David Farland - Beyond the Gate

But the Word had burrowed to the base of Gallen’s skull and had actually inserted itself inside the skull, making it almost impossible to remove.

Gallen had said that he felt it “moving in his skull,” and Maggie had the very disturbing notion that he might have been right. Once the creature made its entrance at the base of the skull, it might well have moved higher into the brain to protect itself.

Once there, it had little difficulty sending a chain of nanoware devices into the brain and spinal column, forming new neural pathways so that it could send its message to its host.

Once there, the Word had only to receive its signals from the Inhuman, then convey the information to Gallen. He recalled two lifetimes in only two minutes, which suggested to Maggie that an incredible amount of information was being downloaded rapidly.

But those possessed by the Inhuman were not being controlled individually, of that she was sure. If they were all connected through a transmission network, they would have been able to send and receive information instantly, coordinating their attacks without even voicing commands.

But back in town, the hunting packs of the Inhuman had relied upon their scouts to convey verbal communications. Which meant that the Inhuman, once it fed its propaganda to a host, released the host, expecting it to act at its own discretion.

The Word … Maggie recalled how her attacker in Northland had talked about it almost reverently, as something to enjoy. And Gallen had been seduced by its touch, and now craved to hear more. When she’d first looked at his face, he had been filled with joy and peace and loss. His eyes had been shining with an emotion she hesitated to name-ecstasy.

And Maggie realized that the entire process, rather than being dark and frightening, had been designed to be something far more palatable for its victim-perhaps even something desirable. Perhaps that was why the Tekkar were converted so quickly; instead of running from the Inhuman, they embraced it joyously.

Maggie considered the Word, as she walked up a steep incline, wondered how to combat it.

If she were a surgeon and had the proper equipment, perhaps she could have destroyed the neural network. But she wasn’t prepared to perform brain surgery out here in the woods. Likewise, she couldn’t risk trying to open Gallen’s brain to get to the Word’s amplifier or biogenerators.

She wondered if it might be possible to damage the Word, corrode the nanoware with chemicals-but her mantle whispered that such an attempt would be dangerous. The nanoware would be more resistant to most chemical attacks than Gallen’s own body would. Doubtlessly, with the many human subspecies on Tremonthin, the dronon would have created the Word to be suitable to a broad spectrum of creatures.

“The nanodocs in Ceravanne’s body form an artificial immune system; designed in part to rid the body of excess metals,” her mantle whispered, and Maggie considered. It was possible that the nanodocs could-over several days-corrode the Word, but her mantle also whispered that it would take the nanodocs from a liter of Ceravanne’s blood three days to have much effect. It was hardly a workable solution.

Which meant that Maggie had to figure out how to disable the antenna. Her mantle had suggested that metallic salts would stay in the body for only a few days. And she realized with a start that this was all the Inhuman would need: it was probably designed to download its information in a matter of hours, then never be used again. In fact, Maggie realized that it probably couldn’t be used at long distances after a few days, not if the antenna system were only temporary.

Her mouth became dry, and she grew more excited.

Is there a way to get rid of these metallic salts? she wondered.

“You cannot attempt to deprive him of them,” the mantle whispered, “for he needs some to live. But if you feed him small amounts of potassium chloride and large amounts of water, his body should flush out any of these metallic salts quickly, within a few days.”

Beyond that, Maggie could guess what to do. In the daytime, the natural solar activity would help Gallen’s mantle block the radio waves. In fact, Maggie suddenly realized why the Inhuman attacked after dark-so that their victims would be converted immediately, instead of having to wait for the night.

And after dark, it would help if Gallen could get underground, where the Inhuman could not communicate.

So Maggie realized that she would have to begin flushing the excess salts from Gallen’s system. Until that was completed-a task that her mantle suggested would take a week-Maggie would have to do what she could to lower Gallen’s susceptibility. They could probably travel during the day, but at night they would have to seek shelter underground.

And still, given all of that, the Inhuman’s Word would still be lying dormant within him. Once Gallen got close to the Inhuman, or close to one of its transmitters, the Word would no longer require a strong signal, and it would be able to overwhelm him.

“One battle at a time,” Maggie told herself. “I must fight one battle at a time.”

At noon, Gallen returned to camp with food-a plump goose, a burlap bag filled with apples, plums, pears, squash, new potatoes, and a pouch of cherry wine.

Gallen passed the food out, then told the others, “There is a road just south of here, with a farmhouse. The master of the house was good enough to sell us some stores, but no wagon. We’re twenty kilometers east of a fair-sized town. I’ll buy a wagon there, and drive back to you tonight. Keep your heads low. We’ve no way of knowing these folks around here, whether their intentions toward us would be foul or fair.”

Maggie watched his eyes as he spoke, and she could detect no change in his features, no change in how he acted toward them. If he’d been seduced by the Inhuman’s Word, she could not tell. She could sense no struggle.

Maggie told Gallen that she would come with him to town. Orick said he also wished he could be off with them, but he looked around camp and decided that his greater duty lay here, to guard Ceravanne and Tallea in case an armed mob came searching for them.

Maggie was getting ready to leave, eating a brief lunch of plums and raw corn, and Ceravanne was caring for Tallea. Orick began plucking the goose with his teeth-a thankless job that he complained would leave down stuck between his teeth for days.

When Maggie finished eating, she and Gallen climbed the hillsides through the thick woods until they reached a dirt road wending through forests at the foot of the mountains.

Gallen seemed somber, distracted.

“Tell me more about what happened last night?” Maggie asked, hoping that he would at least acknowledge that something had changed.

He said, “It doesn’t matter. They were just someone else’s memories, someone else’s thoughts. I’m over it now.”

He hurried his pace, as if he were angry, and looked about. She could tell that he was still deep in thought, deeply troubled, trying to work things out.

She told him then of her own studies, and the things that the mantle had revealed, how they would need to travel during the day and go underground at night, how he could reduce his own reception of the Inhuman’s signal by drinking heavily to rid his body of any metallic salts that the Word introduced.

Gallen smiled mirthlessly at that news, and when they passed a small stream, he knelt on all fours and drank to his fill. Afterward, Maggie took his hand as she walked with him, and the sun was shining, and the road was clear, and she felt somehow relieved, hopeful that all would be well.

Maggie had not known what to expect in Babel. She’d imagined armed encampments, each city a fortress. But as they walked along the din road, past stands of alder, maple, and oak, the hills seemed little different from her home in Tihrglas. The autumn colors were on the trees, and the soil smelled rich.