Death Wave (13 page)

“Then I'm a prisoner here?”

With a smile meant to be charming, Castiglione said, “Let us say you are our guest, beautiful one. Not a prisoner. A highly valued guest.”

It amounts to the same thing, Aditi realized.

 

NORTH DAKOTA

“So this is where you've squirreled yourself away,” Thornberry said, looking past Paul Longyear's lean, high-cheeked face to the treeless grassland stretching out to the distant rolling hills.

“My people's homeland,” said Longyear, with some bitterness in his voice.

Longyear was a biologist who had been stunned to find that the aliens of New Earth were just as human as he was. For centuries, the intelligent machines that Aditi called the Predecessors had sent scouting missions to Earth to collect DNA samples, from which they created the humanoids that greeted Longyear and the other members of Jordan Kell's expedition to Sirius.

“Not such a bad spot,” Thornberry said. “From all I'd read about the United States' treatment of Native Americans I'd expected your reservation to be nothing but rocks and sand.”

Longyear stretched out one arm and swept it across the horizon. “Before the whites invaded our territory,” he said, “the Sioux Nation ranged all across this land. They followed the buffalo herds for a thousand miles. Now we're penned into this reservation.”

Thornberry, thickset and jowly, was wearing a tan leather jacket over his white shirt and jeans. Longyear wore a checkered flannel shirt and almost identical jeans tucked into worn, scuffed boots. His jet black hair was braided into a long queue that ran down his back halfway to his belt.

As they walked slowly along a streamlet that bubbled over a pebbled bed, Thornberry said, “I thought you'd be at your university, not out here.”

Longyear shook his head. “I got the feeling that I was being watched. Everywhere I went, they were watching me.”

His beefy face breaking into a quizzical smile, Thornberry said, “You're not accustomed to being famous.”

“Famous? Me?”

“You're one of the star travelers, m'boy. You've been to New Earth. Of course people stare at you.” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial half-whisper, Thornberry added, “'Tis a great way to find willing women, it is. That, and finding yourself to be a multimillionaire.”

Longyear did not smile. “I'm no multimillionaire. Besides, it wasn't that kind of a thing. I got the feeling the government was watching me, listening to everything I said. I had no privacy, not really.”

“You're pretty young to be a paranoid.”

“It's not paranoia. They
were
watching me. Following every step I took. Like they wanted to know exactly where I was, every minute of the day or night, what I was saying, what I was thinking.”

Thornberry rubbed his jaw. “Y'know, I got that feeling, too. I even spoke to Jordan about it, when we had dinner in Chicago.”

“I should have gone with you,” Longyear admitted. “It would've been good to see Jordan again.”

“He and Aditi send their regards.”

Longyear walked along the edge of the stream for a few silent moments. Finally, he asked Thornberry, “So, Mitch, what brings you here? And don't tell me you missed my company.”

“I did, you know. And that's a fact.”

“But there's more, isn't there?”

Thornberry's normal little smile faded. “There is. I think you're right. We are being watched. And listened to.”

Longyear actually smiled. “So who's the paranoid now?”

“I tried to phone Jordan yesterday,” Thornberry said, utterly serious. “I got a digitized message saying he's not available.”

“You mean they won't let you through to him.”

Thornberry nodded.

“That's why I came here,” Longyear said. “I can be free here, among my own people.”

“Nobody from the government's come looking for you?”

“Oh, a half-dozen security people have come sniffing around. But my people don't tell them anything. I've even seen a couple of drones flying by; I go to ground then.”

“Go to ground?”

“Indoors,” Longyear said.

Casting an eye toward the nearly cloudless sky, Thornberry said, “Y'know, they probably have satellites surveilling this area.”

“Nothing I can do about that.”

“Well, there's something I can do, b'god. I'm going back to Chicago and start raising a rumpus. I'm a wealthy man now, and they can't bottle me up.”

“You think not?” Longyear asked.

