The Lazarus Effect by Frank Herbert
But that was the past. Bushka cleared his throat, breaking Panille’s reverie. “They were Gallow’s people,” Bushka said. “What does it matter?”
“Nakano was one of Gallow’s people,” Twisp said.
“It’s not an easy choice,” Nakano said. “Gallow saved my life once. But so did you, Twisp.”
“So you go with whoever saved you most recently,” Twisp said, scorn in his voice.
Nakano spoke in a curious lilting tone: “I go with the kelp. There is my immortality.”
Brett’s throat went dry. He had heard that tone in Guemes fanatics, the hardest of the hard-core WorShipers.
Twisp, obviously having a similar reaction, shook his head from side to side. Nakano did not care who he killed! The kelp justified everything!
“Gallow wants Vata,” Bushka said. “We can’t allow that.” He passed the lasgun to Nakano, who slipped it into its holster at his thigh.
At Bushka’s movement, Twisp put his hand on his own weapon. He did not relax even when Nakano displayed empty hands and smiled at him.
“Seven of us,” Twisp said. “And we’re supposed to attack a place that could have more than three hundred armed people in it!”
Bushka closed the hatchway before looking at Twisp. “The kelp told me how to kill Gallow,” he said. “Do you doubt the kelp?”
“You’re damned right I do!”
“But we are going to do it,” Bushka said. He pushed past Twisp and went up the passageway toward the pilot cabin. Brett took Scudi’s hand and followed. He could hear the others coming after them, Twisp muttering: “Stupid, stupid, stupid …”
For Brett, Twisp’s voice lay immersed in what the kelp had insisted, a chant imprinted on the vocal centers. Certainly this was what the kelp had told Bushka.
Drive Gallow out. Avata will do the rest.
The chant surged there, background to a persistent image of Ward Keel imprisoned in plaz, beckoning to him. Brett felt sure that Keel was Gallow’s prisoner at this outpost.
Panille went to the left-hand pilot’s seat and checked the instruments. The foil was making minimal headway in the wide circle of open water enclosed by kelp fronds.
Brett stopped near the pilot station. Feeling Scudi’s hand tremble in his, he squeezed her hand firmly. She leaned against him. He looked out the plaz to his right. Framed there was a churning gray sea. Rain slanted with a stiff breeze. Kelp fronds lifted and danced on the wavetops, smoothing them and dampening the chop. Even as he looked, darkness settled over the sea. Automatic lighting came on to rim the edges of the cabin ceiling. Course vector lights winked on the screens in front of Panille.
Twisp had stopped at the entrance to the cabin, his hand on the lasgun, his attention on Nakano.
Noting this, Nakano smiled. He moved across in front of Brett and went to the pilot station beside Panille, activating the exterior lights. A spotlight fanned brilliant illumination across the open water and the edge of kelp. Abruptly, swift motion entered the illuminated area.
“Dashers!” Panille said.
“Look at that big bull!” Nakano said.
Brett and Scudi stared out at the scene, the blanket of kelp, the hunt of dashers.
“I’ve never seen such a big one,” Ale said.
The hunt swept along in an undulating glide behind the monster bull. Nakano tracked them with the spotlight. They circled the dark perimeter of kelp, then worked into the leaves.
Nakano turned from the control station and opened the plaz hatch beside him, letting in a damp rush of wind and rain. Lifting his lasgun, he sent a burning arc at the hunt, tumbling the lead bull and two followers. Their dark green blood washed over the kelp fronds, foaming in the waves.
The rest of the hunt turned on its own dead, spreading blood and torn flesh across the fan of light. Abruptly, kelp stalks as thick as a man’s waist lifted from the sea, whipped the gore to a foam and drove the dashers from their feed.
Nakano drew back and secured the hatch. “You see that?” he asked.
No one answered. They had all seen it.
“We will submerge,” Bushka said. “We will go in with the foil underwater. Nakano will be visible. The rest of us will appear to be captives until the last blink.”
Brett released Scudi’s hand and crossed to confront Bushka.
