The first wave hit the dam and a splatter of water soared a hundred feet above the dam top. Had he lost too much water there? No, that was just spray.
Was the dam holding?
He could not tell whether the underwater currents were carrying the rock into the low hole. He darted the plane sideways. Water was still roaring out under the dam. He watched.
Was it his imagination that it was lessening?
His attention was yanked off it by blue figures racing down to the powerhouse. They certainly had not waited!
He looked at his watch. He only had two minutes to get this plane out of the air.
With a pound on the console keys Jonnie lanced the plane down to an empty abutment. He killed its motor. He had to make sure it was off– his ears were ringing.
Thirty-three seconds left to go. That was cutting it close!
He went through the underground passage into the cone. He looked at the pagoda. Not even a tile had moved in that blast.
Angus was at the console. The small gray man at the computer. Angus waved and shouted, “Power's on! We're firing!”
Chapter 4
Somebody else had been busy in the last two hours. A different music was playing. It was very noble and dignified. It sounded vaguely familiar to Jonnie and then he remembered that a cadet had found a pile of what he called “records,” big things: if you ran a rose thorn held in a paper box around an endless circular groove and put your ear close, it sounded like twenty or thirty instruments playing; the ancient label on the record, mostly faded out, said the name of the piece was “The Cleveland Symphony Orchestra. Lohengrin.” This music was much like that but deeper, fuller, quite impressive! Jonnie suspected the small gray man had had a hand in that. Something from his ship? Music for the delegates to arrive by, of course.
And something else that must be from the small gray man's ship: there was a screen, meshed so you could see through it, all around the firing platform, and Dr. Allen was finishing putting it up. “Disease control,” he said cryptically as Jonnie passed by.
Sweaty Chinese engineers crawled out of a duct hole with cheery faces. They had air circulating in and out now. The smoke had already cleared away. A good thing, thought Jonnie. A lot of different atmospheres would momentarily be whiffing across the platform at the instant of coincidence of spaces and during recoil especially.
And the mobs of Chinese refugees from the village had changed, too. They may have lost their village but they had saved their possessions and these had been scattered about. Now the untidy bundles had vanished. Children and dogs were quiet down in the rifle pits and parents and others that had no immediate duties were standing about. They had on what must be their best clothes.
An honor guard came out of a bunker and finished neatening themselves up with a tug here and a buckle there. Six of them, different nationalities; all in their best uniforms. No weapons but the shafts of pennons. An aged Chinese gentleman– no, a Buddhist communicator dressed to look like a Chinese, wearing a silk robe with designs on it and a small cap– was taking position at the head of the honor guard. Of course, somebody who spoke Psychlo to greet the arrivals, yet who looked like a dignitary.
It would be three or four minutes until the first one appeared and Jonnie walked toward the ops room. He didn't get in. The boy, Quong, sprinted out, going somewhere fast, and Sir Robert popped out of the door and called after him, “And tell Stormalong to bring that other recognition book too!” The boy hardly checked his pace, nodding in full run.
Beyond Sir Robert the ops room was boiling with sound and movement as people worked.
Jonnie opened his mouth to ask how it was going. But Sir Robert answered before he could speak. Sir Robert shook his head bleakly. “They're using a new kind of bomb. The guns sometimes don't explode it. And the idiots are burning deserted cities! Our drones are still running. Why would they want to burn an empty place that used to be called 'San Francisco?' The last drone shot we had of it, there were just two bears walking down the street. We're dealing wi' daft imbeciles!”
Jonnie made to go in past him and Sir Robert shook his head again. “You can't do anything more than we're doing. Have you thought what we're going to tell these emissaries?
“No idea,” said Jonnie. “Shouldn't we get Clanchief Fearghus down here?”
"Naw, naw," said Sir Robert. “No e'en a wee chonce! Edinburgh is gang up in flames!”
Jonnie felt a contraction of his heart. “Any news of Chrissie?"
“They'd a' be doon in the shelters.
Dunneldeen is giving them a' the air cover he can.”
Stormalong raced in with the book.
Sir Robert took a look at Jonnie. “Go get yersel' cleaned up. And think of something to tell these arrivals!” He shooed Jonnie off toward his room and vanished into ops. He closed the door behind him so the frantic sounds wouldn't come into the platform area.
Jonnie walked on toward his room. Just as he was about to duck into the passage the humming of the wires, which had been going on underneath the music, made itself known by stopping. There was a space of time and then a slight recoil.
The Hockner emissary was on the platform. Noseless, holding a monocle on a stick, he was dressed in shimmering robes. He had a gold-colored hamper beside him.
A bell on the screen pinged. The screen top edge lit with a purple glow all around. The Hockner picked up the hamper, looked about through his monocle and minced off the platform. The honor guard saluted and dipped pennons.
He halted well clear of the disease control fence. A messenger took the hamper from him. The Buddhist in Chinese clothes bowed.
In a supercilious tone of voice, the Hockner emissary said, in Psychlo, “I am Blan Jetso, extraordinary minister plenipotentiary of the Emperor of the Hockners, long may he reign! I am empowered to negotiate and arrange final and binding amendments to agreements or treaties in all things political or military. My person is inviolate and any molestation cancels any agreements. Any effort to hold me hostage shall be in vain for I shall not be redeemed by my government. At the threat of any torture or extortion, you are warned that I shall commit suicide instantly in ways unknown to you. I am not the carrier of any disease nor weapon. Long live the Hockner Empire! And how are you today?”
The communicator dressed as a Chinese bowed and made a brief, fast speech of welcome, very pat, told him the conference would begin in about three hours and led him off to a private apartment where he could rest or refresh himself.
Jonnie had an idea these arrivals would all be about the same, different only as to races, persons, and clothes.
He was trying to think of something to tell the emissaries. It was a bit of a shock for Sir Robert to infer that it was up to him. When that grizzled old veteran didn't have any ideas– But then he must be terribly distressed over Edinburgh. So was Jonnie.
Chapter 5
Jonnie ducked under the door beam to enter the passage to his room and a wave of dizziness hit him. So far, in trying to handle the dam, he had carried himself along on willpower and he had pushed the feeling aside. But now, with worry about Edinburgh and Chrissie, he felt he was not in very good condition to handle much of anything. He had taken quite a battering these last couple of days.
He was not prepared for what he found in the passage just outside his room. There were four people there and they were working on things he couldn't quite make out. They had low benches, they were sitting on the floor, their heads were down, and their hands were flying.