Thornberry hesitated before answering, “I hope not.”

*   *   *

Castiglione led Aditi along a thickly carpeted corridor, explaining, “When this complex was originally built, back when nuclear war was a reality, it was constructed to hold more than a thousand people in safety and comfort for a year or more with no contact with the world outside.”

Aditi asked, “Your people actually used nuclear weapons on each other?”

“Sadly, yes. Only a few, but that was enough to kill millions. That's when the politicians finally formed the World Council—to control international affairs and get rid of all the remaining nuclear weapons.”

“The World Council accomplished that?”

“Oh, yes. It took some time, and there were a few very tense confrontations, but today we have a nuclear-free world.”

“That's good,” said Aditi.

Flashing a bright smile, Castiglione continued, “But we had already built this marvelous underground complex. Built it and staffed it. Little did we know that one day it would serve to house a visitor from another star.”

Aditi did not smile back. Very seriously she said, “I would much rather be with my husband.”

“In time, dear one, all in good time,” Castiglione said easily. “For the present, you will live here in some comfort.”

He stopped at an unmarked door, tapped on the keypad on the wall, and the door slid open. With a flourish, Castiglione ushered Aditi into the apartment.

“Your home away from home,” he said grandly.

Aditi stepped into the living room. It was small, but comfortably furnished. She recognized a viewer for three-dimensional broadcasts on one wall. Through an open door she saw a neatly prepared bedroom.

“We've taken the liberty of bringing your clothes from the air base. You'll find them in the bedroom closet and drawers. If you need anything else, just tell me.”

“I see.”

Still smiling, Castiglione went on, “We have a fairly good restaurant facility here, as well. Would you kindly join me for dinner?”

“It's been a long day,” Aditi said, “and I'm quite tired.”

“I understand.” Pointing to the telephone console on the end table by the sofa, Castiglione said, “You can order dinner brought here.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll see you in the morning.”

“Very well.”

Aditi stood in the middle of the room as Castiglione smiled his way out. As soon as the door slid closed she tried to contact Adri, on New Earth.

 

GRAND HOTEL

Jordan tried to open the door of his hotel suite. Locked. He frowned, and felt simmering anger rising within him. Don't lose your cool, old man, he said to himself. Then he banged the door with his fist.

A voice from the speaker set into the ceiling asked, “Mr. Kell, how can I help you?”

“I'd like to go down to the restaurant. I'm hungry.”

“Sir, I'm afraid that's not possible. You can order dinner brought to your suite.”

“I'm not allowed to leave the suite?”

“Not at this time, sir.”

Jordan stood there, thinking, They've got me under lock and key. And they're watching me. It's a prison. A very luxurious prison, true enough, but a prison nonetheless.

Wishing that Aditi were with him, wondering where she was and how she was faring, he went to the phone and grudgingly ordered dinner. Within minutes it was brought to his room by an impassive robot. Once the machine had deposited the dinner tray on the sitting room's coffee table and left, Jordan sat down to eat.

And think.

They're watching me in here, and they've probably got cameras out in the corridor. I'm on the tenth floor, and the window doesn't open. I'd have to shatter it to get out, and then it's a ten-story drop to the street.

So how do I get out of here?

He chewed on that question as he slowly, methodically chewed his way through dinner. Halleck's people must have the entire hotel under continuous surveillance, he figured. No doubt there's a team of security people on hand to take care of any emergencies.

Well, he told himself, I suppose I'll have to create an emergency and see how far I can get. I'm certainly not going to sit here like a good little prisoner.

He finished his coffee, then reached for the tiny snifter of cognac. Its top was sealed, but the plastic cover popped off easily enough. Jordan tossed down the cognac and got to his feet.

Time to act, he told himself.

He went to the bedroom and pulled a lightweight checkered jacket from the closet, then returned to the sitting room and mentally counted off the seconds until the door slid open and a serving robot wheeled into the room.

“Are you finished with your dinner, sir?”

