Paul Menelaua, his own visage a mass of dribbling cuts, held his dying comrade, offering Anna his crucifix. The animatronic Jesus moved its mouth, perhaps reciting some final prayer or death rite, while its hands, still pinned to the silver cross, opened in welcome.
Hearing flooded back. Murky shouts erupted beyond the shrouded table where he had just fled, seconds ago. Dr. Nguyen’s protesting voice, arguing. Others that were harsh, demanding. The floor vibrated with heavy footsteps. Grating rumbles carried through the shattered window-from war engines that had somehow crossed the broad Pacific undetected, all the way to this rich, isolated atoll. So much for the mercenary protection that wealth supposedly provided.
Bin gathered his strength to go… then spotted the New Beijing professor, Yang Shenxiu, cowering nearby, clutching a table leg. The scholar babbled and offered Bin something-a memory sheet, no thicker than a piece of paper and about the same size. Yang Shenxiu’s fingernails clawed involuntarily at the fragile-looking polymer, leaving no tracks as Bin yanked it from the scholar’s hand and crammed it under his belt. Then, with a parting nod to Yang, he sprang away at a crouching run, dashing for a sliding door that gave way to a balcony, then the sheltering sea.
Bless the frugal habits of a shoresteader. Waste nothing. Reuse everything. On arriving at Newer Newport, Bin had kept sly possession of the little disposable underwater breathing apparatus the penguin-robot gave him, back in the murky Huangpu. Was it his fault they never asked for it back? In the well-equipped arcology kitchen, using a smuggler’s trick, he had managed to refill the tiny reserve tank, while rehearsing speeches of forgetful innocence, should anyone find it in his pocket.
Now, splashing into a storm of saltwater bubbles and engine noise, Bin fumbled at the compact breather with one hand, struggling to unfold the nosepiece and eye-shields, while the worldstone dragged him downward by the other. For a scary moment the survival gadget almost slipped from his grasp. Only after it was snugly in place did Bin kick off his sandals, grabbing a stanchion along one of the massive foundation pillars.
Okay. It’s good, he noted as air flowed smoothly. But ease up. Breathe slow and steady. Move slow and steady. Think slow and steady.
The normally clear waters roiled with turbid muck, a fog of churned gases, chopped seaweed, and fragments of shattered coral, along with a cloudy phosphorescence of stirred diatoms. Something foreign-perhaps leakage from those engines-filled his mouth with an oily tang. Still, Bin felt grateful for the obscuration.
Noises reverberated all around-more explosions and the rattattat of weapons being discharged somewhere, while bits and pieces of debris fell from Newer Newport, tumbling to disturb the muddy bottom. Or else landing atop the drowned Royal Palace of Pulupau. His shoresteader’s eye noted-if the two-story structure hadn’t collapsed, the roofline would extend well above where he was, even past the surface.
Bin clung to his perch, trying to both control his racing heart and seem very small. Especially when-after searching and peering about-he made out several vessels bobbing just beyond the reef, blocked from entering the lagoon by shoreline ruins. Evidently subs of some kind. Sneakers, built to bring commandos close to shore. Though Bin squinted, they were hard to make out. The nearest seemed a tubular bulge of ghostly ripples amid churning shoal currents…
… till the aiware in his right-hand field of view intervened, applying some imaging magic to overcome blur camouflage. At once, an augmented version-truer than reality-traced the nearest warship, a sleek, croclike shape whose mouth still gaped after spewing raiders, minutes ago.
Dr. Nguyen said this implant was a simple one, to help me with translations. But it seems a whole lot more. Perhaps smart, too?
That thought must have gone to nerves controlling speech, because Bin’s unvoiced question provoked an answer-one that floated briefly in the right eye’s field of view. A single, simple character.
YES
Bin shivered, realizing. He now had a companion-an ai-inside him. By one way of viewing things, it felt as much a violation as the painful cuts across his back. Which oozed blood in soft clouds, causing several sand sharks to start nosing up current. Not deadly in their own right. But more dangerous predators might soon converge, if the bleeding didn’t stop.
He tried to bear down and think. Shall I try to reach one of the other arcologies? Even if Newer Newport was taken, the rest of the resort colony might hold out. They must be, from the booming reverberations of ongoing combat. His loyalty had been personal, to Dr. Nguyen, not to any consortium of rich folks. Still, the stipend they were paying into an account, for Mei Ling and the child, that was reason enough to try.
If it seemed possible, that is. The worldstone was too heavy a burden to haul through a long underwater slog, with limited air, while dodging both sharks and raiders. Anyway-
The enemy… they’ll soon realize the stone isn’t up top, anymore. There’ll be searchers in the water, any second now.
He decided. It must be down.
Bin had already spotted several parts of the collapsed palace where the roof looked relatively intact, likely to host cavities and hiding places. Spots that only a shoresteader might notice. If he hid well, resting to minimize oxygen consumption, the invaders might give up after a quick scan, assuming the worldstone was already elsewhere-taken to another arcology.
Releasing the stanchion, he let the stone drag him down till bottom mud met his feet, four or five meters below the surface… and he felt antediluvian pavement underneath. The Pulupauan king’s ceremonial driveway, perhaps. Bin shuffled along, grateful none of the spiky new coral had taken root here. Hurrying, while trying not to exert himself, he slogged past several rusting hulks of automobiles-perhaps beloved, once upon a time, but not enough to take when the princely family fled rising seas.
There. That old window. The gable looks in good shape. Perfect.
Perhaps too perfect… but he had no time to be choosy. A series of hop-glides took him over the worst debris jumbles, arriving finally at the opening. Bin took a moment to shake the sill and frame, checking for stability. But wealthy scuba divers would already have come exploring by now. It must be safe.
He slipped inside, finding the expected cavelike hollow. There was even a small air pocket at the ceiling vertex, probably stale, left by those earlier sightseers. Lacking a torch, Bin chose to settle in next to the opening, clutching the satchel and waiting. Either till the bad guys went away, or his breather ran empty. The goggle part included a crude timer display. With luck and a very slow use-rate, there might be almost an hour of air.
Before it runs out, and I have to surface, I’ll hide the worldstone. And never tell.
Something occurred to him: Was that the very same vow made by the last owner of the alien relic, Lee Fang Lu? The fellow who kept a collection of strange minerals underneath his seaside mansion? Resisting every pressure to hand over the ancient interstellar messenger-stone, even unto death?
Bin wished he could be sure of his own courage. Above all, he yearned to know what was going on! Who were the parties fighting over such things? Dr. Nguyen seemed reluctant to discuss history, but there were hints… had factions really been wrangling secretly, in search of “magical stones” for thousands of years? Perhaps going further back in time than reading and writing?
Only now, centuries of cryptic struggle seemed to converge toward some desperate climax, because that American astronaut chose to let the whole world in on it. Or was all this frenzy for another reason? Because Earthling technology was at last ready-or nearly ready-to take up the tempting deal offered by those entities living inside the Havana Artifact?