Goliath, p.22
Goliath, page 22
“Can I be of assistance?”
“Jesus!” Enderby had already run a dozen paces before he realised it. He forced himself to stop and turn around, his heart beat so loudly he could hear it.
A woman was standing within the entrance to the supermarket, a pleasant smile on her face. She was tall and blonde, wearing some sort of uniform. Blue with a yellow collar.
“Can I be of assistance?” she asked again.
“Who are you?”
“I am your shopping assistant. Can I be of assistance?”
“What?” He moved closer again, and, as he did so, he realised he could see the outlines of shelves through her. She was just a projection. “Damn. You know, you shouldn’t do that. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Crap,” she said. “Is that something you wish to purchase?”
“What?” He shook his head in bewilderment. “What are you?”
“I am your shopping assistant. Can I be of assistance?” She smiled widely.
Damn, she wasn’t terribly smart. Certainly not an AI. “Be specific.”
“I am the shopping assistant installed in this market. I can help you find what you are looking for. Can I be of assistance?”
Enderby walked up to her and inspected her closely. Clearly a hologram. She glowed ever so slightly, and he could easily see a counter through her head. She wasn’t even a recording of a real woman either, rather a simplified simulacrum, almost an animator’s idea of what a woman should look like. She wasn’t sexual at all, it wasn’t anything like that. Rather she was somewhat androgynous. Had it not been for the dress and the hair he would have taken her for a male.
This could actually be an opportunity.
“What databases are you linked into?”
“I have detailed knowledge of all items in our line. Can I be of assistance?” She smiled widely.
“Ok, quit asking that for one. Do you have access to any information outside the shop?”
“I am afraid my external server access has been revoked. However, I still have detailed knowledge of our full line,” she said brightly.
So much for that then. “Ok, go on. I’m looking for something to eat.” He walked past her, waiting to see if she would follow. She did.
“What kind of food would you like?” She seemed genuinely pleased to help.
“Hadn’t really thought about it. An apple?” he tested her.
She didn’t hesitate in her response, “I am afraid we have no apples in stock.”
He was hardly surprised. “What long life foodstuffs do you have? Anything that is still edible?”
“Our complete range of tinned foods are completely edible. All our items are packed according to the most stringent Confederate Food Council guidelines—“
“Yes, thank you. Lead the way then.”
“Do you require a basket?”
“Yeah, sure.”
With a whirr a small motorised trolley slid from an alcove and joined them. A screen was set beside its basket, currently showing a zero balance for his purchases so far. Which presented him with a problem.
“How do you expect me to pay? With your server being down?”
“We have contingencies in place for just such occurrences. As we cannot determine your identity we will record your purchases now, along with your physical image. This data will be downloaded once server access is restored.” She seemed quite pleased with herself.
“Ah, good.” He didn’t have anything to worry about then. He doubted server access would be restored any time soon. “Do you sell rucksacks?”
“No, I am afraid not.”
He nodded, doubting the trolley would follow him much further than the entrance. “Ok. Your self-heating range, would they still be edible?”
“Of course.”
“Ok, show me those instead.” He didn’t need to stock up now, he could always come back. He could visit the sporting goods store upstairs before returning. There were other things to do right now. Like finding out what Tin Man expected him to accomplish here.
They entered an isle full of ready meals. He browsed them quickly, not sure what he was looking for. After two minutes of that he simply gave up and picked one (a bachelor’s lamb dinner with mash and Yorkshire puddings) and then headed for an isle packed with bottled water. Taking his recent diet into account just about anything would be an improvement.
Enderby tried to get more information out of the hologram, but she was serious when she claimed all external access was cut. To her, nothing existed outside the market’s entrance.
He did gain one nugget of interesting information. The market’s last customer had purchased beer and crisps, on Tuesday the 3rd May 1872 ce at 15:45. After a moment’s rough mental arithmetic, he worked it out. He’d been twenty-two then. And that was 84 years ago.
God, he was old.
Chapter Twenty
“You would just leave me here, wouldn’t you? You bastards.” Richard Payce grimaced, wiping the thick, jellied grease from his hands onto a relatively clean patch of metal. It wasn’t a deck as such, in fact he rather doubted people were meant to come down here. Rather it was a vast single sheet of curved metal, folding in beneath the docking bay and its ancillary facilities. It stretched high overhead, disappearing around the curve that formed the bottom of the docking bay itself, its metal bottom barely out of reach above him. The two shapes matched each other perfectly, and he couldn’t help thinking they were designed to slide flush into each other. If the process were to complete now, he would be left as little more than a thin paste adding lubrication to the massive wheels he had slid into. It was hardly a pleasant thought.
He was still wearing the pressure suit Prentice had issued him. It was a simple overall shaped suit, bright yellow with reflective chevrons down the side. The life support modules had been built into the helmet itself, leaving the rest of the suit free of any technological artefacts. He’d clipped that to his belt, intending on keeping it close at hand, but it had been ripped off somewhere during his fall. It was nowhere to be seen now. Fortunately he’d unmounted the lamp and clipped it over his shoulder. That clip, at least, had remained intact. The radio was a small device he’d attached to his belt also, as he’d seen everyone else do when they were passed around. So, he could see and communicate. But other than that he could do very little.
