Nexus by Robert Boyczuk (philippa perry book TXT) 📖

if she was being showered with fragments of the Speaker-then realised a second later she couldn’t have been: had a piece of a Speaker landed in here, the machine would have opened up beneath her-and ground her up along with the bit of Speaker’s flesh. I’ve got to get out of here, she thought.

Liis tried to sit up. Her body howled its protest, her brain on fire. It took an enormous effort and she nearly blacked out, but she managed to raise herself enough to peek over the lip of the trench. The stink of decaying flesh and sickly-sweet smell of blood swirled around her.

In front of her, two meters away, lay Yilda’s rifle, a tiny light on the top of its stock pulsing green. On the opposite side of the platform, the floor had been torn up and scorched by the explosion. One bench had disappeared entirely-she guessed it had been thrown into the trench by the explosion-and another had been overturned and split in half by the blast. The display still hung incongruously in the air above the crater. Further away, amongst the ranks of incubators on the opposite side of the platform, a small crater marked the site of the second explosion. Several incubators had been destroyed; others had been breached in varying degrees and their contents now dribbled and leaked through cracks and punctures. The male Speaker, if he was over there, wasn’t visible.

She turned her head, trying to locate Upatal. Through the latticework of the gantry she caught a glimpse of movement, saw the snout of Hebuiza’s bolt gun poke out. From the corner of her eye Liis saw several more discs spin through the air towards the place where she had last seen the male speaker. She ducked as a chain of heart-stopping concussions roared over her, deafening her.

As soon as the shock waves had passed, Liis poked her head up over the lip of the trench. Gritting her teeth, she threw herself onto the trench’s slope, grateful she couldn’t feel her broken arm any longer; it flopped at her side like something dead, the cast clacking against the yellow surface. With her good hand, she snatched at the rifle’s shoulder strap, caught it, and slid back into the trench, dragging the rifle after her. She braced herself, for the last thing she saw before sliding down the frictionless slope of the channel had been another set of silver discs flashing through the air. This time they had arced to her left, towards the gantry. She crooked her arm over her head against a second set of deafening explosions.

Before the fall of debris had ceased, Liis grasped the rifle in her good hand, her finger through the trigger guard and resting on the trigger, her thumb on the stock above. Although her grip was awkward, the weapon was light enough for her to balance. Swinging it up and over her head, she aimed it in the general direction where she’d last seen Yilda amongst the incubators and pulled the trigger.

The recoil was almost negligible. And the faint report of the weapon was inaudible over the din in her ears. She jerked the trigger several more times and was rewarded by the satisfying sound of a booming impact. She had no idea what kind of setting the rifle was on, but at least her rounds were causing damage. She swept the weapon in a wide arc, holding the trigger down, listening to the impacts. Abruptly, the slight recoils-along with the sounds of impacts-stopped as it ran out of juice.

Liis lowered the rifle and examined it. The light on the stock had gone out. She tossed the rifle to one side and peeked over the lip to see what damage it had done.

In front of her was a fan of destruction.

The air was thick with roiling smoke, making it difficult to see anything. The shells of burnt-out incubators lay tumbled a half a dozen rows back, small fires burning everywhere. Several lone pedestals still stood but were bent backwards and scored black. One burnt brightly at its tip, sputtering like a roman candle. It was hard to believe that Yilda could have survived in the midst of this wreckage. Liis turned to find Upatal.

The last set of blasts had taken their toll on the gantry. The black structure now canted awkwardly to one side, the crossed members near its base broken and twisted. Many of the incubators had been damaged by the blasts, split open inside the tangled structure like cracked eggs. Half a dozen others had been dislodged and tumbled to the floor. They lay in a growing pool of fluid.

From behind the gantry Upatal rose, bolt gun braced on her shoulder, aiming off to Liis’ right where Yilda had been. She fired. Liis swung her gaze over-and through a gap in the smoke saw Yilda rise from behind the wreckage of an incubator and dash away, moving with inhuman speed. There was another whump of the bolt gun; sparks from discharging projectiles flashed behind his heels. The Facilitator disappeared into the forest of incubators.

Liis heaved herself out of the trench. Ignoring the protests from her battered limbs, she scuttled over to the first row of incubators and hid herself behind a pedestal. It wasn’t the best of protection, but at least she was out of the trench.

Her broken arm chose this moment to renew its protests: a series of sharp pains flickered along its length, like flames from a spreading fire. She gasped in agony, squeezing her eyes shut.

The torment subsided, became almost bearable. Liis opened her eyes.

Nothing stirred.

Then Upatal suddenly appeared, dashed across the trench and the platform, heading toward the spot where the male Speaker had been. As she moved, Upatal fired several wild bursts from the hip, strafing the incubators where Yilda had fled, perhaps in the hopes of keeping him hunkered down. Liis decided to take advantage of the opportunity to find better cover. Dragging herself over to the gantry, she collapsed behind the pile of dislodged incubators in a pool of putrid, amniotic fluid.

