The Deserter Page 10

  After the park, they passed into a new district of narrow and windy little corridors that opened unexpectedly into triangular plazas. The ambient light had been falling with the approach of night. Now, when Stopmouth looked at the walls, the amount of writing he was used to seeing on them diminished, to be replaced by pictures of sleeping or yawning people. Sometimes images of the non-intelligent beasts known as animals would lie in repose alongside humans, with neither threatening the other. This had to be the night-time here. They would meet the contact soon.

  ‘We were getting crowded even before the Crisis,’ muttered Hiresh. ‘When it ends, it will take us ages to grow floors or to breed enough new nanos to build starships. They—’

  ‘Hush!’ said Jagadamba.

  But she was too late.

  A man and a woman who’d been sitting against the darkened walls of the corridor rose gracefully to their feet, and a green glow sprang into life, harsh in the gloom.

  ‘What have we got here, Sergeant Tarak?’ asked the woman, her skin as dark as that of Hiresh and most of those in the new tribe. Stopmouth had a brief glimpse of fierce eyes and sharp cheekbones before she pulled a visor down over her face. Both of the newcomers wore shiny boots, unlike the barefooted people around them.

  The man spoke up, his voice too thin for his large frame. ‘A trio of superstitious louts, Sergeant Manisha. Look at those stupid robes …’ He was lighter of skin than his partner, his body, like so many Stopmouth had seen on the Roof, short, but perfectly muscled. He looked the group up and down. ‘Why do they have to hide their whole bodies?’

  Jagadamba cleared her throat. ‘I will be happy to answer your questions on the—’

  ‘You raise an interesting point, Sergeant Tarak. Anyone would think it was an attempt to make the lives of humble Wardens like ourselves more difficult. I’ve had a severe dislike for their kind ever since they led us on that merry chase over in Mountain Sector.’

  ‘Sergeants,’ said Jagadamba, ‘I’d be happy to remove my robes if you wish to search—’

  ‘I feel the same way about them, Sergeant Manisha,’ said the man; his thin voice seethed with a hatred so pure it must have burned the inside of his throat.

  At that moment Stopmouth knew there’d be a fight. Two humans against three others. It happened even in Man-Ways sometimes, but anybody who pushed it too far would have found himself traded off to Hairbeast or Clawfolk. The tribe had too many enemies to be able to afford the luxury of strife.

  Other people must have been expecting trouble too. They pulled back from the five of them, waking friends who were sleeping too close and moving them away. But nobody left the area completely. All were watching intently, maybe even thrilled at the thought of conflict – not one happening far away on the surface, but right here before their real eyes!

  ‘Shall we search them?’ asked Sergeant Manisha.

  ‘Oh, yes. But what’s the rush?’ The glow on Tarak’s truncheon died and he looked briefly at his companion.

  Stopmouth tensed his shoulders even as Jagadamba tried to engage the Wardens in conversation and was ignored. The hunter didn’t want to fight other humans. He wasn’t really sure how to avoid going for a kill. It just didn’t make sense. The only time he’d ever seriously tried to end another man’s life – the freakishly strong Varaha – his enemy had proved too quick for him, and luck alone had saved him. But even if he won, it was dark now – time to meet Jagadamba’s contact. The tribe couldn’t afford any more delays.

  ‘They ought to be questioned and no mistake,’ said Manisha. Her truncheon still glowed and Stopmouth knew it would only take one touch from it to knock him out of the fight. She placed a hand carefully on her companion’s arm. ‘But not here, OK? Somewhere quiet. We can’t jam so many broadcasts.’

  ‘All right,’ said Tarak. He turned his truncheon back on. ‘I know where we can go.’ He waved the weapon in Jagadamba’s face. ‘This way. Move.’

  Stopmouth and his two companions had no choice but to follow, wedged in between the Wardens while the crowd dispersed, disappointed.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Stopmouth.

  ‘What do you care, citizen?’ said Manisha, muffled by her visor. ‘Whichever god you waste your time on will still be there waiting for you.’

