Strontium-90 (8 page)

At that moment, two of the hunters rushed Henri
. They overpowered and pinned him, shoving his cheek onto the granite floor. That brought the others running. They produced a rope and bound him tightly. They laughed and kicked him when he tried to wheedle.

“Let’s not cut his throat right away!” Leif shouted
. “Without the fool we would never have found this place.”

“That’s right,” Henri said.

“Quiet!” Thorfinn snarled, kicking him in the ribs, “or we’ll gag you.”

One of the hunters had a tin cup
. He dipped it into the wine, tasted it cautiously. “This is unbelievable. I’ve never sipped wine like this.”

“You’ve never
sipped
any wine, Ketil, but always gulped like a hog!” Leif shouted.

The others laughed, hurrying over
. With the tin cup, their hands and several ancient helmets they began to imbibe.

Henri despaired
. He knew the way of drunkards. Soon they would roar out songs, glare at him, work themselves into a passion and then kill him. Yet an odd thing occurred. As they drank, they shouted less. One by one, they began to peer about in stupefaction. Their eyes glazed over and soon their vision riveted onto something Henri couldn’t see.

The fumes from the broken jar filled the cavern with a strange, spicy odor
. Henri breathed it and his thoughts became sluggish. He frowned, and the hair on the back of his neck rose in dread. He blinked, shook his head from upon the ground and stared at wispy beings. They were blurry, like fog in the early morning. Once or twice, he had the sensation that these foggy beings turned toward him, and it seemed that they opened vague mouths. He cocked his head. Like the lightest of breezes, something passed his ears. Was it their speech?

Then the cavern changed
. The walls of stone became shimmering bricks, and where the lava-hole had been, stood a silver dome with a single arched door. A golden light glowed from the entrance.

Henri squeezed shut his eyes and he twisted his bound wrists
. He heard a scuffle of boots. He opened his eyes. The wisps or ghosts had gone. The cave was as before.

Leif, with purple stained lips, slowly rose to his feet
. He rambled, making no sense, speaking in a tongue that Henri had never heard before. The others paid Leif no heed. They were each engaged in their own conversations. Gradually, Leif approached the hole in the center of the cave. He had a glassy look and he turned this way and that, speaking to imaginary folk.

As Henri rubbed the sealskin cords against a rusted knife, Leif ducked his head as if he stooped under an arch
. Then he stepped into the hole. Henri watched in horror as Leif plunged out of sight. Without a scream or protest the youngest hunter fell, until the hiss of lava and a heavy plop told of Leif’s death.

The others never noticed
. The oldest, Thorfinn, giggled as if he spoke with a girl.

The ropes parted and Henri hacked at the cords around his ankles
. A burp of lava shot out of the hole. It splashed the ceiling and dripped with sizzling heat. Henri cried out as another hunter lurched toward the hole.

“No!” Henri shouted
. “Go back!”

The hunter ignored him
. His held out his arms as if invisible beings tugged him along. The heavily bearded hunter smiled, laughed and stooped as if he entered a silver dome.

Henri staggered to his feet
. His head felt thick, his senses reeling. At that instant, the second hunter plunged to his death.

The others now turned toward the lava pit.

Henri stumbled toward an ancient length of wood. If all the hunters died who would row the ship, and him, back to the East Settlement? The staff had bizarre symbols carven upon it. He roared an old Norman battle cry and charged the besotted hunters. He flailed at them with his stave, beating them about the torsos and shoulders, driving them from the lava-hole and toward the opening to the outer world. They hunched their shoulders as if against a blizzard, never meeting his eyes but trying to step around him.

“Fools!” he shouted
. “Do you want to die?”

The pit belched again
. Hot lava bubbled onto the floor. It hissed and smoked.

“Go!” Henri cried
. He beat them, herded them willy-nilly into the dark tunnel.

After a hundred steps and as heat washed upon Henri’s back, the first of the hunters muttered, “What are you doing, Outlander?”

Henri tried to explain even as he beat the other four.

They drooled and mumbled strange words
. It was only with the greatest of pleading that Henri convinced them to climb out of the crevice. By slow degrees and as the ground rumbled, Henri drove them across the ice. The look of bewilderment never left their faces.

“What about the others?” Thorfinn asked as they approached the shore camp.

“Leif died!” Henri shouted. “So did Ketil.”

