Zoid Page 2

  I stare up at the hole in the ceiling, recon-sight in place. I see a zoid heat-sig. Blood red.

  Somehow a killer zoid has got past the convection lakes . . .

  As I watch, the zoid drops down through the air. It’s large and spheroid, striped copper and silver. It lands lightly on its two pneumatic legs. A dome-shaped head section tops a thick, articulated neck, and half a dozen or more arms spring from its body, tools and weapons appearing at the tip of each one. Lasers, blades, pulsers: the works.

  The zoid must be an upgrade. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  Beside me, Bronx’s pulser bursts into life. A hail of molten grenbolts thuds into the zoid’s body. They fizz for a moment, then explode in a series of blinding flashes, ripping the zoid apart from the inside. It’s completely zilched. The smoking hulk pitches forward and crashes to the floor.

  It couldn’t have been easier.

  But then a second killer appears at the hole in the ceiling. It’s learned its lesson from the first zoid. Instead of dropping to the floor straight away, it extends one of its arms and sends a blinding line of laser bursts stuttering across the Circle towards us.

  Bronx and I press ourselves against the opposite side of the slip tunnel as the air explodes all round us. Other Inposters are arriving, armed and in protective gear. They’ve responded to the sirens, and from the other tunnels around the Circle pulsers flash as they return fire. I catch sight of Dek, struggling to fire his pulser, and Lina, pulling the pin from a frack-grenade with her teeth, then throwing it.

  The second killer drops to the floor, deflecting the grenade with a sweep of its arm and stepping smartly to one side. Then another killer drops to the floor beside it. Then another. And another. Five in all. They form a circle, keeping up a steady stream of laser fire directed at the tunnel entrances as they do so, forcing the Inposters to take cover.

  I duck as laser bursts zing past my ear and bore holes in the tunnel wall behind me.

  Then the killers each head towards a different tunnel, lasers blazing. More of them appear at the hole in the ceiling, brace, descend.

  It’s no good. We’re being overpowered. Bronx and I fall back . . .

  All at once, at the entrance to our tunnel, the zing of the zoid’s laser fire falls still. There is silence for a moment. Then a new sound erupts. A high-pitched hissing.

  I look up.

  The zoid is sending out a stream of white light from deep within its body. It snakes through the air, hitting Bronx and enveloping him in a pulsating energy net.

  Bronx jerks and spasms. His weapons clatter to the floor. The energy net tightens.

  I watch, helpless, as the zoid hauls Bronx towards it. A panel at the front of its spherical body slides open and Bronx disappears inside. The panel slides shut.

  I’m next. I realize I’m shaking.

  I turn and run. Only when I reach the junction of the slip and exit tunnels, do I look back.

  My heart gives a jolt.

  In the Circle, the zoids are overcoming all resistance. The return fire becomes more and more sporadic as they capture the Inposters one by one in their energy nets and haul them in. I see Dek, eyes closed and metal arm hanging limply at his side, disappear inside a zoid. Then I see Lina . . .

  She’s looking straight at me.

  ‘Help me.’ She mouths the words.

  I raise my pulser. Take aim. But before I can fire, the net snaps back and Lina disappears into the body of the zoid.

  My mind’s racing. It’s all happening so fast. There’s nothing I can do. Not now. This is the only world I know and it’s being torn apart in front of my eyes. I need to get out of here. Get my head together. Figure out what to do.

  The arc lights flash on and off as I skid around a corner and hurtle down the main exit tunnel. I come to the ladder. I climb. Scan the portal – but it won’t open.

  My heart’s hammering.

  It. Will. Not. Open.

  Reaching up, I press two gunkballs against the portal and flick the detonators. I drop back to the floor, crouch down and cover my head with my arms as best I can.

  The explosion rips through the metal. My ears ring with the noise.

  I climb the ladder a second time, navigating the jagged twists of metal, and leap out of the top of the pipe. I straighten up, gather myself, then hurtle off along the gantry, past the convection lakes and into the tube-forest beyond.

