Filaria - Brent Hayward [60]
“Not really.” But he recalled Philip mentioning the engineer. A focal point of some reverence, apparently, out here. Against his better judgment, and so he would not appear a total idiot, Phister added, “Actually, I do know a little about him, I guess,” and realized, flushing, that he had not achieved his purpose: he knew nothing about the man, and that would become clear if Cynthia asked any questions at all.
Which, of course, she promptly did.
“So you know he built the world single-handedly? That he’s going to return one day and set things straight? That his children and friends are alive, sleeping, all waiting to be born?”
“Uh, yeah,” Phister said, unsure whether Cynthia liked or disliked this ‘engineer’ fellow. Was she laughing? Or incensed?
They continued walking.
“Well all that shit is myth, Phister. The engineer was just a man. An egotistical man with a huge team of people working for him. He dug a deep fucking hole in the crust of a planet that’s been dead for centuries. And it’s going to stay that way, if I can help it. Now I want you to try this again.” She drew the brown rod from her inside pocket. The hunter. “I want to see if you have further reactions.”
Phister’s guts churned and sweat broke out on his back and shoulders. “No freaking way,” he said.
“Look. I’ll let you in on another little secret. I knew you were coming. So I got a little pro-active, made sure I found you. And now that I’ve got you, I’m not going to let you fuck anything up.” Her fingers, on his arm, were hard and strong. “See, I don’t want things to get better here. I like this place just the way it is. I like things falling apart. Maybe that’s why I like you, Phister, just the way you are now. Ugly and sick. So I’m going to stop you before you change. I’m going to stop you before you change the world. So just be a good boy. I have a proposal. We can make a deal.”
The leaves around them moved in a sudden warm breeze. Cynthia yanked Phister to a stop and spun him to face her. She was a good deal taller than him and stood close enough for him to feel her heat.
“Have you had a lot of lovers, Phister?”
Shocked, he had no idea what to say. His mouth was open so he closed it.
“Lovers,” she repeated. “You know what those are? Are you a virgin?”
He stammered nothing coherent.
“Like I said, I have a proposal. You never used to like unions but this particular one might be right up your alley.”
Smiling grimly, Cynthia moved closer still, just millimetres away. Her eyes were as green as the vines that rustled around them and her scent filled his sinuses. Lightly her fingers touched his chest, drifted down along his shirt. That sweet breath enveloped him. He started to stiffen. Her approaching lips parted, and he saw her glistening teeth, her tongue like a black sharpened thing, coiled, as if to strike —
Someone was running, breaking the spell; Cynthia pulled back, snarling.
Two people came down the hall: the pair of short men who had been recharging the car. Pacing in unison, even their stumbles were identical as they lost footing in breathless haste to stop. They were frantic.
“Cynthia, you’d better come back!”
“What is it?”
“Come back, shit, come!”
“Tell me what it is.”
“You gotta come!”
“What happened?! Tell me. Tell me what fucking happened!”
They looked at each other, neither eager to begin. The one on the left said, “We plugged his car in,” indicating Phister, “and it started talking. Ranting and raving. About being stolen. About being on the wrong level.”
“It said there would be budget adjustments. A shifting of assets.”
“And then it shut the canteen down.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” Cynthia said.
“The car threatened us, told us that the network was sending authorities.”
“The network?”
“Then the canteen started asking for authorization. At the same time. Out of the blue. Depleting reserves, it said. ‘No more food will be processed until the situation is under control.’”
Cynthia narrowed her green eyes. She returned her gaze to Phister. He was terrified by what he saw there.