Free Resistance by John Birmingham Page B

foiled the captain’s repeated attempts to slip the noose over his head. He was tiring, but remained surprisingly agile and determined, in spite of the fear which came off him in waves. This was all fascinating, and worthy of further study, but in the immediate moment it intrigued Guyuk because in no way did it accord with what he knew of the habits of cattle from his study of the scrolls. If the scrolls spoke true – and the scrolls were holy writ so how could they speak otherwise? – these creatures should simply have collapsed in abject submission before their daemon overlords. Instead, just as Scaroth had discovered, they resisted.
    To be sure, the resistance of this lone male was not just frustrating but ultimately futile. And unlike the resistance Urspite Scaroth ur Hunn had encountered, it posed no threat.
    But the very fact of resistance itself was the threat, thought Guyuk. There was so much they did not know about the world Above but one truth had always been known. Men did not resist. They might flee. They would certainly scream and soil themselves. But they could not and would not resist.
    Yet here was one of them, an unremarkable specimen, pale of hide, fat and slow, leaking its vital bodily essences, and yet it resisted. It resisted even though that resistance was meaningless.
    Fascinating, thought Guyuk.
    ‘Think I got him, my Lord,’ grunted the captain.
    The Inquisitor distracted the male by jabbing the end of the pole into the face of its female nest mate, shattering a few bones and possibly destroying one of the eyes to judge by the damage Guyuk could see. The brood cow wailed in pain, which drew the attention of the male long enough for the captain to whip the noose around his head and jerk him up toward them. His body slammed into the side of the pit with a dull thud, which was almost drowned out by the cries and protests of the hysterical nestlings. The Grymm lord hadn’t thought it possible they could screech any louder, but they proved him wrong.
    ‘Daddee, daddee,’ they cried. Guyuk noted the scratching of the Inquisitorial Factotae on their clay pads as they transcribed every word drifting up from the pits. Thorough but possibly as meaningless as all the thrashing-about goings-on beneath their very claws, he thought.
    The Captain Inquisitor of the Night hauled steadily on his difficult load while the caterwauling grew worse. And still the Factotae scratched and scribbled away.
    This was going nowhere, thought Guyuk, just as the captain proved him wrong by crying out aloud and tumbling over backward.
    What now, thought the Grymm lord. But a quick look down into the pit told him everything he needed to know.
    ‘Gah! You damned fool,’ snapped Lord Guyuk ur Grymm at the sprawling Inquisitor. ‘You’ve pulled his head off.’

05
    Nothing shrivels a man’s woody faster than a letter from his ex-wife’s lawyer. Dave’s hand was shaking as he read the court papers ordering him to appear somewhere to do . . . some legal thing . . . that he . . . Damn.
    The drug was really kinda fucking with his ability to sort this shit out.
    ‘Paternity test?’
    It was Heath. Alone.
    Whatever showdown he’d had with that Trinder asshole, it was over. Dave blinked very slowly and wondered where Em and Compton were because . . . well, drugs.
    And then, because drugs, his wandering mind wandered back to the papers he was holding.
    ‘No,’ he said, trying to concentrate. ‘My ex-wife, chasing me for money. I think. Well, she’s not legally, you know, my ex, not yet. But . . . but soon. I think.’ He frowned, trying to decipher the legal-speak on the summons, trying to remember whether he was in fact separated or divorced, or just on a break. ‘She thinks I got these deals now. Ralph Lauren, the Bellagio, and shit . . . And . . .’ He read slowly, quoting from the document with difficulty, ‘. . . Any and all such marketing, merchandising, promotional and/or sponsorship arrangements as heretofore