by Gary Gibson
'For fuck's sake, what are you doing all this for?'
'I want you to lead the Bandati on a wild-goose chase, Dakota. I want you to keep their attention off me while I finish some business with the Queen of this stinking planet.'
He moved away from her, towards the shadows in the rear of the cell. 'And if they do catch you, you can tell the Queen that I do not respond to threats. Run if you can, my dear, but don't interfere with me or with your precious derelict. I have better plans for it than you can ever imagine.'
'For God's sake, I don't understand!'
He didn't answer. She watched as part of the wall slid aside, and he stepped through into the corridor beyond. The door slid back into place a moment later and she was alone once more. What now? She was still bound to the gurney. She lay there for several more minutes, hyperventilating and looking wildly around her. Suddenly, without warning, her restraints came loose. She sat up slowly, blinking away tears and rubbing at her chafed and bleeding wrists.
She lifted herself off of the gurney and it suddenly lowered, folding up into a thin slab resting on the floor of the cell.
The canister was still there, on one edge of the slab. It rattled violently. As she watched, it began to open. There was the sound of escaping gas and, again, a strong smell of ammonia.
The lid of the canister lifted up on four glistening steel rods, revealing a hollow interior. Something mewled from inside, the sound disturbingly like that of a kitten. Two of the rods rose higher than the other pair until the lid toppled off onto the floor with a crash.
Dakota darted into the far corner of the cell, horrified yet unable to move. There was nowhere else to go.
A tingle in her neck announced the return of the Piri Reis. But something was different now; her implants made it clear the ship was a lot closer than before.
It was, in fact, several hundred kilometres overhead, locked into orbit around Ironbloom.
‹Dakota. I have been removed from the Blackflower facility and transported to-›
Ironbloom. I know.
‹Immortal Light appear to have traced the path of our communications, Dakota. As a result, I can make no guarantees as to the duration of any-›
I know. How long do we have?
‹Impossible to estimate precisely. I must point out your heart rate and adrenalin levels are dangerously high.›
Dakota laughed weakly at this. If you only knew, she sent.
She stepped towards the canister, with the idea of pushing it out of the door-opening. She yelled as she touched it, and quickly stepped away. It was hot – hot enough to burn her.
And enormously heavy.
She cursed and cradled her singed hand. No, not just heavy, she realized; it was locked onto the slab somehow, possibly even magnetized.
‹I do not understand-›
The blimps, she sent frantically, are they on their way?
The canister rattled again, and the mewling grew louder – angrier. Whatever was inside was clearly restless from its long incarceration.
‹There is a train of blimps passing through the city at this moment, but the one you are scheduled to board is still several hours away. It is advisable to wait until then, otherwise the chances of my interference being detected are far higher. I feel it necessary to point out that in order to effectively infiltrate Darkwater's traffic control systems, it was necessary not only to piggyback the appropriate protocols via the Magi derelict, but to-›
There isn't the fucking time, Piri! You need to redirect the nearest blimps to me right now. I'm in serious trouble.
Something pale and wormlike was beginning to emerge from the top of the canister.
No, several somethings.
The stink of the creatures that emerged made Dakota gag. At first they reminded her of fat caterpillars, but about the length of her arm and twice as thick. Each had tiny, stubby, almost comical legs, perhaps a dozen in all. She wondered how they'd survived being crammed into such a confined space.
‹I can send the nearest blimp train towards your tower immediately, but I must warn you the chances of detection are vastly increased-›
I didn't say I wanted to debate the fucking matter! Now, Piri, or I'm dead!
There were four grubs in all, pale-bodied, with small, puckered mouths. They did not appear to have eyes, and their heads waved blindly in the air as they emerged. The nearest to Dakota seemed to sense something, however, when it turned in her direction, the pitch of its mewling changing to become more intense, more desperate.
Born hungry.
They moved so slowly, however, and surely The nearest reared up on its hind legs and hissed at her, baring tiny, razor-sharp teeth. Its body trembled, as if scenting fresh meat, and with an undulating motion that made her stomach twist, began to creep towards her.
Oh crap, thought Dakota. Ten Things got bad for Corso after he was removed again from Dakota's cell.
His immediate conclusion when he awoke once more strapped on a gurney was that they were going to resume the torture. A tight strap under his chin held his head immobile, and he could feel bands of pressure where others secured his legs and arms. His mouth felt thick and clammy, familiar evidence that he'd been drugged into submission even as he slept.
He was being wheeled down a passageway, its etched-copper walls alternating with bright strips of light as four blank-eyed Bandati – one at each corner of the gurney – pushed him along, the wheels bumping noisily.
Suddenly, the overhead lights gave way to natural light and open air. A moment later Corso found himself in free-fall, the side of the tower rushing by at enormous speed.
He entered a realm of resounding terror, screaming hoarsely as he plummeted towards the streets and twisting tributaries of the river far below.
The four Bandati were still there, though, each holding one corner of the gurney, but with their wings spread wide to catch the air. Their descent slowed suddenly, the light now picking out the iridescent patterns on their extended wings.
