Fragment (43 page)

“That’s mighty big of you, Thatcher,” said Geoffrey.

“Why, thank you, Geoffrey.” The zoologist inclined his head.

“Yes, I thought you might still be harboring some resentment.” Nell reached for a pickle.

“Never! It is clear that we have just saved a species of life whose intelligence is at least as advanced as our own.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet. There’s no telling what will happen when we let the President know what we saved. Out here in the middle of nowhere, they could make up any cover story they wanted. But if we don’t tell them, and they catch us smuggling, we stand even less of a chance.”

“Who are ‘they’?” Thatcher asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Geoffrey admitted. “The President. The Navy. The Trilateral Commission, the Bilderbergers, the Priory of Sion.

Does it matter? If this ship were lost at sea, how would anyone be the wiser?”

Thatcher smiled. “A calculated risk.” He took the last bite of his burger. “Well, kids, I’m an old man in need of a soft bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Did they give you a nice cabin?” Nell asked.

“Yes, thank you, my dear.” Thatcher rose from his chair.

“Good night,” Geoffrey said.

“Good night,” Thatcher bowed his head and smiled. Then he left them.

“Well that sandwich hit the spot,” Geoffrey remarked, after a moment.

“Nothing but the best,” Nell said. “Dolphin-safe.”

“Let’s check in on the hendros.”

“You read my mind, Dr. Binswanger.”

Nell led Geoffrey down the corridors below deck to the starboard pontoon, where they spotted Cynthea and Zero outside one of the cabins.

“Where’s Hender?” Nell asked.

“In there,” Cynthea pointed, sourly.

“Andy just kicked us out,” Zero told them.

“Why?” Geoffrey said.

“He says Hender’s sleepy.”

Nell laughed and tapped on the hatch. “Hi, Andy, it’s Nell! Can Geoffrey and I say good night to Hender?”

“Sure, come on in!”

Cynthea frowned.

The door opened a crack. “Just no more filming, OK? Don’t let Cynthea in.”

Nell smiled at him through the crack. “OK. Sorry, Cynthea.”

Andy admitted Nell and Geoffrey into the room.

Hender was hopping on the bed as Copepod jumped up onto the mattress and back down again, barking excitedly. Then
Hender stepped down from the bed and reached his upper arms out toward them, nodding happily.

“Hello, Hender,” Nell said, taking one of his hands as Geoffrey took another. “OK?”

“OK, Nell! Hello, Geoffrey!”

Geoffrey laughed. “Hello, Hender!”

“Have they eaten anything, Andy?” Nell asked.

“Yeah, the cook boiled three bags of frozen shrimp. They loved them. So did Copepod. They let him eat from the same tray with them.”

Nell laughed. “Do they really seem all right? Do they need anything?”

“Yeah, they’re OK, Nell.”

“That’s great,” Geoffrey said, watching Copepod chase himself through Hender’s legs. “OK, Hender? Yes?”

“Yes, Geoffrey. OK. Thank you thank you thank you!”

Copepod ran to Nell.

“Copey, sweetheart, you OK, too?” She smiled as she kneeled and took his licks, scratching his shoulder blades. The little dog moaned in ecstasy.

“Copey good,” Hender piped.

“Copey won’t leave Hender’s side,” Andy confirmed. “Talk about a dog whisperer. He could have his own TV series.”

“Maybe he will!” Nell smiled. “What about the others? How are they?”

“They’re asleep already. They showered, ate, used the toilets, and conked out as soon as they got to their rooms.”

“Wow!” Geoffrey grinned. “OK, good night, Hender. Goodbye. OK?”

Nell reached out and gave Hender a full hug and whispered next to his head. “Safety, Hender. Safety now!” Even as she said it she wondered if she could keep that promise.

“Safety, Nell,” Hender echoed softly, his fur effulging warm colors where she touched his back.

Geoffrey watched, gasping at Hender’s display, as she pulled back.

“Good-bye, Geoffrey and Nell,” Hender nodded. “OK, sleep, right?”

“Yes, sleep! Right!” Nell saluted.

“Good night,” Geoffrey waved.

“Good night, good night, good night!” purred Hender, saluting and waving with four hands.

“He catches on awfully quick,” Nell whispered after they had shut the hatch of Hender’s cabin.

