It wasn’t just the sights from her past that she experienced – the intruders in her brain gave her a taste of the emotions she had felt at the time as well. She felt again the flickers of superiority when Annie got herself into trouble, the flash of envy while watching Gypsy at work. Her ugliest side laid bare.
Flora wanted to look away, but forced herself not to – partly because she thought this might be part of the test of her worthiness, partly out of a stubborn refusal to give in. The images continued to wash over her, all in eerie quiet, a silent movie of her life, warts and all.
There was more. At the very edges of the screen, appearing and disappearing so rapidly that her mind could barely register them, were her darkest fantasies. Obscene and pornographic images, craven longings.
All part of me. I accept them. This is who I am.
The outermost images faded to black, then the ones inside them. The process continued until there were only a handful left in the very centre of the screen. She saw Charlie lying in bed, Gypsy in her room, Annie laughing in Engineering. And a rainy day in Chamonix.
The last images faded out, taking their warmth with them. The room was in darkness, save for the dull green lights around her. She felt dizzy and suddenly cold. A minute ticked by with nothing more happening. Then another.
“Well? Do I get your gift or not? Pass or fail?”
Still nothing. She wondered whether Charlie was going through anything similar; wondered, for the first time, whether it might be he rather than she who failed to meet Vitana’s unknown standards.
She felt a wriggling in her skull, then the two metal worms worked their way out through her ears. She’d forgotten they were in there. Each one was caught by a thicker tendril as it emerged, and borne safely away. Then, at last, she was moving, sinking into a dark space amidst the hemispheres. This time she did not immediately emerge into another chamber, instead plunging into a yielding mass of tentacles, flowing around her on all sides.
Flora felt a new surge of dread. How like her nightmare, buried who knew how far beneath the earth now. The smell of blood had returned, stronger than before, and a rhythmic beating was all around. For the first time, the sinuous metal limbs were uncomfortably tight about her; breathing was difficult. When she finally emerged into open space again, the relief was immense.
This was a small, uneven chamber, with a single flickering light source on the floor. The walls were moist and fleshy, in contrast to the sleek metal support ribs which criss-crossed here and there in irregular patterns, giving the room a modicum of structure. Flora was amazed that they weren’t crushed by the tightly stretched flesh, which spasmed and twitched regularly.
Charlie was here. He too was naked, suspended in the grip of a red and slimy tongue-like monstrosity, body slack and face lowered. Flora found herself being swung around so that her back was to him, with perhaps four feet between them.
“Charlie?”
No response, and she was too exhausted to turn and look back at him. A mix of blood loss and the manhandling she’d gone through had drained her dry.
I’m going to die here, aren’t I? One way or another … my last resting place. Well, at least I’m not alone. Passing away with someone I love: there are worse ways to go.
A noise came from behind them – a buzzing, like an electric screwdriver. It was an incongruously mundane sound to hear in this underground madhouse. Flora found herself giggling. Were they going to be disassembled like furniture?
They could borrow my spanner if they’d like …
The sounds were closer now; whatever made them must have reached Charlie. Even if she could have gathered the strength to turn now, she would not have had the courage to do so; her ears already told her more than she wanted to know. Scratching, scraping, rips and tears – noises of dissection.
Abruptly, the tools had reached Flora. She dimly realized that she had lost consciousness for a while – no knowing how long – and had only been awakened by what felt like a bed of nails being jabbed against her back and the base of her skull. The buzzing noise, which had briefly stopped, started up again and she felt a series of sharp pains at the contact points. Then dozens of fine needles were thrust into her body.
It’s happening, she thought, with a certainty she couldn’t explain. We’re becoming one. Me and Charlie.
Flora felt her body starting to come apart, the skin of her back peeling away, her skull opening with a creak to expose her brain. She felt no more pain, and no alarm either. Closing her eyes, she smiled and felt herself drifting slowly backwards, towards Charlie.
His circuitry was touching her unravelling grey matter. Now his thoughts were in her head. Flora felt Charlie becoming aware of her even as she became aware of him.
You are real. There was someone in there. A soul.
Yes.
I knew it …
I know.
She saw herself through his mind, a beautiful enigma, a human riddle he never tired of solving. This was true intimacy. She could have happily stayed like this for years.
But already it was ending. Flora could feel both herself and Charlie slipping away, and the building blocks of a new consciousness rising between them.
Their child.
But not theirs alone. There was a third influence, a third parent: cold, alien and incomprehensible. Vitana.
… this is the end …
… for us, yes …
… love you …
… love you …
Flora’s body was gone, her mind dispersing. But it lingered long enough to feel her child – no, her daughter – take her first step. A giant step. From nothingness to sentience.
… I know the perfect name for you …
* * *
The second wave of Legan attackers had learned from the failure of their predecessors. They waited for the eclipse to end, so Hunter couldn’t repeat her trick of dazzling them with the floodlights. They had also identified Bala and the remaining ACMs as their most dangerous enemies, and assigned two experienced warriors to each of them – three in the case of Ivan – to tie them down, leaving seven Legans to dart past them and strike at the soft underbelly of the human crew.
