Dead Space Martyr Part 26

Krax pulled the left wrist strap painfully tight, then the right. Altman could feel the strap cutting deep into his flesh. "How about now?" he asked.

And then he left the room. For a moment Altman was alone, straining against the straps, and then he stopped. Maybe he could tip the chair over, break it somehow. But when he tried to rock it back and forth, he found that it had been bolted to the floor.

A moment later, Krax was back, bringing a wheeled cart with him. On top of the cart was a tray covered in a white cloth. Krax brought it close, pulled the cloth off it with a flourish. Beneath was a row of scalpels and knives, a pair of pincers as well. Krax ran his hands slowly over them.

"You didn't think you could just waltz off and report on us and suffer no consequences, did you, Mr. Altman?"

Altman tried to speak, but his mouth had gone suddenly dry.

Krax selected the smallest knife. "Let's start small and work our way up, shall we?" he said.

"I'd rather you didn't," said Altman.

"Just a few small cuts at first, Mr. Altman. Just something to make it interesting and to make you respect my artistry."

He grabbed hold of Altman's index finger and very carefully crosshatched the tip of it, the knife just cutting through. At first it didn't hurt, just felt warm. And then the finger began to throb, a drop of blood forming on the tip. He went on to the next finger and then the next, just three or four small cuts per finger, hardly deeper than papercuts. Altman watched a drop of blood collect at the end of each finger, the hand feeling like it was on fire.

"We're going to be here for days and days, Mr. Altman. We'll get to know each other very intimately."

He left the room again. Altman tried not to look at the hand, tried to ignore its throbbing, but he couldn't help it. Before it was all over, it would, he knew, become much, much worse. He'd wish he were dead.

And then Krax was back, a bowl full of salt in one hand.

"Have you heard the expression 'rubbing salt into a wound,' Mr. Altman?"

Altman felt his hand clench involuntarily. He closed his eyes. Krax slapped him. "You'll want to watch this," he said. But Altman kept his eyes closed.

Suddenly his hand was burning, his fingers being ground into the salt. He couldn't help but gasp. He clenched his eyes tighter. "Fine-grain salt works best," Krax explained in a calm voice. "Sea salt in particular. Iodized, of course."

Krax released the hand. "That's it," he said. "You can open your eyes."

He did. The light in the room seemed abnormally bright through the pain. "What do you want to know?" asked Altman through gritted teeth.

"All in good time," said Krax. "No need to rush things." He returned to the cart, placing the bowl of salt on it. He replaced the small knife, ran his hands over the knives that remained. "I love my job," said Krax, smiling, and then plucked a slightly larger knife from the tray and came toward him. "Open wide," he said.

Markoff was alone on the command deck, standing in his usual spot. To someone coming in, it might look like he was staring out through the observation window and into the dark water. What he was really doing was monitoring a series of holovids, set up to be seen only from that one position. They showed various parts of the s.h.i.+p, cycling rapidly between them.

Something was up, he could tell. A disturbance in the Marker chamber. "Stay with that," he said, and one of the holovids dedicated itself exclusively to that chamber. Lots of guards and scientists shaking fists. Where was Krax? He was supposed to keep s.h.i.+t like this from happening. And then he remembered Krax was with Altman and smiled.

The door slid open and Stevens stepped in. He stood there a few tiers down, waiting, until Markoff gestured him forward.

"We've got problems," admitted Stevens.

"Tell me something I don't already know," said Markoff.

"The believers are getting restless. Somehow they know Altman is back on board. They're demanding to see him."

"Absolutely not," said Markoff. "I've given him to Krax to play with."

"If we don't let him make an appearance, we're likely to have another riot on our hands. Besides, Krax has already found out enough. He knows where he got the chunk of the Marker and how-it didn't take long for Altman to give that up. I've watched the vids, had Altman's microexpressions a.n.a.lyzed. I don't think Krax is likely to get much more out of him." Stevens came a little closer, put his hand on Markoff's shoulder. "I know you hate him," he said. "We all hate him. But we can use him."

Markoff just shrugged the hand off.

"He'll be a distraction to the believers," Stevens said. "He's more useful to us that way than he is dead."

Markoff focused his hard stare fully on Stevens. Stevens met it placidly.

"How do I know you're not one of them?"

"One of whom? The believers? Do I seem like a believer to you?"

"All right," Markoff said. "He can be useful. Get him from Krax. But if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

In the middle of the sixth knife, two guards showed up. He was released suddenly and without warning, hands and feet sore and bleeding, cuts on his back and thighs, but basically in one piece. "We'll see each other again soon," Krax promised.

The guards bandaged him and hustled him down to Stevens, left the two of them alone.

