Nexus, Robert Boyczuk [best free ereader TXT] 📗

easier than she had anticipated. Checking her suit compass, she turned south and set off for the shore she had glimpsed during her fall.

The bottom began to rise; the silt gave way to slippery, algae encrusted stone slabs, layered like a giant’s stairway. She clambered up from one broad step to the next. Twice she almost fell, but both times managed to restore her balance by swinging her good arm out and paddling furiously against the water. The light grew as the slope diminished.

When Liis broke surface, she gasped as if she’d been holding her breath. Water sluiced off her visor.

In front of her was a narrow, rocky shore abutted by thick, variegated growth. Although she recognized the flora as trees and bushes, nothing was familiar. The colours weren’t quite right, the shades subtly different from the ones with which she was familiar. The closest tree had dense, interlaced branches and no foliage, making it look like a woven basket; its lower limbs snaked across the pebble strewn shore to dip into the river. Liis would have thought it dead were it not for the purple fruit-or what appeared to be fruit-each in shape of an hourglass, hanging pendant from the upper branches. Surrounding the base of the tree was a scruff of umber moss, though whether it was part of the same plant or an entirely different species, she couldn’t tell.

A few paces back, near a stand of low, gnarled trees with brown, spiky fronds, Liis caught sight of Hebuiza. He sat, his back propped against the thick bole of one of the trees. He was naked, his gear laid out beside him. His large head hung forward, its numerous filaments and cables dangling like long hair over his face, his arms hanging limply at his side. A thin line of blood trickled from a gash in his right temple, tracing a path down his ribcage and over his small, rounded stomach to collect in the pubic hair between his thighs.

Yilda was nowhere to be seen.

Liis crouched before the Facilitator.

His narrow chest rose and fell shallowly. The source of the bleeding was a small wound in front of his ear: a tear of a few centimeters at the base of a data socket. On the ground at Hebuiza’s feet was the black box he wore everywhere, even inside his suit; snaking away from it was a grey cable terminating in a blood spattered jack.

Liis poked him in the arm and his head lolled insensibly. She rose, looked around. In the dirt leading up to the tree were two heel-wide grooves from Hebuiza’s boots, the imprint of smaller boots in between. He’d been dragged here, probably by Yilda.

But the shore was deserted.

Liis’ glanced at his suit, then back to his narrow ribcage, rising and falling rhythmically. At least Yilda had been correct about the dome harboring a breathable atmosphere.

She ordered the seals on her own suit broken.

Air hissed in, a rich, confusing welter of scents momentarily muddling her senses. The perfume of unfamiliar flowers, of decaying vegetation, of pungent, rotting wood, overwhelmed the smell of her own stale sweat and recycled waste. The strange-and yet identifiable-smells made her head spin. She felt giddy.

Seventeen days in this…this coffin, she thought. She peeled the helmet back from her head, felt a light breeze finger her hair. Careful not to jostle her broken arm, she disconnected the catheters and undid the middle seam of the suit; within seconds she had wiggled free from the multiple, insulating layers of material. She stood naked; her suit lay at her feet like a shed skin.

She examined herself. Other than roughened blisters on her heels and soles of her feet, and a general grime that seemed to film her entire body, she could find no deleterious effects from the suit. Her broken arm, however, looked pale and withered where skin emerged from the yellowed plasticast. She flexed her fingers experimentally. Sharp flashes shot up her forearm. But they were not as intense as she had feared. When she flexed again, she winced, but found the pain bearable. Her body was healing itself.

She slipped off her backpack. Then she grabbed the collar of her suit and dragged it down to the shore, stepping gingerly over the loose rocks and pebbles. Wading knee-deep into the water, she flung it with her good arm as far as she could. The suit landed on the surface several meters out with a flat, slapping sound; it drifted there for a moment, before it turned once like a lazy swimmer flipping onto his back, then sank quickly from sight.

She splashed water over her face, breasts, and stomach, and carefully bathed her wounded arm. Squatting, she scooped up a handful of sand and gravel and rubbed her legs until they tingled. The grime relented, slid from her body. The sensation was wonderful. It seemed an eternity since she’d experienced anything other than the uniform clamminess of the suit. She sat down in waist-deep water-it was cool but not unpleasant. An intermittent breeze kissed her skin. Despite the strangeness of her surroundings, Liis relaxed, felt the inescapable creep of exhaustion; her head began to nod. Not yet, she thought dully.

Reluctantly, she dragged herself to her feet. It was all she had time for now.

She picked her way back across the rocky shore. Hebuiza’s head was still bent. Liis reached down to pick up his suit.

“No.”

Hebuiza’s eyes were open, but rheumy. He blinked several times, as if he were trying to keep them focussed. His head seemed to wobble on his long thin neck, as if he couldn’t quite make it bob in its usual way. “Leave it.” A bubble of spittle formed between his withered lips, popped.

Liis straightened. “We’ve got to hide these suits. And you’re in no shape to do it.”

