by Paul Stewart
As I take a step towards the frozen waterfall, my foot goes through the surface of the snow just in front of me. I stumble, but Belle catches me by the elbow and pulls me back.
There’s a black hole in the crust of ice at my feet. Belle knocks away more of the ice with the heel of her boot to reveal a square opening. It’s deep and dark, and there’s a metal staircase leading into the blackness below.
I glance round at Belle, who nods, and the pair of us start down the stairs. I count them off as we descend, and have got to forty-three by the time the light gives out completely. I grip the handrail and fumble with my scanner, hoping at least to get the light-function to work.
No joy.
Belle’s still going down the steps though. Her visual sensors are a hundred times sharper than my eyes and she’s having no problems seeing. I listen to the regular clang-clang of her feet – then a dull thump as she steps off the bottom stair, and at the same moment, I see her too, lit up like someone sitting at a vid-screen.
A light’s come on.
It’s set into the floor, a visiglass panel that must have been triggered by her weight. It’s not that bright, but it’s enough to see by.
I join Belle at the bottom of the stairs, and the pair of us look down the dimly lit tunnel. It stretches off ahead of us, long and square, before disappearing into shadow.
We set off along it, and as we walk, more floor panels light up, one after the other. The shadows recede. Ferns and mosses have taken root in the corners of the tunnel, top and bottom, softening its hard edges. The air smells moist, and after the sub-zero temperature outside, it feels warm.
I unbutton my flakcoat, then take a swig from my water flask.
After a hundred metres or so, the tunnel comes to an end and opens up into a vast chamber. We pause. I look round. So does Belle, taking it all in. Then, when she gives me the all-clear, we step forward. And as we do so, the whole place is suddenly lit up, not from below us this time, but from above. The ceiling glows a shade of bluey-green – except, as I stare up, I see that the lights aren’t in the ceiling itself, but beyond it. I’m looking through a sheet of visiglass into the illuminated depths of a vast body of water above our heads.
There are fish up there. Thousands of them. Millions. There are barnacles and shells anchored to rocks; ribbons of grass, clumps of feathery weed.
All at once, a long, serpent-like creature shoots out from a dark crevice, seizes a passing orange-and-white fish in its fangs, and withdraws. Three large, moon-shaped fish glide past, their broad mouths opening and closing . . .
‘This must be some kind of aquarium,’ I say. ‘I’ve seen them on vid-streams, but never this huge.’
‘The hologram at that Info Station spoke of the ocean,’ Belle reminds me.
I nod. Of course. We’re standing looking up at a vast ocean, with underwater flora and fauna from Earth, once the blue planet, recreated here on board the Biosphere. And it’s mega! I just can’t tear my eyes away.
Thousands of small silver fish drift closer, swimming in a great shoal, darting first one way, then another, like a vast flapping sheet. A dozen or so striped jelly-like creatures with blobby heads and flexing tentacles cut through them in a line – and when a lone, ridged fish swims too close, they suddenly disappear into a cloud of black ink. A crab with long armoured legs scuttles over the sea bed, directly over my head . . .
‘What’s that?’ asks Belle.
‘What?’ I say.
‘That noise,’ she says – and then I hear it too. Distant at first, but coming closer. Deep throbbing sounds that suddenly soar into loud howls and soft lulling moans. It ebbs and flows, and fills me with this weird churning feeling I don’t understand.
Then something stirs. The ribboned and fronded plants start swaying, and far in the darkness, beyond the rocks, I see a pale smudge of grey.
It comes closer, gliding through the water, slowly, steadily, and with a grace that seems impossible for something so large. I can’t tell how long it is. Twenty, thirty metres? Its head is tapered, its body sleek. There are six huge flippers beneath it, with clusters of white barnacles stuck to the leathery grey skin, and a row of fins running along its back.
The sound it’s making rises louder than ever, a soaring swooping wail that echoes through the water and fills the air beneath.
