Come Alive Ch. 21

Rolf hit the appropriate buttons and the display shifted to grayscale and a text filled the screen.

"Notice to Mariners," the text read, "Imminent danger to life at sea northeast Atlantic basin from the Azores to the Irish Sea and points east. Hurricane Epsilon continues to intensify as conditions deteriorate further..."

"Well, fuck-a-doodle-do," Mike whispered as he read. "What are the temps up here, in the Channel?"

Rolf flipped through the pages of data and pulled up the central region of the English Channel and hit enter, then he overlaid all the data he could find for their current position. "Okay, here it is."

Mike sat next to Rolf and peered into the image again. "That Multi-display can pull up a real time sea-temp, right? Can we cross check these numbers with real time data?"

"Sure...easy... So, Sirius Weather is showing 84 degrees F right here, and..." Rolf said, leaning over to pull up the real time data on one of the smaller secondary displays, "our sensor is showing...uh, that can't be right..." he said as 91 degrees registered.

"One good way to find out," Mike said as he walked back to the swim platform, where he stepped down and stuck his hand in the sea. "Well, Hell, I wouldn't want to take a bath in it, but it feels pretty damn warm to me."

Anton had followed him down to the water and stuck his own hand in the water. "Da, is not good."

"Okay, so it looks like some kind of super-tropical cyclone is coming up the Channel. The question for us," Mike posed, "is what do we do about it today - right now, while Henry is down and out...?"

"How far we go in Channel? And how big is storm? Do the two areas, how do you say? Overlap?"

Mike nodded and looked ahead, then up at the sky. Strange, mottled-coppery cirrus clouds were already streaming in, and he wondered if global background radiation figures were changing already... He watched Rolf pull up more charts and data and walked back to the helm.

"Okay," Rolf said, "we are almost to Bruges so call it 170 n-m-i to LeHavre, while the center of Epsilon is still about 360 miles out from LeHavre. What about London? Could we put in there?"

"I was just thinking about that," Mike sighed, "but I keep thinking of the Thames Barrier."

"Da, is not good."

"What's that?" Rolf asked.

"A tidal flood control barrier. If it gets taken out everything in London could be wiped out by storm surge."

"What about the Seine? Couldn't the same thing happen to Paris?"

Mike shrugged. "Southern shores should see less surge, but wind damage could be savage along rivers and coastlines, yet it looks like if we proceed direct to LeHavre from here we'll get there about the same time the storm does."

"What about Bruges?" Anton asked. "We here now, we need medic supplies for you and Mr. Genry, no? And it give time to get ready, which need. Correct?"

"Impeccable logic, my friend. Rolf, pull up the harbor chart and let's make for the entrance..."

Chapter 21.5

The sky was red - everywhere he looked.

Red satanic mills lighting the way ahead, roiling black spires of writhing cloud overhead, and trees on both sides of a blood-soaked canal reduced to glowing embers as, not so far away now, walls of orange flame moved through a row of medieval buildings - those ancient timbers adding their cry to the night.

And then there was the music.

A dark lament, yet he heard sublime chords weaving new tapestries into and out of the licking flames. Timbers consumed by the roving fires split and burst, howling into the night, coming together in the music before lifting away into the night - embers to stars - pitiless onlookers now as they rose from the earth.

First there was the fire and the music - coming together as yellow lightning moved across the charred prairie beyond the canal - and then the smoke. Suffocating smoke, the gritty remains falling from fouled clouds, the fleshy soot smothering flames in the tarry remnants of human screams...

He was coughing now, coughing and hardly able to breathe, Clyde's eyes were full of panic too, as he coughed and gasped. Then a voice, faraway and cool:

"Take a deep breath...

"That's it, take another..."

He felt cool plastic around his mouth and nose, could just hear the hiss of oxygen beneath her voice as he opened his eyes...

Two IV bags were hanging from one of the hand-holds on the ceiling and he knew they were connected to the port in his chest. Some sort of glucose solution in one; the other a vampire's brew of platelets and plasma, and he reached out - feeling his body in this world again, wondering how much more he could take.

A pulse oximeter on his index finger, a BP cuff on his right arm, and there was Rolf pumping up the cuff as Dina passed along more of the dark arts to his receptive mind; she was even now teaching him, training him, and he could see budding interest everywhere the boy looked.