“Bastards,” he muttered. He could hear them splitting up and going their separate ways overhead. Effectively leaving him marooned. Clearly they didn’t care that he was stranded down here. Bastards. So, why had they brought him along in the first place?
Sistine had asked him to deliver the letter to her brother, that was it. There was no mention of him being flown up to the Parking Lot after her. She was mad and he certainly hadn’t shared her madness. Sure, the demons were interesting: an enigma. The prefect’s claim they hated humanity because the machines had been caught out in a lie, that their attempt to overthrow human dominion had been exposed, didn’t quite make sense. Sure, he sympathised with the heretics in their efforts to understand them, to try and mend the bridges that had been destroyed at the end of the war. But that didn’t mean he wanted to risk his life on insane ventures. He actually liked city life: he liked his life, his job, his friends, and—until recently—his relationship with Sistine. Her obsession with finding and studying an uncastrated demon had driven a wedge between them. If anything, he’d been making plans to move on when she disappeared on her mission to the Goliath. It simply hadn’t been working. They’d been arguing about just about everything for months, from important things like work to ridiculous things like spilt milk. He’d taken to avoiding her as much as possible, locking himself in his study to read and drink beer just to be out of her way. They certainly hadn’t slept together in months. It was over. It was time to admit it. And now all this.
“Bastards.”
He aimed his lamp up at a ladder set into the ceiling. The rungs didn’t quite make it all the way down, ending just out of reach overhead. He could jump for it though, he reckoned. He checked to ensure the lamp and the radio remained firmly attached, took a deep breath, and leaped.
The ladder was a simple affair of steel rungs about thirty centimetres apart. It led into a passage that disappeared into the darkness above. Darkness. He’d never seen so much of it. As a city boy there’d always been light somewhere. A streetlamp or a lit window. Here there was just nothingness. Blackness and ghosts.
Grunting he clung to the lower rung, trying desperately to pull himself higher. His legs wind milling he managed to get an arm over the rung before his strength gave out. He cursed, refusing to let go. If he did he knew he’d never be able to summon the energy to try again. Unfortunately, now he was in an almost impossible position to get any higher.
“Bastards. Bollicking bollicking bastards!” He shouted, not caring who heard. His muscles on fire he twisted one hand free and reached quickly for the next rung. He clung to that and wedged his shoulder over it. He cursed. His shoulder throbbing where he’d forced it to bend in unnatural directions.
Rung by painful rung he dragged himself higher. It was clear that if he didn’t drag himself out of this on his own he would die down here. No one was coming to rescue him. He sobbed with relief once he finally managed to get a foot on the bottom rung. For long minutes he just hung there, getting his breath back.
“Bastards.”
The radio was quiet now, the others having passed out of its reception range. They didn’t work terribly well in here, he had discovered. Sollander had mentioned something about it being a dampening effect created by the structure itself. A defensive mechanism, designed to reduce communications between invading parties. Lovely.
With another deep breath, he started climbing. A monotonous hand over hand ascent that went on indeterminably. His shoulder muscles were soon burning again from the unaccustomed exertion, forcing him to stop every few minutes. He found himself checking his watch. It was half past two in the morning. Madness. But then time didn’t seem to matter much here. Time hadn’t passed here in eighty years.
“Bastards.”
Payce continued climbing, the lower entrance quickly lost below. The passage wasn’t very wide. It was just big enough for someone to climb up but that was it. He discovered that when he was resting he could wedge his back against it, taking his weight off his arms. It helped.
As he rested, wedged in, he felt rather than saw, a presence move up to him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He shuddered, suddenly cold.
"Is someone there?" He flashed his lamp about him. He could see nothing but stark metal of the access tube. "Hello?"
He heard a faint sob. Like from a young girl. "Daddy? Daddy?"
"Shit." He jumped on hearing the voice. "Who is that? Where are you?" There were no children up here, surely.
"Daddy, I'm scared."
"Who is this? Where are you?" Still, there was nothing but empty passage.
"You are my daddy, aren't you?"
"Who are you? Where are you?" He repeated. He inched up higher, maybe there was a side passage he hadn't seen. There was nothing.
"It's Lucy. Lucy Boyd."
"Where are you Lucy? Do you need help?"
"They're coming, daddy. I'm scared."
"It's ok, I'm here. Where are you?"
"Are you my daddy?"
"Yeah, sure. Come out and show yourself." He heard whispering, indistinct. There was more than in voice. "Hello?"
And with that, the feeling of not being alone passed. He called again, but there was no answer. Cursing he continued upwards, thoroughly shaken.
"Shit. I hate this place. This is crazy." Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was hearing things. He just wanted to go home.
After twenty minutes of this he came to an intersection. The ladder joined another coming in at an angle. He looked down it, guessing that it gave access to a different part of the inspection bay beneath the docking facilities. Hardly interesting. Up was the way to go.
