Authors: Iain M. Banks
Feersum Endjinn (30 page)
@ last Gaston sed, . . . Heer we r, & we stept on 2 a platform ov stoan & wen thru a doar in2 a crampt spais whare Gaston wriggld & I crold btween a stoan floar & this metil sealing witch maid a sorta blurbilurbilurbil soun. We cairn out in whot luked lyk a big long kurvin servis duct hoos wols wer lynd wif pyps; weed juss crold undir a big gurglin tank ov sum sort. I cude heer whot soundid lyk a trane rumblin sumwhare neerby.
... Zher ish a frate tube line juncshin thru zhare, Gaston sed, poyntin @ a hatch in thi floar. Zhi tranes ½ 2 shlo doun 2 negoshiate thi poyntsh & it ish poshibil 4 a hoomin 2 jump on bord a wagin & sho shicure a ryde. I shink I ½ 2 retern 2 c whot has befolin ma frendsh, but if u can maik yoor way 2 thi sekind levil shousht-wesht buttry u wil fynd a toun zhare. Go 2 thi shentril sqware; shum1 wil b lukin 4 u & wil luke aftir u. Im sorri 2 ½ 2 abandin u in zhish way, but it ish ol I can do.
Thass ol rite, Gaston, I sed. U dun ol u can & I doan deserv ol thi kyndniss yoov shown me. I woz so choakd I cude ½ hugd him, but I didn. He just noddid his big funy pointid hed & sed, . . . Wel, gude luk yung Bashcule, u tak care now . . . & u promish u wil go 2 thi shousht-wesht buttry & thi toun zhare?
O yes, I sez, lyin thru ma teef.
Good. Fair wel.
Then he woz away, crolin bak undir thi big gurgli tank.
I went doun fru thi hatch in thi floar in2 a brod dark cavern whare lots ov toob lyns converjd from singil tunnils. Ther woz nobodi about but I hid bhynd sum hummin sorta cabinet fings between 2 ov thi trax & wated; a whyle laitir a trane ov opin wagins came rattlin fru, claterin acros thi points; I let thi unmand endjinn & moast ov thi wagins go pas & then jumpd on 1 neer thi end, hollin maself up thi side & ovir in2 its emty interier.
After a few minits during witch thi trane entird a blak-dark tunnil & pikd up speed agen, I rekind it woz safe 2 kript.
Ther woz no horibil corrosiv fog/sleet heer. Everyfin loakily seemd normil. Thi trane woz heddin 4 thi far end ov thi 2nd levil, neer 2 thi Sutherin Volcano Room. It wude slo down @ a few moar playces yet whare I cude get off. I kriptd furthir afeeld.
/Thi lammergeiers roost woz frozen. Its kript-space representation woz thare but it woz like a stil piktcher insted ov a moovy; ther wer no birds nor enybody or enyfin thare & u cuden interact wif nufin thare. I sensd sumfin neerby in thi kript space & suspectid ther woz sum kinda gard on thi playce, waitin 2 c who turnd up inarestid in thi lammergeiers. I disconectid qwik.
Thi trane rold on. Thi lammergeiers livd — or used 2 liv - in thi fass towr, on thi 9th levil. I rekind ther woz sumfin goan on up thare. Thi frate trane wude pass almost undirneef thi fass towr. Gude enuf 4 me. Thi 9th levil soundid a bit hi & cold & inaxessibil but Id burn that bridje when I came 2 it.
I almost decapitaytid myself jumpin off thi trane when it wen fru anuthir set ov points in a wide bit ov tunil thi lenth ov witch I slitely overestimated, but apart from bangin a shoaldir on a wol & skinnin 1 nee I escaped unscaved. I climed a ladir, wokd a bit ov servis tunnil & took a servis elevaitir up 2 thi main floor levil. I foun maself in whot lukd like a jiant kemikil wurx, all pipes & big preshir vessils & leekin steem & funy smelz. Shurenuf, a qwik chek on thi kript & confirmd it woz a plastix rfinery.
Aftir a lot of fancy & hily teknikil kriptin, sum wokin & climein ovir pipes & ducts & avoidin thi dodjier lookin shados I foun a otomatik frate elivaitir taikin vats ov sum sorta fertilizer up thi towr & hitchd a ryde up in that.
Ma eers popt aftir 2 minits, & aftir about 5, & 10.
Sumoar fancy kriptin got thi elevaitir 2 go a floar abuv whare it woz expectid; this woz as hi as it cude go. I got out in a sorta tol opin gallery whare a feerse coal wind blu & thi vew woz ov babil plantz formin a fretwurk ov narled branchis lettin in a spare icy lite.
I let thi elevaitir tak itself bak doun a floar.
