The Door

by Tony Harmsworth

  ‘Now, Ski,’ said John, ‘where do we have to go to get this bell-jar thing back home?’

  ‘We need to go to the administration building.’

  ‘How does it operate? Do we just walk in?’

  ‘There will be no problem if you are with me, but I’d ask you to please not do this. There is a good reason why we’ve isolated you from your own world. Believe me.’

  ‘But you won’t give us the reason,’ I protested.

  ‘Give us the reason,’ said Jennifer, ‘and we might understand, but saying “trust us” is just not good enough.’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Then let’s head to the admin building and get back to Earth,’ I said.

  We all walked along the front of the warehouse building. Ski’s car was sitting near the transports. We climbed in. Once more Roy sat behind Ski with the carving knife and reminded him it was there. John and I joined Roy in the back and Jennifer took the second front seat. We all wore our balaclavas. Without them, at any time, Ski could immobilise us.

  The vehicle turned and headed out of the warehouse compound.

  It was fascinating to travel through this industrial section of the futuristic city. Here most of the buildings were obviously commercial, but there was very little activity. We passed one which had a few dozen new vehicles standing outside. Not like the one we were using, these were smaller personal cars. Elsewhere we passed workmen levitating frameworks into position on top of a building – no cranes needed on this alien world.

  Within twenty minutes, we were in the city centre, amongst the same skyscrapers we had all seen on our arrival to this world. I recognised the giant red tower block and the vehicle pulled into a space in front of the administration building which was on the opposite side of the highway.

  ‘What happens when we leave the vehicle?’ I asked.

  ‘It will return to its waiting location.’

  At least we knew we didn’t have to worry about what to do with the empty car. I’d returned the paralysing pistol to John, and Roy slipped the carving knife into a special sleeve he had sewn into the inside of his jacket. We were as ready as we’d ever be.

  ‘Okay, Ski,’ said John, ‘now you are to take us to the bell-jar transport and accompany us to Earth. If there is any sign you are double-crossing us, in any way at all, Jennifer can break your neck with a single blow and Roy can use that knife in a fraction of a second. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘We’re keeping our balaclavas on. Will that cause suspicion?’ I asked.

  ‘No. No one cares about clothing. Just follow me,’ said Ski as we made our way into the huge anonymous building.

  Automatic doors opened as we approached. Inside there was a polished marble floor with clusters of seats surrounding coffee tables dotted to one side. In front of us was a large, curved reception desk with two robots in attendance. They paid us no attention. Ski turned to the right and we followed, anxiously looking around in case there was any indication we were entering a trap.

  I tried to remember if we’d been in a room when we arrived from Earth. I thought we’d been in the open.

  ‘Do you remember where you arrived?’ I whispered to the others.

  Roy and John had no recollection, but Jennifer was fairly sure the transport arrived in the reception area.

  ‘Where are you taking us, Ski?’ she asked.

  ‘Outward bound vortices leave from the second floor.’

  Sliding metal doors opened and we stepped into a simple, large elevator. Ski pressed a button labelled “2”. It wasn’t a perfect 2, but was too similar for me to mistake it. I looked at other buttons. They all had numerals which were recognisable.

  ‘Look at the floor numbers,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. What?’ asked John.

  ‘They are numbers from back home. Some are distorted, but they’re all recognisable. How can that be?’

  ‘Hadn’t noticed,’ said John.

  ‘Curious,’ added Jennifer.

  How Earth numerals could have ended up in an elevator on this alien world was a real mystery.

  ‘Ski. How come you use earth numerals on the elevator buttons?’

  ‘Coincidence.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. It can’t be coincidence,’ I said.

  Before he could comment again, the elevator opened and we followed Ski out into a broad corridor. There were people walking past us. I decided not to press the question about the numbers just yet but resolved to bring it up again when we were next alone with him. I’m a management consultant and my profession doesn’t believe in coincidences. My gut instinct told me these were human numbers for a reason. Why, was the unfathomable question.

  About twenty metres along a plain passageway, more doors opened into another nondescript room. We entered, still wary about a trap being sprung and, after the nonsense about the coincidence with the numerals, I was doubly suspicious.

  The room was about ten metres square and completely featureless.

  ‘Are you ready?’ asked Ski.

  We all affirmed we were prepared for the transfer. Roy held the blade of the knife against Ski’s neck now we could no longer be observed.

  ‘I will use it,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ Ski answered. Was he less timid and afraid than previously? My anxiety levels jumped several notches. This didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Suddenly the walls of the room vanished in a swirl of mist. Ski vanished with them and the four of us were on our own in the vortex.

  ‘Fuck it!’ said John. ‘The bastard’s double-crossed us.’

  ‘Might still be heading for Earth,’ Jennifer said hopefully.

  We looked at each other and none of us had a positive expression. Ski had obviously made his escape and all we could do was hope he had set the coordinates for Earth and not for the interior of the local sun.

  The journey was far shorter than I remembered and that was worrying too. The mist continued to swirl, its greyness morphing into vivid colours. Gradually a large room began to take shape around us. We could see people standing around the walls. John pulled out the pistol and Roy readied his knife. I reached for my hunting knife, but without any enthusiasm. We had been tricked.

