"Blizzard V"
A short story by James McGowan
5500 words

	Schoodic felt the first impulse as it swept across the city.  From where we was, hiding in a piece of parkland in the upland area of the city, he could see the lights flicker all through the spawn of habitat bubbles clinging to the rock face below him.  Even through the murk of two klicks of inky seawater, the city lights twinkled like morning stars.  The sight was not comforting.  He was in a strange city, far from safety.  It would be hard enough to get back to Ridge, but now the DeepVee convoy was coming, the place would be crawling with yellowsheen militia.  Where the quake fitted in, he had no time to ponder.

	"So, it’s coming, Nib, you were right.  That story was bogus."

	"In a way, you are lucky.", the small wristset vibrated.  "The city is shaken by this turn of events.  There is widespread panic.  The official story is bad enough, nobody wants a radioactive digger ship in their back yard.  They can’t hide the truth after that impulse.  Reports of rioting in Down, the yellowsheens are out in force in that area.  If not for that, you’d have been caught before now."

	"Any further reports about what it is?"

	"Nothing from official sources.  DeepVee news broadcasts are still spinning the contaminated digger story.  The Agency reports from DeepVee have ceased, agents have missed reporting periods.  The Agency is convinced they have been captured.  The last agent report said that all digger activity has stopped, not just in DeepVee, but all along the Trench."

	"Trench is too deep, too far away.  They could be doing anything and we can’t see damn thing!"  Schoodic glanced around the parkland for sign of anyone, but not a soul stirred.  "So what was that quake?  I thought it might pull the whole of Blizzard off the rock."

	"The pulse of energy was not merely electromagnetic in nature.  I monitored your vitals during the 350 milliseconds of the impulse."

	"That long?  It didn’t feel like it."

	"You were momentarily unconscious."

	"I was?  I saw the light flicker in the domes further down the rock - I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it."

	"There was an electromagnetic pulse lasting 150 milliseconds followed by a 200 millisecond pulse of unknown energy which rendered you unconscious.  Whatever DeepVee are bringing to Blizzard, it isn’t a digger, Burl."

	"And I sure as hell do not want to be anywhere near these bubbles when that bathos docks."  He thought for a moment.  "They must have discovered Trantor by now, and they will think I killed him.  I need a yellowsheen fast.  This bluesheen marks me out as a stranger here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this panic-stricken mob don’t have themselves some good old-fashioned lynchings before this night’s through."

	"Affirmative."  The wristset buzzed under his blue sleeve.  Schoodic decided to move out.

	The parkland area marked out this district as rich.  In a collection of interconnected bubbles 2000 metres under the ocean surface, space was at a premium, and Schoodic thought it unforgivable that not a soul stirred in the pleasant evening.  But since his blue lycra-polymer sheen oversuit designated him as a foreigner, he would not shed too many tears over his solitary position.  He made his way towards the quiet residential walkway.

	Nibelung hummed under his blue cuff.  "There are no sheen stockists open at this time.  Your Shelver uniform is not a desirable mode of dress in the current situation."

	Schoodic grinned.  Nibelung had a mirthless sense of humour; he suspected it had been programmed that way.

	"Well, where am I going to get a yellowsheen?  There’s no way I can get back to the Shelf dressed as a Shelver, and not as Burlington Schoodic, wanted for the murder of a leading Blizzard politician."

	"I am still working on that one, Burl.  There is nothing in the newscasts concerning Trantor.  If we can locate an available yellowsheen quickly, there is chance we can be halfway back to the Canari Shelf before his body is discovered.  I’m running through possible ways to get a suitable sheen.  I’ll buzz you when I’m through."

	Schoodic hadn’t been prepared for this.  Officially, he was here to recover from a decompression accident off the coast of Africa, and Schoodic had been happy to play the part of the convalescing tourist while doing the dirty on behalf of the Shelf Agency with notable public figures all over Ridge.  He hadn’t been prepared for Trantor, though.

