Ghost Dancers Part 15

3.

When the American coast came into sight on the far side of the Gulf of Mexico Pasco felt his stomach muscles tightening. His mouth was dry and he was sweating with anxiety. He was puzzled by this reaction, because he thought that it ought to have been the other way around: the sight of home should have made him relax. Nor was it just the knowledge that his mission had turned out to be a failure.

Something was wrong.

The excitement of hauling Kid Zero out of M-M's maximum-security research establishment had worn off somewhere over Brazil, when a sober contemplation of his achievements had informed him that one motorpsycho, sans serpentine girl-friend, wasn't much to show for all the trouble his bosses had been through. But this was more than just a feeling of let-down; it was a sense of impending disaster which was growing stronger by the minute.

Pasco was not fool enough to believe that he had a magical sixth sense, but he trusted the reflexes which had been honed by years of stressful experience. Something bad was about to happen, which would tax his strength and ingenuity to the limits. He was certain of it.

In order to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling he went back to tell Carl Preston the news. Preston was sitting in back in a window-seat, with Kid Zero beside him. The Kid was conscious, but he was secured so firmly that he could barely twiddle his fingers.

"Any sign of trouble?" asked Carl.

Pasco scowled. "Not yet," he said. "They're trying to forestall the possibility by sending up a couple of fighters from Galveston to cover us. Anyway, nine-tenths of the heavy metal between here and Dallas is ours."

"Are they putting us down in Dallas?"

"Noa"your boss still wants to talk to the Kid, so they're taking us all directly to the strip at the labs. The runway's a bit short, but we should get down easily enough. You'll be able to visit your brother."

Preston gave him a dirty look, but Pasco had worse things preying on his mind than anxiety about Preston's hurt feelings. He stretched himself a bit, then looked down at the Kid. "You'd better think of some real neat answers for the Doc, Kid," he said. "He's going to be real mad at you, given that you managed to pa.s.s his data to every son of a b.i.t.c.h who wanted a look at it. If he wants a volunteer for some particularly hairy experiment, you'll probably be it."

"Maybe," said the Kid calmly. "But with my luck, I might just end up being the superman the Doc's trying to make. And whatever else he does, he won't be throwing acid in my facea"so I'm one up on you, anyhow."

Pasco scowled again, and felt the numbness in the left side of his face as he did so. He clenched his fist and leaned forward, intending to remind the Kid that being brought back alive could still be painfula"but he was interrupted by a shout from the cabin.

He went back, and leaned over the co-pilot's shoulder to examine the synthesizer screens. The co-pilot stabbed one of the sim screens with a bony finger. A little flock of blue dots was making its way across a map which showed part of Arkansas. They were a long way away, but it didn't take a genius to work out that they were on an interception course.

Pasco's sick stomach jumped as though he'd been kickeda"as though he'd somehow known that those dots would be waiting him; as though they were his own personal nemesis.

"What are they?" he asked. "Fighters?"

"No," said the co-pilot. "They're too small to be planes, and the computer can't recognize them as any kind of missiles it knows about. I think they're remote-controlled drones, like the one which sprayed you with knock-out gas before."

"Where'd they come from?"

"Somewhere up in Kentucky. The technics must be M-M, but it may be the mob who launched them."

"Why aren't our people shooting them down?"

"They're flying too low and swerving too oftena"our airborne scanners can barely pick them up. They show up clear enough on the simulator, but there's a certain amount of guesswork in plotting their position moment-to-moment."

"Are they going to cause us much of a problem when we come down?" asked Pasco, feeling certain that they were but not quite knowing how.

"Probably not. Almost all of their load must be fuel, or they wouldn't be able to fly so far. They can't pack more than a tiny warhead eacha"no real firepower at all."

Pasco chewed his lower lip reflectively. If M-M were going to hit back in reprisal for what had been done to them down in Antarctica, they'd surely send out something more powerful than a couple of dozen fireworks. He turned to the radio-operator.

"Any intelligence about troop movements?" he asked. "Anything heavy in the vicinity of the base?"

"The mob pulled out," the radio-man old him. "There's no sign of M-M activity within fifty milesa"not even bona fide wrappers. The only gunmen in the neighbourhood apart from our own are a couple of motorpsycho gangs."

"Which motorpsycho gangs?" asked Pasco, quickly.

"The usuala"Maniax, plus a few oddments."

That settled the matter as far as Pasco was concerneda"he already knew that the Maniax were in with the mob, and were probably still out to redeem themselves after the failure of their b.o.o.by trap.

