“I’m sorry,” he said, while they waited for Bill to tell them the cloud was turning in their direction.
“For what?” Her eyes were dark and cold, and he saw no flexibility in them.
“You wanted to talk.”
“Not really.” She had a book on-screen and her gaze drifted back to it.
“What are you reading?”
“Lamb’s essays.”
“Really.” That seemed odd. “Are you working on a degree?”
“No,” she said.
“Then why—?”
“I like him.” Slight emphasis on the him.
“I’ve never read him,” he said. He never read anything that wasn’t work-related.
She shrugged.
“I’ll have to try him sometime.”
She passed her hand over the screen, and the book vanished. “He’s good company,” she said.
He got the point. “Look, we’ve got another couple of days out here, Kellie. I’m sorry if I’ve created a problem. I didn’t mean to. It’s hard to think about anything right now other than that goddam thing.” He gestured toward the after section of the ship. In the direction of the cloud.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
He asked how she had come to be there, at the most remote place humans had ever visited. And before they were finished, she’d told him why Digger was such an extraordinary person, and he’d told her about Mary, and about how sorry he was for Judy Sternberg and her team of Goompahs-in-training.
He learned that she loved Offenbach. “Barcarolle,” from The Tales of Hoffmann, was playing in the background while they talked. They discovered a mutual interest in politics, although they disagreed on basic philosophy. But it was all right because they found common cause in the conviction that democratic government was, by its nature, corrupt, and had to be steam-cleaned every once in a while.
She liked live theater, and had thought she’d like to act on the stage, but she was too shy. “I get scared in front of an audience,” she told him sheepishly. He found that hard to believe.
Collingdale had acted in a couple of shows during his undergraduate days. His biggest role had been playing Octavius in Man and Superman.
He wondered why she had chosen so solitary a profession. “You must run into a lot of people like me,” he said. “Unsociable types.”
“Not really,” she said. “Not out here. Everybody loosens up. You can’t be alone in a place like this unless you’re literally, physically, alone.” She flashed the first truly warm smile he’d seen. “I love what I do for a living,” she added.
“Kellie.” Bill’s voice crackled out of the speaker.
“Go ahead.”
“It’s throwing off a big slug of cloud to starboard.”
She looked at Collingdale.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Here’s the picture.”
Bill put it on the navigation screen, the largest monitor on the bridge. A large plume was erupting off the right side. “It’s turning,” Collingdale said. He raised a triumphant fist. “The son of a bitch is turning!”
“You really think?” asked Kellie.
“No question. It turns left by throwing dust and gas off to the right.” He was out of his seat, charging around the bridge, unable to contain himself. “It’s taken the bait. It’s trying to chase us. It has a hard time turning, but it’s trying.” His gaze fell on Kellie. “I believe I love you,” he said. “Digger’s got it exactly right. I wish you a long and happy marriage.”
ARCHIVE
The beast is in pursuit.
— Ship’s Log, NCY Hawksbill
December 6
chapter 41
On board the Jenkins.
Sunday, December 7.
THE NEWS THAT the omega was turning ignited a minor celebration, and induced Digger and Whit to take the day off. They were sitting in the common room, congratulating one another, when Bill broke in. “Digger, your friend Macao is onstage again,” he said. “—In Kulnar.”
“Doing a slosh?” he asked.
“Yes. Would you like to watch?”
“Actually, Bill, I’m half-asleep. But Whit might enjoy seeing it.”
Whit looked at him curiously. “Who’s Macao? What’s a slosh?”
“Whit, you’d be interested. A slosh is a kind of public debate. And Macao is the female I told you about.”
“The one you talked to?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Yes, I’d like very much to see it.”
Digger signaled Bill to start the feed.
Macao’s image appeared on-screen. She was in blue and white and was waving her arms in a way that Digger immediately saw signaled frustration. “—Not claiming that,” she said. “But what I am saying is that we should be ready. It’s a storm, like any other storm. Except it’s bigger.”
The biggest Goompah that Digger had seen was already on his feet. “But how do you know, Macao?” he demanded. “How could you possibly know?”
There was only one pickup, and it was positioned so that it caught her in profile. There were about two hundred Goompahs in view, but he guessed they were only half the audience.
“Forget what I know or don’t know, Pagwah,” she said. “Ask yourself what you can lose by moving your family to high ground.”
Digger translated for Whit.
“What we can lose is that we sit on a mountain and get rained on for three or four days.”
Another voice broke in, from someone off-screen: “Maybe if you were to tell us how you know what you say you know, we could make more sense of it.”
The Goompahs pounded their chairs.
“There have been signs,” Macao said. “Devils on the road, whispers in the night.”
Whit chuckled. “Wait till she hears about what happened in Savakol.”
“Devils on the road.” A female about six rows back got to her feet. “You’re the one always tells us there are no such things.”
“I was wrong.”
“Come on, Macao, do we believe in spirits now? Or do we not?”
Digger could see her hesitate. “I believe they exist,” she said.
“I almost think you mean it.” Again, Digger couldn’t see who was speaking.
“I do mean it.”
“That’s quite a change of heart.” This one was difficult to translate. Literally, the speaker said, “That’s not the way you used to put on your pants.”
“Nevertheless it’s true.”
They laughed at her. There was a smattering of applause, possibly for her courage, or maybe because she’d provided a good evening’s entertainment. But the mood was different from any of the sloshen Digger had seen previously. The others had been lighthearted, even the more serious events. But some of these creatures were angry.
“It may be coming,” she persisted.
“But you’re not sure.”
“There’s no way to be sure.”
“When is it coming?”
“In a few more days.”
“Macao.” Pagwah again. The big one. “Macao, I’m embarrassed for you, that you would play on everyone’s fears at a time like this. I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”
It ended in pushing and shoving and disgruntled patrons stalking out. One of the Goompahs fell down. Some stayed in their seats and pounded their chair arms. Macao thanked them over the general confusion and then she, too, was gone.
She reappeared moments later, at a side door, followed by a small group. They were engaged for a minute or two in animated conversation. Then they left, and the place was empty. An attendant entered, moved across to the far side, and the lamps began to go out.