Demitri’s shoulder was sinking slowly into the egg, as was his hip. Sensors observed closely as the molecular structure of the eggshell changed to become permeable where Demitri’s skin touched it.
‘That has to have a specific trigger,’ Nigel muttered. ‘The internal intelligence must have direct control over the shell structure.’
‘Or it’s touch sensitive,’ Fergus said.
‘There’s a discrimination effect involved,’ Nigel countered. ‘There has to be. You’d get stones and raindrops being absorbed otherwise.’
Kysandra concentrated on the datastream coming from Demitri. His medical routines were showing her how the skin that had been drawn into the egg was already starting to break down at a cellular level. It was being penetrated by micro-organisms which were methodically dissolving the dermal cell membrane walls.
Demitri’s head reached the egg, and started to sink into it.
‘Here we go,’ Nigel muttered as he stared raptly at Demitri’s eggsumption.
Exovision showed Kysandra the egg organisms devouring Demitri’s ear then exposing the skull bone. He sank deeper and deeper into the egg. After another twenty minutes half of his head was inside, at which point the egg finally eroded a small patch of his skull just above the jaw. With the breakthrough complete, the rest of the bone began to vanish like window frost before a warm breath. The organisms began to infiltrate the brain, forming long, superfine threads whose tips pierced individual neurones.
‘That is one sophisticated weapon,’ Nigel said in a troubled voice. ‘Commonwealth biononics are a long way behind this kind of nanobyte ability.’
‘Why would we want to build it?’ Fergus replied, his nose wrinkled up in dismay.
Nearly half of Demitri’s body had been absorbed into the egg now. A status review of his medical routines showed Kysandra that the egg had stripped his arm, leg and torso of skin. It was beginning to consume the exposed musculature. Her ex-sense could perceive the yolk substance thickening around the section where he was being drawn in, with denser folds beginning to accrete, like swirls within a black nebula. Strands began to slither into the missing slivers of muscle. Blood began to pulse out of frayed veins and arteries, to be sucked deeper into the egg. The egg’s serene thoughts were also starting to quicken. She glimpsed strange fractured images seeping free, and the sensation of profound cold . . .
‘What’s happening?’ Nigel asked. ‘Is that normal?’
The sharpness of his voice made Kysandra start. When she looked at him, he was frowning down at the flaccid ANAdroid protruding from the egg. The edge of Demitri’s body where it was being absorbed into the egg was oozing blood.
‘He’s coming out!’ Fergus barked.
Kysandra’s mouth dropped open in shock. The whole process was reversing. The egg was expelling Demitri’s body. She could perceive the egg’s thoughts fluttering, radiating out a sensation close to human panic.
‘Dammit,’ Nigel grunted.
Blood was flowing freely now as more of the semi-devoured body was expelled from the egg, splattering across the metal basin floor. Egg yolk began to spray out through the exposed muscles and slippery blood vessels.
Kysandra winced. ‘Uracus! That’s horrible.’
‘It’s rejecting him,’ Nigel said. ‘Hell, there must be something in his biochemistry that’s incompatible with the egg.’
‘What?’
Exasperated, Nigel gave her an almost pitying look.
‘Sorry.’
The flow of yolk liquid abruptly increased, forcing Demitri’s body out of the gap which the eggshell had created to ingest it. With a sickening fluid crunch, it collapsed onto the floor, heart still pumping strongly to squirt long streams of blood from the unravelled arteries in the leg and arm. Muscles fell off, slithering across the slick basin like gory fish.
Kysandra cried out and shut her eyes, feeling the bile rising in her throat. For a long moment she thought she was going to be sick. She made sure she turned round before opening her eyes again. The brick wall of Barn Seven was directly in front of her, reassuring in its bland normality. While behind her the last of the gurgling sounds faded away. ‘Now what?’ she asked miserably.
‘I’m storing the data in my lacuna,’ Nigel said. ‘Not that there is much.’
It was as if he hadn’t heard her, or didn’t care. She frowned at him.
‘Give me your hand,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I’m going to undo this, obviously. I can tolerate losing Demitri if it achieved something. But it hasn’t. So . . .’ He held out his hand.
