48
Markoff went from holofile to holofile, looking for some
good news. So far nothing. So far the Marker had remained
unresponsive and mute.
They had tried everything they could think of. They had
begun to experiment on it. A team of cryptologists was
attempting to decipher the symbols on the Marker, but
without any idea of what the symbols referred to, they
weren’t making any progress. They had subjected it to an
electric current, without result. They had tried irradiating it,
subjecting it to radio waves, microwaves, electromagnetic
waves. Nothing, always nothing.
Or almost nothing. The Marker, the researchers had told
him, had begun to broadcast again. Very slight now, but
definitely present. Some of the scientists working on the
Marker seemed to notice it; others did not. According to
Stevens, those who noticed had begun to be visited by
dead relatives, just as Altman had been in the bathyscaphe,
all with some variation of the same message: leave the
Marker alone, do not try to make use of it. The scientists
themselves didn’t understand it any better than he did, and
after conveying the message to Stevens, they had started
speculating about it among themselves. It was a warning,
some felt, and should be taken at face value: nobody
should touch the Marker, nobody should try to harness its
technology; if they did, they would unleash something they
couldn’t imagine. But maybe it was simply that they weren’t
ready, others felt, that once they proved themselves worthy,
the secrets of the Marker would be revealed to them.
There were many more in the latter camp. A mystical
belief in the Marker had started to grow. Whenever they
could, the believers gathered together and worked
themselves up, convinced as they were that the Marker was
the path to eternal life and oneness with the divine. Some
argued that this was what it meant by “Convergence.” So
far, the movement had been held in check by the guards,
but even some of them, Markoff realized, had started to
become believers. He was in danger of losing control of his
project.
They needed to find a simple way to harness the power
of the Marker and do it quickly. He was sure the technology,
once harnessed, would be the pathway to tremendous
power, even domination of the world, not to mention the
moon. Even the solar system.
But now a group of believing scientists was trying to put
down strict rules about how the Marker could be examined.
Only respectful interaction with the Marker should be
tolerated, nothing that might threaten or damage it or cause
it to think less of humanity. We needed to show the Marker
that we were worthy of it so that it would begin to teach us. It
was a ridiculous list of demands, and Markoff dismissed
them out of hand, but he couldn’t stop people from talking.
There was a palpable shift in how people approached the
Marker, even if Markoff had refused the believers’
demands. Indeed, he was surprised at how many people in
the facility seemed to feel an almost religious awe for the
Marker. Something was changing, shifting, in a way that
didn’t respond to his usual tactics. He had to figure out a
new way to approach the situation.
He put a vidlink through to Krax. From how quickly he
answered, it was clear he’d been waiting beside the
monitor for the call.
“You’ve had a chance to look over the data?” Krax
asked.
“Yes,” said Markoff. “What is your recommendation,
Officer Krax?”
“An unequivocal refusal to meet any of their demands.
Once we begin to do so, we’ll never stop. They’re crazies.
They shouldn’t be tolerated.”
“It won’t end there,” said Markoff.
“Maybe not,” said Krax, “but we have the firepower and
they don’t.”
“All right,” said Markoff, “see to it.”
Two days later, Krax had a call from one of the guards in
the Marker chamber.
“It’s the scientists, sir,” he said. Krax could hear a steady
rumble of noise in the background. “They’re protesting.
They won’t leave the chamber.”
“Make them leave,” said Krax.
“It’s not as easy as that,” said the guard. “There are a lot
of them. We’ve had to call for reinforcements. What should
we do?”
“Don’t do anything until I get there,” said Krax, and
disconnected.
By the time Krax and his team reached the chamber,
things had become more serious. The scientists, led by a
pudgy man named Field, had encircled the Marker. They
had locked arms and were attempting to keep the guards
at a distance. The guards had their weapons out. Many of
them were visibly upset.
“What is it?” Krax asked one of them. “What happened?”
“You’ll have to ask that one,” he said, and gestured at
Field.
“All right,” said Krax. He removed his plasma pistol from
its holster and walked forward to the line, to where the man
was.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.
“We sent you our demands,” said Field.
“We read them and rejected them,” said Krax.
“We’re here to protect the Marker until you agree to
them.”
“Starting an insurrection, are you? This will surely end
poorly for you.”
A few of the men in the line rustled and looked at one
another, though fewer than Krax hoped. Field looked a little
nervous, but his voice was still steady when he spoke.
“We’re trying to do what’s right,” he said.
“What’s right,” said Krax, “is for you and your friends to
go back to your quarters.”
“You’ll respect our demands, then?” said Field.
Krax levelly met his eye. “You shouldn’t be interfering in
something you don’t understand,” he said. “I’ll ask you
again to break your line and go.”
Field gulped and then shook his head. Honestly, thought
Krax, to look at the guy, you wouldn’t think he had it in him.
But belief makes people unpredictable.
“I’ll ask once more,” said Krax. “After that, I’m done
asking.”
Field had started to sweat. His eyes seemed strangely
glazed, but still determined. He tightened his lips into a
white line and shook his head.
Krax smiled. Raising the pistol slightly, he shot Field in
the foot.
He went down in a heap, screaming, and the room broke
into chaos. A plasma beam fired by one of the believers cut
close across his cheek, singeing his hair, and struck a
guard just behind him full in the face. He went down,
bleeding, blinded. Krax crouched, shot another scientist in
the leg. Shots flew back and forth on both sides.
