“What be these?” growled Long-Swift. “Oracles?”
“Not Oracles,” said Kerris softly.
Suspended by suspended by tubes, cables and wires, the creatures looked like large, heavily-muscled Chi’Chen. Three black, three brown, and three the colour of sunset at Roarpundih. Long arms, short legs, heavy brows. Thick pelts like Chancellor Ho that flowed in the shifting, flowing, muddy ice. They looked dead, for several had split open, pink tubes lapping slowly against red flesh. White bones reflected off yellow sinew, and bits of matted hair floated through the containers like ash from a fire. Four of them had open eyes, others had eyeballs bobbing outside of their sockets at the end of grey tendons. They were all connected, via the wires, tubes and cables, to the Capuchin Council above them.
It was obscene, Kirin thought to himself. An obscene coupling of death and monkeys and Ancestors and creatures he had never seen in his storied life.
“Apes,” said Kerris and he turned, hands on hips. “The Rising Suns are Apes.”
***
The screens in the Qore had exchanged blue for orange. Solomon watched Reedy amble over to one of them, wave a hand across to bring the outside into view. The man never hurried, Solomon realized. He had not dropped the laconic smile nor the fluid body language, and Solomon wondered if things were often ‘amiss’ outside. The Superpit was literally hundreds of klix from anywhere. ‘Amiss’ just didn’t seem possible.
“I reckoned it was Kuri,” Reedy said from his station. “They’re always looking for something.”
“Kuri,” said Solomon. “The ones that ‘used to be people.’”
“The very same.”
And the screens began to spin toward him, trailing orange threads like wires. They showed a line of tan shapes on the red horizon, thin and wavering in the surface heat. Solomon felt his pulse quicken.
“Prep the tampers,” said Reedy into the screens. “Mobilize the suits. I think they’re just passing by, but there’s a sandstorm a-coming and it never hurts to be careful.”
Images spun and folded across the plex and Solomon narrowed his eyes to make out the shapes glimmering in the distance. They appeared to be on horseback but as they moved across the screens, he realized that they were camels. Large, lean camels with elephant tusks and long horse-like tails, carrying what looked like tents on their backs.
“The Kuri are nomads,” said Reedy. “Cross the plains in these small packs.”
“Are they people?” he asked. “Because packs could also be called families. Or clans, or tribes. Semantics is a big deal when dealing with new species.”
“Semantics is a moot point when faced with the end of a spear, Doctor.” Reedy leaned forward, made some adjustements to the station and the image grew larger, sharper on the screen.
The tents were homes, complete with wooden poles, leather skins and linen cloth. They tipped from side to side with the rhythm of the camels.
“Have you ever tried to contact them?”
“They’d eat you as soon as look at you,” Reedy said. “Just like everything else.”
All along the plex above his head and behind his back, he could see the mech-suits and the bird-bots aiming the net-cannons. It looked like far too much tek for nomads on camels.
“They’d scavenge the SuperPit clean if it weren’t for the bots. For the most part, they just pass by.”
“But if they’re people…”
“They’re not.”
Solomon shook his head and turned his attention back to the screens. He leaned forward to get a better look, eyes straining for a glimpse of rider.
“You want to know what they look like, don’t you?” said Reedy. “Under the fabric and the skins.”
“I do.”
“Naturally, you would. You’re a doctor. You’re curious.”
He’d traveled with tigers and lions and mongrels.
“Dying of curiosity,” he said.
“Just think it,” said Reedy. “You’re a super. You have a passcode. You have access to the Qore.”
He threw up his hands.
“What does that even mean?”
Reedy looked at him and sighed, his eyes heavy and glittering.
“You want to see a Kuri? Think to see a Kuri…”
“How the hell do I think to see a Kuri?”
“How the hell else do you see anything in Dreamtime? Think, Doctor. Think.”
And the man turned his attention back to the plex and the net cannons following nomads across the plain.
Think.
Solomon, Jeffery Anders. SLS7554b37Q. Passcode Tango9931. Seeker 4. I want to see a Kuri.
