by Gary Gibson
‘Maul-worms,’ Moss explained, ‘are necrogenes. They’re born by parthogenesis and enter this world hungry. Their birth kills their parent, and the young survive first by feeding on the rotting flesh of the parent, and finally on each other as they war for territorial dominance. Those that survive find their way into deep cave-systems, where they grow to quite enormous sizes over passing centuries. At this point, however,’ he paused to pat the top of the canister, ‘they are, of course, much smaller.’
He crouched over her again, his mouth next to her ear. Dakota twisted her head to one side.
‘You see, when these things find their way out of the canister, the first thing they’ll look for is something to eat. And I fear the only thing round here that looks edible is you.’
‘Is this because of what happened in Ascension? You were trying to kill me, Hugh. I was just trying to defend my—’
‘On the contrary, I should thank you.’
Dakota twisted around to stare at him, dumbfounded.
‘You taught me the danger of hubris,’ he continued. ‘I had ignored the lessons of our previous encounter on Bourdain’s Rock and allowed you to defeat me. It was a lesson I learned well.’
‘It won’t work,’ Dakota croaked. ‘Whatever those things in there are, they’re an alien physiology. They’d die if they attacked me. You know that.’
‘You’d be long dead yourself, by the time your flesh poisoned them,’ Hugh replied. ‘They’re voracious, but stupid. They’d gorge themselves on you until they died.’ He pulled himself up, hopping back down to the floor and reaching for his coat and pulling it back on. He left it hanging open at the front.
He then stepped over to the door-opening and looked outside before turning back to her. She craned her neck to follow his movements.
‘Did you know the Bandati are fundamentally an artificial species?’ he said, his tone suddenly casual. ‘They adopted quite a different form some millennia ago, and they call that time of change the ‘Grand Reformation’. Most of their records from before that period were destroyed, but I can tell you they were wildly destructive, almost suicidal in the scale of the wars they conducted up until that period. Then something happened: one group became dominant, and they began a centuries-long process that radically transformed their species from the cellular level up.’
He came back towards her and rested one hand on the edge of her gurney. ‘They didn’t have wings before that time. And yet, for all the wild experimentation that led to their present form, they have powerful taboos against making any further changes to their morphology. Which is why they’ve enjoyed remarkable stability for several thousand years – until recently, that is. Now their Hives fight wars amongst themselves, and ancient, destructive patterns are beginning to re-emerge.’
He smiled down at her. ‘There’s always a pattern to the way intelligent species develop in the galaxy. They spread wildly, almost like a contagion, and very soon they fracture into new species, using technology to differentiate themselves one from another far, far faster than the process of evolution could ever provide. Humanity is very close to that point, perhaps only a few centuries or millennia away. You see, the clue lies in your Ghost implants.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’re not quite human any more, Miss Merrick. Did you know that? The clue was right there in front of me: your implants. So primitive, of course, but a clear antecedent to those changes which will take over your species one day, and somehow enough for the Magi ship to mistake you for one of its own. Scans show your implants have been undergoing radical changes ever since you came to this system. And so the question I now have to ask myself is – are you, in fact, still human?’
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
‘Your original implants are gone, and there are new, organic structures in your brain that appear to have taken their place.’
‘Bullshit.’
Moss leaned in closer again. ‘You’re a machine-head – despised and mistrusted throughout human space, like all your kind. Your life has been a web of self-deceit and lies. Bad things happen to the people who love you. An entire colonial expedition, all dead. Your one-time lover Marados dead, and Severn too. Oh, I know everything about you, Dakota. You were a fountain of self-loathing and self-deceit during your interrogations, and it’s such a shame you’ll never remember most of it.’
She lunged her head at him, her teeth scraping his cheek. He pulled away quickly, laughing, but his skull cap slipped off and fell to the floor. Dakota spat at him, screaming more abuse as he bent to retrieve it.
But not before she saw more clearly the network of scars crisscrossing the top of his head.
‘Dakota the martyr,’ Moss hissed as he stared down at her. ‘That’s how you see yourself, isn’t it? Perhaps you thought it should have been you up on that little plinth while you were busy murdering children on Redstone. You pray for death and pretend it’s a noble sacrifice, all to save a humanity that did its best to wipe you and your kind out of existence.’ Moss put one hand over his heart, his tone mocking. ‘Such selflessness! I could weep, really’ His grin broadened. ‘And then what, Dakota? Then they’ll really be sorry?’
‘Fuck you!’ she screamed, the words ripping themselves out of her throat. She bucked and twisted, the restraints cutting even deeper, although the pain was welcome in a way. ‘What’s the point of all this? What do you want from me?’
Moss stepped forward with an almost balletic grace and punched her once on the side of her chin. Her head snapped round with the impact and she gasped with shock.
