Paw-Prints Of The Gods

by Steph Bennion

  The window remained slightly ajar and a simple shove was enough to open it wide. Using a chair as a step, Ravana helped Artorius and the two greys through, then followed.

  The silence of the sea was eerie. A dim glow filled the sky, allowing them to see various shapes in the dark. It was only when Ravana accidentally stumbled into a large screen that she began to suspect things were not quite as expected. Slowly, her eyes began to adjust to the low light and her confusion turned bitter.

  “It was all a trick,” she murmured. “One big lie after another.”

  Above them soared the inner surface of a vast pressurised dome, one transparent enough to allow a little sunlight through from outside. The screen she had walked into was blank, but there was a triple-lens holovid projector mounted above the window frame, positioned just right so that recorded footage of Pampa Bay would appear real to someone looking through the window from inside. It dawned upon Ravana that her aching bones were right. They were not on Daode after all.

  “Where are we going?” asked Artorius. Beside him, the greys looked anxious.

  “Far away from here,” she muttered angrily. “Follow me.”

  Ravana led them away into the gloom. The low rambling building masquerading as a hospice bordered a hangar-like space that extended as far as the curved wall of the dome. They scurried forward in the gloom and almost ran headlong into a huge mechanical monstrosity on caterpillar tracks, the purpose of which Ravana cared not to guess. Just when she was starting to think they would never find a way out, a large green shape resolved into the familiar six wheels and barrel-shaped hull of a lunar-class personnel carrier, parked in front of a huge airlock door in the side of the dome. The dark windows of the vehicle were strangely inviting.

  “There,” she whispered to Artorius. “That’s our way out of here.”

  “You’re going to steal a transport?”

  “Borrow it,” Ravana corrected him. “Hopefully.”

  She scurried to the transport and activated the control to open the rear hatch. Artorius and the greys followed more hesitantly, but before long Ravana was hastening them up the steps, through the airlock and into the passenger cabin. She sealed the hatch behind them.

  The lights came on as they entered, revealing bare metal walls with bench seats and overhead lockers on either side. Ravana hurried forward to the cockpit and dropped into the driver’s seat. Sitting before the console felt reassuringly like being on the flight deck of the Platypus to give her confidence, though she had precious little experience driving anything with wheels. Both the dome above and the design of the transport suggested that wherever they were, the world outside was far from welcoming.

  “Nowhere to run?” she muttered. Their escape had been remarkably easy to far. She hit the start switch. “We’ll see about that.”

  The hydrogen-powered engine roared into life, louder than she expected. Seconds later, alarms began to ring and the dome lit up with flashing red warning lights. Artorius and the greys quickly added to the confusion with a barrage of mutterings and nervous screeches. With a hand on the steering wheel, Ravana shoved the gear level into ‘drive’.

  The transport shuddered into motion towards the closed door of the dome airlock. She looked for a remote airlock control on the console before her, then in desperation closed her eyes, brought up the implant images in her mind and gave a panicky mental stab at the one that seemed most likely. To her relief, the airlock door ahead began to slide open.

  The transport trundled into the chamber. Automatic sensors got to work to seal the door behind them, ready to let them loose onto whatever lay beyond. Ravana found the control for the rear-view camera and caught a glimpse of two figures running from the fake hospice towards them before the airlock door sealed them from sight. There was a metallic clang as the door in front began to slide open. A sudden shaft of daylight broke through and Ravana raised a hand to shield her eyes.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Artorius. “A proper alien planet!”

  The door revealed a bleak desert landscape against an arid pink sky. Ahead, a black gravel road ran to the horizon across a sea of red dunes. Ravana saw straight away that the bright yellow sun was not the distant light that Epsilon Eridani was to Daode, nor was it the bloated red disc that was Barnard’s Star from Ascension. Now she remembered everything.

  “Falsafah,” said Ravana. “It looks like I never left Tau Ceti after all.”

