Beneath the Floating City collection

by Donna Maree Hanson

  Miles drew up closer. At first, he felt nothing and, then as he relaxed, he felt a slight vibration in the air. He glanced at Wayfour who nodded. ‘We are close. Come along. I will show you and then you must pull back otherwise you will be drawn into the rift.’

  The stranger led the way. All the time Miles could feel a vibration that made his hair lift. The stranger stopped.

  ‘This is the point. I will need to step into the water here, maybe twenty paces. Can you feel the change in vibration here?’

  Miles nodded. Together they strode out into the lake. At twenty paces, Miles felt an increase in the vibration. His teeth ached. Wayfour made him move around the point to show him how to feel the exact trigger point. True to his word, Miles found that only at that point was the feeling the strongest. Then the stranger explained the trigger. Miles doubted him. Could such a thing be so easy?

  ‘Goodbye Miles. Come to Laden if you can. Forget this place. Your people were trapped here by mistake. There is no future here. When the great machine stops working, which it will one day, I fear this place will disappear.’

  Miles gaped at the stranger, finding his words hard to understand or believe. He waded back to the lake’s edge and then watched as the lake disappeared along with Wayfour. He stood there for a while contemplating the empty lake bed, with its pools of stagnating water. Could this place really be some kind of refuse heap, the sludge of another world, occasionally flushed as a stranger transited across worlds through a rift? No stories told of these things.

  Belle was up and cooking when he closed the door behind him. He stood by the door waiting. She kept working. Casting his gaze to the ceiling, he sighed. ‘He’s gone.’

  Belle nodded and put a bowl of food on the table. It was a soup with bones in it and root vegetables. He sat down to eat. The aroma made his stomach grumble. ‘I’m sorry, Belle. I should have acted sooner.’

  She sat opposite him. ‘I’m afraid. He will not forgive us, forgive me. We have to go now before it’s too late. If not through the rift then we must follow the others over the hills to the town.’

  Miles took a mouthful of soup and swallowed. ‘Leave here? You’re serious.’

  ‘Yes. If you will not take me, I will go alone. Wayfour told me how to find the rift. I will not wait for that beast to come here and rape me while you are milking the cows or...’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Standing by and watching.’

  ‘Belle!’

  ‘It’s true isn’t it? You could not stop him. He could kill us both if he wanted. That man is evil. We must get away.’’

  ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘Oh Miles. Can’t you see? It is that bad. What if he comes when you are out? You can’t even try to stop him then.’

  ‘Tomorrow. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’ll think on it. Yes, you’ll see I will think of something.’

  Belle’s eyes were dark as she lowered her head to eat. They ate in silence.

  The next morning Miles was up again before sunrise, outside with his chores and rounding up the cows for milking as the sun rose. Today he would make butter as enough cream had soured. The monotonous chore would calm him, calm his troubled mind and let him think about Belle’s words.

  He worked solidly until hunger drove him back to his house. Smoke did not rise from the chimney. Belle must still be feeling poorly.

  The door was ajar when he approached the cottage.

  ‘Belle?’ he called out, seeing there was no laundry hung to dry. The water buckets by the door were still empty. There was a strange smell in the air as he stood on the threshold. After being out in the sun, the room was dark.

  ‘Belle?’

  The room was quiet and still. A pot was on the cold stove. A slice of bread lay separated from a loaf on the table. Frowning, he stepped through the room and stood on the threshold of the bedroom. Blood puddled on the floor, a trail of dark stains led from the bed.

  He raced over to the bed, heart thumping. Belle’s clothes were shredded and torn and a large puddle of blood and gore sat on the sheets. Miles cried out and then bit his fist.

  ‘Belle?’

  He wanted to cry and to whimper and bewail his heartbreak. Kaylen had killed his wife. Then he saw Kaylen behind the door. Blood leaked from a head wound as he moved into the light. Kaylen’s eyes glittered with anger and madness. Miles jumped back, fear warring with anger. The smell of blood, perhaps the remains of his unborn child lay in front of him. Why could he not find the strength to stand up to Kaylen?

  Watching him silently, Kaylen lifted up his hand. The blade of his butcher’s knife caught the light and Kaylen let out a roar.