  Only now did Stopmouth realize it was the same uniform that Indrani had worn when she landed that first time in Centre Square. It sent a chill through him, and he wondered if all those who wore it could fight as well as she did. They hadn’t done so when striking down the Religious in the corridors, but they hadn’t needed to. A touch of the baton was enough. And it would be enough now if they wanted to catch Stopmouth and his companions. They don’t know who we are, the hunter realized. So why are they taking us away? If they wanted to search us, they could have done so – the truncheons would have ensured obedience. He couldn’t understand it. And yet, when Jagadamba brushed against him, he felt the old woman trembling. She’s afraid. He hadn’t known anything could scare her.

  Hiresh, by contrast, seemed utterly calm.

  ‘Why don’t you just search us here?’ asked Stopmouth.

  The two guards paused, forcing their prisoners to stop too. ‘This one’s refusing to co-operate, Sergeant Manisha,’ said Tarak. He was shaking almost as much as Jagadamba, but his tone of voice reminded Stopmouth of Rockface at the start of a hunt. ‘Never mind. Here we are.’

  He waved his hand at a wall. It opened to reveal a cramped little room where a man, a woman and two starved children sat. Another wave, and the chairs sank into the floor, spilling the people into a frightened heap.

  Tarak stepped in quickly and touched each of the occupants with his truncheon so that they relaxed into complete silence. He slipped the weapon into a holster on his belt. Then, with an astonishing display of strength, he picked up a parent in either hand and dumped them outside. The two children followed.

  Stopmouth felt his stomach clench in fear. Were all these people as freakishly strong as Varaha had been? His little group had no hope of escaping these two, let alone of finding Indrani, if that were the case.

  ‘Imagine that!’ said Manisha, muffled disgust coming through her visor. ‘Breeding during a Crisis! Religious pigs. They don’t deserve a big apartment like this. I’ve told them that before.’ She jerked a thumb at her three prisoners. ‘Get in!’

  Stopmouth felt Tarak give him a shove strong enough to have come from Crunchfist. He landed against the wall, while Jagadamba and Hiresh hit the floor on either side of him. He bent to help the old woman up. She had time to whisper, ‘Don’t resist!’ before Tarak ripped her away.

  ‘You!’ Manisha pointed a finger at Hiresh. ‘Stop trying to broadcast. In code, no less. Perhaps we have a real Rebel with us.’

  ‘But—’ Hiresh hadn’t time to say any more before Tarak kicked him in the stomach. ‘Are you going to help me with these, Sergeant Manisha?’

  The dark woman shook her head and took up a position at the door, her eyes hidden by the visor.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tarak, removing his own helmet. His face was sweating, a tight little smile spread across it. ‘Perhaps I should question them about my sister,’ he said. ‘The one they killed in their Rebellion. You remember the Rebellion, don’t you, citizens?’ The baton was still in his belt. Stopmouth saw the muscles tense.

  ‘We’re at peace again now,’ said Jagadamba. ‘And you won.’

  ‘Oh, but you haven’t given up, have you?’ said Tarak. Then he shouted, ‘You haven’t given up! My sister wasn’t enough for you! Was she, you old bitch? Was she?’

  Suddenly he jerked Jagadamba up off the ground and flung her to the far side of the room as if she weighed no more than an empty hide. She struck the wall and fell to the floor. From where he stood, Stopmouth could hear the air explode from his guide’s lungs. Not even Crunchfist had ever shown such pointless cruelty against somebody who was practically a volunteer. Stopmouth couldn’t believe it, couldn’t bear it. Tarak stood over the old woman wi
th his back to him. The hunter stepped forward, but found the glowing green tip of Sergeant Manisha’s truncheon no more than a handspan from his nose.

  ‘This one certainly hasn’t given up, Sergeant Tarak. He seems to think an unaugmented Religious like him could take you.’

  Tarak spun round, his smile only wider, his face even sweatier. ‘Step back, please, Sergeant Manisha. I’m not the soft touch my sister was.’

  But Manisha’s truncheon stayed between them a moment longer. ‘It would be unfortunate if anyone were to die here, Sergeant Tarak.’

  ‘An accident, Sergeant Manisha. Happens to Religious scum all the time.’

  ‘Even so … Remember the last one?’

  Tarak nodded tightly, clearly disappointed. Manisha lowered her truncheon, saying: ‘Of course, it wouldn’t surprise me if one as clumsy as this were to fall and break his legs.’

