Gridlock and Other Stories Part 19

He decided against it, primarily because he knew he could not find the tunnel exit again in the dark. A cautious half-hour later, they were less than two hundred meters from the Sonoran shaft.

"Stay here," Beckwith said. "I'm going to get closer to see if I can hear anything."

"I'll come, too," Espe replied as she prepared to follow him.

"No, you won't!" he hissed as he grabbed her wrist. He swallowed, regained control, and continued in a softer voice. "Look, the chance of getting caught goes up with the square of the number of people blundering around out there. You stay here. If I am spotted, you try to make your way back on your own. I have told you how to find my radio in the church. Get it and report what happened."

"I will, Doctor Darol," she whispered.

He slid out of the ditch on his belly and began the long crawl toward where a clump of Sonorans, including General Trujillo, were discussing something in voices too low to understand. He took his time, relying on years of experience to find every possible concealing shadow. When he had closed the range to less than a hundred meters, he rose on his hands and knees and scurried across an open gap in the mesquite. The toe of his boot caught on a half buried, dry branch. The crack of its breaking was like the blast from a rifle. He froze as he hoped the excavation and steam engine noises would cover the sound.

Then he saw a man's silhouette against the light of a distant lantern as a sentry moved cautiously through the brush to investigate. A flash beam moved in his direction. He got to his feet and set off in a broken country, stooped over run.

There were sudden shouts behind him and a bullet zipped past his ear with an angry wasp sound. Up on the depression rim, other flashlamps were coming alive. Two such were directly in front of him.

He changed direction quickly, heading away from Espe's hiding place. He hazarded a backwards glance over his shoulder to see how close his pursuer was. As a result, he did not see the dark shape rise from the brush and lunge for him. Two bodies collided with a bone-jarringthud , and Darol Beckwith slipped unwillingly into unconsciousness.

Beckwith opened his eyes and tried to focus them, but the small red crested woodp.e.c.k.e.r inside his skull seemed determined to prevent it. He attempted to lift his head and gave it up as a bad job. His body was one giant ache. Even his teeth hurt.

At the thought of his teeth, he quickly tongued the false molar he'd so carefully fitted into place back in his room at the hacienda. His questing tongue found the tiny container intact, for which he said a silent prayer. He reopened his eyes. A flesh colored blur quickly filled his field of view and someone's smelly breath was hot on his face. After a few seconds' concentration, he managed to make out the features of General Trujillo.

"Welcome back to the living, Medico. Are you well?"

Beckwith heard his own voice respond in a croak. "My head is killing me. Where am I?"

"In our storehouse. Why were you spying on us?"

Beckwith took a deep breath and hoped the racking pain in his chest did not signify a broken rib. "I wasn't spying. I was curious about whatever it is you are doing out here."

"You were spying."

"What's to spy on in this G.o.dforsaken wilderness?"

"Who sent you? The Californians?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Beckwith said as he struggled to a sitting position.

"And I suppose you know nothing of the failure of our transmitter this afternoon."

"Nothing."

The general opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again when one of his troopers entered the storehouse and began conferring with him in hurried whispers.

Trujillo turned to leave. He spoke to Beckwith's guards as he swept out of the hut. "Bring in the girl and leave the lantern. We will give Doctor Beckwith a few hours to consider his fate. Perhaps he will be more forthcoming."

Moments later, a small figure sailed through the air and sprawled face down on the packed earthen floor. The Imperials left, and there was the rattle of a heavy beam being braced against the door.

Beckwith crawled to where Espe lay, not heeding his own contusions. He gently turned her over as pangs of guilt stabbed at the conscience he had long thought armor plated against such feelings. Some Sonoran soldier's fists had left one eye nearly swollen shut and a dried trickle of blood emanating from a bruised and split lip.

Espe moaned and opened her eyes. "I'm sorry, Doctor Darol. They got me.""So I see," he said, his voice gentle. "Anything feel broken?"

She shook her head, and then sat up with considerably more ease than he had managed. The nascent tears that had welled briefly in her eyes were gone as quickly as they had come, and only concern showed on her face as she reached out to touch his cheek. "They beat you, too!"

He managed a lopsided grin. "Just clumsy. I tripped over my own feet."

She shivered. "I was almost away. One of them caught me in his light just as I left the drainage ditch. I tried to fight. I got in a good kick. I may have broken one man's kneecap."

"Good for you! That's one for our side."

"What are we going to do now?" Espe asked.

"I guess we wait," Beckwith said as he climbed unsteadily to his feet and wobbled to the door. He placed one eye to a crack and gazed past the broad back of the guard outside. From somewhere nearby came thechuff, chuff, chuff of the steam engine and the acrid smell of mesquite smoke.

The scene outside was lighted by the same lanterns he had observed previously. Rather than being spread out across the work site as they had been, however, the Sonoran soldiers were gathered in a small clump around the head of the shaft they had sunk into the floor of the desert. They grew excited as the lift car was hoisted out of the shaft via the rough-hewn derrick. Beckwith watched as General Trujillo and another man stepped onto the platform of timbers and then disappeared below ground.

