Dead Space: Martyr (35 page)

Altman felt sick. He clung to the ladder a moment, staring down. He might have hung there for longer, but then a thought occurred to him.
There might be more of them.
Glancing nervously about him, he forced himself to continue up the ladder.

When he reached the hatch, he opened it and clambered out onto the deck, making sure it was securely closed behind him. He hoped the creatures wouldn’t be capable of opening it, but he didn’t know for sure.

He started clambering down the side of the dome, following the narrow steps cut in the glass. Below was the boat platform, slopping up and down with the swells. Most of the boats were gone, but one was left. He undid the mooring and climbed in.

The motor started immediately. Only then did it start to seem real, like he might actually get away, like he might actually survive.

And then he remembered Field, dead because he had waited for Altman.
We’ll have to come back,
Field had said.
Make sure it’s contained.

No,
thought Altman.
I’m free of it. I’m not going back.

And then suddenly he felt a presence in the boat beside him, just behind him, just out of sight. He was afraid that if he turned, he would see Field, his head loose, in place but not connected to his neck, threatening to fall off at any moment.

Hello, Altman,
someone said.

“Leave me alone, Field,” Altman said.

Are you coming back for me?
Only, when he thought of it, it didn’t seem exactly like Field’s voice.

“You’re dead, Field. I can’t come back for you.”

But what about me?
it said.

Definitely not Field’s voice. It was the voice of a woman now. He turned his head, saw Ada.

“Where are you, Ada? Who killed you?”

I’m right here. I need you, Michael,
she said.
I need you to finish what you started.

He shook his head. “You’re not Ada,” he said. “You’re a hallucination.”

It’s not finished, Michael. Everyone is in grave danger. You have to stop the Convergence.

“What is Convergence?” he asked.

You’ve seen the Convergence,
Ada said.
You need to stop it.

And then she disappeared.
He put the boat in gear and pushed the throttle down hard. Damned if he could figure out what exactly she wanted from him. What
it
wanted from him.
I’m not going back,
he told himself,
I’m not going back.

But he already was afraid he would.

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.”

61

As he navigated the boat through the swells and felt the spray on his face, there was a lot of time to think.
I’m crazy,
he thought at first.
I shouldn’t be going back. I was lucky to escape alive the first time
. And indeed, he might have stayed on land if Ada hadn’t been dead. But no, as it was, there was no reason to go back to land. He felt he had to end it.

And then he began to think of what the old drunk had said when he met him on the dock:
The only way to beat the devil is to take the devil inside you. You must open yourself to the devil. You must learn to think like the devil.

And how would the devil think? Or how, in this case, would the Marker think?

If anyone would know, Altman thought, it would be him. He had seen the Marker many times, had survived close proximity to it even when it was broadcasting fully. It had spoken to him by way of hallucinations again and again.

What had it said most recently, through his memories of Ada?
I need you, Michael. I need you to finish what you started.
That was vague—like most of what the ghosts told him, it was hard to pin down. Earlier, in the dream, it had been much more specific. But was it really the Marker speaking to him through the dream
or was it only a dream, or even something else? A dream was a far cry from a hallucination.

But maybe the dream was his subconscious mind trying to tell him something. What exactly had Ada said?
I need you to do something for me,
she had said.
I want to have a baby. That’s what I need. It’ll bring us closer together.

But was a dream the same thing as a hallucination? Maybe it was a different force altogether—maybe not his subconscious at all but something else. What did she mean by having a baby? Were these creatures, the crewmen that had been transformed after death into monsters, the Marker ’s offspring? Well, yes, he supposed so, in a manner of speaking, if he was right in thinking they’d been created by the Marker ’s transmitted code. But unless he was mistaken, his dream about Ada had not raised the issue with him until after the creatures, whatever they were, had been spawned. Indeed, he must have had the dream
just after
the creatures had appeared, even though Altman hadn’t known about them until a few minutes later, when the alarm woke him up.