by Andrew Lane
“We got real low a while ago,” Perry said. “Could make out what’s parked there.” The excitement broke through his attempted professional calm. “Look close, Tatia. You got good eyes!”
They were only a thousand or so metres above the ground and Tatia began to make out the shape of the parked SUTs. Some of them looked familiar. Cigar-shaped. Pyramids. Even like huge root vegetables. Others were strange, spidery constructions. One looked like a vast, squashed ball, another like the classic flying saucer, but easily five hundred metres wide. “It can’t be!” she all but whispered, then looked up at Perry. “Is it?”
“It’s a fucking space access point!” he shouted. “And it’s got visitors from all over! Not just Cancri. I’d bet there’s at least one human colony craft down there!”
13
“We don’t know he’ll die,” Nikki said, at the meeting Kara had called in the canteen. “No one knows what happens to a fee.”
They all looked at Tse who stared out at the stars on the screen. His silence confirmed what everyone suspected.
And then, as Marc could see Kara considering the implications – one fee dead, all fees dead – Tse turned away from the universe.
“I don’t know about all fees, only this one.”
Marc wondered if Tse was just being sensitive to Kara’s feelings. Then understood it was how Tse had earlier described pre-cognition: not fact, only possibilities and probabilities arising from an immediate situation. Kara’s sister was in the past. Tse would only know about her if she was important to the mission.
Kara ran though the evidence pointing to Leeman-Smith as the killer, then stated that as the person in charge, she had the right to decide how a new fee would be chosen. As the person with the fewest mission-vital skills – none at all, to be fair – Leeman-Smith had been the obvious choice. She was stating the obvious, but everyone understood the reason why. Because the RIL-FIJ-DOQ’s AI now had the intellectual capacity of an ancient electronic calculator, all personal AIs would be interrogated by GalDiv when they returned to Earth.
“You sure he was a Human Primus?” Henk asked.
Kara explained about the hidden program linked to a Human Primus computer address. Leeman-Smith had been a loyal sympathiser if not an agent.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nikki said directly to Kara, her expression one of support and something more. “You made the right choice, boss. Had to be done.”
The meeting ended and people drifted away leaving Marc on his own, staring at the screen.
As he stared, a star went out. A small, faint star in an unknown constellation. If Marc hadn’t been looking at that particular part of the galaxy he’d never have noticed.
The star had likely gone out a very long time ago, but the last of its light would continue on forever, so that somewhere “behind” the RIL-FIJ-DOQ existed beings who believed the star was still alive and shining. Scientists would analyse that light and so describe a heavenly body that was actually dead. The universe is mostly history. I am someone’s past. The idea made Marc smile; how simple to live in the moment, only concerned with people and events that immediately affected him. Perhaps an alien’s pet, with regular meals and his own swing door to the garden.
No, he thought. With his luck his owners would probably neuter him.
Because that’s what we’re becoming: their fucking pets, without the benefits.
He recognised the anger and uncertainty underlying his sudden change of mood. Also the loneliness. The relationships on board had changed since Leeman-Smith had gone, no Last Post played as the Gliese craft cut the tube then resprayed the bare patch over both airlocks. No minute’s silence for the dear departed mission manager – the man was, after all, a murderer and pompous with it – only averted glances and that awkward throat-clearing when people feel they should say something but want another person to be first.
The only thing is, Marc now thought, staring down at the scarred and stained plastic tabletop, Kara misled them. Not him, maybe not Tse, but certainly the staff. And that was why he was sitting alone in the canteen as he came to terms with the truth.
Leeman-Smith hadn’t killed the fee, and Kara knew it. Marc seriously doubted that Leeman-Smith had the nerve to kill anyone. But the real tell-tale had been Kara herself. The closeness resulting from simulity training meant that at times Marc knew her as well, maybe better, than he knew himself. He’d realised she was manipulating the staff; known that she’d never believed Leeman-Smith was the murderer. No matter. He trusted her above and beyond the simulity. Kara was the only real friend he’d had since the Out, albeit now a little distant.
Yet there were still two questions: who had killed the fee and why? Kara’s motives in covering up and then misleading were obvious.
First, to get Leeman-Smith off the RIL-FIJ-DOQ, and a new netherspace drive from the Gliese. Second, to let the real killer think they were safe… suggesting that Kara knew who it was. If the killer felt threatened, they’d probably kill again.
Marc sighed. He wished Kara had confided in him. Maybe he should ask her… no, perhaps that wasn’t such a brilliant idea. He stared down at the scarred tabletop. True, the RIL-FIJ-DOQ was used for solar-system trips, more taxi and truck than spacecraft, so it was bound to be tacky and run down. All the same, couldn’t they do better than olde worlde plastic? And those god-awful freeze-dried ration packs? And water from everyone’s urine, probably their shit as well? Technology almost a hundred years old, in harness with other technology so advanced no human understood it. It was the same back home, his own house with all the latest high-tech kit and yet his own excrement went into a deep hole in the backyard. Sure, it was a tried and tested – and ancient – method of sewage disposal, only needing to be cleaned out every three years or so. Yet still in use when humanity was travelling to the stars? Those two things, a table and a septic tank, suddenly brought home to Marc what Greenaway had said. Human science and engineering were now concerned with interpreting and using alien technology.
