Jock rolled to the right, and using his one good arm, he clutched at the silver box, drawing it closer to him. He did something to it, and white gas started pouring out of the box. Ponter was only intermittently visible through the cloud, but Mary saw him grab Jock by the throat and haul back with his other arm, aiming his fist for the center of Jock’s face.
“Ponter, no!” shouted Louise, running out from behind the boulder. “We need to know—”
Ponter was already committed to his punch, but must have backed off slightly in response to Louise’s words. Still, he connected with an impact that made a sound like a hundred pounds of leather dropping to the floor. Jock’s head snapped back, and he slumped to the snow-covered ground, eyes closed.
The cloud continued to expand. Mary ran forward, going straight for the box. Gas continued to pour from it, obscuring her vision. She searched with her hands for some sort of cutoff valve, but found nothing.
Reuben had also run forward, but he’d headed for Jock. He was now crouching down, taking the man’s pulse. “He’s unconscious, but alive,” he said, looking up at Ponter.
Mary took off her coat, trying to wrap up the bomb. She seemed to be managing to contain the box, but then it exploded, the coat shredding, Mary’s skin being sliced in a dozen places, and the cloud expanding more and more. It was like being in a super-dense London fog; Mary could only see a meter or two ahead.
Louise was now bending over Jock. “How long will he be out?”
Reuben looked up and shrugged a little. “You heard the sound of Ponter’s fist connecting. Jock’s got a concussion at least, and probably a skull fracture. It’ll be hours, anyway.”
“But we need to know!” said Mary.
“Know what?” asked Reuben.
Mary’s heart was pounding erratically, her stomach was roiling, acid was clawing up her gullet. “Which version of the virus he used!”
Reuben was completely lost. “What?” he said, getting up.
“Mary modified the virus design last night,” said Louise. “If Jock made his stock of it this morning, then…”
Mary wasn’t listening. Her head was swimming, pounding. She wanted to scream. If Jock had used the codon writer to run off the virus that morning, then he had produced Mary’s modified Surfer Joe. But if he’d made it earlier, then the cloud they were standing in was the original Wipeout version, meaning—
Mary’s eyes were stinging, and she was having trouble keeping her balance.
—meaning that goddamned Gliksin bastard lying there in the snow had just killed the man she loved.
Chapter Forty-one
“It has been suggested by some scientists that since there was, apparently, only one universe until 40,000 years ago when consciousness arose on Earth, then there is no other consciousness anywhere in this vast universe of ours—or, at least, none older than our own. If that is true, then exploring the rest of space isn’t just our destiny, it is our obligation, for there is no one but we Homo sapiens with the desire and means to do it…”
At the moment, Ponter looked fine; no virus worked that fast. He ripped strips of mammoth hide off Reuben’s coat, and Louise and Reuben used them to tie up the unconscious Jock’s arms and legs. As soon as he was trussed up, Reuben and Ponter carried Jock into the nearest building—probably the one Dekant Dorst had gone into, although hopefully she had long since left. The sun had set, and it was getting bitterly cold, but, despite everything, they wouldn’t leave him out at the mercy of the elements.
Reuben closed the building’s door, then he and Ponter returned to where Mary and Louise were. “Come on, big fella,” Reuben said. “Let’s get you to the mine—we can try the decontaminating lasers there.”
Ponter looked up, his blond-brown eyebrow climbing his browridge; like Mary, he clearly hadn’t thought of that.
“Do you think there’s a chance?” said Mary, looking now at Reuben, her eyes bloodshot, her face so desperate for a miracle.
“I don’t see why not,” said Reuben. “I mean, if those lasers work the way you said they do, they should zap the virus molecules, no? It will be a solution for Ponter, at least—although perhaps there’s a better decontamination facility here in the Center.” He looked at Ponter. “Isn’t that where your hospitals are?”
Ponter shook his head. “Yes, but the most sophisticated decontamination unit ever built is the one at the portal.”
“Then let’s get you there,” said Reuben.
“We must clear everyone out of the mine and the quantum-computing chamber first,” said Ponter. “We can’t risk me infecting anyone else.”
“Let me call a travel cube,” said Mary, and she began speaking into her Companion.
But Reuben touched her arm. “Who would fly it here? We can’t risk exposing other Neanderthals.”
“Then—then we’ll carry him there!” said Mary.
“Ce n’est pas possible, ” said Louise. “It’s kilometers away.”
“I can still walk there,” said Ponter.
But Reuben shook his head. “I want to get you processed as fast as possible. We don’t have the hours it would take.”
“God damn it!” said Mary, her fists clenched. “This is ridiculous! There has to be a way to get him there in time!” And then, suddenly, she hit upon it. “Hak, you’re the most experienced Companion here. Surely you can talk Ponter through driving a travel cube?”
“I can access the procedures and explain them, yes,” said the voice from Ponter’s forearm.
“Well, hell!” said Mary. “We passed a stack of them on our way here. Let’s go!”
They quickly reached the stack of stored travel cubes. There was a cylindrical control unit next to the stack, and Ponter did something to it that made a forkliftlike affair lift up the top cube and place it on the ground. The cube’s transparent sides swung upward.
Ponter straddled the right-front saddle-seat, and Mary took the one beside him; Reuben and Louise scrambled into the back. “All right,” said Ponter, “Hak, tell me how to drive this contraption.”
“To activate system power, pull out the amber control bud,” said Hak through his external speaker.
Mary looked at the control cluster in front of Ponter. It was actually much less cluttered than the dashboard of her own car; the travel cubes had far fewer convenience features. “There!” she said. Ponter reached forward and pulled out the bud.
“The right-hand lever controls vertical movement,” continued Hak. “The left-hand lever controls horizontal movement.”
“But they’re both up-and-down levers,” said Reuben, confused.
“Exactly,” said Hak. “It is much easier on the driver’s shoulder joint. Now, to operate the ground-effect motors, you use the cluster of controls between the levers—see them there?”
Ponter nodded.
“The big control sets the rotational velocity for the main fan. Now…”
“Hak!” snapped Reuben from the back. “We don’t have much time. Just tell him what buttons to push!”
“All right, Ponter,” said Hak. “Clear your mind, and try not to think. Just do precisely what I say. Pull out the green control bud. Now the blue. Grasp the two levers. Yes, good. When I say ‘go,’ pull the right-hand lever fifteen percent of a circle toward you and simultaneously move the left-hand lever five percent. All right?”