The Abyss Beyond Dreams (23 page)

‘Why what?’

‘Why come in? The whole county knows there was a Fall; surely they would have stayed in the village until the Marines announced the all-clear.’

Slvasta grinned at his friend. ‘Because they really believe this squad is going to make the valley safe for them.’

‘Oh. Yeah,’ Ingmar’s expression was sheepish. ‘You have a point there.’

‘I always do.’

‘So can’t you tell which way the cart was going?’

‘No not really. It was just luck I saw that rut.’

‘Do you think they train Marines to read a trail properly?’ Slvasta asked wistfully. He’d been awestruck by the Marines back in Prerov. They were smart and decisive and
overloaded with genuine authority; no screw-ups in their ranks. And those black uniforms had looked amazingly cool. When they walked down a street, girls didn’t even bother glancing at anyone
wearing a regimental uniform. Marines were the toughest troops on Bienvenido, responsible directly to the Captain himself. Slvasta desperately wanted to ask how you joined. But even he knew he
should wait until he had a couple of successful egg hunts under his belt. Maybe even axed one open himself.

‘Not that again?’ Ingmar moaned.

‘Why not? Don’t you have any ambition?’

‘Sure I do. What I lack is delusion.’

Slvasta licked along the bottom of his teeth. ‘Hey, corporal?’ he asked loudly.

‘What?’ Jamenk said.

‘How do you get to join the Marines?’

‘I . . . What are you talking about?’

‘I was thinking of joining.’

Ingmar laughed out loud. Slvasta dropped the shell round his thoughts to feign hurt feelings.

‘They wouldn’t take you,’ Jamenk said irritably.

‘Why not?’

‘Firstly, you have to be sponsored by a Marine. Do you know any?’

‘Ah. No.’

‘Well, then. Now keep watch, please. This isn’t a drill.’

Slvasta smirked at Ingmar, who winked back – amplified enormously by his glasses. They both started studying the surrounding woods with mock alertness.

It was the longest two kilometres Slvasta had ever known, taking an age to stride through the lingrass and then tougher undergrowth as the ground became wetter. The slope they were walking down
became more pronounced. Stones and boulders were more prevalent. It grew even hotter, the humidity climbed ever upwards. There were thick vines tangled in the gaps between the trees, black creepers
with tattered moss-like sponge for leaves. They gave off a sharp salty smell.

Slvasta was cursing Jamenk for his piss-poor navigation skills – they’d done at least five klicks, surely – when the forest ended abruptly. A huge swathe of trees had been
felled, leaving a field of pointed stumps sticking up out of the muddy ground, softened by the puffy fungus that had smothered them. They were over a kilometre from the swift-flowing river which
cut a curving line along the floor of the valley. The forest rose up in wide undulations on the other side of the water, its canopy seemingly untouched. Native birds drifted about overhead, long
black and green triangles with upturned wingtips. He was sure the specks right at the end of the valley were mantahawks; anything smaller would have been invisible at that distance. His ex-sight
wasn’t nearly powerful enough to perceive them and confirm the sighting. But he gifted Ingmar his optical sight anyway; one of their big arguments as kids was that the mantahawks were just a
myth, that nothing of their alleged size could actually fly.

‘Neat,’ Ingmar muttered.

Slvasta took a good long look round Romnaz valley, taking in the size, the steep undulations, the trees that packed every square metre. There was
no way
the three of them were going to
sweep it properly for Faller eggs, not in eight days, not even with the mod-bird’s keen eyes.

‘Oh, crud.’

The track was more distinct through the expanse of felled trees. Jamenk set off with long strides, allowing a degree of confidence to show through his shell. He certainly hadn’t shown much
conviction before.

A hundred metres into the clearing, and Slvasta saw his first waltan fungus. It was a huge fan-shaped piece, looking like perished leather the colour of sour milk, moving terribly slowly as it
crawled across the track. It had taken Bienvenido’s botanists and entomologists a long time to agree, but the botanists had ultimately triumphed. The waltan fungus was an ambulatory plant,
moving between lumps of rotting cells. They mostly digested dead vegetation, but some varieties also consumed animal flesh.

‘There’s the croft,’ Jamenk said. He frowned, looking down at the track they were on as if seeing it for the first time, then looking round the slope of tree stumps to the
river at the bottom. ‘How do they haul so many trees out along the track?’

