The SONG of SHIVA (33 page)

* * *

“You’re right, E. This morning was skin-of-our-teeth,” Nora agreed, hoping to assuage his sudden sullenness. “But we
did
get away, didn’t we? That’s all that matters. It means we live to plot another day.”

“And start all over at square one,” Lyköan said with that now familiar crooked smile.

Looking into his face, starlight filtering through the open window, Nora wondered if maybe it didn’t look a little
less
crooked. Was even his smile seeking some sort of symmetry?

At eighteen after one in the morning Lyköan had returned to enumerating their troubles. It was a long list. In all of today they had only managed to take one step forward for the two they’d lost at St. Philips Marsh. But overall, as the Brits would say, things had gone decidedly pear-shaped. Bad to worse. Frying pan to fire. The outclassed rabbit dashes away from the ravenous predator ― instinctively fleeing from talon and fang. Suddenly, fear of that figurative slavering breath had become unbearable. He could think of little else.

“Don’t you think we might be outsmarting ourselves?” Nora suggested. “Sure, it made sense to try and cover our tracks ― run into hiding like we have. But we can’t run forever.”

Why not?
he wondered. But realizing what that meant, he said nothing. Naked after finishing in the bathroom, she had joined him on the bed, cozying up against his furnace of runaway metabolism.

“We could even use our pitiful performance this morning to our advantage,” she suggested.

“Oh yeah?” he snickered, aloud this time. “How?”

She laughed self-consciously. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me.”

“You’re actually asking for my read? There’s a first. Great. Then here it is. Pandavas has us running for dear life and he knows it. He’s expecting us to burrow in deep as we can dig ― find some darker hole under an even bigger rock. Sound familiar?” She indicated their bleak little room. “That’s exactly what we’re doing, isn’t it? But what if ― instead of cowering here like toothless prey…”

You got the right simile there, sweetheart
, Lyköan acknowledged silently, shifting on the bed.

“…we returned to Cairncrest? Slipped back into the Node the same way we escaped and threw some kind of spanner in the works. Something,
anything
to buy time?”

“Right, straight back to Shiva Central. Honestly, if I thought that had a snowball’s chance, I’d risk it. I really would. But we’ve already shot that round. Hey, I’m not complaining...”

He paused, as though straightening his train of thought. Here was another ideal opportunity to confess ― come clean about the truth regarding his Shiva Node confinement. Squelching the urge, he pretended to retrack the sham derailed thought and finished with, “...but like I said, surprise is a tactic that only works the first time.”

“How about hacking in
remotely
,” Nora suggested, a little less hopefully. “Every system ― even Innovac’s ― no matter how well protected – virtual shields ― whatever ― could still have a blind spot.”

“Possibly,” Lyköan agreed. “Sun Shi called it
erecting a stronger fortress to hide the more vulnerable treasure
. Just by the act of trying to protect something ― his argument went ― an even more obvious and inviting target is created.”

Was he listening to himself? Hadn’t he done exactly the same thing with the truth? Like the philosophical alter ego, whether lofty conscience or darker Tanner, the other-self insisted upon exposing him to himself. He pushed the self-recriminations aside and continued the hollow argument.

“After our first successful lunge, they were slow to parry, but it won’t be so easy the next time. Pandavas isn’t stupid. How many system backups safely stored out of reach might a sophisticated operation like the Node have? When I was inside I never checked. Did you?”

Nora admitted she hadn’t.

“We identified a chink in their armor using Sun Shi’s clever little quacking duck. So what? It’s bound to be welded shut by now. Don’t you think? Or do you want to bet our lives on Pandavas being slow on the uptake?”

“No,” Nora said, trying to remain conversational.

“Good. I don’t either. Not after this morning. We’d only be announcing our intentions ― some ping-trace program happy to follow our signal back to this little bungalow ― soon as we tried. Though I’d even risk
that
, if...”

“...we were on the move ― leaving town?” Nora completed his thought. “How long will we be safe here in Chester anyway?”

