"She's not available-"
"What do you mean? What's going on?"
She let out her breath in exhaustion. "Look, I'm sorry. Everything's falling apart. There's a big nest of shamblers somewhere nearby. The tenants keep swarming. The choppers can't get in. Two of them are already down. They're not going to try any more landings until we find the nest and burn it. We've got the prowlers out searching now. And if that isn't enough, we're attracting worms."
"Where's Lopez?"
"I don't know. The worms overran part of the camp. There're a lot of people still unaccounted for."
"Who's running the SLAM team?"
"What SLAM team? They're all dead. Or missing."
"Jesus Christ-!" This time I didn't let her push me back down. I propped myself up on my elbows. "Who's in charge? What are we doing about defenses?"
"Dwan Grodin is channeling for General Wainright. The surviving crew of the Bosch are manning the defenses. Dannenfelser is running the prowlers by remote."
"Oh, God-this is a fucking disaster! You've gotta let me up. Find some way to make me mobile. I can help!"
"You're not in the chain of command anymore. You're a patient. Now, shut up and be a patient-"
"Look, Marietta," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "I know we've had our differences, but-please, you have to understand, Wainright's an idiot, and Dwan-well, you saw, you know. I mean, she's a sweet kid, but she can't handle stress. We need someone on-site with combat experience. I'm the only one left-"
Dr. Marietta Shreiber held up the spray-injector meaningfully. She held it in front of my eyes until I stopped -talking. "Shut up," she explained. "I don't have time for this. Neither does anybody else. I'm going to give you a choice. Either you shut up and stay shut up, or I'm going to put you on sedation until we get you out of here." She lowered the injector. "I'd prefer to save the drugs," she said. "You're not the only one who's injured-"
"No," I said, a little too quickly. "I don't like drugs. They make the voices in my head mumble. If I'm going to be crazy, at least I'd like to know how crazy I am."
Dr. Shreiber didn't smile. "You're not funny, McCarthy. You're a goddamn nuisance." She had me. She knew it. And I didn't dare fight back. "You're the most unprofessional person I've ever met. You're a spoiled brat. You use your connections to steamroller people. You get them disgraced, embarrassed, jailed, shafted, and sometimes killed. I don't like you. I don't like what you do. And I don't like the way you do it. And I wouldn't lift a finger to help you right now if the President of the United States personally ordered me to."
There were a whole lot of things I would have liked to have said in answer to that. Instead, I held my silence. Dr. Shreiber still held the spray-injector.
"I'll be good," I promised. "Please don't drug me."
She didn't believe me, but she put the hypo away. "I'm not going to baby-sit you. And I'm not going to let anyone else waste their time either. You only get one warning. Next time, someone is just going to come along and jab you. And we'll keep jabbing you until we can get you out of here. Understand?"
"No more trouble. I promise."
She still didn't believe me. She was right to doubt. "May I have a phone?" I asked.
She hesitated. She was obviously thinking about what kinds of problems I could create if I got on-line to Houston. Or anywhere.
"I promise you, I won't do anything to hinder anybody's work."
"I don't want you going over my head."
"That's not my style," I said. "I play by the rules."
Dr. Shreiber snorted. "Sorry. I don't trust you enough." She bent and exited the tent, leaving me to wonder how long we had to live. I doubted we'd make it to the end of the day.
The tunnels of the mandala are not simply dirt-fined shafts leading down to various storage chambers, reservoirs, and nesting areas; they are in fact, the bones, the marrow, and the skeleton of a complete living organism.
The tunnels are completely lined with plantbased organisms, fleshy tissue-like constructions that maintain temperature, humidity, and even in some cases, atmospheric pressure. Other structures, thick pipe-like vines that cling to the walls and ceilings, mirror the activities of nerves, arteries, and intestines.
These living cables contain sophisticated organic pumps to carry fluids, nutrients, and even simple sensory information to all parts of the colony. Other channels function to remove wastes, filtering them, recycling liquids, and delivering them for reuse to other parts of the nest.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 76
Shaun
"If it's not your bedroom, it's not your affair."
—SOLOMON SHORT
I had plenty of time to appreciate the irony of the situation. I had been detached from my commission, my team, my wife, my weapons, my communications, and finally, even my mobility. One piece at a time, I had been reduced to this totally dependent thing. I hated it.
Even worse, I had promised one of the people I most despised in the world that I would cooperate with my fate. I wondered what Foreman would do in this situation and wished I had a gun. I sipped at the canteen; peed a little, chewed a P-ration, and listened to the noises of the hot wet jungle all around us. The day was dark and getting darker.
I thought about praying, but… that seemed a futile exercise. It had worked once before, when I was caught in a pink storm with Duke; but now-the image of Wild Willie Aycock stood between me and God. And besides, God was in hell, so why bother praying? What I really wanted was a telephone-and that was the one thing I was least likely to get.
I was wondering what it would feel like to just give up, when Shaun stuck his head in through the flap. "How're you feeling, gorgeous?"
"I'm feeling anything but gorgeous."
"Brought you a present," he said. He looked behind himself and then quickly slipped into the tent. He was holding something behind his back. "But it'll cost you."
"What?"
"One kiss."
"Shaun-" I said tiredly.
"You really want this present," he grinned.
"You never give up, do you?"
He shrugged happily. "Nope, I guess not." He held up his present. A phone. "It's my own," he said. "But it's got a direct connection to the worldnet, so maybe-"
"How did you know that I wanted a phone?"
"Dr. Shreiber gave orders that you weren't to be allowed near any communications gear."
"You're violating her order? You're going to get in trouble."
"I don't work for Dr. Shreiber. My job is to serve the mission. If you need a phone, it must be for something important."
"It is. I'm going to try to save Lizard's life." Shaun's expression went terribly sad.
"What aren't you telling me?"
The words poured out painfully. "They found the last box of computer logs she was carrying, the ones she was supposed to take in the chopper, they were in the worst-crunched part of the lounge. They found her phone, too."
"But-?" I wasn't ready to give up hope.
"They didn't find her. They couldn't get in any farther. I'm sorry, Jim." He didn't want to say it. "But they've stopped searching. They don't have enough people anymore. And almost everybody is accounted for."
"Whose orders?"
Hesitation. "Dr. Shreiber."
"It figures." And then, I realized. "Where's Captain Harbaugh?"
"She was injured in the crash. She's in a coma." Shaun's lower lip trembled. He looked like he was about to cry. "They don't know if she's going to make it."
"She'll make it," I said. "She's a strong lady." Shaun nodded hopefully.
He put his phone into my hand. Then he stepped even closer and lowered his voice to a soft whisper. "You don't have to kiss me if you don't want to," he said. "I was just joking-"