chance to find out where the map is. And even that looks slim.'
Tracy nodded to Eric. 'Look, none of this concerns us. Shouldn't we be getting the hell out of here?'
'Absolutely.' He nudged Blackjack ahead of them out onto The Runway, glancing over his shoulder at the seated unarmed guards. 'There's no point in following us yet. It'll just make us nervous and put the doctor here in more jeopardy.' Having said that, he ushered Blackjack and Tracy across the room, knowing they'd be followed all the way. Tracy used the spear as a cane, limping and hopping painfully. Every few steps they stopped for her to catch her breath.
Outside the Long Beach Halo, the sun was beginning to rise, bright and cheerful on the rest of the world. Inside the Halo, sunrise was distinguished by smoky orange fingers creeping over the horizon like a skin infection.
As they walked, guards posted at the broken glass openings turned their weapons on the trio, only to be waved back by Blackjack. Eric noted Belinda and the other guard following at a discreet distance. Both had rearmed themselves along the way.
The Runway led straight to the elevator. Around the corner was an exit sign and door marked STAIRS.
'Through here,' Eric said.
Blackjack shook his head. 'What's the point? Your canoe is back at the other end. We'll give it to you. Believe me, right now I'll be happy just to see you two paddling away.'
'What's to stop you from putting a bullet or arrow in our backs then?'
'What for? Why waste the ammunition?'
'I don't know. Pride, maybe. You're pirates, remember?'
Tracy watched the exchange without comment. She knew Eric had something on his mind and they wouldn't leave until he'd been satisfied. And apparently that meant her hobbling up the stairs.
They pushed through the door, Tracy bracing herself on the railing holding the.38 on Blackjack while Eric jammed the spear against the door, keeping the others outside.
'You're wasting your time,' Blackjack said, his voice echoing in the stairwell. 'There's nothing interesting up there.'
'Then why aren't some of your people living up there?'
'The roof has holes in it. We'd all die of exposure.'
'Sounds reasonable. Let's check it out.'
Tracy pulled herself along the railing, taking each step with great difficulty. Eric wrapped his arms around her waist and boosted her along. They both glanced over the railing, down the stairwell, and saw the cold dark water only half a story below.
Blackjack walked in front of them, his long legs comfortably taking two steps at a time.
'Not so fast,' Tracy said, rapping the gun butt on the railing to get his attention. They could hear the door below them rattling as the guards tried to force it open.
Blackjack waited nervously for them as Eric lifted Tracy up the last few steps. Thick drops of sweat rolled down her face from the effort, dripped from her chin and nose. The hip wound had started to bleed again.
Downstairs the sharp crack of splintering wood echoed up the stairwell. The mop-handle spear shattered and the door banged open.
'You first,' Eric gestured to Blackjack. The doctor reached for the door to the top floor, twisted the handle, and pulled it open.
Footsteps clattered against the metal steps like prisoners rattling tin cups on bars.
The three of them shoved through the door into the top floor, locking the door behind them.
Tracy looked around with awe, spinning on her one good leg, her mouth hanging open. 'Impossible,' she said, shaking her head.
Eric stared, a small smile tugging at his lips.
'How did you do all this?' Tracy finally asked.
'Hard work.'
Eric smiled. 'I thought you were a pirate?'
'I am,' Blackjack said.
'According to this,' Eric circled one hand as if he were twirling a lasso, 'you're more of a farmer.'
'Looks can be deceiving.'
They walked slowly down the long rows while beefy shoulders slammed into the locked door, trying to bash it in.
The entire floor had been reconstructed into one giant room, and that one room was now a full greenhouse. The roof had been chipped and chiseled away, then recovered with glass and plastic awkwardly patched together in a bizarre mosaic. Yet it accomplished its task, providing protection against the cold ocean wind while allowing the orange sunlight to pour into the room.
The room itself was flourishing with greenery, thick with foliage, and heavy with the rich musky smell of moist soil. Row after row of sandboxlike partitions lined the room, each sprouting different plants. Tomatoes, squash, potatoes, even orange and lemon trees. Against the far wall were ten towering water tanks, each the size of a large hospital elevator.
Eric kneeled beside one of the boxes and snatched a bulging tomato from a stem. He polished it against his shirt, then tossed it to
Tracy with a grin. She caught it, immediately biting into it. Red goo and slimy seeds squirted across her cheeks, but she didn't care. She chewed with her eyes closed like an adolescent girl imagining a romantic interlude with her favorite movie star. Before she'd finished chewing her first bite, she bit off another mouthful. Tomato innards dripped onto her pants. 'God, we're back in Eden at last,' she said with her mouth stuffed full. 'I knew there'd been some bureaucratic mix-up the first time.'
Eric plucked another ripe tomato for himself and ate it in three bites. He was still chewing the last mouthful when the door exploded off its hinges and a dozen armed guards burst into the room, their weapons swinging toward him.
'What exactly do you want to know?' Blackjack asked.
Eric tapped the barrel of his.38 against his palm. What indeed?
The three of them were sitting back in Blackjack's cubicle, the ratty beach towel with the faded surfer on it flapped down to provide a little privacy. Outside the cubicle, a dozen armed guards stood milling around, waiting to hear Eric use the gun on their leader or to see him just keep waltzing up and down the stairs with a gun to Blackjack's head.
'How'd you go about construction? That's the biggest damn greenhouse I've ever seen.'
Blackjack held up his hands and shook his head. 'Let's get that straight right now, man. I had nothing to do with its conception or construction. Had I been around here then I'd have told them they were all nuts. But the guy who brainstormed it was a skinny guy named Daniel Loeb. Used to be an engineer for Fluor Corporation, then ditched the whole thing to join the Peace Corps back in the 'sixties. Remember back then when everybody thought they could actually make a difference? Well, ol' Daniel Loeb was the kind of guy who didn't know the 'sixties ended more than fifteen years ago. He completely missed the Me Decade.' Blackjack pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk.
Eric's fist immediately pushed the gun toward Blackjack's head. 'Careful.'
'Hey, easy, man. No weapons.' He dipped his hand into the bottom drawer that once held Shirley Pinto's note pad, extra staples, a box of floppy disks for her IBM word processor, the latest James Michener novel which she read over lunch, a container of diet pills to help her drop fifteen pounds so she could fit into her swimsuit by summer, and an extra pair of Leggs pantyhose because she lived in mortal fear of running hers and having the other girls laugh at her. On the way home from the first quake, she stopped to help an elderly couple who shot her in the face and stole her Datsun.
When Blackjack's hands reappeared, they were clutching three small oranges the size of tangerines. He grinned, juggled them for a
minute, then reeled each in, tossing one each to Tracy and Eric, keeping the third for himself. 'Home grown,'