He took a deep breath and the cool oxygen felt good inside his nose - but - 'What is that I smell? Honeysuckle?'

He looked up through the overhead hatch and could see a Linden tree wrapped in autumnal reds and golds, a coppery-blue sky beyond, and there was a gentle weight on his chest: Clyde - his muzzle resting lightly in the fading shade of the dream.

The dream?

'Not Rotterdam. Not even earth - I feel sure of that. But...where were we this time...?"

"Ah, Henry! You are awake!"

"I'll have to take your word for it. And is that a tree I see up there?" Taggart asked, pointing to the Linden. "Because, and I think this is important, I don't remember trees growing in the ocean."

"We are moored outside of Bruges," Rolf smiled, "warped off to the trees."

"The storm. Epsilon, right? Rolf, where is it now?"

"The eye is between Brest and Exeter, almost exactly in the middle of the Channel. But Henry, the surrounding weather is beginning to behave in a most peculiar manner."

"Define peculiar? I'm not sure what that means anymore."

"Water temps now over a hundred, winds in the outer bands are almost 200 knots..."

Taggart sat up, rubbed his eyes while he tried to get those numbers to make some sort of sense. "Did you say 200 - as in knots?"

"Yes, and the northeast quadrant of the eye wall is over 275 knots."

"That's not possible."

"That's exactly what Anton said," Dina added, scowling.

"Anton? Who the hell is Anton?"

"The Russian pilot. Do you not remember all that?"

"Vaguely. Something to do with World War Three, right? Or was that my hemorrhoids acting up again?"

Dina shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"How are our supplies holding out?" Taggart asked, changing course again.

"Fine now. We went into town and bought enough medicine to stock a small hospital..."

"And I have more rope, too," Rolf added, "though right now the storm is tracking a little to the north..."

"What? You mean north, as in towards London?"

"Maybe so, yes."

"So, assuming it..."

"Precisely," Rolf added. "If it tracks just a little south landfall could occur somewhere along this coast tomorrow morning."

"Dina, you were saying? About supplies for Mike's burns?"

She nodded, smiling a little once again, if only because even after fifty years she still had to hold her tongue when men, and even boys, talked over her. "We are good now, and we were lucky with food supplies here, too. Apparently many stores in Brussels are quite bare."

"Salmon for Clyde?"

"Yes, and very fresh, too."

"So, how bad is it out there?"

She nodded, tried to smile - but he could tell the effort was for Rolf's sake. "Better than expected. People are still using cash and electronic money equally well. ATMs seemed to have enough cash on hand, too."

He nodded and turned to the boy again. "How's our fuel, Rolf?"

"We beat the rush into Zeebrugge last night and we have full tanks now, and I topped-off the five-gallon jugs in the garage."

"What do you need help with?"

"Nothing, really. Like I said, I have extra rope ready to deploy if needed."

Henry smiled and nodded, then Clyde looked at him and sighed. "And what do you need, Amigo? Besides some fresh salmon?"

"Woof-woof!"

"Any good bushes around here?" he asked, looking to Dina.

"He just went, Henry," Dina sighed as he looked in his eyes.

"And how are you doing?" he asked - finally engaging her eyes.

"I'm scared - and a little lonely."

"Understandable. Not many people had a ringside seat at armageddon and managed to survive the night to talk about it."

She slipped onto the berth and under his arm, pushing Clyde out of the way as she rested the side of her face on Henry's chest, listening to his breathing and his beating heart in a decidedly non-clinical way, and feeling now more than anything just happy that he was still here. And Rolf had the good sense to get up and leave them alone, too.

"I have never been so frightened in my life," she sighed, suddenly trembling as memories of that dreadful night came rushing back to her. "The wind has been out of the west ever since, so fallout is spreading inland; there are reports it is very bad near Hamburg and Berlin, Copenhagen also."

"What about us?"

"I suspect low level radiation exposure for all of us, but I have no idea how much that Russian was exposed to as he fell through the sky."

He heard the venom in her voice and tried to ignore it - for now. "You think there are looming food shortages?"

"Yes, but this is to be expected, is it not? According to the BBC, food convoys from the United States are being loaded now and should be here early next week, and the Chinese have been flying in field hospitals and medical supplies to Germany, and also near St Petersburg."

