Impossible. But real.
Girding herself with every last erg of resolve she had left, Flora returned her attention to her wristband. She had two choices as she saw it: to try and take action to improve her situation, or to sit there with her fingers in her ears and pray. She chose action.
She was rewarded – after five more minutes of working at the innards of the band with trembling fingers, she found a loose connection, and affected a temporary seal. A beep confirmed that the hardware was functioning again. She summoned light at once.
And let out a scream.
There, no more than a yard to her right, was a face, nearly human, emerging from the wall. She instinctively lurched away from it, but knew full well there would be others behind her. Her light, upset by the motion, flickered wildly, vanished briefly then returned at half power. She forced her gaze to rest upon the apparition.
The face was on its side, and appeared masculine. Two large eyes were almost closed, twitching slightly as if their owner were dreaming. The nose was large by human standards, the mouth small, the forehead sloping back into a long skull. There was reddish hair on the head and a full beard on the face. Moving her light to the right, she saw a sturdy, muscular body. The whole creature seemed to be stuck in the wall, parallel to the ground.
She dared to edge in for a closer look. The skin colour was uneven, with blotches of white and grey; those grey areas looked almost metallic. The hair and beard spread outwards from the head like a halo, and seemed to flow into the wall, turning brown and wooden, creeping along the surface like the branches of a tree. Or roots, perhaps, old and gnarled. Following one of these upwards she found that it widened and flowed seamlessly into the leg of a female some two yards higher up. There was no telling where the roots ended and the people began. Turning her attention back to the male, she saw that three of his ribs on one side had torn through his skin and embedded themselves in the soil behind him. They were not made of white bone but a gleaming metal.
She could faintly see others at the edges of her illumination. It was a sickening scene.
“Cartwright, can you hear me?” she jumped when Hunter’s voice came from her wristband, then felt a rush of relief. She felt for the response button, unable to take her eyes off the creature in front of her.
“Captain, yes, I’m here.”
“Thank God.” The signal was poor but the relief came through loud and clear. “We lost your signal for an hour, it only just came back. Bala’s on her way down. We can have you out of there in no time. Are you fit to move?”
An hour. Was that all it had been? “I’m fine, I can come up. But I think the rest of you might want to come down.” She regarded the ghostly face in front of her. It looked slightly less frightening now that she was no longer alone. But only slightly. “There’s something here you need to see …”
* * *
“Dear Lord, look at them all.”
Hunter’s eyes followed Bala’s torch as she swept its beam around the chamber. The light picked out Matan after Matan – it was surely safe to assume that these were the planet’s missing inhabitants – each woven into the grotesque living mosaic. The floor they stood on consisted of smooth stones, the walls and ceiling dark soil, but criss-crossed with roots and with humanoid bodies. The roots pulsed gently, as if pumping fluid.
“Horrible,” Flora was saying. “What can have done this to them? Imagine being kept alive like this …”
“I suppose this could be their natural state,” offered Bala.
“This? No. Nothing natural about this.”
“Let’s make no assumptions.” Hunter stepped close to a woman whose face was on a level with hers. The alien visage, despite its strangeness, was quite attractive with its sloping lines. Like all those in the chamber, she appeared nude; her breasts were small by human standards, and she had barely less body hair than the males. She had lost her right hand to whatever metamorphosis had struck her people; up to the elbow it appeared normal, but below there it soon split into four flaking segments which coiled around one another and vanished into the wall near her feet. Her other arm hung limp beside her.
“She’s quite well muscled. No signs of atrophy, and … look at her skin. These grey patches look almost metallic.” She brushed her fingers lightly along the cool surface of an area above the dangling wrist. “Are they cyborgs?”
With no warning, the pale hand sprang up and seized her arm.
Bala sprang forward at once, struggling to get a grip on the four stubby fingers.
“Wait!” ordered Hunter. “She’s not hurting me. Stand back …” She looked into the woman’s eyes. They were half open, trying to focus. “Do you hear me?” she asked, fully aware that her words must be incomprehensible, but unable to simply say nothing.
Abruptly, the moment passed. The eyes closed, the head lolled forward, and the arm slowly sank to its previous position.
“A new friend, captain?” Unnoticed, Sandra Rivers had joined the little group, using the rope from above. Hunter had to admire her poise as she surveyed their surroundings; she might have been studying common bacteria for all the expression which showed on her face.
“Hopefully. Communication’s the dream, but we need to take things slowly. What are you doing?”
Rivers had taken a cell sampler from her belt and was advancing towards a Matan male. “The creatures have a fascinating physiology – part mammal, part machine, part plant, by the look of them. Triborgs, if you’ll permit me a rather crude neologism. Their insides must be fascinating; I daresay Natalia will want a sample.”
“No. No samples without their consent. They’re clearly intelligent beings.”
Rivers’ mouth twisted slightly. “I can’t see them complaining, captain. It’s safe and painless.”
“Would you violate a sleeping human like that? Sorry, not how we operate, Sandra. We’re not GSEC; we have principles. Our way is investigation, not exploitation.”
