The Recollection

by Gareth L. Powell

  Kristin had twisted her ankle in the crash, and could barely put her weight on it. Ed helped her up, over the lip of the fissure, onto the rocky ledge beside the purple arch. Once out of the narrow split in the rocks, they could see the surrounding terrain for the first time, lit by the rising sun. The arch stood on a rocky hillside above a flat, grassy plain that stretched away to the horizon. The stream that ran down the base of the fissure widened where it hit the grasslands, broadening into a shallow, muddy brook. Tall reeds lined its banks. Way in the distance, Ed caught the glimmer of sunlight reflected on water: a sea, or perhaps a lake. And silhouetted against it, another pair of arches, one standing straight, and the other leaning at a drunken angle. He held up his thumb and index finger, framing the image. If he had the time and materials, he would have loved to paint it.

  Kristin pulled a pair of sturdy binoculars from her pack.

  “Three kilometres,” she said, “maybe four. If they’re heading for those arches, my guess is that they’ll follow the stream across the plain.”

  Ed used a hand to shade his eyes. He still couldn’t believe that Alice had abandoned him.

  “Do you really think that’s where they’re going?”

  Kristin lowered the glasses. “We’re low on food and water, and we don’t have transport. Where else is there to go?”

  Ed sat beneath a tree, beside a ruined Cornish tin mine, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. The water and sky were a matching blue. He’d been sifting through some of Alice’s downloaded images on his palmtop, but now the battery had run low.

  “Do you know,” he said, “that Earth is the only planet whose English name isn’t derived from Greek or Roman mythology?”

  He switched off the palmtop and lay back against the tree. The bark was gnarled and warm. Sheep grazed among the fallen stones of the pit head, and the air smelled of dry grass, warm bracken and fresh dung.

  Alice said, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  She came over and sat beside him. She’d spent all morning looking around the site, recording it all on film. She wore a white cotton dress with big, wooden buttons up the front.

  “I don’t know,” Ed said. He reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out the magazine he’d bought to read in the car on the way down from London. It had an article about the old Hubble telescope. The accompanying picture showed two distant galaxies colliding.

  “Look at that for a picture,” he said, using a fingernail to trace the dusty whorls of tortured stars.

  “It’s pretty,” Alice agreed.

  Ed frowned. “The light from these stars is at least a million years old. It’s been travelling through space since before the dawn of civilisation.” He looked around at the collapsed walls of the abandoned pit head, the moss and lichen covering its scattered stones. The ruin looked so much a part of the landscape that it was difficult to imagine the headland without it.

  Alice pushed her auburn hair back. Ed rubbed his hands together, wishing he had a canvas and some paints.

  “It makes what I’m doing seem so bloody ephemeral,” he said.

  When he looked across at Alice, her eyes were the same shade of green as the sunlight filtering through the bracken around the ruin.

  “I like your paintings,” she said.

  He ignored her. He rolled onto his front and put his chin on his fist.

  “I could be doing so much more,” he said.

  The air on the plain smelled of hot, dry grass. The sky overhead was a reassuring Earth-like blue, flecked with wisps of white cloud that hung above the water on the horizon. The reeds in the stream were maybe a metre and a half in height and ten centimetres across at the base, tapering up to dry seed pods at the top. When a breeze caught them, they rustled like paper. Around them, the waist-high yellow grass of the plain stretched away in all directions. To Ed, who’d spent his childhood in the valleys of South Wales and his adulthood in the east end of London, it looked the way he’d always imagined Africa to be, only without the elephants and zebras.

  Then he remembered how far they were from Earth, and felt his head swim with vertigo. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with both hands. Beside him, Kirsten said, “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head. “Alice...”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be okay, we’ll find her. They probably just went looking for help.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  Kristin looked away, unable to meet his stare. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  She let go and started to limp in the direction of the two arches and distant lake. He watched her struggle for a few paces, then caught up and took her elbow, allowing her to rest her weight against him. Her clothes were stale, stained with old sweat, and he knew he smelled just as bad.

  “How’s the ankle?” he said.

  Kristin set her jaw. “It’ll have to do.”

  He supported her as they shuffled their way across the plain. It took them two hours. But with each step, the arches grew larger.

  Twice, Ed heard a rustle in the reeds, followed by a plop and splash, as if something about the size of a dog had slipped and slithered its way into the water. After the second time it happened, he pulled the gun from his pack, drawing comfort from its weight and solidity.

  Eventually, the stream flowed into a wide, boggy river bed that cut across their path, forming a marsh that blocked them on two sides: hummocks of grass and reeds poking through evil-smelling black, oily water. Beyond the opposite bank, a slope led up, into taller grass.

  Ed eyed the water dubiously.

  “Can we get across?”

  Still leaning against him, Kristin shaded her eyes with her free hand.

  “The arches are only a few hundred metres on the other side of that rise,” she said. “This could stretch miles upstream. It might take hours to skirt around. And to be honest, I don’t know how much further I can walk.”

  Huffing with effort, she eased herself down into a sitting position in the grass. Ed left her there, and scrambled down to the edge of the bog, where he pressed an experimental toe into the spongy mud.