"What do you see, Doctor Darol?" the girl asked.

He turned from the wall and hobbled back to where Espe sat cross-legged on the floor. He slid down beside her and quickly described the scene outside.

"What are they looking for?" Espe asked.

Beckwith hesitated, wrestled briefly with his conscience, and then came to a decision. "Do you really want to know?"

Espe nodded, her expression grave.

"I think they've found an old nuclear fuel depository."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's simple, really," Beckwith said with a humorless smile. "Our ancestors needed a place to dump the spent fuel from their nuclear reactors. They built a series of underground depositories for the purpose. For reasons of security, and also to keep the public outcry to a minimum, they kept the location of those depositories secret."

"And one of them was near Nuevo Tubac?"

Beckwith shrugged. "We don't know. Too many records were lost during The Catastrophe.

Therewas a depository somewhere in the southwestern desert. This may well be it."

"Why would General Trujillo go to all of this trouble? Surely Moctezuma isn't attempting to refurbish one of the old Mexican reactors."

"I only wish he were, Espe. No, the Imperials are after spent reactor fuel because of the plutoniumit contains. My bosses in San Francisco think Moctezuma is trying to build his own nuclear weapons."

Espe crossed herself and grimaced at the pain the gesture caused. "By the blessed Virgin, it can't true!"

"That's the reason I came here, Espe, to see for myself whether it's true or not." Beckwith slipped a thumb and forefinger inside his belt and came up with a small cylindrical object. "Here, let me take care of your pain."

"What's that?"

"Field syringe," he replied as he stripped the cover from the short, sharp needle. "It contains a mild pain killer."

"I don't need it."

"You'll take it anyhow. I feel guilty about bringing you along, and it hurts me to watch you move.

Give me your arm."

Perplexed, she offered him her bare arm. Beckwith searched for a spot that looked cleaner than the rest, then slipped the needle beneath the skin. Espe started at the sudden p.r.i.c.k, but was otherwise stoic about the process. When the golden fluid had disappeared into the girl's bloodstream, Beckwith removed the syringe, snapped it in two, and then tossed it into one corner of the shed. "Now, if they'll only leave us alone for a few hours..."

"What did you say?" Espe asked as she rubbed at the needle mark on her arm.

"Nothing," Beckwith replied. "Let's try to get some sleep."

It was nearly dawn before anyone bothered them. Beckwith sat with his back to the rough lumber of one wall, dozing fitfully with Espe cradled in his arms. He was awakened by the sound of heavy wooden beams being lifted from in front of the door. Espe stirred and the two of them climbed to their feet as Captain Villela ducked through the low doorway.

"The General wants to see you two!"

Two guards pushed their way past Villela, grabbed Beckwith and roughly thrust his wrists together behind him. Sharp pains shot up his arms as they tied his wrists together with rawhide cord. They did not bother restraining Espe. One of the guards merely grabbed her hair and dragged her yelling out into the cold night air. Another sent Beckwith reeling after her with a blow from his rifle b.u.t.t.

When they reached the derrick, Captain Villela gestured to the rickety structure suspended over the mouth of the shaft. "Onto the car, Doctor!"

"No need for the girl to come along."

"Sorry, I have my orders. The General wants both of you below. Get onto the car."

The platform shifted under Beckwith's weight as the doctor climbed aboard. The movement nearly caused him to lose his balance. He was followed by Espe Galway and the two guards. Villela remained on solid ground. A quick order from the captain sent the lift car on a jerky descent into the shaft.

The car dropped for nearly a minute while Beckwith and Espe studied the varied strata throughwhich they were descending by lantern light. The rock walls finally fell away on all four sides, marking their entry into an underground chamber. The lift platform dropped another ten meters before it grounded.

Beckwith blinked as he took in the details of his surroundings.

The chamber was long, hemispherical, and sloping. A single set of railroad tracks ran along its center. Uphill, lantern light reflected off a jumbled barrier of rocks that marked the location of an ancient cave-in; while downhill, the tunnel disappeared around a curve. One of the guards nudged Beckwith with his rifle b.u.t.t. As he stepped down, the doctor fell to one knee amid the rubble that littered the tunnel floor from the spot overhead where the Sonorans had pierced the concrete lining of the tunnel. Espe hurried to his side to help him to his feet.

The small party moved along the length of the railroad track. As they did so, they pa.s.sed smaller side tunnels. Flickering lanterns betrayed the presence of Imperial work crews in several of these. They pa.s.sed men in the main tunnel that appeared to be tracing cable runs. Finally, they came to a huge vault-like door with a man-size portal set in its face. The guards ushered them through the smaller opening and into the chamber beyond.

