The Telemass Quartet

by Eric Brown

  “Without Cristiana taking her medicine?” Revere sounded dubious.

  He drank his juice, a thin, bittersweet liquid that quenched his thirst.

  “That is disturbing, yes.”

  Revere was silent for a second or two, her white teeth worrying her bottom lip. At last she said, “There was something . . . I dismissed it at the time. A few weeks ago, I was having lunch with Cristiana over at her place. She seemed distant, not her usual bright, intellectually enquiring self. I asked after her health, thinking she might be in pain. She tends to suffer in silence, you see.”

  “And?”

  “And she told me that she had no worries at all concerning her health, and that soon ‘all that will be cleared up’. Which struck me as odd, as Cristiana’s leukaemia, though kept in check with drugs, will one day kill her . . .” She lifted a hand, smiling at him to cover her distress.

  “Was that all?”

  “No. She went on to mention the Avoel and what they believed. Before she retired, Cristiana lectured in comparative cultural studies at the university. She was very knowledgeable about the Avoel and their ways, which I suppose is where Lalla picked up her interest in the aliens. Anyway, she mentioned that the Avoel do not believe in death, which struck me as odd, at the time—coming, as it did, so quickly after what she’d said about her own health.”

  “What do you think she meant?”

  Revere hesitated, taking a drink of juice. She stared off into the distance, as if reliving her conversation with the missing woman. “She told me that the Avoel believe in a form of reincarnation, which was news to me, as I understood that the religious beliefs of the aliens are animist.”

  “A form of reincarnation, she said? Did she explain what she meant?”

  “No. And I received the distinct impression that Cristiana thought she’d told me too much already.”

  Tiana glanced at her wrist-com. “We’d better be heading for the station, Matt.” She smiled at Revere. “We’re taking the train to Allay at two. I think—I hope—that we might be able to find Lalla there.”

  Revere smiled. “I wish you luck, and if there’s anything at all I can do . . .”

  Hendrick thanked her and they took their leave. They headed for the station via the hotel to collect his case, and caught the two o’clock train to Allay.

  FIVE

  THE MONORAIL FOLLOWED THE LENGTH OF the escarpment for five kilometres, hugging the incline and descending obliquely, and on reaching the plain turned north and gained speed. Hendrick had expected some ramshackle collection of carriages, as might befit a sparsely populated backwater colony world, and he had been surprised to find a sleek white bullet train waiting at the station platform.

  Its speed was impressive too; the town of Allay was over seven hundred kilometres north of Appallassy, and the journey would take a little over two and half hours. The carriage was almost empty but for themselves, and they sat at a window table and watched the jungle flash by outside. Occasionally the rail ascended above the canopy, affording spectacular views of the extensive jungle, and then burrowed back into the aqueous, arboreal gloom. Hendrick kept an eye out for any sign of the aliens but saw nothing other than long-legged, red-and-white-striped bovine analogues pasturing beside the track.

  Tiana called up a map on the tabletop and indicated the town of Allay. “We’ll arrive in the late afternoon, which will give us time to buy provisions and hire a truck.”

  “You’ve got it all planned.”

  She smiled. “I’ve never been into the jungle this far north before, so it’s all new to me. But Lalla told me all about what she does, where she hires vehicles.”

  She tapped the map north of Allay. “See this triangle next to a tumbled stone symbol? That’s the Avoel ruin where Lalla made her base. We’ll try there first.”

  He studied the map. “There’s a track that deep into the forest?”

  She nodded, her bottom lip trapped between white teeth. “It’s not marked but there’s an unmade road that passes close to the ruin. The track was used by prospectors in the early days, before they realised there was nothing to prospect.”

  “Travel would be a damned sight easier if the Avoel didn’t proscribe air-cars.”

  “Makes sense from their point of view, though. Would you want interlopers flying all over your planet?”

  He smiled. “Of course not. Especially human interlopers.”

  He watched the passing jungle, then said, “So, what do you make of what Dr Revere said?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, Matt. I have an idea . . . See what you think.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, how about Lalla’s mother set off into the jungle—not alone, but with members of her church on some crackpot jaunt or other—and Lalla found out and gave chase? That’d explain their disappearances.”

  “But why do you that think Lalla didn’t tell you where she was going?”

  “Two possibilities,” she murmured. “Either she didn’t want to get me involved, for fear of what might happen to me. Or . . . Or she didn’t trust me with the knowledge of what she was doing.”

  He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure it was the first. She didn’t want you to get mixed up with the threats of the Church.”

  She nodded. “Maybe . . .”

  They fell silent. Hendrick watched the gloaming jungle strobe by beyond the window. He closed his eyes, lost in thought. At one point, a train travelling in the opposite direction slammed past, gone in a second and startling him.

  Tiana laughed. He looked at her. “What?”

  Under the table she slipped off her plimsoll and lodged her foot against his crotch. He stroked her skin. “You were miles away, Matt. What were you thinking about?”

  He shrugged. He’d been recollecting, in an involuntary flash, their lovemaking last night—Tiana’s almost trancelike absorption in the pleasures of the flesh. It had occurred to him that he hardly understood this small woman, that she was almost as alien to him as the true aliens of this world.

