Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“Right, let’s chop it and head back to the ship,” said Ambel. They proceeded to slice the rhinoworm into huge lumps, which they packed into their waterproof packs, and staggering under their loads, headed back up the beach. Before they set out Peck was able to take his bandage off. The plug of flesh had healed back into place and his muscle was working again. When they reached the rowing boat and were dumping the packs into it Jane grinned at Peck.

“The Earther’ll want to see your leg. Probably want blood samples and a few pots of piss outta you as well,” she said.

“Bollocks,” said Peck, and gave the boat a shove. “Don’t know what she’s all worked up about. We ain’t that different.”

Ambel, who was, so the Earther had said, built like a tank, rowed the boat, being careful not to put too much pressure on the oars and go snapping them again. Jane, as skinny and small as a starveling child, had undone her shirt to her waist and sat plaiting her hair and looking at Ambel meaningfully. She was always horny after a meat hunt, and when all her attempts to get Ambel into her bunk failed, as they always did, she turned to the next available crewman. During the next few hours the crewmen would be falling over each other as they tried to stay close to her. Peck had opened one of the packs and was cutting slices of rhino-worm meat to stuff into his mouth. He had injury hunger; another phenomenon the Earther woman was eager to study. Shortly they arrived at the wooden cliff of the side of the ship and the meat was hauled aboard. The three followed, after passing up the oars, then Ambel hauled the rowing boat up the side and held it in place while others strapped it just below the gunnels. The Earther woman came out of her cabin to watch this and when it was done she returned shaking her head in amazement.

“How long before you were mobile again?” asked Erlin as she inspected the circular scar. They all had these scars, every member of the crew; white and neat circular scars on their bluish skin.

“Eh?” said Peck, brilliantly.

“How long after this injury were you able to stand again, to walk again?”

“Couple of minutes after I screwed the plug back.”

“Let me get this right. Ambel thumped the leech against a rock until it released the piece of your leg it had excised. You then took that piece of flesh and screwed it back into your leg.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”

“Who you callin’ odd? At least I ain’t the colour of burnt sugar. Bleedin’ Earthers always callin’ us odd.” It was the strangest piece of racism Erlin had ever encountered. Her first doctorate had been in history because she had been fascinated by her genetic heritage. Not that she was a true Negro, there had been none for more than a five hundred years, nor any other definite racial types, but her skin was very dark. She was almost a throwback, but for her white hair and blue eyes. The people here though, on this strange little world, were very different from the usual run of humanity. She handed Peck a couple of bottles.

“Here. I want your next urine samples. Now I’ll take some blood.” This she did, quickly and efficiently. You could not take too much time over such things with hoopers as they healed so fast a needle would block in less than thirty seconds. When Peck grumbled his way back out onto deck she got the blood under her nanoscope and found the fibrous structures she had expected to find. It was all coming together now. She had a damned good idea of what was going on and reckoned that when she made her report, Spatterjay would be descended on by just about every science team in the Polity. Ambel grinned to himself as Jane dragged Peck below decks and the rest of the group broke up in disappointment. He carved himself a slice of rhinoworm and chewed on it contemplatively. They really did need a sail. He did not like to hang around the islands for too long as he was well aware that the Skinner was still active. One day he intended to come here alone and catch the mad bastard. One day. He turned as Erlin came out on deck and stood next to him gazing with distaste at the worm steak.

“Want a bit?” he asked her. Her food ran out a couple of days ago and he knew she must be hungry.

“I wouldn’t mind if it was cooked,” she said.

He shook his head. “Destroys the flavour.”

“No, the stuff tastes awful — what it destroys is all the nutritional value for humans.” Ambel nodded and carved another slice. He held it out to her, blue blood dripping down his fingers. “Go on, it’ll do you good.”

Erlin took the slice and nibbled a bit off the edge. A sudden look of astonishment transformed her features. She ate the whole slice.

“It tastes good,” she said. “When I first had some it tasted like copper and curry powder.” He carved her another slice, and as he did this she studied his hugely broad back. His bluish skin was mottled, looked almost patterned. It was only then that she realised the effect was caused by leech scars layered upon each other in their thousands.

“Did you fall in the sea or something?” she asked.

“Once or twice,” he said, turning and handing her some more meat.

“You have a lot of leech scars. I didn’t realise it until just now. You’re covered with them. Could I have a blood sample from you?”

“Sometime,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

She was about to say more when there was a shout from the cabin roof.

“Sail! Sail coming in!”

Erlin peered up at the sky. She had heard about this but never seen it. When the hover car had dropped her at the ship it had been as it was now: bare masted and moored by this island. The sail undulated in on the east wind; a great veined sheet turning the flesh-filtered light underneath it a strange orangey pink. It caught hold of the top of the mainmast with one long bony hand, swung around and replaced that grip with a coil of its tail before moving that hand along with many others down onto the spars. Its lizard head on a long whiplike neck came questing down to the deck. Ambel pulled the worm steak off its spike and walked up to the creature’s head. The sail licked its lips with a dark-blue forked tongue and eyed the steak hungrily.

“How are you called?” asked Ambel, as was only proper.

“I am Windcatcher,” replied the sail, as replied all sails, never having mastered the idea that names could be an individual thing. Ambel gave it the steak, which it chomped down hungrily. Erlin watched the lumps of meat travelling up its translucent neck to where its stomach could be seen bubbling between the first two spars. When it had finished the meat it yawned loudly, shrugged the vast sheet of its body, then wrapped its neck around the mast and closed its eyes.

“Amazing,” said Erlin, but by that time Ambel had moved away and was giving orders. Erlin walked up to the triangular head resting on the deck and wondered if she might be able to get a sample without waking it. She stepped a little closer and removed a hand microtome from her overall pocket. The sail opened one demonic red eye and looked at her.

“Bugger off,” it said, then closed its eye.

The anchor socketed with a crash and crewman Boris ran yelling down the deck, swiping at a frog-whelk that had come up clinging to the chain, leapt onboard, and bitten a lump out of his calf before running away making a sound suspiciously like a titter. Boris cornered it by the forecabin and threatened it with a hammer. The whelk considered its options, looking from side to side with its stalked eyes, then spat out its prize before sidling towards the rail. Boris snatched his missing part and shoved it back into place before limping back to his station. Erlin looked on with her mouth hanging open, then quickly ducked into her cabin when she saw the whelk eyeing her estimatingly from the rail. There was a thump against her door just as she got it closed. Outside she heard yelling and cursing, then a squeal of surprise and a wet crunch. When she edged her cabin door open she saw Ambel toss something over the side then reach down and scrape something off his boot with his knife. He grinned at her.