Deception Well (The Nanotech Succession Book 2) (44 page)

“Energy reserves do not support the action,” the suit informed him.

Lot kept his voice carefully unconcerned, not knowing how much intent the phantom might perceive. “Emergency override, then. Do it now.”

Ord watched him, a peculiar expression on its face.

“Are you sure?” the suit queried.

“
Now
.”

“Now,” the phantom echoed as the hood lapped swiftly up around Lot’s tangled hair. Some of the matted skeins fell outside its reach. It couldn’t seal. The phantom looked directly at him, its color deepening, just as it had that night in the crater.

Lot turned away, groping in his suit pocket, hunting for his copy of the warden’s capsule. He found it, just as a sharp
pop!
behind him announced the phantom’s dissolution. “
No!
” he roared, and scrambled away, squeezing the capsule so that its mist sprayed indiscriminately behind him.

For a moment the world was depicted in silver: the ocean waves, the darting shapes of the guardians in the water, the miniature dunes that raced up and slammed against his face, and Ord, always before golden, melting now in a pool of pure silver radiance, flowing down over his face in a solid mask that blocked the air but kept out the poisons too.

Lot got his feet under him and ran. He couldn’t see or hear or smell anything, but he could feel the sand sliding under his feet, and then he was splashing in the water. He pulled up sharply. Ord slid off his face, re-forming neatly against his chest while he gasped, drawing in great lungfuls of clean sea air.

Urban was racing toward him down the beach. Sypaon’s shadow flitted across the sand as if she were dissolving then reappearing in frantic repetition. Lot looked back at a line of blackened, steaming vegetation, but no sign of the phantom remained.
Apart
.

If it had to be that way.

“Lot!” Urban skidded to a stop in the shallow wave wash. His shoulders heaved as he looked from Lot to Ord, now clinging contentedly at Lot’s shoulder.

Lot knocked his hood back. “We have to get out of the Well,” he said, as he gathered up his hair and tucked it neatly behind his neck.

“You’re a little late, fury. David’s coming down.”

Lot’s hands froze in the act of pulling up the hood. “He’s got the tracks rebuilt?”

“He said so. They’re organizing supplies at the top.”

“When did you talk to him?”

“Maybe half an hour ago. He’s got it bad, Lot. Worse than Alta.”

Sure. Jupiter hadn’t left his trace to interfere with the loyalties of the Silken ados. “We have to stop him.”

“Yeah, fury? You know how?”

Lot hesitated, at a loss.

Urban said, “I told him what happened to Alta. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t let me talk to Kona, and Ord can’t reach the old man. Sypaon can’t either. If you don’t control these crazies, Lot, we’re all going to die.”

Control them? How? He couldn’t even control himself when he was around them. He looked to Sypaon, hoping for some bit of wisdom.

Her pointillistic expression was stern. He remembered her last night, collecting fragments of the communal fibers. “Sometimes we forget to ask who the Chenzeme were fighting,” she said.

Lot took a step back, acutely conscious of the warden’s capsule still in his hand. Had she guessed? “Jupiter said they fought themselves.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it was something of their own creation?”

The cult virus
. A gift from the void, a parasite that had lain in wait, patiently seeking a new host, since the Chenzeme vanished millions of years ago. Fear sweat jammed like wires through his pores. Sypaon had once declared herself at war.

She watched his growing panic, her mouths moving in slow asynchrony—until abruptly, her expression gentled. “We should know these things, if we hope to understand them.”

Lot felt as if he understood too much already. “I need to get off this world. It’s the only way to stop it.”

Urban touched his elbow. “Null Boundary’s coming in.”

Sooth
. Lot lifted his chin, remembering his vision of the great ship sliding in through the veils of the nebula. Null Boundary had felt wrong, but maybe that only marked him as an enemy of the Communion. Scarred and ancient and older than the Hallowed Vasties . . . his crew mysteriously gone. Did he know of the cult? Had he survived it?

“Ord!” Lot snapped, suddenly desperate to make good his escape. “Tell David to bring a car down now. We need a way back to the city.”

“There’s no need for that,” Sypaon said. “They’re already here.”

