Ray Aldridge - The Orpheus Machine

“You needn’t be so formal with me,” said Gejas cheerfully. “We’re just submen together, eh? Still, I have all the power, so perhaps it’s wise for you to show me as much respect as you can stomach.”

Ruiz was too busy examining the implications of his situation to answer. What “job” had The Yellowleaf assigned him?

As if reading his mind, Gejas said, “You’re our new knacker, Ruiz Aw. I’ll explain the procedure. The cattle come down the conveyor and pause by your station. You cut their throats — I’ll show you precisely how it’s done — and then you apply the leech. That’s all there is to it. The blood, by the way, is jellied and sold to the Blades as a condiment. Strange folk, the Blades. We could do the knackery much more efficiently; we have one of the finest automation systems in the pangalac worlds. But the cannibals want bled-out meat, done the old-fashioned way — and the customer’s always right. Right? Besides, they sometimes send inspectors.”

Ruiz couldn’t speak. He stood there clutching the knife in suddenly nerveless hands, mouth hanging open in horror. How could they make him do it?

The answer came swiftly. Pain flowed into him, beginning at his waist, under the metal band. It exploded up and down his body, a pain compounded of every variety of agony, in every level of himself. His joints felt as if they were being torn apart; his internal organs felt distended by a terrible pressure, as though each were on the point of bursting. His skin seemed to be on fire.

Ruiz fell to his hands and knees, dropping the knife to the platform. The breath went out of him, but he hurt too much to scream; there wasn’t enough of him left for anything but feeling the pain.

“We also have good neurostimulators — pain is the basis of our business,” Gejas said, though Ruiz heard him only dimly.

The pain stopped, and Ruiz drew a great breath. For an instant he felt lighter than the heavy air, as if he could float up and away from everything. But then he felt the cold metal under his hands, sensed Gejas hovering closer. The tongue stepped onto the platform.

“Stand up, Ruiz Aw,” said Gejas.

And he did.

“Pick up the knife.”

He did.

“Here comes your first customer.”

A low rattle came out of the darkness, and a conveyor gurney slid into the dim light, bearing a fat middle-aged woman.

The gurney slid to a stop in front of Ruiz, its brakes squealing a little. The woman seemed only half-conscious. Her eyes were unfocused and appeared not to see Ruiz.

“They’re drugged, as you see,” said Gejas. “Otherwise the flesh would bear an unsavory bitterness — too much fear. The Yellowleaf wants you to learn a lesson — but not at the expense of our product quality, in which we take a certain pride.”

Ruiz looked down at the woman, wondered who she was, and what her dreams had once been. Certainly she had never expected to end her life in such a dreadful way, her significance reduced to her value as meat. To her dressed-out weight. “I’ll do the job you wanted me to do — I’ll consult the virtual. This isn’t necessary. It isn’t necessary.”

“You and I, we can’t be the judge of that, Ruiz Aw. Such decisions are for the hetmen,” said Gejas. “Give me the knife.” He extended his mirrorgloved hand.

Ruiz reluctantly laid the knife’s haft there.

“Watch, now,” said Gejas.

Moving at a deliberate pace, Gejas set the knife against the sagging skin under the woman’s ear. He cut carefully, made another cut on the other side. The woman stirred, and a little more awareness came into her eyes. No great amount of blood flowed yet, but then Gejas took the leech, applied it to her throat. He gave a strong downward push, and the arteries burst, filling the leech with bright blood.

The woman kicked briefly and expired.

“That is my technique, which I recommend to you, Ruiz Aw. If you cut all the way into the arteries with your first stroke, you’ll get a lot of blood on you, and waste a good bit, too.”

Gejas wiped the blade off on the woman’s short gray hair and handed it back to Ruiz.

“I cannot do this,” Ruiz said.

“You can’t? Well, I assure you, you must. You will. The pain will stay with you until you do your job. It will come if you perform with unsatisfactory efficiency. Yes, you will come to love your work. Oh, yes!” Gejas spoke with just a hint of anger, the first real emotion Ruiz had ever noticed in that smooth voice. Gejas boarded his floater. “You’re a brazen sort, I must tell you. You would have to work here for years before you would equal the number of murders you’ve already committed. We know your reputation and record, Ruiz Aw. You’ve spread death across the human galaxy for centuries, haven’t you?”

“That was different.”

“Was it?” Gejas turned out his lights and disappeared. Ruiz heard the whine of the floater’s drive fade away into the silence of the slaughterhouse.

The conveyor rail carried the corpse away, and nothing happened for a while.

Then Ruiz became aware of an ache in his middle, under the metal band that connected him to his chair. Minutes passed, and the ache grew worse until he had to sit down, huddled around the pain, sweating and grinding his teeth.

He began to look up the conveyor rail, and to listen for the rattle of the gurney.

When he realized what he was doing, a sob escaped his clenched teeth.

The pain invaded his body, a slow relentless conquest that eventually reduced him to a gasping mindless creature, empty of everything but pain. When the gurney finally brought him his first victim, he at first felt no emotion but a confused relief. He staggered to his feet as the gurney stopped at the platform’s edge.

The pain stopped. A dreadful buoyant joy possessed him. He strode across the platform, lifting the knife.

The child seemed not as heavily drugged as the woman had been, and smiled sleepily up at Ruiz. He had dark curly hair and blue eyes; he might have been eight or nine standard years old. The straps that held him to the gurney seemed much too large.

The joy evaporated, leaving only a weary horror. “No,” he said.

Pain returned, a tidal wave of agony. His legs turned to jelly and he fell to the steel, unable to do anything but twitch. He couldn’t breathe; if anything, the pain was worse than before. He tried to say something, but he had no breath. His vision darkened and he fell into blackness.

When he woke, he heard the little boy crying, a soft muffled sound that seemed to fill the slaughterhouse. The pain was gone, at least for the moment. He sat up carefully.

The box that held the leech whirred and extruded a small directional speaker. Gejas’s voice issued from it, a tinny whisper. “See what you have done? The child’s trank has worn off; now he must die in fear, and it’s your fault.”

“Please,” said Ruiz Aw.

Gejas laughed, a low soft sound, full of delighted amazement. “‘Please’? You astound me, Ruiz Aw. Begging the hetmen for mercy… even that boy would not be so foolish. No, you must do the deed. And continue, until The Yellowleaf deems you properly educated.”

“No, no…” Ruiz said. But he got to his feet and picked up the knife, hiding it behind him.

“No? The hetmen don’t understand that word, Ruiz Aw. And consider. If I give you pain again, the boy must lie here a while longer until you recover. You make frightening noises when you’re full of pain. Do you wish his suffering to continue?”

“No.” Ruiz stood over the boy, looking down at the small tear-stained face. The little boy had stopped crying, though his mouth trembled and his blue eyes were very wide.

“Go on,” said Gejas. “He is meat, whether by your hand or another’s. The pain will kill you eventually, and The Yellowleaf has instructed me to give you pain until you do her bidding.”