Slvasta and Ingmar exchanged a look.

‘I think they tie them together in rafts and float them out on the river, sir,’ Ingmar said. ‘It’s a tributary to the Colbal, so they can go all the way down to Varlan if
they want to.’

‘Ah, yes, right,’ Jamenk said. ‘Of course.’

The Shilo family’s compound was on the edge of the clearing, three hundred metres above the river. There was a sprawling lodge in the middle. The original cabin had clearly been added to
over the years, with new sections getting progressively larger and more solid, until it now formed a disorderly E-shape. The only stone structure was a chimney stack in the middle, sending up a
ribbon of blue-grey smoke. Sturdy wooden stables and barns formed two sides of the compound, with a slat fence marking out the rest of the area. The ground within it was laid out in the green
strips of terrestrial vegetation.

Slvasta could see over a dozen mod-apes shambling round inside the fence, while bulky mod-horses were snorting away inside one of the barns. Just the kind of creatures a family would wrangle to
help with cutting down the trees and hauling the trunks down the slope to the river.

As they approached, Jamenk sent his mod-bird swooping low over the compound. ‘Ah, someone’s there,’ he said.

Slvasta watched curiously as the corporal immediately began to straighten his clothes, slicking back his sweat-damped hair.

Two mod-apes opened the big gates at they approached. They swung back to reveal a girl smiling in greeting. She was probably about twenty, with the blackest skin Slvasta had ever seen. In
contrast, she wore a white shirt with only a couple of buttons done up; he tried not to stare. A pair of suede trousers clung to long legs, tucked into boots which came up to her knees. A thick
mass of curly ebony hair framed a delightfully spry face. The smile was just perfection.

He felt his heart start to beat faster as he smiled back at her.

‘Hello, guys,’ she said in an amazingly sultry voice. ‘My name’s Quanda. I live here with my parents.’

‘I’m Corporal Jamenk from the Cham Regiment. There’s been a Fall in this district. But don’t worry, my squad has been assigned to sweep this valley. We’re going to
make sure you’re safe.’

‘That’s wonderful. Come in, please,’ she said, and turned to walk towards the cluster of outbuildings. As they passed the ramshackle wooden lodge building, Slvasta gave it a
puzzled look. It was large enough for a lot more than just three people. And he was sure the farmer who’d brought them to the top of the valley had said three branches of the Shilo family
lived in the valley.

The mod-apes shut the gates after them.

They walked past the chicken run – though there were no chickens anywhere. The vegetable garden had a lot of weeds growing up among the terrestrial plants.

Slvasta didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt even hotter as he walked across the compound. It was a good heat. He couldn’t take his eyes off Quanda’s powerful legs. And that
shirt, with just a couple of buttons done up – so provocative. She must know that, he thought. It was a nice thought.

‘Are your parents here?’ Ingmar asked; he was glancing at the long croft house.

Quanda stopped and turned round. She had the most delectably naughty smirk lifting her lips. ‘No. They’re on the other side of the clearing, marking out a new batch of trees for
felling. They won’t be back until the sun goes down. So that means I’m going to be here alone with three of you for the whole time. How’s that for a turn on?’

For a second, Slvasta thought he’d misheard that husky voice. His heart was still yammering away inside his chest. It was making him feel lightheaded in a very pleasurable way, as if
he’d just glugged down a couple of beers in quick succession. That, and he was getting rather seriously aroused by Quanda.

‘What?’ Jamenk said in a strained voice.

‘You heard.’ And she walked right up to the corporal and kissed him.

Slvasta gazed on in astonishment and not a little jealousy, feeling his erection growing.

She broke away, grinning. ‘You heard and you understood. We’re alone for the afternoon. That means you can do whatever you want with me.’ She turned to Slvasta and kissed him.
He’d never known a kiss so full of dirty promise. Her teekay closed around his cock, and slowly tweaked
just so
.

Slvasta’s eyes were moist when the kiss ended, making the world misty and out of focus. His ragged breathing produced an overwhelming sense of anticipation. Her scent was thick and sweet,
enchanting. He wanted more. A lot more. To crush her to him, and inhale until he burst.

Quanda moved on to kiss Ingmar. ‘I never even get to see a man for months on end,’ she murmured hoarsely. ‘Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? And now, when I’m
by myself, three of you appear all at once, like a gift from Giu itself.’ She stood before them and undid both the buttons on her shirt.

