Authors: Stephen Palmer
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Post-Apocalyptic, #Cyberpunk
Liguilifrey agreed, her face showing her worry. ‘I suppose you’re right, but it’s vitrifying!’
‘This is life or death,’ Subadwan replied. ‘The Baths should hold out until I’ve finished.’ But despite her words she inspected the foundation blocks at the front, to find the glittering street outside partially visible, as a river of light through a smoked window.
By evening Mogyardra was ready. In a rucksack they packed the stubby rifles, before leaving to creep down Peppermint Street. Here, they planned to ambush the other aeromorphs.
Cray now was almost an empty city. The sweating, dancing, yelling lunar hordes were a sight of the past. The city was lined with impassable lanes, choked to the eaves with glass shards. Pipes and cables dangled: dead. The networks were shutting down. A few outers banded together, but even they were leaving the city to take their chances outside.
‘One comes,’ Mogyardra hissed. Subadwan peered out, her head at ground level, to see an aeromorph hurtling down the street from the direction of the Baths. She could hear the clink of its metal plates as convulsively it attacked anything, human or animal, that moved.
‘Get ready,’ she said.
Mogyardra tensed.
‘Ready!’ she said, her voice more urgent.
He lay at her side and aimed down the street. The aeromorph sped by and he fired. Subadwan was not certain, but she thought he had scored a hit. ‘Success?’ he asked.
‘Let’s run,’ she replied. ‘I think you got it. C’mon!’
Over the dull sound of the city came the distinct sound of glass smashing as the aeromorph thrashed about, the knowledge of its doom contributing to its violence.
‘Two to go,’ Mogyardra said, grinning.
‘Don’t get too confident,’ Subadwan warned.
But Mogyardra exuded excitement. ‘Those awful beasts are intelligent. They understand their fate well enough.’
They decided to make east. Subadwan, disconcerted by Mogyardra’s attitude, tried to calm him down, point out the risks, but though he listened he retained the fervour of a boy killing helpless animals for fun. In the privacy of her fearful mind Subadwan prayed for a swift conclusion.
In an alley off Jessamine Street they waited. The hours dragged by. Passers-by Subadwan questioned, while Mogyardra hid in a doorway. Nobody had seen any aeromorphs for some time, but there were rumours of the remaining two in Westcity, killing and smashing in the courtyards and quadrangles of the Stellar and Rusty Quarters. Subadwan and Mogyardra discussed moving west, but were dissuaded by the eerie silence.
The night passed. Cray was cold now that its many buildings and factories had stopped generating heat, and even though they were wrapped well, they shivered. Worried, they decided to investigate the area from which the smashing sounds had emanated, to find, illuminated by dawn’s red streamers, the motionless remains of an aeromorph.
They made west along passages and through deserted quadrangles, crossing the river, then scurrying through glassy lanes east of Culverkeys Street, until they were peering out onto it. In a passage they made their hide.
Morning became afternoon became evening became night.
It was shortly before midnight when Subadwan felt a breeze on her face and heard the characteristic rushing noise of an aeromorph flying towards them. She peered out. It wound its way along the street, as if hunting. She instructed Mogyardra to load up with plague gel, and he did so. They stood and shrank back into a doorway as the aeromorph skulked by, then Mogyardra darted out, leaned into the street, and fired at the thing’s aileron. A hit.
‘Run,’ he said. ‘It’s already thrashing.’
Plastic was battered and glass shattered. The third aeromorph knew its body was infected. They hurried back to the Baths, at once afraid and full of joy.
Subadwan, having decided what next to do, put her case. ‘The final one has either gone away, or it’s in hiding. There’s no time to search for it. I’ve got to go for the aerial ones before it’s too late.’
Mogyardra agreed, after a pause for thought. ‘I suppose so, though it’s a dreadful thing.’
Subadwan tried to ignore the glint in his eye. ‘How will you load that gel?’ he asked. ‘It transforms all it touches.’
Subadwan had given this problem some thought. She wanted to infect every aeromorph in one trip because flights from and to the ground would attract attention and leave her vulnerable to attack, either from the Archive of Safekeeping, from the missing street aeromorph, or from other aeromorphs. She replied, ‘I’ll load in flight.’
