Bruce Balfour, page 11
Tom was used to living underground, but he assumed that such a deep dwelling could hold several comfortable family homes. A silo this deep might also hold several harvest seasons of grain. Ducking his head under the top of the doorframe, he followed Magnus down the stairwell, his feet clanking on the metal steps that spiraled downward. Right behind him, he heard the ticking of Helix’s nails as he hopped down from step to step and the steady plodding thump of Dead Man’s feet on the stairs. When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, the floor was a metal grille, and they faced a heavy green steel door that was about nine feet tall. Magnus waved his arms, and the door hummed open, revealing a small chamber beyond it with another steel door on the opposite wall. “Blast doors, nine tons each,”
Magnus said cryptically, beckoning them into the chamber as he stepped over the yellow-and-black-striped threshold.
Once they had all crowded into the blast lock chamber, Magnus pressed a set of buttons, closing the first blast door just before the second one hummed open. On the other side of the door was a small, bald man with a thin white beard that seemed to continue up around the fringe of his skull to form a fluffy halo. Smile lines creased the skin around his eyes, indicating either that he was a happy fellow or that he was crazy—Tom wasn’t sure which. He was thin, with leathery brown skin, and wore a white robe that dragged on the floor and collected dust bunnies. Behind him, through another open blast door, stretched a long corridor with a dull silver floor of steel plates, a curved ceiling supported by metal struts, and modern glow panels hanging from the ceiling.
“Sandoval, my good friend,” Magnus said, bowing to the little man.
Sandoval bowed in response, twinkling his dark brown eyes at the group. “Welcome to the Museum of Old Tech, my friends. We have many fascinating objects here on display, and none of them are gods-approved for viewing, so turn back now if you are weak in spirit or faint of heart.” He straightened, then thumped his chest with his fist. “I, myself, am Miguel Julio Ricardo Jose Sandoval, and I will be your guide for this delightful sojourn into our past. Please watch your step, mind your head, and don’t touch anything that might explode.”
“Words to live by,” Magnus said. “Have you sealed the entry door?”
Sandoval raised his eyebrows. “Of course, my friend. Are you expecting someone else?”
“Nobody that we want to see.”
Sandoval nodded. “I understand. The old security system is not what it once was, but they won’t get in unless we allow it.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Magnus said. He gestured at the long tunnel. “Think we could use the simulator? Is it still working?”
Sandoval thumped his chest again. “I, myself, maintain the simulator and all the other exhibits here. I take full responsibility for its operation. You will not be disappointed.”
The group moved forward, following Sandoval into the tunnel, their boots ringing on the floor plates. Sandoval glanced over his shoulder at Tom and pointed at the floor. “You may have noticed the construction. The control center of this silo is suspended from shock mounts with huge coil springs. It rests on shock absorbers, and there used to be a rubber sheet between the metal walls and the reinforced concrete walls, although that was replaced by shock foam a long time ago.”
This information seemed obvious to his companions, but not to Tom. He noted a faint scent of machine oil in the air. “Why? Who lived here?”
“Missilemen,” Sandoval said. “Crews of four at a time, although two of them would be maintenance people. The idea was to damp out the shock waves if a bomb hit the surface nearby, or if a missile exploded. The liquid fuel they used in the missiles was pretty volatile, so every once in a while there would be an accident, and they didn’t want to lose an entire missile complex when that happened.”
“Of course not,” Tom said, nodding as if he understood. Then he decided he wasn’t fooling anybody but himself. “What’s a missile complex?”
“It’s where they kept the Titan missiles in their silos ready to launch,” Sandoval said with a slight smile.
“Were the missiles in the silos with the grain?” Tom asked, a deep frown creasing his forehead. Sandoval glanced at Magnus, who shrugged. The little man changed the subject as they reached a junction in the tunnel where he opened another blast door. “We’ve made a lot of changes since then, of course. Over time, the museum has had many donations that needed to be hidden from the eyes of the gods, and we’ve done our best to give them a good home. This is part of the collection.”
