The House Next Door Trilogy (Books 1-3)

by Jule Owen

  Mathew follows them, shivering. A tall, bulky elderly woman with wild, dyed red hair comes towards him with towels. “I’m Rose,” she says. “You need to get warm. Come this way.”

  Carved into the sides of the cavern are thousands of steps zigzagging to higher levels. They provide ways to balconies, walkways, and landings, which he later discovers lead to yet more staircases and passageways carved into the rock. Rose climbs steadily, and Mathew, Evgeny, Lev, Tristan, and his brothers follow. The shallow, deep steps are carved with precision, as if machine-made, cross-hatched on top to prevent slipping, with high edges and railings made from some kind of material Mathew doesn’t recognise.

  Rose leads them to a landing and then into a corridor and from there into a cave or room carved into the rock. Here there is a steaming bath.

  This cave has tall windows overlooking the larger cavern. Rose checks the temperature of the water and then says, “I’ll leave you to it,” and disappears back the way she came.

  Lev and the others strip from their jungle clothes, wash under a shower to one side of the pool, and then get into the hot water. Mathew and Evgeny step in after them. Mathew feels his bones thaw, and the blood returns to his hands. He gazes across at Tristan. He and his three brothers are grinning. They reach across the water and high-five each other.

  Even Lev is smiling.

  “Welcome to our home, Mathew and Evgeny,” he says.

  25 Friends Under the Mountain

  Tristan is giving them a tour of the place he calls the Theseum.

  Mathew and Evgeny are wearing the clean, dry clothes Rose put aside for them, made of the loose light fabrics Tristan and the others wear. Mathew takes a bit of the cloth in his hand and examines it. It looks like linen, but it doesn’t feel like linen and it’s surprisingly warm.

  “It’s made of a special type of material made partly from carbon nanotubes,” Tristan explains. “Something we’ve developed ourselves over the years. It’s intelligent. It generates and stores energy. It maintains optimum body temperature whether we’re in the jungle or in the cave. It’s also waterproof, but breathable, and lightweight so it doesn’t get in the way of physical activity. And it’s self-cleaning, and self-repairing, so we need few changes of clothes. Our boots are hyper-lightweight but tough.”

  Evgeny has been fitted with a kind of e-Pin, a clip-on device that sits inside his ear providing simultaneous translation and allowing him to join in any silent conversation. Mathew has already discovered that even when they’re speaking aloud, Tristan’s people use mind speech and a subtle kind of super-fast mind communication, a sort of inter-brain emotional gesturing.

  Tristan is now talking aloud in plain speech. “In this cave we use geothermal energy for heat. That’s what heated your shower and your bath. We’ve rigged solar power through trees in the forest with a liquid we paint on the leaves. It doesn’t harm the trees. The liquid contains nanomachines that capture energy from sunlight and disseminate it via a secure coded wireless transmission system, which is, of course, encrypted and masked from the various military populations that pass through. The energy collection device is embedded on the side of the mountain and we have a system to route the energy inside, even when we are in lock-down. We don’t use real fire down here because of smoke pollution and because any chimney would give away our location. We have ample water from the underground supplies, although we use a filter. For fresh air circulation we have drilled vents that open high on the mountain. They should be hard to detect for outsiders, and they can be shut as required. We have a system to recycle air when the refuge needs to be airtight.”

  Mathew, Tristan, and Evgeny walk past an area where a group of men and women are preparing a large meal. They raise their eyes when Mathew and Evgeny pass, smiling and saying hello.

  Tristan says, “We are self-sufficient in food. We grow a lot of vegetables using hydroponics, and we get what we can’t grow through the advanced replicators we have. Our waste is recycled to produce fertiliser for our hydroponic gardens.”

  A large terraced garden is cut into a wall. The terraces are filled with a brown water solution and filled with plants. Hanging above them are sets of hot lamps.

  “We grow salads, fresh vegetables, and even flowers under high-energy light.”

