Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“We won’t learn much from this,” he said, inserting the feebly moving beetle into the bag and sealing it in.

“Check his clothing and so-forth then bring him over for autopsy. He’ll have to be burnt right after.” He glanced around at the Chief Constable, who was looking on white-faced, then he stood. “Let’s see where he was killed.”

Brown led Lumi down the alley, following the trail Coti had left, dragging himself through the mud. Grooves with red puddles in them.

“Stop.”

Brown looked around at Lumi in surprise.

Lumi tilted his head. “Do you hear it?”

The Chief Constable listened as well. “Something humming?”

“There,” said Lumi, pointing down into the mud. He stooped down and removed his tongs again, delved into the mud for a moment, then came up with a metal cylinder with flashing lights on it. He clicked a switch and the lights went out.

“That’s a board cutter,” the constable told him.

“I am aware of that. What it would be nice to know is if it has cut something.” Brown smiled.

“Evidence, hard physical evidence,” he said, then, as he hurried back out of the alley, “I’ll get my men.” When he returned, Lumi was scraping mortar from between the bricks of one wall and placing it in a bag.

“They tried to wash it off, but it soaked into the mortar. One of them was badly injured. Probably had something cut right off — there’s a fragment of bone here. Find someone badly injured and I’ll do a genetic cross-match, then you’ll likely have your killer, or be very close to him.”

“Sir!”

The shout came from the constable probing the mud at the end of the alley. Lumi looked down there and saw the crowd hurriedly dispersing.

“What is it, Walker?” asked Brown.

Walker did not reply. He hurriedly stepped back to the wall of the alley and stared out into the street. Suddenly a huge figure loomed there; eight feet tall and leathery skinned, long robes, a staff, a face visored with leathery skin, no eyes apparent, a grim slit of a mouth. A Proctor.

“Oh shit,” said Brown.

The Proctor strode down the alley, its staff punching holes in the mud. It halted when it was looming over them, regarding them with the featureless thrust of its head.

“Death,” it said, its voice flat and barren of anything human. Lumi stood up and sealed the plastic bag he had been filling.

“We are investigating it,” he said.

“Lumi,” said the Proctor, then abruptly turned away and strode out of the alley.

“What the hell?” said Brown.

“I don’t know.”

“But they never take an interest in local law.”

“I said I don’t know.”

Lumi gazed after the retreating Proctor. They enforced the laws of the Owner: No one to enter the restricted zones, no building in or corruption of the wilder zones, no more taken from them by a human than a human can carry without mechanical aid, and of course, the population stricture. It was this last that inspired terror of the Proctors. The population was set at two billion and must never go above that number. Whenever it did the Proctors turned killer. It did not matter who died just so long as the population number was brought down again. This was why it was law that every man and woman must be sterilized after engendering only two children. To flout this law was punishable by death. In Lumi’s opinion this was the right way of going about things. On Earth no such laws had been in existence, and the horror of what had resulted was still remembered.

Cromwell tapped a cigarette against its box and inserted it in his mouth. A quick pull on it had it burning and he blew a stream of smoke from his nostrils. The guard watched him warily out of the corner of his eye, his rifle braced before him and his stance rigid. Cromwell stood looking thoughtfully at the door. He flicked ash on the ground and took another drag. This was difficult. People not co-operating with him was one matter, but this one… she hardly seemed to be aware of his presence. It was as if she considered him of no importance whatsoever. She would have to be made aware. He nodded to the guard.

“Open the door,” he said.

The guard removed a key from his pocket and did as instructed. Cromwell entered the cell and stood inspecting his prisoner as the guard closed the door behind him. She was an attractive blond-haired woman in a single skin-tight coverall. She sat in a lotus position in the centre of the cold concrete floor.

“You have had time to consider my proposal,” said Cromwell.

The woman glanced up at him and nodded absently.

“Will you give me access to your ship?”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps I am not making myself clear. Perhaps you actually think you have choices in this matter. Well, in a way you do… you see, there are drugs I can use, some nasty little insects that are local to this area, pain, endless amounts of pain.”

The woman met his stare directly. Her expression showed an analytical curiosity now. “What do you want from my ship?”

Cromwell stared at her for a moment, took another drag on his cigarette.

“High tech weaponry,” he said at last.

“There is none,” she told him.

“Unfortunately I do not believe you. You can of course prove me wrong by allowing me access.”

“I think not,” said the woman.

Cromwell grinned nastily. She was not a very good liar. There were weapons aboard her ship, weapons probably powerful enough to deal with Proctors. Cromwell’s grin turned to a sneer when he thought about that. Damned Proctors. The Owner was a myth kept alive by idiots like the Chief Scientist. Only the Proctors with their stupid arbitrary restrictions were real. He winced when he thought about the money he had outlaid on the sluice from his paper mill. The sluice had led into a river in the wilder and there had been no interference until the day of the first outflow. A Proctor had walked out of the wilder and methodically smashed the sluice to pieces. Cromwell ordered his men to fire on it, but only two dared to do so. They had been brave men. He was generous in compensating their families. These thoughts in mind he stepped forward and grabbed hold of the woman’s hair.

“You’ll let me in your ship or I’ll skin you from the feet up,” he hissed. The next moment he found himself on his back on the floor, the woman standing over him.

“I do not understand you,” she said, and it sounded as if she really did not. “If you had such weaponry the Owner would never allow you to use it.”

“There is no Owner,” Cromwell spat. “I would use the weapons on the Proctors to free us from them!” The woman sat down on the floor again, staring at him all the while.

“I come from Earth,” she said. “I am here to see the Owner to tell him we are ready for his guidance now. He exists.”

Cromwell stood up, stared at her in disgust, then banged on the door of the cell. He stomped down the corridor pulling another cigarette from his packet and lighting it. At the end of the corridor he mounted a stairway that led up to his office. There he paced for a while before eventually throwing himself into his chair and flicking on the communicator.

“Owner my ass,” he said as he punched up a coded number.

The screen flicked on and the face of a young woman gazed out at him.

“Is it done?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Any problems?”

“Yes.”

Cromwell had not expected that.

“Go on,” he said carefully.

“Your son was injured.”

Cromwell sat back in his chair and stared at the woman coldly.

“How badly?”

“The board cutter had his cutting tool with him. He took a lump off your son’s arm before we killed him. We took him to Doctor Grable. He’s in a room in the nursing home.”