  He shook his head. “My mind was a complete blank.”

  She watched him, her head tipped to one side.

  “What?” he said at last.

  “Last night, back at the hotel, you said you’d tell me what you’re doing here. Well?” He hesitated, looking down at her red-painted toenails lodged between the material of his trousers. Her feet were tiny and perfect—miniature representations of the person herself. He could not help contrast this woman with his ex-wife. Maatje was tall, broad, blonde—in her younger days, a member of the Dutch volleyball team, but now just a keen amateur athlete. No, not now. He’d meant five years ago, when she’d left him, repelled by dissatisfaction with the stultifying routine of married life and lured away by someone who promised the intellectual stimulation that he, Hendrick, could not provide.

  Tiana prodded his crotch with her bare foot. “Well!”

  “Hey, you’re a violent woman, Tiana Tandra!”

  “Why did you come to Avoeli, Matt? Who are you trying to find?”

  “My wife,” he said. “Or rather, my ex-wife and the man she was with.”

  She cocked her head. “Why? To get her back? How romantic . . . or insane.”

  “No, not to get her back—to get my daughter back.”

  “Ah . . .” She tipped her head back understanding. “That makes sense. Did they take her illegally?”

  “You could say that, yes.”

  “Tell me about her?”

  “My daughter?” The very words opened a pit of pain in his chest. He wished he’d refused to open up to Tiana’s enquiries, even if that would have seemed rude. “She’s ten and blonde and very pretty and precociously bright, and I miss her like hell.”

  “And your wife?”

  He smiled. “She’s thirty-five, tall and blonde, very intelligent, and I don’t miss her in the slightest. Not now.”

  “And the bastard she’s with?”

  He shrugged. “He’s a brillia
nt man, both a surgeon and an artist.” He shrugged. “So how could I compete?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “So . . . what are they doing on Avoeli?”

  He considered the question, then said, “Running away, Tiana . . . Running away in order to . . .” He stopped.

  “What?”

  “In order to live,” he temporised. There was no way he was going to tell her the real reason they were fleeing from Earth.

  That would be just too painful. “Matt?”

  “Yes?”

  “I . . . I just want to thank you for doing this, for helping me find Lalla.” He felt a sudden pang of guilt. He soon quashed it and changed the subject. He told her that Avoeli reminded him of a jungle world he’d been posted to in his early twenties, and Tiana listened to him, rapt, for the rest of the journey.

  • • •

  Allay was a small town built in the loop of a wide river. Founded on the waterway in the first decade that the planet was settled, the settlement was now a backwater in every sense of the word. It was little more than a glorified village, home to families that had lived there for generations and farmed the surrounding land.

  They left the station and strolled towards the riverfront, along which most of the town was situated. The buildings were single-storey, timber, and tumbledown, painted in the red, white, and green of the planetary flag. Motor rickshaws buzzed along the wide streets, and market stalls stood on every corner.

  Fomalhaut, a molten dome on the horizon, was setting on a long Avoeli night, though Tiana assured Hendrick that it would be twilight for a good few hours yet. “Just enough time for us to find a hotel for the night and hire a truck for an early start.”

  “Couldn’t we set off now and rest up when it gets dark?” Hendrick asked.

  “We could, but that’d mean we’d have to sleep in the truck. And a hotel bedroom would be more comfortable. Anyway, it’s only eight hours from here to the temple site. If we set off at dawn, we’ll be there before midday.”

  He glanced behind him, in the direction they had come from the station.

  “What?” Tiana said, following his gaze.

  “Nothing,” he said, not wanting to alarm her.

  They set off again, and Tiana led him to the idyllic waterfront and a rooming house built on stilts out over the placid waters of the river. As they approached the green-painted frontage, Hendrick contrived to slow down and glance into the window of a store selling outboard motors. He looked back along the pot-holed road in time to see a distant figure slip behind one of the sentinel palms that lined the street.

  Tiana paused in the entrance to the hotel and looked back. “Are you coming, Matt?”

  He followed her into the hotel and Tiana spoke in Malagasy to a smiling girl at reception. A minute later they were ushered upstairs to a big, bare double-room looking out over the river.

  “Now,” Tiana said, “how about we hire a truck then find a restaurant? Lalla said there are some places that do great fish dishes along the river.” She looked at him. “Matt?”

  He decided there was nothing to be gained by not telling her. “We were followed from the station.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know when I’m being followed.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  He’d already thought about that. “I’ll leave in five minutes, draw whoever it is away from here, and then try to find what the bastard wants—or rather, who sent him to trail us.”

  Her eyes were wide. “Be careful, Matt.”

  “I will,” he said. “Once I’ve gone, give it ten minutes and then go and hire a truck. Only don’t come back here. Take our bags and book in somewhere else. Contact me once you’re in the new place.”

  She nodded. “Who do you think . . . ?”

  “I don’t know. Someone from the Church? I’ll have a better idea once I’ve apprehended him.”

  He smiled at her shocked expression, crossed the room, and held her. He kissed her forehead and told her not to worry. “I’ll see you later, then we’ll go out and have a beer or two, okay?”

