“Are they really alien?” asked Ostara. “What lays eggs like that?”
“A massive spider!” said Zotz gleefully. Ravana grimaced in horror.
“The red-crested thunderworm,” Hanuman told them. “A species native to Yuanshi.”
Ravana shook her head. “No way. Thunderworms do not grow that big!”
“Genetically engineered ones do,” Hanuman told her, lowering the camera. “It’s unusual to see a hatchery out here in the open, but this isn’t what I wanted to show you. Everyone knows about egg.”
“Do they?” asked Ostara, looking wary. Ravana shrugged.
Ganesa seemed surprised. “You’ve never heard of egg?”
“Alien or chicken?” asked Zotz.
Ravana remembered a curious phrase Maia had used at the floating market, seemingly as an insult. “The girl from Bradbury Heights asked Endymion if he was on egg,” she mused. “Is ‘egg’ the nickname for some sort of drug?”
“The Administrator said something similar at Newbrum spaceport,” recalled Ostara.
Hanuman laughed. “You’ve never heard the phrase ‘egg head’?”
As one, Ostara, Ravana and Zotz shook their heads.
“How do you stay so sweet and innocent in this day and age?” asked Hanuman and grinned. “Thunderworm eggs are the main ingredient in a street drug known as egg: a fine yellow powder that people mix into drinks for the ultimate mellow experience. It leaves you blissfully happy, without a care in the world,” he added wistfully. “Egg heads tend to stumble around in a daze, grinning at everyone and being far too laid-back for their own good.”
“That does sound like Endymion,” admitted Ravana. “Perhaps I should try feeding some to Jones. It’s been a bag of nerves ever since we got off the ship. Do you want some egg?” she asked her pet, motioning towards the hollow. The cat looked at her in disgust.
“Drugs made from worm eggs?” Zotz was astounded.
“Que Qiao has whole plantations dedicated to it here on Yuanshi,” Hanuman told them. “Yet egg is illegal and banned across the five systems. You can be arrested and thrown in jail if caught in possession of even the tiniest amount.”
“Que Qiao is both police and pushers,” Ganesa said bitterly. “By being part of the drug trade they can control the supply and keep certain elements of society in check.”
“I don’t believe it,” retorted Ravana.
“This is nothing,” Hanuman told her. “Wait until you see the big secret!”
“If this place is so secret, how do you know about it?” asked Ostara.
“Que Qiao use outsiders to deliver to this research facility because officially it doesn’t exist,” he explained. “If the wider world ever got to know about it, Que Qiao agents would happily shoot everyone involved, burn the place to the ground, then moan about having to make an expenses claim for shiny new suits to replace the ones covered in soot and blood.”
Ravana looked at Ostara and gulped. Hanuman stepped forward once more and urged them to follow, leading them around the edge of the pit and deeper into the plantation. After a few minutes, they caught sight of a low windowless building nestled in a small clearing and surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. Hanuman led them towards a gate in the fence and the unmistakeable hum of an electrified fence.
Hanuman paused before the gate and turned to Ravana. “Can you open this one?”
“Is that all I am to you?” she asked warily. “A bunch of keys?”
“How provincial. No one uses actual keys anymore, do they?”
Ravana recalled that locksmith was still a valid trade in some of the more backwards communities of the hollow moon. An image of the gate had already popped into her mind. With a quick mental flex, she released the lock as easily as before. The gate swung open.
“Happy now?” she asked.
Hanuman bowed. “You are most kind, my lady.”
The sunken building ahead was as big as a spacecraft hanger. The concrete bunker was entirely featureless apart from a recessed steel door and a sinister-looking chimney stack disappearing into the gloom. Behind the building was what looked like a small power station. Hanuman walked briskly down the narrow cutting towards the door and gestured impatiently for the others to follow.
“Note the fusion power plant,” he remarked. “You need a tremendous amount of power to run a cloning facility. Ravana, can you get us inside?”
She came to his side and concentrated upon the picture of the door in her head.
“This one’s tricky,” she told him. “There’s three separate locks, plus some other device I’m not sure about.”
“A booby trap?” suggested Hanuman.
Ganesa gave him a worried stare. “Is that likely?”
Hanuman shrugged. “Explosives, maybe. Or a toxic gas cylinder. Who knows?”
“Perhaps it’s keeping something in,” postulated Zotz. “Rather than keeping us out.”
“Wonderful,” Ostara murmured.
Ravana considered the image in her mind. Hanuman’s response and her own engineering knowledge was enough to tell her that the flashing red square with the skull-and-crossbones symbol probably needed to be deactivated first. Nevertheless, it was with some trepidation that she reached out to give the square a mental prod; and a huge relief when the symbol stopped flashing and changed from red to green. With renewed confidence she quickly released the three locks and jumped as a trio of solenoids shot back with a clang. Moments later, a warning buzzer sounded and the heavy door swung open.
“Good girl,” murmured Hanuman. He made as if to step through the door, then hesitated. “A word of warning. This is not for the squeamish.”
The space inside was dimly lit by a series of glowing roof tiles that revealed the scale of the interior but little else. The air was filled with a strong smell of hay and animal sweat, reminding Ravana of her days on the farm back on the hollow moon, as did the muted rustlings, squawks, squeaks and heavy breathing that told her they were not alone. Hanuman moved to the control panel on the wall next to the door and activated a switch. Above them, the roof tiles brightened and flooded the bunker with light.
Ravana shrieked. In a cage dead ahead, regarding her with eyes the size of plates, was the biggest spider she had ever seen. Its bulbous purple-black bulk twitched upon hairy legs that were as tall as she was and Ravana stared transfixed in horror as cruel pincers either side of its mouth flexed in anticipation. Ostara scowled and drew her close.
“Yuck,” Ostara muttered. “How gross.”
“Ashtapada!” wailed Ravana, looking fearfully at the caged arachnid. “I always thought the stories were myths! What’s one doing here?”
“It’s not just spiders,” exclaimed Zotz. “Look!”
The building was filled with rows of metal cages, nearly every one of which contained a creature of some sort. Startled, Ravana recognised some from her childhood days in Lanka: a nearby cage held a bat-like northern blood yerk, while further along she could see the familiar silhouette of a rainbow cloud surfer, so called because of the huge hydrogen-filled sac that enabled the jellyfish-like predator to float in air. Yet there were many others she could not identify, though a few looked tantalising like the poor animal she had seen at Hemakuta floating market.
The cages here were larger, but little attempt had been made to furnish them with a mock natural habitat as a concession to their reluctant occupants. The whole scene had a clinical air about it, one made ominous by the way it had been hidden from prying eyes.