Coming of Age (32 page)

Because—he didn't add—if the reinforcements didn't arrive before dark, he and Tonio might just wind up taking on the whole place by themselves.

And that
definitely
didn't sound very pleasant.

“You'll have to excuse the accommodations, Doctor,” Martel said with exaggerated politeness as the two adults walked toward the middle of the huge, high-ceilinged room, leaving the small group of pre-teens to close the door behind them. “But I'm afraid we really weren't set up for visitors here.”

Jarvis passed up the seaming reply that came to mind and instead took a good look around. The room was indeed huge, taking up probably an entire third of the building, and was, in addition, stiflingly hot. Thick-paned, wire-reinforced windows covered three of the four walls, presenting a somewhat dust-filtered view of the mountains to the south and east and the river flowing by the building to the west. The floor space was dominated by what appeared to be a furnace and two large tanks, each liberally wrapped up in catwalks, conveyors, control and power lines, and tens of meters of heavy pipe. Other catwalks and stairways crossed to what appeared to be a glass-walled control room stuck above the windows on the south wall. Other smaller pieces of equipment were laid out in a seemingly random pattern, connected to each other and the tanks by more piping. A handful of troughs cut into the concrete floor—emergency drains—were covered with gratings which, flush as they were against the floor, fortunately presented no additional hazard to travel. Jarvis mentally fixed the locations of everything as best he could and looked back at Martel. “What is this place, anyway?” he asked, though he was pretty sure he knew.

“Oh, sort of a business sideline of mine,” the other said airily. “Axel—I want four of your boys outside to watch for company,” he called, his voice echoing in the huge space. “One on each side of the building.”

Axel seemed to stare at Martel an unusually long time before nodding and turning back to the other eight kids hovering near him. Inaudible words were exchanged, and four boys detached themselves from the group and disappeared back out the door. The other four dispersed to the windows, which they proceeded to unlatch and teek open. Watching their curious glances around the room, Jarvis concluded that it was their first visit to the refinery, which meant they weren't any more familiar with the layout than he was. Offhand, he couldn't think of any way that could help him.

Axel flew over and settled down beside Jarvis and Martel. “Now what?” he asked with more than a little truculence. “We can't stay here very long—we're not that far from the temple site, and that's the first place the police will look.”

“We'll be safe enough, at least until dark,” Martel said. “At that point we can fly over the mountains to a secluded place I know of.”

“And then what? Back at the cabin he said it would take years to figure out if his stuff even worked. You going to sit out there and eat conetree pods that whole time?”

“We won't have any trouble with supplies.” Martel was gazing thoughtfully at his preteen aide. “I can keep my business contacts in Rand and elsewhere, and in the next room is the means to finance any purchases we'll need to make through them. We'll be perfectly comfortable out there, I assure you.”

“Glad to hear it. And who exactly are you going to find to experiment on?”

“I thought we'd adopt Dr. Jarvis's method, seeing as how it's already worked so well. You and your preteens will simply kidnap some four-or five-year-olds, we'll use whatever trickery the doctor used to keep them from panicking, and that will be that.”

“You sure he's going to help us, huh?”

Martel glanced at Jarvis; his frown deepened as he returned it to Axel. “He'll mix up the drugs for us, under the threat of very painful consequences if they don't work.”

Jarvis snorted. “You're going to chain me to my bed for ten years, are you? That should be interesting.”

“Actually, I have something more sophisticated in mind,” Martel said, his eyes still on Axel. “If there are no further questions—”

“There are,” the preteen interrupted. “I want to know who these business friends of yours are, where your hideout is, and how you intend to force anything out of him. We're in as deep as you are, Omega, and it's time we got in on more of the planning.”

For a long moment Martel simply gazed at the boy … and when he finally spoke his words were edged with steel splinters. “You're a slow learner, Axel; did you know that? A slow learner and a glutton for head punches. I told you once today already that you weren't practiced enough at thinking to take over that job from me—and so you've naturally decided you want to take over that and everything else.”