"Scramble the mercy boys with orders to send the bikers running," said Pasco. "And warn the birdmen that they may be packing something heavier than the usual four-point-twos." His heart was pumping faster as he scanned the screens. There had to be a third p.r.o.ng to the attack, and if it wasn't yet evident, it had to be the deadliest one. It wouldn't be the kind of software attack which GenTech had launched against the Antarctican base's systemsa"the defences were up against that kind of sting, and the target wasn't anywhere near as alarm-sensitive.

"What else have M-M got on the ground between the coast and the desert?" asked Pasco urgently.

"Not a thing," the radio-man told him. "I told youa"even their trucks are off the road."

"Further north, thena"Oklahoma, Kansas."

"It's not their territory," the radio-man complained. "They run their technics in, with the co-operation of the yaks, but the only functioning operation they have is the microwave- receiver which picks up the beams from their spyb.a.l.l.s."

Pasco's stomach lurched again, and the blood buzzed in his ears. It was as though all his bodily alarms were going off at once. He'd never had such a strong premonition of disaster. Underneath the sickness of his clamorous suspicions, though, he felt confident, because he knew exactly what was coming down and exactly what to do about it.

"Aw, s.h.i.t!" said Pasco, still reeling under the blinding flash of inspiration. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are going to hit us from up top!"

"That's crazy!" complained the co-pilot. "Ground-aimed sat weapons are strictly one-shot wondersa"who'd waste a laser zapping a cargo-plane?"

"I don't care how crazy it is," Pasco retorted, angrily. "They're going to do it!" To the radio-man he said: "Warn the guys at base to start whatever procedures they've got. I know what I'm talking about, believe me! They have to be ready."

"You want me to divert to Dallas?" said the pilot. "No sense flying into a battlefield, if we don't have to."

"That may be what they want," said the co-pilot quickly. "The remotes could be a feint, and the Maniax may not signify anything at all. Maybe they want us to go to Dallasa"we haven't time now to organize proper cover there."

Pasco felt his stomach getting tighter and tighter. He knew that the co-pilot could be right, and maybe ought to be right. M-M had the disc already, and Kid Zero was nothing to them. Common sense said that they wouldn't waste a satellite and risk an escalation of hostilities which would surely leave them at a big disadvantage. On the other hand, common sense also said that the only winners of an all-out two-handed conflict between GenTech and Mitsu-Makema would be the uninvolved corps, and that both sides ought to back off. Whatever the blue dots were, they weren't evidence of M-M backing off.

"Tell the base to expect a sat attack," he insisted. "Now!"

The radio-man shrugged, and put the call through. There was a pause while he listened to his opposite number. "The base won't go to red alert," he reported eventually. "Something about the danger of over-reaction. They want us to come in as planned."

Pas...o...b..came suddenly very calma"unnaturally calm; he'd been over-ruled, and he knew that there was no point arguing about it. When the sky did fall in, someone else would have to carry the can for not pa.s.sing the buck even further alonga"but that wasn't his concern. His concern was to save his own life, in spite of the fact that his masters thought he was crazy. He had not the shadow of a doubt that his instincts were right. Common sense or no common sense, M-M were going to hit back and hit back hard, and he didn't want to be in the firing-line.

In the meantime, the flock of coloured dots had moved a lot closer. The screen could now put the plane and the remotes on the same map-segment, and Pasco could watch them closing. His finger was aching to be on a FIRE b.u.t.ton, real or pretend. At the end of the day, it was all arcade fun: dot against crossazap, zap, zap! But the co-pilot had no FIRE b.u.t.tona"he only had a computer, which was telling him that the targets were too small and too close to the ground.

The simulator wasn't clever enough to display the third dimension but Pasco knew well enough that the pilot was starting his approach, and coming down. By the time they got down to the same near-ground level as the incoming flyers they'd be all together on the screena"but what that would entail he had no idea. He didn't know what the remotes were carrying and he didn't even know whether or not they were aimed at the plane.

The sense of being in danger without being able to act reminded him very strongly of being in a horrorshow bootha"but this was for real and he was facing death as well as fear. There had to be something he could do, to get himself out of the frying-pan.

"Slow up," he said to the pilot. "Don't take us down yet. If you have fuel enough, circle. Those things don't have time on their hands to hang about for us, and there's no sense in flying into them."

The pilot glanced at the radio-operator, who was already relaying the suggestion to the base. The radio-man listened to the reply, then nodded.

Then Pasco leaned forward to put his hand over the radioman's mike. "For your ears only," he said, as inspiration struck him. "The channel may not be secure. We're going to jumpa"Preston, the Kid, and me. Whatever they have planned for a landing party, we aren't going to play."