	Philip Trantor, well-known venture capitalist and playboy of casinos over half the sea bed.  Not the sort of man who would stumble across town in a bloody shirt and hammer on the hotel room door of a dubious Shelf contact.  Schoodic was no doctor.  There was nothing he could have done; blood was flowing from both ears, and Trantor had been half-dead when he arrived.  By the time Schoodic left the hotel, Trantor had slipped from delirium to coma, but before he had stopped gasping, he had told Schoodic enough to make him scared for his life.  It was coming.  It was coming to Blizzard.

	"Nib?", Schoodic had an idea.  "I think I may know where to get a yellowsheen not far from here.  It’s not a sure bet, so keep looking."  The wristset vibrated softly in response.

	Schoodic tried to look inconspicuous as he strode along the well-kempt residential street.  Up was the part of town where the lawyers, bankers and successful criminals chose to have their home.  At every step he expected the mind-numbing rumble of the mind impulse to hit him, but it didn’t come.  He had covered the distance to the airlock at a good pace, and he looked around as he passed under the 20 meter steel archway  which separated the two bubbles, which could slam down in less than a second if a bubble was ruptured.

	The area in this next bubble was still in the salubrious Up section, but was more heavily residential than the park bubble he had been hiding in.  He quickly passed an incongruous selection of mock Tudor mansions, ranch-style farmhouses, and ultra-solar whitewall palaces.  Schoodic wondered why rich people seemed to have such little imagination.  He counted the houses until he came to a Mediterranean whitewashed villa complex with mandatory palm trees.  He grinned: Gumby would be pleased to see him.  Hopefully he wouldn’t.

	Schoodic walked up the pathway, glancing over his shoulder at the spectacular view though the transparent bubble of the rest of Blizzard clinging to the rock face.  As he approached the front of the low building, its white walls glowing in the dimmed evening light of the solar source two hundred metres above, Schoodic scanned the place for a way in.  The building was surrounded by a fake ancient colonnade of blistering whitewashed columns which gave him somewhere to squat while assessing his next move.

	The villa belonged to John Gumby, ex African Shelf politician during the Med Drainage Crisis.  He had been in need of some political assistance from Schoodic during those months, on a little job which would never be traced back to him.  Schoodic had been well paid for his efforts, but he felt that Gumby owed him the favour of a yellowsheen in his hour of need.  Not that Gumby would agree, but Schoodic wouldn’t give him the chance.  With a bit of luck Schoodic would be in and out before Gumby knew the sheen was gone.

	"Burl?" Nibelung buzzed.  "I have exhausted all possibilities for obtaining a suitable yellowsheen, and the most likely solution is to break into a residence and... steal one."

	"Sounds like good thinking to me, Nib.  No audio output for a while... I’m going to be busy."

	Schoodic made his way along the open colonnade, eyeing the dark windows in case there was someone inside.  The passage ended at the corner of the house, and Schoodic backed along the side of the house, hoping to stumble across an open window.  As he neared the back of the house, he could hear laughing, a woman’s voice, and splashing: someone was in the pool, and it didn’t sound like Mrs. Gumby.

	Crouching behind neat potted plants, Schoodic scanned the pool area.  The place was fantastic; the garden was formed around a small hill which looked as if it was original ridge rock: his pool was built right into the ridge.  A volcanic vent heated the water at the top, from where it flowed down through lavishly planted rockery to a steaming white-tiled pool in the shape of a succession of larger circles.  Gumby sat in a bubbling volcanic pool with a young brunette twenty years his junior, a drinks server floated in the pool next to them, and they sounded as if they had been drinking for quite some time.  There seemed to be nobody else around, no bodyguards.  Perhaps Gumby wanted privacy.

	Gumby’s yellowsheen was draped across a garden bench, along with the youg lady’s.  Now if Schoodic could just get to it unseen, he could be away.  From the way the young lady was draped around Gumby’s flabby torso, it looked as if he would have little use for clothes that night.  If Gumby was suitably distracted, he might be able to get crawl to the bench which was halfway between the poolside and the plants Schoodic was hiding behind.

	There was no time like the present.  Schoodic kept low, and began to crawl commando-style towards the pool.  It was the longest twenty metres he had ever travelled, but he had made it to the relative safety of the painted iron garden bench, which effectively hid him from the pool.  After a moment’s rest, Schoodic began tugging on the yellow lycra oversuits which were embraced on the bench, slowly, every so slowly.

