"And bodies?"
Lopez nodded uncomfortably. "We've got a morgue, yes. And everybody's identified. Believe me, we're going to find everybody before the choppers arrive. They're pulling everyone out as fast as they can. As soon as the sun comes up. But the whole ship is spread across the jungle canopy, and it covers a lot of territory. You know that. We've rigged some stairs and ladders to get up into it, so we can pull down the things we need, medical equipment, ordnance, food, water, blankets, cots, everything-but it's a crazy situation. Most of the ship is at a thirty-degree angle, parts of it are tilted as badly as sixty degrees. And there's a lot to do, and not a lot of us left to do it." I thought for a moment that she was going to add, "So please be patient," but she didn't.
"What was all the shooting?"
"Worms. Only a few. Probably locals. The jungle is fairly thick between here and the mandala, and the ground is rough. There's also a couple of big rivers in the way. That's slowing down the bulk of the column. You heard about the column of worms? We've got spybirds tracking with them-they're not moving as fast as we thought. But they are headed directly toward us."
"How reliable is this information?"
"We've got communications buoys up." The buoys were tethered balloons with silver-metal skin and studded with rightangle dimples to create a maximum radar image. The things looked like inflated golf balls, only all the dimples were threesided, as if they had been poked in by the corner of a cube. Any beam hitting the dimple would bounce directly back to its source and generate a bright solid blip. The tether doubled as an antenna for transmissions. The ground anchor was a six-week power supply. A communication buoy was always visible to any network satellite above the horizon.
"Defenses?" I asked.
Lopez nodded. "The contingency plans you wrote-for the most part, they're working. You did good. We're spraying aerogel. We've got prowlers and mines. We've got twelve torches and fifteen rocket launchers. We're okay-"
"Uh-huh. And how many worms in the column?"
"At least sixty or seventy thousand-" She patted my hand. "It's not as bad as it sounds. The choppers have been bombing them all night long. That's slowing them down. They won't be here before tomorrow afternoon. By then, we should all be gone."
"We've gotta find Lizard-"
"We will. I promise you." She looked uncomfortable. "Look, I gotta go. There's still some worms prowling around-"
"Lopez-?" I said it flat.
She stopped, one hand on the flap of the tent. "What?"
"What is it you're not telling me?"
She looked away, looked back, looked uncomfortable. "Sorry. I didn't want to say anything yet-"
"'What?"
She lowered her eyes. She was embarrassed to say it. "Siegel bought the farm."
I was PKD'ed. I didn't feel a thing. The words slammed into me and shattered.
"How?" I barely got the question out.
"A worm. Don't ask."
"He got adventurous, didn't he?"
She shrugged. "It's still out there. We put a harpoon into it and we're tracking it. I'm going to kill it."
"Don't be stupid, Lopez. Let it go-"
She shook her head. "It's not your call, amigo." And ducked out, leaving me alone again. More alone than ever.
Just before dawn, I woke in a cold terrified sweat. It was too quiet. And then I realized why. Benson's noisy breathing had finally stopped. I called for help, but no one came.
Continuing explorations of the mandala nests reveal the incredible richness of life within a fully established Chtorran colony. It is becoming increasingly apparent that the intricacy and scope of life within a living nest is probably the most amazing manifestation of the entire invasion.
Some individuals have compared the mandalas with ant or termite nests, or have described such settlements as underground cities. While such comparisons may be useful, they are vastly misleading images.
In actuality, the Chtorran nest is a great living system that grows itself out of various component species. All of the plants and animals that live and thrive within the mandala system are servants of the nest. Even the gastropedes-the presumed masters of the nest-are servants of the process.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 75
Shreiber
"Reliable information lets you say, 'I don't know,' with real confidence."
-SOLOMON SHORT
The pain was a steady presence, but it had lost its power to hurt. The PKDs were potent, if nothing else. But they only dulled the physical pains; they didn't dull the emotions. They didn't stop the feelings from flowing. That still hurt.
I couldn't do anything but lie on my cot and think. Uncomfortable thoughts grabbed hold of my chest and squeezed so hard I couldn't breathe. What if she was dead? That one pressed down onto me like the weight of the universe. How could I go on without her? What would I do? Where would I go? I thought about dying. But I'd already promised her that I wouldn't kill myself
The idea terrified me, that I would have to go through life alone, never having anyone again to share with or laugh with or simply hold on to in the middle of the dark cold night when all the demons of the mind came prowling around the edges of the bed. I would never again know the taste of her lips, the dance of ecstasy of her body against mine. I lay there on the cot, wanting her more than anything-the one person I needed most in the world to be with was the one person I couldn't have. Just let me know that she's alive somewhere, I prayed. But no one answered. I thought about the smell of her hair, the soft noises she made in the back of her throat when she was comforting me. I thought about the way she made me feel, and the ache grew louder and louder inside of me. I was plunging headlong into my worst nightmare. I could see my life laid out before me. Empty. Already, I was a dying shell. The sunlight ebbed away as I grew old alone, unloved, forgotten—until finally, eventually, I shriveled up and blew away in the wind, an empty dried-up husk of memory.
If I could just reach backward, quickly, for just a moment, somehow stop time, somehow change it-but the memories were a closing window, rapidly receding into the distance. The present, and all the futures hiding behind it, slammed into me like a mad hallucination.
I cried in my cot. I lay on my back, and the tears ran out of my eyes and into my ears. I choked on my own sobs. Nobody came. Nobody cared. I had never felt so helpless or trapped in my entire life-because I was finally, completely trapped inside the circumstances of my life, and this time I couldn't get out. This time, it was for real. The dust would sweep across the bones of the world. I would wander in rags. It was over and done. Lizard was dead and I was alone.
I hurt so badly. And no one and nothing could help.
What hurt the most was the frustration; the not being able to get up and do something. Anything. At least let me be a part of it! Something was going on and nobody was telling me. I could hear it in the distance. Shouts, purple noises, prowler sounds, occasional explosions, and only once the sound of a chopper and then the muffled roar of a torch.
The more I lay there, flat on my blistered back, the more frustrated I got; the more frustrated I got, the less I wanted to stay still. By the time they came to take away Benson's body, I was crazed. I grabbed at their arms. "What's going on? Where's Lopez? Has Lizard been found? When are the choppers coming? Let me help. Get me a phone. Get me a remote. I can run a prowler from here. Let me do something-"
Finally, I got so frantic that someone called Dr. Shreiber in to see me. She had a spray-injector in her hand.
"Where's Dr. Meier?" I demanded, trying to sit up. Shreiber pushed me back down.