When the morning sun broke the sky into its striated patterns, they had reached an area where the river widened and low trees with leaves big as bedspreads grew on the banks. Erlin woke from where she had made herself as comfortable as possible in the bottom of the boat, stretched, and gazed around. Ansel peered at her gritty-eyed and said nothing. She returned his look for a moment then opened her pack. Ansel had his gun pointed at her in a second. She ignored him and took out a food bar which she munched on contemplatively.
‘What does ECS want with you?’ Ansel asked eventually.
‘I specialize in parasites. After they got Kelly’s deposition they wanted it checked in a hurry. I suppose I was the best they could get hold of at short notice.’
Ansel felt too tired to work it out. What possible evidence did Kelly possess, and of what?
‘Take the tiller,’ he told Erlin.
While she obeyed, Ansel lay down in the bottom of the boat and, clutching his thin-gun, closed his eyes and cued himself for light naps. No way would she get the drop on him. Anything untoward and he would be instantly awake. The engine was off and the sun high in the sky when Erlin shook him awake.
‘We’re at the waterfall,’ she told him.
Ansel lay there with his head aching and that foul taste in his mouth. The last time this had happened he’d put it down to being hit by Hendricks’s stunner. Now he wondered if it was a result of the symbiont in his stomach. He sat up carefully and blinked until his vision cleared. He looked at the waterfall, then turned to study Erlin. His gun was still in his hand.
‘Why didn’t you take it?’ he asked her.
‘There is no need. Will you listen to what I have to say now?’
‘I’ll listen, but not just yet,’ said Ansel. He holstered his weapon and studied the waterfall.
It descended from the mountains down a giant’s staircase, each step no more than five or ten metres. It bore the appearance of something constructed, but a glance at the surrounding mountains showed they bore the same shape, being naturally terraced. Pointing at a small jetty projecting into the deep pool below it, he said, ‘Take us over there.’
Erlin switched the motor back on and took them slowly towards the jetty. It soon became evident that there was another boat moored there.
‘Kelly’s,’ said Erlin as she finally brought their boat athwart the jetty.
The boat was the twin of theirs. As they moored next to it Ansel peered inside, noting stains on the boards and the distinctive smell of putrefactor. Taking up his rucksack, he followed Erlin across the jetty. The path from there was easy enough to follow: there was only the one and it led straight up into the mountains.
As Ansel now led the way up the first slope he said, ‘Okay, tell me.’
‘A hundred and eighty years ago THC bought the mineral rights here,’ she explained.
‘Oh really,’ said Ansel.
Erlin ignored his comment and continued. ‘The life here is incompatible with human life, highly toxic in fact. When THC established a mining colony they miscalculated. Removing the toxins from the soil so food could be grown in it turned out to be unfeasible and they were soon incurring huge costs from shipping food in. Company biologists got round that one by adapting a Fores life form into a symbiont for the miners. It lived in their stomachs just as it now lives in yours, and in the stomachs of the miners’ descendants — it’s passed on in the womb. It breaks down Fores’s proteins, sugars and carbohydrates into forms the human gut can digest.’
‘Look, I know all this. I’ve got one. You mentioned a deposition earlier. What was that all about?’ asked Ansel.
‘The symbiont is an adapted putrefactor,’ Erlin told him.
Ansel halted and turned to her. The Company medic had neglected to mention this. The knowledge made him feel slightly sick.
Watching him steadily, Erlin went on, ‘Unfortunately, after a period of approximately thirty-seven years, it was found that the symbiont changed and began to digest its host.’
‘What?’ said Ansel. What she’d just told him did not seem to gel. He was sixty years old, and with antiagathics had an expected lifespan that had not yet been measured. Now this madwoman was telling him he would be digested in thirty-seven years. It made no sense. He had only been sent here for a brief search-and- destroy mission. The symbiont was merely a convenience to help him digest the local food.
‘That makes no sense — the Company would have known.’
‘Yes, of course they would have.’
And then it did make sense to him. He was suddenly angry as he gazed past her to the river below. After a moment he realized what he was seeing down there. Just coming into sight was a rowing boat being rowed along so fast it was leaving a foaming wake. He pointed.
‘Oh hell,’ said Erlin.
‘Let’s move it,’ said Ansel, and they set out at a faster pace.
‘Can you stop it?’ Erlin gasped as they climbed.
‘Yeah, funny,’ said Ansel. Thirty-seven years. What did that matter when he was likely to be killed within the next few hours? He now understood that first conversation he had overheard between Erlin and Hendricks, and he knew the Golem was here for him as much as for them. The Company had done something nasty here, and they had done it again to him, but why had they done it? He glanced upslope, then back again. The Golem had reached the pool. He picked up the pace and shortly they reached a stairway cut into the rock.
‘Look!’ Erlin shouted.
