Authors: Stephen Palmer
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Post-Apocalyptic, #Cyberpunk
‘I say.’
The voice made him jump. He raised the pistol, crouched down and waved it around until he saw the woman who had spoken standing under a tree.
‘Do not move,’ he said.
‘Well I shan’t then. I say, your face is familiar.’
DeKray confronted an old woman, who, oddly enough, seemed familiar to him. She must be at least sixty, and that made him suspicious. This was probably a reveller grandmother. She was tall, dressed in formal black jacket and long skirt, the latter highly unusual Kray wear, with green plastic boots, a black top hat, and a walking stick made of silver. A fob watch hung upside down from one lapel.
DeKray was too suspicious to want to stay. He waved the pistol at her. ‘This hand arm is primed,’ he said. ‘I know I am a man, but I am prepared to use it.’
‘I can’t harm you, you silly boy,’ said the woman in her cracked, warbling voice. Was she drunk? ‘I just wondered what in Kray you thought you were doing wandering around this place at this time. Don’t you know the revellers can get you?’
‘Revellers,’ said deKray, moving away, towards the mausoleum. ‘Revellers, you say. Maybe you are one yourself, my good woman? Now, if you please, I shall continue about my private business and bid you good morrow. I advise you not to follow me.’
‘Oh, all right,’ she said, tottering off to the path, ‘but I must say, dear fellow, you’ve aged terrifically well.’
Shaken, deKray watched her go. She disappeared. Quickly, so she might lose him, he ran to the ruins of a mausoleum, then waited at a tree to see if she would follow. She did not.
The mausoleum had collapsed, leaving a central clear space occupied only by rubble. But, inside, only human tombs lay. He wanted to find the grave of a pyuton.
After some hours searching he came across a marble octagon in poor repair. Something about the abstract designs on the marble made him look more closely.
All was chill and dark. Infra-red would not work here. He took a penlight from his kit, then a hook on a wire and an antidote kit, and knelt by the nearer of four sarcophagi.
He was looking for cracks. He knew one or two reveller tricks. Find a crack, find a small stone and a boulder, place the small stone on the crack and hit. It worked.
Inside lay a body, but it was an odd body. It was some seconds before he saw flashing metal at the skull and realised that here reclined the remains of an autonomous pyuter.
The disintegrated remains of plastic skin and metal bones lay before him, around them various items of stone, wood and metal, including a plaque. This deKray fished out with his hook, along with a rib and a finger-bone.
The finger was titanium; so it was an old pyuton, maybe many centuries old. The plaque was filthy. With trembling fingers he scraped off the accumulated detritus, but etchings on the plaque were still invisible under a black layer of corrosion. With the hatpin from his lapel he scraped off enough to see eighteen sigils that seemed to mix the qualities of flowers with mathematical symbols. As he meditated on their graceful synthesis of abstract line and botanic realism, he was reminded of something Zinina had told him of her adventures in the Andromeda Quarter... the eighteen statues. Eighteen statues and eighteen sigils.
Realisation dawned upon him. He put his pin on the sarcophagus edge and gripped the plaque as his mind fitted clues together. Eighteen statues; eighteen sigils. A connection here with pyutons. In Kray today there were twenty, or maybe twenty-one, noophytes. Could the noophytes possibly have emerged in the distant past from individual pyutons to submerge themselves in the electronic substrate of the city’s networks? Was he tonight kneeling at the grave of an entity which had leaped from the physical seat of its own mind? The skull would hold further clues.
Frantically, deKray fumbled with his right hand to pull out the skull. But it was light. DeKray had read much on the topic of pyutons and suspected that the brains of this one, if such it had been, had long since leaked away.
He was correct. Two fingers stuck into the metal sinuses, another poked up the spinal hole, and he felt no soft package of biochemical hardware.
But his probing finger did feel a small ball affixed to the forehead. It must be the innerai. All pyutons possessed one.