  They climb one of the many sets of stairs and walk down a brightly lit corridor carved out of bare rock and polished to a high sheen.

  “These are my quarters,” he says.

  He takes them into a simple room, with a comfortable, neatly made bed, a table with a vase and real flowers, a product of the hydroponic gardens. Above the bed, hanging on the wall is a large, thin Canvas, which is showing various images of rocky, dusty, arid landscapes and deserts, thin, parched shrubs all surrounded by aquamarine waters.

  “I’m terribly nostalgic,” he says ruefully. “I miss home. So I have all these memory images, probably idealised. It’s a human failing,” he continues. “Nostalgia. But then, I am human . . .”

  “Memory images?”

  “The images on the walls are made from my memories.”

  “How?” Mathew says, amazed.

  “I don’t understand the tech in detail, but like everyone’s here, my brain is connected to our central computer system. Parts of my brain, mainly images, can be downloaded, if I choose, for storage or sharing, or in this case, for decorating my room with images of my childhood home.”

  “Where is home?” Evgeny asks.

  “England, of course,” Tristan says.

  “That is England?” Mathew says incredulously.

  “Yes . . .” Tristan says, for a moment not understanding Mathew’s horror. “To me it is beautiful. Of course . . . you wouldn’t. . . . I’ll let Lev explain.” They leave Tristan’s quarters and head back towards the main cavern, pausing to observe it from the stairwell. Tristan says, “We have only been here six months, so our build is crude but adequate for our purposes.”

  “Six months?!” Evgeny says, astounded. “You have only been here six months and you have built this?”

  “Yes, this is the most basic type of facility we’ve made, but we didn’t have much time to do it.”

  “There are others?”

  “Hundreds.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere Lev managed to get to and was successful in persuading people he wasn’t a crazy man. He mostly failed, it has to be said. He walked all the way from Britain to Tierra del Fuego, via continental Europe, with some detours into Scandinavia, through Russia, sailing across to Alaska, then on foot again down through the Americas and back again, covering territories he missed on his way down. We believe his message has spread further via people he met on his travels – he was walking for forty years. It’s why we call him the Pathbreaker. People not so keen on him have other names for him, but you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  “How old is he?” Evgeny asks.

  “Sixty-five.”

  “He’s amazingly fit.”

  “He’s not especially youthful amongst the Kind, which is a shame, because we wish we could have him around forever. However, he’s surprising healthy, given his adventures, the dangerous territories he’s travelled through, the physical privation of his journeys, the battles he’s fought. A necessary evil in his line of work, and more recently ours.”

  “What is the Kind?” Mathew asks.

  “It’s what we call ourselves. I believe the name was first used in irony by people who thought we murdered people put outside the City walls. However, we think it accurately describes behaviour we aspire to, so we’re happy to adopt the name.”

  “You are non-people,” Evgeny says with a shocked expression.

  “We say Non Grata. Strictly speaking, we’re a branch of the Non Grata. There are many different types. The term originates from your time, I believe, Mathew.”

  Mathew is puzzled.

  “It comes from persona non grata. People not welcome, who are put outside; people who, as Evgeny suggested, are leg
ally non-existent. We are all people who have been ostracised or are descended from the rejected. We live beyond the reach of the main cities protected by government. We don’t live by their rules and laws. We have our own.”

  “And you all live like this, underground?” Evgeny asks.

  Tristan shakes his head. “No. Only the Kind and those willing to listen to Lev and take our technology. And we wouldn’t live like this if we didn’t have to. The proper place for people is under the sky, not in tunnels and caves.”

  “So why do you do it?”

  “I will let Lev explain. Come on, breakfast is ready, and there are all sorts of people to introduce you to.”

  26 The Empty Cell

  Colonel Borodin’s camp is packed up. His pilots are checking the engine of the chopper. It’s early morning, and the men in Dragomirov’s camp are waking, taking showers, preparing to go into the mess hall. Borodin decides to go to Dragomirov directly to check on the status of the authorisation he knows will never come and to collect his prisoner.