They stepped into a large chamber that had been converted to an exhibit area. Glass cases stood in dramatic pools of light, protecting and displaying a wide variety of objects that Tom didn’t recognize. Helix squirmed in his arms, and Tom put him down so he could sniff the exhibits on his own.
“Is Barney in here?” Magnus asked as he looked around with an approving gaze. Sandoval shook his head. “No. I’ll show him to you later. I fixed him up enough to put him on guard duty. You’re just lucky that you got past him up there.”
“I noticed that things are a lot cleaner than the last time I was here.”
Dead Man stopped in front of a glass case housing a pitted granite tombstone that read: “Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico.” A chunk was missing on the bottom except for the year “1880.” Dead Man looked at Sandoval. “This is interesting. Who brought it in?”
“Clampers,” Sandoval said. “E Clampus Vitus, the historical society. They heard we had a secret museum here, so they dropped it off for safekeeping. Important part of San Francisco history they said. Someone found it on the other side of The Uplift.”
“Indeed,” Dead Man said, returning his attention to the tombstone.
After a few minutes of looking around, Tom still had no clue as to the nature of most of the objects he was seeing on display. He identified the hard shell spacesuit, the electron microscope, the electric guitar, and the early quantum computer from pictures he’d seen in his father’s library, and that was impressive enough; but there were many more artifacts that were unmarked. He tried to stifle a yawn, but he was too tired to stop it.
“We don’t know what all of them are,” Sandoval said, as if he’d been reading Tom’s mind. “Magnus brought us the Jimi Hendrix guitar and the electron microscope, but people bring us a lot of junk as well. I try to sort it all out and keep what I think is valuable, and as we gain more knowledge about the past we may be able to identify some of these other artifacts. However, one of the greatest features of this museum is the library, and—”
Magnus held up a hand to silence Sandoval. “If only we had more time, my friend, but we have wasted enough already. If Tom succeeds in his mission, he can revisit the museum later on. For now, we should get him to the simulator.”
Dead Man tore his attention away from the tombstone and walked toward them. “But it’s the library, Magnus. The boy should know about it.”
Magnus took Tom’s elbow and steered him toward the cableway corridor. “I’m sorry. We must proceed with his training. That’s more important than anything.”
Another thirty feet down the corridor, Sandoval opened another steel blast door and gestured for Tom to enter. “We’re somewhat squeezed for storage space, so you’ll have to ignore the other exhibits we have in here. This is the simulator room.”
Tom sighed, wondering if he’d ever be able to simulate some sleep, as the group walked into a chamber that was about forty feet across and crammed with complex machinery housed in battered gray equipment racks. Helix started sniffing the floor right in front of Tom, so he had to dance sideways to avoid stepping on the little dog, bumping into a glass case as he did so. The large steel egg in the case bore a faded plaque that read: General Electric — We bring good things to life.
“What’s this egg thing?” Tom asked, as he pressed his hands and face close to the glass, trying to make sense of the curious symbols on the outside of the steel case.
“Nuclear warhead. Plutonium core,” Sandoval said. “Nine-kiloton yield, so it was pretty small compared to later warheads.”
Tom tried to imagine what a warhead was, thinking it ought to look like a big hammer, but he was really too tired to ask more questions.
Magnus motioned to him. “Have a seat over here, Tom. Rest a while.” He stood next to a padded steel couch tilted back into a reclining position. The foot-and armrests were positioned carefully with straps, presumably so that the chair’s occupant would be comfortable enough to sleep there. The back of the reclined seat rested on a webwork of steel connected to a network of springs, hydraulic piston arms, levers, and other devices that were anchored in a heavy base on the floor. Wires with electrodes dangled above the chair. There were many things Tom didn’t understand about the old technologies, but he was willing to try this one out if it meant he could finally get some rest. While Tom settled into the seat, Magnus lifted a thick helmet that was attached to the headrest. “Put this on, and you won’t be bothered by the lights.” He helped Tom slip it over his head, and Tom noticed how the helmet damped out the sounds and the light from the room. He closed his eyes and settled in, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep.