A dozen metres further the ladder ended in a cramped engineering bay. Relieved he dragged himself from the passage and collapsed on the deck. That was it. No more ladders. Laying flat on his back, his chest heaving as he regained his breath, he shone his torch around the compartment. It wasn’t very big, no more than five or six metres on a side. It was cluttered with machinery, none of which he could identify. There weren’t any electronics or consoles of any kind in evidence. Just massive gears and cables. Possibly part of the drawing mechanism.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" He shone his lamp around him. "Lucy?"
There was no response.
Three passages led off the compartment, each disappearing into the gloom. There were no doors. He aimed his lamp down each in turn, trying to see which was the most promising. None were.
“Bastards.” He stood and ventured a few dozen paces down the first one. It was just a passage. No doors, no markings, no nothing. Very weird. How had the crew known where they were going?
“Hello!” he shouted down it, his echo coming back at him as it travelled down the narrow metal passage. “Is anyone there?” He tried to remember who had been left behind. One of the Smithy brothers. The big one. “Duncan! Can you hear me?”
There was no reply but for his own echo.
“Damn. The bastards.” He tried another passage, shouting down that one too. Surely Duncan would hear him? He couldn’t be that far from the transit area. Not far certainly, but he had no idea what direction it was in. He’d completely lost his bearings.
“Duncan! You fat bastard!” he yelled again.
He speculated that if he was still within the docking module, he could only go so far before coming to its boundaries. And, as it was still misaligned, there would be no mistaking those boundaries. Once he did that he might be able to work his way back around to the main entrance. Theoretically.
Feeling dubious, he set out at random down one of the passages. After walking fifty metres he came to its end. It was a door, and it was shut. There was a thick pressure window set into it. He peered through but saw nothing beyond. He tried the handle but it refused to move. Right, try another.
The second passage led to the foot of another ladder. This one vanishing into further darkness overhead. He might try that later. The third passage was shorter, culminating in a viewing gallery, a deck to ceiling window onto a darkened chamber. Payce tried shining his lamp through it, but the light seemed incapable of penetrating the thick glass.
“Bastards.” He returned to the central chamber and studied it again. He couldn’t believe the transit deck was higher up still. He had climbed a long way already.
A grille for an air-conditioning duct was situated in the very centre of the chamber. Working on the principle that air-conditioning ducts linked just about every compartment in the ship, he went onto tiptoes and shouted into it. “Hello! Duncan! Can you hear me?”
His voice echoed away down the duct. There was no reply.
“Damn.”
“Would you quit doing that?”
Surprised he looked around him. There was no one there. Was he imagining things again? “Who is that? Duncan?”
“No,” the faint voice replied. “Quit shouting.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Seriously, man. You need to quit shouting. And switch your light off. I’m down here.”
Payce peered down the second passage. The sound was misleading, but it could only have come from there. He ventured down it quickly. “Where are you?”
“I’m going to kick your ass. Shut up and switch that fucking thing off!” the voice hissed. “If you don’t I’m out of here. I’ll leave you here and let them find you. They will you know.”
“What? Who?” He saw a foot resting on a rung, the leg it was attached to leading into the passage overhead.
“The light.” The voice said patiently.
“Damn.” Payce switched it off. Oppressive darkness crashed in, smothering him. He struggled for breath, holding onto one of the walls as his senses span around him. He wanted the light on. He needed the light on.
“Better. Now, walk forward. Hold your hand out so you don’t crack your head on the ladder. Then climb up after me.”
Biting down on whimpers of fear Payce clipped the lamp to his belt and set off after her. It was a woman, he felt. The voice was definitely feminine. She didn’t smell feminine though. Now that the light was out and he was reduced to his senses of hearing, touch and smell he noticed the odour of sweat permeating the passage.
Of course, women perspired too.
“Are you part of the original mission?”
“Shhh.”
“We’ve come here to find you.”
“Shut up. Talk later. Climb now.”
"Is there a little girl here? I heard a little girl."
"You're crazy. Just shut up."
The climb was a long one, with regular alcoves where the ladder swapped to the other wall. They rested in two of them, his companion silencing him the moment he attempted to talk. They passed side passages but she ignored those too, continuing up and up, far further than Payce had imagined possible. Surely they had reached the hull by now? Where was she taking him? Of course she didn’t answer that question either.
“Almost there now,” she whispered. “Be quiet. Be very, very quiet. They’re on lookout not far from here. If you make a sound, they’ll come.”
Who? But he knew not to ask that question too. Instead he kept quiet, his companion taking his silence as agreement.
“Keep to the left.”
Up more ladders they went. He barked his shins on a steel doorjamb. Gritting his teeth, he kept in a yell of surprise. A hand stopped him from going any further. He sensed rather than saw her lean over and close a hatch behind them. After securing the handle with a bar jammed against its frame, she pulled him onwards. As they mounted more ladders he started discerning light ahead. It was faint at first, but quickly grew until it hurt his dark accustomed eyes.
“Here.” She stopped him, closing another hatch. She wedged this one closed too. “There. We’re safe now. You can switch your light back on.” She smiled thinly. “But I guess you won’t need to. Just don’t make too much noise.” Not waiting for a response she clambered up a ramp to a higher hatch and pulled on the handle, ensuring it was still secure.
