Thunder (22 page)

Suddenly the sky was alive with sound. A humming sound intensified as though a million bees were descending. A steady downdraft agitated the dust, creating a cloud that billowed out like a pillow and rolled like a scroll.

Amaryllis scurried to the doorway and pressed herself
against the side wall, out of the JetTrans' viewing-portal range.

The gray bullet-shaped hovercraft made an unsteady descent, wobbling and jerking as though it were having navigational problems. The pointed nose whacked the fence near the open gate. It left a noticeable mark on the craft and bent part of the fence outward. Landing gear appeared with a sharp whine and the craft slammed to the ground with a shudder.

Selah watched the Mountain entrance on the other side of the craft, willing Amaryllis to stay put. The door panel on the craft slid up and two arguing men emerged.

“I told you it was handling badly when we left this morning. You should have listened to me,” the younger pilot said, his sun goggles resting on the top of his head.

“You're always complaining about something. Usually it's to get out of work. How did I know it was a real issue this time?” the other pilot said. He looked old enough to be the younger man's father but was more likely his trainer. The younger man didn't wear pilot wings.

The older man walked toward the front of the craft. “You've really done it. That deep gash could compromise the battery pod. We're going to hear about this.”

Selah spotted Amaryllis dashing from the doorway to the back of the craft. The child must have panicked. Selah slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a yell. Her heart pounded and she clenched her teeth. If Amaryllis was injured she'd never forgive herself.

The younger pilot inspected the damage as the older man
walked to the bent section of fence. “We'd better call maintenance to fix this before the undesirables notice.”

The younger man muttered something Selah couldn't hear. She watched Amaryllis, her feet evident under the craft.

“We'd better taxi to the pad and not try to lift off again,” the older man said.

They entered the craft. The loud whine seemed to scare Amaryllis and she ran back to the doorway. The craft taxied out of view and the sound dissipated.

Selah hadn't realized she was holding her breath. Pinwheels floated in front of her eyes as she let it out. She ran through the fence with Bodhi and Cleon and scooped Amaryllis into her arms.

“What do you think you were doing? I told you to stay at camp. You promised.”

Amaryllis hung her head. “I didn't promise. I just mumbled.”

Selah grabbed her in a hug. “We're going to talk about you obeying, young lady.” Her words reminded her that this whole adventure had started because she'd disobeyed her own mother just a few days ago.

Bodhi touched Selah's shoulder. “No time to chastise her now. Let's get inside, fast.”

Cleon moved Selah and Amaryllis toward the doorway.

“Wait! She's not going inside,” Selah said.

“Halt!” came a voice from behind them. “Turn slowly and raise your hands.”

They turned to face the two pilots with pulse weapons drawn and armed.

“I told you they didn't know we saw them,” the younger pilot said, smiling broadly.

“Well, at least you were right on something today,” the older man said as he dialed into his ComTex for perimeter patrol help.

Selah glanced at Cleon and Bodhi. Bodhi gave an imperceivable shake of his head, which Selah took to mean “don't try anything.” He looked worried for her safety. She shouldn't have let that sway her judgment. He was still virtually a stranger. But he'd never lied to her about her brothers. She trusted him now.

She cleared her throat to get Cleon's attention. He was staring at the two pilots as though he wanted to fight. He looked her way and she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“You two, no communicating,” the younger man said. He walked closer to Selah.

She raised her chin in defiance. Amaryllis clung to her. Selah wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder.

“Step apart, you two,” the pilot said gruffly.

“Leave my sister alone.” Cleon stepped toward him.

“Whoa, farm boy,” the older pilot said. He moved in Cleon's direction. “Just hold your step or I may have to set you down with a pulse.”

Selah stepped in front of his weapon. “He'll listen. Please don't hurt him.”

Amaryllis chose that moment to dart behind Selah, between Cleon and Bodhi, and scramble out the open gateway.

The younger guard with his weapon trained on Bodhi tried to lunge in her direction.

“Let her go.” Bodhi slammed his left shoulder into the man, propelling him backward into the older one, who discharged his pulse weapon.

The charge slammed into the ground between Selah and Cleon, throwing up a sudden burst of grit and stones. Amaryllis disappeared into the trees.

The entry to the Mountain slid open. Four guards charged, holding weapons.

The younger pilot hurried to the gate. “I'll get her.”

“Forget it,” the older one said. “One less problem for us to worry about.”

“But, sir,” the younger one said, looking at the tree line. “She's a fugitive who tried to compromise the Mountain.”

The older guard shook his head. “You've got a lot to learn, my boy. She's a child. How subversive do you think she could be?”

Ganston looked up from his report as alert sirens beeped then wailed across the security halo-screen mounted on the wall of his office. Jax hurried in.

“Did you hear? They've caught interlopers trying to break into the Mountain.”

“The sound's too intrusive to remain unnoticed.” He ran his hand across the control on the right side of his desk to mute it. “If they've caught them, they could abate that infernal racket. There's no reason to broadcast it after the fact. Just another Everling power ploy.”

