Subcutis

by Harper J. Cole

  “I’m glad you’re here now.”

  The Legans reached a point barely ten meters from the Bona Dea’s crew, crouched as if ready to spring … and froze, doing nothing. Indeed, the whole world seemed to have frozen; there was an eerie stillness and silence that Flora only now noticed.

  “What are they waiting for?”

  “Cover of darkness, maybe?” Seeing her friend’s blank look, Gypsy elaborated. “Don’t you remember? There’s an eclipse today.”

  Flora had forgotten. But, stealing a quick glance at the sun, she saw a curved line bisecting it. Pankhurst moon would blot out the daylight for close to half an hour. Under different circumstances, she would have been thrilled to witness the natural miracle.

  The Legans did, indeed, prefer to do their fighting by night. As the last of the light slipped away, one of the males gave a wordless shout and they charged en masse.

  But Hunter had not forgotten about the eclipse, and had worked out how to use the conditions to her advantage. A simple command, relayed via her wristband, activated the ship’s forward floodlights. Three of the attackers – those with natural eyes – recoiled from the brightness, and their assault was robbed of cohesion.

  Still, these were wily fighters, and couldn’t be disorientated for long. Operating in pairs, they thrust themselves at the defenders, using their greater weight to gain ground. They were careful to protect their heads, accepting blows to the body, many of which met protective metal.

  Charlie, Ricardo and Bala, ignored by the attackers, ran to aid their beleaguered crewmates, but already there had been a breakthrough, Tarvis knocked to the ground by a fair-haired female, who burst forth to attack the weaker fighters behind. Hunter led a quartet to surround and overwhelm the intruder, but already another was through the line, and another, and soon the battle lost all structure as fighters from both sides mixed in a nightmarish cyclone of flailing limbs and swishing weapons. Cries rang out in both Matan and English, while the floodlights cast a shifting tangle of shadows, stretching across the stony plateau to the fringes of the grass.

  A Legan charged at Flora and the Cumberlands. She didn’t see where he came from – one moment there was a confusion of bodies ahead, the next a muscular male was heading directly for her. He had dark skin, which was rare from what they’d seen, and a wicked blade instead of a left hand. His eyes, fixed on hers, held neither hostility nor pity, only grim intent.

  Her mind and body froze for a terrifying moment, but as the cruel steel was drawn back she found herself lurching into action, stepping forward a pace and swinging her club like Bala had shown her.

  Too slow. The seasoned warrior easily deflected the blow with his right hand, simultaneously slashing with his left. Flora fell to the floor, her thigh laid open nearly to the bone. Through a haze of pain, she saw Alice land a solid blow. But the retaliation was brutal, a hefty punch knocking the courageous woman to the floor.

  Gypsy screamed. Flora tried to raise her club, but found her hands empty. The man’s steely gaze returned to her.

  Then he was struck hard from behind and sent tumbling to the ground. Ivan, of all people, had leapt to her rescue. He pounced on his felled opponent, landing with his knees on the Legan’s chest. Without hesitation he seized his opponent’s hair and rammed his head into the stone beneath him … once, twice, three times, surely enough to kill. But he wasn’t finished; grabbing the transformed left arm just below the blade, he drove the sharp point deep into an exposed patch of chest.

  The shadow of the ship fell on Ivan; Flora could see little more than his blazing eyes and bared teeth. She felt a surge of dread as their gazes locked. There was bloodlust and murder in that face. He’s snapped; some fuse has blown in his mind. He’s going to kill me.

  She wanted to cry out in pain and fear, but a wave of dizziness engulfed her and the sounds died in her throat.

  Ivan leapt towards her.

  The next thing she knew, he had torn off his shirt and was applying pressure to her wound. The white material flushed red in seconds.

  Red for passion, she thought confusedly.

  “Hold still,” ordered Ivan. “There’ll be no more fighting for you. But the first victory will fall to us!”