Kysandra grasped it, surprised by how warm and sweaty it was. Just like hers. As before, her ex-sense perceived the weird echoes of herself pervading the hidden fabric of this universe as Nigel pushed his thoughts deeper into the memory layer. She glided back through them, through herself, watching events rewind.
‘Stop,’ Nigel commanded.
Kysandra was standing on the rim of the pit, looking down as a naked Demitri reached out to put a brass key into the cage’s Ysdom lock. He paused, and looked up at Nigel.
‘It doesn’t work,’ Nigel said.
There was a long moment while Nigel downloaded the data he’d saved from the non-existent future to Demitri’s u-shadow.
‘Damn,’ Demitri grunted. He grinned. ‘Something I ate?’
‘I don’t think you’re organic enough,’ Nigel said. ‘Once it started to break down your cells into specific compounds it realized something was wrong. There’s got to be a whole load of protective protocols built in.’
Demitri gave the dark egg a suspicious glance. ‘Clever. So: plan B, then?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘What’s plan B?’ Kysandra blurted. Nobody had mentioned this before.
‘We use a body that won’t be rejected,’ Nigel said.
‘A body? You mean a human?’ Her voice rose in alarm. ‘You’re going to let a human be eggsumed? To Fall? That’s . . . That’s . . .’
‘Pretty bad.’
‘You can’t. I won’t let you.’
‘Sometimes to do what’s right, you have to do what’s wrong.’
‘Still no.’
‘Not even Ma?’
Kysandra blanched. Hesitated for a moment. ‘No,’ she said, then more firmly. ‘No, not even her.’
‘Interesting moral dilemma,’ Nigel said. ‘Given a soul in the Void is effectively immortal, and we desperately need the information. Just who is unworthy enough to qualify?’
*
Proval was lucky. He’d left the safety of the Shanty to visit the public bar of the Kripshire pub, which was at the back of the building with its entrance in the alley leading off Broad Street, when he saw her: the blissfully sweet teenager. Proval didn’t like using the main streets in any town, not with all the people walking and riding about. Main streets were all clean and proper, a town’s pride, where the sheriffs kept an eye out for trouble and troublemakers. But underpinning them were the smaller streets, where it was possible for a man to walk without drawing any kind of attention. Home to the kind of people and places he preferred.
He’d already pushed the door open when she passed the end of the alley. Late teens. Long emerald-green skirt swishing about, white blouse with plenty of buttons undone to show off great tits. She knows she’s doing that. Slut. Red hair falling halfway down her back, all clean and glossy. Freckled skin with a wonderful clear complexion. Sunny smile showing off happy confidence. Pretty. Oh so pretty.
Proval got all that in one swift glance before she passed the alley. He did a perfect one-eighty turn and walked smartly away from the bar. You have to grab opportunity when you see it. And he recognized one instantly these days. As he walked back down the alley he ’pathed his mod-bird, which was circling high overhead. The bird banked and glided down along Broad Street. He watched through its eyes.
She was carrying a big shoulder bag that bulged. Out shopping, then. Bag’s full, so she’s heading home. Where?
Where is home, sweetness?
Proval hurried along the backstreets, keeping more or less parallel to Broad Street. The exquisite girl kept walking, heading for the west end of town, away from the river. Proval barely knew which town this was, just another set of jetties with houses sprawling along the Nubain tributaries – one of hundreds. The whole river basin was his territory. Travel here was easy, and the sheriffs just minded their own patch.
The girl turned off down a side street, bringing her just that fraction closer to him. He couldn’t help the smile. Luck. When you were due it, luck came like a torrent. Was she heading for the stables? Please, Giu. Please.
Proval almost ran the last two hundred metres to the livery. He was actually in the saddle of his mod-horse, leaving the main gates when she arrived at the front.
Yes. Oh yes, today Giu is smiling on me.
His horse ambled along the road out of town. A kilometre further on, the neat fields had begun and there was a fork in the road. He hesitated. The mod-bird showed him the sweetness on a terrestrial horse leaving the livery, the bag slung on the back of her saddle. She lived out in the countryside somewhere. Probably a nice well-to-do farmhouse. The sweetness was that type.