  Miles dropped and rolled. The knife came down, and down, thumping against the floor boards. There next to the door was a cooking pan. Belle must have used it. Just in time, he deflected a blow from the knife with the pan. Scrambling to his feet, Miles aimed high, thwacking Kaylen in the side of the head. The larger man stumbled back. Miles turned and ran, then stumbled. Kaylen’s knife sailed overhead, giving a whistle as it cut the air.

  Kaylen’s heavy tread followed behind. Miles went for the closest tool he had. He threw the empty water bucket and then went for some wood. There a few steps away was the axe. Kaylen roared again.

  Miles lunged for the axe and swung. Kaylen grabbed it and they fought over the handle. Kaylen’s hand bled and then his grip weakened. Miles pulled the axe hard to the side and used the momentum to convert it to an overhead swing. The axe hacked a chunk out of Kaylen’s ribs. Miles dropped the weapon and ran to the lake.

  Near the shore he saw the blood stains. Could it be that Belle lived? She must be heading for the rift. Behind him, he heard Kaylen roar. The blow he had dealt the other man had not been fatal. Kaylen was coming. He had to find Belle quickly.

  On the dry lake bed, he saw Belle close to the trigger point.

  ‘Belle wait!’ Casting his gaze behind, he saw Kaylen closing in. He had gained ground, more ground than an injured man had a right to do.

  Time was running short. He had to trigger the rift before Kaylen drew closer. If Kaylen was caught in the transition then he would travel too.

  Miles reached Belle. She was barely conscious, crawling toward the rift as if driven. He helped her, grabbed her bloodied hands and lifted. She cried out. Blood stained her body and Miles could see the wound. Kaylen had cut her abdomen, had tried to cut the child from her body. Miles shuddered at the terror Belle must have felt during the attack. It was his fault. Why had he not listened? Why had he not acted when he had time? Now it was too late.

  Miles calmed himself so that he could better sense the trigger point. He manoeuvred Belle until his hair stood on end, propping her up and whispering to her. There Miles stood at the centre of vibration and reached out with his mind. He felt the air shift around him, felt the slide of water and the tearing, sickening sensation as he moved. He heard a yell suddenly cut off, the sound of Kaylen being swamped by the lake.

  There he stood, bright light surrounding him, on a plinth. Belle sagged to the ground at his feet.

  ‘Took you long enough.’ Wayfour stepped forward and touched Miles’ arm. Then he saw Belle. ‘What happened to her?’

  Miles swung around, fell to his knees and screamed. The land around him was full of strange bright colours, the sky was a startling blue and in the distance were rigid and sharp-edged buildings.

  Overhead, the sky roared with powerful machines. He panted as his panic waned and then drew into himself, finding a calm, quiet spot in his mind. His fear had to be controlled. Belle needed him. He turned to Wayfour, who knelt and stroked his wife’s hair from her face. There was something tender and revealing in that touch. Wayfour spoke into a wristband, calling for urgent aid.

  Wayfour looked up at him and nodded. ‘Help is coming. She’ll make it. It’s not too late,’ he said to Miles as Belle reached up to touch the stranger’s face with blood stained fingers and curled herself toward
his body to weep.

  Confused emotions battered Miles. It’s not too late, Wayfour had said. But as Miles watched he knew that it was. Belle looked to the stranger now. It was the stranger who had protected her, who brought comfort and hope. Miles had left it too late. The damage had been done. He’d acted too late. He’d lost it all. Lake Absence. His home. His wife. His life.

  Author Note

  Like other stories this came together from a number of places. Firstly Lake Absence was inspired by Lake George, near Canberra, Australia. At the time it was dry but when I first came to Canberra it was full of water. It is a lake that has these weird cycles of wet and dry and I thought as I sat on the bus heading to Sydney: what if that cycle happened over night? Then I thought of the kind of like that would be. The rest sort of built up from there. That there was this no space that was inhabited by people who everyone had forgot and here was Miles, trying to live on, no wanting anything to change. In this he reminds me of the farmer who keeps to the land and suffers when there is drought and disease but still remains because that life is all he knows and understands. This story has not been previously published. I came very close (it was shortlisted for a semipro mag) but just gave up trying.

