by Patty Jansen
Heart thudding, I glanced over my shoulder, but saw nothing except walking silhouettes of men, probably Indrahui also, judging by their height.
“Thayu?”
“She’s coming,” Kershaw grumbled in a what-are-you-worried-about tone.
“How can you. . . ?”
“See?” He completed the sentence for me. “I see very well, Mr Wilson. Your lady guard is just behind you.”
I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of Thayu’s body armour. Relaxed.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were—”
“Blind? I was, thanks to cancer in my eyes from high UV at Taurus, but my friends here have fixed that up.”
With eyes that looked like a thick soup of mist?
“If you can see, what colour is my shirt?”
“Blue.”
That would have been correct had I been wearing my gamra uniform, which I wasn’t. So . . . was he bluffing? Guessing? Did he know the behaviour of his men so well?
He laughed. “You’re right, Mr Wilson, my eyes are totally blind. I have infused into my brain a patch that allows me to see like a bat. That’s the power of technology I’m about to show you.”
The corridor ended in another room, empty except for a spiral staircase. Kershaw led the way up and around, and around into some sort of tower. Small lights dotted the circular walls, neatly stuccoed and with impressions of various shapes—little flowers and animals.
I looked over my shoulder, but saw nothing except unfamiliar men, Indrahui indeed.
We went around the circular tower wall twice before we emerged through a rectangular opening under a dome of glass. Low clouds scudded overhead, discharging a light spit of rain. On one side, the room looked out into a sparsely-lit courtyard, where a potted plant waving in the wind threw eerie shadows on the earthen ground. Two levels of arched galleries surrounded the courtyard. Empty balconies and closed doors.
In the middle of the glasshouse room stood a pentagonal bench. One person sat there, at the controls of a machine which reminded me of the hub in my apartment; two more people stood behind him, silhouetted only by the lights from the building below.
Kershaw said a few words, presumably a greeting.
No one replied. Their eyes glinted at me in silent suspicion.
The men following us took up positions by the top of the stairs. Not armed—huh? They looked suspiciously like security. Where was Thayu? I shifted my sleeve up slightly. The light that indicated Thayu blinked slower still.
Kershaw exchanged a few words with the man behind the control panel.
“Please realise that you are very privileged to come up here.”
“Thank you, but I’d like to know where my zhayma is first.”
“Downstairs. She’ll wait there.”
“But I—”
“Really, Mr Wilson, don’t worry. She is just waiting. With her connections, we cannot allow her inside. Surely, you understand that.”
This was stupid. He had to know that I could share the information with her as soon as we left the building.
The seated man brought up a single white light on a holographic display, and its glow lit up the faces of the others in the room.
The two on either side of Kershaw were a man and a woman, their faces pale-skinned, with high cheekbones. The man had straight and very dark hair, his eyes black. The woman had to be older because veins corded the back of her long-fingered hands, although her hair was the colour of honey and curled softly around her face. Her eyes were the clearest green I had ever seen, like glass bottles.
Aghyrians, both of them, sure enough.
“Watch closely, Mr Wilson, and know this is only a prototype.”
An image flickered into the air. A pink, dust-covered planet, intersected by deep grooves. Asto. The image zoomed out until the planet was only a dot and was joined by a second one: Ceren.
The operator peered at the screen before him, seemed to spot something, and shifted the image. Ceren again, now closer, and compared to Asto, compared to Earth even, obscenely green. A tiny green dot moved over the surface of the planet.
“Shuttle from Kedras,” the operator said, in curt Coldi, sliding some controls, his eyes on the moving dot in the projection.
Kershaw grinned. “Watch.”
There was an intense hum that vibrated inside my chest. From somewhere on the roof of the building a beam of dark red light shot out. It showed up like a thread on the holographic image, snaking through the sky. It hit the little dot that was the approaching craft and pushed it a good deal further, all in the space of a split second.
In the distance, there was a sound like thunder which rattled the glass in the windows.
My heart pounded as I tried not to meet Kershaw’s eyes. He said Sirkonen had agreed with them? Agreed or been bullied into agreeing? And then murdered when things didn’t go as planned? Here was my proof. The red flash. They had used this machine or something like it to move part of the window to kill Sirkonen. It had always been their intent to kill him, not me, and the datastick . . . did they know I had it?
I knew what had to be on it: a letter from Sirkonen to me with what he had found out about these people. Names, contact details. A warning about why, and how.
I swallowed, my mouth dry, and realised I had to say something, anything. “A one-way Exchange interaction?” The Exchange was safe because it was a three-way interaction and needed confirmation from all involved parties: from the sending entity, the receiving entity and the transferred craft.
“It’s called a sling, and the Aghyrians had already worked out the theory at the time of the meteorite impact so that space-travelling vessels could propel themselves across space, no need for a receiving reference point. It means that we won’t need the existing Exchange network anymore.”
