The Rig

by Roger Levy

  A more distant memory tried to surface, but it was confused by the sea. He remembered the sea, only it wasn’t this desperate sea. It was a shore where the breaking waves washed everything clean. Bleak’s shore, how long ago? And even though this memory was of night, there was the sun, like he had remembered it in the hospital, except that it wasn’t a single sun but a circle of them and beneath it, around him, were gowned men pushing and scraping at his skull.

  But this hadn’t been in the hospital where he’d met Bale and Razer. It had been before that, and somewhere else.

  He remembered Razer. Somehow she was important. She mattered to him.

  The cart moved steadily ahead of them through the metal corridors. The new Lode walked with an even gait. At Tallen’s side, Beata kept repeating, ‘I do not understand.’

  Tallen tried to hold the thought of Razer. She was real. He thought she was, anyway.

  * * *

  Razer

  Once the sub had fallen apart around her, it took Razer a moment to adjust to the weight of the motor on her back. Had Cynth known she’d need this knowledge and skill when she’d given Razer that story in the dredge-pools of Heartsease? How far back did all this go?

  Finning past a cable as thick as herself, one of the great chains that anchored the rig to the sea floor, she hauled herself along the hookline to the side of a tank. The rush of the current was deafening. She pushed herself back into free water and finned down. If this was a standard swimrig, there would be five minutes’ air and engine fuel.

  Ahead of her and below was the extraction pipework, and somewhere on the ocean floor beneath would be the wellhead. She recognised that this was a semi-submersible rig, immensely heavy yet nevertheless afloat.

  She found the edge of the hatch into which the sarcs had vanished, but there was no obvious external mechanism. And if it isn’t staring straight at you, it isn’t there. Keep moving. She couldn’t remember which of her Cynth-sent missions this had come from. The AI had certainly been thorough. She started to ascend, searching the framework as she rose towards the surface, keeping clear of spars and snags and watching for bright colour – any colour – and a ladder. There was no ladder, no colour, and no sign of the surface yet. A flash of brilliant red almost took her away from the rig, thinking she’d spotted a grabline flag, but it flicked away and she realised it was a fish.

  Two minutes gone and now she headed straight up, keeping tight to the hull structure. There at last was the base of a ladder, luminous yellow and hoop-tubed. She read the sign, WARNING! ACTIVATE IMPACT SLEEVE BEFORE ASCENDING!

  She shrugged herself free of the bulky motor and let it fall away, then pushed her arms and head into the impact sleeve at the ladder’s base. The sleeve bloomed around her, cushioning her against the ladder tube and protecting her from the battering of the sea as she started to climb the rungs towards the surface.

  Two minutes of climbing and her air was thinning and the sleeve was gone. A moment more and she was thrown hard, but instead of the solid sea, there was foam and spray. She wrapped her arms around the rungs and held herself against the inrush of water, and as it swept back, she climbed a few rungs. And stopped again and held on, gasping, and climbed again until she was at the edge of the deck. There were more rungs on the fretted metal, and a yellow line barely visible through the spray. Struggling for breath, she click-ringed herself along the rung track, and then she was at a hatch that pushed open. She fell through it into a vacuum of silence and stillness.

  Before discarding the swimrig, she patted it down and found a sealed pouch, ripping it open to find one of Maerley’s little guns. There was nothing else of any use. The weapon was fully charged and ready. There was an additional bright touchpoint on the stock that she didn’t understand, marked CONTACT. When she touched it, there was a brief sting in her skull where her augmem sat. She untouched the point quickly. Whatever it was, it didn’t like her hardware.

  She headed down into the rig, and kept descending until a nearby booming sound slowed her. She backed into a recess and watched a cart pass, loaded with three sarcs. She knew what sarcs looked like, their design and form, but these were older than any she’d seen. And yet they were in pristine condition, not crusted with suckshells or hung about with grabweed. These had been carefully and perfectly maintained. Only one of them was of normal dimensions. The other two were oversized. Doubles, she guessed. There were a pair of humechs too, and… and there was Tallen. She only saw his back, but she knew it was him. It had to be.

  She ducked back out of sight. Tallen.