  “I think it’ll support us,” he said, “but we’ll have to wade.”

  “Snap off a reed,” Kristin said. “Test the depth as you walk.”

  Ed did as she suggested. He tucked the gun into his waistband, broke off a reed, then climbed back up to her and helped her down.

  “Hold on to me, and tread where I tread,” he said.

  The bog smelled rotten, like a damp compost heap. Tiny insects flicked back and forth across the scum-thick surface of the water. Wrinkling his nose, he stepped in, feeling the wetness slime its way into his boots. Using the snapped reed to probe the water ahead, he led her across, one painful step at a time.

  By the time they got to the middle, the water had risen to their knees, and their feet were caked in mud.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  Kristin had both hands on the back of his shoulders, gripping the epaulette of his combat jacket to support herself.

  “Just concentrate on getting us across,” she said.

  Somewhere off in the reeds, Ed heard a splash. He caught a glimpse of something moving in the water.

  “What’s that?” he said.

  But before Kristin could answer, they heard gunshots ahead, beyond the rise. Two at first, and then three more in rapid succession.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  TICONDEROGA

  As Kat and Enid stepped into the hotel lobby, Kat’s hand resting on the butt of her gun, ready to draw, the hotel’s automated security system pinged her implant; but instead of setting off the alarms, it noted her status as a Captain for the Abdulov Trading Family, and decided to mind its own business. Traders weren’t entirely above the law, but they were allowed a lot more leeway than the average citizen, and it was a brave or foolhardy planet that risked a trade boycott by enforcing its laws too stringently.

  Kat stalked over to the reception desk, with Eni
d hurrying to keep pace. On any other world, she would have seen the lobby as small and functional, but here under the dome, where space was scarce, it seemed almost ostentatious.

  “I’m here for Captain Luciano,” she said.

  The clerk behind the desk gestured towards a set of open airlock doors at the rear of the room.

  “I believe he’s taking breakfast on the observation deck, ma’am.”

  The doors led beyond the walls of the dome, into a transparent tunnel that led, in its turn, to the wreck of a sunken starship, where it lay on the seabed, surrounded by the fossilised bones of long-dead marine behemoths.

  The tunnel ended at the ship’s hull. In her heyday, she’d been a passenger carrier. Now seaweed waved from her hull, and Kat felt a twinge of pity as she stepped through the airlock. Inside, the accommodation sections had been pressurised, but the lower decks were still flooded.

  > Good afternoon, Captain Abdulov. Welcome aboard the Ticonderoga. How may I serve you today?

  Startled, Kat looked up. She hadn’t expected the old ship’s personality to still be functional.

  “I’m looking for the observation lounge.”

  Elevator doors scraped open.

  > Deck Nine.

  The Ticonderoga’s observation lounge turned out to be a hemispherical blister on the old ship’s muzzle, jutting out over the ocean floor. A transparent deck filled the centre of the bubble, allowing guests to look down as well as up. The effect was like stepping out into thin air, and Kat hesitated for a second before following Enid out into the room.

  Brightness above showed where shards of sunlight filtered down through the clear water. Below, the sands were spiky with the skeletal remains that gave Vertebrae Beach its name.

  On the far side of the lounge, against the transparent wall of the bubble, comfortable chairs were arranged in groups around low coffee tables, which in turn surrounded a circular bar. Potted ferns provided welcome sprays of greenery. Human waiters delivered drink orders.

  On the way over here, Enid had explained that the hotel was a favourite with off-worlders and those seeking passage. Four of the tables were occupied by crewmen from various ships. Local teenagers sat at one table, self-consciously sporting spacer gear, trying to look cool. A solitary drinker sat at the sixth table, hunched over a half-empty glass, staring out at the waters beyond the wall. Kat slowed as she approached. Her hand hovered over her gun as she scanned faces, looking for Victor.

  “Do you see him?” Enid whispered.

  Kat didn’t answer. Instead, she marched over to the loner on table six. She didn’t know his name, but she recognised him from the confrontation on Tiers Cross, where he’d helped throw her out into the snow.

  “Where is he?”

  The man looked up. The black and grey bristles on his shaven head were the same length as those sprouting from his chin and neck. Broken veins webbed his cheeks, and a bruise had swollen one eye half-shut. The glyph on his shoulder marked him as Seth Murphy, Victor’s First Mate.

  “You’re too late. He’s on his way back up to the ship.”

  Kat clenched her fists in frustration. If she’d checked his movements on the Grid before storming up here, she might have been able to intercept him.

  She turned to Enid.

  “Let’s go.”

  Murphy surged to his feet.

  “Not so fast, Abdulov.” He jerked a thumb at his swollen eye. “I still owe you for this.”

  He stepped out from behind the table, and Kat only had time to push Enid aside before the big man swung. She ducked his first punch, but the second caught her on the left temple, sending her crashing sideways into a potted fern. On the other tables, heads turned to watch the fight.

  Smarting, Kat rolled to her feet. Her heart hammered in her chest. Blood roared in her ears. She couldn’t take her eyes from Murphy’s hands.

  Smiling, he came for her again. His arms were longer than hers, his reach that much greater. She danced back to avoid his grasp. If he got her in a headlock or bear hug, it would all be over.

