Memory Seed (16 page)

CHAPTER 14

Blackness; but now it was pricked with glimmers. Arrahaquen regained consciousness.

Something pulled at her thighs, under her arms, and around her waist. She smelled decay, rot, sewage.

She moved and swung. The glimmers remained steady and, orientating herself, she discovered she was vertical, hanging in blighted air.

She was naked in a suit of leather straps suspended by a rope. Around her she could make out other shapes, and by analogy with her own position she knew they were other people, some bulky, others skeletons. As she watched, a thigh bone fell, followed by a splash seconds later, then more, then a crack or two.

Plop, snap, splash: something tried to reach her toes.

She could not believe she was in such a place. She felt no fear, only confusion, a sense of fantasy. But when her crotch and legs began to ache and there was no sound other than ripples from below, then she began to fear. An hour passed in which she tried to see around her, so that she would know everything there was to know about the place. She felt that she
had
to know everything, whatever the cost. Her thought was short-term.

She was not sure what the glimmers were. Above, on what she presumed was a ceiling, patches of quite strong light failed to reach down; at her level only glimmers showed. She caught no reflections below, but knew it was putrid water of some sort.

‘Hello,’ she called. ‘Hello?’

Somebody answered, but the voice, from far away, was lost in echoes. She called again, and there was no reply. The cavern seemed vast.

Then she felt a touch of panic. A few seconds passed, and she cried out, wailed for half a minute like a mourner, until the sensation had gone. A surge of exhilaration then passed through her, as though she had communicated something of profound importance. Her fear seemed to be understandable fear, not a threat. It was vital that she express her emotion and bear its consequences.

Even in such straits, a glimmer of thought struck her; that understanding was fundamental to the mind, that in a sense it
was
the mind. She treasured this thought as though it had been won through decades of work.

She turned her thoughts to escape. While she was fit and alert she had to escape.

The harness was composed of strips of boiled leather, in places repaired with fresh straps and steel bolts. There were no buckles or padlocks. Examining the whole with her hands – her arms were free to move – she understood that she had been bolted in and would remain here for weeks until she died, most likely of dehydration. She looked around, imagining the others, perhaps hundreds, now alive or half-alive or newly dead in their death costumes, shrinking in decay. Again she felt fear, and she expressed this, communicating to herself, until she had quietened. In her mind, death-grey skulls containing shrieking minds receded.

It was clear that there was no way out. But nobody could rescue her. Effort would have to come from herself.

She heard a plop, but no after-sounds. Her intuition made the connection between her movements and the sound. She jiggled herself and felt something bounce off her now bald head, then felt dust across her face, as of stone from above. From points of thought oscillating at the top of her mind she drew an image of herself, suspended, arm outstretched
that
way – and caught something.

It was a stone chip. Some part of the suspending device was jostling rock to fragment it.

She could not see the chip, but she touched it to her lips, smelled it, then tested it with her tongue. It was as long as her thumb, ovoid, with one sharp edge and a flaky surface. ‘I’ve found what I need,’ she told herself.

She felt at her shoulders and neck to discover where she should cut. There seemed to be two major straps, one new, under each armpit, with a third at the back and a cord around her neck. Imagining this illuminated, then checking with further tactile explorations, she decided that by cutting the shoulder straps and the neck cord she should be able to haul herself out, provided she could grip the rope.

She felt disgust that she should have to endure this; but felt hope too, rooted in an image of the future, of her crouching naked behind a clock’s dial.

She began to work at the leather. After ten seconds she felt to see if it had cut; but she felt nothing. She worried again with the chip while counting to thirty, then felt again. There was a gash. Plop, snap, splash: something had detected her.

The darkness helped. She felt that, if she was able to see the water below, and the decomposing bodies sprawled in their harnesses, then she would be too afraid to work. Though her imagination was vivid, it had the human limitation of requiring at least a little input.

She thought three hours had passed. Or it might have been half an hour. She continued to cut.

With a creak the right strap broke. She felt the harness give, creaking in response, and reached out to grab a second falling chip.

