“Here’s some flame, you bastard; harness this!” Bill shouted, to make him turn his way.
The Saturnine whirled to confront Bill, his face a caricature of ADAM-warped savagery, teeth bared, red foam coming from his nostrils. He threw the knife as Bill dodged to the left—the knife slashed at his right shoulder, just a razor-thin cut, and Bill shot the pagan point-blank in the chest.
The Saturnine swayed, went to his knees, and flopped facedown.
Sophie was sobbing, her hands covering her eyes. Elaine jerked her purse from under the dead man’s foot, pulled out the pistol, slung the purse over her shoulder, and, with a look of steely determination in her eyes that Bill admired, pulled Sophie to her feet. “Come on, baby,” Elaine told her. “We’re getting the hell out of this place.”
“I’m scared, Mama,” Sophie said.
“I know the feeling, love,” Bill said, giving the child a quick hug. “But you’ll like the surface world. Don’t believe what you’ve heard about it. Come on!”
* * *
They were surprisingly close. Bill, Elaine, and Sophie were hurrying up to the open bathysphere that would take them up the shaft of the lighthouse, to where Wallace should be waiting.
A rogue splicer slid down the cable, jumping off the bathysphere’s top and tumbling through the air like an acrobat. He landed on his feet in front of Bill. The splicer wore a small harlequin-style New Year’s Eve mask, splashed with the blood of the body he’d taken it from; he had long, dirty brown hair, a streaked red-brown beard, and glittering blue eyes. His yellow teeth were bared in a rictuslike grin. “Hee, that’s me, and ooh, that’s you!” he cackled. Leaping from right to left, back again, blur-fast, an elusive target. “Look at the little girly-girl! I can sell her to Ryan or keep her for play and maybe a quick bite!” He had a razor-sharp curved fish-gutting blade in each hand …
Sophie whimpered in fear and ducked behind her mother—Elaine and Bill fired their pistols at the splicer almost simultaneously … and they both missed. He’d leapt in the air, flipping over them and coming down behind: SportBoost, and lots of it.
The rogue splicer was spinning to slash at them—but Bill was turning at the same time, firing. The bullet cracked into one of the curved blades, knocking it away. The splicer slashed out with the other blade, which cut the air an inch from Sophie’s nose.
Enraged, Bill forgot his gun and rushed at the splicer, shouting, “Bastard!” He just managed to duck under the swishing blade, to tackle the splicer around the middle, knocking him onto his back. It was like tackling a live wire—there was not a gram of fat on the splicer; he was all muscle and bone and tension—and Bill felt himself overbalanced and quickly flung off.
The splicer leapt up, stood grinning down at Bill—throwing the hooked blade before Bill could fire his pistol. Bill twisted aside, felt the curved knife shear a piece of skin from his ribs—and then there were three quick gunshots, each one making the splicer take a jerking step back. The third one went through the splicer’s right eye, and the splicer went limp, falling on his back, feet twitching.
Bill turned, panting, to see his wife with the gun in her hand, a wild look in her eyes. Sophie was clinging to her mother’s leg, face buried in her hip.
“You’re a bloody fine shot, love,” he told Elaine, “and thank God for that.”
“I had a good teacher,” she said numbly, staring at the splicer’s body.
“Come on—into the lift…” Elaine nodded and took Sophie into the bathysphere. Bill climbed in after them, found the release hidden under the control panel, and activated it.
They took the bathyspheric lift up the shaft, out of the undersea—the three of them riding up into the lighthouse. Bill had cut power on the security bots and turrets guarding the way out through the lighthouse this morning, but he was afraid they’d be back on, somehow, to greet his family with a spray of bullets as soon as they stepped out of the bathysphere.
