Meridian Days (13 page)

We watched the shield occlude the sun, the shadow sweep across the ocean towards the island. The Brightside horizon burned like banked, flickering coals. Fire sat beside me, and as I regarded her I saw a glint of silver at the back of her head, beneath strands of long blonde hair. Wordlessly I drew her to me — she stiffened a little, thinking my move an advance — and before she could protest I parted her hair to reveal a console, a tiny strip set flush with her skull.

She turned, her hand touching the back of her head. "I'm not Augmented, Bob," she protested.

I laughed. "Does it matter? Here—" I took her hand and directed it to my occipital console. "A sub-cortical," I said, "with chips in a dozen areas of my brain. I used it when I was a pilot to integrate with my ship."

"This is so the surgeon can monitor my condition," Fire told me, touching her own implant. "He just interfaces and sees how I'm doing."

"How long have you been ill?" I asked.

She shrugged. "So long that I don't remember. Years. I had this installed soon after the tumour was diagnosed." She seemed reluctant to continue. "Please, Bob."

Darkness had descended and the stars were out above Darkside. We sat in silence for a while and stared at the diamond-hard points of brightness.

I remembered what Doug had requested the other day. "By the way," I said, taking the pix from the inside pocket of my jacket. "Do you recognise her?"

She took it and frowned. "It's Hannah Rodriguez."

"Did you know her well?"

"No, not at all. She's a friend of Tamara's.

"Were they close?"

"I don't really know." She pushed out her lips. "Reasonably, I suppose. She spent a lot of time here. I haven't seen her for a while though."

"Has Tamara mentioned her at all recently?"

"I don't know." She hunched her shoulders again. "Why the interest?"

I hesitated. "She's been missing for a while," I said.

"Missing?" She looked alarmed. "What do you mean...
missing
?"

"Well, Abe and I found the remains of her uniform on Brightside a few days ago. Doug Foulds thinks someone might have..."

She was staring into space, shaking her head,

"Fire?"

She frowned at me. "It's strange. Rodriguez spent so much of her time around here, I feel I should remember her more than I do. The thing is, I can't recall talking to her on one single occasion. But I know I must have, at some time." She looked up at me. "That's the worse thing about my illness, Bob. Not the pain, but the fact that chunks of my past are just...
gone
."

We stared at the stars in silence, hand in hand, before Tamara emerged from the dome at the foot of the hill and called Fire's name.

She quickly released my hand. "That's Tamara." We climbed to our feet. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

She almost skipped down the hill to the dome.

I made my way to the truck on the lawn.

~

I was halfway up the path to my dome when I heard the urgent buzzing of the vid-screen. I ran the rest of the way, expecting the caller to hang up just as I entered the lounge. I stabbed the
accept
button and flopped into the chair, exhausted.

The wall screen flickered and flared into life. Abe stared out at me. He still wore his silversuit. His long grey hair was dishevelled and he needed a shave.

"Bob — I thought you'd never answer."

"Abe, where the hell are you?" I stared at him. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in the Meridian Star Hotel. I'm staying here for a while. I think it's safer than returning to my villa."

"Abe, what's going on—?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if in thought. His hand was shaking. He looked up. "They arrested me at the station and Telemassed me back to Main. Steiner questioned me. I asked him about the containers. He told me..."

I stared at him. "What?"

Abe looked devastated. "He took me outside his office, explained that he thought it was bugged. Then he told me everything. He warned me that if his adviser got to know that I knew..." Abe shrugged. "He intimated that if Weller got to know, then he couldn't guarantee my safety."

"What did he tell you, Abe?"

He stared out at me, something terrible in his expression. "Look, Bob... I'll be down to see you soon. I'll tell you everything then."

"I'll be in Main tomorrow," I said. "We could meet."

He looked into my eyes. "It might be best if I didn't involve you further."

"Christ, Abe. I want to know!" I could see from his expression that he needed to talk.

He just stared out at me, as if deciding the wisest course of action. "Very well. Where will you be?"

"The Museum of Modern Art. I'll meet you in the foyer, around one?"

He tried his best to smile. "I'll see you then." He cut the connection.

