The Engineer ReConditioned Part 16

"Here, lab twelve."

"If you're not on anything important can you come up to my office."

"Just running some computer models. The AI can handle it. I'll be up in about a quarter of an hour. What's up?"

"What do you think?"

"No word from Earth Central yet?"

"There was a vague promise of a monitor being sent, but you know how it is with them. They think that causing a furore is free advertising for the Churches. Best to let them die a natural death. Interference is frowned on. Freedom of choice and all that."

"I preferred the pre-runcible att.i.tude: belief in superior 'It'll be all right in the end' deities equated with dangerous irresponsibility."

"Yeah, see you shortly anyway. We've got to sort out how to deal with the a.r.s.ehole. He wants to 'make his own observations'."

There was a silence before Davidson replied. "Freeman told me he saw him down at the stores kitting himself out. You mean you haven't given him permission?"

Carmen closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead. She was getting a headache. She suspected it would get worse. "We didn't actually get to that. Got side-tracked. Go to the stores yourself will you and see if he's taken a radio tracker. Also get Freeman to charge up that last chameleon drone."

"I'm on it."

Carmen leant back in her chair and stared at the map up on her wall. She had been going to warn him. Him with expensive clothes, city ways and archaic beliefs. Outside Station Seventeen was a wilderness that thus far had claimed three lives, and they had been professionals. Did he think his G.o.d would help him once he was lost and starving? That would be a first. All the proteins and sugars out there were inverted. You could eat your fill of fruit and meat every day and still starve to death, if you were not poisoned beforehand. No matter. The water would get him first. It was so contaminated with mercury salts it was a standing joke that the streams grew longer in warm weather.

Carmen shook her head. The ache was growing worse.

"Ugh! Filthy creature!"

Mark stamped the leaf-shaped worm into the ground and winced as his boot rubbed on the raw spot on the back of his ankle. Then he inspected the red ring on the back of his hand where the worm had clung for a moment before convulsing and falling off. This was just too much. He looked around at the nigh impenetrable jungle then continued on down the track he hoped had been made by Orbonnai. He would show them that a creation scientist was as capable of doing field-work as the best of them.

The sky was growing darker by the time he reached the stream and he offered up a silent prayer of thanks before stooping down at its edge to fill his water bottle. Once that was done and he had drunk his fill, he unhitched his pack and took out the tracker. The direction finder pointed roughly up the course of the stream. There should be no problem. His G.o.d was with him. He sat down on the blue sand to rest for a moment. He was tired, but well-satisfied with himself. He had made a stand, as all good Christians should.

The nautiloid was b.u.mbling along below the surface directly in front of him when he saw it. With great daring he reached into the water and took it out. With a click it retracted into its sh.e.l.l. He held it in his hand, checked his watch, then began turning it as he had seen Paul do. After thirty seconds nothing had happened. He tossed it to the ground and stood up.

"Rubbish," he said, and went on his way.

The blue nautiloid, with its fifty-second response time, crawled back into the stream once he was gone.

Carmen studied the man seated opposite her and felt bewilderment. He represented Earth Central, yet, he looked so ... mediocre. It was obvious he had no alterations. The face he wore had not seen cosmetic surgery since his birth. His eyes were muddy green and there was a scar on his chin. His clothing had nothing to recommend it either, other than functionality. He wore a green monofilament coverall and cheap plastimesh hiking boots.

He steepled his fingers before his face before commenting on what she had told him. "The orboni he showed greatest interest in is this Paul. What would you say are his chances of reaching this creature without getting himself killed?"

"Quite good. Paul is dying and cannot move about very much. He has already started to venture into the less complex environment of the savannah."

"And you have a chameleon drone following Paul."

"Yes ... we couldn't think of much else to do really. An air search ... I mean ... the jungle ... "

"I take your point. But you do have more than one chameleon drone."

Carmen nodded.

"Then I would suggest you send them into the jungle to search the area between here and Paul's present location. Mark Christian did take a radio tracker so it is likely he is heading directly toward this...o...b..ni."

"I suppose we could."

"There is some problem?"

