Map orth caugh, Thorn thought, remembering what the old man had said when he'd first come into the Clay. Pile of shit! It was a truth down here, not an insult.
They crossed the clogged tributary at Tresillian, DeVore leading the way. From there the road headed northeast between stone walls, rising and then falling sharply, the roof of the Above sometimes close, sometimes far above, but always there, enclosing everything like the lid on a giant grave. That and the utter darkness.
The road was newly surfaced. Thorn bent down and examined it, trying to pick at it, then realized what it was. Ice! They were walking on ice, the multipurpose polymer used throughout the Above!
After Grampound the road went down again and Thorn could see a glowing trail stretching away into the distance—dim but definite.
Then, as they came to it, he saw the wire fencing either side, the warning signs. Electrified cables ran the whole length of the mesh and there were guards at the gate—heavily armed Security types, blunt faced and anonymous looking.
The gates hissed back and they went inside.
"Right now our main problem is distribution," DeVore said, turning to face them all. "Eventually, however, we'll cut an entrance overhead and ship the stuff direct into the City."
Thorn listened, not sure what "the stuff precisely was, but knew that whatever it was, it wasn't legal.
Past the fence the road ran straight, newly laid, like an ancient railway track. In places it cut straight through the hillside, in others it was built up, soaring over valleys on earth embankments. All of it spoke of years of planning and execution. Two years, Tak had said. Thorn nodded to himself and walked on, hurrying now to catch the others.
At the crest of the hill they had stopped, looking down into the wide and ancient valley of Treviscoe. Coming alongside them, Thorn gave a tiny laugh, unable to believe what he was seeing.
The building filled the center of the valley. It seemed alive, glowing a muted gold against the velvet blackness, ten levels high, each hexagonal slice smaller than the one beneath, so that it had the appearance of an ancient zigurrat.
Thorn turned, meeting Tak's eyes, then walked on, following the others out onto the great bridge of ice that linked the hill to the topmost level of the building.
THE BIRD SAT on a perch of silvered wire. In places it had shed its feathers and the sore-pocked flesh showed through its ragged plumage. It was a songbird, but it sat there quietly, its eye dull, its beak scaled with a flaky whiteness. Wires ran from the back of its skull to a unit set into the wall behind the cage.
Its cage was one of many in the room, stacked in tiers from floor to ceiling. One came down into the room from above, let down on a platform through the ceiling.
It was a silent room, filled with the sour scent of chemicals. There was something horribly unnatural in that stillness. Thorn stood beside the cage, staring in at the wasted creature.
"What's wrong with it?"
DeVore turned then came across. "Ah, that one." He smiled, the light of pride in his eyes. "One of our more interesting experiments. He dreams, you know."
Thorn looked at the pitiful thing and frowned. "Dreams of what?"
DeVore consulted the computer clipboard in his hand, then answered. "That one dreams of being an eagle. A hunting bird. Of swooping on its victims and carrying them away in its talons."
From time to time the bird twitched, but that was its only movement. Its eyes were empty, it shredded wings were furled.
"It's an extension of the HeadStim principle. We feed the new information into the brain, ousting the old." DeVore smiled then put his fingers through the bars to groom the bird. It seemed entirely unconscious of his touch. "We wanted to see how effective it was. How far into a dream state these creatures could be induced to go."
Thorn stared at him, puzzled. "How can you tell?"
DeVore smiled tightly. "Watch."
He reached beneath the cage and moved his hand across. At once the wires retracted from the bird's head and snaked back into the wall unit. The bird stumbled, then collected itself on its perch. Its eyes, previously dull, were now alert. Its head came up sharply, turning to stare at them. But that first, sharp, instinctive motion gave way to confusion. It went to open out its massive wings and found only the ragged, malformed wings of a songbird. It opened its beak to screech its hunting cry but uttered only the shrill notes of its kind.
The bird twitched, its eyes blinking rapidly. And slowly it began to tremble, its whole body shaking violently. In less than a minute it was dead.
DeVore turned, facing him. "We've found that it takes less than a week to create a situation in which the bird has lapsed totally into its new reality and cannot tolerate the old. That reaction is typical. The creatures would rather die than return to what they were. It's as if they switch themselves off."
"I see. And you plan to use this on humans one day?"
DeVore smiled, his eyes sharp. "Nothing so crude, Shih Thorn. But yes ... someday."
In his mind Thorn was adding piece to piece, evaluating all he'd seen that afternoon: bacteria that could evolve and eat away the brain-stem; chemicals that could be laced into the human bloodstream and activated by the presence of excess sugar in the blood, forming a po-
tent explosive mixture; aggression drugs; acids that reacted only with calcium; and now this—this tinkering with reality in the brain itself. He could make only one thing of it all. Terrorism. A subtle, insidious form of terrorism. What they had built here in the Clay was a complex of research laboratories designed to promote the ultimate downfall of Li Yuan and the North European Enclave.
Revolution, that was what it was. A direct assault on the Families and all they stood for. Against containment and the last remnants of the City-State.
"Come. We're finished here," DeVore said, motioning that he should step back onto the platform. Thorn turned, looking about him one last time, then did as he was bid. In a moment they were back in the central room.
DeVore bowed to him politely, then left to rejoin the others. As he did, Hastings came across.
"You're a strange one, Thorn, aren't you?"
Thorn shrugged. "I don't know what you mean." But it seemed that Hastings wanted to explain something to him, for when he spoke again it was in a low, confidential tone, as if he didn't want the others to hear.
"If there was any other way, I'd take it, believe me, but Li Yuan leaves us no option. The City is enough for him. Social order, that's all he seems to want. But we need more than that, don't you see that, Thorn?"
Hastings's eyes looked away, as if searching the distance. "I want what Mankind has always wanted. New worlds. Fresh islands of being. New ways of living. I want it like . . ." His hands clenched and there was a look of pure need in his eyes, in the set of his mouth. For a moment he seemed to teeter on the edge of something, then he drew back. He laughed softly and looked at Thorn again, a wistful smile on his lips. "It seems so little to ask."
Dreams, Thorn thought. Must we always murder for our dreams? "So many years we've been trapped here, festering away in the levels of the City. For centuries now we've been dying on our feet, watching it all fall apart, piece by piece. For centuries we've shut out the stars and denied our rightful place out there. But we need to grow. We need to venture outward. It's either that or we'll die. You can see that, Thorn, can't you?"
Thorn stared back impassively. It was a pretty speech, but such dreams were dangerous, for to make such dreams come true millions, maybe tens of millions, would have to die.
"War," Thorn said. "That's what you're talking about. A War against Li Yuan."