“I mean not them,” Thorfinn said
. “I speak of the high priest of Thule. He promised me an enchanting maiden if I but entered the Chamber of Delights.” Thorfinn looked back with longing.

Henri wondered if he would have to belabor him again with the staff.

“It is odd,” Thorfinn said. “The high priest said we resembled the slayers of yesteryears, their brutish descendants. He claimed our kind once attacked the settlers who had fled their sunken land. Can you believe it? No, no, I told him it couldn’t be so. He finally admitted the mistake and wished for peace, a lasting peace, so wouldn’t I enter the Chamber of Delights? How could I refuse?” Thorfinn frowned. “He had such pale skin, and his ears, and eyes… why did they seem different than mine? I almost thought them elves, or angels, I suppose. But angels don’t have maidens, do they?”

Henri paled as the ground trembled
. With his staff and hoarse commands, he forced them to heave the ship off the stony shore. As the planks groaned and water sloshed against the keel, a violent explosion rocked the land. Flaming stones pockmarked the glacier.

The men tumbled into the boat and picked up oars, digging them into the waters as bubbling lava flowed onto the ice
. The red lava hissed and steamed. All the rubies, emeralds, bones, the ancient ruins… gone.

Henri helped the others hoist the sail, and the small ship struggled away from the land of false unicorns.

Henri’s thin shoulders slumped as he sat on a sea chest. His narwhal horn was gone. He had a tale that no one would ever believe and nothing to show for it but his ragged life. Then his hand chanced to stray into his pouch. Ah, at least he had one memento, a thing from the most ancient of days: a lost ruby of Thule the size of a robin’s egg.

He glanced around
. The men pulled the oars. So Henri cupped his hands, the gem within. He peered into its depths, wondering perhaps if it might give him visions of a world long gone.

Braintap

Information is money

-- an Old Earth proverb

Lord Emmanuel Benito Ramos III was a grandee of the Empire, a banking magnate cum laude.

He worked this morning in his mansion, the one overlooking the Sardis River. The Sardis was the largest river on Pollux II, a hub world of the Empire. Lord Ramos sipped Aeolian brandy, studied commodities from a dozen planets and began to weave monetary possibilities.

If he loaned credits to Harbor & Bosch for black flour on Deneb, shipped immediately to Rigel… ah, bubonic plague on Sigma Draconis had increased the cost of faux tea. Yes, yes, this could work. 70 Ophiuchi—hm, this was odd. The data from 70 Ophiuchi was old.

Lord Ramos pressed a key, wishing to refresh the data. Unfortunately, the same old figures reappeared on the screen. Ramos snapped his fingers in annoyance and spoke into his lapel mike.

“Transstellar net, please.”

A holographic image appeared of a slim woman with short hair like fur. She smiled, putting dimples in her cheeks, and she nodded in deference.

“Yes, Lord Ramos.”

“The information on 70 Ophiuchi is stale.”

The holographic woman made some adjustments. “I’m sorry, Lord Ramos, but the link appears to be down.”

“The entire net?”

“No, Lord, just the link to 70 Ophiuchi.”

“When will it be up again?”

The holographic woman made further adjustments and soon spoke with care. “I’m certain it’s only a minor glitch, Eminence. We’re sorry for any—”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I need the information now. How long will the link be down?”

The holographic woman pressed invisible toggles and put a hand to her ear. Her smile slipped.

“I’m sorry, Lord Ramos. The link… we’re working on it as fast as we can.”

Ramos gave her a frosty glare. “Tell me the moment you reestablish communications. I’m trying to configure a delicate package deal. I can’t do that without precise data.”

“I assure you, Lord, the technicians are hard at work.”

He gave an irritated grunt and cut the hologram. This was intolerable. He would have to make inquiries. No one benefited from such slipshod communications.

***

Doctor Vogel hugged himself, shaking his head. No, no, no, this was no good, no good, at all. It was awful.

The small doctor was bald and had golden skin. A chromosomal tweak had allowed his forbearers survival on a hot planet. The tweak had also improved their statistical average for empaths.

Small Doctor Vogel wore a lab coat and paced in a stainless steel corridor. He hesitated before a door marked DAISY THIRTEEN.

He mustn’t do this. It was unethical.

His flat face twisted with disgust.

