by Chris Dolley
Home, said a voice in her head.
"Your home?" she asked.
Home, came the reply.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A dolphin appeared from nowhere and started to swim towards the island city, undulating its body through a waterless black void.
"I think we're meant to follow," said Nick.
"I think I feel safer out here," said Louise.
He shared her misgivings. Up to a point. But another part of him was drawn to that incredible structure. How could anyone not want to take a closer look? It was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. It was the most amazing thing any human had ever seen. And it was there—right in front of him.
Okay, so there was an element of danger but was that danger any less outside the island city? If the dolphin aliens meant them harm then a few miles wasn't going to provide much protection.
"If they meant to harm us, Lou, why spend so much time making us feel better?"
"To make sure we didn't try to escape."
"So why didn't they restrain us or knock us out?"
"Maybe that comes next."
"Suit yourself. But I'm going in. They're our only chance of getting back home."
He focussed on the dolphin and pulled himself towards it. Louise followed. The city loomed above them, huge towers projecting into the void like feral skyscrapers of crystal and silk—they shone, they shimmered, they rippled in both colour and form. It was breathtaking. So much to look at, so much to comprehend.
The dolphin led them to a chasm—or was it a street?—between two massive iridescent towers. Nick scanned ahead, looking for doors or openings—markings, anything—some clue as to their nature. Were they buildings or crystals, alive or inert? Maybe it wasn't a city, maybe it was the higher dimensional equivalent of a coral reef.
But where was everybody? Were they waiting inside or was everyone invisible. Had Nick and Louise strayed into a part of the universe that evolution hadn't equipped them to comprehend? An infra-red, ultra-violet, ultra-anything-they'd-ever sensed-before realm cloaked from their sight?
But if so, how could they see the city? Or were they only seeing a subset of the city? Was it even more magnificent for those with full-spectrum sight?
The dolphin turned at an intersection. Another empty street cum chasm. This one appearing to narrow towards the top, the two sides of the street almost touching—hundreds, maybe thousands of metres above them.
Nick drifted to one side. He had to look closer, reach out and touch. Were the chasm walls solid? Could he pass straight through?
"Nick? What are you doing?" hissed Louise. She sounded like a worried parent who'd just noticed her six year-old reaching towards the most expensive vase in the shop.
"Investigating," he said. "Do you think these are buildings? I can't see any doors but maybe you just float straight through."
The wall changed as he approached. The previously flat, shiny surface suddenly incised with . . . a pattern? A triangle within a circle. Except the shape changed as he moved closer. The three sides of the triangle didn't quite meet and the circle was more like a spiral stretching impossibly back into the structure of the building. He reached out to touch it, ready to draw back at the slightest hint of danger. He . . . made contact. It was solid. He pushed harder. The wall didn't give.
"Come on, Nick. The dolphin's turning again."
He reluctantly left the structure. The whole city had to be made of higher dimensional matter. If only he had an imager!
He chased after Louise, reached the intersection where she'd last seen the dolphin, turned and . . . found an empty street.
"Where did it go?"
"I don't know," said Louise.
There was a black horizontal line halfway down the far chasm wall. Could it have gone in there?
They raced towards it. It was a letterbox opening about ten metres by one and getting smaller. Nick peered inside. It was a dark and narrowing—a tunnel—and was that a dolphin in the distance swimming away from them? He called out.
"Are we supposed to follow?"
No answer. The mouth was closing; two feet wide, eighteen inches. He had to act.
"No," said Louise. But it was too late. He'd already swept through.
The probing started almost immediately. One second he was blurring through the tunnel in pursuit of the alien, the next he was immobilised and reliving old memories. But there was no pain this time. And the speed had been toned down. Images no longer flashed stroboscopically.
"What do you want?" he asked, trying to push the images aside and shout the thought at his interrogators. "You can speak. I've heard you."
A rush of warm fuzziness swept over him. Endorphin time. Keep the patient happy and smiling.
More images flashed by, unexpected memories tumbling out—old embarrassments, triumphs, long-forgotten friends and acquaintances—all marching past in random order.
And then something even stranger happened. An art gallery appeared. One he had no memory of ever visiting. And yet there he was—Nick Stubbs—standing in front of one of the paintings. And there was Louise. She'd joined him and was pointing at a sculpture, something weird and exotic. And suddenly changing. All the exhibits were changing. And the gallery too, its walls and ceiling pushing back to double, treble its former size. A blue whale materialised, suspended from the ceiling, a dinosaur too. They were in a museum. He could see machines—cars, rockets, trains—mingled with stuffed animals and skeletons and . . .
Everything started to recede—the exhibits, the museum walls, the ceiling, everything racing into the distance. New buildings sprang up in their place; buildings he recognised, scale models of the Taj Mahal, the Parthenon, Stonehenge, various chateaux and villas, bridges and towers. Avenues of Earth's architectural heritage stretched to the horizon.