  She looked back over the little battlefield, and abruptly realized that only one of the invaders was still standing, a male short of stature and long of beard. Even as she watched, Charlie landed a solid punch to the hairy jaw, knocking him out. Her heart sang as Charlie caught the helpless enemy and lowered him gently to the ground, and her fuzzy mind got a little clearer.

  Immediately, he looked back to find her, and covered the distance between them in seconds when he saw that she was hurt.

  “I’ll take over here,” he said to Ivan. “See to our other wounded.” Soon his left hand was pressed to the wound, while a syringe appeared in his right.

  “Hmm. Nasty,” he muttered as he injected her. “But a little of Dr. Little’s magic medicine should get you coagulating nicely. This planet’s really not been good to you.”

  “You’re still you, are you?” she gasped. “I’m sorry. I was so afraid that messing with your head had destroyed the real Charlie. But seeing how you and Ivan act so differently when you fight … “

  He smiled. “About time you saw sense. I was beginning to think that dating a human wasn’t for me.”

  Their moment of reconciliation couldn’t last for long. They’d beaten the first wave without loss of life, but not without loss of blood. Tarvis was cut up particularly badly, and Rivers was out cold. In her absence, Hunter turned to Flora.

  “Cartwright, I realize you’re not in the best shape right now, but we need your inventiveness. What can we rig up quickly that’ll let us communicate with Vitana?”

  That simple question had an unexpected effect on Flora. She jerked up into a sitting position, then winced. She’d forgotten about her injury in her sudden excitement.

  “Cartwright?”

  “God, I’ve been stupid! The answers have been right in front of me all along.” He face took on a grim cast as she realized what she had to do. “Captain, I need to leave the camp.”

  “Leave?”

  “Me and Charlie. We need to go below ground. To the Cathedral.”

  Hunter’s confusion evaporated almost instantly. Flora could see the quick mind weighing the possibilities. “Captain, it’s the only way. There’s no time to be rigging equipment.”

  Hunter drew a deep breath, let it out through clenched teeth.

  “Alright. Do it.”

  “Pick me up, Charlie. You’ll have to carry me.”

  Expressionless, saying nothing, he reached under her and cradled her to him. For the first time, Flora noticed Annie standing there, mouth open in shock.

  “Whoa, where are you going, what -?”

  “Goodbye, Annie.” Flora leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek, threw a wave in Gypsy’s direction. Bewilderment and fear were written on the faces of both her friends, but there was no time for explanations, nor proper farewells. Just as well, maybe – too much time to think and she might lose her nerve.

  Charlie turned to the north and eased smoothly into a run, following the base of the mountain. Held against his chest, Flora soon couldn’t see her crewmates. But she had a perfect view of that green globe of Legan technology, out there amongst the trees. It had taken on a strange luminosity in the darkness.

  Crawling down its outside were sixteen bulky figures.

  * * *

  They took the entrance to the north of their camp. The hole that Flora had fallen down all those weeks ago might have been quicker, but was too close to the enemy ship for comfort. Only once during the journey did they speak.

  “Do you understand what we’re going to do?” she asked, as they entered the underground system of caves and passages.

  “Yes,” he said simply, activating his wristband’s light source.

  Then the walls were rushing past them, as he sprinted sure-footedly through the
labyrinth. Flora knew he didn’t need her help to remember the way, so she concentrated on applying pressure to her thigh; he tried to carry her smoothly, but it was still a bumpy ride in places, by no means conducive to healing her wound.

  It’ll be over soon …

  Already they were in the long, straight passage that led to the Cathedral. She felt herself tense up as the memories of her last visit here came flooding back. To think that she was willingly putting herself through this. But there was no alternative, other than to die fighting like the heroes of ancient myths. And she was no hero. At least, not of the warrior breed.

  They reached the stairs, ascended. “Put me down,” Flora instructed.