And then Krax had an idea. He fired directly at the
Marker, watched the blue fire splat on the surface and
flicker about before going out.
He darted forward to Field and knelt beside him where
he lay grimacing in pain. He forced Field’s head around to
look at the Marker and then fired at it again.
“No!” said Field, clearly terrified. “You’ll hurt it! Don’t!”
“Tell them to stop!” shouted Krax. “Tell them to put down
their weapons and surrender or I’ll have every guard in here
shooting the thing.” And to show he meant business, he
fired at the Marker a third time.
Suddenly he was overwhelmed with pain, his head
feeling as though it were ready to explode. He gasped for
breath. People all around him were doing the same. Field
screamed and then began to yell for the believers to listen
to him, to stop the violence, to put their weapons down. At
first the believers were too distracted by pain, but gradually
they gathered themselves and stood as if stunned. Krax
bellowed and raised his open palm to stop his guards from
resuming firing. God, his head hurt.
“For the good of the Marker, we must concede the
battle,” said Field, wincing from the pain in his leg. “Lay
down your weapons, brothers. Do not resist.”
Krax was amazed when he found that, to a man, they did.
Just more proof, he thought, that religion is a dead end.
The next twenty minutes were spent imprisoning the
believers and attending to the wounded. There were four
dead: two guards and two scientists. He ordered them
dragged off to the morgue.
Krax smiled. He hadn’t had so much fun since the moon
skirmishes. It had been a very satisfying day. If only his
head didn’t hurt so much, it would have been downright
perfect.
49
“It’s started again,” said Altman. “The pulse. I’m sure of it.”
He was clutching his head when he said it, clearly in pain.
Ada, too, was rubbing her forehead, though absently, not
suffering as much.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said.
“Then I’ll see her again? My mother will come back?”
Altman turned away, frustrated. They were in the land
compound, which had become, as they immediately found
out, more like a detainment center than a research facility.
Their labs were empty, containing only the most basic
equipment. There was only one way out of the center, and
that was guarded day and night by a rotation of the three
men who had originally corralled him for Markoff, before he
had come to the floating compound. All had names that
started with T. Terry was thin with glasses, but he carried a
large-caliber gun. The other two, Tim and Tom, were
brothers, large men who looked enough alike to be twins.
On the first day, Altman had tried to go outside and was
stopped. “But I just want to—” he started to say.
“Nobody in or out,” said the bespectacled Terry. “That’s
the rule until the boss says otherwise.”
When he tried later, with either Tim or Tom on duty, he
met a less verbal refusal, was simply pushed back and
then, when he persisted, punched in the stomach.
“Go away,” Tim or Tom said.
There were maybe twenty of them in the compound,
including nearly all the scientists from Chicxulub except for
Field and, for some reason, Showalter. They tried to
continue the research they had been doing on the floating
compound, but without proper equipment, it was
impossible. Instead, they compared notes, shared
information and research.
Like Ada, many of them had become believers. Many of
them had been part of Field’s flock and looked up to
Altman, recognizing him as a reluctant prophet.
“The Marker has chosen me,” an icthyologist named
Agassiz confided in him. “I don’t know why, but I know it to
be the case.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I know you speak to it,” said Agassiz. “Ask it about me.”
Others were like that as well, approaching him, hoping
for a sign or a blessing. At first he tried to tell them that it
wasn’t possible, that he wasn’t a prophet, but it was difficult
enough to convince them that he found a few cryptic words
or a muttered blessing was quicker and would get them to
leave him alone.
Speaking with Agassiz, he realized that it would be a
simple matter to manipulate them. He could tell Agassiz
that he had a role and that his role was to obey Altman.
There were enough believers that he could use their belief
to get them to help him break out. But he hesitated. If they
were to try to leave now, they might manage to overpower
whichever of the three guards was on duty, but probably not
before a few of them were hurt or killed. The last thing he
wanted was more deaths on his conscience.
· · ·
Despite the lack of equipment, Skud somehow managed to
create a limited set of research equipment, partly by
stripping out the wires of the security system, including
something to provide a crude measurement of the pulse.
He was able to confirm that yes, in fact, the pulse was up
and functioning strongly.
“I cannot say exactly how strongly,” he said. “There is a
limitation of equipment.”
“Yes,” said Altman, “but within that limitation, you can
confirm that it seems strong.”
“There is a limitation of equipment,” Skud insisted.
But as it turned out, Altman didn’t need Skud to tell him.
He could tell by the way the people around him changed,
becoming either withdrawn or violent. And by the fact that
he kept turning the corner and running into ghosts.
Help us, they pleaded. Make us whole.
He brooded, wondered what he could do. He had to go
public, but how? He couldn’t escape.
And then suddenly, late one night, walking down the hall,
he realized that the guard on duty at the front door, Tim or
Tom, was talking to himself. He watched him gesture to
empty air and then hold out his rifle and let go of it. It
clattered to the ground and he just left it there, and then
went rapidly down the hall, passing Altman without a
second glance. Nobody was guarding the door.
He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his wallet, his holopod,
and Ada’s hand and immediately rushed to escape. Sure
enough, there was still no one there, the key left in the lock.
With shaking fingers, he turned it and opened the door.
What if it’s a trap? he couldn’t help but think. Maybe it is
a trap, but it might also be my only chance. He crossed
the threshold and ran, dragging Ada reluctantly behind him.
He was already formulating his next steps: a car or bus out
of town, then a flight back to the North American sector.
He’d have to move quickly, but if he did, he might get word
out. It was time to go public.
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