Web of Fire Bind-up

by Steve Voake

  Sam struggled onto his hands and knees and stared at the brown, spongy floor. ‘Promise me we won’t do that again,’ he wheezed. ‘Ever.’

  He sat up and looked around. Most of the insect’s internal organs had been moved or re-engineered to enable it to carry more equipment, but he noticed to his disgust that a large, yellowy brown heart was pumping away in the corner.

  Skipper grinned mischievously. ‘I think she likes you.’

  ‘Oh, ha ha,’ said Sam. ‘Very funny.’

  He sat back heavily against the curved wall of the fly’s abdomen. ‘I don’t remember anyone mentioning anything about rope ladders,’ he said. ‘I thought the plan was to go straight up through the fly’s belly when it latched onto us.’

  ‘Well that was the plan,’ admitted Skipper. ‘But it all happened a bit fast. Poor old Brindle nearly wet himself.’

  ‘Brindle!’ exclaimed Sam. ‘He must have gone down with the wasp!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Skipper. ‘I saw him eject just before the wasp hit the ground.’

  ‘He must have stayed in until he knew we were out safely,’ said Sam. ‘He’s a brave guy.’

  Skipper nodded. ‘He’s got a bit of a hike ahead of him, that’s for sure. It’s a long way back to the base.’

  Sam remembered that Brindle had always been notorious as a hard nut and survival expert who loved nothing more than a difficult challenge. He imagined him trekking through the blizzard with a big smile on his face.

  ‘I don’t s’pose he’ll mind too much,’ he said.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ replied Skipper. ‘He probably thinks it’s his birthday.’

  She swung the rucksack on her back and pointed upwards. ‘OK, Sam. Time for a change of aircrew, I think.’

  Flypilot Grinx was still smiling about the way they’d busted that damn wasp right out of the sky. Most of the other pilots had stayed on the ground, but there was no way Grinx was going to let a little bit of snow keep him from doing what he loved best. And what Grinx loved doing best was killing things.

  At weekends he took his rifle out and went hunting. His friends went hunting for rabbits, deer, anything they could bring home and put on the dinner table. But Grinx wasn’t bothered about the eating part; he just shot anything that moved. Nothing beat the thrill of playing God, deciding whether another soul should live or die. Nothing else came close.

  Not that there was ever much of a decision to make, of course.

  If something wandered into his rifle sites, Grinx blew it away.

  For the past year now, Grinx had been flying robber flies. And there was no doubt about it: if you liked killing things, it was the best job ever.

  He grinned at Mersh, his co-pilot, who grinned back.

  ‘You got the old bloodlust going on there, Grinx?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Grinx. ‘You’d better believe it. Come on, Mershy boy. Let’s go kill something else. That last one was real sweet, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Real sweet,’ agreed Mersh. ‘That sucker never even saw us coming.’

  A sound from the rear of the aircraft made Grinx turn around. To his amazement, a small blonde-haired girl was sitting on the floor with her face in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking and she sounded as though she was crying.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Grinx. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  The girl looked up and Grinx saw that her lower lip was quivering. She seemed very upset. It was then that he noticed the flying jacket and the blue jumpsuit.

  ‘Well, I’ll be …’ said Grinx. He dug Mersh in the ribs. ‘Hey, Mersh. We gone and got ourselves a Vahlzian kid!’ He undid his seatbelt and leaned over the back of the seat.

  ‘I don’t know how you got in here, little girl,’ he said in a low, threatening voice, ‘but whatever you’re crying about now – well, it ain’t nothing compared to what Grinxy’s going to give you to cry about. See, the thing is, there ain’t no big strong Vahlzian boys to protect you here. How’s that feel?’

  He leered at her and slowly climbed over the seat into the back.

  Robber fly

  ‘Is that a flying suit you’re wearing?’ he asked.

  The girl sniffed and nodded.

  ‘Hey, Mersh,’ sneered Grinx. ‘The kid likes to fly.’

  Mersh laughed unpleasantly.