With the nail of one finger he managed to pop the innerai out. It pinged as it hit the inner metal of the skull, then fell out of the spinal hole. DeKray caught it, but then dropped it, and it fell into a mud puddle. He retrieved the golden sphere, wiped it with a tissue from his kit, then shone the beam of his light upon it. There was written, in tiny letters, ‘Laspetosyne.’ So this was the tomb of a pyuton called Laspetosyne. That name had been mentioned before. It was the name of a noophyte. Perhaps, at this instant, there was a noophyte in the Citadel networks named Laspetosyne, with whom the Portreeve fine-honed the details of her plan. Or then again, as Zinina would invariably point out, maybe she did not.
DeKray felt that he had made a remarkable discovery. He would go home now and check details in his books, finding facts to confirm his theory before presenting it. Yet already he felt that he was right. The precious innerai he placed between the leaves of his pocket book, next to some old vegetable plot coupons, before locking it and replacing it inside his kit satchel. Time to check the three occupants of the main tomb.
These, he discovered, were priestesses; that was clear from the excess of iconography. But of which temple?
It was some time before he realised that these priestesses did not belong to any of Earth’s six remaining religions. They were in fact so old that they had worshipped at the temple of the Green Spermatozoon, an ancient religion of which the only remains were members of the cult of the Phallists. The name Silver Seed came to his mind.
~
The Portreeve pinged her dolphin. ‘Omaytra, it is time to finalise the details of the attack on the Goddess’ temple.’
Omaytra nodded. ‘I’ve got three quarters of our entire force ready, Portreeve, and many more special units. The main attack will be from the ground, infantry with nail-guns, splinter bombs and lasers, but first there’ll be a co-ordinated softening-up attack by a hang-glider division and a ground team. Once the main body is inside the temple it’ll be ransacked. Once everybody is liquidated, the place will be torched, and we’ll leave.’
‘What about getting the guard up there in secret?’ asked Pyetmian.
‘We’ll be going at night, and each unit will take a slightly different route, going in teams of twelve, ending up in Red Lane, and then hiding up in the unoccupied hovels around the temple. The signal for attack will be a white flare from the hang-glider team.’
‘Good,’ said the Portreeve. ‘With the fat woman’s mob out of the way, we’ll only have a few days to wait before our little plan comes to fruition.’ The Portreeve rang her dolphin. ‘Which brings me to the last matter. Escape. Deese-lin and Spyne, would you give us the final details?’
‘Yes, yes!’ Deese-lin said, standing. ‘At last you come to me! What I have to say is so important!’
‘The details, please,’ said the Portreeve.
Deese-lin began, ‘The details are as follows...’
CHAPTER 18
The appearance of the replica produced a lightening of Graaff-lin’s mood. Working from deKray’s house she instructed the pyuton in the arts of her illegal plan, delighted that she would no longer have to rely on dangerous city work. The replica showed that she was both suggestible and intelligent by offering several solutions to problems that Graaff-lin had not yet surmounted.
Zinina and deKray watched all this with interest. ‘At last,’ Zinina said, ‘we can try and talk with them noophytes and pinch the Portreeve’s plan from right under her nose.’
DeKray popped a menthol sweet into his mouth and crunched. ‘This is certainly one option,’ he said, ‘though somewhat optimistic. We still have to log a sizeable vocabulary of machine words, and we also have to find some method of attracting their attentions long enough for us to perceive this plan.’
‘I reckon there must be a plan,’ Zinina said.
‘You do? Well that is a change. Not so long ago you were all for carousing and declaring that the end of humanity was nigh. But now...’
Zinina nodded. ‘Things’ve changed. As well as Graaff-lin, we’ve got Arrahaquen, a real pythoness, and there’s other folk that can help.’
‘Such as whom?’
But here Zinina fell silent.
‘Did somebody mention my name?’ Arrahaquen said, coming out from the kitchen.
‘I did,’ said Zinina. ‘I was just saying it’s good we’ve got you.’
Arrahaquen grimaced. ‘I keep telling you, I’m a novice. It’s all a jumble, Zinina. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m confused. Is that clear enough for you?’