‘All in good time, Dakota.’ He took her bruised chin in one hand, his voice soft and low. ‘You blew the heads off innocent men and women and left their mothers to suffocate in Redstone’s air. The lucky ones just froze to death. Tell me the truth, just between you and me. Tell me you enjoyed murdering them all. Tell me how good it felt – the same way you told your interrogators.’
His rancid breath was warm and moist, his lips just millimetres from her ear as he leaned in close once more. ‘What would all those people back on Bellhaven think of you, if they knew how much alike we really were? Would they forgive you? Would they welcome you back? Or would they execute you for your crimes and toss your corpse into an unmarked grave?’
Dakota’s nostrils were now full of the stench of his breath and unwashed skin. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. ‘I inserted a pre-recorded loop into the surveillance systems covering this cell. Do not think for one moment your actions have not been constantly scrutinized since you arrived here. But, for the moment, I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know they’ll have no idea what’s in store for you until it’s much, much too late.’
And then she realized what was so familiar about those scars he was hiding under his skullcap. He looked like someone who’d just had the surgery for installing machine-head implants.
‘Fuck you,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t know what the hell you want from me or what this is about, but—’
‘I’m about to give you a chance at a decent head-start,’ he hissed, cutting her off. ‘You’re going to have the opportunity to get out of here. You’re resourceful and you might even stay alive if you’re lucky, but I rather suspect you won’t.’
‘For fuck’s sake, what are you doing all this for?’
‘I want you to lead the Bandati on a wild-goose chase, Dakota. I want you to keep their attention off me while I finish some business with the Queen of this stinking planet.’
He moved away from her, towards the shadows in the rear of the cell. ‘And if they do catch you, you can tell the Queen that I do not respond to threats. Run if you can, my dear, but don’t interfere with me or with your precious derelict. I have better plans for it than you can ever imagine.’
‘For God’s sake, I don’t understand!’
He didn’t answer. She watched as part of the wall slid aside, and he stepped through into the corridor beyond. The door slid back
into place a moment later and she was alone once more. What now? She was still bound to the gurney. She lay there for several more minutes, hyperventilating and looking wildly around her. Suddenly, without warning, her restraints came loose. She sat up slowly, blinking away tears and rubbing at her chafed and bleeding wrists.
She lifted herself off of the gurney and it suddenly lowered, folding up into a thin slab resting on the floor of the cell.
The canister was still there, on one edge of the slab. It rattled violently. As she watched, it began to open. There was the sound of escaping gas and, again, a strong smell of ammonia.
The lid of the canister lifted up on four glistening steel rods, revealing a hollow interior. Something mewled from inside, the sound disturbingly like that of a kitten. Two of the rods rose higher than the other pair until the lid toppled off onto the floor with a crash.
Dakota darted into the far corner of the cell, horrified yet unable to move. There was nowhere else to go.
A tingle in her neck announced the return of the Piri Reis. But something was different now; her implants made it clear the ship was a lot closer than before.
It was, in fact, several hundred kilometres overhead, locked into orbit around Ironbloom.
Ironbloom. I know.
I know. How long do we have?
Dakota laughed weakly at this. If you only knew, she sent.
She stepped towards the canister, with the idea of pushing it out of the door-opening. She yelled as she touched it, and quickly stepped away. It was hot – hot enough to burn her.
And enormously heavy.
She cursed and cradled her singed hand. No, not just heavy, she realized; it was locked onto the slab somehow, possibly even magnetized.
The blimps, she sent frantically, are they on their way?
The canister rattled again, and the mewling grew louder – angrier. Whatever was inside was clearly restless from its long incarceration.
There isn’t the fucking time, Piri! You need to redirect the nearest blimps to me right now. I’m in serious trouble.
Something pale and wormlike was beginning to emerge from the top of the canister.
No, several somethings.
The stink of the creatures that emerged made Dakota gag. At first they reminded her of fat caterpillars, but about the length of her arm and twice as thick. Each had tiny, stubby, almost comical legs, perhaps a dozen in all. She wondered how they’d survived being crammed into such a confined space.
I didn’t say I wanted to debate the fucking matter! Now, Piri, or I’m dead!
There were four grubs in all, pale-bodied, with small, puckered mouths. They did not appear to have eyes, and their heads waved blindly in the air as they emerged. The nearest to Dakota seemed to sense something, however, when it turned in her direction, the pitch of its mewling changing to become more intense, more desperate.
Born hungry.
They moved so slowly, however, and surely—
The nearest reared up on its hind legs and hissed at her, baring tiny, razor-sharp teeth. Its body trembled, as if scenting fresh meat, and with an undulating motion that made her stomach twist, began to creep towards her.
Oh crap, thought Dakota.
Ten
Things got bad for Corso after he was removed again from Dakota’s cell.