  Other

  I felt a tug when the medico-servo arm retracted as it completed repairing the worn lining in my wrist’s uni-joint. The med-unit then extended a nozzle and sprayed synth-skin over the open wound to conceal the flesh and wiring. After it dried, the incision mark began to fade sparking a memory; not one memory, but countless ones, echoing into the past. Thin lines of blood tracing over skin, the fine scrapes of scalpel cuts, smells of blood, body fluids and antiseptics, all mingled and converged, like this moment was the focal point of my life.

  Yes, I’d had countless medical procedures, cut after cut, hurt upon hurt, until my pain receptors were dead. I felt nothing, well almost nothing. I didn’t know how many times parts of me had been replaced, the organic replaced with silicone, titanium and circuitry. It was too many times to count. From the moment, I, Devlin, had been chosen, there was no going back. I was stuck here until I finally ground to a halt. These machines, though, had been programmed so well they never let me be and I wondered if it would ever end. How long had it been? Two hundred and fifty seven years, five months and a handful of days since Sal said goodbye.

  I flexed my hand, testing out the nerve linkages. There was a ping as I bent my thumb. It was just a tendon readjusting, metal grating over metal. I walked over to the viewport as I double-checked my arm movement. The plains of Tuemy filled my vision, the vast plains stretching to the horizon were uniformly flat. My organic eye looked out to the dark ruined remains of the Destratic continent. It contrasted with the lighter, dirty-brown sky, a sepia rendering without the soft, creamy hues of light play.

  The other eye, the scanner, displayed the topographic inclines and infrared in a mash of mauve, red and green lines and swirls.

  My scalp prickled and the hair on my arms stood up. The air seemed to thicken and contract. I inhaled a quick short breath.

  ‘Other?’ I whispered, eyes scanning for a physical presence. Other had been with me on Halfen for some time and as real to me as my own mind. It kept me company.

  The heaviness coalesced like a storm building. The hairs on my neck stood up.

  ‘You…’ the voice answered. I didn’t quite hear it. The sensation was more than that. It was more like I felt it in my mind and my body. There wasn’t much to hear on Halfen anyway. I lived on my own so what did it matter if my aural mechanism was faulty.

  ‘Do you remember them?’ I asked.

  ‘Them?’ asked Other. The strength of its response vibrated through me, jarring my teeth. Damn those osseo-integrated implants!

  ‘No…’ said Other after a space of heartbeats. ‘Remember…what…they…did…’

  A shiver sped up my spine, sending a crackle of static electricity snaking into my steel jaw. I licked my lips. My eyes flicked out the viewport. Yes, they had destroyed half of Halfen.

  ‘I remember them…’ I sighed, still haunted by the dream, the flashback to the real life I had once lived. Where there was love, people and her. ‘I dreamt of Sal last night,’ I said to Other, but mostly I spoke to myself. ’It was so vivid. Her smile cut through me. So close, so new, so real…’

  I recalled the dream fragment. Me and Sal running through the fields of Tuemy. Not the blackened fields I could see out the viewport now. No, in my dream they were salmon-pink, the mousolis plants rippling, ever rippling, as far as the eye could see. I sighed again, remembering the taste of her.

  ‘I love you, Devlin,’ she said in her clear high voice. ‘Make love to me here, right now. Let’s be the first…’

  ‘…remember...’ Other’s voice tensed, a clench of thunder. I lost the memory, the surreal past faded once again to lie muted in the feeble remains of my human brain.

  ‘Oh damnation!’ I shouted, fist balled, angry at self and Other’s interruption. Coherent dreams were scarce now and memory defunct.

  ‘You?’ said Other, its voice slow and drawn out like the sound of granite, grating against granite.

  ‘What’s the point of remembering? It won’t bring them back.’ I turned away from the viewport and headed to the flight deck. There was no use in delaying any longer. I could feel coercion building within me as my sub-routines realised that I had not commenced duty yet.

  ‘Come?’ asked Other, its voice pitched slightly higher than a rumble. Other liked it when I went outside. It seemed to relax and sometimes I imagined it smiled.

