30
Lenny Small, president of DredgerCorp, was still sleeping
when the vid-link went active. He wasn’t sure how much
time had passed before he became aware of it. At first he
thought it was the maid, talking on her phone, and he yelled,
“For God’s sake, shut the hell up and get the hell out!”
putting the pillow over his head.
“Wake up, Small,” said a voice. It was a deep gravelly
voice, a certain edge to it. Definitely not the maid.
Curious, he peeked out from under the pillow. The voice
was coming from the holoscreen.
“Oh, it’s you, Markoff,” he said.
“Damn right it’s me,” said the man on the screen. Craig
Markoff had white hair, slightly longer than a military man
usually had, carefully combed back and gelled in place. He
had an imposing, square-cut jaw and steady, ice blue eyes.
He was wearing the dress uniform and insignia of
government intelligence. As with all intelligence agents, his
rank was not indicated even on his dress uniform.
Small stretched. He moved to the edge of the bed and
got out, naked, quickly slipping into his robe. Real silk, not
synthetic. Because of environmental legislation, he had had
to smuggle it into the North American sector. This had cost
him a small fortune, but damned if he could tell the
difference.
He looked out the penthouse window and sighed. “Can’t
it wait until I’ve had my coffee?” he asked.
“We have a situation. Tanner’s dead.”
Instantly, Small was focused, his gaze alert, mind
sparking. “How’d he die?”
“Killed himself.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Markoff. “Guilt, perhaps.”
“Not possible,” said Small. “I’ve known the bastard for
twenty years. He’s handled much worse than this Chicxulub
thing without batting an eye. You sure he wasn’t killed?”
“I’m certain,” said Markoff. “I had a camera installed in his
room. He’s just chatting away to himself and then he cuts
his own throat. You can watch the vid of his death if you’d
like.”
Small winced. “No thanks,” he said.
Markoff shrugged. “Suit yourself. I have a script for you,”
said Markoff. “Things that you can and can’t say about his
death. I want you to memorize it.”
“Word for word? I’ve never been much good at
memorization. It’ll sound canned.”
“The gist is fine,” said Markoff. “Put it in your own words.”
“Working with you is like making a deal with the devil,”
said Small. “No question as to who’s in charge.” He waited,
but Markoff didn’t say anything. “All right,” Small said. “Send
it over.”
Markoff spun the script through the holoscreen. Small left
it unopened. He’d deal with it later, after his coffee.
“Anything else?” asked Small. “Or can I have my coffee
now?”
“One other thing,” said Markoff. “The signal pulse has
stopped.”
“It’s stopped? What does that mean? What do we do?”
“The gravity anomaly is still there. The object is still in
place. It’s just no longer signaling.”
“Do you think that it’s broken? Maybe those two bastards
damaged it when they went down there.”
“I don’t think so,” said Markoff. “If that were the case, it
would have stopped a few days ago instead of now. No, I
don’t think that’s it. Something else has happened. Or it’s
made a decision to stop on its own.”
“You talk about it as if it were sentient,” said Small.
“It may be,” said Markoff. “I’m sure it’ll surprise us in more
ways than one.”
“You really think you can control it?”
“I’ve never met anything I can’t control,” said Markoff.
“Present company included. I don’t see any reason to think
this will be an exception.”
“So, signal pulse or no, proceed as planned?”
“Proceed as planned,” said Markoff. “I’m having the
station towed into position now. It’s a slow process, but it’ll
get there. We can start on salvage operations for the
submarine and take steps to prepare the object for
extraction in the meantime.”
“We still split the profits down the middle?”
“Right down the middle,” said Markoff. “But profits are
hardly the point. Six months from now, we may well be the
two most powerful men in the world.” He gave Small a cold
smile. “Think about that while you’re drinking your coffee.”
31
They ordered their beers at the counter and took them to a
table in the back, all four of them: Showalter, Ramirez,
Skud, and Altman. It was isolated enough that there was
little danger of being overheard, and from where they were
sitting, Showalter and Ramirez could keep an eye on the
front door, Skud and Altman on the back door.
“So, it’s gone,” said Altman. “The signal pulse has
stopped.”
Skud made a face. “I would not say it has stopped,” he
said. “I would only say that perhaps it has stopped.
Perhaps it has only become so attenuated as to be
undetectable to our instruments.”
“That’s as good as stopped,” said Ramirez. “It has the
same effect.”
“But it is not the same thing,” said Skud.
“All right, Skud,” said Altman. “Point taken. The first
question is what does it mean that we can no longer detect
the signal?”
Nobody said anything.
“The anomaly is still there,” said Altman. “At least last I
checked.”
“Yes,” said Showalter. “It’s still there.”
“Sure, there’s currently no signal, but it could simply be
part of a larger pattern yet to be determined,” said Skud.
“Well said, Skud,” said Altman. “So, the signal has
stopped, we don’t know if this is permanent or temporary.
We also don’t know why.”
“We may never know why,” said Ramirez.
Showalter and Skud began to argue with him, in muted
whispers. Altman waved his hands to silence them.
“The real question is, Do we move forward now that the
signal has died?”
The other three stared at him. “What do you mean by
‘move forward’?” Showalter asked.
“Until now we’ve been investigating quietly, covering our
tracks. Now DredgerCorp has made a public arrangement
to dig down to the center of the crater, ostensibly to rescue
their submarine. No doubt while they’re there, they’ll
investigate whatever it is that lies at the heart of the crater.”
Skud made a noncommittal grunt.
“DredgerCorp has come out into the open. Or rather,
they’ve pretended to come out into the open. Is it time for us
to do the same?”
“What?” said Ramirez. “What do you mean? You want us
to knock on DredgerCorp’s door and say ‘Excuse me,
we’ve been observing you and we don’t think you’re being
entirely honest’? Sounds to me like a good way to get
killed.”
“I don’t mean that,” said Altman. “I mean we go public.
The four of us together write up a rigorous and wellreasoned
proposal to the North American Sector Science
Foundation to investigate the crater. We cite the gravity
anomaly and the pulse signal, perhaps even say something
about the broadcast from the submarine. We call for a
public, government-sponsored excavation of the center of
the Chicxulub crater.”
They sat together silent for a moment, nursing their
beers, except for Skud, who had almost immediately
finished his.
“What if they say no?” asked Showalter.
“Then we start approaching other granting organizations.
We submit the proposal to as many places as possible, at
once trying to get funding and trying to make sure that as
many people as possible know about the pulse signal and
the anomaly. Someone is sure to begin questioning
DredgerCorp’s motives. At the very least, they’ll have to
operate on a shorter leash.”
“It could be like stirring up a nest of hornets,” said
Ramirez.
“Maybe,” said Altman. “We won’t know until we start
stirring. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe, God forbid, we
will put ourselves in jeopardy. But maybe we’ll find
ourselves in a position to figure out what’s at the bottom of
that damned crater.” He took a sip of his beer. “Who is with
me?”
The other three looked at one another. Skud was the first
to raise his hand. “I am with you,” he said. Ramirez
followed. Showalter hesitated for a long time and then
finally nodded his head.
“Very good, gentlemen,” said Altman. “Let’s get to work.”
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