Death Dream Page 7
"Then what did?"
Silence. The physician had no answer. He stared at Lt. Col. Martinez for a moment with his big liquid brown eyes, then looked away.
Finally Dr Appleton got up from his chair and, leaning across his desk, extended a bony arm to Narlikar. "Thank you, Chandra. You've been very helpful."
Narlikar rose to his feet and took Appleton's hand gratefully. "I'm afraid I have been of very little help, actually. But stroke cases are often puzzling, you know."
"Thanks," Appleton repeated.
Martinez got up grudgingly and shook the physician's hand also. Once Narlikar had left the tiny office, the colonel stared at the closed door as he grumbled, "About as much help as a box of Kleenex."
Appleton sank back into his creaking swivel chair. "Oh, I don't know. In a situation like this, Ralph, a negative report can be almost as helpful as a positive one."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Martinez fished a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket as he sat down again.
Reaching for his pipe, Appleton said, "Safety regulations forced us to shut down the simulation until we come up with a definite reason for Jerry's death, right?"
"And after three weeks of investigation all that Narlikar and his needle-pushers can tell us is that Jerry died of a stroke. Which we knew two hours after it happened."
"Okay," said Appleton. "What Narlikar is telling us is that the simulation probably didn't have anything to do with Jerry's stroke."
"Probably."
"You've been over the tapes. Do you see anything that could've killed Jerry?"
"It was a rough mission," Martinez said, lighting his cigarette with a disposable Bic. "We piled it on him. We were trying to see how realistic we could make the sim, remember?"
Appleton looked into the colonel's steady brown eyes. Not a flicker of remorse. If he feels any responsibility for making the simulation too realistic he certainly isn't showing it, Appleton thought.
"Well then," he said aloud, "if we're both convinced that the simulation had nothing to do with Jerry's death, we can recommend to the safety board that we resume our program."
"Uh-huh."
"Do you see any reason to keep it shut down?"
Martinez hesitated. He had been a flier all his adult life. He had seen men killed in stupid accidents, killed by the weather and by enemy action. Flying always had some element of danger in it and military flying was the most dangerous of all. You had to be able to fly at night and in bad weather and in situations where a sane pilot would stay on the ground. You had to be able to face missiles and guns and enemy pilots who maybe were just as good as you were. Maybe. That was the biggest risk of all, and the biggest kick. Man to man, pilot to pilot, who's going to win? Who's going to die?
Appleton's a civilian, Martinez told himself. The doc's a good guy but he's a civilian. Not even a pilot. He flies a desk. He's a scientist. What does he know about how the adrenaline jolts through you when you see a bogie on your six? Maybe he can read numbers off a page, but he's never felt the real thing, the real blast that goes through you when you wax some bastard's tail and knock him out of the sky. How could he? The only flying he's ever done has been as a passenger.
For long moments the two men sat looking at each other, their thoughts spinning. Maybe I made the sim too tough, Martinez admitted silently. But dammit, it's got to be tough. I can't send kids out into combat situations without making their training as tough and as realistic as it can be. Civilians don't understand. Every time one of my kids climbs into a cockpit and straps that plane onto his back he's putting his life on the line. I want them to be ready, to know what it's like, to have as much experience as we can jam into their skulls. And that means the most realistic simulations we can get these scientists to produce.
Maybe it killed Jerry. Maybe it did. And maybe Jerry would have killed himself the next time he took a real plane up.
"Do you see any reason to keep the simulation shut down?" Appleton repeated.
Martinez realized what was bothering him. "What if the program was deliberately tampered with?"
Appleton's Pale blue eyes widened. "We had that Russian here, remember? The exchange guy: Yevshenko."
"Yuri?" Appleton's voice nearly cracked. "Ralph, surely you don't think—"
"I know the cold war's over and we're all lovey-dovey with the Russians and trying to help them become good democratic capitalists. But . . ." Martinez let the idea dangle between them.
"Why would Yuri want to sabotage the program?" Appleton asked softly. "How could he do it?"
"Why? To keep their air force from falling too far behind ours, maybe. Maybe they figure that some day they might have to fight us, and they don't want us to be so far ahead of them that they'll be completely outclassed."
"I can't believe that."
"I can."
"But even so, how could Yuri—how could anybody tamper with the simulation so deeply that it killed Jerry?"
Martinez shook his head slowly. "I don't know. That's your department. I'm just a fighter jock. You're the scientist."
"Well then, I know what I'd like to do."
"What?"
"I'd like to get Jace and Dan back here."
Martinez blew smoke through his nose. "Fat chance."
"They designed the simulation, originally. I'd like to get them to take a look at it, see if we're missing something. See if somebody's tinkered with it."
"They're not working for us anymore."
"I think they'd come back if I asked them to. Just for a week or so, just to check the program over. Dan would, I'm sure. Jace—" Appleton waggled one hand in the air.
"I've got a better idea," Martinez said. "One that'll work without going crawling to those two turncoats."
Appleton's pale eyebrows rose.
"I'll fly the simulation myself. I'll check it out from the user's perspective."
"But you've been redlined."
"For actual flight," Martinez snapped. "This is a sim. I won't leave the ground."
