by Gary Gibson
‘Yes. I think that particular one came from a fabricator originally designed for making customized kitchen components.’
Rivers put the car into reverse, and the tractor treads crunched across the stone floor as he guided it carefully between the close-packed hovels and sleeping bodies, veering close enough to outstretched limbs at times to send Dakota’s heart leaping towards her mouth. She studied the weapon’s components and then carefully slotted them together, the grip sliding in last. When she held it in her upturned palm it felt light, insubstantial, more like a toy than a real weapon. Hugh Moss would have access to far greater firepower than this.
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ said Rivers, ‘but you said at one point you thought you might have trouble finding your way around on your own . . . ?’
‘I can’t manipulate data the way I used to, Mr Rivers. I’m not much more than a passenger on the Magi ships these days.’
Rivers nodded, looking embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry for asking. It seems so many of us are suffering from the bends.’
She frowned. ‘The what?’
‘That’s what some of the other navigators are calling it now,’ Rivers explained. ‘The bends, or neural burnout – a sickness from diving too deep into the world of data contained inside every Magi ship.’
‘Really.’
‘I’ve not been affected myself,’ Rivers continued. ‘But I suspect it may only be a matter of time.’
‘How long have you been a Magi-class navigator?’
‘Six months,’ he replied. ‘Most navigators start suffering the ill effects after seven or eight months.’ His smile faded a little. ‘We should be going now. I found you a place to stay on a lower level.’
Before long they were trundling through a series of endlessly winding passageways. Steps were carved into the stone on either side, every thirty metres or so, leading up to open galleries cut into the side of the passageways, just below the ceiling. Terran flora was everywhere, although much of it had clearly been engineered specially for an underground existence. Vines dropped down from the ceiling to brush against their heads as they drove on, while dwarf trees – oak, ash and a few unidentifiable hybrids – lined every district they passed through. These trees barely came up to shoulder height, and made Dakota feel like she and Rivers were a pair of giants going out for a Sunday drive.
Business districts merged into residential areas, the ceiling sometimes dipping so low that Dakota would have had to stoop if she disembarked, while at other times it soared to cathedral proportions, with tiers of recessed homes and businesses rising up and up, all interconnected by carved stone staircases. They moved through a cornucopia of odours, those of food cooked on open griddles in busy market places, the fragrance of pale-leaved flowers and the rankness of thousands of human bodies living for years at a time in this deep subterranean darkness. And as they moved from one district via a downwards-spiralling ramp to a lower district, the air became ever hotter, denser and damper.
‘Tell me everything you know about Moss,’ Dakota asked at one point.
‘He turned up here slightly less than five weeks ago and established himself extremely rapidly. It’s my understanding that he trains what are intended to be either bodyguards or assassins, depending on your source of information. Killers, certainly,’ Rivers added, as they hurtled on.
‘Assassins? But to assassinate who?’
‘Well, at first the rumours were that Moss was training soldiers to act as protection for black marketeers in Derinkuyu. Then it turned out he was killing off all the black marketeers instead, and taking over in their place. Keep in mind,’ he added, ‘that much of this remains mere rumour and conjecture. He also supposedly has some arrangement with a tribe of second-stage Skelites living in burrows at a much lower level than this one. It’s believed he’s aiding them in their war with a neighbouring tribe.’
‘What do you mean by “second-stage” Skelites?’
‘Skelites go through three distinct stages of development during their lives. The first stage is born in pools of volcanically heated water on the surface. Those who survive go on to stage two, which is large, aggressive, extremely territorial and technologically innovative, though their existence is spent mostly in subterranean burrows like these. Those who survive their constant wars then enter a third stage, where they return to the surface and spend the rest of their existence reproducing and engaging in what I guess you might call intellectual pursuits.’ He glanced briefly at Dakota. ‘The second-stage Skelites are the only ones who have any contact with other species. And, of course, they’re the ones who are demanding their own starships, since—’
Rivers never got to finish his sentence.
Dakota was not immediately aware that there had been an explosion – or that the car they were riding in had been pushed up from the floor of a tunnel with sufficient force to catapult it several metres into the air. Instead she now found herself some distance away from the car’s burning wreckage, with no clear memory of how she had got from there to here. There were distant screams and shouts, and small fires blazed dimly through a spreading cloud of black smoke.
She sat up, looking down to see that the black liquid of her filmsuit had spilled out to protect her. Her clothes were torn and ragged, but she herself wasn’t even scratched.
She jumped up and ran back to the wrecked vehicle.
Rivers must have died instantly: his head was twisted at an impossible angle, while his eyes stared sightlessly up from out of the wreckage. Dakota looked all around and observed that the tunnel was tall and narrow, with an arching roof high overhead. Galleries ran along the side walls, set back just below the ceiling. Two stone bridges crossed overhead and connected these galleries – like so much in Derinkuyu, carved directly from the living rock. Thick black oily smoke pooled under the ceiling itself, just above the level of the twin bridges.