	"Up!"

	Schoodic froze.  A projectile pistol was at his ear.  Projectiles were banned in Ridge, since accidental firing could puncture the bubbles.  Schoodic groaned inwardly.  He had been stupid to imagine Gumby would have no guards.  He got to his feet.

	"Well, well, well..."  Gumby had discarded his guest.  "Burlington Schoodic, what in hell...?"

	"He was trying to steal your sheen, Mr. Gumby.  I had been following him since the cameras picked him out at the gate.  Shall I search him?"

	"Very good, M’bonwa.  Yes, search him for weapons and then bring him over here."

	M’bonwa frisked him with some sort of metal detector and then pushed the gun into Schoodic’s back to get him moving.  "He isn’t carrying any weapons, Mr. Gumby."

	Gumby poured himself another drink.  "Put your hands down, Schoodic.  I trust you won’t try to get away.  You’ll notice the gun that M’bonwa is carrying.  Not Ridge issue.  It would be a quick death, but messy to clean up."

	"And difficult to explain to the yellowsheens, I would imagine."  Schoodic would just have to play this by ear.

	"I wouldn’t worry about that."  Gumby climbed out of the pool, and dried himself off.  "Janette, maybe you should go inside for a while.  We’ll continue our evening later, after we have dealt with our visitor here."  The girl took a towel and glided into the house.

	"Nice girl," Schoodic said.  "You really should introduce us sometime."

	Gumby smiled dryly.  "OK Schoodic.  What are you doing here?"

	"Believe me Gumby, I want to be as far from this place as I can get."

	Gumby took up his drink.  "I hear you killed Trantor.  Nice work.  I never liked that slimy gigolo anyway."

	"Trantor was dying when he got to my room.  I didn’t kill him."

	"No matter.  I’ll let the yellowsheens decide that."

	Schoodic groaned inwardly.  "So you’re going to hand me over?"

	Gumby grinned.  "I have to.  I’m a respectable citizen of Blizzard V, and I have to abide by the laws."

	"And what if I was to tell them about the little job I did for you back on Shelf.  Political assassination is a crime even here."

	"That was a long time ago, and on Dryland.  Anyway, I think I can say that my friends in the yellowsheen militia would not believe a man who broke into my grounds and shot a young lady who was visiting..."

	"I didn’t shoot anybody."

	"It can be arranged.  Janette is a lovely creature, but the seabed is full of lovely creatures.  I would miss her terribly, of course..."

	"You bastard.  All I want is a yellowsheen and I’ll never be back to this godforsaken bubble.  Believe me, I don't want to be here when that diggership docks..."

	"So Trantor did get to you alive.  That is very unfortunate.  And what exactly did he tell you?"

	"Not a lot. He said that the diggers on one of the DeepVee Trench excavations had found - an artifact - buried in the seabed.  It’s been there millions of years, obviously disturbed by the subduction of the seabed in the Trench near DeepVee.  There is something wrong with it, something dangerous.  He just said that it is coming.  And it is going to be bad."

	Gumby nodded.  "M’bonwa, take him down to the lawn, and kill him.  And please, no projectiles, they do leave a mess on the grass."

	"But..."  Schoodic’s eyes darted around for some means of escape.

	"Goodbye Schoodic, you really were a useful fellow to know at one time.  I hope you appreciate the..."

	And then the impulse struck, harder than before.

	Schoodic pitched forward into the pool.  His brain was expanding and curling back on itself.  His eyes seemed out on stalk, twisting around each other.  His hindbrain was a single multicoloured scream as he fell into a swirling chasm of despair...

	He broke the surface, and floated.  Some time passed.

	He opened his eyes.  Nibelung was a shrill buzz.  "Burl!  Burl!  Wake up!"

	He swam drunkenly to the side and rested on the steps, a volcanic stream lapping at his side.  Gumby lay sprawled on the poolside, blood trickled from his ear.  M’bonwa was bundled on the bench.

	"Nib, I’m... awake...."  He closed his eyes and moaned.  "What the hell happened?"

