Creation Machine (2 page)

The next day it had gone. She replaced it two days running, with the same result.

After fixing it a third time, she found a sheltered balcony near the base of the Shadow Stair and settled herself in with a flask of hot water and a bag of the bitter herbs the Strecki used for everything from making infusions to flavouring food or smoking. They were the only thing she was allowed in abundance, probably because they had nil nutritional value. She watched well into the evening until the stair was slick with unclimbable frost. She saw no one.

The next day the rope was gone. Fleare concluded that the Tower itself objected to the rope and must have removed it. How, she could not imagine. She didn’t mind. The lack of protection felt a little like an invitation. Not one she planned to accept yet; maybe she would never accept it. But she needed to know it was there. She knew she would always be able to force herself to complete the climb, but if the day ever came when the weakness got so bad that she couldn’t make it back down again, then perhaps flying, even for a short time, would be a more glorious end than freezing. But not yet.

The old thin air was dry and very clear. With nothing to blur its outline the sun was a tiny pinkish-white disc in a uniform blue-black sky. Or at least, usually uniform. This morning there was something else. A patch of air was hazy, as if full of the smoke from a distant fire.

We’ll be watching. And one day, no matter how long it takes, we’ll come.

The smoke moved, swirling towards the Tower and wrapping itself round the column nearest Fleare. It wasn’t smoke, she realized. It was more like fine black dust. Dust that moved.

She stepped back reflexively and glanced at the hovering ovoid. Its hum was getting stronger, and a tongue of violet light sprang from the front of its casing. Just like the video.

‘Shit!’ Fleare backed away. And then stopped and turned, as another sound – a loud buzz – filled the Vigilance.

The dust flicked away from the column and closed in on the ovoid like a swarm of insects. The buzzing rose to a screech, then fell away.

The ovoid was gone.

The cloud re-formed, looking a little bigger than it had before.

Then it spoke, in a voice like pouring sand.

‘Fleare?’

She stared at it, shaking her head slowly. ‘You’re not real,’ she told it. ‘You’re a trick.’ Her legs were hurting a lot now. She focused on the pain. Real things were safer than tricks or, worse, hallucinations. If she was starting to hallucinate then maybe it was time to take the last flight, right now.

‘I am real. Fleare? You don’t look so good.’

‘I’m fine.’ It was a stupid denial but that and the pain were all she had left. She had to sit down. She began to lower her hips towards a squat but her muscles wouldn’t listen and she collapsed backwards, landing with a ringing blow to the base of her spine.
I’m falling apart
, she thought, and suddenly she wanted to believe, or didn’t care enough not to. She looked up at the cloud.

‘Muz? Is that you?’

‘Of course. How many other floating talking clouds do you know?’

She nodded, and propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Well it’s about fucking time,’ she said. Then her arms slipped out from under her and she was on her back with the remaining breath knocked out of her.

The cloud swooped low to her side and she felt a quick stab in her upper arm.

‘What . . .?’

‘Sshhh. Stimulants, analgesics, vitamins, mixed-release sugars, a circulation modifier. You’re malnourished, and you’re not far from freezing to death.’

‘No shit.’ The stuff worked fast. Her head was clearing. She managed to sit up and this time it felt feasible, but her reviving senses flinched at the cold. ‘Thanks,’ she added quietly.

‘Accepted.’

Fleare felt her eyes pricking. She raised a hand and wiped it roughly across her face. ‘So,’ she said, ‘since you’ve finally turned up, shall we get out of here? I take it you’ve arranged a way off this rock, if we do manage to get that far?’

‘Yes.’ The cloud dipped forwards as if it was nodding. ‘There’s a net-cloaked Orbiter, ten seconds out.’

‘Good.’ She stood up and tested her legs. They seemed fine, so she turned and headed for the Shadow Stair. Over her shoulder she added: ‘And disguise yourself. You look obvious.’

She didn’t hear a reply, but a few paces down the Shadow Stair something nuzzled against her side. She jumped, and then looked down.

‘Oh, very funny,’ she said.

The perfect replica of a dildo somehow contrived to look up at her innocently. ‘What?’

She let out a patient breath. ‘I meant, disguise yourself as something’ – she waved her hands impatiently – ‘something that blends.’

‘Huh. Okay, how about this?’ The phallus dissolved into specks and coalesced again.