She seemed angry. DeKray said, in his cool, measured tones, ‘I believe what Zinina meant was that the mere fact of your temporal ability makes our lives marginally less hopeless. We pin no precise hopes upon you, Arrahaquen, but we would desire you to find an escape. After all, there is only a slim chance of Graaff-lin and the replica having converse with the noophytes.’
As deKray said this, a loud crack made Zinina jump. They all listened. There were groans from the damp north end of the house, but nothing serious. DeKray lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘This house has only days remaining to it. We should discuss our options.’
Arrahaquen agreed. ‘I could probably find a room at the temple of the Goddess,’ she said, ‘but whether you three would be allowed inside I don’t know. Though I do know that the hovels at the back can be used by anybody.’
Haughtily, Graaff-lin replied, ‘I would not set foot in your temple, nor in these hovels, and neither would my replica. You must think again.’
Another crack, then the banging of slates falling. Somewhere a pipe had burst, for they heard trickling water.
‘
Your
replica?’ Zinina said.
The set of Graaff-lin’s face reinforced her retort. ‘You did acquire the pyuton for me, did you not?’
Another crack echoed through the house.
‘I don’t like this,’ Arrahaquen said, nervously eyeing the mouldy ceilings. ‘This is worse than it’s ever been.’
Another crack. ‘Shall we pack a few things?’ Zinina suggested.
A thud from upstairs, ‘Yes,’ replied deKray.
Five minutes later they realised it was too late. A series of detonations at the damp end, a few trickles of masonry dust, and then the entire north end of the house fell to the ground, leaving only two rooms undamaged. They all ran out. As the dust settled and the rain soaked their clothes they realised that their last glimpse of security was near.
Risking burial, Zinina and deKray pulled out Graaff-lin’s portable rigs – those few that had not been damaged – then packed them into plastic bags and placed them in two wheelbarrows. With especial malevolence, the rain intensified, pouring from black clouds.
‘I shall not go to your temple,’ Graaff-lin shouted, as Arrahaquen tried to move the rigs and the other oddments that they had salvaged.
‘Apart from your place you haven’t got anywhere else to go, you stupid woman!’ Zinina replied, trying to shove Graaff-lin away from one wheelbarrow.
DeKray took her by the arm, but she shrugged off his grip.
‘I shall return to my own house,’ Graaff-lin declared. ‘The Citadel agents are too wrapped up in their own lives to bother about me now. All this equipment is mine and mine alone. The replica is mine to command. Replica, take that wheelbarrow and follow me! As for you, Zinina, and you two, you may visit me when you like. I shall continue to try for contact with the conscoosities.’
Zinina stood, stunned by the rain and by the power of this speech; and by the look of suppressed fury in Graaff-lin’s face. The aamlon and the pyuton raised their wheelbarrows and walked away.
DeKray pulled a protective cloak from the salvaged gear. ‘I had better accompany them. There are revellers about, and rioting Krayans.’
‘Well
I’m
not coming,’ Zinina said, angry that he should support Graaff-lin. ‘I’m staying with Arrahaquen.’
‘I’m going straight to the temple,’ Arrahaquen said. ‘We’ve got to get new protective clothes. I’ll vouch for you Zinina, but you may not be allowed in.’
Zinina felt abandoned, especially by deKray. ‘You’d help her rather than me?’ she asked him.
‘Graaff-lin’s immediate need is more urgent than yours. If all goes well I shall return within the hour.’
He ran off. Zinina turned to Arrahaquen. ‘You better not go away now,’ she warned. ‘We’ve got to save everything we can from this house.’
Zinina knew that soon it would be time for her decisive move... a move that she had no choice but to make. She pulled cannisters of water and food cartons from the remains of the kitchen, then went down on her belly to pull boxes of kit-replacements – and deKray’s greatcoat – from the utility room. A wooden stay snapped, but none of the falling rubble hit her.
Only minutes seemed to have passed before deKray returned, gasping for breath, but safe, and reporting Graaff-lin’s safety.
‘Let’s go to the temple with this lot,’ Arrahaquen said. ‘Revellers will be here soon. I can sense them.’
