"Why? Punch some buttons. It should be easy."
"Not in the time available."
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Tom. Tom Pace."
"Tom, you're all I have."
"Kim," Pace said, "I thought you'd want to know. We've called in the military."
"That's good. When will they get here?"
"Within the hour."
"That might be a little behind the curve. Do you have those numbers for me yet?"
"I'm working on it."
Ahead, a gray wall was rising and she saw the black mouth of the tunnel at its base. She was too early.
She turned in a tight circle around toward the north. Buy time and give the critter a chance to get closer.
She checked her power reserve. It was down to thirteen minutes.
"Kim, I have your information."
"Go."
"First of all, the tunnel is straight."
Thank God for that.
"It's nineteen to twenty-one meters wide. Depends where you are. Eighteen meters high, but the track's three meters off the ground, so you really only have fifteen meters clearance. The tunnel is 26.1 kilometers long. The freight will enter the western end at 9:42:45. Give or take thirty seconds. Sorry, that's the best we can do. It'll be down to 220 kilometers per hour on entry. You want me to repeat that?"
She checked the satellite-controlled clock. It was just past 9:31. She punched the numbers into the computer, got her results, and set the timer.
"Kim, this is not a good idea."
"I know, Tom." She could see the shroud coming up from the south, a glowing patch moving against the stars.
She completed her turn and started west again, trying to time her flight so she'd enter the tunnel at exactly 9:35. Her sensors picked up the route and she locked on.
"Good luck," he said. "Safeties are off." To his everlasting credit, he went quiet.
The timer told her she was due at the tunnel in one minute. She looked ahead at the rapidly approaching peaks and estimated she was running right on schedule.
The shroud had made up most of its lost ground and was again closing in. The mountains rose around her and she was committed, no place to go except the tunnel. Her pursuer stayed with her.
At forty seconds, she reconnected Jerry.
It immediately began getting inputs from the flyer's various sensors. "Kim," it said accusingly, "what have you done?"
"We have to go through the tunnel," she told it. "I need you to do that."
It didn't waste time arguing. It descended slightly, lined up on the entrance, and slowed down.
"There's a train coming in the other end at 9:42:45," she said. "Thirty-second potential deviation."
It did not respond and she assumed it was checking the schedule. "You're correct. I am filing a complaint."
"That's okay. Just get us through."
The granite wall blocked off the sky.
"You're aware the train may not be adhering to schedule?"
"It is," she said.
"Zero," said the timer as they roared into the tunnel. Their lights flashed against stone walls. The track raced beneath them.
"I hope you understand that disconnecting the pilot is a misdemeanor, punishable by fine or imprisonment or both."
"Please keep your mind on what you're doing," she said.
"Were you aware that battery capacity is quite low?"
"Yes."
"There seems to have been an accident. How could you have burned out the system?"
"Let it go for now, Jerry. Get us out the other end and I'll replace everything. Promise."
"That's very strange."
"What is?"
"Another vehicle has just entered the tunnel behind us."
"Good." The shroud was going to have a hard time in the flyer's wake. "Got you, you son of a bitch."
The flyer's lights stabbed ahead into the dark. Kim clung to her chair arms, pushing herself back hard in the seat. The walls were slowing down.
She glanced at the gauges. They'd dropped to 170 kph. And they were still dropping. "Jerry-"
"Kim, we cannot maintain stability at this velocity."
"You can't slow down, Jerry. We've got to stay at two hundred klicks. Or we won't get out the other end."
"Can't be done. Not without hitting the wall."
"Jerry-"
"I did not create this situation." The voice was accusing. Petulant.
It was 9:37. They had five minutes to clear the tunnel. "Jerry, we have to try-"
"I am sorry. I have no alternative but to slow to a manageable velocity."
They were dropping past 150.
"It's a question of probability. There is none that we can negotiate this tunnel at the minimum velocity you require. There is a slight possibility the train will be late. If it is-"
She pulled the plug on him and tried to take over but the tunnel walls were roaring by too fast, she couldn't control the vehicle and had to drop even more speed, down past 120, past a hundred.
