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She was a hylighter, tacking her great sail across the breeze to keep the shadow of their foil in sight below. She was aware of herself, of her own being inside the foil, but felt every ripple along the hylighter’s supple body as well.
Ben Ozette was calling her name, barely audible at this distance. She shared an umbilicus from his navel to her own and he was pulling her in by it, reeling her back to the Flying Fish hand over hand.
Ben touched her cheek and Crista snapped awake. He did not take his hand away.
“You scared me,” he said. “Your eyes were open and you quit breathing.”
As she sat forward, resisting his gentle pressure, she saw that Rico also stood over her, an open medical kit beside his feet. He was wearing gloves. What had been blue sky covering the plaz of the cabin was now the green-gray twilight of the middle deep. They were riding a kelpway, and somehow she knew that they had already cleared the harbor, heading north.
Rico stared at Ben’s hand stroking her cheek, then at Crista.
“I was gone,” she said. “Somewhere above us. I was a hylighter watching this foil and you reached out and brought me back.”
“A hylighter?” Ben laughed, but it was a tight, very nervous laugh. “That’s a strange enough dream.
‘Gasbag from the sky
How her tentacles writhe
for me …’
Remember that song? ‘Come and Gone …’”
“I remember that it was some tasteless play on words, ridiculing the hylighter’s spore-casting function. And this was no dream.”
She saw the snap in her voice reflected in the tightening of his lips, a closing off that she didn’t know how to stop.
Rico turned without saying anything and stowed the kit beneath his seat. Crista smelled something like anger, something like fear pulse from Rico’s turned back. All of her senses washed back into her trembling body, delivering her into a state of hypersensitivity that she had never known before.
The undersea landscape of blues and greens blurred past her like the settlement had blurred past her—too much wonder, too little time.
Chapter 18
Of everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and of him to whom they have entrusted much, they will demand the more.
—Jesus
Beatriz was awaiting her cue for the two-minute windup of News-break when the fully armed security detachment entered the studio, sliding from the hatchway with their backs along the walls. They hung back beyond the fringe of lights, which blazed their reflection in the squad leader’s mirrored sunglasses. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her throat tightening, and she was due for the wrap-up in thirty seconds.
Still on the air, she thought. The preempt isn’t running yet.
Her console showed her what the three cameras saw, but the monitor at the rear of the studio showed what went out on the air. Now it showed Harlan fast-talking the weather.
It could be bypassed.
She shuddered in her newfound paranoia and thought that the floor director would probably stop Harlan if they’d gone to tape, but she couldn’t be sure anymore.
Maybe they want to see just how much more I’d try to say.
She had deviated from the prompter, amid the waving hands of the producer and director. She hadn’t linked Ben with the Galli kidnapping, she’d just listed him as missing, along with Rico, on assignment. She noted signs of surprise and muttering among the crew when she said it. Both Ben and Rico were admired in the industry. Indeed, many of Rico’s inventions and innovations made the holo industry possible.
Harlan finished morning fishing patterns, and the countdown went to Beatriz. The officer of the security squad had moved up in the studio and placed a man beside each of her cameramen. She had the sudden, weighty thought that her crew might not be on the shuttle this afternoon.
Harlan finished and smiled from the monitor, and the floor director’s fingers counted her down: Three, two, one …
“That’s our morning Newsbreak from our launch site studios. Evening Newsbreak will be broadcast live from our Orbital Assembly Station. Our crew will have the opportunity to accompany the OMC, Organic Mental Core, and take you, the viewer, through each step of installation and testing. Other news that we will follow at that time: the abduction of Crista Galli. As you know, there is still no word from her abductors and no ransom demand. More on this and other news at eighteen. Good morning.”
Beatriz held her smile until the red light faded out, then slumped back into her chair with a sigh. The studio erupted around her in a babble of questions.
“What’s this about Ben?”
“Rico, too? Where were they?”
“Does the company know about this?”
They cared. She knew they would care, that most of Pandora probably cared, and that was her power. As the mirrored sunglasses made their way through the crew toward her, she knew that there was nothing he could do. Even if they’d preempted and run the canned show, the crew knew and there would be no keeping this leak plugged.
When the security officer reached her, the babbling in the studio fell quiet. “I must ask you to come with us.”
These were the words she’d been afraid she might hear. These words, “Come with us,” were what Ben had tried to warn her about for the last couple of years. He had said more than once, “If they ask you to come, don’t do it. They will take you away and you will disappear. They will take the people around you away. If they say this to you, make whatever happens happen in public, where they can’t hide it from the world.”
“Roll cameras one, two and three,” she announced. Then she turned to Gus, the floor director. “Were we preempted?”
“No,” he said, and his voice trembled. He was sweating heavily even though she was the one under the lights. “If a preempt signal was sent, I didn’t see it. You went out live.”
God bless Gus! she thought. She turned to the security. “Now, Captain … I didn’t get your name … what was it you wanted of me?”
Chapter 19
What then shall we do?
—Leo Tolstoy
“Trimmed and steady,” Elvira reported. “No pursuit. Course?”
When Ben didn’t answer, Rico said, “Victoria.”
Elvira grunted.
Clearly, Crista thought, Elvira trusts both Ben and Rico. She had seen loyalty at the Preserve, but never trust. She had manipulated the distrust rampant throughout Flattery’s organization to open the hatch for her escape. That same distrust would bring Flattery down, once and for all. Of this she was certain.
“Flattery’s people hoard information like spinarettes at the web,” she told Ben. “It’s barter to them, a medium of exchange. So no one has the full picture and rumor guides the hand that blesses or damns. That’s why Shadowbox has threatened him more than anything else.”
“There’s food in the galley,” Rico announced, and she saw the accompanying green indicator flash on the console at her right hand. “Ben, you two take a break. Bring me back some coffee. We’re a few hours out yet. Elvira would like the usual.”
Ben led Crista to the galley behind the cabin with a hand at her elbow. Her legs seemed wobbly in spite of the even-keeled submersible run of the foil. She had been hungry now for hours. Her head ached with it, and the memory of broiled sebet on the village air charged her stomach.
“We live in the galley,” Ben told her. “When we’re on a job, this room is jammed, it’s where everything happens.”