Decision. He took the left-hand road, lined with tall goldpines. Behind him the mod-bird glided lazily on a thermal, keeping the sweetness in sight. If she took the right-hand road, it didn’t matter: he could ride fast and catch up. But if she turned left – well, that would be so easy.
Giu continued to bless Proval. The girl came to the fork and turned unhesitatingly down the left-hand road.
This close to town there was still a fair bit of traffic. Horses, carts, even a few walkers. Proval carried on, keeping a kilometre or so ahead of the sweetness until he was in a steep valley with heavily forested slopes. The midday sun burnt hot overhead, and the air was dry and still. He was sweating when he finally dismounted. His mod-bird raced ahead, keen eyes searching the road for traffic. The day’s luck was amazing. There was nothing about, not a solitary rider or farm cart. They were the only people for kilometres. He could carry the sweetness through the dense trees into the valley and no one would ever see them. He wouldn’t even have to gag her like he did some. There was nobody to hear her screams.
Just as she came round the last bend, he bent down as if examining his horse’s hoof. Nothing suspicious here. Just another traveller with a bit of difficulty. And you know, don’t you sweetness, that there’s nothing bad here. Not on the road home which you’ve ridden down a hundred times in your lovely young life. Here you are safe.
‘Trouble?’ the girl asked as her horse came close.
Proval didn’t even have to answer. She swung a leg over the saddle and hopped down.
So strong. So agile.
He stood up in the shade of the tall goldpines and smiled a hungry smile. That was when they normally started to realize something might be wrong. He was under no illusion about his looks. The busted nose, missing teeth, shabby clothes. Most people instinctively shied away from someone like him, certainly young girls. ‘Kind of you to stop.’
Her smile was still suffused with confidence. ‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ she asked matter-of-factly. ‘Get me off my horse. Middle of nowhere. Nobody around. Perfect for you, right?’
Proval’s hand slid down his grubby shirt to the pistol under his jacket. Something not right about this. Not at all. He checked the mod-bird’s eyes. But nothing had changed; they were completely alone. ‘Perfect for what?’
‘You’re Demal. Or Proval. Maybe Finbal. I don’t know for sure. The name is different most of the time, but the description fits.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘Do you normally ask any of your victims’ names?’
Proval drew the gun, pointing it at her in one smooth movement. Unnervingly, she didn’t even flinch. ‘Are you some kind of sheriff’s trick? Answer me, bitch. I’ll make it worse for you if you don’t.’
‘Uracus, no! If they knew I existed, the sheriffs would probably give you a reward for telling them. The Captain’s police certainly would.’
He clicked the safety catch back, enjoying the loud snik it made. So she’d understand he wasn’t bluffing. Not even the strongest shell could withstand a bullet. ‘Start talking.’
‘I know you’ve raped over eleven girls in the last two years. I think you killed three farm families when you raided their houses at night. And the sheriffs suspect another two. There are plenty of highway robberies with extreme violence around the Nubain tributaries, too. Right? That’s you?’
‘Very smart. But it’s seventeen girls,’ he snarled. ‘And you, eighteen, you’re going to be the sweetest of them all.’
She nodded seriously, as if she’d just confirmed a fact with a library book. ‘Thought so.’
Proval lost the vision ’pathed from his mod-bird. ‘Huh?’ He glanced up instinctively. Sight and ex-sight revealed his dead mod-bird dropping from the talons of a huge avian predator that was still plunging down in its kill-dive.
Something smashed into his chest. He was thrown backwards as if the world’s strongest teekay had punched him. Arms windmilling helplessly as he crashed to the ground. Then the pain flooded across him from the agony point that was his sternum, and he wailed. But through all the hurt and terror, he still managed to bring the gun up, tracking it round towards the bitch from Uracus. There was some small metallic egg-shaped thing poking out of her blouse sleeve, held steady by what looked like a slender white tentacle. Crazy it might be, but Proval knew a weapon when he saw it. The thing emitted a green flash, and his gun hand ruptured. Blood splattered over his face and jacket. He stared manically at the tattered remnant of his hand, and screamed again – high-pitched and hysterical now.
