Shen Ark: Departure

by John Hindmarsh

  “You’ve probably hit him enough.”

  “Naah. ‘E needs t’ learn a real lesson. The boss said, make an example of ’im.”

  Joseph staggered to his feet and to everyone’s surprise, including his own, kicked Gus in the groin. He turned and delivered a surprisingly effective blow to the other thug, and then ran for his life, heading towards the lighted street at the end of the alley. He was free! The load of PCN material bounced on his back.

  He was astounded that the two thugs had tricked him. There was no reason, he thought, as he ran, for their hostility or their violence. He wanted to supply their boss with as much of his PCN formulation as the club could sell. After all, it was part of his plan; it was why he had brought his backpack, with his samples. He ran on, heart pounding. The two thugs followed, promising retribution in their persistent pursuit.

  Joseph suspected he had a broken rib or perhaps two, and his body ached from his assailant’s punches. His headache throbbed in time with his heartbeat; his whole body was wracked with pain, while exhaustion threatened his resolution to escape. He ran, twisting and turning, racing headlong down streets as he struggled to increase the gap between him and his pursuers.

  Joseph was on the edge of the wasteland of deserted and vacant offices and warehouses; the Docklands had never recovered from the devastation caused years previously by the Great Floods.

  He did not know where to find sanctuary and so he kept running.

  Driven by fear, fleeing in pain, and pushed by panic, he ran faster than he had ever managed on the track. His lungs were burning with each breath and his leg muscles were on fire. He staggered and pushed his hand out to a building wall. His move was moments too late. He slipped and fell against the crumbling brickwork, adding abrasions to the bruises on his face and body. He righted himself and stood for a moment, swaying, his body undecided, and his mind operating on a random delay basis as it tried to balance fear and pain.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. A thin stream of blood slid slowly down his cheek, flowing from a shallow cut on the side of his head. He did not feel any pain. He did not feel the weight of the backpack.

  He straightened, pushing away from the wall, his swaying body almost under control. He needed to find somewhere to hide from the two thugs who were chasing him. He moaned in fear as car headlights pinned his shadow to the wall. That fear caught up and triggered his flight response as hidden reserves of strength kicked in.

  Joseph stumbled from wall to wall, from building to building, agonizingly aware of his slowing pace as his exhaustion level increased. He leaned against a door and it jerked open; he fell inside, onto the floor, bruising his knees. He cursed the pain as he pushed himself upright.

  He was in a disused reception area and could see another doorway leading further into the building. He edged cautiously across the room, surprisingly able to see where he was going in the intense darkness. He was still cautious, barely lifting his feet as a precaution against tripping over some major obstruction. He reached the far wall and felt carefully for the next door. He pushed it open and stepped into a large storage space. Empty racks with steel skeleton frames reached towards the ceiling; he thought it was probably a warehouse area.

  He kept moving through the empty warehouse and eventually came to a separate set of rooms consisting of an old kitchen and eating area. His thirst drove him into the kitchen, even as he realized it likely had only one entrance, and was a potential trap. His thirst ruled. Broken tables and dilapidated equipment were scattered around the kitchen. There was a row of stoves set in the centre, and sinks and benches stretched along one wall. He dropped his backpack with its precious PCN under the sinks and turned on a tap.