But only quiet greeted them, at first, when they stepped out. And the echo of their footsteps in the dome …
Sophie looked around in awe, stunned by the naked daylight coming through the entrance to the lighthouse, the unfamiliar sound of breakers outside—then, eyes wide in fear, she stared up at the enormous electroplated bust of Andrew Ryan, glaring back down at them. Ryan seemed to be holding up a banner, yellow lettering on a red field, reading:
NO GODS OR KINGS.
ONLY MAN.
“It’s Mr. Ryan!” Sophie gulped, stepping back. “He’s watching us!”
“It’s just a statue,” Elaine said.
“Oh, but she’s right,” said Head Constable Cavendish, coming around from the other side of the bathysphere. Bill spun, raising his gun, but then he saw that Karlosky was there too, and Redgrave; they all had tommy guns at the ready in their hands. Redgrave was pushing a despondent Roland Wallace, who had his hands bound behind him. If Bill fired, the constables would return fire, and Elaine would likely be hit. And Sophie. He couldn’t get them all.
Bill lowered his pistol—and then let it slip from limp fingers to the floor.
“Drop it, lady,” said Cavendish, pointing the tommy gun at her.
With a sob, she dropped her gun, and clutched Sophie to her. “Oh God, Bill, we were so close…”
He put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, love. I should have found a better way…”
Karlosky looked grim; Cavendish was grinning wolfishly—but Redgrave looked stricken, uncertain. Deeply sad.
“I tried, Bill,” Wallace said. “I got the boat here. I climbed out to look for you, and there they were. Coming up in boats.”
“You don’t reckon Ryan has cameras none of you know about?” Cavendish sneered. “’Specially outside this place. You think you’re the only ones who tried to leave? Others tried—they’re Big Daddies now. The external camera caught ol’ Wallace here slippin’ out…”
“Ryan—is he dead?” Elaine asked. Her eyes showed hope; her voice was defiant.
“Nyet,” Karlosky said. “A headache. But he is strong man. Not so easy to kill. Your man—he did not have nerve to finish job.”
“Couldn’t do it,” Bill admitted miserably. “He was my friend. There was a time he was like another father to me.”
Redgrave nodded. His voice was husky as he said, “I hear that, Mr. McDonagh. I sure do. It’s the same with me. I’m sorry—I’d like to help you. You were always good to me. But…”
“I know,” Bill said. “But let me ask you one thing. Did he send you to bring my wife and child in? Or just me and Wallace?”
“I…” Redgrave glanced at Cavendish. “I heard him say: ‘Stop Bill McDonagh. And that traitor Wallace.’ That’s all he said.”
“He does not want anyone leaving,” Karlosky said. “Now—all three of you, turn around. We tie your hands; you go with us. We all go back down…”
Bill looked at Karlosky. “I’ll take what’s coming to me. You can tell him anything you want about my girls. Tell Ryan that the splicers got ’em.”
Cavendish snorted. “Karlosky’s not doing any goddamn thing of the sort.”
Bill went on, looking steadily at Karlosky. “We got drunk together, you and me, Karlosky, more than once. Christmas Eves. Holidays. Long nights with vodka. We fought side by side in battle…”
Karlosky licked his lips. Comradeship mattered to Karlosky.
“What’s this horseshit?” Cavendish growled, seeing Karlosky hesitate. “You three turn around, like he said.”
“Yes,” Bill said. “Elaine, Sophie—turn around. Just do it.”
Their eyes welling with tears, his wife and child turned, and Bill locked eyes with Karlosky. “What do you say, mate. One favor. I know you can’t let me go … But you can let them go. With Wallace.”
Redgrave looked back and forth between them, looking like he was trying to make up his own mind …
Cavendish frowned. “What’s all this horsepucky? Come on, let’s move, stop wasting time, Karlosky, you damned Russian drunk!”
Karlosky raised his eyebrows at that, looked thoughtful. But at last he shook his head. “No, Bill—sorry. Too risky.”
Redgrave sighed and pointed his gun at Karlosky. “Ivan—this man here, he and his wife had me over for dinner, more than once. Only white people in this place that done that. I can’t let Bill leave Rapture. But we didn’t get no orders about his family.”