  ‘Reckon we can arrange that for you,’ he said. ‘You reckon we can arrange that, Grinxy?’

  ‘No doubt about it,’ said Grinx. ‘You listening, little girl? Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna open up the side of this thing and then we’re gonna let you be a li’l birdy. That’s right, honey. You gonna fly! You gonna fly all the way down to them rocks down there. How do you like that, hmm? You like the sound of that?’

  The girl began to cry more loudly.

  ‘Aww, I think she’s frightened, Mersh,’ said Grinx. ‘Ain’t that right, sweetheart?’ He was up close, now, the stench of his stale breath in her ear. ‘Are you crying ’cos you’re scared?’

  ‘No,’ sobbed a little voice. ‘I’m crying ’cos it’s b-b-broken.’

  Grinx smiled. He loved it when they got scared. He was really going to enjoy this.

  ‘There ain’t nothing broken,’ he said, grinning and running his tongue across the front of his yellow, decaying teeth. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘The s-s-safety,’ stammered the girl. ‘The s-s-safety catch is broken!’

  Grinx was getting annoyed now. Maybe he’d slap her about a bit before he killed her. Make it more fun.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he snarled, seizing her roughly by the shoulder. ‘There ain’t no broken safety catch!’

  ‘Oh, but there is,’ said the girl, and as she stared up at him with her baby-blue eyes he noticed two things: firstly, that she wasn’t crying at all, and secondly, that she was pointing a gun straight between his eyes.

  ‘Mersh!’ he squealed. ‘She’s got a gun!’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ said Skipper calmly. ‘It’s a big one, too.’

  There was a click as she pulled back the firing mechanism.

  ‘And here’s the thing, Mersh – nice name by the way – the safety catch on this gun is well and truly broken. So I guess you’d better fly pretty straight and smooth from now on, or your friend here might just get his brains splashed all over the cockpit.’

  Grinx cowered in the corner with his arms draped over his head.

  Skipper winked at him. ‘What’s up, Grinxy? Not scared are we?’

  She turned and pointed the gun at the pilot.

  ‘OK, Mersh. I’ve seen how you like to whack wasps with this thing. Now let’s see if you can land it.’

  ‘How about if I refuse?’ Mersh sneered.

  Skipper pointed the gun back at Grinx and tightened her finger around the trigger.

  ‘How about I redecorate your cockpit?’

  ‘Just do it!’ screamed Grinx. ‘Do what she says!’

  Mersh swore and pushed the joystick forward so that the fly began to lose height. Sam emerged from a hole in the floor at the back of the fly and gave Grinx a friendly wave.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Enjoying your flight?’

  Grinx curled his lip as if to say something, then changed his mind and spat on the floor instead.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’

  ‘Oh, take no notice of Mr Grumpy here,’ said Skipper. ‘He’s just worried about the cold.’

  Grinx gave her a surly look.

  ‘I ain’t cold.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, Grinxy,’ said Skipper. ‘That’s very good. You want my advice? Make the most of it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because,’ replied Skipper, ‘you’re sure going to be.’

  As he looked through the screen at the two men, standing alone in the middle of an ice field a hundred miles from anywhere, Sam realised that he didn’t feel even the slightest bit sorry for them. He’d heard what Grinx had threatened to do to Skipper. Now the thought that he and his nasty little co-pilot had
a long, miserable walk back to Vermia made him feel really rather pleased.

  Sam put his left hand on the throttle and felt the potent wing motors hum with power. Suddenly, all the skills he had learned as a wasp pilot quickly came flooding back to him and he realised how much he was looking forward to flying this beast of an insect.

  ‘Ready, Skipper?’ he called.

  He turned his head and saw that she was hanging out of the doorway, shouting at the two men and unzipping the top of her jacket.

  ‘Think I’ll just turn the heating down a bit,’ she called. ‘I’m boiling!’

  ‘Skipper, stop it,’ said Sam, unable to stop himself from smiling. ‘You’ll only upset them.’

  ‘Good,’ said Skipper.