‘Wait,’ Zinina said. They stood chilled on the pavement outside the ruin. Rain pelted them: cold, cold rain that stank of rotting fish. Zinina spat it out of her mouth in between sentences. ‘Wait, wait a tick, there’s another possibility.’
‘And would this other possibility involve the mysterious Qmoet and the organisation she works for?’ deKray said nonchalantly.
‘Yes,’ Zinina snapped, irritated by his smug attitude. ‘It does happen to involve them. Don’t be so fucking clever. Qmoet and I, hoy, we’ve worked for Eskhatos and this organisation for ages. Well, you might as well know. It’s the Holists.’
Arrahaquen laughed. ‘The Holists? But–’
‘But what? I work for them. Don’t tell me your precious intuition didn’t hint to you about that?’
‘Let us not become angered,’ deKray said. ‘This rain and the terrible collapse of my house has touched our nerves–’
‘Oh shut up,’ Zinina said. ‘This woman doesn’t believe me.’
‘I
do,
’ Arrahaquen replied. ‘I’m just surprised.’
Zinina wondered. Now she had said it, she felt deflated, as if she had played her last card in some momentous game.
‘I believe you,’ deKray said, coming to her and putting his arms around her. ‘My word, is that my precious greatcoat?’
‘Yeah. Listen,’ Zinina told them, ‘down in the Citadel Quarter are their headquarters, a very big place called Clodhoddle Cottage. We could live there. I could prime Eskhatos. So we don’t need to go to your temple.’
‘I’m going,’ Arrahaquen said. ‘I have no other choice.’
‘And we belong at my maisonette,’ deKray told Zinina. ‘It is far from trouble and away from the Citadel. The tumulus is a source of danger at the moment, for there are hundreds of people yelling and demonstrating outside.’
‘We’re not living at your house,’ Zinina insisted. She pulled away from him. As they stood in the street, revellers crept out of alleys... six of them... eyeing the house.
‘I’m going,’ said Arrahaquen, hurrying away. ‘Come to the temple, quick. Come on!’
She slipped out of sight. Zinina, fuming, glared at deKray. ‘You
are
coming to my place,’ she said in desperation.
DeKray neared, standing at her side. The revellers, now eight in number, leered at them, drool running down their chins, skeletal hands twitching, all of them naked and covered with sores. Zinina drew her needle gun and pointed it at them. ‘Fizzle off, spigot-heads, or I’ll jab the merry lot of ya! I will!’
‘Hoy, calm it, shouster,’ the lead reveller replied. ‘We only wants the brick pile and the nicey metal lashings inside.’
‘Run,’ deKray advised. ‘Come along, our time here is at an end. We are at the mercy of the city.’
‘No we’re not,’ Zinina said. ‘I’ll spike ’em all!’ She raised her rifle and aimed it at the leader.
‘No decent bloom jabs a fellow bedder,’ said the reveller, a cocky smile on her face. ‘Jab away, shouster.’
So they knew she was from a Cemetery tribe. Zinina tensed her arm, but deKray knocked her. ‘We will gain nothing from fighting. We should leave.’
He ran off. Zinina spat once, turned, then followed him, the jeers and whoops of defeat in her ears. She could have killed them all, but she had not; and she had not because, when all was said and done, she believed that humanity had a future, even though it had reached its final year. She was not a reveller. She was a true independent.
She caught deKray up at the end of Sphagnum Mews. ‘Where you going?’ she asked. She clutched at his hand, her anger gone, washed away by the interminable power of the rain. She felt small, tired and empty.
‘To check on Arrahaquen’s well-being. Then I shall return to my maisonette.’
‘I suppose I’ve got to come.’
‘I would. Mayhap in a few weeks we will need to reconsider.’
They walked back alleys down to Lac Street, then made for the temple, stopping at the kiosk that stood outside the fern barrier. ‘Has Arrahaquen been this way?’ Zinina asked.
The priestess, staring at deKray, replied, ‘Um, yes. She said you might arrive. I’m to tell you to wait here.’
They sheltered in a doorway. The rain had slackened to a drizzle. Far away, just above the rooftops, Zinina saw the tell-tale ragged edge of a storm cloud.