  Tarak threw her a grateful look even as a feeling of terror lodged itself in the pit of Stopmouth’s stomach. They were going to smash his legs? The memory of agony, of bone poking through his skin, drove him back. He couldn’t let them do this to him. In his mind it had become worse than death. And what use would he be to his people then?

  ‘You’re … you’re much stronger than me,’ he said to Sergeant Tarak. He knew the fear was coming through in his voice and he felt shamed by it. ‘Let me … let me fight you fair. Let me take off these robes.’

  ‘What?’ said Tarak, clearly confused.

  Manisha only laughed from her position by the door.

  ‘Oh, what harm can it do, Sergeant Tarak? He can’t be augmented unless the Commission are hiring Religious all of a sudden. He’s big enough, but what chance could he have? I want to see the look on his face when his leg bends back the wrong way.’

  ‘Hurry up, then,’ said Tarak to the hunter.

  Stopmouth wasted no time in shucking the robes. The fake colour of his own skin underneath surprised him. He was almost as dark as Indrani now. Nobody here would look twice at him.

  ‘Well, well!’ exclaimed Manisha from her place by the door. ‘This one’s a warrior! Real muscles there. Must have spent years building that up the hard way, stupid fool. Why didn’t you join us, son? Bloody fanatics!’

  Stopmouth ignored the banter, for Tarak was already closing in on him in the small space, made more cramped by Manisha’s presence at the door and his companions’ bodies in either corner.

  Tarak aimed a punch at Stopmouth’s midriff. It almost connected. For some reason the young hunter thought it had been intended as a feint, with a sucker punch to come from another direction. At the last instant he realized the attack was for real and turned his body sideways. Another seeming feint followed. This time it glanced off his shoulder, deadening the whole arm.

  ‘Oh, fair hit, Tarak! He’s faster than he looks, that one!’

  It was only then that Stopmouth understood that neither punch had been a trick – the man, for all his great strength, was no Varaha. He was slow. The hunter almost giggled with relief. These people didn’t have to battle for their lives from the moment they drew their first breath. Nobody wanted their flesh, and whenever they did fight, they were used to superior weapons and overwhelming odds. What a pity Stopmouth had allowed a blow to land before he’d discovered this obvious truth.

  ‘Are you laughing at me, scum?’ said Tarak. He launched into another attack, and this time his intended victim slipped easily under the punch and kicked his legs from beneath him. The bag of muscles dropped to the floor with an ‘Oof!’ Stopmouth could have finished him then, and if Tarak had been a beast, there’d have been no hesitation. Instead, he found himself stepping back as if this were no more than a training bout back home. Tarak growled, like something inhuman. His face twisted with rage and humiliation. He was up again in a heartbeat.

  ‘It won’t be just your legs for that,’ he hissed.

  ‘Go easy, now, Sergeant Tarak!’ said Manisha. She made no effort to intervene, however.

  Stopmouth edged away from his attacker. He didn’t have much space to move in, which was a pity, because the only way to keep his legs intact was to stay out of grappling distance. This was so different from fighting beasts! But here too, his life depended on the outcome.

  Tarak advanced a step and the hunter backed off. The Warden seemed to notice this and smiled. He waved his hand in a manner Stopmouth had seen before. Tarak leaped forward and his adversary stumbled back to get out of the way. But a chair had suddenly appeared behind Stopmouth and he tripped over it, falling onto his back, with his head landing on the floor beside Jagadamba. He had less than a heartbeat to realize the old woman was still breathing before Tarak was on top of him, his pungent sweat clogging the air, his weight trapping the younger man’s arms and legs.

  ‘Now we’ll see! Now we’ll see it! You’re not so funny now!’

  ‘Tarak!’ shouted Manisha. ‘I’m getting an emergency transmission! Get off him!’

  Sergeant Tarak didn’t look as if he had any intention of leaving just yet. He’s going to break all my bones, Stopmouth thought. He still didn’t know how to fight this man, another human. Got to think of him as a beast. He’s not Tribe, not Tribe.