  As the fly lifted off towards the clouds, Sam could see the two men arguing and pushing one another. Chuckling to himself, he pulled the joystick back and the powerful fly climbed steeply up into the clouds. As he watched the bleak, snow-covered landscape fall away beneath them, Sam thought about his vague, dream-like memories of life back on Earth and thought how far away it all seemed to him now. He thought about the dangers that they had recently experienced and the dangers that almost certainly lay ahead of them.

  And at that moment he realised – to his considerable surprise – that he had never felt happier in his life.

  Twelve

  Alya pulled the sheet of paper from the printer and laid it flat on the desk. On it was a picture of a jagged blue line; an image she had photographed through the lens of the electron microscope. Her eyes flicked across to the open textbook where the words neurological impulse translator: human were printed beneath a picture showing an identical, jagged blue line. Typing the words impulse translator: ratticus norvicus into the computer, she held her breath as the powerful search engine flicked its way through a million data files in less than a heartbeat.

  With a barely audible click, the screen was split down the middle by a single, bright image of a jagged blue line.

  Alya gasped and put a hand over her mouth as her earlier suspicions were confirmed and the enormity of her discovery began to dawn upon her. If the evidence in front of her was to be believed then the part of the worm’s brain that told it how to behave was the same as that found in rats – its natural host – and also in humans – its accidental one. She reached for a pad and pencil and began to write:

  Rats swallow worm eggs (toxoplasma gondii) from the soil. The worms hatch out inside them.

  The worms need their natural hosts (rats) to be eaten by cats so that they can complete their life cycle.

  SO

  The worms travel to the rat’s brain.

  The worms replace the rat’s impulse translator with their own.

  The rat now begins to think like the worm and the worm’s desires become its own.

  SO

  The rat starts to think that it wants its body to be eaten by a cat so that the worm can continue its life cycle.

  SO

  The rat loses all fear of death. It actively seeks out cats and allows itself to be attacked and eaten.

  The rat commits suicide, the worm is also eaten by the cat and thus is able to complete the final phase of its life cycle.

  Alya sat back in her chair and chewed on the end of her pencil. So far so good. But what about the human connection? She carefully ripped the first sheet of paper from the pad, put it to one side and began to write again on a fresh sheet.

  Parasitic worms (toxoplasma gondii) often end up inside a human host. (more by accident than by design?) Corresponding structure of impulse translators suggests worm’s desires can also be communicated to human subject.

  Alya read through what she had written and tapped the pencil rhythmically on the tabletop as she considered all the facts. Then she wrote underneath in capital letters:

  1. WORMS CAN ALTER HUMAN BEHAVIOUR BY SUBSTITUTING THEIR OWN THOUGHT PATTERNS

  2. THE VERMIAN EMPIRE DESIRES FOR ALL HUMAN LIFE ON EARTH TO BE EXTINGUISHED

  THEREFORE

  3. IF WORM’S THOUGHT PATTERNS CAN BE REPLACED WITH THOUGHT PATTERNS OF VERMIAN EMPIRE, THESE WILL THEN BECOME THOUGHT PATTERNS OF INFECTED HUMANS

  SO

  4. INFECTED HUMANS CAN BE MADE TO EXTINGUISH ALL HUMAN LIFE ON EARTH

  Alya sat and stared, unblinking, at the piece of paper in front of her for a long, long time. Krazni had hinted at a possible connection, but she was still stunned both by the speed with which she had been able to reach her conclusions and the consequences that would surely follow from their discovery.

  Minutes ticked past as she read and reread her notes, trying to find some flaw in her logic.

  But there was none. The science itself might in many ways be complex, but the facts themselves were simple and stark.

  All it would take would be a slight reprogramming of the impulse translators and these tiny, seemingly insignificant worms could be used to turn a human being into a potential destroyer of its own race.

  Gathering her papers together, Alya pushed them into the smart leather briefcase bought with the money saved from her first pay cheque and – taking care to lock the door behind her – walked quickly along the corridor towards Doctor Jancy’s office, her black shoes clacking loudly on the polished white tiles and her heart fluttering like a moth that has found a flame.