The radio-man didn't try to move the hand, but he was quick enough to say: "You're crazy! You can't just jump into the freakin' desert!"

"We just scrambled the mercy boys to see off the Maniax. When they've done that, they can come out after usa"but don't tell them we're down until we're down. Sure it's crazy, but it's the one thing M-M can't possibly expecta"and I still think they're going to hit us hard. I've skydived beforea"it's no big deal."

"I doubt that Preston has," said the pilot drily, "and I'm certain that Kid Zero hasn't."

"Preston will take his chance with me," said Pasco grimly. "And if Kid Zero breaks a few bones I won't be crying for him."

The radio-man was listening to this exchange, but only with half an ear. Something was coming up, and he had to uncover the mike to acknowledge it. "The Maniax are on the move," he said. "Heading for the wire. They just shot down two birds and scattered the resta"they've got a whole battery of first rate target-seekers, just like the one the Kid had when this whole affair kicked off. They're dug in better than we thought, but we're deploying counterstrikers."

"M-M b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," muttered the co-pilot. "Selling guns to the freakin' indians!"

Pasco didn't wait. It was all too obvious that things were going wrong. "I'm on my way," he said, as he ducked back out of the cabin.

He already knew where the chutes were stored, and he pulled three out, hurling one at Carl Preston. "Get into that," he ordered. "Then cut the Kid's hands loose from the seat and get him into another. But don't untie his feet, and when he's rigged up, tie his wrists again."

The expression of panic and alarm that crossed Kid Zero's face did Pasco a power of good. There had been just a chance that the Kid might leap at the opportunity, thinking of it as a chance to escape, but he obviously wasn't that ambitious.

"I'm going to have my gun on you the whole way down, Kid," Pasco said, in a tone as menacing as he could contrive. "Remember that."

"I'm not going to jump," said the Kid, in a tight-lipped fashion which seemed pleasantly absurd to Pasco, given that the Kid didn't have the slightest choice in the matter.

"You won't have to," he said maliciously. "Because I'm going to throw you outa"and if you break your legs because you don't know how to land, that'll be just too bad. And if you open your smart mouth one more time, you're going down without the chute, right?"

The Kid's face was as white as a sheet, and Pasco knew that his inspiration had at last allowed him to find the weak spot in the Kid's imperturbability. Kid Zero was finally afraid!

"h.e.l.l, Ray," Carl Preston was saying, "I don't knowa."

But there was no way that Pasco was going to allow the BioDiv man to mess up his big scene. He turned on Preston wrathfully, giving the smaller man the full benefit of his intimidating face, and he said, in a tone which could not and would not be denied: "Do it!"

Preston got the message, and shut upa"but he was frightened too. He'd jumped off the diner roof and he'd jumped from the copter, but this was different. Pasco didn't mind; he wasn't fond enough of Preston to want to save him from his own nervesa"the chips were down now, and it was time for the tough guys to show just how tough they were.

When he'd finished buckling on his own chute Pasco helped Preston get the Kid into his. It wasn't easy, but the Kid didn't put up too much resistancea"he clearly believed what Pasco said about dropping him without the chute if he wouldn't put it on. But when they were all ready to go Preston was still getting paler.

"Whose orders are these?" whispered Preston, as Pasco tied the Kid's wrists together behind his back.

"Does it matter?" countered Pasco. "I figure we have the easy end of it. There'll be a far hotter reception at the base, if I'm right about what's coming down."

Neither of the others was in a hurry to move, so it was Pasco who picked his way along the cluttered fuselage towards the jumping-port. Preston picked up the Kid, who couldn't walk because his legs were tied together.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" said Preston, arriving some seconds after Pasco had pulled the seal free and hauled the door inwards.

"Sure," said Pasco, "haven't you?" He knew full well that Preston hadn't. Pasco had only done it a couple of times himself, but two-nil seemed like a very big advantage at this particular point in time, and any second thoughts he might have had were out of the question now. He suppressed his own giddiness as he looked down, and then looked at the others to see what expressions were on their faces.

The Kid's eyes were averteda"he couldn't even look. Pasco grinned, savagely, as the tautness in his stomach-wall turned to exultation. "Welcome to the horrorshow, Kid," he said happily.

Preston, who looked distinctly queasy, shrank back from the open hatch.

"Don't just stand there," said Pasco. "Throw the b.a.s.t.a.r.d out."

But Preston didn't throw Kid Zero outa"his own muscles seemed to have frozen at the thought of what awaited them.