Ther woz a piller about 100 metirs away witch supportd thi roof ov thi tol gallery. Thi 1 in thi uthir directshin woz twice as far away. I set off 2wards thi neerir 1.
I woz stil only dresd in ma yewshil cloavs & this wind woz makin me shiver olredy, but then it had been fairly warm furthir down so mayb it woz juss thi suddeniss ov thi change. I wokd along thi gallery, btween thi silooetid babil & thi smoov ashlar ov thi towr’s barely curvd wol. Thi floar felt coald thru my shooz & I wishd I had a hat.
Thi kript startid 2 get a bit vaig & unhelpful about thi layout ov thi fass towr @ aroun this levil. I juss had 2 hoap thi piller mite ½ a set ov stares in it.
It didn. It had 2 sets ov stares in it, intertwynd in a dubil heelix like deenay.
Didn seem 2 mattir whitch 1 I took. I startid climein.
I went fass @ furst 2 try & warm up but thi bref juss wissld outa me & my legs turnd 2 jelly; I had 2 sit down & poot ma poundin hed btween ma nees b4 I cude continu, moar sloly.
Thi steps went roun & roun & roun; pretti steep.
I ploddid on & up, tryin 2 settil in2 a rithim. This seemd 2 wurk but I woz gettin a hel ov a hedaik. Luky I woz fit, not 2 menshin determind. (Not 2 menshin bludy stupid, it woz startin 2 okur 2 me.)
Thi piller got 2 thi next storey — anuthir opin gallery - & didn stop; it went on up. Seemd 2 go on 4 a good ways yet so I stuk wif it. Thi stare case had no handrales & tho it woz a good cupil ov metirs wide it wude ½ been friteninly open & exposed on thi outir side if thi babil plants hadent bin hangin growin ol over thi outside ov thi towr. As it woz it woz stil prity friteninly exposd on thi uthir side, but thi best fing 2 do woz not 2 fink about it & sertinly not 2 luke.
I kept climein.
Anuthir levil. My hed woz hurtin lyk mad. I luked 4 thi piller but it wozent thare eny moar. Insted ther woz a hoal network ov twistid pillers, weevin this way & that wif hi-alt babil — thin weedy stuf — ol ovir it, coatin thi floar ov thi galery, nettin thi weev ov thi frettid stoan wol.
I wandird, my feet trippin ovir thi babil, lookin 4 a strand ov stonework wif steps in it or on it so that I cude go hier, my vishin gettin dark @ thi edjis, my legs feelin bouncy & strange & sumfin howlin in ma eers that mite ½ bin thi wind & mite not.
I doan no how long it woz b4 I foun thi spyer, fallin amungst thi babil, ded, crumplid, head shattered, skin dried, white bones pokin thru his neepads. I remember lukin up & finkin he must ½ follin from thi opin-wurk seelin, & I saw his mask & thi cylinder on his bak but I just wanderd off agen, feelin like I woz wokin along this tunil coz that woz ol I cude c & it seemd like ours layter while I woz stil serchin 4 anuthir stareway or @ leest a doar or sumthin that I thot, Hey, mayb I cude yoos thi spyers geer! & I startid 2 turn roun & almost tript ovir him bcoz Id wanderd in a sirkil.
Ther woz old brown blood dried on thi faice mask but it fel away like dark dandruf when I nokd it. Thi oxijin in thi tank wos coald & it felt like it waz freezin ma lungs but my hedaik startid 2 go & I wozen lukin down a tunnil ol thi time no moar.
I finishd thi watir in his canteen, took his jaket, hat & torch & left thi poor buggir lyin thare.
Thi stares wer in a reely obvyis place, just along from thi top ov thi piller Id climed.
Thi lammergeiers’ roost woz on thi next levil. I got thare @ dusk & collapsed in a nest ov dry babil an hooj scratchy fevvirs. Thi don woke me & I startid investigaytin, endin up lookin down thi big shaft.
I heer thi cruntchin njoyse.
I swing thi torch roun aimin thi beem down thi tunnil; thi warm breeze cumin up thi deep blak shaft tugs @ my jaket. Thi torch beem juss disapeers in2 thi dark, swolod up.
Sumthin cruntches agen, then thers a noyse ov sumfin cumin whisslin 2wards me.
I doan ½ time 2 duk & I doan c whot hits me, but it bashis in2 my chest & noks me bakwards, thi bref goan
Hoof
! outa ma lungz. I feel myself start 2 go ovir thi edj ov thi shaft & grab wif 1 hand as thi lip ov stone skates under my bum. My hand misiz.
Hoof
! outa ma lungz. I feel myself start 2 go ovir thi edj ov thi shaft & grab wif 1 hand as thi lip ov stone skates under my bum. My hand misiz.
