Climbing up on the lamplit deck he glanced up and saw that all the fabric sails were now reefed. The Golem sail was just discernible up its mast, silhouetted like an iron statue against the starlit sky. One of the living sails was on the midship deckhouse. Forlam could not guess why it would be there until he saw its head dart down, a pinkish tail thrash into view, then the head jerk back tearing up a mouthful of flesh. Huff was dismembering a rhinoworm and chomping it down.
‘This looks interesting, Forlam,’ said the reif.
Dragging his attention away from the sail, Forlam glanced round at him, then peered along the deck to where he was pointing. A large group of people had gathered in a clear area of deck between the fore and mid deckhouses.
‘Do I know you,’ Forlam asked him as he studied the group.
‘No, you don’t.’
‘You know my name.’
‘I make it a point of remembering the names of those who might present a problem to myself and others.’
‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And who are you?’ He did sort of know what the reif meant but, like the excitement he felt, did not want to analyse it too closely. He knew he had never been quite right since that time the Skinner had torn out most of his guts, and his subsequent change.
The group ahead consisted of milling Kladites, amongst them Bloc and the just arrived Aesop and Bones. Though he felt misgivings, Forlam began trotting towards them. He had his Captain’s orders after all. The reif kept pace with him, moving without that usual jerkiness Forlam associated with his kind.
‘My name is John Styx.’
You’re lying.
‘Well, John Styx, my Captain tells me I’m more of a danger to myself.’ Forlam gritted his teeth.
‘I thought your fascination with pain less focused than that.’
Forlam was about to demand an explanation of that, but now they were getting near to the group.
Bloc suddenly noticed them and stepped forward. ‘What is this?’
Forlam launched into an explanation. ‘Can’t have a hooder running about below. It’s already damaged the rudder. We need weapons badly. The Captain wants to know where you stowed those Batian weapons?’
After a pause, Bloc said, ‘All personnel not on duty should return to their cabins.’
‘What?’ said Forlam, excitement suddenly turning to anger.
Bloc continued, ‘This is not the concern of Hoopers. We will deal with the problem as we see fit.’ The reif’s eye irrigators were currently attempting to drown his face.
John Styx stepped forward and spoke up. ‘I think the matter is somewhat more urgent then you would suppose. The rudder is jammed over and we are now adrift. If this ship rams an atoll or a packetworm coral…’
Bloc seemed taken aback by that, for a long moment passed before he said, ‘I am aware of the damage to the rudder, which was caused by a misguided attempt to use a grenade against the hooder. But the matter needs some consideration, since charging in there with Batian weapons might result in even further damage. As to the ship ramming an atoll…’ Bloc gestured to the lack of sail. ‘It is drifting now and the damage would be minimal.’
He’s delaying, thought Forlam. Why is this shit delaying?
‘Far as I see it,’ he said belligerently, ‘you are the owner, but Captain Ron is in charge here, and he’s ordered me to fetch weapons. We need those Batian weapons.’
‘It would be safer, I think, if you returned to your cabins,’ Bloc replied.
Forlam stepped forward too. ‘Listen, you worm, that hooder has to be dealt with. I don’t care about your fucking god complex. I don’t care about these brown-nosing deadbeats with their noses up your anus. My Captain wants those weapons and you’ll either give them to us or we’ll go over you to find them!’
Now Bloc took a pace forwards. His movements were jerky, his eye irrigators strangely still. ‘You… will… do as you are told!’
Forlam was about to protest further when Styx laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Perhaps—’ he began. There came a shuddering crash which sent Forlam and Styx staggering. Some Kladites fell to the deck, and Bloc went down on his backside.
‘Atoll?’ Styx suggested brightly.
‘What the hell!’
Janer stayed where he had fallen on the catwalk below the ladder as the ship swayed underneath him. Wade hopped down off the ladder—he of course had not fallen. The Golem stooped down and offered a hand, and hauled Janer to his feet.
‘Maybe we’ve run aground,’ suggested Wade. ‘That doesn’t affect our task.’
‘Mmph,’ was Janer’s only response, but his reservations grew as they moved on into the bilge. After having seen a hooder in the flesh for the first time on Mortuary Island, he agreed with Ron: nasty bugger. Perhaps they should have waited for Ron and the rest. Perhaps he should have handed his weapon over to someone more handy.
‘Who is this individual you must apprise of certain truths, and what is the cataclysm you want to prevent?’ he asked.
‘We make enough noise and we attract the hooder,’ said Wade.
‘Well, we didn’t come down here to avoid it,’ Janer replied.
Wade glanced at him. ‘A point, a definite point.’
‘So perhaps while we search you can explain yourself.’ Janer now had his weapon in his hand, as did Wade.
‘Should I even try? I’m the evil agent of a hive mind come here to do some dastardly deed. What was it? Oh yes, obtain sprine so my master’s hornets can carry it in their stings and dominate this planet.’
‘That about sums it up,’ said Janer. ‘It would also explain your interest in a submersible kitted out for removing the bile ducts from ocean-going leeches.’
They were now on a walkway. Just ahead of them lay a jumble of bones and reif joint motors. An eye irrigator was spraying intermittently into the empty socket of a stripped skull. Wade prodded at the reif wreckage with his toe.
‘You know, this one is only dead in his or her own terms. I have to wonder what this individual’s reaction would be if its crystal was reawakened in a Golem chassis. Would this one choose to be shut down again and have its crystal destroyed?’
‘Probably not,’ said Janer, peering into the distant reaches of the bilge.
‘Yes, death as a matter of degree. Strange times we live in.’
Janer let that one ride. He could not make much out of it. Instead he said, ‘The hive mind I worked for wanted sprine so it could dominate this world. And it seemed likely that, had it succeeded, Polity AIs would not have minded that much. Sprine hornets would have acted as a counterbalance to the indestructibility of Hoopers.’
‘That is not the case now… if it ever was,’ replied Wade.
‘What?’
Wade held a finger up to his lips and Janer fell silent. He could hear nothing unusual, but that did not mean the Golem could not.
After a moment he whispered, ‘What’s it doing?’
‘I suspect it is feeding. Unusual that. On their home planet the prey must remain alive to prevent certain poisons being released from the inedible to the edible portions of its body.’
‘Nice,’ said Janer.
‘Very much not nice for the prey. But why has the hooder behaved the way it has here? At the encampment it was similarly maddened, though it did feed as it should, on a couple of occasions. It was starved, but I don’t think that accounts for this.’
Janer stared at Wade’s profile. The damned Golem was leading him away from the subject. ‘What, precisely, is not the case now?’
Wade turned to him. ‘The Polity no longer needs sprine hornets as a counterbalance to Hoopers.’