She dropped to her knees and scrabbled around with her hands beneath the wreckage of the car, then ducked lower until her chin almost touched the ground. Peering past Rivers’s corpse, she finally spotted the home-made pulse-rifle. She flattened herself to the ground and slid beneath the shattered vehicle until she could grab hold of it.
A low whoosh came from somewhere close by, and through the thick smoke she could see the glow of flames billowing from somewhere further along the tunnel. But the smoke was beginning to clear a little as it dispersed in both directions along the passageway, and she now saw a figure emerge, moving with deliberate purpose towards her.
Dakota pulled herself around the other side of the wreck until it was between her and the approaching figure, and there hurriedly reassembled the rifle. She kept it close to her chest and raised herself to a low crouch, wondering which was the best way to run, just as the figure came close enough for her to make it out.
The man bearing down on her had four arms: the extra pair were situated slightly below and behind what she presumed to be his original limbs. Each one of his four hands gripped some kind of weapon; she saw a wicked-looking blade, a sub-machine gun and two force-pistols. A broad belt slung from shoulder to hip was laden with cartridges, throwing knives and more pistols. She watched his face twist into a mask of fury at the same time as he raised the submachine gun and pulled the trigger.
Frozen until this moment, she ran off to one side, heading for a staircase that led up to one of the galleries. She was followed by a dull clinking noise, and it took her a moment to identify this as the sound of bullets striking her filmsuit before dropping to the ground, rendered harmless as their kinetic force was absorbed.
She took the steps three at a time. Bystanders who had come out on to the side galleries to see what was going on rapidly scattered as she got higher.
Four-arms stayed next to the wrecked car, but kept firing as she climbed. The bullets tinkled to the ground in a steady stream, which merely caused her would-be assassin to scream with rage.
Once she’d reached the gallery itself, she ducked out of sight. It was deserted now, but the enti
re passageway rang with the wail of frightened voices.
Dakota stole a glance over the side of the waist-high wooden balustrade alongside the gallery, and saw that the assassin was standing directly under one of the two stone bridges. He fired off a few more shots and she ducked down again.
Leaning on one knee, she balanced the plastic rifle on the rim of the balustrade and aimed it directly at the underside of the bridge immediately above the assassin. She pulled the trigger, half-expecting the weapon to fail completely.
Her vision turned black for a moment, before her filmsuit compensated for the overwhelming flash. When her sight returned, she had a bird’s-eye view of the bridge tumbling downwards in ruin.
Four-arms wasn’t nearly fast enough to get out of the way in time, and so disappeared under a mound of boulders and gravel, along with the car and Rivers’s corpse.
Dakota glanced down at where her rifle should be, and found all that was left was the handgrip containing the battery, along with several centimetres of shattered plastic barrel.
So much for home-made weapons, she reflected, pulling herself upright. At least the battery hadn’t blown as well.
She looked around, and could still hear the voices of people talking and yelling somewhere out of sight. Already a siren was sounding in the distance. She had no idea if four-arms had come alone, but in case he had any allies she needed to find something else to defend herself with. The filmsuit, however effective, could not protect her indefinitely.
Clearly, Dakota realized belatedly, Hugh Moss had found her first.
She made for the surviving bridge and ran across it, still holding on to the shattered rifle. It might be useless now, but someone at a distance might not be able to tell straight away. Another long tunnel stretched ahead, lit by glow-globes.
Another figure came running towards her, flames licking around his clenched fists. His head was smooth and shaved, and a satchel was slung across his bare chest. Even from a distance it was obvious there was something strange about his skin texture; it looked rather like the armoured hide of some ancient predator. He came to a stop and tipped his head back, his chest rising as if he were drawing in one enormous breath. When he lowered his head again, an enormous whoosh of flame was released from between his lips. At the same instant he drew one flaming hand back to throw something at her.
Dakota spun round and began to run back in the other direction just as a terrific explosion of light erupted behind her. She threw herself over one side of the bridge and dropped to the passageway below, just as a rush of intense heat enveloped her. She didn’t even feel the impact as she landed.
She then headed downwards, following the gradually descending slope of the narrow street for lack of any better idea. She kept her arms and legs pumping furiously, ignoring the faces that sometimes loomed out of the dim light of successive tunnels and passageways, at first looking curious, then terrified as they glanced behind her. She didn’t need a backward glance to know the burning man was still on her trail. Although the detonation hadn’t physically harmed her, her clothes – unprotected by her filmsuit – were smoking and burning.
The street veered sharply to the right, and she threw herself around the corner, then ducked into one of the first doorways she saw. Maybe she could lose herself.
She found herself at the top of a steep and narrow stairwell, and followed it down to yet another vaulted passageway with bridges arching overhead. Taking several side entrances led her further downwards, as she ran on in her search for a suitable place to hide.
Something now rumbled from deep within the rock, growing louder the deeper she went. She soon found herself in a confined space whose roof was so low she had to almost bend double to make her way across it. Dakota realized she was now truly lost, and had to fight back her panic. She tried to connect with Derinkuyu’s open access networks through her implants, but they responded with error messages that were not evident when she had met with Rivers earlier.
It had to be because of Moss. Somehow he had known she was here in the system, so he had engineered a crash in the networks servicing the local population.