And suddenly, a screen tipped toward him, began to roll in on itself to form a clear tube. The blue lines, now orange, began to dissipate, shaving light particles in all directions as the tube began to reshape itself.
Impressive.
“Do you know what the IAR was doing over there, Doctor?” asked Reedy, eyes fixed on the screens.
The tube spun in mid air, sparks of orange light spraying like fireworks across the surface.
“Engineering plague-resistant people, or so I’m told.”
“That was only the beginning. The Qore has data from before the Hinga – you know, the Fall.”
Legs, arms, torso, tail. The Kuri was taking shape.
“They called it the Chimera project,” Reedy continued. “Gene-splicing, recoding and resequencing. Complex molecular engineering to create new, better life forms. They had seventeen different labs working on hundreds of different methods, all racing to see which one could find the most stable, sustainable results.”
Face long and narrow, ears pointed, dog-like
“Once they settled on a proven procedure, they consolidated the research into one location, apparently somewhere in Tibet. They called it the New World. That’s what they were trying to create, a new world resistant to the diseases that were killing us all.”
Barbed tail, neck set low on stooped shoulders.
“They spliced human with ape but those creations were too similar to us and the test subjects died when exposed to the viruses. Platyrrhine and the non-ape catarrhine splices, however, were resistant, as were the feline, canine and ursines. Apparently, they tried other species but the data stops shortly after the last outbreak of G9EVi. There is no way of knowing what is still alive out there and how it has changed over time. And believe me, Doctor. I’ve seen my fair share of time.”
The Kuri were just specs on the horizon now, little more that a dark slice rippling in the afternoon heat. The plex, however – now a SmartALYK figure spinning before him – was as clear as day.
“Can you imagine a cat person, Doctor?” asked Reedy, his eyes boring holes into Solomon’s face. “What a truly terrifying thought. Bad enough to have these Kuri.”
The figure was an anthropomorphic dog with spiked ruff and tail like a scorpion’s stinger. He could see the pelt, short and golden, could see the ridges in its abdomen expand and contract with its breathing.
“It’s a dingo,” he said and he shook his head. “A mutated dingo. But mutated with what?”
“Aye, and there’s the rub,” said Reedy. “In order to facilitate the splicing, the IAR used the DNA of clinically engineered tardigrades. Heat, cold, radiation, disease, toxins, even lack of oxygen. Those little suckers can survive anything.”
Solomon nodded.
“Hypsibius cryosphoridae,” he said. “I know. The Sandman project used their genetic material in our prep sleeps to prevent cell desiccation and facilitate cryptobiosis.”
“Amazing what a good working knowledge of genetics can do,” said Reedy. His eyes slid to the screens. They showed nothing on the horizon now, only mech-suits and bird-bots and soon, the orange lights returned to blue. “Suits, stand down if you will. And good job.”
Finally, the man turned to face him, folded his hands calmly as if preparing for a lecture.
“Yes, that little tardigrade was plenty critical to both EUS and IAR s
urvival strategies,” he said. “Their DNA makes genes receptive to mutagens and extraspecial proteins.”
Solomon turned to him, folded his hands the same way.
He was tired.
“And that’s a problem how?”
“In order to cause and secure these rapid mutations between species, the Chimera Project took a naturally occurring protein and made it a weapon. That weapon works like a virus, aggressively restructuring cell proteins and recombining genes. It effectively ushered in a new saltation era of rapidly mutating species.”
He nodded, following but missing the link. The missing link. Hopeful Monster Theory, minus the hope.
For some reason, his head was spinning.
Dreamtime is exhausting.
“The problem, Doctor, is the fact that you and I and every human alive today was infused with Hypsibius cryosphoridae, both in our units and in our preps.”
A cold sweat swept down from his ears as Reedy’s words began to sink in.
