Timeline - Crichton Michael - Страница 40

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"I'll do what I damn well want to do," he said to Gomez.

He had pulled up his burlap tunic, revealing a heavy leather belt with a holstered pistol and two black grenades. He was checking the pistol.

"If we're going into the world," Baretto said, "I'm going to be prepared."

"You're not bringing that stuff with you," Gomez said.

"The hell I'm not, sister."

"You're not. You know that's not allowed. Gordon would never permit modern weapons to be taken into the world."

"But Gordon's not here, is he?" Baretto said.

"Look, goddamn it," Gomez said, and she pulled out her white ceramic marker, waving it at Baretto.

It looked as if she was threatening to go back.

In the control room, one of the technicians at the monitors said, "We're getting field bucks."

"Oh, really? That's good news," Gordon said.

"Why?" Stern said.

"It means," Gordon said, "that someone is headed back in the next two hours. Undoubtedly your friends."

"So they will get the Professor and be back here within two hours?"

"Yes, that's exactly-" Gordon broke off, staring at the undulating image on the monitor. A little undulating surface, with a spike that stuck up. "Is that it?"

"Yes," the technician said.

"But the amplitude's much too large," Gordon said.

"Yes. And the interval's getting shorter. Fast. "You mean someone is coming back now?"

"Yeah. Soon, it looks like."

Stern glanced at his watch. The team had been gone only a few minutes. They couldn't have recovered the Professor so quickly.

"What does that mean?" Stern asked him.

"I don't know," Gordon said. The truth was, he didn't like this development at all. "They must be having some sort of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"This soon, it's probably mechanical. Maybe a transcription error."

Stern said, "What's a transcription error?"

The technician said, "I'm calculating an arrival in twenty minutes fifty-seven seconds." He was measuring the field strengths, and the pulse intervals.

"How many are coming back?" Gordon said. "All of them?"

"No," the technician said. "Just one."

Chris Hughes couldn't help it; he was anxious again. Despite the cool morning air, he was sweating, his skin cold, his heart pounding. Listening to Baretto and Gomez argue did nothing to increase his confidence.

He went back to the path, stepping around the pools of thick mud. Marek and Kate were coming back, too. They all stood a little apart from the argument.

"All right, all right, goddamn it," Baretto was saying. He took off his weapons and put them carefully on the floor of his cage. "All right. Does that satisfy you?"

Gomez was still speaking quietly, barely a whisper. Chris couldn't hear her.

"It's fine," Baretto said, almost snarling.

Gomez again spoke softly. Baretto was grinding his teeth. It was very uncomfortable to be standing there. Chris moved a few steps farther away, turning his back to the argument, waiting for it to be over.

He was surprised to see that the path sloped downward rather steeply, and he could see through a break in the trees to the flatland below. The monastery was there - a geometric arrangement of courtyards, covered passageways, and cloisters, all built of beige stone, surrounded by a high stone wall. It looked like a dense, compact little city. It was surprisingly close, perhaps a quarter of a mile. No more than that.

"Screw it, I'm walking," Kate said, and she started down the path. Marek and Chris looked at each other, then followed after her.

"You people stay in sight, damn it," Baretto called to them.

Gomez said, "I think we'd better go."

Baretto put a restraining hand on her arm. "Not until we get something cleared up," he said. "About how things are handled on this expedition."

"I think it's pretty well cleared up," Gomez said.

Baretto leaned close and said, "Because I didn't like the way you…" And the rest was too low to hear, just the furious hiss of his voice.

Chris was grateful to move around the curve in the path and leave them behind.

Kate started at a brisk walk, feeling the tension leave her body as she moved. The argument left her feeling cramped and edgy. A few paces behind her, she heard Chris and Marek talking. Chris was anxious, and Marek was trying to calm him down. She didn't want to hear it. She picked up the pace a little. After all, to be here, in these fantastic woods, surrounded by these huge trees…

After a minute or two, she had left Marek and Chris behind, but she knew they were near enough, and it was nice to be alone. The woods around her felt cool and relaxing. She listened to the chitter of birds and the sound of her own feet padding along on the path. Once she thought she heard something else, too. She slowed a bit to listen.

Yes, there was another sound: running feet. They seemed to be coming from farther down the path. She heard someone panting, gasping for breath.

And also a fainter sound, like the rumble of distant thunder. She was trying to place that rumble when a teenage boy burst around the corner, racing toward her.

The boy was wearing black hose, a bright green quilted jacket and a black cap. He was red-faced with exertion; he'd clearly been running for some time. He seemed startled to find her walking on the path. As he came toward her, he cried, "Aydethee amsel! Grassa due! Aydethee!"

An instant later, she heard his voice translated in her earpiece: "Hide, woman! For the sake of God! Hide!"

Hide from what? Kate wondered. These woods were deserted. What could he mean? Maybe she hadn't understood him right. Maybe the translator wasn't correct. As the boy passed her, he again cried, "Hide!" and shoved Kate hard, pushing her off the path and into the woods. She tripped on a gnarled root, tumbled into the undergrowth. She banged her head, felt sharp pain and a wave of dizziness. She was getting slowly to her feet when she realized what the rumbling sound was.

Horses.

Riding at full gallop toward her.

Chris saw the young boy running up the path, and almost immediately, he heard the sound of pursuing horses. The boy, finally out of breath, stopped for a moment beside them, doubled over, and finally managed to gasp, "Hide! Hide!" before he darted away into the woods.

Marek ignored the boy. He was looking down the path.

Chris frowned. "What is all that about-"

"Now," Marek said, and throwing an arm around Chris's shoulders, he pulled him bodily off the path and into the foliage.

"Jesus," Chris said, "would you mind telling me-"

"Shhh!" Marek put his hand over Chris's mouth. "Do you want to get us killed?"

No, Chris thought, he was clear on that: he did not want to get anybody killed. Charging up the hill toward them were six horsemen in full armor: steel helmets, chain mail and cloth surcoats of maroon and gray. The horses were draped in black cloth studded with silver. The effect was ominous. The lead rider, wearing a helmet with a black plume, pointed ahead and screamed, "Godin!"

Baretto and Gomez were still standing beside the path, just standing there, apparently in shock at what they saw galloping toward them. The black rider leaned over in the saddle and swung his broadsword in an arc at Gomez as he rode past her.

Chris saw Gomez's headless torso, spurting blood, as it toppled to the ground. Baretto, spattered with blood, swore loudly as he ran into the woods. More riders galloped up the hill. Now they were all shouting, "Godin! Godin!" One rider wheeled on his horse, drawing his bow.

The arrow struck Baretto's left shoulder as he ran, the steel point punching through the other side, the impact knocking him to his knees. Cursing, Baretto staggered to his feet again, and finally reached his machine.

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