S
YPAON SEEMED WILLING TO DO WHATEVER
she could to help them. She’d already assumed control of a second warden, walking it into the terminal building. Now it stood looking up at an elevator car stalled some eight hundred feet above the valley floor, where the tracks had been wrecked by deep scarring on the column. Back on the beach, she described the scene to Lot and Urban. “They have the doors open, though no one has descended yet. A device is being deployed. An aircraft. This first car carries almost three hundred individuals. You must stay away from them. They shed dangerous stimulants—”

“Message, Lot,” Ord interrupted. “From David. Real time.”

Lot nodded reluctantly. “Let’s hear it.”

“Lot!” David’s voice danced with enthusiasm. “Lot, we’re down! Almost down. There’s more track damage than we anticipated, but that’ll be fixed in a few minutes. Half the city’s poised to come down behind us. Lot, we’ve won.”

Lot drew in a shaky breath. Urban gave him a warning look. He nodded, closing his eyes. “It’s up to us, David. Jupiter’s gone.”

“Into the Communion?”

Lot breathed slowly, deeply. He had to make it sound right . . . and nothing convinced like the truth. “No, David. I’ve been under, and Jupiter’s not there. He’s dead. He failed. He let anger get him. There’s no place for anger within the Communion.”

Ecstatic death.

David didn’t answer for a moment. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him yet that the Communion could be anything but automatic nirvana. When he did respond, doubt had crept into his voice. “But you can show us the path?”

“I need to be with you.” The words came out in a rush.

“No—” Sypaon started to object. He raised a hand to hush her. He
did not
want to be with David, or with anybody else who was susceptible to the cult virus that he carried, manufactured nirvana, short-term plan . . . and that meant almost everybody except the few, dark souls like Urban.

But David misread his mood. “We want to come get you, Lot. We manufactured a plane from out of the archives.”

“Good, David. Good. You’ve planned well. Send it down to us, then.”

“Right, right. Uh, is Urban still with you?”

Lot tensed, wondering exactly what Urban had said to David earlier that morning. “We’ve had a rough time,” Lot said.

David’s voice was suddenly wary. “He’s not one of us.”

Lot met Urban’s tense gaze. “You’re wrong, David. Urban’s fallout from the Hallowed Vasties, just like me.” An unconvinced silence followed, and Lot knew he’d stumbled badly. So he fell back on arrogance. “Send the plane, David.”

“Sure, Lot. Right away.” But his voice was flat, a poor mask for his suspicions.

Lot jerked an angry hand across his throat, signaling Ord to cut the transmission. “
Shit
.”

“That plane won’t get here empty,” Urban predicted.

Sypaon said, “They’re launching it now. You must avoid direct contact with them.”

“Can you communicate with the DI that’s piloting it?” Lot asked her.

“No. It’s not listed in the city registry.”

“David’ll have exclusive codes,” Urban growled. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. So long as it gets us to the elevator column, we’ve got a chance.”

“They won’t let you on the plane.”

“They’ll do what you tell them.”

Lot shook his head. “More than the cult virus has come down to me. I’ve been remembering things out of the Hallowed Vasties. David’s right. You’re not one of us. And when they feel that, you won’t last.”

Urban stomped off a few steps, muttering obscenities, more angry than scared. Lot followed after him. “It’s not their fault,” he said. “They can’t help the way they feel. I’ve put that on them.”

Urban turned around, his temper exploding. “So they can’t help it? They’ll kill me and sacrifice you and we just go along with it?”

Already, Lot thought he could hear the buzz of the plane’s engines. “I think we can fool them for a while. We’re the same size, aren’t we? Almost the same build. Put your hood on, darken the lenses. Let them guess who’s who.”

Sypaon nodded in approval. “This could protect you for a necessary interval.”

“You think they’ll be that patient?”

“I won’t leave them any choice,” Lot said. I’ll just tell them the truth: that I’m on the edge.” He couldn’t see it now. He couldn’t feel it. Still he knew the Communion was near, growing stronger and more coherent every time he entered it. Next time it might not let him go.

Great cult leader
. He shook his head, knowing he was as vulnerable as any ado. He caught them with his charismata. They caught him with their silvery faith. It was a feedback reaction, notably devoid of choice. “If they don’t want an early meltdown, they’re going to have to put up with my eccentricities.”

Urban frowned. His gaze cut away. “So then. Tell Ord to get clear, or it’ll give you away.”

