do whatever was required to prevent that from happening again, anything at all, and for the first time since he woke in darkness, Ramon Espejo felt truly ashamed.
I will kill you all, Ramon thought. Somehow, I will cut this thing out of my throat, and then I will come and kill you all.
"School yourself," the pale alien said. "Correct aubre, and even such a flawed thing as yourself may achieve cohesion or even coordinate level."
It took Ramon some time to realize that this gibberish had been a dismissal: a stern but kindly admonition, hellfire threatened, the prospect of redemption dangled, and go forth and sin no more. The sonofabitch was a missionary!
Maneck lifted Ramon back to his feet and nudged him toward a tunnel. The fleshy leash - the sahael - shrank to match whatever distance was between them. Maneck made a sound that he couldn't interpret and apparently gave up gentle coaxing. The alien moved briskly forward, the sahael tugging now at Ramon's throat. He had no choice but to follow, like a dog trotting at its master's heel.
And you, mi amigo, Ramon thought, staring at Maneck's indifferent back, will be the very first to die.
Chapter Seven
Back through the tunnels they went, through cavern after cavern, through rhythmic noise, billowing shadow, and glaring blue light. Ramon walked leadenly, like an automaton, pulled along by Maneck, the tether in his neck feeling heavy and awkward. The chill air leached the heat from his body, and even the work of walking wasn't enough to keep him warm.
As he stumbled along, in the privacy of his mind, Ramon searched for hope.
How long would it be before Elena noticed his absence? Months, at least. Or she might think he'd gone off again, down to Nuevo Janeiro without her, to file his reports and collect his fees and keep his money for himself. Or run off on a drunken spree with some other woman. Rather than start a search for him, she was more likely to work herself into a blind rage and go fuck some hairy prospector from a bush bar or rum shack in revenge. Likewise, Manuel Griego would expect him to be in the field for three or four weeks at the least. Ramon silently berated himself for talking about hunting and his fantasy of disappearing into the Sierra Hueso to live off the land. Manuel might assume he wasn't coming back at all, especially if he suspected (as he probably did) that Ramon knew that the cops were after him.
The only ones who would look for him were the law, and the law would have followed him with public execution in mind.
There was no one. That was the truth. He had lived his life on his own terms - always on his own terms - and here was the price of it. He was on his own, hundreds of miles from the nearest human settlement, captured and enslaved.
If he was going to get out of this, he would have to find his own way out.
Maneck tugged at the sahael and Ramon looked up, aware for the first time that they had stopped. The alien thing pushed a bundle into his arms. Clothes.
The clothes were a sleeveless one-piece garment, something like pajamas, a large cloak, and hard-soled slipper-boots, all made from a curious, lusterless material. He pulled them on with fingers stiff from cold. The aliens were obviously not used to tailoring for humans; the clothes were clumsily made and ill-fitting, but at least they afforded him some protection against the numbing cold. It wasn't until his nakedness was covered and warmth began to return to his limbs that his teeth began to chatter.
Maneck led him down a bright white passageway to another great, high-vaulted chamber. Things the color and size of aphids swarmed across the floor, bumping into each other and into his legs, singing incomprehensible gibberish in high, sweet voices. In the center of the room squatted a bone-colored box like the one that had destroyed his van. As they drew near, Ramon saw that the thing was not solid. Instead, a million tiny strands of dripping white and cream made a webwork of slats that shifted to create an opening and then close it behind them.
The interior of the box was likewise only half-solid - a wide, low bench that appeared intended for Maneck's barrel-like form and also a smaller area set into the wall where Ramon himself might sit, legs pulled up to his chest.
Ramon waited