“I’ll not have Scudi used as bait!”
Bushka made a grab for his lasgun but Brett caught the man’s wrist. Young muscles, made powerful by months of hauling nets, flexed once, twisted Bushka’s wrist and the lasgun dropped to the deck. Brett kicked it toward Twisp, who picked it up and hefted it.
Bushka eyed the weapons he had left near the passage entrance.
“You’d never make it,” Twisp said. “So relax.” He held the lasgun casually, muzzle pointed downward, but his manner suggested poised readiness.
“So what do we do now?” Ale asked.
“We could run for the Launch Base and alert everyone to what’s happening,” Panille said.
“You’d start a civil war among Mermen and the Islanders would be drawn into it,” Bushka protested. He rubbed at his wrist where Brett had twisted it.
“There’s something else,” Scudi said. She glanced at Brett, then at Twisp. “Chief Justice Keel is being held prisoner here by Gallow.”
“In Ship’s name, how do you know that?” Twisp demanded.
“The kelp says it,” Scudi said.
“It showed me a vision of Keel in captivity,” Brett said.
“Vision!” Twisp said.
“The only important thing is to kill Gallow,” Bushka muttered.
Twisp looked at Kareen Ale. “The only reason we went back to the cargo bay was to ask you for advice,” he said. “What does the ambassador suggest?”
“Use the kelp,” she said. “Take the foil down to the inner edge of the kelp in sight of the outpost … and we wait. Let them see Scudi and me. That should tempt Gallow to come out. And yes, Justice Keel is there. I’ve seen him.”
“I say we run for Vashon,” Brett said.
“Let me remind you,” Ale said, “that the hyb tanks will be brought down here. The pickup team is at this outpost.”
“And they’re either Gallow’s people or Gallow’s captives,” Twisp sneered. “Any way you look at it, the hyb tanks are his.”
Ale glanced at the chrono beside the control panel. “If all goes well, the tanks could be here in a little more than eight hours.”
“With seven of us aboard, we couldn’t stay down eight hours,” Panille said.
Bushka began to giggle, startling them. “Empty argument,” he said. “Empty words. The kelp won’t permit us to leave until we do its bidding. It’s kill Gallow or nothing.”
Nakano was the first to break the subsequent silence. “Then we’d better get busy,” he said. “Personally, I like the ambassador’s plan but I think we also should send in a scout party.”
“And you’re volunteering?” Twisp asked.
“If you have a better idea, let’s hear it,” Nakano said. He returned to the cabin’s rear bulkhead and opened a supply locker, exposing fins, air tanks, breathers and dive suits.
“You saw the kelp crush that sub,” Brett reminded Twisp. “And you saw what happened with the dashers.”
“Then I’m the one who goes in,” Twisp said. “They don’t know me. I’ll carry our message so they get it real clear.”
“Twisp, no!” Brett protested.
“Yes!” Twisp glanced at the others, focusing on each face for a blink, then: “With the exception of the ambassador there, who can’t go in for obvious reasons—they want her, for Ship’s sake! But except for her, I’m the obvious one. I’ll take Nakano with me.” Twisp sent a dasher grin at Nakano, who looked both surprised and pleased.
“Why you?” Brett asked. “I could—”
“You could get yourself in eelshit for no good reason. You’ve never dealt with people who want to get the best of you, kid. You’ve never had to drive the best bargain
“Gallow is no fish dealer,” Bushka said.
“It’s still bargaining for your life and everything you want,” Twisp said. “The kid stays here with Panille. They keep an eye on you, Bushka, to see you don’t do something crazy. Me, I’m going to tell this Gallow just what he gets—so much and no more!”
Chapter 41
Do that which is good and no evil shall touch you.
—Raphael, Apocrypha, The Christian Book of the Dead
Within the first minute of the dive, Twisp tumbled along, flailing his long arms, his fins thrusting inefficiently. He watched helplessly as the gap between himself and Nakano widened. Why was Nakano speeding off that way?
