His mind scurried over the fitful images, in his dozing state not sure whether they were actual memories or subconscious fantasies.
"How are you feeling, my friend?"
"Is it really you?"
"I think it must be." Boris Stanovnik touched the side of his lean face. "Yes, it's me all right."
Smiling broadly he clasped Chase's hand and eased himself down into a chair. He was still big, but more shrunken than Chase remembered him, his features honed finer so that they were sharper, more angular. The deep rumbling voice was the same. "Your son is well-- Ruth also. Dr. Pazan has told you?"
"That and little else."
Boris nodded. "He was very concerned about you. The poison had infected your lymphatic system. Some of the others with you were not so fortunate and did not respond to treatment. But now you are over the worst and the good doctor has allowed me to see you."
"How long have I been here?"
"This is the seventeenth day. For two weeks you were in a toxic coma." Boris smiled. "It must seem to you that you arrived here only a couple of days ago."
"It doesn't seem like anything. I've lost all orientation, both in time and geography. Boris, tell me, please--what is this place? It's driving me mad not knowing."
"This place is called Emigrant Junction," Boris said. "It was once a small town--no, hardly that--in Death Valley on the Californian border. Now it has become one of seven bases, three in the United States, two in Russia, one in Canada, and one in Sweden. Emigrant Junction now covers the length and breadth of Death Valley, one hundred twenty miles by sixty, and is isolated from the outside world by a gamma-ray protection system. The only way in and out is by air. For that purpose we have a fleet of almost three hundred transporters and tactical airborne craft."
"You mean gunships."
Boris gave a ghost of a smile. "You know how the military like their euphemisms."
Chase frowned and gnawed his lip. "So the rumors are true--about this being a concentration camp with a death-ray fence. 1 thought it was a scare story."
"True in part, and also a scare story," Boris said. "The story was deliberately devised and fostered to keep the prims and mutes away and anyone else who might want to come in uninvited. Yes, there is a 'death-ray fence,' but its purpose is defensive, not for containment. And Emigrant Junction is not a concentration camp but a colonization base."
"Oh, yes?" said Chase. "Colonizing what?"
"Space. The advance engineering teams are already at work. Six islands are in the course of construction as we speak and three more about to be started. Then we are to plan--"
Chase grabbed his sleeve. "Islands? You mean space colonies?" His heart was hammering wildly. "Do you mean they're actually building space colonies here? At Emigrant Junction?"
"No, no, no." Boris patted Chase's hand and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Not here--in space. The program has been going on for over three years. America and Russia are the principal partners with participation by other nations. The colonies are being built in space. "
"My God," Chase said weakly, falling back on the pillows. "We saw lights in the sky and thought they were UFOs, and all the time they were--rockets? Shuttles?"
"Shuttles. Three lift off from here every twenty-five days with supplies and technical personnel, and a similar program goes on at the six other bases. Most of the 'groundwork'--hot a suitable phrase in the circumstances--has been completed. It has taken nearly three years to transport and establish large-scale storage facilities for the life-support materials, namely oxygen and water. These are now in place and work is proceeding on the construction of the islands themselves."
The "islands" that Maxwell and Hegler were continually picking up references to in the flow of radio traffic--not on earth at all, as everyone had assumed.
"And there really is genuine cooperation between the Americans and the Russians?" Chase asked. "Or is it a race to see who can get the first colony ready as a missile platform?"
"No, not this time," Boris told him, shaking his head soberly. "This is their last chance and everyone knows it. There is total cooperation and complete interchange of information and resources." He noted Chase's look of skepticism and said, "It is true, Gavin. At Emigrant Junction there are Americans, Russians, Europeans, Asians, Africans all working together for the common good. They know they have to work together or perish together."
"And how long have you been here, my Russian friend?" Chase demanded.
"Less than a year. After my wife died I stayed on in the cabin in Oregon. More and more refugees came up from the south and life became very difficult. I was too old, I couldn't defend myself, I was forced to move farther north. You know, they would have pushed me right up to the Arctic Circle if a patrol hadn't come along--" He broke off, seeing the gleam of suspicion in Chase's narrow stare. "Ah! I understand the reason for your question: How did they find you."
"That's right. I'm still pretty hazy about what happened back there in the hotel, but I distinctly remember one of those people in the silver suits called me by my name. Now how do you suppose that could be, Boris?" Chase said, folding his arms.
"I asked them--in point of fact, I insisted--that they send a patrol to check out Desert Range. They eventually did so and found it to be crawling with uncles. Some of the survivors--your people, that is-- were picked up in the desert and brought in. They told us you had headed south, so we sent out patrols to find you and you were spotted very quickly, within a few days, but the adverse weather conditions prevented us making contact. When we were able to send in a search-arid-rescue party they were caught in yet another storm and we lost one of the airborne craft and all its crew. The others managed to reach you, so you were most fortunate."
"Where did you first spot us, in the jungle?"
"No, in the Stardust. There were sheets draped on the balconies, and neither the prims or the mutes, much less the uncles, have the sense to do that, for whatever reason. By the way, what was the reason, Gavin?" Boris asked curiously.
"We were collecting rainwater." Chase shook his head and sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Boris turned and gestured toward the misty blue shapes, the domes and towers sparkling in the distance. "The first colonists will be leaving soon. They will set up home on Canton Island and start planting crops."
"That's the name of the island where Theo Detrick carried out his research."
"Yes, in his honor," Boris said smiling. "I suggested it so that we should always remember him. Each colony will be named after an island."
"How many people are going there?"
"Sixty thousand."
"In just the one colony?"
Boris caught Chase's reaction and went on matter-of-factly. "Canton Island is thirty-seven point six kilometers in total diameter. The first six to be completed will be the same size, the rest larger, up to seventy or eighty kilometers in diameter."
"With what kind of population?"
"You mean in numbers? One hundred to one hundred and twenty thousand to each island. Something like that. And we're planning to build at least a hundred such islands, more if time allows."
Chase sank back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He took in a long deep breath and slowly, luxuriously, let it whisper through his nostrils.
Ten million people.
2028
30
Body smooth and brown, with straight blond hair that shone like a silvery cap in the sunshine, the five-year-old performed a twisting triple somersault from thirty feet and dived cleanly into the sparkling green waters of the lake. Spray lifted and hung and settled slowly like glittering gossamer in the low gravity.