Authors: Neal Asher
Cowl (4 page)
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WELL, THERE WENT THE super-killers and you are still in one piece, little Polly.
Gasping, Polly stumbled into the ruin and flopped down in some shade with her back against the breeze-block wall.
âYou fucking bastard, you nearly got me killed!'
Only a little bit and, anyway, you'll get paid because now I have their money and their precious objet d'art.
Polly stared across at the thing he referred to and once again felt a powerful urge to just go over and pick it upâto slip it onto her forearm like a piece of baroque jewellery. What the hell was it? It looked organic rather than made, was a tube seemingly rolled from a holly leaf the length of a person's forearm, that leaf itself fashioned of white and silver metal. As she contemplated it, she found herself standing, inexorably drawn to it. Somehow, it had the same attraction for her as a roll of drug patches. She could feel the yearning, the
addiction
â¦
addiction
â¦
I'll be with you in a moment. Just you wait there for me.
Polly squatted by the object, reached out and touched it. Inside her something snapped shut and she knew exactly what she had to do.
Polly, keep away from that! I said, fucking keep away from that!
It was heavy. She had to take it up with both hands, and as she did her hands bled. The pain was ecstasy. She slid it over her right forearm. Skin peeled and flesh parted like earth before the plough. She screamed as blood jetted from slit arteries, and she fell to her knees.
Don't! Don't! It comes when you touch it directly!
Very quickly she ceased to bleed. She stared at the thing. It was bonding to her flesh. She could feel it bonding to the bones beneath. Looking up, she saw Nandru running towards her, his weapon braced across his chest.
âWhat the hell have you done?' he shouted.
The air distorted, and something harsh inside her dragged her upright. She could feel something washing through her like citrine fire. The drugs and the dullness they induced were going. Elements of her mind blossomed and opened out. True wakefulness hurt as no physical pain possibly could, and she understood why so many humans spent most of their lives fleeing it.
âOh Jesus.'
In the distortion Nandru turned to face a flaw in reality. The flaw opened out to expose two vast rollers of living tissue turning against each other. Polly realized they were land and sky composed of living flesh. Out of this, looming into the day, came a living door, throated with teeth and shadows, and lipped with razor boneâthe horrifying terminus of some huge trainlike tentacle that stretched back into that landscape of flesh.
There came a roaring sound, a high-pitched keening, then the stench of carrion.
No! No! I don't want to â¦
It closed on him, drawing him in.
Casualty link established. Uploading â¦
Nandru was gone, eaten alive. She watched him go, torn apart and ground away.
Then the flaw snapped shut thunderously, and all distortion fled. Polly saw everything clearly now and did not for one instant believe she had been hallucinating. Just as she wasn't hallucinating the killer, Tack, who was walking out of the trees towards her.
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HE WAS GAINING ON her. That first burst of adrenalin had taken her some way but she was quickly tiring. The thing on her arm had made her thoughts oh so clear, but it had not repaired a body damaged by years of drug abuse. Glancing back, she saw him raising and lowering his seeker gun as she dodged amid the trees. He was aiming at her legs, and in his other hand she saw the ugly glitter of a knife. Her shoulder clipping a tree, and with brambles tangled round her feet, she sprawled and knew terror. The killer was so close. Then he was standing over her, a look of cold satisfaction on his face, his mirrored eyes reflecting the surrounding green.
âGet up,' he said.
Polly looked into the mouth of the gun, then at the knife. As she stood he holstered the gun and she knew only panic at what he intended to do. She turned to flee as he stepped in with the knife held low for a disembowelling cut. He grabbed her arm, then grunted in pained surprise and released her. Glancing back while stumbling away, she saw he was walking after her now, knowing he had her. Polly had to escape. The flawâthat distortion. She felt herself reaching out with something within her that was linked to the thing on her forearm. Twisting that something, she fled in the only direction available to her and fell into waves of darkness below featureless grey. Screaming only blew what air remained from her lungs, and in her next breath she took in nothing. Then came a slow wrench as if she had just penetrated some meniscus. Suddenly she was face-down in cold and dark; salt water filled her mouth. Pushing down, her hands sank into slime. She jerked herself up, breathed and shook her head to clear her eyes, and found herself lying in a foot of sea water under the same trees as before. Only now the trees were without leaves and the air was cold. Heaving herself to her knees, she observed crabs scuttling away through the water nearby.
âWhat is this?' The killer was still with her, standing up to his calves in the water and looking around disbelievingly.
