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Just as suddenly, the visions vanished. Crista was a dreamer, but these were not dreams. She was sure the kelp had a message for her.
I’ve got to get out there.
She stared into the picture of Ben and Beatriz, stared into Ben’s eyes and concentrated on slowing her heart rate, slowing her breathing …
“I’m glad you’re here, Ben,” she said. “I’m glad it’s as it should be with Beatriz. If all is well among us we can bring Flattery down. The kelp knows this, maybe Flattery knows it, too. Inside the kelp, I can find out what all this is. The kelp is vulnerable now, as we are vulnerable. It is stunned, not dead. Help me out there, I can make the difference.”
“No,” he said. “You’re not going out there. We’ll all stay aboard the foil. Once we’re ashore we can get to an Oracle, or the beach.”
“We don’t have that much time,” she said. “I don’t know how I know it, but right now I could—become Avata, be the consciousness, the command center, the conscience of the kelp. Show me the way out.”
“You don’t know that,” he said. “Your chemistry is different, you told me so yourself. Maybe it would keep you alive out there. Maybe it would keep you dead. Just wait a few—”
“We can’t wait,” she pleaded.
She sighed, rubbed her eyes and went on. “I think he’s been using the kelp to gather data. I was blown up while they were doing it. Now he’s found out what he wanted to know and he’s heading offplanet at breakneck speed.”
When she looked up she could see that he wanted to believe her. It had been the same way last night, when she saw that he wanted to kiss her. She just knew. As she knew there was something catastrophic imminent, and Flattery knew what it was, and Flattery was fleeing as fast as he could with as much as he could.
“Stay put,” Ben said. His voice was softer, as softened as everything was now that the beating had stopped. He tousled her wet hair.
“Flattery isn’t getting away today, so let’s get out of this fix first. Give Rico and Elvira a chance to work their magic on the foil.”
She could tell that he was convincing himself. He was afraid. She knew a little something about fear. The day she had been blown free of the kelp had been a day much like this. This time, she was headed in the right direction. It was quartertide in the afternoon and they were fewer than a dozen meters from daylight.
Chapter 30
Short-term expedients always fail in the long term.
—Dwarf MacIntosh
Beatriz had taped here for the first time during the ceremonies that welcomed Current Control’s move aboard the Orbiter two years ago. She had received a tour on the arm of the mysterious Dr. MacIntosh, a dizzying tour that changed her life and included her first attempt to navigate in near-zero gravity.
Now a few of the captain’s men held her incommunicado while the rest did what soldiers throughout history had done to secure a garrison among an unarmed and isolated populace. None of them maneuvered well in low gravity. Since her only contacts were with Brood’s men, smuggling messages to Mack seemed out of the question.
What if they kill him, too?
Mack was a very compassionate man, but he immersed himself in his work and didn’t often pay attention to the ways of the world more than 150 kilometers below them. It struck her, too, that that had been her own problem. Ben had seen it and tried to help.
I know Ben’s alive, she thought, I feel it.
She hoped that Mack was alive, too, because she genuinely liked him, and because she was sure that all of their fates depended on him.
Brood needs him, too, she thought. He’ll use me as his bargaining chip.
The hatch slammed open and Yuri Brood sailed through. He rebounded into a safety webwork set up to catch rookies and keep damages minimal. Brood pointed to the bank of editing screens as he settled into the seat beside her.
“You think that because my men are warriors they can’t do your show,” he said. He was out of breath but seemed in good humor. “Well, we greenhorns have something to show you. The Director had us shoot this just before we left for the launch site. Leon turned in the rough copy on his way to the shuttle.”
She tried not to watch the screens, which displayed clips that Brood’s three techs had shot of the damage at Kalaloch. As each rolled up on a screen, a text of tentative script flashed across the console in front of her. There was a no fighting apparent in any of their tapes. It only took her glance to tell what he was up to.
“You’re trying to make this look like a hylighter disaster,” she said. “You can’t get away with it—somebody else from HoloVision must’ve been on the scene … word of mouth alone …”
She stopped when she saw his sneer, an expression that reminded her immediately of Flattery. Brood had the same narrow nose, dark, upraked brows, the same manner of tilting his head back to look down his nose at everyone.
Though he had been flushed and slightly out of breath when he came in, Brood seemed in no hurry now. He watched her eyes constantly, and this made her very nervous.