Appleton sank back in his chair, fiddling with the unlit pipe. "But if you think it's been sabotaged . . ."
"The fastest way to find out is to try it again."
"As you yourself pointed out, Ralph, this is a rough simulation. Even if nobody's messed it up, you purposely made it as rough as you could."
"Yeah. I did. So I ought to be the one to try it next."
"I don't know . . ."
Martinez put on a grim smile. "Listen, Doc. If a grounded old geezer like me can fly that simulation without trouble then we've proved it didn't kill Jerry. Right? And we'll have proved it hasn't been buggered."
"I suppose so."
"Then let's do it!"
"We'll have to take the simulator apart first and check it out thoroughly."
"That could take weeks!" argued Martinez. "Months!"
With a nod, Appleton said, "Still, it's got to be done. Standard practice after an accident. You know that."
The colonel fumed but muttered, "Yeah. I know."
"I'd still like to see if I can get Jace and Dan back here first."
"To hell with them! We don't need them!"
Appleton lifted his thin shoulders in a small shrug, but privately decided he would at least call Dan Santorini before he allowed the colonel or anyone else to fly the simulator again. He could not believe that one rather shy, inoffensive Russian who had been at the lab for only a few months had deliberately sabotaged their simulation. How could he? How could anyone?
CHAPTER 8
Angela Santorini bit her lip in concentration. All around her swam pretty colored spheres the size of tennis balls. But they were really atoms. Each different kind of atom had its own distinctive color. Hydrogen was red. Oxygen was blue. Nitrogen was yellow. Carbon was sooty black. Gold was—well, gold, of course. Then there were some strange ones: shimmery pink helium and bright green neon. And some others she couldn't remember. They all looked pretty, though, floating around in the deep blackness.
The voice was a recording and the whole chemistry simulation was an interactive VR program. Angela was actually sitting in one of the telephone-booth sized compartments in the rear of her classroom. She wore a helmet—with a visor that covered her eyes and instrumented data gloves on her hands. On the inside of the visor a pair of miniature TV screens played stereoscopic images into her eyes.
If Angela got things right the program automatically went on to a more difficult problem. When she stumbled, the program gently counseled her and helped her to correct her mistake.
"Water," Angela murmured to herself, "is made of one hydrogen and two oxygens."
"Is it?" said the voice. "Try it and see if you're right."
Angela reached out and grasped a hydrogen atom as it passed by. It felt slightly spongy in her fingers. "Stay there," she said, and the red sphere held its place in front of her. Then she grabbed a blue atom of oxygen. It was noticeably larger than the hydrogen. As she brought it close to the hydrogen atom the red sphere seemed to jump toward the blue and attach itself to it.
Now I need another oxygen, Angela thought. She picked one out of the stream flowing past, but it stubbornly refused to stick to her red-and-blue combination. Each time she tried to force them together they pushed back, rebounding away from one another.
For a few moments Angela sat there, frowning in puzzlement.
"What is the water molecule made of, Angela?" her instructor's voice asked. she noticed just the slightest difference in tone between the way her own name was pronounced and the rest of the question. Like her name had been stuck in at the last minute.
"Aitch-two-oh," Angela replied. Then she clapped her hands in sudden understanding. "One oxygen and two hydrogens!"
"Why don't you try it that way?" the voice prompted.
Angela did, and the water molecule fit together easily. She felt thrilled. Suddenly she was surrounded by water molecules that all merged together and became an ocean complete with beautifully colored fish swimming past.
But they disappeared quickly and she was back in the stream of flowing colored spheres. At the instructor's cues, Angela built molecules of carbon dioxide, methane and ammonia. All without a hitch.
"You've done so well," the instructor's voice said, "that you have time to play a game. Would you like to play?"
"Yes!" said Angela.
"Good." There was a moment's hesitation, barely long enough for Angela to notice it. But in that brief moment the VR program automatically sent a signal to the supercomputer in the ParaReality building to switch from the chemistry lesson to the game. It inserted Angela's name into the program and recorded her name, the date and time, and the name of the game in the central log kept in Victoria Bessel's files. It also alerted a satellite system in Kyle Muncrief's office; this was not recorded in anyone's files.
Angela found herself deep in the ocean, surrounded by beautifully colored fish that darted swiftly before her delighted eyes. Sunlight filtered down from the surface into a world of brilliant blue. A different voice, a man's, said, "This game is called "Neptune's Kingdom."
Angela thought she had heard that man's voice before. A gaily colored fish swam up to her and said, in the same man's voice: "Hello Angela. I'm an angel fish. I'm your guide to Neptune's Kingdom."
It sounded like Mr. Muncrief's voice, Angela thought. "Is that you, Mr. Muncrief?" she asked. Her daddy's boss had driven her to school several times over the past three weeks in his shining open convertible. He seemed to show up at their house at least once each week early in the morning before the school bus arrived, saying that he was on his way to the office and he thought Angela might like a ride.
"I'm an angel fish. My name is nearly the same as yours, isn't it?"