  I don’t know how long I run. It feels like forever. Finally, out of breath, I pause and scan the area behind me. Left, right. In front. Behind. There are no heat-sigs to be seen.

  Not one.

  No zoids. No humans.

  A movement catches my eye and I look down to see Caliph’s twitching nose sticking out of the pocket of my flakcoat.

  ‘Caliph! I’d forgotten you were there!’

  He looks up at me, and as I stroke his head all my emotions come surging up from inside me.

  ‘It can’t end like this. The zoids can’t win. I won’t give up on Bronx, Dek, Lina and the others . . . We’ve got to find them, Caliph. Rescue them. There’s no one else left.’

  I take the little critter out of my pocket and hold him close.

  ’You and me,’ I whisper. ‘Just you and me.’

  I’m further from the Inpost than I’ve ever been before, and I don’t like it. Not one little bit. It’s still the tube-forest, but not a part that I’m familiar with.

  We scavengers know the area around the convection lakes inside out – every twist, junction and switchback. The forest conceals and protects us. We’ve learned the best pipes to tube-surf down, the best walkways to hide on; where to set traps and where not to; which critters are harmless and which to avoid. And we’re good at it – taking out workzoids quietly and efficiently, and staying hidden from the attentions of the killer zoids.

  At least, that’s what we thought. But we were wrong. They found us, and now there’s no going back.

  I have to find the Inposters. Swarf knows what those weird upgrade zoids are going to do to them. One thing’s certain though: it won’t be good.

  But where have they been taken? And how much time do they have?

  My thoughts are racing. I check my weapons. Button up my flakcoat. I feel cold sweat running down my back. I’m going to have to venture even further from the Inpost . . .

  Into the unknown.

  Ducts, pipes and cables disappear into the distance in every direction. The power cables buzz and throb with electro-pulse and digital flux. The air ducts hum and moan.

  Caliph lets out a soft mewling noise. He’s hungry. And so am I.

  ‘We’d best forage, boy,’ I tell him, and I stroke his furry head.

  I check my recon-sight and put in my earpiece. There’s no trace of any heat-sigs, and we set off along the metal walkway deep into the tube-forest.

  The critter calls get louder the deeper into the tangle of tubes we go, and the light begins to fade. Soon we’re walking in near darkness.

  All at once, the air crackles and there is a dazzling flash of light as a build-up of power is discharged from a cable up ahead. It illuminates the forest for an instant, then disappears.

  I pull the pulser from my shoulder, load it with grenbolts and hold it before me. As I walk on, I point it into the shadows, my finger on the trigger. Caliph bares his teeth.

  When the walkway splits, we head down a sloping ramp. Then, keeping to the centre of a swaying cable-bridge, we cross a yawning void that is so deep I can’t see the bottom. There is another dazzling flash of electric-blue light, and I catch sight of a swarm of pale-winged spotes darting and swooping beneath us.

  We arrive at the far side of the bridge and pause. The pipes and tubes here are discoloured and corroded. I doubt a welder zoid has been this way in decades.

  Mounds of thick dust line the rusty horizontal pipes, while others hiss with the pressurized steam that spurts out from small cracks, or drip with ice-cold water. And wherever there’s moisture, the pipes are festoon
ed with plants. There are trembling fern fronds. Swords of spikemoss. Broad, waxy-leafed succulents and ribbons of glowing air-kelp. And great clumps of dangling blue-grey grass that sway in the upcurrents of warm air.

  These plants must have originated in seed banks, laboratories and green-zones somewhere in the Biosphere – places that have been wrecked by the zoids, their contents spilling out and taking root wherever they can. Weird thing is, they don’t look like the Earth plants the Half-Lifes have shown us. It’s as if they’ve mutated. And it’s the same with the critters . . .

  I hear a gruff bark close by. Raise my pulser.

  Next thing, a huge critter, more than twice my size, emerges from the gloom. It’s got long arms and short legs and a tail that looks to be three times as long as its body. Its movements are heavy and slow, and as it sways its head from side to side I see a single eye that stares out from behind strands of matted blue hair.

