Heart of Granite

by James Barclay

  ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’

  ‘I— what?’

  Valera set a stiff pace towards the aft section of the HoG, the set of her body tight and angry.

  ‘They were simple instructions! Keep Risa sober, stay out of trouble, leave if Kirby, Moeller or Solomon appear. If you wanted to demonstrate something was wrong with the squad, you should have just told Moeller straight out.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for Meyer to mouth off.

  ‘You didn’t have to rise to it.’

  ‘I’m not going to bed,’ said Max.

  A second clip around the head followed, though this one was a little more playful.

  ‘Of course you bloody aren’t, you idiot. Now follow me, keep up and don’t ask stupid questions.’

  ‘You’ve set everything up, then?’ asked Max, his irritation ebbing.

  ‘Yeah. At least one of us can do what they’re supposed to.’

  Valera led him into the spine corridor of deck one. It varied between eight and ten metres wide and allowed the swift transit of personnel, machinery or supplies. This time of an evening, it was fairly quiet, mostly used by maintenance carts and teams or off-duty groups of personnel enjoying some down time. They threaded through the human traffic.

  Out here the faint ‘off’ smell of the behemoth was wafting on the airflow and the lights were distinctly dimmer than normal. The gentle but distinct sway in the spine as the Heart of Granite travelled across the land was jerkier too.

  ‘Getting worse, isn’t it?’ said Max.

  ‘We’re well overdue a regen cycle. That’ll be something new for you, Max.’

  ‘Fun. Is it?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Are you worried we might be followed?’

  ‘What did I just say about asking stupid questions?’

  Max followed Valera down a left-hand passageway studded with glass-doored offices. At the end, she pushed open a heavy hydraulic door letting out on to one of the basic metal stairways that linked the three spine decks. Out here, outside the bone and beyond the sound-absorbent cladding of the living areas where the walls were just reinforced flesh, Max could hear the HoG’s lungs working; expanding with the sound of a spring tide over shingle, exhaling like the roar of a thousand drakes. All to the ponderous beat of its massive heart.

  ‘Makes you shudder, doesn’t it?’ said Valera, heading down the stairs to spine deck three. ‘Keeps you real, too.’

  ‘Let’s get back inside,’ said Max. ‘It bloody stinks as well.’

  Valera patted a wall. ‘Plenty of guts out there,’ she said.

  ‘You’re disgusting, Skipper.’

  Valera pulled open the door and ushered Max in. The passageway back to the main corridor was a mirror of those in the deck above and they were soon in among the mass of marine barracking.

  ‘Welcome to grunt central,’ said Max.

  ‘Need I remind you that we’re rather on our own down here?’

  ‘It smells revolting,’ said Max. ‘As bad as outside.’

  For explanation, Valera pointed to a junction of bone plates in the ceiling as a drip of brownish fluid fell to the large stain on the wall below it.

  ‘Ever wondered why they call this deck “Seepage”? There you go. Imperfect bone alignment means the synovial fluid leaks through. Gets worse when we travel for lengthy periods and, like now, just before a big swim. There, I’ve taught you something.’

  ‘And there I was thinking seepage was the drivel that oozes out of their mouths when they speak.’

  ‘Say it louder, Max, and enjoy your beating.’

  Eight thousand marines, artillery support and field medics were packed into Seepage, making the accommodations on deck one positively palatial by comparison. Deck two predominantly housed the endless administration division. The smell of food and laundry mixed with sour behemoth sweat to turn Max’s stomach.

  ‘Isn’t there a better way to go wherever we’re going?’

  ‘Nope and you’d better get used to it. Next time you’ll be on your own.’

  Valera led them past dorm after dorm, across open rec spaces, security stations and through training facilities; the occasional glance over her shoulder satisfying her that they weren’t being followed. A hundred metres ahead, Max could see the guarded bulkhead doors to the tail storage areas sat closed.

  ‘How long have you been on this behemoth?’ he asked.

  ‘Almost six years, now. Long time in our line of work.’

  ‘Don’t you ever think about —?’

  ‘The Fall? Nope, and neither should you. Ever. Come on, in here.’

