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- Ричард Морган
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I
drew
a
deep
breath
to
fuel
my
comatose
muscles
,
waited
for
my
slowed
heartbeat
to
pump
the
oxygen
round
my
body
and
heaved
at
the
wheel
.
Against
my
expectations
it
turned
quite
easily
and
the
airlock
hatch
fell
outward
.
Beyond
the
hatch
was
an
airy
darkness
.
I
lay
still
for
a
while
,
mustering
more
muscular
strength
.
The
two
-
shot
Reaper
cocktail
was
taking
some
getting
used
to
.
On
Sharya
we
hadn
’
t
needed
to
go
above
twenty
per
cent
.
Ambient
temperatures
in
Zihicce
were
quite
high
and
the
spider
tanks
’
infrared
sensors
were
crude
.
Up
here
,
a
body
at
Sharyan
room
temperature
would
set
off
every
alarm
in
hull
.
Without
careful
oxygen
fuelling
,
my
body
would
rapidly
exhaust
its
cellular
level
energy
reserves
and
leave
me
gasping
on
the
floor
like
a
gaffed
bottleback
.
I
lay
still
,
breathing
deep
and
slow
.
After
a
couple
of
minutes
,
I
twisted
around
again
and
unfastened
the
grav
harness
,
then
slid
carefully
through
the
hatch
and
hit
a
steel
grid
walkway
with
the
heels
of
my
hands
.
I
curled
the
rest
of
my
body
slowly
out
of
the
hatch
,
feeling
like
a
moth
emerging
from
a
chrysalis
.
Checking
the
darkened
walkway
in
either
direction
I
rose
to
my
feet
and
removed
the
stealth
suit
helmet
and
gloves
.
If
the
keel
plans
Irene
Elliott
had
Dipped
from
the
Tampa
aeroyard
stack
were
still
accurate
,
the
walkway
led
down
among
the
huge
helium
silos
to
the
vessel
’
s
aft
buoyancy
control
room
and
from
there
I
’
d
be
able
to
climb
a
maintenance
ladder
directly
onto
the
main
operating
deck
.
According
to
what
we
’
d
patched
together
out
of
Miller
’
s
interrogation
,
Kawahara
’
s
quarters
were
two
levels
below
on
the
port
side
.
She
had
two
huge
windows
that
looked
downward
out
of
the
hull
.
Summoning
the
blueprints
from
memory
,
I
drew
the
shard
pistol
and
set
off
towards
the
stern
.
It
took
me
less
than
fifteen
minutes
to
reach
the
buoyancy
control
room
,
and
I
saw
no
one
on
the
way
.
The
control
room
itself
appeared
to
be
automated
and
I
began
to
suspect
that
these
days
hardly
anyone
bothered
to
visit
the
swooping
canopies
of
the
airship
’
s
upper
hull
.
I
found
the
maintenance
ladder
and
climbed
painstakingly
down
it
until
a
warm
upward
-
spilling
glow
on
my
face
told
me
I
was
almost
on
the
operating
deck
.
I
stopped
and
listened
for
voices
,
hearing
and
proximity
sense
both
strained
to
their
limits
for
a
full
minute
before
I
lowered
myself
the
final
four
metres
and
dropped
to
the
floor
of
a
well
lit
,
carpeted
passageway
.
It
was
deserted
in
both
directions
.
I
checked
my
internal
time
display
and
stowed
the
shard
gun
.
Mission
time
was
accumulating
.
By
now
Ortega
and
Kawahara
would
be
talking
.
I
glanced
around
at
the
décor
and
guessed
that
whatever
function
the
operating
deck
had
once
been
intended
to
serve
,
it
wasn
’
t
serving
it
now
.
The
passageway
was
decked
out
in
opulent
red
and
gold
with
stands
of
exotic
plant
life
and
lamps
in
the
form
of
coupling
bodies
every
few
metres
.
The
carpet
beneath
my
feet
was
deep
,
and
woven
with
highly
detailed
images
of
sexual
abandon
.
Male
,
female
and
variants
between
twined
around
each
other
along
the
length
of
the
corridor
in
an
unbroken
progression
of
plugged
orifices
and
splayed
limbs
.
The
walls
were
hung
with
similarly
explicit
holoframes
that
gasped
and
moaned
into
life
as
I
passed
them
.
In
one
of
them
I
thought
I
recognised
the
dark
-
haired
,
crimson
-
lipped
woman
of
the
street
‘
cast
advertisement
,
the
woman
who
might
have
pressed
her
thigh
against
mine
in
a
bar
on
the
other
side
of
the
globe
.
In
the
cold
detachment
of
the
betathanatine
,
none
of
it
had
any
more
impact
than
a
wall
full
of
Martian
techno
-
glyphs
.
There
were
plushly
appointed
double
doors
set
into
each
side
of
the
corridor
at
about
ten
-
metre
intervals
.
It
didn
’
t
take
much
imagination
to
work
out
what
was
behind
the
doors
.
Jerry
’
s
biocabins
,
by
any
other
name
,
and
each
door
was
just
as
likely
as
not
to
disgorge
a
client
at
any
moment
.
I
quickened
my
pace
,
searching
for
a
connecting
corridor
that
I
knew
led
to
stairs
and
elevators
onto
the
other
levels
.
