Divisible man ten keys w.., p.33
DIVISIBLE MAN--TEN KEYS WEST, page 33
Dammit, Dee! What were you thinking?
I found a ladder that descended deeper into the yacht.
Fwooomp!
I vanished and took the easy way down, which also dealt with the possibility of running into a member of the crew, although by now, having met none of them, I became convinced that they were all on the boat deck preparing their departure.
The zodiac had enough range to reach Marquesas Keys. Was it capable of reaching Key West? Or did they plan to rendezvous with another boat?
Either way, the abandoned Amphitrite would sail deeper into the open Gulf of Mexico. I had no illusions about that one-way journey. Something was going to happen to this ship out in the open water. A terrible accident. Lost at sea. Thank heaven, Remington’s PR hacks would declare, there were no passengers aboard.
The crew leaving the ship had faith that its destruction would take place uninterrupted. That meant the crew had taken steps to ensure that Andy, Calbert, and his family would not interfere.
Locked up. Or worse.
I picked up the pace. Maybe running into a crewman wouldn’t be the worst idea.
I dropped into a passageway marked Crew Only Beyond This Point. Basic tile floor. Painted steel walls. No carpets, no frills. In the direction of the bow, the passage accessed a series of compartments. Storage. A pantry. A chart locker. In the other direction, aft, I heard voices and the whir of machinery. The boat deck. Launch of the escape boat continued.
Something smelled. Metallic. Burning. Familiar. I noticed a slight haze in the air, perceptible as a thin halo around the passage lights.
Fire? Did they light a fire?
The impulse to go aft and rain destruction on the escaping crew tugged hard. Maybe I could disable their escape boat. Enough damage would force them to remain on the ship and reveal what they had done with the passengers.
Or it might get me disabled or killed, and in either case I would be of little use to Andy.
I chose the opposite direction. I used a rail to pull myself past two storage rooms, a room full of office supplies, an empty compartment, and a closet full of pipes and valves. An intersection joined a passage across the midsection of the ship. The smell grew stronger.
Fwooomp!
I reappeared. I moved faster on my feet. I jogged down the center passage, then took a left. Faint smoke hung in the air.
I recognized the scent.
Welding.
Proof of my assumption lay ahead. An acetylene bottle and welding tools had been left in the passage, leaning against a steel door. Dark burn marks in two spots where the door met the jamb revealed spot welding.
I waved my hand over the scorched area, then tapped it. Hot. Not searing, but hot enough that the work had been recent.
The steel door had a handle without a lock. How do you lock a door without a lock? Weld it.
I balled a fist and pounded on the door. Gently. Soft thudding I hoped would not carry to the boat deck. I reasoned that a light touch would bring the answer I needed without bringing someone from the crew.
I paused.
Voices.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Someone inside banged on the door. The voices grew louder. Someone inside grabbed the door handle and worked it. The handle wiggled to no avail. The voices grew louder but remained incomprehensible. The hammering on the inside continued. I waited, thinking hard.
When the noise inside ceased, I pounded out a rapid cadence.
Shave and a haircut…
I waited. The answer came quickly. My heart leaped.
Thump! Thump!
Andy. Who else would know that her childish husband would pound out a joke bit in a life-or-death circumstance? Who else but Andy would know how to answer it?
Now all I needed was a way to cut through a door that had been welded shut. My only problem was that I knew nothing about welding or cutting torches. The rig left in the hallway had been used to spot-weld the door, but it seemed unlikely that the same device could be used as a cutting torch. Worse, if I started using a torch on the door, what would it do inside? Heat? Fire? I had no idea how big the compartment was or what it contained.
Another notion sprang to mind. I thought about it for a moment and then decided I needed some help. I looked up and down the passageway. At the end, where the corridor split left and right, I spotted a red box mounted on the wall. A fire ax hung inside.
No fire ax would cut through the weld on a steel door, but that’s not what I needed it for. I jogged to the box, jerked it open and grabbed the ax.
