The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel (34 page)

While Cross waited for Fitzpatrick to get in place, Regan entered the chamber and walked straight to the light source. Cross’s eyes left us for a moment and followed her to the pedestal. Fitzpatrick’s elbow touched my ribs. He lifted a finger, then made an almost imperceptible motion toward the door. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed he wanted to make a run for it when the opportunity presented itself. I didn’t know how we could possibly get away, but we were going to die anyway.

Cross looked back at us. We haven’t moved a step. He moved slowly toward a pedestal, trying to keep one eye on us and one on the red light. When he’d gotten close, he leaned over to get a better view. Fitzpatrick nudged me. I turned and bolted through the door. Behind me, I heard a slamming sound and the same hydraulic hiss I’d heard before. Suddenly, Cross’ s gun went off, and I turned to see Fitzpatrick hit the floor as the door closed behind him. I rushed over to the old man. He was hurt badly.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here and get you to a doctor.”

Fitzpatrick looked up at me. “There is no need for a doctor. I’ll live long enough to fulfil my destiny.” “What do you mean?”

The old man gasped for breath. He didn’t have long. “I’m going to navigate the ship off the planet and destroy it. I have the explosive set. You must get off now, while you can.”

“You know how to fly this? How do you know it even works?”

Fitzpatrick smiled weakly. “Trust me, Tex. The power cell you retrieved from Roswell allowed me to regenerate the ship’s power. It will work.” “But you’re not gonna make it. Tell me what to do.”

The dying man gasped. The colour was training quickly from his face. “Find the sun symbol and press it. That will activate the navigational console. Then press V, Red, Left Half-Moon, 11, Triangle, Helix, Green, Right Half-Moon, X, Double Circle.”

Each word was more difficult to hear. On the word “Circle,” Fitzpatrick shuddered and exhaled loudly. He was dead.

I turned to the console, hoping that the dead man hadn’t passed on before completing the instructions. A gunshot rang out, and a bullet ricocheted off the console to my right. Cross had managed to get his gun barrel in the path of the door. It was wedged tightly and, luckily, it wasn’t pointed at me. Behind the door, Regan and Cross were yelling at each other. Cross’s fingers slipped through the gap and above the wedged gun.

I turned back and scanned the console wildly, looking for the sun symbol. In my head, I was repeating over and over: V, Red, Left Half-Moon, 11, Triangle, Helix, Green, Right Half-Moon, X, Double Circle. V R Moon E T H G Moon X Double Circle V R Moon E T H G Moon X Double Circle

I finally located the sun symbol and touched it. The console burst to life. When I pressed the V symbol, four coloured areas appeared. I touched the red spot. My eyes ran over the surface. What was next? I saw two half-moon symbols and pressed the left one. Try to remember. V, R, Moon, E. What was E? Eleven! Close by, I saw a figure of two parallel vertical lines and touched it. A whirring sound ensued. OK. V, R, Moon, E. Now T — Triangle, then H — helix. The to symbols worn the same section of the console. All right, so far, so good.

Now G, Moon, X, Double Circle. G for Green. I moved back to the four-colour display and touched the green spot. The whirring sound stopped. Behind me, I heard a metallic clang and spun around to see that Cross had widened the gap in the door. I moved back to the half moon symbols and touched the right one. The ship shuddered. What was the next symbol? My eyes ran over the console frantically. No, no, no…X! I pressed the X symbol. Finally, I needed to find the Double Circle. It was placed directly in the centre of the console, like a target. I pressed it and heard something mechanical kick in.

The second I touched the Double Circle, I raced to the hatch. A loud, hydraulic hiss hit me in stereo. The hatch was starting to close, and I was fairly sure that Cross had pried the door open at the same instant. With no time to lose, I vaulted through the hatch, down the steps and away from the spacecraft. A barely detectable humming escalated into a low roar. After several seconds, the ancient ship began to lift off. I watched it shoot straight up toward the sky. Higher and higher it rose, until I could no longer see it. I continued to stare skyward for several minutes. Suddenly, a white flash appeared, brighter than any light I’d ever seen. It filled the sky for several seconds. Then a massive boom echoed from above, shaking the very roots of the stone cavern. It was over.