Its body ripples as it comes right down to the ocean floor, then the flippers push forward against the water, until it’s hovering above us. It tilts its head down to the visiglass and surveys us with four large eyes that are as black and deep as night. And as it holds our gaze, the sound seems to change. It gets softer, like a lullaby. Then it breaks into a series of throbs and trills that could almost be laughter.
Then, as swiftly and suddenly as it appeared, the great creature twists round, flicks its tail – and swims away. For a moment longer, the strange sound hovers in the air, then that’s gone too.
I stare after it, my gaze fixed on the point in the vast ocean above us where its flat tail smudged and disappeared. My heart is thumping in my chest.
I’d seen pictures of creatures like this on the vid-screens back in the holo-library at the Inpost. The largest creatures on earth. ‘Whales’, they were called. This creature resembles them. And yet it’s different – the four eyes, the flippers, the fins . . .
My head’s spinning. And it’s a shock when I feel Belle’s fingertip touch my chin.
‘Your mouth’s open again, York,’ she says.
At the far end of the chamber beneath the ocean, there’s another tunnel leading out. As we reach the entrance to it, I glance up at the ocean one last time. And that’s when I see it, another shape in the water.
A human shape.
But it can’t be. I look round to see that Belle’s already gone on ahead, and when I look up again, the figure has vanished.
Did I imagine it?
I follow Belle into the tunnel, away from the ocean zone. There’s an intermittent buzzing noise. Some of the floor panels are broken and fail to light up when we step on them; others flicker and spark. The tunnel doglegs one way, then the other, with no end in sight. Our footsteps echo around us, and I’m wondering whether we should turn back when we come to a door.
It’s smooth and grey and made of metal. And it doesn’t open.
Without hesitating, Belle reaches for the sensor-pad attached to the wall and levers off the front panel. She presses her fingertips against the sensor-hub and a glowing net-like pattern lights up on the back of her hand and along her arm.
Then, with a soft hiss, the door slides open. We step through, and the door hisses shut behind us.
We’re in some sort of airlock, facing another door. Belle opens it the same way and, as I look out, I screw my eyes shut. We’re back in the scorching dazzle of the arc-lights.
The heat’s dry and intense. It burns the back of my neck and makes it difficult to breathe. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the brightness.
We’re standing at the edge of a broad expanse of sand and rocks, clumps of grass, hard-leafed shrubs. Dotted around are trees, in rusting, sandblasted grow-troughs. Some are tall and fanshaped with shimmering leaves. Some have barrel-shaped trunks and high-up stubby branches, while others have long succulent branches, covered in spines.
In among the trees are tall metal towers, with ladders clamped to their sides that lead up to raised platforms. At least, that’s what they must all have been like once. Now, most of them are damaged – broken cross-struts; twisted legs, orange with rust; ladders rungless or bent double.
We set off, leaving the visiglass wall of the ocean zone far behind us.
There are cages with bent and buckled bars. Aviaries, tattered mesh hanging from lopsided uprights. Water-troughs, racks, perching-blocks. All of them are empty, whatever critters they once held or served now gone.
This zone seems deserted.
I can smell critters, though. The air’s heavy with a mixture of dung and decay and a sickly musk.
We
pass a compound of ramshackle buildings, two-storey constructions set on stilts with broad, overhanging flat roofs. Once, bio-engineers must have worked at lab tables inside them. Now, the whole place has been abandoned. The outside walls are streaked with rust; the visiglass windows are broken.
Belle and I peer in through the doorways we pass, looking for something, anything. But there’s hardly anything there. A piece of paper, the ink bleached out, crumbles to dust when I try to pick it up. A mug with no handle lies in the middle of a floor, the name JONAH picked out in red letters. And in another lab, a child’s walk-toy lies on its side, the smiley face painted onto the panel beneath the little handlebars, missing an eye.
‘It’s all so . . . so sad,’ I say to Belle.
She turns to me, and her black hair sheens in the arc-light. ‘It is sad for you that the people who were once here are here no longer,’ she says; half-statement, half-question.