‘One jolt of the elbow by a gust of wind and you could infect yourself. It’s too risky.’
‘No option. Give me those tubes.’
They were standing in the yard behind the Baths. On the wide, plastic rear wall, two plagues were fighting it out – the left half glass, the right half ghastly yellow. Mogyardra handed over the remaining tubes, then, using a spatula, scraped some of the gel off the wall and dropped it into a thick pot that he had made. Its two-inch sides would take some time to transmute, time enough for Subadwan to complete her mission. Returning to the bat, into which Subadwan had climbed, he closed the pot lid and dabbed a spot of resin upon its base. Then he stuck the pot to the inner board of the bat.
‘Good luck, brave Archivist,’ he said. He handed her a laser rifle for emergencies.
Subadwan told the bat to rise. ‘I’ll return,’ she said. ‘Gaya save me, I have to! Goodbye.’
The bat rose, leaving a whirlwind of dust and a coughing Mogyardra. Then Subadwan was gliding over rooftops with a bitterly cold wind tearing at her skin.
The skies were deserted. On a normal day at least one or two bats would be circling the Archive of Noct, riding the thermals, but now there were none. Nor were flying carpets transporting Crayans. Not one aerician flew. A feeling of complete solitude took Subadwan, as if Cray itself had deserted her now that the end was near, and she was its last remaining citizen, armed only with the knowledge of what might be and a desperate plan. As she ascended she looked down upon twinkling glass and a hundred sparkling streets. It all seemed miles away.
She had told the bat what she intended doing. ‘Set a flight plan that’ll visit each aeromorph in turn,’ she had instructed. ‘The brightest ones first, then the others. Hover close above each one. I’ll be firing out the window. If you sense an attack, tell me first, don’t jog me. Then we’ll scoot away.’
Already the first aeromorph was close. Subadwan opened the pot lid and loaded her first tube, watching, disgusted, as the tongue licked up a dab of plague gel. A pad winked red:
Loaded.
The aeromorph engines were noisy, clouds of sooty fumes pouring from their underside vents. The metal monstrosity hovered poised like a steel hawk, polished flanges to either side reflecting light from the city, its own lamps golden bright. The bat ascended, banked, then performed a tight circle, bringing it only a few score yards above the aeromorph. Subadwan fired. She had to guess the effect of the wind, but she hit. The plague bullet spread itself over an aileron fin.
‘Go!’ Subadwan yelled. ‘Next one!’
Now speed was essential. If the actions of the third street aeromorph were anything to go by, somebody was aware of her plan. What followed would be a mad dash from aeromorph to aeromorph.
Bats could fly at speed. Just thirty seconds passed before Subadwan was hovering above a second aeromorph. Tube loaded, she fired. Another hit.
Hardly believing her luck, she urged the bat on and loaded a third tube. Seven aeromorphs remained. The wind roared by as the bat sped on, banked, then circled the third target. Gripping the tube, knuckles white, Subadwan aimed, then fired. A hit. ‘Go, go!’ she yelled.
Disbelief shocked her. She could hardly accept that she might complete her task.
Then she saw something rise from below.
It sprang up from the Swamps. The fourth aeromorph: it must have been lurking there. Subadwan urged the bat on. Risking all, she loaded a fourth tube, holding it in her right hand while grabbing the laser rifle with her left. Through the left window she fired, at random, not to hit, trying to drive the aeromorph away.
The bat followed instructions, and even improved them. ‘Don’t worry!’ it told Subadwan. It hovered above and to one side of the fourth aeromorph, trying to keep the metal craft between itself and the street aeromorph. Subadwan fired the tube, her projectile just catching the edge of a fluke.
The street aeromorph wriggled by. ‘On, on!’ she urged the bat. She turned to fire again.
The aeromorph followed, then sent out a missile, hitting the bat’s right wing. A shudder vibrated through its body. Subadwan heard, ‘I’m damaged,’ then, ‘descending!’ then felt a lurch to one side. Sparks flew into her face and the stink of burning plastic swept by on gusting wind.
She saw Cray laid out below her. As they fell the aeromorph followed, spiralling, as if damaged.
The city streets turned black.
But the Swamps were a pool of radiance, glowing white, shivering with coloured light. An instantaneous effect.
