Nexus by Robert Boyczuk (philippa perry book TXT) 📖

The realization shocked Liis.

She couldn’t kill. Not even Hebuiza. For all the contempt she harbored for the Facilitator, she couldn’t pull the trigger. She opened her hand, let the weapon clatter to the floor.

Hebuiza groaned again; his eyes fluttered.

Liis looked at the Speaker. She still sat entangled in Hebuiza’s legs, a bewildered expression on her face. Stumbling over to her, Liis grasped her by the arm. The woman stared at her obtusely. “Come on,” Liis said, hauling her to her feet. “We’ve got to get out of here!” She tried to drag the woman towards the doorway, only the Speaker resisted, jabbering urgently in her unintelligible language, pointing towards the wall. Liis turned. The male Speaker sat there, his face ashen. Centimeters from his head the wall was scarred black from the discharge of Hebuiza’s bolt gun.

“Shit!” Liis said.

Releasing the woman’s arm, she hurried over to the man. He stared straight ahead, in shock. The right side of his face bore tiny burn marks where the charge from the bolt gun had brushed him. Grabbing him by the shoulder, Liis shook him fiercely. “Get up!”

The man was insensible. He continued to stare at nothing.

Liis slapped him in the face.

He stared at Liis with incomprehension. “Get up, damn you!” Liis raised her hand again. Cringing, he lifted his forearm to ward off the expected blow.

Liis gripped his upper arm. This time the man allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. Liis seized him by the wrist and started pulling him forward. He moved with a dragging reluctance. They hadn’t taken more than two steps when Liis stopped abruptly. She let go of man’s wrist.

While Liis had been trying to jar the male Speaker from his state of inertia, the female Speaker had taken the opportunity to pick up the laser pistol. Now she straddled Hebuiza, the weapon was aimed at the Facilitator’s temple. Hebuiza’s eyes were open, but he appeared to be confused, his gaze wandering aimlessly around the room, his head swaying from side to side. His mouth gaped open and a string of garbled sounds emerged.

Hatred contorted the Speaker’s features into a grimace. For an instant, Liis saw a glimmer of Yilda in her expression, a hint of his haughty corruption. She spoke in her strange, harsh language to Hebuiza, a short sharp word. Then she pulled the trigger.

There was the faint hum of the weapon’s discharge. Hebuiza’s head bounced against the floor; his body spasmed. The woman, teeth bared in a grimace, pulled the trigger again. Only this time she held it down. A thread of ruby light burnt into the side of Hebuiza’s skull. Skin blackened and boiled away, hissing and sputtering as it vaporized. Small yellow flames licked out around the point of impact. The filaments on the Facilitator’s skull melted and ran down onto his cheek and chin in multicolored rivulets. The stench of burning flesh mingled with the noxious odour of melting synthetics.

For several seconds the laser hummed. The light stuttered, went out, the battery drained. A single, tongue of fire flickered above the scorched crater in the side of Hebuiza’s head for a moment, then sputtered and died. Blood pooled around Hebuiza’s charred skull like a crimson halo.

Calmly, the woman bent, pried the bolt gun from the Facilitator’s lifeless fingers. Walking over to Liis, she extended the pistol. Liis stared at the weapon, unmoving. The woman shoved the pistol into Liis’ chest. Reluctantly, Liis reached up and took it. The barrel was so hot it burnt her hand. The woman slung Hebuiza’s bolt gun over her shoulder. Grabbing her comrade’s arm, she pulled him toward the door.

The pistol weighed almost nothing in Liis’ hand. It seemed amazing that a thing this small could deal out death. But how big was the microscopic enemy that inhabited her? And it was every bit as much a weapon as the thing she held. The only difference was that she could see and feel the gun. Suddenly disgusted by the sight of the weapon, she shoved it into her pocket.

The Speakers had already passed through the doorway.

Liis scooped up the things that had spilled from her backpack-a dozen food packets, a medical kit, several battery clips for her pistol, and the tube containing the explosives-and shoved them back in her pack. Behind her, the Speakers’ echoing footsteps died as the two passed into the antechamber. Liis stuck her arm through one of the straps and swung the pack over her good shoulder.

With only the briefest of backward glances at the Facilitator’s corpse, she hustled after them.

The Speakers had already passed through the antechamber, pausing only long enough to grab their simple robes; by the time Liis caught up to them they were in the broad, arching tunnel, the woman dragging the man along by his hand like a mother might have pulled a dawdling child. Liis sprinted to catch up.

“Wait,” she gasped, breathless from her short run. She seized the woman’s upper arm. “We…we’ve got to talk.” The sound of the waterfall filled the space with its omnidirectional hiss, obliterating her words. But the noise made no difference: even if Liis could make herself heard, the Speakers wouldn’t understand her language any more than she could understand theirs. Still, she had to make both of them realise the danger of communicating with the other Speakers. If they were to do so, they would lead Yilda right to them. It was a safe bet the Speakers had already informed their comrades what had transpired in the chamber; and, by default, Yilda would also know. Right now he might be on his way back here.

The female Speaker stared at Liis blankly, waiting. Liis chewed on her lower lip, uncertain how to proceed.

