Perdido Street Station (54 page)

Its right arm stabbed
down at the floor and the rubbish and dust it had strewn idiotically
in its path. It jerked down again and again, violently tapping at the
wooden boards. Its left limb, with its broom end, jerked out to block
Isaac’s path, slowing him and wagging, he realized with utter
astonishment, to
hold his attention,
and then its right, a
litter-skewer, jerked down once more to point at the floor.

At the dust. In which
was scrawled a message.

The point of the skewer
had traced its way through the dirt and even scored the wood itself.
The words it had scribbled in the rubbish were shaky and uncertain,
but entirely legible.

You are betrayed.

**

Isaac gaped at the
construct in complete consternation. It waved its litter-spike at
him, the scrap of paper on the end whipping back and forth.

The others had not yet
read what was written on the floor, but they could tell from Isaac’s
face and the extraordinary behaviour of the construct that something
strange was happening. They were standing, gazing curiously.

"What is it,
Isaac?" said Derkhan.

"I...I don’t
know..." he murmured. The construct seemed agitated, by turn
tapping at the message on the floor and flailing the paper on its
spike. Isaac reached out, his mouth wide with amazement, and the
construct held its arm still. Gingerly, Isaac plucked the crumpled
paper from it.

As he smoothed it out,
David leapt up suddenly, horrified and aghast. He rushed across the
room.

"Isaac," he
shouted. "Wait..." But Isaac had already opened the paper,
his eyes had already widened in horror at what was written. His mouth
grew slack at the enormity of it, but before he could emit a shout
Vermishank moved.

Lemuel had been caught
up with the bizarre drama of the construct, his eyes had left his
quarry, and Vermishank had seen it. Everyone in the room was staring
at Isaac as he fumbled with the rubbish the construct had handed him.
Vermishank leapt up from the chair and bolted for the door.

He had forgotten it was
locked. When he yanked at it and it would not open, he cried out in
undignified panic. Behind him, David peeled away from Isaac and
backed towards Vermishank and the door. Isaac spun on his heel
towards them, still clutching the paper. He glared at David and
Vermishank in lunatic hatred. Lemuel had seen his error, was bringing
his pistol to bear on Vermishank when Isaac moved threateningly
towards the prisoner, blocking Lemuel’s line of fire.

"Isaac,"
shouted Lemuel, "move!"

Vermishank saw that
Derkhan had leapt to her feet, that David was cringing away from
Isaac, that the hooded man in the other corner was standing with legs
spread and arms out in a weirdly predatory fashion. Lemuel was
invisible to Vermishank, behind the looming threat of Isaac.

Isaac looked from
Vermishank to David, his eyes oscillating back and forth. He waved
the paper.

"Isaac,"
Lemuel screamed again. "Get out of the fucking way!"

But Isaac could not
hear or speak for rage. There was a cacophony. Everyone in the room
was yelling, demanding to know what was on the paper, begging for a
clear shot, growling in rage or keening like a great bird.

Isaac seemed to be
debating which of David or Vermishank to grab. David was breaking
down, begging Isaac to listen to him. With a last desperate pointless
tug at the door, Vermishank turned and defended himself.

He was, after all, a
highly trained bio-thaumaturge. He babbled an incantation and flexed
the invisible, occult muscles he had developed in his arms. He hooked
his hand at the arcane energy that made the veins of his forearm
stand out like snakes beneath the skin, made his skin twitch and
tighten.

Isaac’s shirt was
half undone, and Vermishank plunged his right hand through the
uncovered flesh below Isaac’s neck.

Isaac bellowed in rage
and pain as his tissue gave like thick clay. It became malleable
under Vermishank’s trained hands.

Vermishank dug
inelegantly through the unwilling flesh. He gripped and ungripped his
fingers to grab hold of a rib. Isaac grabbed hold of Vermishank’s
wrist and held it. His face was set in a grimace. He was stronger,
but pain was disabling him.

Vermishank was wailing
as they wrestled. "Let me go!" he screamed. He had had no
plan, had struck out in fear of his life and found himself committed
to a murderous attack. It could not be undone. He could do nothing
but scrabble for purchase inside Isaac’s chest.

Behind them, David
fumbled for his key.