  She backed away from the chairs, out into the centre of the Ticonderoga’s transparent observation deck. Murphy followed, hands raised, breath rasping, eyes filled with bloodlust.

  Okay, she thought, time to end this.

  But even as she reached for the gun strapped to her thigh, he charged her. She tried to step aside, but one of his hands caught the fabric of her sleeve and pulled her into a back-handed slap. Blood burst from her nose and her legs went out from under her. She staggered back and sat heavily.

  “Had enough?” Murphy said. Through a fog of pain, she saw him standing over her, rubbing his knuckles expectantly. “Only Victor told me to delay you, but I reckon we can do so much more than that, don’t you?”

  He leaned down and drew back his balled fist, ready to hit her again. But before he could, Enid lunged at him with a bottle, hitting his shoulder. He roared in anger and slapped her aside. Grateful for the distraction, Kat slid forward and kicked him in the knee with as much strength as she could muster. He cried out again, but his kneecap didn’t shatter the way she’d hoped it would, and he limped away, cursing.

  Some of the crewmen from the other tables tried to break up the fight. They managed to drag Murphy halfway across the restaurant before he shrugged them off. Still off-balance, he pulled a pistol from his coat and they scattered like fish.

  Kat’s hand flew to her own weapon.

  “Let’s not do anything stupid,” she said. She still didn’t have the strength to stand. Murphy raised his gun, clasped in his sausage-like fingers, and fired. The shot was hasty; the bullet missed. Kat rolled to one side. Her flesh cringed in expectation of his next shot. She tugged her own gun from its holster, and raised it, only to see Murphy limping for the elevator.

  Head splitting, she let her arm drop.

  Enid knelt beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her.

  “Oh, my God, are you all right?” Her blonde hair had been mussed and Murphy’s fingers had left a red welt across her cheek.

  As the elevator doors closed behind him, Murphy laughed.

  “See you in Hell, Abdulov!”

  The doors shut. Kat let the gun fall from her fingers.

  “I should’ve shot him,” she said.

  Enid squeezed her shoulders. “He won’t get far, don’t worry. I’ve put out an alert. The police will have him before he reaches the surface.”

  Kat wiped her bloody nose on the back of her hand.

  “I should get back to my ship.”

  “The paramedics are coming. Maybe you should wait for them first?”

  “No, help me up.” She struggled to her feet with Enid’s aid. Her nose and temple throbbed from the blows, and her knees felt spongy and unreliable.

  “I have to beat Victor.”

  She tried to take a step but stumbled, ending up on one knee. Only Enid’s grip on her arm saved her from falling on her face. Below the transparent floor, the Ticonderoga’s hull curved down to the graveyard seabed.

  “What’s that?” Enid pointed at one of the tables. Kat squinted. A bag sat beneath one of the chairs, and it took her a moment to realise that the chair was the one in which Murphy had been sitting before the fight.

  “He’s left something,” Enid said. She started towards it but Kat held her back. Murphy’s final words echoed in her mind.

  See you in Hell.

  There was a bang, and smoke billowed from the top of the bag. Without thinking, Kat fell to the floor, dragging Enid down. The air roared, and she felt a blast of heat. The deck bucked and smacked her in the teeth. Burning splinters fell around her.

  The automatic sprinkler systems went off; water hammered into the room. Kat lay for a moment, letting it splash over her face. Her ears hurt, and her lip bled. Enid lay across her legs. Painfully, she rolled over. She saw people screaming but couldn’t hear them. The smell of scorched hair burned in her nose.

  She pushed herself up onto her k
nees. Enid stirred.

  Nothing remained where the table had been. The explosion had scattered broken furniture everywhere. Some of the pieces were burning. Three or four of the crewmen sported shrapnel wounds. One lay slumped in a pool of his own blood, obviously dead, a metal table leg punched through his chest. But something else had caught Enid’s eye. She was saying something, but Kat’s ears were still ringing from the explosion.

  “What?” she said.

  Desperately, Enid jabbed her finger at the wall. The explosion had weakened the skin of the observation dome. Spidery cracks ran up from the place where the table had been. As Kat watched, one of the cracks jumped a few centimetres in length, then a few more.

  Enid screamed: “We’re eight kilometres down!”

  Before Kat could react, the ship’s voice broke into her implant.

  > Evacuate. Hull integrity compromised. Pressure seal in twenty seconds.

  People started scrambling for the airlock doors that led to the elevators, and the safety of the ship’s main hull. But Enid couldn’t stand. She had a jagged sprig of steel skewering the muscle of her right calf.

  > Pressure seal in ten seconds.

  Kat grabbed her by the lapel of her jacket and, ignoring the pain of her own injuries, started dragging. She was halfway across the room from the airlock doors.

  > Five seconds.

  She heaved towards the threshold with all her strength. Hands were waiting there to help her, calling encouragement. They grabbed her coat as she got close, trying to pull her to safety.

  > Four.

  Her heel hit the lip of the airlock frame. Her hand jerked free from Enid’s lapel, and she fell back into the waiting arms of her would-be rescuers. Enid shrieked.