	"Another impulse.  Much more powerful.  The bathos is getting closer."

	"How long before it gets here?"

	"No more than an hour.  It seems that falling in the water was the only thing that saved you from an extended period of unconsciousness.  Water appears to blunt the effects."

	"So what’s going to happen when it docks?  Everyone on Blizzard will need a lobotomy if it makes air to air contact with this base.  Look at them."

	"Obviously, the government has other priorities.  It will dock.  And I would recommend not being here when it does."

	He bound Gumby and M’bonwa with the cords from dressing robes he found by the pool.  They were still unconscious, Gumby’s injury was external, a gash to the side of he head sustained when he fell.  There was no sign of the girl, Schoodic presumed she was lying inside the house somewhere.  No time to check.

	He took up Gumby’s yellowsheen, but realized that M’bonwa was more his size:  Gumby had gotten flabby in recent years.  The African bodyguard’s sheen slipped off his athletic physique with ease.  Schoodic zipped up and threw his bluesheen in the pool.  He picked up M’bonwa’s projectile gun.  Too risky, especially if he was going to be passing through Ridge customs.  He threw it in the pool too.

	"Nibelung.  Does Gumby have a car?  It might be quicker."

	"There is no record of one in the central computer.  I don’t sense any vehicle beacon nearby."

	"No matter.  It’s less than an hour to Down from here on foot."

	"In any case, I have tapped into the Down cams, and it looks as if the streets are strewn with people.  It seems most people were hit by the impulse.  If you hurry, you may get to the bathysport before they wake and the riots start again."

	Nibelung had been right.  Once out of the Up residential area, Schoodic started to see the people.  Slumped on the pavements, in doorways.  And the cars, most of them still in the road with their engines running, running the batteries down.  Some of the cars had crashed, Schoodic was sure there would be casualties, but he had no time to spare.

	As he passed the refining plant on the outskirts of Down, he noticed some people recovering.  The plant tapped volcanic vents in the side of the Ridge for their chemical-rich flows, and also gleaned power for the city from thermocouple generators buried deep in the Ridge.  It was still running, its process mostly automatic.  He could have run inside and taken a handful of extracted gold or platinum while they all slept, but he had not time to search out where it was kept.  And people were waking.

	It had taken longer than he had thought to get to Down, but at last the large floodlit airlock of the bathysport loomed ahead.  He quickened his pace.  Most people were awake, and some sort of military rule was in place; the port entrance was teeming with yellowsheens.  Schoodic decided not to go straight up to the port entrance; he would stay and watch for a while.

	He positioned himself outside a food place, directly across from the post entrance.  This intersection marked the centre of Down, and was usually the busiest place in Blizzard.  On a normal day it would be packed with tourists gathered around the hot vent geyser in the centre of the square getting photographed.  The geyser wasn’t attracting much attention this evening, and the cafe he was standing beside wasn’t doing much business.  This was lucky, he had a clear view across the street, across the square, to the port.  The geyser was dormant, and the water of the pool was still, although there was a slight tremor due to heat.

	As Schoodic watched, the guard was doubled on the port door.  A cordon of yellowsheen militia passed and was debriefed near the entrance.  Schoodic wished he was in earshot.  Something was up.  Maybe they had found Trantor, or maybe Gumby had got free sooner than he had hoped, but he had bound him well enough.  He watched a young lady walking dazed through the square, and it came to him: the girl, Janette.  She must have freed him.  Damn.

	He’d have to try to get through to the bathosport soon, before the convoy from DeepVee arrived carrying that thing.  He hoped that the scheduled subs were still allowed to leave for the Shelf, and he badly wanted to be on one.  No time like the present.

	He strode confidently across the square, skirting the geyser pool, towards the bathosport entrance.  The yellowsheens eyed him as he approached; he could see about eight of them.  He strode up to the turnstile, allowing the full body reader to get an identity scan from his yellow sheensuit.  The green light pulsed, he was processed and ready to go through.

	As he passed the guards at the gate, one of them grabbed his arm.  "Mr. M’bonwa, excuse me.  Could you explain why your data picture is that of an African?"  He pointed to the screen, which showed the tall, athletic-looking bodyguard.  Schoodic groaned as the guards closed around him.