“And there is . . . only one of these machines?” Oh, a dangerous question, Delegate.
“Yes, we don’t need many to maintain a network.”
I felt sick. If these people were allowed to break away from gamra, and build a larger version of this machine, they could sling others across space without their knowledge. Use this technology as a weapon. Move the opposition into mid space, with no way to get back. That was just the sort of thing gamra was set up to prevent.
“That is the deal, Mr Wilson. Nations of Earth could be part of this development. President Sirkonen was very excited about this technology.”
No, he wasn’t. It killed him. Did they realise I had been with Sirkonen when they killed him? They had to know. So what were they doing? Sounding me out. Is he safe? Can we buy his vote? If I ever got out of this room alive.
Over on the horizon, over waterlogged roofs, searchlights cut through the rain, and lights flashed. The blaring of a siren drifted on the wind. An emergency at the airport. They’d been testing this equipment for the past few days—and—
No one—including Kershaw—could see the red light. They didn’t know I knew. Did they even realise the red light was there?
I chose my words as carefully as I could. “I’d say this technology is rather . . . dangerous. If I am to consider your proposal, and take messages to Danziger, I think I need to know that it’s safe.”
“Oh, it is safe,” Kershaw said.
“I want guarantees,” I said. “Written in clear language. Scientifically explaining it, why it’s as safe as the current technology.” My mind worked hard. How was I going to get out of here?
“That can be arranged,” Kershaw said.
“All right. I will await that information. You know where to contact me.”
I turned to the entrance of the stairs.
“A moment, Mr Wilson.”
“Yes?” Something in the tone of his voice chilled me deeply. It was a cold tone, one that said, You don’t think we’re going to let you leave without a promise, do you?
I fumbled for the tracker. My fingers had found the alarm button, and I pressed it as far down as I could. I slid my hand out of my sleeve.
Kershaw said a few words and a man sprang into action. The next moment, the huge Indrahui guard had my arms behind my back.
“Hey, let me go!”
Another man switched on a light at Kershaw’s back. A pool of golden light showed a table with, on its polished wood surface, a medico box of the foldout type. There were some frightfully thick needles, attached to a syringelike apparatus with a gunlike trigger. A tiny object of metal, looking like a piece of wire, lay on the work surface, looking, for all I could see, like a piece of wire. That was a security implant, as was used in prisons. It sent signals to the wearer’s brain causing confusion or headaches. More sophisticated versions muddled with the wearer’s memories.
I stiffened. “You can’t do this.”
“I don’t think you have a choice. This equipment—”
There was a shout, a voice in Coldi down the stairs. Thayu.
Stains of dirt marked her face, but the eyes that met mine glittered with relief.
Someone rose and ran through the room, yelling, “Grab her!”
I dug in my pocket. My fingers closed around the cool metal of the disk. In one motion, I rose, drew it out, and pointed it at the table. “Stand back!”
Kershaw cursed.
I turned and pointed the gun at their precious machine, willing my hands not to tremble. I had one shot to get it right.
Kershaw shuffled between the gun and the machine. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
I took a few paces towards the stairs. “No one is going to meddle with my memory.”
“Please Mr Wilson. Put that gun away. It is you and I who are at risk here. These are not normal people.”
“I don’t care who these people are. What I care about is this: your machine is a weapon, and I’ll make sure it won’t be used as such.”
He shouted.
I didn’t think, I didn’t question; I pressed the screen on the disk.
It fired. Lit the room in a bright blue beam of light, which hit the assailant square in the chest. The Aghyrian operator.
Light crackled over the man’s clothing, in his hair. His eyes widened and for an eerie moment that seemed to go on forever, he stumbled. But he didn’t fall. Blue light blazed from his eyes, and a crackle of lightning trailed up his arm. He still didn’t fall, but stood there, like a zombie. He blinked, then brushed the lightning off his arm as if it were a bit of dirt. Reached out . . .
A bolt of light hissed through the room. Blinded me.
Something pulled at the back of my shirt, hard. I crashed flat on my back. The light whooshed over my head and hit the opposite wall, ricocheting to the ceiling.
I was dead, I was dead. I’d die here and people would make movies about how I went in to save Kershaw but failed.
Glass shattered. Smoke billowed.
Through all of this, I saw my father’s face, and my mother’s, and Erith’s, and my uncle’s: all the people I needed to protect from this dreadful device. And Thayu—I’d led her into danger. Thayu and Nicha both.
Someone yanked on my clothes.
Not dead then.
I lifted my head, tasting blood in my mouth. Smoke filled the room with a chemical smell. Glass and debris lay everywhere. I couldn’t see Kershaw or any of the others, including the man who had thrown, or projected, the light, somehow, or whatever had happened.
“Cory, come!” Thayu said.
A harsh shout came from the other side of the room—it was too dark to see.
“Hurry!”