  Wherever Ski had set the vortex to deliver us, we were about to arrive and the omens were not good.

  17 An Audience

  When the mist vanished, we were up to our necks in the force-field quicksand. I could do no more than turn my head. I saw John’s hand holding the pistol, but he couldn’t raise it. It pointed at the floor some metres in front of him. Trapped again!

  Although garishly coloured, the room was ornate. The walls were maroon. Light blue drapes hung either side of the large, single-paned windows providing views of the desolate landscape beyond the walls of the dome. A green, thick-pile carpet covered the floor. If there were such a thing as luxurious on this world, this room and its furnishings were it. Lavish seats lined three sides. The frames and arms gilded, the seats and backs light blue. A few people occupied them, but most were standing, uniformed and armed. We were most certainly in trouble.

  There were doors at either end of the room. To my right, segmented doors could be concertinaed to allow a crowd to enter or expand the size of the room into the adjoining space. At the opposite end, there were two smaller doors each side of a stage, raised a few centimetres above the floor. It had a golden carpet and was home to a gilt and light blue throne. It reminded me of the throne room in Peterhof, or at least it would have done had it not been for the lack of chandeliers and the strange choice of colour scheme and decor.

  As we solidified, the guards raised their weapons and covered us, alert for any move we might make. I watched as my hunting knife rose out of my jacket and floated towards a nearby soldier. He plucked it out of the air as John’s stolen pistol and the carving knife joined the aerial procession of our weapons and the spare heavy-duty balaclavas. He placed each of them on a table against the
wall behind him. Next my balaclava rolled itself upwards over my head, as did John’s, Roy’s, and Jennifer’s, and they floated over to the same table. I noticed Ski was standing beside the table, now safe from our terrorism.

  We were helpless, none of us could move more than our heads. Worse, we were being manipulated like puppets; all four of us were physically rotated to face the throne. The slightly raised stage began about three metres in front of us.

  I expected some sort of fanfare, but it seems Ski’s people didn’t go in for such ceremony. However, when all the seated people stood and the door on one side of the throne’s stage opened, there was a distinct impression we were about to be in the presence of royalty or, at the very least, a president or military leader.

  A single armed guard was first to enter. He turned sharp right and stood to attention to one side of the doorway. The second person to enter was, simultaneously, spectacularly strange and stunningly beautiful.

  She stood over seven feet six inches1 tall and could only be described as strikingly elegant. Not my type as she was supermodel slim, but I knew I was in the presence of someone who oozed her sexuality and charisma from every pore.

  Her head was bald, yet almost glowed with its Arabic tan. Gold earrings hung down to her shoulders and a band ran across her head from ear to ear, sparkling with powder blue jewels and what might be rubies. Her make-up was dramatic with heavy black lines where her eyebrows should have been. Extended lashes and eyeshadow emphasised her deep, brown irises. Her lips were natural and full. Her neck was circled by a bejewelled choker, a star-shaped pendant hanging to just above her barely concealed breasts. I looked towards her feet rather than stare at her body.

  Her shoes were flat, but this lady had no need of any extra height. They comprised gold sandals, but with a network of gilded straps which enmeshed her lower legs almost to her knees, the gold enhancing the bare brown skin beneath. Her foot looked strange. The shape appeared normal and I then realised what was wrong. She only had two toes and no toenails. The big toe and second toe formed one and there was a smaller, wider toe where the remaining three toes should have been. I looked at the other foot. It was the same.

  Smooth, shapely thighs rose to the apex of her tanned legs, where the glistening silver V of her undergarment, concealed her secret flesh.

  The gold skirt hung from her hips, giving the impression of a single piece of flimsy material, falling right and left of her sparkling mons. On one side, it fell to a point down the outside of her right thigh, almost reaching her knee, while the remainder of the hem was far shorter, encircling her behind as far as the left thigh where it hardly covered her hip. I was mesmerised.

  Two additional pieces of gold material departed her waist and crossed her bust, revealing almost as much beneath as above.

  I saw John gulp and realised I, too, was staring open-mouthed at this veritable fantasy princess.

  Behind her, an even taller man dressed in little more, stood to her left and a shorter individual to her right. Their garb was similar, with the same footwear and legging mesh, but tight golden shorts instead of the flimsy skirt. Their chests were covered with almost identical material to hers. Both had jewel-encrusted ceremonial swords hanging from their waists.

  This surprising vision of intimidating loveliness came to a halt before us. I watched her gaze travel from our feet to our heads. Being observed from such a height was unnerving, to say the least.

  She walked around us, slowly, like a predator surveying her prey. I lost sight of her at the furthest turn of my head. I felt uncomfortable having this Amazonian standing close behind me. I felt her breath disturb my hair. She sniffed. She was smelling me. Her fingers caressed my hair, giving me goosebumps. She held her breath briefly, then released it, ruffling my hair once more. I turned my head the opposite way, experiencing genuine relief when she came back into view.