  They were passing a window wall looking into a largely empty marine mess hall and heading in. The smell of food mingled with the clank of cutlery, the clang of pots and pans in the galley, and the low hum of scattered conversation from the few marines sitting to eat.

  Valera moved quickly between the tables and into a small office that sat next to the serving area. The walls were adorned with schedules, rosters and stock charts, some on paper, some on screens. The duty sergeant, a black-haired, wiry and pockmarked soldier was behind his desk. He stood to attention in a hurry.

  ‘Squadron Leader Orin. Welcome. What can I do for you . . . both?’

  His gaze travelled to Max and he frowned, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Good to see you, Cooper. Got one for the heater girls,’ said Valera.

  The sergeant nodded and looked at Max. ‘For you, is it?’

  ‘No. A friend of his,’ said Valera.

  ‘Okay. And he’s safe is he?’

  ‘I’ll vouch,’ said Valera. ‘This is Max Halloran.’

  Cooper raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh right, heard of you. Got a big mouth, right? Probably best to shut it if you want access.’

  Max bridled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Listen carefully. I am Sergeant Jack Cooper and I’m your portal to everything you will ever want. One day you’ll even beg and I have a heart so long as you have the money. The only reason you dragon-shaggers go for as long as you do is down to us. The only reason the slime-suckers don’t puke their breakfast into their geckos is down to us. Today it’s heaters and if you want them for your friend you pay up and keep quiet. Discretion, Halloran. Or no deals. Ever. Are we clear?’

  ‘I get it. No need to be so dramatic.’

  Cooper looked at Valera. ‘Make sure he’s no trouble. I don’t need jokers and arseholes.’

  Valera punched Max. ‘He understands perfectly, he’ll be no trouble.’ She stared at Cooper and the man flinched. ‘I vouch for him. That’s enough.’

  Cooper waited for a long moment before he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a data card. ‘Okay, let’s get this done. Open your ppalm.’

  Max offered his left hand and Cooper gave him a sharp glance.

  ‘Not you.’

  Valera opened her left hand and the palm-screen glowed on her hand. Cooper pressed the data card to it.

  ‘There’s your code, on auto-delete as always . .. we’re cycle seven – you know location seven?’

  ‘D-one-four-four,’ said Valera.

  ‘Pay the girls directly. Cash only.’

  ‘Halloran,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing. They’ll help your friend stay in the pouch. Stop the visions and nightmares, keep them seeing straight, y’know? I hope your friend fights it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Yeah . .. thank you.’

  He followed Valera out of the mess, heading towards the tail and the labyrinthine storage compartments. She kept her head down and Max fell into step beside her. He had a million questions but, even to him, it was obvious this was not the time to ask any of them.

  About thirty metres from the bulkhead doors to the tail section, Valera took a left, and held her p-palm to the keypad screen beside an unmarked door. She waved Max into a large storage area, maybe sixty metres on a side. Row after row of racking fled away from t
hem, leaving walkways wide enough for trolleys to pass between them. Each rack had five shelves and each shelf was stacked with wooden crates, metal drums, cans and bottles, everything barcoded and labelled. Each rack was assigned to a company galley.

  ‘Where’s this?’

  Valera shut the door firmly. ‘D-one-four-four. First time’s always difficult . .. just try not to throw up in there, okay?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’ll become really obvious, trust me.’

  Chapter 8

  You’d think you’d be terrified of the Fall but my dad says it’s not the length of life you lead that matters, it’s the quality. And nothing beats being a drake pilot.

  Max Halloran.

  The store room was a dead end unless you knew what you were doing and, naturally, Valera did. Cooper’s company insignia was on a rack in the centre of the store. Valera traced her fingers along the ranks of three-metre crates standing on the floor before alighting on one.

  ‘What about the security cameras?’ asked Max.

  ‘They only show what Cooper wants them to.’

  The crates were all keypad-locked to stop casual pilfering.

  And this one, like every keypad lock, had a tamper alarm. Valera held her p-palm to the pad and the lock disengaged. She opened the crate and walked inside. Max followed her.