“Very catchy.” The sampler was slowly lowered. The confrontation disturbed Hunter; she’d had the occasional disagreement with Rivers before, but had never had cause to question her morals.
How many times have I stressed the importance of our status as role models for the women who’ll follow us? It’s more important than ever now. Our choices here will never be forgotten.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Annabelle Grace, releasing the rope and landing with a slip and a bump.
“Oh my, oh my! Now we’re talkin’ … just look at ‘em all! Ha!” She hugged Flora. “Always knew you were lucky, Boss! You’ve blown my big discovery out of the water. Say, what’s through there?”
There was a semi-circular opening in the wall opposite them, some fifty yards away. It appeared to be the only exit other than the way they’d come in.
“We’ve not investigated it yet,” said Hunter. “Don’t go running off by yourself!” Annie, torch in hand, was already halfway across the room.
Like dealing with a hyperactive eight-year-old, she thought, remembering, with a stab of pain, her daughter at that age. She caught up with the younger woman and they peered through the opening together.
What they saw dwarfed the chamber behind them. They stood on a ledge near the ceiling. The floor, where their torches picked it out, was fully 200 yards below them. The opposite wall was nearly as distant, and they saw no end to left nor right. The walls were littered with Matan cyborgs like the ones they’d seen, stuck like flies in a crooked web. Some were in large groups, their transformed bodies running into each other. Others were in threes or twos, but none seemed to be entirely on their own.
There were clear patches too, where neither humanoids nor the gnarled roots were to be found; these appeared to be made of stone. The by now familiar Matan script could be seen here, sometimes accompanied by pictures, chiselled into the surface with uncanny precision.
“Look at the ceiling!” gasped Annie, sweeping her torch upwards. “Michelangelo eat your heart out.”
“It may b
eat the Sistine Chapel for size,” said Flora, joining them, “but hardly for artistic impression.”
Hunter was inclined to agree. There was no colour here, the giant forms sculpted from rock. The images had a brooding quality, unsmiling Matans shown in acts of combat, leisure and love. Some of the scenes depicted were easier to understand than others. A recurring image was a male and female facing each other, kneeling with their hands buried in the earth. A punishment? Or a mating ritual, perhaps? Writing was dotted here and there, accompanying the pictures; more fuel for Gypsy’s translation drive, she hoped.
“I suppose we shouldn’t judge. This may be the very height of beauty to them.”
“Look there!” A section of the artwork over to their right had caught Flora’s attention. “Some of those figures are different. Wires and support struts: robots. And there … that one’s half man, half machine. Could that be what happened here? Experiments mixing the biological and the mechanical?” She glanced back at the first man she’d seen.
“Experiments gone horribly wrong …”
* * *
An hour later, they were heading back to the ship. It was getting dark; the captain had decided to pick the rest of the crew up at first light, as landing was tricky enough even without adding poor visibility to the list of challenges. In theory, they’d be catching up on some sleep tonight, before unleashing their full scientific force on the mysteries beneath their feet tomorrow. Flora doubted whether they’d get more than an hour between the lot of them.
“Congratulations, Flora.”
She glanced across at the captain with surprise. “I didn’t do anything, except fall down a hole. It was pure luck I found them.”
“I wasn’t referring to the discovery. You were in a tough place down there. You kept your head, got your equipment fixed. Helped us find you.”
“You would have found me anyway, eventually. It didn’t really make any difference.”
“Perhaps. But keeping cool in a crisis is a good habit to get into. Next time it might make all the difference. Life or death. You did well; learn to take a compliment.”
“Thank you, Captain. I guess I did okay.” Truth be told, she hadn’t felt cool while the crisis was happening, and she was still shaken by the things they’d seen down there. Nor was she the only one. Barbara Young had taken one glance around the chamber at the bottom of the rope, then excused herself and clambered back up. Others hadn’t ventured down at all. They’d have to eventually, she supposed; exploring an area that size would take a colossal team effort.
An idea struck her. “You know, things might be a lot easier if we could find a more accessible entrance to the caverns. Getting our best scanning equipment down that hole could take an age, in fact we’d probably have to disassemble some of the heavier units and rebuild them at the bottom.”
She could dimly see Hunter nodding in the deepening gloom. “True. But it looks like quite a labyrinth. Mapping all the ins and outs is going to take a while.”
“I was actually thinking we might put the ACMs to work. It’s obviously not part of their primary function, but they’re designed to adapt to new physical challenges. It shouldn’t be beyond them. Also, there might be dangers like cave ins; better to send someone expendable.”
Hunter regarded her. They hadn’t talked at all about the ACMs since Flora had sat before the captain’s desk, not far off a year ago now.
“I’m glad you’ve adopted a more pragmatic attitude to our artificial friends. Your idea’s a good one. Will you see to it that they know what they’re doing?”
“Certainly.” She was glad of the dark – her ally in foiling Hunter’s lie detecting skills. Not that she’d exactly lied, but she’d had an ulterior motive, which the captain would doubtless have read on her face in the clear light of day.