The shroud had fallen well behind, but it was still coming.
At 9:40 she was just barely halfway through.
She touched eighty and steadied. The world was slowing. With a pang of regret she thought of Solly, of dying young, of the mystery she would not live to solve.
The timer counted down to 9:42:45. The freight was in the tunnel, or damned soon would be, the two vehicles bearing down on each other at a combined speed of three hundred kilometers per hour.
Not good.
The guide rail bumped the bottom of the aircraft. Kim held on, slowed more.
Ahead, a light flickered. The single searching beam of the freight's headlamp.
School was out.
She fired the retros and the flyer came down on the track, skidded, turned, pitched over the side into the lower level and slammed into the wall. Kim was thrown hard against her restraints. The cabin lights went out, something crackled and began to burn, and she ended up hanging upside down in her seat.
The tunnel walls, ceiling, guide-rail supports, everything disappeared into the blazing cone of the oncoming headlight.
She was down on the lower level, the flyer jammed in nose first, its tail sticking up in the path of the freight. Kim hit the release and fell out of her seat.
She kicked the door open and scrambled out. The tunnel shook.
She staggered forward a few meters, trying to get clear of the aircraft, and caught a final glimpse of the shroud, which was silhouetted in the oncoming glare.
The track was supported by stanchions, one every ten meters or so. Kim threw herself at the base of the nearest one, grabbed hold, and buried her head. The train boomed past and ripped into the wrecked flyer.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to burrow down into the concrete as a hurricane of wind and screeching metal rolled over her. The ground rocked.
26
If it is true that artifacts are fragments of lost worlds, it is equally true they are mirrors of our own.
-TAIA DELLARIA,.
A Brief History of Minagwan Archeology, 588 She woke up in a pleasant sun-drenched room. Yellow curtains framed the windows, and soft music drifted out of a speaker. A door opened almost immediately and someone came in. He, or she, wore a physician's smock.
Kim couldn't remember how she had gotten here, couldn't remember anything since attending the memorial service for Solly. She tried to concentrate on her visitor, but noticed she had no feeling in her right leg. "Broken, I'm afraid," he said. It was a male. Tall, dark skin, deep voice. She couldn't focus on his face. "But you'll be up and around in a few days," he continued.
"Is this a hospital?" she asked.
"Yes." He had dark eyes and seemed pleased about something. "How are you feeling?"
"Not too well." She'd ridden the train to Eagle Point. Yes, that was it: She was in Eagle Point. Looking for Sheyel.
The physician was tapping a pen against a monitor screen, nodding to himself. "You're doing fine," he said. "You'll probably feel a little out of sorts for a while, but you've suffered no serious damage."
"Good," she said.
The battle at the lake shore edged its way into her consciousness.
"Kim?"
Sheyel was dead. They were all dead.
"Kim? Are you with me?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"I'd like to ask you some questions. First, why don't you give me your full name?"
He pulled up a chair and asked about her professional duties, how she had come to get into fund-raising, whether she was good at it. He wanted to know her birth date, what books she had read recently, where she had gone to school and what she'd studied. He asked whether she remembered how she had come to be in the hospital, and when she stumbled trying to answer he told her it was okay, don't worry about it, it'll all come back.
She had fled with the Valiant.
He asked her opinion on various political issues, questioned her on whether she owned a flyer, and how she enjoyed living in a seafront home. And he wanted her to explain how it could possibly be that the universe was not infinite.
The police cruiser got too close again. She tried to shake the memory off, assign it to delirium, get rid of it. But it had happened.
And then there had been the tunnel.
"By the way, there's someone who'd like to talk to you. Asked specifically to be put through as soon as you were awake. Do you feel able?"
"Who?" she asked.
"A Mr. Woodbridge."
Well, it didn't take him long. "Yes," she said. "I can talk to him." She looked at the physician. He smiled at her, took her wrist for a moment, and told her she was going to be fine.