Monster Planet(16)

They spread out across the fenced-in zone of the refinery, splitting into lines that lead to narrow pits dug in the ground capped with stone igloos. The pits must have gone deep'dozens of ruined bodies disappeared into each of the igloos. They must be underground storage units for the dead, who needed neither light nor air nor elbow room. Mass graves as high-density housing.

'You don't need to look, if you don't want.' Vassily's face had grown a little stern. Ayaan flashed him a very fake smile'all she could manage'and followed him deeper into the refinery's grounds.

Between and among the big towers of the plant living people moved freely, smiling at one another, waving at those they knew, stopping for a bit of conversation. From the shining catwalks that connected the spires they hung hammocks and clothes lines and even suspended entire houses made of woven rope. Light and open fires were everywhere and the smell of roasting meat filled the air, made Ayaan's stomach curdle. She thought she might throw up, she was so hungry.

'Is good here,' Vassily told her, and she didn't doubt it. As long as you didn't mind living in community with the dead. A girl no older than five or six handed Ayaan a slice of bread smeared with honey and whirled away, giggling. Boys lined up along the path to watch her go by. She ate the bread without thinking about it, much. It could be drugged'the bright faces, the shining eyes all around her could have come out of a pill bottle, certainly'but she needed sustenance too much to throw the bread away. It was delicious.

Vassily lead her inwards. They passed a wooden building, a long, low shed with no windows where a pair of ghouls with no hands'just spikes at the ends of their arms'stood guard. They had been so fast in the desert but here they stood like statues, perfectly still. She caught a glimpse of a green robe inside the door but couldn't make out any details. She tried to ask a question but her guide steered her down a side street. 'Is nothing,' he said, only a hint of gravel in his voice.

The towers of the plant divided the makeshift town into natural quarters surrounding a central souk or amphitheater. Vassily lead her deep into the body of the place, through noisy zones where men practiced at a rifle range and past an open-air nursery where mothers played with fat little babies. In a pen formed mostly of pipes as thick as Ayaan's arm livestock'pigs, mostly, but a couple of shaggy-maned cows, too'grazed desultorily at a trough full of scraps. Scraps that the soldiers in Ayaan's encampment outside of Port Said would have considered a banquet.

'He has farms, and she makes crops to grow,' Vassily whispered, 'corn and wheat and rye. Are fruit trees, so many. You like apples? If you don't, we grow oranges!' he laughed, and she couldn't help but smile at the idea of such luxury.

He lead her deeper into a more shadowy, more quiet region under a vast collection of cracking towers where the lights burning on the pipes bathed the narrow streets with a blue and white lambence. Mushrooms grew underfoot, thick and heavy enough to trip on. Puffballs exploded all around her, their dusty spores staining her pant cuffs. A wooden construction, more like a tiny medieval fort than a house, stood at the end of the road, blocking further progress. Its windows were narrow slits'perfect for firing weapons out of while protecting those within. A parapet lined its roof, a place where a squad of rifles could dominate the entire street, turn it into a killzone. Ayaan wondered why she'd been brought there.

A curtain flicked open in one of the doors of the place and a woman stepped out into the street. She would have been beautiful, a collection of long angular limbs, high breasts, perfectly chiseled features. Someone had hurt her badly, though. Her skin was covered everywhere with identical thin red scars that disappeared down her cleavage and into the back of her halter top. They showed on her finely-turned legs and her muscular arms, even her face, even the curve of her shaved head was covered in the tiny cuts. Her body was a map of torture'prolonged, methodical, unkind. Her eyes showed a deep, cold intelligence that refused to let Ayaan see her as a victim, though. With a bad shudder Ayaan realized what that stare meant. The injured woman wanted Ayaan to know that it had been her decision, that she had chosen to be cut to ribbons.

'Vasya,' she said, 'this is her from Egypt, da? Which Semyon Iurevich said was coming.'

'Konyechno,'Vassily said, nodding eagerly. He was staring at the scarred woman as if he'd never seen a living female before. With disgust Ayaan saw real lust in his eyes. 'He said to bring her.'

The scarred woman nodded. 'This far, no farther. Our Lord sees her even now, is close enough.'