The droning of the plane was suddenly loud. Lot reached for his hood. He pulled it up over his head and down across his face.

The suit spoke in a disapproving voice. “Without further supplies, the rebreather function has an estimated life of forty-two minutes.”

Urban had fifty-three. “That doesn’t leave us much time to convince them to let us on the cars,” Lot said. He could see the glitter of the plane in the bright light of late morning.

“Verbal persuasion may not be adequate,” Sypaon said.

Urban glared at the plane. “She’s right. Give me your capsule.”

Lot looked down at the little capsule he still clutched in his hand. Urban snatched it before he could think how to respond. “Hey! Wait a minute—”

But Urban ignored him. He fished the second capsule out of his own suit pocket.

“Urban, you can’t—”

“This is about survival, Lot! For me, for Silk.”

Sooth
. “Then maybe you should just use that stuff against me. Get rid of the source of your problem.”

“Placid Antigua already tried that. It didn’t work, remember? You’ve got Chenzeme protection.”

“Urban, you can’t just kill them!”

“Why not? They want to die, don’t they? Alta wanted to die. And she got her wish. You gave that to her, didn’t you, fury?”

“Yeah.” Lot sat down hard on the wet sand. “I did.” First Captain Antigua, then Gent and now Alta. Jupiter Junior, for sure.

A shadow flitted across the beach. He looked up, to see the plane sweep out over the sand, then stall, to begin its vertical descent, the hum of its engines muted by his hood. “David could probably get treatment once I’m gone.”

“We’re not scrambled,” Urban observed. “Your radio signal has gotten really weak, but it’s not inaudible.”

Lot felt a flush in his cheeks. The plane was close enough that its communications system could be picking up their conversation. He plunged his fingers into the sand, trying to decide what to do. He could warn David. He had that option. But then Urban would be left exposed.

Sand billowed as the plane set down. Urban strode toward it and Lot rose to follow.

The door opened. David was first out. He skipped the descending step and jumped down to the beach, the tattoo on his arm squirming in the sunlight. Two more ados followed him. They both held bead rifles. Lot hurried forward. The plane didn’t look big enough to hold any more occupants and still have room for passengers.

He saw Sypaon’s warden-shadow slip under it. She melted up the stairs.

David looked from Urban to Lot with a quizzical expression. “You’re suited? How come? Something wrong with the air down here?” His voice arrived muffled through the suit, barely audible past the grumbling of the waves.

Lot didn’t bother to answer. Without a communications link, David couldn’t hear him anyway. Maybe David realized that. He glanced uneasily toward the plane’s open door, just as Sypaon reported in over the suit’s comm link. “Nobody inside.”

“Just these three, then,” Urban said, breaking his silence now that he knew no one else was listening. He held his arms loosely at his sides; his fingers curled naturally over the capsules. “You ready, fury?”

Lot could see his left fist begin to close. “Don’t do it.” He touched Urban’s arm—gently—not wanting to cause an accidental release. “It’s not necessary.”

But now David had seen the capsule in Urban’s hand. His eyes got big. He backed off a few steps. His buddies with the bead rifles raised their weapons, settling their aim on Urban’s chest. Lot stared at the tiny pore that tipped the nearest muzzle. It might take a bead several seconds to chew through Urban’s suit, but once breached, the assault Makers in the bead would ensure he’d soon be dead.

“Lot,” David warned, “you better tell me what’s going on.”

Maybe that would be best. “Hark,” Lot said, alerting the suit. “Unseal.”

“No!” Urban countered.

Too late. Lot’s suit split on the seam. He reached up slowly and pulled the hood back. Like the rest of his body, his face was covered with sores. From the shocked expressions on the ados’ faces, he knew he must be a ghastly sight. David’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again before he could get any words out: “
What happened to you?
”

Lot felt the brush of communion like a soft, silver rain. Maybe the ados felt it too. The two holding the bead rifles shifted uneasily. Doubt flowed from them. Lot caught it, amplified it, mixed it with fear.
Jupiter Junior
. Grimly, he let himself slide into the role. Pointing at his wounded face, he announced: “The planetary wardens did this. They tried to kill me.”

David frowned, perplexed. “But we couldn’t locate any wardens here.”