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Down and out in Newbrum

  [Chapter One] [Contents] [Chapter Three]

  ADMINISTRATOR VERDANDI sat back in her chair and frowned. She had long ago learned that the art of delegation was a delicate balancing game; it was all about giving subordinates just enough power to keep things running smoothly, but not enough to totally screw things up. It was a philosophy that had served the domed settlement of Newbrum well for many years, not to mention one that had made her the longest-serving city Administrator ever on Ascension and favoured candidate to fill the vacant post of planet-wide Governor come the elections next year. Her tall, imposing presence was often all that was needed to spur others to get on with the job, for the brisk mind beneath her tightly-secured blond hair was perfectly encapsulated by her equally sharp suit and boots. The thud of the latter could make any of her staff cut short their lunch break.

  Nevertheless, the arrival of the refugees from the asteroid colony ship Dandridge Cole had proved testing. Every day there seemed to be yet another problem that demanded her personal attention. Verdandi was beginning to suspect that her staff had realised just how powerless they really were and were taking perverse pleasure in accepting the fact.

  The man seated opposite cut a striking muscular figure with his bald head and bushy beard, but it was the tatty flight suit and patch over his left eye that held her attention. They were a reminder of why he was here in her office, very annoyed and presenting her with a demand that may as well have been a request for snow machines in hell.

  “I’m sorry Quirinus,” Verdandi said. “I cannot change the rules just for you.”

  “But it’s my livelihood!” Quirinus exclaimed, his Australian drawl somewhat lacking the finesse of Verdandi’s clipped English tones. “Take away my pilot’s licence and I have no way of earning a living. There’s enough of us without work as it is!”

  “The eyesight test is strict for a reason,” she said sternly. “I will not have one-eyed pilots fly in and out of my spaceport! The Newbrum clinic is fully equipped to fit bionic devices, so it’s not as if you’re out of options.”

  “None of us from the hollow moon have that sort of money. You know that.”

  Verdandi gave a sympathetic nod and shifted her gaze to the window on her right. Her office was small and minimalist, decorated only by a portrait of Queen Victoria II on the wall behind her desk, but had a good view of the city centre oasis that was Circle Park. Of the four hundred refugees from the Dandridge Cole, barely half had found work in Newbrum and gained the housing rights that came with a job. The rest lived in temporary habitation modules on the edge of the park, much to the dismay of Newbrum’s other three thousand residents who were not impressed that the only bit of greenery within the city had become a shanty town, complete with a motley collection of dispossessed farm animals. Many refugees from the asteroid commune, having no concept of a credit-driven economy, were overwhelmed by how complicated day-to-day life was wherever money was involved, especially when they had none. Verdandi sighed and returned her attention to the matter in hand.

  “You do not need to be a pilot to operate your own ship,” she pointed out. “Have you thought about hiring someone to fly that old freighter of yours for you?”

  “I did hire a pilot, some idiot called Momus,” Quirinus told her. “He’s run me back and forth to the Dandridge Cole a few times but what he laughingly called his ship has been impounded for failing safety checks.”

  “Oh, that Momus. What about your own ship?”

  “The Platypus
is stuck at the hollow moon, going nowhere fast. The repairs won’t be finished for a while yet. I need a licence to hire myself out and earn a few credits.”

  “After what you did? Barely hours after being grounded, you’re up on Stellarbridge trying to make off with a fuel tanker!”

  “It’s our tanker!” protested Quirinus. The hollow moon’s fuel supply ship Indra, which had been used as a makeshift lifeboat following the failure of the Dandridge Cole’s power systems, was incapable of atmospheric flight and had been parked in Ascension orbit ever since. “In my defence, the Indra’s flight systems are all automatic and don’t whinge like Momus. Anyway, it’s needed at the Dandridge Cole and the harbour master did say he wanted it out of the way.”