Then he focused on Polly once more. He stepped forwards, grabbed her by the arm that was not enclosed in the object, and hauled her fully to her feet. She tried to knee him in the testicles, but he turned his hip into the blow, and in a flash had the point of his knife poised just over Muse 184.
He tilted his head and said, âTack here. Mission status?'
Polly watched his expression shift from puzzlement to outright disbelief.
âWhat do you mean “doubled signal return”? Where's my DO?'
Almost irrelevantly, Polly noticed that his clothing was torn and burnt away over his chest, exposing the body armour he wore. This then was how he had survived the seeker rounds Nandru had fired from the tower.
Bastard that â¦
The voice whispered in her skull, its phrasing human but its tone machine-like. Perhaps all this clarity of thought was an illusion and she had recently taken some bad lysergic. But she must discount that possibility and react only to circumstances as she saw them. Right now she was a hair's breadth from being killed. Certainly this man would think nothing of cutting her throat, then sawing off her arm to take the object wrapped around it back to his masters.
The voice whispered in her skull, its phrasing human but its tone machine-like. Perhaps all this clarity of thought was an illusion and she had recently taken some bad lysergic. But she must discount that possibility and react only to circumstances as she saw them. Right now she was a hair's breadth from being killed. Certainly this man would think nothing of cutting her throat, then sawing off her arm to take the object wrapped around it back to his masters.
His face pale with shock, Tack now dragged her towards dry ground, where earth was mounded against one of the ruin's walls. He pushed her away from him down onto the patch.
âStay there and don't move. You try to run and I'll carve you,' he said, then put away his knife and rolled up one bloody sleeve.
Polly stared at him, then shifted again.
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IGNORE ALL IRRELEVANT DISTRACTIONS. Focus on the target. What was
irrelevant?
When his hand had closed on her arm, it had closed on the item that she had somehow put on, and which now seemed to be fused to her flesh. The pain he had felt was more than it should have been. Now he stared down in momentary confusion at his hand. His palm had been sliced open and there was a fragment like a thorn of coral embedded in his wrist, blood oozing out around it. She had been getting away. No distraction. He had felt the first shift and how he had been caught at the edge of it and drawn in, somehow, by this lump of material embedded in his wrist. Seeing the leafless trees and drowned landscape, he had for a moment considered the possibility of a memory lapse: one of those blank spots associated with reprogramming. However, his subsequent garbled communication with Operations had confirmed what was real.
No one there had heard of his Director of Operations, and no one had heard of Tack either. And by their response to him he just knew they had been sending a kill squad to deal with an anomalous agentâhimself.
irrelevant?
When his hand had closed on her arm, it had closed on the item that she had somehow put on, and which now seemed to be fused to her flesh. The pain he had felt was more than it should have been. Now he stared down in momentary confusion at his hand. His palm had been sliced open and there was a fragment like a thorn of coral embedded in his wrist, blood oozing out around it. She had been getting away. No distraction. He had felt the first shift and how he had been caught at the edge of it and drawn in, somehow, by this lump of material embedded in his wrist. Seeing the leafless trees and drowned landscape, he had for a moment considered the possibility of a memory lapse: one of those blank spots associated with reprogramming. However, his subsequent garbled communication with Operations had confirmed what was real.
No one there had heard of his Director of Operations, and no one had heard of Tack either. And by their response to him he just knew they had been sending a kill squad to deal with an anomalous agentâhimself.
The girl had done something; moved them. This second time it happened validated his crazy idea about just
what
she had done. He gazed around and saw that they now stood upon a plain of drying mud, deep with cracks and scattered with growths of sea sage and plantains. There being no trees here, this time, he could see the distant sea wall straddled by a huge slab-facing machine. Nearby the ruins were not clearly defined, mounded as they were with mud and yet to be weathered out of the ground. To his right the thermal generating tower stood tall and pristine, and from it a macadam road led back through the old inner sea wall towards the industrial complexes outside Maldon. People were working in and around the tower, and from it a high-mounted crane was lowering a dismounted generator to a low-loader.
what
she had done. He gazed around and saw that they now stood upon a plain of drying mud, deep with cracks and scattered with growths of sea sage and plantains. There being no trees here, this time, he could see the distant sea wall straddled by a huge slab-facing machine. Nearby the ruins were not clearly defined, mounded as they were with mud and yet to be weathered out of the ground. To his right the thermal generating tower stood tall and pristine, and from it a macadam road led back through the old inner sea wall towards the industrial complexes outside Maldon. People were working in and around the tower, and from it a high-mounted crane was lowering a dismounted generator to a low-loader.
