Heart of Granite

by James Barclay

  His pushing was creating a minor panic. People shoved back. A fist jarred against his shoulder and the anger spiked up a level. The Mips were closer now, he could hear them ordering people to stop, demanding calm. Max made sure they didn’t get it. He pushed again, and gave it everything.

  At the head of the queue, some of the crew had stopped but there was no such compliance with the police orders further back. A woman in front of Max, with one of his hands on her back, stumbled forwards and fell heavily into the marine ahead of her. He moved diagonally, colliding with another who turned to complain but was pushed backwards and toppled over.

  Like chaotic human dominoes, the wave of people trying to keep their feet moved outwards. It broke against the Mips at the head of the queue and people spilled out into the spine corridor. Max saw his chance, leapt over two people scrabbling to rise, pushed off the flank of a third person and shouldered his way through the bulkhead opening.

  ‘Sorry!’ he shouted, bolting into the spine corridor and sprinting away.

  Over the sound of the Mips ordering him to stop, he heard a call of support. Max put his head down and ran. Deck two was a mixture of bars, fitness areas, and a couple of restaurants along with a recreation area. Elsewhere, marine dorms were mixed with army administration offices, civilian, ground lizard and crew quarters and, towards the tail, storage and the upper section of the plastics recycling, remoulding and printing facility. Max thought as he ran, shouts behind him confirming the pursuit was well and truly on. He ducked down the next left into a short corridor accessing crew quarters and a laundry room.

  He ran down it, hauling open the door at the end and thumping down the metal stairs to deck three. Hitting the deck, he ran back up to the central corridor, reaching the corner just as a Mip rounded the corner at a run, his hand to his ear, receiving orders. He reacted fast, raising his zapon.

  Max feinted left and threw himself right, rolling over his shoulders and using the corridor wall to push himself back to his feet. The zapon hummed over his head, dragging his hair upright in its static trail. Max shoved the Mip hard into the opposite wall and ran into the spine, seeing it busy with marines heading off to their assignments, many in full kit running towards the flight deck access passageways. There would be police flooding down here too and he still had to make it most of the way to the tail. Cooper was the only man who could help him now.

  ‘Which way, which way . ..’

  The Heart of Granite was enormous, almost a kilometre long, not including the tail, but there were so few places to get out of sight and move quickly. He couldn’t risk being trapped, and finally a solution presented itself. With at least one Mip behind him, he ducked into the rack of the nearest marine company, seeing the ‘Exterminators’ insignia on the doors.

  Max slapped the double doors open onto a dorm crowded with marines suiting up for a mission. He dashed through the throng, ignored by almost all of them but as he sprinted the hundred or so metres to the exit, one stepped into his path.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ muttered Max.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing in my rack, sludge-brain?’ demanded Meyer.

  Max slithered to a halt. ‘Holy fuck, Meyer, help me out? Mips on my six.’

  ‘You must be in some trouble.’

  ‘The worst. End-of-life stuff.’

  ‘You are one walking charge sheet, man.’

  ‘Come on, give me some space, will you? Sorry about Gargans the other night, okay?’

  Meyer looked over Max’s shoulder in response to growls of displeasure from his crew.

  ‘Mips in my rack,’ he said. ‘Get lost, Halloran and remember you owe me.’

  ‘I owe everyone.’

  Max ran on as Meyer roared orders.

  ‘Rank up, Exterminators. Central spread. Fill the floor.’ And a moment later. ‘You have permission to come in here, Corporal?’

  ‘We are in pursuit of an escaped prisoner. No permission is required. Get your people out of my way.’

  Max pushed through the doors, ran into and through the galley and laundry and back out into the spine, dropping into an easy walk. He was right behind two Mips, both walking fast towards the tail and he fell into their footsteps, walking silently in his softies.

  He glanced back and saw others behind him. Ahead, more were stationed at the entrance to the sports courts which had multiple exits . . . and there were bound to be Mips in the tail too, in case he tried to hide in the maze of storage areas and shelving.

