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.