Part 32 (1/2)

blow, even more so for Alpha's lack of response. To have her kill him after last night would be too much. If only she would show even a trace of remorse. But she was just following her programming. He was the fool who had deluded himself into believing he could change a mesh system.

Thomas headed for the ridge behind the station. As he dragged his cast, he wondered why he bothered.

Charon didn't care about interrogating him; he had held out that hope to torment Thomas. Nor were they likely to try the hostage business again. Charon would know from Alpha that his other copy failed with that plot. He might be insane, but he wasn't stupid; he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He most likely intended to stay out of sight for a while. This island was as good a place as any if no one lived here, and Charon would have already checked the station records to see if anyone was scheduled to return in the near future. While he hid, he could kill Thomas at his leisure, drawing out the process for his own sick entertainment.

Thomas wanted to rage at Alpha for turning on him, even though he knew his anger would achieve nothing. If he stayed put and let them shoot him, his death would be quick. But his instinct for survival was too strong. He couldn't give up.

He limped to the base of the ridge and tilted back his head to look up. It rose in a steep slope. Only a few straggly plants grew on the gritty beach, but stunted trees and leafy undergrowth tangled together all up the ridge. After yesterday's rain, the hillside seemed more mud than dirt. It smelled of loam and decay, and only the roots of the plants kept it from sliding. The world was reduced to a few colors: rich, dark earth; the paler brown of the beach and stems of the plants; the vibrant, fertile green of foliage; and blue sky. New rain clouds were already gathering, grey and swollen.

The top of the ridge wasn't high, perhaps one hundred yards. Not far at all-for someone without injuries. His leg throbbed. He leaned tiredly against the trunk of a gnarled tree that seemed half bush.

While he rested, he looked back at the weather station. When he saw that Charon and Alpha had come around the side and were watching him, he gritted his teeth.

Turning to the slope, Thomas grabbed an exposed root from the tree and jammed his left foot into a small cavity about a foot above the beach. Then he began to climb. Mud slid under his feet, but with so many bushes and roots to grab, he managed to keep from slipping back. Perhaps he could find help.

Although he doubted Charon would have let him go if anyone else lived on this island, he could always hope the android had missed something. None of them had been here that long.

It took forever to climb the ridge. He gritted his teeth every time his cast banged a trunk and pain shot through his leg. At the top, he clung to the slender trunk of a tree while he gulped in air. Mud covered his cast and soaked his clothes.

As he caught his breath, he looked down the ridge. Alpha and Charon were gone. The station was to his left, and far to his right, the two jets gleamed in the watery sunlight. Alpha hadn't damaged the Banshee when she landed, but it wouldn't do it any good sitting out there, and their clambering in and out of it without a ladder-bot could damage the composite surface. He didn't think it would stop him from flying it, though, if he managed the takeoff.

His chest ached. He laid his palm against his breastbone and pressed, as if that could stop the pain. Then he turned inland and limped among the trees. It took about five minutes to cross the straggling forest. He might have called it a jungle, but it wasn't really tropical enough. It ended a few yards from a cliff. He went to the edge of the bluff and looked out-over the ocean. The cliff dropped away from his feet, far down to a narrow beach littered with rocks. From here, he could see most of the island. It consisted of a crescent-shaped ridge about one mile long, mostly covered with forest. In the south, it sloped down to a point of land; in the north it reared in a series of rocky promontories. And that was it.

”Like the view?” Charon said.

Thomas turned with a jerk. Charon and Alpha were standing a few yards away, by the fringe of the forest.

Charon lifted the EL-38. ”You're dead.”

Thomas just looked at him.

”I didn't think you could even make it up here,” Charon said. ”But I guess I could kill you now. Or let

you kill yourself.”

”Why would I do that?” Thomas said.

”You're going to keel over anyway,” Charon said. ”Thirst, starvation, cardiac failure.” He waved his

hand. ”Go on. Run.”

”It's no game for you if I'm so easy to catch,” Thomas said. ”Make it more challenging.”

”Why would I do that?” Charon mimicked his tone exactly.

Thomas prodded his fuzzy mind to think. ”Entertainment. Sport.” He hoped he wasn't misjudging Charon. If so, he might only be provoking his tormentor to kill him sooner.

The android smiled, an ugly expression. ”What do you suggest?”

”Give me a head start.”

”You've nowhere to go,” Charon said. Alpha stood at his side, a statue with no expression.

Thomas held up his hands, palm out. ”I'm resourceful.”

”Oh, what the f.u.c.k.” Charon's teeth glinted when he smiled. ”Thirty minutes. Then I come a'hunting.”

Thomas edged toward the forest until he was under the trees, his balance precarious in his cast. Charon

and Alpha remained surreally still, far more than any human could manage. He kept going until the foliage s.h.i.+elded him from their inhuman gazes. He knew his only realistic course of action was to go for the jets and see if he could break whatever locks they put on the systems. But it was the first place they would look, and it would take him at least thirty minutes to get there.

He set off in the opposite direction, toward the northern end of the island with the promontories. He had to make his own path, dragging aside th.o.r.n.y stems, vines, and bushes. Branches caught the ragged edges of his cast, and scratches soon covered his hands and thigh. At least the tangled undergrowth kept him from falling over. He had plenty of handholds.

Hunger ground at him. And thirst. This place had to have fresh water, or the forest couldn't survive. It didn't look like the tree roots went deep, which implied the water table was close to the surface, especially with the recent rainfall. Before he sought water, though, he wanted more distance between himself and his pursuers.

Pus.h.i.+ng through the forest, Thomas tried to plan. He needed a weapon. Nothing he could jury-rig would match the EL-38, which meant he had to attack first. He would get one attempt; if he didn't take both Charon and Alpha out on his first try, that would be the end. He tried not to think about how unlikely it was that he could overcome even one of them, let alone two at once.

After a while, Thomas found a depression in the ground that was even soggier than the rest of the forest.

He sagged against a trunk and breathed deeply. The overcast had thickened, and mist curled through the trees. After a few moments, he maneuvered down to kneel in the mud. Then he started digging. Mud squeezed through his fingers, thick with dead insects and leaves. The smell was overpowering, pungent loam and rich, leafy scents.

When his hole was about a foot deep, water seeped into it. He dug more and liquid filled the hole. With a grunt, he leaned over and cupped his hand full of muddy water. He drank in gulps, scooping it up as fast as it leaked into the hole. He got as much grit in his mouth as liquid, but water had never tasted so good.

After a bit, he slowed down and spat out mud. Then he raised his head and studied the bushes. They were unfamiliar, which made him leery of eating any part of them. Years ago, during training, he had learned a great deal about edible and poisonous plants, but he had forgotten some of it and what he did remember was more specific to the Middle East than an island in the Atlantic. He guessed they were south of Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., perhaps even of the U.S.; not only were the trees unfamiliar, but they hadn't yet lost their leaves.

He pulled himself to his feet, using a slender tree for support, and wiped his palms on his jeans. It didn't