‘Emergency landing,’ the bat warned.
Subadwan threw out the pot, just in time. The tubes and the laser rifle she hugged to her body.
She stared at the Swamps as they soared overhead. The city all around was illuminated, revealing a ring of sparkling glass, and inside this ring a single mass of optical spillover shone, bisected by the river, spotted here and there with darkness. Subadwan knew it must be too late. A transition had occurred. Electronic beings had journeyed. She had surely been beaten. As the bat wavered across the eastern half of the Swamps she had to raise one hand to her eyes to prevent painful blindness.
The bat crash-landed and Subadwan was thrown out. Winded, she managed to rise to her feet. Sparks fountained, and then the engine, with a screech, detonated. She was thrown against a wall. The air stank of smoke and fumes. Choking, she stumbled away.
She thought she was somewhere between the Cold and Plastic Quarters. In an uninfected quadrangle she rested, checked her clothes for signs of ochre plague, then sat to think.
Had she failed? She remembered that shortly after Tanglanah’s electronic kin decided to act the streets of Cray became brighter. Now, all light had been transferred, as if at the flick of some cosmic switch, into the Swamps. Clearly another abstract journey had taken place, most likely involving the surviving beings.
So her plan must have forced them into a hasty decision. It was the only answer that offered her some hope.
She must make for the Baths. Tanglanah and Laspetosyne were neither aeromorph nor abstract. At any minute they might leave Earth for the Spacefish. Subadwan ran.
The radiant Swamps painted the undersides of low cloud with silver, a pyrotechnic display enhanced by atmospheric dust. These clouds seemed extraordinarily close. Every detail of their lower surfaces were visible, like maps. To the north, above the Swamps, fainter clouds billowed – dust, grime and smoke, layer upon layer upon layer, moving under the influence of heat and gravity. Subadwan felt dislocated, as if she were in some other city, a city gone quiet, emptied, with a luminary at its heart.
And then all light was switched off. Subadwan’s gaze flicked upwards to the patch of clear sky containing the Spacefish. A multitude of lines and points had appeared, white, blue, purple, a tracery criss-crossing the surface of the Spacefish. And the city was wholly dark.
Cray was black and the Spacefish was illuminated. Another transformation: another abstract journey. The surviving electronic beings of Gwmru had completed their task and left Cray.
Did Tanglanah and Laspetosyne remain? Subadwan struggled in an agony of confusion. The darkness smothered her, pressing down into her mind. Everything was closing down, everything was stopping.
The beings she fought to control held the future of humanity in their abstract hands. A sudden sense of the abyss between them and herself came to Subadwan’s thoughts. How could she persuade them to stay? All she knew was that she must do something.
Ambient light was low but her eyes were adjusting to it. The danger was ochre plague. Subadwan stopped. She needed light but all she possessed was the laser. She thumbed it down to lowest power and aimed it at the sky. A blue beam lit her way. Excepting shadows seen against windows, not one Crayan did she spy on the way. In this meagre light she made it across to Peppermint Street.
Already the Baths seemed different. Vitrification had taken hold. Gingerly, Subadwan pushed open the glittering remains of the door and crept in. A crack, a splinter, and then the double doors shattered all around her.
‘Madam!’ a voice said. ‘Where have you been?’
It was Dwllis.
CHAPTER 23
When the streets of Cray lost their light, Dwllis and Etwe were standing outside the Baths, about to enter.
Dwllis spun around, as if the light had been sucked away and by looking he could discover where it had gone. Darkness lay all about, but to the north something glowed, something vast, brightly kaleidoscopic. From his position in the street he could not make out what it was, but he knew that it must occupy an area of the Swamps. Something had happened – something momentous.
‘Come inside,’ he told Etwe. ‘There is awful danger afoot.’
The Baths were lit by glow-beans in string bags, enabling Dwllis to find his way through the interior of the building. He heard no human voice, no echo of conversation, not even the clink or thud of another footstep. Glass blocks, massive and bowed out under the pressure of glass above, lay all around. Little of marble remained. Frightened, he called out, ‘Is there anybody present?’
Now he heard something above the lapping of the nearby pool. Etwe said, ‘That is a light footfall, I think.’
‘We shall await its owner.’