Fleare looked down at it. It was the image of the ovoid, although it somehow managed to look more solid than the real thing. ‘Yes,’ she said, quietly. ‘That’s a better look.’

The image snickered. ‘Oh, believe me, it’s more than just a look.’ It floated up until it was level with her eyes. ‘Now, shall we go and find some monks to play with?’ It giggled, and a tiny tongue of violet flickered round the front of its casing and vanished.

Fleare suppressed a shudder. ‘Yes,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s. By the way, Muz, are you still . . .’ She paused, uncertain.

‘Psychotic?’ It giggled again. ‘Oh yes, definitely. Quite mad. As mad as a sack of scorpions. Wasn’t the dildo thing enough of a hint?’ Its voice became concerned. ‘Does it bother you?’

She shook her head. ‘Right now it reassures me. And it’s really good to see you.’

‘Did you visit me when I was in my jar?’

‘Yeah. Just once, before they brought me here.’

‘I wasn’t sure if it was a dream.’

‘It was real.’ She stared at nothing for a moment. Then she shook herself. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

‘Don’t be sarcastic.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, you used to be senior to me when we first met.’

‘Yeah, I know. Three years.’

‘I’ve been
here
for three years. It’s nearly four years since I joined up.’ She set off down the stair, with her mind ranging back to the start of those years, whether she wanted it to or not.

So, nearly four years ago: it had been sixteen days since she had joined the rapidly growing militias of Society Otherwise, which she had done exactly at the moment she passed the age threshold meaning her family couldn’t prevent her; eight days since she had arrived at the training centre; and most of a day since they had decided the best way to use their last free time before immersive training was to get very, very chemical.

‘
What?
’

‘What about the mods?’

They were in the smoke bar of the Dog’s Dick. Fleare wasn’t sure how they had got there. They had been there for a long time.

‘Sorry. Can’t hear. Too fucking noisy!’

Fleare sighed, and leaned over so that her mouth was next to Kelk’s ear. ‘I said, what about the modifications?’

Kelk grinned, and put his drink down. ‘I want a fucking enormous knob!’

She slapped him gently. ‘Be serious.’

‘I can’t, I’m pissed.’ He looked at her worriedly. ‘So are you. How come you can do serious when you’re clattered?’

She raised her hand again and he drew back in pretended terror, knocking his drink over. ‘Bollocks!’ He patted clumsily at the pool of spirit then looked up again, his eyes unfocused. ‘I still want an enormous knob.’

Fleare sighed again and sat back. She was pissed, definitely, but Kelk had left her well behind. So had most of the others. She squinted up through the smoke haze at the old-fashioned timepiece above the bar, and winced. Four hours. It had seemed like a good idea when they started.

She turned to the man on her other side and thumped his shoulder. ‘Hey!’

His eyes wandered, and then focused. ‘Oh, hi, Fle. Great night, huh?’

‘Yeah.’

‘These guys – and you as well – it feels like we’re really bonding, you know?’ He waved a hand. ‘Like we’ve been around for, like, years or something. Not just a few days.’

‘Sure.’ She nodded, carefully, and then leaned in closer to him. ‘Listen, Muz, did you think about getting modifications?’

He pursed his lips. ‘What, that nano-y gene-y kinda stuff?’

‘Yeah, that.’ She searched his face. ‘So, did you?’

He picked up his glass, examined it, and held it upside down over the table. ‘Empty. See? Empty!’ He raised the glass, still upside down, and roared towards the bar. ‘Oi! Some assistance here. Thirsty soldiers in
major
need, thankyouverymuch.’ He put the glass down, turned back towards Fleare, studied her face and then said: ‘
What?
’

She suppressed a grin. ‘You aren’t thirsty, you’re drunk.’ He nodded gravely, and she went on. ‘And you aren’t a soldier – yet. You’re a cadet. You could still get busted straight out of here.’

‘Nah, I wouldn’t do that. Coz if I did I know I would break your heart.
Ow!
’ He flinched, and removed Fleare’s elbow from his ribs. ‘Besides, there’s always another way to stay.’ He looked directly at her with eyes that suddenly seemed more sober. ‘Get modified and you’re in for life. You realize that?’

She held his gaze for a while, and then looked at her drink. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right.’

‘Hmmm.’

The floor shivered. Muz swivelled his head so he was looking at the old clock. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Steam’s up. Only happens every ten years or so. Some coincidence we should have our last day off today. You want to watch?’