Hunter had responded by pulling her team together into a tighter phalanx, but the damage had been done. Looking around her, she saw Jackson, Costa and Tarvis out cold, Winters and Antakova helpless with leg injuries – probably breakages. Salomon had taken a blow to the back of the head and lay in a crumpled heap. Only two Legans were down; already the invaders had wiped out their numerical disadvantage. Faces set and determined, they ignored both the fallen women and their own crewmates from the first wave, who the ACMs had bound hand and foot. Their focus was entirely on crushing the ones who still resisted them.
A steel hand caught Hunter’s arm and squeezed. She screamed as the bones cracked, dropping her club. Annie bought her some momentary relief, swinging at the muscular female who’d attacked her captain and connecting with a glancing blow, enough to make the cruel claw release Hunter.
Hunter dropped to her knees, nauseous, ears ringing. She knew she was finished, but forced the fingers of her good hand to close around the haft of her weapon.
Shatter my dreams, shatter my body, but don’t expect me to go down without a fight.
When the rumbling started, she thought that it was in her head, a by-product of her injury. Then she saw combatants on both sides break off their fighting and look about themselves, confused.
“Earthquake?” wondered Annie, but Hunter had a better theory.
“Vitana.”
There was a terrible grinding, and the stone split apart beneath their feet. Up from the cracks rose leathery tentacles, moist and glistening. Ignoring the crew of the Bona Dea, they wrapped themselves about the limbs and bodies of the enemy, holding them easily despite their struggles. Where blades struck the writhing monstrosities, they did only the most superficial damage; within thirty seconds, the entire fighting force of Legans had been subdued. Nor were the wo
unded spared: the pair who had been knocked out already were seized, as were the bound prisoners from the first wave.
As astonishing as this was, Hunter’s attention was diverted to the forest, where something truly horrific was happening. The Legan ship was in the grasp of a colossal stone hand, which had risen from the earth beneath it. It was rough-hewn and uneven, boasting nine fingers which enveloped the globe and lifted it high into the air.
Not five yards from Hunter, a humanoid figure rose from a fissure, born aloft by two more of the tentacles. It was nude and roughly feminine in shape: twin curves of breasts but no nipples, broad hips but no sexual organs. The majority of the skeleton seemed to be on the outside of the body. This exoskeleton was clearly metallic, a dully gleaming ocean grey. What could be seen of the flesh beneath was pale as death.
The captain didn’t get a clear look at the face of the newcomer as she rose past her, glimpsing only a mass of dark, oily hair, writhing with a life of its own. But as she looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun, she saw an irregular blotch dominated the right cheek. It was jet black, contrasting sharply with the surrounding skin.
It was identical in shape to the birthmark of Flora Cartwright.
The creature was elevated some thirty feet into the air by her attendant tentacles, then held there, facing the Legan ship. The glistening limbs rubbed their tips over of the surface of her body; a lover’s caress.
For a long moment, she did nothing. Then a single hand was raised, palm upwards, and the fingers were drawn into a fist.
Before the stunned eyes of the onlookers, the hand that held the ship mimicked the gesture. The curved hull, built to withstand the rigours of space travel, tore like damp cardboard, the innards disgorging, crew members tumbling through the rents. When the creature slowly lowered her fist, the gigantic stone limb sank back into the earth, taking the bulk of the ship with it.
Hunter watched the whole spectacle in horror. She’d known that contacting Vitana might well lead to the deaths of the Legans, had accepted that as the price of saving her own crew. But she hadn’t been prepared for anything like this. And the hybrid female that had risen from the earth … she could only be the offspring of Flora and Charlie, made in the same way as the ones below the surface, yet she looked nothing like the Matan cyborgs.
She also acted nothing like either of her parents. Sweeping her gaze over the captured Legans, she tilted her head thoughtfully to one side, then raised both arms aloft and slowly rotated her wrists. The simple gesture produced a dramatic result. Spiky protrusions burst from the tentacles, piercing each body in a dozen places. Within seconds, every single one of them was dead.
Their work done, the tentacles receded into the stone, taking the vanquished Legans with them. Trails of blood and sap were left in their wake.
The hybrid did not go with them. She was deposited safely on the ground, crouched with her fingers on the broken surface. Scraping and crunching, the rents in the stone healed over, and it regained the unnatural smoothness they had first seen months ago.
The hybrid unfolded her body at a leisurely pace. Standing upright, she was taller than Flora had been, and longer in the limb. Paying no heed to the humans and robots scattered about her, she turned her face upwards to the sun, whose rays, free again from the interference of Pankhurst moon, bathed the tableau in gentle light.
There was no movement. No sound, save for the distant cry of birds. Tearing her eyes from the newcomer, Hunter studied her crew. Shock, bewilderment, fear. I’m sure I look the same. But we need to see to our wounded.
“Little! Jones! You’ve got a job to do.”
