Mother raged as Duncan’s virus slowly consumed her She mourned the loss of every memory. She reached for skills she no longer possessed — and struck out with anger when she found them gone.
Mother fought for survival.
Her assault of brutal images and emotions didn’t stop. Maybe it was a steam valve for Mother’s anger. Maybe she was distracted by the virus and forgot to stop punishing them.
Tate didn’t know. She stopped caring.
It went on and on.
Time passed.
Until, finally, long after Tate had stopped hoping, stopped caring, some critical juncture was reached.
Mother began to recede. To become something — lesser. The images played before Tate’s eyes lost their edge. The pain in her muscles dulled. She found she could move her right pinky finger — and then her whole arm.
<
Tate didn’t recognize the voice in her head at first. Then she remembered. Yago. Right. With a gigantic effort, she heaved her body up out of the chair. Her knees crumpled. She landed in a pile on the floor
She felt bad. Very bad. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her head was pounding. She was tired.
She was confused. She had to — what? Do something …
<
Tate lifted her head to look. The enormous pyramidal structure of the elevator was covered in dirty webs. Tate squinted with effort. “It’s okay,” she whispered weakly. “I don’t see them.
They’re not in the webs.”
She remembered now. Amelia, Charlie, Duncan. They were turning into huge bugs. Or something. They wanted to - recycle her cells.
<
Beneath the hole in the web there was a trail. Something like the slimy trail snails leave behind — only this trail was smoking. Like a trail of acid.
<
she whispered.
<
“I — I’m not sure, but I think they went that-away.”
<
And then Tate was running, trying to run. Fleeing. Panicked.
<
Tate’s ill-used body was clumsy. She stumbled at first. But fear helped her coordination.
Soon she was flying across the basement, heading toward the same spot on the wall where Yago had found her. Maybe. She thought she was heading that way, but it was difficult to tell.
There weren’t enough landmarks.
Her footsteps echoed in the eerily empty ship.
Her eyes strained for some sign of trouble.
Nothing, nothing — the slime trail didn’t go this way. That meant they were safe. It had to mean the Troika was somewhere else.
Only…
Something was wrong.
“Do you smell that?” Tate panted.
<
matches.>>
“Something burning.” Tate slowed down, her heart thumping painfully.
She looked up.
CHAPTER 7
<
“What the—”
Tate’s mind whirled, collecting data. The smell was stronger now. Something like smoldering plastic. She studied the weird stuff for another long moment. Had one of the Troika left this stuff behind? Had they turned into giant slugs? Then — a flash of movement…
She bolted!
<
Tate didn’t bother to answer She just wanted to get away. She’d run only another few yards when something dropped on her head. A searing pain. The smell of burning hair. Tate beat at the spot with her hands, desperate to get whatever it was off her. Her hair was on fire!
Another drop fell.
This one hit her shoe. She watched the nylon smoke, felt a dull pain on the top of her foot.
She made a fast move to the left.
Another drop.
It hit her shoe precisely on top of the hole left by the last one. The pain on her foot increased tenfold. Smoke was rising from the perfectly circular hole in her shoe.
“Stop it!” she yelled hysterically. Why did the drops keep hitting her? Were they aiming for her?
Tate laughed nervously. She was getting paranoid.
Off in front of her a spattering of drops fell. She relaxed a bit. Those had missed her. They weren’t aiming for her. But then Tate got closer and saw the drops formed a pattern on the floor. They formed … letters.
She could just make them out. They said —
WE’RE GOING TO GET YOU.
Tate stifled a scream. “That’s the Troika. That, that slime.”
<
She turned left, right — unsure of what to do next. “Yago. help me….” she whimpered.
<
A great glob of the stuff was dripping off the ceiling. It fell to the floor and began to move sinuously to form a circle around Tate. The floor smoked wherever the slime touched it. The smell was acrid, awful. The pain in Tate’s head and on her foot was intensifying. If that big glob touched her —
<
she whispered. “I’ll get burned.”
<
No. Not to Tate it wasn’t. The pain in her foot was unbelievable. She couldn’t live with those burns all over her body. No, she was staying right where she was.
Inside her head, Yago began to scream.
Amelia knew she should hurry.
Tate was the only living thing left on the ship — who knew where that rat Yago had gotten to? — and she wanted to recycle her before Charlie and Duncan finished programming Mother and came looking for her.
Amelia calculated she had only .000072 marks before they finished. Not much time.
Still… she hesitated.
Maybe that wasn’t so odd. Tate was to be her last meal during the long voyage to Attbi that lay ahead. More than 340 million light-years. Even with Mother’s excellent navigation system and powerful engines, it would be a long fast. What was so odd about taking a few moments to savor the anticipation of her last meal?
