The Fall of Tartarus (38 page)

The interior. Mary’s day, 34th, St Bede’s month.

I’ve
spent the last few days trying to find the best route through the damned
foothills. The map’s useless. I’ve tried three different routes and I’ve had to
turn back three times, wasting hours. Now I think I’ve found the best way
through.

The Central Mountains. Mathew’s day, 6th, St Botolph’s month.

Well,
I’m in the mountains now. The going is slow. What with a map that’s no damned
good at all, and the terrain clogged with new jungle since the thaw . . . I’m
making precious little progress. Sometimes just ten kays a day. I haven’t had a
proper wash for ages, but I’m eating and sleeping well. I’m okay.

Central Mountains. John’s day, 13th, St Botolph’s month.

Another
frustrating week. I suppose it’s a miracle that I’ve been able to get this far,
but the bison’s a remarkable vehicle. It just keeps on going. I reckon I’m
three weeks from Codey’s Valley, as I’ve started to think of it. At this rate
you won’t be far behind me. I’ve decided to leave the recording on one of the
radio beacons somewhere, so you’ll know in advance that I’m okay. So is Freya.

Central Mountains. Mark’s day, 22nd, St Botolph’s month.

I’ve
been making good progress, putting in sometimes fourteen hours at the wheel.
I’ve had some good luck. Found navigable passes first time. I should make
Codey’s Valley in a week, if all goes well.

Central Mountains. Mary’s day, 27th, St Botolph’s month.

I’m
just two or three days from Codey’s Valley, and whatever I’ll find there. I
must admit, I haven’t really thought about what might be awaiting me - I’ve had
too much to concentrate on just getting
here,
never mind worrying about
the future. It’ll probably just be a big anticlimax, whatever. I’ll wait for
you there, at the ship.

It’s
dark outside. I’m beneath a great overhanging shelf of rock that’s blocking out
the night sky’s lights. I can’t hear or see a single thing out there. I might
be the only living soul for kilometres ... I just want all this to be over. I
want to get away from this damned planet. Promise me we’ll go on a long,
relaxing holiday when all this is over, Hunter, okay?

Codey’s Valley. I don’t know what date, St Cyprian’s month.

I
... A lot has happened over the past couple of weeks. I hardly know where to
begin. I’ve spent maybe ten, eleven days in a rejuvenation pod - but I’m not
really sure how long. It seemed like ages. I’m okay, but still a bit woozy . .
. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll go back a bit - to the 28th, I think, when
it happened.

I
was a day away from the valley, according to the map. I was feeling elated that
I was nearly there, but at the same time ... I don’t know, I was apprehensive.
I could think of nothing else but the Slarque, what they’d done to you. What
they might do to me if they chose to . . . Anyway, perhaps I wasn’t
concentrating for thinking about this. I was driving up a ravine, crossing the
steep slope. I’d had little trouble with the bison until then, so I think what
happened was my fault. I lost control. You know how you feel in that terrible
split second when you realise something life-threatening is about to happen,
well . . . the truck rolled and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I was knocked
unconscious.

I
don’t know how long I was out, maybe a day or two. The pain brought me around a
few times, then put me under again, it was that bad. I thought I’d cracked my
skull, and there was something wrong with my pelvis. I couldn’t move. The bison
was on its side, with all the loose contents of the cab piled up around me. I
knew that if only I could get to the controls, I’d be able to right the bison
and set off again. But when I tried to move - the pain! Then wonderful
oblivion.

When
I came to my senses, the truck was no longer on its side. It was upright again
- and I wasn’t where I’d been, in the cab. I was stretched out in the corridor,
something soft cradling my head.

Then
the truck started up and roared off up the side of the ravine, the motion
wracking me with pain. I was delirious. I didn’t know what the hell was
happening. I cried out for the truck to stop, but I couldn’t make myself heard
over the noise of the engine.

When
I regained consciousness again, night was falling. I’d been out for hours. The
truck was moving, but along a flat surface that didn’t cause me pain. I tried
to look down the length of my body, into the cab, and as I did so the driver
turned in his seat and peered down at me.

I
knew it was Codey.

Spacers
never lose that look. He was short and thickset, crop-headed. I reckoned he was
about seventy - Codey’s age - and though his body looked younger, that of
someone half his age, his face was old and lined, as if he’d lived through a
hundred years of hardship.

I
passed out again. When I came to, I thought I’d dreamed of Codey. The truck was
stopped, its engine ticking in the silence. Then the side door opened and
Codey, wearing old Fleet regulation silvers, climbed up and knelt beside me. He
held an injector.

He
told me not to worry, that he was going to take me to the ship, where he had a
rejuvenation pod. My pelvis was broken, but I’d soon be okay ... He placed the
cold nozzle to my bicep and plunged.

I
felt nothing as he lifted me and carried me from the bison, across to the ship.
He eased me down long corridors, into a chamber I recognised as an astrodome -
the glass all covered and cloaked with creepers - and lay me in the
rejuvenation pod. As I slipped into sleep, he stared down at me. He looked
worried and unsure.

Yesterday,
I awoke feeling . . . well,
rejuvenated.
The pelvis was fine. Codey
assisted me from the pod and led me to a small room containing a bunk, told me
to make myself at home. The first thing I did was to hurry out to the truck and
root around among its tumbled contents until I found the container, then
carried it back to my new quarters. Codey watched me closely, asked me what it
was. I didn’t tell him.