The owner was Liguilifrey. Dwllis identified Etwe and himself, then said, ‘Is Subadwan of Gaya here? I need to speak with her, most urgently.’
Liguilifrey shook her head. ‘I daren’t think where she is. She’s trying to shoot the aeromorphs, destroy them–’
‘Destroy them? Did she say why?’
‘They’re related to these beings of Gwmru that she’s struggling to control.’
Dwllis, apprehension in his voice, said, ‘But madam Sabadwan is not even in contact with you?’
‘No.’
Dwllis turned to Etwe. ‘Then we have an obstacle in our way. There is only one option. We must go to Tanglanah.’
As they turned to leave Liguilifrey said, ‘But Dwllis, it is this pyuton Tanglanah that she is struggling with.’
‘I see,’ Dwllis said. ‘Etwe, should we wait here? Subadwan may not arrive–’
From nearby came the sound of smashing glass. They waited, silent and apprehensive. Dwllis walked forward a few steps, but then a figure leaped out of the tunnel: Subadwan.
‘Madam,’ Dwllis cried, ‘where have you been?’
‘Stay calm,’ she reassured them, hurrying over.
‘But what have you been doing?’ Dwllis asked.
In a tumble of words Subadwan replied, ‘The aeromorphs are bodily houses for Tanglanah’s kin in Gwmru. I infected a few of the aerial ones with the ochre plague, hoping to force the beings to remain in Gwmru and sustain Cray, but I may instead have forced their hand. It might be too late. Dwllis, we have minutes left! Those beings are leaving for ever. They’ve transmitted themselves from Cray to the Spacefish. We’ve got to stop them.’
‘How?’
‘Only Tanglanah and Laspetosyne remain physical. I think they will be trying to reach the Spacefish. We’ve got to keep them here.’
Again Dwllis said, ‘How?’
‘We’ve got to hold them hostage, force the others to stay until human life is secured.’
Dwllis shook his head. ‘Madam, it is surely an impossible task. I believe that an historical event is upon us. But as for Tanglanah and Laspetosyne, their powers are beyond us.’
‘Don’t give up!’ Subadwan said. ‘In Gwmru, Zelenaiid told me that she had imparted a flaw into Cray when it was formed, but that she did not know exactly how the flaw would manifest. Vitrification is part of it. She told me that one of two paths would come to pass. Pikeface is on one of those paths, and you are on the other. I believe Tanglanah is still searching for knowledge of that flaw. She is trapped in Cray with Laspetosyne.’
‘A path,’ Dwllis mused.
Subadwan nodded. ‘That was the point of the gnostician augmentation programme. Zelenaiid initiated it as Seleno. The gnosticians keep ancient memories in their minds.’
‘Then Zelenaiid did
not
recognise their conscious state,’ Dwllis said. Vainly, he tried to recall Crimson Boney’s description of the legend of Cray. ‘The gnosticians mimic old events with their rituals,’ he explained. ‘The split fish represents the physical origin of Cray. What was it that he said? There was a fire in the night sky. A fish jumped out of the sea and split into two, one half on each side of the river.’
Etwe concluded, ‘The head-giblets flopped into the river.’
‘The Swamps!’ Dwllis exclaimed. ‘That is where the street lights coalesced. Hedalgwadey thought it to be a great bioprocessor – the brain of the fish in the symbolic gnostician story. Of course! I see it now. The Swamps are the source of the flaw, and doubtless they are the source of the luminophages, and thus the glass plague. And from the Swamps Pikeface emerged, like the corporeal manifestation of that place.’
‘Zelenaiid guessed some of this,’ Subadwan said.
‘Who then is the key to the flaw?’ said Dwllis. ‘That even I do not understand.’
Subadwan replied, ‘It must be you or Pikeface. You must go to the Reeve’s chamber and confront him.’
Dwllis shook his head. ‘You are asking too much of me.’
‘What about your green fishtail?’ Etwe began.
There was a smashing of glass from above.
Everybody ducked, then ran from the fall of shards. Dwllis bumped into a wall. In the gloom he saw two figures alight upon the floor as though they had jumped from the domed roof above. With superhuman effort they leaped upright, their arms circling in flourishes as if they had performed a gymnastic feat, before they stood upright by the side of the pool.