  Max followed the Mips as closely as he dared, seeing his goal come closer, metre by agonisingly slow metre. But then the Mips Meyer had delayed burst back into the corridor and everything went to shit again. They ran along the corridor, Max just about holding his nerve until one of those in front got the message. He tagged his partner, turned round and saw Max.

  ‘Max Halloran, you’re—’

  Max punched him hard in the gut, sending him sprawling into his colleague and pushed past them both, running as hard as he ever had. There were people everywhere, every one of them a potential collision. Boy, he could do with Martha’s eyes right now, an extra pair would go a long way.

  He ran like he was flying into combat anyway, flitting around crew, ducking gesticulating arms, anticipating changes of direction and pace, and scouting ahead for the inevitability of more Mips. It was an exhilarating run and he was leaving his pursuers behind in a race where a couple of metres might make all the difference.

  Max was closing on the fourth and fifth company mess when the six-strong patrol appeared from the right not thirty metres ahead of him. He wasn’t hard to spot, being the only idiot running at full tilt while almost everyone else stood and stared. The patrol spread across the corridor and moved through the few crew in between them, zapons ready to smack him down and beat him. Oh, the joy of pain.

  ‘Fuck that,’ muttered Max and bolted down a left-hand turn, then hard right through the first door he came to, praying it would lead somewhere.

  He found himself in a services block and hared through it, fearing a dead end. Beyond the laundry were the toilet stalls and the showers. Hope bloomed bright: he knew exactly where he was. Max ran on through the locker room and straight into the dorm. It was all but deserted, just a couple of cleaner crew with brooms.

  Max sprinted towards the doors opposite and flung them back, darting across the narrow corridor to get into the four and five mess. He heard the swish of a thrown zapon and felt it brush his trousers. A thunk of electricity fled through him, throwing spasms across his body. He half fell against the mess door, just managing to twitch the bar down so his momentum carried him inside.

  He rolled and staggered to his feet, his body juddering with pain. A few dozen faces lift from their food seeing in front of him. He stumbled heavily into a table, scattering cutlery, drinks and plates. Three marines shoved their chairs back, dodging sauce and water as it poured off the table.

  Max met the angry stare of one, jerked his head behind him by way of an apology and shakily ran on. He heard the Mips piling into the mess to give chase, yelling at him to stop. Max barrelled into the galley, ran down the lines of stoves and sinks and cabinets. Ahead, the swing doors out into the nonperishable food storage zone were tempting. They’d give him a way into the next galley but it wasn’t where he had to be. Time to take a chance. Knowing the Mips would be on his heels in seconds, he ducked right around the end of the work surfaces and pushed through the door into the serving area, keeping low.

  He crept to the end of the counter, the kitchen staff ignoring him with commendable aplomb, and glanced into the mess. The Mips were in the galley after him. He ran in a crouch to Cooper’s office, headed in and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Morning, Halloran, Valera said you’d drop in.’

  Max was gasping. ‘L . . . love my skipper . . . give me a pass . .. flesh tunnels. Please, Cooper.’

  Cooper smiled. It was a wholly unpleasant expression. ‘Two things: this is going to cost you so much you’ll be eating
sand the rest of your life. And if you’re caught and give up my people, I will personally poison your drake and watch your brain explode.’

  Max almost snapped something back but in his head he heard the disapproving sound of Valera clearing her throat. Or maybe it was Martha.

  ‘Just hide me, man.’

  ‘You got it.’

  Inferno-X had all been monitoring messages on their p-palms and the news of a sudden lockdown rehearsal had been greeted with cheers and tension. Valera had insisted there was no communication once the plan was set in motion and that had led to a growing frustration when they knew a pursuit underway but could do nothing to help.

  Valera’s faith in Max’s ability to escape was unshakeable. And despite the lack of information, she was certain they would hear from the top soon enough. Anxiety was quickly replaced with satisfaction when Kirby marched in, all jabbing fingers and red face and confronted the whole squad . . . who were delighted to hear Max had evaded capture so far.

  ‘Where is he?’ demanded Kirby.

  ‘Who?’ asked Valera.

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Orin. You’re deep in this.’