They glided downwards at an eye-wateringly steep angle, the wind whipping the breath from Corso's lungs, before making a sudden and far from gentle landing on what appeared to be a rooftop. They were near the centre of a cluster of buildings standing inside a funnel-shaped space that lay at the tower's heart.
The back of Corso's skull had banged against the gurney several times, almost knocking him unconscious. He felt a warm trickling sensation across his thighs and realized belatedly he'd pissed himself during their sudden descent.
They wheeled him through a wide arch, and into what he soon realized was an elevator big enough to accommodate a hundred humans. The elevator dropped for what felt like a remarkably long time before emerging into what was clearly a subway system, with long, arrow-nosed, windowless trains floating above rails in a well-lit tunnel that vanished into infinity.
There were more Bandati here, most of them armed with weapons slung over heavy grey harnesses. Two of these stepped forward, took charge of the gurney and wheeled it inside one of the trains.
Corso found Honeydew – recognizable by his now-familiar wing-patterning – waiting for him inside. The car they were in jerked slightly and they started to accelerate, the movement so gentle that Corso had only the barest sense they were even under way. Curling patterns, like those that patterned his cell, began to glow across the walls of the car.
'You should know, Mr Corso, that if not for my direct intervention you might be dead by now.' The synthesized voice echoed stiffly. 'I, however, have maintained a stand that you can still be of use to us.'
It took a moment for Corso to realize his restraints had been loosened. He swung his legs slowly to the floor.
'If this is about what happened with Dakota-'
'You failed, Mr Corso.'
Corso laughed, fresh anger blooming deep within his chest. 'You tortured her continuously, and you think she's just going to turn around and help you on my say-so?' He shook his head. 'She's just looking for a fast way to kill her
self – has been, ever since Redstone. All you're doing is making it easy for her. The more you punish her, the more she thinks she deserves it.'
He stood up carefully, determined to stand his ground. 'You'll never get her to cooperate, and as long as she's still alive and she can communicate with the derelict, you're never going to get inside it. At least, not without my help.'
'Dakota Merrick is no longer your concern.'
'What?' Corso balled his fists at his sides and stepped closer to the alien. 'What does that mean?'
'It means nothing, Mr Corso. You've proven adequately that you can help us penetrate the derelict's interior, but there have been… setbacks.'
'I already told you, I can't help you as much as I might if I had access to the records on board the Piri Reis.'
'That can be arranged. We want you to retrieve your protocols from the Piri Reis 's stacks.'
At last. 'That still doesn't answer the question of just why in hell I should,' Corso replied carefully. 'You haven't followed through on any of your promises – in fact, apart from trying to pry my brain apart or torture me, this is the first goddamn time I've been out of that tower-cell since we got here! Every step of the way you've treated the pair of us like animals. There's been no sign or evidence of any negotiation. I've been given no opportunity to contact the Freehold, to-'
'You will have your negotiations, Mr Corso.'
'Like hell I will!' he exploded. 'I'm sick and tired of being led on. Bring me a representative of the Freehold, and then maybe we can talk. Until then, go fuck yourself!'
The alien cocked his head to one side slightly, the upper tips of his wings brushing against the ceiling of the subway car. 'You should know that we've had some concern over the political stability of your home world. Are you aware there was a coup there while you were away in the Nova Arctis system?'
'I knew about that.' Corso stared at the alien. 'What about it?'
'The Freehold have become weakened through their infighting, and the Uchidans have been taking advantage of the situation by consolidating recent territorial gains. It's possible civil war may break out again, further weakening your society. In that case, negotiating with them directly is unlikely to prove either fruitful or profitable.'
'How do I know any of this is even true?' Corso retorted.
'Please understand that there is much that has been kept from you, by necessity,' Honeydew continued. 'For this I apologize, but we must have the complete protocols from the Piri Reis. The reason why will become clearer once we reach our final destination.'
Final destination?
'I don't do anything until you bring me a representative of the Freehold Senate,' Corso replied, stabbing one finger at the floor between them. He'd meant it to look commanding, but standing there naked talking to an oversized bat only made him feel ridiculous. 'You have to let me get in contact with my people first.'
'That isn't yet possible.'
Corso shrugged, and folded his arms defiantly. 'Well, then-'
'I have been ordered to kill you if it proves impossible to gain your cooperation.'
Corso blinked. 'What?'
'You are a security risk, a constant problem for my people to deal with during our investigations. In certain respects your expertise is invaluable – but if you withhold that expertise, there's no reason to keep you alive.'
'Wait a minute, I-'
The world turned white, and suddenly Corso was looking up at Honeydew from where he now lay curled up on the floor next to the gurney, pain radiating through his nervous system like hot lava. He saw Honeydew was holding a pain-inductor in the small black palm of his hand.
'Please understand,' Honeydew informed him, 'that your cooperation is vastly preferred. But there are other, less pleasant ways of getting to the information stored in your head.'
Corso tasted blood and realized he'd bitten his tongue. 'I don't know what you mean,' he coughed. Then he tried to stand, but his muscles seemed to have turned to putty.
