this time and place.
The top of the sun was still visible above the line of the horizon, though it was a blurry glow. As Allander scanned the sea for approaching boats, a flash of movement in the hills behind Maingate caught his eye. A person, no larger than a dot, was plummeting from one of the cliffs, like a folded bird. Then, a small streak of black threaded out above the figure and exploded in a point of color that grew like a blot from a fountain pen. Allander realized that he was witnessing a parachute jump rather than a suicide. He found the sight captivating; it was like watching a painting unfold on the darkening canvas of the sky. He watched long after the jumper had disappeared into the trees below before turning his attention back to the Tower.
He crossed to the small guard station and foraged through its drawers until he found the first-aid box. He threw bottles over his shoulder and they shattered on the ground behind him. When he came to the procaine hydrochloride vial, he stopped.
The Maingate physician had insisted it be present in case emergency oral surgery were ever necessary for the guards; in addition to being a contained security unit, the Tower had to be a self-sufficient medical station.
Allander withdrew a needle from the small packet and fit it gently into a plastic syringe. He punched the needle through the rubber top of the vial and withdrew some of the liquid, then cleared the air from the syringe. A few drops squirted through, onto the floor.
Taking a deep breath, Allander inserted the needle into the tip of the ring finger on his left hand. He waited for the numbness to spread and settle. After a few minutes, he removed a scalpel from its sterile package and dipped it in the container of alcohol. Then he made a neat incision, cutting diagonally through his fingerprint.
Since the anesthetic had not fully taken effect, he felt a painful tingling in the pad of his finger, but feeling suddenly rushed for time, he continued. Using tweezers, he pried underneath the skin, grimacing as he saw his flesh rise along the straight line of the cut. The blood came and washed over the end of the tweezers until it obscured his view.
Once, he felt the tweezers close on something hard and he pulled gently, but when the tweezers emerged from the bloody gash, they held only fleshy material that looked like gristle. Allander hadn't anticipated that numbing the finger would have made it difficult for him to distinguish the location sensor from his own senseless tissue.
Beginning to lose patience, he pressed the tweezers in until they hit the bone. He applied too much pressure and they slid around the side of his finger next to his nail, pulling the flesh around and stretching the cut open. He heard a soft, metallic clink as the tweezers struck something distinctly alien, and he bit his lip in a mixture of pain and delight. Finally, working the tweezers around the metal, he withdrew the sensor, which was the size of a large pea. The flesh around the cut strained and whitened at the edges as he pulled the bloody orb through.
After pressing gauze to his wound, Allander wrapped it with medical tape, bandaging it thoroughly. Then he used the tape to affix the location sensor to the side of the Hole. It was close enough to its assigned location that the difference in position would not be detected from the mainland.
He began to move at a furious pace, sprinting back to the guard station. He opened the control box, ignoring the flashing lights and the warning stickers. Finding the knob labeled PUMPS, he turned it to DISENGAGE, then broke it off, flinging it out of the shed. It skidded across the top of the Tower and into the Hole. He found a pencil and jammed it in the hole where the knob had been, breaking it and lodging a small piece inside. That would be enough to hold them off until it was too late.
His finger was starting to hurt. Blood leaked through the gauze and tape, but he ignored it-he was almost done now. He turned back to the controls, finding the section labeled VENTS. As the pounding waves rose against the Tower's side, he pulled the levers, one by one. Twelve… Eleven… Ten… Nine. Level Nine was the lowest floor to have vents, but it was almost always underwater, so its vents had never been used. They jammed halfway open.
A torrent of water blasted down the Hole, dousing the inmates through their cages. It struck the bottom and roared upward, snarling and swirling about the prisoners. They screamed in terror, many of them running in circles, regarding their walls and ceilings with wild eyes.
Safran was knocked across his unit with the first blast of water. His head was smashed against the bed, caving in at the temple like a deflated basketball.