  “I feel for you Quirinus, I really do,” she said, though there was a definite edge to her voice. The Commonwealth Space Station CSS Stellarbridge, in orbit around Ascension, only had a dozen or so docking gates and the Indra was blocking at least five. Verdandi had received a complaint that very morning from the harbour master about what this and the non-payment of fees was doing to business and was in no mood for compromise. “Maybe you should consider a career change until your daughter can help you with what you have grandly referred to as your interstellar courier business. I heard she’s settled into life on Newbrum better than most.”

  “Ravana? She’s a bright kid,” Quirinus said fondly. “That unfortunate business in Epsilon Eridani was a blessing in disguise, for it meant there were people she knew at the academy. She’s away at the moment,” he added, with a tinge of regret. “She’s become obsessed with archaeology and managed to get a place on the excavation Bradbury Heights University are running in the Tau Ceti system.”

  “So I heard.” Verdandi spoke with genuine interest. “Is it true they’re uncovering actual alien ruins on Falsafah? I’ve heard one of the Avalon holovid news shows is eager to do something on the Barnard’s Star connection.”

  “That’s the story. Ravana sounded really excited last time I spoke to her, though that was a couple of weeks ago,” Quirinus told her. He looked uncomfortable in the age-old role of worried father. “Communication links aren’t too reliable on Falsafah. She quite surprised me when she volunteered to go on the trip. She used to be such a shy little thing.”

  Verdandi smiled, recognising the slight bewilderment common in all parents who are finally starting to realise just how much their children have grown up. Quirinus shifted awkwardly in his chair in the manner of someone who had run out of things to say. Verdandi herself had other appointments waiting.

  “I hope it works out for you, Quirinus.” Verdandi extended her hand, a signal that their discussion was over. “You’ll soon be back on your feet, I’m sure.”

  * * *

  There were three people in the waiting room outside Verdandi’s office when Quirinus emerged, one of whom he was surprised to see was Ostara, a smartly-dressed slim young Chinese woman, who at the time of Raja Surya’s kidnap had been head of security on the Dandridge Cole. Her success in solving that particular mystery, albeit with help from Ravana and her friend Zotz, had convinced Ostara she was born to be a detective and upon arriving at Newbrum she had applied to join the local police force. Quirinus had not seen her for some days and they greeted each other with broad smiles, pleased at their chance meeting.

  “Fancy meeting you here!” Quirinus exclaimed, earning disapproving stares from the two men sitting opposite. “What brings you before the mighty Administrator?”

  “Business,” Ostara told him. “It’s good to see you, Quirinus.”

  “You too. Have you had your interview with the police?”

  “Yesterday,” she replied, looking solemn. “I didn’t get the job. The officer said I failed to meet the pass mark on one of the tests, but I just know its because they’ve got something against us refugees. Either that or they haven’t got a uniform to fit me!”

  Quirinus suppressed a smirk. While it was well known that Newbrum police officers were traditionally big, burly types who could undoubtedly lift petite Ostara with one finger, he could imagine her going off on a completely random tangent when faced with a mental aptitude conundrum. However, what she said about the bad feelings between the locals and the displaced residents of the hollow moon was sadly true.

  “Something will come up,” he said, feeling he should pass on some of Verdandi’s optimism. He had already noticed that she did not look too despondent.

  “Oh, I have plans,” Ostara told him, looking secretive. “If you fancy a drink later I’ll tell you all about it,” she added coyly.

  Quirinus smiled. “I have to collect Zotz from school, then we’re off to stay with his father over the break. I’m sure Wak could use some help on the Dandridge Cole.”

  “Say hello from me.”

  “Do you want to come with us? Another pair of hands is always welcome.”

  Ostara paused, then shook her head. “I’ve things to do here,” she told him. “Besides, last time Wak asked for helping hands, I managed to trap him inside an airlock and leave Ravana dangling down that horrible shaft. I think I’ll give it a miss.”

  Quirinus grinned. “We’ll have that drink when I get back,” he promised.

