‘What have… you done?’ It was a strange experience, breathing and speaking, and trying to arrange the two so they did not conflict.
‘When you downloaded from crystal to your organic brain and it became plain you were going to come out of the tank alive, I used an autodoc on you. It pulled every single power supply you contained, and I also used the doc to remove this.’ She held up something: a grey box that sat easily in the palm of her hand, with a hexagonal box affixed to the side of it, linked by a ring of sealed optics. Bloc recognized his memplant and the attached control unit.
‘What gives you the right to do that?’ he hissed. He was just a living man now.
‘The right?’ she asked, her voice incredulous. She shook her head, pulled a comlink from her belt and spoke into it. ‘You wanted to know—well, he’s awake now.’
From the link Ron’s voice replied, ‘Perfect timing.’
As Erlin returned the link to her belt, Forlam came over. He tossed a disposable coverall in Bloc’s lap. ‘Get dressed.’
‘You can’t give me orders. This is my ship. You are under my command; your Captain is employed by me.’
Forlam shrugged. ‘Naked or otherwise—don’t bother me.’
What are they going to do?
Bloc slid the heat-sheet all the way off him and stared down at his body. He looked perfect: no scars, just pink skin. His pubic hair was just a shadow above his genitals, and while staring at what Bones had once cut from him—an event all too clear in his mind after repetition—he felt a sudden surge of sexual feeling. He dressed, quickly, the coverall cold and textured against his aching skin. Finally clothed, he looked over to Erlin again.
‘I did this,’ he said. ‘It was because of me this ship was built. It is because of me that reifications will live. I own this ship and it is under my command.’
Erlin shook her head. ‘Let me bring you up to date and back to reality. Windcheater has imposed a large fine for the use of this ship’s engines, which in turn has caused a cost overrun on this voyage. Apparently, by your original agreement, Lineworld Developments now own this ship—not that it will profit them much.’
Bloc felt a tightness in his throat, and his eyes were watering again. Then a hand that felt as if made of rock closed on his biceps. Forlam marched him forwards.
‘You can’t do this!’ Bloc found it even hurt to shout. ‘I created all this! I did this! I am bringing my people to the Little Flint!’
Walking behind them, Erlin continued, ‘Most of your people are either in tanks or have shut themselves down. They don’t much like the odds, since successful resurrections are only one in seven thus far. Many of them are likely to end up like Bones, and the true cultists among them are angry at what you have brought them to.’
Bloc fell silent then, and allowed Forlam to lead him out on deck. They might think they had won, but they did not know him well enough. They would pay for this. How he would make them pay.
It was a long fall to the bottom and, heavy now, the giant whelk had landed hard. She gazed up at the shapes hovering on the ocean surface and felt an immediate protective fear. Large predators up there ready to attack her? She needed to get back to shallows where she could protect the mass inside her, and where food creatures were small enough to easily subdue. She began dragging herself along the bottom, heading instinctively upslope to shallower waters. Momentarily she felt a strange disquiet. She vaguely recalled there had been an easier way of travelling than this, and something important she had to do. But that thought faded under the exigencies of the present.
The slope ahead was scattered with broken shells and black rhinoworm bones. Wherever she disturbed the bottom, white chalky clouds gusted up around her. This was good, so she deliberately stirred up more for concealment. At one point she heaved herself over an outcrop of dark rock, which splintered into sharp fiat flakes under her grip. The higher she got, the steeper became the gradient and the more such outcrops she encountered. On one of them she encountered a flock of hammer whelks, and instantly began snatching them up to smash their shells against the dark stone and chomp them down. She devoured half of them before the rest slid out of reach, but did not pursue. Higher still, and frog whelks diverged from her path, bounding downhill in slow motion.
There were more leeches evident here, and any that came close she snatched up and consumed. While thus engaged she spotted a line trailing from one of her tentacles, which stirred some memory but not enough to bring it into focus. In irritation she caught the line with another tentacle and tried to tear it free. The fact that this hurt only made her angrier. Eventually she succeeded in tearing the hook from her flesh, then watched the discarded tangle drift off and sink from view. There was some emotion then—some feeling of loss—but she resolutely turned away.
Now only hard dark flint lay before her—a cliff rising steeply from the slope. She hesitated as another vague memory hinted that this might not lead to island shallows, but instinct drove her on. She climbed, finding plenty of easy tentacle holds on chalky nodules or in dark crevices. If this turned out not to be the kind of place she wanted, then she would move on—her drive to do so was imperative.
Drawn out rattling crashes jerked Janer from uneasy slumber.
Anchor chains.
He sat upright and looked around blearily. Stumbling from his bed he then collected clean clothing from his pack and headed for the showers. Upon his return he stared at the stasis case still exposed in the top of his pack, took it out, hinged it open and pressed his fingertip to the touch-plate beside the reservoir. This opened, releasing two hornets into the air. Inured to the creatures now, he ignored their angry buzzing while pulling their carry case from his ash-stained trousers. Once it was in place on his shoulder the hornets landed beside it and crawled inside. Janer placed the hivelink in his ear-lobe.
‘The ancient hive mind is dead,’ the hive mind told him, then demanded, ‘What is happening here?’
‘I would guess the Sable Keech has just anchored by the Little Flint,’ Janer replied.
‘Tell me what has happened while I have been out of contact.’
Janer considered the events of the voyage past, and knew he would be talking for quite some time. He also considered simply putting the hivelink back in his pocket, but then with a sigh stepped out of his cabin and began to relate the story. By the time he was halfway up a stairwell accessing the main deck, the hive mind interrupted to inform him, ‘Vrell’s ship has been destroyed and the other Prador ship is now departing. The Warden has now also informed me of the events at Olian Tay’s bank.’
Janer paused and peered at the two hornets. ‘Did you want me to tell this or not?’
‘Please proceed.’
‘Oh, and knowing the events at Olian’s you have of course authorized my bonus?’
‘Proceed with the story.’
‘Okay, but I’ll be checking that later.’ Janer continued upwards. ‘Just as it seemed we might be getting things under control, Vrell moved his father’s ship right up underneath us…’
The sun beaming on the deck, Janer observed that the anchors were indeed lowered but, by the noise of the chains being fed in and out of their lockers and by the intermittent sounds coming from the engines, he guessed the ship’s position was being carefully adjusted. He glanced over the rail and saw they were in fact right next to the Little Flint—that place made holy by Sable Keech.
The hive mind once again interrupted his monologue. ‘Windcheater warned of further punitive costs should the Little Flint be damaged in any way.’
‘He probably hoped they would crash into it then,’ Janer muttered.