Читать книгу Into the No-Zone - Eugene Lambert - Страница 11

These days of early firstgreen, with dayshine sticking around longer, warmth in the air and leaves uncurling on the trees, Squint is put to work in the hidden fields down-canyon. Alongside some half-starved fourhorns, our food growers have him hauling ploughs and wagons. We worry he’ll pick up damage we can’t fix, but don’t get a say. Funny how it works. Nobody wanted the rusty metal and burnt-out electronic junk that Colm and I cobbled Squint together from. Sneered, they did. Yet soon as they saw him up and running, they stole him off us. Requisitioning, they called it.

For the cause. Everything for the cause.

When we find Squint he’s done for the day, lashed to a ground-anchor while a man hoses mud off him. He sees us coming, whips his tail about and buzzes his head off.

‘How’d he do?’ I ask.

The man shuts off the water and shrugs. ‘Not bad. Crashed on me once in the morning. Worked fine after it warmed up.’

‘Do you need him tomorrow?’

‘They don’t plough themselves.’ The man glances at the fields, stubble sticking up into the gloom under the camo-nets.

‘Okay,’ Colm says. ‘We’ll check him over.’

The man nods and hurries away. No thanks or nothing.

Soon as he’s gone I pull a bone-carved tube from my pocket and blow gently into one end. It makes a hissing sound.

Squint’s head lifts and his tail thrashes.

Colm grins. ‘Do you have to?’

‘I do.’ I blow the whistle much harder now, three times.

Squint hurls himself towards us, ripping the ground-anchor right out of the ground as if it were fixed into butter. He very nearly knocks us both over with all his excited jumping up.

‘Pleased to see us, huh?’ I say, trying not to laugh because laughing hurts, even with my ribs strapped.

‘Thought you’d dumped the jumping-up code,’ Colm says.

He’s laughing too now as he tries to fend Squint off.

‘I stuck it back in again.’

‘Why? You like being covered in mud?’

‘It’s fun, him making a fuss. Like having a dog.’

After a struggle I unclip Squint from the anchor trailing behind him. Squint calms down and drops into his ready-state crouch, hydraulics hissing. I pocket the whistle and watch Colm as he goes and screws the ground-anchor back into the dirt. Me, I’d leave it where it fell, but not him. Same skin, different thinking.

‘Good little boy,’ I tell Squint, scratching him behind his ears. Not real ears of course, just microphone mounts.

He hoots, sensing my touch.

‘You do realise it’s not alive,’ Colm says. Like always.

It’s been a tough day and I almost get cross with him, but catch myself. I think Colm’s often too clever for his own good; he thinks I’m too hot-headed. Rona says we’ve only had six months’ practice at being twins, unlike the other idents here who’ve had a lifetime, so we’ll both still be working it out. Whatever. All I know is that looking and sounding the same is easy; putting up with the differences is harder. I’m trying to get better at that.

‘Don’t you listen to him, Squinty,’ I say.

Squint beeps twice, which means ‘I don’t understand’. Work-bots only recognise verbals like Lift, Forward, Drag and Drop as standard, but we’re working on that. His crude vox-box doesn’t run to speech, only beeps, hoots and whistles. What we really need is to get our hands on one of those flash units out of a windjammer, the ones that warn the pilot if she’s stalling or landing with the gear up. Splice one of these in and he could talk.

‘What d’you think of his new leg? Not bad, huh?’

Colm hasn’t seen Squint’s new foreleg yet. This one’s by far the best I’ve scavved yet, and a decent match to his other legs too.

‘Where’d you get it?’ He sounds impressed.

So he should be. The casings are hardly rusty at all, just some light pitting. The hydraulic lines look good too, no patches. Look real close, there are even some shiny bits on the pistons.

‘Traded welding work for it with one of the steam-winch crew.’

‘Maybe he’ll walk straighter now.’

‘He does,’ I say, pleased. ‘C’mon, let’s go. It’s getting dark.’

‘Shouldn’t we check him?’

‘No. I’m beat. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do about him crashing. You’d crash too if you had two brains.’

See, no way could we scav a proper processor for Squint. Too rare. Too valuable. Instead we patched together two half-trashed boards nobody wanted. The least damaged one acts as master, passing stuff it can’t do to the other board. Only sometimes they trip over each other, and that’s when poor Squinty crashes.