  He set her on her feet, and turned to activate a beacon, left by the crew to illuminate the massive chamber. It was much as she’d remembered it, although there was no dripping water this time. Everything else was still in position: impossibly lush grass, vaulting walls bearing their two gigantic sentinels, pulsing metal tubes everywhere. And, of course, the two alcoves. She had been correct about the left alcove – it bore the word ‘Gadi’ above it. With a touch of anxiety she turned her gaze to the right.

  “Shigadi,” she read aloud. “Just as I’d hoped.”

  “I’ve not been programmed to speak Matan,” Charlie reminded her. “But I’m guessing that means ‘Robot.’ Ms. Preciado’s killer called me something similar.”

  “Yes. Gadi and Shigadi … the organic and the mechanical … man and machine. You and me. This is where the ancient Matans came to become cyborgs. Or more accurately, they and an artificial intelligence joined, becoming parents to a new life. Two would die to allow one to live. Of course, I’m not Gadi – an inhabitant of Mahi Mata, or one of their descendants – but I’m evidently near enough to pass. When I stood in that alcove, I was recognized as organic and pulled in. It only released me because it found no mechanical life waiting to mate with me.”

  He nodded. “This time it will. And our child will be linked to Vitana, in theory at least. It might have the power to save the crew.”

  “If they’re still alive. I’d like more time to psyche myself up for this but we don’t have it.” She kissed him once, fiercely, then turned and limped along the left-hand path. “Love you.”

  He took the other path, silently matching pace with her. Flora grimaced with every step, tears in her eyes, but it wasn’t far. Soon, she reached the alcove and stepped inside.

  She felt a surge of fear, and fought the urge to get out of there while there was still time. Just as during her previous visit, she became aware of a smell inside the alcove, but this time she managed to place it.

  Blood, she thought. As though it were flowing through the walls.

  Now came the muffled sounds of movement from somewhere ahead of her. She began to tremble uncontrollably. Get it over with!

  Charlie spoke from his alcove. His cool tones were a balm to soothe her pounding heart.

  “See you on the other side, Flora.”

  A smile touched her lips. Then the tentacles burst from the wall and pulled her in.

  XII

  Make thee another self for love of me,

  That beauty may still live in thine or thee.

  – William Shakespeare, Sonnet 10

  The wall sealed itself behind Flora, leaving her in blackness.

  She heard noises all around her, metal clinking on metal as dozens of tentacles flowed around her body. They seemed to be of two different sizes: four thick tubes gripped her about her limbs while a host of their smaller brethren ran themselves over her body. They were quite gentle this time, probably because she was offering no resistance. They’re investigating, she thought. They haven’t met a human before.

  The tendrils insinuated their way beneath her clothing, cold to the touch. She wondered what would happen to her if they found her wanting. Certainly, she was in no position to fight them, whatever they decided. She tried her best to relax, ignoring the instinct to struggle against the intruders.

  Abruptly, there was light. She couldn’t discern where it was coming from, but a dim radiance showed her that she was in a long, narrow chamber. All around her was a clutter of machinery: shifting gears, sliding panels, and those nimble tentacles.

  She could see neither floor nor ceiling, but for a fleeting moment she caught a glimpse of Charlie through the tangle. A transparent wall stood between them. He was held much as she was, but the environment around him looked organic; the tentacles gripping him might have belonged to a gigantic octopus.

  She found herself forcibly turned away from him, her head and limbs locked firmly in position while a smooth grey panel, about the size and shape of a door, rose into position in front of her. Muted lights played over its surface, a jumble of yellows, reds and blues forming little squares that drifted upwards.

  Probably scanning me. Infra-red, X-rays … or something I’ve never even heard of.

  The scan, if that was indeed what it had been, concluded. The panel silently sank from view. She felt the small tendrils shift under her clothing, then there came the sound of a thousand little rips as they stripped her of every garment. Even her wristband, which had been in place so long it had come to seem a part of her body, was reduced to scraps of fabric and circuitry and discarded.

  Flora glanced anxiously at her wound, which was now without a bandage. She was bleeding, but it wasn’t too bad; Charlie’s injection had done the trick.