  She bent and looked deeply into my eyes. Her fingers ran slowly over my beard stubble. Her face was inches from me and I felt her breath, which smelled of spices. Her head was in proportion to her body so her face, with its perfect complexion, was large when seen so close. She gave a cursory glance at John and Roy before studying Jennifer’s face as she had mine. A hand, with extraordinarily long fingers, painted gold from the last joint to their nail-less tips, rose, lifted Jennifer’s long hair and caressed it, letting it fall through her fingers. She studied each of our faces again, one at a time.

  She turned and walked to the throne, sitting and turning in a single motion as she threw one impossibly long, brown leg over the other. Her two companions stood slightly behind and to either side of her.

  A disappointingly ugly string of guttural words flowed from her lips, seemingly directed at one of the standing men beside the wall.

  He replied with two words in their language, then asked, ‘What are your names?’

  We each spoke our forenames.

  She spoke again.

  Once more the translation came, ‘You are foolish people. You threatened one of us and behaved violently.’

  I spoke, ‘You have stolen us from our home world and…’ My lips were frozen. I could no more speak than move my limbs.

  The queen, for that is what she seemed to be, spoke again.

  The same man translated, ‘You will not speak until asked.’

  She spoke more lengthily and there was a brief conversation before the translator addressed us, ‘We are going to educate you. Perhaps then you will understand why we brought you here.’

  He walked from where he had been standing and stood in front of Roy. ‘You will be returned to the community now so that you can advise your group that no further attempt to escape will be tolerated. These others will be returned once they understand why you cannot return to your world yet.’

  One of the women standing to our right came over to Roy and said, ‘You are free. Follow me.’

  Roy looked at the three of us, shrugged, and followed the jailor.

  The queen let out a string of words in her language.

  The guard halted and put an arm out to stop Roy.

  ‘I am told to tell you we are sorry we cannot help with your illness.’

  Such a surprise to discover this veritable princess was aware of Roy’s illness and regretted being unable to cure it, yet she held all of us against our will on a strange planet.

  Roy looked towards the queen who spoke again, briefly, before waving Roy and the guard to leave. She then unwound herself from the throne and, with her two escorts, left the room. I found I was unable to remove my gaze from the motion of her behind as she walked from view. So amazingly sexual. What was wrong with me? I didn’t objectify women. Why was I feeling like this?

  ‘Our leader has decided to give you an understanding of the problems faced by your world and ours.’

  The translator stood beside us and once more we were in a vortex. Where to, this time?

  18 Astronomy

  The sky was dark where we re-materialised.

  If we were still on the planet then we had been moved to a region where it was night. As the vortex ceased its disorientating effects, we found ourselves in a relatively small dome, seemingly located in the middle of a desert.

  To one side a double door stood open and we could see into a laboratory where a number of people in overalls were working. They looked our way, curious to see who was on the incoming vortex. Alongside it was another laboratory with more technicians. The whole facility gave the impression of being a scientific outpost. A few other buildings with closed doors formed the sides of a courtyard.

  To one side of the glass dome was a recognisable observatory building. It adjoined the dome but stood outside it. Judging by the size of the building, this contained an extremely powerful optical telescope. The spiral galaxy was above us so I guessed we were still on the alien world. It was certainly a spectacular night sky.

  As we looked around, the man who’d been translating for the queen or princess, said, ‘My name is Schletz. I am fluent in
your language and have been asked by Nrgghnntitigzxt to explain to you why you are currently being kept on our world.’

  ‘Is that the queen’s name? Sorry, can’t pronounce it,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, she is our leader. To continue, I presume I can put you all on trust while you are here.’

  We all agreed.

  ‘Mrs. Ivory, I am aware of the abilities you have. Can I have your word you will not attempt to harm me, otherwise I will need to restrain your arms for self-protection? I’d rather not have to do that.’

  ‘For the time being, I agree not to harm you if you do not cause a need for me to do so,’ Jennifer said.

  I looked at the alien. He was regarding Jennifer with narrowed eyes. He shrugged as if dealing with the threat of an errant child.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, and led us towards a door in the glass dome, the other side of which was a tunnel into the observatory.

  ‘Your leader. Is she elected?’ I asked.

  ‘Her family was elected to provide her as leader. Her DNA was then manipulated to furnish her with particular abilities. She will lead us until the next leader comes of age.’

  ‘You mean you’ve already got a replacement living elsewhere?’ asked John.

  ‘Yes. She comes of age in four years and will replace the current leader soon afterwards. The next generation was born half a year ago. It is a continual process. Our people elect families to be parents to the leaders. The leaders themselves have special powers and intelligence, but a short life.’

  I absorbed the information and wondered if it might work to our advantage at some point in the future.

  ‘Why did she want to see us?’ I asked.

  ‘You are all of unique significance to us. We are extremely interested in you.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, not wanting the flow of revelations to stop.

  ‘All in good time. You will understand soon. First, I need to let you see something.’

  At the end of the tunnel, we began to climb stairs, making our way up into the workings of the telescope. I noticed that the alien was levitating up the staircase. They certainly had powers beyond ours. I wondered if it was a mental or mechanical advantage. I didn’t see him press any buttons.