You can see that I'm finished, Jordan replied silently. Aloud, he asked, “Have you been waiting outside my door all this time?”

“No, sir. That would be inefficient. I was directed to your room when the controllers calculated that you would be finished by the time I reached your suite.”

“I see.” To himself, he added, So they are watching me in here, just as I thought.

Extending two of its four arms toward the dinner tray on the coffee table, the robot asked again, “Are you finished with your dinner, sir?”

“Yes,” said Jordan. “Quite finished.”

He watched as the robot deftly picked up the tray, then pivoted and began trundling toward the door, which slid open as it approached.

Jordan walked a step behind the blocky machine and went out into the corridor with it. The robot ignored him and headed down the corridor, in the direction opposite to the elevator bank.

Service elevator, Jordan thought. It must use a service elevator.

Sure enough, the robot went through an unmarked door at the far end of the corridor and into a small room with bare concrete walls that held an ice machine, several bins that Jordan didn't recognize, an obvious laundry chute, two black elevator doors, and another door marked
EMERGENCY EXIT.

Still holding the dinner tray in two hands covered in synthetic skin, the robot used its third hand to touch the elevator call button.

A voice from the speaker set into the ceiling suddenly blared, “Mr. Kell, you are in a restricted area. Please return to your suite.”

Jordan looked up and saw a tiny red light glowering at him: another surveillance camera.

“Sorry,” he said easily. “I'm just curious.”

“Please return to your suite, Mr. Kell.”

“Of course.”

But instead Jordan pushed through the emergency exit. As he expected, it opened onto a stairway of bare gray concrete steps.

He started down the steps. As soon as he reached the next landing, the same overhead voice said, “Mr. Kell, you are not authorized to leave your suite. Please return.”

Hurrying down the next flight, Jordan said, “I always take a constitutional after dinner.” Inwardly he smiled at the small pun: I'm exerting my constitutional right to freedom by taking a constitutional walk.

He got down four flights of the stairs before a pair of security agents came clattering up the stairs toward him. A young man and a slightly older woman, both in dark blue suits and white turtleneck shirts.

“Where do you think you're going?” the woman demanded, from the landing below.

Jordan saw that their hands were empty, but that didn't mean they weren't carrying weapons beneath their jackets.

Remembering his youthful lessons in self-defense, Jordan recalled that surprise and speed were the best way to attack. Surprise and speed, he repeated silently, hoping that his two-century-old reflexes were still good enough to serve.

He said nothing as the two of them came up the steps toward him. That's right, he said to himself, come and get the old man. He felt an odd tingle of anticipation.

As the pair of them climbed to within two steps of him, Jordan lashed out with a kick squarely to the man's chest that knocked him backward, tumbling down the steps. He smacked the back of his head against the concrete wall with a sickening thud and went slack, his eyes rolling up. The woman looked shocked for an instant, then reached into her jacket. Jordan pinned her arms and wrestled her to the stair's railing.

She tried to knee him in the groin, but Jordan bent her back over the stair rail. She looked down the stairwell, her eyes widening with sudden fright.

“It's a long way down,” he growled at her.

She let her body relax and Jordan pulled her back onto the stairs. Immediately she slipped one hand free of Jordan's grip and aimed an elbow at his head. Jordan ducked and stamped as hard as he could on her foot. She yowled and Jordan grabbed at her jacket. He pulled out the pistol that had been holstered under her arm.

She froze for an instant and Jordan realized he didn't know how to use the pistol. It looked strange to him, small, deadly, oddly shaped. A tranquilizer gun, he guessed.

She swung at him again and without thinking about it he whacked her across the temple with the gun. Her legs folded and she sank to the steps, unconscious.

Puffing from exertion, feeling strangely exhilarated, Jordan congratulated himself, Not bad for a two-hundred-year-old.

He stuffed the pistol into the waistband of his slacks and started down the stairs again. The male security agent was moaning and writhing.