Tommy froze as the water rose under his feet, driving him up. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he rode the massive swell, his face striking the steel bars of his ceiling.
Allander rushed to the gaping mouth of the Hole and cried down: 'WELCOME HOME, MY LITTLE ONES! WELCOME HOME!' What he said, however, was lost to the inmates, drowned out by the roar of the water and their own screams. Allander scampered away from the edge of the Hole.
On Level Three, Mills roared in terror as he watched the river of water flow past his unit. He looked down at his feet and saw the seething mass of liquid rising toward him through the bars of the floor. It deluged Level Two now, and it would be only another few seconds before it reached him.
He seized the unit wall fiercely with both hands, his hairy fingers squeezing the bars. The water flew up, striking his bottom and groin, and he bellowed in pain. He did not release his grip, even as the water yanked his body from the ground. The void over his head filled, and he slowly pulled himself back down to a standing position beneath the ocean's roar. He finally opened his mouth, forced to inhale, and a peace spread through his body as his lungs drew the water inward.
Cyprus moaned and paced madly about his unit, feeling the walls and jumping to grab the ceiling bars and hold his body up off the ground.
Above him, Spade laughed and stepped on his hands. 'He got us, Aryan boy. He got us good,' he called down tauntingly.
Cyprus squealed in pain and fear and collapsed to the floor. The water appeared to be moving more slowly now. It rose from Level Eight and when Cyprus's feet got wet, he screamed as if they'd been touched by acid. He jumped onto his bed.
'Any chance?' he cried, his breath catching in his chest. 'Any chance it'll stop, that it'll level off? Come on, Spade, tell me. Tell me now. Oh, Jesus God.'
The water reached his bed and continued to rise, claiming his calves, then his thighs. Again he leapt up and grabbed the ceiling bars. And again, Spade placed one of his size-fourteen feet over both hands. Cyprus whimpered like a puppy.
'None at all, white boy. None at all. Maybe by the time it hits Level Ten, or maybe not. But you got no hope. No hope at all for Level Nine.' He smiled. 'And I'll be right here watching you go.'
He lifted his foot from Cyprus's hand, but this time Cyprus did not fall away. The water buoyed him until he was pressed against the ceiling. Spade sat clumsily on the floor, his legs spread so he could see Cyprus's face between them, and he watched as the water slowly covered Cyprus's frantic eyes. His blond hair flowed gracefully in the water, making him look like a distorted mermaid. He struggled against the bars, and as Spade's pants began to soak up water, Cyprus's breath left him in a bubbled cough. Sucking in painfully, he jerked about before drifting away from the ceiling.
Spade stood up and pulled off his shirt, throwing it into the corner. He sloshed over to his bed and sat, resting his chin on his fist, his black body sculpted and organic against the sterile steel bars. The water had slowed, but each wave pushed another gasp through the tenth-level vents into the Tower.
He looked at his hands. Opening and closing them, he flexed them before his face, his massive fists like sledgehammers. He watched until liquid flowed over them and then he stood to face the water. It rose over his bulging pectorals, then over his deltoids and trapezoids. Little bubbles clung to him as he felt his feet leave the ground. He welcomed the cold water flowing over his body. It had been a long drought.
He rose, treading water though barely moving, until his head struck the ceiling and stopped his ascent. 'Allander, my child,' he whispered, his voice a deep rumble. 'Allander, my child.' Water rushed over the smile that had formed on his lips, and a small funnel of air pushed into the water as he breathed from his nose. His glassy eyes did not blink as they went under.
By then, Allander was already off in the transport speedboat that had been loosely moored to the side of the Tower. As the water rose to Level Eleven, he used a pair of wire cutters to make a hole in the fence large enough to guide the speedboat through.
Breaking from the reflection of the Tower that rippled in the day's last light, Allander steered into open water. He buzzed toward the bleak glow at the horizon, nibbling from a cup of yogurt. The high tide rose to its peak, and
