"Best they should," he said glumly. He considered what he should do, what there was to say . . . to Waden Jenks.
Try reason again? He had no doubt that Waden could kill him. Likely there were Outsiders about who would never let him close enough to say anything at all. They walked among the hills a long while, back and forth among the troughs and through the sweet-smelling grass. He savored the time finally, for what it was, because of the grass and the smell and the sounds and the hills and the sky. And Sbi's presence. That too.
Then he rounded the shoulder of a hill and had a limited view of the city again, faint jewels against the dark.
And some of them were red.
"Sbi?—Sbi, what do you make of that?"
"The port," Sbi said.
"It's not fire. It's not that." The lights flashed. There was a whole cluster of them. The unwonted sight disturbed him. It was an Outsider phenomenon. He recalled the shuttles which had lifted, more activity than Freedom had ever had from Outsiders. He thought of Waden, and increasingly he was afraid—for Waden, for Keye, for all of them down there who had started to disturb more than they knew how to see.
"Let me go to explore this thing," Sbi said. "I know where to go, how to move and when to move. Let me go ask questions. Some of us will have seen this thing close at hand."
"No," he said at once, and started off again, hurrying. "No, we're both going. I have a place to go, too, and questions to ask, and I know where to ask them."
"A ship," said Sbi. "Herrin Law, look, see it."
Something was lifting from the port. He began to laugh, a breath of relief. "A launch, that's all. Maybe it looks like that from up here."
"No," said Sbi. "I've seen, and it doesn't."
The ship climbed, shot off with blinking lights.
And exploded.
"Sbi!"
"I see," the ahnit said.
The flower died in the heavens. Suddenly there were bursts on land, flares which curled up silent, firelit smoke that traced toward the city.
Herrin began to run, downhill. "Wait," Sbi called to him, hastening after. Herrin ran, slid, slowed when his ribs shot pain through him and shortened his breath . . . he walked then, because that was all he could do, and the bursts of fire continued, stitching their way through Kierkegaard.
"Waden's Outsiders," he mourned to Sbi. "Waden's ambitions . . ."
XXX
Colonel Olsen: (by com) That's Singularity. You'll be gratified to know, First Citizen, that we've finally found McWilliams and his lot. So much for your information.
Waden Jenks: (by com) Do something.
Colonel Olsen: Oh, we got him, First Citizen. That's a certainty. Only how many others are there?
Waden Jenks: (Silence).
Colonel Olsen: First Citizen, what damage to landing facilities?
Waden Jenks: (Silence.)
There were fires, in the grass, a wall of fire which swept away to the sea, a curtain of red and orange two stories high that made black skeletons of trees and bushes and glared eerily in the water of the Camus.
There were fugitives, who straggled away from the city along the Camus-Kierkegaard road, and crossed the bridge over the firelit waters. Some were terribly burned, in shock; some, perhaps mad, had flung themselves into the river and drifted there, dark pinwheels in the red current.
"Stop," Sbi pleaded, catching gently at Herrin's cloak. "Stop and consider."
Herrin did not, but wove his way across the concrete bridge of the Camus, past scarecrow figures headed away, past a cloaked figure who reached out hands and caught at his companion, telling Sbi something in urgent booms and hisses. Herrin delayed, wanting Sbi if Sbi wanted to stay with him—saw Sbi accept the other's cloak and fling it on, bid the other some manner of farewell, but the other ahnit, naked of the cloak, stood staring as Sbi came away to go with him. "It's bad in the city," Sbi said. "Some of the buildings are afire."
He had reckoned so. He thought of his work, vulnerable in the center of the city, and hastened along the paved highway. It occurred to him that another burst of fire could come down on them at any time. He looked up as they walked and saw nothing but the smoke, the stars obscured.
Breath failed him finally, where the road bent from the riverside, where the buildings began and he could see the city streetlights dark as they had never been, and fire. He saw the dome, distant from him, outlined against burning, and stood there, trying to get his wind. There were no fugitives here. He could see figures beyond, but those who were running for the highway had already run. Here, from this perspective up Main from the highway, there was only himself and Sbi, Sbi a reliable, comforting presence.
"Herrin," Sbi said quietly. "Herrin, were they weapons and not some accident?"
"I think they were." He drew a deep and painful breath. "Waden said . . . of a certain man . . . that he could level the city. It's not so bad as leveled, Sbi, but it's all gone wrong; and whatever I could do—it's too late. Waden's new allies haven't helped. And I don't think my people will want this reality."
"They'll see."
"They'll go mad. They'll not survive this."
"I thought," said Sbi, "that ahnit had learned all the bitter things humans had to teach. I had not imagined this."
"Come on. Come on, Sbi, or go back. This can't be what you waited so long to find. Maybe I'd better go from here on my own."
"No," said Sbi, and stayed with him.
He walked slowly in the dark streets, deserted streets, with pebblestone and concrete buildings, faces all alike, eyeless black windows, open doors likewise black. Ahead of them a wall of flame burned in the city, outlining the dome and everything beyond. "It's the hedge," Herrin realized suddenly. "The hedge is burning, up by the Residency, the University . . . ."
So was a building close to them, somewhere near First and Main, beyond the dome, a steady spiral of firelit smoke. A warehouse, perhaps, or something more tragic: apartments were everywhere.
The dome was before them. Fire showed through the perforations here and there like tears of light. There was, even here, a wound, a fall of broken stone where the outermost shell of the dome was damaged. Herrin saw it and ached, walking across the paving and up to the entry and within.
People huddled here, citizens, invisibles . . . there was no telling in the deep shadow; the dome had become a shelter. Children wept, setting off bell-like echoes, a cacophony of mourning and sad voices. Herrin walked through, and Sbi with him, past the outer, triple shell and the curtain-walls, into the central dome, where the face of Waden Jenks survived untouched. Fire provided the light through the perforations now, dim and baleful, and cast the features into torment.
Herrin shut his eyes from the sight, looked back at Sbi's hooded form, saw beyond him dark masses of refugees. His own workers would be among them. If anyone would have come here, they would have come, as they always had. Fearfully he lifted his clumsy hands, pushed back his hood, knowing well the enormity of what he was doing; but they had seen far worse tonight than an invisible's face.
"Gytha," he called out, setting off sharp echoes which shocked much of the other echo into silence. "Phelps?" And because he committed other unthinkable things: "Pace? Are you here?"
Master Law, some voice said, somewhere in the dome. There was a flood of echoes, other voices whispering it, and one calling it out . . . "Master Law!"
People came to him, some that he knew, some that he did not, and suddenly he panicked, because in the dark there was no color, and he had deceived them. They came, and near him Sbi stood, still hooded. Someone tried to take his hand, and he flinched and saved himself, looked into Carl Gytha's tear-streaked face and flung his arms about him, which hurt too. He could not make himself heard if he tried: the whole dome rang with voices. Master Law! the shout went up, and people surged in until they pressed on him and Gytha and someone thrust at the crowd trying to clear him room.