The Martian Viking (25 page)

"Please," Representative Silver said. "You really ought to try to be a little more amicable, the both of you."

"Shut up!" Ronindella shrieked at the old man.

"I beg your pardon," Silver said with great dignity.

Ronindella didn't answer. Instead, she turned toward the transparency, and watched Chryse Planitia fly by.

Johnsmith was relieved to see her breast rising and falling in sleep a few minutes later. Ronindella always slept soundly, looking angelic, after battling with him. Well, he was glad to see that she could rest. He certainly couldn't. He should have been enervated and exhausted after the past few days, but he wasn't. He was as fresh as a kid on a summer morning.

The day that Jethro Pease had spoken of was almost here.

THEY SAW THE signs of the Ship long before they reached the Viking Monument. The sky over the desert had darkened and taken on a strange, aqueous quality that Johnsmith had never seen on Mars before. It almost looked as if a thunderstorm were brewing; but that, of course, was downright impossible.

Still, something was happening, and whatever it was, it was something new.

"It's a disjunctive node," Jethro Pease said.

Everyone in the carrier turned to look at him. He sat in a window seat near the front, gazing out at the forbidding, dark sky.

"What did you say, sir?" Representative Silver asked.

"I said it's a disjunctive node," Jethro repeated.

"Might I ask what that means?"

"Sure, you can ask all you want, but I can't really explain it to you."

The Connie Representative shook his head.

"I've heard of it," Frankie Lee Wisbar said. "It's kind of like a bubble in the continuum. If you should wander into one, and the bubble bursts, you'll end up in some other time and place."

"And where did you hear about this wonder of nature?" Representative Silver asked, trying to sound sarcastic, but looking just a trifle nervous.

"In Arkie training sessions. They taught us that the Conglom wants to harness this thing, but it's bigger than any government. It's kind of a . . .philosophical or . . ."

" . . .or religious thing," Silver said, glancing sternly at the daydreaming Jethro Pease. "But that's all misguided twaddle. If it exists at all, it's nothing more than a natural phenomenon. The human race needs it for the virtually unlimited energy it might provide."

So that was it, Johnsmith realized. A wonder of nature was to be exploited by the Conglom as a kind of interdimensional, extratemporal power plant.

"We've arrived," Frankie Lee Wisbar announced.

The carrier settled down onto the surface, as everyone grabbed a pressure suit and got into it as quickly as possible. Two minutes later, the last of them had climbed out onto the surface and was staring at the Viking Monument, no more than fifty meters to the south. Hundreds of Arkies were clustered a little farther to the west. Their voices created a constant roar in Johnsmith's helmet, as if they were an ocean.

Decades earlier, a transparent cube had been erected around the lander, which stood just a few feet from a big boulder on the rock-strewn plain. It looked like a big tin can on struts, parts wrapped in aluminum foil, with a primitive robot arm protruding from it. On it was fastened a plaque, describing the descent of this first Viking lander way back in 1976.

To the west, the disjunctive node boiled. It wasn't getting larger, but it seemed to be taking on definition, becoming more focused. The longer Johnsmith gazed into its watery depths, the more he thought he understood it . . .though of course he did not understand it at all. He was simply awe stricken. And yet there was a feeling of familiarity stirring in him, a feeling that would not go away. Never a believer in fate, he nevertheless thought that perhaps he had been born to witness what was about to happen.

"Look!" Smitty cried.

Something was taking shape inside the disjunctive node. It was not clear just what it was, but it was
big
.

"I'm scared," Felicia said.

In spite of everything, Johnsmith put his arm around her shoulder for a moment. They watched the node come closer, changing as it moved eastward. The crowd of Arkies moved on the ground below, following it in a ragged procession through the Martian desert. Some of them were chanting. Jethro Pease ran to meet them, to stand under this miracle . . .or phenomenon, depending on one's point of view.

The rest of the carrier's passengers, the pilot, and the hijackers, stood by, gazing up in wonder. The disjunctive node was slowly moving toward the Viking Monument with the stateliness of a papal procession.

