The Incredible Tide (15 page)

“Enough!” Dr. Manski cried. She threw the sail aside and jerked to her feet. “One of you hears voices, and the other spouts rot about God. What stupidity! If you expect me to help you—”

Conan said coldly, “If a voice hadn't directed me, I wouldn't be alive now—and you wouldn't be alive either, Dr. Manski, because I wouldn't have been around to pull you out of the water.”

“I've expressed my gratitude,” she snapped. “But that doesn't keep you from being cracked.”

“Then it's two cracked ones you must endure,” said Teacher, smiling. “For I too have long been directed by a voice.”

Conan glanced at him in quick surprise, and the old man nodded. “I ignored it the first time it spoke, and as a result I lost my eye. Since then, I've learned to listen.”

Dr. Manski sniffed. “And it's this invisible God, I suppose, who talks to you and gives you advice?”

Teacher raised his white eyebrows. “Why should
I
receive special favors? You seem to forget that all things are already known, and that the wisdom is available to all of us.”

She sniffed again. “How? Just by listening?”

“Why not? Each of us is given an inner ear to hear it, if we will. If we don't hear it, it's because we've allowed the ear to go deaf.”

For a moment she stood looking from one to the other, her gaunt face hardening. Abruptly she burst out, “Of all the rot! I've had enough of it. And rather than put up with any more of it, I'd prefer to remain here when you leave. I'll take my chances on being rescued.”

Teacher shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if you stay, I doubt if you'll be rescued in time.”

“In time for what?”

“You're a woman of some learning. Haven't you enough elemental geology to realize what will happen here when the earth's crust under Industria suddenly makes an adjustment?”

The doctor's black eyes widened a trifle. “There will be a shock wave?”

“Yes. A tsunami. It will pour over this islet and sweep it bare.”

She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. Suddenly her black eyes darted to the craft they were building. “What will happen to that flimsy thing when the tsunami hits it?”

“Nothing. If the crest isn't breaking, it should ride over the wave like a cork.”

Conan looked at him in surprise. He hadn't known this. Teacher added, “The great danger is to High Harbor. The tsunami is bound to strike it. But the place is at an angle to the sea, and I'm praying the wave merely pours across the harbor itself and keeps on going. And of course they'll be warned hours ahead—”

“But how? Who will know?”

“Possibly Dyce, if he still has radio contact. But any communicator will know when the fracture breaks under the city. You cannot help but feel the fear from so many minds.”

Dr. Manski stared at him. “Patch,” she said slowly. “Patch, you're not a bit like you were at the boat shop. You've changed. You've changed completely.
Who are you?
”

“I think we'd better save any further discussion until we are at sea,” he replied. “There simply isn't time for it now. If we value our lives, we must be on our way in four more days.”

It had seemed impossible to finish in so short a time. But somehow they did it. By the final evening the log canoe, with its lateen sail and outrigger, was ready and loaded. Strips of cemented plastic now decked the hollowed log to prevent it from swamping. Upon the platform between canoe and outrigger was fastened the doctor's life raft, and all around it, securely lashed, were pieces of equipment and bottles of water from the cistern Conan had built long ago. Under a hatch in the canoe were stored extra water in the bottles he had saved, and most of the fish that had been smoked with the mounds of chips taken from the log.

It was nearly dark when they finished loading. But no one suggested that they wait till dawn. Sea and weather were in their favor, and a fresh wind was blowing.

Conan said good-by to his birds. He thrust the craft out from the beach and raised the sail. When they were under way, escorted by a dozen wheeling gulls, he glanced back once and saw the islet fading in the dusk. He swallowed, knowing he was seeing it for the last time.

He looked at the veils of mist shrouding the darkness ahead. They filled him with sudden dread. How were they going to sail this unknown sea without even a compass to guide them?

At the time the outrigger craft was beginning its uncertain journey, Lanna was going dejectedly back to the cottage with Tikki riding on her shoulder. Without the comfort of Tikki her dejection would have reached an almost unbearable low. All the news had been bad for weeks. But who would have thought the young people—especially the ones she had counted on to support Shann—would have acted as they did this morning?

Lanna paused, set down the basket of berries she had spent the afternoon picking, and glanced at the bottom of the long slope where the harbor lay. Through the trees she could just make out the trade ship, looking almost like a toy in the distance. At the sudden sight of it she felt such a rush of resentment that she failed to see the activity going on at the new dock not far from it. Why, she thought, can't the ugly thing go away and leave us all alone? What's it brought us but a cargo of trouble?

Her mind went back to the impromptu meeting Shann had called this morning. Now that the New Order knew about Teacher, it seemed the right time to tell the young ones the truth about what had happened. The truth should have finished Commissioner Dyce with everybody. But somehow it hadn't.

Oh, there had been some indignation, of course. And some silly arguments. “I don't get it,” one of the boys had said. “Instead of acting as he did, why didn't Teacher just tell the New Order who he was and co-operate with them? Wouldn't everybody have been better off?”

That started it, and they had had it back and forth for a while, some for Teacher, but just as many against. And the shocking fact was that no one was really much concerned about Teacher. After so many years the younger ones had forgotten him, and the older ones were much more taken up with their own affairs. Many of them were even pairing off and taking mates. And although they had a low opinion of the commissioner, they saw no reason why they shouldn't trade with him—especially when it came to things they wanted, like bikes and music boxes and mirrors and scented powder.

For a moment Lanna's thoughts wandered, and she felt a sharp pang of envy as she remembered how some of the boys had been with their girls. If Conan ever returned, would he look at her in that very special way? Or had she grown into such a pale, colorless creature that he'd no longer have any interest in her?

Then she forgot that unsettling possibility as she remembered how the meeting had broken up. One of the older boys, a group leader, had asked, “When Teacher comes, who's going to be in charge here?”