  ‘Close the door,’ she said, unhooking one of five head - torches and putting it on. ‘You’ll need one of these, too.’

  Max took a torch and closed the door, hearing the lock reengage. Valera’s head-torch illuminated the insides of the crate, about two metres on a side and empty but for a very solidlooking rubber-edged metal plate in the floor. For a third time, Valera showed her p-palm to an input pad and the plate hissed and swung upwards, revealing a bone-edged cylindrical passage with a ladder leading down to a second plate.

  ‘I hope you’re ready for this.’ Valera went first, indicating Max close the first plate after him. ‘Remember what I said.’

  ‘Yeah, don’t puke,’ said Max, a little anxious about what he was about to encounter.

  The plate settled above Max’s head and the lock clunked solidly into place. Simultaneously, a pale green light below pulsed and the second plate hinged down, releasing an unholy stench. It was all Max could do to cling on to the ladder let alone his guts. His eyes stung, his stomach lurched over and over, and he had to focus on not vomiting all over his skipper.

  ‘Holy fuck, what died down here?’ said Max once the gag reflex had eased.

  It stank of effluent, blood and exposed flesh, and of rot and piss too. All wrapped up in a hot, sour breeze.

  ‘Welcome to your first flesh tunnel. It is particularly horrible right now, but then the HoGneeds a bath.’

  ‘People work down here?’

  ‘People live down here, Max. Come on, and try not to brush against the walls.’

  Valera descended a short ladder and disappeared from view. Max followed her, triggering the plate to close on his way down. At the bottom of the ladder, he was presented with a narrow corridor made of a white flexible rubberised covering. Underfoot, it gave a little with every step and the whole tunnel swayed in response to the behemoth’s movements and bodily functions. Fluid oozed from every seam in the rubber, and dripped through cracks in just discernible cauterised flesh.

  ‘Where are we going exactly?’ he asked, focusing hard on Valera’s back and the beam of her head-torch as it moved over walls and floor.

  ‘Into the tail. This is the tradesman’s entrance, so to speak. It’s not far. Not too far.’

  It was like walking into hell, as far as Max was concerned. He began to sweat as the temperature and humidity rose, and the leaks became more pronounced as the tunnel sloped down. It worsened at the junctions they passed. The fluid pooled and ran underfoot, making the going horribly slippery, every step accompanied by an unpleasant squelch.

  ‘And all at no extra cost . ..’ he muttered.

  Further on and the movement left and right became more pronounced and he could feel a grating vibration through the floor, indicating they were in the tail proper. He saw light ahead and presently they crossed gratings in the floor, through which the slurry of fluid drained, and on to rough bone.

  Max switched off his torch and stopped next to Valera in a crudely made hollow bone junction from which three passages sprouted. Max could hear chatter and also the rhythmic thump of some rock music. This junction wasn’t oozing reeking, sticky fluids, which was the thinnest of silver linings as it still stank of an animal’s insides.

  ‘No welcoming committee?’ asked Max.

  ‘They know we’re coming. Come on, this way.’

  Valera took the right-hand passageway, which quickly became another poorly-sealed flesh tunnel but at least it had lights stuck to the ceiling. The light breeze that blew across his face carried something new, though.

  ‘That is a uniquely disgusting smell,’ said Max.

  ‘And the answer to your prayers, you’ll be delighted to know.’

  The passageway was short and opened out into a combination lab, storeroom and kitchen. The music was coming from a line of micro-speakers stuck to a ridge around a central lantern that cast the surrounding grey bone in a harsh, bright light. There was a pan of something bubbling away on an effluent gas ring. There was also a wooden table and three chairs near the stove, but the space was dominated by a long bone-architected bench on which sat reduction and refining stills – and a high-pressure, high-temperature oven. The heat in the chamber was stultifying and the acrid stench of chemicals laced with sweet rot was revolting.

  Two people were standing over the stills, dressed in blue boiler suits, fabric gloves and heavy leather aprons that had seen better days. Both had long hair tied back from their faces and wore wrap-around glass goggles. From the off-key singing he could hear, there was a third person beyond the lab. ‘Hey, Sharmi,’ said Valera.

