Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [195]
The lake was cool and clear, but dark in its depths. She arrowed down until she touched bottom. Then she turned slowly 360 degrees, watching the sensor, waiting for the blinker to brighten. When it didn’t, she tried moving out, swimming in a circle, and immediately got her directions confused. The easy way was not going to work.
She went back up to the boat and thought about it. A flyer passed, moving south. She watched it until it was gone.
It was getting late. The afternoon was beginning to change color.
She paid out her second line and tied the ribbon to it in five-meter increments. When she was finished she looped it over one shoulder, put the white rock in her utility bag, went back over the side, and descended to the anchor.
She connected the line with the ribbons to the anchor line, measured out five meters and marked the outermost limit with the white rock.
Something hard-shelled, a turtle probably, bumped into her and scurried away. A good sign.
Holding on to the first ribbon to prevent moving beyond the perimeter, she searched the area immediately around the anchor, out to five meters. When she got back to the white rock, she switched her attention to the area outside the perimeter, and completed a second circle. Then she moved the rock to ten meters and repeated the process.
She found the Valiant on the next circuit, lying upside down in a tangle of vegetation. She removed it gently, clasped it to her breast, congratulated herself, and rose slowly to the surface.
32
I love to sail forbidden seas—
—HERMAN MELVILLE, Moby Dick, 1851 C.E.
Matt met her at the boarding tube. She was carrying the Valiant in a Gene Teddy box, which was adorned with a picture of the popular children’s character. “Is that it?” he asked.
“That’s it.” She was surprised to see him there. But he looked like a man being led to execution. “Something wrong?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. It was good of you to come see us off.”
“‘See you off’? I’m going.”
It had never occurred to her that Matt would put himself at risk. “Good,” she said. “We can use all the help we can get. When are we leaving?”
“Two more people are on the way up. As soon as they get here, in about an hour—”
“Sooner the better,” she said. “I suggest we plan on leaving as soon as they’re in the door.”
He took the box and they started up the tube. “Something happen?”
She told him about Woodbridge. He listened with a deepening frown. “Do we have cover for this mission?” she asked.
“It’s listed as a return to Taratuba. Nothing unusual. But he knew you were coming to Terminal City.”
“I make a lot of trips out here. Nothing unusual about that. And I’ve booked a room at the Beachfront Hotel. We should have a few hours.” It was essential to be away before Wood-bridge found out he had nothing more than an ornament and began looking for her. If there was a problem with the Patrol this time, she wouldn’t have Solly in the pilot’s room.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll try to get going as quickly as we can. But I don’t want to leave anybody behind. These people dropped everything for this—”
“They don’t know why, do they?”
“They’ve only been told they won’t be sorry.”
“I hope that’s true.”
If the Hammersmith had resembled a cheap hotel, the McCollum suggested a run-down office building with temporary quarters for people who’d got stranded during a blizzard. It was gray, dark, and oppressive. Usually, when Kim wanted to suggest how desperately the Institute needed contributions, she showed pictures of the Mac.
The ship itself was a box with rounded edges. The rooms were spartan, intended for dual occupancy, with sufficient space to house twenty-four passengers. Its facilities weren’t all that bad: the rec area was decent, it had an updated mission center, a good briefing room, and the pilots thought it was the most dependable vehicle in the Institute’s modest fleet. That probably wasn’t saying a great deal.