I sat and stared at the blank screen, trying to make sense of what Abe had just told me. Whether in reaction to this, or because the symptoms of withdrawal had reached their cyclic high point again, I was feeling terrible. My limbs were jumping, and the pain in the pit of my stomach was counterpointed by a pulsing, stabbing sensation at the base of my skull. I had no idea if withdrawal from frost had ever killed anyone, but right now I felt close to death.

I moved to the chesterfield and sat down. The half-shell was before me on the coffee table. I picked it up, held it unsteadily in my lap. Certain granules in the pile of pink powder coruscated like diamond filings. I inhaled, relishing the sickly sweet stench of the raw drug. All I had to do was to pinch a line, lay it on the copper plate of the burner, ignite it and inhale... For eight or more hours I would be oblivious of everything — Fire's dilemma, the pain that wracked my body — and in the morning I would feel much better, cured of the sickness.

Then the rational part of me took control again. I stumbled from the lounge, locked myself in my room and spent a sleepless night.

SIX///NEMESIS

As seen from the altitude of more than a kilometre, the meridian sea and the archipelago slung along its broad blue bow was reduced to one vast perspective, observable in its entirety. Likewise the dramas and incidents enacted beneath the domes of the many islands were reduced, made insignificant. For the past week I had been part of so many happenings that at times I had found it difficult to make sense of anything: Trevellion's treatment of her daughter, Fire's illness, the remains we had discovered and, after Abe's communication last night, Director Steiner's obvious involvement... Although it occurred to me that the events were connected, I was unable to discern an overall pattern. The act of removing myself from the surface of the planet did not grant me the answer in one mighty transcendent flash, or allow me to view the series of incidents in one clear mosaic of linked circumstance, but I did suddenly see what was important to me in the morass of mystery and confusion. I was setting out now on a course of action which would hopefully bring about Fire Trevellion's liberation from the influence of her mother. I wished I was as confident about how I might help Abe.

I lay horizontal in the thermal sling beneath the yellow, sun-reflective wing, the engine a perpetual drone in my ears. I cast my eye over the scatter of small islands stretching into the distance. The island immediately beneath me, dotted with a dozen silver domes, was Abe's. I passed over it in less than a second and continued out across the sun-flecked sea. When Trevellion's island loomed below, more prominent than those before and after it, I banked and made a slow, lazy spiral down to the beach where I had arranged to meet Fire. I slipped from the sling and came to rest gently in the sand, the wing angled above me like a canopy.

There was no sign of Fire, but it was still early. I had set off even before the trailing edge of the shield had revealed the sun. Only now did the full light of Beta Hydri burn across the wastes of Brightside, dissipating the humidity from the air and heating the sand.

I remained in the harness for a few minutes, exhausted. The good thing was that I felt no worse today than I had at the same time yesterday; I hoped that the symptoms of withdrawal were beginning to ease up. Certainly, if the bouts of sweating and shaking and the accompanying nausea became any worse, then I was not sure of my resolve to steer clear of frost. I began to wish that I'd been determined enough to dispose of my supplies of the drug before now — but the coward in me had shied at the thought of cutting the connection with the insular and withdrawn life I had led until now.

I climbed from the frame, strode up the beach and sat on a rock facing the sea. I was more than a little apprehensive, not so much at the prospect of gliding all the way to Main with a passenger, which I had never done before, but at what was to follow. Later today I would find out precisely the extent of Fire's illness, and whether or not there was an effective and inexpensive cure. There was always, of course, the chance that Trevellion and her surgeon were truthful in their claim that Fire's condition was expensive to treat. It was this that I feared and, perhaps, the thought that her mother had kept something from her, that the illness was in fact worse than she had told Fire.

Thirty minutes later there was still no sign of her. It occurred to me that Trevellion might have had second thoughts about allowing Fire to go gliding, after my criticism of her yesterday.

I was about to make my way across the sand when I saw the burly figure of a security guard at the foot of the path up the hillside. He was standing with one foot lodged on the low concrete wall, an arm resting on his knee. His attitude, at once negligent and hostile, suggested that he had been watching me at his leisure for some time.

He made an imperious, beckoning gesture, then returned his hand to the butt of his holstered fire-arm. I approached, and his unremitting stare brought me out in a hot sweat.

"Trevellion," he reported, without altering his stance, "suggests you take your bird and fly back to wherever you came from."

I held my ground. "I came to see Fire," I said.