Like most Islanders, Twisp had trained with Merman-style breathers for emergency use; he had even considered at one time that he might permit himself to become one of the rare Islanders fitted for an airfish. But airfish were a cash crop and the operation was outrageously costly. And his arms, superb for net pulling, were not suited to swimming.
Twisp struggled to keep Nakano in sight. He skimmed the bottom, his fins puffing sand along a blue-black canyon illuminated by Merman lights set into the rock. The sea above him remained a black remoteness hidden in the short-night.
When Panille had locked the foil against a rocky outcrop within the outpost’s kelp perimeter, he had warned them: “The current’s ranging between two and four knots. I don’t know where the current came from, but it’ll help you get to the outpost.”
“Kelp is making that current,” Bushka had said.
“Whatever is causing it, be careful,” Panille had said. “You’ll be moving too fast for mistakes.”
Brett, still protesting the assignment of duties, had demanded: “How will they get back to us?”
“Steal a vehicle,” Nakano had said.
As he had sealed the dive hatch behind them and prepared to flood the foil’s lock, Nakano had said: “Stay close, Twisp. We’ll be about ten minutes getting to the outpost hatch. I’ll tow you the last few meters. Make it look like you’re my prisoner.”
But now Nakano was far ahead in the chill, green-washed distance. The floppy bubbles of his exhalations raced upward behind him, creating strange prism effects in the artificial light. The Merman obviously was in his element here and Twisp was the muree-out-of-water.
I should’ve anticipated that! Twisp thought.
Abruptly, Nakano rolled to one side in a powerful turn, clutched one of the light mountings anchored in the canyon’s wall and held himself against the current, waiting for Twisp’s arrival. Nakano’s air tank glistened yellow-green along his back and his masked face was a grotesque shadow beside the rock.
Twisp, somewhat reassured by the Merman’s action, tried to change course but would have missed Nakano had not the latter pushed off smoothly and grabbed the breather valve at Twisp’s left shoulder. They rode along together then, swimming gently as the current slackened near the underwater cliff into which the outpost had been planted.
Twisp saw a wall of black rock ahead, some of it looking as though it were part of the sea’s natural basement complex, some appearing man-changed—great dark shapes piled one atop another. A wide plaz dive lock outlined in light had been set into this construction. Nakano operated controls at the side of the plaz with one hand. A circular hatch opened before them. They swam into the lock, Nakano still holding Twisp’s breather valve.
It was an oval space illuminated by brilliant blue lights set into the walls. A plaz hatch on the inner curve revealed an empty passage beyond.
The outer hatch sealed automatically behind them and water began swirling out of the lock through a floor vent. Nakano released his grip on Twisp when their heads emerged from the water.
Removing his mouthpiece, Nakano said: “You’re being very intelligent for a Mute. I could’ve shut off your air at any time. You’d have been eelbait.”
Twisp removed his own mouthpiece but remained silent. Nothing was important except getting to Gallow.
“Don’t try anything,” Nakano warned. “I could break you into small pieces with only one hand.”
Hoping Nakano was playing a part for any would-be listeners, Twisp looked at the Merman’s heavily muscled body. Nakano’s threat could be real, Twisp thought, but the Merman might be surprised at the strength in a net-puller’s arms … even if those arms did appear to be mutated monstrosities.
Nakano took off his tank and harness and held the equipment in his left hand. Twisp waited for the last of the water to swirl through the floor vent, then shucked off his own tank. He held it loosely cradled in one long arm, feeling the weight of it and thinking how potent a weapon this would be if hurled suddenly.
The inner hatch swung aside and Twisp tasted hot, moist air. Nakano pushed Twisp ahead of him through the hatchway and they emerged into a rectangular space with no other visible exit.
Abruptly, a voice barked at them from an overhead vent: “Nakano! Send the Mute topside. You get off at level nine and come to me. I want to know why you didn’t bring the foil straight in.”
“Gallow,” Nakano explained, looking at Twisp. “After I get off, you go straight on up.”
