Merrit certainly didn’t. To my surprise, she frowned.
‘What if the acid eats away the sword blade?’ she asked, and I shrugged.
‘There’s always the scissors,’ I said.
‘What about that . . . that thing? You know. In your pocket.’ Dygall skirted around any mention of the man who had ruptured in front of me. ‘The thing you were given . . .’
‘Oh. That.’
‘What is it, anyway?’ Dygall wanted to know. ‘Some kind of weapon?’
‘It’s an explosive device,’ I rejoined, and Dygall caught his breath.
‘An
explosive device
?’
‘From GeoLab. For mining . . . bringing down rocks . . .’
‘That’s
great
!’
‘Listen, Dygall.’ I didn’t look at him; I was too busy watching the door. But I spoke very clearly and forcefully, so he would get the message. ‘I was given that charge for a specific reason. It’s extremely dangerous, and we should only use it as a last resort.
A last resort
. Understand?’
‘What’s it for, then?’ Merrit inquired. ‘What’s the specific reason?’
‘Oh . . .’ I didn’t want to tell them. It was too daunting. Why spread the news that the Depot was now behaving like a human spleen, churning out more and more Remote Access Units? It wouldn’t have helped matters. ‘Let’s not worry about that yet.’
‘Cheney?’
I recognised Haemon’s voice. Spinning around, I saw his face hanging out of the air duct.
‘Well?’ I said.
‘There’s nothing.’ He was slightly out of breath. ‘Just Bam.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ This new information meant that I had to rearrange my thoughts. It took me longer than usual, because I was so tired. ‘Okay . . . um . . . Haemon. I want you to stay up there with Inaret,’ I ordered.
He blinked, and opened his mouth.
‘Don’t argue.’ I couldn’t take any more arguments. ‘Just do it. I’m going to close up this access panel, and you can both crawl over to watch us from above the street, if you want to. When we’re done, we’ll get you down. We’ll probably use the panel on the Bridge for that.’
Glowering up at him, I waited for his challenge. It didn’t come. Haemon remained speechless.
‘And you can take those scissors away from Inaret,’ I finished. ‘I’m going to trust you with them, but you have to be
very, very
careful. Don’t hold them while you’re crawling along – we don’t want you hurting yourself. Or Inaret. Or the ship, in fact. Just stick them in your belt, or something. Can you do that?’
Another nod from Haemon.
‘Good.’ I abandoned my post at the door to climb the step-ladder. When I reached the top, I found Inaret’s small, pudgy fingers clamped around what had once been the snap-lock seal. ‘Baby,’ I said, ‘you’re going to have to move your hands. I can’t close the panel, otherwise.’
‘Cheney.’ Her voice quavered. ‘Don’t go.’
‘I have to. Just for a few minutes.’
‘But what if you don’t come back?’ she mewled.
‘Of course I’ll come back.’
‘But what if you don’t? Cheney,
please
don’t go!’
She wasn’t stupid. She knew what the risks were, and she knew that I couldn’t make any promises. Nevertheless, when I squeezed her grubby little hand and moved it out of the way, I found a strange kind of strength in the act of reassuring her.
‘We’ll be all right,’ I said gently. ‘You do your part, and we’ll do ours, and you’ll see – it’ll be fine.’
Then I closed up the air duct.
Merrit and Dygall were already struggling with the door, one to each panel. As these panels slowly split apart, Bam became visible just beyond them. He retreated skittishly, his tail lashing from side to side.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Let me go first, and you’ll both have to jump through quickly afterwards, the way we did before, Merrit.’
‘Got it,’ she gasped.
‘Dygall, give me that cocktail thing. If you drop it, you’re going to lose your plug, and the fuel will spill everywhere.’
‘O-okay.’
He handed over his bottle. It was awkward enough, getting through the hole they’d forced open, because I had to bend double; my sword and Dygall’s weapon made it even harder. At last, however, I staggered into the street, where I kept watch during Merrit’s countdown. ‘One . . . two . . .
three
,’ she said, and suddenly landed at my feet. The impact of her fall made the floor heave and shudder. Dygall followed a split second afterwards, but leapt to his own feet almost immediately. He snatched the primitive incendiary device from my hand.
‘What next?’ he panted. ‘Cheney?’
I jerked my head. There seemed to be an awful lot of samplers around, and I couldn’t tell why. Was it a random crossing of paths, or something more sinister? Leading the way to the starboard junction, I was extra cautious on reaching our first turn. I had a nasty feeling that something big might be heading towards us, along the tube platform.
