Stiletto (38 page)

*

Standing carefully on the creature’s back, Odette watched as the heels of a Checquy scientist vanished into a blowhole. As it turned out, when Dr. Fielding described the hole as “big enough for a person to climb into,” what she’d meant was that it was big enough for a person to wriggle into slowly and laboriously if that person pushed his or her oxygen tank ahead first. This person also needed to be relatively slim, comfortable in enclosed spaces, and willing to be sprayed down with the world’s biggest can of lubricant. Fortunately, Odette was such a person.

“You seriously want to go in there?” asked the support Pawn who was strapping an intricate spring-loaded knife to Odette’s greasy wrist. Several pieces of equipment had been added to her ensemble, including a slightly larger mask with headlights and a built-in communications system. “Really?” Odette couldn’t tell if his tone was genuine incredulity or the sort of snotty goading that suggested she couldn’t do this, couldn’t live up to the standards of the Checquy.

“Absolutely. It’s an incredible opportunity to examine a completely unknown creature.” She wasn’t certain if she was trying to persuade him or herself.

When Fielding had mentioned the possibility, it
had
sounded fascinating — a new perspective on anatomy and the mechanics of life that was too good to miss. If this was the kind of work she might get to do with the Checquy, it might all be worth it.

But she also felt she needed to prove something to the Checquy. The knowledge that they disliked her — her especially! And for no reason at all! — had ignited in Odette the desire to show them that she was worthwhile, that she wouldn’t hesitate to walk where they walked. For most of the people present, she would be the first Grafter they ever encountered. She was anxious to leave an excellent impression (if only to make up for her disastrous first few).

Finally, there was the knowledge that doing it would really piss off Pawn Clements.

So she’d jumped at the chance. In fact, she’d almost demanded it. Now, as she eyed the dark hole in the creature’s hide, it was beginning to seem slightly... unwise.

“Going up a monster’s nose? You’re ’aving a laugh!” said the man. “’S bloody ridiculous.” Which Odette thought was pretty rich coming from a guy who, judging by what she could see through his mask, appeared to be made out of pebbles. “Now, because we’re not at all certain how well radio will go through several meters of dead animal, you’re going to be spooling this communications cable behind you.” A couple of silvery lines were already coming out of the blowhole where the two Checquy monster-spelunkers had gone in.

“We’ll be monitoring the feed constantly, and if you ask for help or start screaming, or if we can’t hear you breathing into the microphone, then we’ll get you out.”

“How?” asked Odette warily.

“Oh, we’ve got people with jackhammers and whatnot standing by. Of course, we’d prefer not to use them. I mean, it wouldn’t be a very professional dissection, would it?” Odette smiled weakly. It hardly sounded like a professional rescue either. In fact, the idea of having the Checquy drag her out was far more worrying than the prospect of going in. “You’ll be fine,” said the guy. He patted her reassuringly on her greasy shoulder and then wiped his gloved hand absently on his coveralls.

Odette gave him the thumbs-up, then awkwardly got down on her knees, holding her oxygen tank. Until she could start pushing herself forward with her feet, she would have to claw her way into the blowhole, pulling herself in by the skin of the tunnel.

The interior of the animal was much as one would expect: close and dark and damp, with an odd smell. It was rather, Odette thought, like trying to enter a really popular nightclub on New Year’s Eve. Even with the lubricant all over her and the slicks of thick liquid that dripped out of the walls and roof, it was a damn tight squeeze.

She took a deep breath.
You wanted this,
she told herself.
You
asked
for it. And it’s a good thing
that you very definitely do not get claustrophobic.

The irregular tube was not perfectly circular — it was more of a squashed oval wider than it was tall. It was really only just about as wide as Odette herself, so she had to wriggle ahead with her hips and shoulders instead of using her arms and legs. The light from her headlamp did not seem to travel very far. Peering over the squat cylinder of her oxygen tank, she could just make out the white soles of the man several meters in front of her. She carefully scraped some of the viscous material from the tunnel wall into a little sample tube and secured it in its pouch on her sleeve. Then she rolled over (this took some very careful shifting) and examined the ceiling.

The surface had a rubbery texture, and the mucus (at least, she presumed it was mucus) dripping down meant that soon her helmet’s mask had multiple disgusting streaks obscuring her view. Odette turned back onto her stomach and then used her well-lubricated hand to try and wipe off the mask. She managed to scrape most of the crud away, but the lubricant coating her glove smeared the faceplate and made everything look hazy.

“The tunnel continues to slope down at approximately forty-five degrees,” came a sudden voice in her ear, and, unable to jump in the close confines, Odette settled for a sort of startled spasm.

“Copy that,” said another voice, and she realized that the team on the surface had turned on the intercom system. She could now hear the scientists’ breathing as it echoed in her helmet.

“Un-understood,” she added, and then wondered if she ought to have said, “Copy that,” and if all of them were rolling their eyes at her unprofessional, nonmilitary attitude.

As she inched her way along, however, Odette began to brood less about the effort of moving and became focused on examining her surroundings. After a while, the three people inside the monster began to discuss what they were noticing. The other two were Pawn Wharton, a marine biologist, and Dr. Codman, a zoologist, but Odette’s knowledge of general anatomy proved to be far superior to theirs, and so they were all able to bring something to the conversation. Wharton was shooting video, while Codman and Odette collected samples of every solid and liquid they encountered, no matter how gross. The zoologist even bored a few little core samples.

After about ten minutes of exhausting wriggling, they paused to take a rest. Odette put her face on her folded forearms, and tried to ignore how bad her breath was beginning to smell in the confines of her mask. Then she felt a little tremble go through the tube.

“Did you feel that?” she asked. “Are you guys okay?” She could easily imagine one of the scientists deciding that he really didn’t like crawling and having a panic attack. It would probably be the worst place in the world to lose control.

