by Eric Brown
“So what do we do now?”
“Two options. We could hire a vehicle and make for Kallaniki right away, or we could wait a while and see if the Krinthian turns up.”
“I must admit I’m impatient to be away.”
She frowned. “I know. But I’d like to go to Kallaniki in full command of the facts, or with as much information as it’s possible to gather. If you do your meet and greet the alien act again, I’ll do my best to scan it. I’d like to know why Maatje wants to meet the Zuterainian.”
She pointed along the foreshore. “The Krinthian’s dome is that one, three along from here. And if I’m not mistaken . . .”
A silver roadster wafted past the bar and settled outside the dome. Hendrick lowered his glass to the table, with a glance at Mercury, then watched as the vehicle’s passenger door slid open. The adipose Krinthian, K’ransa, garbed in a black-and-white-striped djellaba, eased itself out, waddled up the ramp, and entered the dome.
“I’ll give it a few minutes,” Hendrick said, taking up his beer again.
Mercury nodded. “I’ll follow you until I’m within range. Have you thought about what you’ll say?”
“It occurred to me that it might be still in contact with Maatje. If so, it’d be foolish of me to waltz in and announce who I am. I don’t want to give Maatje prior warning that I’m here.” He thought about it. “I’ll just say I’m an old friend of Hovarth’s.”
“That’d work, Matt. Good luck.”
He drained his beer and left the bar.
As he approached the alien’s dome along the raised walkway, a portal in the skin of the dwelling irised open and the alien shuffled out onto a circumferential verandah. The Krinthian caught sight of Hendrick and raised one of its four arms in greeting.
“Ah, Mr Hendrick, is it not? I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last.”
Hendrick stared up at the adipose ee-tee, his heart thudding.
“Please,” the alien went on, “won’t you join me?”
Hendrick hesitated and then, curious, he climbed the steps to the verandah. “We haven’t met,” he began. “How do you . . . ?”
K’ransa interrupted. “I have heard so much about you, Mr Hendrick.”
“Ah, from Heanor back on Istria?” He paused before the Krinthian, who stood a good head shorter than him. The ee-tee peered up with its tiny stalked eyes, then turned and gestured to a table where a carafe of golden liquid and two goblets stood. It was as if the alien had been expecting him.
“Please, join me, Mr Hendrick.”
Hendrick sat at the table and watched the Krinthian ease its bulk onto a plastic chair. He glanced back towards the café and saw Mercury crossing the walkway and ducking into a stand of shrubbery beneath the verandah.
K’ransa grasped the carafe in its stubby grey fingers and poured. “A delicacy from my homeworld, a slightly alcoholic drink distilled from the bolo fruit. I am told it appeals to the human palate.”
Hendrick considered declining the offer, but reasoned that his fear of being drugged was groundless. He took a tiny sip; the sweet liquid effervesced on his tongue, busting with a unique fruit flavour. “It’s delicious.”
He studied the alien’s face as K’ransa tipped the drink into its slit mouth. Aside from the eyes on their stubby stalks, and the lipless slot of the mouth, the great grey headpiece was entirely featureless and bereft of expression.
K’ransa set the goblet down and said, “But to answer your question, Mr Hendrick. No, it was not Heanor who told me of your presence here. Your ex-partner, Mat-jay, informed me of your arrival.”
“She did?” He floundered. “But . . . I had no idea she was aware I was here. How did she know?”
K’ransa waved two thick arms. “That I cannot say, for I do not know, Mr Hendrick. But she said that she was expecting you soon, and that I should relay a message from her.”
“A message?” He took another drink of the Krinthian alcohol.
“It is this, Mr Hendrick: Mat-jay and Ho-varth will be pleased to meet you at their temporary residence near the town of Kallaniki. They are staying at a villa on the outskirts, situated on the only road from here. The dwelling is distinctive; it is timber, and sits upon a hillside surrounded by marassa vines.”
Hendrick nodded, gathering his thoughts. He was surprised by this turn of events, by Maatje’s invitation, and more than a little suspicious.