  One of the figures raised a hand without turning.

  ‘One moment,’ she said.

  Max tried to see what they were doing. One of them was decanting a pale yellow liquid into a flask.

  ‘. . . Twenty-five . .. thirty. Okay, enough.’

  Sharmi clamped the flask above a Bunsen burner and triggered the flame that burned blue and hot beneath it. Both of them turned and pushed their goggles up onto their heads. Through the grime on their faces, Max could see they were no more than thirty, but their eyes projected a sense of worldly weariness.

  ‘Hey Val, brought us a new bug, I see,’ said Sharmi, giving Max the once over while scratching behind one ear.

  ‘Yep. Sharmi, Jola, meet Max.’

  Max raised a hand ‘Hey.’

  The pair of them grunted at him.

  ‘So you’re Max?’ The third was now leaning against the opening opposite. She was older, fifty or so with greying brown hair cropped tight to her head and crow’s feet around her eyes. She was no cleaner than the other two but at least wore a smile.

  ‘My fame precedes me, I see.’

  ‘Best not to get cocky, kiddo,’ she said.

  She walked over, stripping off a leather gauntlet. She enveloped Valera in a powerful embrace then thrust a hand at Max, which he shook.

  ‘Max, this is Krystyna. Play nice or she’ll break your arms.’

  Krystyna laughed. ‘Maybe not your arms, but I’ll sure break your bank.’

  Max nodded vaguely. ‘I’m feeling a little lost. I mean, you’re the heater girls, right?’

  ‘S’right,’ said Sharmi. ‘It’s one of our things.’

  ‘Yeah but . . . I mean, you makethis stuff?’

  Sharmi shrugged. ‘You thought we cast a spell or something?’

  Max glanced at Valera who offered no help, her serene expression suggesting she was enjoying his floundering.

  ‘No, I . .. but I thought, you know, you’d get pills from somewhere add your mark up and sell them on. That’s what Blammers do, right?’

  ‘Whatdid y
ou just call us?’ Jola’s eyes were wide and then they were all advancing on him and Valera had taken a neat step to the left. ‘P’raps you shouldbe crackin’ his limbs for him, Krys.’

  Max held up his hands. Close to, they all smelled pretty rank.

  ‘I meant no offence.’

  ‘No offence? Then that’s okay, girls.’ Jola clapped her hands together. ‘You think I’m a fuckin’ sales rep, boy?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t think that. I just thought—’

  Max looked to Valera for help again. She shrugged. The two heater girls closed in and Max backed away as far as he could before fetching up against a shelf and the uneven bone wall.

  ‘What exactly did you just think?’ asked Sharmi, her slimy leather apron pushed against his formerly mostly clean fatigues.

  ‘P’raps old leaky-brain here can’t quite recall,’ said Jola. She shook her head. ‘Blammer. Are you for real?’

  ‘He looks but he don’t see,’ said Sharmi, one hand in its filthy gauntlet stroking his cheek. He tried to pull back but only succeeded in cracking his head against the wall.

  Krystyna clapped her hands.

  ‘All right, back to work. We got orders to make up. Best not scare him away before he pays. They come in as buyers and end up as users, right?’

  Sharmi gave his cheek a final, echoingly solid, pat before turning her back on him for her still. Jola’s look of disdain was long and meaningful. Max was sweating a lot and not just because of the heat. He blew out his cheeks and Krystyna regarded him for a moment.

  ‘How long you been on this lizard, kiddo?’

  ‘Coming up nine months now.’

  Krystyna raised her eyebrows. ‘Barely out of the womb, then. Better get your ears and eyes open more and learn how things work.’

  ‘I’m a flyer. I’m amazing at my job. Nothing else matters.’

  ‘And because you’re going to Fall it ain’t worth investing in anything but flying and fucking, right kiddo?’

  ‘Frankly, yes,’ said Max, belatedly discovering a little anger. ‘I’m chucking away most of my life for the greater good. I deserve respect because in a few years I’ll be dribbling in Landfill. You’re just fucking pushers feeding off my sacrifice.’