Isaac could not pull
Vermishank’s fingers from his chest, and Vermishank could not
push them any further in. They stood, swaying, tugging at each other.
Behind them the confusion of voices continued. Lemuel had stood, had
kicked away his chair and was feinting to find a vantage point for a
clean shot. Derkhan ran over and pulled violently at Vermishank’s
arms, but the terrified man curled his fingers around the bones of
Isaac’s chest, and with every pull Isaac screamed in pain.
Blood was spurting from Isaac’s skin, from the imperfect seals
where Vermishank’s fingers punctured his flesh.

Vermishank and Isaac
and Derkhan wrestled and howled, spraying blood across the floor,
fouling Sincerity, who bolted away. Lemuel reached over Isaac’s
shoulder to shoot, but Vermishank tugged Isaac around like some
grotesque glove puppet, knocking the pistol out of Lemuel’s
hand. It hit the floor some feet away, scattering its black powder.
Lemuel swore and dug urgently for a powder-case.

Suddenly a shrouded
figure stood by the clumsy fighting trio. Yagharek threw back his
hood. Vermishank stared into his hard round eyes, opened his mouth at
the garuda’s great predatory bird-face. But before he could
speak, Yagharek had plunged his vicious curved beak into the flesh of
Vermishank’s right arm.

He tore through the
muscle and tendons with speed and vigour. Vermishank shrieked as his
arm blossomed with ragged flesh and blood. He snapped his hand back,
withdrawing it from Isaac’s flesh, which resealed imperfectly
with a wet snap. Isaac growled with agony and stroked his chest. It
was slick with blood, the surface misshapen, pocked and still
bleeding from Vermishank’s hand.

Derkhan had her arms
around Vermishank’s neck. As Vermishank clutched the bleeding
ruins of his forearm, she hurled him away from her into the centre of
the room. The construct rolled out of Vermishank’s way as he
staggered and fell, fouling the boards with gore, screaming.

Lemuel had primed his
pistol again. Vermishank caught sight of him aiming and opened his
mouth to beg, to wail. He held his bloody arm up, trembling,
supplicating.

Lemuel pulled the
trigger. There was a cavernous cracking sound and an explosion of
acrid gunpowder. Vermishank’s cry stopped instantly. The ball
hit him right between the eyes, a textbook shot from close enough
range to pass through him and take the back of his head off in an
efflorescence of dark blood.

He fell back, his
broken skull smacking dully on the old boards.

**

The particles of
gunpowder spun and tumbled slowly. Vermishank’s carcass
shuddered.

Isaac leant back
against the wall and swore. He pressed his chest, seemed to smooth it
down. He fumbled at it in an ineffectual attempt to repair the
cosmetic damage Vermishank’s intrusive fingers had done.

He emitted livid barks
of pain.

"Godsdamn!"
he spat, and eyed Vermishank’s body with loathing.

Lemuel held his pistol
idly. Derkhan was trembling. Yagharek had withdrawn, stood watching
the proceedings, his features dim once more in the shadows of the
hood.

No one spoke. The fact
of Vermishank’s murder filled the room. There was unease and
shock, but no recrimination. No one wished him alive again.

"Yag, old son,"
croaked Isaac eventually. "I owe you." The garuda did not
acknowledge him.

"We have to...we
have to get this out of here," said Derkhan urgently, kicking
Vermishank’s corpse. "They’ll be looking for him
soon."

"That’s the
least of our worries," said Isaac. He held out his right hand.
He still held the paper he had taken from the construct, now
bloodstained. "David’s gone," he observed, pointing
at the unlocked door. He looked around. "He’s taken
Sincerity," he said, his face curling. He threw the paper to
Derkhan. As she unfolded it, Isaac stomped over towards the
skittering construct.

Derkhan read the note.
Her face hardened in disgust and outrage. She held it up so that
Lemuel could read it. After a moment, Yagharek stalked over and read
it over Lemuel’s shoulder, from inside his hood.