The second strap was harder to cut. When she pressed the chip to her lips to feel if it was blunt or sharp she burnt herself, and her lip throbbed with pain for some seconds. There after it twinged if she grimaced or talked to herself.

‘You’ve done it,’ she said, letting joy flood her voice. ‘You have
done
it, you have quite definitely done it. God
dess!
’

She paused: she was talking to herself. But she had cut both shoulder straps.

By holding her waist straps and twisting herself she was able to determine what effect she had had. The harness was creaking, and touch indicated a gap around her shoulders; but the back strap was now pulled up by her weight, and would bar exit.

With one arm over her shoulder and the other holding the back strap from below, she cut with her last chip. She wondered if it was a flint. It seemed smooth, like plastic. The action this time was harder, making the inside of her elbows hurt, making her wrists ache. Soon she was pausing a minute between thirty-second cuts.

‘Come on, Arrahaquen, come on.’

With a snap it gave. She fell slightly and held herself rigid in case the whole gave way. She was now suspended by the front strap alone. The neck cord pulled at her throat.

The centre of the chip edge seemed worn so she used the extreme ends to cut the cord. It went in seconds and she smelled leather dust, as though it had been old.

Now she realised that she was cold, and that her bladder was full. She released a stream of urine. Then she wondered if it might draw creatures. She heard splashes, ripples and snapping jaws.

She did not want to be cold. It hindered her, made her less effective. She shouted, cursing her captors with oaths, letting herself go for a few seconds. Rage did her good.

She stretched herself and lifted her arms, getting a good grip on the rope, then pulling. Nothing much happened. She tried a better position, curving her back a little and pulling into her chest, and was able to lift herself. Making an effort she pulled, then felt around with her feet for a grip, until her right foot caught the lower thigh strap and she was able to push up.

She stood on these straps, feeling them bow inwards. Her legs were bent and she realised that her hips were caught in the hole that she had made. It was not wide enough. Her stomach began to ache with the muscular effort.

She decided to shuffle herself through and take full advantage of her legs. Pushing first left then right, toes outstretched, she tried to squeeze through. After a few minutes she guessed that she was halfway there.

Now her legs were aching and she made a frantic effort, as if a final attempt, to get through. She felt something give, and then the whole harness fell away, flopping, suspended from the uncut front straps, bolts tinkling as they hit one another.

She was grasping the rope, holding herself up, only a loose grip from her feet on the ruined leather. She knew that she would have to climb
now.

In childhood, she had like other children been taught rope drill to escape houses. Now those memories came back with a vitality unknown to her. Every nuance of her teacher’s voice, of the rope under her palms, of the way her tiny body had swarmed up the rope, returned to her mind. Her body did not seem cold, nor did it seem so very heavy as it had just now. She swarmed up the rope, muscles in unison, unfatigued. Before she knew that she had climbed any distance cold metal hit the bridge of her nose.

This brought her round. She saw by fungus light a ledge. Gripping the metal strut she pulled herself over and lay on the ledge, rapidly breathing, then sneezing.

Horizontal, she wept. The thought of not escaping had so far not occurred to her. Now the horror of what could have been rushed through her mind, inspiring anger and tears together. She embraced the rock ledge with her arms, stomach and legs.

Time passed. Images of outside played across her mind’s eye.

Echoes of her voice, lacking volume and depth, entered her ears. She began again to feel cold, especially from the rock ledge, and she imagined that she might freeze against it, never to leave. She raised her head to look around.

Attached to the ledge was a framework of metal tubes. It stretched in all directions, following the ledge, which lay a few yards below the roof, and stretching out into cavern space. The wall backing the ledge was filled with crevices and holes, none, unfortunately, big enough to climb through. Along the tubes hooks stood proud, and she realised that these were what victims hung suspended from. If only she could see better.

From the top of her mind she drew images, trying to feel what might be possible. She smelled a familiar smell, and recalled something about fingernail mushrooms and a chemical found in some other fungus. Nearby she saw fingernail mushrooms. She picked one and found her way to the smell, then she rubbed the mushroom against the rock from which the odour came.