“I felt it, but it wasn’t me,” said Codman.

“Nor me,” said Wharton. Both of them sounded wary but calm.

“Feel what?” asked one of the techs on the surface.

“It was like a little shudder,” said Codman. “Through the tube.”

“Oh. Well, there’s no sign of anything up here,” said the tech.

“Any thoughts? Odette?” asked Codman.

“Um, maybe a little death spasm,” said Odette. “It could be some muscle dying or breaking down.” She peered as closely as she could at the surface of the tube and probed with her gloved hands. It felt dense and muscular.
I wonder if it could clench together and seal the blowhole shut?
The implications for the current occupants of the blowhole were not pleasant.

“Do you want to come back?” asked the tech. Everyone paused. The plan had been to continue going until either their oxygen was one-third expended or they came to a place where they could turn around — a junction or chamber. Having to back out of the tube, while doable, was not an agreeable prospect. If push came to shove, they could try cutting through to another area of the monster. Pawn Wharton had a little chain saw that was apparently designed specifically for cutting through large swaths of flesh.

“That twitch might have just been a one-off thing,” said Odette. “If it happens again, we should consider leaving.” They cautiously started moving forward once more.

*

What in the hell was that?
thought Felicity.

She had been gliding through the meat and been heartened to find that her optic nerve had merged with four others, which meant that she was getting closer to
something,
when suddenly she’d been jerked to a stop. For a few bewildering moments, her Sight would not carry her. Not forward, not backward, not in any direction.

It was as if she’d been swimming and the water had suddenly frozen solid around her, holding her fast. Then, just as quickly, it was over. And now that she’d had time to think about it, it made her very worried.

Was it me?
She’d never had a moment like that before.
Maybe I’m not ready to be doing this
.
A few days ago,
I lost my closest friends. Maybe I should be on leave, or in therapy. Maybe I’m losing it.
It was a frightening thought, but not as frightening as the other possibilities. If it wasn’t her psyche, then her powers might be going wrong. And if it wasn’t her powers, then it might be the monster she was in.

Calm down,
she told herself.
It might have been a one-off thing. If it happens again, you pull back.
She cautiously started moving forward once more.

*

It was not a one-off thing.

Said the tech over the intercom, “I just felt a little tremor up here on the surface.”

*

Skimming through the creature’s flesh, Felicity had felt it too. She’d been brought to another sudden halt, held by a force that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Oh, I don’t like this at all,
she thought.
I’m getting out.
She focused her will and sent her mind winging back in the direction it had come from.

*

“There’s another!” said Codman.

“They’re not death spasms,” said Odette doubtfully. “They wouldn’t be coming more frequently.” The ripples were also increasing in intensity.

* * *

They’re coming faster,
thought Felicity.
You have to get out.
She gave a moment’s thought to cutting away from the nerve and heading directly through the creature’s flesh to her body. She wavered — it would get her out more quickly, but the prospect of getting lost was too frightening. Grimly, she pushed on, only to get caught by another freeze. This one lasted longer than any of the others, and she found herself counting desperately.
One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus, three — free!
She tore herself forward.
Get out! Get out!

*

“You know,” said the voice of the tech, “we’re seeing a dram —”

The intercom suddenly went silent. Even the background noise was cut off.
Oh no,
thought Odette.

“Hello?” she said. There was no answer.
“Hey!”
she shouted, and it must have carried through to the man ahead, because he looked back. He held up his gloved hand with his fingers spread.

Stop.
Okay. But now what?
thought Odette.

Then she felt movement against her feet. With difficulty, she looked back over her shoulder and saw the communication cables slithering down the tunnel toward them. They had been severed or torn free.

Oh no.

*

Almost there!
Felicity thought. She coursed past the eyeball.
Almost there!

But the walls slammed down again, and this time they didn’t lift. Felicity’s soul was caught in the corpse, trapped like a fly in amber.

Odette and the two Checquy scientists lay still, tense. More ripples had come, a continuous stream of them that set their air tanks bucking about in front of them. The tunnel walls were now shuddering violently, not keeping their shape but warping and flexing so that it was impossible to move along. Odette could practically feel her teeth rattling in her head.

Someone,
she thought,
please get me out of here!
For a few heart-stopping moments, the roof of the tunnel pushed down on her head, and she cringed, fully expecting to be crushed. Then, mercifully, it lifted a few inches, but she still kept her head as low as she could.

All the team could do was lie flat and wait for things to get better or worse. To try and shout to one another would have put them at risk of biting through their own tongues as they were shaken about.
Plus, we must conserve oxygen,
Odette thought. Of course, she could shut down most of her breathing and go to sleep, but this was a situation where one needed to remain alert. It was clear, however, that the movement was not limited to the tunnel. Something was sending quakes through the corpse.

*

Trapped.

Be calm,
Felicity told herself.
It went away before; it’ll go away again. And this time, you bloody well get out of this cadaver and get yourself back in your own brain.

But it didn’t go away. She could still remember the texture of the muscle and the flesh around her and the optic nerve beneath her. If she let herself think about it, she thought she could feel the tons and tons of corpse pressing down and through her.

And it didn’t go away.

What if I’m stuck in here forever?
she thought.
What’s happening on the surface? What if there’s no one left to
help get me out? I’m — I don’t know what I am. Electromagnetism? Thoughts? A soul? What if my body dies? Will I die? Or will I be a ghost, locked in a monster?
And at that point she lost it.

I want out! I want out! I want OUT!

If she’d been in her body, Felicity would have screamed or cried or torn at her hair and covered her face, but all she could do was think deafeningly loud, incoherent thoughts until she wore herself out and floated, numb, in the darkness.

* * *