Colm shrugs and we head off together. I click my fingers and Squint follows along, still dripping.

Night settles on the Deeps as we walk and dark shadows pour in to flood the canyon. We skirt round the big cavern at the bottom of the cliff where off-duty fighters hang out. You can trade rebel-minted creds in there for snacks, or – if you’re dumb enough – for gut-rot liquor brewed from potatoes. In the smoky lantern light I see the place is heaving with people already.

‘Big crowd,’ I say. ‘Wonder why?’

‘Let’s go find out.’

‘Later maybe. We should feed the dragon first.’

Truth is – my head’s still too dark to want company. And Stauffer might be in there on crutches, or some of his psycho mates. So we carry on to the kitchen tents, raid the bins and bag some fresh chicken guts, her favourite.

Halfway up the trail to where she’s penned we stumble across a pack of youngsters playing the Peace Fair game. A bored-looking older boy has been roped in to act the Slayer and do the Cutting and Unwrapping. Two little girls, so spit-alike I bet their own mother can’t tell them apart, are already wrapped. The ‘twist’ will have a cut drawn on her forearm under the bandage, the ‘pure’ won’t. I played it when I was little, but it freaks me out after seeing the horror of the real thing. And they’re not supposed to be playing it, not here in a rebel camp.

I can’t help scowling. ‘Can you believe that ?’

Colm shrugs. ‘They’re just kids.’

The guessers turn their backs and the older boy swaps the two wrapped girls about. They squeal with fear and excitement. And now the guessers start clapping and chanting.

‘One good, two evil! Cut them, bind them, unwrap them!’

The older boy sees us. He grins and shrugs as if to say, This wasn’t my idea, puts a finger to his lips for the girls to stop squealing and calls to the rest that they can look again. As they turn, he pulls out the knife for the pretend Unwrapping and brandishes it.

‘One good, one evil!’ he hisses. ‘Which is which?’

The kids shout their guesses, spit flying from their mouths.

I grab Colm’s arm. ‘I don’t want to see this.’

‘It’s only a game,’ he says, but lets me drag him away.

The stone-walled corral is built into the cliff ’s overhang. By the time we get there it’s full night-dark, but just enough of the bigmoon has hauled itself above the western clifftops to throw some useful shine down. Colm hangs back, looking after Squint while I creep up to the gate and peer through it. A lump of darkness stirs at the back wall. I hear a hiss, a warning rattle of neck feathers, her chain scraping. We only call her a dragon for fun of course. Really she’s a sky lizard. And not just any sky lizard – she’s a queen. Twice the size of the males, ten times as vicious.

I’m waving the bag to give her the smell of the chicken guts when I hear footfalls behind me. I whip round, blade out.

‘Thought I’d find you here,’ Fleur says.

She’s got a fake-scared face on. Behind her are some of her deadhead mates, watching, swapping grins. That’s what they call themselves, the kids we rescued from the Facility.

I clutch my side. ‘What you doing, creeping up on us?’

‘Heard you took a kicking,’ Fleur says. ‘Ouch. Look at you.’

I put the blade away and straighten up.

‘You should see the other guy.’

‘Hey, Fleur,’ Colm says, and shifts his feet.

She smiles at him. ‘Hey, Colm. How’s it going?’

While they talk, I scan her face like I always do, looking for any hint of accusation or blame. But not a bit of it – just the same fair hair, freckles and sad expression as her ident sister, Fliss, the girl who sacrificed herself to lead away the Slayers hunting Sky and me near Drakensburg. Reassured, I open my mouth to mumble the same question I always mumble. Before I can get it out though she glances my way and shakes her head. Still no word on her sister, that tells me. Still missing, presumed to be dead. Yet here Fleur stands, looking pleased to see me.

Okay, so I played a part in rescuing her and her mates from the Facility, but still . . .

‘They say you smashed Stauffer’s foot,’ she says. ‘Lamed him.’

I shrug. ‘Tosser had it coming. Anyway, he’s nublood same as us, so he won’t stay lame.’

‘More’s the pity,’ Colm mutters.

‘Think he’ll come after you?’ Fleur says.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ I say, a little more edgy than I meant.

Time to change the subject.