But I was wrong. The tube was still empty, as far as the eye could see. (Empty, that is, save for a great explosion of samplers and scent pellets that caused me to scan the ceiling warily for Remote Access Laundry Units.) By this time, I was in a very peculiar state. I suppose you could say that I was
beyond
frightened. Yes, I was shaking. Yes, my throat was dry. Yes, every nerve was as taut as the strings on Ottilie’s cello. But my mind was crystal clear, picking up every detail and processing it with a kind of fatalistic calm.
I guess I was almost too scared to be scared. The intensity of my feelings had wrung me out. Depleted me.
With a finger to my lips, I edged towards the next corner, wishing that Bam would go away. He was making far too much noise, with all his snuffling and clicking. Glancing at my friends, I saw that they were of the same opinion. Dygall was scowling at Bam with bared teeth, and Merrit’s expression was one of utter despair.
I was racking my brain for a solution when the dog abruptly provided it for me. Having caught sight – or scent – of the creatures outside the Bridge, he dashed off down the street towards them, barking angrily. It was a distraction of sorts. My hope was that he might divert attention from my own approach. So after waiting for about twenty seconds, I took another quick look at our target.
The shuttle glued to the Bridge door hadn’t yet broken through. The other shuttle was slithering up walls and around obstacles, its flat, oval shape rippling like the body of a manta ray. Beyond it loomed the great, dark, throbbing OTV, handgrips writhing, hatch opening and shutting rhythmically.
Bam was practically nipping at its heels (or should I say its rim?), but the dog might have been invisible for all the notice he attracted. The OTV’s tentacles continued to wave about, languidly. I realised, with a quick intake of breath, that this might be the
very same OTV
that had attacked us in MedLab.
I didn’t, however, allow myself to pursue such a grisly train of thought. If Sloan had been consumed – digested – I wasn’t about to open my mind to the possibility. Not even the smallest chink.
Pulling back, I turned to Dygall.
‘There’s an OTV,’ I began, but my mouth was too dry – I was barely coherent. I had to swallow a couple of times. ‘There’s an OTV,’ I repeated, in a hushed voice. ‘When your plug’s lit, we’ll jump out, and you should try to throw that cocktail thing
into its mouth
. Okay? While I keep it busy.’
‘What about me?’ Merrit whispered.
‘You come with us.’ I could barely force the words out through my constricted throat. ‘There are two shuttles. One’s busy with the door – maybe I can deal with it myself. The other one’s down to you.’ Seeing her uncap the Dewar flask, and unscrew its inner lid with trembling fingers, I added, ‘Try not to waste any.’
Silence fell between us. I could hear a volley of barks from around the corner. Tensely, I clasped my sword-hilt in both hands, lifting the silvery blade. I could actually see the pulse beating in Merrit’s lips and in Dygall’s blue-veined forehead. He switched on his scanner, whereupon it hummed to life, emitting a needle-fine stream of bright particles. This beam made quick work of the shiny black rope at which it was directed. Within two or three seconds, Merrit’s chopped-off plait began to curl and smoulder.
‘Okay.’ I looked up. Our eyes met. I realised that Merrit and Dygall were going to do whatever I asked, without a single question or protest. They had entrusted me with their lives. And the guilt I felt – the guilt and fear and sorrow – were so terrible, so sickening, that I almost welcomed the chance to act. To move. To stop feeling and start doing.
‘Now,’ I said.
I hurled myself into the open. Ran at the OTV. Swung my sword. Dygall was beside me; Bam went into a frenzy; the thing ahead was a huge, shadowy blur. When my blade struck it, the impact was harder than I’d ever imagined. I’d expected something soft and yielding, like jelly. Instead, I hit a dense hide that, while flexible, was as tough as reinforced rubber.
I pierced it, but only just. As I wrenched my sword free, the OTV reared up, or swung around – I’m not quite sure. It all happened so fast. One flashing tentacle grazed my face, knocking me over. Dygall grabbed me.
‘
Run!
’ he screamed.
For a second or two I stumbled along backwards, trying to find my feet. Then I lurched upright. Dygall released my arm. There was an awful smell and a fine, almost supersonic whistling noise. I nearly tripped on the rolling Dewar flask, which Merrit had dropped. I’d just had time to register that it was open – that the lids were missing – when a flash of heat made me look around again.