  Even as Tarak was twisting one of his arms, Stopmouth jerked his head forward and smashed it into his enemy’s nose with all the force he could muster. There was an audible crunch and a sudden flow of blood. The effect on the bigger man was one of shock and disbelief, as if he’d never been hurt before in his life. But Stopmouth didn’t wait. He freed a hand and yanked his opponent’s ear so hard it partially ripped away from the head. He rolled and twisted and knocked the screaming beast to one side, hopped to his feet and stamped down quickly on Tarak’s ribs. He was about to finish the creature off when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a green glow. He’d forgotten the other one! He ducked, and the truncheon swept in over his head. Manisha hopped back and waved her hands. A line of chairs appeared in the room between them.

  ‘Enough!’ said Manisha. The truncheon was shaking in her grip and her voice was trembling too. ‘That’s enough!’ She pointed at Tarak. The big Warden was weeping and gasping for breath. He was bleeding everywhere. Stopmouth suddenly felt sick in his stomach at what he’d almost done, what he’d wanted to do.

  ‘We’re even now,’ said Sergeant Manisha. ‘All right? You got your revenge and you know we can’t report you. Sergeant Tarak’s actions are thought to be a bit … exaggerated. You can take your friends. I’m … I’m letting you go. We have other orders.’ She looked like she was about to bolt and probably had no idea that Stopmouth’s rage was at an end.

  ‘Move away from the door,’ said the hunter. ‘And tell those chairs to go away.’

  ‘OK. OK.’

  Stopmouth helped Hiresh to his feet. ‘Are you all right.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hiresh, the faintest tremble in his voice.

  Stopmouth picked up the old woman as gently as possible. ‘You shouldn’t … have resisted,’ whispered Jagadamba. A dribble of saliva swung at the end of her hairy chin.

  ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘Of course not … fool.’

  Stopmouth edged towards the door, trying to ignore Tarak’s weeping.

  ‘I’m recording your face, citizen,’ warned Sergeant Manisha, although her voice was higher than it had been before. ‘We’ll meet again.’

  Stopmouth hoped not. He’d had enough of hurting his fellow humans. He carried Jagadamba into the corridor and started running, with Hiresh following behind.

  8. A KIND OF HERO

  HIRESH RAN AFTER the savage, not knowing quite what else to do. He couldn’t figure out why things had gone so terribly wrong. He’d been broadcasting frantically to the two sergeants: I’m one of you! although he wasn’t really. He was just one of their ‘filthy little spies’, as his monstrous father would have said.

  By all the gods, Sergeants, he’d begged, you’ve got to stop!

  In blocking his broadcasts, the Wardens had almost ruined the miss
ion, his one and only chance. He didn’t even want to think about the other possibility – that they might have broken his legs too after they’d finished with Stopmouth. What was to prevent them, after all? It was the savage who’d saved him just as Tarini had saved him before.

  Stopmouth turned down a side corridor, hopping over sleeping limbs as though they were branches in a forest. The hunter’s own people admired him greatly for his running, but it was only when Hiresh had to keep up with him that he really understood. The savage didn’t know where he was going; he was carrying an old woman too. Still, he left Hiresh further and further behind.

  The boy was about to call out to ask the hunter to wait. But then he had another thought: what if he hung back instead? Allowed himself to be abandoned? Would Tarini really be left to die? Surely not. He’d tend her himself if he had to – the Roof would tell him everything he needed to know … He’d never be an Elite then, never avenge his scars. But none of that was Stopmouth’s fault.

  Part of him heaved a sigh of relief at the idea, even as the killer sped further and further away. It wasn’t the danger that Hiresh feared – although he did. Some other weight he couldn’t yet name hung over him. Something that made him feel sick and rotten inside. Tarini wouldn’t want me to do this. He tripped, and found himself face down amongst the tangled limbs of Dreamers. His breath rasped in his ears.

  I needed the rest anyway, he thought. And then: I’ve just thrown away my one chance to save Tarini.

  He had to get up. Or call out to the savage. Something.

  Or he could stay. The choice had been made for him by the non-existent goddess.

  At that moment a hand grasped his and pulled him easily to his feet. Stopmouth.

  ‘I honour your s-sacrifice,’ said the chief, ‘but you are needed. I c-c-can’t do this without you. I’m sorry. I’ll try and slow down, but we must keep m-m-moving.’

  Hiresh nodded, afraid to speak. He thinks I was staying back to hold up the Wardens! As if Hiresh were some kind of … he didn’t know what.