“At least another day. But you’re right, we can’t stay. Not in this house anyway ― now that we’ve altered our appearance. Before we head for the tall grass, though, it’d be nice to take another crack at the fractal program.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. For now we just find another B&B nearby. But afterwards? Someplace up north maybe ― somewhere even more out-of-the-way.”
What, a deeper hole under an even bigger rock
?
the Tanner in his skull mocked.

“Pandavas
is
smart, E ― we both know that, but he’s not omniscient.” Nora could not let it go. “There must be something he’s overlooked.” Years of reliance on the scientific method insisted that, at least, had to be true.

“I’m not going to argue with you. You may be right. But I have no idea how we can find out what it could possibly be.”

For every problem that persistence might potentially resolve, in what he now knew to be a reality of infinite expression, plenty of others would never yield, even to a lifetime of persistent effort. At least not when expended in this one world, where we all seemingly lived every one of them. Why?
Just to screw with one particular hubris-consumed mortal
, the Tanner chuckled.

“However we manage it, I need to check in with the CDC again ― soon,” Nora nudged. “For all we know, Marty has convinced the NSA to do something. They may already be moving against Innovac. How can we possibly know if we don’t try to get in touch? At some point, we have to suck it up, accept the risk and
do
something ― no matter how dangerous that might be ― or accept what our procrastination is sure to bring.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he admitted, realizing, not for the first time, that she usually was.

* * *

Accelerating. Aspect shifting. Lofting, the newly-anointed
mahavira
had just achieved apogee above the infinite horizon, riding
the crescent current of phosphene immersion. An unfamiliar, alien moon followed at his shoulder, casting a harsh shadow that bled across miles of the darkened landscape below. In stark outline, a large landmass, surrounded by an even darker sea, came softly into focus, covered by a crisscrossing, intricate spider web of luminescent strands.

The combined power of the
Jiva
and the
Ajiva
working in unison, altering the perspective of reality, permitting the spirit-self to travel unrestricted by physical laws from nexus to node, neither driven nor drawn, like a current ever rushing onward. Cardinal points had merged with the
marga
of the elemental concept.

Lyköan intuitively understood that he was traveling southeast, following the course of harmonic sequences embedded in the earth, traveling at the bidding of an unseen and unknown entity. He also knew the destination towards which he sped.

Like a beacon, the solar star, barely risen in the east, sparked brightly off a familiar object standing in bold relief atop the most pronounced promontory on the rolling hills below. Instinctively, for it had been through no force of will, he had returned to the dolmen, following unseen forces working through the power of the Earth’s natural ley lines – until they had carried him here.

An incessant whistling, like the hum of electric motors whirring at maximum velocity, accompanied the colors and rapid motion as he plummeted towards the earth, directly at the gleaming megalith. He had once again become part and parcel of all he observed. Within the wind and the whine, voices whispered in and out of his clear hearing, moving from crisp clarity to unintelligibility like a rustling breeze through a leafy forest. He had absolutely no power over their comings or goings, was unable by any force of will to bring them in or keep them out. They spoke in thoughts, not words, of concepts ancient and elemental, many beyond his understanding and often in languages he could not identify. Within the cacophony of expression, one unseen voice stood out from the rest, a single pronounced rush of intelligent energy and authority.

“Open them inner eyes and ears, boy. Really step into this discovery. Pass through the sublimation, though the way seems barred ― the path unyielding. It is the Tao ― the treasure of all treasures.” A pronounced ringing continued in his ears. The familiar voice just refused to quit.

“That which you can name you can control,” the whistling blared. “Anything you cannot name has infinite power to control
you
. And sadly, you are at present ignorant of much hidden power, potentially voracious and dangerous, but nonetheless important to your journey.” So much doublespeak, but considering the source, that came as no surprise.

Where are you, old man?
Lyköan thought.
Why don’t you ever give me advice I can understand
―
or use?”
While he was concentrating on the voice, the ground rushed up to greet him.   

“Accept the honesty of the universe. It is intractable, indelible and pure. But never mistake it for love. Mark my words. Before you is the opportunity to witness all you shall require. Know this. Not everything is permitted nor possible. For anyone. No soul can run the gunnels of time and memory alone. Not even one who believes he is obeying its bidding.”

