“I wasn’t swearing! There’s a schkor in the floor!”
“Wot?”
“It’s an animal. It secretes—”
“Wot?”
“It spits acid!”
“Oo-er.”
“Exactly.”
“Why you lookin’ at me like that?”
“You should be more worried about how the schkor is looking at you.”
“Can’t see me, can it? It’s in the floor.”
“Not for long. Schkor can see heat signatures through metal. They like to chase their prey into a closed room and pile up anything heavy outside the exit so they can eat away a hole in the ceiling and pick off their prey one by one.”
“Why’s it in the floor, then?”
“Because it can’t survive a vacuum, and the only thing between us and the outside hull is the dampening field.”
“It’s gonna make a hole in the floor? Wot wiv?”
“I told you. It spits acid.”
“That’s just narsty. Anyway, ’ow do we know it’s a—a schkor?”
“Try to open the door.”
“But there’s things out there.”
“Open it carefully.”
“’Ang on. It won’t open. Oo-er! Wot was that? ’Oo did that!”
“The schkor is testing the floor to see how solid it is. It’ll probably thump against it a couple of times to get a good idea of how much acid to use.”
“The cheek!”
“Can you hear anything else from the outside?”
“Oh. Oi, Marx; ain’t even a peep from out there!”
“Then there’s one good thing that’s come out of this. Schkor are territorial; if it can’t frighten away other predators, it’ll eat ’em.”
“Lucky, that.”
“So that it can eat us by itself.”
“Oh.”
“Still, if we can distract it enough to clear away the door without it noticing, we should be able to get to the control room before it can get out of the floor.”
“’Ow’s that gonna help?”
“It might not. But if I can get to the controls, I should be able to make a few adjustments to the environment that’ll help.”
“Wot, you wanna cook it wiv the heat settin’s or summink? That’d cook us too.”
“Not exactly. Shove over, kid. I want to see if I can shift the door a bit.”
“Ow! That’s me foot!”
“Then shift it. I don’t want to be stumbling all over the deck.”
“’Ang on, you said it can see our ’eat signatures. It’ll know where we’ve gone.”
“Mm. Unless it thinks we’re something else. Or unless it thinks something else is us.”
“Oooh, that’s good!”
“I’d be more flattered if you didn’t sound so surprised. All right, where’s that heat mat you pinched from Arabella?”
“Wot heat mat?”
“I saw it stuffed under your shirt when we left the Slider. Don’t make me go through your little stash.”
“You know where that—I mean, I ain’t got no stash! Anyway, just fergot about the mat for a bit. ’Ang on.”
“I need some string, too. Something heat resistant.”
“Why am I doin’ everythin’!”
“I’m playing with the cabin heat settings. Just get the mat.”
“Orright, but you gotta turn around.”
“I already know where your stash is.”
“Bet ya don’t.”
“Got more than one, have you? All right, all right; I’m turning around. Happy?”
“Big job, is it?”
“Yes, you horrible little mucker. Belt up.”
“Pft.”
“Done. It’s going to get a bit warm in here. Where’s that heat mat?”
“’Ere.”
“String?”
“Got it.”
“Hold that dag end.”
“Orright. Oo-er, it looks like a little dead person all wrapped up!”
“Let’s hope the schkor thinks so, too. Well, let’s hope it thinks it looks like a person. Where’s the toggle to turn it on?”
“Oh, you want it on.”
“If we want to mimic body heat, yes.”
“Think it’ll notice there’s only one?”
“Who said I was taking you with me? You let ’em all in; I’m going to leave you here with the dummy.”
“Oi!”
“It’ll notice. That’s why we’re heating up the room. Once it’s at the right temperature, the schkor should have a hard time seeing the dummy. It might just think it’s lost one.”
“Wot about us?”
“We’ll be going through the heat vent. Can’t shift the door.”
“Ain’t ’arf gonna be hot!”
“That’s the idea. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to camouflage our body heat in the warm air.”
“If we ain’t?”
“Then we die horribly, and it was all your fault.”
“I like that! ’Oo wouldn’t let me ’ave a pet? ’Oo wouldn’t—”
“Ensign.”
“Wot?”
“He’s an ensign. Not a pet. Look, just get in the vent, kid.”
“Bossy, ain’t ya? Orright, orright, I’m goin’! Flamin’ heck, it ain’t ’arf hot!”
“Keep moving.”
“Oo-er! That was the floor!”
“I told you it’d hit a couple more times.”
“Yeah, but I reckon there’s a bump in the floor now.”
“Better that than a hole. Keep moving, kid!”
“Yeah, but wot’s gonna happen when it figures out the dummy didn’t move none?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Shift it.”
“I’m shiftin’, I’m shiftin’!”
…
…
“Can you see the opening into the cockpit?”
“Yep, got it.”
“Kick it out. There’s something shifting in the cabin.”
“Ow heck! Orf it goes!”
“Nice work, kid. No, out of my way!”
“Oi, that’s the cold settin’!”
“Yes. Yes it is. Down we go!”
“Ay?”
“Just watch. Why isn’t the screen working? Where’s the beast?”