“My God.” Geoffrey shook his head. He yawned, and he realized suddenly that thirty-one hours had passed since he’d last had a decent night’s sleep. “Uh, where exactly would one go to grab some shuteye on this ship, Nell?”

“Follow me.”

Nell led him through a corridor to the port pontoon and turned left down the passageway.

“Here,” she said. “My room. Don’t worry. I’m tired, too.”

“You’re full of surprises.” Geoffrey smiled wryly. “Aren’t there other empty cabins available?”

“Maybe…” she answered. “I really don’t know.”

She switched off the light as she climbed onto her double bed and pulled the pillows out from under the bedspread, tossing one to him.

“It’s horizontal … I’ll take it!” Geoffrey climbed on, too, and rolled over on his side away from her.

The air was chilly in the cabin and Nell turned and spooned against him.

“It’s all right,” she told him. “Go to sleep. It’s just a cuddle instinct, as practiced by the North American wolf.”

“Oh really?”

“It’s common to all mammals.”

He chuckled.

“Go to sleep,” she whispered. “It’s for
warmth!”

“Hmmm,”
Geoffrey wondered, feeling very good with this
woman pressed against his back, her breath soft against his neck. Suddenly he felt the need to sleep tug him down hard and he yawned again. “Did you ever notice how many scientists’ names match their chosen field of study?” he asked drowsily. “I’m thinking of doing a statistical study and writing a trifling monograph on the subject…”

She giggled, yawning too.

“Bob Brain, the famous South African anthropologist who discovered all those big-brained hominids.”

“Steve Salmon, the ichthyologist.”

“Mitchell Byrd, the famous ornithologist.”

“I had a dentist named Bud Bitwell.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“Did he change it to that?”

“I don’t think so, but knowing him, he actually might have. That would have to be a statistical factor.”

“Then, of course, there’s Alexander Graham Bell.”

“Silly, but it qualifies.”

“That one always got me as a kid. Hey, and our own geologist, Dr. Livingstone.”

“I had a geology professor named Mike Mountain.”

“I had a botany professor named Mike Green.”

“Yeah, that qualifies.”

“Then there’s Charles Darwin.”

“Uh
…?”

“A
Darwinian biologist?”

“Yeah, almost
too
obvious. And Isaac Newton, the Newtonian physicist.”

“Let’s not even mention Freud.”

“Not even mentioning Freud is like mentioning Freud.”

She snuggled closer and sighed sleepily. “Exactly.”

“You are so outside the box.”

“Well, names do appear to be a common factor, Dr. Binswanger. You may be onto something,” she said against his neck, too tired to move her head. “Let’s see now. By your theory, I should be…”

“By my theory, if you were subject to being influenced by your name, Duckworth, which I believe derives from ‘duckworthy,’ or someone who tends ducks, today you might well be studying duck-billed dinosaurs.”

“I did go through a duck-billed dinosaur phase.” She chuckled.

“Aha! I rest my case.”

“You’re a genius. So what does Binswanger mean?”

“Well,” he said.

“I know: sometimes a Binswanger is just a Binswanger.”

“Ho, ho.”

Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, she felt safe, and she knew he was safe, and that the hendros were safe. She needed to feel safe again, she thought with a pang. In less than nine hours, life on Henders Island would be no more.

“You have to explain to me sometime why you think hen-dropods might be immortal…” she muttered.

“I will, I will,” he said. “Sweet dreams, darling.” The word came, astonishingly, naturally.

“Hmm
, yes, thank you, you, too.” She smiled, and they both fell instantly asleep.

Thatcher pressed the crown
to light his Indiglo wristwatch in the dimly lit passageway and used the glowing watch face to illuminate the hatch handle.

He pulled the handle and crept into the storage room where he had helped stow the aluminum cases. He removed his watch. Using its glowing blue face, he inspected the cases until he found the one with label streaks on the side.

He took the case, then slipped quietly down the passageway to the
Trident’s
broadcast control room in the starboard hull.

He tapped first on the door, to make sure no one was there. Hearing no response, he slipped inside.

The room was dark. The troll that inhabited it had finally gone to his quarters directly across the hall to sleep, and had left his banks of machines in sleep mode. Their red status lights flickered in the shadows like eyes.