It was pure Sun Shi, dripping with hidden implication, skipping spryly from the patter of a raspy-throated carney barker to the ravings of an unbalanced mystic. As suddenly as it had arrived, the presence fled and with it the electric hum fell silent. Like a stone shattering glass, he crashed through the plane of the hilltop between two pillars of the dolmen. Sudden deceleration overtook him, as though a stone had been cast from a great height and had fallen into a deep, silent pool, allowing darkness to swallow eternity.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Romance is far more solid than realism, and for a very good reason. The things that happen to men in this life depend, for the most part, upon a random confluence of accidents and shifting conditions, whereas the dreams that drive them, the things they truly desire, those are forever constant.

G K Chesterton : March 15, 1906

Absolute darkness and dank humus enveloped the shadow as it plummeted through the suffocating earth. Cold dark soil and flinty stone abruptly gave way to flickering layers of concrete and air, glass and steel, running machinery, even living flesh ― all become one uniform, permeable substrate as the shade came to rest at last in an indistinct space of four unfamiliar, perpendicular walls.

Overhead, fluorescent lights hummed menacingly, poorly illuminating indistinct objects and casting harsh shadows upon a scene pulsing madly in and out of focus. In the center of the light and shadow, a rogue’s gallery of evil leers and raw emotions surrounded a long conference table. Across one wall an enormous Innovac logo loomed, its stylized motif composed entirely of sinister edges and garish colors.

With a sweep of complete clarity somewhere in the production room of existence, a full bank of console cue keys suddenly brought up the scene in mid-conversation.

“...a few details still demand our attention,” Pandavas was saying, “but the overall agenda remains fundamentally unaffected.”

“Details like our friend, Lyköan?” Narayan asked, his dark hair shimmering under the fluorescents with panther-like iridescence.

Pandavas smiled back with a face full of polished teeth and crystallized malevolence. “Care to field that one, Whitehall?”

Since Lyköan had last seen him, Whitehall had lost at least twenty pounds ― and ten years. With a feral glint, this new and somehow terrifying creature answered in a cold voice that echoed hollowly in the conference room.

“We nearly had him yesterday. The Carmichael woman too. They only escaped through an odd turn of events.”

“An odd turn of events?” Narayan sneered. “What do you think this is, Whitehall, some sort of academic exercise?”

“Not at all,” Whitehall replied defensively.

“You better fucking believe it isn’t,” Narayan shot back. “With the database compromised, we have to assume the worst. Lyköan and Carmichael are genuine threats. We can’t afford to have them traipsing around the countryside—”

“May I continue,
Doctor
?” Whitehall interrupted with a crack in his voice. “Really, it’s not nearly so bad as all that. A cursory scan of every CCTV file in the kingdom has already turned up three hits on Carmichael. Every step she’s taken since Bristol ― the last one changing trains in Crewe only yesterday afternoon.”

“And Lyköan?” Narayan wanted to know.

“Nothing yet. But we’re analyzing the Carmichael files. He may still show up in the background. Or he could have avoided the CCTV shots altogether, perhaps traveling to some predetermined rendezvous point by cab, bus or some other means.”

Narayan continued his badgering. “But nothing since yesterday?”

“Our lack of subsequent sightings simply indicates they’ve gone into hiding somewhere. We have more than a hundred people scouring upline from Crewe ― particularly the towns without a CCTV presence.”

“But doesn’t it worry you ― just a little ― that Lyköan seems to have developed an uncanny talent for creating these lucky breaks and incredibly fortunate ― what did you call them ― odd turns? At what point are we forced to concede that there’s something more than dumb luck at work here?”

“We’ve still got an active trace on Carmichael’s phone and credit transactions,” Whitehall continued, rainbow-hued quantum-collision spirals leaping from his mouth like psychedelic spittle, “we’re following up on every call, transmission and purchase she made in the days leading up to Lyköan’s escape. In the process it’s become necessary to tie up one or two loose ends.”

“But they still managed to elude you,” Narayan said, apparently uninterested in what those loose ends might be. “How can you be sure your people will fare any better the next time you corner them?” A different, but equally colorful and radiant nimbus floated around the crown of Narayan’s head.