“No, I didn't mean—” Axel began, his insistent manner evaporating abruptly.

“Just how far do you think you'd get?” Martel cut him off brusquely. “Even if I was stupid enough to answer all your questions, how many would you forget to ask until you'd disposed of me? How would you go about recruiting new kids when you all hit Transition in a year or so, for instance? Hm? What would you do to persuade the doctor to cooperate if he suddenly decided to be stubborn? How would you even know what chemicals he was using, since you can't even read the damn labels? He could sprinkle poison in your soup and you'd never know it.”

Axel threw a glance in Jarvis's direction and swallowed visibly. “I … all right.” He took a deep breath. “All right, then; but if we can't do without you, you can't do without us, either.”

“Who ever suggested I intended to?” Martel asked. “You have the strength, I have the knowledge and brains. The arrangement's worked well for Tigris for two hundred years; there's no reason it should fall apart now, is there?”

“But what about Transition?” the boy blurted.

“What about it?” Martel countered smoothly. “I'll need people I can train to act as priests among the kids once we get things going again. The message of Truth isn't dead, you know, just reorganizing. I suspect we're soon going to have more power on this planet than anyone since the Lost Generation.”

Axel nodded, his eyes shining, and Jarvis could practically see the boy's embryonic thoughts of rebellion vanish under the weight of Martel's dazzling promises. “He's lying, you know,” the scientist spoke up, wishing now he hadn't waited so long to do so. But he still might not be too late. “He doesn't need any priests to share his power. Once you lose your teekay, he'll get rid of you without a second thought.”

If the words sank in at all, they did so without leaving a trace. Axel gave him a cool look and turned back to Martel. “What should we do next?” he asked.

“Go and check on the lookouts; make sure they're well concealed,” the other said promptly, his businesslike manner stating the matter was closed. “Then go through the door over there and check on how much packaged food we've got. In the room next to that there should be some small boxes—count the sealed ones and let me know how many there are.”

“Right.” He turned toward Jarvis. “What about him?”

“I'll watch him. Just make sure one of your kids is always in the room with us.”

“Okay.” Axel flew across the room and vanished through the outside door.

“I hope that'll dissuade you from further attempts to turn my kids against me,” Martel said, facing Jarvis. “They have the loyalty of extreme self-interest: greed plus the knowledge that I'm the only one who can protect them from the police.”

“Must be an interesting form of greed, given you don't even know what my project is,” Jarvis retorted. “Or is it your stockpile of gold they're interested in?”

Martel's smile vanished. “How did you know about the gold?” he demanded, his voice deadly. “Did Tirrell tell you?”

“Don't be silly.” Jarvis waved at a collection of flat plastic bottles on the floor next to one of the huge tanks, bottles whose big
NaCN
markings were clearly visible. “What else would you be doing in an old refinery with sodium cyanide? Especially when you're packing the result in small boxes. What'd you do, kill some mine owner near here and steal his ore?”

“As it happens, I came upon it honestly,” the other said. “Not that it matters. And as to the details of your project, that can wait until you're ready to tell me all about it. I already know it involves the Transition point and is something you're rather desperate to keep secret. There are limited possibilities, and all of them would be of great value to me.” He shook his head. “I must say, though, that you don't at all fit the stereotypical image of the brilliant scientist, who is supposed to be both blind and helpless outside his specialty. You're fast, sharp, and not afraid to take risks. It's been a long time since I've had to deal with someone like you.”

“I'm delighted to hear it,” Jarvis said. “Especially since you're going to be doing it for at least eight years. Unless you want to gamble I'll give you the right formula the first time, of course.”

Martel's smile made a tentative reappearance. “No, I don't really expect such cooperation. But I don't intend to have you breathing down my neck that whole time, either.”

“What're you going to do—tie me to a tree with a supply of sandwiches?”

“Something like that. I'm going to have you put yourself into hibernation.”