Serachin. Further to our meeting. Enclosed is payment and
instructions. Der Grimnebulin and associates will be brought to
justice on
Chainday 8th Tathis.
The militia will apprehend him
at his residence at
9 o’clock in the evening.
You are to
ensure that der Grimnebulin and all working with him are present from
6 o’clock onwards.
You will be present during the raid,
to avoid suspicion falling upon you. Our agents have seen heliotypes
of you, in addition to which you are to wear
red.
Our officers
will do everything possible to avoid casualties, but this cannot be
guaranteed, and your clear self-identification is crucial.

Sally.

Lemuel blinked, looked
up.

"It’s
today," he said, and blinked again. "Chainday’s
today. They’re coming."

Isaac ignored Lemuel.
He was standing directly in front of the construct, which moved
almost uneasily before his intense gaze.

"How did you know,
Isaac?" shouted Derkhan, and Isaac raised his finger and jerked
it at the construct.

"I was tipped off.
David betrayed us," he whispered. "My mate. Been on a
hundred damn benders with him, done drinking, done riots...the fuck
sold me out. And I got
tipped off
by a damn construct."
He poked his face right into the construct’s lens. "You
understand me?" he whispered incredulously. "You with me?
You...wait, you’ve got audio inputs, haven’t you? Turn
around...turn if you understand me..."

Lemuel and Derkhan
glanced at each other.

"Isaac, mate,"
said Lemuel witheringly, but his words petered out into astonished
silence.

Slowly, deliberately,
the construct was turning around.

"What the fuck is
it doing?" hissed Derkhan.

Isaac turned to her.

"I’ve no
idea," he hissed. "I’ve heard of this, but I didn’t
know it could actually happen. It’s had some virus, hasn’t
it? CI...Constructed Intelligence...I can’t believe it’s
real..."

He turned back and
gazed at the construct. Derkhan and Lemuel approached it, as, after a
moment’s hesitation, did Yagharek.

"It’s
impossible," said Isaac suddenly. "It doesn’t have an
intricate enough engine for independent thought. It is
impossible."

The construct lowered
its pointer and backed away to a nearby pile of dust. It dragged its
spike through it, and spelt out clearly:
It is.

At the sight, the three
humans hissed and gasped.

"What the
fuck
...?" yelled Isaac. "You can
read
and
write...
you..." He shook his head, then looked up at the
construct, hard and cold again in a moment. "How did you know?"
he said. "And why did you warn me?"

**

It was quickly clear,
however, that this was an explanation that would have to wait. As
Isaac waited intently, Lemuel glanced up at the clock and started
nervously. It was late.

It took a minute, but
Lemuel and Derkhan convinced Isaac that they had better flee the
workshop now with the construct. They had better act on the
information they had been given, even if they didn’t understand
where it had come from.

Isaac protested weakly,
tugging at the construct. He denounced David to Hell, then marvelled
at the construct’s intelligence. He screamed rage and cast an
analytical eye on the transformed cleaning engine. He was confused.
Derkhan’s and Lemuel’s urgent insistence that they must
move infected him.

"Yes, David is a
godsdamn shit. And yes, the construct is a godsdamn miracle, Isaac,"
hissed Derkhan, "but it’s going to be a wasted one if we
don’t
leave now."

And in an infuriating,
tantalizing end to the matter, the construct spread the dust out
again as Isaac watched, and carefully scrawled:
Later.

Lemuel thought quickly.

"There’s a
place I know up in Gidd where we can go," he decided. "It’ll
do for tonight, and then we can make plans." Derkhan and he
moved quickly around the room, gathering useful items into bags they
pilfered from David’s cupboards. It was clear they would not be
able to return.

Isaac stood numb by the
wall. His mouth was slightly open. His eyes were glazed. He shook his
head incredulously.

Lemuel glanced up and
saw him.

"Isaac," he
yelled. "Go and sort your shit out. We’ve less than an
hour. We are leaving. Get off your arse."

Isaac looked up, nodded
peremptorily and stomped up the stairs, to stop and stand still again
at the top. His expression was of bemused and miserable disbelief.

After some seconds,
Yagharek came silently after him. He stood behind Isaac and peeled
back his hood.

"Grimnebulin,"
he whispered as softly as his avian throat allowed. "You are
thinking of your friend David."

Isaac turned sharply.

"No fucking friend
of mine," he countered.

"And yet he was.
You are thinking of the betrayal."