She nodded gratefully. ‘Sure,’ she said. She stood up, and then grabbed at the table as another stronger tremor shook the room. ‘Let’s go.’ She slapped Kelk on the shoulder. ‘C’mon, piss-head. It’s showtime. We’re going to watch. Coming?’

Kelk’s head was on the table. He raised it just as the barman thumped a full glass down in front of him. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Decision. Watch steamy thing, or drink.’ He laid a finger on the rim of the full glass, and wagged it towards the door. ‘Drink-watch. Watch-drink. Drin-wash . . .’ He frowned and his voice tailed away.

Fleare looked at Muz and shrugged. She picked up the full glass and held it up to Kelk’s bewildered face. ‘Drink,’ she suggested, and he brightened and took the glass from her. Then she turned and followed Muz out of the bar. The floor shook again. Behind her there was a crash, about the right size to be someone falling off a chair. She didn’t look round.

The balconies outside the bar were crowded. Muz elbowed roughly through. Fleare followed, resisting the urge to apologize, and nodding at a few people she recognized from the shuttle trip. Muz didn’t stop until he had forced his way to the gnarled timber rail that formed the edge of the balcony. Fleare caught up with him and took hold of the rail.

Wisps of steam curled up from below and wrapped around the massive Pump Trees. The smooth water-engorged trunks formed a close, dense circle around the outside of the bar. Fleare looked up through the warm mist to the canopy of Shower Buds a hundred metres above her head. Even at that distance the reddish-brown buds looked swollen.

The balcony shook, strongly enough to knock a few of the least steady to their knees. Most of them stayed there. Muz nodded. ‘It’s coming,’ he said. He held out his hands. ‘You wanna hold on to me?’

She shook her head and tightened her grip on the rail as the first drops of rain hit her.

When she had first seen this place from space, only eight days before, Fleare had thought it looked like a storm – or a pimple or a target – a distinct, raised, rust-coloured disc on a small, dull, tawny planet. It might have ended up with any of several names. In the end, most people had settled on Nipple, which was one of the politer ones.

‘Weird, huh?’

She had pushed herself away from the obs screen and turned to look at the speaker. He was tall and skinny, dressed in brigade kit like hers, but faded, and with shoulder pips that said he had been in for a year. She drew herself upright but he smiled and held out his hands, palms down. ‘No salutes,’ he said. ‘I’m only cadet-plus, not full officer. Besides, I’m shit at hierarchy.’ He held out a hand. ‘Muzimir fos Gelent. Muz.’

She took the hand. ‘Fleare Haas. Fleare.’ His fingers felt dry and muscular.

He gestured towards the planet. ‘Definitely weird, in a slightly horny sort of way. Happened at the end of the Second Machine Wars.’

‘Happened?’ Fleare looked back to the little planet, which was filling more of the screen as the shuttle dropped into orbit. ‘Didn’t it start out like that, then?’

‘Nah.’ He shoved himself away from the rail. ‘Look, we won’t be hooked up to transfer for at least an hour. Buy you a drink?’

She studied him for a moment. ‘Is this a pick-up?’

He grinned. ‘Ha. Busted! Very inappropriate. Abuse of position.’ He turned back to the screen, and then gave her a stagey sideways glance. ‘But anyway – buy you a drink?’

It had been a long journey, Fleare told herself, and the air on board the creaking little military shuttle was oily and acrid. Of course she was thirsty. The fingers and the grin had nothing to do with it. Obviously.

‘Okay,’ she said.

The shuttle had no bar, only vending slots that served nothing stronger than fruit juices and herbal infusions. Muz fetched up in front of one, swiped a credit chip through the reader and raised his eyes to the display. ‘What do you know. It thinks I’ve got some credit left. Suckers!’ He turned to Fleare. ‘What are you having?’

She chose a sour chai and Muz dialled two. They took their drinks back through the mostly humanoid crowds to the obs screen. Fleare sipped, and pulled a face at the astringent taste. ‘Yuk.’ She turned to Muz. ‘So, tell me about Nipple. It might take my mind off this stuff.’

‘Ha!’ He sipped, and looked at the glass in horror. ‘Something of a challenge there.’ He shrugged, and screwed up his face as if it helped his memory. ‘Actually there’s not that much to tell. It was a boring little planet with a bit of underground water and just enough atmosphere to support a few misfits who wanted a quiet life. No native fauna. Millions of years of sweet fuck all. Then things got interesting.’