Except in the Out. At least, the last time he visited a year ago. Still the same bloody-minded, independent bunch of pirates, hermits, organic farmers, small-scale manufacturers, artists, writers, actors, musicians, crooks and eccentrics who in a city state would be deemed insane, criminal or both. Kara had told him that Greenaway had also been in the Out. Didn’t show much sign of it.
“Why so miserable?” Kara’s voice.
Marc looked up, his mood lightening. Was this the time to ask about Leeman-Smith? No. He’d wait for her to tell him. She’d assume that Marc had already intuited the truth. “We don’t matter.” He waved at the screen. “Here in the Up. We don’t belong.”
Kara glanced around to make sure they were alone. “You talking funny eyes?”
They’d earlier confided in each other how Henk’s and Nikki’s eyes had glowed with the colours of the netherspace drive, asking what was stranger: the actual phenomenon, or that both Kara and Marc were more intrigued than threatened? Kara thought the simulity might have prepared them because GalDiv knew about eyes glowing during sex. Marc had said no, it was more that in deep space and especially netherspace nothing surprised or shocked. Just getting there was startling enough. Their minds had accepted that anything could happen and probably would. But maybe it was safer to assume that Nikki and Henk – and probably Tate – were no longer quite human. Whatever netherspace was, it had corrupted them.
He shrugged. “Talking everything. And here still smells of curry.”
Kara grinned. “Maybe netherspace does. You’re waiting for me to tell you, right? About Leeman-Smith? Well, not yet. You might do or say something that gives me away.”
He nodded. “Nikki fancies you.”
“You say. What’s she like?”
He scratched his chest and thought about Nikki. “Not easily shocked. But likes you to try.”
“Something of a first lady?”
“She does like to be adored,” Marc allowed. “Get beyond that and enthusiasm takes ove
r. Greedy lady.” He stopped feeling quite so alone.
Kara nodded. “Be rude to refuse. But not until we’ve got the Pilgrims.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Everyone feels a little lost out here.”
“Staff don’t,” he pointed out, liking her touch, refusing to even consider Kara in bed because that way madness lay. Well, intense frustration. “It’s their home.”
“You mean netherspace is,” Kara said softly. “Best pretend you never noticed.”
A klaxon sounded and the screen went black.
“Next stop, the Cancri homeworld,” Kara said, moving away from him. “Plan is we land using the updown-field generator and then you, Tse, Henk and me go see what the little bastards want. You need to familiarise yourself with the weapons. Always a little different for real than the simulity. Be careful – suckers go off just looking at ’em.” She grinned. “Known men like that.”
“Henk? I mean why him?”
“Pilgrims’ll need a medic,” she said casually. “Assuming they’re still alive. Assuming the Cancri have them close by.”
And it’ll make Tate and Nikki think twice before taking off alone, Marc thought. Not that they would. But always an outside chance. “A star went out.”
Kara studied his face for a moment. “And made you sad?”
“Thoughtful.”
“They don’t. I mean, you wouldn’t see it. Zillions to one against. They sort of fade, someone said. Has to be space debris, maybe a gas cloud passing between us and it. Anyway, stars are always being born. No need to feel sad.”
He looked directly at her. “Kara, what the fuck’s going on?”
“I’m trying to keep you and Tse alive,” she answered with equal seriousness. “And the staff. Don’t think beyond that, Marc. Don’t be an artist lost in space. Just kill any bastard who gets in my way. Have my back.”
Marc nodded and sat up straight, understanding that this was no time for introspection.
Even if a star had gone out.
SIX HOURS EARLIER
Tatia stared down at the city below, wondering what to do next. It was now early morning, they were hanging in the air three thousand metres above the ground and she’d waited as long as she dared. The surviving Pilgrims and two staff from the LUX-WEM-YIB were waiting for her decision. And if they didn’t like it they’d look for another leader, which would probably mean anarchy. Her plan had been as much emotive as practical: to make the Cancri try to communicate, because dialogue needs two people; to stop the Pilgrims and staff being so damned passive; and then, hopefully, to escape. Oh, and there was the little matter of revenge.
She’d always known it was a crap plan but even if it failed – more than likely – it might still make the Cancri take them more seriously. She looked at the anxious, frightened, hopeful and excited faces surrounding her. The only reason we’re here, she thought, is because I decided something had to be done. And I was pissed off about Pablo. And humiliated by Juan.
Tatia straightened her robe, the same one she’d been wearing when the Cancri took the LUX-WEM-YIB. It had stopped colour-echoing her mood some time ago, had settled down to a midnight blue. But now something sparked and it flashed bright yellow for a moment. The crowd sighed. She was their leader. She would show them the way.
Tatia turned to Perry. “What’s the food and water situation?”
“The stuff we brought with us will last for a week. Just. Frankly, I can’t see anyone sampling what the hounds are eating.”
“And the hounds?”
“Seem happy enough.” Perry didn’t say that, like the grubs, they excreted through their mouths, specifically that triangular-shaped tongue. And that the excretions were liquid, bright orange and smelt of something for which there was no human equivalent. It made him uneasy to talk about it.
