Inherit the Earth - Brian Stableford [62]
The forest was quiet, after the fashion of artificially regenerated forests everywhere; the trees, genetically engineered for rapid growth in the unhelpful soil, were not fitted as yet to play host to the overelaborate fauna which ancient tropical forests had entertained before the logger holocaust. A few tiny insects splashed on the windshield of the jeep as it moved through the gathering night, but the only birds whose cries could be heard were seabirds.
“You mustn’t blame Dr. Kachellek, Mr. Hart,” Rajuder Singh told him blandly. “He had to make a decision in a hurry. He didn’t expect you to come to Molokai. Our people should be able to bring the situation under control, given time, but we don’t yet know who we’re up against and things have moved a little too fast for comfort. He was right to do what he did—I’m afraid that you’re in more danger than you know, and it might not have been a good idea for you to arrive in Los Angeles on a scheduled flight. I’ll show you why in a few minutes’ time.”
“Who, exactly, are our people?” Damon wanted to know.
Rajuder Singh smiled. “Friends and allies,” he said unhelpfully. “There aren’t so many of us left, nowadays, but we still keep the faith.”
“Conrad Helier’s faith?”
“That’s right, Mr. Hart. You’d be one of us yourself, I suppose, if you hadn’t chosen to digress.”
“To digress? That assumes that I’ll be back on track, someday.”
Rajuder Singh’s only answer to that was a gleaming smile.
“Are you saying that there’s some kind of conspiracy involving my foster parents?” Damon asked, unable to keep the aggression from filtering back into his voice. “Some kind of grand plan in which you and Karol and Eveline are all involved?”
“We’re just a group of friends and coworkers,” the dark-skinned man replied lightly. “No more than that—but someone seems to be attacking us, and we have to protect our interests.”
“Might Surinder Nahal be involved with the people attacking you?”
“It’s difficult to believe that, but we really don’t know yet. Until we do know, it’s necessary to be careful. This is a very bad time—but that’s presumably why our unknown adversaries chose this particular moment for their assault.”
Damon remembered that Karol Kachellek had been equally insistent that this was a “very bad time.” Why, he wondered again, was the present moment any worse than any other time?
The sun had climbed high into the clear blue sky and Damon was finding its heat horribly oppressive by the time the vehicle reached its destination. The destination in question was a sizable bungalow surrounded by a flower garden. Damon was oddly relieved to observe that the roof was topped by an unusually large satellite dish. However remote this place might be it was an integral part of the Web; all human civilization was its neighborhood. The flowers were reassuring too, by virtue of the orderly layout of their beds and the sweet odors they secreted. There were insects aplenty here, including domestic bees.
Rajuder Singh showed Damon through the double door of the bungalow into a spacious living room. When Damon opened his mouth to speak, though, the slim man held up his hand. He swiftly crossed the room to a wall-mounted display screen, beckoning Damon to follow.
“This is the same netboard which carried Operator one-oh-one’s earlier messages,” Rajuder Singh said while his nimble fingers brought the screen to life.
Damon stared dumbly at the crimson words which appeared there, reading them three times before he accepted, reluctantly, that they really did say what they seemed to say.
He had not known what to expect, but he could never have expected this. It was as terrible as it was absurd.
The message read:
CONRAD HELIER IS NOT DEAD
CONRAD HELIER NOW USES THE NAME “DAMON HART”
“DAMON HART” IS