I
remembered what Fr Rogers had said about him, that he thought Codey had
flipped. And that was
then.
For the past thirty years he’d lived up
here,
alone.
When I looked into his face I saw the consequence of that
ordeal in his eyes.

Codey’s Valley. Mark’s day, 16th, St Cyprian’s month.

Early
this morning I left my cabin, went out to the truck and armed myself. If the
story Father Rogers had told me in the monastery garden was true, about Codey
and the Slarque . . .

I
remained outside the ship, trying to admire the beauty of the valley.

Later,
Codey came out carrying a pre-heated tray of food. He offered it to me and said
that he’d grown the vegetables in his own garden. I sat on the ramp and ate,
Codey watching me. He seemed nervous, avoided eye contact. He’d not known human
company in thirty years.

We’d
hardly spoken until that point. Codey hadn’t seemed curious about me or why I
was here, and I hadn’t worked out the best way to go about verifying Father
Rogers’ story.

I
said that Rogers had told me about the crash-landing.

I
recorded the following dialogue:

CODEY
: Rogers? He
survived? He made it to Apollinaire?

SAM:
He made it. He’s still there—

CODEY
: I didn’t give
him a chance of surviving . . . They monitored him as far as the next valley
down, then lost him—

SAM:
They?

CODEY
: The Slarque,
who else? Didn’t Rogers tell you they were in contact with me?

SAM
: Yes - yes, he
did. I didn’t know whether to believe him. Are you ... are you still in
contact?

CODEY:
They’re
in contact with me . . .You don’t believe me, girl?

SAM
: I ... I don’t
know—

CODEY
: How the hell
you think I found you, ten klicks down the next valley? They read your
presence.

SAM:
They can read my mind?

CODEY
: Well, let’s
just say that they’re sympathetic to your thoughts, shall we?

SAM
: Then they know
why I’m here?

CODEY
: Of course.

SAM
: So ... If they’re
in contact with you, you’ll know why I’m here . . .

(Codey
stood up suddenly and strode off, as if I’d angered him. He stood with his back
to me, his head in his hands. I thought he was sobbing. When he turned around,
he was grinning . . . insanely.)

CODEY
: They told me.
They told me why you’re here!

SAM
: . . . They
did’?

CODEY
: They don’t want
your help. They don’t want to be saved. They have no wish to leave Tartarus.
They belong here. This is their home. They believe that only if they die with
their planet will their souls be saved.

SAM
: But . . . but we
can offer them a habitat identical to Tartarus - practically unbounded freedom—

CODEY
: Their religious
beliefs would not allow them to leave. It’d be an act of disgrace in the eyes
of their forefathers if they fled the planet now.

SAM
: They . . . they
have a religion? But I thought they were animals . . .

CODEY
: They might have
devolved, but they’re still intelligent. Their kind have worshipped the
supernova for generations. They await the day of glory with hope . . .

SAM
: And you?

CODEY
: I ... I belong
here, too. I couldn’t live among humans again. I belong with the Slarque.

SAM
: Why? Why do they
tolerate
you?
One . . . one of them killed my husband—

CODEY
: I performed a
service for them, thirty years ago, the first of two such. In return they keep
me company . . . in my head . . . and sometimes bring me food.

SAM
: Thirty years ago
. . . ? You gave them the prisoner?

CODEY
: They commanded
me to do it! If I’d refused . . . Don’t you see, they would have taken me or
Rogers. I had no choice, don’t you understand?

SAM
: My God. Three
years ago . . . my husband? Did you . . . ?

CODEY
: I . . . please
... I was monitoring your broadcasts, the footage you beamed to Apollinaire.
You were out of range of the Slarque up here, and they were desperate. I had to
do it, don’t you see? If not . . . they would have taken me.

SAM
: But why? Why? If
they
bring
you
food, then why do they need humans?

Codey
broke down then. He fled sobbing up the ramp and into the ship. I didn’t know
whether to go after him, comfort him, try to learn the truth. In the event I
remained where I was, too emotionally drained to make a move.

It’s
evening now. I’ve locked myself in my cabin. I don’t trust Codey - and I don’t
trust the Slarque. I’m armed and ready, but I don’t know if I can keep awake
all night.

Oh
my God. Oh, Jesus. I don’t believe it. I can’t—

He
must have overridden the locking system, got in during the night as I slept.
But how did he know? The Slarque, of course. If they read my mind, knew my
secret . . .

I
didn’t tell you, Hunter. I wanted it to be a surprise.

I
wanted you to be there when Freya was growing up. I wanted you to see her
develop from birth, to share with you her infancy, her growth, to cherish her
with you.

Two
and a half years ago, Hunter, I gave birth to our daughter. Immediately I had
her suspended. For the past two years I’ve carried her everywhere I’ve been, in
a stasis container. When we were reunited, we would cease the suspension, watch
our daughter grow.

Last
night, Codey stole Freya. Took the stasis container. I’m so sorry, Hunter. I’m
so . . .

I’ve
got to think straight. Codey took his crawler and headed up the valley to the
next one. I can see the tracks in the grass.

I’m
going to follow him in my truck. I’m going to get our daughter back.

I’ll
leave this recording here, for when you come. Forgive me, Hunter . . . Please,
forgive me.

He
sat on the ramp of the starship with his head in his hands, the sound of his
pulse surging in his ears as Alvarez passed Sam’s recording to Dr Fischer.
Hunter was aware of a mounting pain in his chest. He found himself on the verge
of hysterical laughter at the irony of crossing the galaxy to meet his
daughter, only to have her snatched from his grasp at the very last minute.