by Neal Asher
Uncomprehending, the giant whelk watched as a glassy hill of sea rolled towards her, then some buried instinct had her sucking back in her eyes, and bunching together her tentacles. The wave, carrying less momentum now than when it had struck the Sable Keech, picked her up like flotsam and tumbled her away from the island. Brief chaos ensued, then, drifting below the surface, the whelk unknotted her tentacles, extruded her eyes again, sucked in some of the offending water. Strange flavours tantalized her taste buds, and she decided immediately to track back this phenomenon to its source. Anything rather than return to her previous plodding and thoughtless existence.
15
Rhinoworm:
symbiosis, parasitism and mutualism being a feature of Spatterjay’s fauna, it is unsurprising that the rhinoworm’s life cycle begins this way. Its eggs are laid upon the stalks of the sea lily, where they inject tubules to feed upon the lily sap and thus grow. This stimulates the lily to bloom, attracting the lung birds that pollinate them. On lily sap the egg grows to the size of a football, and out of this hatches the four-limbed juvenile rhinoworm. Hatching takes place at the precise time when the lily is producing its seed pods, which, being high in protein, are much relished by many varieties of herbivorous heirodonts. Now the lily benefits from the presence of tens of thousands of voracious rhinoworms attacking any other creature in the island shallows in which it flourishes. The worms utterly denude the surrounding area and, as they begin to lose their limbs and change into the adult form, turn cannibalistic. Only 10 per cent of their original population will leave the area as adults. Rhinoworms have four sexes—three separate ‘males’ contributing three quarters of the genome to the one quarter in the female egg. Only one other life form on this world uses the same reproductive method, but no kindred spirit results, since rhinoworms are the main diet of that other arm: Spatterjay’s famous sails—
Erlin dragged herself to her feet and glanced around with some relief. The tanks had been well anchored, and—though having spilled much of their liquid contents across the floor, to mix with everything that had come in when the sea smashed through the side doors—only two of her reifs had been tossed out of them. Wading through ankle-deep water, which was swiftly draining into scuppers all around the edge of the room, she approached the first of the ejections and, not bothering to bring across the ceiling lift, untangled the various connections to his body, then picked him up and lowered him back into his tank, which was still a third full of amniot. She did the same with the second one, noting how real blood was seeping from splits caused by his recent violent departure from his tank. Then, seeing that the tank amniot levels were automatically being topped up, she began checking readouts.
To say they would survive was not entirely accurate since they were dead. But their trauma had in no way halted or even slowed the work of their nanofactories. There was something else, though: she felt a tingling soreness where the sea water from outside had soaked her. It was caused by the vicious plankton of Spatterjay, and any of the tanks that had taken in some of the incursion of sea water would now be contaminated with it. She definitely needed to do something about that, or the work of the nanofactories would be undone as the reifs themselves served as a food source for the plankton. Quickly she returned to the wreckage of her work area, found a pack of soluble tablets of a sterilizing enzyme, and dropped one in each of the twenty-two tanks currently in use. This stuff might damage the reifs, but that damage would be limited and swiftly repaired by the nanites already working in their bodies, and it would certainly kill the plankton. She then checked the readouts on the remaining twenty tanks, plugging back in a few loose sensors, but that was all she needed to do until she came to Aesop and Bones, who were safely strapped to restraint tables.
Inspecting the screens that kept her informed of the condition of the two, she realized that whatever the problem was here, it had nothing to do with the sudden storm. Both screens were scrolling what seemed the kind of formulae in which runcible technicians and AIs dabbled. She shut down Aesop’s screen, plugged in her own laptop, and sent in a diagnostic check to be sure the optic plug in the reif’s hardware had not pulled loose. It was seated firm. Turning the screen back on, she glimpsed the usual diagnostics a reif would access, before it clicked back to scrolling formulae. Erlin left it alone. She felt no great responsibility to these two, and she needed to find out what was going on outside.
‘Wow, now that’s what I call a ride!’ said Janer, who had obviously been heading for the Tank Room just as she stepped out of it. The Golem, Isis Wade, accompanied him.
‘What was that?’ Erlin asked.
‘A tsunami,’ explained Wade.
Erlin stared at him for a moment, then enquired acerbically, ‘Could you elaborate on that?’
‘According to one of the Warden’s subminds, the tsunami was caused by a kinetic missile fired down into Nort Sea from a Prador warship in orbit above us. I’m getting no more detail than that. It seems they’re quite busy up there.’
Erlin turned to Janer. ‘Why am I not surprised about that?’
Janer merely shrugged.
* * * *
‘You all right, lad?’ Ambel asked.
Pillow was looking particularly peeved, and it took the Captain a moment to realize the reason for this: the junior had lost some of his facial jewellery when he bounced down the length of the deck and slammed into the stern rail. But for a Hooper the rips in his face were minor injuries, and closing up already. Peck’s arm was broken, however, and Ambel saw the mechanic straighten it out with a crunch, then hold it taut while Anne splinted it. Peck, being an old Hooper, would only require use of the splint for a few hours.