And then vanished, replaced by an image of the island city. And then that too vanished and back came the museum. The two images alternating. Was that the message? The island city was a museum?
Everything went blank and then a new building appeared—half-timbered, leaded lights. It looked like an old London coffee house. He was standing outside. Louise was beside him. The door opened and sucked them inside.
Inside, it was crowded and noisy. People everywhere, bustling and talking . . . or were they talking? Their mouths moved but was that speech? It was more like a sampling of speech—random words and phrases that together made no sense. And was that Einstein over there? And Newton? Da Vinci? Nick spun from face to face. Some he recognised, some had sprouted name tags. It was like a themed fancy dress party for mankind's greatest minds. Every one of them debating with a neighbour, exchanging papers and strange objects that could have been gifts or scale models of their latest invention.
The coffee house faded and back came the museum, then the gallery, then the image of the triangle within the circle, then the island city. All five images cycling together. Were they one and the same? Was that the message? That the island city was this race's version of old London cafe society? A University cum museum cum art gallery, a place of learning and cultural exchange and it had a name—one that was represented not by spoken words but by an image—the triangle within the circle?
"Is that why you've brought us here? To become exhibits?"
Louise's voice. Was that really her? Or another projection within his mind?
"Louise?" he asked. "Is that you? Are you seeing this too?"
"Nick? What's . . ."
That's all he heard. A dozen other voices started shouting in his head. Strange voices, strange words. It sounded like a Tourrettes improv night, each word shouted out like an insult. Pig! Emblaze! Cotton! Kettle! Shingle! Other words he couldn't catch, there were so many of them, so many people talking at the same time—men, women, children.
Images appeared—heated conversations on the street, HV debates, pages from a dictionary, pages from a book—the words peeling off and being recited in a steady stream. Pain. The volume and confusion of sound wa
s making his head ache. The images were flashing faster, the sounds louder.
"Stop!" he commanded. "Slow down!"
He was ignored. The pain increased. No friendly shot of calming endorphins this time. But something else. A sudden adrenaline-like rush of excitement. Had they pressed the wrong button? Or was he picking up their emotions?
Images flashed furiously, sounds merging into one long shrill whine. The pain was becoming unbearable, like a dentist's drill inside his head.
Something had to have gone wrong. He had to tell them. He had to make them stop. He had to . . . communicate.
He summoned up an image—the Earth from orbit—concentrated, squeezing his mind shut to the pain, taking the image and projecting it with everything he had. If they liked pictures try this one for size. "Home!" he shouted and held on to that image, trying to force all the other pictures from his mind. "Home!" Listen, goddamn you. He took another image—Louise's cottage—thrust it at them. Home! Then Louise's lounge, a fire in the hearth, Nick and Louise sat around it, smiling. Home!
"Can't you understand that?" he shouted. "We want to go home!"
* * *
Everything went black. And silent. No sound, no pain. And then . . .
Louise's lounge materialised around them. Louise was in her favourite chair, Nick was on the sofa. A fire roared in the grate, her old clock ticking on the mantelpiece. It looked so real . . .
She squeezed the arm of her chair. It had substance. It was warm to the touch. Were they really back? Had Nick actually persuaded the alien to return them home?
Nick leapt to his feet, he was patting his body. "Is this real?" he asked, shouting the question at the ceiling. "Have you really sent us back?"
Louise ran a finger along the leg of her jeans—brushed cotton. She hadn't worn a pair of brushed cotton jeans for years. Not since . . .
Footsteps from the hallway made her turn her head. A woman appeared in the lounge doorway.
"Hello," said the newcomer, smiling.
Louise blanched. It was her mother.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"We thought this would make you feel more comfortable," said her mother, looking perplexed. "Were we wrong?"
"Who are you?" asked Louise, jumping to her feet. Deep down she already knew the answer. They were still in the island city.
"We are called . . ." The woman closed her eyes and immediately an image burned inside Louise's brain. A jumbled image of colour and squiggles that meant nothing to her. "You have no word for it," continued the woman. "Why do you choose this strange method of communication? Don't you find it limiting?"
Louise couldn't answer. She just stared at the woman. Her voice, the way she held her head, the smile. She was attracted and repelled in equal measures. She wanted to run over and touch her face, hold her close but . . . she wanted to slap that face too. How dare they use her mother like that!
"It's the only method of communication we have," said Nick, breaking the silence.
"Untrue," said the alien. "You can converse normally. But you choose this . . . this verbal communication which is inherently inefficient and error-prone. Why? Is it a game or, perhaps, etiquette that demands your thoughts be encoded before transmission?"
"No," said Nick. "It's a matter of necessity. Not everyone's telepathic."
"Interesting! You are telepathic but not all your people are. Does this not cause conflict? Is that why you were travelling the far reaches—in search of like minds to form a colony?"
"No, nothing at all like that," said Nick. "We were lost . . ."