And I nod. ‘Exactly.’
As we leave the damaged compound behind us, the musky-critter odour gets stronger. It makes me uneasy. Belle pulls her pulser from her belt. I do the same. We continue cautiously, darting from tree to tree, zigzagging across the plain. Then, crouched down and peeking out from behind the broad trunk of one of the barrel-like trees, I see them.
Critters. They’re fifty metres or so away, clustered round a massive drinking trough set into the ground. It’s the size of a lake. The water is dark and scuzzy and buzzing with flies.
On one side of the trough are huge grey beasts with flapping ears, head-crests and twin trunks, teetering about on bone-thin legs. Picking their way between them are bird-like creatures with long beaks, red feathers and three legs.
Over at the far side of the trough are smaller critters; some brown, some white, some striped, some green. They sip the water and nibble the grass that grows in tufts out of cracks in the ground. Most of them have horns, which crown their heads in clusters of three, four, five or more. One – a large, black, four-legged male with a flattened tail and long drooping ears – has twelve, which are set in a fan-formation, each horn spiralling to a point.
Lying a little way off, motionless, apart from their tails, which twitch at the black swarms of insects, are powerful-looking creatures. The adults are a golden yellow colour, like the sand they’re lying on; the young ones have smudged grey markings on their backs. Most are sleeping, but one of them is upright, keeping watch, alert.
All at once, it jumps up. Its fur bristles and a low growl emerges from behind bared fangs. The rest of the pack are instantly on their feet.
The critters at the trough get skittish. A family of shaggy birds make a run for it. A small group of deerlike creatures dart away in a series of splay-legged jumps that make it seem as though they have springs attached to their hoofs. A single calf lets out a cry.
It’s one of the creatures with the flattened tail and drooping ears; it doesn’t have any horns yet. Teetering about on newborn legs, it wanders blindly off from the rest of the retreating herd.
And one of the yellow creatures attacks.
Bounding out from the rest of the pack, claws drawn, it leaps on the calf’s back. Its jaws open wide to reveal a mouth filled with glinting fangs.
The calf screams in terror.
Alerted by its noise, the herd stops. A powerfully built male turns, bellows, then, head lowered, charges. The gaping jaws of the yellow creature are just closing around the calf’s neck when long spiral horns gore the predator’s flanks. Hissing and spitting, the creature retreats – only for another one to attack the calf.
Again, the male charges.
The calf stumbles to the water’s edge. The predators are being kept from it by the herd.
But then, in an explosion of filthy water, a huge critter with squat legs and with purple scales suddenly emerges from the depths of the trough. It clamps its jaws round the top of one of the calf’s rear legs. At the same moment, one of the predators leaps forward and seizes a front leg – and a hideous tug-of-war takes place, with the pair of them pulling the helpless calf in two directions at once.
Bellowing with rage, the great horned male attacks the creatures. It lashes out, striking them with its horns, again and again, until they lose their grip. Both of them. Amazingly, the calf scrambles to its feet, unhurt, and trots across to rejoin the herd.
And it’s over.
The herd wanders off as if nothing’s happened. The bystanders return to the trough. The pack of yellow creatures slink away, licking their wounds, while the squat-legged purple critter slips back into the dark water.
‘Hot swarf!’ I gasp, my heart thumping in my chest.
The bio-engineers of the Launch Times built these zones in the Mid Deck to preserve the flora and fauna of Earth. But the creatures seem to have mutated. They’re not the same as any Earth animals I’ve viewed on vid-streams.
Hungrier than ever now, the yellow predators are on the prowl. They’re snarling and yowling. They’re pacing to and fro, sniffing at the air. Then one of them spots us for the first time. It throws back its head and lets out a blood-curdling roar.
‘Belle,’ I breathe. ‘I think we’re in trouble.’
It all happens so fast. The predators sprint towards us in a cloud of dust. They spread out and form a circle round the grow-trough we’re hiding behind. We’re surrounded.
They close in.
