by Unknown
Bill Groan had reinstated the practice of nightwatch after the third livestock killing. He posted watchmen at the compass gates of Beside, plus another at the heathouses, another at the well, and two to patrol from the byre to the dairy. Another watchman would beat the bounds of the plantnation through the night. Bill Groan had been determined that no mad dog would get into the town and threaten the children or the old.
A precaution. That's all it had seemed at first. And a burden, because men like Sol had to stand out all hours in the cold weather.
After the day they'd just had, it seemed like a necessity.
It was bitter cold, and light snow was falling. Sol could hear the hiss and whisper of it. From his vantage, with the town at his back, he had the edge of the woods and the open land of fairground ahead of him. To his left, he could see the slight glow of the solamps in the heathouses. To his right, like a dark and cloudy phantom behind the snow, he could just make out the bulk of Firmer Number One.
The cold was getting to him. He had a small brazier for warmth, crackling near his feet, a flask of broth, and he made sure he did not stand still for too long.
Pacing kept his feet warm. He left the end of his shovel resting on the ground, supporting it with one hand, and kept the other hand tucked inside his coat for warmth.
Every few minutes, he would change hands and stuff the other away.
Sol put both hands on the shovel and raised it. He had heard something. He was sure he'd heard something. Across fairground, out near the woods. It sounded as though something had moved. He waited, listening, peering into the darkness, seeing nothing. It was probably just snow-gather building up on a branch, finally snapping it under its accumulated weight or sloughing off. Since the snows had come, that sort of odd sound, noises of slumping and fluttering as fallen snow redistributed itself, had become very common.
Sol glanced back towards Beside. Lamps were burning throughout the heart of the settlement. It looked reassuring, almost cosy. He longed to be down there, at a fireside, talking with friends and eating a good supper. That community and companionship was what life was about. The hard toil and struggle of the Morphan existence was made bearable by the simple reassurances of hot food and a hearth, and a circle of friends.
Sadly, Sol reflected, that was not why the lamps were lit in Beside tonight. The council and the community were meeting in the assembly.
Crisis talks, Cat A.
Bill Groan stood in the porch of the assembly hall under the light of a solamp, listening as Old Winnowner read out the list.
Eight names. Eight good Morphan men of Beside who had not returned at day's end. Eight fathers, eight strong labourers, part of the backbone of the community. How could eight men go missing in the snow during the daytime? A fall or other mishap might take one, two if things were really unlucky. But eight?
They were all his friends.
Winnowner read the other names on the list.
Harvesta Flurrish, of course, the poor girl whose disappearance had started the search in the first place.
Winnowner had reminded Bill that it was the anniversary of Tyler Flurrish's death. Perhaps Vesta had been marking that loss. Perhaps that was why she had not come for labour at the chime of Guide's Bell. It seemed a particularly cruel twist of Guide's will for her to disappear on the anniversary of her father's passing.
What horrible fate had befallen her, Bill wondered.
Had the dog got her? Had it cornered her and brought her down like a lamb? Or, Guide help them all, was there some truth in these stories of giants in the woods?
Arabel Flurrish was missing too. No one had seen her or Samewell Crook since the morning meeting. Bill Groan knew Arabel Flurrish well. She was one of the brightest and best, strong-willed and quickwitted. Bill had no doubt Bel would rise to a high Morphan office like Nurse Elect in her time. Vesta was sweet and kind, but Bel was strong and driven. Bill was certain Bel had gone out to look for her sister anyway, permission or no permission. It was typical of her headstrong behaviour. Samewell Crook, well he was driven by his hopeless heart and good nature. He was so struck on Arabel, if she'd told him to jump in the mill race with his boots on, he'd have done it. He'd gone with her, to help her, that was obvious too.
But they hadn't come back. By nightchime, they had not returned. Worse still, just after noon, Jack Duggat had discovered that the two strangers had vanished from the compter too. Jack had gone down to take them some food and water, and found the cage open.
Had they let themselves out? If so, how? The lock on the cage was a good, strong one, and it had not been forced.