  She gave them a few minutes, then started out of her hiding place, but slipped back as four armed men passed in the same direction, following the cart. Mercs, she thought. Maerley’s other commission. She waited a long time before moving out again.

  * * *

  Tallen

  ‘We don’t understand,’ Beata said. She waited until Lode might have said something, and then said, ‘We don’t understand, do we?’

  Tallen didn’t understand either. What had been Lode was standing across the chamber, still silent and still glittering and shimmering. The three sarcs were being raised vertical. And there were three armed soldiers too, here in the superstructure’s command room. Where had they come from?

  He leant uncomfortably against the wall, conscious of the bulging tracks in his spine. In his mind was a memory of knives scraping his skull, and then of light and pain. In that memory, one of his fingers was trembling uncontrollably, and he heard his own voice counting, only he couldn’t remember the names of the numbers. Someone said, ‘Death?’ and Tallen heard himself answering, ‘Relief.’ And then a new agony creasing him up, and he was crying out, ‘Please, let me die.’ As he said it, a knife was in his hand, and with the feel of the knife came the relief of pain. Another voice said, ‘Good. Let’s just check the last trigger, and we’re all set.’

  Now, in the rig, Tallen pushed himself away from the wall. He murmured, ‘Snow and rain…’ and stopped. There was something else. Mountains… He almost folded over with pain at the word.

  Beata repeated, plaintively, ‘I do not understand.’

  * * *

  Razer

  Razer saw the merc in the corridor before the merc saw her. As he turned, she used Maerley’s weapon and the man dropped. She stepped over him. The corridor beyond him was sealed off with webweld. She pushed at it, but there was no way through. Whatever lay beyond, he had been sealing in. Or maybe sealing her out? If Decece had survived, they’d know she was on her way.

  But who were they?

  She looked at the weapon again, brushing a finger over the touchpoint. CONTACT. Maybe Cynth had got Maerley to fix her something special.

  She flicked the touchpoint and winced, and understood. It was using her augmem as a comms system.

  She said, ‘Cynth?’

  Nothing.

  She picked up the merc’s welder, remembering: Turn it to overload and hold it steady. It takes time, but if you have enough charge and the webweld is fresh, you can break it. The memory didn’t surprise her. She didn’t think anything would surprise her again. In her mind, she thanked the woman who had told her that. It’s designed for people like you, so you can correct your mistakes. She remembered the conversations they’d had, the laughter as Razer had struggled to control the heavy machinery, the weld’s yellow flowglow and the matching brightness of the woman’s eyes.

  Razer braced herself as the whine and burn commenced. When it was done, she eased herself through the gap and continued on, stopping at a doorway. There were voices beyond.

  She felt another faint stab of discomfort at her ear.

  ‘Cynth?’ And then, unable to think of anything else, she tried, ‘Tallen?’

  There was nothing.

  She could see inside the room through a small viewing panel. There were the three remaining mercs, standing the three sarcs up on their ends, which was odd. They weren’t usually designed to be vertical, but these, she realised, were flat-he
eled.

  She decided to take advantage of the noise to open the door a fraction, and saw the two humechs, one of which was shimmering in a way she’d never seen before. And to a thump of her heart, she saw Tallen. His skull was a wreck, his hair hacked and matted, and there was metal in his cheeks and at the point of his chin, shining through an uneven beard. He was trembling and anxious, glancing constantly around the room, and his eyes were bright with tears that wouldn’t fall.

  When all the sarcs were in place, the shimmering humech drifted slowly up to the largest one, put a hand to it and stepped back. The broad cowl of the sarc slid back and a jet of pale vapour rose and dissipated.

  The other humech said, ‘I do not understand.’

  Razer covered her mouth at the ammoniac gust from the open sarc. Two heads faced out, side by side; a man’s and a woman’s. The man blinked awake, but the woman did not. His bleached-white face was blotched with raised red spots, his brown hair was streaked with grey and his lips were pale and thin. As he came to full consciousness, pain screwed down his features. He looked about thirty, maybe even older.

  The woman was blonde and freckled and seemed hardly twenty years old. She was beautiful. She still did not open her eyes.