The woman’s eyes flickered towards her companion. For an instant the two Speakers locked gazes and something seemed to pass between them. Immediately, Liis gave the woman’s arm a sharp tug, breaking into their exchange.

No! She shook her head sharply; but then it occurred to her that she knew nothing of their culture. A head shake might be meaningless to them-or perhaps mean the opposite of what she intended.

The Speaker narrowed her eyes, a spark of anger briefly illuminating them. She turned back to the man, apparently to resume her communication.

Liis tightened her grip. “NO!” Her shout was the first sound she had made since entering the tunnel that hadn’t been swept away by the roar of the falls.

The woman looked startled.

“Yilda will find us!” she shouted. “You mustn’t communicate by thought. You’ve got to talk out loud!”

The woman frowned at her.

“Watch!” Liis released the Speaker’s arm. Touching her hand to the side of her head, Liis tried to mimic the state she had seen the woman fall into when she was communicating over light years. Liis halted her imitation abruptly, shook her head slowly and held her hands up, palms outward and fingers spread wide in warning. The woman didn’t react. Liis touched her lips, extended her hand to touch the woman’s. The Speaker flinched only slightly at the contact. Liis pantomimed a conversation by moving her lips. There wasn’t the thinnest sign of comprehension on the woman’s face; the man stared at Liis as if he thought she was mad.

How can I make them understand?

Liis stooped her shoulders, pushed out her stomach and pouted her lips in a parody of Yilda. Her impression must have been halfway good, for the woman immediately stiffened, narrowing her eyes. “Yilda,” Liis said.

“Ilda,” the woman repeated. She spat in disgust.

Gripping an imaginary rifle, Liis crept around the two Speakers as if she were stalking prey. She paused every couple of steps to cup her hand to her ear as if she were listening. Each time she did so, she fell out of character for an instant to point from one Speaker’s forehead to the other. Moving away from them, she halted suddenly, as if something had caught her attention; she swung around to face them, her phantom rifle at the ready, aimed right at them. The man whimpered.

The female Speaker stared at Liis. Then her eyes widened in comprehension. Touching her own forehead, and then her companion’s, she raised her hand in warning, as Liis had done before.

“Yes! That’s right!”

The woman gave a curt nod; but she closed her eyes as if preparing to communicate.

Liis leapt forward and grasped the woman’s arm again.

The Speaker’s eyes snapped open. She stared at Liis, but without rancour. Gently, the woman pried Liis’ hand from her arm. Stepping back, the Speaker touched her forehead and swept her hand out in an arc, a gesture that seemed to indicate the entire dome. She repeated the movement indicating danger.

She wants to pass the warning on to her friends.

The woman stared at Liis expectantly.

“Okay,” Liis said, nodding. “Go ahead.”

The Speaker shut her eyes again. At once her comrade fixed his gaze on her as if she’d called out to him. The broadcast lasted no more than a second. Before Liis knew what was happening, the woman was pulling at her companion’s arm, dragging him down the hall toward the narrow defile where the waterfall spilled. After a few steps the woman stopped. She turned around. “Upatal,” she said, tapping her breastbone with a forefinger.

Liis raised her hand, touched her own chest. “Liis.” they regarded one another in silence.

Then the woman set off at a trot, tugging the man into motion behind her.

Liis followed the Speakers, moving out of the tunnel and onto the slick-looking floor, past the waterfall and back into the ring of buildings. Inside, ceiling panels flared as soon as the Speakers entered, illuminating the huge room Liis had previously traversed in darkness. The chamber was bigger than she had imagined: it stretched several hundred meters to either side and was perhaps twenty across. Four doors, hung with dark, pleated curtains, led into the room from different directions. Covering the walls were blue and green pastel paintings-portraits, it seemed-in heavy-looking gilt and silver frames; low, wide benches, resembling stunted pews, had been set in front of each work. The paintings seemed out of focus, depicting smudged figures, sitting on chairs or reclining on things that might have been beds or sofas. The figures were so indefinite as to make it impossible to tell if they were men or women. Upatal turned to the door on the right and jogged towards it. Liis started after her-then halted abruptly. The figures, she realised, were moving. They stirred slowly, as if they were submerged in a thick, viscous fluid. Blurred heads turned to follow Upatal’s progress, to gape at Liis. They’re alive, Liis thought with a shudder. She hustled after the Speakers.

Upatal waited for her at far end of the room. A large picture hung over the door there. Within this frame, a gangly figure had risen to its feet from an oversized divan; it extended a turquoise arm, its fingers stretching the surface of the work, tenting the quivering, transparent surface, adding to the distortion of the scene inside. The thing’s jaw worked slowly. Its mouth opened, forming a dark hole, the only clearly defined shape inside the frame. Liis averted her eyes as she passed beneath the groping figure and followed the Speakers out of the room.

They entered a small, carpeted chamber furnished with an oval table and scattered chairs. This time the room had only one other exit that appeared to be made of burnished metal. Liis could see no handle. When the Speakers approached, the door melted away, and they passed through without hesitation. Liis, a few steps behind, saw the air in the opening stir and thicken. She skidded to a halt as the door