Louise couldn't take any more of this. He'd be offering the alien drinks next. She cut across the conversation.
"When are you going to take us home?" she asked.
"Ah," said her mother, turning her head to face Louise. "That is the right expression is it not? To convey a mixture of regret and embarrassment?"
Louise closed her eyes. What the hell was going to happen now?
"What's the problem?" asked Nick. "I'm sure together we can find a solution."
"As indeed are we. But," the woman shrugged, extravagantly so. "We have other obligations as you must understand. Ours is but a small colony, to survive we must occasionally undertake work for other, larger colonies, in order to gain access to their greater pools of knowledge. We cannot afford to isolate ourselves totally from the outside world. Much as we would like to."
"Get to the point," said Louise, adding "please" as an afterthought.
"As you wish. Simply put, we were told where you would be and asked to bring you here. You were . . . expected."
Louise was back on her feet. "That's impossible!" she said. "How could anyone know where we were going to be? We arrived there by accident. We had no plans to enter the void."
"That is not for us to say. But clearly it cannot be impossible for it has happened. We were commissioned by what you would call an exploration/life science colony to monitor a particular area of space in our vicinity and bring back any life forms we encountered. Their representatives have been informed of your coming and will be arriving soon to collect you. We thought you would be pleased . . ."
"How the hell could anyone be pleased about that?" shouted Louise. "We want to go home. We don't want to be collected and studied. Can't you understand that? Don't you have laws against imprisoning people against their will?"
The alien looked confused.
"There is no imprisonment involved in this transaction. You are without a colony and we have found you one. One who is prepared to take you in."
"Can't you help us find our old colony?" asked Nick.
"We are artists and theoreticians, Nicholas, not explorers. And you . . . you have no awareness of your colony's location. We searched within your memories but found no such knowledge. Your old colony is lost."
"But it's got to be close to where you found us," said Louise. "Can't you look it up on a map or something?"
"The place where we found you is a desert. There are no nearby planets. Your old colony is lost. We cannot locate it and neither can you so why not accept the inevitability of your situation? Without a colony you cannot function. Perhaps your new colony will help you in your search? We expect that is why they were looking for you. They are an explorer/life science community."
Unbelievable. Louise was ready to explode.
"Don't we have a say in the matter?" she snapped.
"Of course. It is your wish not to accompany your escort to the new colony, is that correct?"
"Yes," she said, glancing at Nick, ready to shout him down if he disagreed.
"Very good," said the alien, pausing for an instant. "Your views have been taken into account. We are sure that you will come to see the wisdom of our decision."
"Whoa," said Louise. "What decision?"
"The colony has voted. We are agreed. Your best interests lie with your future colony."
"When do we get a chance to put our side of the argument?"
"Your views have already been disseminated throughout the colony. We would share our viewpoint with you so that you can see the wisdom of our decision but . . . our attempts to communicate appear to give you pain. It is regrettable, yes?"
"What if we refuse to go?"
The woman looked horrified. "Individual choice must give way to the needs of the majority if anarchy is to be avoided. Surely you know this?"
Louise was lost for words. She looked at Nick. "Aren't you going to say something?"
He sat there, staring into the fire, pulling at the straggly ends of his moustache. Then he stopped and looked directly at the alien. "While we're waiting to be taken to our new colony," he said, "how about a game?"
* * *
Louise looked at him, her lower jaw probably somewhere around her ankles. What the hell was he playing at now? A game? Had he lost his mind?
"What kind of game?" asked the alien, looking intrigued. Louise shook her head in disbelief. Was she the only sane person left in the room? Or was this all part of the
interrogation process? Soften the poor human up so she doesn't care what's happening to her any more? Was that Nick over there or another alien playing the part?
"A game that would stretch even your abilities," said Nick. "And help me prove a theory of mine."
Louise snorted. Whoever was playing Nick had the part off to a tee.
"What theory is this?" said the woman, walking over to where Nick sat.
"You are a colony of theoreticians, are you not?"
"We are. Artists and theoreticians, that is our specialty."
"Well, I think you could calculate the exact co-ordinates of our home planet from information stored in our memories. We . . ."
The alien cut him off. "We have already told you. We found no awareness of universal co-ordinates or spatial perception within your memory."
"That's what makes it a challenge. I believe there is a way. All you have to do is analyse the image of our planet's night skies that we hold in our heads and compare those star patterns with your own charts."
Louise held her breath. Come on, say 'yes.' Say, 'yes' and get this thing over with.
"Our charts are not extensive, and we don't discriminate between physical and non-physical matter as you do."
"But you can do it," urged Nick. "Even if your charts aren't that extensive, all you need do is take us to the nearest boundary with the physical universe and take another snapshot of the star patterns from there. Take as many samples as you need, visit as many boundary points as you need. With enough data points you have to be able to calculate the exact position of our home planet."