  He let the water run for a few moments, hoping its rush would not fade as he waited. At last he was certain the flow had cleared any initial contamination. Joseph leaned over and cupped his hands and drank deeply. He was totally drained of energy, and collapsed, exhausted, his consciousness fading.

  ~~~

  Unbeknownst to Joseph, his two pursuers had also entered the building where a partly open door provided its invitation. They commenced their search, starting with the entrance lobby, and then checked through the long-vacated offices.

  “Percy’ll ‘ave our ‘eads if we don’t sort ‘im,” muttered Gus, waving the torch he had found in the stolen Range Rover they had used to follow their victim. In his right hand he carried his favourite weapon, an automatic pistol with an integrated laser sight; it was his special toy.

  “We just need to make sure he doesn’t come back to the club,” advised Andy. “Put your gun away. Too many people have seen us. If his body turns up with holes in it, we’ll be first in the line-up.”

  “Yeah, maybe yer right.” Gus holstered his weapon as he flashed the torch around the last office. “No one ‘ere, let’s check the next room.”

  The torch light washed across empty storage racks. Gus pointed the torch down to the floor. There, in the dust, was a faint set of footprints.

  “Gotcha!”

  “Over there,” Andy indicated the direction.

  Gus placed his hand over the torch to reduce the light, and they crept slowly and cautiously in the direction of the footprints until they found and entered the kitchen. Gus was in the lead and shone the torch around the room, across sinks, along shelving, and then flashed the beam back to the row of sinks. He shone the light down, to the shadows under the sinks. Their quarry was on the floor, unconscious, partially on top of his precious backpack, its contents spilled across the floor.

  “Well, Mad Scientist, you’ve reached the end of yer road,” declared Gus. “Andy, I fought I saw some pipes outside. Take the torch, go check. I wanna piece about free—four feet long. I’ll watch ‘im.”

  Without comment, Andy went searching and returned within minutes, carrying a length of pipe over his shoulder. He handed it to his companion. Gus hefted the pipe and brought the end down in a powerful swing. He repeated his action.

  “Stop, you fool. You’ll kill him. Percy said we cannot—”

  “I know, I know. ‘E ‘ad it coming.” Gus looked down at the blood smeared body, one leg obviously broken, face covered with blood. “OK, OK. Let’s go. I wanna block the door so ‘e can’t gedout.” He dropped the pipe with a clatter.

  Joseph did not hear the two men depart. He did not hear them barricade the kitchen doors. He did not feel any pain.

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Joseph lay unconscious and unmoving for three days. His presence only momentarily deterred scavenging rats from exploring the PCN feeder stock and drug capsules which had fallen onto the floor of the kitchen. Joseph’s body covered part of the feeder stock, while the remainder was scattered and available to the scavengers. At first the rats were tentative and sniffed cautiously, whiskers quivering, as they crept to the tempting food source. They were from different colonies and were apprehensive about approaching an unfamiliar area where both a human and strange rats were present. Eventually, the odoriferous attraction of the PCN material overwhelmed their caution, and they sampled and then almost compulsively gorged themselves on the chemicals. Snarling fights broke out whenever newly arrived alpha rats tried to take possession of the backpack and its contents.

  Almost all the first arrivals perished within hours, many immediately falling unconscious, usually on the edge of the feeder material, and then dying as the PCN concoction invaded their bodies. Each dead rat was a primary source of protein which was quickly absorbed by the nanites, the process leaving very little evidence of the absorbed rats. As quickly as the incoming rats consumed the PCN and died, the feeder stock grew faster, until it was heaped higher than Joseph’s body. It had developed a self-generating mode, killing rats and utilizing their bodies for protein.

  Later arrivals were more cautious, sniffing and silently questioning the fate of the earlier arrivals, some of whom were still twitching atop the now faintly glowing material. The scent of the feeder stock wa
s a siren call, and it drew rats closer and closer, until they could no longer deny their urges to eat. They died. By the end of the first twelve hours, a hundred rats had perished. By the end of forty-eight hours, the death total was closer to a thousand rats, with fewer than fifty surviving.

  Then, as Joseph’s condition improved and he began to stir, the feeder stock appeared to lose it toxicity. It maintained its allure and its glow, although now the majority of feeding rats survived as a balance was struck between consumption by the rats and the feeder pile’s need of protein. The deaths did not deter the incoming rats; they had found a source of nourishment totally outside their experience, and which they were unable to forgo. Not only did the PCN mix lose its temporary toxicity, the rats now appeared to benefit from its nanitic and chemical constitution, and the ratio of survivors increased.

  One rat, an older, scarred alpha male, at last decided to take control of the huge pile of feeder stock. At first, he encouraged the females to feed. Then, when they survived, he mated with them. He had amazing energy and was driven by chemically induced urges. He kept the females nearby, chasing off any new alpha male who displayed a competitive approach. He encouraged smaller, younger males to feed, and as long as they did not show a breeding interest in his females, he allowed them to stay. By aggressive demonstration, he formed these males into a small fighting unit whose purpose was to support his efforts to control access and manage the flow of rats to and from the feeder stock.

  Gradually the nanite material changed, slowly developing a repeating pattern of colours and scents. This alpha rat somehow understood the changes and rewarded his small force with access to the feeder stock when the colours and scents were in a particular combination. His embryonic tribe thrived.

