The Incredible Tide (9 page)

How did he do it?

All at once, as he thought back, Conan remembered an evening long ago when Teacher had been trying to improve Mazal's ability as a communicator. “You must learn to
visualize,
” Teacher had said. “Understand? When you talk to me at a distance you must think of me so intently that you actually see me.”

“But, Father, that's impossible!”

“Nonsense. I always see you, no matter how far away you are. What I can do, you can learn to do.”

“But—but I can't believe that,” she'd protested. “You have so much more ability—”

“Nonsense again. I should have taken up your training earlier instead of leaving it to others. Like everyone else, you haven't been taught to use your mind. You've been taught
not
to use it.”

At that point Mazal had shaken her head helplessly. But Teacher, not to be stopped, had said, “You've been taught
not
to use it by having it impressed upon you that certain things are impossible. You are certain, for instance, that it is impossible for a blind man to ever learn to see. Yet I say he can. Once he learns to visualize—”

“Oh,
Father!
”

But here was Teacher, years later, not only proving the point but proving a greater truth as well. To Conan, at that moment, it was like the opening of a magic door.

With hardly a pause the old man led him through stygian alleyways, past black buildings reeking of chemicals and others aglow with eerie lights. They stopped finally in the rear of a windowless structure made of long sheets of heavy plastic.

Teacher stood a moment, listening. Then he quickly unrolled a bundle he carried and gave Conan a short metal wrecking bar. After tapping several of the sheets with his fingertips, he whispered, “We'll try it here. Pry out the lower fastenings, then bend the sheet aside. Easy …”

Conan proceeded carefully. It was now that the nameless fear he'd felt earlier suddenly returned, stronger. Something was wrong, very wrong. But what could it be?

Gaining entry into the building was easier than he'd thought. Teacher followed him inside and divided his bundle, which proved to be several huge plastic bags. They found what they wanted without trouble, filled the bags, and returned the way they had entered. Conan's load was far larger and heavier than Teacher's, and he was forced to remove some of the bulkier things from one of the bags before he could pass it through the opening. He did this, and was replacing the articles he had taken out, when he noticed that Teacher was crouched on the ground a few feet away. The old man seemed to be examining something.

“What's the matter?” Conan whispered.

“I'm not sure yet. It could be a great deal.”

Conan played his light briefly on the ground, but saw only a long crack where the paving had pulled away from the building. Why be concerned about a crack? They were all over the waterfront.

But something was definitely wrong, for Teacher returned to the shop by a different route, and stopped every few yards for a brief study of the paving. Nor did he want to talk about it later. “Get some sleep, son,” he ordered, when they had hidden their bags in the adjoining storeroom. “I'm afraid tomorrow is going to be a hard day.”

It was a bad day from the beginning, and it seemed to Conan that it would never end. He awoke with the same nameless fear he had had the evening before, and it remained with him, growing as the hours passed. There was no question that Teacher, who had turned into the irascible Patch with Tellit's arrival, was deeply troubled about something. The old man spent most of his time at the drawing table in the storeroom, writing long equations on the thin scraps of plastic that served as paper.

Tellit noticed the difference, for once he motioned toward the storeroom and muttered, “What's happened to
him?
He swallow his tongue?”

“I wish I knew!” Conan said fervently.

Late that afternoon Patch ordered them to get one of the small boats ready for testing the model motor. They placed the motor in the well built for it in the stern, clamped it in place, and trundled the craft down to the basin. When it was afloat, Patch scowled at it, then had them bring down an assortment of heavy articles for ballast. These, Conan noticed, turned out to be such useful items as spare batteries, a box of tools, and even the cans of cement that would be needed later to join the hulls.

“This test is for a work boat,” the old man snapped. “Get more weight into it! That motor's got to handle a load. And while you're about it,” he added, seemingly as an afterthought, “bring the other boat here and try it on a towline.”

When the final bell rang at dusk, Conan was still at the basin, finishing his first lesson in seamanship. Both boats had been partially loaded, and needed only the two bags of supplies and a few extra items to be ready for departure. By now Conan's worry had become all he could bear.

“What's gone wrong?” he blurted as soon as Tellit had left for the bunkhouse.

“Geology,” Teacher said softly. “It's rather messed things up for us.”

“But I don't—You said
geology?
”

“Yes. The Change did a lot of damage to the earth's crust. The crust broke fairly cleanly for a great distance in this area, and took part of Industria with it. But it left fractures. There's a bad fracture under us, as I discovered when I first came here. The strain on it is increasing. From what I saw last night, I'm afraid it's reached a critical point.”

For a moment Conan could only gape at him. “You—you mean there's going to be a quake or something here?”

Teacher sighed. “I mean, son, that half the remaining city is going to break away and slide into the sea.”

“You—you're sure?”

The moment he spoke he realized he was questioning the man who had predicted the Change. He was questioning Briac Roa, who had told the world exactly what would happen if magnetic power was used as a weapon. The generals hadn't wanted to believe him. They must have it, they said, to shatter the force fields over the cities. So the planet had been shaken from its axis, and the generals were now under the sea.

“I—I'm sorry, sir,” Conan faltered. “I didn't mean—”

“It's all right, son. I'm sure enough to know that only a miracle can prevent it. It could happen any time—without proper instruments, it's impossible to say exactly.” The old man shook his head. “But it will happen, and without warning. It's a monstrous trap. The people must be warned.”

A knot of coldness was gathering in Conan's stomach. Suddenly he said, “Why couldn't we leave a message for Tellit to hand over to Headquarters? If you wrote it out carefully—”

“Do you think such a message would be believed?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because there's no one here who understands these things. And they all think of me as Patch. Even if I signed my real name, they'd say old Patch's mind had finally cracked.”