The OTV was pitching and tossing wildly. Through its flanks I could see an orange glow, which quickly erupted into visible flames that licked from one of its open mouths and singed its lips. The shiny black casing crumpled and smoked. All of a sudden, it began to collapse in on itself. As the fire was smothered, the monster died. It was still twitching, but its guts had been burned away. It had swallowed Dygall’s Molotov cocktail.
The smell was so bad, I could hardly breathe.
Merrit seized me, and jerked me around. Though she was saying something that I could hear perfectly well, it didn’t make sense. I couldn’t process it. I could still see, however – well enough to realise that the free-ranging shuttle was badly damaged. Merrit’s liquid oxygen had splashed across a good forty per cent of its outer surface, leaving shrivelled, purple-grey scars and bubbling blisters. It was writhing around in a puddle of its own bodily fluid.
The other shuttle hadn’t moved. It was still doggedly trying to eat its way through the Bridge door.
‘I’ll do this,’ I coughed. ‘Stand back.’
I think Merrit snatched at me, but she was too slow. I flew towards the unmarked shuttle, yelling. With every kilojoule of energy that remained in my arms, I drove my blade into its carapace – which was far thinner, and more elastic, than the OTV’s. A blunt-edged blow wouldn’t have done much; it would simply have reshaped the mass, creating a dent for the briefest of moments. But my weapon was sharp enough to cut. It split the skin, and out poured a great gout of yellow slime. I hacked again, as the shuttle fell off the door. I hacked and hacked. I was shouting and crying. Yellow and red stuff slopped over my suit. The smell was beginning to strangle me.
‘
CHENEY!
’ screamed Merrit. ‘
LOOK OUT!
’ I whirled around, but in the wrong direction. I was facing Merrit, and she was pointing over my shoulder, open-mouthed. I turned on my heel, and saw another OTV. It was heading down the street.
Tearing
down the street towards us. Those things could move so
fast
! They were so big, yet they could move so fast!
‘
Shit!
’ I screeched – and in my panic to escape, I slipped in all the liquid underfoot. I fell to my knees. ‘
Run!
’ I bawled. ‘
RUN! RUN!
’ I jumped up, but the thing was practically on top of me. I spun. I swung. Yellow droplets splattered as I wielded my wet sword. It connected, and the shock ran straight up my arm. Bam was barking. Someone was shrieking. Pulling my weapon free, I saw the dog dive straight past me – saw it fasten its jaws around the lip of the OTV’s yawning mouth, and dangle there for an instant – before being sucked into the maw.
I slashed again, madly. Then I was pulled off my feet. There was a tentacle wrapped around my ankle; I realised this as the mouth in front of me flexed open wide. The lips peeled back. I reached for my pocket. The grenade!
Last
resort!
At which point something – a blow – knocked the breath from my body. The light from my eyes.
And there was darkness.
‘Cheney.
Cheney
.’
Someone was holding me, cradling my head. When my vision cleared, I saw my mother. My mother’s face.
It was caked and smeared with dry muck, and the hair was gelled into choppy peaks, and the eyes were red, but it was my mother’s face.
I opened my mouth to speak, and found that I couldn’t.
‘It’s all right,’ she murmured, her voice breaking on a sob. ‘You’ll be all right. Oh, Cheney . . .’
My heart was skipping along in a very peculiar manner. I suddenly remembered where I was, and stiffened. The muscles in my limbs, however, responded sluggishly to the demands of my brain.
Mum was stroking my cheek.
‘Shh,’ she said. ‘Give it a minute. It’s the shock. You caught the edge of it.’
The shock? What shock? Where was the OTV? I tried to lift my head, without success. Then Dygall’s face appeared above me, red and beslobbered.
‘Is he all right? Is he all right?’ Dygall kept repeating. He clasped my hand in both of his, and pressed it against his chest.
This pressure seemed to be coming from a long way off, through several layers of fabric. But when I checked, there was nothing lying between his skin and mine.
What was happening to me?
‘It’s affected the peripheral nerves,’ my mother said, to someone out of sight. ‘It’ll pass.’
‘Are you sure?’ said a voice – and I caught my breath.
It couldn’t be . . . it wasn’t possible . . .
‘Dad?’ I croaked.
I turned my head, and there he was. Standing over me, with some kind of long metal stick in his hand. He looked incredibly old, and there was an oozing burn on his face, but it was him. It was really him.