Lockdown Tales

by Neal Asher

  At the shuttle crash site he collected items left scattered on the ground – thankfully none too large to go in the wheelbarrow – then took apart the make-shift screen salvaging all the optics and s-con he and Mickonsel had used to bind it together. The sun sat two hand-widths above the horizon as he walked back. Maybe thirty hours of daylight left. Anna had built something consisting of the batteries and water cells, and run a cable from this to plug into the house power supply through the wall. The stack looked factory made rather than put together out of unmatched components, and even when he inspected the power cable he could not see any joins. He left her to it and began to fetch more rocks.

  With the sun a finger width above the horizon he felt incredibly weary but continued, knowing he would soon have time enough to sleep all he wanted. He finished his oven and began bringing barrow-loads of clay from near the spring to lather over its surface. The domed affair had its short chimney, required air holes he could block and another hole to which he intended to attach one of the shuttle ventilator fans, which of course would require power. Finally he left the clay to dry and turned to other matters.

  They did not have suitable tech to make a deposition welder, but they could make an electric one. From a fusion drive nacelle he took a power convertor and with s-con fashioned leads. He was contemplating what to use for arc rods when he felt the first bite on the back of his hand.

  ‘Innocular flies,’ he told her.

  ‘Go inside,’ she instructed. ‘I will turn on the power.’

  He did so, closing the door behind him and then switching the light switch to on. The light was dead as he sat wearily at the table and waited. Finally he wondered why he was waiting, stripped off and got into bed. Sleep crashed on him like a falling wall.

  It was night time, light coming on bright even as he woke, because she knew he had. As he surfaced, his body aching, he smelled cooking. Throughout the day he had not considered collecting more food, but it seemed that while he slept she had been decimating the local mantid population and finding further vegetation to eat. He headed for the shower, kind of envying her because at least she could do things out there in the dark.

  ‘So our power supply is done?’ he asked, coming to join her at the table.

  ‘It is,’ she replied. ‘At this technological level you soon discover how necessary power is to make anything function. Like a welder.’ She gestured to something she had been doing on the table. Lying on perfectly-fashioned racks made out of twigs were hundreds of rods, each with some coating drying on them. He studied what she had used on them and noted three of his jars of ‘substances’ from podules finds mixed up in a plate.

  ‘Where did you get the rods?’ he asked.

  ‘From the seats. The alloy is right for the task – I just needed to straighten it out.’

  He searched his mind, finally remembering a seat he had seen burned almost fifty years ago in a reclamation plant. The springs, he realised; yet surely they required heat to straighten them? He glanced at the welder sitting on the floor to one side. All he could think was she must have attached the pieces of spring between the leads and straightened them while they were glowing – further illustrating their need for a better power supply. He also felt almost appalled by the amount of work she had done while he had been sleeping.

  ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘Eleven hours.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘The changes your nanosuite is making require it and,’ she conceded, ‘you did work for a long time after the last time you slept.’

  ‘Still, you shame me – I feel like I am not doing enough.’

  She stood up and began clearing the table, placing the racks of rods over to one side of the room and putting away the other items. Apparently his comment had not been worth a response. He grimaced, again trying to keep it firm in his mind what she was, though all he saw was an attractive woman and an equal.

  ‘Now you need food,’ she said, giving him an almost matronly look.

  Just then, out in the darkness, the Stalker whickered, and then huffed out a breath.

  They both froze.

  ‘And there it is,’ he said.

  She returned his gaze, then was abruptly in motion. She shot across the room, the floor boards splintering under her tread, grabbed up the machete and skidded to a halt by the door. He was glad of that because he thought she was going to go through the wood. Head tilted, listening, she opened the door as quietly as she could, and then leapt out into the night. Ben stared at the open door, dread coming and sitting on his chest. That door had never been open before when that thing was out there, but it was more than that. He could not lose her. Abruptly out of his seat, he went over and grabbed up the carbine and his torch, then stepped out after her. He considered closing the door behind as an innocular fly dropped onto his face, because he did not want them inside the house. But maybe he would have to flee back inside and close it quickly.

  Moving out into the dark he turned on the torch, the beam probing out, picking up his kiln, the pile of shuttle parts and the shuttle itself. He listened, but could hear nothing. Moving further out, he considered calling, but rejected that as a silly idea. He swung the beam round, hearing a crunch to his right. Two eyes gleamed at him and his heart lurched before he saw Anna walking back from the direction of the spring.

  ‘Fast,’ she said. ‘Very fast.’

  ‘Did you get it?’

  She peered off into the night. ‘No, I did not. It was too fast for me.’

  That just didn’t seem to make sense because Golem could move very fast indeed – he had just seen a demonstration of that in the house.

  ‘At least it ran away from you,’ he conceded.

  Looking back at him she said, ‘Yes, and that is odd too – for a predator.’ She stepped over and brushed a hand across his face, knocking away an innocular fly he had not known was there until it took off. ‘Let’s get inside.’