Ten minutes passed. The rains ceased. A few sunbeams illuminated floods and puddles. The sound of grenades and cannon began, Zinina guessed from the Infirmary area.
Arrahaquen returned. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said. ‘Something very strange has happened. They were frightened when they saw me, really frightened. Tashyndy and Maharyny came to look me over...’ She paused. ‘Anyway, there’s nobody allowed inside the temple except me, I’m afraid. But I can show you a protected hovel if you like.’
DeKray looked at Zinina. ‘Her place or mine?’ he asked.
Grumpily, kicking a rat corpse, Zinina replied, ‘Yours, I suppose. But not for long.’ She turned to Arrahaquen. ‘Can you set up a pyuter link between your room and deKray’s place?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. We got lots to do. Better get one laid up to Graaff-lin’s house, too, else we’ll lose contact with the old goat.’
Arrahaquen gave deKray the code address that she would use, then they left her. They decided to follow the west wall of the city down to the Harbour Quarter, then strike out into Gur-Lossom Street. By noon they had arrived.
Immediately, deKray powered up his own array of pyuters, connected them to the interface in the rig-room floor, then tuned in to the official bands. The Citadel was still broadcasting on defender frequencies. ‘So,’ he said, ‘the crowds have doubled in size.’
Zinina looked at the flickering screen. Cameras in the Citadel Wall relayed crowd scenes. All four gates were now surrounded by hundreds of people. Black-suited Citadel Guard armed with lazer bazookas and stun-guns stood, crouched and lay in defence, but, to Zinina’s surprise, their numbers were fewer than she had expected.
‘Look,’ she said, pointing to a written item on a different screen. ‘The Food Stations have been closed.’
DeKray looked. ‘And the Water Stations will now open only in the mornings.’
‘And the Temple of Pure justice has burned to the ground.’
Even as they spoke they saw on the defender bands that both Food Stations were under attack. But no orders for defence were sent. The Citadel remained quiet.
‘What are they
doing
up there?’ Zinina said. ‘Surely they must tell us what’s going on?’
‘I do not know,’ said deKray, rolling a cigarette with trembling fingers. He paused and glanced at her. ‘I have something of a confession to make.’
Zinina nodded.
‘Last night I was in the Cemetery, where I made a discovery. In a deep tomb lies the body of a pyuton named Laspetosyne. I believe there to be a connection between pyutons and noophytes. The iconography of a plaque inside the sarcophagus reminded me of your description of the flower-faced statues. All is linked, all is linked… Silverseed it was who made the Spaceflower. We are so familiar with that botanic satellite that we forget it is in the image of a flower.’ He paused his declamation. ‘I still have the innerai of Laspetosyne in my pocket book.’
‘You shouldn’t have gone there alone. It’s dangerous.’
He seemed not to have heard her. ‘These innerais have mystical powers,’ he murmured.
‘But I thought you didn’t believe in all that mystery stuff?’
‘I meant in the sense of powerful and unknown. Zinina, I suspect that long ago the noophytes were pyutons. We must interrogate the replica on these topics. Why, for instance, are all pyutons female?’
‘There aren’t hardly any men to copy,’ Zinina said.
‘That is not reason enough. Maybe I did not garner all I could from Laspetosyne’s tomb. We must question the replica.’
‘Let’s do it now.’
DeKray laughed. ‘Can you imagine it? We intend to ask a pyuton but a few months old about her species’ love-life.’
‘Let’s go now. I hate standing around doing nothing.’
After setting up the pyuters for Arrahaquen’s link, they dressed in protective coats, hoods and thigh boots, then departed the maisonette. The lower sections of Gur-Lossom Street were quiet, but soon they saw people running, and heard shouts and gunfire. Spent cartridges littered the streets, and they saw dozens of corpses, many fresh (these Zinina tried not to look at) amongst the greened carrion and the tussocks of whip-grass poking through the cobbles. Wading through side alleys, they crossed Ficus Street then made for the Pyramid Bridge. To the north they heard more battles, and often, as they scanned the alleys and passages, they would see brief glimpses of people running. Some of the floods they waded through had bodies floating in them.