  ‘I’m not with you, sir. We’re confined to quarters.’ Kirby sighed. ‘I suppose I should expect this moronic denial.

  You know all ppalm communication is tracked.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t been reading our personal mails, sir.’

  ‘I’m petitioning Commander Avery to allow decryption of the most recent spate of communications from this squadron. We’ll link you to Halloran’s escape, I can promise you that.’

  ‘Max has escaped?’ Valera tried hard not to punch the air but there was no keeping her heart from singing nor was there any stopping cheers that echoed around the squad room.

  ‘And I know you know where he is. When I find a shred of proof you were involved, like organising the theft of one his flight suits, you’ll be taking his place in Landfill. All of you.’

  ‘We’ve had no communication with Max, sir. He’s Falling too, according to your fascinating report. Better find him. You don’t want Falling pilots getting all flappy-mouthed in public, do you, sir?’

  Kirby walked close to Valera and stare d down at her. ‘He won’t be so hard to find. Just think, when I push the button to wipe him from his lizard’s memory I’ll be able to hear his screams from whatever filthy hole he’s stowed in. Can’t wait; think I might do it now. The beast is ready, I wonder if Halloran is.’

  He stalked towards the door. ‘You think you’re so clever but you’ve only worsened his suffering. He’ll be wishing he was back in his nut-bed when the pain strikes. The second we reach our regeneration cycle, Inferno-X is history, dishonourably decommissioned. I’ll scatter you across the fleets to fly your last missions, disgraced and humiliated.’

  Valera let the echo of the rack door slamming die away. ‘Well done, everyone. Keep it down, though.’

  ‘He’ll go for Martha now, won’t he?’ said Redfearn. ‘Yep. Now everything hangs on Grim. Hold tight a little longer, everyone, we’re not quite there yet.’

  When Grim received the message she was ready. It meant brig time but she didn’t care. She would not let Inferno-X or Max down. It didn’t stop her hands trembling though and she dug them deep into the pockets of her filthy overalls. As she entered the flight deck it suddenly seemed a huge, unfriendly space filled with the cries of Geckos, Basilisks, Komodos and Drakes.

  She felt like a pariah, shunned by her crew mates as she strode to Martha’s pen. They looked at her with pity; everyone knew what was going to happen to Martha and they didn’t want to be associated with her in case it meant they were next. Stupid, really.

  There were two guards on Martha’s pen and they watched her approach just as Kirby’s agents did, up on the gallery.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked one as Grim approached. She was a thinlipped woman whose badge named her as ‘Lewis’. She was tall and her helmet gave her face a robotic quality. Apt.

  ‘I came to say good-bye, give her a last rub down.’

  ‘Pity you can’t bring it a last meal, eh?’ Lewis laughed at her own joke and her partner nodded his head in approval.

  ‘Been working on that one a while, have you?’ snapped Grim.

  ‘Never understood why you lot get so emotional about the ERCs. One dumb lizard is just like another, right?’

  There was a solid kick to the inside of the pen. Both guards jumped and swung round to the door.

  ‘Dumb lizard has good hearing,’ said Grim. ‘Let me in; and I’ll try to persuade her not to have you as a light snack.’

  ‘You think it understands us?’ asked the second guard, Carter, whose face was altogether kinder and sat atop a body stacked with muscle.

  ‘Not even the Tweakers know,’ said Grim. ‘But they hear and feel and deserve our respect. Now I want to say good-bye so maybe your mate could keep her sharp comments to herself.’

  Carter nodded and unlatched the pen.

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ said Lewis.

  ‘Like what? I can’t fly her, can I?’ Lewis shrugged. ‘If you’re so bothered then leave the door open.’

  Carter shuddered. ‘We trust you.’

  ‘Good call.’

  Inside with Martha, Grim felt complete again. The drake was lying down, having made her point with her kick of the pen. Her head and neck were laid across her back in the resting swan position and she lifted her head to look at Grim, her eyes brimming with intelligence but her body weakening through lack of nutrition. Grim reckoned she’d missed four feeds, and with her energised metabolic system that was a major problem.