Cavendish snarled, twitched his gun toward Redgrave. “You black-assed son of a—”
But that’s when Karlosky turned and shot Cavendish in the side of the head. Two shots. Blood and brains splashed as Cavendish jerked sideways, took a shaky step—and fell.
“Bastard,” Karlosky said, spitting on the body.
Elaine and Sophie screamed, clutching at each other.
Wallace stared in dull amazement. “Christ, Karlosky!”
Elaine looked around to see what had happened—but she kept Sophie turned away.
Karlosky glared at Redgrave—then looked down at Cavendish. “I don’t like to be pushed around, Redgrave,” Karlosky said. “But Cavendish—he was asshole. Wanted to kill him many times! And anyway—if anyone is going to insult you … will be me!”
Elaine turned slowly to them, clutching Sophie to her. She winced at the sight of Cavendish’s shattered head and said, “Mr. Redgrave—can’t you let Bill go with us?” Elaine asked. “Please!”
Redgrave shook his head apologetically, swinging the gun toward Bill. “I’m sorry. Bill and Wallace got to come with me.”
“I understand,” Bill said, meeting Redgrave’s eyes. “Ryan’s the one who gave you a chance. It was the same with me.”
“The launch’s idling out there, Mrs. McDonagh,” Wallace said in a dead voice. “Bottom of the stairs. All you got to do is cast off, press the drive lever, head straight on the way it’s pointing right now—that’ll take you to the sea lanes. Someone’ll see you. There’s a flare gun in the launch…”
Elaine was turning to Bill, looking stunned. “No, Bill…!”
Bill took her hand and kissed it. “Elaine … You know what you have to do now. For Sophie.”
Elaine shook her head.
Bill stepped closer, kissed her tear-stained lips. Then he pushed Sophie into her arms. “For Sophie…”
Her mouth buckled. But she nodded, just once. Face white, lips trembling, Elaine took Sophie by the hand and walked away from him. They walked past the bathysphere, toward the little corridor leading to the stairs …
“What about Daddy?” Sophie asked, as they went, her voice quavering.
“We’ll talk about it later, hon,” Elaine said. “Daddy has some business right now…”
Bill’s daughter looked back over her shoulder at him. Bill tried to fill his mind with the last sight he would have of her. “Good-bye, love!” he called, waving once. “Your old dad loves you!” Then Elaine pulled Sophie along with her, through a doorway, and out of his sight …
Karlosky looked at Bill, then nodded toward a nearby window. Bill walked to the window; through it could see sun sparkling on sea. Blue sky, white clouds sailing by.
He waited. Men with guns behind him. Watching him.
After a few minutes he saw the small vessel, moving on the surface of the sea, away to the northeast, to the sea lanes.
Bill felt a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said, turning away from the window.
The four of them got into the bathysphere. Karlosky and Redgrave, keeping their weapons on Bill, and Roland Wallace.
“I’m sorry, Roland,” Bill said. “This is my fault, mate.”
Roland shook his head. “I was going to try it anyway. Not your fault. Proud to know you.”
When they got to the bottom, there were three more constables waiting. “Take this one to Suchong,” Karlosky said, shoving Wallace toward them.
Wallace went meekly with them.
“What they going to do with Roland?” Bill asked softly.
“Who knows?” Redgrave said sadly.
Bill tried to think about escape. But all the fight seemed to have drained out of him. He knew he wouldn’t see his baby girl or his wife again. And Karlosky was good at what he did. He’d never let Bill get by him again.