The fish was almost a foot long, its body flat and triangular in shape, like an arrowhead except for its prominent fins that fluttered before Angela's face. It was electric blue in color, with vivid stripes. Its big round eye seemed to look straight at Angela.
"Tolocanthus bermudensis is my official name," said Mr. Muncrief's voice. "But everyone knows me as an angel fish."
"You're too big to be an angel fish," Angela said. "I had angel fish in my aquarium back home in Dayton and they were a lot smaller than you. Prettier too."
"Those were fresh-water angel fish. I'm an ocean water angel fish. I can grow almost as big as you!"
Angela saw that the fish had a tiny mouth, but it was filled with sharp little teeth.
"Would you like to see Neptune's Kingdom and meet the mermaid princess?" it asked.
"Yes, I would."
"Then just follow me," said the fish. And it darted deeper into the darkening waters.
Angela did not feel as if she were moving. Instead, the undersea world seemed to flow past her, without her getting wet at all. All around her a wonderland of deep-sea life flowed, fish and coral and swaying green fronds of plants. The angel fish named each new form of living thing and even showed Angela the tiny coral polyps, almost microscopically small, when it stopped briefly to nibble on some.
"Delicious," said the fish.
"That's what you eat? Ugh!"
"To me they taste delicious, Angela. All animals have to eat something; I eat tiny little things. Some of the bigger fish like to eat fish like me. Life is a chain," said her guide, "and it all starts here in the sea."
Angela thought that maybe this wasn't a game at all, that somehow this fish was trying to teach her about—what did they call it? Biology. That was it. But it was fascinating to see all the different things in the ocean, all the different kinds of beautiful living creatures.
A shark glided by, sleek and deadly looking. Angela shivered, especially when it opened its wide mouth and showed rows and rows of sharp white teeth.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," said her angel fish. "Nothing can hurt you here in Neptune's Kingdom." But she thought her angel fish moved a lot closer to her as the shark swam past.
"Most sharks are predators, Angela. They eat other fish, We may not like that, but it's the way life is. Can you think of any predators that live on land?"
"Lions?" Angela replied.
"Very good! And tigers and wolves. Even dogs and house cats were once wild predators, before people tamed them and turned them into pets."
"I had a little cat but my baby brother was allergic to her and my mother gave her away."
"That's a shame," said the fish.
"I don't like sharks."
"They're part of nature, just like lions and tigers and wolves."
"I still don't like them," she said, quite firmly.
"You know, Angela, there's a kind of shark that is sometimes called an angel fish. It doesn't ever hurt people. Would you stop liking me if I were an angel shark?"
"I like you the way you are," Angela said.
"But suppose I was a big old ugly angel shark," asked Mr. Muncrief's voice. "Would you still like me, even though I looked different?"
"You wouldn't bite me?"
"I would never hurt you, Angela. I'm your friend, no matter what I look like."
"I suppose," said Angela. "But I like you better just the way you are. You're kind of pretty."
"Thank you."
And too small to scare anybody, she added silently.
Deeper and deeper into the ocean they moved. The water grew darker. Angela saw fish that had lights on their sides, long snake-like eels that glowed like an airplane at night. She was starting to get bored, though.
"Where is the mermaid princess?" she demanded. "You promised."
"Just a few moments more," said the angel fish, not showing the slightest displeasure or impatience. It still spoke with Mr. Muncrief's voice.
They seemed to swim past a flat-topped mountain and there, down on the very bottom of the sea, was a fairy city of golden spires and alabaster rooftops. It glowed softly in the de
ep dark water, pulsating almost like a thing alive.
"It's beautiful!" said Angela.
But as they flowed down onto the broad main avenue of the underwater city, the glowing light seemed to dim. One by one, the golden mansions that lined the avenue went dark until there was only a single light shining from the topmost tower of the great palace made of coral and pearl, up at the head of the long stately avenue.
"Where are the people?" Angela asked as she followed her guide along the dead and empty avenue.
"There is a great sadness in Neptune's Kingdom today, Angela," said the fish." A very great sadness."
"What is it? What happened?"
"You'll see."
The palace's silver gates were wide open and they swam right through. They could see no one in the courtyard, no one in the great halls or long corridors or lofty-ceilinged chambers as they made their way through the palace.
The palace seemed completely empty, but all through it Angela could hear a soft moaning sound, almost like someone sobbing. It frightened her.
Up into the tower they swam, up and up until they reached its topmost chamber.
"Here is the mermaid princess," said the angel fish, somberly.
The princess was sitting beside a long dark table, her emerald-green-scaled tail curled beneath her, her long golden hair swaying in the gentle currents of the water.
She was crying softly. The princess looked familiar. Almost like her mother. Yet—she looks like me, Angela realized.
There was a long black box atop the table. The mermaid princess ran her hand along its smooth edge. Angela swam up to it and looked inside.
There, lying with his eyes closed and his arms folded over his chest, was the mermaid's father. He was dead. He looked just like Angela's own daddy.
She screamed and everything went black.
"Nothing at all is coming up on your screen?" Susan asked anxiously. She was sitting at her computer speaking into the pinhead microphone of the headset she had clamped over her red curls. Her display screen showed a long list of legal mumbo-jumbo scrolling by.