The Incredible Tide (3 page)

Lanna closed her eyes and whispered, “Please, God, let her get Teacher's message. Please.” A message just had to come this evening. With the trade ship here, it just
had
to.

As she went back to work, she suddenly began thinking of Conan again. Not that he was ever really out of her mind, but this was a nagging, worrisome feeling that had been with her for several days. Something was wrong. Had it not been for all the work to be done, she would have gone to her room and tried—as she had tried a thousand times before—to send her thoughts out to Conan and get his reply. In time, she was certain, she would be successful. But that wasn't helping now.

With supper baking in the brick oven by the fireplace, she set the table and took fresh candles from the cupboard drawer. At that moment, glancing through the window to estimate the time, she saw two men coming up the rocky path from the harbor. They were Shann and Commissioner Dyce.

At the sight of the commissioner's blocky figure and his broad black beard that jerked back and forth with every movement of his chin, something froze in Lanna, and she thrust the candles back into the drawer. Candles were precious and hard to make. She would light them only for friends. If the commissioner couldn't manage his food by firelight, he didn't have to eat here.

Shann, trudging frail and worn beside him, his patched jacket hanging limply from his thin shoulders, seemed more than ever discouraged. All at once she realized what a terrible burden the poor doctor had been carrying, and how ill equipped he was to carry it. He's such a good person, she thought, but he wasn't cut out to be a pioneer. And that's what we are. And we're in such trouble.…

She thought the men were going to enter the cottage, but after coming through the main gate they swung around through the pines to Shann's little office, and she lost sight of them. Then she forgot them entirely until she went outside to get wood for the fire.

There wasn't any wood. Now she remembered that someone had taken the ax—of which there were only a few at High Harbor—and Shann hadn't been able to locate it before the trade ship came. Hurriedly she started for the pines, sure she could find enough twigs and fallen limbs to keep the fire going. But at the upper corner of the cottage she stopped abruptly. She could not see Shann and the commissioner, but she could hear their voices in close conversation. They were talking about Teacher.

She flattened against the rough stones of the cottage and held her breath. Commissioner Dyce was saying, a little angrily, it seemed, “But she
must
know where he is! If she's a communicator—”

“She isn't a regular communicator,” Shann interrupted, his voice patient and tired. “She has no real ability. Her father was able to teach her just enough to keep in touch with him.”

“Yes, I understand all that. But the thing is, she communicates. Anyone who does that cannot help learning the location of the other person. So I repeat, your wife
knows
where her father is.”

There was a pause, and now Shann's voice was irritable. “Of course she knows! Haven't I told you? Her father's on an island somewhere—”

“An island! Always an island! Can you describe this island?”

“Do I have to?”

“I think it would be well if you did.”

“Now you are threatening me,” Shann said slowly. “I thought your purpose here was friendly. A trade mission. That's what the survey boat promised when it came earlier this year. You people have things we need badly—and we have things you need just as much. So we made an agreement. But instead of being friendly, you've become threatening.”

“Oh, come now,” the commissioner rumbled in his deep voice. “If I wanted to threaten you, I could. We are armed—and you have no defenses here.”

“Our numbers are defense enough. And many of the young people are armed—”

“With bows!” the commissioner said scornfully. “But I would rather be friendly as long as possible. The world must be rebuilt, and all men must work together to do it.”

“Under whose direction? Yours?”

“Naturally. We're far, far in advance of you. We've salvaged a fleet of ships already—and you've salvaged none. We have a complete factory-city in working order, and thousands of citizens busy in production. Can you say the same? And what are you producing here? Anything but discontent? Why, you've hardly started cutting the timber we ordered months ago.”

The commissioner paused. Lanna, who had been listening incredulously, thought: Oh, don't believe all he tells you, Shann! He's full of lies. He's just trying to bully you.

Shann said quietly, “I wouldn't think of doubting you, Commissioner—and you shouldn't underestimate us. As for the timber, I warned the captain of your survey ship that we couldn't do much cutting till you brought us tools. I hope they are power tools.”

“Power tools!” the deep voice exclaimed. “Certainly not! You've neither fuel nor electricity here. The only power tool you could use would have to be a solar machine—and there's only one man living who knows the trick of making them.”

“Really? Teacher is the only one?”

“Of course! I thought everyone knew that. What a terrible thing it would be if this ‘Teacher,' as you call him here, could not be found. Why, it might take the world a thousand years to regain his knowledge!”

“I imagine so,” Shann admitted.

“So, my good Doctor, you owe it to yourself, and to every survivor of the Change, to help us locate him.”

There was a tired sigh. Then Shann said slowly, “Look, I've told you all I know. Teacher was one of the last to try to fly here, but he started too late. The big machine with him was lost, and we don't know what happened to it. His little machine was smashed down near one of the new islands. All we've been able to learn is that it's a large, hilly island, and there are two other survivors with him. As for the boat they are trying to build—”

“Yes, what about this boat?”

“We understand it's nearly done. They'd probably be here now if they could have found materials sooner. It may take your survey ship a year to search out all the islands. If you're so anxious for Teacher's help, why not just wait for him? With any luck, he should be here before the fogs set in.”

The commissioner grunted. “You don't know navigation, Doctor.”

“What's the difficulty?”

“Difficulty! Oh, my mother, those are
new
seas out yonder, Doctor. There are no charts for them—and no proper aircraft left that can be used to explore them from above. Just finding you was a miracle. There are shoals and reefs we're just learning about. North isn't where it used to be—and there's an area out there where a compass simply won't work. Anyone caught there when the fogs come might never find his way home. There are strange currents that could sweep a vessel halfway around the world. Suppose you ran aground, or used up your fuel? Where could you get help today?”