Back in position, I leaned the ax against the door. The voices inside had gone silent. I forced myself to believe that Andy had taken charge and had assured the others that help was on the other side of the steel.
If this worked…
Fwooomp!
I vanished and immediately lost contact with the deck. I reached down with my right hand and picked up the heavy ax, which remained visible. The weight of the ax drove my feet back down on the deck. I split my stance and wedged one foot against the door and the other against the base of the wall opposite the door.
The first spot weld had been applied sixteen inches above the door handle. I laid my unseen left hand on the door beside the weld and pushed the levers in my head.
I’ve become adept at extending the other thing into people and objects beyond myself. The levers I imagine accept added pressure when I need it.
I pushed. The effect radiated outward. The steel under my hand began to vanish. The other thing spread on the door like spilled water. A hole the size of a silver dollar appeared. Through it, I saw movement. I saw rich auburn hair. The hair moved and I saw the most beautiful gold-flecked green eye in the world. Andy looked through the expanding void. She spoke. The steel may have vanished, but the door wasn’t gone. Her words remained muted.
The hole expanded. It reached the seam where the door had been welded to the jamb. I raised the ax and reversed it so that the sharp edge faced me. I waved it over the hole. Andy’s eyes, both now visible, transitioned from curious to blossoming awareness. She moved back.
The other thing spread the visual hole in the door. The edges blurred. The steel looked frayed. I pushed until the hole consumed the spot weld. At that instant, I drew back the ax and slammed it into the void in the door. The ax clanged against unseen steel. I felt something give. At the circular border between the other thing and visible steel, the metal fractured. The hole in the door flashed back into solid steel, a severed disk that fell and clattered on the deck. Through the new opening, Andy called to me.
“Will!”
“I’m here. One more to go.”
I heard Reuben Calbert mutter something Pidge might say.
The second spot weld had been placed below the door handle. To reach it I had to crouch, a contortionist’s feat that involved wedging my feet and bending my knees. Pressure on the wound on my thigh increased because of the muscle flexing in my thigh. Spots of blood appeared on the deck below me.
Wiggling and twisting, I struggled into position and repeated the trick. A fresh disk of steel broke from the door, taking the second spot weld with it. I stood up again and—
Fwooomp!
—reappeared holding the ax in one hand and flipping the door handle with the other. The compartment door latch released. The door swung open.
82
Andy hurried past me. She jogged to the intersection of the main fore-aft passageway and searched. When she returned, she led me back into the small engineering compartment. Pipes ran through the space, some with control valves. A huge electrical panel occupied most of one wall. A small desk faced a bookshelf full of manuals. One or two of the manuals had been pulled down and spread on the desk. I made a quick guess that Andy had been searching for a way out.
Shelly Calbert sat in the desk chair. She held her daughter in her arms.
My first closeup glimpse of the girl that had driven Andy to the southernmost tip of the United States met every one of my expectations, and worse. I wondered when she had stopped eating. Pale, emaciated, hairless and at the fringes of life, the girl lay with her head against her mother’s shoulder. She was wrapped in a white blanket, but her bony ankles extended. A thin hand clutched a corner of the blanket. Reuben Calbert stood beside his wife and daughter. Save one salient thing, nothing about the man looked any less intimidating. But that one thing told me that, as big as he was, he had been torn down.
Reuben cupped his daughter’s hand in his own as if mere touch might shatter it. Tears flooded his eyes. He saw me but said nothing.
Andy spotted Pidge’s t-shirt wrapped around my leg. Blood soaked through the shirt. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing. Just a flesh wound. Damn. I’ve always wanted to say that.” Her expression mixed reproach with concern. “Tell you later. Listen, the ship is on autopilot and the crew is abandoning ship.”
The news did not surprise my wife. “On autopilot going where?”
“How the hell would I know?” I replied, wondering what difference it made. Then I understood her question. “Oh. Southwest. Open water.”