"It would have been easier to tell me," said Stevens. "Keep that in mind next time you have a choice."

"Screw you," said Altman.

Stevens smiled. "I can send you back to Krax anytime," he said. "Keep that in mind as well."

Altman didn't reply.

"The only reason you're here now," said Stevens, "is because I have a use for you. There was a skirmish between believers and unbelievers the other day that left people dead. People are taking sides. If it goes on like this, more people will die. I'd like to keep that from happening. I think you can help."

"How?"

"The believers trust you," he said. "They may listen to you."

"The pulse signal is broadcasting again," said Altman. "The conflict between the believers and the unbelievers is hardly your biggest problem."

"No," admitted Stevens, "but the two feed one another. You're here instead of with Krax and his knives because Markoff thinks you may have a chance of keeping things stable."

"And if I say no?"

Stevens shrugged. "Then you go back to Krax. And if you misbehave or try to stir the believers up, I'll shoot you myself. But keep things stable and you'll prevent a lot of people ending up dead. And it goes without saying that we'll be watching you at all times."

"I want to talk to Ada first," said Altman.

Stevens hesitated for a moment. "No," he finally said.

"Why not?"

"You'll have to trust me that she's safe," said Stevens. "If everything goes well, I'll let you talk to her."

Field was there, many other scientists he recognized as well, all of them happy to see him again. It was Field who told him about the firefight with the military, the deaths. He showed him, too, where he had been shot in the foot, but didn't remove the dressings.

"That must hurt," said Altman.

Field smiled happily. "Without the morphine, I wouldn't be able to walk," he said. "But that's not important," he said. "I'm not important."

"Of course you are," said Altman, patting him on the shoulder as if he was crazy.

Field shook his head. "What's important is that things have begun to change. A lot of us are dead now and a lot of us are crazy. Those of us who are left have a different perspective." He clutched Altman by the s.h.i.+rt, pulled him closer, the weird morphine smile still plastered clownlike across his face. "Those of us who are left," he said in a stage whisper, "believe." "believe."

"If you say so," said Altman, trying to free himself.

"It's the Marker," said Field. "It talks to us." He gave Altman a searching look. "It spoke to you, too. That makes you a believer. It's separating the sheep from the goats. Either you believe or you die."

"That's crazy," said Altman.

"Is it?" said Field. "Look how many people are dead now. Look how many are mad. Is that normal? Can you explain it any other way?"

"There are other explanations," said Altman. "There have to be."

"Like what?" asked Field. When Altman didn't answer, he said, "Be one with the Marker, Altman. Accept its message of oneness and unity. Join with us."

Finally he let go. Altman took a step back, trying not to reveal to Field how disturbed he actually was. Mad or dead or religious-what the h.e.l.l kind of choice was that?

"More and more people believe in our unitology," Field said with his same mad smile. He reached clumsily into the neck of his s.h.i.+rt, grasped a leather thong. He tugged it out. At the end was a crude sigil: two slivers of metal twisted together to form a representation of the Marker.

"When we are weak," said Field, "we call on this." He wrapped it in his fist and squeezed it, then closed his eyes, whispering something over and over again, a ritual chant or a prayer, soft enough that Altman couldn't quite make it out. He didn't want to make it out. He looked away from Field and saw that most of the others around them were doing the same thing, each holding something and whispering toward their clenched fists, their eyes closed. Slowly and quietly he shuffled his way free of the group and got the h.e.l.l out of there.

His interactions with the researchers were radically different than they had been before. Before, there had been a separation between Markoff's inner circle and the rest of the scientists; now everybody seemed inclined to work together. There was a new sense of urgency, a sense-largely from the hallucinations (or "visions" as the believers called them)-that time was of the essence.

For the first day or two, he just listened. Researcher after researcher approached him, telling him what they'd been able to discover. Most of them had faces lit with zeal, either religious zeal or the zeal of discovery. Either way, it scared him.

As he listened, started seeing data from the tests, and began to interact directly with the Marker itself, he became convinced that he'd been right to begin with, that the Marker had a purpose that had nothing to do with the good of humanity, though what that purpose was he was still unable to say. Lying in bed at night alone, wondering where Ada was and whether she was still wrapped up in the madness of the Marker, he turned it over in his head, becoming more and more worried. All the talk of Convergence and everlasting life that had started with the hallucinations was not so much a lie as it was something related to the Marker trying to express itself in human means, manipulating the imprinted memories of loved ones and conforming to their words. But what was that something? The Marker itself? The beings that had created it? Some sort of protective mechanism? Something else entirely? And whatever it was, something was being lost in the translation: n.o.body was sure what the Marker wanted from them. Becoming more and more nervous, he opened a vidlink to Stevens.