Now Johnsmith understood why there had been so much violence, both to the body and spirit. He saw Representative Silver trembling under the shadow of the disjunctive node, and knew that nobody in the solar system had quite been prepared for this.

Except for the Arkies. They had figured it out, where all the technology of Earth had failed. They had accepted it as a religious experience, and their instincts had led them here, to bear witness to this sight for the ages.

"It's just a rain cloud," Ronindella said. "You've come all this way just to see a rain cloud."

As if rain on Mars would not be any big deal, Johnsmith thought.

"That's no thunderstorm," Felicia argued. "It's the beginning of a revolution that will sweep through the entire solar system."

Both of them were wrong, Johnsmith realized. Ronindella, with all her talk of miracles, did not recognize a genuine miracle when she saw one, and Felicia did not understand that there was not a political solution for everything. He was saddened by the incompleteness of their respective visions, these two women whom he had loved at different times of his life.

Three carriers appeared, coming from the east. They must have been sent from Elysium, Johnsmith thought. The Conglom had figured it out, and they had doubtless sent Angel Torquemada to save the day.

But this was too big for Angel Torquemada, or anybody else.

More carriers arrived from the north, south, and west. Dozens of them whined, sending up swirls of dust as they descended on Chryse Planitia. The carriers landed, almost simultaneously, all around the monument. Ramps shot out and shock troops sprinted down them and out across the desert.

Particle beam fire outlined the disjunctive node's underside in red; it was so close now. The beam seared the procession of Arkie pilgrims, and four figures dropped to the sand, kicking and twitching in their death throes. Gunfire popped in the thin atmosphere like a string of firecrackers.

The Arkies did not try to defend themselves. They were dying by the dozens, as the Conglom prisoners, driven mad by isolation and trained to kill, ran through them like heated knives through oleomargarine.

It was a slaughter, the Conglom's revenge for the disastrous raid on Olympus. And there was Angel Torquemada, standing outside the nearest carrier, officiating over the massacre like some evil god.

Johnsmith wondered why the troopers hadn't attacked him and his friends first. Perhaps Torquemada feared harming Representative Silver and the other tourists. More likely, he was saving the escapees from Elysium for last.

"That son of a bitch," Felicia said.

Johnsmith turned to see her determined face, just as she wrenched the pistol out of Frankie's hand and squeezed off three shots.

Angel Torquemada tumbled end over end, finally colliding with the landing strut of one of the carriers. Blood soaked his pressure suit, and he did not move again.

"Good lord," Representative Silver said.

Felicia tossed the gun away. Its arc seemed slightly slower than natural, because of the low gravity, and it clanked dully against a rock when it finally came down.

Angel Torquemada was dead, but it didn't seem to matter to the troops. They were consumed by bloodlust, murdering the Arkies at will. Their war cries mingled with the screams of the wounded and the dying, creating a cacophony of fearsome magnitude.

Johnsmith's helmet radio crackled as the disjunctive node came closer. It was no more than thirty meters away, just over the heads of the Arkies.

Its final shape coalesced. The darkness at its bottom became green, its top half gray. A long shadow cut the gray in two. Suddenly it became clear to Johnsmith just what he was seeing.

It was indeed a huge bubble, just as Frankie had described. Inside it was a large volume of sloshing sea water, and a foggy atmosphere swirled just above the waves.

But it was the thing bisecting the fog that made Johnsmith stare, without blinking, while the battle raged around him.

It was a long ship. In fact, it was
the
Ship, the one he had seen while under the influence of onees. Bearded men pulled at oars, and their triskelion shields hung from the gunwales. They were Vikings.

And the entire spectacle floated not fifteen feet overhead!

The surviving Arkies were following the disjunctive node, gazing up at it fervently. That meant that their attackers were coming nearer to Johnsmith and the vulnerable, little group around him. In a few seconds, they would turn their weapons on those gathered by the hijacked carrier. Smitty might be killed!

There was no time to get aboard the carrier and take off, even if Johnsmith had known how to pilot it. Beam fire was already scorching the sand near them. Prudy was hit in the shoulder. She went down screaming in pain.

