Perdido Street Station - China Mieville [173]
Isaac felt absolute despair.
Take his body too, he thought, Jabber, don’t be cruel, don’t leave me with that fucking shell that I can’t let die, that means nothing . . .
“How do we kill the slake-moths?” he hissed.
Vermishank smiled, very slowly.
“You cannot,” he said.
“Don’t bullshit me,” hissed Isaac. “Everything that lives can die . . .”
“You misunderstand me. As an abstract proposition of course they can die. And therefore, theoretically, they can be killed. But you will not be able to kill them. They live in several planes, as I’ve said, and bullets, fire, and so forth injure only in one. You would have to hit them in many dimensions at once, or do the most extraordinary amount of damage in this one, and they will not give you the chance . . . Do you understand?”
“So let’s think laterally . . .” said Isaac. He batted his temples hard with the heels of his hands. “What about a biological control? Predators . . .”
“They have none. They are at the top of their food chain. We’re fairly sure that there are animals, in their native land, that are capable of killing them, but there are none within several thousand miles of here. And anyway, if we’re right, to unleash them would be to usher doom more quickly onto New Crobuzon.”
“Dear Jabber,” breathed Isaac. “Without predators or competitors, with a massive supply of food, fresh and constantly replenished . . . There’ll be no stopping them.”
“And that,” whispered Vermishank hesitantly, “is before we’ve even considered what’ll happen if they . . . They are still young, you understand. They are not fully mature. But soon, when the nights become hot . . . We have to consider what might happen when they breed . . .”
The room seemed to go still and cold. Again Vermishank tried to control his face, but again, Isaac saw the raw fear inside him. Vermishank was terrified. He knew what was at stake.
A little way away, the construct was rotating, hissing and clattering. It seemed to be leaking dust and dirt, and moving in random directions trailing a stiff litter-spike behind it. Broken again, thought Isaac, and turned his attention back on Vermishank.
“When will they breed?” he hissed.
Vermishank licked the sweat from his upper lip.
“They are hermaphrodites, I am told. We’ve never observed them mating or seen them lay eggs. We only know what we’ve been told. They come into heat in the back half of the summer. One designated egg-layer. Around about Sinn, Octuary. Usually. Usually, that is.”
“Come on! There must be something we can do!” shouted Isaac. “Don’t tell me Rudgutter’s got nothing in mind . . .”
“I’m not privy to that. I mean, of course I know they’ve plans. Why, yes. But what they are I simply can’t say. I have . . .” Vermishank hesitated.
“What?” yelled Isaac.
“I have heard that they approached dæmons.” No one said a word. Vermishank swallowed and continued. “And were refused help. Even at the highest bribery.”
“Why?” hissed Derkhan.
“Because the dæmons were afraid.” Vermishank licked his lips. The fear that he was trying to keep hidden became visible again. “Do you understand that? They were afraid. Because for all their power and their presence . . . they think as we do. They are sentient, sapient. And as far as the slake-moths are concerned . . . they are therefore prey.”
Everyone in the room was still. The pistol sagged in Lemuel’s hand, but Vermishank made no attempt to run, lost as he was in his own miserable reverie.
“What are we going to do?” said Isaac. His voice was not quite steady.
The grating sound of the construct grew stronger. The thing spun for a moment on its central wheel. Its cleaning arms were extended and clattered against the ground in staccato motion. Derkhan, then Isaac and David and the others looked up at it.
“I can’t think with that fucking thing in the room!” yelled Isaac, enraged. He strode over, ready to take out his impotence and his fear on the construct. As he approached it,