Dawn of Procyon (25 page)

Chapter 49

PSD 29-214: 0738 hours

Landry had to get out of the hive, and he had to do it in a hurry. He knew that much.

However, he was still in the same predicament as before—he wasn’t going to survive out on the surface of Proc-One. Here in this regulated, Earth-like environment, the conditions of the Argoni homeworld, he could survive indefinitely.

That is, if it weren’t for the legion of blood-curdling creatures who are coming to kill me right at this very moment.

Down the tunnel, the Argoni were still attached to the rhizome, standing patiently as the protective black vines snaked over them and surrounded them like cocoons.

The process would finish at any moment. Then they would come for him.

Landry turned hurriedly and almost tripped over the dead Argoni. He gave it a sharp kick in its ruined midsection. Not because he needed to, just because it felt good to vent his frustrations on something.

He knew that his trick with the acid tube wasn’t going to work against five or ten more Argoni, let alone a hundred. He needed another solution.

He had to manipulate the rhizome, either to disguise himself or to use it as an extra layer of defense. Just like
they
did.

He stepped over to the wall, thrust out his wrist again. The link with the rhizome initiated almost instantly. Once again he sensed that strange, formal greeting, but this time he adjusted his thoughts to the cadence of the Argoni immediately. The result was a far smoother transition than before, a more natural bonding that resulted in a far greater sense of immersion than he had previously experienced. He felt more in control, like he and the rhizome were not necessarily in conflict as they had been before.

The link was not perfect, however. He could still sense a degree of caution in the creature, as if it could vaguely sense that, behind the mask, all was not as it seemed.

And he had no idea what to do. He had no idea of how to command it.

Down the tunnel, the Argoni had almost completed the metamorphosis to their cocooned state. The long tendrils of the rhizome were fluctuating in their appearance, becoming almost like liquid, then spreading and fusing with one another to form that chitinous exterior with which Landry was now all too familiar.

Time was running out. He had to get this done.

Think. How did you control the machine?

Symbols. That was it. He needed to communicate in symbols, just as he had done when he’d freed himself from his bonds.

Closing his eyes, he imagined himself in a medieval suit of armor, complete with a sword and shield in his hands. He tried to fill in the details: the shine of the steel, the strength. The way it covered him from head to toe. He pictured himself staring out of the visor, confident and strong.

The rhizome seemed to withdraw, just like it had before.

Nonono. Don’t do that.

He looked
ridiculous
in the knight’s armor, he realized, like a skinny kid playing dress-ups.

He could only imagine how the rhizome must be interpreting that.

That wasn’t the right approach. It was far too alien for the rhizome to recognize.

He tried again, imagining something far less specific. This time, he pictured himself as one of the Argoni larvae, newly fallen from the vine, his skin scaly and black, his face elongated, two black eyes set inside his skull. As he lay there, he drew around himself a protective cloak, a barrier between himself and the world outside. He could feel the warmth of it, the feeling of security. Of being home. It almost felt like—

His eyes flung open, and he saw tendrils of the rhizome snaking out across his arm, across his shoulder. They expanded, began to wrap around his torso.

Hold that thought
, he told himself.
Don’t let it slip.

He closed his eyes again. In the back of his mind, he was putting together more of the information that had bled through to him from the Argoni. Mixed with that came more of the race memories, fed into him directly from the rhizome. He understood the origin of the acid now. It was created by the rhizome, the result of a chemical reaction that was instigated when the Argoni died. It was another evolutionary trait, designed to thwart predators seeking a meal. When the Argoni perished and the link of the symbiosis was broken, the acid was released by the rhizome, effectively melting both organisms into an unsavory goo that was inedible to prey.

As he felt the rhizome spread down and over his legs, around his neck, he felt a moment of panic at the thought of the acid being released while he was still inside. What if the rhizome detected that he wasn’t really an Argoni, he thought, and decided to terminate the threat by smothering him in the stuff? What then?

Then, you die
, he thought simply.

It was beginning to cover his face. He had to bite back on the urge to break free, to tear this monstrosity from his body before it could suffocate. With an immense effort, he remained steady. He allowed it to take him.

Then understanding came. The rhizome was like an EVA suit for Argoni, protecting them from the elements whilst maintaining a stable environment within. Startled, he realized that the rhizome had even extended into his nostrils. He could feel it there, snug against his skin, but he was breathing perfectly. There was only one explanation. The rhizome had the ability to filter the oxygen through itself to the Argoni—or in his case the human—inside.

Whether it could do this outside in the CO
2
environment of Proc-One, he wasn’t sure, but he suspected it could. It was like an organic version of the OXEE. That was how the Argoni, who naturally breathed oxygen, could survive in that harsh environment outside the hive.

He opened his eyes and turned his head.

A gap in the rhizome had formed around his eye sockets, allowing him to see, but he could feel something covering his skin and eyes. A thin film that gave a slight tint to his vision. That resin-like substance, perhaps?

He blinked, then saw that the other Argoni had completed their metamorphosis. They were coming down the tunnel toward him.

A little longer
, he thought frantically.
Just a little longer.

The rhizome was wrapping around his feet now, under them. He could no longer feel the dirt beneath his toes. It crawled over his head and down his back like snakes, sending a shiver down his spine.

The Argoni were almost upon him, their footsteps thunderous.