“Are you comfortable, Tom?” It sounded like a tiny Sandoval was speaking into both of his ears at once. He felt wires, maybe the electrodes, being pressed against the skin of his forearms, wrists, and ankles.
“Yes. Good night,” Tom said, hoping they’d take the hint and leave him alone. The inside of the helmet started to get steamy, then a cooling flow of oxygen drifted past his face, and he dozed off. Strange dreams started right away, with little rotating images of a knight in shiny silver-plate armor; a woman with a bow and arrow in leather armor; some kind of a hunchbacked gnome with a goofy smile and a short sword; a heavily muscled creature with huge eyes, a scary face, and a giant axe; a mean-looking skeleton with glowing red eyes, a long white scythe, and tattered black leather clothes. Tom thought the detail of the knight’s armor was pretty good for a dream, and as he focused his attention on it the knight saluted him with his broadsword. The images faded away. Tom found himself standing on a black cobblestone road under a sky flashing with distant fireworks. The air smelled of smoke and dead fish. The cold wind moaned through the burnt husks of dead trees. Tom noticed that his field of view was limited to a wide slit in front of his eyes, as if he were looking at a long painting by Hieronymous Bosch in one of his father’s books. When he raised his hand to scratch his nose, a silver metal gauntlet clunked in front of his face, partially obscuring his view through the slit. He felt heavier than usual. When he looked down, he saw that his entire body was covered in silver steel, and it finally dawned on him that he was wearing the same plate armor that he’d seen on the figure of the knight just moments ago. This was unusual for one of his dreams, and he felt more aware of his surroundings than normal, but so many odd things had happened lately that he wasn’t surprised. A warbling scream caused the hair to rise on the back of his neck. He snapped his head up to look around, turning his body to see more because of his limited view through the eye slit. His heart hammered in his chest, almost hard enough for him to hear it echoing inside his suit of armor. Spinning around, he finally located the source of the noise as it screamed again, directly into his face, before slamming its massive beak against his chest. He staggered backward, then tripped on something and landed flat on his back, staring up at a black crow that was at least ten feet tall. The beak came down like a giant hammer, smashing into his chest so hard that he heard the steel creak under the blow. Tom tried to scrabble backward, but it was hard to maneuver the heavy suit. He finally got the heels of his gauntlets wedged into some cobblestones, then flipped himself over so he could rise to his hands and knees. The crow flapped its wings, sending a stream of dust through the helmet slit into Tom’s eyes. Blinking, he staggered upright in time for the crow to peck at his shoulder, knocking him forward. Dream or not, he knew that if he didn’t find a way to fight back, the crow was going to peck him to death. He looked around for a weapon, maybe a big rock or a stick, and his gaze fell on an old log on the edge of the road. He bent to pick it up, but the log disintegrated when he grasped it with his gauntlet, and the crow chose that moment to peck his armored backside. Tom stumbled forward, tripped over the log, and somersaulted onto the sandy slope of the road, miraculously landing with his feet poised so that his weight rolled and carried him upright once more. When he turned to face the crow, something thudded to the ground beside him—a broadsword that had apparently fallen from a scabbard at his side. Keeping his head toward the crow, he bent to pick up the sword. Caw, the crow called, rapidly hopping toward him, its beak poised for a blow to his head. Tom planted one knee in the sand, turned the point of the sword skyward with the hilt braced against a rock, and ducked as the beak descended, allowing the crow to get the point with its head. Red smoke poured from the wound in its face as it stood upright again, tilted its head at Tom as if reevaluating the wisdom of its attack, and leapt into the air to fly away, staggering Tom under the blast of wind from its wings.
Tom swallowed, took a deep breath, and sat down in the sand, nearly impaling himself on his own sword. His body shook, and sweat dribbled into his eyes. He fumbled around with the bottom of the helmet, wondering how to remove it, and finally gave up in disgust. He hoped he wouldn’t have to urinate anytime soon.
