Dead Space: Martyr (18 page)

They sat in silence for a while. “If that’s what it is,” Altman said, “it’ll change our whole understanding of life as we know it.”

Markoff nodded, finally removing his hands from the table and putting them in his lap. When they returned, there was a gun in one of them.

“Ah, Altman, Altman,” he said. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Are you threatening me?” asked Altman, his voice rising. He hoped he sounded tough and angry, that Markoff wasn’t detecting the fear that he felt.

“You obviously have guessed too much to be let go. You’ve even guessed too much for me to just throw you in confinement. I have to decide whether to kill you or take you with us.”

Altman slowly raised his hands. “I’d rather you took me with you,” he said, a quaver to his voice now.

“Not a shocking preference, considering the circumstances. Take you or shoot you?” he mused. “I can see advantages to both. Can you tell me anything else to tip the scales? Is there something else you forgot to add?”

Altman kept his hands crossed, afraid that if he moved them, Markoff would see how much he was shaking. His mouth was very dry. His voice, when he began to speak, trembled. “There is one other thing,” he said.

“Yes?” said Markoff, casually cocking the gun.

“The villagers found something. A strange creature, humanoid but not human, that they’re convinced is connected to the happenings in the crater. They burned it, but there are still remains you can examine. I’ll take you to them.”

“Is that all?”

Altman swallowed. “That’s all.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Altman,” Markoff said. He raised the pistol and pointed it at Altman’s head, then started to squeeze the trigger. Altman closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He heard the snap of the hammer, but no bullet came.

He opened his eyes. Markoff was watching him, intensely focused.

“All in good fun,” he said. “The gun was empty. I never intended to shoot you. Welcome to the team.”

He stood and extended his hand. Altman was still in shock and didn’t move. Markoff pried his hands apart from each other and shook one of them.

“You will be closely watched. You won’t have free run of the facility, but I want you available if and when I need you.” He leaned in closer. “And if you do betray me, Mr. Altman, I will kill you,” he said in a low voice. “Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

Altman understood.

“Very good,” said Markoff, and started for the door. “I’ll have Terry make your arrangements.”

“All right,” said Altman quietly.

His hand on the doorknob, Markoff stopped. He stood there a moment, his back to Altman.

“There’s the question of your girlfriend, isn’t there,” he said.

Oh, shit,
thought Altman.

Markoff turned around, looked at him with searching eyes. “What should we do about her?”

“You don’t have to worry about her,” said Altman. He tried to stay calm and expressionless as he said it, poker faced, but his voice, he knew, was still trembling.

“But I want to worry about her, Altman,” said Markoff. “Let’s just say it’d be my pleasure.”

“Look,” said Altman desperately. “I understand why you feel you have to take me, but Ada’s different. She has nothing to do with any of this. She even tried to stop me from taking an interest in it. Let her go.”

Markoff smiled. “What you’ve just shown me, Altman, is that you care enough about her that I couldn’t possibly think about letting her go. I believe she might come in handy.”

“What are you planning to do with her?”

“Ah, Mr. Altman,” said Markoff. “Questions, always questions.”

He opened the door and went out.

33

Terry and the twins stood over him while he packed. They hurried him along. They impounded his phone and his holopod, as well as his terminal, the twins sealing them up in a crate and carrying them off.

“You’ll have them back once Markoff has taken a look at them,” said Terry. “Except for the phone.”

“Can’t I at least call Field and tell him I won’t be in?”

“No.”

“I need some time to wrap up my affairs—”

“No.”

“What about my family, they’ll be worried—”

“You’re stalling,” said Terry. “None of that other stuff is important. What’s important is doing the job and doing it right. You keep stalling, and I’ll give Mr. Markoff a call and we’ll see how badly he wants you along.”

“And then what, you’ll kill me? Like you did Hammond?”

Terry winced. “I resent the implication,” he said. “I saw him die, sure, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Then it was Tim and Tom.”