He shook his head. "No way, pal. The kid doesn't want to see you."

His words sent a chill down my spine. "Tell Trevellion that we have an agreement. I want to see Fire." I took a step forward.

With an air of infinite patience the guard raised a hand, barring my way. His smile unnerved me. "I'll tell you once again — the kid doesn't want to see you. You had your chance, and blew it."

"Is Fire ill?"

"Hey, just climb back into your contraption, Benedict, or I'll be forced to assist you." The use of my surname for some reason threatened me more than the way he affectionately patted his pistol.

I hesitated, considering the best course of action. There was no way I could get past the guard — but I didn't intend to meekly leave as instructed. I made my way back to the glider, strapped myself in and took off. I kept low and skirted the coastline, and when I was out of the guard's line of sight I landed in the cove where I had clandestinely moored my launch on previous visits. I left the glider propped in the sand and made my way around the headland. When I came to the beach I concealed myself behind a bush and peered out at the pathway up the hillside. The guard was slowly making his way up the incline, his back to me. I ran across the sand to the stand of vegetation which Fire had disappeared into on the evening of our first meeting. Minutes later I came across the entrance to the tunnel she had told me about, a narrow crevice between two slabs of black, volcanic rock, concealed by ferns.

I slipped into the crevice and dropped farther than I had expected. I landed, knees bent, in a small, dim chamber illuminated only by a chink of sunlight from above and, faintly before me, the sparkle of silver paint daubed — evidently by Fire — along the wall to guide the way.

I gathered my breath, my pulse racing at the thought of what I was doing, and set off carefully. Arms outstretched, I stumbled along after the intermittent trail of paint. The rock underfoot was rough and uneven, and as I progressed further into the tunnel it took an upward turn, paralleling the course of the pathway above. The chink of sunlight was soon lost behind me, but the paint still sparkled up ahead. As I followed the trail, gaining confidence and speed the further I went, I thought of Fire, and the great delight she must have taken in discovering this means of escape. At regular intervals, other tunnels branched off, their mouths patches of deeper darkness in the gloom. I imagined how easy it would be to become lost, were it not for Fire's ingenuity.

After what seemed like an hour of strenuous climbing, I came to journey's end: the silver trail brightened, the gloom lightened, and the tunnel levelled out. Again I found myself in a natural chamber, a rent in the rock above me admitting a great ingot of golden sunlight. I forced my shoulders into the gap and pulled myself through into the open air. I was in the rockery of a small garden, beside a sub-dome connected to the main dome by a short corridor.

A strategically planted shrub concealed the tunnel's entrance. I crouched behind it and peered across the crescent lawn. The wall of the individual bauble was transparent, though a level of red fluid at the base of the outer and inner membranes indicated that this could be altered. A large circular bed occupied the centre of the chamber. On it, I made out Fire. She was stretched out on her back, her hands behind her head, staring up at the apex of the dome. A large book lay open beside her. She gave the impression of someone lost in reverie, or melancholy.

I had the urge to rush across the lawn, barge into the bedroom and heroically rescue her — but caution checked me. I made quite sure first that I was unobserved. The small garden was hedged in by trees and bushes, but the upper storey of the main dome overlooked Fire's chamber. So far as I could see, there was no one in the facing section of the main dome. I left the cover of the bush and ran doubled-up across the lawn to the clear, curved wall of the smaller dome.

Fire sat up at the movement. For a second she was frozen with an unrecognisable expression on her face. Then she leapt from the bed and rushed across to the circular hatch. She fumbled desperately with the catch, a look of what I took to be determination in her eyes. She stared through the hatch at me: her expression turned fearful and her fingers worked even more feverishly. On a sudden, sickening impulse, I dived against the hatch and forced it open with all my weight. Fire resisted, pushing with her shoulder and crying out aloud. She gave in suddenly, and I stumbled into the room. Fire stood facing me with determination, her exertion followed by resolve.

"Fire?"

She stared at me. "Just go away, Mr Benedict.
Please
."

She wore a green one-piece, the same shade as her eyes. She had pulled the sleeves down over her fists, in a gesture that struck me as both childish and belligerent.

It seemed that she was about to launch herself at me with a flurry of blows. "Fire... What happened? I thought we'd agreed ...?"