There were other minor injuries amidst the human crew, but they had been lucky—Ambel counted heads—that none of them had gone over the side. Now he looked up and wondered if Galegrabber had survived while grabbing this particular gale, for the sail was now nowhere in sight.
‘Any sign?’ he called up to Boris, who was surveying die surrounding ocean through binoculars.
‘Not of the sails,’ Boris replied. ‘But the Moby is still afloat. They must have got their cables off the sargassum in time.’
Ambel nodded, turning to the rest of the crew, who were now mostly wandering around the deck in a daze. Their reaction was understandable—none having ever experienced weather quite that heavy, nor needed to cling onto a deck that was pitched near vertical. But this disorientation of theirs had gone on long enough.
‘All right, lads!’ he bellowed. ‘You three—Pillow, Davy-bronte and Sprout—I want the pumps up on deck and working right now. The rest of you, get down below and sort out the mess. Get everything that needs drying out up here hung on lines. Peck, I want you down below checking the racks and cogs. If Galegrabber comes back any time soon, I want everything ready and working. Take some hands with you, if you need them. Anne, I want a hull check, stem to stern—don’t miss a plank.’ They all stared at him, still a little bewildered. He clapped his hands together with sounds like gun shots, and began striding along the deck. ‘Come on, this isn’t a bloody holiday cruise! Move your arses!’ Crew members scrambled in every direction, but some still hadn’t realized he meant what he said. ‘Pillow, what are you gaping at! I see no pumps up here!’
‘But, Captain—’
Ambel picked him up by the scruff of the neck and threw him towards the nearest open hatch. Pillow hit the edge, then tumbled down inside, letting out a yell as he hit the deck below.
‘Any more questions?’ Ambel demanded.
There were none.
Over the ensuing hours, his crew pumped hundreds of gallons of sea water out of the bowels of the ship. Lines tied between the masts were loaded with soaked clothing and bedding. All this occurred to the sound of Anne’s tap-tapping as she checked the hull’s planking, and the constant clanging and occasional ‘Buggering buggered up bugger’ as Peck set about replacing one of the mast cogs which had sheared off all its teeth. Most tasks were completed by
the time evening began to descend, and Boris set about lighting the recently replaced lanterns all around the deck. Ambel, who had just applied his Captain’s strength to the task of removing a stubborn cog from its shaft, came out on deck to see the Moby heading towards them, towed by its ship’s boat, which was rowed by Drum alone.
When the other Captain came within hailing distance, he called out, ‘I’ll be coming along with you!’
‘Why’s that?’ Ambel asked.
‘Out that way, the way you’re heading.’ He pointed. ‘Sprage tells me that’s where the spaceship is. Probably in the Lamarck Trench.’
‘Spaceship?’
‘Vrell’s—that bastard Prador.’
‘I see,’ said Ambel. ‘It caused this?’
‘Nope, seems the other spaceship did that,’ Drum replied.
‘Uh?’ was Ambel’s response.
Drum explained what he had learnt from Sprage about Vrell, and about the new spaceship above them, and what it had already done and might yet do. Even more so now, Ambel wanted to get to Erlin. He was grateful when, in the morning, a bedraggled Galegrabber and the Moby’s sail returned, with muttered curses, to occupy their masts.
* * * *
It took Janer a moment to recognize the vicious drumming sound. Clutching a glass of a more refined version of seacane rum than he was accustomed to, he stepped out of the bar area recently opened on the first level of the stern deckhouse. Glancing to one side, he noted some of Bloc’s Kladites—probably set to watch those frequenting the bar—now peering over the side. He moved to the rail to take a look himself, then halted. There was something sitting on the rail.
It looked like a partially plucked crow that someone had nailed in place because it had been dead for a week or more. Then it turned its head and regarded him with pink, blind-looking eyes, before honking loudly and winging raggedly away. It left behind it the stink of decay.
‘Lung bird,’ explained Ron, stepping up beside him.
‘I know what it was,’ Janer muttered.
‘We’ll have to get off here soon, before things get too hectic,’ Ron added.
‘Hectic?’ Janer queried. ‘Because of lung birds?’
Ron led the way to the rail and pointed a thumb downwards. ‘No… them.’
Janer peered over the side to see one of the hull laser turrets swinging back into its hold position. Pieces of some pink anguine form thrashed, still steaming, in the sea, then a shoal of leeches dragged them down. Janer squinted, puzzled, sure that he had seen a limb amongst those remains, yet the swarming creatures were rhinoworms, which were limbless. Further along, he saw another laser turret fire, then distantly he heard one from the other side of the ship.
Ron pointed out towards the lily-like plants all around the ship. ‘Breeding area, that. There’ll be thousands of the leggy buggers.’ He took his comlink from his pocket and spoke into it. ‘How we doin’ there, John?’
From the link a tired voice replied, ‘I will get it, but I can’t give you any estimate on the time. The programming is rather convoluted.’
‘Okay, keep at it.’
Ron put the link away, then seeing Janer’s querying expression said, ‘Bloc is behaving very strangely and being stupidly uncooperative. He’s refused to give us access to the ship’s computer systems, even though that’ll get us out of this mess. Maybe he’s frightened to hand over any further control.’
