The Third Gate

24

From the vantage point of Mark Perlmutter-in the “Crow’s Nest” atop Red-the two figures in the airboat looked ridiculous, bumping and thumping their way back toward the Station across the godforsaken swamp. What the hell were they doing out there, anyway-testing a malaria vaccine, maybe?

As if in response to this conjecture, a buzzing sounded in his ear and he quickly shooed the insect away. Better get busy or I’ll be one big mosquito bite myself. Anyway, it wasn’t Perlmutter’s business what those two were up to-this was only his second Porter Stone assignment, but already he’d learned that so many crazy things went on, it just didn’t make sense to ask questions.

Turning away from the gathering dusk, he focused his attention on the mast-the periscope-like metal structure that enclosed the various microwave antennas and pieces of broadcasting/receiving apparatus the Station depended on for its link to the outside world. The low-frequency radio transmitter had been acting a bit wonky, and-as communications assistant-it was Perlmutter’s job to climb up the damn mast, all the way to the Crow’s Nest above the canvas that enclosed Red, and see what was what. Who else was going to do it? Not Fontaine, communications chief and his boss-at two hundred and seventy pounds, the guy probably wouldn’t make it past five rungs.

It was getting dark fast, and he switched on a flashlight to examine the transmitter. He’d already checked out the wiring, circuit board, and transceiver down below in the communications room, and had found nothing; he was betting the problem lay with the transmitter itself. Sure enough-a two-minute inspection uncovered a frayed wire whose end had come loose from the main assembly.

This would be a snap. Perlmutter paused a moment to apply some more bug dope to his neck and arms, then he reached into his utility satchel for the cordless soldering gun, heat sink, solder, and flux. Balancing the flashlight on the mast, he cut off the damaged end with wire cutters, then-once the gun was hot-applied the flux and, carefully, the solder.

Putting the soldering gun aside, he scrutinized his work with the flashlight. Perlmutter was proud of his soldering skills-sharpened by years of working with ham radio equipment as a youth-and he nodded to himself as he inspected the clean, shiny joint. He blew on the wire gently to help it set. He’d test things out once he got back to the communications room, of course, but he felt 100 percent sure this was the problem. Of course, over dinner he’d elaborate a bit on the difficulty of the repair for Fontaine’s benefit. If the dig succeeded, there would be bonuses, big bonuses-and Fontaine would have a say in the size of Perlmutter’s own.

He slipped the housing back over the equipment, then turned away, glancing once again over the landscape as he waited for the gun to cool down. The airboat had vanished, and the Sudd spread away in all directions, black and endless. It looked as if yet another rain shower was going to start any minute. The lights of the Station, scattered below him across the six separate wings, twinkled brightly. From his vantage point, he could see the long strands of light marking the marina curtain; the faint glow from the windows of Oasis; the endless little rows of dancing white that marked the exterior catwalks and the pontoon walkways that joined the wings to each other. It was a cheerful sight-and yet Perlmutter did not feel cheered. The little city of lights merely punctuated the countless miles of dark wilderness that surrounded them, merely helped underscore the fact that they were hundreds of near-impassable miles from help or even a trace of civilization. On the inside-in the dormitory housing, at work in the communications room, or relaxing in the library or lounge-it was almost possible to forget just how alone they were. But up here…

Despite the warmth of the night, Perlmutter shivered. If the dig succeeded… Talk of the curse of Narmer had been growing in recent days. At first-as the project got under way, and word of what they were after slowly filtered out among the crew-the curse had been a joke, something brought up over beers to get a laugh. But as time went on, the talk had grown more serious. Even Perlmutter, who was the most committed atheist you’d ever want to see, had started to get the heebie-jeebies-especially after what had happened to Rogers.

He looked around again. The blackness seemed to be pressing in on him from all sides, squeezing him almost, pushing against his chest, making it hard to breathe…

That did it. He grabbed the still-warm soldering gun and other materials, threw them into his satchel, and closed it up. Kneeling in the Crow’s Nest, he unzipped a half circle of the protective tarp, exposing an opening to the inside of Red. Below was a vertical tube, lit infrequently by LEDs, into which the housing of the mast descended, like a pipe cleaner into a pipe. Slipping the satchel over one shoulder, he grabbed the rungs, descended past the tarp, paused to zip it closed again, then continued down. He climbed carefully-it was thirty feet to the bottom, and he sure as hell didn’t want to fall.

Reaching the base of the mast, he fetched a deep breath, wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt. He’d go check out the low-frequency radio, make sure its gremlins had been exorcised. Then he’d look for Fontaine, no doubt grabbing himself an early dinner.

But as he prepared to leave the mast enclosure, Perlmutter paused. There were two hatches leading out of the enclosure. One led to the hallway containing the science labs and the communications room. The other led to Red’s power substation. Fifteen minutes earlier, when he’d stepped into the mast enclosure, the substation hatch had been closed.

Now it was open.

He took a step forward, frowning. Normally the substation was a lights-out facility, operating without need of human intervention. The only time anybody would have to go in would be to make repairs. But if there was something wrong with the electrical system, he’d have been the first to know. He took another step forward.

“Hello?” he said into the darkness. “Anybody in there?”

Was he going crazy, or had he just seen a dim light deep within the substation extinguish itself?

He licked his lips, stepped through the hatch into the substation. What the hell-there was a puddle of water here. What was going on? Had some kind of a leak to the outside formed?

He took another step forward, simultaneously fumbling for the light switch. “Hello? Hell-”

And then his world exploded in a concussion of pain and furious, inviolable white.