Title:Consider Phlebas
Author(s): Iain M. Banks
Publisher(s): Orbit
Pages: 544
Year: 2008
Format:EPUB
Language: English
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Horza made a little more room between himself and the bulkhead. Zallin was coming towards him, crouched, arms out like a pair of oversized mandibles on some enormous insect. Horza knew that if he used all his built-in weapons (and if he had them all; he had to keep reminding himself they$prime;d taken out his venom-teeth on Sorpen), he could probably win without too much trouble, unless Zallin landed a lucky blow. But he was equally sure that if he did use the only effective weapon he had left — the poison glands under his fingernails — the others would guess what he was and he$prime;d be dead anyway. He might have got away with using his teeth somehow and biting Zallin. The poison affected the central nervous system, and Zallin would have slowed down gradually; probably nobody would guess. But scratching him would be fatal for both of them. The poison contained in the sacs under Horza$prime;s nails paralysed muscles sequentially from the point of entry, and it would be obvious Zallin had been scratched by something other than ordinary nails. Even if the other mercenaries didn$prime;t regard this as cheating, there would be a good chance the Man, Kraiklyn, would guess Horza was a Changer, and have him killed.
A Changer was a threat to anybody who ruled by force, either of will or of arms. Amahain-Frolk had known that, and so would Kraiklyn. There was also a degree of human-basic revulsion reserved for Horza$prime;s species. Not only were they much altered from their original genetic stock, they were a threat to identity, a challenge to the individualism even of those they were never likely to impersonate. It had nothing to do with souls or physical or spiritual possession; it was, as the Idirans well understood, the behaviouristic copying of another which revolted. Individuality, the thing which most humans held more precious than anything else about themselves, was somehow cheapened by the ease with which a Changer could ignore it as a limitation and use it as a disguise.
He had Changed into an old man, and that legacy still lay with him. Zallin was getting very close.
The youth lunged, using his huge arms like pincers and making an ungainly grab for Horza. Horza ducked and jumped to one side, faster than Zallin had anticipated. Before he could follow Horza round, the Changer had landed a kick on the youth$prime;s shoulder which had been aimed at his head. Zallin swore. So did Horza. He$prime;d hurt his foot. Rubbing his shoulder, the youth came forward again, almost casually at first, then suddenly swinging one long arm out, hand fisted, and very nearly catching Horza$prime;s face. The Changer felt the wind of the scything swing on his cheek. If the blow had landed, it would have finished the fight. Horza dummied one way, then leapt in the other direction, pivoting on one heel and lashing out again with a foot aimed between the youth$prime;s legs. It landed, but Zallin just smiled painfully and grabbed at Horza again. The spray must have deadened all feeling.
Horza circled the youth. Zallin was staring at him with a look of intense concentration on his face. His arms were still bowed out in front of him like pincers, and at their ends his fingers flexed every now and again, as though desperate for the feel of Horza$prime;s throat. Horza was hardly aware of the people standing around him, or the lights and fittings of the hanger. All he could see was the crouched, ready young man in front of him, with his massive arms and silvery hair, his frayed T-shirt and light shoes. The shoes squeaked on the metal deck as Zallin lunged again. Horza spun and flicked out with his right foot. It caught Zallin across his right ear, and the youth pranced away, rubbing his ear.
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