"How did the boy take it?"

"Better than I expected, Henry. In fact, he seemed most concerned that he get things done in a way that you would approve. Dedicated, I think, is the word I think of..."

"For a teenager that's kind of a miracle, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps, but he has seen what Time Bandits is capable of, and I think he appreciates what such things mean to our future."

"I wonder how much damage radiation did to her hull?"

"The stern took the worst of it, but the mast, too..."

"Yup, probably a new mast and, well, a couple of new sails are a given, but stripping off the gelcoat to see how deep the radiation damage goes inside the hull...you'll need to do that next spring, by the way...so that will be your number one priority. I'm in the process of writing it all out, by the way."

"Good. Have you been getting hungry at all?"

"No, not really."

"How about some soup?"

"Maybe."

"I have bread in the oven now, too."

"I know - I think that's what woke me up. Best smell in the world, isn't it?"

She smiled. "That...and a strong cup of coffee. Together those create a magic all their own."

"Yeah. We have our flaws, but we manage to pull a few rabbits out of our hats every now and then, I guess."

"Are you worried about...Them?"

"Them? No, not really. What's done is done, at least as far as they are concerned."

"And what about Eva, and Britt? What is happening to them?"

"You probably shouldn't worry too much about them, Dina. That book has gone to press."

She seemed taken aback by that, and sat up - her eyes flaring in anger; "That is the most terrifying thing you have ever said to me, Henry. Just what am I supposed to make of a statement like that."

He held her eyes in his own, conveying empathy - and strength: "I understand."

"Indeed? Do you really?"

"Of course, but the truth of the matter is I trust - them - a lot more than you do."

"They could be..."

"Not harmed, Dina. Not ever. In fact, they are safer now than they've ever been."

"I see. Will I see my daughter again?"

He nodded. "I assume as soon as we get to Paris you will go pick them up."

"What?! You mean, I will be leaving you again?"

"Just for a few hours - and because you are the only one here who knows where to look."

"Look? What do you mean by...look? Will they be hiding?"

He sat up suddenly, coughing roughly as fluids pushed against his lungs - then an arrhythmia shook his heart and he closed his eyes until it too passed - then he took a couple of deep breaths and tried to concentrate.

"I must find an aircraft, one that the Russian knows how to fly, and you must go to Bergen. I will write down what you need to do, who you need to see once we get to Paris..."

"The Russian? You trust this man?"

Henry shrugged: "Everything seems to be happening for a reason right now, Dina. Please try to remember that every time you find yourself confronting the new and the unknown."

Yet even as he spoke those words he could feel Eva probing his thoughts, then Britt was there too. He closed his eyes and felt them coiling around his thoughts, smiling as he basked in their warmth. Reaching out now, he could feel the warm water, almost feel the rough skin as orcas slid alongside the girls...

Then a gust of hot wind slammed into Time Bandits, knocking her into the muddy banks of the canal. He heard Rolf running up the companionway, then he heard the boy talking to Mike and Anton, deciding what needed to be done as Epsilon's steamy tendrils started to reach out for them.

'Was that the dream?' he wondered. Would this storm bring red skies and burning timbers to the night?

He tried to sit up when the music returned - but couldn't - and the feeling of helplessness that came next only made him angrier.

He took several deep breaths and willed himself to stand - yet Dina was right there with him, removing the IVs from his port and swabbing his chest with alcohol.

"Do you want to go topsides?" she asked - as the hidden music from his dream crept into the moment.

He nodded and held onto her as she led him up the companionway steps into the cockpit - and the change he felt was so startling it left him feeling breathless.

Time Bandits was no longer a creature of the open ocean; here she was, now - bound to the earth in places, to trees in others, and in a canal perhaps 20 meters wide - surrounded by trees and medieval buildings...in short, all the ingredients to make his last dream come true. And the music only grew more incessant...

He turned and looked up at the sky and the old Russian was by his side in an instant.

"Sky not look right," the old bear grumbled. "Too hot. No clouds."

Taggart nodded. "Do you know how to fly any business jets?"

"737 smallest thing I fly long time."

"I need you to go up to Bergen, get some people and bring them to France."

"Okay, can do."

"Rolf? Pull up the Metars page, would you? Let's take a look..."