Slvasta moaned in delight as she lifted the cotton aside. He took a helpless step towards her, just like Jamenk and a befuddled Ingmar. Quanda laughed, and danced away from them. ‘Come
on,’ she beckoned urgently. ‘We’ll do it in the barn. You don’t have to take turns. I want to know what it’s like to have all three of you inside me at the same time.
I want that so bad.’

Slvasta could barely hear or see anything else, just her, the hottest, most perfect girl he’d ever known. He was drunk on lust and it was fantastic. Her shirt fluttered to the ground. When
he walked over it, his erection had become so hard it was almost painful.

From somewhere a long way off, he heard Ingmar say: ‘Where’s your cart?’

‘Away,’ Quanda rasped dismissively.

‘Shut up, Ingmar,’ Jamenk sneered.

Quanda’s nimble teekay hadn’t let go of Slvasta’s cock. ‘You’re the one I want to take me from behind,’ her private ’path told him. Then her laughter
was echoing round him as he whimpered in furious desire.

Slvasta started to run after her. He had to get to her fast. To fuck himself senseless with that lean body. The carbine bounced annoyingly against his side.

‘Get rid of it,’ Quanda said in sympathy. ‘It’ll only be in the way when you bend me over.’ Her teekay slid down to begin playing with his balls.

He started fumbling with the awkward strap as he ran. The barn and its long afternoon of sexual paradise was so tantalizingly close now.

‘But we didn’t pass a cart on the track,’ Ingmar’s whiney voice complained.

‘They left a while ago,’ Quanda said; she sounded irritated. That upset Slvasta. Pathetic, pedantic Ingmar was ruining the state of delirium he’d been elevated to.

‘I thought your parents were marking trees.’

‘My aunt took the cart.’

Slvasta shook his head angrily so he could concentrate and tell his so-called friend to shut the crud up. When he turned his blurry vision on Ingmar, he saw three mod-apes shambling towards
them. He blinked in confusion; shambling wasn’t the right description. They were running. ‘Uh, hey!’ Raw Neanderthal predator-fear instinct kicked all the joy out of his body at
the sight of the approaching alien beasts. He used his ’path to shove an order to halt directly into the closest mod-ape’s mind. It paid no attention – which wasn’t
possible. His orders were strong; the creature’s mind should have received and obeyed immediately. He instinctively strengthened his own shell, teekay shifting from a basic protection against
prying ex-sight to a barrier that would deflect any physical strike. His hands tugged at the carbine, trying to bring it round towards the clearly deranged mod-creatures. ‘Come here,’
he ’pathed one of their pair of mod-dwarfs. It responded sluggishly. ‘Deploy the fire weapon.’

Quanda was laughing still. But the timbre had changed drastically. It was an awful sound now, devoid of any humour or happiness.

‘What is wron—?’ Jamenk began. He was tugging his revolver out of its holster when Quanda struck him with a backhanded blow, and he went tumbling through the air, crying out
more from surprise than pain. Two of the mod-apes landed on him.

‘Faller!’ a terrified Ingmar wailed.

Now
Slvasta finally understood: it had been the egg lure which had bewitched him, corrupting his thoughts, with Quanda’s lustful promises lulling him still further. He used his
teekay, shaping the invisible force into a blade-shape and stabbing it straight at the eye of the mod-ape that was almost upon him. Blood burst out and the creature dropped dead.

He fumbled the safety catch on the carbine, pulling back the loader lever on the side, preparing the firing mechanism. It was taking forever. Quanda moved fast, sprinting straight at him. He
tried to get his teekay inside her skin, into her ribcage where her heart was, desperate to squeeze, to tear arteries – even Fallers had those. But her teekay shell was as hard as iron.

Slvasta fired the carbine. It wasn’t even aimed at her to start with, more like panic shooting. The recoil shoved him about, and he brought the carbine back under control. A couple of
shots must have hit her as she raced forwards. They didn’t get through her shell. The magazine ran out of bullets. He turned, lunging away desperately. Her fist lashed out, and he
wasn’t quite out of reach. His shell saved him from the worst of the blow, but it was still strong enough to send him sprawling. One of the mod-apes loomed above him, its thick muscular arm
raised ready to hammer smash . . . ‘Crud!’