“Listen,
Doctor
,” Whitehall spit back with an eruption of even brighter luminescence, “Lyköan left with absolutely nothing. We’ve got a complete lock on everything Carmichael does electronically. They’re alone ― on the run ― no friends ― no resources ― certainly outnumbered. We’ll have them shortly. It’s only a matter of time.”

A quick glance around the table indicated that Whitehall’s audience was anything but convinced. That audience had more faith in Lyköan’s abilities than the invisible observer had in them himself. In the gaping pause that followed, the minute hand of the conference room’s large-faced analog wall clock crept past 3:30. In the morning?
This
morning?

“I wasn’t suggesting their capture would be easy, Whitehall,” Narayan said, breaking the long silence. “Quite the contrary. The cationic rescriptors have finished their work by now. From this point forward ― if for no other reason ― he’s bound to prove more elusive. That odd turn of events ― as you put it ― we don’t have to know the details. But it indicates at least that much.”

“He’s still only one man,” Whitehall replied. “Oh, I’ll admit he may be somewhat,” searching for a word, Whitehall finally settled upon, “―
enhanced
. But remember, he’s got the woman in tow ― is in all likelihood protecting her.”

“This is the same woman who successfully planned and executed his escape,” Narayan countered. “Am I right? We would be wise not to underestimate her either.”

Whitehall glared back, apparently incapable of producing the appropriate rejoinder.

“For now, gentlemen,” Pandavas added, coming to Whitehall’s aid, “our sole concern should be that they not be allowed to pass along anything they may have stumbled across. We made a grave mistake with Lyköan. Carmichael too, I’m afraid. Both have now outlived their usefulness. In Lyköan’s case a replacement has been identified ― superior in some respects. Most importantly, this fellow’s much more agreeable ― even eager ― to accept our terms.

“Which means, Mr. Whitehall,” he looked at Whitehall with an almost fatherly expression, “take no chances. Forget about capturing either of them. When the next opportunity arises, do whatever’s necessary to get the job done. I’ll trust your ingenuity and discretion as to method. Whatever it takes. Just see that it’s taken care of soon.”

Pandavas leaned back in his chair. If he was waiting for an affirming nod from Whitehall, it didn’t arrive, simply the return of an equally stony, tight-lipped glare.

“Now that we’ve taken care of that unpleasantness,” Pandavas went on, “I’d like to address the real reason I asked you here this afternoon. As you know, the WHO pandemic response plan has long anticipated the emergence of a randomly humanized H5N1 or H7N7 avian virus ― has in fact been predicting and preparing for it for years. Except for the anti-telomerase inhibitor, something very similar to last April’s Bangkok outbreak.”

Every head around the table was unblinking and directed at the speaker, each owner possessing a unique aura of shimmering radiance, playing havoc with the genuine light emitted by the overhead fluorescents.

“Within the past few weeks, conforming in almost every detail to the mutating progression from avian to porcine to human hosts that our hypothecated model predicted, the humanized H5N1 variant has finally presented spontaneously in nature. Human-to-human transmission was confirmed in Minh Hat Province, Vietnam, only a few days ago. That confirmation has triggered the WHO’s expected quarantine, containment, and vaccine manufacturing protocol.”

The unhealthy fire burning in the avatar’s eyes was all too familiar. Silent quantum spirals of brilliant colors and hypnotic depths, totally different from Whitehall’s or Narayan’s equally brilliant eruptions, sprayed from his head like slow-motion multicolored sparks from a Roman candle.

“But as you all know, a totally unanticipated microbe is about to be introduced worldwide ― one that mimics H5N1 symptomatically, but is in fact a humanized, but divergent H9N2 virus. Many of you around this table were instrumental in its creation. A virus for which the WHO pandemic response teams are totally unprepared.

