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Belatedly, he realized that one of the faces was that of Rachel Demarest. Silly bitch! The Scream Room had driven her out of her mind . . . what was left of her mind. Running outside like that! Enough people had seen the demons get her that no blame would be laid at his hatch. One problem gone . . . but running outside . . .
Everything reminds me of outside!
Someone else would have to be found to make the liquor deliveries to old Win Ferry. Pure grain spirits he wanted now. And Ferry would have to get the message—no more pestering questions about that Demarest woman.
Oakes found that his hands ached and he realized both fists were clenched. He forced himself to relax, began to rub at the beginnings of cramp in his fingers. Maybe another small drink of the wine . . . No!
All this frustration! For what?
Only one answer, the answer he had given Lewis so many times: For this world.
Victory would give them their own safe world. Unconsciously, his right hand went out and touched the mandala. What a price! And Legata—historian, search technician, beautiful woman—perhaps she would be his queen. He owed her that, at least. Empress. His finger traced the maze of lines in the mandala, flowing intricacies.
“Politics is your life, not mine,” Lewis had said.
Lewis did not know what it cost. All Lewis wanted was his lab and the safety of the Redoubt.
“Leave me alone here. You can proclaim and make policy all you want.”
They were a great team—one in front and one behind.
Maybe just a little bit of the wine. He picked up the bottle and sipped from it. This Raja Thomas would be eliminated soon. Another victim of the kelp.
Lewis ought to drink more of this wine. They’ve really improved it.
Oakes sipped the wine, aerated it across his tongue with a slurping sound which he knew always made Lewis uneasy.
“You really should treat yourself to some of this stuff, Jesus. You might smooth some of those lines out of your face.”
“No thanks.”
“All the more for me, then.”
“You and Ferry.”
“No. I can take it or leave it alone.”
“We have urgent problems,” Lewis kept saying.
But urgency should never mean hurry, incautious rushing about. He had told Lewis in no uncertain terms: “If we’re relaxed and reasonable in our urgency to complete the Redoubt, the solutions we find will be relaxed and reasonable.”
No need for chaos.
He slurped more of the wine while staring at the mandala. The way those lines twisted—they, too, appeared to come right out of chaos. But Legata had found the design of it, duplicated it twice. Design. Pandora had its design, too. He just had to find it. Peel away all of this dissonance, and there would be the foundations of order.
We’ll finish off the kelp, the Runners. Chlorine. Lots of it. Things will start making sense around here pretty soon.
He lifted the bottle to take another sip, found that there was no more wine in it. He let the bottle slip out of his hand, heard it thump on the floor. As though that were the signal, his com-console buzzed at him once more.
Murdoch again.
“Demarest’s people are asking for another meeting, Doctor.”
“Stall them! I told you tosh . . . stall them.”
“I’ll try.”
Murdoch did not sound very happy with the decision.
Oakes took two stabs with a finger to break the connection. How many times did you have to give an order around this damned place?
Once more, he focused on the mandala.
“We’ll have some order around here pretty soon,” he told it.
He realized then that he had taken too much wine. It sounded ridiculous, talking to himself in quarters this way, but he enjoyed hearing certain things, even if he had to be the one who voiced them.
“Gonna get some order around here.”
Where was that damned Legata? Had to tell her to get some order into things.
Chapter 37
As the rock silences the sea, the One in one silences the universe.
—Kerro Panille, Translations from the Avata
LEGATA PUT her shuttle on automatic for its landing at the Redoubt station. She leaned back into her couch and watched the shoreline sweep past beneath her. This time was her own. It was early dayside and she did not have to deal with Oakes or Lewis just yet, nor with demons or clones. She had nothing to do but watch, relax and breathe easy.
Hylighters!
She had seen them on holo, and a few had skirted Colony while she was there, but these hung no more than two hundred meters from the plaz in front of her.
Ship’s teeth! They’re huge!