“’Ere. You gotta do it like this.”
“When did you learn how to do that?”
“Never you mind. Look, there it is! The cheek! The sticky ol’ mucker made an ’ole in our floor!”
“Well, there goes the heat blanket. You’ll have to buy another one for Arabella.”
“Ay!?”
“Is it slowing down?”
“Yeah. Oo-er, that’s a bit off. Wot’s all that sticky stuff it’s spreadin’ on our deck?”
“Wait and see.”
…
…
“Oi.”
“What?”
“Wot’s it doin’?”
“It’s making a cocoon.”
“Why?”
“Schkor are hibernating anim—”
“Wot?”
“They sleep a lot when it’s cold. Now that the cabin is cool enough, it’ll shut itself up in there until it feels the weather’s gotten warmer.”
“Wouldn’t wanna be around when it wakes up.”
“Exactly.”
“Wot you doin’ now?”
“Transporting it, of course. It and every other animal left alive on my ship—and if you say it’s not my ship one more time, I’ll transport you off the ship with all the other animals.”
“Ain’t said a word.”
“Good.”
“But can’t we keep one of the little ones wiv big teeth? They’re friendly.”
“Friendly? They’re hungry! That’s not a love bite on my arm; it’s gone through to the bone.”
“Ain’t no need to make a fuss. Look, I’ll patch it up for ya.”
“No thanks, I want to keep this arm. It’s still useful to me.”
<
br /> “Don’t be like that, Marx. ’Ere, ’old still—!”
“Get off—ow! Look, it’s too late; they’re all gone.”
“Oh.”
“And I’m not certain you’re not as rabid as any of them, so keep your grubby little hands off.”
“Don’t be like that, Marx. I bin learnin’ ’ow to patch stuff up.”
“You’ve been learning how to fix leaks in the pipes.”
“Well, it’s the same thing, ain’t it?”
“No, it’s not. Stop it, you grubby little mucker! I’m getting us out of here; I’ll patch this up later.”
…
…
“Get off!”
“You said you was gonna patch it up when we got away from there.”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“But Marx! I can do it!”
“No!”
“But Marx—”
Murpak City Zoo: Internal Communications
RE: Re: Sudden appearance of unrecorded, offworld animals
At this time it is not possible for the Murpak City Staff to find and confine the unrecorded animals. Several of the animals sighted have not been able to be identified, but those we’ve been able to identify—including what staff strongly suspect to be a Thirteenth World schkor—are too dangerous to be approached by our staff.
Please send an emergency collections group to assist.
RE: RE: Re: Sudden appearance of unrecorded, offworld animals
An emergency collections group arrived on site yesterday. Upon investigation, the group discovered six unrecorded, offworld animals in various environments around the zoo. Four of the six were apprehended without difficulty, but the fifth, an unidentified species of worm-like animal, has already infected a chusak reserve to the extent that every chusak in the reserve is currently bearing a parasitic load of worms in its stomach. It is as yet unknown whether or not they will survive.
Unfortunately, the sixth offworld animal has now officially been identified as a schkor, and while it was deposited in the Frozen Animals exhibit fully encased in its cocoon, further steps will need to be taken when the Frozen exhibit approaches its defrost cycle. The emergency collections group has refused to attempt to move it.
Please advise as to what you would like us to do RE the schkor.
RE: RE: RE: Re: Sudden appearance of unrecorded, offworld animals
While we appreciate the suggestion, we would like to point out that it is morally reprehensible to keep the schkor occupied with small, screaming children while the environment passes through its defrost cycle.
Please refer us to your supervisor.
Here Be Monsters
IT WAS MORNING—WELL, relatively speaking—and when Kez woke up, she knew right away that the Upsydaisy was in motion. More importantly, she knew it was in motion timewise, the Other Zone milky and peaceful all around it. She always knew. If it had occurred to her that this was a sense not everyone possessed, she might have wondered if it was because of her particular ability to travel through time and space unaided.
“Marx! Wot you doin’, Marx?”
Through the small speaker-hole beside her bunk, Marx’s dry voice came back, “Come in here if you’re going to ask questions.”
“I’m in me bunk!”
“Good for you.”
Grumbling, Kez got up in her usual fashion. First she wriggled until her leg could dangle over the edge of the bunk, free of the sheets. Then she rolled and let herself drop onto the floor, light and swift. These days she had to avoid the gaping hole in the floor, but Marx said he was going to fix that and it was pretty easy to see, after all.
When she trotted into the cockpit, both the Chronomatrix hatch and their hacked Core feedback loop were open, and Marx was turning a narrow-eyed look from one to the other.
Kez threw herself into the co-pilot’s chair. “Where we goin’? Wot’s ’appenin’?”
“Got a Core update,” Marx said. “We’ve stolen something from the Chaebol.”
“Wot’s the Chaebol?”
“A luxury deep space liner, apparently. Know what’s interesting about it?”
“You mean apart from the flamin’ odd name?” demanded Kez, unimpressed.
“No, what’s interesting is that Uncle Cheng is interested in it.”
“Isn’t he that bloke wot threatened us?”
