A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

For the second time, Bradley was trying to save Marquette's life. For the second time...he was trying to save it after Marquette had attempted to take his.

But this was not the same Bradley Hunter. Before, he had been a young kid, just out of college, frightened, struggling for a way out of the insane situation in which he had found himself. He was much more, now: a man's man, strong, sure of himself, knowing...and he felt a responsibility, a pity even, for self-deluded fools such as Marquette. Bradley hadn't anticipated feeling this way, but it had come upon him and now he was, without thinking about it, accepting the sensation as a part of the gift that had brought him all that knowledge.

"Grab my arm!" shouted Bradley above the roar of the water.

"I can't!" Marquette cried, vainly struggling to hold onto the building promenade. The rush of water tore at his fingers: his head was beneath the water more than it was above.

Bradley's keen eyes judged the current; he poised, and dove into the water several yards upflow from Marquette.

The water was warm and red with the blood of the unfortunates who had been unable to leave the lower levels in time. What a shame, Bradley thought, that of all the people who needed saving, only this one...but he didn't complete the thought.

The current grabbed him immediately; with a mighty scissors kick he thrust himself to the surface. Marquette was approaching fast. Again Bradley held out his arm. "Grab it!" he yelled; but Marquette was frozen to his hold, face white. Soon the rising water would cover him. Bradley strained closer and clutched at Marquette's soaking robe with his fingers. "Let go, you fool!" The rushing water gave him no time but pulled him away, making him rip the soft cloth of Marquette's garment. Bradley managed to grab hold of the signpost of a small bakery. Cakes and loaves of bread floated out of the second-floor windows. Bradley was preparing to catch Marquette as he floated by, as he inevitably must, when he heard a new sound: It was very faint, all but masked by the sound of the torrent echoing through the dark canyons of the lower city. But Bradley could hear it: the cry of a child coming from the upstairs bakery windows.

He regretted leaving Marquette only a little. Hand over hand, Bradley crossed the signpost to the window and swam into the room.

Papers and baked goods floated all over; the water level was about three feet above the floor and Bradley was able to wade. He made his way into the hallway of the house and strained his ears, locating the room from which the noise was coming.

The floor shook suddenly as a new wave from the Sea of Waters struck the building. Bits of plaster fell, the water rose, and Bradley slipped into the submerged stairway. He struggled to regain his footing but suction from the water rushing by downstairs formed a whirlpool that tried to pull him in. His fingers held the corner of the wall but their wetness kept them slipping and Bradley wondered if he would be able to save even himself. He knew that that last shock must have dislodged Marquette and torn him away. He pictured Marquette's body, twisted, broken and marinated, and couldn't feel very sorry.

But the child—he couldn't hear its cries anymore! He put one hand at either edge of the stairway and pulled—! and came free—and ran into the child's room. It was an infant in her hammock, water pouring over her face. Bradley yanked her into the air and walloped her on the back; she coughed up the water and screamed healthy baby screams.

Bradley could only assume her parents had been downstairs when the water hit but there was no way they could be alive...he hoped he could save their daughter. He tore the hammock from its fastenings and tied it around his waist.

Carefully he hugged the wall of the hallway. The water was still rising but he backed into the front room untouched by the whirlpool.

"Hunter!" Bradley spun around at the unexpected scream to face a wild-eyed Marquette brandishing a piece of torn pipe. His animal look told Bradley he was long past reasoning. He was snarling and water or saliva dripped from his chin. He advanced. The end of that pipe was jagged and deadly-looking. Bradley had no place to put the baby, and there was now no way for him to spare Marquette's life. He let him get close enough, spun his foot into the air and deep into the madman's stomach. Marquette doubled up and received another kick, this time in the face. He collapsed into the dark water. Bradley waded to the window, holding the still-crying infant's head above the water. The torrent was rushing past faster than ever, carrying bodies and the effects of the people who had lived in this rodent-hole.

Bradley retied the hammock around his neck, placed the baby in it, slung the bundle around to his back and dove out the window.

Again the current took him and soon the bakery was far behind. It was all Bradley could do to escape being scraped against the walls of buildings when the street curved. At first he was afraid he might not be able to keep the baby out of the water but she was riding high on his shoulders and as long as she kept crying he would know she was all right.

