Terra's World

by Mitch Benn

  ‘It was YOU who got rid of him.’ Terra beamed.

  ‘It was your plan,’ said Billy.

  ‘Yes, but, you played it so . . . How did you come up with all that?’

  Billy smiled. ‘Remember, I go to that improv workshop at the Youth Theatre on Saturdays? Kept trying to persuade you to come along but you wouldn’t. And there’s the Golden Rule.’

  Terra’s nose wrinkled. ‘Golden Rule?’

  ‘When in doubt, just ask yourself: what would James Bond do?’

  Terra shook her head and smiled. ‘It’s amazing you’ve lived this long. Come on, we’ve got another spaceship to try to figure out.’

  * * *

  Strannit saw his ship drift out of sight and then gazed glumly at the interior of the Tastak vessel. On the navigation console lay the navigation computer, ripped from its housing, a mess of crystal circuits and bio-cabling. In a little while the Walkers would arrive to collect their prize. He doubted he’d have drifted far enough by then.

  Strannit took a deep breath. It was fine, it was all right; he could explain everything. He had a chest of Dolfric ingots and the fastest tongue in the galaxy. They’d come to some sort of arrangement.

  Probably.

  Strannit climbed into the command chair and winced. It was the least comfortable chair he’d ever sat in.

  1.11

  ‘Now THIS,’ said Billy, ‘is a spaceship!’

  In contrast to the Tastak vessel’s cramped cabin and knobbly chairs, the Kotari ship’s flight deck was like a cross between the bridge of the Next Generation-era Starship Enterprise and the drawing room of a medium-sized stately home. Billy gazed in awe at the technology and opulence, and then sank happily into what, if asked, he would have had to describe as the command chaise longue.

  ‘Get out of there, you,’ admonished Terra, ‘unless you fancy trying to pilot it.’

  Billy pulled a face, got out of the chaise and slunk across the flight deck to another, equally luxurious couch. As he flopped onto it, a harsh voice barked out something alien and unintelligible. Billy leapt to his feet, startled. Terra rolled her eyes in annoyance and took the translation cube out of her pocket.

  ‘Computer,’ she said, ‘this is your new captain speaking.’

  - MY CAPTAIN IS ALL-MONGER STRANNIT ZEK. I ACKNOWLEDGE THE AUTHORITY OF NO OTHER.

  ‘Strannit Zek is no longer aboard this vessel. So either you can start taking orders from me, or we can drift in space until I die of old age and your reactors fail.’

  There was a pause, and then the room was dominated by a holographic star-chart. Terra smiled. ‘Seems like the Kotari program their computers to be just as self-centred as they are. Had a feeling they might,’ she said to Billy.

  - PLEASE STATE DESIRED DESTINATION, said the voice.

  ‘Tftk system, fourth satellite,’ said Terra simply. The holographic star-chart started zooming in on a particular constellation. Terra leaned back in the command chaise and exhaled heavily.

  ‘So now what?’ asked Billy. ‘Who are the Walkers of the . . . whatever it was?’

  ‘The True Path,’ said Terra. She sighed. ‘They’re a rumour. A nasty rumour.’

  Billy sat up, his confusion and keen interest obvious. Terra went on.

  ‘The planet where I grew up . . .’ she said.

  ‘Fmrrm?’ ventured Billy.

  ‘Fnrr,’ corrected Terra. ‘There was a war. A nation called the G’grk invaded my island, Mlml. They were going to enslave the adults and conscript the young as child soldiers. I . . . managed to stop it.’

  Billy had read something about this, about how a human child had stopped a war with a song, of all things. He was sure there was more to it than that but didn’t want to interrupt.

  ‘There was a peace treaty. The G’grk leader, Grand Marshal K’zsht, renounced war and retired. He was the first Grand Marshal ever to retire alive. That freaked them all out a bit back in the G’grk homeland, but they respected K’zsht enough to go along with it. He nominated his grandson Zst’kh to succeed him. His grandson said he was going to carry on with the peace process. This disappointed some of the G’grk, who thought the young Grand Marshal would go back to their old warrior ways. There were reports that a hardline G’grk faction, the Walkers of the True Path, had broken off from the nation and left the planet. They were supposed to be plotting to return to Fnrr, overthrow the Grand Marshal and start the war up again. With Sk’shk as the new leader.’

