Cowl (35 page)

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Authors: Neal Asher

BOOK: Cowl
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There were closed doors all around, but he doubted he could ever manage to reach them, let alone open one. Nearby the floor sloped down to some sort of disposal tunnel cut down into darkness. He stared at this, confused by the conflicting impulses within him. The possibility of escape arose, but dispersed again.Then Cowl was back, standing over him, in one hand holding two objects: the tactical nukes.
‘They thought to kill me with
you
?'
The voice was sibilant and seemed to issue from the air around the dark being. Then Cowl came forward in a movement so fast it deceived the eye, closed a hand around Tack's throat and jerked him upright. Tack groaned in an agony of grating bones and bruised organs. Glancing down, he saw the two nukes bouncing across the floor, their casings breaking open. Looking up again, he watched Cowl's face before him, glistening black, and utterly smooth until a dividing line appeared in it. Then the cowl split, and hinged open at either side, to reveal the nightmare underneath.
The black eyes were lidless, and a double set of mandibles opened before a mouth containing rows of spadelike teeth. Between mouth and eyes, other organs spilled hair-thin tentacles, small grasping spatulae, and sliding scales of chitin briefly revealing red cavities and other soft, unidentifiable things that quivered eagerly.
Tack tried to pull away, but he might as well have been fighting a moving iron statue. The horror pulled him closer, turned his head aside, and came down on the side of his face. He felt the mandibles sawing into his neck and cheek. With a sharp popping and grinding, something forced its way into his ear, adding a new hurt to the ever-growing waves of pain surging through his body. He screamed and tried again to struggle, but some hard probe hit a nerve, rolling out such incandescent agony that his arms and legs were paralysed. Tack screamed repeatedly until something ripped into the back of his neck and connected to his interface plug, switching off that ability in him. Then the horror only increased as Tack felt his mind being taken apart, and each part of it thoroughly scrutinized.
Memory after memory rose up for Cowl's inspection. Tack relived the moment of first awareness: a child with the mind of a killer and a hard-wired loyalty. Mission after mission was replayed: the killings, the frame-ups, the interrogations and beatings, but to Cowl they seemed worth only a brief scan. All events concerning the tor were scrutinized thoroughly, however, and Tack sensed Cowl's acid amusement over all that had occurred just before Tack's first shift back in time. As this forensic study continued, Tack felt Cowl begin delving through his U-gov programming, and the subsequent Heliothane programming: ripping great holes through them, dumping large portions of them as irrelevant, studying some sections and breaking them down into their smallest elements.
Traveller had initially beaten him into insensibility, this and subsequent events Cowl watched very closely. Flashes of black humour invaded Tack's consciousness as some of the lies he had been fed were revealed. Tack began to see how he had been cunningly primed for this mission right from the beginning. How blackly painted were the Umbrathane and Cowl, and how saintly the Heliothane in their mission to save the world. A flare of anger shot through to Tack when the destruction of Pig City was observed. And then Saphothere's subsequent history lecture was turned on its head as Tack absorbed Cowl's viewpoint: the Heliothane pushing for dominance over the independent Umbrathane polities; Cowl being forced to use his immense abilities in the service of the Heliothane, under threat of being destroyed because of his genetic variance, even though that rendered him physically and mentally superior to all Heliothane themselves; Cowl then giving the Umbrathane an escape route; and his own escape to beyond the Nodus. But Tack did not understand the dark being's hollow laughter in reaction to the Heliothane assertion that he was trying to eliminate human history.
Later, in Sauros, Cowl replayed every conversation, every image; gathering useful data for attack, for a means to crush. In New London the same, where Tack felt the last of Pedagogue's programming of him being pulled out by its roots and studied intensively. One conversation between Tack and Saphothere particularly held Cowl's interest:
‘
… Tap and wormhole are inextricably linked and neither, once created, can be turned off. There is, in fact, no physical means of turning off the sun tap as the antigravity fields that sustain its position also focus the beam—as I mentioned—but if you did, the wormhole would collapse catastrophically and Sauros would be obliterated by the feedback. Also, if the wormhole was independently collapsed,
the energy surge would vaporize New London. The project was therefore a
total
commitment.'
Cowl then spent an age with the image of Maxell before angrily dropping it.
Back in Sauros Cowl observed the torbeast invade from the other side.
Throughout all this the progressively ravaged elements of Tack's mind dropped back into some mental abyss, devoid of motive beyond those any human is naturally born with, and devoid of programming. There they reconnected—first with the imperatives of survival, then with the untainted yearning for true freedom.
Subliminally Tack felt a loop generated as Cowl found something important in a conversation and viewed it again and again.
Palleque:
‘Three hours earlier and Cowl would have really fucked us over. The torbeast won't be getting through now we're up to power again.'
Saphothere:
‘The push?'
Palleque:
‘Yeah. Like riding the top of a fountain and everything gets scrambled. The constant energy feed can't be switched, so the capacitors have to be drained to the limit before we can shut off and stabilize. Took us an hour this time before we could even get the defence fields back up.'
Then Cowl's vicious amusement at Saphothere's reply:
‘I don't think I need to hear any more of this.'
Tack's foot suddenly hit the floor, and pain howled up from his broken ankle, but he was too physically drained even to scream. He tumbled over on his side, the taste of blood in his mouth, as Cowl turned away, his face closing. On some unconscious level Tack realized the being now had what it wanted, as it left Tack's mind to fall like snow through darkness.
Escape was now an instinctive goal for Tack, where previously his programming had not allowed it. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, the inside of his head feeling sand-blasted and nothing making any sense. With blurred vision he observed that Cowl was back at his vorpal control, the air above which shimmered and split on a nightmarish living landscape. Operating on a wholly animal level, Tack dragged himself backwards, reached the slope in the floor and stared down at the tunnel. Pushing himself over the edge, he immediately slid down its frictionless surface, grunting with pain as his shoulder hit the rim of the tunnel and he plummeted into it. A brief descent through darkness opened into bright yellow light, and the golden glitter of the sea below. As Tack fell, he bounced on a ledge and groped for purchase, but found none and went over, finally hitting the sea flat on. The sharp pain in his chest he recognized as
a rib penetrating his lung. Sinking, he had no breath to hold, so breathed sea water instead. His only coherent thought as he drowned was triumphant:
I
have escaped.
 