“Innovac scientists have already been summoned to an emergency WHO tactical consultation in Ho Chi Minh City. A simultaneous strategic planning conference is taking place in Stockholm. Afterwards, the participants ― the infectious disease world’s eli te ― will retu rnt o thei rressspppzzzzzzt—”

The deafening hiss of electrical static ended with a thunderous clap, abrupt motion and stygian darkness. The single strand of contact that linked Lyköan to his living body had been stretched too thin for much too long, evidencing one more useful piece of information regarding metaphysical matters that Sun Shi, in all his inane prattle, had never mentioned. Without warning, like a stretched spring recoiling back into its original configuration, Lyköan was snapped out of the conference room, up through the solid hill, through the gate of the dolmen, then the expanse of space from the Salisbury Plain to the northwest of England ― and unceremoniously returned to the physical seat of his soul, which sat immobile atop the Hoole guest house bed, heart pounding wildly, sweat running cold down his torso.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he swore, his reverberating voice still not entirely in sync with his consciousness. “Whitehall’s closer than we thought. People on their way. Looking for us. May already be here. We can’t stick around.”

Attempting to spring from the bed, he stumbled forward on leaden, unresponsive legs, careening into the wall with a loud and painful thud, turned shaking, barely able to keep his body erect.

Whoa! That’s it. Lean back, buddy-boy
.
Steady
.
Against the wall
.
That’s it
.
At least ’til the room stops spinning.
The wall felt cool against his skin and more importantly, stable.

“What’s wrong?” Nora asked anxiously.

“It’s okay. I’m alright. Just a little dizzy.”

He fixed his gaze on the dawn streaming into daylight through the open window, felt his voice finally catch up with his racing thoughts. “Innovac’s close to firing their first salvo. It’s only days away. There’s been a real outbreak of bird flu in Vietnam. Whitehall’s got an army of people hunting us ― checking every town upline from Crewe. And oh yeah ― they no longer have any intention of taking us alive.” Pushing away from the wall, he staggered haltingly to the center of the room.

“What are you talking about?”

“My little visit with our friends at the Node. Got quite an earful – none of it good. You said you wanted to contact your boss at the CDC? Well, here’s your chance. This can’t wait.”

“All that in thirty seconds? E, you weren’t in front of the yíb for half a minute. I watched the whole thing. You didn’t even blink your eyes. Did all of this happen in dream-time?”

“This wasn’t any dream,” he answered, stepping into the clothing he had set out for today the night before. “I’m sure of that much… well, as sure as I am of anything that’s going on at this point. But what else do we have to go on? I have to believe what I’m experiencing. There’s no other way to play this thing.” He was already feeling better. “Let’s get dressed.”

In less than two minutes they were both ready. Pulling Nora’s pack off the desk, he held it out for her. Once she had it on her back he slung on his own, threw the keys on the dresser, cracked the door and, following her out of the room, quietly closed it behind them. They tiptoed downstairs and slipped out the front door.

The morning pinks had already faded from the cloud-strewn sky, replaced by an unnatural sapphire blue and the orange lip of the solar disk peeking above the low-lying, dingy skyline. Lyköan looked at his watch. It was 5:48.

* * *

“Well, can you tell me where he
can
be reached?” Nora had made the double-bud call within minutes of emerging from under the Chester station canopy, hoping to find Kosoy working late at the CDC. She had been lucky. Megan McBride was still in the office. Nora did not identify herself at first, had even attempted to disguise her voice, but she was desperate.

“Megan, it’s Nora. Nora Carmichael. I have to get a hold of him – immediately. No matter where he is right now. It’s extremely important.”

“I’m sorry, Nora, I really am, but that’s just not possible.” There was a disturbing weariness in the secretary’s response.

“Why not?” Nora felt foolish asking.

Megan didn’t answer immediately. On the other end of the line Nora heard Megan take a deep breath.
Is this conversation being monitored
? she wondered, and almost cut the connection.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Nora ― but you can’t speak with him ― because ― he’s dead. We only got the news ourselves a few hours ago. Everyone here’s in complete shock. Disbelief. Absolutely devastated. It was totally unexpected.” Megan’s quivering voice sounded distant and unreal.

“What? How?” Nora felt the landscape slipping from under her, a sickening loss of connectivity with the words she wished she could ignore or change or simply refuse to believe.