“Not them either,” said Terry. He looked at Altman in a way
that made the latter realize he was genuinely confused and strangely vulnerable.

“What happened?” he asked.

“We were just trying to question him and he flipped out,” said Terry. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. One moment he was running and the next he was trying to kill us.” He showed Altman an angry, awkward scar on his hand. “We didn’t even have any weapons. Tanner had just sent us there to talk to him.” He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. “And then suddenly he took his knife and cut his own throat. Never seen anyone cut quite that deep so quickly. Been dreaming about it ever since.”

Abruptly he straightened up, his face becoming closed again. “I don’t mind being blamed for what I’ve done, but don’t blame me for what I haven’t. Come on, get moving.”

They walked quickly to the DredgerCorp building, Terry holding on to his arm and hurrying him along. A few people looked at them curiously in the streets, but most just ignored them or deliberately looked the other way. The building now had a security fence around it, made of welded wire mesh. The building itself had been razed to the ground and was in the process of being replaced by a structure formed of interlocking concrete and steel panels, more like a fortress than like a corporate building.

“Some changes being made,” said Altman.

Terry nodded. “You don’t know the half of it.”

He led him around behind the construction, to a concrete pad. On it was a helicopter, blades already spinning. They hurried to it, and Altman climbed aboard.

Ada was there, her face taut, drawn. He sat down next to her and she clung to him.
She isn’t usually like that,
he thought.
She must be terrified.
Almost immediately the helicopter took off.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he said, having to shout to be heard over the noise. “I thought they might have done something to you.”

“I was worried about you, too,” she said. “Are you okay?”

He offered her a feeble smile. “No permanent damage.”

“Michael, do you know where we’re going?”

“No,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I told you,” she said. “This would all end badly, I said. I told you to leave it alone. But you wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s not over yet,” he said.

He looked out the window. They had turned and were flying over the water now, were already fairly far from land. He looked around the helicopter, at the other passengers. Terry wasn’t there; either he’d stayed behind or was up with the pilot. It contained eight other scientists, all people he recognized by sight, even if he didn’t know them all. Field was one of them, looking like he was sick to his stomach.

Skud was there, as was Showalter. Holding on to the roof straps, he moved over closer to them.

“Where’s Ramirez?” he shouted.

“They didn’t have him come,” said Showalter.

“What did they do with him?”

Showalter shrugged.

“Did they give you a choice?” asked Altman.

“A what?” shouted Skud. “Why are they taking us?”

“A choice?”

“No!” shouted Showalter. “We had to come.”

“Do you know where we’re going?” shouted Skud.

Altman shook his head. “I was going to ask you,” he said.

He clambered back to his bench.

“They don’t know,” he said. “Nobody knows where we’re going.”

They flew for roughly three hours. Direction, Altman thought, judging by the sun was northwest, or west-northwest, though he wasn’t exactly sure. At some point, he thought they turned south. How fast could a helicopter fly? Seventy-five miles an hour? A hundred? It seemed like they were covering a lot of distance.

Maybe they’re just planning to kill us,
he thought.
Just put all of us on the same helicopter and engineer a crash.
If so, he realized, there was nothing he could do. He was already as good as dead.

He sat on the bench, half-deafened by the sound of the blades, his arm around Ada. It was his fault that she was here, he knew. He was to blame. Across from him, Skud looked haggard, exhausted. Time slowed.

The hum of the blades fell an octave and the craft slowed noticeably. They all started looking out the windows. Below was a cloud of mist, almost perfectly symmetrical, clinging to the water. They started moving down toward it.

Altman began to catch glimpses of something within the cloud. A flash here and there. A strut or a bit of metal. They came down slowly, the blades of the helicopter making the mist roil. He could see the top of a large glass dome, the glass bluish, wet and iridescent in the sudden light. They came very close, hovering maybe ten meters above it, and he thought he could see a glimpse of faces inside. He could see, on the metal struts and partitions of the glass, thousands of tiny jets, each of them releasing a fine spray of mist.