  ‘Sk’shk?’ asked Billy.

  ‘The old Grand Marshal’s deputy,’ said Terra with a shiver that Billy felt from across the room. She remembered being on her knees on the cold, quartz floor of the council dome . . . The harsh, ranting voice . . . The gleaming, curved, bronze blade of that sword, that sword . . . Being more afraid than she – surely than ANYONE – had ever been.

  ‘Where is Sk’shk?’ asked Billy.

  Terra took a deep breath and composed herself. ‘Nobody knows. Banished somewhere. The Walkers were supposed to be looking for him. And me. They haven’t forgiven me for embarrassing them so much.’

  Billy sensed Terra’s fear. He steered the conversation towards a more general take on the topic. ‘So the Walkers are planning to attack Fnrr?’

  Terra’s face fell. ‘If they haven’t already,’ she said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  Terra looked at Billy. There were tears in her eyes. ‘I haven’t heard anything from Fnrr in months, Billy. My last visit from my stepfather was well over a year ago. My last message came shortly after. Then nothing. I’ve been calling and calling on that alien phone-thing and no reply. And if any of the human politicians or scientists have heard anything, they haven’t told me. I’m afraid something terrible has happened.’

  Terra got up and stared at the holographic display. Stars rushed past her as the star-chart zoomed in on their destination. She went on: ‘My human parents – they love me, they love me so much, and they suffered so terribly for so long, but they don’t . . . GET me. No one on Earth really gets me. There’s only one person in the galaxy who gets me, and I don’t know whether he’s alive, dead, or—’ Her voice cracked. Billy got up and placed what he hoped were comforting hands on her shoulders.

  ‘That’s why I stole the bounty hunter’s ship. I’ve got to find out what’s happened. I’ve got to go—’

  Go on, Terra, she thought. Say the word. The word you never say. The name you’ve never allowed yourself to call that place.

  ‘I’ve got to go home,’ said Terra. She looked at the little orange-green holographic globe with its six holographic moons. Tears streamed down her face, and she found that she was smiling.

  INTERLUDE

  Perfect Day

  The planet had been known by many names throughout its history.

  Many civilisations had risen and fallen on its surface over the aeons, all coining their own names for their homeworld in their respective languages. But now the planet was home to a single culture, and was known by a single name.

  Perfection.

  Because it was.

  The planet was inhabited by a unified, homogenised culture not as a result of war or conquest but as the product of a centuries-long process of peaceful unification. The philosophy of Sha’ha-las, the simple principle of equality and forbearance, had arisen on the island of La’Shul and spread from nation to nation, continent to continent, through sheer force of moral example. Sha’ha-las was simply, self-evidently, a better way to live.

  The tenets of Sha’ha-las, as codified by the ancient philosopher-priests of La’Shul, were poetically phrased and eloquently succinct. They boiled down to three things: don’t take what you don’t need, help those who require it, and (most importantly) no whining.

  Adherence to these three ‘laws’ (although ‘law’ was almost a forgotten concept on Perfection) had brought the planet to a st
ate of universal peace and contentment.

  There was no war on Perfection. What purpose would it serve?

  There was no crime; no one wanted for anything.

  There was no hunger, and little disease; with no misery to relieve, the citizens of Perfection’s dietary habits were the healthiest in all the known worlds, and with few competing social or economic priorities, the planet’s medical facilities were the best equipped in the galaxy.

  There had not even been a natural disaster on Perfection within living memory. While this was, of course, nothing more than a bizarre coincidence, it was hard for the people of Perfection (and indeed others) to avoid the suspicion that Fate itself could not bear to mar such serenity with anything so vulgar as a flood or quake.

  Life on Perfection could not be improved upon in any way.

  And that, its people came to realise, was the problem.

