60

When he landed at the docks in Chicxulub, someone was waiting for him. Chava, the boy who had told Ada and him about the body on the beach. He was standing there in the dim light, shivering. Beside him was the town drunk who had lost his name.

“I knew you were coming,” said Chava as Altman tied the boat off. “The bruja told me. She is dead and yet she told me. She has asked me to tell you that you must go back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” he said.

“You must,” said Chava, his eyes innocent and sincere. “She needs you.”

“And why are you here?” said Altman to the drunk.

He wasn’t drunk now, or at least didn’t appear to be so. He crossed his fingers and made the sign of the devil’s tail.

“The only way to beat the devil,” the man told him, “is to take the devil inside you. You must open yourself to the devil. You must learn to think like the devil.”

“I don’t have time for this,” said Altman. “I need to find help.”

“Yes,” said Chava. “We will come with you.”

He left the docks and set off, the old man and the boy following him. When it became clear that he was heading toward the DredgerCorp compound, Chava hurried to catch up, tried to hold him back.

“You will find no help there,” he said.

He shook the boy off and kept going, heading for the gate. When he looked back, he saw the boy and the old man had stopped, were standing motionless in the dusty road.

“We will wait for you here,” the boy called after him.

He tried his card on the gate and it opened. He crossed the stretch of empty ground to the compound and tried the card on the door, without result.

He knocked, pressed the buzzer, then waited. For a long moment there was nothing and then the vid panel next to his face flashed on, to show a wavery black and white image of Terry.

He stared at Altman, pushing his glasses back on his nose.

“I’d like to come in,” said Altman.

“I’m sorry,” said Terry. “No admittance for anybody at the moment.”

“It’s important,” said Altman. “Something’s gone wrong with the facility,” he said. “We need to do something about it.”

He heard the sound of someone speaking, a voice too low to make out, just outside the frame. Terry turned his head and looked offscreen. “It’s one of them,” he said to someone on his left. “I don’t know which one, I don’t remember his name. Alter, I think.” He was silent, the other voice rumbling again. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said. “Altman.” He listened intently and then turned back to Altman.

“You can come in,” he said.

“Who were you talking to?” asked Altman.

“Nobody,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I need to know I’ll be safe,” he said.

“You’ll be safe,” said Terry after a moment’s hesitation, but by the way he looked sideways as he said it, Altman knew he was lying.

·  ·  ·  

He had almost reached the outer gate by the time Terry opened the door. He kept going, not even turning around. “Wait a minute,” asked Terry, “where are you going?”

“Sorry,” said Altman. “Can’t stay.”

“I’ve got a gun,” said Terry. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

Altman stopped.

“Now be a good boy and turn around and come back,” said Terry.

He did. He turned slowly and went back. Terry held his gun casually, almost desultorily. The safety, Altman noted, was off.

“What’s that you’re holding?” he asked, glancing down at the plasma cutter.

“What’s this about?” said Altman. “First I can’t come in and then you’re insisting I come in?”

“Orders,” said Terry. “You’re to come inside and stay put.” He gestured at the plasma cutter. “I think you’d better drop it,” he said.

“Whose orders?”

Terry just shrugged.

“I don’t want to come in,” Altman said, moving slightly forward. “There’s something I need to finish first.”

“And I don’t want to shoot you,” said Terry. “But I will. Drop that thing and put your hands up.”

Suddenly the gate started to rattle, someone banging on it. Terry’s eyes flicked toward it just for a moment, just long enough for Altman to lunge and knock the gun to one side. It fired, the bullet sparking off the fence, but Terry didn’t drop it, indeed was already starting to bring it back to bear on him. Altman flicked the plasma cutter on and flashed it toward him in the same movement. The energy blade sliced through his forearm, the gun and the hand holding it tumbling to the ground.

For a moment Terry was too shocked to realize what had happened. He just stood there, unable to figure out what had happened to his arm. And then, it hit him. Eyes wide, he stepped back and took in a deep breath to scream.