  ~~~

  Joseph stirred, moaning in pain. The movement and sound caused a flurry amongst the rats. They bounded away from the mound of feeder stock, some reaching the cavities in the walls which gave them access to the kitchen. The older rat, the leader, lifted his head and observed the commotion. He did not move away, although his whiskers twitched. Joseph moaned again.

  At last Joseph managed to raise his head. He had an intolerable thirst, and knew there were working taps above him, if he could stand. He struggled and failed, losing consciousness again. He did not notice the king rat as it regarded him impassively.

  Some hours later, Joseph stirred again and moaned. This time the rats were undisturbed by his sounds, and continued either grooming themselves or eating from the mound of feeder stock. Joseph struggled to lift his body off the floor. At last he managed to lever himself upright using the edge of a sink as a support. Pain from his fractured leg almost caused him to crash back onto the floor. He braced himself; he knew he needed water to survive. Fumbling, he found the tap and turned it on and drank. The rats watched with interest. When he finished drinking, Joseph collapsed back onto the mound of feeder stock and closed his eyes. He still was not fully conscious, and he sank back into welcome oblivion.

  ~~~

  More rats arrived, attracted by the odours of the feeder stock and by the presence of other rats. Again the king rat and his team of young supporters culled the new arrivals. Females and potential members of the king rat’s new colony were herded and allowed immediate access to the feeder material. Other rats were relegated to wait for an opportunity to feed—which the king rat only allowed when the feeder stock changed its hue and odour. Most of these later arrivals died immediately after ingesting the PCN material and their bodies were slowly subsumed into the feeder stock. Very few members of the embryonic colony were now adversely affected by the feeder stock, and the survivors returned to feed safely when permitted by their new leader. Rats continued to enter the kitchen.

  ~~~

  Another day passed. Joseph had partly woken and drank from the tap again, afterwards collapsing back into unconsciousness. The next morning, when he awoke, he levered himself to the tap and drank again. This time he remained conscious, although the pain from his fractures was almost unbearable. He looked around the room, at the large mound of feeder stock and at the hundreds of watching rats. He shook his head in bewilderment and slowly collapsed, his head resting on the side of the glittering, glowing mound. He drifted back into a comatose state.

  ~~~

  Later in the day the king rat watched and waited for Joseph to regain consciousness, while his supporters continued to manage incoming rats. They selected some newcomers for the colony while controlling others who were destined to be consumed by the PCN mound.

  ~~~

  Joseph stirred and opened his eyes. He did not notice that his hands and the side of his head were coated with a glittering silver substance; nor did he notice that when he raised his head slightly, a scattering of sparkling nanite-chemicals drifted away. He saw the king rat watching him. He raised his head further and flinched when he saw the audience of rats, hundreds of them, perhaps a thousand or more, their eyes all intent on him. Silver motes drifted away from his head back onto the softly glowing mound as he struggled to sit up.

  For the moment, and for the first time in days, he was free of pain, although he was weak and unsteady and had to fight waves of nausea when he moved his head. His body was still suffering from the beating by the two thugs, and he realized he was a long way from full recovery. He wondered at the audience of rats and at the pile of feeder stock; he estimated it was at least ten times the volume he had carried in his backpack. He lifted his hand and saw silver threads falling from his fingers. He shook his hand, and silver motes danced and glittered as they fell. Joseph reached for the side of the sink and levered himself up. He drank from the tap and then quickly sat down before nausea overwhelmed him.

  The rats watched impassively.