“In fact, each and every one of us is carrying the very gene that would respond to the Chimera virus. That’s why we had to terminate your young zoologist. He would not have remained a zoologist for very long…”
If he turns into an animal, I hope he’s a careful animal
“He may, in fact, have turned into a zoo of animals…”
His breath had fled his body, his knees the consistency of sand. Sand man. Sandman One, Kandersteg, Switzerland.
“And if we detect the virus active in you or your companions, we will have no choice but to terminate you as well.”
The caretaker smiled patiently.
“It’s nothing personal, Doctor. I myself am in the same boat. That’s why I don’t go to the surface.”
People don’t turn into animals, Persis
Solomon lowered himself to the floor as the realization swept over him like waves, like waves crashing and buffeting and pushing him under the killing oceans filled with shark-whales and dead pelicans. He was drowning in deep, dark, icy waters.
People don’t turn into animals
“The Kuri?” He looked up at the man in the tan jumpsuit. “Who are they?”
“Ah. You understand now. The Kuri are Supers One to Six, and their descendants. It’s been awhile.”
Dreamtime is exhausting.
“And you?” he managed to ask. “Which one are you?”
His voice was like sandpaper. Sand paper. Sand man.
“Just like you, Doctor. I used to be Seven. Matthias Reitman, Super Seven of Sandman Three.”
It made sense. Horrible, apocalyptic, anthropomorphic sense.
“This has been an exhilarating Dreamtime for you,” said the man who used to be Matthias Reitman, Super Seven of Sandman Three. “Maybe too much. I can see you’re slipping.”
How else do you see anything in Dreamtime?
“Go to sleep now,” Reedy said. “I’ll bring you back in a few months when you’ve recovered. I’d like to wake Jian Ward next. She’s quite the firecracker.”
Welcome to Dreamtime
And the screens rolled and the plex folded and he realized he was not in the Qore but inside a cryo unit and the ice descended on him like a blanket.
Courage
They found the dog in a high part of the monastery, skinning the rat over a crackling fire. It was a very old temple with frescos of Ancestors in reds, blues and gold covering the walls. Pillars of black held up a crumbling wooden ceiling, and beams of morning light sliced through the ancient dust. It seemed that time itself had stopped in this holiest of holy rooms.
The bear sat with him, eating the portions of flesh he passed its way. It looked up with one head, growled when they stepped out of the dark corridor.
The dog did not look up.
“I said go,” he said. “The Uürekh don’t want you here.”
“Uürekh?” Nevye repeated. He had never heard the word before.
“Your Gowrain,” said Setse.
“I thought you were a cat,” he muttered. “But I don’t see so well anymore. Has the Khargan lost our borders again?”
The dog rose to his feet, and Nevye could see he was dressed in the skins of many rats. His hair was thin and matted, his face pushed in as if by a massive fist. As a result, his eyes bulged and his few teeth pushed out through his lips at unnatural angles.
Setse stepped forward and the bear growled again.
“We come in peace at the command of the new Khargan, Khan Sumalbaykhan, Khan of Khans, Son of the White Wolf, Father of the Jackal. Ruler of the Chanyu and all the People of the Moon.”
He had heard it so many times, it had become a ritual. In her voice, it was music.
“But how is there a cat?”
“The Kingdoms are united now,” she continued. “To face a common threat. May we join your fire to speak of it?”
“It is not my decision.” He glanced at the bear. “Nüür goddess? Shall we wake the others?”
The bear tossed the rat into the fire and pushed herself to her feet, standing easily twice as tall as the dog. She lumbered forward and Nevye could see the rough leatherwork of her arm and leg braces, the lack of stitching on the cloth or belt. It had to be difficult to create anything with such claws at the end of their fingers, but it made sense that they would try. People wore clothing; animals did not. He’d never thought of Gowrain as people, but truth be told, he’d never thought much of Gowrain at all.
Courage, he told himself, as the bear, Nüür, towered over them like the chorten on the plain. Her breathing was deep and rumbling; her muzzle black, her eyes liquid. Slowly, she swung her heads – one to study Yahn Nevye, and the other to study Setse, and he realized that, like most of the inhabitants of the Lower Kingdom, it was likely the first time in her life she had seen a cat. Behind them, Balm muttered and tapped the bonestick on the floor. Nevye could hear it whispering dark things to them both.