I kept my promise, Charlie. You’ll get to see the world outside your door. I hope it doesn’t disappoint too much …
* * *
The next morning, Flora looked up with a mixture of amusement and annoyance as her fellow technician showed up for work.
“You’re late … which, given that you’ve got about three yards to travel to get here, is quite a feat. We’re taking off in a couple of minutes.”
“Sorry, overslept.”
“Seriously? How can you be lounging in bed on a day like this? You were champing at the bit yesterday, mad to explore that place.”
“Oh, I’m excited, don’t get me wrong,” said Annie with a flick of her braids. “But they’re not going anywhere, are they? And I was enjoying my dream. Once you wake up, they’re gone forever, y’know? The subconscious doesn’t do sequels.”
“Well, buckle up, anyway.” Flora finished strapping herself in while her partner moved to do the same some fifty feet away. al-Hawsawi’s businesslike tones, going through the usual countdown, echoed about them.
“So, don’t you want to know what my dream was about?” called Annie.
“… primary elevation thrusters firing in 10 … 9 … 8 …”
“I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me!”
“3 … 2 … 1 …”
“Well, I’m wandering around this massive …”
“Mark!”
Chaos erupted.
The Bona Dea bucked horribly, metal screeching, panels falling from the ceiling. Flora’s head cracked hard into the wall behind her. Over to her left, a fire bloomed. Annie screamed. It was the Kohler-Schmid Drive, without which their journey home would take not weeks, but hundreds of thousands of years. Sick with dread, Flora struggled out of her harness. She was dimly aware that the thrusters had stopped firing, the ship’s vibrations dying down. Time for action, but her hands weren’t obeying her, and blood was running into her eyes.
At last, she got free, grabbed an extinguisher and lurched towards the fire, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to clear her vision. Annie was already there, a blur of motion to Flora’s addled brain, dowsing the equipment with halon from all angles. The air was a confusion of smoke and water from the overhead sprinklers. She tried to bring her own extinguisher to bear, but had trouble aiming. The deck seemed to tilt back and forth several times before flying up to strike her in the face.
She was dimly aware of Annie crouching over her and running footsteps drawing near, before her brain gave up the fight and shut down.
V
Nothing is built on stone; all is built on sand, but we must build as if the sand were stone.
– Jorge Luis Borges
“Things could have been a lot worse, if not for our pilot’s reflexes,” said Hunter. “Al-Hawsawi cut the thrust at the first sign of trouble. Plenty of superficial damage but just the one fire. This is the worst place for it to be, though. What’s the outlook, Grace?”
The two of them stood by the Kohler-Schmid Drive. Flora was still present, sitting up now and accepting the ministrations of Dr. Little, a bandage covering the nasty bruise at the top of her head and looping beneath her chin. She had insisted on staying, but wasn’t in any state to take charge; Annie knew more about the KSD in any case.
“Well, at first glance, could be worse. The central and western domes took the most damage, but it looks fairly superficial. Don’t get me wrong, we need to do some serious repairs before we use it again, but we do have the parts and I’ve got the expertise. With the KSD, the really sensitive stuff’s in the middle of each dome, but the flame retarding casing did its job. I’m more worried that the way we were rocked about might have messed with a vital part; I’ll keep looking.”
“Good. The engines?”
“Are fine, as far as I can see. We should run tests before we try going anywhere, of course. And we’ll have to go over the whole ship checking hull integrity before we go flying around in the vacuum of space. We could be here for a while.”
“Things should speed up once the other technicians get here. I’ve already informed the rest of the crew of our situation; there’ll be joining us by foot. We’re lucky to be as close to our first
landing site as we are; they might be here in four days if they set a good pace.”
“Sir, do we know what happened?” asked Annie. She must have been shaken up by the threat to her beloved KSD, Hunter realized; she was being quite uncharacteristically respectful.
“That’s what we’re going to find out. Our thrusters fired, but the ship went nowhere, as though we were rooted to the spot. Yet we were resting on plain stone.”
“So … ?”
“So something’s changed out there. Either our ship or our environment are not as they were.”
* * *
It turned out to be both. The two of them went out to investigate, joined by Sandra Rivers and Barbara Young. At first glance, there was nothing amiss – same rock, same grass, same trees. It was a cold morning, their breath fogging before them as they went under the belly of the ship to check the four legs of the landing gear. It was a clearance of only five feet, and they all had to duck a little to get underneath and approach the first leg. It looked normal at first glance, but the truth soon became apparent once they trained their torches on the appendage.
“My God …”
Where once had been metal was now stone. Ground and ship were one, fused at the point of contact. The basic shape of the leg was still recognizable, but the familiar joints and rods had been transformed into smooth rock. Only streaks and patches remained of what had been before. However, when they looked down at their feet, they saw a whorl of metal extending outwards. The tough titanium alloy seemed to have run like paint.
“Crazed …” Annie reached out a hand as if hypnotized.
Subcutis (Bona Dea Book 1) Page 11