Tack glanced down from this bewildering view and saw he was up to his ankles in the mud. With some difficulty he pulled his feet free. The dry mud was in his shoes, in his socks. The girl was sprawled in the mud and looking as bewildered as he felt, and now Tack realized he must keep her alive. He enjoyed books and the interactives as much as normal people, so he knew about the concepts of time travel, and how leading quantum physicists had stated that it might be possible.
He looked up again to scan their surroundings. The first shift had taken them back to the time of one of the over-floods: two to ten years. This second shift had brought them back to the time just after the new sea wall had been built and the land area enclosed by it reclaimed. Tack had seen documentaries about the furore the project had caused, reclaiming land considered by all insurers as unsafe because of the chances of over-floodâa prediction subsequently proved to be trueâand therefore a place deemed by all developers unsuitable for any sort of building. The project had cost millions, and millions more as it had rendered useless many of the thermal towers, which required sea water to operate. And this had all occurred half a century before Tack himself had been a twinkle in his creator's test tube.
âIt would be inadvisable to go further,' Tack warned the girl.
She looked at him with her eyes wide, panicky. With slow deliberation Tack squatted down before her, making himself appear less threatening. He wondered if she had any idea what she was doing. He inspected his own injured
limb and noted that, even though his hand was still bleeding, the wound in his wrist had sealed around the thorn. Distraction. Trying to exude calm, he rolled down his sleeve and looked at the girl.
limb and noted that, even though his hand was still bleeding, the wound in his wrist had sealed around the thorn. Distraction. Trying to exude calm, he rolled down his sleeve and looked at the girl.
âYou go any further back and this place will be under ten metres of sea,' he told her.
She glanced around then pushed herself upright. Her clothing pulled up dry mud with it; was packed with the stuff. She pulled her blouse out of her pelmet and flat pieces of mud fell out, contoured on one side to her body, as if she had been lying in it as it dried. Tack felt no confusion about this. Land levels change through time, she had travelled, the dry mud had been displaced by her body. It all made perfect sense to him. What did not make sense was why the trees and other parts of the landscape had not been dragged along too. Why her clothes, him, his clothes?
âHow have you done this, girl?' he asked, expecting no coherent answerâshe still looked bewildered, probably not yet grasping what was happening. Certainly all this had been caused by the object on her arm, about which he knew only his DO's instructions:
Come back with it, Tack, or don't come back at all
â¦
Come back with it, Tack, or don't come back at all
â¦
âMy name is Polly.'
Tack considered for a moment. It was always best not to use the name of a potential hit, not to consider them as anything more than disposable. He considered what he should do now: a swift head shot would prevent her doing anything more, and he could next cut the object from her arm. But what then? He had no idea how to operate the thing, and suspected that she was only doing so at an instinctive level.
âYou have not answered my question,' he said.
âYou're going to kill me. Why should I?'
Tack nodded and stood up, stepping closer to offer her his hand. âYou must take us back ⦠you must take us forward again.'
âWhy the hell should I!?'
She rolled and came to her feet, backing away from him. Observing her expression, he was surprised at the sudden intelligence he saw there and realized he had little chance of gaining her trust. There was only one option: he must retrieve the object and learn how to use it himself. Stepping forward, he drew his seeker gun from its chest holster. Momentarily the controls snagged on his damaged clothing. He saw her take a deep breath and close her eyes.
âNo!'
He fired, realizing as he did so that, in snagging the gun, he had switched it
back to seeker mode. The bullet shot out, dropping its casing even as it left the barrel, opening its ceramic wings to swerve itself away to one side of her. Swearing, he slapped it back to manual. Then one moment he was sighting on her forehead, and the next moment his lungs were filled with brine.
back to seeker mode. The bullet shot out, dropping its casing even as it left the barrel, opening its ceramic wings to swerve itself away to one side of her. Swearing, he slapped it back to manual. Then one moment he was sighting on her forehead, and the next moment his lungs were filled with brine.
Water pressure closed over him like a vice and he did not know which way was up. He struggled and he kicked and fought. Breaking the surface, he spewed water and fought for every coughing breath. She was over there, steadily swimming away from him. He knew he needed to stay close, but it was all he could do to stay on the surface and breathe. The sea was rough, rain hammering down, and lightning stalked the horizon. She shifted again, leaving a hollow in the water that closed with a sucking rush. Gone.
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