Despite the late hour, Stevens did not look like he'd been woken up. His voice when he spoke was as mellifluous as always.

"Altman," he said, not a hint of surprise in his voice. "What can I do for you?"

"You're awake?"

"Don't sleep much these days," said Stevens. "Too busy talking to the dead."

"I have something I need to talk over," he said. "It's about the Marker, about the messages it seems to be sending through hallucinations. I don't know who else to ask."

"Go ahead," said Stevens. "I've been thinking about it myself."

"I wonder about its purpose. I don't know that we should trust it."

"Go on."

"I think we read what the Marker says positively because we are p.r.o.ne to believe in a life beyond this one and because it speaks to us through voices of people we are close to."

"Fair enough," said Stevens. "Clearly it wants us to think of it in a positive light."

"But if you listen closely to what the hallucinations are saying and try to think of them as being the words of an alien presence channeled through human memories, and try to forget that you're being told them by someone you know and love, there's another interpretation for Convergence, for becoming one."

"Yes," said Stevens.

"What if Convergence means not eternal life or transcendence, but radical subordination? What if it means unity more literally, the destruction of the individual to a larger communal self?"

"Like the way some insect colonies function," said Stevens. "The individuals all subject to the will of the colony, a kind of hive mind in control of all the individuals."

"Yes," said Altman. "Or maybe even more extreme. What if it's being literal? What if it means somehow to transform us from many creatures into one?"

"That doesn't sound feasible," said Stevens.

"This is new territory," said Altman. "We hardly know what's feasible and what's not. In any case, it's dangerous. We may not be heading for utopia but instead toward destruction."

"Which raises an important question," said Stevens quietly.

"What's that?"

"Whatever we're looking for from the Marker, whether we see it as something to be mined for power or something to be wors.h.i.+pped or an object of scientific inquiry, are we using the Marker or is the Marker using us?" For the first time, Stevens's smooth exterior broke, and Altman saw something like a glimmer of anxiety burst through. He covered his eyes with his hand. When, after a moment, he moved his hand away, the smooth exterior had returned.

"One other thing," said Stevens. "The dead talk to some about unity, others about a ticking clock. What does this refer to? How does it relate to Convergence? Is the Marker awakening now to punish us for not making the most of our time here?"

"I don't know," said Altman. "It may be something less threatening, but I think it might be more. The dead act as though we have been facing a deadline. A deadline that we have evidently crossed. Convergence is talked about as starting over, but I don't know that it's likely to be a fresh start for us. Maybe it'll just be a fresh start for the Marker, or whatever controls it. Maybe Convergence means wiping us out to start some new cycle, some new phase of whatever strange process we seem to be a part of."

"If you're right," said Stevens, "the human race is on the brink of extinction. Either way, this Convergence represents the end of life as we know it."

"Yes," said Altman.

"So what do we do?"

"It should be stopped," Altman said. "But I don't know how. Now that it's active, I don't think it would help to simply sink the Marker again. We have to satisfy it enough to make it fall silent and leave us alone for a while, but not enough to move completely forward into Convergence. I don't know what else to do but try to keep understanding what it's saying to us before it's too late. Maybe once we understand what it's saying, we can figure out how to talk to it."

"But you may be wrong," said Stevens. "The Marker may actually be promising us eternal life."

Altman nodded. "I may be wrong," he said. "But I don't think I am. You told me yourself: suicides are up, violent crimes are up. Some people's headaches are so bad that they try to stop them by banging their heads against the wall until it cracks open. All the infirmary beds are filled and there are still people screaming and with nowhere to go. Once respectable scientists are painting their walls with their own s.h.i.+t. Does that sound like eternal life to you?"

Stevens sighed. "It could be just an intermediate stage. Do you know Pascal's wager?" he asked.

"Who's what?" asked Altman.

"Blaise Pascal," said Stevens. "Seventeenth-century philosopher. Mostly forgotten now, though one of the first s.h.i.+ps destroyed in the moon skirmishes was named after him. His wager argues that since the existence of G.o.d cannot be determined through reason, an individual should live as if He did exist since he has very little to lose if G.o.d does not exist and everything to gain if He does."

"What does that have to do with-"

"I'm getting to that," said Stevens. "I can either believe what you're telling me or I can believe that the Marker has our best interest at heart. If I believe what you're telling me, then that means that most likely humanity is a lost cause anyway and I'll spend my final days beating my head out over a problem that can't be solved. If I believe the Marker has our best interest at heart, then I move forward full of hope, toward my own salvation."

"Oh my G.o.d, you've become a true believer," said Altman.