	The impulse.  It could save him.  He could run out into the square and plunge into the searing geyser water, and lose himself...

	But it never came.  Two guards held him firmly, as he was frisked for weapons.

	The video screen guard, was tapping furiously.  "Burlington Schoodic.  Silent alert for the murder of Ridge citizen Philip Trantor.  Considered dangerous.  We’ve caught a live one here..."

	"Pass on through civilian."  The voice from the bathysport was not loud, but carried an air of authority.  "Captain, please let this man get on."  A radio amplified voice.

	The group turned.  A cordon of purplesheens with huge projectile rifles were clearing the foyer of the bathysport.

	The yellowsheen guard was shaken.  "You can’t bring those guns in here... we... we..."

	The purplesheen guard simply pointed at the double metallic stripes around his chest.  Even this far from DeepVee jurisdiction, his rank was enough to scare the non commission yellowsheens into submission.  "I am C.O. Alvarez, these men here are simply ensuring that our cargo will not be met with any... resistance.  We have the full backing of the Ridge government, if you care to check.  Do not be alarmed at the strange helmets we are wearing, they simply protect us from the.. uh... radiation effects of our cargo.  Now please clear through this civilian quickly."

	"But sir, he is a wanted fugitive..."

	"Listen, this operation is far more important than some petty misdemeanour, now... pass him through, mister.  That is an order."

	That jarred with the guard.  Under ordinary circumstances he might have stood and argued the toss with the purplesheen officer, after all, this was Ridge, not Trench.  Trenchers were the outsiders here, officer or not.  But things had been strange these past few hours, and his captain hadn’t reported for duty.  As acting officer for the cordon, he could not take responsibility for disobeying the direct command of a sea-bed officer, purplesheen or otherwise.

	"OK, Schoodic.  Run, don't walk, to Departure Bubble Two.  Get on that sub and don’t ever show your face on Blizzard again, you hear?"

	Schoodic shook free of the guards.  "Don’t worry, you won’t catch me on this piece of rock again."

	"And we will be filing for damages.  Trantor’s estate will demand it.  Get going."

	Schoodic shuffled across the foyer towards the departure bubbles.  As he went, he watched the DeepVee guards shooing people through the entrance, and moving furniture to the edge of the room.  The guards at the entrance were being ordered around by the purplesheens.

	Schoodic wondered what the helmets were.  He had never seen such headgear before.  Like fishbowls filled with blue gel, the wearer was breathing through some sort of mouthpiece, and wearing goggles.  They looked extremely fragile, hardly military issue.  The guns certainly were military issue.  High velocity projectile rifles, banned on Ridge and Shelf for fear of bubble puncture.  It was a strange paradox that the deepest colonies of all, the Trench bases, allowed projectiles within their cities.  But DeepVee, and the other Trench bases were so deep, that their walls had to hold back miles of ocean.  So they were built thick, too thick for puncture.  But here, the bubbles of Ridge and Shelf could be punctured in a flash if anyone should misfire.

	His chance to get back to Ridge, at last.  He would be in trouble, of course.  The Agency couldn’t really interfere with due legal process.  But the punishment would be mitigated, it always was.  Schoodic had no fears about Trantor’s relatives suing him, or any sort of extradition attempt.  Although both technically part of the Atlantic Seabed Alliance, there was no love lost between the Shelf and Ridge governors.  Paperwork would be lost.  He’d be fine.  He’d be in jail, but it would be a Shelver jail, or a Dryland jail.  Better.

	The next sub for Canari Shelf was due to arrive from the sub silo in a few minutes.  A call to the front office back on Shelf secured his ticket.  He was ready to go, no luggage, no papers, but he’d deal with that back in the relative safety of the Shelf.  He relaxed on a bench in the departure bubble.

	Some time passed.  The soft tone signalled that the airlock door was about to be cycled, and Schoodic pulled himself to his feet and approached the door.

	As it opened, Schoodic lurched forward, eyes almost closed, only to be rebuffed by two more purplesheens.  One of the guards signalled to him.  "Get back Ridger, this is not your sub.  It’ll be along in a moment.  Get back."