“Did Maatje say why she wanted to see me?”
“I understand that it pertains to your daughter, Mr Hendrick. She wishes to explain why she has come this far with . . . with your daughter’s body, and what she plans to do next.”
Hendrick’s heart pounded. “And what’s that?” he asked, leaning forward.
The alien turned an arm in a circular motion. “It is not for me to say, Mr Hendrick. Mat-jay will explain everything when you eventually meet.”
“Very well.” He took another drink, flustered; the alcohol was addictive, its effect soothing. He thought quickly, then said, “It’s something to do with the Zuterainian, isn’t it? She hired you to introduce her to the alien?”
“That is correct. She hired my services as a fharan, in my language—in yours, a go-between or intermediary. In my many years of service, I have had many dealings with the noble beings of the Zuterain race.”
“And why did Maatje wish to meet the Zuterainian?”
“Ah . . .” The alien picked up its goblet and took a long drink. “The Zuterainian, one Vereen by title, is known as a . . . korth, in its own language.”
“A korth?” Hendrick echoed, shaking his head. “And how does that translate into English?”
K’ransa gave the question due consideration. “There is, to my knowledge, no adequate translation.”
Hendrick sat back, exasperated. His conversation with the ee-tee seemed to be going around in circles. “And Maatje’s reason for meeting the Zuterain?” he asked again.
“She wished to hire his services, Mr Hendrick.”
“Very well,” he said patiently. “And those services are?”
“I think,” K’ransa said after a pause of five seconds, “that it would be wise for me to keep silent upon that matter and allow Mat-jay to tell you herself.”
Hendrick finished his drink and was about to thank the Krinthian and take his leave when he hesitated. “You said that Maatje told you about me, K’ransa . . . But what did she say?”
The ee-tee leaned forward. “She said, Mr Hendrick, that although she personally despised you, she could not doubt the love you harboured for your dead daughter. In consequence of this, she asked me to arrange the meeting. Now, Mr Hendrick, would you care for a little more wine?”
“Thank you, but no,” Hendrick said. “I . . . I am more than a little drunk already, and . . . thank you for your hospitality.”
“It has been my pleasure entirely, Mr Hendrick.”
He stood, tipsily, saluted to the alien and made his way from the verandah and down the steps.
He moved back to the bar, aware that Mercury was following. His head was thick and his thoughts sluggish, the effect disproportionate to the volume of alcohol he’d consumed. He sat down and looked back towards the Krinthian’s dome. K’ransa was waddling across the verandah towards the portal in the skin of the dwelling. The ee-tee passed from sight, and Hendrick tried to make sense of what he’d learned from the encounter.
Mercury joined him. “That stuff certainly affected your head.”
“You caught all that?”
“And more.”
“In that case please tell me what’s going on. Why does Maatje want to meet the Zuterainian, and what the hell is he? K’ransa said he was a korth—but what does that mean?”
“A korth, Matt, is some kind of doctor—but not a medical doctor as we think of it. More . . . More a doctor of the soul.”
“What the hell?” He shook his head. “But why does Maatje . . . ?”
“According to what I read in K’ransa’s mind,” Mercury sa
id, “Maatje believes that the Zuterainian might be able to help your daughter.”
Hendrick stared at her, his pulse pounding. “But . . . But Sam died of an alien disease, a virus. No damned doctor of the soul is going to cure that!”
Mercury shrugged. “I don’t know what to think, Matt.” She squeezed his hand. “But you’ll find out more when you meet Maatje. Come on, I’ll hire a land-car.”
Stunned, Hendrick stood and followed her from the bar.
EIGHT
THE SUN-WARPED TIMBER FARMHOUSE STOOD ON A HILLTOP amid orderly rows of crimson marassa vines. Mercury steered the land-car behind a stand of trees at the foot of the hill and Hendrick gazed up at the ancient, sprawling building.