Altman, not knowing what else to do, ran, trying not to hear the screams of the man behind him. He darted out the gate and was joined by Chava, who ran along beside him.

“I came and knocked for you,” he said, “and now you come.”

“A good thing you did, too,” said Altman. “Where’s the old man?”

“El Borracho?” asked Chava. “He had to go. He was thirsty.”

He started back down the street, the boy following him. What now? He turned and crouched beside the boy.

“I have to destroy some devils,” he said. “Like the thing you saw on the beach.”

“I will help you,” said Chava. “Together we will kill them.”

“No,” said Altman. “It is not a game. You cannot come. I must find weapons and go alone.”

The boy thought a moment and then smiled. “You will come with me,” he said. “Follow.”

The boy led him down through the streets and to the shantytown and then to the edge of the jungle. He went to a particular tree and put his hand on it and then carefully pointed himself in a particular direction and, stiff-legged, started to walk, pounding his footsteps hard against the ground. When the sounds of his footsteps changed, he stopped.

“Here,” he said, and pointed at the ground. He crouched and began to brush the dirt away until he had uncovered a steel ring and a wooden trapdoor about two feet wide and six feet long. He gestured to Altman to open it.

He put the plasma cutter on the ground and reached down and pulled on the ring. The door creaked up on its hinge, revealing underneath it a coffinlike space lined with rocks. One half was full of guns and rifles, maybe a dozen in all. The other held axes and mauls, tree-spikes, a machete, a can of fuel, an old-style chain saw.

“You may use these,” said the boy solemnly. “But you must bring them back. They belong to my father.”

“What exactly does your father do?” he asked.

“He is for the people. He is . . .” For a moment he couldn’t think of the words, and then it suddenly came to him. “Ecological guerrilla.”

“Thank God for tree huggers,” said Altman.

He took the chain saw, left the rest where it was, though this confused the boy.

“These monsters,” he asked, wide-eyed. “They are trees?”

At first Altman thought to answer him properly, but when he started speaking, he suddenly realized how complicated the response would be. He just nodded and said, “Yes, trees.”

But this created new complications. “How can trees be monsters?” the boy wanted to know.

“It’s hard to explain,” said Altman.

“And what kind of tree?” he asked. He began to rattle off Spanish tree names, following Altman.

Altman ignored him. He was almost back to the boat, the boy still following him, when his holopod sounded. When he answered, Krax’s face appeared on the holoscreen.

“Altman,” he said. “Hello.”

He switched off. Krax called again immediately. He thought of not answering, but knew Krax would just keep calling until he did. So he answered. But this time he kept walking.

“This thing you did to Terry,” said Krax. “Hardly subtle. I could have you arrested.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’re going to do that,” said Altman.

“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I have to say, I think you overreacted. We just wanted to talk to you.”

“You didn’t just want to talk to me,” he said. “You wanted to keep me there.”

“It’s for your own good. Don’t do anything foolish, Altman. Come back.”

“No,” said Altman.

“What about your girlfriend, Altman?” he said. “What about Ada? Would you come back for her?”

Altman stopped. “Put her on,” he said.

For the first time, Krax’s composure cracked slightly. “She’s not available right now,” he said.

“You can’t because she’s dead,” said Altman.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Altman. Why would she be dead?”

“I started hallucinating her,” said Altman. “Either you killed her or she killed herself. Which was it, Krax?”

“Hallucinations don’t mean anything,” Krax insisted. “She’s alive.”

Altman started moving again. “Show her to me, then,” said Altman. “If I see her, I’ll come back.”

“As I said,” said Krax, “that’s not possible. You’ll just have to trust me. Your girlfriend’s life is in your hands.”

He was at the dock now. “Good-bye, Krax,” Altman said, and disconnected, powering the holopod all the way off.

He loaded the gear into the boat and climbed in himself. Chava tried to clamber in, but Altman stopped him.

“Stay here,” he said. “I already have enough deaths on my conscience.”