Tanglanah and Laspetosyne.
Instinctively Dwllis ran, Etwe alongside him, as the tinkling cacophony smashed around them. From the corner of his eye he saw Subadwan flee. Liguilifrey stayed put, crouching head bowed on the floor.
‘Halt!’ Tanglanah cried.
Shards had hit Dwllis. Both arms were bloodied, and blood ran into his eyes. His jacket sleeves and tails were shredded. ‘What do you want of me?’ he called out across the pool.
‘Remain motionless. We have come for you.’
Dwllis looked about him. Much of the wall around him was glass – dull, gleaming glass. The nearby exit had sagged and cracked, making escape impossible. Before him, the perfectly calm surface of the pool lay.
From both sides the pyutons approached. Dwllis said, ‘What do you know of me? What do you want of me?’
‘We heard all we need to know,’ said Tanglanah, indicating the roof. ‘Either you or Pikeface is the key to Zelenaiid’s method.’
They were closing. Dwllis looked wildly about him. Under his feet glass cracked, making him jump. The Baths were collapsing. Fault lines sprang out.
‘Stay put,’ Tanglanah said.
‘It is dangerous,’ Dwllis replied, temporising.
They were just yards away. Dwllis panicked. He feared those deadly eyes, those beatific expressions. Holding his nose he leaped into the water.
Glass smashed all around him. The surface of the pool had vitrified, forming a crust like ice on a frozen pond. Arms windmilling, he trod water, trying to keep his head in the air, conscious of the swathes of blood billowing around him. He gasped for air, but he knew he must not swallow water, replete as it was with a myriad glass splinters. Tossed by water currents, the flickering fragments reflected gleaming light through crimson clouds as they sank to the bottom.
Less than a minute passed before he surrendered to the impassive pyutons. They hauled him from the pool like children recovering a broken doll. He collapsed to the fractured floor.
Tanglanah pulled him to his feet. ‘You will come with us. Do not resist.’
She dragged him away while Laspetosyne instructed Etwe not to follow. They did not tend to his wounds, rather they clouted him when he tripped, searched his clothes and confiscated the green fishtail. Then they tied his hands behind his back and put a bag over his head. Bleeding from many cuts, Dwllis tottered through the streets until his whole body began to sting and throb. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. His breath came hoarse. The chilly air made it worse.
The torment continued for some time, stopping only when they entered a building. Bootsteps echoed. Smoke made him cough. He was forced onward, until Tanglanah said, ‘Stop here. I will see whether he is in.’
A door was hammered open with a single blow. Dwllis was thrust forward.
Sound told him that he was inside a large chamber. Released, he stood silent, tense, waiting.
Then Pikeface spoke. ‘What business have you with me?’
‘This is our moment, Pikeface,’ Tanglanah replied.
‘Who is that man?’ Pikeface answered.
‘You do not know?’
Pikeface did not reply. But neither did Tanglanah. Dwllis felt a surge of hope. It was as if everybody in the room knew nothing of the future: nobody, perhaps not even Tanglanah, knew what to do.
‘You do not fool me,’ Tanglanah said. ‘Laspetosyne, take the bindings and the sack off.’
Laspetosyne obliged, caring nothing for Dwllis’s wounds. He gasped as the ropes rasped his stinging flesh. When the bag was removed he found that he was inside a spherical chamber of two hemispheres, below his feet a mass of rotting, broken vegetation, around and above a mass of broken equipment. Only one pyuter showed indicator lights. Four people stood in the chamber.
‘My kin,’ Pikeface said to him.
Tanglanah turned to Dwllis. ‘Pikeface knows you are his brother.’
Dwllis felt a surge of disgust. ‘How could that beast be my kin? The word means nothing to him. Pikeface is as ignorant as yourself. Face the truth, Tanglanah. You are lost here and you know not what to do.’
Tanglanah confronted him. ‘All I lack is the method. Zelenaiid tried to ruin our plans, and she failed. How can one such as you stop us?’
‘I am unable to stop you,’ Dwllis agreed. ‘So, Tanglanah, if you wish to leave, then leave. Or can you not?’
Tanglanah turned again to Pikeface. ‘It is only the method I lack, only the method. Pikeface, I know a vehicle lies somewhere.’