His immediate conclusion when he awoke once more strapped on a gurney was that they were going to resume the torture. A tight strap under his chin held his head immobile, and he could feel bands of pressure where others secured his legs and arms. His mouth felt thick and clammy, familiar evidence that he’d been drugged into submission even as he slept.
He was being wheeled down a passageway, its etched-copper walls alternating with bright strips of light as four blank-eyed Bandati – one at each corner of the gurney – pushed him along, the wheels bumping noisily.
Suddenly, the overhead lights gave way to natural light and open air. A moment later Corso found himself in free-fall, the side of the tower rushing by at enormous speed.
He entered a realm of resounding terror, screaming hoarsely as he plummeted towards the streets and twisting tributaries of the river far below.
The four Bandati were still there, though, each holding one corner of the gurney, but with their wings spread wide to catch the air. Their descent slowed suddenly, the light now picking out the iridescent patterns on their extended wings.
They glided downwards at an eye-wateringly steep angle, the wind whipping the breath from Corso’s lungs, before making a sudden and far from gentle landing on what appeared to be a rooftop. They were near the centre of a cluster of buildings standing inside a funnel-shaped space that lay at the tower’s heart.
The back of Corso’s skull had banged against the gurney several times, almost knocking him unconscious. He felt a warm trickling sensation across his thighs and realized belatedly he’d pissed himself during their sudden descent.
They wheeled him through a wide arch, and into what he soon realized was an elevator big enough to accommodate a hundred humans. The elevator dropped for what felt like a remarkably long time before emerging into what was clearly a subway system, with long, arrow-nosed, windowless trains floating above rails in a well-lit tunnel that vanished into infinity.
There were more Bandati here, most of them armed with weapons slung over heavy grey harnesses. Two of these stepped forward, took charge of the gurney and wheeled it inside one of the trains.
Corso found Honeydew – recognizable by his now-familiar wing-patterning – waiting for him inside. The car they were in jerked slightly and they started to accelerate, the movement so gentle that Corso had only the barest sense they were even under way. Curling patterns, like those that patterned his cell, began to glow across the walls of the car.
‘You should know, Mr Corso, that if not for my direct intervention you might be dead by now.’ The synthesized voice echoed stiffly. ‘I, however, have maintained a stand that you can still be of use to us.’
It took a moment for Corso to realize his restraints had been loosened. He swung his legs slowly to the floor.
‘If this is about what happened with Dakota—’
‘You failed, Mr Corso.’
Corso laughed, fresh anger blooming deep within his chest. ‘You tortured her continuously, and you think she’s just going to turn around and help you on my say-so?’ He shook his head. ‘She’s just looking for a fast way to kill herself – has been, ever since Redstone. All you’re doing is making it easy for her. The more you punish her, the more she thinks she deserves it.’
He stood up carefully, determined to stand his ground. ‘You’ll never get her to cooperate, and as long as she’s still alive and she can communicate with the derelict, you’re never going to get inside it. At least, not without my help.’
‘Dakota Merrick is no longer your concern.’
‘What?’ Corso balled his fists at his sides and stepped closer to the alien. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means nothing, Mr Corso. You’ve proven adequately
that you can help us penetrate the derelict’s interior, but there have been . . . setbacks.’
‘I already told you, I can’t help you as much as I might if I had access to the records on board the Piri Reis.’
‘That can be arranged. We want you to retrieve your protocols from the Piri Reis ’s stacks.’
At last. ‘That still doesn’t answer the question of just why in hell I should,’ Corso replied carefully. ‘You haven’t followed through on any of your promises – in fact, apart from trying to pry my brain apart or torture me, this is the first goddamn time I’ve been out of that tower-cell since we got here! Every step of the way you’ve treated the pair of us like animals. There’s been no sign or evidence of any negotiation. I’ve been given no opportunity to contact the Freehold, to—’
‘You will have your negotiations, Mr Corso.’
‘Like hell I will!’ he exploded. ‘I’m sick and tired of being led on. Bring me a representative of the Freehold, and then maybe we can talk. Until then, go fuck yourself!’
The alien cocked his head to one side slightly, the upper tips of his wings brushing against the ceiling of the subway car. ‘You should know that we’ve had some concern over the political stability of your home world. Are you aware there was a coup there while you were away in the Nova Arctis system?’
‘I knew about that.’ Corso stared at the alien. ‘What about it?’
‘The Freehold have become weakened through their infighting, and the Uchidans have been taking advantage of the situation by consolidating recent territorial gains. It’s possible civil war may break out again, further weakening your society. In that case, negotiating with them directly is unlikely to prove either fruitful or profitable.’
‘How do I know any of this is even true?’ Corso retorted.
‘Please understand that there is much that has been kept from you, by necessity,’ Honeydew continued. ‘For this I apologize, but we must have the complete protocols from the Piri Reis. The reason why will become clearer once we reach our final destination.’
Final destination?