She counted twelve of them, the largest one half again as big as her shuttle. Their bronzed orange sails caught the wind and they tacked in unison, almost escorting her. The sunlight through the membrane of their sails shimmered rainbows all over them. Most of their tentacles were tucked up against their bodies. They each held a ballast-rock with their two longest tendrils. The larger ones allowed the rocks to drag in the sea, forming a frothy wake. They tacked, and tacked again, picking up on the shifts of wind. As her shuttle settled into its final glide-path, she saw two of the smaller hylighters separate from the rest, pick up speed and slam the boulders they carried into the plaz shield surrounding Oakes’ private garden.
Garden, she shuddered at the thought of the word.
The boulders had no effect on the plaz—she could crash her shuttle into it and it might shatter, but rocks . . .
The two hylighters disappeared in a flash so bright that for a few blinks she was blinded. When her vision cleared, she saw that her shuttle was down and linked with the entry lock, and that the two exploded hylighters had been a diversion. The others, all larger, slammed their rocks into the walls and plaz of the Redoubt where it had already been damaged by the clones. Each boulder chipped off a few more chunks of the buildings before the sentries focused on the sails. The other hylighters too, went up in a flash. The largest one was so close to the shuttle station when it exploded that it took part of the control tower and rigging with it.
They give their lives for this, she thought. They are either very foolish or very noble.
Several parts of the grounds were in flames and a work crew, covered by sentries, was busy fighting the fires. Lewis beckoned her from the plaz verandah at Oakes’ quarters and it was only then that she noticed the scorchmarks across the dome of her shuttle,
She opened her hatch and stepped out between two sentries who escorted her along the covered way to the Redoubt. There was a strong taint of chlorine lingering over everything.
At least we don’t have to worry about Runners, she thought.
Over the chlorine she caught the sea-smell from the beach, and saw that the tideline had moved down several meters from its usual mark. The damp sand left behind was warmed by the suns. A heavy mist rose from it, dissipating in wisps over the rocks and the sea. She did not look at Lewis until she stepped
up to the verandah.
“Legata,” he offered his hand, “how are you?”
The searching expression in his eyes told her all that she needed to know.
So that’s why I’m here, she thought. He wants to explore my current . . . utility before Oakes arrives.
“Quite well,” she said, “that was a wonderful display the hylighters put on. Did you arrange it just for me?”
“If I’d arranged it, it wouldn’t have cost us damage we can’t afford.”
He led her inside and closed the hatch behind them.
“How much damage?”
He was leading her further inside, away from the plaz. She wanted to see the grounds, the repairs.
“Not irreparable. Would you care for something to eat?”
A woman with large, fanlike ears walked past them, accompanied by a normal crewman carrying a lasgun.
“No, thank you, I’m not hungry.”
At Legata’s response, the woman turned, looked her full into the eyes as if she wanted to say something, then turned quickly and went outside. Legata remembered that a rallying cry of the clone revolt had been I’m hungry now, and she was embarrassed.
“Those ears . . . why?”
“She can hear a Hooded Dasher at a hundred meters. That gives us a full second’s advantage. Attractive, too, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Legata said coldly, “quite.”
She noticed that Lewis was still limping, but she did not sympathize with him. Although she was curious about details of the revolt, she didn’t ask. She countered by not dropping the subject.
“How reparable is ‘not irreparable’?”
Lewis dropped his cordiality and assumed his usual businesslike air.
“We lost most of our clone work force. Fewer than half of those remaining are effective. We’re getting replacements from Colony and the ship, but that’s slow work. Two of the finished hangars are badly damaged—hatches missing, holes in the walls. The clones’ quarters have their exterior walls and hatches intact, but the interiors are completely useless. Serves ’em right. Let ’em sleep on the piles of plaz.”
“What about this building?”
“Took some damage back where the clones’ quarters join with the storage area. They got into the kitchen but that’s where we sealed them off . . .”