‘I do not know, and I have looked. I am but the Reeve, condemned to remain inside this chamber.’
Dwllis felt passion upon him. ‘You have ascended to become Reeve and you have no city to rule. That is the truth of all this, is it not, Pikeface? Our futures were deliberately tinkered with. Yet it is you who has attempted most and lost the most, for here you stand, the ruler of nothing. And that is tragic.’
Tanglanah turned to Pikeface. Dwllis, gasping for breath, saw – or thought he saw – the confusion in her stance.
Silence. The four stood in silence.
Then Tanglanah said, in tones lacking all human warmth, ‘
I will have my way.
No human will stop me, nor will Zelenaiid’s dead hand.’
Dwllis scoffed, the elation of his superiority loosening his tongue. ‘Fools! You pyutons are half dead by virtue of not being human. What can you tell me of death?’
Tanglanah stared at Dwllis. He shrank back, wondering what he had said. ‘That is the answer,’ Tanglanah softly said. ‘It is not a matter of being
led.
Here we have the two actual creations. One is human, one is not – the eternal opposition of this city. Laspetosyne, we are free at last!’
Dwllis swallowed, to ease his aching throat. Tanglanah took out the green fishtail and, walking over to Dwllis, slapped it into his right hand, saying, ‘This is yours.’ Dwllis stared at the thing.
‘What is that?’ Pikeface immediately asked.
‘It is mine,’ Dwllis answered, studying the fishtail, giving little attention to Pikeface. Glinting in pale light, it seemed undamaged.
Tanglanah had moved to the door, there to shut it.
‘Hand that fishtail over,’ Pikeface demanded.
Dwllis looked up. ‘lt was a gift to me.’
‘I
will
have it.’
Pikeface strode over. Dwllis stepped backwards. Tanglanah barred the exit, forcing him to run to the edge of the chamber. Dwllis knew that the moment Pikeface laid a hand upon him he was a dead man. He must run.
Pikeface showed a good turn of speed. Dwllis ran round the edge, Pikeface closing, ever closing, trying to cut him off.
It was hopeless. Dwllis stopped, held the fishtail fins outwards, threatening Pikeface.
Pikeface stopped a yard away. He turned to Tanglanah and said, ‘Nobody thwarts me. Tanglanah, you have failed.’
Dwllis saw the broad back before him. Just that broad back. He stabbed forward. The fishtail slid like a dagger into his opponent.
Pikeface uttered a deafening cry. He fell to the ground.
Transformation followed.
First, Pikeface’s legs merged, forming one limb a yard in diameter, leggings ripped off by twisting flesh, torn by razor protrusions that grew out of his ankles and knees. These protrusions softened, becoming flukes, not unlike the aerial flukes of the aeromorphs. Then Pikeface’s piscine head thrashed and doubled over, becoming a blunt dome coloured pink, inlaid with designs of red and yellow.
He expanded. At ten feet tall he flipped up upon his lower limb and stood upright. His arms shrank, then disappeared. Every item of armour and clothing was now torn asunder, revealing prickly flesh here and there turning black. No trace of Pikeface remained: this was a thing, a device, still transforming, becoming blacker, its head expanding and turning green.
Now the body was becoming slimmer, while the base was thickening. Dwllis saw before him a pillar twelve feet tall, slim waisted, black rooted, pink topped, its body marked with spirals, dots, curls, dimples and pimples.
With form set, it expanded further, emitting a chorus of creaks and groans, and when its bulging top hit the roof there was a cracking, and dust fell. Dwllis ran for the door. Tanglanah opened it but stopped him leaving, holding him firm with one hand. Laspetosyne stood near.
The chamber began to collapse as the thing expanded still further. Tanglanah dragged the struggling Dwllis away, but stayed as near as she could to the transforming object. Dwllis peered upwards. It must now be twenty, maybe thirty feet tall. The black roots at its base were thick, metallic, and the top was ovoid, green-shrouded, but pink tipped.
To Laspetosyne, Tanglanah said, ‘Do you see that bud on the lower root? Pluck it off.’
Laspetosyne, dodging falling rubble, did as she was told. She returned holding a lump of plastic the size of a pyuter.