Arthur Clarke - Richter 10

“I know.”

“Friends?” she asked, putting out her hand.

She didn’t understand the smile he gave her. “Friendly adversaries,” he said, shaking her hand. “You going below? I need to check my equipment manifest and make sure they got everything.”

“Aren’t you flying down with us?”

He shook his head. “I’m going to spend the night in LA. I’ll meet you on site tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll walk with you.” They moved down the metal stairs, Dan carrying his suitcases, Lanie unsure as to how she felt about the previous conversation. As with most things concerning Dan, nothing ever seemed to be truly settled. And what did he mean by “friendly adversaries”?

“You look tired,” he said. “Having the dreams again?”

“Again? They’ve never stopped.”

She shivered. It had been rough the night before, the worst yet. She could literally feel the fire burning her as it rose from a pit, while Crane kept reaching for her hand. And that boy was there, that dead boy, only he was alive and she feared for him more than for herself. She’d awakened in terror, drenched in sweat at 2 A.M. and hadn’t even considered the notion of going back to sleep.

“Still think it’s connected to Martinique?”

“It’s got to be.”

They walked into the confusion of helos and support personnel, all running human chains as manifest lists were verbally checked off. “Have you ever asked Crane to help you with it?” Newcombe spotted Hill and waved him over. “He was there with you.”

“He always changes the subject,” she said. “And that’s too bad, because I think if I could simply remember Martinique, all the dreams would go away. It’s right there in front of me … yelling at me.”

“What’s up, Doc Dan?” Hill said, winded from exertion.

“I’ve got to go down to the city tonight,” Dan said. “Is it possible?”

“If you’re willin’ to go now, it is. At the moment, I’ve got three dozen pilots standing around with their thumbs up their butts.” He took Dan’s bags. “Something’ll be waitin’ for you on the main pad in about ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Burt.”

“Stay in the shade, Doc.”

They moved on to the mosque. Dan was looking good tonight, wearing all black, a suit with a turtleneck. He looked like the Atlantic City version of Brother Ishmael. She wondered if he were going to the War Zone.

They walked in, then through to her station. They peered through the ahrensglass at the globe. Lanie always was excited when she saw her handiwork alive and pulsating with information. They were running a full slate of programmers tonight who were dumping weather data into the computer.

“Martinique,” she said, her eyes fixated on the globe. “The answer to my memory loss and to the dreams. I must remember what happened … and I think I’m close. It’s like a fog dissipating.” She watched the West Indies slide past, followed Martinique as it turned, saw its volcano.

“Dan,” Crane called down through a new hole in his office wall that let out into the programmer’s area, “I need the EQ-eco on downtown Memphis!”

“I’ll bring it up.” Dan went to his labs.

Lanie drifted toward Crane’s office. Time was such a strange commodity. It had its own organic structure that worked on people without their consent. Like her and Dan. Sumi Chan, for instance, had gone from valued ally to traitor and back again to friend within the space of a few months. As Vice President, he was once again supporting Crane behind the scenes, and it was support that Crane cheerfully accepted.

She walked into Crane’s office, smiling at all the teevs running his exploits on the walls. He’d been right about the bet. It seemed the entire world was waiting for the events to unwind. It was the money—the bet—right now that counted to the world. Soon, it would be the horror.

“How will they judge me, do you think?” Crane asked her, all but reading her mind.

“Some will blame you. Just like on Sado. Some will praise you, some love you, some hate you. You’ll be a magician and a scientist, a monster and a savior. But none of that matters to you, does it?”

He smiled, his jumpsuit sleeves rolled up as he stuffed a briefcase full of cash. Bail money. “As long as we can keep the funding rolling in, I’m happy,” he said. “People don’t know what’s good for them; they only know what they want. I learned to keep my expectations low a long time ago. It’s good advice for anyone.”

“Dan’s going down the mountain tonight.”

He grimaced but didn’t respond.

Lame looked through the new window at the globe. “I never get over it,” she said. “The damned thing’s still running.”

“And will continue to,” he said. “King’s Projection will be in use millennia after we’re gone.”

“Unless they come up with something better. Now, why haven’t we taken it any farther forward than February 27th? I’m sure there are other quakes to predict. But we haven’t done it. Why?”

“I’ll tell you why,” Newcombe said from the doorway. “Now that he’s got the power, he’s afraid of it.”

“Not far off,” Crane said, reaching for the printouts in Newcombe’s hand. “I just thought it was time for a little reflection before moving forward. Besides, there’s Memphis…”

He took the schematic Newcombe handed him and stared at it. “Here’s the Memphis jail,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll arrest me and take me here.”

“It’s going to be close,” Newcombe said.

“Yeah. The east side of the building looks like it won’t make it, but the cell blocks are stacked on the west side.”

“That’s a narrow ribbon of safe territory. Too narrow.”

“I trust your calculations.”

“I’m not so sure about the river,” Newcombe said. “I know what will happen to the land around it, but things are going to shift and force it to change course. I’ve got no real eco on that.”

“We’ll take our chances.”

“Will you have access to teev?”

“Yes,” Crane said, Lanie finding herself watching a wall show about the quake on Martinique. As she watched, lights began flashing in her head, recognition. God, she could feel the mud getting through her clothes. She itched.

Crane was still talking, but it was coming to Lanie as something from far away. She held her head, pain flashing. She could feel the scar under her hair, then the heat, the darkness, the overpowering fear of suffocation, the house collapsing all around them, everything else fading away.

Hands shaking her, a distant voice in her ear.

“Dan? Is Dan all right?” she said, but something was wrong. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Lanie! Get a grip … Lanie?”

Dan was in front of her. They were in Crane’s office in the Foundation. She was gasping for breath, the sadness all over her as she began crying again.

“What is it?” Crane asked gently.

“That boy,” she said, sobbing. “That poor boy. We never even … even knew h-his name.”

Dan moved to comfort her, but she turned instinctively to Crane, who put his good arm around her.

The doorway opened fully to her then, her memories drifting lazily back—the fear, the interminable questions, the rum. And Crane. A smile spread slowly over her face. “I remember,” she said to him. “I remember everything.”

“What’s to remember?” Newcombe asked.

“The rum bottle … being pushed down the breathing tube. That’s right when you were telling me about your plan for ending earthquakes.”

“Ending earthquakes?” Dan asked.

She looked at Crane, instinctively realizing she’d said something wrong, something meant to be kept private.