He slipped out onto the treads and secured each of his two lines to the undercarriage, one toward the front, one in the rear.
“They told me you were a kind of bookish guy,” Julie said.
“Books? Yep. That’s me.”
“I hope,” she continued, “you don’t tear the bottom out of this thing.”
“Get us in front of the boat,” he said.
She complied. “I wish we could get a picture of this.”
Digger was in fact impressed with his own display of audacity. It was out of character. He’d always been willing to help when people needed it, but his enthusiasm usually ran in inverse proportion to any degree of personal risk. He wondered what was happening to him.
It would have been easier if he could have gotten onto the deck. But there was no room. Working off the tread, he leaned down, pushed one of the Goompahs aside, got hold of the anchor line, and tied the cable to it.
“Hurry,” said Whit.
The prow was going under. Goompahs grunted and screamed. More fell into the river.
Julie took him to the after section on the flatboat, and he jumped into the water, hauled himself up near the tiller housing, and decided it wouldn’t do. Up close it looked spindly.
He took the line and dived beneath the boat with it, came up on the other side, tried to measure it so he had as much slack as the front line had. Then he looped it around the tread.
“Okay, Julie,” he said. “Lift.”
The after section rose first and a couple more went into the river. He didn’t have it quite right. But it was close enough. Most of the passengers hung on, although they were whimpering and sobbing.
Julie didn’t actually lift the flatboat out of the water. In fact, she couldn’t have even had she wished. The boat was far too heavy. But she was able to keep it afloat. Some of those in the water were picked up by the outrigger. But a few were swept downriver.
Gradually, with Digger hanging on to one side, the flatboat got across to the northern shore. Several of the survivors declared it a miracle.
DIGGER’S SURPRISE AT his own heroism was dampened by the knowledge that some of the refugees had been lost. But when he got back inside the lander, Julie insisted on delivering a passionate smooch, commenting that she knew Kellie wouldn’t mind, and Whit shook his hand with obvious respect. It might have been the first time in his life that Digger had earned that kind of reaction from someone of Whitlock’s stature. He began to feel he could do anything.
The winds were getting stronger. “Time to recall the landers,” said Julie. Put everything back on Mt. Alpha and tie it down. And get back into the AV3. Put some heavy metal between themselves and the coming storm. They should, she said, take off and head west. Safety for the next twenty hours or so lay in daylight.
They returned the landers to Mt. Alpha and spent the rest of the morning securing them as best they could. Another thunderstorm rolled past at lower altitudes, and by noon they had boarded the AV3 and were ready to clear out.
Digger wondered about Macao, where she was, what she was thinking, and hoped she was okay. He would go back eventually, at least to assure himself that she’d survived. And maybe, if things had worked out reasonably well, he’d say hello.
Challa, Macao.
“We’re forgetting something,” Whit said, as they strapped in and prepared for flight.
“What’s that?” asked Digger.
Whit heaved a long sigh. Bad news coming. “The round-the-world mission.”
Digger hadn’t really forgotten. He’d been aware of it, in some remote corner of his mind, but he’d been telling himself the three ships were already as safe as anything he could arrange. They were in deep water, and all they’d have to do was trim their sails, or take them down, or whatever it was you did in one of those things when the wind started to blow. And ride it out.
Julie brought the AI up. “Bill,” she said, “what do we have on the round-the-world mission? Where are they?”
“Last sighting is twenty hours old,” he said. “At that time they were doing well. They have reached the coast of the eastern continent and are now sailing north, looking for a passage.”
Should be as safe as anybody could reasonably expect, thought Digger. At least they’re not standing on an island.
THE GOOMPAHS, WHIT predicted, would later tell their children that Lykonda was everywhere on this night. She directed traffic in each of the eleven cities, assisted those who had fallen, used a torch to show the way around a flooded valley outside Kulnar, held a bridge in place until several hundred had crossed safely, lifted several who’d been stranded on a rapidly disappearing island, taking them into her hands and transporting them to safe ground. She will have found a lost child in the rising waters outside Avapol; provided light to those struggling along a narrow mountain ledge; returned to Sakmarung to help those who had refused to leave until the floodwaters came.
“The legend will grow,” he said.
“It’s the way religion is,” said Digger.
“I suppose. But I prefer to think of it as the way human nature is. It’s a great story. On the night when they most needed her, Lykonda came. It tells me that they are a lot more like us than would make some folks comfortable.”
“I suppose,” said Digger. “All in all, we’ve gotten a lot of use from her tonight.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“How do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to be sure who’s using whom.”
BILL WAS PICKING up bits and pieces of transmissions from the omega monitors, and also from satellites placed in orbit by the Jenkins.
The cloud was such an amorphous object that it was impossible to say precisely when it made contact with Lookout. But what was clear was that, by midday on the Intigo, the planet was in its embrace. Rain and high winds swept across the Goompah cities.
The Jenkins stayed in contact. Giant storms, they said. Some loose rock that had been traveling with the cloud was coming down. The ocean surged from the west and, as they’d expected, submerged wide parcels of land. The river that flowed out of T’Mingletep overwhelmed its banks and spread out in all directions. The city on the island went underwater.
They were getting ready to depart Mt. Alpha when Bill reported an earthquake on the floor of the eastern ocean. “ Tsunamis coming.”
“How bad?”
“They look relatively small. I can’t be certain at the moment because they’re in deep water. But they’re approaching an island chain, and I can let you know then. Just a few minutes.”
“When are they going to get here?”
“Hour and a half.”
He relayed satellite pictures of the islands. The weather seemed quiet. In fact, the sun was out and the beaches were gleaming. Long-legged birds strutted on the sand, which was bordered by forest. “This where the tsunami’s headed?” Digger asked.
“Yes, Digger.”
The picture broke up, came back, broke up again.
“There’s a lot of interference,” said Bill. “The wave should be imminent,” he added.
They saw the sea beginning to rise. A large wave became a wall of water and kept getting bigger. It raced across the surf. The birds scattered, and the ocean spilled onto the beach, submerged the trees, and crashed against a series of ridges.
“About twelve meters,” Bill said.
Marge’s voice broke in: “It’ll be about the same when it gets to the Intigo.”
Digger breathed a sigh of relief. It was high, and it would raise hell with the cities, but most of the refugees should be out of reach.
“There are at least three follow-on waves,” Marge continued. “All appear to be less of a threat.”
“What about the other direction?” asked Whit.