AI - Alpha Part 33

It took him a long time to find vines st.u.r.dy enough, drag them free, and tie them together. Their joining would be the rope's weakest point, where it might pull apart. When he had done his best to make it strong, he coiled the rope over his shoulder and limped back out to the northern tip of the island. He followed its edge until he reached the base, where the index finger curved out from the main land ma.s.s. Then he walked along the finger to its tip. His cast felt as if it weighed a ton, and he was so tired, he could barely drag his foot.

Thomas blinked and shook his head. He had fallen into a trance and lost awareness of his surroundings. So stupid. He had no cover out here; if Charon or Alpha showed up now, they could easily pick him off. What spared him, apparently, was their logical but uninspired belief that his focus would be the jets. Maybe it should be. He might have lost his reason with this plan. But he kept going.

After all his painstaking efforts, he ended up at the fingertip a few yards from where he had started on the terraces. The shelves were within jumping distance. He paused to catch his breath, and then he explored the tip of land. At least here he had cover; this part of the "fingertip" was all outcroppings, no flat ground, just rocks scissoring into the sky.

Climbing among the formations reminded him of the time he and Fletcher had gone hiking in the Appalachians. Leila had been at Johns Hopkins and Tom Jr. had long since joined the workforce, so Fletcher was the only child at home. At fourteen, the boy was taciturn to the point of surliness. He always answered his father with grunts, until Thomas felt as if he spent all his time gritting his teeth in frustration. He had hoped to improve matters with a week in the mountains. He and Fletcher spent their days challenging the rough terrain, and at night they kicked back with hot chocolate or a beer. Thomas had never told Janice about the beers. Fletcher confided his hopes of becoming an architect. He talked about a girl he liked at school, which teachers did a good job, and which he never wanted to see again. Thomas spoke about his childhood in Iowa and how he had joined the Air Force so he could see the world.

It had been Janice's idea that he and Fletcher go for the trip. She had seen how her son and husband argued even though neither of them spoke much. Somehow she knew. She understood those things with an intuitive ease that had never stopped astonis.h.i.+ng Thomas through forty-five years of marriage.

Thomas bit his lip and fought the hotness in his eyes. Awkward in his cast, he sat down in a hollow formed by a circle of rock spurs, hidden from the island. "Janice," he whispered. "I'm coming soon." He wasn't certain he believed in traditional concepts of heaven or h.e.l.l, but he did believe in G.o.d, and it comforted him to think of Janice waiting for him after he died.

He questioned, though, whether he would end up in as pleasant a place as his wife. He had tried to live a good life, to be a good husband and father, but he had doubts about how well he succeeded. He had served in the defense of his country, and when that included killing, he had done so, but he felt no pride in having taken life. Yet at times, during his days as a fighter pilot, he had wanted to shoot down those other fighters so much, he had almost tasted it. His fire had calmed over the decades, but he suspected Janice was far more likely to go to heaven than himself.

"Stop it," he muttered. His concentration was shot to pieces. He took off his tennis shoe and crammed it in a crevice on the side of the promontory facing the terraces. The shoe just barely stuck out from behind the rocks, as if he were trying to hide, but his foot had slipped. Then he climbed to the end of the fingertip, which looked out over the cove. He winced as rock slivers jabbed his foot through his sock. Maneuvering in a cast was hard enough, and without a shoe on his good foot, he couldn't walk much at all. Not that he was going anywhere. This tip of land was only a couple of yards wide. Unlike a real finger, it had no underside; it just dropped down in a cliff.

Thomas looped his rope around a spear of rock at the end of the promontory. He had enough line to let himself down to a cup of stone about fifty feet down and ten feet across. He doubled up the rope and knotted it at intervals, leaving the loop at the top. Even with the knots, hanging on would be hard. If he slipped or the rope broke, he would fall and smash into the rocks below. With luck, he wouldn't need this escape; both Charon and Alpha would step on the terrace and fall. Then he would get the Banshee and fly home. With luck.

His preparations finished, he hunkered down in the thicket of rock spears that hid him from the main island and also from anyone on the promontory. By peering between the knifelike formations, he could see the terraces; by twisting around, he could look through another break and see the approach along the finger.

Then he had nothing to do but wait.

Thomas leaned against the rocks and closed his eyes. He was hungry, and afraid, too, but he felt a

curious sort of peace. He had done what he could do. If this failed and he died, well, so, he died. He had lived a full life and left behind three great kids and a pa.s.sel of grandkids. If his time had come, he could accept that.

The afternoon pa.s.sed without event. He found rainwater in hollows of rock and eased his thirst, but his lips were swollen and his mind was thick. No matter how hard he tried to stay alert, he kept nodding off.

He sunk deep into a haze.