  * * *

  Quirinus strode through the entrance lobby of New Birmingham Chamber and out onto the street. Verdandi’s administrative hub was aptly situated at the geographic heart of the kilometre-wide dome of steel and glass that protected Newbrum’s inhabitants from the alien environment of the world outside. The buildings beneath the dome were predominantly concrete, laid out in a concentric street pattern with Circle Park at the centre. The crumbling tower blocks around the park were squashed close, separated by streets barely wide enough for the transports that brought in supplies from the spaceport and external greenhouses. The bloated red sun of Barnard’s Star hung high above and cast its rusty rays upon the glass to paint the city in dim scarlet hues.

  The Chamber was the sole survivor from the initial rush of construction during the founding of New Birmingham by Commonwealth and European colonists barely two generations ago. The building ran in a graceful curve a quarter of the way around the park, but the architecture of the imposing ten-storey structure was otherwise stark and box-like, with only the distinctive red, white and blue flag of the United Kingdom hanging limply from the pole above the main entrance to brighten the grey exterior. The European Space Agency’s interest in Barnard’s Star was short-lived, for there was little in the system worth travelling six light years for. However, after all their hard work in building Newbrum, Bradbury Heights and the other human enclaves on Ascension, many who had settled steadfastly refused to abandon their new homes and so it was that the United Kingdom reluctantly agreed to grant Ascension the status of a Commonwealth colony.

  The streets were thronged with people and few were in a rush. Newbrum maintained European Central Time and artificial lighting within the dome did its best to mimic the day and night cycles of Earth. Ascension rotated slowly backwards and was so close to Barnard’s Star it orbited once every three Terran weeks, resulting in a day that saw the sun rise in the west every seven Terran days. Faced with such a confusion of daylight cycles, most people just got up out of bed and went to work or school whenever they pleased. Newbrum was not so much the city that never sleeps, but more one that never quite fully woke up.

  Quirinus crossed the street and entered the park through the southern entrance, taking care to steer clear of the small group of protesters picketing the south-east quarter. The people waving placards, mostly employees of big pharmaceutical companies, were residents of the much-prized apartments overlooking the park and as such had not taken kindly to the sprawl of temporary cabins now spoiling their view. Quirinus had spent his first few weeks in Newbrum sharing a cramped module in the refugee camp and felt genuinely sorry for the ex-residents of the hollow moon who found they had no skills or expertise the city wanted. Many had found jobs in the salvage yards or hydrogen works, but it was work no
one else cared for. Quirinus had later secured pilot lodgings at Aston Pier for himself, Ravana and Zotz, but now he had lost his licence even that piece of luck was about to come to an end. Fortunately, the city made sure no one went hungry, which was more than could be said for refugees on Earth, where countless millions had been displaced and vast swathes of arable land lost due to climate change.

  Circle Park was a pleasant, tree-lined grassy space, split into four by north-to-south and east-to-west paths radiating from a tiny duck pond at the centre. The trees were imported Alpine species that grew tall in the low gravity of Ascension, which was around half that of their native Earth. A young mother and child lobbed stale bread at a disinterested duck, while a flock of cockatoos swept past from one roost to the next, screeching madly. It was a warm day and a few office workers were out upon the grass to eat their lunch. Further along, an elderly man in a hoverchair was being led towards the pond by his nurse. It was sometimes hard to remember that beyond the dome was a harsh, unforgiving rock where only the toughest forms of life managed to scratch out a feeble existence.

  The grey facade of Newbrum Academy stood at the north-eastern edge of the park. This, the city’s sole state-funded school, had been on the brink of closure due to the popularity of private corporation colleges, but the need to cater for the children of the hollow moon brought a temporary reprieve. The Symposium, the congress of philosophers formerly responsible for education and other matters on the Dandridge Cole, reached an agreement with Verdandi to become resident tutors on the proviso they did not insult her by asking for anything more than regular meals and a roof over their heads. The building was badly dilapidated even by Newbrum standards; many windows were patched with boards, the letter ‘R’ and one of the ‘A’s had dropped off the sign above the entrance and a colony of pigeons had taken up residence behind the broken vents of the roof-top air-conditioning unit.