"Aw, s.h.i.t!" said Pasco, and reached out to yank them both forward. Preston reacted reflexively, gripping the side of the hatchway to save himself, but Kid Zero had no choice but to fall. The Kid didn't scream, but Pasco saw the expression on his face, and that was enough to make his day.

Pasco pulled again at Preston's arm, much harder than before, and this time Zarathustra's man accepted the pressure of the inevitable.

Before he jumped himself, Pasco drew his gun. He did it because he knew this had to be done properly, the hero's way.

The rush of air which consumed him sent a stab of terror through him in spite of his resolve, but his horrorshow-trained reflexes took command, and by the time his chute opened he was sky-high on adrenalin, looking forward to a happy landing.

He knew that he had done the right thing, and was as proud of himself as he had ever been before, or ever hoped to be again.

4.

For the first couple of seconds Carl felt utterly lost. His eyes were open but he could not make sense of what he saw; his mind was racing but his thoughts were jumbled and incoherent.

The most urgent, as well as the most hopeless, of his thoughts was the awareness that Pasco had not told him what to do. He had the vague notion that a parachute had something called a rip cord which the wearer was supposed to pull, but Pasco had not pointed out any such attachment or given him advice about its use. For this reason his hands were groping wildly about the straps of the chute, searching for something whicha"as things turned outa"was not actually there.

The chute opened by itself, automatically, when he was clear of the plane. He had been tumbling in his fall until then, but the chute righted him, so that his feet were pointed to the ground and his head was in the right place to look down upon it.

Somehow he had expected to be able to see the entire southern U.S.A. spread out before him like a map, but he was much closer than that, and what was rushing up to meet him was more like a discoloured and wave-swept ocean than anything else he could think of. It was all sand and rust, speckled with fugitive flecks of green. In the middle-distance he could see the grey line of the Brazos river but the base for which the plane had been headed was surprisingly close to the horizon. He could make out plumes of sand which were being kicked up by vehicles of some kinda"probably bikesa"and by the whirling blades of ground-hugging birds. The machines themselves were difficult to pick out, and seemed quite unreal at this unaccustomed angle.

It all looked so odd and so unfamiliar that it might as well have been an image on a simulator screen. He seized upon that notion, and tried to tell himself that it was only a game, only a horrorshow.

That seemed to work, at least for a little while. The lie that it was all illusion was certainly preferable to the truth. In the distance, the clouds of sand began to dissipate and spread out, and though he still could not see the bike-riders clearly he readily deduced that they were scattering before the regrouped and vengeful birds, retreating in all directions in calculated disarray.

A poor excuse for a battle! he thoughta"but he knew that there had to be more to the situation than met the eye. Something had to be happening, or what was it all for?

He could see Kid Zero's chute below him, not drifting far from the path which his own would take. The Kid, with his wrists and ankles tied, had no chance to alter the att.i.tude of his body, and would have to hope for as soft a landing as chance could contrive for him. Alas, it looked like the landing might be anything but softa"the Kid was headed into the heart of a region of jagged rocks, full of sharp spurs and deep clefts.

Carl knew that he ought to have some degree of control over the direction of his slanting descent, if only he could figure out how to exercise it. He supposed that if he spread his arms and legs he could increase air-resistance and slow himself down a little, giving himself more time to drifta"but he had no confidence at all in his ability to aim for a particular landing-spot. He looked up, trying to spot Pasco, but he felt a sudden lurch of vertigo and had to look quickly down againa"the ground was his only perceptual anchorage, his nearness to it the only location he could judge.

He tried to take himself clear of the rocks so that he might land on open ground, but his unskilled efforts were hopelessly ineffectual.

It's only a horrorshow! he told himself, lying with all the fervour he could muster. It's only a game.

The ground rushed up to meet him, far more avidly than he could have wished.

He saw the Kid land and roll, the chute billowing gently down alongside him; he knew that he had to lake himself in hand for his own impact, and gritted his teeth against the instinct which told hima"stupidlya"that he ought to make himself rigid. He knew that the opposite was truea"that he had to relax his muscles and get ready to curl up when he touched bottom, absorbing the shock into his whole body instead of his ankles and his knees.

His eyes wanted to close, but he kept them open. Absurdly, it was not until the last twenty feet or so that he had a real sense of falling, and felt the renewal of his vertigo in consequence. The impact hurt more than he had expected, and though he tried with all his might to distribute the shock as he knew he ought to do, his legs were nevertheless jarred. He had come down on bare rock, which was uneven enough to jolt and bruise all the parts of his body which came into contact with it as he rolled, and pain seemed to be rattling his entire being.