Providence - Max Barry Page 0,104

It took the converter eight minutes to process the first batch of larvae. He had to refill it twice, watching its power dial upward. Once it was pushing maximum, he unslung the gun, squatted beside the converter, and hooked the two together. This was the dangerous part, where he wouldn’t be able to fire the weapon. He crouched, waiting, listening.

The pool burped. He eyed it. Where did that go, he wondered. Or where did it start, was maybe the question.

He checked Gilly’s ping location and committed it to memory. Once he left this nursery, he suspected that he would encounter a lot of salamanders. He might not have time to check his bearings again.

Were there more nurseries? If the planet was a hive, like Jackson said, there would be, perhaps thousands of them. He would need more. Gilly was now only a thousand feet away, but Anders had lost the element of surprise, so he expected more resistance, which would consume more power. He should pay attention to any area where the soldiers were reluctant to huk.

The gun blinked green along its glowlights. He detached it from the converter and looped its strap over his head, where it belonged. The converter was still processing larvae. He waited until it was full, then packed it up.

When he reached the resin waterfall, he stuck the gun through and let it do its thing. After that, he pushed through and emerged into a smoking hellscape of flame and charred flesh. They were everywhere. They filled the tunnel, packed tight, scrabbling over each other to reach him. He fired the gun in tight bursts and it was like carving a hole in the ocean, the tide rushing back the moment he released the trigger. He forged ahead, using the gun to wash clear his path. How many salamanders on this planet, he wondered. How many coming at him right now. How long in the box.

The gun was growing hot. He could do this for another few minutes, he reckoned. Gilly was close. He wasn’t sure he could make it. If he didn’t, it wasn’t the worst way to go out, he supposed. He’d come out here to kill salamanders. Anyway. No sense in overthinking it. No point in looking back. He picked up his pace until he was running.

15

[Gilly]

THE SOURCE

Sometimes Martin was still for long periods. He stayed in the exact same position, so that Gilly couldn’t even tell whether he was conscious. But when Gilly didn’t move for a while, Martin became restless and would move closer or bark at him.

“Gikky,” Martin said.

“What,” he said.

This seemed to content Martin, and he returned to his position by the wall and went still again. For a while, Gilly had been developing the theory that Martin was some kind of officer: a high-intelligence subclass whose aptitude for language was paired with a talent for coordinating hives and destroying Providences. But now this felt less plausible. He didn’t think Martin was smart enough to command troops. Also, the idea of a commander ran against everything he knew about salamander behavior. It was a human way of thinking. Salamanders weren’t coordinated. They didn’t follow orders. They were like ten million separate pieces of the same thing. Martin was just one more, soaking up everything he could learn from Gilly because that was what salamanders did.

“Gik. Kee,” Martin said.

He must have not moved for a while. “Still here,” he said wearily. He had kind of gotten used to Martin. He didn’t really hate him anymore. He understood him too well, had found too many things in common. The curve of Martin’s wide face was almost doglike. The thick white scars on his back, Gilly imagined, were from punishment, when Martin had been bullied or tortured by other salamanders.

“Martin,” he said. “Let me go.”

Martin didn’t respond.

“You know what I want. Let me go, Martin, please. I have less than two hours left on my core. I just want to sit down.”

Martin regarded him without expression.

“No one will know. I won’t tell anyone, Martin.”

Martin trotted toward him. “Gik. Kee.”

He gestured at the arm that was bonded to the