Kayla stooped and kissed his forehead, then fastened the ball-gag straps around his head. The dirty rubber filled his mouth with an acrid taste, covering his tongue with sandy grit. He coughed violently, desperately trying to clear his nose, splattering snot on the cave floor. He sucked in a ragged breath, eyes wide with panic.
"I'll be back soon,” Kayla said hooking the Galil strap over her shoulder like any other woman would sling a purse. “I need to get all the information I can about this place, and you're so damn smart, I think you're just the man to help me. You and I can have a nice long talk as soon as I nail the others."
Kayla switched off her headlamp and walked down the tunnel, leaving him in the pitch-black darkness. Helpless and terrified. Shuddering, he listened for the click click of a knife-wielding silverbug — he knew it couldn't be far away.
Connell dragged his weary body onto the rocks and fell flat, the river's ripples licking his prone form. O'Doyle and Lybrand lay immobile, half in and half out of the water. They'd made it across. He had to go back for Veronica; she was crazy and needed help. But first he had to rest, just for a moment. His heaving chest was the only body part that moved. He'd never been this tired. Never. If he made it to the surface he'd sleep for a month.
Centuries of erosion had exposed a small, bubble-shaped room just at the hull's far edge, probably only a few feet from the Linus Highway. Changes in the river's course had filled the room with sand and rocks. The ground shimmered with platinum dust so thick it might have been freshly fallen snow.
Deep footprints in that platinum dust showed where someone had come ashore.
Angus.
Ignoring the pain, the all-powerful fatigue, Connell struggled to his feet and stumbled toward O'Doyle.
"Get up,” Connell said between gasps of air. “Let's get her in that little room, then we can catch our breath."
O'Doyle nodded. The two of them barely managed to drag Lybrand the fifteen feet into the small spherical room's shadows before they collapsed.
"I'm sorry about Dr. Reeves,” O'Doyle said, compassion clear in his eyes. “Sometimes people just crack under pressure. There's nothing you can do about it."
"She may be nuts, but she knows what she wants to do, and that's what's got me scared,” Connell said. “Remember that big dangling orb we saw at the breakwater?” O'Doyle nodded. “Well, that's some kind of massive self-destruct mechanism. I think she's planning on blowing the whole place up. If it's still working, it will wipe out the whole mountain."
O'Doyle stared back with eyes that could no longer be surprised by bad news. “Fuck a duck,” he said, then dropped his head to the ground.
They lay still for several minutes, then Connell lifted his heavy head and looked at O'Doyle and Lybrand. Lybrand was still alive. For how much longer, Connell didn't know. She probably should have died in the river. It seemed unfair, somehow, that O'Doyle bring her this far only to see her die so close to the surface. There was no way she could make it; her KoolSuit was out of coolant; the greedy water had washed away the last traces of the life-insuring fluid.
He felt deeply for O'Doyle. Memories of Cori's sudden, horrid death in the car accident filtered into his brain. He missed her, wished she was there now, wished he could just give up, roll over and die and be with her again. But he couldn't give up — lives still depended on him. O'Doyle. Lybrand. Veronica.
Veronica.
She was back there, in the belly of this incomprehensible ship, this ancient relic of a dead race. She was back there, trying to blow it all up. She was crazy, perhaps pushed over the edge by Sanji's death — she needed his help.
Connell gazed upstream, back into the ship's deep, misty, jungle-esque shadows. He'd have to walk upstream to reach her. Walk upstream, way past the cathedral room, then try and cross the savage river again, cross to her side, to the orb. Had she started the detonation process yet? Was she smart enough to figure it out, if it even worked at all? Crazy or no, Connell had no doubt Dr. Veronica Reeves could activate the device. He had to get to her, and fast.
What he had to do, and what reality would allow, however, were two different things. He'd barely survived crossing the river this time; he had doubts he'd live through another attempt. The rocktopi were back there, and the silverbugs. Veronica had the scrambler — without it, the silverbugs would track Connell down and the rocktopi would come a-running. A heroic picture of him traveling back into the dangerous ship and rescuing Veronica was farcical. Reality? Reality painted a different picture. If he went in there to get her, to try and bring her out, he was as good as dead.
He sat up and looked over at O'Doyle and Lybrand. They were both so brave, so strong. They'd fought hard to protect everybody. They were warriors — if someone chose to stay behind, that wasn't their concern. Both of them would continue pushing for the surface.
But there was really only one way Lybrand could survive.
Connell fingered the collar of his KoolSuit. It was tattered and cut in places, but it still worked. It would be enough to get Lybrand to the surface, maybe enough to save her life.
If anyone could make it out, it was O'Doyle and Lybrand. In spite of their injuries, they had something to live for. Connell didn't. Not really. Only an empty career. Useless money that bought him nothing. He'd never even bothered with a will. His time had come and gone; O'Doyle and Lybrand's time was only beginning.
He was going back, going after Veronica, but he was doing it without a KoolSuit. He silently started to pull the form-fitting material from his body.
Beeeeep.
Connell's eyes snapped up and looked around, wondering if he'd imagined the noise. Then he heard it again, a faint beep. O'Doyle pulled his knife and hobbled to his feet. Connell waved him back into the small bubble-shaped room. Connell moved toward the edge of the ship-canyon. He lowered himself to the ground and peered around the edge of the exterior hull.
Less than seventy-five yards away, standing as casual as you please and fiddling with the controls of what looked like a Marco/Polo unit, stood Kayla Meyers.
Kayla watched the Marco Polo receiver. Three signals, flickering on and off, just as she'd seen with Angus's signal before it finally gave a strong reading.
Connell Kirkland. Patrick O'Doyle. Bertha Lybrand.
The big ship had to cause some interference — as soon as those three came out of the ship, she'd have a strong lock. She needed to kill Lybrand and O'Doyle right off the bat. O'Doyle was the clear threat, but Lybrand was also dangerous.
Connell was nothing to worry about — he would be the one to give Kayla more information. She'd always wondered how he would handle the pliers. If she played her cards right, she'd get a chance to find out.
Kayla stood quietly, and waited for the signals to clear.
Veronica clutched the scrambler tightly, its static resonating off the orb room's cathedralesque ceiling. Her body ached. She felt as if she'd dragged the weight of the world a thousand miles. Confused silverbugs fell from the orb's curved, polished shell. Some hit the ground while others dropped noiselessly into the shaft. The jittering machines wandered aimlessly, their minds scrambled by Angus's hotwired radio.
The domed room was immaculate. Her eyes struggled to find a single speck of sand or dirt other than what she herself had tracked in. Every piece of machinery gleamed with newness, as if it hadn't seen a day of the eleven thousand years it sat waiting for the rocktopi's genocidal enemy, waiting for doomsday. That enemy was nowhere to be seen, but she was ready to usher doomsday in with a warm welcome.