  PART TWO

  Bring it on Home

  2.1

  ‘When I was a little boy,’ said Billy, ‘I went on holiday to Wales. We were supposed to set off on the Saturday, but Dad had a work thing, so we had to go on the Sunday instead. We were staying in this self-catering caravan and we didn’t have room in the car to take any shopping with us. We decided to drop all our stuff off in the caravan, then go and stock up at a shop near the site. But could we find anywhere open? Not a thing. No big supermarkets anywhere in sight, just little local shops, all closed and shuttered up. We drove to the next town; it was completely silent and deserted. Same with the town after that. If we hadn’t found a garage selling Pot Noodles we’d have starved until Monday. Nobody had warned us that Wales on a Sunday is like that bit at the beginning of Day of the Triffids. But compared to THIS’ – he gestured around himself – ‘Wales on a Sunday is like the Westfield Shopping Centre on Christmas Eve. What’s HAPPENED here, Terra?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Terra. ‘No idea at all.’

  They stood on one of the main streets of Terra’s home city of Hrrng. The familiar glass and steel spires glinted in the orange afternoon sun. Clouds drifted through the calm pink sky. It was the middle of what, by Terra’s reckoning, should have been a busy day, but there was not a soul to be seen. Anywhere.

  ‘I, er, take it it’s not usually like this?’ ventured Billy.

  Terra shook her head.

  Images and scenes from all sorts of movies that Billy was still too young to have seen legally began to flash through his mind. He shuddered and cast a look at Terra. He hoped she hadn’t seen them. Instinctively, he took Terra’s hand. She was trembling but trying not to let it show.

  Billy was still running through the movie scenes in his head; finding himself unable to stop the procession of disturbing images, he decided to mine them for possible explanations. ‘Disease?’ he suggested, nervously.

  Terra shook her head. ‘The ship’s scanners would have detected it and warned us.’

  ‘What about some sort of infection that rips through the population, then burns itself out?’ Billy went on. He had a feeling he’d read about such things. ‘There wouldn’t be anything left for the ship to detect.’

  ‘Fnrr had a quarantine beacon, like most civilised planets,’ said Terra. Billy chose to overlook the implied criticism of Earth and let her continue. ‘If there were some sort of plague, they would have activated the beacon. We’d have been warned not to approach.’

  ‘What if it were some sort of virus – or something – that wiped everyone out in seconds? What if there wasn’t time to activate the beacon?’ Billy was aware of the horror of what he was suggesting, and was reluctant to do so, but it was a possibility he felt they needed to consider. Fortunately it wasn’t a possibility which seemed to trouble Terra. She shook her head emphatically.

  ‘There’d be bodies everywhere.’

  It was true. The streets were devoid of Fnrrns, living, dead or otherwise. There was no sign of catastrophe at all, in fact; no bodies, no burned-out buildings, no abandoned machinery. Whatever had happened, it appeared to have happened in an orderly fashion.

  ‘Well, that’s one thing,’ said Billy encouragingly.

  ‘What is?’ asked Terra.

  ‘Your angry warriors – the Walkers? They didn’t sound like the kind of people who’d invade your city and leave it quite this . . . tidy.’

  Terra pondered Billy’s words. It was true; whatever had happened here, her worst nightmare – the vengeance of the Walkers of the True Path – did not appear to have come true. That at least was encouraging. But it still didn’t explain this.

  They’d left the Kotari ship in stationary orbit over Mlml (Billy was beginning to wish they’d raided its considerable larders beforehand) and set off for the surface in Strannit’s landing dinghy, still a far more comfortable ride than the Tastak vessel had been.

  All the way down, Terra had been calling Hrrng traffic control, the Preceptorate – anyone on the surface – to try to tell them of their approach, but she hadn’t managed to raise anyone. She was speaking a language that seemed to consist entirely of consonants; Billy couldn’t understand a word, but he sensed her mounting concern and panic as they descended.

  Terra’s distress had only increased as they left the dinghy (parked invisibly in a well-maintained city park, its landing struts making dents in the tidy purple lawn) and walked into town, finding it silent and deserted. Now, as their eyes and ears searched in vain for any sign of life (or similar), Billy decided to take charge. Terra’s breathing was quickening, he noticed, and her eyes were misting. If she were to succumb to panic, Billy realised, then they really would be in trouble, for however bewildered Terra might be, she had at least been here before.