  As they stepped inside and she closed the door, he decided it was time. ‘You said you know of nothing like that thing out there, but when we were talking you mentioned tank grown monsters used in the war here…’

  She went into the kitchen area again – all domesticity. ‘It’s been over a thousand solstan years. Those creatures were grown in tank because that was the only way they could be bred. Their biology was not very stable and any that survived the war would be long dead by now.’

  He nodded. It sounded perfectly plausible, but again he felt there was something else she wasn’t telling him.

  ‘It’s a mystery we may someday resolve.’ She shrugged. ‘For now we can be happy that it did run away from me. It perhaps sensed that I am very unsuitable prey. Quite likely it won’t be back here.’

  ‘Yes, let’s hope so,’ he said.

  She brought a stew of meat and vegetables to the table and ladled it out filling two bowls, and sat with one in front of her. It seemed her nanites must have been busy enough to rebuild those parts he had removed while activating her. As he dipped in and began eating, it also occurred to him that being a tireless machine, with a large and powerful mind, boredom might be an issue. He had joked about Golem needing humans but now wondered if it wasn’t so much of a joke after all.

  After they ate she went outside for a long time. He heard occasional squeals and clatterings from her encounters with the night denizens, but none of that horrible whickering sound. She returned, bringing in sections of damaged shuttle hull he had managed to remove. He wanted to talk more about the stalker, but wondered if her apparent reticence was simply because the Stalker to her had no more importance than the mantids. Instead he put on his envirosuit with the visor down, and, the first time he tried the welder, spent some time blinking to recover his vision. The reactive visor did not operate as quickly as once before. Anna took over – her eyes not requiring the protection. Later she returned with sections of s-con and began putting them together using his glue to make unseen joins i
n the sheathing and creating a long cable. Feeling surplus to requirements he turned to the almanac and began researching things to do: how to seal the open thruster turret holes, the air supply, the possibility of putting another turret online since she had not used everything in her power supply, and anything else he could find.

  She went outside again, this time carrying the welder, returning a moment later for the carbine.

  ‘Best thing we have for melting or heating some things,’ she commented, and he knew it was reassurance.

  When she went out again, the light of the welder flared through the cracks in the shutters. He stood there listening for a while but heard nothing untoward, then turned away when the light changed to red as she used the carbine for some task. Likely the arc flashes were enough to keep creatures that liked darkness well away. He had returned to his research when she came back for more rods – their coatings now dry.

  ‘It doesn’t need to be completely air tight,’ he said.

  ‘You are human, you need to breath,’ she replied.

  He gestured to the envirosuit he had discarded. ‘It will be easier to repair that and connect it up to the shuttle air supply.’ Before she could reply he continued, ‘Yes, I know it’s old and may leak, but in any case we won’t need full air pressure in the shuttle itself.’

  She nodded contemplatively, then said, ‘Agreed. I doubt we can completely seal the shuttle anyway – we simply do not have the materials that can withstand vacuum.’

  Thereafter she brought him items to repair each time she returned for rods – all of which she could have taken outside earlier. He could not help but think she had already considered all aspects of shuttle air supply, but not said anything. She was holding back on becoming dictatorial – allowing him to think of them himself. He turned his attention to his envirosuit, taking old worn parts for it he had stored in one of his numerous cupboards, and began making what repairs he could – sealing old holes with glued on patches made of seat material she brought for him.

  They worked for hours and when Ben finally began to feel tired he checked the time and saw he had been awake for twenty hours. He ate again and retired to his bed, dropping immediately into dreamless slumber. When he next woke it was to find her sitting on his bed with a cup of coffee for him. Trying to hide that rather erect sign of good health he pulled himself upright and took it from her.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ he quipped.

  She had stripped out of her envirosuit and wore one of his shirts. He supposed she must have cleaned herself and the suit. She might be a machine but she wasn’t immune to dirt. Her hair was longer now and beginning to lose its spiky appearance.

  ‘I’m not your personal servant,’ she replied.

  ‘No offence intended.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that.’ She put a hand down on his hip, alarmingly close to his erection. ‘I am a sentient creature with all the feelings a human has and more. But how do you perceive me? Am I just a machine do you?’

  ‘No, not just a machine.’ He gulped coffee, thoroughly aware that she was looking at him in a particular way. Her hand felt warm through the sheet, and that was having an effect on him.

  Her expression became amused. ‘Quite. In fact, now my supposed emulation is up to standard, I am finding I have needs I would like to fulfil. And I suspect, with the nanosuite doing its work, you are finding needs have awakened that were once dormant?’

  No doubt about her intentions now and he didn’t feel quite so embarrassed about his ‘condition’. Looking at him very directly, she put her hand underneath the heat sheet on his bare thigh. He drank more coffee then put the cup down on the bedside table. As he moved back she slid her hand up and closed it around his cock.

  ‘Yes, I see you are no longer dormant.’

  ‘You could say that,’ he managed, voice tight.

  As she began moving her hand up and down, she reached in with the other and, with unhuman dexterity, undid her shirt buttons. She pushed the heat sheet aside, her hand still working, then shifted to sit astride his legs. Releasing his cock she took off the shirt and discarded that, then gripped it again. Giving him a warning look she said, ‘Now don’t you come too quickly. This is not all about you.’