Who are you to talk about ethics
?
You’re a pimp. Just get on with it, old man
.

That was the trouble. He wanted to retire, collect his pension and open shop on Rigel Ten.

He took out a rag, and with a trembling hand, blotted his forehead. He had been informed on more than one occasion that when he became nervous his bald head shone like a gold shekel on display at the Monetary Museum. His stomach knotted. His mouth dried out so it tasted like a hormonal pill.

He couldn’t do it.

You must
.

He twisted the rag as he thought about Rigel Ten. Despite his shaking hands, he folded the rag and shoved it in his pocket. Then he took out a bottle, twisted off the cap and dumped a dull white pill onto his palm. He stared at the pill. Before he could think about it too long, he slapped his palm against his mouth, shooting the pill to the back of his tongue. He swallowed convulsively. He hunched his shoulders, closed his eyes and waited.

It didn’t take long.

The shakes left. His confidence returned. He could do this. He had to. Oh, he most certainly had to.

Small Doctor Vogel of the golden skin pressed his thumb against the lock. The door swished open and he stepped into a technological hell.

***

Daisy Thirteen floated in a tube ten meters tall filled with a gloppy blue solution. A breathing mask covered her mouth and nose as bubbles oozed upward. Her long blond hair drifted like seaweed. EKG tabs, a telecable, food and waste tubes—a sordid host of octopi-like implants held her in a nightmarish grip.

Doctor Vogel took out his rag and blotted his face.

AI monitors, life-support stations and hi-speed computers circled her tube like megalithic Stonehenges. They whirred with impressive sounds, flashed colored lights and occasionally hummed somewhere deep inside like worker bees. Through the lines, the machines fed her water, a highly nutritious broth and hi-speed information. Other cables drained off wastes and incoming information.

Doctor Vogel groaned, pressed the rag against his face and shook his head. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see her legs churn in slow motion as if she were running, trying to escape.

He gathered his courage and lowered the rag. A gout of bubbles burbled from her mask and her body grew rigid. She screamed. Doctor Vogel couldn’t hear it, but he felt it. His heart raced. Sweat oozed onto his face and he began to shake.

Get me out of here
.
I must get out of here
.

Doctor Vogel crammed the rag against his mouth. She shouldn’t be able to send, not to him. That should be impossible. It was impossible. The drugs—not drugs. No, don’t call them drugs. The stimulants, the
enhancers
—oh, there was a nice word for you.

His throat convulsed, and it felt as if he swallowed sawdust.

Her eyelids quivered.

Doctor Vogel shook his head. He didn’t want to meet her gaze. That was too much, too dreadful, too awful. Don’t open your eyes, he begged. You’re drugged—no, no, you’re sedated. It’s for the best. You must know that.

The left eye opened. She stared at him. And more bubbles, big, fat, wobbling bubbles slithered out of the mask.

Get me out of here
!
You must get me out of here
! The message slammed into his mind. It staggered him so he thumped against a wall.

Golden Doctor Vogel clenched his fingers so the nails dug into his palms. He moaned. He, he—

Help me, please
.

Doctor Vogel flung the rag onto the sterile floor and pushed off the wall. He staggered to a monitor.

Hope shone in her murky eye. She began to churn her legs again. They were so pitifully thin.

Vogel punched in a security code.

A klaxon wailed as a red light pulsated, bathing the room in a hellish glare.

This wasn’t ethical. It was wrong, very wrong.

“Shut up!” Vogel snarled. He hated his conscience. He slid to another console and began a delicate procedure.

A yellow light began to flash. A stern computer voice spoke. “STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF THE LAW. SECURITY HAS BEEN NOTIFIED.”

Doctor Vogel worked faster. He heard a hiss, glanced over his shoulder.

EKG tabs detached from Daisy Thirteen. Food tubes began to wriggle loose. The restraints to her arms weakened. She shook them off.

“Keep your mask on!” Vogel shouted. She couldn’t hear him, but maybe she would pick the thought out of his mind.

He shuffled to another bank of monitors. His sweaty head shone in the harsh lights. The shirt under his lab coat stuck to his skin.

Something clanged, and there was a
shish-shish
sound, the blue glop draining out of the bottom of the tube.

Doctor Vogel rushed to a closet and fumbled with the code. It clicked. He flung open the door and grabbed a towel and a small metal stool. He dashed to the ten-meter tube.