Bill suspected that Bel, perhaps in some delusion, had let them out. He would not put such unilateral action past her, especially when she was so lacking in patience and concerned for her sister. She'd been eager to question the strangers, after all. Perhaps they had promised to show her where her sister had gone in return for release?
Even so, how had Bel opened the cage? A want of patience was a true vice, and certainly one of Arabel Flurrish's personal flaws, but even she, fired up and on a mission, could not manufacture a key out of nowhere.
Perhaps the matters weren't connected. Perhaps Bel and Samewell had gone off, and the strangers had got out of their own accord.
All Bill Groan could plainly see was that in the middle of the hardest winter the Morphans had ever known, two strangers who seemed to come from no plantnation, which was the only place anyone could have come from, turned up on the self-same day eleven Morphans of Beside went missing.
'They're taking their seats, Elect,' said Chaunce Plowrite, stepping out of the assembly to speak to Bill.
Bill Groan nodded.
'We should go in,' said Winnowner. In the low solamp light, she looked older than ever. Age and effort, and the stress of the current times had shaved more years off her. Bill felt a tightness. Winnowner Cropper could be difficult and set in her ways, but he relied upon her. A doctrine of continuity had kept the Morphans alive for twenty-seven generations, and it was just as vital as the doctrine of patience. One generation learned from the last. Knowledge and skills were stockpiled and maintained. The young did not have to make the same mistakes their predecessors had done, because the result of mistakes were taught so they could be avoided. Time and effort were not wasted by learning through experience. Morphans prospered by listening to their elders and learning.
Hereafter was a hard place to live and a slow place to terrafirm. It did not offer second chances, but if you paid attention to the wisdom of your elders, it reduced the chances of you needing any.
Bill could not bear to think of Winnowner going. He did not know what he would do without her. He could not imagine being Nurse Elect and not having her years and counsel to call upon. If this crisis of ice and mysteries had hastened the end of Winnowner Cropper's life, then he...
He tried not to think about it. The plantnation records and oral histories both attested to the fact that it was always a sorry time when the last of a generation passed. It always marked the end of an era, and reminded the Morphan community of the vulnerability and the sheer duration of the lifecycle they had been born into. Bill knew that Winnowner's death would be a watershed in his service as Elect, and his life too. He prayed to Guide that it wouldn't happen when they were in the midst of such an unprecedented Cat A calamity.
'We should go in,' she repeated.
'And tell them what?' Bill asked.
'Speak fairly to them,' she replied. 'There's nothing we can do tonight except keep warm and keep watch.'
'And tomorrow?'
She shrugged. 'We search again.'
Bill sighed. 'What if they are true?' he asked.
'If what are true, Elect?'
'The stories of giants.'
'There is nothing in all of Guide's words about giants,' she said.
'There was nothing about strangers either,' he said,
'but today strangers came.'
'They were unguidely, and they brought conj
ury with them,' she replied.
'I understand that,' he said. 'I do. But just because something is unguidely, just because it is not part of Guide's law, it doesn't mean we can ignore it. It could be killing us, Winnowner. Do we let it?'
'Of course not,' she said. 'Survival is the greatest doctrine of all. What is happening to us may be exceptional, and therefore not covered in specifics in Guide's words, but Guide will not fail us. We must look again. Study the passages. Guide will instruct us in ways we have not yet imagined.'
Bill Groan nodded. 'I think so too. We should start again tonight. All night, if it takes it.'
'Agreed,' said Winnowner. 'We will go in and you will say some words of consolation and comfort. Then I will open the Incrypt, and we will withdraw with the council for study.'
Chaunce Plowrite held the door for them and they entered the assembly. It was crowded. Almost every Morphan had come out, except those on nightwatch or with evening labours to perform.
Or those already lost, Bill Groan thought.
There was a hum of chatter in the room, but it died away as they came in and joined the other members of the council to take their seats. Small and very obvious knots of agitation surrounded the families of the missing men.