Tatia stood a little taller and raised her voice. “We have two choices. We can either continue trying to get the n-drive working. Even if we do, there’s no guarantee we’ll get home. Or we can take this craft down and hope to meet other aliens, maybe even humans. Again, no guarantees. However, if we keep the hounds hostage the Cancri might leave us alone. And if we don’t find help, we can always take off again.” She looked around, saw a few preparing to speak. “We don’t have time to debate,” she said harshly. “My decision is we go down. There’ll be two teams of six who’ll leave initially, each with a weapon. The others and the rest of the weapons stay on board for the time being.”
“We could go back to the original site,” a man called out, a little defensively.
“We can’t,” Tatia snapped. This was no time to be reasonable. “The wind only seems to blow the one way. But we can leave you behind if we take off again.” She waited. “No? Right. Volunteers for the first teams report to Perry. No kids. The rest of you, go back to searching for those platens. Go.”
The crowd drifted off except for those who wanted to join the first two teams.
Tatia motioned Perry to one side. “No hotheads and no alien worshippers,” she told him. “Oh, and no LUX-WEM-YIB staff – they’re too valuable to risk.” She noticed him looking at her strangely. “What?”
“You,” he said simply. “Where did you learn all this?”
“It’s common sense,” Tatia said briskly. “Get on with it. You’ve still got to land this thing.” Not the time to tell him about the AI whispering advice in her mind. Not the time to wonder why the AI seemed like a real person.
She was by the door as the craft landed with a slight bump, standing with her back to the open sky and the rising sun, facing the two teams – and beyond them those who hadn’t been chosen. And beyond them, those who’d changed their minds and now wanted to explore. Tatia was thankful they weren’t mutinous, only excited.
“Okay,” she said, “if you’re all so keen.” Tatia had understood one of the basics of command: never give an order that won’t be obeyed. “The two teams are still to search the immediate area as planned; they are the only ones who will be armed. Any of you not assigned to the teams or searching for the platens can wander around but don’t go far. Perry’s in charge in my absence. Now, if we have to take off we will not wait for stragglers. Understood?” She waited. “Come on – I want to hear it.”
There was a chorus of assent.
“Any sign of trouble and you come straight back, okay?”
This time the chorus was quicker.
Tatia turned round and stepped out onto the Cancri space field.
The ground was hard and coloured a dusky red. It crackled underfoot as they walked. They’d landed about two hundred metres from the nearest craft, a collection of globes connected by – presumably – walkways, everything covered in Gliese foam. It was about the same size as the captured Cancri craft, as was the simple cube a little further away. A cube? Of course. With updown-field generators and netherspace drives you didn’t need streamlining.
Half a kilometre away was the same globe-like craft or building she’d seen from above. This close, she realised it was ten, twenty, fifty times larger than their craft. Uneven, too, with a pitted, bumpy surface – more like a vast boulder than anything manufactured. Of course. An asteroid, hollowed out and used as an SUT. Cheaper and easier than building something so large. And maybe it wouldn’t need a protective layer of foam.
Tatia turned around and beckoned to those obediently waiting by the door. They poured out, any trepidation overcome by excitement, as if this was their first landing on an alien planet because this was their choice and they arrived as free people, not captives. Several tripped and fell down in their eagerness and were laughingly hauled back to their feet. She saw Perry standing in the doorway and gave him a thumbs-up. As the Pilgrims spread out like kids at a picnic, she looked beyond the space field.
The nearest buildings were perhaps a kilometre or so away. Most of them were the greyish low, rounded type they already knew but there was also a single sharp-pointed black tower some five hundred metres high. There were no beings of any shape, although moveme
nt in the distance suggested something living. She wondered about the lack of colour – perhaps the Cancri were colourblind? Maybe something to do with a sun that poured out ultraviolet light? She’d have to ask a scientist when, not if, they were home. For they would get home, at least most of them. Standing here as a free woman all her earlier doubts vanished.
The distant movement firmed, came closer. She could make out five Cancri vehicles approaching, roughly abreast. Tatia stood still as other Pilgrims also noticed, their excitement becoming alarm, and they automatically turned to her.
She waited, outwardly calm.
The vehicles stopped some thirty metres away. Two hounds and two grubs were in each, plus two spare grubs in the rear seats of the middle vehicle. One of the vehicles towed a flatbed on which were two large containers identical to those that provided water and food to the Pilgrims.
Tatia walked forward, noticing the hounds had weapons. When she was halfway to the vehicles she stopped, working purely on an intuition that had returned in a rush.
One of the hounds got out, collected a spare grub and trotted towards her.
It was logical, really, but the thought still repulsed her. Tatia managed to control her feelings as the hound held out the grub, which burped a green bubble. She reached out and took the grub from the hound, feeling its mind probing her own.
It felt warm and leathery. She held it with the mouth pointed away, prepared for even greater feelings of revulsion, the grub’s psychic defence, but instead only knew a calm and contentment. Maybe they’d tranquillized the creature. Tatia turned and walked back to the Cancri craft where Perry was waiting.
