Neal Asher - The Engineer Reconditioned

“Do not struggle, Baptiser. I do not wish to strike you.”

Beck recognised the two thugs from the church. One of them had Erlin pinned in her sleeping bag, the barrel of a gun, much like Beck’s own, pressed against her forehead. After them, momentarily silhouetted in the doorway, came Morage, grinning unpleasantly. Morage was a master of unpleasant grins.

“Oh Baptiser, you have a travelling companion. Even the Wife will not berate me for my actions now. The Baptiser must seek loneliness and purity in prayer,” he said.

“Sugar dog crap,” said Beck. The thug holding him pinned was uncomfortable with such blasphemous profanity. Morage turned his attention to the thug who was holding Erlin.

“Let her up.”

Erlin kicked out of her sleeping bag and stood up carefully, her gaze locked on the barrel of the gun.

“Now, Earther,” said Morage. “I want you to undo your belt and drop your weapon to the floor.” This Erlin did and Morage grinned his unpleasant grin again. “Now I want you to empty your pockets of all those wonderful gadgets.” Erlin began to do this also, dropping device after device on her pack.

“This is not about religion. This is robbery,” said Beck.

“Be silent, Sirus Beck, I will deal with you presently,” said Morage without turning.

“You would delay me?” asked Beck, expecting some result of his query, perhaps some wince of pain from their captors.

Morage turned and grinned nastily at him. “I suppose she has told you all about the parasites?” Morage’s grin got nastier when he saw Beck’s surprise. “Do you think such knowledge would be lost to us? The Wives know, as do all members of the Inquisition. It is best that we are the only ones to know. You see, we keep ourselves pure, and we never truly take part in the Eucharist.”

“You are free of neuter parasites,” said Erlin.

Morage glanced at her.

“Yes, as are my friends here,” he gestured at the two thugs, “which means there are things we can do that so many others in the Church cannot do.”

Erlin shot a warning look at Beck, but he did not need it. He knew that Morage intended to kill the both of them. He noted that the thugs were uncomfortable with what was just beginning to occur to them. Well they might be; there probably had not been a Baptiser in their lifetimes, and now they might be told to kill one.

“Strip that garment from her,” Morage instructed the one who held Erlin at gunpoint. “I don’t want to have missed anything before she goes to the post.”

Lying where he was Beck had a view of the door and realised that no-one else was looking in that direction. He swore at his captor to keep his attention. The thug became even more uncomfortable. The other thug was reaching for Erlin when Morage screamed.

The sheep had come in quickly and sunk its yellow teeth into Morage’s upper arm. Beck knocked the staff from his chest, caught the foot of his captor and shoved him off-balance. There was a flash of red between Erlin and the other. A hand, severed and smoking at the wrist, thudded on the floor still clutching a gun. Beck came up onto his feet holding his own gun as he was grabbed. He sunk the barrel deep into a fat belly and pulled the trigger once. With a muffled boom and a horrible grunting sound, his attacker went up off his feet before thumping face down on the floor. Beck turned, saw the sheep fleeing from the sound of the weapon, saw Morage on his knees cradling an arm from which all the flesh had been stripped between shoulder and elbow. He was screaming. Beck pulled the trigger again and Morage flipped backwards out of the door, most of his head left on one of the door posts. One shot left. White shapes beyond the door baaing and snarling over Morage’s corpse. Time. Beck turned. Erlin was back up against the wall, her face pale. The one left was trying to take his gun from his severed right hand with his left, while the stump of his right wrist squirted blood. He looked up, began to yell, the bullet went into his chest then out from his back, folding out one shoulder blade like an escape hatch. The impact threw him at Erlin’s feet where he made bubbling sounds and died. Time. Beck cracked open his gun, pulled hot shell cases from their chambers, the skin of his finger-tips sizzling, put in three fresh rounds. He did not allow himself to think of anything else until he had done this. Then he stepped towards the door, shooting the first sheep as it came in, trapping the head of the second in the door as it tried to follow, shooting it through the eye then managing to get the door closed against the rest of the flock. Locking the door.

“Sirus… Sirus.”

The thumping and battering against the door was shortlived. Beck rested there with his forehead against the wood, trying to get his breathing under control. Shit, that had been close. When sheep went into a feeding frenzy, God help anyone who got in the way.

“Sirus.”

What the hell does she want now? Look after herself. Hah.

Beck turned and regarded Erlin. She stood in the middle of the room, distaste writ on her features. She pointed down by the fire. It hit him at once; the wrenching tearing in his gut. The pot was spilled, and the Gurnard lay on the stone, bulbous stalked eyes blinking, mouth gaping occasionally, spines fanned out around its head. Before he knew what he was doing Sirus scooped it up and put it in its pot, oblivious to the spines piercing his fingers. He then emptied his water canteen in it. It wasn’t enough. He took up the pot and headed for the door.

“They’ll kill you if you go out there. I’m sorry about this,” said Erlin. What is she talking about?

As he reached the door something hit him like a falling wall and a bright and painful light took him away. Having filled the pot with water Beck corked it. As he did this he felt himself coming back to normality, gaining some control over his actions. He put the pot aside and knelt there with his hands resting on the fronts of his thighs. He felt tired and his head ached.

“I’m back now. I’m in control,” he said.

“Then you can carry your own pack,” she said, and his pack thumped down next to him. He’d woken still under the same powerful impetus. He’d picked up the pot, opened the door, and taken the Gurnard to the nearest source of water. He shivered at the thought of what would have happened had he gone out the door the first time, when the sheep were in feeding frenzy. He’d noted but had not been concerned about the blood, the few fragments of bone, clothing, and one chewed sandal which was all that remained of Morage. He turned to face Erlin, who was sitting wearily on the near-petrified stump of a tree that had fallen when this area had been forest, and when the sheep had walked on four hooves.

“You can have your blood sample,” he said.

“I already took it,” said she.

“What did you learn?”

“Not much, I merely confirmed.”

“Can you free me?”

“Possibly. Are you sure you want to be free?”

“Yes,” said Beck vehemently.

“Let’s eat,” said Erlin. “Then we can move on.”

Beck agreed. They unpacked their supplies and ate their food. When it came to drink, Erlin filled a small container with water in which it boiled in moments.

“You drink boiled water from now on,” she said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know how long the neuter parasites encyst for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You could be rid of one only to be already carrying its successor inside you.”

“I see.”

After eating, drinking, and resting for a while they moved on. They reached the next sanctuary in darkness, watched by the night-glow of sheep eyes.

“Did you leave the door to the other sanctuary open?”