‘You here to help feed the dragon, Fleur?’

‘No way. I’ve lost enough fingers already, thanks.’ She grins, holds her fist out and bumps stumps with me and Colm. ‘Wouldn’t want to come between you and your lizard girlfriend.’

‘Scared, huh?’

‘Whatever. Look, hurry up. I’ve got big news to tell you.’

‘Oh frag, not you too.’

The smell of rank breath hits me and I hear the snap of powerful jaws. I turn to see the huge, leathery bulk of the queen sky lizard facing me, her triangular head rammed against the bars of the gate, long snout poking through. Her four big compound eyes glitter in the moonshine as she watches us. Her sting-tail swishes dirt back and forth. They hack the stinger bit off every so often. I check to make sure it hasn’t grown back, and it hasn’t.

‘Hungry, are you?’ I whisper.

She jaw-snaps again and whistles. A milky-white membrane flicks across her lower eyes, fastened on the bag of offal. She’s fed on live goats. I give her treats because I feel sorry for her.

‘Hurry up,’ Fleur says, wrinkling her nose.

Braced to fling myself away if she goes for me, I peel the bag of chicken offal open and hold it out. The lizard tilts her huge head, flares her snout-slits and sniffs, sucking air into her lungs with a sound like a blast furnace. Now she gapes, showing me row after row of razor-sharp fangs. Her crazy-long tongue flicks through the bars and explores the bag. By the time I quit flinching it’s already coiled up back inside her mouth. She tail-thumps, her dark neck feathers lifting and spreading. In better light we’d see them go all sorts of colours. Holding my breath I lock eyes with her and push the bag through the bars.

‘Chicken’s your favourite, isn’t it?’

Behind me, Fleur groans. ‘Can’t you just throw it?’

Whoof ! The big lizard lunges and plucks the bag out of my hand so quickly I hardly have time to twitch. I swallow. With my ribs hurting and strapped, no way would I have been fast enough to dodge if she’d gone for me. She could’ve had my arm off easy if she’d wanted to. That was dumb, no three ways about it.

‘You’re crazy, you know that?’ Fleur says.

‘It’s not right, caging her like this,’ I say, backing off, a bit shaken. There’s lizard drool on my sleeve so I crouch to wipe it off in the dirt. I watch as the lizard wolfs the scraps down in one big gulp. Inside my head I see other cages, holding ident children. If that’s so wrong, why isn’t this?

Colm half smiles, half winces. His thinking smile. ‘Maybe not, but let her go and they’d all go. We’d lose our cover.’

He’s right, as always. Sky lizards and people don’t mix. The local sky lizard colony would have cleared off as soon as we moved in, but with their queen trapped down here and her stink calling to them, the males stick around. When the occasional Slayer windjammer comes scouting, they see the sky lizards circling, and their droppings white-scarring the rocks, and look no further.

Cunning and necessary, I guess. Still can’t say I like it.

Fleur huffs. ‘You ready to listen now?’

In the moonshine her eyes look massive. Like Sky inside the Slayer transport, the girl can hardly stand still – she’s so full to bursting with news. Behind me the massive lizard hisses and slams into the bars, hungry for some more chicken guts.

‘Listen to what?’ I say, distracted.

She grins. ‘You ain’t heard about the peace deal then?’

‘The what ?’ I glance at Colm, but he looks as stunned as I do.

Fleur laps up our surprise, her grin even wider. Behind her, the deadheads nod and mutter among themselves.

‘Seriously,’ she says. ‘That’s the buzz going around – a peace deal’s on the table. There’s already a ceasefire. The Council’s meeting to discuss it right now. Our hit-and-run raids must be hurting them more than we thought.’

Colm gets his voice working. ‘How come we didn’t hear about this?’

‘It only happened a few hours ago, that’s why. While Kyle was getting his ass kicked. It’s all everyone is talking about.’

‘What happened a few hours ago?’ I say.

‘An encrypted message came in. Soon as our comms guys unscrambled it, Ballard, Mendela and the other top people all shipped out on our fastest scout windjammer. One of the launch crew overheard them. They’ve been summoned to an emergency Gemini Council meeting to discuss a Slayer peace offer!’

Fleur sighs, long and hard. ‘Seriously. The war is over.’