Johnsmith grabbed Smitty by the wrist, and yanked him toward the Viking Monument. He leaped, and the Martian gravity enabled him to reach the height of the transparent dome housing the antique lander. Knees bent, he landed squarely on top, but Smitty couldn't keep his footing.

"Dad!" Smitty was dangling by one hand, but Johnsmith pulled him up.

A moment later, they stood together on the monument. A piece of the clear plastic flew away, hit by a bullet. They couldn't stand here any longer.

The disjunctive node was directly overhead.

"Jump, Smitty!" Johnsmith shouted. "Now!"

Together, they leaped upward into the water. Colors shifted prismatically as they entered the disjunctive node, the beam fire's glow distorted by its powerful forces. Their pressure suits were as good as diving gear, and they quickly floated toward the rippling shadow of the long ship above.

Johnsmith never let go of his son, and together they bobbed to the surface.

Men were shouting in a strange language, their voices muffled by Johnsmith's helmet. Did they recognize him and Smitty as humans, dressed as they were in their pressure suits?

Apparently they did, because they extended oars into the water to fish them out.

"Grab hold of that oar, son!" Johnsmith shouted.

Smitty did so, and he was drawn through the foam to the long ship and hauled out of the water by two burly men with yellow beards and braided hair.

A few seconds later, Johnsmith felt powerful hands under his arms, lifting him aboard and setting him on deck.

He unfastened his helmet, tossed it onto the rough planks, threw back his head, and laughed more heartily than he ever had in his life. Helping Smitty with the smaller helmet the tour had provided, he continued laughing as the dour Norsemen eyed him warily.

A huge man stepped forward, like some great, golden bear. Johnsmith put an arm around Smitty's shoulders protectively, so intimidating was the man's sheer physical presence.

But the chief, or king, or whatever he was, clapped his hands onto his enormous belly and laughed even more heartily than Johnsmith and his son had laughed. At that, the other Vikings gathered around them, all laughing. One of them slapped Johnsmith on the back, nearly knocking him over.

They all chattered away in a sing-song, ancient Scandinavian tongue. Johnsmith couldn't understand a word of it. He was relieved that they were friendly, though, and that was enough communication for now.

"Johnsmith Biberkopf," a voice said from behind the Vikings.

"Who's that?" Johnsmith said, incredulous to hear someone speaking his name in this of all places.

The crowd parted as a man dressed in a helmetless pressure suit and metal Viking helmet joined them. Johnsmith couldn't believe his eyes.

"Don't you recognize me? It's Hi—Captain Hi Malker, from North Tel Aviv."

And indeed it was. His beard had grown out, and his hair was long and unkempt, but it was Hi, all right. Johnsmith was speechless for a moment, and then managed to sputter: "Hi . . .how did . . .?"

"It's a heck of of a story," Hi Malker said. "But it all started that night we had the firefight with the Arkies."

"And you fell right into the disjunctive node?"

"Oh, no." Hi laughed. "I was captured."

"But how did you get here?"

"The bunch that captured me got separated from the main attack force. We wandered around out on the desert for days. We were going to die, and then all of a sudden this incredible thing happened. I don't know what became of the Arkies, but I managed to climb up on a rise and jump into the water, and here I am."

"So the Ship
has
been seen before," Johnsmith said. "No wonder the Arkies were so sure it would happen."

"Yeah, it's been popping up on Mars every now and then," Hi said. "There's a rhythm to it, and you can sort of tell when it's going to happen."

"I know. The Arkies and the Conglom both figured it out."

Hi sobered. "So that's what all that fuss was about."

"It was pretty bad," Johnsmith said. "A lot of people were dying down there."

Hi shook his head. "I got to know those Arkies," he said. "They weren't such bad people. Could have shot me or left me to die out on the desert, but they didn't."

Johnsmith suddenly thought of Frankie, and Felicia, and Alderdice, and even Ronindella. He was overcome with grief to think of them all dying at the hands of the Conglom troopers. They were lost forever, as invisible as the surface of Mars was through the mist and sea water filling the inside of the disjunctive node.

"When are we going to be back on Mars?" Smitty II asked, perhaps thinking of his mother for the first time since they had escaped.