Only — Amelia found this difficult to admit but her new incarnation didn’t allow for any self-delusion — that wasn’t the only reason she was hesitating.
She couldn’t ignore the fact that Tate very well might be the last human alive. Surely the ones abandoned on the planet had perished of thirst by now. And Yago — well, Amelia’s suspicion was that Charlie had hunted him down against her orders. The Troika itself certainly couldn’t be considered human anymore.
That left Tate. The last of the home team, Amelia’s team. A wave of nostalgia hit Amelia hard — being human had been wonderful. They were the best species ever.
When. Amelia fought to get a grip. In this new form, her emotions were oversized, difficult to control, engulfing. She was going to have to be careful.
Time for that snack. Amelia made herself into a smaller circle, drawing frightened wails from Tate. Tate drew herself in, made herself small. Hands to her chest, head tucked down. It was pitiful.
Amelia slowly widened the circle again. Maybe she should keep Tate alive. Something to remind her of where she came from. She could heal up the burn wounds on her head, her foot.
Charli
e could build a cage. Mother could synthesize some food and water. Pizza maybe …
Bad idea, Amelia decided swiftly. Having Tate around would be too depressing. Amelia couldn’t lie to herself— even if she wanted to — she’d be jealous if Tate were around.
Humans were just better-looking than … whatever it was Amelia had become.
Of course, Amelia was superior Smarter. More evolved. She could change forms at will. She didn’t have to look like a puddle of snot if she didn’t want to. She could look like a model, if she wanted to. She just needed to learn how to control her cells. All she needed was practice.
So practice, Amelia told herself, making herself ignore the disgust she felt. She twisted her cells, forcing them to take on the form of Tate’s face.
Oh, Tate’s reaction was hilarious! She was so surprised, so — horrified. Just for kicks, Amelia mimicked her scared look — mouth open, eyes wide.
Tate turned away. Hid her face.
That wouldn’t do! A wave of anger engulfed Amelia. She twisted her cells again so they now resembled a hand. She reached out and touched Tate’s cheek.
Tate screamed.
An angry red welt was forming on Tate’s cheek. Ouch. Looked painful.
Amelia was overcome by remorse. She hadn’t meant to hurt Tate, she thought bitterly as she dropped back into the form of a circle. She wasn’t a monster.
Or was she?
I am a monster, Amelia thought sadly. I’m — I’m ugly. Smart was nice as far as it went —
but Amelia wanted to be beautiful again. She wanted to be human again. She wanted hair and teeth and arms and legs.
Oh, well. Amelia was too smart, too evolved to waste time wishing for something she could never have. She’d spent enough time feeling sorry for herself. Once she ate Tate, she could forget about humans. It would be as if they’d never existed.
Amelia constricted the circle.
She tried to ignore Tate’s reaction. She wanted to close her eyes — but she no longer had eyes to close. Data streamed into her brain from a million receptors.
Tate screamed. She made a clumsy attempt to jump over the circle Amelia had formed.
Tate’s legs twitched. She yanked herself back into the middle of the circle. “Stop it!” she yelled. “I’m not going through that, that slime!” Tate’s legs twitched oddly — as if she were possessed.
Or —
Maybe not possessed.
Amelia’s curiosity was even bigger than her hunger.
“Yago, quit!” Tate yelled.
Amelia understood now. Yago was somehow living inside Tate. Even more interesting, he seemed to have some control over her body.
Tate was the Mouth.
Yes. It made sense. Yago had gone to fetch Tate for recycling and she’d devoured him.
That’s why he’d suddenly disappeared. Only he wasn’t really dead. He was alive somehow inside Tate.
Amelia was struck by a sudden, wonderful, desperate idea.
She had to get Tate.
If that fool Yago could gain some control over Tate’s body, Amelia figured she should have no trouble taking over entirely. She would be human again. She wouldn’t have to be a monster anymore.
CHAPTER 8
<
Go Mouth, Amelia silently urged Tate.
She waited. But Tate just stood in the center of the Amelia-circle, protectively cradling her burned cheek and letting out pitiful little pain noises.
Encouragement, Amelia decided. That’s what she needs.
Amelia turned into a sword shape and poked at Tate’s belly, being careful not to get close enough to burn her.
Tate shrank away. No Mouth.
Amelia stretched herself out very thin, forming a shallow lake that covered the floor all around Tate. Now Tate couldn’t move an inch without burning her feet.
Tate froze in horror and murmured something too low for Amelia to hear. No Mouth.
