by Gary Gibson
They started moving in the direction of the cave entrance. Honeydew’s own security squad had already secured the gun platforms, and twitched their wings in greeting as they drew nearer.
‘Any other fascinating little tidbits I should know?’ asked Remembrance.
‘Just be aware that it’s very, very easy to upset a maul-worm.’
Moist, warm air filtered out through the mouth of the cave before getting drawn back in. ‘And what if Bourdain resists arrest?’ Remembrance asked in an appalled tone. ‘Just give up because this . . . worm might eat us? What kind of lunatic would ever enter such a place?’
‘Someone with a distinctly jaded palate, I should say. You really might have avoided all this if you’d just let us know what you were up to.’
The cave’s interior was unpleasantly warm and dank. ‘There’s no other way out of here, am I right?’
Honeydew merely nodded in affirmation.
‘Then he’ll risk death by resisting arrest. Frankly, I can think of a lot of ways I’d rather go.’
‘Maybe he would rather die than be taken back to the Consortium.’
‘Bourdain?’ Remembrance clicked in amusement. ‘That’s unlikely. I’ve dealt with him in the past, and I know he’s not nearly that brave.’
Remembrance had indeed spent some time undercover on Bourdain’s Rock, posing as a black marketeer. He’d managed to gather damning evidence – but then the Rock itself had been destroyed, along with much of his evidence, and Bourdain himself had fled to Bandati-controlled space.
‘Yet brave enough to set foot in here.’
‘Bravery doesn’t come into it. I’ve been in human establishments called mog parlours that aren’t so different. They’re the kind of places where the clientele never talk about what or who they’ve seen and heard. If we were ever going to track down Bourdain, it was always going to be in someplace like this.’
They had paused for a few moments before properly entering, but now, as if by some unspoken mutual decision, they walked determinedly further inside the cave. Remembrance let Honey dew take the lead, having been here before. The very thought gave him a pang of disgust, even though he knew the security agent must have had perfectly legitimate reasons for doing so.
As Remembrance brushed against something soft, there was a squeak and several small, pale, winged bodies batted past him in squawking confusion. He looked up and around in the deepening gloom and spied dozens of pairs of tiny, glowing eyes winking all around them. He then turned and looked behind him to see the cave entrance was now visible only as a pale oval of light, and seemed impossibly far away.
He fluttered his wings experimentally and the sound of them returned to him eerily from distant unseen walls. His eyes, however, were beginning to adjust, so he could now see pale, leafy growths twined around extendable metal poles ahead, reaching upwards into murky gloom. There were more poles looming further into the darkness ahead.
They soon approached a thick, rubbery ridge that ran across the cave floor directly in front of them, immediately before the first of the line of poles. The ridge continued up the cave walls on either side of them before presumably meeting far overhead, at some point Remembrance couldn’t discern in the gloom.
Beyond this low ridge, the walls and floor of the cave took on a smooth, organic texture, and were coloured a pale milky-grey. At this point, closer inspection revealed a series of stubby cones running in two parallel lines and continuing all the way up either side of the cave.
It took a moment for Remembrance to register that these were teeth.
‘In case you were wondering,’ Honeydew commented, ‘those poles are to help prop its mouth open.’
‘And if the worm decided to close it?’
‘Then they wouldn’t make much difference, I’m afraid, as they’re there for show more than anything – a way of reassuring the clientele.’
I am entering the gullet of a monster, Remembrance thought, then firmly suppressed the terror that had begun to grow in him the farther they got away from the light of day.
I am Remembrance of Things Past, Queen’s Consort, and Most Favoured of the Court of Darkening Skies. Therefore I will not succumb to base panic.
The delicious scent of rotting meat, carried on a slow exhalation of warm air, made him suddenly feel hungry despite his disquiet.