Her words seemed to rouse the Facilitator. His head lifted, the tendons in his neck going rigid. He fixed Liis with a withering look; his head began its characteristic bobbing motion. “No!” Placing his palms on the ground, he tried to push himself to his feet, but his arms shook and collapsed under him. He slid back down against the bole of the tree. In a silent rage, he glared at Liis, as if he blamed his incapacitation on her. She met his gaze unabashedly. After a moment, he averted his eyes.

“What happened?”

Hebuiza tried to shrug, but the effort must have aggravated his wound for his face twisted into a grimace of pain. “Nothing,” he hissed from between clenched teeth.

“Nothing?”

“I fell.” He looked almost embarrassed. “My head must have hit the lake first. I don’t remember.” He blinked and looked around. “I remember being underwater. Then here.” Hebuiza’s gaze wandered; he seemed to forget their conversation. “We’re inside, aren’t we?”

Liis ignored his question. Yilda dragged him out, stripped off his suit, then left him. But where had the other Facilitator gone? Hebuiza, even if he knew, wouldn’t tell her. Or at least not tell the entire truth. Liis decided she’d had enough of these games. They were inside the dome. It was time for some answers.

Taking a step closer, she locked eyes with Hebuiza. “Who is Yilda?”

The Facilitator looked up at her in surprise, his head weaving back and forth. For an instant, his guard seemed to drop. The large adam’s apple in his neck bobbed. “I…I don’t understand your question.” It was the first time she could ever remember him seeming unsure about anything.

“You know damn well what I mean!” Liis stepped closer so she towered above him. “He knew exactly how to get into the dome. Remember, he was the one who insisted on bringing the flares, then in keeping them when we lightened our loads. He told us to discard our climbing equipment, like he knew we’d have no need for it. Except for exactly the things we needed. And why else did he use the ice screw and rope unless he knew about the drop on this side? No matter how good his intelligence was, he couldn’t have possibly had those kind of details.”

Hebuiza looked away; his head stilled. At that moment he seemed to have noticed the line of blood running down his chest. He rubbed at it abstractly, smearing it. “He’s a Facilitator,” he said as if that explained everything.

Liis was incredulous. “You don’t know,” she said. “Do you?”

“He’s a-”

“Facilitator,” Liis finished in exasperation. She waved off his words. “Yeah, I heard.” Hebuiza seemed to know no more than she did. Apparently Yilda had felt it prudent to keep everyone in the dark about his plans. Including Hebuiza. It astounded her. Then made her angry. She stooped, grabbed the collar of Hebuiza’s suit.

Hebuiza’s eyes flashed again. But, strangely, he kept his mouth clamped shut.

Fuck you, Liis thought, but her anger had no edge: exhaustion had dulled her thoughts, made anything but a remote indignation impossible. She dragged his suit over to the lake. With a grunt, she heaved it out as far as she could. When she turned back, she saw Hebuiza had managed to roll himself over on his knees and was crawling on all fours towards his backpack. Liis shook her head. Was he afraid she was going to go through his things? She took a step towards him. Then stopped dead.

A few meters down the shore a figure had emerged from the underbrush. It was a young woman with startlingly white skin. She wore a simple, translucent robe belted at the waist with a black, knotted cord and plain brown sandals. She had a slim build, limp, shoulder-length blonde hair framing smooth, rounded features. Liis found something vaguely familiar about her, in the lines of her pale face and the set of her expression. Like she had met her somewhere before.

The woman watched Hebuiza with bewilderment. The Facilitator, who had stopped crawling, stared at the woman, mouth agape. His eyes darted from her to his pack. If she had noticed Liis yet, she showed no sign.

A pathetic gurgling emerged from Hebuiza’s throat.

The woman’s initial surprise seemed to have vanished. She extended her arms, hands open-the universal gesture of peace. She spoke and strange guttural words emerged from her mouth.

But before she’d spoken more than a few words, there was a faint pop, and the woman’s head snapped back, like she’d been struck by an invisible fist. She teetered drunkenly for a second; her legs collapsed and she crumpled to the ground.

Liis scrambled over the loose rocks on the beach. The woman was on her back.

Her face had gone ashen. Her mouth gaped. Although her eyes were still open, she stared straight ahead, unseeing. Drool flowed from the corner of her mouth and crept down her cheek.

My God, Liis thought looking at the soft features, unmarked by age or experience. She’s only a child.

A shadow fell over the body.

Yilda stood next to Liis. He wore loose-fitting shorts, a faded black tee-shirt that stretched across his pot belly, and had his backpack on. In his hands he cradled a rifle Liis had never seen before. It was matte black, almost a shadow, except for the very end of its barrel where a tiny red light pulsed like a tiny ember. Crouching, he jabbed the Speaker in the ribs with the muzzle. She didn’t react.

“Good,” Yilda said, rising and slipping the strap of the rifle over his shoulder. He stroked the golden beads along the edge of his chin. “It still works.”

The Speaker was alive; that much was obvious. But her face was slack, her mouth gaping stupidly, her eyes vacant. Whatever resemblance she bore to someone in Liis’ past had now vanished. From time to time a muscle in her body