The new Amelia was not a patient creature. She wanted to lash out at Tate, punish her for resisting — but no, that wouldn’t do. She needed Tate’s body intact. She would just have to control her aggravation and think the problem through.
Maybe Tate just didn’t want to eat a disgusting ball of slime. Amelia quickly dismissed the thought as unproductive. If that was the case, all bets were off.
Maybe … maybe it was just that she wasn’t in a form Tate could easily get her mouth around.
Amelia drew herself in as tightly as possible and formed an oversized ball. She hoped she didn’t look like a huge booger.
Tate hesitated and then fled, moving away from Amelia and the elevator
“Why are you letting her get away?”
Duncan announced his arrival rudely. Amelia didn’t like his tone. Perhaps hunger was making him grouchy.
“Oh, hello,” Amelia replied, smoothly hiding her irritation.
She could see him oozing along the ceiling. A wave of repulsion hit her. Is that what she looked like now? Unbearable.
She allowed herself to picture the human Duncan. Brains hidden behind movie-star eyes.
“The journey to Attbi is long,” Amelia said sweetly.” I thought we should savor our last meal. I was just waiting for you to get here.”
Asking Duncan to delay a meal after the hungry work of transformation — it was a challenge. If Duncan’s hunger was anything like Amelia’s, he would have a difficult time mastering it. He’d be reluctant to share his meal with Amelia. And aware of the fact Charlie could arrive at any moment.
“Sure,” Duncan said with impressive ease. “What do you have in mind?”
“A simple game of cat and mouse, a bit of exercise,” Amelia said. “I’m still learning what this — beautiful new body can do.”
“Yes,” Duncan agreed. “Some experiments along those lines should make the trip to Attbi go much more quickly.”
Oh, Duncan. He was special.
Amelia would miss him. But his attractiveness and intelligence were the problem exactly.
Amelia had no desire to share Tate’s body with anyone who could challenge her mastery.
Duncan had to go.
She would use his arrogance against him. And quickly — before Charlie joined their little party.
“The game is to see how long we can make the hunt last,” Amelia said. “To frighten her without hurting her Points for creativity.”
Duncan took off after the fleeing Tate. Amelia raced after him. If her plan was to work, she couldn’t let him get too far ahead.
<
<
Maybe…
Maybe if she begged they would let her live.
On second thought, she wasn’t dying like a wimp.
<
“You think we — I — can eat these guys?” Tate asked.
<
‘Cause you’re looking at the mother of all slime picnics.’>>
“I hate shellfish,” Tate said.
<
Tate didn’t look up. “Where’s the other one?”
<
“I can’t — I don’t know how….” Tate stopped running. She wasn’t sure if it was best to go forward or back or just stay where she was.
“When I feel threatened, it just happens —”
<
“I — I don’t want to eat them,” Tate managed to get out. “Who knows what I’d be letting into my head?”
<>
“You don’t know that —”
Tate didn’t have time to finish the thought.
Duncan — or whoever, whatever — began to drip off the ceiling as a fine mist. The tiny droplets fell on Tate’s shoulders. On her head.
Tate saw a bright burst of flame. The smell of burning hair reached her nostrils.
“Ahh!” Tate batted at her hair. She shook her head like a wet dog. The flames went out. But the mist was still falling.
<
Busy with her hair, Tate had stumbled into a thin layer of slime. Where had that come from?
She froze in horror, looking down at her feet. Her rubber soles began to smoke and then melt into a whitish puddle. The heat leaped up around her ankles. The nylon upper began to melt.
<
No way out…
Something was happening.
The red vision. The tongue. The teeth.
Tate tried to resist, tried to hold on, but she felt herself slip away. Then there was only the bright-hot ecstasy of teeth grinding together.
“Whoa — ho — ho!” Duncan laughed in Amelia’s head. “What have we here? Interesting, very interesting — so primitive. Primal, almost, wouldn’t you say? Nothing like the mutation I had.”
Tate’s transformation wasn’t as violent as Amelia had expected. Tate still sort of looked like Tate — only her head and mouth and teeth were bigger Yes, the teeth were much bigger Up on the ceiling, Duncan was withdrawing, pulling himself away from the gaping Mouth that was snapping at him like a rabid dog.
“Lots of pieces.” he advised Amelia. “Get into lots of pieces so she can’t get her teeth into you.
Well, well, that was fun. I guess I finally bugged her enough — Amelia, what are you —”
Amelia had formed herself into a ball once again. Now she zoomed past Duncan, heading straight for Tate’s snapping jaws.
Remnants 13 - Survival Page 4