Andy crouched and plucked away the bandage on my leg. “We need to get this wrapped. That’s deep.” She pushed the soaked t-shirt back in place and then spent a moment retying the knot, tighter. I winced but held my tongue. She stood up. “That airplane you came in? Was that Pidge? Can she pick us up?”
I gave her the bad news.
“Makes sense,” Andy said. “After you passed, they hustled us down here. We heard noises. Must have been the collision.”
Calbert found his voice. “What about that makes sense?”
“All of it. Letting us come aboard. Conducting the ceremony.” Andy looked down at the girl. “I’m sorry, but that was just to keep us occupied until we got far enough out.” To me, she said, “As soon as you showed up, they dropped the pretense and sealed us in here. You said the ship is on autopilot. It’s on its way into open water. If they’re leaving, that means they left behind something that’s going to sink this boat.”
“A bomb?” I asked. Shelly Calbert’s eyes went wide.
“I don’t think so.” Andy stole another look down the passage. “A bomb would leave obvious evidence of a crime. This needs to look like an accident. They’re leaving now because it’s close enough to Key West that they can take a small boat back without being noticed. But they put the ship on autopilot so it can go deeper into the Gulf. That way, whatever happens won’t be witnessed. They’ve done something to cause fatal but explainable damage. My guess would be fire.”
“If that’s true, it means we have time to find it,” I said.
“Wait.” Andy stared at me.
“What?”
She said nothing. She shifted a glance toward Gabby.
The tiny, frail girl did not have far to go.
“You have to try.” The look on Andy’s face, in her eyes, spoke volumes. Everything that had happened since a twisted mind thrust a shotgun in Andy’s face came to this moment. I wished with all my heart that Andy’s obsession hadn’t fallen on the shoulders of a dying girl. I knew only too well that this might fail. That I might be too late. Or just ineffective. And then what? What would that mean to Andy? How would that exorcise the demon vision that haunted her? Even if I succeeded, I wasn’t sure it would change things for Andy.
Either way, one thing was certain. I could not refuse the woman I love or a child dying in her mother’s arms.
“Yeah. How do you want to do this?”
83
It came down to trust. Andy stepped up to a man who could swat her aside with one hand if he chose to. She laid her hand on Calbert’s chest and looked up at him.
“Reuben. You asked what I was doing here. I came for Gabby. We came to help her. Now I need you to do as I ask.”
He swallowed, tried to speak, and swallowed again. “What are you talking about?”
“I need you to give me your daughter—”
“No!” Shelly Calbert snapped. “You keep your hands off!”
I feared Calbert might side with his wife, violently. I stepped closer, ready to pull Andy out of harm’s way. The big man fixed his jaw and hardened his eyes—or tried to. He faltered. He attempted to speak, but words failed to form.
“YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY BABY GIRL!” Shelly Calbert tightened her grip on the child.
Andy did not waver. She spoke scarcely above a whisper.
“We came to help. Let us help. Please.”
I closed my hand around Andy’s arm, ready to pull her clear.
Reuben Calbert didn’t swing at Andy. Instead, he carefully tucked his daughter’s hand inside the blanket. The girl stirred. Even in sleep, pain wrote its relentless message across her brow. Calbert leaned down and put his face directly in front of his terrified wife. The reservoir of agony building in his eyes spilled down his cheeks.
“Shel…” Reuben whispered.
“No!” Shelly uttered weakly. “No…no…” The words sank into sobs. She leaned down and pressed her cheek against her dying daughter’s bare head. “No…”
Andy turned to me and gestured at the girl.
Are you serious?
“Reuben, step aside,” Andy touched his arm. He moved.
I drew a deep breath and reached for Gabby.
Shelly Calbert tightened her grip, but her resistance faltered when Reuben carefully unwrapped his wife’s hands from their child. I slid one hand under Gabby’s legs and the other around her back. I expected a fight. An absurd tug of war over a fragile little girl. Whatever fight Shelly Calbert had left visibly drained. Deep sobs broke from her chest. I lifted Gabby free—there was so little to lift. Shelly rose and fell into her ex-husband’s arms. She buried her face against his chest.