  It moves overhead, using its long muscular arms and powerful tail to swing from pipe to pipe. A moment later, another appears. Then another, and another, until there’s a whole colony of them sweeping slowly past.

  I watch them enviously from the shadows below, wishing I could swing through the tube-forest with such ease.

  When the last of them disappears into the darkness, and their barking calls have faded away, I scan the plants to find something I can eat. The scanner vibrates as its beam falls on a succulent covered in small spikes that is growing out of an air duct.

  I tug the plant free, peel off the rough skin with my cutter, then slice off a piece and give it to Caliph, who seizes it in his front paws and sinks his teeth into the flesh. I take a bite myself. It tastes sour at first, then suddenly syrupy sweet, before filling my mouth with a tingling heat. I swallow. The weird sensation travels down my throat and hits my stomach, creating a deep, warm, throbbing glow.

  I finish the succulent, then pull half a dozen more from the surrounding ducts. I peel them as well and stow them in my backcan for later.

  Caliph buries himself deep inside my flakcoat and I feel his body against my chest. Small and warm. Alive. Beating like a second heart.

  ‘Now we need to find somewhere safe to sleep.’

  Thirty minutes later, I stumble across the perfect place.

  It’s a tall, cylindrical tower that sprouts up from a twisted trunk of power cables, high above the surrounding walkways and tubing. I magnetize my kneepads and boot-hubs and start to scale the vertical sides of the tower. When I come to the first row of vents, I pause and peer inside.

  I see a generator. It’s humming and pulsing, but the fact that it’s covered in a thick layer of dust tells me it hasn’t been maintained recently.

  Good. No danger of zoid work patrols.

  There is no space inside the generator tower, but the flat roof at the top will do nicely. I climb up to it.

  I pull out my sleepcrib and aim my wrist-scanner at it. It opens with the familiar flip-flap and secures itself to the roof. I crawl inside and lie down on my side. Caliph snuggles in against my chest.

  I close my eyes and see Lina. And Bronx. And Dek. And all the others. Could I have done anything to help them? Or would I just have ended up in an energy net, being dragged into the guts of a killer zoid along with them?

  I don’t know. But I’m the only one left and I can’t help feeling guilty. I have to find my friends, whatever it takes . . .

  I must have drifted off to sleep, because suddenly I’m being woken. Caliph is chittering urgently. I’m face down. The sleepcrib is flapping about wildly as if something outside is trying to get in.

  Whatever it is out there, it’s big. Horribly big.

  Caliph stays hidden down the front of my flakcoat, silent now and trembling. I feel around for my weapons. Pulser and grenbolts. Stunner.

  I can hear wings beating outside.

  With one hand gripping my loaded pulser I shift forward on my knees, pull the sleepcrib open and look outside. I am surrounded by huge ghostly shapes circling the tower on widespread wings.

  There’s a hundred of them. Maybe more than that.

  Their small red eyes glow in the half-light. They have a curved bone ridge that juts back from the top of their skulls. As they flap round and round the tower, they suck in air through long, toothless snouts, causing the turbulence that is shaking the sleepcrib.

  I climb out onto the roof of the tower and watch them glide silently around me in circles and figures of eight. They seem barely aware of my presence. Flying in endless loops, the ends of their snouts wide, they’re intent only on sucking in air.

  Through my recon-sight I can see countless millions of tiny particles filling the air. It’s a kind of phosphorescence. Flux-glitter, we scavengers call it, and it can be found around power sources – power sources such as the generators housed in the tower beneath my feet.

  And it’s this that these creatures are after. The flux-glitter. They’re feeding on it.

  They continue to swoop past, their huge wings beating unhurriedly up and down. Languid and regular. Mesmeric. As they swallow, the flux-glitter makes the end of their snout glow.

  I make up a name. ‘Glimmermouths.’ I smile. It seems to fit.

  Some of them come in to land. Soon there are as many on the flat top of the tower as there are in flight. And still they keep coming.