ENGINEER GORON STARED AT the ‘CELL SECURITY SHUTDOWN' signal in one of his control spheres, until it disappeared, then he removed his hands from the control pillar and gazed around the control room of Sauros, noting how his staff had been depleted. The loss of Vetross, irretrievably murdered by Cowl, had been unexpected, even though Goron had expected casualties. Two of the direct-link technicians had been pulled dead from their vorpal connect-ware after the subsequent torbeast attack. And now Palleque, formerly his most trusted aide, was in a cell awaiting an interrogation that Goron was apparently putting off. At least Silleck was still with him and the personnel replacements seemed competent enough. He returned his attention to the control pillar.
The energy levels were already up to eighty per cent of requirement, and he calculated that they would be ready to shift Sauros very soon. All the field frequencies which Palleque had access to had been subsequently changed, and all weapons systems had since been moved to a separate circuit, so as not to be dependent on the power tap on the wormhole itself.
‘How long?' he asked Silleck.
‘One hour and fourteen minutes. Are we going for an extension this time?' asked the woman, who was enclosed in vorpal tech.
‘Yes: one third of a light year.'
‘Good. We were pushing it last time.'
Goron turned his attention to the man now sitting at Palleque's console. ‘Theldon, is everything stable?'
‘It is, Engineer,' the man replied without looking round.
‘And everyone is now aware of the location of their nearest displacement generator?'
At this, Theldon looked round. ‘We are … you are expecting trouble?'
‘That last torbeast attack was a little too close to our vulnerable time. I think we managed to stop Palleque from passing on that we do have a vulnerable time, but it is best to be cautious.'
‘That's all right for all of you,' grumbled Silleck. ‘You don't have to detach vorpal interface nodes before hitting the generator. Anything goes wrong and I doubt I'll get the time.'
Goron winced. ‘You'll be fine,' he said, putting as much confidence in his voice as he could. ‘Now, keep an eye on things for the moment. I have something I need to do, but I shouldn't be away long.'
He turned away from his control column and headed for the lift platform, aware that his fellows were watching him curiously. Dropping down from the control room, he felt like a traitor.
Via moving walkways and ramps he quickly reached one of the supply centres that dotted Sauros, observing as he went the city's various citizens about their various tasks. He had a bitter taste in his mouth because what he had set in motion so long ago was now coming to fruition. Reality now bore a hard edge.
The supply-centre door opened when he palmed the lock, without requiring further confirmation of identity. Inside he walked along the racks of replacement items needed for the many different systems the city contained, until he came to a rack of empty containers—empty all bar one. This, too, opened when he palmed it, and inside rested a single device. It was heavy, the shape of a transformer with rounded edges, and it fitted his palm. He took it out, weighing it in his hand, then slipped it into his belt pouch before exiting the supply centre.
Further transit of walkways and ramps finally brought him to a residential section of the city. The door he sought was different from all those which opened automatically as soon as their residents approached, being heavily armoured and its frame recently welded into place. Reaching it, he again pressed his hand against the lock and to his satisfaction received no reaction. He took out a small key and inserted it into the manual lock beside the security lock. One turn and the door whoomphed off its seals. He dragged it open, stepped inside, and quickly closed it behind him, before turning to the apartment's only resident.
‘I noticed the security system go offline,' said Palleque, banging a fist against the mesh that covered the single window out of which he was gazing. Just an hour earlier the charge the mesh was carrying would have thrown him across the room. ‘I wondered if you expected me to try and escape.' Palleque still did not look round. ‘Had I tried, I doubt I'd have survived long out there. It would seem a lot of my fellow Heliothane dislike me and they wonder why you are delaying the interrogation.'
‘Ostensibly I am too busy with organizing our push into the Triassic. Anyone not satisfied with that explanation would put my delay down to a certain squeamishness.'
Palleque turned at last. ‘The push … it is imminent?'
‘One hour, even less now.'
Palleque let out a tense breath. ‘Then it will soon be over.'
‘Not for you.' Goron removed the device from his belt pouch, and put it down on the single table before Palleque's couch.
‘Displacement generator. What location?'
‘The same as all others now,' Goron replied.
‘That is risky and may give the game away.'
‘A risk I am prepared to take.'
‘But am I? The torbeast swept up my sister as if she was nothing, and I am prepared to die to exact vengeance.'
Goron stared at him directly. ‘Yes, I know your commitment.' His gaze strayed down to Palleque's arm, then his hand.
Palleque glanced at the dressing, then held up his hand covered in a surgical mitten. ‘For veracity, as always, it had to be done. I'll heal soon enough as I have the rejuvenation gene, though I never expected to have the chance to do so. Let's hope you didn't underdo things by not killing me outright.'
‘We are now not long away from that point when all such subterfuge will be irrelevant. I have no doubt that already Cowl has extracted the required information from the torbearer. Now all that remains is for us to perform our duty at this end.'

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