“You might have noticed how many new faces there are among the field crews these days,” he said. “Quite a few new faces around the studios, too.”
He smiled, and the smile chilled her. “Are you saying that all of the crews have been … replaced?”
“Lots of people looking for work these days,” he said, “people willing to do the necessary thing to get the job done.”
“Our job is reporting the news, telling the truth—”
His laugh cut her off.
“Your job was reporting the news, telling the truth,” he said. “Our job is keeping order, and if distorting the truth a little helps keep order, then that’s what I’ll do. People are happier this way.”
“People are dead this way, and you will have to keep killing them …”
“Watch this section,” he ordered, and snapped his fingers at Leon, “they’re sure to use it tonight. Isn’t it a lot better view of the world than what you think you saw?”
Her console read:
“Lead: Kalaloch residents flee their homes in the aftermath of a hylighter explosion that split the settlement in two.”
Scene, screen one: rescue of elderly woman from smoldering rubble of a habitat, a housing project: “OK darlin’, you hold on now, OK?”
Voiceover: “Today Vashon Security Forces rescued this elderly woman from the char that was smoldering around her cubby. Death toll has exceeded one thousand. Authorities are now estimating more than fifteen thousand people to be homeless tonight, many of them seriously injured.”
Scene, screen two: rescue crew in security uniforms alongside residents, rebuilding wall at the Preserve. Animals rounded up in background.
Voiceover: “Meanwhile thousands of animals are milling between the Preserve, where the explosion freed them, and the firestorm that laid waste to the edge of the village. Authorities here are anticipating return of most, if not all, of the Preserve’s prize livestock, which includes the only breeding pair of llamas in existence.”
Scene, screen three: heart of all the tenements, the habitats, that are still burning.
Voiceover: “In parts of Kalaloch the fires still burn, as they have for more than five hours. Much of the public market is destroyed, more than a hundred looters were reported shot in the first hours after the blast. A warehouse containing 70 percent of the sector’s rice and dry beans will burn for days, according to fire officials. Most of this year’s storage has been destroyed by flames, smoke or water. Disastrous food shortages are expected.”
“But … but that’s not even close to true!” Beatriz hissed. Her outrage broke the fear barrier. “Flattery has all that stuff buried in storage bins all over the Preserve.”
“Shh,” Brood said, still smiling. He placed a finger to his lips and nodded toward the screens.
Beatriz hated that smile, and she vowed to find a way to erase it.
Leon, the only journeyman tech of the three, frowned and cleared his
throat. Even with Brood there, he wouldn’t talk to her. He simply pointed at screen four.
Scene, screen four: the harbor, boats on fire at moorage and in the bay. Ferry terminal littered with bodies, most in bags, which the camera panned quickly, from a height.
Voiceover: “Authorities estimate that as many as five hundred commuters perished from the concussion as they changed shifts on the docks today. No ferries suffered any permanent damage and all are operating on schedule from the repair docks.”
Scene, screen five: two crying women with commuter tags, holding their ears and comforting one another. Smoke and masts in the background.
Text: “Something hit our ears, and there was that blast from those things … I don’t know what happened to us. They’re all dead …”
Voiceover: “Mrs. Gratzer and her neighbor claim that at least two class-four hylighters, attracted by fires in nearby refugee camps, exploded and destroyed several square klicks of eastern Kalaloch. Dick Leach has lost three icehouses full of seafood.”
Text: “All of our income for this year has been taken away from us, and all the bills that it took to produce that crop are still here.”
Voiceover: “They will be eligible for low-interest Merman Mercantile loans.”
Text: “If it comes to a loan we’re going to have to probably pull out. We need a miracle.”
Scene, screen six: pullaway from the body bags laid out on Kalaloch pier.
Voiceover: “The ordeal seems to be over for these commuters, but the hardship’s just beginning for tens of thousands of hungry, homeless families in the Kalaloch district.”
All screens cut to black, then her console read: “Accepted for final edit, elapsed time to follow.”
So, Brood was right all along, she thought. They’re going to run it. Beatriz didn’t feel particularly afraid anymore, just tired and incredibly sad.
“I need to see Dr. MacIntosh,” she said. “I was assigned a story on the OMC and the installation of the Bangasser drive, and I intend to do it.”
“Dr. MacIntosh has his hands full right now,” Brood said. “There’s a crisis in Current Control, a priority crisis. He knows you’re here.”
“Then let me go to Current Control.”