  ‘Hey you,’ said Grim, moving forward to stroke her flank scales, feeling them dry and rough. ‘How are you doing?’

  Martha opened her mouth wide and rocked her head in what Grim had come to know as an expression of displeasure. She snapped her jaws shut and moved her head closer to Grim, wanting her muzzle rubbed. Grim obliged and spoke into her ear slit.

  ‘Ready for some fun?’ she whispered. ‘Going to try and get Max to you, princess.’

  The mention of Max’s name made Martha shiver and Grim chuckled. She checked the drake out, noting nothing amiss beyond the obvious effects of her enforced starvation. The data and flow pipes were still connected to her, providing the drugs which kept her relatively docile; and the endless flow of information so beloved by the Tweakers.

  ‘Fancy some food?’ she whispered. ‘Course you do.’

  Martha rattled the phlegm in her throat. Her fuel ducts were dry and the sound was raw. Grim glanced back at the pen door at Carter.

  ‘How’s it doing?’ he asked, raising his voice to carry through the glass and ignoring the equally loud tut from Lewis.

  ‘Her name’s Martha. And she’s okay, under the circumstances.’

  ‘Holy bollocks,’ muttered Lewis.

  Grim glared at Lewis. ‘I’d hate to live in your world. What a cold and miserable place it must be.’

  ‘Are you finished?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘Almost. Just need to check her data stream.’ Grim tugged at her forelock. ‘If that’s okay, ma’am.’

  Lewis almost smiled. ‘Knock yourself out.’

  Grim gave Martha a pat on the top of her head and leaned as if to kiss her muzzle. ‘Get ready to fly, princess,’ she whispered.

  Grim let herself out of the small side door and into the technical area that set next to the pen. She made sure her arms were folded and looked at the data screen from a pace away, shaking her head sadly. Lewis and Carter couldn’t see her from where they stood but the Mips stationed in the gallery were staring at her.

  Grim smiled and backed off, looking at Martha while she gathered her nerve. Martha had relaxed back into her resting position. She ran through her steps, the number of touches she’d need.

  ‘This is for you, Max,’ she said.

  Grim put her hands back in her pockets and moved casually back to the screen, her left fingers toyed with her access card. With a fina
l breath, she fed it into the side slot. The screen came alive. Her fingers danced across it and she ignored the shouts from the gallery as she enabled the feeding system.

  ‘Grimaldi!’ snapped Lewis. ‘Step away.’

  Grim heard them coming round the pen towards the technical area. She selected the level and mix of nutrients Martha needed, and heard a zapon buzz as it was activated.

  ‘Last warning,’ said Lewis.

  Grim tapped the activation pad and the feed started to flow. Then she turned, with a swell of pride at her own bravery.

  ‘So cuff me. No one’s wiping Martha now.’

  Chapter 24

  The beauty of the alien DNA was its capacity to produce creatures to almost any specification, and combine enormous strength with low mass. It allowed us to create behemoths to march the land and drakes to fill the sky. I still weep at the beauty of it all, but more so at the gift we humans inevitably bent to destruction.

  Doctor David Wong

  ‘Smoke?’ Krystyna proffered a tatty packet.

  ‘Bad for my health,’ said Max.

  Krystyna laughed; a rough throaty sound. ‘Now that’s funny coming from a drake pilot. I think it’s about time you started, kiddo, what with the shit storm you’ve kicked up.’

  Max was sitting at the table in the heater girls’ lab. Jola and Sharmi were in the back, sleeping. The whole place stank of chemicals and behemoth viscera, leaving Max feeling nauseous and already wanting to leave.

  ‘They know I’m down here somewhere, right?’

  ‘Despite recent evidence to the contrary, Kirby isn’t entirely stupid. Right now, he has to be careful which tunnels he decides to expose– and he still needs us. He’ll probably make a statement and raid someone way down in the tail where the lowlevel narcos and pros ply their trade. I’ll eat my still if he comes down here . . . besides, he can wait you out. He knows your only option is to get to your drake before he reengineers it. So you’ve done well to get this far, but there’s worse to come.’

  ‘Just tell me how to get to her, okay?’