'What will you do, Elect?' Ela Seed asked, standing up almost at once. Her voice was clear and loud, but strained with worry. Her husband, Dom Seed, was one of the men who had not been seen since Guide's Bell had chimed middle-morning.
'I will ask Guide for direction, Ela,' said Bill Groan.
'Is that not what we have been doing for weeks now?' asked Lane Cutter. Several of the Morphans around her uttered a rumble of support.
'It is,' said Bill.
'And what good has it done?' Lane asked, her face severe.
'Such talk is verging on the unguidely, Lane,' said Chaunce Plowrite. 'I know you are most concerned at Hud's absence, but—'
'Unguidely, am I now?' asked Lane with a brittle laugh. 'I think Guide has deserted us.'
There was a flurry of talk, some of it dismayed.
'I agree,' said Ela Seed. 'I know we must trust in Guide, and I know patience is our greatest virtue, and I know that those who are patient will provide for all of the plantnation, but we cannot just wait by for this to overcome us. My husband...'
Her voice broke. Her sister rose to steady her.
'We will consult Guide's words tonight,' said Bill.
'Winnowner is going directly to open the Incrypt.
We will not rest until we have searched every passage and every section for truth and pertinence.'
'It is either that,' Jack Duggat scoffed, 'or we wait for a miracle!'
Laughter, little of it warm, rolled around the assembly.
'I think a miracle is what we might have found,' said Sol Farrow, speaking from the back of the hall.
Everyone turned. He had just come in, bringing snow with him.
'A small one, at any rate,' he said, 'but it gives us hope.'
He turned and beckoned. Two people came in out of the night.
'Oh good Guide,' murmured Bill Groan. 'Vesta Flurrish?'
'I found her coming in from the edge of the woods, Elect,' said Sol.
'I am unhurt, Elect,' Vesta said. Her cold cheeks had flushed in the heat of the assembly room. She indicated the man next to her. 'This is Rory,' she said.
'Um, hello,' said Rory.
The Doctor picked up one of the dead rats by the tail and peered at it. It was heavy, and it swung slightly in his grip. 'Nasty,' he remarked. 'And purpose built.'
'What?' asked Amy. Her hearing was returning, but the world was still sounding muffled. 'Did you say purpose built?'
'Manufactured,' the Doctor said. He reached in and peeled back the dead rat's lips to reveal its metal teeth.
'It's a rat,' he said. 'Definitely a rat. Genetically, a rat.
From Earth. But it's been modified. Customised.
Enhanced. And on an industrial scale, given the numbers of them.'
'It hasn't got eyes,' said Amy.
'No, because the designers didn't think it needed them. These are sophisticated motion sensors.' He pointed to the foam-like filler that packed the area where an ordinary rat would have had eyes.
'Motion?'
'In space, particularly interstellar space, it's cold and often very, very dark. So motion is a much more sensible format to base your sensory function on.
There are some fairly advanced acoustic sensors there too.'
'Wait,' said Amy, shaking her head and frowning.
She knew it wasn't possible and she knew it wouldn't do any good, but she really wanted a cotton bud. Her ears felt like they were gummed up with glue. 'Start again. We're not in space.'
'No,' agreed the Doctor, lifting his arm so he could study the suspended rat from below. 'We're in the terraformer. That's one of the very big machines that the original Morphans constructed to change Hereafter from Earth -esque to properly Earth -like!
'You mean the Firmers?' asked Arabel. 'The Terra Firmers?'
'The three mountains that aren't mountains?' asked Amy.
The Doctor smiled and nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'I think we're in Firmer Number Two, if I've been listening to Arabel correctly and my sense of direction is unerring.' He looked at Amy. 'And it is,' he grinned.
'We're underneath the mountain?' asked Samewell.
'This is what a Firmer looks like inside. Well, part of it.'
'And that factory noise?' asked Amy.
'The vast engines of the Firmer at work,' said the Doctor. 'Atmospheric processors, geo-seismic actuators, meteorological generators, seeding pumps.
It's a world factory. It's changing the world. And it's been doing it for twenty-seven generations. It's an extraordinary piece of large-scale engineering performing an even more extraordinary and even more mind-bogglingly large-scale piece of engineering.'