“Suppose they did?” Conan retorted. “What more can you do? We certainly don't owe them anything!”

“We owe them something.”

“For what? For branding us?” Conan clenched his fists.

Teacher shook his head. “Every man owes his brother a helping hand when he's in trouble. They're in deadly peril here.”

“Then let them stay in peril! Why should we go out of our way to help the New Order? Look what they've done! I say, let 'em drown! The world would be better off if they were all dead! The whole dirty bunch—”

“Conan! Listen to me!”

“Y-yes, sir.” The coldness in him tightened. He could see what was coming, and the thought of it filled him with dread. It was almost dark, and in a few minutes it would be safe to finish loading the boats. If he could think of some way to get Teacher away from here …

“No, you're not to try and stop me,” the old man said quickly, as if reading his mind. “In half an hour there'll be a meeting of the commissioners. I intend to be there. And I'll tell them who I am. It's the only possible way—”

“But you can't! They'd never let you go! Please—”

“Listen to me, son. When this fracture breaks, every bit of food-making apparatus will be lost—unless people start moving it immediately. It's their only chance to survive.”

“But—”

“Let me finish.” Teacher swung around and pointed. “Can you make out that big rock from here? It's about two miles up the coast, and just offshore.”

“It's too dark to see it now, but I know where it is. I noticed it earlier.”

“Good. Your job is to take the boats up there and wait for me. If all goes well, I'll meet you there at dawn.”

“But—but suppose—”

“That I run into trouble?” Teacher shrugged. “That's a chance we'll have to take. The tide will be low at dawn, and if you don't see me wading out to the rock, get under way fast for that other place I told you about. In the toolbox you'll find some instructions I've written down for you. They'll tell you exactly what to do.”

They'll tell me, Conan thought, how to rig the boat and sail away without him. But that I'll never do. Never.

His jaws knotted as he watched the harbor darken. So much could happen between now and dawn.

7

FLIGHT

T
HE MOTOR, POWERED BY A BATTERY UNDER THE SEAT,
was almost noiseless as it thrust the boats slowly through the darkness. The only sounds were the night breeze and the rustling of the incoming tide, combined with a soft gurgling astern made by water being forced from the motor's jet chamber. A child could have managed the thing, so simple was it to run. But Conan was suddenly faced with complications he had not anticipated, and every passing minute added to them.

The first step was to navigate safely the channel that led from the basin. This was no more than a sunken street, bordered on either side by submerged structures.

Earlier, it had seemed the easiest of tasks to run the length of the channel to deep water, and then swing right in the direction of the rock. To help him hold a straight course, Teacher had given him a homemade compass to place between his feet, and a flashlight with a bit of red plastic tied over it. The plastic was to dim the light, not only so that no one would notice it ashore, but also to enable him to see the compass needle without ruining his night vision. But navigating by compass, he quickly discovered, was something that couldn't be learned in a moment—especially in the dark with nothing visible ahead to guide him.

In the first few minutes he ran out of the channel twice, and scraped over submerged objects, before he realized he was not making proper allowance for the tide. Then he made the discovery, known to every experienced sailor, that at night he could see far better out of the corner of his eye than directly in front of him. This enabled him to reach the end of the channel without further trouble.

He thought his difficulties were over when he finally turned right in deep water and headed northward. But by now the night had darkened, and a thin mist was creeping around him. He seemed to be moving in a void. When he tried to check his course with the compass, he was dismayed to see the needle spinning erratically.

This whole area, he realized, must be filled with sunken equipment that would affect a compass. But knowing the cause of it was hardly a help. How was he going to find the rock before dawn?

The tide, as nearly as he could judge, seemed to have been quartering in that general direction. Maybe it would be wiser just to drift with the tide. With the motor running he could easily miss his destination entirely, and even be carried out to sea.

He turned off the switch and sat listening and searching the dark while he drifted. At the time he'd left the basin, there'd been no doubt in his mind that the night lights in the food factories would always be shining as a beacon, so that he couldn't possibly go astray. But now he was unable to make out the faintest gleam of a light in any direction. Nor was there a sound, save the slapping of wavelets against the two boats and the vague murmur of the wind.

It seemed impossible that he could have become lost so quickly. But lost he was, and until the compass straightened out there wasn't much he could do about it.

To avoid thinking of what might be happening to Teacher, he turned his mind to High Harbor and Lanna. Never had she seemed so far away as she did now, in this hour of escape.…

Lanna, at this moment, was praying for rain. Not that rain would solve anything, but at least it would make it impossible to hold the meeting tonight. And by the time another date would be set, maybe she could quietly have enough young people lined up to put a stop to Orlo.

So far she and Mazal had managed to talk to only a few, for someone had to stay close to the office whenever Shann was away. If the office nurse was more often herself, it was only right. In emergencies she was better than Mazal at splinting fractures and sewing up cuts. Tomorrow she planned to organize the neighboring young ones and have them go around and talk to the various groups, which were scattered all over. Those nearer the community farm, of course, were probably hopeless, because Orlo had already frightened them. Orlo did no work whatever—but he always took the best of everything that grew, and no one dared try to stop him.

But Orlo had to be stopped.

Please, she prayed. Let it rain. Let it rain, and rain, and rain!

Then she realized she ought to be praying for the young ones who were sick, and for Teacher and Conan who even now might be trying to escape. Last evening Mazal hadn't been able to receive a thing. But this was another evening, and maybe something would come through.

The deepening twilight reminded her there was a great deal of work to be done before dark. She flew through the kitchen, building up the smoldering fire, filling the kettle, setting the table, and putting out cold fish and odds and ends left over from yesterday. The meal looked awfully skimpy, for there'd been no time to cook since breakfast, but maybe she could find something fresh in the garden.