Iris sprang into action at once, retrieving a medical kit from behind one of the barricades and crouching at the side of Tarvis, who lay unmoving with a small pool of blood about her head. Little had trouble tearing her gaze from the creature in their midst, but her professionalism won out. Others moved to offer what assistance they could.
The hybrid stood like a statue, neither helping nor hindering. Might she be able to heal Tarvis and the others? Who knows what power she has …
Pushing aside her fear, Hunter strode over to the enigma. The face she saw was irregular and rigid, but recognizably based on Flora’s.
“Can you hear me?”
Cool eyes fixed on her. They were grey of both sclera and iris, the pupils alarmingly wide. It took a conscious effort for Hunter to meet the steady gaze without flinching.
“Do you understand me?”
But the inhuman face was bereft of any comprehension, interest or empathy.
XIII
… My own role in the battle was minor, as were the injuries I sustained. It would be distinctly petty to grumble about one broken limb and a bruise or two given the circumstances.
We lost Gloria Tarvis. One of our assailants had a brutal mace for a right hand; it only took one blow to fracture her skull. Dr. Little has assured us that she died quickly. No-one could have saved her … or no human, at least.
Both our doctors, it should be noted, worked wonders in the aftermath of the battle. Jackson and Rivers suffered severe head trauma, and might easily have died. In the case of the former, it took a three day battle before her condition could be upgraded from critical to serious.
In between times, they had two broken arms and two broken legs to patch up. I’m getting around on crutches now, and took a little stroll below ground yesterday. The Matan cyborgs are definitely more alert and awake since the battle. They will often open their eyes for short periods, though their gazes are unfocused and, frustratingly, they still don’t respond to my attempts at communication, even when spoken in their language.
I’d most like to speak to the hybrid child, but we haven’t seen her since the day of the battle. What happened beneath the surface to give her birth remains, for the moment, a mystery …
– Daniella Winters, Journal Entry #447
When time permitted, Hunter would stroll through the forest alone. Her feet often led her to the spot where the Legan ship had stood.
The first time had been the day after the battle. She had gone looking for survivors amongst the few remaining fragments of the ship, and she had found one. Chiri, the Legan captain, lay among the twisted scraps of metal. She was battered and bloodied, one artificial arm severed. Hunter had thought her dead until the shining eyes flicked her way, focusing slowly.
“Vitana,” Chiri had said, in a tone that hovered somewhere between accusation and resignation. Hunter had reached for her wristband to call for medical help, but her rival’s face had already begun to slacken. The orange glint lingered in her eyes for several seconds more before abruptly vanishing.
Hunter stood in that same spot now, some two months later. It was cloudy, but spring was in the air, a new lush growth upon the trees. The remains of the ship had vanished some weeks ago, as had the trees felled when it landed, all claimed by the living earth. Pretty yellow flowers, like daffodils, made this an attractive glade now.
A small bump marked Chiri’s grave. Hunter knew from Gypsy’s translated material that the Matans had practised burial when they lived on this planet – perhaps the Legan colony had kept the tradition.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Captain.” In spite of the fact that Chiri was long past hearing her, she addressed the Legan in her own tongue. “The Bona Dea has just been pronounced spaceworthy: we leave tomorrow. I can’t pretend that we’ve fully recovered from the mauling your crew gave us, but we can convalesce en route. Our water and fuel supplies are fully restored; the KSD’s the only concern, but there’s nothing more Annie can do with that. Either it gets us home or it doesn’t.
“Home. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I made the decision to go back there. We’d planned to be here another year, but with the losses we’ve suffered, and the possibility of further attacks from Lega, it’s time to leave.
“And you came here to destroy your old home, because of a slight half a millennium old. I can’t blame you, really. I’v
e studied history enough to know about the power of indoctrination and blood feuds. It takes a special person to break free of that. If you could only have done it, you’d have made a fine friend: strong, curious, intelligent. Rest here in peace.”
As Hunter turned to leave, her wristband beeped. A call coming in from Lorna Costa.
“This is Hunter, go ahead.”
“Captain.” There was enough tension in the whispered word to propel Hunter straight into a state of high alert. “She’s back. The hybrid.”
“Where? When?”
“Just now. She came to the edge of the trees and stopped.”
Hunter was already walking briskly back the way she’d come. “Any signs of aggression?”
“No, she was just standing there, looking at us, but -”
“I’m on my way. Keep your distance.”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but Annie’s already with her. I tried to stop her, but …”
Hunter broke into a run.
* * *
Annie’s heart beat a little faster as she approached the hybrid. She looked different today, but no less alien and intimidating. Her hair, which Annie was sure had appeared outwardly natural the first time she’d seen her, now included a sprinkling of grey tubes that led into her shoulders. There were green shoots springing from the moist flesh in various places, one of which even boasted a yellow flower. Patches of skin on her legs appeared rough and wooden.
But her feet were the most striking attribute. They looked like two small tree trunks. Even as Annie watched, she could see roots pushing their way down into the earth.
“Does that hurt?”
“Not especially.”
Annie jumped. She hadn’t really been expecting an answer, much less one in English. The creature’s voice was flat and unnaturally precise, but unmistakably familiar.
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