*
‘I said intact,’ Nigel complained when he, Russell and Demitri drove the cart up to Kysandra three minutes later.
She frowned up at him. ‘You want me to go back in time and try again?’
‘No, no,’ he said cheerfully. ‘This will do. I suppose.’ He and Demitri exchanged a quick glance of amusement.
Proval was sprawled unconscious on the dirt. Kysandra had sprayed his damaged hand with a specialist dermsynth, a lot thicker than the usual application. ‘He’s hardly broken. I think two fingers are still intact. I just set the pulse a bit high.’
Nigel gave her a quick hug. ‘That’s my girl. Wow, but you’re growing up.’
‘No choice.’
Demitri and Russell picked up Proval’s inert body and carried him over to the cart.
‘So?’ Nigel asked. ‘Does he qualify?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘He’s actually proud of what he’s done, what he is. I . . . I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘I keep telling you, there are a lot of bad people in this universe.’
‘You did, yes.’
‘You’re mad about it? Don’t be. I’m always right, you know that.’
‘I’m not sure what I’m more worried about,’ Kysandra said. ‘The fact that Proval exists, or that you knew how to find him.’
‘Come on, it’s hardly been easy. You’ve been dressed like that, parading up and down towns for a week now.’
‘But you knew which towns he’d probably be in.’
‘Patterns,’ Nigel said. ‘Everything is down to patterns. Once you have them, you can predict what’s going to happen. Back in the day, the financial sector turned pattern recognition into a science. Entire national economies were gambled on it.’
‘And the sheriff records gave you that,’ she said in admiration. ‘Amazing.’
‘They gave me generalizations. You did the rest. Don’t be modest about your part.’
She watched Demitri and Russell dump Proval in the back of the cart and pull a canvas sheet over him. Demitri hopped down. Russell paused, gazing intently at her, then saw she was watching him. He looked away hurriedly, strengthening his shell to block out the tweak of guilt. Irrefutably loyal to Nigel though he wa
s, domination didn’t suppress all his instincts.
Kysandra glanced down at her chest, sighed, and began buttoning up her blouse. ‘What did you call this thing?’
‘The plunge push-up, more commonly known as a Wonder-bra,’ Nigel said. ‘Invented by a man, I believe.’
‘No kidding.’
‘They started making them before even I was born. Imagine that, thousands of years old, yet still popular the galaxy over.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t quite understand how it does it. I’m not actually this . . . big.’ She shook her head in irritation, knowing her cheeks would be red.
‘You can get rid of it as soon as we reach home.’
‘Yes. Right. I’ll probably do that, then.’ Kysandra narrowed her eyes in suspicion and scowled at Nigel’s horribly smug grin.
*
Two days’ travel brought them back to Blair Farm. They put Proval in the medical capsule as soon as they arrived. It repaired his hand to a degree, cauterizing the flesh and repairing the two remaining fingers. Growing replacements for the ones he’d lost would have taken at least a fortnight, even if that had been possible in the Void. Nigel didn’t care to find out.
Kysandra looked down at the bandit/rapist/murderer she’d captured, his body half covered in the silver tendrils the capsule extruded, like weird restraints. The kind of thing you’d use to hold down a monster.
‘So?’ Nigel asked her.
She glanced at him over the capsule. ‘You’re really asking for my approval?’
‘It would be nice.’
‘Do it,’ she said firmly. Bienvenido would be a better place without Proval. No matter how squeamish she was about what they were doing, that was unarguable.
Nigel gave the medical cabinet a series of instructions. More silver tendrils snaked out around Proval’s head and began to infiltrate his skull.
‘Just like the egg,’ she muttered.
‘Disturbingly so,’ he agreed, and ordered the capsule’s surface to close. The malmetal contracted shut.
Kysandra didn’t bother to use her ex-sense to see what was happening inside it. She knew. Personality erasure was an old Commonwealth ability, though rarely employed by the courts in recent times, Nigel assured her.
The Abyss Beyond Dreams Page 50