  It was difficult not to feel nervous in such exalted company, despite the fact that – with one exception – she had met these people before.

  But this was the first time Alya had been invited to the Emperor’s palace.

  As she looked around the room at the crystal chandeliers and the paintings depicting scenes from the Vahlzian war, she felt her stomach flip as though she were standing on the edge of a very high cliff. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sat up straight and felt the cold, smooth leather of the high-backed chair pressing against the thin material of her laboratory coat. A quick glance around the room confirmed that the meeting was mostly made up of the same people who had quizzed her about the ants last month.

  There was General Martock at one end of the table – still rather red in the face from the effort of walking from the lift to the chamber. Doctor Jancy was seated on her left, fidgeting with his papers and Lieutenant Reisner – Leader of Earth-Based Ant Squadrons – sat opposite him, looking as though he had just been unpacked from his box. His white teeth gleamed and each little button on his perfectly creased uniform shone like a tiny golden sun.

  Next to him was Field Marshal Stanzun – Overall Commander of Land and Air Forces – impatiently drumming the tips of his weathered brown fingers on the table top.

  And then there was Krazni, Head of Intelligence and Security.

  Alya knew, without needing to look, that Krazni was watching her right now, just as he had done when she had first entered the room. She could feel his hard green eyes staring into her soul, peering at the secret places she kept locked inside of herself.

  Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to remain calm. What was the matter with her? She had nothing to hide. She was here to give these people what they had been looking for. There was nothing to be afraid of. She was on the verge of the biggest triumph of her young life!

  And yet, as she glanced up and saw the thin, joyless smile below the eyes that persistently studied her, she found herself unable to hold Krazni’s gaze.

  Looking quickly away towards the head of the table, she found herself staring instead at the one person who had not been present at the previous meeting.

  The Emperor Odoursin.

  Alya felt her unease swell and burst into a thousand electrically charged butterflies which flew trembling to the tips of her fingers and toes. But woven into her discomfort was something else too; a brighter, richer feeling which hummed through her like honeybees on a hot afternoon. And as she looked across at the Emperor of her adopted country sitting only metres away from her, she remembered how she had once been an orphan, a faceless non-person, abandoned in the ruins of another life.
>
  And now here she was, sharing a table with the most powerful man in Aurobon.

  She realised then that what she felt was something she had never experienced before in her life.

  It was pride.

  ‘Welcome, everyone,’ said Odoursin. ‘Welcome to this Extraordinary Session of the Security Council.’ He squeezed his hands tightly together and Alya could see the knuckles straining against the skin, like small white maggots poised to break out of their pupae. As he turned his blanched, drum-tight face towards Martock, Alya could hear the laboured rattle of air as he sucked it down into his fire-damaged lungs.

  ‘Perhaps, General Martock, you would like to start proceedings?’

  Martock inclined his head deferentially towards Odoursin and then raised it again to look at the other members seated around the table.

  ‘The reason we are all gathered together,’ he said in slow, dramatic tones, ‘is to listen to some remarkable developments that will assist us in our campaign to destroy the human inhabitants of Earth.’

  His eyes swept around the assembled company, gratified by the unguarded looks of surprise that suddenly appeared upon several faces.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ he went on. ‘As you know, a few years ago we discovered a virus with the potential to eliminate human life on Earth. Unfortunately, Vahlzian forces destroyed all stocks of it. Since then, the search for a new virus has proved fruitless. However, it seems that we may have come up with a new and altogether more effective solution. But that is enough from me. Let me hand over to the expert in these matters, who will fill you in on the details.’

  He smiled and raised his bushy eyebrows expectantly. ‘Miss Blin, if you would be so kind?’

  Alya felt her face flush as the attention of the group turned upon her, but all the years of work and her passion for the subject began to calm her nervousness and she felt the desire to share her knowledge begin to override her natural disquiet.

  Wiping the moisture from her palms on the sides of her coat, she pushed her chair back, stood up and looked around at the expectant faces that had now turned towards her in anticipation of what was to come.