They passed over and beyond the stubby rows of teeth and, further inside, Remembrance could see how closely the flesh of the maul-worm adhered to the interior surface wall of the cave. Light was provided by a series of glow-globes atop yet more metal poles reaching up to just under the ceiling of the maul-worm’s gullet, while others still had been placed in special recesses along the many turns and twists of the cave passage, in order to better illuminate their path. Shadows grew to massive proportions, before shrinking just as quickly, as small, unidentifiable creatures constantly darted through this artificial light.
Remembrance glanced down at the soft, moist surface upon which he and Honey dew trod. I am walking on something’s tongue, he reflected. I am walking deeper into something’s throat, I am—
He slammed down on this train of thought and concentrated instead on what lay ahead. Honeydew moved on blithely, apparently unaware of Remembrance’s growing agitation, though Remembrance knew that in reality the Immortal Light agent was keeping a close eye on him.
They came eventually to a vast interior space so different from the innocuous mountainside behind them that they might as well have arrived on another world entirely. More glow-globes, positioned far overhead, cast light across the pale ridged flesh of the worm’s innards. Directly in front of the two Bandati was a low platform, on which stood a couple of dining tables with chairs, the nearest of which was unoccupied. The air was filled with music: soft, rhythmic, ambient Bandati throat-clicks that echoed throughout the cavernous space.
‘You know, Bourdain might have friends here, friends we don’t expect,’ Honeydew mentioned casually, glancing around. ‘Perhaps we should pull back, and wait him out. I could set some of my personal security team to—’
Remembrance tugged his companion to a halt. ‘Is there some reason you don’t want to be here, or are you just determined to get in my way?’
‘I’m just telling you that you have nobody but yourself to blame if things turn out badly. You broke the rules, Remembrance, and there’s a good reason those rules are in place.’
‘I take full responsibility for whatever happens.’ Remembrance then spotted the food-preparation area, a brightly lit cluster of cooking facilities at the far end of the platform, partly hidden behind several folding screens, which were also used to divide the platform into more intimate sections.
‘Does anyone in here have any idea what’s going on outside?’ Remembrance asked, peering into the unsettling darkness that extended beyond the platform, even deeper within the worm’s gullet.
‘I don’t think so, as we’re blocking any and all transmissions in or out of this place, and we’ve only just arrived. Besides, it doesn’t sound like anyone’s panicking yet, does it?’
Remembrance heard some distinctive Bandati clicking noises from somewhere nearby, and the sound of sizzling accompanied by the aroma of human cuisine. The smell of it made him queasy. ‘Not yet, no.’
He moved tangentially until he was able to see past a folding screen to where some cloud-cow carcasses had been artfully laid out on a ring-shaped table, from the centre of which rose a column perhaps five metres in height. Unaware that royal agents were presently observing them, several Bandati clung to the column. Remembrance stared in horror as one of them extended a long, proboscis-like tongue into the sweet-smelling offal. He looked away, unable to bear the sight, and filled with disgust at witnessing such a private and degrading activity.
Unsurprisingly, the area reserved for the restaurant’s human clientele was positioned as far away from the Bandati customers as possible, and several more folding screens shielded them from view. From where he now stood, Remembra
nce couldn’t see whether Bourdain – or indeed anyone else – was seated on the far side of those screens.
A small, pale-winged creature came gliding past one of the glow-globes just as Remembrance saw something long and tendrillike reach down from the dimly seen ceiling like a fleshy whip. It snatched the winged creature, which suddenly disappeared upwards with a frenzied squeak.
A moment later he heard the snapping of bones, and the squeaking terminated.
A human with a mask pulled down over his mouth and nose emerged from behind the screens concealing the kitchen area, and began pushing a barrow towards the Bandati hanging from their perches around the central pillar. The wheel of the barrow was heavily padded, and the man pushing it was proceeding remarkably slowly, and with entirely understandable care. Even so, the barrow bumped up and down noticeably as it rolled across the widely-spaced slats of the platform, exposed sections of the monster’s gullet visible in-between.