"Maybe he went swimming," a deep voice said, intruding on his isolation.

Thomas jerked up his head, blinking and groggy. Then he peered at the terraces. Alpha and Charon were

standing on the edge of the island there, Alpha in her black clothes and Charon in his fatigues, with the EL-38 on his shoulder.

"Or he's trying to reach the jets," Alpha said. Her voice had no inflections.

"He doesn't seem to be anywhere else." Charon sounded impatient. "We need to finish this. I've more

important matters to attend."

"The Air Force is probably still searching for him," Alpha told him. "You're safer in hiding here."

"I wasn't planning on leaving," Charon said. "I can keep using the meshes on my jet to work."

No wonder Charon had stayed on the beach; he was working. Let nature kill Thomas while Charon

tended his empire, both the legal and illicit. Thomas gritted his teeth, unsure which provoked him most, that he ranked so low in Charon's estimation of the universe or that he could so easily die here exactly as his tormentor intended.

"See if you can pick up a signal from either aircraft," Charon was saying. "Maybe he found a way to get past us."

Thomas's pulse leapt. If she left, his chances improved.

Alpha didn't go anywhere, though; she just unhooked a handheld from her belt. He couldn't fathom their logic. With both of them here, the jets were unguarded. If Thomas reached the aircraft, he might break their locks. He would take the Banshee and bomb the h.e.l.l out of the other jet before he left. If he got around the tip of the island. If he didn't fall. If he didn't drown. If his heart didn't give out. If, if, if. Well, why the h.e.l.l should they post a guard? They could calculate just as well as he could the infinitesimally small probability of his ever reaching that beach.

Alpha was studying her handheld. "I detect no tampering with the onboard systems. No alarms tripped."

Charon was staring in Thomas's direction. "Look."

Alpha lifted her head. "What?"

Charon motioned toward where Thomas had left his shoe. Alpha hooked her handheld on her belt, and

the two formas stood together, staring at the shoe, neither speaking, though they made abbreviated gestures as if they were conversing. With their wireless capability, they could communicate volumes at high speeds, like technology-induced telepathy. Had Charon never been human, they probably wouldn't have spoken aloud or gestured at all. Charon probably did it out of habit; he still reacted more like a man than a construct.

A question came to Thomas, one he would have asked sooner had he been in better condition: How

much control did Alpha have over what Charon took from her mind? If he had administrator privileges on her mesh, he might uncover even data that she tried to hide. Maybe she hadn't told him about her night with Thomas; maybe Charon took the knowledge without her consent. Thomas wanted to believe that, wanted it so much it hurt. He despised himself for needing that comfort. Alpha wasn't a woman, and his longing wouldn't change that fact. But if he was going to die, he wanted his last time with a woman to mean something. Charon had figured out his captive felt that way, Thomas was convinced; that was why he wanted Alpha to be the one who killed Thomas.

Alpha suddenly nodded to Charon and set off toward the base of the finger promontory exactly as Thomas had done earlier. Except she was jogging and he had been dragging his broken leg. d.a.m.n. It was the worst-case scenario; she and Charon were splitting up to come at him from both directions. He hated the relief he felt when he realized Alpha wasn't the one who would step on the terrace.

Charon was surveying the fingertip. Thomas gritted his teeth; if he started down on his rope, he would reveal himself. Alpha's view would be blocked because she was coming from the other direction, but Charon would see him hanging down the cliff. Thomas couldn't start down unless Charon fell, but the longer he waited, the closer Alpha came and the less time he had to escape.

He held off as long as he could, but when Alpha started up the finger of land toward his hiding place, he knew he had run out of time. He jerked his rope to verify it was secure and prepared to rappel down the cliff.

Then Charon stepped onto the terrace.

He did the same thing Thomas had done; he tested the ground first before he stepped. As had happened with Thomas, the shelf held. Charon took another step- And the terrace collapsed.

XI: A Reach Too Far

The shelf fell with an earsplitting crack, followed by a roar of rocks thundering down the cliff- And Charon fell with them.

Dust spewed into the air. Thomas's hiding place shook with the force of the avalanche, and he clenched

a spire of rock, praying the entire fingertip didn't collapse. Charon flailed wildly in the tumult, rolling over and over, smashed on every side by debris. A boulder below him crashed into a spur of rock and snapped off the top, leaving a knife-edge spire-

The spire impaled Charon's falling body.

Bile rose in Thomas's throat. The spire pierced Charon's torso all the way through, and the android hung from it like a rag doll. The EL-38 dangled from a strap over his shoulder. Even knowing it wasn't a human body, Thomas felt ill. Blood splattered the rocks. It had to look real; Charon had designed his androids to pa.s.s as human to visual inspection and even a cursory medical examination. A more

thorough exam would reveal the truth, but for everyday wear and tear, their human guise worked. If you cut them, they bled.