Beckwith found himself in an artificial cave roughly spherical in shape and some fifty meters in diameter. The cave's equator was girdled by a catwalk of steel meshwork on which they stood. The cavern was filled with ma.s.sive machinery the likes of which Beckwith had never seen before. At its center was an object he recognized after a moment's glance. In that moment, Beckwith knew that his superiors were wrong in thinking the Mexicans were after the old fuel depository. Whatever else this underground installation had been, it had never been used to store spent reactor fuel. However, that revelation brought no comfort. For directly in front of Darol Beckwith, suspended from the roof by an intricate system of cables, was a small winged s.p.a.cecraft!

"Ah, Medico, glad you could join us!" General Trujillo's voice echoed through the underground chamber as he hailed them from within the delta-winged craft's airlock. Trujillo stepped onto the meshwork bridge that connected ship to catwalk and clumped to where the prisoners were standing. He grinned toothily. "What do you think of my little toy?"

"Impressive," Beckwith replied. "What is it?"

"A single-stage-to-orbit, scramjet powered command craft," Trujillo replied. "Or so my experts tell me. But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

"How could I have known?" Beckwith asked.

"Because your bosses, the Californians, told you what it was that we were after."

"I work for the Public Health Service, General. Our allegiance is to humanity, not to any sovereign state."

"Now why don't I believe you?" Trujillo asked. He turned to the guards who were gawking in awe at the ship. "Leave the girl. Go outside and close the entry. I have something confidential to discuss with the doctor."

"Si, Mi General!"

The two guards returned to the tunnel beyond and closed the man-size door behind them. "What Ihave to say is not for the ears of common troopers, Medico," Trujillo said.

"Nor for those of a fifteen year old girl," Beckwith replied.

Trujillo moved to where Espe stood, took her chin in one hand, and tilted her face upwards to catch the light of the overhead lanterns. "If you refuse to name your employers, Doctor Beckwith, I will give Esperanza to my troopers for their pleasure. These are hard men. I doubt she will survive even a few hours of their ... shall we say, attentions?" He released Espe, who shrank back in horror, stopping only when she encountered the safety railing at the edge of the catwalk. "Will you speak, or shall I call the guards back?"

"No one sent me."

Trujillo stared for a long moment at Beckwith, then threw his head back and laughed aloud. The sound of his laughter echoed eerily in the dimly lit cavern. "You almost convinced me that time, Medico.

You had just the right mix of indignation and earnest fervor in your voice. But then, anyone the Californians would send would have to be a consummate actor."

Beckwith did not answer.

Trujillo frowned. "Come now, Medico. I am truly interested in your opinion of our find. Is it worth your death and that of the girl to protect the traitors in Mexico City who told you of my mission?"

Beckwith made a show of studying the winged s.p.a.cecraft. Finally, he said, "Why the h.e.l.l would anyone want this museum piece? After eighty years in storage, it cannot possibly be flown. And even if it could, you'll never get it out of this hole."

Trujillo gestured at the series of large rams that surrounded the ship and the heavy steel cylinder suspended in the gloom overhead. "Penetration equipment, Doctor Beckwith. Getting it to the surface is the easiest part of the task ahead of us. As soon as we trace down the emergency generators, we will let the ancients' own equipment do the job.

"As for the airworthiness of the craft, you are wrong when you say it cannot be flown. I have just finished a tour of the interior; which, by the way, was filled with an inert gas until just a few hours ago.

These command ships were designed for indefinite periods of storage. His majesty's archivists believe the reconditioning task to be well within the current capabilities of the empire. And if they are wrong..."

Trujillo gave an expansive shrug, "I won't be the man flying it."

"Even if you're right, what use is it? Where can you fly it to?"

The general smiled. The shadows on his face turned the expression ugly. "ToHigh Citadel , of course. The orbital fortress is rumored to possess large stocks of nuclear weapons. If Mexico can obtain those stocks, we will put an end to the Californians' arrogance! But enough of this. Are you going to tell me your mission, or do I have my guards escort Esperanza down a side pa.s.sage to begin the festivities?"

"You are as big a b.a.s.t.a.r.d as your emperor," Beckwith cursed.

Trujillo took one long stride forward, whipped back his arm, and slapped Beckwith full across the face. "You will keep a civil tongue in your head, Medico. Now quit wasting my time. The name of your employer!"

Beckwith clenched his teeth together. The gritting sound was loud inside his skull as Trujillo moved in for a second blow. The second slap was more painful than the first. Half of Beckwith's face wasaflame as he concentrated on his tormentor through blurry eyes. Trujillo grinned evilly and moved in for another attack. Beckwith waited until the general was less than thirty centimeters distant, then spat full in his face. Trujillo staggered backwards, his features frozen in a look of shocked amazement. He slowly and carefully wiped the dripping saliva from his chin. As he did so, his expression turned to one of animal rage.

This time when he advanced on Beckwith, Trujillo's hands were balled into white knuckled fists.

The general's first blow landed on the doctor's right temple, sending him backwards against the safety railing. The second smashed into his nose. The third doubled him over and drove the breath from his lungs. The pummeling continued for nearly a minute before Darol Beckwith slipped thankfully into the black comfort of unconsciousness.