“He will, of course,” Shann told him. “If it hadn't been for Teacher, not one of us would be here now.”

There had been a moment's silence, a lot of whispering, then one of the girls said, “We respect Teacher and all that, but, really, he must be getting awfully old. And it's about time we elected our own leaders. Don't you think we ought to run High Harbor ourselves? How about it, people?”

The young ones had agreed, but there had been some concern about Orlo. “What good will it do to choose our own? You know Orlo's about ready to take over anyway.”

“What if he does? He's got an in with the commissioner. He'll get us the things we need.”

“We don't want Orlo!” someone cried. “We should get together and choose our own!”

“Why don't we wait till Teacher gets here?”

“Aw, forget Teacher! He may never make it. Anyhow, there's going to be a meeting soon. Haven't you heard?”

What meeting?

The rumor was that it was to be a big meeting. But only a few had heard about it, and no one had any details. Obviously something was going on that was being kept quiet.

Lanna glanced unhappily at the harbor again, and for the first time noticed the activity at the dock. She stared. In the misty distance it was hard to see clearly, but what seemed to be a large group of the older boys and girls were lined up, waiting their turn to be ferried out to the trade ship.

What was happening on board?

Was this the meeting she'd heard about this morning? She decided it couldn't be. There were not enough young ones. But it must have something to do with it. And with Orlo. Was the commissioner entertaining some of the group leaders, hoping to bribe them to vote for Orlo?

The rising resentment in her turned to anger. Anger not only at Dyce, who was working behind Shann's back, but at all those who had accepted the invitation to go aboard. She felt certain that some of them were ones Shann had talked to this morning. Didn't they have any feeling of loyalty, or even pride?

Her eyes darkened and her slender hands clenched. Then she fought down her anger as she realized she ought to find out what was going on. If it had anything to do with the secret meeting, the future of High Harbor might depend upon it.

But how was one to learn anything without going aboard?

All at once she caught her lip between her teeth. There
was
a way, if she could manage it.

“Tikki,” she whispered. “Tikki, I want you to fly down there and circle around the ship. And don't be afraid if I come with you, and sort of become part of you. Go, Tikki! Fly!”

As the tern rose from her shoulder, Lanna closed her eyes and tried to project herself forward as she had done twice before in her life.

She had been only three the first time, and it had come about so easily that she hardly realized what had happened. There had been the little animal at the edge of the meadow near the summer cabin where her folks had gone that year, before the war got so bad. It was the first wild furry creature she had ever seen. What it was she still didn't know—a chipmunk, possibly, or a small rabbit. But the sight of it had so delighted her that her heart had instantly gone out to it, and in a blink she had found herself looking at the world through the creature's eyes. She was aware at that moment of the feel of the grass under the tiny paws and the pleasant smell of it in the twitching nostrils. There had been other smells, and many sounds—safe sounds like scurryings among the leaves and various chirpings, and not-so-safe sounds like the sudden tread of heavy feet. There had been fright, followed by momentary panic on the part of both of them. Then she had found herself back, looking at the world through her own eyes.

It had happened the second time a year later, when her interest had been captured by a bird flying high overhead. She had thought how wonderful it must be, floating up there on feathered wings, so far above everything. But the actual experience of finding herself at that height, at four, with nothing whatever under her but the faraway ground, had been so frightening that she'd been careful never to try it again.

But now she
must
do it.

Lanna concentrated. She put all her will into it, but still she remained by the tree where she'd stopped, while Tikki receded in the distance.

Presently there came the realization that the ability must have left her because of her long fear of using it. After the uncertainties of the past weeks, and all that had happened, this failure was almost too much. She put her hands over her face and began to sob.

Had it not been for the daily knot he tied in the line to the sail that Teacher called the sheet, Conan would have lost all track of time. This was the evening of the tenth day since they had left the islet, and they seemed to be moving in a void.

At first it had not been too difficult to hold to a westerly course. Always, through the haze, they had been able to make out the glow of the sun by day and the moon by night. Then came the dark of the moon, and it was much harder. But you could manage, once you got the trick of it, provided the wind and sea didn't change too much between twilight and dawn. Just steer by the feel of the wind on your ear, and pray you didn't run into something you couldn't see.

But for the past three days the mist veils had been getting thicker. There was no horizon, and the vague sun glow had gradually vanished. It had been hours since Conan had had any feeling of direction. The wind, he was sure, must have changed since morning, and for all he knew they could be heading back the way they had come.

He glanced at Teacher, and the old man murmured, “Steady as she goes, son.”

“You think we're still headed west?”

“More west than east, surely. But by tomorrow—” Teacher shrugged.

“But all this mist—I don't understand. Have the great fogs come early?”

“Very likely. And there are currents we don't know about. I have a feeling we've been carried northward to the fog area. It's where the old ice cap used to be.”

“Oh.”

Conan swallowed, feeling suddenly helpless. He thought of the smoked fish, which was more than half gone, and their water, which was getting low.

“What—what do you think we'd better do?” he asked.

“Pray,” the old man said softly.

Dr. Manski snorted. She had said little all day, and had avoided argument for a long time. She had taken her regular turns at the tiller and proved herself a good sailor. Not once had she complained or admitted fear, even in the midst of a brief storm that had threatened to tear their craft to pieces.

But now she said harshly, contemptuously, “Pray to what? Those voices you hear?”

Teacher glanced at her and smiled. “Would you pray to a telephone, Doctor?”

“Eh? Telephone? Why do you answer me with such nonsense?”

“It isn't nonsense. A telephone is a connection between two people. The voice that sometimes gives me advice is also a connection. Perhaps it is a guardian spirit, or perhaps it is even my own spirit. Who knows? But it is a connection.”