There was a silence, then the commissioner went on. “Those fogs are due in two months. We're taking no chances with them. We're getting out of here well ahead. If you haven't got us loaded in time, the loss is yours. As for your father-in-law, he's got to be found. And soon. So you'd better do as I tell you.…”

The rest of the words were lost in the sudden chattering of a squirrel in the branches overhead. It was followed by the equally happy cries of seabirds cruising above the cottage. Lanna retreated hastily. Her friends had discovered her.

At the kitchen door she paused as wings began beating close about her. “Go way, you silly things,” she whispered fondly. “Can't you see I've nothing to feed you yet?”

A tern fluttered down and settled wearily on her hand. At the sight of it she gasped. Instantly everything else was forgotten.

“Tikki!” she said breathlessly, trembling. “I can't believe it—you've come back! But—but what's happened? Why are you here?” Then, seeing the tawny band on one leg, she gasped again. “Conan sent you!”

She held the bird to her cheek as she tried to think. Her dark eyes grew wide with fear and uncertainty. Why had Conan sent Tikki home? He wasn't hurt or ill—she was sure of that. Could it be he was leaving his island? But why—?

All at once, in a rush of understanding, she realized there was only one reason Conan would send Tikki to her. It was to let her know that he had been found—and was now a captive.

She whirled and raced along the garden wall to the tower. Teacher must be told of this immediately.

3

BRAND

S
OON AFTER HE WAS BROUGHT ABOARD THE SURVEY
vessel, Conan's tangled mass of hair was clipped short, and he was given clothes to cover his nakedness. They were old and patched, and made of a shoddy synthetic material that felt unpleasant against his skin, but at least they seemed to be clean. Again the doctor questioned him, and became furious when he gave her the same answers he had given before.

“Voices!” she cried in disgust. “Of all the rot! When we reach port, you'd better watch your tongue with the work commissioner. Try telling
him
it was voices that kept you so healthy, and you'll be disqualified.”

“Disqualified for what?”

“For living, you fool! The New Order can't take chances with crackbrains. They might wreck valuable equipment. Besides,” she added in a lower voice, “I'd hate to see such a fine young body thrown away. Such beautiful muscles! In all my life I've never seen their equal.” She felt his arms. “Like steel! The New Order needs your strength.”

He thanked her for her warning, then asked, “Where are we going?”

“Home for more fuel. Then out again to chart all the new lands we can before the fogs come.”

“But—where is home?”

“Industria, of course.”

“Is that a—a city?”

“It's the city of the New Order,” she informed him proudly. “Soon it will be the capital of the world. We'll be there in a few days. Three, four maybe. These are strange waters; we must proceed very carefully.”

He saw the haze of Industria, and smelled it, long before the plodding vessel crept close enough for him to make it out. Something about its sprawling ugliness was vaguely familiar. With mounting distaste he stared at the acres of tangled pipes and tanks, the oily smoke curling from some of the stacks, and the vast clutter of plastic buildings, all rising starkly between the sea and the bleak hills. Finally, as the vessel eased in behind the protection of a makeshift breakwater, he remembered a picture he had seen years ago.

“Why,” he said to the doctor, who was waiting impatiently to go ashore, “isn't this one of those chemical cities the Peace Union was planning to build? You know, where everything was supposed to be made of plastics or synthetics, even the food—”

“This is the
model
city,” she interrupted curtly. “The only one finished before the Change. And don't call the food synthetic. It is the best food ever made, and the most scientific. You've been eating it ever since you were rescued.”

“I wasn't rescued,” he retorted. “I was captured. And I'd hate to feed your food to a dog.”

She whirled on him angrily. “There is no finer food on earth, and you'd better learn to like it! And, so help me, you'd better watch your tongue when you go ashore, or you'll wish we'd never found you.”

Almost before the lines were made fast she jerked her chin at him, swung her long, bony frame over the rail, and leaped to the dock. As he caught up with her, she said, “I'm turning you over to the work commissioner. He'll assign you to a job. You'll fare much better if you show a little gratitude for the opportunity you're being given.”

“What opportunity?”

“To become a citizen of the New Order, of course! You'll begin as an apprentice citizen, and the rest is up to you. Nothing is free in this world. It must be worked for.”

He forced back his sudden anger and strode glumly beside her. They crossed a square littered with what seemed to be plastic building supplies, and turned toward a long, grimy structure pierced with rows of small windows. The red pennant of the New Order flew defiantly over the entrance.

Just before they reached the place, a sudden down-draft from one of the smokestacks bathed them with acrid fumes. The doctor paused, threw back her gaunt gray head, and breathed deeply. “Ah, that is a good smell!” she cried. “The best smell in the world!”

Conan choked and managed to stutter, “W-what's so good about it?”

“Because it is the smell of life, and progress,” she reminded him sharply. “It has kept us alive ever since the Change. Someday it will help us rule the earth.”

She led him into a long, bare hall and through a door on the left. They entered a bleak outer office where several men were in close consultation over a wall map. Beyond them in an adjoining room he glimpsed a huge, red-bearded figure hunched over a desk that seemed much too small for him.

Conan was wondering why every man he'd seen was bearded, when Red Beard glanced up, raised bushy eyebrows, and suddenly roared, “Citizen Doctor Manski! I thought it was about time you were back. Come in and tell me what you found.”

“We didn't find much, Citizen Commissioner,” the doctor replied as she entered. “Very little, I'm afraid, that you'd care to hear about. I'm sorry—”

“Stop being sorry,” he ordered, “and give me the facts. What
did
you find?”

“Twenty-seven new islands, all practically worthless. The captain will bring you a full report when he comes.”

“No survivors?”

“Just one. He's young, but he should make a good worker.”

“No sign of that fellow we want?”

“Not a trace! I'm beginning to think that bunch at High Harbor are keeping something from us.”