The same intuitive certainty that had brought her down to the lowest reaches of the ancient city was now telling her that she had everything she needed to get them back out.
If you sing to the river, it will wake up and sing with you.
But she did not need the river to wake up. She needed it to sleep again.
She didn’t even attempt trying to explain it. She wasn’t sure there were even words for it. Instead, she put both hands on the sphere, lightly, so as not to crush it, and she began to sing, chanting the same tribal song she had sung in the vision of Raven.
And just as in the vision, the water listened.
NINE
Carter felt only a little guilty about the deception that had secured her a seat aboard an Italian military transport bound for Geneva. Although she wasn’t a medical doctor, she had done international relief work in Africa. She felt a certain kinship with the men and women who were willing to set aside their lives and rush headlong into the jaws of a crisis to help the helpless.
In her own way, she was doing the same, which was why she was able to hold her head up high as she filed off the plane with all the other volunteers. Then she slipped away from the queue to pursue her own mission of mercy. If she was right about the earthquakes having an other-than-natural cause, then her actions might save thousands of lives.
Although there were ongoing widespread power outages across Europe, the television news networks were already back up and running, chronicling the disaster for the few who possessed the means to watch. Carter did not have access to a television, but as she got off the plane and turned on her satellite-enabled smartphone, she received a flurry of messages from Dourado, most of which contained links to various news agencies. She skimmed the articles and briefs, and was pleased to learn that most of the quakes had caused little more than cosmetic damage, with minimal loss of life.
There were a few exceptions, though. An 8.1 magnitude temblor off the coast of Portugal had done extensive damage to Lisbon and the surrounding areas. The subsequent 30-foot tsunami had done even more damage all along the coasts of Portugal, Spain, and Morocco. Though the number of confirmed dead was still low relative to the population in those areas, estimated casualties were in the tens of thousands. A 7.5 quake had been reported in the Hindu Kush mountains, affecting parts of Afghanistan and Pakistan, and while few details had emerged from that remote region, similar events throughout history suggested the death toll would be in the thousands. What made the situation even more tragic was the fact that the minor damage and disruptions in cities across Europe would further delay relief efforts.
Carter read the articles quickly, gulping them down so that the scope of the tragedy wouldn’t overwhelm her. The most bitter news was contained in the last message, just three short words:
Still no word.
George Pierce carried a satellite phone just like hers, capable of sending and receiving from almost anywhere in the world. Unfortunately, the phone relied on line-of-sight. It didn’t work underground, and underground was where Pierce and his team had gone before the quakes had begun. That Pierce still hadn’t checked in, two hours later, could only mean one thing.
They were still underground.
Not thinking the worst was impossible. Lazarus and the others might already be dead, or worse: buried alive and dying, unable to reach the surface. And there wasn’t a thing Carter could do to help them.
Her response, which wasn’t a response at all, was even briefer:
Arrived.
She put the phone away and headed outside. She was traveling light, as was her custom. No luggage, not even a carry-on. It was not her intention to spend the night, but if she had to, she could buy whatever she needed.
A skycap directed her to a waiting taxi, and the dutiful driver opened the rear door for her. As she slid inside, her attention was drawn to an LED touch screen — about the same size as her tablet computer — mounted to the back of the driver’s seat. On the screen were two rows of virtual buttons, each one marked with a language choice. Assuming that it was some kind of onboard entertainment system — and most likely not a complementary amenity — she ignored it, waiting for the driver to take his place and inquire about her destination.
A moment later, a disembodied female voice began speaking. The first utterance was in French, a language that she spoke, though not fluently. The same voice carried on in German — at least Carter thought it was German — and then in Italian, another language she was picking up. Regardless of the language, the statement was the same.
“Please select your language from the menu,” the voice said in English.
With a sigh, she tapped the button marked ‘English.’
“Welcome,” the voice said. “Please state your destination.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “Welcome to the twenty-first century,” she murmured.
“I’m not sure I understood,” the voice replied. The screen went blank for a moment, then a virtual keyboard appeared. “Please say or enter your destination.”
Carter cleared her throat and enunciated her answer. “Tomorrowland.”
“Searching.” The screen refreshed again, displaying several choices: An electronic music festival in Belgium, a revival cinema showing the 2015 Disney film of the same name, and a nightclub called No Tomorrow.
“Do you see your destination here?”
Carter shook her head, then she remembered she was talking to a machine. “No.”
“Please state your destination.”
Carter kicked herself for not having done her homework, and wondered if she would have better luck just talking to the driver. “I’m trying to find Marcus Fallon. Or Ishiro Tanaka.”
“Searching.” The screen blinked again and the list changed. There were a few personal listings, though none of them contained the exact combination of first and last names. But one item on the list stood out to her. “Space Tomorrow,” she said. “That’s the one.”
The screen changed to show a full business listing for Space Tomorrow, which included location, phone number, and the name of the founder, Marcus Fallon. “Is this where you want to go?”
“Yes,” Carter said, starting to feel a little exasperated by the process.
The fare for the trip appeared on the screen along with a menu of buttons. “Please choose your payment option.”
As Carter made her selection and swiped her credit card, she recalled an article she had read about something called shadow work, which was the name economists used to describe the shift to self-service and automated systems. Shadow work was everywhere, from self-service checkout lines at grocery stores to automated ordering systems at restaurants. It was widely preached that automated customer service systems were preferred by consumers, especially the younger, hipper, Millennial crowd, who enjoyed the freedom of taking charge. In fact, it was the businesses that benefited, because instead of paying employees to interact with customers, the customer became an unpaid laborer — grocery clerk, waiter, travel agent — without any meaningful savings in the exchange.
Like it or not, this was the future.
At least they hadn’t replaced the taxi driver yet.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, she realized she was wrong about that, too. The man sitting in the driver’s seat was looking at his smartphone — one hand holding it, the other swiping right — and he was paying no attention to the road ahead. But the wheel turned and the car accelerated, pulling into the flow of traffic.