Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“What do you think?”

“No word from Earth Central yet?”

“There was a vague promise of a monitor being sent, but you know how it is with them. They think that causing a furore is free advertising for the Churches. Best to let them die a natural death. Interference is frowned on. Freedom of choice and all that.”

“I preferred the pre-runcible attitude: belief in superior ‘It’ll be all right in the end’ deities equated with dangerous irresponsibility.”

“Yeah, see you shortly anyway. We’ve got to sort out how to deal with the arsehole. He wants to ‘make his own observations’.”

There was a silence before Davidson replied. “Freeman told me he saw him down at the stores kitting himself out. You mean you haven’t given him permission?”

Carmen closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead. She was getting a headache. She suspected it would get worse. “We didn’t actually get to that. Got side-tracked. Go to the stores yourself will you and see if he’s taken a radio tracker. Also get Freeman to charge up that last chameleon drone.”

“I’m on it.”

Carmen leant back in her chair and stared at the map up on her wall. She had been going to warn him. Him with expensive clothes, city ways and archaic beliefs. Outside Station Seventeen was a wilderness that thus far had claimed three lives, and they had been professionals. Did he think his God would help him once he was lost and starving? That would be a first. All the proteins and sugars out there were inverted. You could eat your fill of fruit and meat every day and still starve to death, if you were not poisoned beforehand. No matter. The water would get him first. It was so contaminated with mercury salts it was a standing joke that the streams grew longer in warm weather. Carmen shook her head. The ache was growing worse.

“Ugh! Filthy creature!”

Mark stamped the leaf-shaped worm into the ground and winced as his boot rubbed on the raw spot on the back of his ankle. Then he inspected the red ring on the back of his hand where the worm had clung for a moment before convulsing and falling off. This was just too much. He looked around at the nigh impenetrable jungle then continued on down the track he hoped had been made by Orbonnai. He would show them that a creation scientist was as capable of doing field-work as the best of them. The sky was growing darker by the time he reached the stream and he offered up a silent prayer of thanks before stooping down at its edge to fill his water bottle. Once that was done and he had drunk his fill, he unhitched his pack and took out the tracker. The direction finder pointed roughly up the course of the stream. There should be no problem. His God was with him. He sat down on the blue sand to rest for a moment. He was tired, but well-satisfied with himself. He had made a stand, as all good Christians should.

The nautiloid was bumbling along below the surface directly in front of him when he saw it. With great daring he reached into the water and took it out. With a click it retracted into its shell. He held it in his hand, checked his watch, then began turning it as he had seen Paul do. After thirty seconds nothing had happened. He tossed it to the ground and stood up.

“Rubbish,” he said, and went on his way.

The blue nautiloid, with its fifty-second response time, crawled back into the stream once he was gone. Carmen studied the man seated opposite her and felt bewilderment. He represented Earth Central, yet, he looked so… mediocre. It was obvious he had no alterations. The face he wore had not seen cosmetic surgery since his birth. His eyes were muddy green and there was a scar on his chin. His clothing had nothing to recommend it either, other than functionality. He wore a green monofilament coverall and cheap plastimesh hiking boots.

He steepled his fingers before his face before commenting on what she had told him. “The orboni he showed greatest interest in is this Paul. What would you say are his chances of reaching this creature without getting himself killed?”

“Quite good. Paul is dying and cannot move about very much. He has already started to venture into the less complex environment of the savannah.”

“And you have a chameleon drone following Paul.”

“Yes… we couldn’t think of much else to do really. An air search… I mean… the jungle… ”

“I take your point. But you do have more than one chameleon drone.” Carmen nodded.

“Then I would suggest you send them into the jungle to search the area between here and Paul’s present location. Mark Christian did take a radio tracker so it is likely he is heading directly toward this orboni.”

“I suppose we could.”

“There is some problem?”

“The remaining drones are being used in an intensive study of the Thrakai. The study has prime status.” The man pressed his finger against his temple. It was a gesture Carmen had seen before. Visible alterations were not the only ones. He was direct-linked to the runcible AI.

“I see,” he said, and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “A class three sentience?” Carmen nodded again. It was not polite to interrupt someone when they were in the midst of a conversation with an AI as those intelligences tended not to repeat themselves. Eventually he shook his head and showed signs of annoyance.

“And this fool is trailing after the Orbonnai?”

“We passed all the recordings on to him. He did not see fit to study them.” The monitor bowed his head for a moment before going on. “It would appear this is an intervention situation rather than a monitoring one. He must be stopped. The policy of Earth Central is one of

’observation only’ during encounters with any sentience above class eight. We cannot have theocratic interference with class three sentiences.” The monitor looked thoughtful, finishing with, “Recall your drones and send them into the jungle. This man must be stopped.”

Mark was stillness itself as he watched the orboni, even though the pains in his stomach had increased. It was Paul. He knew it was Paul.

And he is praying!

This was what he had come for. Here was purpose.

Paul knelt at the edge of the stream with his head down on the blue sand. He had remained so for some time. Mark maintained his position and slowly lowered his holocorder. His arm was beginning to hurt, but he believed he had enough evidence for the Bishop. He continued to watch, gradually becoming more uncomfortable, and wondering when Paul was going to move. Some time passed before the orboni jerked upright and shuffled to the edge of the stream. Mark raised the holocorder again. Paul was poised at the edge of the stream for some time before he dipped his hand in and pulled out a nautiloid. He held it up before himself for a long time.

He’s not turning it!

Abruptly his arm jerked to one side and the nautiloid was smashed on a rock. Yes! Yes!

In a moment he had the nautiloid in his beak, but then he seemed to lose interest, and the fleshy body, crusted with sand and broken shell, dropped to the sand. Mark lowered the holocorder. That was not relevant and could be deleted from the crystal. He followed the orboni as it stood and began to make its unsteady way along the bank of the stream.

It seemed almost as if there was no transition at all when they came from the jungle out into the open. Twice Paul fell to his knees in an attitude of prayer. On the second occasion Mark only got to film part of it, because he was suddenly and violently sick.

Backwoods worlds!

He felt hot and shivery and the light seemed too bright.

Oh Father, give thy servant the strength to go on.

It was only as the glare seemed to clear, that he saw the pyramid of skulls — Orbonnai skulls, stacked so their beaks were all pointing to the east. The stack was higher than his head.