Jackson Cross’s Black Avatar was hidden a short distance from where the spacecraft had been. I couldn’t find a second speeder and, after a quick search of the area, determined that Fitzpatrick must have been dropped off and that no one had stayed with him. My flight home, courtesy of the NSA, spoiled me for life with regard to speeder quality. To my everlasting regret, when I reached the States, I dumped the avatar and took a commuter flight back to San Francisco. Cross may have had his own agenda and been in Peru on private business, but I certainly didn’t want to start an ongoing feud with the NSA. Joyriding in one of their special vehicles would probably fall somewhere between an irritation and an outright breach of decorum.

After I returned, Elijah Witt paid me a visit. I filled him in on everything that happened in Peru, and we sorted out the rest of the details. Witt told me that Fitzpatrick had been one of the scientists at Roswell who’d figured out how to work the particle accelerator. His story of meeting Malloy in China was just a little fiction to disguise his Roswell connection. After the military had used his work to make the world a more toxic place, Fitzpatrick had felt solely responsible.

Apparently, Fitzpatrick had taken off for Peru last night, immediately after I left the Savoy. Witt had discouraged him from going alone, but the old man insisted. Fitzpatrick’s death wasn’t something to be mourned, Witt told me. He had died at peace with himself, having atoned for his self-perceived misdeeds.

Witt also helped me clear up the unanswered question of who had gotten the five boxes. My problem was that I’d been counting the box given to me by Regan and the box stolen from Ellis as two separate boxes, when they were actually one and the same. Malloy had never intended for Regan to receive a box. That meant that Ellis, Witt, Edsen, and Emily made up four of the five recipients. Witt informed me that Fitzpatrick had received the fifth box, which had contained the instructions for operating the Pandora Device and the set of symbols needed to activate the spacecraft. In the box, Malloy had also included a request that Fitzpatrick tell no one about the fifth box — not even the four other recipients — until after the Pandora Device had been assembled, since without the fifth box, the others were practically worthless. Witt said that Fitzpatrick had planned on telling me about the box when we were all together at the Savoy, but had changed his mind when Regan showed up. Fitzpatrick knew there were five boxes and six people claiming to have received one. He suspected Regan, but couldn’t be sure. He also was unsure how involved I was with her.

I was still curious about one other aspect of the case. Who was the mysterious caller who’d contacted me at the Twilight Lounge? I wondered whether it could have been Jackson Cross, posing as an anonymous friend to help me do his dirty work. Then I reconsidered. The first call had come very early on, before I ever met up with the NSA. To my surprise, when I asked Witt what he thought, he confessed to being the anonymous caller. He went on to say that he’d been in contact with Fitzpatrick ever since they received their respective boxes. Apparently, Witt had connections high up in just about every government agency, including the NSA. For no apparent reason, Witt said, Fitzpatrick was sure that I was the man they needed to find Malloy and track down the other boxes. Fitzpatrick asked Witt to help out. It had been Witt ‘s connections that had gotten me into Autotech and Roswell.

I asked Witt if he had allowed me to take the box from his mansion. Witt laughed and shook his head. He said that he didn’t know who I was until Fitzpatrick called while I was in the cellar. I apologised for violating his place and punching out his handyman, but he waved it off, saying that everything had worked out for the best. I also suggested that Witt try to let his niece get out a little bit more.

Witt was kind enough to write me a cheque to cover my expenses. After he left, I finally had time to reconsider all that had happened. Regan had played me for a sap, but I couldn’t help but feel pity for her. The promise of money had been too much. Maybe she was better off. If she’d survived, she’d have nothing to live for.

My thoughts turned to Chelsee. Louie told me that she was back in town, and I arranged to meet her at the Brew & Stew for a drink. The experience with Regan had taught me a few things. I was eager to tell Chelsee everything, including the fact that I decided the world was too ugly a place to live in alone.

Maybe now I was ready to try the love thing with her… if she was up to it.

“It’s sure good to have you back, Chelsee. Looks like your trip did you a world of good.”

She appeared radiant. Looking at her over my glass of bourbon, I felt a wave of depravity wash over me. Chelsee looked back at me serenely and smiled without an ounce of coyness. I wasn’t altogether certain that was a good thing. “Yeah, I just needed a little time to renew myself.”

Her tone of voice was strange. I’ve never been particularly perceptive where women are concerned, but I had the distinct impression that I was about to be told something I didn’t care to hear.

