Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“Why should you come?” asked Sapher, bitterness still in his voice. Tamsin glared at his brother, hoping he would say no more. Ghort would be a valued member of such an expedition and must not be put off.

“I come because I wish to,” said Ghort.

“You believe in the Owner,” said Sapher.

Ghort just regarded him with those blue eyes. Sapher turned away in frustration.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Be back here in the hour. You know what supplies to bring, and if any of you have access to family weapons you may bring them.”

“Family weapons?” said Baum, outraged.

Sapher glared at him and he desisted.

They wore the canvas trousers and jackets that were necessary for travelling deep into the Rhode. The only family weapon brought to the hunt was the one Sapher carried: the Logisticson’s gun. Tamsin allowed this even though the gun had been his assigned responsibility from his fifteenth year. Since its last firing, in Tamsin’s grandfather’s time, it took a month of bright sunlight to get it up to eighty per cent of a charge. It would take no more. That charge also tended to bleed away during the hours of darkness. It was all something to do with the flickering red lights on the side of the weapon, but Tamsin could not decipher them — the manual had been lost four generations ago.

Torril and Chand brought their hunting bows and long knives, plus all the usual supplies for a hunt when the prey were deer and swamp elk, not tigers. Tamsin was not skilled in the use of a bow, so he brought his father’s two spears — serviceable weapons with wide blades fashioned of ship metal; blades that took ages to lose their edge and ages to sharpen again.

Ghort came with only one spear, but what a spear it was. The blade was two hands wide and as long as a normal man’s forearm. The Smith had taken months to cut the metal for it, from the old hull, and months to sharpen it. It was Ghort’s reward for his rescue of Dorlis, who killed himself the day after the presentation.

Ephis brought her crossbow with its quarrels fashioned of Rhode wood. Her father, Baum, brought no weapons at all. He brought the Agreement. Sapher looked set to explode when he saw this, instead, he climbed a rock to address them all.

“We have two hours left until darkness,” he said, then waited a moment until sure of all their attention before continuing. “The tiger went east to the Ship. We will camp there for the night then use it as our base while we hunt the beast down. The Plain of Landing is probably its main hunting ground.” He glared at them all belligerently, daring them to dispute his words.

“He can tell an awful lot from a few tracks,” Ephis whispered to Tamsin. Tamsin glared at her, then moved away from her to be closer to his brother.

“If we work together on this we should have the beast’s skin within days. We will kill this tiger for Jeleel!” As he said this he punched the air with the family gun. There came a grumbling response from the crowd that could have meant anything.

Then a voice spoke up from the back. “Does Jeleel want you to kill a tiger?” For a moment there was absolute silence, then heads turned to seek the source of that voice. Abruptly the crowd parted and a raggedy scarecrow of a man walked through.

“Owner save us!” exclaimed Baum, clutching the Agreement to his chest.

“That option he left to you,” said the man, then he held out his hand to Baum. “Now give me Jeleel’s soul pendant.”

“Who are you to make demands?” yelled Sapher, jumping down off his rock. Tamsin moved up beside him and grabbed his arm. “That’s Temron: the tiger killer,” he said, and this news stilled even Sapher.

They watched while Baum groped about in his pouch and eventually came up with a tangle of chains and pendants.

“That’s old Nigella, and that’s Dolic. Ah, here.” He separated out a pendant, “I see you’ve lost yours,” he said as he handed Jeleel’s pendant across to Temron.

Temron smiled and closed his fist around the object.

“I have been dead for eight years and now I am back,” he said. At this there came a concerted muttering and most people moved back from him. All except one, Tamsin noted. Ghort moved closer, his expression strangely intense.

Temron continued, “I died out in the Rhode because I broke the Agreement. I died alone and in pain, but at least my pain was my own.”

Temron raised his fist and a voice spoke out that all recognised. It was Jeleel’s voice:

“Now, with what I know, I wonder if I should forgive him. I find that I cannot. Life was sweet and seemed likely to become sweeter. I was innocent,” said the voice.

A woman wailed and fell to her knees. The voice went on:

“Do not weep, mother. You will be with me again some day.”

“Who has done this?” the woman shouted.

“Sapher did this to me. He raped me, then he beat me and cut me with his knives, then he tied rocks in my dress and threw me into the Wishpool. Despite his beatings and his cuttings, I drowned in the end.”

“You murderer!” Baum bellowed.

Tamsin was turning to his brother when Sapher yelled.

“Nooo!”

An actinic flash burnt the air and a sound like a rock hitting a tree trunk, opened it. Tamsin staggered back with the smell of burning flesh in his nostrils. He saw Baum falling with smoke pouring from the embered cavity of his chest. His brother had fired the gun..

“Sapher!”

Sapher turned the weapon on Tamsin. Tamsin saw the look in his eyes and dived to one side. Behind him he heard a scream. He rolled and ran into the Rhode. Fire behind him. Screams and chaos. His brother had raped and murdered Jeleel. Tamsin ran in semidark until a root tripped him and brought him to his knees. He pulled himself to a tangle of trunks and tried to bite down on the tears that threatened. Had he known this already? He dared not entertain the thought. Distantly he heard shouting and the sounds of people running. Then close to he heard something and moved as quietly as he could to observe. It was Temron walking up a path through the Rhode. He seemed almost to be gliding, moving faster forward than his pace should actually have taken him. He also seemed somehow blurred. Behind him Ghort was running to catch up. Temron turned when the big man was close. Ghort staggered to a halt and rested his weight on his spear. Temron seemed to be fading into the background, or perhaps it was that another background was reaching out from somewhere to grab him back. Abruptly he came back into focus and was no longer Temron. Dark hair turned white over a thin face. Dark eyes turned red, demonic. Canvas clothing transformed into something more like the inside of a machine than attire for a human being. Around him, indefinable engines lurked at the limit of perception; gathered and poised like a planetoid only moments before impact. Ghort sank down onto his hocks and placed his spear on the path next to him. He kept his eyes down while he regained his breath. The entity before him did not move. It just nailed him with its viper eyes. Eventually Ghort looked up.

“Owner,” he said. “Take me with you.”

The Owner’s reply came after a suitable pause. Tamsin felt that this pause was not for reflection. This was a god after all.

“Are you wise, Ghort?” the Owner asked, and the voice had nuances of power. Hearing it, Tamsin realised it might be possible to kill with a word.

“I am wise,” said Ghort.

“Ah,” said the Owner. “Yet patience is integral to wisdom.” The Owner turned and things distorted somehow, as if he was attached to everything around him by invisible threads. For a moment Tamsin saw something vast — the inside of an iron cathedral. Then the Owner was gone and Ghort was bowed down with his forehead in the dirt. Tamsin thought he might be crying.