I fol in2 thi blak frote ov thi shaft.
Thi rore ov air bilds up aroun me, tearin thi mask off ma fayce.
After a few sekinds I get my bref bak & I start screemin.
EIGHT
1
She was a closed codex within a vast dark library whose floor was a valley, whose walls were cliffs, whose alcoves were hanging valleys; she was an ancient book, rich of smell, gravid with collected knowledge, huge and heavy with ink-thick illuminated pages and a cover of embossed leather, chased with metal and fitted with a lock for which only she possessed the key.
She was a virgin wise too long now on her wedding night, wined, dined, coddled, sozzled, wished well by family and friends still revelling in distant loudness in the halls below, swept up by her handsome new husband and left to change from wedding gown to nightgown and slip into the huge wide warmed welcoming bed.
She was the only speaker in a tribe of the dumb, walking amongst them, tall and silent while they touched her and beseeched her with their sad eyes and their deferent, hesitant hands and their flowing, pleading signs to talk for them, sing for them, be their voice.
She was the captain of a ship sunk by enemy action, alone still conscious in the lifeboat while her crew died slowly around her, moaning quietly through salt-crusted lips or raving as they twitched and spasmed in the bilges. She saw another ship and knew she could signal it, but it was an enemy vessel and only her pride made her hesitate.
She was a mother watching her child suffering and dying because she was of a faith inimical to medicine. Doctors, nurses and friends all pleaded with her to allow her child to live by merely saying a word or making a gesture, the syringe there ready in the surgeon’s hand.
She was a protester who’d had proved to her that her fellow dissidents had betrayed her, deserted her, lied to her. It was known beyond doubt that she was guilty; all that was required was that she acknowledge her guilt; no names were needed, nobody else had to be implicated; she merely had to accept her responsibility. She had been foolish and she owed society that. Regretfully, they showed her the instruments of torture within the place of torment.
/She allowed the book to be opened, its every word translated into a language only she knew. When it was slammed shut again, she smiled to herself.
/She fed her new husband yet more wine as she slowly undressed him, and when he had to relieve himself locked him in the latrine, donned his clothes and escaped the room on a rope made from the bed sheets, spilled wine like a proud deflowerer’s trophy stain, flourished to the night.
/She sang to the tribe with her dance and her own gestures, more beautiful than speech or song, so silencing their signs.
/She signalled the ship and when she saw it turn set the lifeboat towards it, slipping into the water to swim away while her comrades were rescued.
/She would still say nothing, but took the syringe herself, went to apply it to the child’s arm, looked into its blank and empty eyes, then squirted the fluid over its skin before quickly sucking air into the instrument and turning and plunging it into the horrified surgeon’s chest.
/By the rack within the gory chamber she broke down and wept, squatting on her haunches, hiding her face and sobbing. When the torturer bent pityingly to hold her, she looked up with a tear-streaked face and bit his throat out.
‘Fuck! Fuck! I can’t let go! I can’t get out! I can’t let go!’ the man screamed, his voice hoarse. ‘She won’t let me go!’
He sat up in the couch and pulled at his collar, his face reddening as he struggled with something at his throat that nobody else could see. The nurse tapped at her keyboard and a tiny light flickered on the head-net the man wore like a thin hat over his shaved scalp. He swayed from the waist, his hands fell from his throat, his eyelids drooped and he lay back again.
The woman waved one hand and the window into the room blanked out. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered to the nurse. She turned to the tall, broad-shouldered man at her side and motioned with her head. They stepped into the corridor outside.
‘Do you realise what she did?’ she asked him. ‘She put a mimetic virus into
his
head. Could be months before we get him back. If we get him back.’
his
head. Could be months before we get him back. If we get him back.’
‘Evolution,’ Lunce said, shrugging.
‘Don’t give me that shit, the guy was one of our best.’
‘Well, he wasn’t best enough, was he?’
‘Oh, well put. But the point is, word’s got out now and nobody else will touch her.’
‘I’d touch her,’ Lunce told her, and made a show of cracking his fingers.
‘Yeah, I bet you would.’
He shrugged again. ‘I mean it. Wake her up and really torture her.’
The woman sighed and shook her head. ‘You really have no idea, do you?’
‘So you keep telling me. I just think we’re all missing something really obvious here. Maybe a bit of real physical
... pressure might actually produce some results.’
‘Lunce, we have the Consistory member with special responsibility for Security Oncaterius breathing down our necks on this; if you’re tired of your work, why don’t you suggest that to him? But if you do, just remember it’s nothing to do with me.’ She looked him up and down. ‘In fact, as I haven’t particularly enjoyed working with you, maybe it’s not such a bad idea.’
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