I decided that the best defence against rejection would be an aggressive defence. “Look, right off the bat, I want to say I’ve been a real schmuck. You know me, most of the time I wouldn’t know a good thing if it walked up and punched me in the face. Which has happened on occasion, incidentally.”

Chelsee smiled indulgently. “Tex?”

“Hold on, I’ve been practising this speech. I have to tell you, while you were gone, I was tempted by another woman. I know, it’s hard to believe. I turned her down, but it got me thinking. And everything that’s happened since you left has made me look at things differently. Maybe I’m ready to have a real life and settle down. I hope you’re still willing to give me a shot.” I’d laid it on the line, and I was God-awful sincere. If my self-deprecating humour and down-home charm didn’t do the trick, I was a goner.

Chelsee had apparently gone through some kind of Tex rehab programme. “Tex… sweetheart… I had a lot of time to think when I was in Phoenix — and I came to the conclusion that I got a little ahead of myself.”

A dull ache appeared behind my navel. Chelsee compounded it by using diplomacy. “Turning thirty may have caused me to be a little rash.”

Make her laugh, Murphy. “No, Chelsee, it was me who was a little rash. One of those red, itchy ones.”

Chelsee smiled, somewhat sadly. “It’s not you, Tex. It’s just well, I came to the realisation that I’m just too demanding and finicky for any normal man.”

I dug down for one last-ditch volley. “You think I’m normal?”

Chelsee disregarded my last gasp. “I’d always be asking too much, like wanting you to be totally reliable. I value our friendship — it’s something I don’t want to spoil.”

Oh, the ugly “F” word. Well, one of them. Just like that, she drove the dagger of rejection deep into my chest.

“I can’t bear the pain of being friends, Chelsee. I want to be your whipping boy, not your pal.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” She slid a business card across the table. “Anyway, that’s why I signed up for this Holo-Date service. No hassles, no commitment.”

I had no idea what Chelsee was talking about. I picked up the card and looked it over.

Tired of meat markets, blind dates, and neurotic surprises? Try our brand-new Holo-Date Service: For virtual companionship and computer-generated romance.

This seemed so unlike Chelsee.

“Holo-Dating? Never heard of it.”

“It just started up… it’s the perfect solution.”

A movement outside the window caught Chelsea’s attention. A smile flickered on her lips, then she turned back to me. “Speaking of perfect, here’s my date.”

Oh, this was going to be good. I was going to meet Chelsea’s perfect man. Talk about an inferiority booster. The door to the Brew & Stew opened, and I turned nonchalantly. My jaw dropped slightly as Cary Grant looked around. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chelsee wave. Cary caught sight of her, pointed and smiled suavely. Chelsee was beaming.

From behind me, I heard that voice. “Hello, Chelsee. Are you ready, darling? We’d better hurry, the Haagen Dazs is melting.” for

Chelsee picked up her things and tossed me a cavalier smile.

I looked back at her, more than a little resentful. “Look, I’ll admit he’s handsome, and seems pretty authentic, but he’s just not real.”

Chelsee slung her purse over her shoulder and slipped her arm into Cary’s. “Tell me, Tex. What Is?”

I returned to my office at an all-time low. Not only had I lost Chelsee to a computer projection, but I was out of work again. As my Great-Aunt Rita would have said, at least I had my health. And I was caught up on my rent. With Witt covering my expenses, I’d be all right for a while. Maybe I needed to take a trip, get over Chelsee. Or maybe I just needed to meet another woman. God! What was I thinking?

I looked down at the business card Chelsee had left me at the Brew & Stew. Maybe I should just call this Holo-date place. Only a pathetic loser would go out with a hologram. I thought it over for a minute, then punched in the number. After several rings, God himself appeared on screen. Bogie.

“Holo-Date service. Here’s looking at you, kid. What’s your pleasure?”

I was tongue-tied. I knew it was a hologram, but the authenticity was overwhelming. “Well, I… uh, don’t know. I’ve never called before.”

“Tell you what, kid. Let me know who the dame of your dream is, and we’ll go from there.”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “Well, I’ve always had this thing for Jayne Mansfield. And Brigitte Bardot comes in a close second.”

Bogie flashed me his dog-eared grin. “I like your style, kid. And this is your lucky day. Since its Tuesday, we have the two-for-one special. When should we send ‘em over?”