Walter Greatshell - Apocalypticon

Through the raised gates of the city's hurricane barrier and under the highway overpasses, less than a mile upriver, there were fires burning. Deliberate bonfires, a neat line of them. Coombs felt a wave of childish nausea at the sight, adrenaline curdling his blood: Who's there? The fires appeared to rise right out of the canal, reflecting orange in its black surface. What could it mean? A chain of floating crucibles in the heart of Providence? He could smell acrid smoke.

"The natives are restless," Robles said.

"Jesus. You think Xombies could do that?"

"I doubt it. Set fires like that? Langhorne's tame ones, maybe. Not the ones out in the wild. Why would they?"

"Then who? Who else could survive out there?"

"Somebody who's eager for attention, obviously."

"From us, you think?"

"Or about us. Broadcasting our position. I'm thinking of the Moguls."

"They can't dig up a radio?"

Robles squinted thoughtfully. "Then maybe an invitation: Coast is clear, no Xombies. Welcome ashore."

"Funny. How about an SOS?"

"Possibly an SOS, yes."

"Or a trap."

"Could be a trap, yes."

Coombs sighed in frustration. This was getting them nowhere. The question was whether to stay or leave, and if they left, where to? He knew what Kranuski would say: Norfolk. But Norfolk was dead, everywhere was dead… except here. Coombs watched the distant flames for a moment, blood thumping like voodoo drums in his head.

"One way to find out," he said.

Coombs was surprised at his own recklessness-as an inspector for the Naval Sea Systems Command, or NavSea, his job had been to eliminate risk, to take new submarines on shakedown cruises and rid them of bugs. He administered the SubSafe program, and was ruthless in implementing its strict requirements through all aspects of submarine construction and testing. Not everyone appreciated the job that he and his team did; he often sensed resentment from civilian techs who didn't like their work scrutinized and critiqued, and especially didn't like having to do it over if it didn't pass muster the first time. Or the second. Or the third…

Now many of those same civilians were part of his crew, and here he was, endangering the boat in a hundred different ways, putting all their lives at risk for some ridiculous plan that could only come to grief. Why? That was the sticking point, the quandary of quandaries for which there was no good answer anymore. Why indeed? Why do anything? Coombs knew Robles would have the simple answer to that one; he was always game.

Robles would say, Why not?

"That's WaterFire!" Alice Langhorne said, sounding bemused but also amused.

"It's what?"

"WaterFire. It's a festival they hold in Providence. That's why those braziers are in the river. It's kind of a big street carnival-I've been to it. On summer nights they play music, and people stroll along the riverbanks to watch the fire."

"I think I've heard of that," said Robles.

"Watch the fire, huh? That's it?" Coombs said.

"That's it. It's a big tourist draw."

"Why is it happening now?" Kranuski demanded.

Langhorne lowered the binoculars, shaking her head. "You got me. Maybe we look like tourists."

Coombs asked her, "Do you still want to go through with your operation?"

"Hmm." She raised the binoculars to her eyes again. "Well… I don't think we have any choice, do we? We're here. What else are we gonna do?"

"We sure as hell do have a choice," erupted Kranuski. "Captain, those fires could be a beacon opening us up to aerial attack. We know the Moguls have planes, and there may be others. I advise we leave while we still can."

"Rich, if someone wants to call in an air strike on us, we're already dead ducks. The tide's against us; it would take us all night to get back out to deep water. In the meantime, we'll be wallowing in the bay like a beached whale. Besides, nobody's going to try and sink us, especially not the Moguls. If anything, they'd try to capture the boat-it's too valuable a prize to destroy."

"I agree," Kranuski said sharply. "So maybe while we're going on this wild-goose chase, they're setting up a blockade, fencing us in. It wouldn't be hard. Are you willing to let that happen?"

Coombs heard the unspoken accusation: Like you did before? "We're not going to gain anything by hiding at the bottom of the ocean, Rich. Our supplies are low, time is running out. At some point, we have to roll the dice, and I say that time is now." Coombs awkwardly turned to Dr. Langhorne, all three of them squeezed together in the bridge cockpit. "Alice, are your… uh, people ready to disembark?"

"Anytime."

"Then for God's sake, let's do it."

AP-Thursday, December 16-According to government scientists, contamination by the mysterious substance known as "Agent X" or "Blue Rust" is much more widespread than previously supposed.

"We are finding it throughout the environment, including inside the human body, where it forms a weak bond with anaerobic hemoglobin," said Cary Welks, Director of the National Science Foundation. "But I want to stress that so far we have not seen any adverse effects in humans."

Agent X was first discovered in October by researchers at NASA's Ames Research Center, who noted an unexplained in crease in malfunctions involving highly sensitive, vacuum-sealed electronic equipment. Since then, similar effects have been reported around the globe. -The Maenad Project Lt. Cmdr. Dan Robles was never a "team player" in the sense of being blindly loyal to senior authority-he never had much use for that particular military mentality. A child of illegal immigrants who went through hell to get their citizenship, he always had the deepest regard for the American Dream, if not necessarily the American reality. "My country right or wrong" did not sit well with him; you couldn't trust an institution with your soul. Though eager to serve, Dan never believed it was in his country's best interest that he be a robot who just followed orders. He did what he did because he thought it was right, or because it didn't matter one way or the other. Plenty of things in life didn't matter much, and he was content to toe the line. Why not? You couldn't very well have everybody making up their own rules. Thus, most of his nineteen-year naval career had been relatively uneventful, though his flippancy toward officialdom and mindless patriotic bromides had probably cost him at least a grade in rank-some senior officers didn't appreciate the philosophy that true patriotism included a deep sense of skepticism and a healthy dose of the absurd. That was why he quickly washed out of the Marines.

No, Dan Robles always hoped that if the official version didn't cut it, he would go his own way, no matter the consequences. But this ideal of his had never been truly tested until Agent X.

He would never forget the night that civilian mob arrived at the submarine pen, threatening to sink the boat unless they were let aboard-and the crew's anger and confusion at being ordered to risk their necks helping the hijackers. Officers like Rich Kranuski and Alton Webb would never forgive Harvey Coombs for caving in to pressure, but as far as Robles was concerned, the commander did the only sensible thing. Fred Cowper was not bluffing; he would have sunk the boat. Furthermore, those people had an absolute right to be there-they had been promised a ride to safety, and it was only because of their marathon refit that the vessel was sea-worthy in the first place. They had been swindled.

If guys like Webb and Kranuski thought he was a traitor for going along with it, Robles took that as a sign that he must be doing something right.

These were things he had learned about himself since the end of the world.