Chapter 2

II
Worms and Phone Calls

A small, sickly sun rises over the horizon, casting a weak yellow light over the city below. It peers between blocky towers and glass-fronted skyscrapers, summoning weak shadows between the forest of canvas balloons by the river and illuminating the mountainous beeswax tower that lances up into the sky from the city centre.

Metal and living forms are already airborne over the city, flitting and hovering, soaring and gliding. The whisper of a thousand rubber tyres on tarmac rises into the sky like the roar of an ocean. One by one, the streetlights flicker off.

*

Cubi’s alarm buzzes shrilly and he awakes with a jolt. He staggers out of bed, running his fingers through his messy mop of dark blonder hair. The water is cold. He showers hurriedly.

He eats breakfast standing up in the kitchen, looking out of the window at the first sunrise. In between spooning cereal into his mouth he tries to read a paperback novel with one hand, bending the spine out of shape. After a while he turns the television on.

The caption reads, ‘Scrimshaw, Community Leader.’ His silver hair is perfectly styled and his expression is serene. His voice booms, sonorous with authority. “-shame that any work of art into which such time and effort has been poured should be lost. But I feel that it is the moral responsibility of whoever has inherited this painting to ensure that it is completely des-”

Cubi changes the channel. More bad news: police tape and forensic scientists in white coveralls trying not to look at the camera. “-shot dead last night in his limo by an unknown assailant,” the voiceover says, “police are-”

He changes the channel again. An apian cartoon lights up the screen with bright colours and geometrical shapes. Amidst the clamour of sound effects, he almost doesn’t notice when his phone starts to ring.

He mutes the sound and grabs his mobile from the worktop, checking the number before he answers. No one he recognises. “Who are you?” he asks the little liquid crystal screen. “Market research again? Believe me, I don’t fall into any of your demographics. You really wouldn’t like me.”

He silences the phone with the push of a button and slips it into his jeans pocket.

*

Cubi’s apartment building is that strange curved rectangular shape common to Antennaton, south of the river and mostly inhabited by neurops and wingless apian workers. A part of the city built by humans to insect specifications, a strange hybrid that is neither one nor the other, nor both. The streets are curved and cross frequently; blocks of flats cluster together in islands between them.

A pair of wingless apians are standing outside the building as Cubi steps out, both leaning against the faux-beeswax wall. The one facing the door fixes her compound eyes on him rudely, while her friend natters away.

“-only sensible human in the city, and of course, the other humans kill him!” she is saying.

“Do we know it was a human?” the other one says, looking away as Cubi meets her eye.

“Who else would it be?”

“An airphibian perhaps. He’s not exactly been kind to Quip, either.”

“Yeah, but they’re too laid back. You hear airphibians making fun of Quip more than anyone else, for-” She stops suddenly as Cubi walks past with his hands deep in the pockets of his raincoat and she finally sees him. When they apparently think he is out of earshot, he thinks he just hears her say, “You should have told me there was one right behind me!”

Cubi finds that he can’t help but laugh a little when he has rounded the corner, although he is not sure quite why.

The sky is clear, the kind of deep purple common to a first sunrise at the tail end of summer. Some pinkish clouds hover near the horizon near the feeble yellow orb of Lesser Sun. Cubi is heading northwest, past Fernheath Park and the dense forest of airphibian balloon houses tethered to its haggard trees, through Squarebury, the last drab remnants of the old apian worker’s quarters that used to sprawl through the southern half of the city, and to the little, dilapidated part of the city that is squeezed into the southern side of the double kink in the river. The place where Cubi plies his trade, and feels most at home.

The streets are mostly empty. The odd car passes. A few gyrocopters and winged apians buzz overhead. But the city still sleeps. Cubi walks slowly, a folded chair under his arm, a toolbox in his hand. There’s still a while to go before second sunrise.

*

Cubi sets up his chair and places the toolbox at his side. On top of Argon Hill he has a commanding view of the rest of the city. Hive Central shoots up into the sky across the river: the beeswax building at the centre of the city that can’t decide if it’s a skyscraper or a mountain. Its top half is brightly lit. The thing is so tall that its tip experiences second sunrise half an hour before the rest of the city.

Cubi sits in the middle of the street. There will be no traffic here, in the Nematode Quarter. The road surface has been broken into dust over the decades, and now this whole small part of the city is covered in soft soil, weeds and grass. The faded redbrick buildings are collapsing slowly in on themselves, as if part of a slow motion demolition. The rest of the city is stirring, but the sound of air and ground traffic is distant and hushed. Cubi closes his eyes. It’s so peaceful here at any time of the day, but now is the best.

His mobile rings.

He pulls it out of his jeans and looks at the screen. It’s the same number.

He refuses the call and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. “Fuck off already. Most people are just getting up right now and rushing to work. Why would you want to take up their time right now?”

He sighs. Most of Hive Central is lit now. Sunlight is glinting on the glass sides of the human skyscrapers that huddle around its western side. Looking to the east, Cubi thinks he can just make out the edge of Greater Sun’s large blue disc. Things are definitely lighter already. The world seems more azure.

As the first strong rays of sunlight reach the soil in the Nematode Quarter, the ground begins to churn, slowly and lazily, like a million worms rolling over in their sleep. A ridiculous metaphor, naturally. Cubi suspects there are no more than ten thousand worms in the whole Nematode Quarter.

The first of them breaches the soil to Cubi’s left, squirming up in languid thrusts, gradually bringing more of its two metre long, tube-like body into the sunlight. More nematodes start to surface. They have smooth, transparent skin. Their simple insides are visible: a single loop of muscle, a strange and diffuse brain, and several bright green colonies of symbiotic, photosynthesising bacteria. When each of the worms is on the surface, it lies full length in the sun, soaking up air and sunlight. They need nothing else whatsoever to live. Cubi envies them this immensely.

Many of them have widgets with them - silver ovoids larger than a rugby ball and covered in weird pads and rubber buttons. No-one knows what they do, not even Cubi. But somehow he has a knack for realigning them when they start to lose their proper settings. In fact, he seems to do it better than any nematode does. He is quite in demand. The nematodes don’t fully participate in the city economy, but they seem to have all the money they need. Cubi earns enough to get by. Like the nematodes, he doesn’t really want any more.

Several nematodes begin to push their widgets in his direction. He opens his toolbox and smiles, although he doesn’t know if they can perceive his expression.

His mobile rings.

Growling through his teeth, Cubi fumbles it out of his jeans and addresses it sternly. “Okay, I’m going to answer this and swear at you now.”

He looks at the number and his expression softens. It’s one he knows, he presses the phone to his ear. “Phew. Perni, how are you? I almost swore at you, I thought you were market research!”

Her voice is weak, almost a whisper. “Cubi, I’m not well.”

“Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

“Can you come round? I might be making a fuss about nothing, but on the other hand I might need to go to hospital.”

Cubi stands. He can feel a little bit of panic rising. “Hospital? Okay. Um, okay. I’ll be right over.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up.

Then he looks around. “Oh shit.”

The entire Nematode Quarter is tied up with giant, sunbathing worms, with barely room to place a foot between them. The road leading down from the hill is almost a solid mass of intertwined, tubular bodies.

“Okay,” Cubi says. “Get to Perni…”