Out of breath, Bradley was glad to see a platform up ahead. It had apparently been the roof of some small structure; there were some survivors standing on it and it looked firm. The current was heading him that way and it took only a few strokes to reach it; hands were extended and Bradley stood. His knees shook from the effort and sudden return of weight to his legs.

Survivors continued to climb aboard the rooftop but as more and more of them came along the structure began to shake and become overcrowded. The water was still rising, and Bradley knew that the next wave would destroy the platform. Better to leave now, he thought; still he hesitated, trying to catch as much breath as possible before returning to the liquid battle.

It was the suddenly increased roar that made Bradley pause before returning to the water. He strained his vision to peer down the dark street and his heart chilled at what he saw. Apparently Blessed had set off all the remaining explosions at once; for a tremendous wall of water was ripping straight for them!

The others on the platform saw the apparition also; without exception they leapt from the refuge in a frantic attempt to swim somewhere, anywhere, to get away from the white death advancing upon them. Now only Bradley remained, staring transfixed, his breath frozen in his throat.

—And someone had miscalculated. The towers of Shoorn were not quite so indestructable as thought. Beneath the fury of the trillions of gallons of sea water the stateliness of Kiri's capital city was falling. Bradley could hear the death-groans of the city's upper class even as he could hear those of the Lower City residents...even as he could feel it in his own heart. That terrible white wall was smashing its way up the street with the speed of an express train.

And then, a glint of light in the lower city, suspended before the mighty wave. Could it be—? Bradley was afraid to hope that she could be so foolish but it was her—Dawn! She was riding her fly-board, racing the wave up the street!

She didn't dare stop, even after she recognized him. She rocketed past as slowly as she could fly, yelling for him to jump on. A loop-the-loop overhead and then she was coming at him again. Bradley knew he would not have another chance. He hoped Dawn had a really tight grip on the reins. As she sailed alongside he was already running and then he leaped! and held on—he could feel the baby-bundle swing back at the sudden acceleration; he felt Dawn's arms strain and the board give under his added weight.

Somehow it all held together. Dawn pulled back on the control reins to gain altitude. Bradley risked a look behind him—and wished he hadn't. The wave was mere feet away from them! They had no leeway at all. Dawn's flying had to be flawless.

The dangers in maneuvering a fly-board in the lower levels was something like that of "shooting a pier" while surfing, on Earth. Various towers at various levels were connected by roads, catwalks and struts used for utilities pipes and wires; Dawn had to dodge all of them.

The board rose above the water; when they were safely above the city's towers Dawn turned the board around. The sight was dreadful. The ocean stretched out from the horizon right into the city. Shoorn's miles-high towers were crashing down, some falling from the water's undermining of their foundations, others collapsing after having been fallen upon. The fly-board was too high above for Bradley to see details, but he knew there were millions of people dying before his eyes. The high priests had done their job well. His arms around her, Bradley could feel Dawn shake with terror. It was her city, and it was dying.

Even the impenetrable Pyramid of Isis was crumbling around the edges. It had withstood the forces of man and nature for as long as anyone could remember, but it couldn't stand up to the force of an ocean beating at its side. Like a sand castle defying the high tide its wall began to melt away, revealing who-knows-what depths beyond.

In the silence imposed upon them by the sled's roar, they circled the city for half an hour. The water slowly disappeared into the depths of the city's canyons. There was a scum left on the foundations of the towers still standing, a scum made up of silt and blood, and of the mad schemes of Blessed, High Priest of Kiri.

The Northwest quarter of the city, where Dawn's apartment was, had suffered the least damage; most of the water's energy had dissipated by the time it got that far. Dawn was able to bring the board down on her terrace, which showed no reflection of the carnage two miles below.

With the fly-board switched off Dawn was able to hear the baby cry for the first time. Wordlessly she took the infant from the makeshift pack and held it. She stared at Bradley, first with wonder in her eyes, then with tears; and she turned and took the infant silently into the house.

Bradley gazed into the East at the rising sun and saw the gaping hole in the side of the Pyramid of Isis. It was hollow, it was artificial, and probably filled with great archaeological treasures...but it would have to wait. Bradley stumbled to the soft part of the terrace and sank gratefully into it.

He was asleep even before his eyes could close.