  ‘Yes…it is time.’ I readied myself for the patrol, absently re-organising my gear and slowly checking my body for signs of decay, mechanical breakdown or wear and tear. I don’t know why I bothered checking myself since the machines never missed much.

  I struggled into the pilot seat and set off. First, a flyover of the Destratic continent, the dead remains of mousolis stretched from end to end. Then I flew across the Null Ocean, a brown-grey solution of acidic chemicals. ‘Nada,’ I said to my log. I’m sure there were thousands of reams of logs, stretching back through time with me saying ‘nada, nada, nada, naught, nothing, zilch, and nada.’

  Then I increased my altitude to 10,000 feet above the Sinastic Continent. A glowing plain of salmon-pink unfolded before me. There it was my reason for existence. It was like a beautiful virgin, desirable and untouchable. I frowned, completing my circuit and went back to base.

  I wearied of this daily ritual, my patrol of the skies. There was never anyone there. My earlier zeal had worn thin through the years. Now only the programming embedded in my brain served to prompt me, when I couldn’t even bother any more. I never thought I’d still be living like this after all this time. They left me and never so much as sent me a message.

  That night I sweated through countless fragmented dreams of them, my fellow colonists and my wife, Sal.

  ‘Don’t do this to us, Dev.’ Her words cut through the jumbled images. ‘Say no. Don’t stay here.’

  ‘I have to. I told Stan I would.’ I turned my back on her and heard her sobs. The plains of Tuemy were dark then. I felt like the plains, the conflict of duty and love, leaving me desolate, destroyed, alone. Sal loved me, accepted me, and I’d never given myself to anyone as I had to her. Even though the computer had matched us as we boarded the colony ship, our attraction had been instantaneous and powerful. The separaton had left me hollow for years.

  With me remaining on Halfen, Stan would have claimed her when they headed to their next destination. Stan’s wife had died in stasis, our only casualty. I guessed I was the second. Compatibility scores were irrelevant when there were only two unpaired colonists.

  The dreams of Sal were sent to punish me, I was sure, to remind me of choices that couldn’t be undone and that I had lived too long and for a null purpose.

  I sat up, not knowing why I was there, the reason lost in the decay of my brain cells. Those hard won memories a
nd dreams retreating back to where they lurked. Sweat leaked out of the natural part of my skin. I felt clammy and uncomfortable.

  I got up and decided to shower. As I stepped through to the hygiene unit, I saw myself reflected in the mirror. The hard light wasn’t kind. What I saw clashed with what I remembered of myself. I had been young once, handsome even. Now grey flesh hung hollow in my cheeks, a rheumy eye peered out, the other a green, glowing orb in a metal socket. My hair was gone and my scalp was a criss-cross of scars and wires.

  It hit me suddenly and one choking sob escaped me. I pitied myself for that fleeting second and then stopped.

  I looked around nervously in case the central operating system had heard me, for it would send in the auto-meds to drag me off for more procedures or mind fixing drugs. I had to control my depression or my life would sink to even lower levels of misery, to one of drugged dependence, where thoughts died before they were born. Those machines never left me in peace, never let me die.

  Stan’s voice emerged from my mind, an unbidden memory out of the fractured puzzle of my brain, as I poured mouthwash.

  ‘Devlin, will you stay and guard the Sinastic continent?’ Stan’s ruddy face, contrasted with his pale blue uniform. The background of the memory was a haze of nothingness. ‘The other continent cannot be rehabilitated. It’s dead. Halfen’s ecological balance is fragile. We must ensure that the balance is not disturbed…’

  ‘We?’ I muttered to myself. I had a vision of Stan and Sal. The mouthwash dispenser buckled in my fist.

  Later, I descended the stairs to my ship, my one-man sky skimmer and climbed in. I set it to hover above the landing platform that jutted out like a metallic tongue above the plains of Tuemy. I wanted to take my time. It was all so pointless.

  The nose lifted and I headed for the other side of the planet. All around me, dead, brown plains spread out, a symptom of decay, of human intervention.

  ‘You…’ said Other. My skin prickled everywhere. Its tone was short, elevated, urgent. I blinked, amazed at the change I could detect.