"The remaining drones are being used in an intensive study of the Thrakai. The study has prime status."

The man pressed his finger against his temple. It was a gesture Carmen had seen before. Visible alterations were not the only ones. He was direct-linked to the runcible AI.

"I see," he said, and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "A cla.s.s three sentience?"

Carmen nodded again. It was not polite to interrupt someone when they were in the midst of a conversation with an AI as those intelligences tended not to repeat themselves. Eventually he shook his head and showed signs of annoyance.

"And this fool is trailing after the Orbonnai?"

"We pa.s.sed all the recordings on to him. He did not see fit to study them."

The monitor bowed his head for a moment before going on. "It would appear this is an intervention situation rather than a monitoring one. He must be stopped. The policy of Earth Central is one of 'observation only' during encounters with any sentience above cla.s.s eight. We cannot have theocratic interference with cla.s.s three sentiences." The monitor looked thoughtful, finis.h.i.+ng with, "Recall your drones and send them into the jungle. This man must be stopped."

Mark was stillness itself as he watched the orboni, even though the pains in his stomach had increased.

It was Paul. He knew it was Paul.

And he is praying!

This was what he had come for. Here was purpose.

Paul knelt at the edge of the stream with his head down on the blue sand. He had remained so for some time. Mark maintained his position and slowly lowered his holocorder. His arm was beginning to hurt, but he believed he had enough evidence for the Bishop. He continued to watch, gradually becoming more uncomfortable, and wondering when Paul was going to move. Some time pa.s.sed before the orboni jerked upright and shuffled to the edge of the stream. Mark raised the holocorder again.

Paul was poised at the edge of the stream for some time before he dipped his hand in and pulled out a nautiloid. He held it up before himself for a long time.

He's not turning it!

Abruptly his arm jerked to one side and the nautiloid was smashed on a rock.

Yes! Yes!

In a moment he had the nautiloid in his beak, but then he seemed to lose interest, and the fleshy body, crusted with sand and broken sh.e.l.l, dropped to the sand. Mark lowered the holocorder. That was not relevant and could be deleted from the crystal. He followed the orboni as it stood and began to make its unsteady way along the bank of the stream.

It seemed almost as if there was no transition at all when they came from the jungle out into the open. Twice Paul fell to his knees in an att.i.tude of prayer. On the second occasion Mark only got to film part of it, because he was suddenly and violently sick.

Backwoods worlds!

He felt hot and s.h.i.+very and the light seemed too bright.

Oh Father, give thy servant the strength to go on.

It was only as the glare seemed to clear, that he saw the pyramid of skulls - Orbonnai skulls, stacked so their beaks were all pointing to the east. The stack was higher than his head.

"Thank you, Lord," he said, and filmed the pyramid before continuing to follow Paul. This was proof that the Orbonnai respected their dead. Better than tool using, as good as the act of wors.h.i.+p. Mark walked on with the light in his eyes.

The third time the orboni went down the light seemed to turn to a heavenly glare. Mark nearly fell over the creature, but instead fell to his knees at its side. He clasped his hands before his chest just as the creature was pulling itself upright. He gazed at it, searching for some sign of fellow feeling, of an understanding of the mystery of wors.h.i.+p. The orboni made a squealing sound and he felt something rake his face.

"No, wait! I understand!"

Paul was staggering away. Mark stood to go after it when a silvery sphere materialised in the air above him. He glanced up at it then ignored it, for he had more important things to do. It was a chameleon drone with its emulation field off. He wiped blood from his face and went after the orboni.

Paul stumbled along ahead of him. But for some reason he could not catch up. He felt slightly drunk. His legs did not seem to be obeying him.

"Wait! Come back ... please."

He stopped and took a breather. Liquid bubbled in his chest and his stomach heaved again, but he was retching dry.

"Wait ... "

When he finally got the retching under control he looked for Paul again. And saw horror.

Paul was bowed to the ground again, and rearing above him was a thrake. Mark froze, his brain working sluggishly. He had not realised they were so big. The thrake towered over Paul - it must have been over ten feet tall.

No, not that, that is not The One.