Jarvis felt his jaw drop. “You
what?
”

“You heard me.” Martel was back on balance now. “Your hibernation work with Kelby Somerset has been well publicized. We'll set you up with a capsule hidden underground, perhaps, with enough oxygen to keep you alive at your reduced metabolic rate.

It took Jarvis a moment to find his voice. “And if I give myself the wrong drugs?”

“Then you've committed suicide,” Omega shrugged. “But then, that option will always be open to you. Fortunately—for me—you're not the suicidal type.” He glanced around as a breeze drifted through the sluggish air. The kids, Jarvis saw, had finished with the windows and were standing in a loose group studying the furnace. “I'd better go give my kids something to do,” Martel said, pointing Jarvis to a spot along the south wall, well away from both the cyanide bottles and any of the room's doors. “Why don't you go sit down over there. I'll get you some paper and you can start making a list of the drugs and equipment you'll be needing. There's no sense in wasting time, now, is there?”

“None at all,” Jarvis agreed. It was, after all, just after three in the afternoon, with perhaps four hours until complete darkness. He had just that much time to find a way to escape.

It took Tirrell and his companions less than half an hour to reach the ridge just upriver of the old refinery; the three-hundred-meter trip from there to the detective's chosen observation point took nearly as long. Tirrell himself was used to such slow advances, but both preteens were visibly fidgeting by the time he ordered a halt.

“Now what?” Lisa asked as they settled to the ground between a bush and a stand of tall grass.

“Keep your voice down,” Tirrell whispered, slipping off his backpack and squinting down the gentle slope ahead. The south wall of the refinery was about half a kilometer ahead, just visible through a narrow gap in the underbrush. Rummaging briefly through the pack, he pulled out a pair of lightweight binoculars, a headset, and a small microphone attached to a coil of slender wire. “Ready, Tonio?” he asked, plugging the end of the wire into the headset and setting the coil and mike onto his lap.

Tonio nodded and raised the binoculars to his eyes; and with the barest whisper of disturbed grass the mike headed smoothly down the slope. Tirrell watched it go, trying simultaneously to protect the coil of wire from snags and also watch for signs of a sentry. It would have been nice to use a cordless model, but they couldn't take the chance that Martel might have the equipment available to detect its broadcast. Still, as long as the wire didn't break or alert the lookout by suddenly yanking out a swath of grass they should be all right.

The microphone, its motion alone keeping it visible, was almost to the refinery wall. “Looks like the windows are slanted open a bit,” Tirrell murmured to Tonio as he slipped on the headset. “Ease the mike through the bottom of the crack and let it sort of edge inside.”

“Right.”

A moment later it was done. Flipping his on switch, Tirrell cautiously turned up the volume … and within five seconds knew he'd guessed right. “We got 'em,” he announced tightly. “Martel's there, and at least a couple of the kids … and they just referred to Jarvis.” He slid the headset half off and turned to Lisa. “Okay, Lisa, it's up to you now. Get that note I gave you to the Nordau police; with luck, Plat City'll have their squad ready to move by now. Be sure to take it very slow until you're over the ridge, then keep low until you're well away from the area.”

“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she set off uphill, flying bare centimeters off the ground. Within a minute she was lost to view among the undergrowth.

“She'll be okay,” Tirrell assured his righthand as the latter continued to gaze after her. “Give me a hand unloading the rest of this stuff, will you?”

It took only a minute to empty the backpack and lay its contents in neat rows in front of them. “What are these things?” Tonio asked, fingering one of the three gogglelike devices.

“They're gas masks,” Tirrell told him. “They're to protect us against the stuff in these.” He tapped one of the half dozen squat black cylinders. “It's called tear gas—acts sort of like concentrated onions in your eyes.”

“Never heard of it,” the preteen said, looking rather apprehensively at the cylinders. “I suppose it's supposed to keep kids from using teekay?”

“Or at least to limit it drastically. The stuff's hardly ever used anymore, but it was one of the few weapons that worked against the Lost Generation, and it's a law that every police department has to keep at least a little of it on hand.”