I scrambled up on hands and knees and launched myself head first down the stairs. I slid, bumping and trying to slow my fall by pushing against the wall. Rough stone scraped skin off my elbow.
I hit the bottom in a pathetic example of terribly unfit white human male.
Thayu, who had somehow followed me, pulled me to my feet. “Run!”
My mind clicked into gear. I ran. Had no idea where I was going. Up a flight of stairs. Footsteps followed, Thayu’s, I hoped. Light flashed behind me, but I didn’t look.
Thayu shouted directions. Right, left, up, down. I did as she told me, dazed, out of breath.
I came to a door, lifted the handle, but it was locked.
“Aside!”
A second to duck. Thayu bore down on the door hefting a metal bar over her head. A tremendous crash. Shards of wood scattered and bounced off the walls.
A moist breeze wafted in.
“Come.” Thayu was already through the hole.
I scrambled through splinters out into the street.
I still clutched the disk, now useless.
“This way.” Thayu grabbed my hand and pulled me into an alley, running at full speed, which was a good deal faster than I could run. I let myself be pulled along. Trying not to trip over my feet was the best I could do. Rain swept in my face, water splashed up my legs.
I couldn’t go any faster. My breath ached in my lungs. Pain stabbed my side. But Thayu pulled me and ran and ran. How she knew the way, I had no idea, but I had no breath to question. Flashes of light whizzed overhead. Someone had caught up.
Thayu stopped and pressed something cold and metallic into my hands. A charge gun.
I stammered, “How did you get that—”
“Not mine. Shoot at the trees, the walls. Don’t shoot at them or they’ll throw the charge back at us.” However they did this. Normal people just died when hit by a charge.
Shit. What sort of technology did they have?
She set the example, firing a volley of blue flashes into the walls at both sides of the alley. A rubbish bin disintegrated, spilling its contents on the pavement.
Then we were off again. Down the hill.
Down was good; we needed to get to the station which was somewhere on the shore. But I didn’t know which shore; it was too dark to see much, and the rain was pouring down in torrents that ran in my eyes. Thayu wasn’t doing much better, and I knew how much the water hampered her. The pavement, worn and smooth, became slippery under our feet.
“Stop!” She screeched to a halt in an alcove.
“What’s wrong?”
“Need . . . recharge. . . .” She was panting.
She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a canister. A bright glow betrayed our position when she flipped off the lid.
“Shield the light!” I whispered.
She turned her back to me. I felt her indignation—the feeder was working again. Then I also felt guilty about being harsh on her. Coldi had very poor night vision and I didn’t even know if she could see the glow from the pearls, the glow that was like a beacon to me.
A shiver ran across her back.
Sorry.
The feeder returned a burst of warmth. I was forgiven.
She took out the spent pearl—with her fingers—jammed it in her pocket without burning herself and clicked the new one into place. Her skin steamed and I could feel her heat through my wet clothes. She needed to increase her body heat to be this active, but it wouldn’t be long before her stamina ran out.
Do you know where we are?
“No.” In all likelihood, with her poor night vision, she couldn’t even see me.
Where are Evi and Telaris?
Gone, I hope.
I felt sick. They might be in trouble because of me. I tightened my grip on the gun and blocked the alcove wi
th my body, giving her time to recover. The chemical taste of the discharge was familiar in my mouth. I licked water off the back of my hand by way of rinsing my mouth, but that only made it worse.
Why is no one coming after us? Do you think we lost them?
Wouldn’t count on it. Maybe they’ve set a trap.
We waited. A steady rain fell from the sky, pattering on uneven pavement and in puddles. We were about halfway up a sloping alley that, as far as I could see in the dark, zigzagged down the hill. Sparse lights burned in courtyards and windows.
Sounds of normal life—people talking, the occasional shard of music—drifted over the street.
A strange thought struck me. In that moment I thought I might die, I’d thought of protecting gamra from the implications of this invention, I’d thought of my life being made into a movie, I’d thought of my father and Erith. I’d even thought of Nicha and Thayu. Now I stood here protecting her, feeling the heat radiate from her skin, knowing what she felt or would soon feel through the feeder. She was Coldi, but I understood her.
And I knew, deep within me, that I was right and Kershaw and the rest of them were wrong.
Human philosophical historians talked of waves of expansion. The first wave of colonisation had been when people from different continents “discovered” each other, followed by an understanding that regardless of skin colour we were all human. The second wave of colonisation had come when humanity established permanent populations on the Moon and later Mars, and when scientists discovered, quite by accident, that the anpar lines produced by the Exchange occurred naturally in some places, and so humanity had ventured to Taurus and New Taurus on its own steam, without intervention from gamra. The third wave of colonisation . . . no philosopher had mentioned a third wave as yet, but that was me, taking steps for humanity to rejoin the network of human species long ago seeded by the diaspora of the Aghyrians, truly immersing myself in human cultures that had no history on Earth, and feeling more comfortable with them than with my own.