Bill walked ahead of Karlosky and Redgrave to the Metro. The journey to Central Control was like a journey back in his mind, more than ten years in Rapture. New York City. London. The war …
That boy being sucked out the shattered fuselage of the plane … He’d always felt bad, surviving when that kid had died—that young man, and other men. Friends who’d gone down in burning bombers. Well, now he had a chance to be with them …
They reached Central Control, and he found himself in the shadow of the dead. He looked up to see the decayed corpse of Frank Fontaine, stuck on a stake, like a Jesus who missed the resurrection boat. Ryan had the body crudely sewn up, brought here, and posted. A message to his enemies. Which is what Bill was about to be. Karlosky handed Redgrave his machine gun, then drew a pistol from under his coat, and stepped behind Bill.
Bill heard the sound of Karlosky cocking the gun. “Supposed to crucify you, before killing,” Karlosky remarked. “But—I always liked you. So. Quick death.”
“I guess I should’ve killed Ryan,” Bill said. His voice sounded thick and unnatural in his own ears. “He must be gloating…”
Nyet—he understands better than you think,” Karlosky said. “A lot of these others out here, he watched them die. But … he can’t be here for this. He told me. He couldn’t stand to watch you die, Bill. Not good friend like you…”
Bill smiled. He never heard the gunshot that killed him.
Park Avenue, New York City
1959
A warm day in July …
“I’m too scared to go out there, Mama,” Sophie said, for the tenth time in ten minutes.
Elaine sighed. “I know. But you have to.”
“You have something we call agoraphobia, Sophie,” the doctor said gently. He was an expensive Park Avenue psychiatrist. A kindly middle-aged man in a sweater and bowtie. He had a trim beard, a large nose, a sad smile, inquisitive eyes. But it happened he wasn’t charging Elaine much. He seemed interested in Sophie’s case. Perhaps even interested in Elaine herself, in another way.
“You have to do this, sweetheart,” Elaine said.
“Well, no,” said the doctor. “She doesn’t have to. But—she wants to, really. She just has mixed feelings about it.”
“The sky scares me,” Sophie insisted.
“I know it does.” The doctor smiled.
“In Rapture we don’t have sky,” she said. Then she told him some more about Rapture.
He listened patiently, then sent her out to wait with his receptionist, so he could talk to Elaine privately. “She has a remarkable imagination,” he said, chuckling. “‘Rapture’!”
Elaine didn’t try to explain. She couldn’t tell people about Rapture; they would never believe her. And if they did—it could lead to Ryan finding her.
So she just nodded. “Yes, Doctor…”
“She’s been through something traumatic—perhaps in war?” he said. “Somewhere overseas?”
Elaine nodded. “Yes. In war.” That was true, anyhow.
“I thought so. Well, she will heal. But we must start by dealing with her fears. I think, despite appearances, she will go outside today, for a walk in the park…”
To her surprise, the doctor offered to go with them. After a while, Sophie reluctantly agreed to try the park. They went down the elevator and walked slowly across the marble-floored lobby. Sophie became more frightened as they got closer to the street. Ever since they’d left the fishing boat that had picked them up off Iceland, she’d darted under cover as quickly as she could, hiding her eyes from the sky.
Then the doctor turned to Sophie and said, in a kindly voice, “May I carry you?”
Sophie looked up at him gravely. “Yes.”
He nodded, equally grave, and knelt by her. She put her arms around his neck, and he lifted her up, carried her piggyback out the door, Elaine walking at his side. Elaine couldn’t help making a grotesque comparison to the way Big Daddies sometimes carried Little Sisters. But she thrust it out of her mind.
“Oh!” Sophie said as they stepped out into the hot sun. But she only clung harder.
They walked over to Central Park. Sophie cried on the way, but didn’t ask to hide from the sky.
They got to the park and found an open green field, with butter-colored flowers. On the edge of the field birds sang in the trees. The doctor let Sophie down, and she walked slowly out into the sunlight.
“Mama,” she said, shading her eyes to look up at the blue sky. “It’s nice out here. It just goes on and on. You know what?”
“What?”
“I think Daddy would have liked seeing this.”
“Yes, Sophie,” Elaine said, just managing not to cry. “Yes, love. Yes, he would have.”
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