Daisy Thirteen stared at him as she floated downward with the draining glop. She was rail thin, the next thing to skeletal. Her head broke through the blue solution and dirty blond hair sagged around her shoulders. She tore at her mask.

Doctor Vogel shoved the stool against the tube, stepped onto the stool and reached as high as he could. By leaning against the cool cylinder and standing on his tiptoes, he punched in the code. An outline of a hatch appeared. Doctor Vogel pressed a seal and yanked open the hatch. Glop sloshed out and soaked his pants. He clung to the edge of the opening so he wouldn’t slip off the stool.

Daisy Thirteen’s hand touched his.

Wild hope surged through Doctor Vogel. It was an adrenalin rush, and he found himself grinning at her.

She tried to speak, but only managed a grunt.

“Climb out,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

She was so pitifully thin. Fierce determination dominated her, however. She heaved and forced herself through the hatch. Doctor Vogel caught her. Klaxons wailed. She was naked, with small buds for breasts. There was nothing sexually exciting about it. She seemed more nightmare than human, with huge, luminous eyes and skeletal features.

“We have to run,” he said.

She nodded.

He helped her to a console, picked up the towel and rubbed her pimpled skin. Then he wrapped the towel around her.

“We must hurry.”

“Hurry,” she croaked.

He held her hand, and the wild elation hit him with rebounding force. He couldn’t block it, so he rode the emotion like a surfer upon a wave. It lifted his spirits and he found himself grinning so wide that his mouth hurt.

“Security is coming,” he said.

Despite her thin legs, her wretched weakness, she followed him out of the door and along the stainless steel corridor. Her naked feet slapped the metal like fins.

“Where are we?” she wheezed.

“Deep in the communications complex.”

“How far is deep?”

“Two kilometers.”

She breathed like a stranded trout.

“This way,” he said. He pressed his thumb against a lock and a door swished open. He pulled her through. The door closed and they waited in darkness.

“Why have we stopped?” she whispered.

“Listen.”

Loud voices shouted from the other side. Boots pounded on metal. There was clattering, guns, batons and cuffs flapping from belts perhaps.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

“Scan them.”

In the dark, Vogel felt her scrutiny. He radiated goodwill and tenderness as he held her hands.

“...They’re Security,” she said. “There’s been a breach. They’re angry. Worried.” Her voice changed. “This could cost them their existence. It’s me they’re after.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m… I’m worth billions.”

“Billions of credits,” he said.

“You’re hiding something. …Are you kidnapping me for ransom?”

He laughed with a screech. “I’m your doctor. I monitor your health, your mental well-being. I’m an empath.” His gut churned. “I… I couldn’t stand it anymore what they’ve done to you. It eats at me.” He licked salty lips. “Are they gone?”

“—Yes.”

“We must hurry.”

“I’m so tired,” she said. “So weak.”

“I know, but we don’t have much time.”

He fumbled in the dark. The door opened. He peeked outside. The last Security commando dashed around the corner.

He dragged her out, and they stumbled the other way.

“I’m heading to an elevator,” he explained.

Her fingers tightened onto his. “You’re taking me to see the sun?”

“We have to go down before we go up.”

He turned a corner, and in seconds, they came to another door. He punched in codes.

She panted as she leaned against him.

Something pinged. Doors opened. They stepped inside the elevator.

“Down,” said Doctor Vogel, “to hanger level twenty-five.”

They began to descend, picking up speed.

Daisy Thirteen wheezed, each breath straining the towel’s grip on her slippery skin. She pushed soggy hair out of her eyes and stared at Vogel. She topped him by a head.

Her eyes, the hope there… he looked away.

“You’ve done this before,” she whispered. It was almost an accusation.

He clamped down on his emotions. His empathy worked two ways. He was one of the few people on Pollux II she couldn’t scan if he blocked. He forced a hearty grin and met her strange eyes.

“It may seem like I’ve done this before,” he said. “I’ve mapped out each step, each thing that must be done to get you out. I’ve planned it so often it probably feels real to me. That’s what you’re reading.”

She frowned.

He elbowed her. “Do we make it?”

“What?”

“Sorry,” he said. “It was a lame joke.”

“How can you joke?” she asked. Tears shined in her eyes. “They-they used me. They hooked me—what was that? What was I in?”