Calbert found a way to stare bullets at me through the tears pumped from his eyes. His expression needed no interpretation. Hurt my girl and I will hurt you.
Andy closed a grip on Reuben’s arm. “Please. Give us a few minutes. We can help. I promise we will not harm her. Please.” She tugged Reuben and his wife through the open door. She pressed them into the passageway saying, “Just a few minutes. And I’ll be right here. Just a few minutes.”
I have no idea how Andy does that. If I could put into words the persuasive connection she made with two grieving parents in that moment, it would be the dictionary definition of Trust.
Andy glanced back at me and nodded.
Fwooomp!
I vanished, taking the tiny bundle with me.
My feet lost touch with the deck. I felt no impulse to launch or fly. The confines of the engineering compartment offered nowhere near enough space to go zooming about. I simply floated.
Matter in an altered state.
I called it Boyd’s Revelation. An autistic child’s genius expressed it between giggles while I cavorted above a stand of dead trees in a winter landscape. Boyd’s words echoed in my mind, but at that moment a new voice intruded.
Stephenson’s voice.
“I want to know if by altering the state of matter, Will is altering the cancerous cells.”
Gabby stirred.
Or if he’s altering the repair limits, accelerating the repair function within the strands.
The girl moved like someone experiencing a dream. Not a nightmare. A benign dream expressed in the waking world by gentle involuntary muscle movements. She twitched and shuddered.
I don’t know how many times I’ve done this. I understand nothing about it. Not one single thing. Stephenson can try to explain, or experiment, or theorize. All I know is that sometimes, it works. I do it for that reason alone. Sometimes it works.
Time was short.
Reuben and Shelly Calbert were going to come to their senses at any moment. Trusting a stranger—someone they both just met—only went so far.
I reached for the wall and used a grip on an equipment panel to shove myself back down until my feet touched the floor.
I saw movement at the door just as—
Fwooomp!
—I reappeared. My weight settled.
Reuben Calbert pushed past Andy.
Shelly followed her ex-husband through the door. She reached for Gabby. Andy’s influence over the Calberts had expired. I had reason to resist. I prepared to hand Gabby over.
Reuben and Shelly stopped cold.
Gabby moved in my arms. Not the twitch of a dream state. She lifted her head. I looked down to see what had her parents enthralled.
She met my gaze with shining eyes and a smile, and she spoke in a voice that sounded like song.
“Do it again!”
84
“Take her,” Andy ordered Calbert. “Go up to the deck we were on, the one just above where we had the ceremony.”
I handed Gabby over to her stunned mother. The girl was awake and alert and wore a trace of disappointment on her face, the child who had just been told, No, you can’t have one more turn.
I don’t stick around to see results when I’ve done this trick in a hospital full of doctors, nurses, and security guards. I don’t know how long it takes to work. The patients I visit tend to sleep through our brief encounter, sometimes stirring when I release them back into gravity’s embrace. I’ve often wondered if the sensation causes them to dream of falling.
Gabby remained pale and frail, but the veneer of pain had lifted. Not in the way drugs mask pain. The way a sky clears after rain. I wasn’t the only one who saw it. Her mother gaped at the girl, then at me.
Calbert stood rooted to the deck like most men in an emotionally charged moment. Dumbstruck.
“Reuben!” Andy snapped. “Go! Use the stairs and passages at the front of the ship. Stay away from that boat deck. We can’t be sure they’re gone.”
I handed Reuben the ax. “You know how to use one of these, right?”
He gave me a look well earned by the bad joke. Then the menace he had shown from the moment I met the man returned. The ax looked small and deadly in his hands. The jet he pummeled in Wichita never had a chance.
“Nobody on this ship is your friend, Reuben—oh, wait! There’s an obnoxiously cute little blonde up there somewhere. Don’t hurt her. She’s with us. Nobody else.”
