Neal Asher - The Gabble

Simoz stepped off the platform and walked to where an arm lay in a pool of watery blood.

He circled until he found a smeared area of the same then followed the dripped trail into a side-branching tunnel of the anchor root, stepping warily on slippery floor under the blue luminescence. The biolights were restless on the ceiling and it was because he was keeping half an eye on them that he did not immediately see the choudapt. There came a low whickering sound and Simoz ducked before he knew why he was ducking and glanced behind him to see one of the neurotoxin darts bouncing across the floor. He fired reflexively at a half-seen shape, then pursued when that shape rose from the shadows at the side of the tunnel and fled.

Damnit Mike, this is the only way. You didn’t give a precise location for that encysted choud. I’d bet this bastard knows where it is.

Before rounding a corner in the tunnel Simoz slowed to a walk, since he had no wish to run straight into one of those darts, and glancing back had the dubious pleasure of seeing biolights dropping from the ceiling and scuttling towards him. Not allowing himself panic, he reached into his pocket, removing a shock grenade the size and shape of an acorn. He then edged to the corner and carefully peeked round, guessing the dark shape squatting in the shadows to be the choudapt. Simoz flipped the cap on the grenade and tossed it round. A white flash followed by lots of electric sizzlings ensued. Glancing back at the biolights that were approaching he flipped a grenade in their direction too, closing his eyes against the flash. He opened his eyes to see biolights scattered across the floor of the tunnel, their legs in the air and the luminescence they emitted faltering, then he stepped round the corner.

The choudapt lay sprawled across the tunnel. Simoz advanced on the man and kicked away the tubular dart thrower lying next to his outstretched left hand. The stump of his right arm had some sort of bio field-dressing over it, as did the wound in his shoulder, and he was breathing raggedly. Simoz squatted down next to him and removed the shock stick from his pocket. He altered a setting on its thumb wheel and touched the end of it to the choudapt’s neck.

The low buzzing convulsed the man and he immediately opened his eyes and started to move, but froze as the barrel of Simoz’s thin-gun pressed against his forehead.

‘Separatist?’ asked Simoz.

The man just sneered at him. Simoz altered the setting on his shock stick and touched what he assumed to me the man’s most sensitive area. Judging by the screech that followed he guessed he had been right.

‘Separatist?’ he asked again.

‘Yes,’ said the man.

Simoz noted the slight distraction in the man’s expression. Keeping the shock stick to his groin he turned and shot the biolight that had been creeping up behind. Before the man could react Simoz had his thin-gun back in his face.

‘The parasitic fungus, where did you get it from?’

The man showed an inclination not to answer. Simoz made that inclination go away.

When the man had stopped screaming he seemed more inclined to cooperate.

‘We got it from a preserved choud exported before the retrovirus was used here.’

‘Is it just you here? No, silly question. You’d only lie. I want you to stand very slowly and carefully, then very slowly and carefully I want you to walk to the encysted choud.’

The man looked at him blankly for a moment, then obeyed. Simoz tried to analyse that blank look, knowing that somehow he had made a mistake here.

‘What was the plan? You knew someone would be here with the retrovirus at some point.

Or is this just the usual terrorism?’

‘Yes, terrorism. It works.’

Now that, Mike, was a lie. I wonder what’s really happening here.

‘Just show everyone what big guns you’ve got and they’ll do what you want?’

‘That’s right,’ said the choudapt.

‘Okay, stop there. Turn round.’

The choudapt halted and turned. He was grinning.

Simoz continued, ‘The fungal form has been altered to counter the retrovirus, but you knew that the virus would be altered to suit. You also knew that at some point it would be released here. So the question is: what result are you after?’

The choudapt’s palps moved in what Simoz could only assume to be a rude gesture.

‘You won’t get out of here,’ the choudapt said. He nodded back down the tunnel. ‘It won’t just be the biolights. Every piece of biotech will be after you. Right now the lifting platforms have ceased to function.’

‘You know, I’m carrying the virus in my body. The fungal parasites would die very quickly,’

said Simoz.

‘Then release it.’

‘I see. . turn and continue walking.’

Mike, do not release the virus. Whatever happens, do not release it.

As they reached the end of the tunnel Simoz tossed a shock grenade behind him to deter the pursuing biolights, which had now been joined by some armoured multi-legged thing whose function he could not guess. The choudapt led him through another tunnel, a narrow tunnel that seemingly terminated at a wall, but then the wall parted before him. In the place beyond the choudapt turned to Simoz, who peered past him at the second choudapt crucified by woody growths to the wrack wall. This other one opened crusted eyes but did not speak.

‘Tarin controls the Wrack city. He controls every fungal parasite and therefore all the biotech here. Go on, Earther, release your virus — kill them all,’ the first choudapt said.

‘I see,’ said Simoz. ‘You’ve undermined all the biotech. If I release the virus what happens?’

‘You destroy the Wrack and kill a hundred thousand people. We claim extreme incompetence on the part of ECS and recruit a million to our cause.’

‘Then I won’t release the virus.’

As he said this he heard the wall opening behind him. Without looking he shot behind himself and heard a bubbling squeal.

‘You’ll die either here or on your way out and someone else will come and release the virus here. We win all ways.’

‘You don’t,’ said Simoz.

The choudapt had time only to raise his remaining arm. The thin-gun coughed, the side of the man’s head opened like a hinged lid and a haze of bone and brain splashed out behind him.

He staggered back and fell at the feet of the encysted choudapt, Tarin. Simoz now turned and fired twice, splashing luminous blood up the walls. He tossed a shock grenade out into an encroaching wall of chitinous legs, glowing bodies, and hints of armour. The wall fell in chaos and he counted the last two grenades in his pocket. Then he turned, walked forward and stepped over the dead choudapt to look into Tarin’s eyes. There was a ripping sound as Tarin opened his crusted lips.

‘No win. . Earther,’ he said, spittle running from the side of his mouth.

Knock once for yes and twice for no. Are you hearing this, Mike?

Simoz’s stomach muscles clenched twice and he grinned at his doctor mycelium’s little joke.

You have to go in, Mike, and take over. This was always a possibility: you have to leave me even if that means you leave me to die.

There was a long pause then his stomach muscles clenched once.

‘I always win,’ said Simoz.

The choudapt Tarin opened his mouth to make some reply. Simoz didn’t wait for it. He slammed his hand over that crusted mouth.

Goodbye, Mike, he managed before his legs went numb and the sight faded from his eyes. As he fell he could feel his hand bonded to the choudapt’s mouth. The thin-gun fell from the numb fingers of his other hand before a pool of blackness filled his skull.

…

Simoz.