Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“Daddy said they sleep in the Forbidden Zone and that they can be woken.” As she finished speaking she looked at David and flushed at her own boldness.

Now wouldn’t that be something , thought Cheydar, and shivered. He stared through the flames at Dagon. The man had been very quiet and still. Eventually he spoke.

“Why should you want to wake them?” he asked.

“Justice!” spat Suen, but she sounded suddenly unsure.

“The only justice they bring is the Owner’s,” Dagon replied. “They enforce only his laws and his laws say nothing about you people killing each other.”

“‘You people.’ You do not consider yourself one of us?” Suen asked. Dagon looked briefly annoyed. “A manner of speech, nothing more. But I tell you this, I have read the Agreement.”

Suen snorted her disbelief.

Cheydar said, “It is etched into a metal pillar around which the Ompotec temple is built. Only select members of the priesthood are allowed to see it.”

Dagon smiled mildly and shook his head. “Wrong, there are in all fifty-eight of the message pillars and every death post around the forbidden zones has the Agreement etched in its surface. Anyone prepared to take a bit of a walk can read it. I’ve seen it many times.” Suen and Cheydar stared at him. They did not know how to refute that. He continued, “Understand that the priesthood uses any and all methods to gather power to itself. Like all religious organizations its greatest power stems from the claim to forbidden knowledge, the ability to intercede with the divine, all of that, though the Owner is hardly divine.”

“What does it say?” asked David, speaking for the first time that evening, uncomfortably aware of Sheda’s attention firmly fixed upon him.

Dagon glanced at him. “It is quite simple: No one to enter the forbidden 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. There is also a population stricture, but that is hardly necessary as the population here is in decline.”

“There has to be more than that,” said Suen.

“There is not. The Owner is a great believer in personal responsibility. Beyond preventing damage to his property he doesn’t have much more interest in planetary populations.”

“You are an Owner expert all at once,” said Suen.

“I’ve studied him all my life.”

“Like my husband.”

Dagon regarded her very directly, “No, not like your husband. My research was into original materials, not the wishful thinking and distortion that came after.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Owner has fascinated scholars for centuries and a great deal has been written about him, and a lot of what has been written is simply not true.”

“How do you know what is true?” asked Cheydar.

Dagon showed annoyance again, quickly repressed it. “Simple research. Consider the entire mythology that’s arisen about the Proctors. To some they are saviours, and their enforcing of law will bring about Utopia. To others they are demons and this is perhaps closest. They enforced the Wilder laws. If someone used a cart to haul wood out of the Wilder a Proctor would turn up and smash the cart. They simply prevented the law being broken. But it was the population stricture that inspired terror of the Proctors. The population here is set. at two billion and must never go above that number. When it did, about two centuries ago, the Proctors turned killer. For every child born at that two billion limit a human was killed. It was completely random. It might have been a baby that died or an octogenarian on his death bed.”

“I do not believe this,” said Suen, but her voice was not firm. She turned to Cheydar. “I want to go into the Wilder. I want to read what is written on a death post.”

Cheydar was watching Dagon thinking, simply a killer? He nodded, feeling his stomach clench. To actually go to the edge of a Forbidden Zone… He turned to Suen and saw something else there in her expression: a kind of set stubbornness, a determination to carry something through. He had seen that look before and it brought to him a feeling of hopeless dread. She nodded once as if by his look he had guessed her intention and she was confirming it. She reached into her pack and took out a leather-bound book. She held it up.

“In the morning we head for the Forbidden Zone beyond North Forest, by the coast,” she said. Cheydar knew the book. It was one of Tarrin’s.

“We will be caught and killed before we get there,” he said. “Any route will take us through the Cariphe’s lands. If we go South we can take the road to Elmarch and the Forbidden Zone there nearly touches on the road.”

“We go to North Forest, by the coast.”

There would be no arguing with her. She turned to Dagon, who had taken out one of his swords and was running a stone up and down the blade.

“Will you be with us?”

“Of course,” he said. He looked around at them. “Sleep now, I will watch.” Cheydar returned the look.

“Wake me in two hours,” he said.

Dagon took out a pocket watch, checked it, then nodded and moved off into the darkness. The sky was lightening, but the sun had yet to break over the horizon. Like a corroded coin the sulphurous moon Linx traversed the sky, one edge gilded by the approaching sun. Steeleye was a misty orb all but lost behind thin cirrus. There was frost on the boulders, layers of mist out in the scrub.

“Father will be very annoyed,” said Eric.

“Ah, but he will be well rested,” said Dagon. He stood next to a boulder, an air gun cradled before him. Eric did not recognise the design. He walked up and stood beside this warrior.

“Your weapon,” he said.

Dagon flipped the gun around, handed it across.

Eric said, “Valved gas cylinder… how many shots?”

“Five. The darts are in that revolving barrel and are automatically presented.”

“I’ve never seen its like before.”

“They’re made in Elmarch and are standard issue to the army there. They’re the reason the Cariphe keeps to his borders.”

“I’d like to go there. So would David. They say it is always sunny and the King’s navy is always looking for volunteers.” Eric handed the weapon back.

“They’re normally volunteered with a club on the back of the head. Try the Border Legion, you’ll have better luck there.”

Dagon turned and started walking back to the camp. Eric followed.

“That’s where you’re from then?”

“Yes.”

Eric glanced back. He’s from Elmarch, he thought, staring at the ground. Something… He shook his head and halted. Yes. Where Dagon had stood there were two prints in the frosted ground ivy. No prints other than those Eric had just made coming out here and the both of them were now making as they walked back. There had to be a reasonable explanation. No man could stand as still as a statue all night, or fly, or just appear out of thin air.

“I would say that if we skulked all the way to North Forest we’d more likely be caught than if we just travelled there openly. Head into Giltown, rent a carriage and take it right to the edge of the Wilder. Much less chance of getting caught,” said Cheydar. He felt that if they must make this insane journey it would be best to do it quickly.

“I leave that decision in your hands. You are the soldier,” said Suen. Cheydar grimaced. Subterfuge was hardly soldier’s work. He turned to Dagon. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re right,” answered the warrior. “The priesthood is geared that way: they’ll be looking for people who look guilty, who are trying to hide, they’ll always be looking for that kind. Best to go boldly, pretend to Lord Right, even priestliness.” The last word came out with a touch of contempt.