  The man in the sarc looked around the room, taking in the humechs and Tallen, and said, in a voice that hadn’t been used for a long time, ‘Dixi? Where are you?’

  The shimmering humech said quietly, ‘I’m here, Pellonhorc.’

  The other humech said, ‘I do not understand,’ and Tallen murmured, ‘Nor do I, Beata.’

  His voice hadn’t changed. He sounded exhausted, though.

  Pellonhorc glanced at the mercs and said to Dixi, ‘My protection’s here, but what about Alef? What does he have, here? Am I safe?’

  ‘That was not part of your arrangement with us.’ Dixi paused, then said, ‘I can’t remain here long, Pellonhorc. Do you want Alef awake, or not?’

  ‘Yes. But let me out first.’

  * * *

  Tallen

  Tallen didn’t understand any of this. The sick man who seemed to be taking control was ignoring him and Beata.

  Beata said, sadly, ‘Lode is not himself. I cannot be myself if he is not himself. I am not configured to be alone.’

  Tallen said, ‘I’m here, Beata.’

  ‘But you are here for the rig. We are here for you.’ An odd hum came from deep inside her as she said, ‘And we are not here.’

  The other humech was talking to the man with red, shredding cheeks. Who was this Pellonhorc? The man stepped uncertainly from the sarc to the floor. He seemed to be decaying.

  Beata said, ‘Who is Lode now? Dixemexid means nothing. It is not a name. It is not a word.’

  Tallen remembered bringing the sarcs into the rig, bringing more than just these three, but he also remembered someone else. He worked hard at it. Yes, a woman. He thought he remembered her name, but it was gone. Beata looked a little like her.

  And then he seemed to hear her voice saying his name.

  He whispered, ‘Razer?’

  * * *

  Razer

  Razer watched from behind the door. Out of the sarc, Pellonhorc, whoever he was, was in clear and desperate pain, crouched over and sucking air in short bursts. But despite his agony, he went to the other large sarc and opened its cowl.

  This sarc was designed differently. Two men directly faced each other, whimpering, eyes wide, their faces almost touching. From across the room Razer could hear the swift hiss of their breathing and see them twitch their lips. Pellonhorc spent a moment observing them before he said, ‘Father? Ligate? Have you decided?’

  Neither seemed to have heard him. They trembled and sobbed.

  Now Pellonhorc turned back to the smallest, final sarc and opened it. The short man who quickly stepped out was as thin as knotted sticks, moon-pale and almost hairless. He walked as if he were still learning how to. When he faced Pellonhorc, he seemed to scan across him and back again, and his head moved with a swift nodding tremor.

  Pellonhorc said, ‘Hello, Alef. It’s time. Do you have my cure?’

  Instinctively, Razer shrank back. Despite his condition, the weight of threat in Pellonhorc’s voice was extraordinary.

  Alef’s voice was a strange, high monotone. He said, ‘I know what you will do if I fail. I worked it out.’

  ‘Really? And what is that, Alef?’ Pellonhorc winced and clutched a fist to his belly.

  ‘Your own disease. If I can’t cure it, you’re going to disseminate it.’

  Pellonhorc said, ‘And have you done as you promised? Do you have my cure?’

  Razer gazed at the woman still sleeping serenely in Pellonhorc’s sarc. Dixemexid was standing quietly beside Pellonhorc, and the other humech was murmuring to Tallen. Nothing here made sense.

  In that odd voice, his head still moving, Alef said, ‘I tried everything. You know I did.’

  ‘And you searched too, didn’t you, Alef? I told you not to. And you tried to follow everything my Whisper did, as they followed you.’

  ‘Where did it come from? How could I cure you if I don’t know that?’

  Razer couldn’t work Alef out any more than Pellonhorc. It was obvious from the words that he was desperate, but there was no emotion in his high, grating monotone of a voice. Perhaps he was simply stupid. Pellonhorc, though, despite the pain clenching him into a knot, was calm and steady.

  The only other sound in the room was the rhythmic sobbing of the two men still in their sarc. They were shaking so much that the sarc clicked faintly on the floor. The three mercs were idly cradling their guns. The humechs and Tallen were silent and still, and Razer realised she herself was barely breathing.

