Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard Page B
Book: Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard
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Authors: John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard
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intersected with another of similar smoothness and size.
He turned onto his back, slid most of his upper body from the pipe, then gripped its sides and dropped into the tunnel. He could see Steven at the other end, waiting to join him.
“Come on,” he said.
Steven climbed quickly into the pipe, and Paul helped him out. At that moment, they heard the burbling sounds of Galateans communicating, and Paul dragged his brother into the shadows, where they blended in with the piles of machinery and plastic. Paul drew Knutter’s gun from under his jacket. If they had to fight their way out, they would. If it got really bad, he hoped he could hold the Toads off while Steven escaped, but he prayed it wouldn’t come to that, both for his own sake and also because he knew that he’d have a hard time convincing his little brother to leave without him.
A Galatean appeared in the mouth of the Vault. It stopped in a pool of light and stared down the tunnel into the shadows where the boys had flattened themselves against the wall. Steven held his breath, afraid that if he sniffed even one more molecule of the tunnel stench, he would throw up.
The Galatean moved on. Behind it came a series of hovering platforms of the kind used by the Illyri to transport heavy items. Beside them walked several Agrons, the slave race that performed the Illyri’s dirtiest jobs. The Agrons were no more than five feet tall, but their upper bodies were overdeveloped, and they were enormously strong. Their pink heads were hairless, their faces wrinkled like those of Shar-Pei dogs. They monitored the progress of the platforms, making sure that they did not bang against the walls. Each platform bore an irregularly shaped burden, covered by a layer of canvas. Steven and Paul had watched four of the platforms pass by when the fifth, and last, appeared. It seemed to be giving the Agrons some problems, its progress less smooth than the others. Halfway across the junction, sparks shot from its control panel, and the platform lurched sideways before dropping to the ground. The two Agrons beside it stepped quickly aside to avoid being crushed. One of the bindings holding the canvas in place shot loose, and the material fell away on the right-hand side, revealing what lay beneath.
Steven felt his big brother flinch next to him. He bit his own lips closed to suppress an inadvertent yelp, and hold back a surge of vomit.
Five bodies were piled on the metal surface: three men, one woman, and a boy who looked only a little younger than Steven. All were naked, their skin bearing the marks of discoloration and decay, for in addition to requiring cremation of the dead within twenty-four hours, the Illyri had also banned the use of preservatives on bodies on environmental grounds. If nothing else, it encouraged the relatives of the deceased to deal with the matter of their disposal as quickly as possible.
Under the instructions of the Toads, the Agrons unloaded the corpses from the malfunctioning platform and distributed them as best they could among the others, shifting bodies roughly to make room for more.
And then, to the boys’ horror, one of the bodies moved. It was the woman. Her head turned, and she gave a little moan. She had dark hair that hung over her face, obscuring most of it, but Paul could see one blue eye open in panic. She seemed to be staring straight at him. She started to scream, over and over, the sound of it echoing in the tunnel until one of the Galateans stepped in front of her, blocking the boys’ view. He drew a pulse weapon, charged it, and fired.
The screaming stopped.
The little procession continued on its way, heading not toward the crematorium but away from it, in the direction of the shuttle base beneath Arthur’s Seat.
Once all was quiet again, Paul released his hold on Steven, and allowed his brother to puke.
“You okay?” he asked, once Steven’s retching stopped.
Steven nodded, standing up shamefaced, wiping strings of vomit
He turned onto his back, slid most of his upper body from the pipe, then gripped its sides and dropped into the tunnel. He could see Steven at the other end, waiting to join him.
“Come on,” he said.
Steven climbed quickly into the pipe, and Paul helped him out. At that moment, they heard the burbling sounds of Galateans communicating, and Paul dragged his brother into the shadows, where they blended in with the piles of machinery and plastic. Paul drew Knutter’s gun from under his jacket. If they had to fight their way out, they would. If it got really bad, he hoped he could hold the Toads off while Steven escaped, but he prayed it wouldn’t come to that, both for his own sake and also because he knew that he’d have a hard time convincing his little brother to leave without him.
A Galatean appeared in the mouth of the Vault. It stopped in a pool of light and stared down the tunnel into the shadows where the boys had flattened themselves against the wall. Steven held his breath, afraid that if he sniffed even one more molecule of the tunnel stench, he would throw up.
The Galatean moved on. Behind it came a series of hovering platforms of the kind used by the Illyri to transport heavy items. Beside them walked several Agrons, the slave race that performed the Illyri’s dirtiest jobs. The Agrons were no more than five feet tall, but their upper bodies were overdeveloped, and they were enormously strong. Their pink heads were hairless, their faces wrinkled like those of Shar-Pei dogs. They monitored the progress of the platforms, making sure that they did not bang against the walls. Each platform bore an irregularly shaped burden, covered by a layer of canvas. Steven and Paul had watched four of the platforms pass by when the fifth, and last, appeared. It seemed to be giving the Agrons some problems, its progress less smooth than the others. Halfway across the junction, sparks shot from its control panel, and the platform lurched sideways before dropping to the ground. The two Agrons beside it stepped quickly aside to avoid being crushed. One of the bindings holding the canvas in place shot loose, and the material fell away on the right-hand side, revealing what lay beneath.
Steven felt his big brother flinch next to him. He bit his own lips closed to suppress an inadvertent yelp, and hold back a surge of vomit.
Five bodies were piled on the metal surface: three men, one woman, and a boy who looked only a little younger than Steven. All were naked, their skin bearing the marks of discoloration and decay, for in addition to requiring cremation of the dead within twenty-four hours, the Illyri had also banned the use of preservatives on bodies on environmental grounds. If nothing else, it encouraged the relatives of the deceased to deal with the matter of their disposal as quickly as possible.
Under the instructions of the Toads, the Agrons unloaded the corpses from the malfunctioning platform and distributed them as best they could among the others, shifting bodies roughly to make room for more.
And then, to the boys’ horror, one of the bodies moved. It was the woman. Her head turned, and she gave a little moan. She had dark hair that hung over her face, obscuring most of it, but Paul could see one blue eye open in panic. She seemed to be staring straight at him. She started to scream, over and over, the sound of it echoing in the tunnel until one of the Galateans stepped in front of her, blocking the boys’ view. He drew a pulse weapon, charged it, and fired.
The screaming stopped.
The little procession continued on its way, heading not toward the crematorium but away from it, in the direction of the shuttle base beneath Arthur’s Seat.
Once all was quiet again, Paul released his hold on Steven, and allowed his brother to puke.
“You okay?” he asked, once Steven’s retching stopped.
Steven nodded, standing up shamefaced, wiping strings of vomit
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