He donned his own suit in the same fashion and the skipper detailed one of his crew to rope them together with their lifelines. There must be no risk of them drifting apart while they were bobbing in the water.
He explained to Donald that they were going to be placed in a current that would carry them directly along the deepest part of the channel where the submarine was hiding. Standing by a few miles distant were units from the bases at Isola ready if necessary to mount a distracting raid on a port known to be used by Chinese ships for refuelling and refitment—a gross breach of Yatakangi neutrality, but one which Sugaiguntung’s defection would well repay. It was hoped, however, that no intervention would be necessary.
And then—over side in a sort of makeshift bosun’s chair, deposited in the water with scarcely a splash, the two of them together, spy and defector.
The crew waved, barely distinguishable for the dark and the swirling mist, and the prau faded into nothing. They were alone in a universe of blurs and ripples.
* * *
We must have been here an hour … No: my watch tells me thirty-five minutes.
Apprehensively Donald strained his eyes and saw exactly what he had expected to see—nothing. The bobbing motion was maddening, threatening to make him queasy; he had not eaten well during his stay at Jogajong’s camp although the rebel leader made a point of providing a balanced diet and keeping his followers healthy. The food had been monotonous and untempting. Now he wished he had filled up on something bland like plain boiled rice, for pangs of hunger were starting to quarrel with shadowy nausea in his belly.
Can they really spot us here, rendezvous with us, take us safely aboard?
It was no use reminding himself that this was how Jogajong had been stolen out of the country and sent back, or that Sugaiguntung’s value compelled the authorities at home to adopt the safest available route. The rest of the universe felt infinitely far away, as though there could be no contact between this place and any other. The recession of the galaxies had reached its limit; separated from one another by a gulf no light could pass, they too were beginning to disintegrate.
Is it all going to have been worth while? Shall I have saved the people of Yatakang from being deceived by a monstrous lie, as Sugaiguntung assured me?
But that was back in Gongilung. At Jogajong’s camp, the scientist had spoken of returning, refusing to co-operate after all.
Why did I not question him to find out his reasons?
He tried to disguise the answer to that from himself, and failed.
Because I was afraid to. If I took unfair advantage of superstition and exploited the traditional reward due to me against his will, I would prefer not to know. I want to believe as long as I can that he came voluntarily.
There was a moan. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins. For an instant his fevered imagination interpreted the faint sound as the wail of a police patrol-launch’s siren, far off in the mist. It was an eternal instant before he corrected the idea and realised it was a Yatakangi word in Sugaiguntung’s voice.
They had drifted apart to the limit of the lifeline linking their flotation suits. Hastily he hauled on the rope to bring them together. It must be a terrible shock to awaken here; he must offer reassurance before Sugaiguntung could think his mind deranged.
“Doctor, it’s all right—here I am, Donald Hogan!”
He grasped Sugaiguntung’s arms and peered close under his protective hood. The older man’s eyes were open to their limit and he was staring fearfully straight ahead. After a moment he appeared to relax.
“Where am I?” he said in a feeble voice.
“We’re waiting for an American submarine to come and pick us up,” Donald explained softly.
“What?” Sugaiguntung tensed all over, and the jerk made him bob violently so that Donald almost lost his grip. “You—you kidnapped me?”
“You said you wanted to come,” Donald countered. “You were very sick from the fever, you weren’t yourself, it was better not to overstrain you by making you walk through the jungle and—”
“You kidnapped me!” Sugaiguntung repeated. “I said, I told you, I had changed my mind about coming with you!”
“You couldn’t have gone back to Gongilung. Once you were committed, there was no turning back. And from here you can’t go back. Only onward.”
One can’t go back from anywhere. One can never, never, never go back!
For a while Sugaiguntung seemed weakened by his outburst. He shook himself free of Donald’s hands. Warily, Donald allowed that, keeping a tight grip on the rope instead so that they would remain within arms’ reach of each other, and watched as the scientist turned his head to this side and that until he was satisfied that they were truly isolated.
Eventually he spoke again, in a voice thin with weariness.
“What is this thing I’m wearing that’s so stiff and hard to move in?”
“It’s inflated to buoy you up. That’s why it’s stiff. It’s—I don’t know. I guess it’s one of the regular survival suits they use for fliers and submarine crews. Jogajong had some ready for use at his camp.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard of them.” There were faint plashing noises as Sugaiguntung inspected the equipment hung about him. “Yes, I see, I understand. There are radar beacons, sonar beacons, to make sure the submarine will find us?”
“Those are only to be used in emergency, when the searchers don’t know where to look. Don’t worry—they’re absolutely sure where to come and collect us.” Donald spoke more optimistically than his mood warranted.
“They’re not operating?” The words were coloured with alarm.
“The risk is too great. There are Yatakangi patrols all over these waters and there’s been a lot of Chinese activity too, they tell me.”
“I see,” Sugaiguntung said again, and after another cautious survey of the suit fell silent.
That was all right by Donald. Once more he strained his eyes into the mist.
Christ, are they never going to turn up? How long should I allow them—one hour, two, three?
Suddenly, without warning, Sugaiguntung said, “You kidnapped me. I’m not here willingly. I shall not co-operate with your foreign government.”
Donald’s heart sank. He said fiercely, “You told me you had been tricked by your bosses! You said your people were being cheated! Solukarta had pretended you could turn them into supermen and that was a disgusting lie!”
“But I can,” Sugaiguntung said.
* * *
The words seemed to hang vast leaden weights on every limb of Donald’s body. He said. “You’re crazy. The fever—it must be the fever.”
“No, it was after the fever.” Sugaiguntung spoke without emotion. “It was while I was lying in the cave alone. I had time to think in a way which has not been possible for many years. Always there have been intriguing side-issues that I could not follow up, only assign to some of my students, and not all of them conducted the research properly. Four years ago, or perhaps five, I…”
“You what?”
“I thought of something which struck me as promising. A way of adjusting molecular relationships by compressing a signal in time—by programming a computer to perform the alterations so fast the effects of one would not interfere with the others.”
“Is that how you think you can succeed after all?”
“No. That is how I half-succeeded with my orang-outangs. But not even your famous Shalmaneser, not even K’ung-futse that they have in Peking, can react swiftly enough to eliminate all side-effects.”