'So returning to my original question,' said Amy, pointing. '"Blind space rats? Huh?'"
'Transrats is a better term,' said the Doctor. 'Like Transhumans. Re-engineering both genetically and biologically to be more rat than rat. A living tool, if you like.'
'I've met more than one of those,' said Amy.
'During the great Diaspora Era,' said the Doctor,
'when mankind was spreading out from Earth, they were quite common on bulk generation starships or hibernation arks. Those vessels are huge, like small countries in space. And they travelled for many lifetimes to reach their destinations. The human passengers would spend thousands of years in suspended animation, ready to wake when they arrived at their final colonial destination, or else they would live out lives during the travel time. Whole civilisations could rise and fall on a generation starship in the time it took to reach another star.'
'Seriously?' asked Amy.
The Doctor nodded. 'And eco-systems would develop in the ship interiors in the meantime. Pests, lice, dirt, rodents. Mankind quickly learned that the best way to keep a generation starship clean was to keep them purged. Rats eat anything. So mankind engineered rats that could survive in almost any conditions and could eat anything. Transrats lived in the dark corners of the ships, basically eating anything that wasn't supposed to be there.'
'So... these came here on the Morphans' original ship?' asked Amy.
'Well, yes and no,' said the Doctor. 'The idea of them did, the technology. But they wouldn't have lasted for twenty-seven generations. They're not immortal, and they don't breed. These were manufactured recently.'
'Meaning?'
The Doctor exhaled thoughtfully. 'Meaning there's an automated manufacturing plant for this kind of thing here somewhere, and also a genetic stockpile containing rat DNA that it could access in order to breed new rats for conversion.'
'A rat factory?' asked Amy. 'Making easy-to-build rats?'
'Flat-pack rats,' the Doctor agreed. He swung the rat he was holding around by the tail like it was a bolas.
'Easy to build. Disposable.'
'
But why?' asked Amy.
'Presumably because there's something wrong,' said the Doctor. He stopped spinning the rat, realising it was pretty undignified for both of them.
'The terraformer system has detected a loss of efficiency or some other defect,' he said, 'and it's automatically starting diagnostic procedures to address it. Transrats would be a first step. Build some, release them into the systems, clean out any dirt, or clutter, or infestation, or glitches.'
'Glitches, huh?' said Amy. She looked at the ratthing the Doctor was holding. 'They seemed really hungry.'
'Because they're not the solution to the problem afflicting the terraformers,' said the Doctor. 'It's not a problem you can eat.'
'But if they got out,' said Bel. 'They'd attack sheep...
goats...'
'They might,' the Doctor agreed. 'Hungry, and outside the system control of the terraformer, they could go on a frenzy. That would explain the livestock kills.'
'So the Ice Men haven't been killing and devouring sheep, then?' asked Amy. ' Warriors. I meant Warriors.'
'No,' said the Doctor, 'which sorts out one of my original problems. I suspected Ice Warriors from the start. The moment I realised that something was trying to manipulate an entire planet's climate and make it colder, I immediately thought of Ice Warriors.'
'Well, who wouldn't?' asked Amy.
'Quite,' said the Doctor.
'That was your hunch? The hunch you said you'd got?'
'Yes,' replied the Doctor. 'It fitted the modus operandi of the Ice Warriors, except for one small detail. They're herbivorous.'
'So they wouldn't be eating livestock,' said Amy, 'but these rats would.'
The Doctor swung the dead rat by the tail like a conker on a string. 'Yes, if they got out. But the terraforming system should be sealed enough to prevent them escaping into the wild.'
'You reckon the Ice Warriors broke into the terrafirmer and did something to sabotage it,' said Amy, 'and you also reckon the terrafirmer detected that sabotage as a problem and built the transrats to deal with it. Makes sense that the transrats would have got out through whatever hole the Ice Warriors made to get in. That's how they got out and started eating sheep.'
'Nice deduction, Pond,' said the Doctor.