I fumble with my pulser. It slips from my sweaty palm, clatters to the ground and bounces away. I glance at Belle. Her face shows no emotion. Her own pulser’s drawn, and she raises it till it’s pointing directly at the nearest critter’s head. Her finger tightens on the trigger.
I stare at the creature. Sleek golden fur gleams in the light as powerful muscles flex and brace. Its eyes, circular pools of bright blue, stare back at me, unblinking. It opens its mouth and, as a long black tongue slurps round its snout, I get a whiff of rank meat.
Belle’s pulser flashes and hisses and the predator drops. A second leaps forward to take its place. Belle fires again, grabs my arm, and suddenly we’re running straight at the circle of snarling critters. Belle fires at one, two, three of them. Then we’re through the gap that’s opened up, and she’s firing back at the pursuing pack.
I’m sprinting as fast as I can, my heart hammering.
I daren’t look back.
But then, clumsily, stupidly, unforgivably, I stumble on a rock. My ankle goes over and I lurch forward. Arms flailing, I knock into Belle and send her pulser flying from her grip.
The predators surround us. They’re drooling, sizing up their meal. One of them launches itself at my back. Belle pivots round on one leg and kicks it hard in the throat, sending it sprawling. Two more leap at me at the same moment, one from each side. And Belle’s there again. She leaps high into the air, does a somersault, and as she comes down, lands a kick on the first one, square between the eyes. It yelps as it falls back. Then she springs at the second, thwacking it on the side of its head and knocking it senseless – only for a third to take its place.
She’s doing her best. But it’s not enough. There are just too many of them, and with more appearing all the time.
A blow from behind sends me crashing to the ground. I roll over, and a predator is on me. I kick and squirm, punch at its head, jab at its eyes.
It’s no use.
Its jaws gape open, fangs bared as it goes for my neck.
I close my eyes . . .
The creature lets out a stifled whine, then collapses onto me, crushing me flat and squeezing the air from my lungs. Struggling for breath, I shove the body to one side, wriggle out from under it and scramble to my feet.
Suddenly white noise explodes in my head. I slump blindly to my knees. Then something grabs me by the collar, and I feel myself being lifted off the ground.
The noise deafens me. It’s in my head, scraping the inside of my skull, gnawing into my brain. Intense and painful.
Then it stops.
My head still ringing, I look up. I see muscl
es flexing and relaxing as great wings beat up and down; I see the light catch on a jutting breastbone, and on the profile of a head in deep shadow.
Is that a human face?
I’m high above the ground, dangling in the creature’s grasp. My flakcoat’s bunched up under my arms. Beneath me, the shrubs and trees and buildings dotted across the orange earth grow smaller.
And I catch sight of Belle. She’s at the bottom of a steep bank, dusting herself down. A couple of predators lie dead at her feet. The rest have run off.
‘Belle!’ I holler. ‘Belle!’
She looks up. Our eyes meet.
‘York!’ she shouts, and I hear real emotion in her voice. She wants to help me, but there’s nothing she can do. Whatever it is that’s got me, it’s moving too fast. I lose sight of her and now, apart from Caliph, who’s curled up fast asleep in the pocket of my flakcoat, I’m on my own.
I struggle, swaying from side to side. But the winged creature is strong. Neither my weight nor my moving about seem to bother it.
A maintenance zoid buzzes up close. The aperture of its lens-head focuses in on us.
The creature raises an arm, and I see a small white globe gripped in its hand. It points it at the zoid and squeezes, and suddenly the deafening white noise sounds again.
The zoid loses control. It rolls over and over in the air, buzzing loudly. Then it plummets. As it hits the ground, there’s a muffled explosion and a puff of black smoke.
We pass over a perimeter from one zone to another. Then another. Desert sand spills into jungle. Rainforest overlaps with tundra. Snow blurs the borders between polar and equatorial. We’re flying across a mountainous region, with palm trees and tongues of ice and flocks of striped birds, when suddenly, unlike before, all the arc-lights bar one shut off.