  ‘So,’ said Billy with a lot more calm and focus than he was actually feeling, ‘where to now?’

  It did the trick. Terra blinked, swallowed and reached into her bag. From it, she produced her translucent tablet computer (her ‘slate’ he thought he’d heard her call it) and gazed at it. Her eyebrows knitted crossly. ‘The Source is on,’ she said. ‘It’s still active but it’s locking me out. I can’t connect, but at least there’s still something to connect to. That’s a start, I suppose.’

  ‘What’s the Source?’ asked Billy. ‘Is it like the Internet?’

  Terra smiled. ‘Yes, in the same way a jet fighter is like a steam train. Come on.’ She stuffed the slate back into her bag and strode purposefully off.

  ‘We’re going to the Preceptorate,’ she announced over her shoulder. (Billy had so obviously been about to ask ‘Where are we going?’ that she thought she’d save him the trouble.) ‘If there are any answers anywhere, that’s where they’ll be.’

  Terra had set off at such a vigorous pace that she’d gone quite a distance before she realised Billy wasn’t with her. She turned to see where he was.

  Billy was sat slumped on the ground where she’d left him. ‘Billy?’ she called, concerned for his well-being (and her own – was there some sort of disease lingering after all?). He did not reply; she hurried back towards him. ‘Billy!’ she said again, more urgently.

  He looked up at her. His eyes were moist and bleary. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sniffed, ‘but it just hit me – I’m on an alien planet.’ Billy smiled tearfully.

  Terra gave him a very understanding smile. ‘Alien to you, maybe,’ she said, extending a hand. ‘Come on.’

  * * *

  They pressed on through streets as strange to Billy as they were familiar to Terra, though their quietness and emptiness continued to disturb her. While he knew better than to say so, Billy found the solitude reassuring. Thus far he’d met aliens one at a time. The thought of suddenly being surrounded by them – on their planet, moreover – was unnerving, even if (as Terra assured him) these aliens would be by some margin the nicest he’d met thus far.

  As they walked, Terra reminisced about her childhood in the city – pointing out a park where
she’d played with her adoptive father, a building where her friend had lived. Billy suspected that this narration was less for his benefit than to keep Terra’s mind occupied, to block the various nightmare scenarios he knew would pass through if she allowed them to. He felt desperately sorry for her, and wretchedly powerless to help.

  At last they arrived at the Preceptorate, which Billy recognised as some sort of college, except it seemed to be the size of a small town in its own right. They passed between towers and through open plazas, and still found no one. Then, rounding a corner, the first clue.

  Terra flinched and gripped Billy’s hand tight (he’d quite forgotten she was holding it). She was looking at what appeared to be a pile of rubbish, heaped up in the middle of a little five-sided courtyard. On closer inspection, Billy saw that rather than a jumble of objects, it was in fact a pile of many examples of the same object, a sort of desk lamp affair, with a glass shade and curved metal stem. All had been smashed.

  ‘What are they?’ he asked.

  ‘Interfaces,’ said Terra quietly. ‘Someone’s destroyed all the interfaces. Why would anyone do that?’

  Terra had never been fond of the telemnemonic information transfer devices; her first experience with one had left her with singed hair and a blinding headache, but to see them smashed – deliberately smashed – chilled her to the bone. Billy did not recognise the shattered objects, but something about the pile of debris put him in mind of scratchy black and white films showing stacks of burning books.

  Terra shuddered and led Billy away. They passed between a white-domed building and a curious twisting horn-shaped tower. Suddenly Terra let out an excited yelp. ‘They fixed it!’ she said.

  Billy was greatly relieved to hear Terra sounding happy; he looked to see what had delighted her so. It was a statue; a blue metallic statue, some ten metres high. As they approached, Billy saw that the statue wasn’t actually on the ground; rather it hovered a metre or so above its stone plinth, rotating slowly. He was interested to notice that this didn’t surprise him in the slightest.