Another human, wearing a multicoloured floor-length gown, his long hair fashionably braided and coiled in the style of the Martyrs of the Io Rebellion, came tiptoeing out from behind the same kitchen screens, wringing his hands in a gesture of extreme concern. Slowly and carefully, he began to make his way towards Remembrance and Honeydew.
‘Victor Charette,’ Honeydew quietly clicked in Remembrance’s ear. ‘He’s the manager here.’
‘Who would want to manage a place like this?’
‘Someone who will retire rich from his efforts on behalf of the restaurant’s owners,’ Honeydew clicked in response. ‘Of whom Alexander Bourdain is one,’ he added. ‘I’ve dealt with Charette before, so I’m going to have to ask you to keep your interpreter switched off while I talk to him. He’s not going to tell us anything if he thinks you’re listening in.’
In fact, Charette ignored Remembrance altogether, focusing his attention on Honeydew. Remembrance watched as the Immortal Light agent activated his interpreter, the tiny, bead-like device hovering close to his mouth-parts changing from green to a softly glowing blue to indicate when it was active.
Human speech was still a mystery to Remembrance, largely because - in common with all other members of his species – he was physically incapable of speaking it. Human body language, however, was another matter altogether. That Charette was currently under stress was clear enough, and it was also obvious that he and Honeydew were acquainted.
Remembrance had already spent long, frustrating months on Ironbloom, finding his every attempt at locating Alexander Bourdain thwarted by bureaucracy and misinformation. It hadn’t taken long to develop an overwhelming suspicion that someone was helping Bourdain stay always one step ahead of him. And if Bourdain knew he was being chased, it was only a matter of time before he would board a convenient coreship out of the Night’s End system.
And to allow such a thing to happen would be to fail in his duty to his Queen.
And so, as Charette gestured animatedly and waggled his thick, meaty tongue and rubbery wet lips at Honeydew, Remembrance reached up and quietly switched on his own interpreter while their attention was still turned away from him.
As Honeydew spoke, his clicks were translated into an approximation of human speech. The bead was a field-suspended device that tracked the user’s movements, always maintaining a set distance. Sound didn’t carry very far in the soft and moist environment of the maul-worm’s gullet, but it wasn’t hard to guess why Honey-dew didn’t want Remembrance listening in.
‘. . . your voice down,’ Honey dew was saying, ‘unless you’re really in a mood to become a worm snack.’
‘You told me we were safe from raids!’ Charette snapped in a half-choked whisper. ‘And now you come in here armed. Tell me, what do you think will happen if those soldiers of yours come blundering in here? We’ll all die. You, me, them – everyone. Or do you just want to kill us all?’
‘We want you to evacuate slowly, and carefully, and do it now,’ said Remembrance. The Immortal Light agent glanced at him sharply, but Remembrance ignored him. ‘We’re only interested in Alexander Bourdain. So is he here?’
‘I don’t think either of you know what you’re getting into,’ Charette replied by way of an answer. ‘I—’
Sometimes, Remembrance had found, the best approach with members of the species Homo sapiens was the direct one. He reached down and took a firm, hard grip on Charette’s reproductive organs through the thin cloth of his gown. It was an approach, experience had taught him, that could generate remarkable levels of compliance.
‘We’re only here for Bourdain,’ Remembrance repeated, as Charette gasped and began to crumple. ‘Clear everyone out. I don’t care what kind of arrangement you have with Honey dew or Immortal Light, just get them out – except for Bourdain. Now.’
A choked sound emerged from Charette’s soft, pale throat. Remembrance twisted harder, and a moment later the restaurant manager was down on all fours on the sticky mat of the maul-worm’s tongue.
Remembrance stepped back, noticing the rest of the kitchen staff – all human – staring towards them in shock.
‘I meant now,’ Remembrance repeated. ‘Or I start asking very public questions about why some of your clientele appear to be Bandati. I’m assuming you’re aware of the punishment you would be facing if that became public?’
