich Time is one minute before midnight. BBC World Service, broadcasting on a frequency of eight point seven two five gigahertz from our transmitters in London, will resume at six a.m. tomorrow with the international morning update. Until then, good night. It is now midnight.”

There was a pause, then the first deep toll of the bell at the Houses of Parliament echoed through the deck, and faded into a sea of static. Our own faces were grey in the light of our screens, which flickered intermittently around us. The bell tolled again and Chan wiped a hand over her face, her cheeks wet with new tears. Next to her Pham did something I couldn’t see on her screen, as though running a finger back and forth through the dust. Her eyes were unfocused, though her jaw muscles worked under the skin.

Elliot was humming a spiritual I’d heard him sing before.

Will the circle be unbroken . . .

As the bell continued its slow tolling, I tried to focus on the upcoming events—the sudden freefall after the six-G pass-point, the terrifically fast plunge into the narrowing hole of the torus, our speed as we passed though it with no room to spare . . . none of it seemed real.

The eleventh toll of the bell.

. . . there’s a better home awaiting, in the sky, Lord . . .

Midnight. The final deep toll of the bell faded away into the static. No one moved. A sob escaped from Chan, and Charlie Peters sighed and shifted in his seat. He was watching Chan, fingering a button on his old vest. Finally he spoke, in his quiet, rolling brogue.

T’was nothing left o’ Ireland, then,

When sailed we off t’ sea,

But a row o’ bloody buzzards, boys,

A-watching from a tree;

And a bone-cold mist that whispered, ‘Lads,

Your homes ye’ll never see.’

Elliot blew out his breath and pulled himself up to his console. Polaski turned to Peters, who, as best he was able, ran our communications console.

“So did we get the movies?” said Polaski.

Peters frowned and turned to the console.

“Aye, I suppose. Nearly all of them ever made, from the looks of it—we’ve friends in low places, it seems. Updates of most of the data libraries, too, if you’re interested. Now—what about the plans and release codes? It’s time, I should think?”

Polaski started to answer, but I cut him off.

“Send them on a tight beam,” I said. “The Chinese fleet isn’t to get them.”

I turned back to my own console to call up fleet status, but after a minute Peters spoke again.

“Eddie, my boy . . .”

Everyone was watching me.

“Oh, sorry. ‘Esperanza.’ ”

“Beg your pardon?”

“ ‘Esperanza.’ Type it in, and FleetSys will transmit the file.”

My face warmed—the code-name sounded silly to me now. Also, I didn’t want to care as much as I did that I was giving up our secret. For so many years it had made us invulnerable, and giving it up, it seemed to me, would leave us naked. It only added to my bleak mood.

FleetSys began to say something, but Chan’s hand moved to strangle it. A message came up on our screens, instead. CLOSE APPROACH: 4G PASSPOINT. Chan sniffed and dropped back into her seat. Elliot watched her.

“How come,” he said, “all them itty-bitty spiders and grasshoppers around here can talk as good as the girl next door, but we got more’n a hundred tons of fleet MI we can hardly talk English to?”

I glanced at the communications monitor. The file had been sent. Then almost right away I looked at it again . . . something on the screen had changed. I studied it from across the deck, but couldn’t think what was different.

“Let me ask you this,” said Chan to Elliot. “Would you want a spider drone threading us through the torus at 113,000 klicks?”

“No, ma’am,” said Elliot.

I began to count lines of information on the monitor, thinking maybe that the number of them had changed, and nothing more.

“No,” said Chan, “you wouldn’t. FleetSys is conventional MI, with no flair for language. No guessing, no judgment calls, no compromises—no assumptions about what you meant to say, no faith that you’ll puzzle out what it says to you. On the other hand, the spiders are little packets of EI. All flair, quick with everyday judgments, but risky little bimbos when it comes to the hard stuff.”

“You’ll enjoy meeting the real drones, Mr. Elliot,” said Miller. “They are very much like us, you know. And backed up by extraordinary computational power, as well. Perfect creatures—unlike Ms. Pham’s opinion of me, I might add.” So the little spider drone
had
been listening when we’d been talking about Miller an hour ago.

I counted the lines a second time and leaned closer, a warning sounding inside my head.

“What about Bella?” said Elliot. “Cole’s MI. She sounded like the girl next door, too, but she was controlling an entire air operations zone.”

“Charlie?” I said. But I’d spoken too quietly, and my words were lost.

“Bella was canned,” said Chan. “Canned knowledge and canned grammar. You couldn’t have taught her to play checkers.”

Peters himself interrupted at this point, turning impatiently to me and then to Polaski.

“Why not the other fleets?” he said. “We promised them the codes, too, including the Chinese. Didn’t we?”

“Fuck ’em,” said Polaski. “They can’t stop us. We’d end up plastered all over their precious torus if they tried.”

Peters reached for his keyboard.

“
Don’t!
” I shouted. “Jesus,
that’s
what that is! But that’s impossible! Quick, someone put the comm overhead—”

Communications status blinked onto the big screen.

“Look there. The data group in green, at the bottom—does anyone see it?”

“Tunnel telemetry,” said Miller.

“Yes. Synchronization data between the torus and the fleets. Each line shows telemetry for one customer. Look at the first one—that’s us, FleetSys talking to the tunnel. The characters on the left—zero-alpha-six-zero—number of seconds to translation. About forty-four minutes. Look at the next line.”

“NA/C,” said Chan.

“Yes. North America-Commonwealth. Six hours out, right where they’re supposed to be. Next one is at niner-niner-two-eight—what’s that?”

“Eleven hours,” said Elliot. “Southern Hem.”

“Africa and friends, right. Then bringing up the rear as agreed, sixteen hours out—GCP.”

“Greater Chinese People, a.k.a. PRC,” said Chan. “So who—” She cut herself off.

“Yes. So who is that?”

There was one more line.

“It came up a couple of minutes ago, at all-foxes. Eighteen hours out, right up PRC’s ass. Right where no one’s supposed to be.”

Elliot rubbed his jaw.

“You know who that’s gotta be.”

“Yes, I do, and it can’t be.”

A squeal came from the radios, and David Rosler’s voice blared onto the deck. Pham jerked up to listen.

“Torres,” he said. “You got that telemetry?”

I hit One-Zero on my armrest. “Yes, we’ve got it. Stand by, Rosler.”

I hit Three-Zero. “Flight Leader Bates.”

“Bates.”

“Permission to talk to one of your skippers. Tawali.”

“Yes, of course. Is it the new telemetry?”

“Yes.” I punched Three-Bravo. “Captain Tawali.”

“Yes.”

“Sayid, listen. Someone’s locked onto the tunnel, eighteen hours out. FleetSys has their telemetry. You’ve got the good radioscope people, Salfelder and Fiedler. I want to know who’s back there.”