  A minute later he slipped from the room, hurried down the rickety staircase and stepped out into the roseate Avoelian twilight.

  The street was quiet, with just a dozen or so locals kicking their heels on the corner of the road leading to the station and a gaggle of kids chasing a football. The small man who had followed Hendrick and Tiana from the station was a hundred metres away, leaning against a palm tree and smoking a cigarette.

  Hendrick strolled casually in the opposite direction, making sure the man had plenty of time to see him and follow, then he turned right along the main road and affected interest in every shop window. The goods on display charmed him with both their paucity and uselessness. In one window he saw a single paperback book faded and curled by the sun, a child’s plastic car minus a front wheel, an out-of-date softscreen and a furled umbrella.

  He moved on, came to the end of the row and crossed the street. He stopped again to stare into the window of a barber’s shop and glance along the street. Sure enough, the little man was strolling slowly after him.

  He continued along the street. Up ahead he made out a defective holographic display advertising a bar.

  He came to the door, slipped inside, and ordered a beer. He sat in a booth at the back of the room, positioning himself so that he could see the street. A dozen dedicated drinkers sat at the bar, more intent on their beers than on the off-worlder. He drank a surprisingly good lager and waited for the man to pass the window.

  A minute later Hendrick saw him cross the street and take up his default position, learning casually against a palm tree and smoking his cigarette.

  He could see the man, but he knew the man would be unable to see him seated so far back in the shadowy bar. His tail must have been confident that once Hendrick had enjoyed his drink he’d leave the bar and continue on his way.

  Well, he was in for a surprise.

  Hendrick finished the beer, considered having another but decided against it. He was eager to find out why he was being followed. While he was confident the man was not his physical equal, he wanted to be sober when he confronted him.

  He slipped from the booth and pushed through a swing door which led along a corridor to the toilets. Further on was a back door, propped open by a bucket and mop. He stepped out into the warm evening and hurried along a narrow alley. He continued for a hundred metres, then turned left and came to the main street. He pressed himself against the crumbling brickwork and peered around the corner. The little man was still angled against the tree trunk, staring across the street at the bar.

  As the night cooled, the locals emerged to promenade, and minutes later Hendrick crossed the road in the cover of a posse of teenagers. He passed down a side street, turned left, and hurried down a street parallel with the one on which the man was stationed.

  A minute later, he emerged behind the tree where the man stood.

  He waited until the street was clear of potential witnesses then strode up behind the man. He grabbed his right wrist and forced it up between his shoulder blades. He felt the cartilage in the man’s shoulder creak in protest. To prevent a sudden cry of pain, Hendrick clapped his hand over the man’s mouth, dragging him back into the alley, and slammed him into the wall. He transferred his grip to the man’s neck and pinned him in position, lifting him off his feet and rendering him immobile.

  Hendrick was surprised on two counts: the man was in his fifties, and impeccably attired in a sharp black suit and white silk shirt. Not the obvious candidate to be trailing off-worlders at the behest of the local church.

  “Two ways of doing this,” Hendrick said. “The hard way or the easy way. The hard way, you say nothing and I hurt you. The easy way, you tell me who you are and why you’re following me, and I let you go.”

  He eased his grip on the man’s throat. “This is—!”

  “I don’t think you heard me, my friend. The hard way is that I hurt yo
u, and you’ll eventually speak. Or the easy way—speak and save yourself a lot of pain.”

  The man just stared at him, rage in his eyes.

  Hendrick hurt the man a little, increasing the pressure on his throat but not so much that he passed out or was unable to speak. He released his grip on the man’s windpipe and smiled.

  “Now, just who the fuck are you?”

  “Go . . . to . . . hell!” the man spat.

  Hendrick squeezed again and at the same time went through the man’s pockets. He found a silk handkerchief, a credit pin, and an ID card. He peered at the shiny rectangle and saw just enough to make his efforts in apprehending the man worthwhile.

  In another pocket he came across a miniature alarm pad.

  Shit . . .

  The bastard must have pressed the pad when Hendrick accosted him, or soon thereafter, because within seconds he heard a vehicle draw up at the mouth of the alleyway. Four armed police jumped out and approached, stun pistols at the ready.

  He lowered the man to the ground. “Your lucky day, isn’t it?”

  The man arranged his collar, smug satisfaction showing in his dark eyes.

  An overweight officer eyed Hendrick and spoke in Malagasy.

  Hendrick said, “Citizens arrest. He’s been following me ever since I arrived in Allay. I’m Captain Matthias Hendrick, Amsterdam Homicide Squad.”

  The officer eyed the local and said in heavily accented English, “We detected your alarm. Were you following Mr Hendrick?”

  The man avoided Hendrick’s eye. In cultured English he said, “I was taking an evening stroll, when this . . .” he spat a word in the local tongue and continued, “attacked me.”

  The officer’s glance shuttled between the local and Hendrick, and he said to the former, “You wish to press charges?”

  Just what I need, Hendrick thought.

  The man made a show of arranging the lapels of his jacket. “On this occasion, no,” he said.