  ‘You have my –’ he managed, choking off the promise as she leaned forwards and slid her mouth over his glans.

  It felt utterly wonderful – that mouth was as wet and warm as that of any human woman and she seemed utterly expert with her tongue. He just enjoyed it, any thoughts about her being a machine, despite the amount of weight he felt on his legs, sliding out of his mind.

  ‘My turn now,’ she said, sliding back off his legs and opening her own wide.

  He pulled himself towards her, kissed and chewed her nipples and worked down her stomach to her vagina. Everything was as wet and slippery as it should be and when she groaned it did not seem like emulation at all. He worked on her for some time, losing himself until she pushed him back then got astride him again. As she took him deep inside he fought not to come, and that became the complete focus of his mind as she began to gyrate on him. Finally he did, feeling he was completely emptying himself. He thought he had done well, until he realised his coffee was still warm.

  He showered and found that not only was he no longer dormant, but his recovery time had itself recovered. She was sitting at the table by then, dressed in her envirosuit and preparing more food – dipping pieces of meat in some mixture of dry herbs and putting them to one side. He walked up behind kissed her on the neck and reached round to squeeze her breasts.

  ‘The perfect housewife,’ he said.

  ‘I notice a tendency in you towards dangerous pursuits,’ she replied.

  ‘I think my sense of humour is returning, which may be a bad thing.’

  ‘It’s not been notably good thus far.’ She pulled his hands from her breasts. ‘And let’s not get too ambitious – you haven’t recovered your youth just yet.’

  ‘Might my heart go pop?’ He stepped round and sat in the other chair.

  ‘It is still not quite as it should be. I thought sex worth the risk because of its therapeutic value.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful of you.’

  She gave him an arch look. ‘It’s therapeutic value to both of us, though I don’t think it’s a good idea to work you too hard just yet.’

  She cooked the food and it was delicious – better than anything he had cooked here, though that might have been because of the entrée. They worked again, her outside with the welder and him repairing those items small enough to be brought inside. She disappeared for a while and upon her return explained, ‘I collected wood for the oven – we’ll fire it up when we have daylight.’ They made love, two more times before he needed to sleep again. It was, he thought, as the sky outside lightened and the innocular flies returned to their aestivation, the best night he had ever had on Afthonia. He ignored the paranoia that arose, about her maybe finding the perfect thing to distract him from the Stalker, and it faded.

  Morning revealed the shuttle partially dismantled with pieces of the hull and superstructure stacked to one side. All of those, he saw, would need forging – they needed heating and bashing with his largest hammer. She had welded up most of the breaks, fixed back in place two further steering turrets, but only to seal those holes in the hull. One other turret lay to one side with all the parts required to put it back together. A large pile of dead logs sat beside his oven. He wondered if she had karate-chopped them into pieces.

  He pointed at the pile of hull and other stuff from the shuttle. ‘We’ll need to slice the top off the ovento get heat to some of those. I hope it will be enough.’

  ‘If not, we’ll build another kiln,’ she replied.

  He nodded. He felt no urgency about getting the shuttle running at all. His life had taken a new turn into an unexpected and enjoyable area. Would it last? He was old enough to know that they had entered the initial stages of a romance and th
at later things might change.

  They set to work.

  Ben reassembled the second thruster turret while Anna worked inside the shuttle. He checked on her occasionally, mainly because he liked looking at her. She stripped down a lot of internal systems, was rerouting things, making repairs, honing down all the damage from the crash and filling in the holes in that system he had made over the years by taking things out of it. Some hours later she disappeared, hefting an axe he had made from hull metal, then returned with three large tree trunks. More firewood? No, because they were from living trees. She jammed them under the edge of the shuttle, set up logs from the wood pile as fulcrums and then turned to give him a meaningful look. Demonstrating her strength, inch by inch she raised the shuttle to expose the bottom on one side, while he jammed in logs to wedge it up, then finally she brought in further shorter tree trunks as props.

  Underneath the damage was more severe. After waving him away she set to work removing the mangled landing skids, then cleaned and welded and patched. He meanwhile got a fire going in the oven, collected a ventilation fan she had put to one side from her work within the shuttle, then, using the power cable reaching to the house, set it to blasting air into the oven. He put his first component in – one of the hull struts – heated it to red heat, then bashed it straight using a log as an anvil. He next worked on a triangular section of hull, heating then beating flat tears so they could be welded.

  The day progressed. Anna lowered the shuttle again, then lifted it from the other side. As they worked they talked, but not very much, since there seemed no need. They exchanged anecdotes and stories. He learned of her long past on a biotech world and how her actual expertise was biotech and she had been involved in developing the podules that had come in so useful to them. He told her of his family, long left behind, his travels through the ruins of the fallen Polity. They fell into a kind of rhythm, like people who had lived and worked together for a long time. He told himself this was all due to her accommodating him with a sensitivity that went beyond human senses, but at one point, when he mentioned a past dalliance, she was obviously not pleased and for a short time things turned frosty. He then remembered a Golem in a shipyard he had worked in, whose character grated and who had some friends and some firm enemies. No, her reaction showed something else entirely, and despite it being briefly unpleasant, he felt reassured.