  I lay my pulser aside, sit down and watch as they take it in turn to groom one another. They pay me no mind. The smell they give off – like hot wiring – grows more intense.

  Caliph emerges from my flakcoat and sniffs at the air. He doesn’t seem bothered by the glimmermouths. And nor am I. In fact, there’s something oddly restful about being in the presence of this flock of gentle, flux-eating giants.

  Far off in the distance, there is a blue-white flash as another power surge is discharged. For a moment the tube-forest is illuminated – pipes and helix-stacks draped with parasitic creepers and succulents that soften their hard edges.

  It’s vast. Back at the Inpost I hadn’t realized just how vast.

  I find myself wondering where the glimmermouths might have come from. How far they’ve travelled in their search for food.

  Caliph takes hold of the cuff of my jacket and tugs. I look down, stroke his little head. But the skeeter’s agitated. He begins to squeal. Fur on end. Teeth bared.

  ‘What is it, boy?’

  And then I see it.

  Rising up into the air at the side of the tower is some kind of tentacle. It’s long. Gelatinous. The width of the pipes I tube-surf down.

  The tentacle twitches and probes the air. I need to get out of here. And fast.

  Suddenly the glimmermouths spot the tentacle and panic. They scrabble to their feet and take to the air in a frenzy of wing-flaps and glowing snouts that concertina in and out.

  The tentacle lunges, making itself twice its length. It seizes a glimmermouth, coils round it and plucks it out of the air.

  The glimmermouth goes limp in the tentacle’s grip.

  I drop to my knees, take aim and fire. The pulser jerks in my hand. The molten grenbolts explode as they thud into the tentacle, which uncoils, releasing its grip. The glimmermouth hurtles down through the air, one wing flapping, the other broken and useless.

  I’m still watching it when there’s a hard thump at my back that sends my pulser flying and me crashing to my knees. It’s a second tentacle. It wraps itself around my chest and squeezes tight. Then tighter. Then so tight I can’t breathe. I scratch and scrape with my hands at the smooth, cold, slimy skin. But it’s no good.

  Suddenly my stomach lurches as I’m yanked off the rooftop and whipped through the air. Next thing I know, I’m upside down and staring into a cavernous mouth directly below me.

  Wet red flesh. Clacking fangs. A blast of warm fetid breath hits my face.

  There’re some gunkballs in the top pocket of my flakcoat. If I . . . can just . . . get to them . . .

  My fingers slip. The tentacle tightens its grip. I can’t breathe. T
he mouth comes closer.

  My hand closes around a handful of the gunkballs. I pull out one, flick the detonator fuse, let it drop. Then another. And another. Five in all.

  I count off the seconds.

  Four . . . Three . . . Two . . . One . . .

  All at once, there’s a series of muffled thuds, followed by a wet, splattering explosion as the creature is blown apart.

  And I’m dropping through the air, the ground coming up to meet me . . .

  I land hard. I’m winded. The remains of the creature rain down. I close my eyes and cover my head with my arms as steaming blood, lumps of flesh and severed tentacles come thumping down around me.

  Then everything falls still.

  I open my eyes. Lying a little way off is a glimmermouth – the one I watched tumbling down out of the air. I climb slowly to my feet and walk over to it.

  The critter’s in a bad way. Its left wing is broken and it’s having difficulty breathing. It stares at me, its red eyes filled with pain.

  I can’t let it suffer . . .

  But I’ve lost my pulser, and my stunner, and I don’t want to use my last remaining gunkballs. So I reach into my flakcoat and take out my cutter – only for Caliph to emerge from my pocket and leap down onto the shoulders of the stricken glimmermouth.

  He looks back up at me, his body quivering.

  ‘All right, all right,’ I say, putting the cutter away. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  The glimmermouth is lying half on its side, its wing twisted back. It doesn’t look good. From the way it’s wheezing I can tell it’s in pain. Poor thing. I try to examine it as gently as I can.

  I kneel down next to it and carefully turn it over. It moans softly. Then I run my scanner over its body. The bio-schematics tell me it’s got three injuries.