Mark unhitched his pack and removed from it a small gla.s.sy pistol. He fired once, but his hand was shaking too much, and scrub began to smoke beside the thrake.

"Get back! Get away from him!.. Paul, that creature is no G.o.d. It is ... an icon ... G.o.d is ... "

The thrake turned its nightmare mouth and convolute sensorium towards him. He swallowed bile and fired again. This time his shot hit and it emitted a bubbling scream as part of its hide gusted smoke, then turned and ran.

"G.o.d is ... "

A dark shadow blotted out the sky above. He looked up and saw someone looking down at him.

"G.o.d?" he said, and fainted.

"Feeling better?"

Paul nodded to the kind-faced man and took another drink from the pure water in the flask. He tried not to look at Carmen Smith, who was standing beside the raft with her arms folded and a look of disgust on her face.

The man said, "We would have taken you back, but your condition is not too bad. Those injections will keep you going until they can give you a transfusion at Seventeen. The cut on your face should cause no problems. Anyway, I believe Professor Smith has something to show to you."

Mark nodded and got unsteadily to his feet. He was feeling better. He may have been delirious, but he had seen what he had seen. He looked to Carmen.

"Please, come with me," she said, all politeness.

When he saw where she was leading him he said, "Paul ... " Paul, still frozen in an att.i.tude of prayer.

"Yes, Paul. He is quite dead, though you did not make his dying any easier."

"The thrake ... "

"The thrakai feed on the Orbonnai. They always have done."

With more certainty he said, "That does not make it right."

Carmen smiled with nasty relish. "You know, we picked up on you by the stream when you first saw this...o...b..ni. What did you think you saw there?"

Mark straightened up. "I saw a reasoning creature taking the first steps toward tool using."

"And this att.i.tude? An att.i.tude of wors.h.i.+p?"

Mark nodded, less sure. He glanced around at the man and noticed for the first time that he was clothed in the workmanlike gear of an agent from Earth Central. He was not sure if the man's expression was one of sympathy or contempt. He turned back to Carmen and saw she now held a small surgical shear.

"I suppose you saw that this...o...b..ni's G.o.d was the thrake - a monster. I wonder what it saw?"

She stooped to the orboni and sliced off the top of its skull. A writhing ball of flatworms spilled out. "In the end it saw nothing at all. It was blind." She prodded at the worms with the toe of her boot. "You know what I saw at the stream? I saw an animal with a brain so badly damaged it had lost the use of its normal instinctive abilities. When it fell to its knees, it did so, not to wors.h.i.+p, but because its inner ear was full of parasites and it kept losing its sense of balance. Look at them. Look at them, Mark Christian."

Mark stared at the writhing ma.s.s of worms as they broke apart and began to die on the bluish dirt.

Carmen continued, relentlessly. "Tell me, did your G.o.d that made the lion and the lamb make the worms that eat them from the inside out?"

"I have faith."

At that point the monitor stepped between them and stared down with clinical detachment at the opened skull of the orboni.

"I presume," he said, "that the thrake has its place in this parasite's life cycle."

Carmen looked to him. "Yes, the thrake s.h.i.+ts their eggs. The parasite goes from there to the water and into the nautiloids. The Orbonnai ingest them and become so riddled they're easy prey."

As she finished the anger drained out of her.

"Are the thrakai damaged in any way by these parasites?" asked the monitor.

Carmen shook her head. "It's difficult to tell. The life-cycle is so interlinked that you cannot make - "

They are ignoring me.

" - an easy a.s.sessment based on - "

Suddenly angry, Mark interrupted. "Do you think you've won? Do you think that somehow you have proven to me that the Orbonnai are not pre-ascension! I will return to Carth and report my findings. Those skulls ... On the basis of them, a mission will be sent here for the ... "

He trailed off when he noticed they were not listening to him. They were looking past him into the scrub. He turned and saw the thrake he had shot at, standing no more than ten yards away.

"My G.o.d! Shoot it! Drive it away!"

He turned and saw the monitor and Carmen looking at each other.

Carmen said, "We can't have that ... a mission here."