Passing through a door on the other side of the cramped space, she suddenly found herself entering a vast, cavernlike area almost as extensive as the one she had first encountered Rivers in. But this one seemed empty of residents, and the air was filled with a heavy, thundering roar that suggested a subterranean cataract.
High up above her extended a curving ceiling painted in rich dark colours, adorned with a swirl of stars and shapes that gradually revealed themselves as a depiction of coreships and planets: a giant tableau that appeared to depict the earliest years of Derinkuyu’s human settlement.
Across the huge chamber, a waterfall gushed out of one stony wall, spilling a dozen metres into a subterranean lake stirred up by a whirlpool several metres across. A dozen metal walkways, at different heights and interconnected by ladders, were suspended by cables from the ceiling. They crossed from one side of the cavern to the other and, even from where she stood, Dakota could see they gave access to yet more passageways all around.
The entrance to one such walkway was right in front of her, and in the centre of it stood Hugh Moss, with an insane grin spread across his calloused features.
Dakota turned and saw the fire-breather enter the giant cavern behind her. He stopped for a moment, as if to catch his breath, then, grinning at her widely, began digging deep inside his satchel. Shortly he withdrew a wrinkled black lump that looked like a large seed of some kind.
Flames suddenly began to lick around his hands and forearms, whereupon the seed popped and hissed, and then began to glow.
Pulling his hand back, he pitched the burning seed directly towards her. Dakota watched mesmerized for a second, as the object arced through the air towards her. She turned, throwing herself on to the nearby walkway, its metal surface clanging noisily with her every slamming footstep.
The explosion lifted her off her feet and sent her sprawling. Dakota shrieked, and twisted around on to her back just in time to see the fire-breather stepping on to the same walkway. Moss hadn’t moved from where he stood.
Without really considering what she was doing, she hurled the broken remains of the pulse-rifle at the fire-breather.
The ensuing detonation ripped away the platform section where he had been standing. Dakota grabbed hold of the handrail while the entire walkway buckled under her, swaying wildly as some of its supporting cables snapped. By the time the flimsy bridge had stopped swinging and bouncing, she caught a last glimpse of the fire-breather’s broken corpse being sucked into the watery depths below.
She looked back to the ledge beyond, but it was too far to jump. And no way in hell was she taking her chances with the whirlpool.
‘Dakota Merrick!’ Moss screeched. ‘Do you remember our last conversation?’
‘You’ll have to remind me, Hugh,’ she yelled back, her voice almost lost amid the roar of the surging water.
‘I promised you that if you ever stood between me and Trader in Faecal Matter of Animals, I would do terrible things to you – things that would make you wish I had only killed you. I said, I believe, that I would make a symphony of your pain.’
‘Well, we need to talk about that, Hugh.’
‘What is there to talk about?’
‘I need you to back off. I need Trader because he can help me stop the war between the Shoal and the Emissaries. If you don’t, there’s a good chance we’re all going to die.’
She heard him laugh, and watched as he took a few steps closer to her. ‘Are you appealing to my sense of decency? I’m disappointed, Miss Merrick. I thought you knew me better.’
‘I’ll kill you if I have to, Hugh.’
‘You do realize that Trader is manipulating you, surely?’ Moss moved closer. ‘He’s never honoured an agreement in his life. You know, I rather thought he would find a way to send you after me eventually. In fact I almost hoped this day would come.’
Fuck it, Dakota thought to herself, then hurtled towards him with a yell.
Almost at once she felt a powerful shock spasming through her body, an electric jolt that set her nerve endings on fire. Something crackled faintly just in front of her, staining the air itself a barely perceptible shade of blue.
The pain receded and she found she was caught in a shaped-field bubble. She had unwittingly run straight over a set of field-generators fixed to the floor of the walkway.
Dakota tried to stand up, but the ensuing jolt of pain was so enormous, that it forced her back on to her knees.
She waited, with a heavy, cold feeling in her gut, as Moss knelt down beside her. The shaped fields then snapped off at almost the same moment she felt her filmsuit finally drain itself back inside her body. Moss reached out and touched her shoulder. She jerked away as she felt a stinging sensation there.
‘Get it over with,’ Dakota seethed. ‘If you’re going to kill me, then kill me. Just don’t stand around gloating.’
‘Kill you?’ Moss affected confusion. ‘Always that desire for death. Why would I kill you?’ He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Tell me, was I right? Did Trader send you here specially to keep me from chasing him?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I can’t think of any other reason you would have bothered to come here. The last time we met, I gave you my word that I wouldn’t destroy Ocean’s Deep, and in return you gave me Trader. That should have been the last time we ever saw each other – and yet here you are.’
‘I already told you why, Hugh. I’m not going to repeat myself
Moss rocked back on his heels, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Dakota now had a good view of the long knife he gripped casually in one hand, poised close enough to slash across her exposed throat.
‘Would you say I’m a man of my word, Miss Merrick?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Let me explain, then. I once gave you my word over Ocean’s Deep. Did I honour our deal?’
‘Yes,’ Dakota admitted, forcing the word out.