Light: a photochemical reaction that might last ten minutes. And there were more mushrooms available.

She made a foray along the ledge. After five minutes she turned back, having discovered only that the tube framework followed the ledges and was attached in places to the roof.

Then she saw a footprint. She stooped to examine it. A boot, medium size, with furrowed grip – probably a Citadel Guard boot, something Zinina might have worn. Had Zinina ever been down here? But now she had a clearer picture of what happened, and she felt exhilaration. People came here! At some point in the future other victims might arrive. So she had to find exit points and a place to hide along the ledge.

Returning to the mushrooms she prepared a new one, then explored in the opposite direction, passing two tunnels to other parts of the cavern, finding another, different bootprint. And then she noticed a circular door.

Her mushroom was expiring. She went back to prepare a third, then returned. It was a wooden door lined with lead. She saw no keyhole, nor any sign of electronics. Most likely it was opened only from the outside. She would have to wait.

She found a crevice – empty of denizens – and sat. Cold and hunger gnawed at her. Boredom arrived. Unable to stop imagining what might happen next, she found herself unable also to free her mind of its constraints. Until something happened she could not break free of black thoughts. She began cursing the authorities again.

Time slipped by. Some hours seemed to pass quickly, others dragged. Moments were marked by faint screams from other places, and ripples far below. She dropped off into sleep; awoke, and relieved herself; started shivering; slept again.

Click. She awoke. Her body was stiff and it was agony when she moved. She listened.

‘Which number?’ came a voice.

‘One nine eight’s free,’ replied another. The voices were lubricated by wine. Light from the circular hole hurt her eyes as she peered around. She saw two people with torches dragging a body already in its leather suit.

Their backs were turned. She crept to the hole, looked out into a dim corridor lit by azure photoplankton tubes, a section that stretched for tens of yards each way. It was empty. She jumped out, her eyes pained, only just open, and clambered behind a square bank of pyuters.

She knew she ought to rescue the prisoner, but she had no choice. It tore her heart to think that some human being would wake soon, as she had. She could not return into the cavern. Well, she could return, but she did not know where the prisoner was and she had to put herself first. Again: anger at the authorities, making her twist her fists and grit her teeth, and swear at their methods... at her own mother’s methods. She imagined herself escaped, pitting herself as a heroine against the Citadel.

With clunking boots the guards returned, silent, slamming the door and shoving a catch. She caught a whiff of smoke and alcohol as they passed by. She felt guilt, a kind of tearful guilt.

And she herself had not yet escaped. She was merely out of the cavern. She had two options: either enter the pyuter honeycomb and escape via the Power Station or by Zinina’s way, or leave through the Citadel Wall. The former was all but impossible and the latter impossible without a pass. And she urgently needed clothes. She could not stop shivering.

Again she consulted her imagined images. She wondered if it might be possible to impersonate a guard. Perhaps there would be some in this building.

She listened but heard nothing. Venturing from the pyuter bank, she ran left until at the end of the corridor she peered around a corner. There she saw cubby doors. She tip-toed up to one and opened it. Rifles. She took one.

A swishing noise, as of someone walking, some way off; to her left, from where she had come. Ahead the passage narrowed into a dark room. She saw somebody, twenty yards away, plastic-suited and helmeted.

She sat back in the corner, and aimed a yard and a half up, tensing her muscles, looking down the sights. When a chest appeared she fired.

Sssst.
The guard was down. She did not twitch.

Arrahaquen looked at the woman. There was no blood, and she had only stunned her.

She was a tall woman, and thin, and at first Arrahaquen’s fingers trembled too much for her to undo the catches. She gripped her fingers together, prayed to the goddess, then found herself calmed. Within a minute the suit was off. She did not think there was time enough to remove the undersuits, and anyway that could have been restraining, not to mention biologically hazardous, so she slipped on the suit. It caught her naked skin and hurt as she moved, and it was much too tight about her hips.