He tried to quell his apprehension. Up there on the hill was his daughter, the goal of his quest for the past five years—but he was not looking forward to confronting Maatje and her lover.
“What now?” he asked Mercury.
“I’d like to accompany you, but I think that might be a mistake. I’ll conceal the car and make my way up to the house unseen.” She gazed at Alpha Reticuli B, the small orange sun rising over the horizon. “It’s a pity there’s no night-time here. I could do with the cover of darkness. Once you get to the house and find out what’s going on, contact me and tell me where Maatje and the others are. I’ll do my best to get within range and read them.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’d really like to find out what the business with the Zuterainian is all about.”
“You said he was a soul-doctor,” Hendrick said. “That sounds like a faith-healer to me.”
She nodded. “I need to know more about him—what he intends to do about your daughter, and if his intervention might be in any way . . .”
“Go on.”
“Detrimental to her ultimate well-being. He’s alien, for God’s sake. There’s no telling what his methodology might be.”
Hendrick pulled his bag from the back seat and climbed out.
“Take care,” Mercury said, and eased the land-car onto the road and around the bend.
He set off up the track climbing between the crimson vines. Beyond the house the smaller sun balanced on the horizon. Behind him, Alpha Reticuli A was setting, ushering in the cooler twenty-five-hour day. Nevertheless, the air was still hot and he was sweating by the time he reached the crest of the hill and approached the warped timbers of the farmhouse.
A silver utility truck stood before the stoop, no doubt what they’d used to transport Samantha’s suspension pod here. He passed the truck and climbed the creaking steps to the front door.
He was about to reach up and palm the sensor, but Maatje had evidently observed his arrival. She pulled open the door and stood on the threshold, staring at him.
He’d last seen her, briefly, a few weeks ago in the underground cavern on the planet of Avoeli; the light had been dim there, the circumstances not conducive to appreciating how the years had treated her. She was in her early forties now, tall and statuesque, her face strong and unlined. By contrast, he imagined that he appeared haggard and jaded by the dance she had led him from planet to planet across the Expansion.
“Matt, it’s good to see you.” She spoke English softly, with a slight Dutch accent.
His instinct was to call her a liar, as he remembered K’ransa’s words, but he resisted the urge. “How did you know I was on Tourmaline?”
“Vizzek. I contacted him yesterday and he told me what had happened. I thought it wouldn’t be that easy to shake you off.”
He looked past her into the shadowy foyer; he made out wood-panelled walls hung with old prints.
“What’s happening here? Why did you want to see me?”
She stepped aside. “All in good time. Come in. I’ll show you to your room. Later, after you’ve refreshed yourself, we’ll have dinner.”
He followed her into the hallway and up a sweeping flight of stairs. “Where’s that damned alien witch-doctor?”
She turned to him outside a bedroom door. “We’ll explain everything over dinner,” she said, and gestured to the east wing of the house. “Vereen is meditating at the moment. It’s vital that he’s in the right . . . the right state of mind before he attempts—”
“What?”
She shook her head. “Later,” she said, and hurried back along the landing and down the stairs.
He moved into the room, dumped his bag and stepped into the adjacent bathroom. He showered, then lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He was impatient to question Maatje and Hovarth, and above all else he wanted to meet the Zuterainian. Only then, he thought, would he be in a position to assess the feasibility of wresting his daughter away from his ex-wife.
He accessed his wrist-com and attempted to contact Mercury. He swore as a CONNECTION UNAVAILABLE message flashed up on the screen. He wondered if she’d been able to approach the house undetected, and where she might be now.
He left the room and made his way downstairs.
Maatje met him at the foot of the stairs. “Would you care for a drink before we eat?”
He followed her into a long, low lounge with a vast picture window looking out over serried magenta vines.
“Do you still drink beer?” she asked, her back to him at a small bar in the corner of the room.
“What do you think?” He hesitated. “You do know that what you did was illegal?”
She poured him a lager and turned, smiling. “I’m not sure that any jurisdiction covers what I hope to achieve here.”