“Goddess,” said Setse. “We await your favour.”
And she raised her hand, palm out.
“We await your favour,” echoed Nevye, his voice as always a heartbeat behind. He too raised his hand, palm out.
Nüür bellowed out of both mouths, her breath hot and smelling of rat. Balm ducked back into the corridor but neither the Blue Wolf nor the Yellow Cat flinched, their hands outstretched and open. The bear moved closer, her thick white pelt rippling with each step, and she bellowed again. The air shook all around him, his teeth rattled in his head. She could gut him with one swipe of her claws; she could take off his head with one blow. He should have been terrified but he was no longer Yahn Nevye, failed Seer and coward of Sha’Hadin. With Setse at his side, he was Shar Ma’uul. With Setse, he was more.
Suddenly, Nüür leaned forward, pressing their hands with her great padded palms and pushing them both backwards with her weight. The moment they touched, however, Nevye was a winter bear, growing up under the green night sky, following the herds of tsaa buga, fighting for the right to harvest the rats, taking a mate and losing a child to the winter winds. Finally, she pulled back, leaving deep scratches in his leather gloves. She dropped to four legs and swung away, abandoning the visitors and the fire and the smoking rat carcass, before disappearing between the pillars.
“She’s going to ask the others,” said the dog. “So you should sit now until she changes her mind. The Uürekh are like that. My name is Oyuunchimeg Chiingis. You may call me Chiing. I had a good life in Khumul until that cursed udgan drove me out.”
At the mention of the village, Setse glanced at him, but they settled down together by the fire with the lost Oracle of Khumul.
***
“This reminds me of the Marh’eeyen Ahrkhives,” said Fallon.
“Marh’eeyen Ahrkhives?” asked the Alchemist, baby on her hip.
“Oh, right. I forgot you weren’t there. Ana’thalya in Turah’kee. It’s where we found the boat.”
They had followed their Xióngmāo hosts through the walkways of the mountain city. The corridors were cracke
d and very old, and moss was slowly working to turn the walls from grey to green. Beams of light sliced down from mirrored shafts, and she recognized the husks of Ancient lamps where torches now glowed in their stead. Along the walls, D-links marked the locations of long hidden screens, hologrids and plex, millenia dark.
Indented in the walls, alcoves that may have once housed workstations had been transformed into tiny rooms filled with straw and linen and baskets of bamboo. It seemed the Xióngmāo needed even less space than the monks of Sha’Hadin. Bears looked up as they passed; most rose to their feet, and soon, they had a small crowd in their wake, following in their rocking, side-to-side gait. They seemed a hard working, contented people, and Fallon wondered what made them stay amongst the Chi’Chen who despised them.
Some things still boggled her.
She released a puff of breath.
“Anyway, the Marh’eeyen Ahrkhives were powered by the sun. We didn’t know that until Sireth found the panels and Solomon got everything working. I wonder if this is the same? Jae’un, have you ever been here before?”
The Stonelily did not look up. Her hands wrung like damp dishcloths; her eyes darted from side to side.
“Never,” she said. “The Xióngmāo quarter is forbidden.”
“Wow,” said Fallon. “Then you’re very brave to be here. I hope they don’t put your head on a pike like they did General Yamashida.”
At certain junctions, Fallon noticed signs in the walls as they passed, palm prints pressed into tarnished metal. Most were bear, but not all. Some, she realized, were Ancestral. Others were cat.
There was a large, white double door, locked with several loops of moss-covered chain, and she paused to study the inscription. It wasn’t Chi’Chen, and it wasn’t Imperial, and it took her a long moment before the words began to shape themselves in her thoughts.
“Winter…Water?”
She peered through a pane of discoloured plex, could see nothing but dark corridors and triangles of blue. She sighed and turned back, surprised to find all eyes on her.
Snow in the Year of the Dragon Page 22