The weather page filled the plotter's display and Henry bent over and scanned the isobars over the Channel. "Okay, hit the 24 hour forecast."

The page froze and an error message popped up.

"Try backing out to the main page again..."

Dina saw it first, and she gasped as she jumped back.

A swirling pink sphere not a half-meter in diameter was up by the masthead, and when Henry stopped talking and looked up Pinky fell quickly and stopped right in front of his face. This was of course Anton's first meeting and he back-peddled with flailing arms until he launched into a sputtering back-flip, landing in the canal like a small whale...

But then Pinky did something she had never done before.

She slipped inside Henry Taggart - until her soul rested neatly beside his.

21.6

Perhaps ten years ago Henry Taggart had been the first to reach out.

And 'Pinky' had been the first to feel Henry's tentative probes. The first to feel a human's focused thoughts, the first to - in a very real sense - make contact with an individual.

His thoughts were anything but coherent then, but they were sentient so she took note and followed protocol. Within hours her team was preparing to respond and evaluate this new contact.

Pinky's people were children of the mind and as such they relied less on physical instrumentalities than their most distant ancestors ever had, and while not strictly speaking immortal their lifespans would most likely have been considered, by human standards, anyway, ridiculously long. Still, there had been no discussions of this between humans and Them if only because there had been no common frame of reference, and Pinky had simply felt the matter irrelevant.

Until now.

Now - after her fusion with Henry Taggart - death was everywhere: an omnipresent awareness locked-up in a tight, hot place somewhere between cold dread and pounding fear. When she felt Taggart's compounding diseases the first thing she wanted to to do was run - anywhere - to get away from this hostile, unfamiliar feeling. How can he stand it, she wondered.

But as suddenly she had wanted to know how he coexisted with such an intimate cascade of negative emotions she tried to extrapolate this feeling and imagine it on a species-wide scale. And because she had been studying humans for several years, she wanted to reconcile her understanding of human support systems - like religion and medicine - with what she was just now experiencing for herself.

'This is terrifying,' she said to Henry as she settled in next to his psyche.

'You're telling me. Now I know what schizophrenia feels like.'

'Death is everywhere. How do you not think about it all the time?'

'You're kidding, right? I think we do, especially as we get older. Probably ninety percent of the time, anyway. But I think it's safe to say that whenever we're not thinking about death we're thinking about getting laid.'

'So...you think either of death - or procreation?'

'Yup, pretty much, but the two are intimately linked, ya know? So, how long do y'all live?'

'That is a question, Henry Taggart, for which we have no easy answer.'

'Okay, but I'm curious. Why now?'

'Do you mean why have I come to you - now - in this way?'

'Yeah, I think that about sums it up.'

'Your systems are failing rapidly. We need to know more about this process.'

'You asking about me specifically, or about civilization in general?"

'You.'

'So, you're asking me about death and dying? Why?'

'Because we do not understand how this process affects you.'

'Most directly, I think I can safely say.'

'But...where do you go?'

'Excuse me?'

'Where do your thoughts go - after you die?'

'I don't understand. Our thoughts don't go anywhere, because when we die we stop thinking.'

He could feel her puzzlement, an almost paralyzed sense of incomprehension as she stumbled in the dark for the truth of the moment: 'What do you mean...you stop?'

'I mean when our bodies stop functioning everything ceases. Including our thoughts and feelings.'

'Are you sure?'

'No, of course not. As far as I know, no one really understands what happens after we die - beyond the very certain biological processes of decay which begin at that time.'

'So much uncertainty. It is no wonder your kind is consumed with matters concerning spirituality and an afterlife.'

'Your kind is not, I take it?'

'No, we are focused on other things.'

'What about getting...uh, procreation?'

'The process is known to us.'

'You are evasive, I'll give you that much. But why? Why conceal so much from us?'

'I think it is simply a question of frames of reference.'

'So, you think I can't understand. Is that your frame of reference?'

'In a way, yes. What is that noise you have been making taking?'

'Noise?'

'Yes, almost melodic, but it almost seems to come from deep inside your body.'

'Ah. Humming. As in humming a musical tune.'

'How does this differ from singing?'

'Humming is more of an approximation of the original...'

'Is this approximation subliminal?'

'I suppose it could be. What are you getting at?'

'Is it possible the source could be external?'

'External? You mean like sent from someone else?'