Jax scooted around the desk and pushed a series of buttons to give Ganston a view of the criminals in the first level holding area. Being an executive member gave him unfettered access to activities considered top level.

Ganston stared at the group. “Is that a girl with them?”

Jax nodded. “Yes, it is. Nothing like this has ever happened before. It's quite exciting.”

Ganston tuned him out. He used the roller on his focus to zoom in on the detained group.

“Get me Mojica.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. This could be a big problem.

G
anston watched as Mojica strode into his office with Jax hot on her heels. Jax could never get her to wait in the outer office until summoned, and it amused Ganston that he still tried to restrain the woman with the Amazon-like stature.

“What's the emergency, boss-man? I was at the other end of the Mountain conducting training exercises. If you want us to be ready next month we need—”

“Have you seen the alert about infiltrators in the Mountain?” Ganston asked.

Mojica plopped in the chair in front of him and lifted both feet to rest her boots on the edge of his antique oak desk. “I'm head of security, remember. Nothing escapes my notice. They're just a bunch of merchants. No big deal. I'm sure the alert is an overreaction.”

Ganston frowned and made a flicking gesture toward her
boots with his right hand. “Well, this one could cause a few problems.”

She lowered her feet to the floor. He motioned to the halo-screen. Mojica turned in her seat and came face-to-face with Jax's chest. Using her left arm, she brushed him out of the way.

“That will be all, Jax,” Ganston said. Jax backed up a step and moved his arms behind him to rest in a military at-ease position.

Ganston stared at him. “I said that will be all. You can leave now.”

Jax huffed out of the office while Mojica smiled. “He keeps track of your every move.”

Ganston ignored the comment and directed her attention to the screen. He enlarged the frame with the three interlopers and zoomed in on Cleon. “This man is my person of interest. I need to know what he's being charged with and what he's said.”

“Why?” Mojica sat forward to get a better look at him.

“He was doing some . . . work for me that I'd like to remain private,” Ganston said. He hadn't thought he would have to impart this level of trust to her so soon. The concept felt as foreign as entrusting someone else to prepare his food, which was something he'd stopped doing years ago.

“What kind of work?”

He cleared his throat. Even Jax wasn't privy to this level of his business.

Mojica leaned in toward him. “I'm your head of security. That's like being your doctor. You don't keep things from me.”

“And I would expect that you don't keep anything from me either.” One of Ganston's spies had reported she sometimes
spent inordinate amounts of time in the secure biometrics records. When questioned, she passed it off as scanning for a specific warrior gene of behavioral aggression in her new forces.

Mojica sucked her teeth and wagged her index finger back and forth like the antique metronome in Ganston's music collection. “Of course, but as I said, I need to know what I'm dealing with if you expect me to protect you from consequences of your actions.”

Ganston dropped his head. He could feel his hands getting moist. Could he trust her? He didn't have much choice. “He was one of the men who brought a
delivery
yesterday.”

Mojica sat back in her seat, stared at Ganston, then rose. “If you're not going to be straight with me, then we have nothing to talk about. Take care of it yourself.” She headed for the door.

“Wait!” He sighed and ran a hand across the back of his neck. The stress felt palpable. He lowered his voice. “He and his brother brought me a shipment of wild rabbits.”

Mojica turned back to face him. “Wild rabbits . . . as in diseased, do-not-eat rabbits?”

“Yes.” Ganston ran his hands down his pants legs to soak up the moisture.

Mojica strolled back to her seat. Her voice lowered as well, as though speaking out loud was a crime. “Why would you do something like that? What did you do with them?”

Ganston's breathing increased. His heart pounded in his ears. He was about to rest his survival in a veritable stranger's hands. “I incorporated them into the food service that feeds Everling's inner circle.”

Mojica started to laugh. Ganston sat stone-faced. She stopped and her mouth fell open.

“You're serious? You deliberately poisoned people?” She rose again. “What's wrong with you?”

Ganston bolted to his feet and pounded a fist on the desk. “I made the hard decisions. I'm doing what I have to do to protect the people in this mountain from that megalomaniac. If there are a few unforeseen consequences to the process, then so be it.”

“How many?” Mojica clasped her hands together and rested them on top of her head as she looked up at the ceiling. “How many people have you killed?”

“Everling's father carried the corrupt gene in his system at the time of his death, and tests show that his wife Bethany has the gene present in her cancer.”

“So someone in the lab knows about your misguided plan?”

Ganston set his jaw. “No, of course not.”

“Then how are you getting these test results?”

Ganston sat back, a little relieved the question was easily answered. “As a member of the Board I can look at all data on every resident of the Mountain. You just have to know what to look for.”

Mojica shook her head. “So what you're telling me is you aren't even an effective murderer. You take numerous chances at getting caught. Involve people that you can't control. And you don't even get a plausible rate of return on your investment. I'd say your plan was not well thought out.”