The barely-lit gloom of the worm’s interior served to the two agents’ advantage. Beyond the kitchens nearby, it didn’t appear this little contretemps with Charette had been noticed. Except in one place? Remembrance glimpsed a shadow move close behind one of the screens separating a part of the dining area he couldn’t see into. The shadow moved closer, revealing the outline of a cadaverous human skull, pressed up against the thin, semi-translucent material . . .
Remembrance froze, and the shadow moved quietly away, as if its owner realized he’d been spotted. However, the outline he’d glimpsed triggered memories of a fleeting encounter light-years away, and months in the past.
But that same person had been reported dead in a fire-fight aboard a coreship, not long after the destruction of Bourdain’s orbital pleasure palace.
Supposedly.
Charette’s breath had become coarse and ragged, and Remembrance wondered if he’d applied too much pressure, for judging the right amount was never easy. Yet after a few moments, the restaurant manager struggled upright, walking carefully back towards the kitchens without sparing either Remembrance or Honeydew a second glance, thereby retaining at least part of his dignity.
Some of the Bandati clientele had finally realized something was wrong. One or two had dropped down from their perches, and stood on spindly, furred legs, chittering nervously and staring over towards the two Hive agents now standing between them and freedom.
Remembrance ignored them for the moment and hugged his shotgun close to his chest, slipping the wire loop attached to its stock over his arm. Honeydew appeared uncertain for a moment, then did the same.
‘When was the last time a maul-worm actually killed anyone?’ he asked Honeydew, after they had started to make their way towards the cordoned-off area where he had glimpsed a face.
‘Two years ago,’ Honeydew replied, ‘halfway around the world from here. Thirteen died in all, not including any kitchen staff. Apparently they’d been tipped off beforehand.’
‘So it wasn’t just an accident?’
‘Officially, it’s because of a lack of appropriate security in an unsanctioned restaurant. Unofficially, someone fired a smart missile from right across the continent. It missed by half a kilometre, but it still triggered an avalanche bad enough to scare the maul-worm into contracting. This sort of business is a risky one to get into.’
They stepped around a sequence of screens and found Alexander Bourdain himself sitting with two human companions at one of several tables that were each large enough to accommodate a dozen seats. Only this one table was occupied, however. Bourdain’s companions – a man and woman – were seated directly across the table from him. Remembrance had encountered
them before, but even if he hadn’t had that pleasure he would still have recognized immediately that they had the careful, watchful look of hired guns.
The woman had deep ebony skin, her face surgically altered to look deliberately artificial and cartoon-like, in a style Remembrance recalled had been in vogue for a while within the Consortium. She was dressed in artificial skin, a thin, permeable body-suit more akin to a symbiote than any article of clothing. Her name, he recalled, was Rachel Kapur.
The other bodyguard, Tobias Mazower, was pale-skinned and much more conservative in appearance.
Something in the posture of all three caused Remembrance to suspect that his presence was not unanticipated. They appeared relaxed, and Bourdain even wore a small smile.
Remembrance glanced sideways at Honeydew and found himself staring down the barrel of the Immortal Light agent’s shotgun. In that moment, he realized his initial suspicions concerning the source of the security leak had been correct.
How long, Remembrance wondered, had Bourdain known he was the subject of a deep-cover investigation stretching over years and several star systems? I’ve spent too long around these creatures, he thought, with a tinge of self-loathing that disturbed him, for sometimes it felt as if he could read humans better than they could read each other. His time amongst them had at least granted him an appreciation of certain of the species’ arts, if not of anything else related to them.
Honeydew gestured towards the table with his shotgun. ‘Drop your weapon where I can see it,’ he demanded, and Remembrance was conscious of a simultaneous translation into human speech.
He ignored the request, keeping his shotgun trained on Bourdain.
‘Remembrance of Things Past,’ said Bourdain, extending his arms across the back of his chair. ‘It’s been a while, but maybe not long enough.’ He waved one desultory hand towards the weapon aimed at his chest. ‘I really don’t think that’s such a good idea in a place like this, do you?’