	Schoodic stumbled back as a half-dozen more Trencher guards escorted a cargo trolley through the airlock.  Glancing inside, he saw what must have been a hundred or more of the blue-gel helmets, neatly stacked, ready to go.  The guards
retreated into the docked sub again, leaving the helmets unattended.

	This was it.  Should he sit down, get on the next transport sub and live life happily ever after on Canari Shelf?  Or should he risk stealing one of these strange helmets.  They must have something to do with the approaching entity, and the mind impulses.  Shelf would be grateful to him for bringing one of these back, it might make the difference between a spell in jail and a community punishment.

	Schoodic ran his hand over one of the helmets in the open cart.  He lofted one up in his hand, feeling its weight, ready to drop it immediately if the guards returned.
If these purplesheens wore them, even in the fresh air, they must protect them against something else.  The radiation from whatever they were carrying?  Did it make them immune to the impulse?  He broke the osmotic seal with his hand and waves his fingers in the blue gel.  If plain water dulled the effects of the mind impulse, perhaps this blue gel...

	The guards were returning.  Schoodic, curled the helmet under his arm and made his way to the far end of the bubble, crouching out of view of the returning guards.  He slithered along the far wall, hiding the helmet behind his body as best he could.  His free hand found a door fob, and before he thought about it, he was inside a dark utility cupboard, peering out through a grille at the departure bubble foyer.

	The cargo trolley was wheeled through to the main bubble, escorted by four purplesheens.  The DeepVee escort sub left.  Another dozen or more guards, with bubble helmets and projectile rifles were posted around the departure bubble as the transport sub to Shelf arrived, waited to allow some frantic looking tourists to board, then left.  The soldiers made a cursory scan around the departure bubble, and closed it down, switching the lights out as they left.

	Schoodic waited for a long time.  His chance to escape Blizzard had gone.  The convoy from DeepVee was nearly here.  There would be no more transports back to Shelf, at least until it was over.  He cracked the seal on the cupboard door and wandered out into the dark quiet departure bubble.  There were guards at the seal which connected the departure bubble to the main bathosport foyer, but they had their backs to him, and he could see past them into the brightly lit foyer.  The darkness hid him.  Yellow sheensuits  mingled with the purplesheens: Ridge governors.  Something big was happening.

	After a period of anxious silence, an announcement came over the tannoy.  "Helmets on.  Helmets on.  This will be the only warning.  Ensure goggles are in position.  Once the helmet is on blow through the mouth regulator to clear your respiratory system."  Schoodic watched as the assembled guards helped the Ridgers put the blue-gel helmets on.  Time to do the same.

	The osmotic seal split under any intense pressure it would not let the gel flow out the bottom, but it would let a hand in, creating a perfect seal around any object as it crossed the barrier.  He detached the goggles from a pouch on the side of the helmet and put them on.  Quickly, he pulled a split apart with two hands, swung the helmet up and squeezed his head through the split before it had time to close up.  There was a moment of shock as the gel ran into his nose and ears, but he located the mouthpiece and after a quick blow, he was relieved to feel that he could breathe naturally through his mouth. The world looked colder through the gel.

	The double doors in the main foyer were opening.  Purplesheens stood around the perimeter of the large bathosport, with a scattering of yellows: officials, governors presumably, it was difficult to see with the helmets.  Red warning beacons flashed at either side of the 20 meter high doorway, the door sliding apart in a complicated handshake.  Schoodic appeared to be safe where he was, skulking in the shadows of the darkened bathosport.  Through the transparent crystalline roof, Schoodic could see the refracted docking lights light up the murky water surrounding Blizzard.

	The doors crept apart.  The Trencher ship was large, it’s own bay doors flush against the bathosport hydrolock.  Purplesheens filed out of the interior, and a large low-level wheeled carrier was guided out through the doors.  Something - huge - was on it, under a loose tarpaulin.  Heavily armed purplesheens guarded its progress through the bathosport doors.