  Churkin, experiencing a rare pang of conscience, has gone down to the prison block to check on Evgeny. He stops dead. The wooden cage is empty. The door to the prison block is ajar, and he strides in. The guard is still asleep. Kicking him awake, Churkin rushes past him to the cell, which he also finds empty, and raises the alarm.

  Borodin reaches the prison block in the middle of a scene of some chaos.

  Dragomirov is interrogating the sleeping guard.

  “You are wasting your energy hitting him, Colonel. He doesn’t know anything,” Borodin says.

  “This is not your command, Colonel,” growls Dragomirov.

  “No, it’s not. But you’ve lost my prisoner.” Borodin walks into the prison block and slowly examines the cells, the locks on the door, then goes outside to examine the wooden cage Evgeny was locked in.

  “There was a man in here?” he asks.

  No one responds.

  Smiling wryly, shaking his head, he says, “Of course, your spy.”

  At the edge of the prison block he crouches down, touching the ground gently with his fingers.

  Dragomirov and his men stop paying attention to Borodin and go back to interrogating the guard.

  Borodin moves along the edge of the prison block and scans across the cleared land to the forest edge. Slowly, he paces towards the trees, stopping every now and then to stoop and examine the ground. Then he disappears under a canopy of leaves.

  Standing next to the chopper, in what remains of Borodin’s camp, Yolkov watches his colonel walk towards the forest and calls to another soldier hauling their rations into the back of the chopper.

  “Don’t bother, Istomin,” Yokov says. “The colonel will be a while. Let’s brew some tea.”

  Borodin stands on the edge of the jungle, his keen eyes raking about with a hunting look. Dead ahead, under the cover of a low-growing palm, he spots something not quite right. He walks directly to it, lifts a branch and then the banana leaves, and peers down into the shaft.

  He doesn’t need a torch. He sees in the dark perfectly.

  27 Kindness

  Mathew is starving, and the food is the best he has eaten since he left home. There are all kinds of breads, jams, pancakes, yoghurts, and fruit, even. Tristan’s people sit around large tables to eat. The food is served buffet-style. People load up their own plates and find a place. There are coffee, teas, fruit juice, and fresh water on the tables. Evgeny is tucking in to a huge plateful of practically everything. He is glowing with happiness.

  “I haven’t eaten like this since I left Moscow,” he says. “In fact, we didn’t eat this well in Moscow.”

  They are sitting with Tristan and all of his brothers. It turns out he has a lot more than the three Mathew had already met. There are twelve in all. Gower, the oldest, is nearly forty; Dom, the youngest, is eighteen. Only half of them are married with children, but they still have a formidable extended family. Some of the smallest members are playing under the tables, crawling about between the legs of people who are getting their breakfast.

  “The rest of us would like to get married,” Tristan says, “but there is a shortage of women.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Dom says. “I don’t want to get married.”

  “Okay, the rest of us, apart from Dom.”

  Evgeny, between mouthfuls of muffin, says, “There was never a man with so many sons. These days a person is lucky if he has one child, girl or boy. Who is this fertile man?”

  Evgeny is expecting to have some hulking, virile-looking man pointed out to him, but the sons all indicate the next table, where their father sits.

  “That is Peter, our father,” Tristan says.

  He is a small, thin, delicately framed man, who appears far too young to have produced so many children. In fact, he appears younger than some of his sons. His wife appears to be considerably older, and no wonder, thinks Evgeny. The father of twelve smiles at them and raises his hand in a half-wave.

  “How old was he when the first one of you was born?” Evgeny asks, shocked.

  “Dad was in his early twenties when Gower was born. He’s sixty-two now.”

  “No! You are pulling our legs,” and Evgeny starts to laugh, muffin spraying everywhere.