  Alef and Pellonhorc, as they talked, were an astonishing pair. Their concentration on each other seemed to suck the air from the room.

  ‘Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if I knew? I just got it. All you needed to do was find a cure.’ Pellonhorc gestured to the quivering humech and said, ‘We have a deal, Dixemexid and I. If I die, he takes me. He will take my disease, and he will destroy the System with it.’ Pellonhorc smiled through his clear pain. ‘And you have discovered that it will do that.’

  Alef turned towards the humech for the first time and said in his high, mechanical voice, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Dixemexid.’

  Pellonhorc said, ‘Dixi is from –’

  But he didn’t finish. Alef said, ‘Of course. You are from the unsaid planet.’

  Forty-six

  RAZER

  Razer’s face was hard against the glass of the door as Alef said, ‘I did everything I could. Please, Pellonhorc, stop this. Let me have Pireve.’

  ‘You want her?’ Pellonhorc went to the sarc, reached briefly around the cowl, and the woman opened her eyes. Razer thought she’d never seen anyone as lovely.

  Her side of the sarc swung open. Pireve blinked and shook her head and then looked at Alef standing in front of her, his head locked in its uncontrollable tremor.

  Alef said, ‘Piri,’ and for an instant his voice seemed utterly to break.

  As she pushed herself out of the sarc, Razer saw that she was pregnant. She ignored Alef and went straight to Pellonhorc. Touching his arm, she said, ‘Has he done it? Can he cure you?’

  Alef held out an arm and said, ‘Pireve?’

  She glanced at him with an expression of contempt and said, ‘Does he have to be here, Pell?’

  Pellonhorc said, harshly, ‘He hasn’t done it.’

  Razer wondered what was happening now.

  Again Alef said, ‘Pireve?’ and then he collapsed to his knees.

  Razer stared. Alef’s lips were moving precisely, quivering with speed. After a few moments, he lifted his head and there were tears in his eyes. He shuddered and choked, ‘Uh, uh, our –’ And he curled into a ball like a child, muttering again but more loudly now, stopping only to sob. Razer realised he was counting. His agony was terrible to watch.

  Pireve looked down
at him, a hand on the rise of her belly, and said, ‘You don’t actually imagine it’s yours, surely?’

  Pellonhorc put his arm around her and his pain seemed momentarily to fade as he said to her, ‘Our son.’

  She looked at him and said, ‘Yes, Pell. Ours.’

  And then Pellonhorc bent sharply over and clutched at his gut and said to Dixemexid, ‘Do it, then. If there is no cure, you can destroy the System. Destroy everything but yourselves. I will show Him that He can’t treat me like this.’ He gasped and controlled himself again. The glittering humech hadn’t moved. ‘You do want what’s killing me, don’t you, Dixi?’

  The golden humech said, calmly, ‘But it is ours, Pellonhorc.’

  Pellonhorc grimaced. ‘Not yet, it isn’t. You can’t just take it from me. It’s mine, it’s inside me.’ He clutched his gut again, this time seemingly in protection. ‘I can destroy this with a word, and you’ll lose it.’ He made a gesture towards Tallen. ‘He is set to do it. Do you think I wouldn’t be prepared?’

  Razer had almost forgotten Tallen was there. Pellonhorc said, ‘My men have us contained, and I have him. I can destroy this rig, and my body with its treasure, in an instant. And you’re alone, Dixi. You have no choice.’

  The humech said nothing.

  ‘But I want my child safe, Dixi. Even if I die. I want something of me to survive. If you want my disease, if you want to destroy the System, you must also take my child.’

  Dixemexid said quietly, ‘You don’t understand. Your disease is ours. It was always ours. We adjusted it to you and we gave it to you.’

  Now Alef went quiet and raised his head. He was calm for the first time. The room was silent except for the sobbing men in the sarc.

  * * *

  Razer was coming to understand some of it. This, Alef, was the man who had run Cynth. Or maybe, sometimes, he had been Cynth. She could see the two men there, Alef and Pellonhorc, and she knew that they were the heart of it all. And because the mercs were Pellonhorc’s, she had to be Alef’s agent.