SANDOVALlooked up from the physiological monitoring equipment and frowned at Tom’s twitching body on the simulator couch. “Maybe we should bring him out. The crow nearly got him. His pulse is dropping back to normal, but we don’t want to overdo it on his first visit.”
“I thought he handled that pretty well,” Magnus said, watching the brain scan and mental image monitors from one of the two control chairs. “He’s lucky that his first monster was a crow. It could have been a lot worse, although the crow certainly isn’t a pushover.”
Dead Man was lying flat on his back on the floor between some of the equipment. He lifted his head to peer at Magnus with his bulging eyes. “Why are you driving him so hard, Magnus? He needs to gain more experience in Stronghold before you push him to higher levels.”
Magnus sighed, then turned to look at Dead Man. “The boy has talent, don’t you see that? We haven’t got the time for a casual training period like the rest of us had. The siliboys have already run their forecasts, and they know Tom is a threat to their existence, although they may not know why. They want him dead. Telemachus has his agents out hunting for Tom right now. The real danger for us is that Tom will slide into despair, but I won’t allow that. Tom is too exhausted and too busy to think about the loss of his family, so if we can get him past this rough spot in his life, time will heal the wounds that we can’t reach. He’s already making excellent progress.”
Sandoval shook his head. “He’s not a machine, Magnus. It takes time to learn the skills you’re trying to teach him.”
“If he’s killed in the simulator,” Dead Man said, “he won’t be able to help us at all. He doesn’t know how to walk the Road, and a hollow man can’t cross the barrier into Stronghold. You’ll lose your tool for revenge, and the Dominion will remain in control.”
Magnus clenched his fists. “This is not about revenge! If this boy can free us all from slavery, we owe it to ourselves and the rest of the world to use this opportunity. He has the talent, and he has the right genes.”
“You know this for a fact?” Sandoval asked, his eyebrows raised in uncertainty. Magnus nodded. “He’s my nephew. He’s got the genes of Ukiah and Luna. I’ve watched him for years, and Telemachus has confirmed my suspicions by nanobombing Tom’s family.”
“Then why didn’t they eliminate him before now?” Dead Man asked.
“His parents raised Tom to look and act like a normal member of the community. He doesn’t know anything about his talents, except for what we’re going to reveal to him. The siliboys had no idea that Prometheus was living right under their noses, but now they suspect, and the thought scares them enough that they’d eliminate Tom’s family and an entire sector of Marinwood to stop the threat. We can make their projections come true. Tom can destroy them.”
“If he survives,” Dead Man prompted.
Magnus sat down again. “Yes. If he survives. And we’ll do our best to make sure that he does.”
TOMrealized that he had to stay alert while he sat on the sandy slope by the cobblestone road. When he heard a creaking sound, he turned his head and saw what appeared to be a chunk of dead wood chewing on his armored foot. Although the log wasn’t making much progress, and it made even less when Tom kicked it away, he began to notice things like the brown weeds grabbing at his legs with their leaves while their tiny flower blossoms chewed at his armor with rings of tiny teeth. Small rocks were edging toward him in a threatening manner. Dead leaves tried to catch breezes so they could fly up at his face. The whole place, wherever it was, acted like an environmental nightmare that was out to get him. The road itself seemed to be the only safe area—the weeds, leaves, rocks, and other tiny terrors seemed to avoid the straight rows of clean black cobblestones that ran from horizon to horizon. Something skittered and hissed across the surface of the road. Tom heaved himself up and turned in a crouch. A group of four demonic creatures with red skin, flaming eyes, and large mouths with sharp teeth stood atop something that looked like an alligator on a bad hair day. The giant reptile had a fluffy red Mohawk hairstyle that ran from the top of its head to a point halfway down its back. The demons were about four feet tall, and each one held some sort of weapon in one of its two claws. The claws themselves ended in shiny knife points. The demons looked pleased to see Tom.