“I mean,” he said, snatching the glass from her hand, “taking Sam as you did.”
Nursing a gin and tonic, she moved across to the window and turned to regard him. “That’s debatable. It really depends on which set of laws you invoke.”
“Rubbish. By the laws of the state from where you carried out the action—Europe—you were in breach of at least half a dozen custody codes.”
“But by the laws of Lansdowne, where we were both citizens when Sam fell ill and died, I was well within my rights. You should never have taken her to Earth without my express consent.”
“I was taking her to where we’d get the best medical aid, for Chrissake! I was thinking of Sam!”
“No, Matt,” she said, “as ever, you were thinking only of yourself.”
He took a drink, controlling his rage. “How can you say that? Sam should be on Earth, in medical care, until—”
“At least I’m attempting to do something for our daughter,” Maatje said. “Unlike you, who are content to leave her languishing in some hospital morgue.”
“I’m in contact with medical experts. As soon as a possible cure turns up, I’ll be alerted.”
“And a lot of good that has done. Have you had any luck on that front over the past five years? At least I . . . Hovarth and I . . . we’re doing something.”
“Something? Was that debacle on Avoeli something? You call resorting to superstition and alien witch-doctors a sane way of helping Sam?”
She stood with her arms tightly crossed before her chest, clutching her drink. “We need to talk about this rationally. We both want the same thing for our daughter. I can’t just do nothing. I want to see my daughter grow up, watch her develop. So much joy of having children is the anticipation of their future, thinking ahead to what they’ll become. I don’t want to be an old woman when a cure is at last found.”
“And you accused me of thinking only of myself!”
“That’s unfair. I want what’s best for Sam.”
“And don’t you think I want that?” he said, exasperated. “Believe me, the best thing is to place our trust in conventional medicine. Okay, so it might take time. But I’d rather wait a while than risk the quack cures you seem—”
She interrupted. “I love Sam, for God’s sake! I’m risking nothing!”
“What about that fiasco on Avoeli? You were willing to entrust Sam to a crackpot cult of religious fanatics who believed in some kind of alien resurrection.”
“But what if it had worked,
Matt? What if they could have brought our daughter back to life?”
He shook his head, staring at her. Was she so far gone in her grief and desperation that she would place her faith in anything, anything at all, if it promised the resurrection of their daughter?
“But it wouldn’t have worked,” he murmured. “It couldn’t have done any such thing. The universe doesn’t work like that.”
“How soullessly reductionist your worldview is, Matt! I almost forgot that about you, but it was one of the many things that eventually drove me away. Your arrogant rationalism that would admit nothing that wasn’t codified and accredited by your limited scientific materialism!”
He stared at her, then looked away. There was no point in arguing with her; their opinions were irreconcilably opposed. “What does the Zuterainian intend to do to Sam?”
“Over dinner. Vereen is better at explaining things like this than I am.”
“When is the . . . the procedure due to take place?”
“Tomorrow. That is, in about ten hours from now. I don’t know what timeframe you’re working on, but it’s now evening for us. We’ll retire after dinner, and in the ‘morning’ Vereen will start the process.”
“I’d like to see Sam first. You’ll allow me that?”
Maatje hesitated. “Of course. After dinner, if that’s okay?”
Before he could reply, the door opened and a tall, dark-haired man appeared on the threshold. He stopped and stared across at Hendrick. “Ah, Matt . . . So you arrived at last.”
He advanced across the room, a hand outstretched. Hendrick hesitated before taking it. The odd thing was that, despite Emanuel Hovarth’s absconding with his wife, despite the surgeon’s complicity in spiriting Sam away from Earth, Hendrick found it hard to hate the man.
“I’m pleased that you could make it, Matt.”
Maatje explained, “It was on Emanuel’s insistence that I summoned you here.”
Hendrick turned to her. “So you wouldn’t have, given the choice?”
“I . . . I was in two minds about how you might take all this,” she admitted. She smiled. “And how you’ve reacted so far has vindicated my indecision.”