'We have data-retrieval methods for securing your memories,' Honeydew explained, 'neural maps that can guide us to the information storage areas of your cerebrum. Extracting the information would require highly invasive surgical procedures, and the chances of your surviving such procedures, let alone regaining your current level of cognition, are extremely low.'
'Shit.' Corso laughed weakly. He tried to pull himself up by gripping one leg of the gurney, but it rolled away from him as soon as he put his weight on it and he slid back to the floor. 'You're acting like you don't even need me. Why put me through all this if you don't even need me?'
'These methods I describe are unreliable. The results and information obtained would be uncertain and possibly highly fragmentary. But don't make the mistake of thinking we wouldn't make the attempt if necessary. You'll have time to consider your options before we make orbit.'
Orbit'? Corso stared after the departing alien in a daze, wondering if he'd heard the creature right.
Where the hell were they taking him? Eleven One down, three to go.
Dakota glanced below quickly, but couldn't see the maul-worm grub as it tumbled and bounced down the wall of the tower.
If she had one single advantage, it was that the things didn't appear to be able to move very fast. Even though they lacked anything that looked to Dakota like eyes, it was obvious as hell they had a superb sense of smell, because every time she darted away from one, the rest of them all bobbed and weaved their featureless heads until they were once again focusing straight towards her.
For the past two hours she'd been playing a deadly game of tag, during which the same sequence of events had already played out several times; first, one of the grubs, constantly hissing and screeching, would slowly crawl towards where she crouched or stood in whichever corner of the cell was as far away from her new cellmates as possible.
Every time she tried to sidle out of the approaching grub's way, one of its brethren (but only one) would begin to move towards her as well. She'd wait until the last moment before leaping over their snapping heads and sprinting the very short distance across the cell to whichever corner appeared to be the most worm-free.
Except, of course, that left the other two to deal with.
The grubs clearly gravitated towards the canister they'd emerged from. They crawled back to it constantly, their heads weaving and bobbing, and sometimes one or another of them would climb back inside before re-emerging after a minute or so. Apart from that, they tended to stick together. At least they hadn't spread themselves out uniformly across the cell, because then Well, perhaps it was best not to think about that.
Once she'd made her brief dash to a relatively grub-free corner, whichever two had been hanging back would take their turn to try and corner her, and the whole thing would play out again.
It was a game of attrition that could go on, she felt sure, for days. But they'd wear her down long before that.
So she decided to go on the attack.
She dodged past the snapping, tooth-filled mouth of the grub nearest her and made her way out onto the ledge beyond the door-opening, the cold wind raising goose pimples on her bare skin. Another grub wove its head for several seconds until it had figured out where she was, and began crawling towards her. A second grub took an interest and also started making its way over in the same direction.
Dakota crouched on the ledge, knees bent and arms spread wide, facing back into the cell. When the first grub got close enough, it reared up on several of its stubby rear legs, hissing and mewling. Dakota grabbed it in a wrestler's grip, arms locked around it while its gaping mouth spat and raged over her shoulder.
Dakota rolled backwards, and felt the back of her head touch the edge of the lip. The grub's momentum carried it sailing over her head. She twisted around just in time to see it clip the edge of a platform some way below, and a few seconds after that it had tumbled out of sight.
Then she saw the blood trickling down her shoulder and the pain kicked in a moment la
ter.
The second grub was almost on her by now. She brought up a foot and kicked out at it, hard; needle-like teeth grazed her ankle. She kicked again and it skittered to one side. She took the opportunity to push herself up onto her feet and darted back into the interior of the cell.
Piri. In the motherfucking name of God, how long are you going to take?
Dakota reached behind herself and felt a deep wet scar across the back of her shoulder.
‹Please prepare for departure, Dakota. Your escape route will be finalized within the next three hundred seconds.›
Easy for you to say. Nausea rippled through her senses and Dakota felt the urge to vomit. The remaining grubs were finally starting to gang up on her now, backing her into one corner without waiting like before.
Her leg had started to itch furiously where one of the creatures had grazed her with its teeth. She waited until a grub got close enough so she could kick out at it and caught it just below the mouth. It wriggled backwards, then advanced again, hissing.
She grabbed it without thinking, and it fought like a demon in her grasp. Yelling, she ran towards the ledge and pushed it out of the door-opening. It tried to wrap itself around her arms, but she smashed it against the ledge until it let go and tumbled into the void beyond.
Two down, two to go.
She stared out across the city and saw a train of blimps, coming closer. Elation bloomed in her mind. They were making their way directly towards her, under the control of the Piri Reis.
Soon enough, somebody was going to notice something out of the ordinary, even if all they had to do was look out of a window in one of the surrounding towers to see it. Surely some of the Bandati flying nearby would be able to tell that the blimps had changed their pre-programmed course.
She still didn't know why the Piri had been moved to orbit above Ironbloom, while the derelict remained at the Blackflower facility. It wouldn't matter much longer anyway, since the derelict had very nearly subverted the communications network for the entire system, and then even the Piri Reis wouldn't be so necessary.