Thatcher unlatched the aluminum case and poured out the contents of Pandora’s box.

Six dead-looking Henders rats tumbled onto the floor. Their legs immediately started twitching and clawing.

“Welcome aboard the S.S.
Plague Ship
, you little bastards,” Thatcher whispered. “Go forth and multiply.”

He closed the door quietly behind him. The passageway was empty and silent except for the
thrum
of the ship’s engines. He ran toward the stern.

A minute later, he was jumping into the large Zodiac that still trailed the
Trident
between the port and central pontoons. He took out a Leatherman tool from pocket number eleven and used its serrated knife to slice through the nylon towline.

The Zodiac slipped away on the
Trident’s
wake into the spring night.

“Survival of the fittest, Dr. Binswanger,” he murmured triumphantly at the ship as it motored forward into the gloom.

He pulled out the satphone he had taken from the Hummer, then fished out a GPS locator from another pocket in his vest. Gazing at the shrinking
Trident
on the dark sea, he punched a number into the satphone.

A grouchy voice answered after a few rings.

“Stapleton! I just knew you’d be up, old friend! What’s that? Well you’re up now. It’s Thatcher. Yes! I need help,
mon frère!
I had to abandon ship and I am currently on a
raft
in the
South Pacific.
Yes, I’m serious! You can’t imagine
how
serious! It’s a long story. Take down my GPS coordinates before I lose you: Latitude 46.09, 33.18 degrees south, Longitude 135.44, 44.59 degrees west. Send the Navy! I’ll fill you in on the details later! I need your help, my friend! OK, you have a pen? Latitude…”

The spring sun of the southern hemisphere warmed the cheeks of the sleeping Thatcher Redmond as it rose.

The satphone in his vest pocket rang, waking him up from a strange dream in which he was floating in a raft on the open ocean…

He sat upright at the stern of the big Zodiac and was astonished
to see the vast broadside of the guided missile frigate U.S.S.
Nicholas
cutting into the sea beside him. Stapleton had come through! He had to think fast.

“Yes, hello!” Thatcher said into the phone. “I am Dr. Thatcher Redmond. I must have hit my head and fallen overboard last night into this raft,” he improvised, breathlessly. “Unless someone else struck me!”

“Is that the ship, sir?”
came the voice, apparently from the giant ship.

Thatcher turned and saw the
Trident
on the horizon. He had expected the damn ship to be miles away by now.

“Yes, that’s it!” he said, thinking fast as probabilities shifted in his mind. “That ship is infested with dangerous animals illegally smuggled off Henders Island. I am an award-winning scientist, and I’m simply appalled that this sort of thing can go on and no one is doing anything about it!”

“Did you say animals are being
smuggled
on that vessel, sir?”

“Yes, yes! Dangerous animals! From Henders Island!”

There was a long silence as the raft rolled up and down on the ship’s wake.

Over the ship’s loudspeakers came an answer: “A RESCUE HELICOPTER FROM THE U.S.S.
STOUT
WILL COME FOR YOU WITHIN THE HOUR, SIR! JUST HANG TIGHT!”

The Navy frigate sliced through the water toward the
Trident
with alarms sounding.

As he propped himself against the stern to watch the U.S.S.
Nicholas
close in on the
Trident
, Thatcher sat back and repressed a smile. He reached into his pockets to see if he still had anything to snack on squirreled away.

The ship’s klaxon sounded, and all hands emerged groggily on the
Trident’s
foredeck. Three Navy ships bore down on the
Trident
from three points on the horizon.

Captain Sol’s voice reverberated over the intercom: “All hands on deck! The Navy is ordering us to abandon ship!”

Geoffrey and Nell ran to join Peach, Cynthea, Zero, Andy, Warburton, and Captain Sol on the bridge.

They heard the stern voice of a Navy officer on the radio now:
“All passengers are ordered to abandon ship with nothing but their persons! The
Trident
will be scuttled. All passengers are ordered on deck
now
!”

The voice did not wait for an answer but continued to repeat its implacable demands.

“Tell him we need to speak to the President!” Nell cried.

Captain Sol cut in. “This is
Trident.
We have a special request and would like to appeal directly to the President—”

“Trident,
you will comply with our demands immediately. Is that understood?”