Landry felt the rhizome morphing, becoming doughy as it hugged the contours of his face, then began to harden. He felt it harden across the rest of his body.

The first Argoni reached him, made that awful grating sound as it swung its arm at him.

Landry ripped free of the rhizome at the last second, swinging his arms and deflecting the blow as it arced toward his face. The Argoni screamed in frustration as Landry knocked it to the side and took a faltering step toward it.

He felt like he was on stilts. Controlling his limbs was difficult. Glancing down, he saw his own chitinous body and felt utterly detached from what was going on.

Is this real? Am I really doing this?

As he stood contemplating his situation, another Argoni clouted him from behind, knocking him off his feet. The rhizome absorbed much of the impact, but it was still enough to take his breath away. He scrambled to his feet and narrowly avoided a subsequent attack.

There were more headed down the tunnel. Too many for him to take. He had to get out of the area.

He barreled forward, knocking a third Argoni out of the way. The fourth snapped its wrist outward, and Landry saw a chitinous blade heading for his neck. It caught him flush, gouging out a great wad of his armor and sending him sprawling on the floor.

That one
did
hurt
, he thought.

He looked up and saw the toboggan right beside him. Without pausing to consider, he grabbed HAIRI’s circuit board from the top and ripped it clear, then began to run, or, more appropriately,
stumble
. He felt like he was at sea with the rhizome coating his body, like he was covered in bindings that hindered every movement. He shouldered past another Argoni in his way, then tripped and fell under the blade of the next. He continued scrambling on his hands and knees.

He got up and found himself moving into a darkened section of the tunnel. He had another problem. He had no idea how to get out of the hive.

Up. Just keep going up.

He tucked HAIRI’s board into one of the ridges of rhizome in his midriff as he careened along the tunnel like a drunkard. He could hear the others coming behind him.

After a short while he saw light ahead once more, and he tried not to think about what was behind him, concentrating on the task at hand.

He was entering another nursery. And he could see movement there.

He burst into the cavern at full speed. He was beginning to become accustomed to the presence of the rhizome. Initially he had felt like a toddler learning to walk for the first time, but as time had passed, his footing became more assured. He was still shaky, off-balance, but improving.

If he lived long enough, he might actually get the hang of this thing.

The newly-birthed Argoni were milling around, seemingly confused by what was going on. Some had attached themselves to the rhizome and were beginning to metamorphose. Others had stooped to check on their smaller brethren lying dead on the floor, scraping pathetically at them with their tentacles.

When Landry arrived, they suddenly became alert.

Any hopes he had of fooling them with his disguise were immediately dashed. They saw through him in an instant.

One of them was stupid enough to try to get in his way without its armor, and Landry steamrolled it as if it were a snail, stampeding over it and sending blood and guts squishing everywhere.

“Take
that
, scumbag!” he whooped, although he could barely move his mouth inside the rhizome, and it came out as “Tmm
hmm
, hmmhgg!” Then he was into the next tunnel and surrounded by darkness once again.

The tunnel branched out and began to descend, so he backtracked and tried the next one. On his way he encountered one of his pursuers, slamming it in the chest and avoiding its grasp as he broke free again.

In the next cavern, more of the Toads were waiting.

The ones here were more organized. Perhaps they’d been given warning somehow. He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that there were almost a dozen armored Argoni here, forming up into a barricade of sorts.

Landry didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. He was dead if he stopped.

He screamed as he bore down on the nearest Toad. As it reached for him, he gripped its arm, swinging it around. He put everything he had into it—all of his pent up fury, his grief for Freida and their unborn child, for Gus, for the whole god-awful war. Suddenly, he felt monstrously strong, like he could lift mountains. He swung the Argoni so hard that it was lifted from his feet. He swung the thing like a baseball bat, scattering his attackers like ninepins. At some point the arm
broke off
, and he continued to swing it at anything within reach.

He realized he’d been screaming the whole time. The Argoni seemed to fall back, hesitant, as if they’d never seen anything like it before.

He stumbled his way out of the cavern, kept heading up. He bashed his way through more of the Argoni waiting for him in the next cavern. This time they almost snared him. His strength had given out as his fury waned. He knew he might not make it much further.

He found a ledge in his path and scaled it.

Was this the place where I fell on my way down? Am I near the surface?

Miraculously, a shimmering yellow film appeared across the tunnel ahead, and he realized that he was right. This had to be the exit.

He plunged through the film, and as he began to scramble up the incline, the boulder above moved aside. He waited for maybe five excruciating seconds as the boulder rotated, sure that his pursuers would catch him.

Then he was outside, back on the surface of Proc-One. There was no sound of the Argoni behind him yet. He’d opened up a lead on them, it seemed.

He stood panting and took a moment to gather his bearings. The dawn of Procyon had just arrived, the first rays of sunlight slanting across the landscape. There were no immediate threats that he could see. No bad guys.

If he could somehow make it 300 clicks west, he would reach the outpost.

But there was a problem, he realized. He could sense the rhizome starting to withdraw from him again, in the same fashion as the first time he had tried to bond with it. He had fooled it for a time, but at some point, his guard had slipped. He steadied himself, tried desperately to reign it in, but he was fighting a losing battle.

Within a minute or two he was going to be exposed to Proc-One’s atmosphere. He was going to die.

He couldn’t go back inside the hive. Not with those things hunting him. They would recapture him, probably force him back into the torture chair and begin experimenting on him again.