She remained mute. I looked past her to the bed. The large book was a photograph album, opened to a pix of her sister. Beside it was the computer board from which Fire was learning her mother's poetry.

Around the dome, on tables and shelves, were dozens of personal possessions: pink elephants and pierrot dolls, pix of Earth and models of starships. I felt closer to Fire than I had at any other time before — and this made the thought of losing her all the more unbearable. It came to me that both our futures would be decided by what I said in the next few minutes. I had to be very, very careful, like someone coaxing a potential suicide away from the edge. This knowledge almost paralysed me.

"Tamara said something—" barely a whisper "-didn't she?"

The worst possible reaction of all: silence. She just stared at me. Already, I was damned. Her eyes were red and sore from crying, and her full lips seemed more swollen than ever.

I took a leap in the dark. "About the accident, wasn't it?"

Leaning forward, she cried, "So it
is
true!"

In that second I felt an overwhelming surge of relief, almost triumph. I knew that it was within my ability to counter whatever malicious lies Tamara Trevellion had told her daughter; it was obvious that Fire was distraught at having to believe these lies.

"I don't know what Tamara told you, Fire." I was speaking in a whisper, "so I can't tell you the truth until you tell me what she said."

Fire sniffed back a sob; then I saw why she had covered her fists with the cuffs of her one-piece — not to hit me, as I had suspected, but to wipe away her tears. She shook her head defiantly.

"Tamara was lying — whatever she told you."

"Then you... you weren't responsible for the accident?"

"Is that what she told you?"

"She told me you were paid to kill all those people. She told me you were working for someone."

I smiled, weak with relief.

"That's a lie, Fire. Can't you see — your mother doesn't want us to be together, especially after what I said to her yesterday. She doesn't want to give you any independence. Once you realise that there's a whole world out there open to you, with boundless possibilities — what's to keep you here?"

She was suspicious, hardly daring to hope. "You had nothing to do with the accident?"

I hesitated. "I did pilot the smallship. It should have been a smooth ride; I'd done it so many times. There had never before been an accident on the Earth-Mars run..."

She pursed her lips, emphasizing the point of her chin. Then, "What happened?"

I took a breath, wondering how much to tell; I did not want to spoil the good work I'd done so far with too liberal a dose of the truth. "We ran into an irregularity. The auto-drive was knocked out, and I had to handle the ship manually. I handled it badly. My reactions were slow, and we went down. Fifty Terran diplomats and their families died in the accident. I survived with a few others. Of course, I was responsible; it was my fault — a better pilot would have brought the ship through unscathed."

She was shaking her head, biting her bottom lip. There was doubt in her eyes as she regarded me.

"I can't believe that Tamara would lie to me like that—"

"You can't? Christ, she's psychologically tortured you often enough in the past."

"But this is different — there was no one else involved then!"

I almost laughed. "Fire, your mother isn't bothered who she hurts, you or anyone else. She'll do anything to get what she wants."

She was still regarding me with suspicion. I said, "Can't you see — your mother's afraid of losing you. Who would she have to hate if you were to leave?"

I stopped, allowed that to sink in. Fire regarded the carpet between us, torn between obedience to her mother and loyalty to her own desires.

She said in a whisper, "You weren't paid?"

"Of course not!"

She looked at me. "So... what happened? After the accident?"

I relaxed. I was slowly winning her over. She stood before the bed, where she had backed up to in fear, but she had released her grip on her cuffs and looked at me with a new hope in her emerald eyes.

"I was hospitalised for a year—"

"But why did you come to Meridian? Why didn't you keep on piloting?"

"There was an inquiry into the accident, and of course I was found guilty of negligence. I was fired." I shrugged. "So I looked for somewhere warm and quiet."

With a drug that would allow me to forget...

Fire stared at me, shaking her head. "She just wanted me to hate you. She probably enjoyed seeing my reaction when she told me."

I held out my hand.

She remained by the bed. "I'm frightened, Bob. What if Tamara finds out?"

"I'll be with you."

She looked at me for a long time, her gaze calculating. Then she came to a decision. She grabbed my hand.

We slipped from the dome and hurried across the lawn, then dropped through the crevice to the subterranean passage. Fire dashed ahead of me down the incline. I felt her relief, her dread at the thought that were it not for my intervention she might have blithely believed her mother's lies.