Centimeters from her face was a round incubator taken from the wall. The tube had been split by an explosion and doubled back on itself so that it looked a can cut open in the middle with its halves bent back. Inside were twin fetuses. Only they lay in opposite sides of the incubator. Whatever had severed their tube had also bifurcated them, sundering their skulls midway, leaving a gaping hole in both. Bits of brain and bone were plastered to the inside walls of the incubator. Liis looked away.

For several seconds the bolt gun had remained silent. Liis was about to chance a look when there was a shout, followed by a single shot from the gun. This was answered almost immediately by a new series of explosions. The concussions boomed, drum-like, inside the incubator halves.

Silence again.

Liis waited, holding her breath. Nothing. She decided to hazard a look.

But before she could rise up high enough to peek over the incubator halves, Yilda’s voice rang out from the centre of the room.

“Your friends are dead.”

Liis stiffened.

“A shame, really. They had more spunk than I believed. Perhaps I might have been able to make use of them.”

Upatal’s dead. Liis was shaken. Even though the Speaker had used her, she felt the stab of loss.

A movement from the interior of the incubator caught Liis’ attention. Through the transparent hatch at the end she had a partial view of the platform. Raising herself on one arm-and doing her best to ignore the vile stink-she inched forward until she could see the centre of the room. Yilda stood there in plain sight, the left half of his face blackened. His white tee-shirt was holed by laser burns. Yet for all of that, he appeared unhurt.

“I know you’re unarmed. I’ve accounted for all the weapons.” In one hand he held Liis’ laser pistol; in the other he clutched the bolt gun Upatal had been carrying. “You almost had me,” Yilda said conversationally. “I used up the last of my explosives on the Speakers.” He strolled toward the channel. “But it was a mistake to throw away my rifle. If you had had enough patience you would have discovered that it only requires a few moments to recharge itself.” Yilda slung the bolt gun over his shoulder and hopped down into the channel. “In fact, I’d be happy to demonstrate now that it is now fully recharged.” He walked over to where Liis had dropped the rifle.

Liis pulled the fetus nearest her out of the broken incubator and pinioned the little body under her chest; its jagged skull protruded from under her chin. She settled her weight on it and there was a muffled cracking; something wet and sticky seeped through the front of her tee-shirt. Gritting her teeth, she plunged her hand through the hole in its skull; she dug her fingers around a fistful of brain. Twisting her wrist sharply, she pulled and a wet chunk came free with a tiny sucking sound. She rolled over and sat up, bits of grey matter dripping from her hand. Ten meters away, Yilda bent to retrieve his rifle.

With a grunt, Liis heaved the soggy mess.

The lump hit Yilda as he straightened. It struck him on the thigh and fell to the bottom of the channel, leaving a grey and pink smear on his shorts.

For a split second the Facilitator frowned as he stared at the stain; then his face went white as the floor sagged beneath him and the low thrum of the machine suddenly welled. He shrieked and spun towards the near bank. But it was already too late. The disintegrating surface of the channel wouldn’t give him any traction. He stumbled forward like a man caught in quicksand, fell onto the yellow slope. His left arm slapped down on floor and the laser pistol flew from his grip. He slipped from sight.

A high-pitched whine went up from the discs. It sounded as if the dynamo powering them was straining against tremendous resistance.

Struggling to her feet, Liis staggered over to the trench.

Yilda was still in the channel.

Or at least something that resembled Yilda. Most of his skin had been flayed, leaving a transparent, human-shaped sheath filled with stark, white bone, red ropes of muscle tissue, and shadowy internal organs. In a dozen places Yilda’s nanoskin was caught between straining rollers. Competing forces tore at the protective material, trying to pull it in different directions. Liis watched the skin being drawn tighter and tighter, flattening everything inside until the ribcage cracked and folded, organs began to rupture, and the thicker bones of arms and legs bent backward against the tops of rollers. The jaw of the thing-Liis couldn’t think of it as Yilda anymore-gaped open. Large, glassy eyes goggled and were pushed back in their sockets as the head was compressed. A single, piercing cry rose above the whine of the machine.

He’s still alive, Liis realised in horror.

Inside the transparent skin, The skull split open and the face collapsed into a flat parody of itself. In seconds everything inside the nanoskin had been squeezed into an unrecognizable reddish-pink mass.

The whine of the machine grew louder until it seemed to pierce Liis’ eardrums like a spike. Drawn out now to exaggerated proportions, the nanoskin resisted for perhaps another second. Then, it ruptured, ripping down the middle and spraying out its contents in a low wide circle, bits of Yilda spattering wetly against Liis’ shins and knees.

Upatal was alive.

Liis found her amongst the wreckage on the other side of the platform. The Speaker was unconscious, her face ashen, breathing raggedly, her robe holed and stained pink in several places