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snail-like
creatures
Bernice
had
described,
the
shipbuilders. The bay was empty. That noise had probably
been one of the high gantries at the top of the towering
structure slipping a little.
She stepped forward, her intention to follow the tracks and
catch up with Bernice. A couple of metres to her left was a
large piece of rock that had been split in two across its middle.
She lifted one of the pieces and examined its jagged edges.
The nearest she’d find to a weapon. As she walked forward
her eyes scanned the ground for the tracks, which now were
bisected by a dried-up slime trail. The hard substance sparkled
over to where something that resembled a punctured balloon
was slumped. She decided to investigate and edged forward,
the rock held at arm’s length. The creak, which must have
been made about a minute before, resounded inside her mind.
The object was a metre and a half wide. She tapped it with
the edge of the rock and established that it was an empty
rubber skin about an inch thick. A long slit had been cut across
its width as if with a knife; the edges of the opening were lined
with hardened grey matter that put her in mind of dried blood.
She insinuated the outer point of the rock under the lip of the
slit and lifted it up. A foul rotted-fruit smell filled her nostrils,
causing her to gag and shuffle back on her haunches. She
coughed, and dabbed at her streaming eyes with an elbow. As
her vision normalized she saw a dissipating string of a
puffball-like emission hanging over the bladder. Swiftly she
moved away.
Her boot splashed and sank in a shallow pool of slime. She
cursed and unstuck herself, trying hard to keep her balance.
Her hand lost its grip on the rock.
She moved backward, retracing her steps. To her side she
saw a slender arch-shaped opening in the rock, and something
made her move closer. Beyond was a cave about a hundred
metres long, filled with row after row of unhealthy-looking
orange-brown eggs.
She was distracted by a sound from the darkness ahead,
from the point beyond the spill of light from the phosphor
plaques. At first she mistook it for a shift in the cavern walls;
it was a kind of squealing crunch coupled with a sucking
sound like a plunger being pulled from a blocked plughole.
The sound came again. Her breath quickened and she froze. It
was undoubtably being made by a living creature.
She forced herself to wait a couple more seconds then, as
steadily as she could, she walked sideways and backwards,
resisting the inner voice that screamed at her to run.
The unearthly noise continued, sickening her.
Her back scraped against the metal side of the ship. She put
out an arm to steady herself, and her fingers brushed
something.
Another set of fingers. Cold fingers.
This time the shock was too much. Overpowered, she
yelped. Her head whipped round. She found herself staring
into the lifeless eyes of Christie. The young woman’s face
below was white, absolutely drained of blood. Her blanched
lips were frozen open in a revolting ‘o’ of terror. A bilious
stench wafted from her in waves.
Her body was upright, and clamped to the side of the ship
by the same hardened grey substance that was trailed across
the cavern’s rocky floor. Her arms and legs were pulled apart
grotesquely. Forrester’s glance passed quickly over her body.
She gagged. The midriff was missing, eaten away in patches,
the empty ribcage visible beneath tattered bloodied strips of
her red uniform. The golden Z emblem of Zamper hung on a
thread.
Forrester backed away, aware that the sucking sound of the
creature was nearby. Her legs turned to jelly.
She heard a voice. Cwej’s voice, calling to her, faintly. She
stumbled away from Christie’s body towards his call. She
turned a corner of the ship’s base and swore again.
Cwej and Taal were clamped upright to the side of the ship,
both alive and apparently unharmed, although Taal had passed
out. Cwej’s young blue eyes were wide with fear. He called
her name again. Too late she realized that he was attempting to
warn her of something.
With a hideous squeal a thickly-muscled tentacle struck her
across the back and then wrapped itself tenderly about her
waist like the arm of an unwanted suitor, holding her upright.
She struck at its shiny black hide, ashamed to hear herself
screaming. Her legs kicked. It lifted her off the ground. Warm,
sweet-smelling droplets showered her face and she closed her
eyes, choking. The spray next coated her arms and legs. She
was flung against the side of the ship next to Cwej, the casual
flick of her attacker as it uncoiled itself both winding her and
knocking her into the familiar x-shape in which it obviously
preferred its prey. As she was whirled about she caught a
glimpse of the monster. Her senses refused to believe the
horror of its shape. The sweet-smelling substance secured her
to the wall of the ship. Overwhelmed finally, she lost
consciousness.
‘Do you have a mate?’ asked Hezzka.
Bernice was taken aback by the question. ‘Eh?’
‘You are a female. Where is your male?’
‘Er, well it doesn’t quite work like that.’ Before he could go
on she added, ‘It’s rather complicated. I’m single at the
moment.’
‘I see. Between hatchings.’ He nodded. ‘It is much the
same for me, although I would like to give birth once more at
least. Still, the years are passing by.’
‘I know how you feel,’ said Bernice. ‘No, the only decent
males I meet either get killed, or turn out to be gay or androids
or something.’
Hezzka looked at her in complete bewilderment.
The long, straight downward channel that they had been
following for some time turned suddenly and opened out into a
massive, brilliantly-lit cavern. Bernice shielded her eyes from
the glare. Between her fingers she saw the looming bulk of the
Zamps’ artifact. So this was cave 74D.
‘What is that?’ she heard Hezzka mutter.
‘I wondered how long it would take you to get here,’ said
another, much more familiar voice.
‘Doctor!’ She opened her eyes and ran to meet him and
Smith, who both wore concerned expressions and were
standing close to the recumbent form of Ivzid, who oddly
appeared to be sleeping. She took the Doctor’s offered hand
and clasped it tightly. ‘Something bad?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ He nodded to Ivzid. ‘Ever heard of a living
bomb?’
Hezzka let out a cry. ‘Strategy Z! No, Ivzid, I forbid it! You
will bring death on us all!’
Ivzid opened one eye and said, ‘Then die, Hezzka. Die with
your parasite friends!’
The Doctor leapt over to Ivzid, literally hopping up and
down with anger. He waved his umbrella furiously in the
Chelonian’s face. ‘Listen to me!’
‘Go away,’ Ivzid said obstinately.
‘Over there,’ the Doctor said, pointing to the artifact, ‘a
race of creatures that have been suppressed for centuries are
starting a new life. Destroy them and you’ll be committing
genocide, and not for any noble motive. You are afraid, afraid
of a race of harmless animals. Outside their carrier they are
unprotected, you will kill them all!’
Hezzka drew himself forward, dragging his injured side
with considerable effort. ‘Ivzid. As your commanding officer,
I order you to stop. Do you hear me?’
Ivzid closed his eye.
‘Ah, he was always like this, the young fool,’ Hezzka
confided to Bernice.
A wisp of smoke was curling from beneath Ivzid’s shell. ‘Is
there anything you can do to stop him?’ she asked.
‘Strategy Z is irreversible,’ Hezzka said, shaking his head
grimly. ‘He’ll bring this cavern down on our heads.’
Bernice took the Doctor’s arm. ‘Well, come on, think of
something.’
He shrugged. ‘Any suggestions?’
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