‘And why would access to the ship’s computer systems help?’ asked Isis Wade, who had just joined them.
It had been Wade who had kicked in the door and suggested rather loudly that here were facilities it seemed a shame not to use. He also served the first drinks, before starting up a metalskin barman that had been stored under the bar. The place had become a regular watering hole for Hoopers just coming off-shift from clearing up the mess below—there had been little damage to the hull itself, much to Captain Ron’s surprise.
Ron glanced at the Golem. ‘As you know, there’s more to this ship than Windcheater would be happy about. Now, that John Styx is a clever one, knows more coms coding and programming than probably even you, Wade. He used to do that stuff on Klader before the Polity AIs got there, and before he fell off a mountain… So he tells me.’
‘And the relevance?’ Wade asked.
Ron gestured down the entire length of the Sable Keech. ‘Only the front half is grounded on the bottom. Once Styx cracks Bloc’s codes, we should be able to start the engines in reverse, and maybe that’ll pull us back into deep water.’
‘Engines,’ said Janer, nodding. Other Hoopers had already speculated that might be what was concealed under the enormous sealed housing forward of the rudder hydraulics. ‘What sort of engines?’
‘The usual kind—does it matter?’ Ron then downed a large slug of rum before heading back into the bar.
Isis Wade followed the Captain, but Janer stayed observing the two organic sails, Huff and Puff, winging out over the sea. He watched them for a moment, then gazed up ahead into the rigging. All the fabric sails were reefed and everything above appeared skeletal. The Golem sail, Zephyr, stood motionless like some folded piece of iron equipment affixed on a spar. Janer patted his hand against the gun concealed under his jacket, and considered the dangerous game Isis Wade was playing. Should he allow it to continue? He lowered his hand; any intervention might be provocative in the present uneasy circumstances. Better instead to wait and watch. He returned his attention to the sea, and watched Puff scoop up a great spaghetti tangle of writhing pink shapes. Then he glanced down again and saw a man-length rhinoworm, with thin newt-like limbs, attempt to climb the hull, before being lasered into smoking segments. He supposed he should not be surprised that this world had yet to reveal to him all its teeth.
Returning inside, Janer observed the small group of Kladites now sitting around a table—probably positioned there to note down the identities of those who were breaking the curfew Bloc had tried to impose. No one had been punished as yet, so perhaps Bloc was wary of upsetting the uneasy truce for the moment. Like the other reifs scattered around the room, the Kladites sipped through straws pure ethanol drinks to complement the balm inside them. He had seen Sable Keech do the same, ten years ago, and wondered if they too possessed the facility to feel or emulate inebriation. He walked past that table and went over to stand with Erlin, Ron and Wade.
‘I just saw a rhinoworm with legs,’ he commented.
Erlin turned to him. ‘The juvenile form. They grow up in island nurseries, like this one surrounding us, and lose their legs as they go fully pelagic.’
‘They’re going to give us trouble,’ Janer stated.
‘They don’t mind snacking on each other,’ said Ron. ‘Our problem is that every time those autolasers hit one, its remains attract even more.’
‘Will there be many of them here?’ Janer asked.
Erlin replied, ‘The adults gather in places like this en masse, and each one lays tens of thousands of eggs under the leaves or on the stalks of those plants you see out there. There’s probably millions of juvenile rhinoworms around this island.’
‘There’s always the thought to consider that we might be better off somewhere ashore,’ Janer said, passing his glass back to the barman—the metalskin android was fashioned in blued metal with a flattened ovoid head and scanning red eyes. It looked like a prill mounted on the neck of a humanoid body.
‘You did notice that they’ve got legs?’ said Erlin dryly.
‘Yeah, but I wasn’t thinking about that. What if that Prador captain above us decides to ignore the Warden and continue its bombardment?’ The Warden had lately updated them on recent events. ‘How many more of those waves can this ship endure?’
‘And where would we go, once we’re ashore?’ asked Ron.
Janer thought about that for a moment: the devastation visible over the island, the steam rising from the caldera somewhere behind the highest point on the island.
‘Okay, dumb idea, I guess,’ he allowed.
‘Ah, that’s it.’ Ron took out his comlink and strode to the door. Janer, Erlin and Wade followed the Captain, and this caused a general exodus from the bar. The racket originated from the sea below, so everyone moved to the rail to look over. Janer was expecting to witness some massed attack from leggy rhinoworms, but what he saw was the sea boiling towards the stern, just forward of the rudder. Large chips of wood kept bobbing to the surface amidst a spreading slick of sawdust.
‘Is that supposed to happen?’ asked Erlin. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it such a good idea to make holes in the hull.’
Wade explained for her. ‘The propellers are made of case-hardened ceramal. They’re mounted on telescopic shafts housed in watertight compartments inside the hull. When activated, they just bore their own way out through the hull. A concealed engine Windcheater could make no objection to, but evident propellers would be a little too much.’
‘How did you know all this?’ Erlin gazed at Ron, Wade and Janer in turn.
Janer shrugged. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Styx broke into the ship’s concealed plan a while ago,’ said Ron. ‘It’s just the control codes we’ve been after, since.’