Ganston's bluster deflated at hearing her assessment. It had seemed so perfect. Only Everling's food source had been
contaminated, and Ganston expected an almost immediate death similar to that of the four Mountain residents who'd inadvertently eaten a contaminated rabbit while on an expedition a few years ago. The men had died agonizing deaths within three weeks. He'd been trying to rid himself of Everling for years, and this had looked like the perfect plan at the time.

Ganston stared straight ahead. He shook his head then rested it in his hands. “Why did it take you to show me that? Maybe I just thought doing something constructive was better than doing nothing at all.”

“I think your plan of moving people out of here is a much better one, and I would suggest that you let this rabbit plan die a natural death. How many people were involved in salting the food service?”

“Just one. I can trust him implicitly,” Ganston said. He rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Good. Now let me get down there and take care of this one. What's his name?”

“Cleon Chavez. He came with his brother Raza, who I paid for the shipment.”

Mojica shook her head. “You've left a lot of loose ends that could come back to haunt you.” She sauntered to the door. “Stay available in case this goes bad.”

Everling could hear the sirens. They hurt. He sat in his lab clutching his head.
Make them
stop. Turn them off.
Why were pains shooting through his head? This wasn't normal.
He banged his head on the desk.
Make them stop.
Where was Bethany? She'd help.

Finally the sirens stopped. He breathed heavily. Peace. He dropped his hands from his head and looked at them, turning them over and then back again. His fingers looked too long, too straight. Were they really his hands? He could actually hear his fingernails growing.

He must stop being distracted. He had a mission and he was boss of the Mountain. Why had the alarms sounded? He might need to identify spies. They were everywhere, trying to steal his research.

He went to find out.

Mojica strode into the L-shaped security area on the first level, entering from the short end that contained the check-in stations for out-of-Mountain merchants and their wares. The walls, awash in earth tones, held posters and banners telling merchants what was legal and illegal to sell.

She made her way through the noisy crowd to the security station at the corridor where the holding cells and inspection stations were located. It functioned as a temporary jail for unruly or inebriated miscreants coming into or leaving the Mountain.

The holding area was composed of neutral-colored rocrete walls and composite plascine dividers defining cell spaces that could turn transparent. Several bench surfaces projected from the outer wall near the security station.

Her boots clipped along the patterned tile floor. She noted the well-worn patterns, in contrast to the pristine confinement
areas for Mountain citizens. To their credit, the officers manning the security station recognized Mojica out of uniform and saluted her as she approached. She returned the gesture. “What do we have with the three interlopers?”

The officers seemed nervous to see their commander. The one sporting a fresh crew cut stepped forward with a halo-tablet. “Commander, we didn't know you'd be here for such a minor infraction. We'd have completed a more detailed report.”

Mojica fingered the screen. Incompetence didn't surprise her these days. “What's been left out of the report?”

The officer conferred with his partner, an overweight man who was obviously embarrassed. Mojica made a mental note about physical exercise as a requirement of service to the Mountain. “Well, ma'am, the video feed shows there was a young child with them. She squeezed through the gate and activated the entrance. A hovercraft was involved in an incident with the fence. The pilots caught the interlopers and at some point the child slipped away. The pilots didn't pursue or initiate a record about her.”

Mojica looked up from the tablet. “Has that gate been secured? And who were the pilots?”

“Yes, ma'am, the gate's been secured. It's been sealed off until repair can be initiated. Merchants will be directed in and out via Unit 3. They'll have a slightly longer walk to get over here, but that's the way it goes.” The crew cut officer looked relieved he knew answers. “The pilots were from Recon 5.”

Mojica knew that to be a pilot training unit, meaning they were fresh new faces and not the swiftest pilots. It was
probably a miracle they'd caught and detained anyone. “Tell me about the interlopers. Have they been interviewed or scanned?”

All outside detainees were supposed to be bio-scanned. It was a throwback to when Everling had started bringing in Landers eighteen years ago. He'd expected incursions to free them, but no plot ever materialized and over the years scanning fell to hit and miss.

The officers exchanged glances. The crew cut guard addressed Mojica. “We haven't done a scan in years.”

The overweight officer flushed. “We didn't know it was still required. We'll start it right away.” He scrambled to the panel, pushed a few buttons, and ran his hand over the delivery screen. “Uh, ma'am? We've got an anomaly.”

Mojica looked up from the tablet she was reading. “Well, tell me.”

“The first subject was here yesterday to see Charles Ganston.”

Mojica had come prepared for that response. The crew cut officer stepped forward. “We've already put in a summons for him to come here.”

If they weren't so overzealous, she could have talked them through it. She would have to hope Ganston's demeanor didn't set off any alarms. She turned to face the three people behind the transparent wall. Her gaze locked with Bodhi's and threads of adrenaline coursed through her chest. Mojica cursed under her breath. “Stop the scan.”