  Nothing the sons say convinces Evgeny.

  Mathew gapes at Tristan. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Tristan nods, and this sends Evgeny into more spasms of laughter.

  “He’s messing with you, Mathew.”

  Tristan shakes his head slightly and shrugs.

  Mathew says, “How do you talk to me through my e-Pin?” He touches the earring in his left ear. “You don’t have them.”

  “We all have implants. They’re more advanced versions of the communications technology used in your e-Pin. The technology we use allows us to intercept brain signals.”

  “You’re reading my mind?”

  “No. Properly reading someone’s mind requires a more advanced set of technologies than we’re able to leverage reliably right now. Plus, there are ethical issues, and human brains aren’t yet evolved enough to handle the psychological impact.

  “We’re intercepting the brain signals for speech. We create public conversations inaudible to anyone outside of the group, or we create private conversations between two people. It’s very useful in situations where we need to communicate but speaking aloud would be dangerous, like when we rescued you. We hijacked the more primitive technology in your e-Pin to enable us to talk to you and for it to intercept and transmit your speech signals, as you experienced.”

  “How do you do that? If I want a machine to read my brain signals, I need to wear a synthetic telepathy cap full of electrodes and a signal amplifier.”

  “Nano-technology,” Tristan says.

  “Tiny invisible flying machines,” says Dom. “We sent them to rewire your e-Pin and a tiny bit of your brain.”

  Evgeny is stricken.

  Tristan says to Mathew, “Implants are enhancements banned by most governments.”

  Evgeny says, “Why are you explaining this to him? He must know this. Doesn’t the ATLAS government ban enhancements, too?”

  “I don’t know,” Mathew says.

  “People in the Atlantic states, or ATLAS, where England is now, and the Federation of Free Republics, where Evgeny is from, are allowed wearable technology like yours, but it’s considered an abomination to do anything to actually amend your body. We don’t agree with this. Most of us have amended our eyes to allow us to enjoy improvements in vision and also augmented reality, a bit like the Lenzes you’re wearing, Mathew. We all have biobots, like you, although several generations more advanced. Most of us have enhanced cognitive functions, hearing, physical fitness, mental health, and general wellness. We have daily access to technologies across a range of areas outlawed in most of the so-called more civilised world, and we have spent the last forty years developing them.”

  Dom says, “Not all of us need enhancements.”

 
Frey, one of Tristan’s older brothers, says, “But it’s a long story and not one for breakfast.”

  Evgeny asks, “What are a bunch of ATLAS people doing in a mountain in Russia, anyway?”

  “We’re not ATLAS people,” Dom says. “We’re Non Grata. The Non Grata aren’t part of your war. We don’t care about national boundaries.”

  “But why come here in the first place?”

  “We were escorting someone on a journey. Then we bumped into your Mr Dragomirov, Evgeny.”

  “You are the maggots we were tracking!” Evgeny says. He gawps wonderingly. “Do you have the girl here?”

  “No. She’s gone. She left Russia four months ago with some of our party.”

  “Left Russia?”

  “She crossed the Bering Strait. She’s now in ATLAS territory. She’ll be settling down underground like us for the duration, and then when everything is clear, she’ll be completing her journey. She still has a long way to go. We’ll follow her eventually.”

  “You know where she is?”

  “Of course.”

  “By using your technology? Your enhancements?”

  “Partly.”

  “Why did you stay? Why didn’t you go with her?”

  “To distract Mr Dragomirov and take him off our friend’s scent. He was tracking us for several months. We send parties to take him on long detours. The majority of us stayed here to build this place. Mr Dragomirov followed us to this region. We were out on one last patrol before retreating to the mountain when we discovered Mathew.”

  “How did you find Mathew?”

  Tristan turns to Mathew. “We came across you and the big cat. We were watching when one of Mr Dragomirov’s men fired his gun. We decided to wait until the fuss died down and made the plan to rescue you.”