“That’s him.”
“Wot’d we steal?”
“Don’t know,” said Marx, flicking another look from the Chronomatrix to the Core feed. “We haven’t done it yet. I thought it’d make a nice outing for us. We’ve been skulking close to the Worlds lately, and I don’t like being threatened.”
“Why don’t we just go an’ scrag Uncle Cheng?”
Marx shrugged. “I thought about it. But if we’re going to go after him, we should get a bit more information first, don’t you think?”
“’Ow much info does it take to scrag a bloke?”
Marx grinned one of his more savage grins at her. Kez always felt a kinship with that grin. “Just as much as stops us getting killed and helps us get the job done.”
“Orright, so where’s this Chaebol?”
“We’re on the way now; it’s between Fifth and Sixth Worlds. The Core says the head of the family that owns it was killed by a First World Hunter just a few weeks ago, relative their time. They’re having a funeral. I thought we’d go.”
“Orright,” agreed Kez. “Ain’t never been to a funeral before. Might be fun.”
“If you say so,” Marx said. “That sorts the time and place, so we might as well go back into the Time Stream now.”
“I want a weapon this time.”
“No weapons.”
“The spanner, then.”
“Not a chance; that’s my shifting spanner. Look kid, if you bite someone they’ll probably die anyway. You can’t do better than that.”
Kez made a face at him but didn’t try to push things. If it came right down to it, she could always find something on the Chaebol, and if that didn’t work—well, she had a good enough grip on her talent by now to be able to get herself out of trouble. Unless she was unconscious, of course; but Marx made pretty sure that didn’t happen very often. As a matter of fact, Marx made sure a lot of things didn’t happen. When she first joined him on the Upsydaisy, Kez had been determined to keep him at a distance and go away again as quickly as she could sneak off the Upsydaisy. She knew how easy it was to get used to depending on someone. Worst of all, she knew how easily that someone could die from looking after her, and how hard it was to get used to looking after herself again afterward. But Marx had proved to be tougher than old boots, and considerably more useful. Despite all that time and space had thrown at him, he had survived; stubbly cheeks, leathery skin, and humourless grin intact. In fact, Kez wasn’t sure Marx didn’t enjoy the danger. There was sometimes a nasty gleam in his narrowed eyes that she respected as much as she did the more savage of his grins.
“Where we gonna park ’er?” she asked instead.
“I was going to park her in the Chaebol, but they’ve got time manipulation sensors.”
“Don’t matter ’bout sensors,” Kez said. “Just make sure we’re in the right time. I can shift the whole ship wivout goin’ through the Other Zone.”
“You can do that?”
“Course I can!”
Marx looked sharply at her. “Have you done it before?”
“S’easy, Marx!”
“Have you?”
Kez mumbled.
“Speak up before I swat you one.”
“Done it before, heaps,” Kez said defiantly, and added, much more quickly, “Just not wiv summink as big as a ship.”
“What have you done it with?”
“A weasel.”
“A weasel? Why a weasel?”
“It wanted to come wiv me. I can take a weasel round wiv me if I want! Just cos you won’t let me keep that ensign don’t mean I can’t ’ave a—”
“Yes,
yes,” Marx said hastily. “We’ve been through this before. Weasels are weasels and ensigns are ensigns. Have you moved anything bigger than a weasel?”
Kez looked him up and down. “You ain’t that much bigger than a weasel.”
“The Upsydaisy is quite a bit bigger,” said Marx, after a pause long enough to gratify her considerably.
“Yeah, but it ain’t organic, is it? Just you an’ me.” Kez watched him thinking it through, and added helpfully, “Oi. Want me to do it now?”
“Good grief, no! You haven’t even looked at the specs; you’d put us down halfway through the bulwarks.”
“Well ’oo’s fault is that?” huffed Kez. She shoved Marx out of the way so that she could stand exactly in front of the display of the Chaebol’s specs, but said, “Anyway, don’t need this stuff.”
Technically speaking, it was true. Just as she could pick the right time when she entered the Time Stream, Kez could pick the right place when she slipped through space. It was just a matter of paying attention to where things would be rather than where they actually were. All the same, she took a good look at the specs.
“That confident, are you?” said Marx. “Why are you looking at the specs, then?”
“You said,” Kez pronounced, with the air of one quoting the ancients, “you said, ‘Always ’ave a way out’.”
“You have a way out built in,” Marx retorted. “You can get out of anything by skipping through time and space. And don’t repeat me to me. I don’t like it.”
“Yeah,” said Kez, grinning. “I know.”
She ducked the clip around the ears that he half-heartedly aimed at her, and said again, “Want me to do it now?”
This time, Marx shrugged. “Might as well. Should we be outside?”
“Nah,” Kez said. “Don’t make no difference.”
Kez was sometimes wrong. In fact, she was wrong reasonably often. That fact hadn’t ever stopped her from proclaiming what she thought she knew in as confident a voice as she was capable of; and, in turn, from being taken at face value. Marx was beginning to suspect as much, but that only made it more of a game, and Kez hadn’t been able to break herself of the habit.
Memento Mori Page 19