  One of the smaller tendrils snaked towards her, carrying a small cylinder. It placed one of the circular ends against her stomach, while simultaneously she felt something similar pressed to her back. She heard a pair of hissing noises. More injections. What are these for?

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out. A wave of nausea hit her, springing up from nowhere. Paroxysms rocked her whole body, and she found herself vomiting uncontrollably.

  She felt lightheaded and thoroughly miserable by the time she’d finished. Anything foreign to my body expelled via the nearest exit. So much for dignity. At least they cleaned her afterwards, jets of air blasting all traces of her expulsions from her body.

  As soon as the last jet had fired, the tendrils returned, smaller and more intrusive than ever. They wrapped themselves around her face, prodding their way into her nose, ears and mouth, even her tear ducts. She felt a pair of them worm their way into her inner ears and onwards, into the brain. She wanted to scream, but her mouth was overrun with intruders.

  The tendrils withdrew again, but Flora still felt wriggling sensations in her skull, and realized that the metallic worms had detached themselves and taken up residency inside her.

  Oh God, I can’t take much more of this.

  She was drawn backwards and down, passing through another opening and into a new chamber. One wall was flat, dominated by a gigantic square mirror, while the other surfaces were curved and covered with shiny hemispheres, each with a green light in the centre. These tracked her movements as she was borne towards the mirror. A single tentacle held her now, wrapped around her waist. Feebly struggling to get comfortable in its unyielding grip, she became aware of something odd about the mirror, though what it was it didn’t click for her at first. Then she noticed that in the reflection her birthmark appeared on the wrong side. Not a reflection after all then, but a true image of her. Strange to think that the face that greeted her in the mirror each day wasn’t the one everyone else saw.

  Before her eyes, the picture grew, until it was five times life-size; it remained crystal clear, with no blurring or distortions. The tentacle kept her in position, dangling awkwardly in front of her own nude image. Flora had the strongest feeling that it was waiting for her to do something. Was she meant to pass judgement on what she saw? She looked a bedraggled specimen, certainly: pasty-skinned and gaunt of face, cut and bruised, a touch overweight from having missed a few too many gym sessions these past months.

  “What do you want me to say?” Her voice was weak but defiant. “This is who I am. It doesn’t need any
explanation or interpretation or analysis. This is me. I don’t want to be anybody else.”

  Whether she was understood she didn’t know, but the image before her started changing immediately. Cracks appeared, and the gigantic representation of Flora Cartwright split apart into sections that flew outwards to cover the whole screen, reforming as they went, showing her people, places, events from her life. Charlie dominated, but she saw also Hunter, Gypsy, Annie … looking further outwards she saw her family, her erstwhile husband, old school friends. The images were shifting all the time, but she recognized events from her past as they came and went.

  First day at school, first kiss, first meeting with her future husband, the day when Hunter told her she’d landed the Head Technician job. She remembered these well. But as her eyes drifted closer to the edges of the screen, she found images she didn’t recall seeing before, though they felt familiar. Who was that girl with the patch over her eye? Flora watched her own pudgy hands reach up and push the unfortunate child over in the mud.

  Oh! I remember her. Gwyneth something? Yes, I knew her in Playschool. I used to fight with her.

  No … I used to bully her. When the other children made fun of my face, I’d take it out on poor one-eyed Gwyneth.

  Tears of shame stung Flora’s eyes. There were other events she recognized now, things she’d pushed to the farthest reaches of her consciousness. She hadn’t hidden the memories because they were painful, but rather because they contradicted her self-image: the good-hearted underdog, faithful and honest, always exploited by less scrupulous people. She saw herself cheat and steal, scheme and manipulate. The time when she’d paid someone else to write her paper at University, justifying it as a necessary response to an unfair workload. How she’d made sure Hunter knew all about her unhappy marriage, exploiting the older woman’s emotions to boost her chances of getting the job, knowing that the story of Flora escaping from her husband’s shadow would be irresistible to such a committed feminist as the captain.