The avalanche continued its wild tumble down the cliff, and rocks and dirt cascaded over Charon's body.

It would have killed a man many times over, and even a construct couldn't survive the damage.

Alpha had stopped halfway along the finger and was staring at the place where Charon had vanished.

She turned toward Thomas's hiding place, then toward where Charon had disappeared, then toward

Thomas again. Finally she sprinted away from Thomas, back toward the place where she had last seen Charon.

No time to waste. Thomas steeled himself and tossed his rope so it hung down the cliff. Clenching it in

both fists, he maneuvered over the edge. With his good foot, he found the first knot he had tied and let

his weight sink onto it. The rope held-and he began his climb down.

Thomas tried to rappel, but he couldn't with his leg in a cast. So he just climbed down the rope. It twisted and swung, exacerbating his vertigo, and he clenched the gnarled vines so hard, they sc.r.a.ped skin off his hands. His arms ached, especially his left one. His cast prevented him from using one foot, so his right arm and leg had to hold most of his weight. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his hands, chest, shoulders, and neck. His destination was directly under him, a bowl about ten feet across, but the rope was too short; it ended six feet above the hollow. Normally that would have been an easy distance to drop. Whether or not he could do it now without injuring himself was irrelevant; he had no choice.

Alpha had reached the main island and was running back to the shelves where Charon had fallen.

Thomas tried to go faster. She might reach him by climbing down the unstable slope left by the avalanche or she could go back to the fingertip and come down his rope, but either way, he intended to be gone before she got here.

By the time he came level with the spire that had impaled Charon, his arms and hands hurt so much, he feared they would soon fail. But he was almost down, only ten more feet to go. Staring at Charon, he felt an odd lack of response. The past few days had used up his fear and his anger. Charon had parched him dry, and Thomas didn't even feel triumph as he looked into the face of his vanquished tormentor.

Charon's eyes snapped open.

"No." Thomas wanted to shout the protest, but it came out in a whisper.With deliberate, relentless motions, Charon took hold of the rock that had run him through, braced his feet against the ground, and pulled himself off the spear. He was like some horrific ghoul, bloodied and broken, but impossibly alive.

Thomas lost his grip. He slid the last few feet of the rope, fell through the air, and hit the hollow with a

jarring impact. His cast slammed down with a crack like a rifle shot. He landed on his side but then flipped onto his back. Far above, Alpha was looking down at them from the edge of the island. She spun around and took off, running back toward the promontory, so fast her motions blurred. Thomas wondered, with a numb detachment, why she was in such a hurry.

Charon jumped away from the cliff and down into the hollow. He landed in a crouch only a few feet from Thomas. With surreal ease, given his demolished body, he straightened up. A hole gaped in his torso, big enough for a fist. Filaments hung out of it. Blood soaked his fatigues and streaked the EL-38 he gripped in his hand. Broken pieces of his alloy-composite skeleton jabbed through his skin. His cheek was crushed, and one of his eyes was gouged into pulp.

He stared at Thomas with hatred."Why won't you die?" Charon clenched his shattered right fist. "You should have keeled over the first time you climbed a hill. You should have starved to death or poisoned yourself. Your useless human heart should have quit. Any normal person would have f.u.c.king given up." His body was shaking, either from physical trauma or rage.Thomas pushed up onto his elbows, but that was the most he could do. Blood ran down his forehead. It was ludicrous that this nightmarish apparition asked why he wouldn't die.A thud came from his right, and he jerked his head to see Alpha straightening from a crouch only a few feet away. Above her, the rope was swinging back and forth. Apparently he had tied it together better than he thought; if he hadn't done such a good job, it might have snapped earlier and dropped him hard enough to kill him. Or maybe it would have dropped Alpha. A gruesome image came to him, two shattered androids holding each other, and his stomach lurched. He almost said, Just kill me and get it over with, but he choked back the words. If Charon knew he wanted to die, he would keep Thomas alive to torment him.Charon regarded Alpha with his good eye. "We found him.""Yes." She looked Charon over. "You are damaged.""I need repairs.""We don't have the resources here," she said, toneless.Charon turned to Thomas. "You did this to me." Unlike Alpha, he was showing a great deal of emotion.

Hatred. Fury. Spite. "You didn't play the game right."Thomas spoke tiredly. "My life isn't a game.""Do you think we can repair him?" Charon asked Alpha."He's too wrecked." She didn't even look at Thomas.Malice burned in Charon's one eye. "We'll break his other leg and leave him here."No. Thomas wanted to scream the word. But he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his horror.Alpha's voice hardened. "Let me kill him."Satisfaction flashed on Charon's broken face. But he said only, "Why?"