'Talk to me about racism,' muttered Jeryd, contemplating this inherent understanding between an albino and a rumel.
'We've two prisoners in our possession, which I've not yet had dissected because they're still breathing though unconscious. I hope to learn more from them, perhaps detect some weakness in their structure. It's probably best you see them, too?'
'Sure.'
There followed a swift walk through security checks – Brynd waved them both on through, the guards snapping smartly back to attention. A brief nod to a couple more standing by a metal door, and it was swiftly opened.
The holding cell beyond was lined with metal sheeting, with a stone-tile floor and a barred window that seemed to suck the cold air right through it. The room was utterly vacant apart from the two creatures, and Jeryd could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Nanzi gasped and pressed herself back against the wall, putting as much distance between herself and the strange creatures as possible.
A new race. A new species. It seemed unbelievable, but here they were in all their exo-skeletal glory.
'I'm not sure how their physiognomy can be described in any clearer way than giant black crustaceans,' Brynd remarked, strolling casually around one of their resting forms. 'Seven foot tall, they're almost insectile, with a head, thorax, abdomen, and glistening textured shell. Also noteworthy is that an acidic scent lingers around them consistently.'
Right now the two Okun lay hunched up and lifeless, in some sort of dormant state. Their equivalent to ankles were bound firmly by metal chains.
'Are these… things likely to attack Villiren soon?' Jeryd enquired, staring at the Okun.
The commander's brow scrunched up as he considered Jeryd's question. 'I honestly couldn't tell you. We understand so very little about their culture, their tactics, or even their motives. Whatever they want with us, whatever they kill our people for, it's nothing that registers with my understanding.'
'You paint a pretty picture, commander,' Jeryd said.
'It's all relative I suppose,' Nanzi announced suddenly. Jeryd turned with interest for what advice his new aide might offer. 'I mean, one man's murderer is another's freedom fighter, so they say. But the thing is, we all look at it from a given point of view, don't we, and so evil really is evil – and at the same time isn't at all.'
She was certainly articulate, if the concept a little abstract. Wasn't afraid to have something to say, this one. Jeryd found himself liking her more and more. He stared down once again at the dormant killers, contemplating what rage they might soon enough produce.
SIX
The spider crossed a line of silk woven above a busy night-iren, bobbing up and down as it skittered across to the other side. A festival was going on below, in the marketplace, with men and women in furs and masks acting out a legend of the yellow sun. As they pranced around firelight brandishing sticks and biolumes in time to the drums, the spider mounted the opposite rooftop and skimmed down the near flank of the building.
It banked over one of the numerous drainage channels that penetrated the city like a network of thick veins. Many of them were littered with waste and scrap metal, and appeared no more than slivers of apocalyptic landscapes. Every night the city's poor would scavenge them for the chance of survival, and for a moment it considered selecting one of them… but no, they were too poor, too undernourished.
Only healthy, lean cuts will do.
Besides, they weren't on the list that Doctor Voland had been given.
Through the streets again and up onto the metal railings running along outside one building. Tap-tap-tap up to the top, and soon it had a perfect view of the windows opposite, squares of light signifying ordinary people's lives.
Red lanterns glowed inside two of the nearest rooms, with fires roaring in their grates in the background. In one of them, an old woman was reclining in a chair with a book laid to one side of her. In another on the floor above, a blonde woman in underwear was staring out of the window, her blue mask pressed up against the glass. She seemed to be peering directly at the spider, but it knew it was too dark to be seen, for the creature had the advantage of the night. A bald man with a pencil-thin moustache approached her, slapped her behind and she giggled. She removed her mask, turned and kissed him, who then took off his shirt to reveal a skinny frame.
The spider seethed at the indignity of the woman's behaviour. This man was one of the union leaders – he was therefore on the list. The lantern sputtered out as the couple merged into the darkness of the room behind – and the spider waited.
*
As Larkin kissed the nape of her neck she realized she didn't really care about her husband any more. That sorry loser was nothing compared with her visitor. She had watched as Larkin, eloquent and passionate, had earlier that day called for strike action from the fishermen and stevedores. The portreeve had reduced both their pay and their prices in order to help fund the war effort, so he said, but everyone knew this was just an excuse to worsen the conditions of the workforce. Her husband, the dickhead, had walked away from the meeting, insisting that he wanted to work, and the rest of them could fuck off. She hated his lack of commitment to the movement, and his small-town opinions. She now felt a faint thrill at the fact that Larkin was so popular with the ladies – yet he had chosen her.
She'd be rid of her husband by the morning.
She kissed her way down Larkin's lithe body, unbuckling him, basking in the warmth of the fire to one side. Breeches slid off slowly, then his socks, and she slowly teased him to arousal, then finally wrapped her mouth around his expectant cock. As her hair fell forward to cover this act of intimacy, he groaned the way most men did, but did not push her head down so she was forced to gag. He seemed almost grateful for her skills – and why not? She knew how to give good head.
Something rattled at the window and she paused for a moment, but now heard only the sound of the festivities taking place two streets away. Must be the snow, she decided.
Bang.
She flinched at the sudden noise.
'Don't worry,' Larkin reassured her, running a hand tenderly through her hair. 'It's only a firework.' His eyes were so sensitive, so big and blue. She turned her attention to him once again, prolonging the moment, while enjoying the sense of his mounting excitement. His breathing started to quicken and…
Bang.
'What the-?' Everything seemed to happen so slowly: the ceiling collapsed and debris clattered around the room, then a monstrous beast descended through the continuing rain of plaster, and pinned them to the bed as the rubble smothered the fire.
It can't be…
A monstrous spider loomed above them.
'Dear Bohr, no!' she screamed, and found her hands were pinned tight by a couple of its massive hairy legs, and she was now pushed flat on top of Larkin. 'Get off me, please, no!' And the eyes – those horrible, countless eyes – were staring back at her, and Larkin began to shudder and whimper underneath her and something warm covered the bed. He had pissed himself.
Fireworks continued to explode outside, the shouts of enjoyment drowning out her own screams.
The monster gurgitated something from its mouth and silk began to fill her throat. She gagged – and fainted away.
*
Commander, I'm about to embark upon the reconnaissance journey, Flight
Lieutenant Gybson signed by making complex shapes between his finger, palm and thumb. Are there any territories you wish me to explore?
As Commander Lathraea addressed the garuda, the bird-soldier standing a foot taller than himself, his vision swept across the brown and white plumage visible beneath the bronze breastplate. Touches of red tingeing the