Twisp’s gut felt suddenly empty. How many people did Gallow have here? Was Gallow so confident of his Security that he could release an Islander prisoner to wander around without a guard? Or was this a ploy to disarm the stupid Islander?
Nakano looked up at the vent. Twisp, peering at the ceiling construction, saw the glittering oval of a Merman remote-eye.
“This man’s my prisoner,” Nakano said. “I presume there are guards topside.”
“The Mute can’t run away anywhere up there,” Gallow’s voice snapped. “But he had better wait near the lift exit. We don’t want to hunt all over for him.”
Twisp felt himself get heavier then and realized that the entire rectangular room was rising. Presently, it stopped, and a thin seam in the back wall opened to reveal a hatch and a well-lighted passage with many armed Mermen in it.
Gallow grasped Twisp’s dive tanks by the harness. “I’ll take them,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you using these as a weapon.”
Twisp released his hold on the equipment. Gallow went out and the hatch sealed.
Again, the room lifted. After what seemed to Twisp an interminable wait, the room again came to a stop. The hatch opening was haloed in dim light. Hesitantly, Twisp stepped out into hot, dry air. He looked up and around at high, black cliffs and open sky—dawn light, still some stars visible. Even as he looked, Big Sun lifted over the cliffs, illuminating a great rock-girdled bowl with much square-edged Merman construction in it and an LTA base in the middle distance.
Open land!
Twisp heard someone nearby using a saw. The sound was reassuring, a thing heard often in an Island’s shop areas—metal and plastics being cut by carpenters for assemblage into necessary nonorganic utensils.
The rocks were sharp under Twisp’s bare feet and Big Sun blinded him. “Abimael, simple one! Come here out of the sun!”
It was a man’s voice and it came from a building ahead of Twisp. He saw someone moving in the shadows. The sound of sawing continued.
The air in his lungs felt hot and dry, not the cool metallic dampness of the dive tanks nor the warm moisture that blew so often across Vashon. The surface underfoot did not move, either. Twisp felt this as a dangerous, alien thing. Decks should lift and move!
All the edges are hard, he thought.
He stepped gingerly forward into the building’s shade. The sawing stopped and now Twisp discerned a figure in the deeper shadows—a dark-skinned man in a diaperlike garment. Long black hair frizzed out from the man’s head and he had a gray-streaked beard. It was one of the few beards Twisp had ever seen, reaching nearly to the man’s navel. Twisp had heard that some Mermen grew beards and the beard-gene cropped up occasionally among Islanders, but this luxurious growth was something new.
As the ma
“Abimael, come now,” the man said. “Your feet will burn. Come have a cake till your mama finds you.”
Why does he call me Abimael? Twisp glanced around at the basin enclosed by the high black cliffs. A squad of Mermen worked in the middle distance, sweeping the ground with flamethrowers.
It was a dreamlike scene in the hot light of swiftly rising Big Sun. Twisp feared suddenly that he had been narced. Panille had warned him about it: “Don’t swim off into a deep area and you be sure to breathe slow and deep. Otherwise you could be narced.”
Narc, Twisp knew, was the Merman term for nitrogen narcosis, intoxication they sometimes encountered in the depths when using pressurized air tanks. There were stories—narced divers releasing their tanks at depth and swimming away to drown, or offering their air to passing fish, or going off into a euphoric water-dance.
“I hear the flamethrowers,” the old carpenter said.
The matter-of-fact confirmation of what Twisp saw eased his fears. No … this is real land … open to the sky. I am here and I am not narced.
“They think they’ll sterilize this land and they’ll never have nerve runners here,” the carpenter said. “The fools are wrong! Nerve-runner eggs are in the sea everywhere. Flamethrowers will be needed for as long as people live here.”
The carpenter moved across his shadowed area toward a brown cloth folded on a bench. He sat on the end of the bench and opened the cloth, revealing a paper-wrapped package of cakes, dark brown and glossy. Twisp smelled the sweet stickiness rising from the cakes. The carpenter lifted a cake in thick knuckle-swollen fingers and held it toward Twisp.