	"Gentlemen.  You are now privy to the greatest discovery ever made!"  A purple strode to the front of the convoy like a showman.  "Not long ago, our diggers at one of the DeepVee exploratory faces found an artifact.  This artifact you see before you.  But before we reveal it’s form, which you may find disturbing,  I must tell you what we hope will result from our researches into it’s operation."
	
	The crowd stirred as the artifact rippled under it’s cover.  Schoodic felt the impulse, hugely diminished.  The helmet must be attenuating the effect.  Through the gel, the impulse felt more like a tired cry.

	"Do not be alarmed at the strange effect.  The helmets you are wearing were just the first of the discoveries we made about this artifact.  Unfortunately we do not have the production capacity to create enough helmets for your entire population, so that the people of Blizzard outside of this bubble will be experiencing periods of unconsciousness.  They will not be permanently harmed, however, and your governor has sanctioned our arrival, even with these detrimental effects."

	He motioned to the guards.  They took hold of the elasticated straps which held the cover.

	"We have only begun to explore this artifact, and our scientists have already discovered some things about it’s operation.  What became clear from very early on is this : the artifact is not from Earth."  He signalled to the guards.  As they pulled on the cords, the tarpaulin slipped off the bundle smoothly.  A radio shriek went across the room, as the assembled audience stepped back as the sheet fell to the floor.  The artifact writhed in it’s shackles.

	Schoodic shielded his eyes - the object was not bright, but the way it moved hurt his brain.  It reached and contracted along several directions at once, like some living Escher painting.  As it struggled with the bindings, it let out a succession of mind cries, which filled Schoodic with a sense of outrage, and grief, and a multitude of other emotions.  The artifact writhed, and pulsated with a golden light which reminded Schoodic of campfires on Dryland.  That thing was alive.

	"It’s... alive...."  He stammered.  The impulse were filling his mind with a black dread.  "It’s dying.... you bastards....you’re killing it!"  He stumbled through the thin ranks to the centre of the group.  The guards seemed enthralled by the artifact, and did nothing to restrain him.  "Let it go!  Let it go!"

	The purplesheens were fastest.  "Restrain that man!"  Some of them went forward to grab him, but Schoodic darted towards the exit of the bathosport.  His mind was a whirl.  He wrestled the nearest purplesheen to the ground, cracking the guards helmet as he did so.  As the blue gel ran out, the guard went limp.  The cries of the artifact had knocked him out.  Schoodic grabbed the projectile weapon from the unconscious guard and kept going towards the exit.

	As he got there he turned in the entranceway.  A cold clammy feeling on his chest made him feel the surface of his sheen.  His hand came a way cold - blue gel - he had cracked his own helmet in the scuffle.  He could feel the mind impulse getting more powerful - he knew he had no more than a few seconds.  The artifact screamed and writhed in its bindings.

	As Schoodic dropped to the floor  He could feel the mind impulse getting more powerful - he knew he had no more than a few seconds.  The artifact screamed and writhed in its bindings.

	As Schoodic dropped to the floor, he fired the gun.  For a second, the crystalline dome overhead was dulled by milky translucent cracks.  Then the doors came down just before the inky chilling seawater began cascading down.  Inside the bathosport it was pandemonium, some got out before the doors came down, some were trapped under it.  As the water gushed in under pressure, it had shattered helmets, people were drowning.  The last thing Schoodic saw through the viewpanes before he fell was a golden phoenix rise up through the flooded bubble and flow like liquid gold through the dome, fiery and free.

	As he hit the floor, the mind scream had changed, imperceptibly.  Schoodic slumped with a smile on his face, shattering his blue dome helmet.

The End 
 
Authors Notes: 
(1) This is a first draft.  When I finished it, I decided to send it off as-is instead of doing a rewrite.  Please bear this in mind when critting.  Also the spelling of some words is British. 
(2) I have written several stories set in the bases of Trench, Ridge and Shelf.  I have tried to strike a balance between explaining enough about the technology and society in each of the single stories without the stultifying repitition of explanation in each story.  Some more of the society can be found in other stories.  Please tell me if I have managed this. 
(3) Burlington Schoodic is named after two towns in Maine, US, and I have dabbled with him in SF stories for about 8 years.