Suddenly the jets stopped. The mist drifted around the structure for a moment and then slowly dissipated, revealing the dome and everything beneath it.

It was a huge floating compound, hundreds of feet in diameter, made of a series of glass or plastic domes, connected or overlapped like frogs’ eggs. Much of it descended well below the surface of the water. Indeed, as much of the structure seemed to be below water as above, perhaps more.

The top of the central dome, where the metal supports met, had a flat spot. Carefully, the pilot brought the helicopter down. He touched once but with one strut off the flat spot, and they began to tilt. He went up again, came down even slower, and this time managed it.

The cabin door opened from the outside. Two guards, wearing dark military garb, gestured to them to climb out.

Altman expected the dome to sway up and down with the swells, but it was big enough that he hardly noticed anything. He climbed down onto the deck then turned to help Ada down. The others soon followed. Together they made their way to a hatch and climbed down it. By descending a short ladder, they reached a platform just under the roof of the dome. The platform had a transparent shaft in the center of it, one side of it open. As he looked at it, a lift rose up into it.

The guards gestured and herded them into it. The lift began to descend.

It was only once they were off the platform and moving down on the slowly descending lift that Altman really got a sense of how big the dome was. They were probably forty or fifty feet up, the large dome open and nearly empty, the foggy light dappling the glass walls and casting odd shadows. It was a hemisphere rather than a dome, a solid floor running along the bottom of it.
Whether there was another reversed hemisphere below, there was no way to tell from here.

Stacks of boxes and crates littered the floor along with partially assembled, or perhaps partially disassembled, machinery. Also military guards, lots of them, some of them standing at attention or employed in some small task, most of them walking or chatting idly, perhaps off duty. Here and there, a man in a white coat stood directing a group of them, getting them to lug equipment around.

At the bottom of the lift, two more guards stood waiting to meet them. Skud began to ask a question, but one of the guards interrupted him.

“No talking,” he said.

They kept the group there until everyone from the helicopter had made it down, then led them across the floor of the dome. Groups of guards stopped talking as they approached, following them with their eyes. Above, Altman heard the sound of the helicopter taking off again. Immediately the nozzles began to spray and the outside world dissolved in a cloud of mist.

The ambient light in the dome dimmed, grew somber. Someone shouted a command, and banks of harsh fluorescents lined along the struts flickered on. The dome brightened with an antiseptic light, inflicting the skin of everyone around them with an unhealthy glow.

They came to the edge of the large dome and passed through a sliding door, moving into a much smaller one. Down through a pressure hatch. Into a passage running around the edge of a third dome and curving slowly downward.

Halfway around the passage, Altman noticed the water lapping up against the side of the tunnel, going higher with each step. There was a subtle change in the quality of the sound, as if
everything here was lightly wrapped in cotton batting. He tapped the side of the corridor with his fingernail, heard only a dull, echoless sound. Something with a pale stretched eye veered out of the deeps and toward his hand, and then darted away again. A few steps later, the water rose all the way over their heads and closed over the top of the passage. They were completely below the surface.

They left the corridor and came into a dome cast green from the reflection of the water. Fish and other animals swam around the floating compound and here and there barnacles had begun to take hold. At a distance was a phalanx of submarines, connected by a series of cables to the floating compound, pulling it very slowly along.

“It’s beautiful,” said Ada.

“It’s terrifying,” said Altman.

The guard stuck the barrel of his gun firmly against Altman’s ribs, hard enough to hurt. “No talking,” he said.

They twisted to the bottom of the dome and took another lift down, to a series of adjoined chambers, squarish rooms. They passed from one to the next, the guards keeping them in a straight line and hustling them along. It felt to Altman like he was being led to his own execution. Here the water was deeper, darker. The rooms had more metal in them than glass. They were all lit by the same harsh fluorescents.