  The room was dark; the windows either shuttered or boarded. Discarded kitchen equipment, apparently of no value when the building was abandoned, was scattered around. There were work benches and a cooking area; it appeared from its size that the kitchen had been used only for a small workforce, probably the workers responsible for running the warehouse.

  A very large rat was watching him, staring, as though trying to communicate some secret message or waiting for Joseph to speak. Joseph sighed and lay back down again with his head resting partly on the feeder stock. He did not notice the threads of sparkling silver slowly re-attaching to his hands and temple. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Joseph dreamed. The images were not his; they communicated violence, death and sex, and included passions he had never known and never experienced, all at a primal level. He struggled to retain control of his emotions, and used anger and then hunger to forcibly eject the alien torments from his mind. His dream focus shifted and he dreamed of food, plates of pasta, steaks charring over a barbecue, fruit and nuts, ice cream and other childhood comfort foods. He moaned in his sleep, tossing and turning, until eventually his mind cleared and at last he fell into a calming, dreamless sleep.

  ~~~

  While Joseph slept, more than half the rats left the kitchen, their activities driven by compulsions they had never before experienced, with promised rewards of more nanite-chemicals on their return. They streamed out of the room and out of the building. They were on a mission. They had images and taste and scent impressions of their objectives. The large group splintered and splintered again, breaking up into smaller groups, all headed in different directions. Still smaller groups, two and three rats each, broke off in fractal streams, seeking their given objectives. They explored old deserted buildings and then ventured into more populous areas, exploring pantries and shelves, boxes and crates, anything and anywhere they could. Some were successful. Some failed. Some were caught and killed: by humans, by dogs, or by cats.

  Small groups of rats returned throughout the evening. A few were empty-handed, while successful rats tugged packets and containers or carried other items back to the kitchen. They pulled and nudged their spoils, the wide-ranging results of their mission, until they had assembled a curiou
s collection of offerings beside the sleeping man. Some packets were empty, some full, some were damaged or well past their use by dates. The rats had struggled to comprehend their objectives; next time they would know better, next time they would not search empty buildings, next time they would concentrate their searches where they would be more successful. They rested, waiting for the man to awaken again.

  ~~~

  Slowly, Joseph regained strength, fed by the scavenging rats, and supported by PCN nanites. He had tied a rough splint to his broken leg and, if he was careful, he was able to move about. He hobbled slowly to the doors that gave access to the kitchen and tugged on the handles. The doors did not give, they did not move. He realized they were fastened and locked tight from outside the kitchen. He tapped the surface of one of the doors and was not surprised at the metallic response. He looked back. Hundreds or now perhaps thousands of rats watched him intently. He struggled to walk to the windows. Most of the glass panes were broken and the windows themselves had been shuttered and boarded over; roughly hewn, heavy strips of timber had been nailed across the windows from the outside. Even if he had the tools, he did not have the strength to remove the boards.

  He fumbled his way along the far wall and discovered a small room, apparently a pantry, and he was surprised to see some packages and cans on the shelves. If the food was still safe to eat, it would provide some relief from the scavenged items the rats were painstakingly providing. He did not have the energy to explore the labels and he returned to the nanite feeder mound. He was totally exhausted by his exertions; this was the most he had explored since regaining consciousness. At last, Joseph sat down beside the PCN mound and held his head in his hands. He almost wept. He was a prisoner of a phantom jailer, and he had no tools to use to escape from the barricaded kitchen. He was still oblivious to the threads of sparkling silver.

  The rats continued to watch impassively.

  Days passed, turning into weeks. The rats continued to provide him with food; some of it nutritious and some of it totally inedible. Progressively, they had improved their scavenging techniques and he now enjoyed fresh grapes and strawberries, easy items for rats to carry. They also brought nuts, candies, different fruit such as figs and cherries, some green vegetables and small tomatoes; all items which one or two rats together could scavenge and carry. Sometimes they brought him packaged meats and cheese, and he ate those items with trepidation, worried about possible food poisoning. His diet was very strange, he thought, although it seemed he was thriving on whatever the rats were harvesting for him.