by Kondor, Luke
Sticking to the shadows where possible, he’d left the lonely pyramid structure to the horizon, and instead walked along the rocks, hiding in as much shade as he could find. The rocks were orange-brown and rough against his palm as he steadied himself.
His stomach wobbled with hunger. It was violent. He was in pain, but, more than that, his body felt dry. He’d been wrung out. A dry piece of tissue. He could almost hear the sounds of his human skin flaking away in the sun. The flakes floating upwards and searing into nothing in the heat.
Still in nothing but the white pants. They offered no protection against the sun. The middle of his lip had split in the heat and a fine trickle of blood made its way down his chin. More wasted fluids.
At some point, cooking against the rocks, his vessel forced him to sit down. The sun turned a deep amber as the planet turned its back on it. Moomamu wondered where he was. The star-door was for Earth. Wasn’t it? What if he’d taken the wrong one? They said the star-door hadn’t been used in years. What if the end location of the star-door had moved over the years. They could be out of alignment. What if he’d walked onto some distant desert planet in the Andromeda galaxy. Oh God, not the Andromeda galaxy. It was the worst.
He sat down in the shade and pressed himself up against the rock. It was warm against his naked back. He looked out at the horizon of yellow.
“Just for a while,” he said to himself. His voice little more than a whisper. “Just for a while.”
He slumped down a little more before rolling onto his side. Still looking out towards the setting sun, warped by the heat. He closed his eyes. Just for a while.
When he opened them he was shivering. He was in darkness, cold, lit only by the starlight and the moon. He sat up again and looked up at the beautifully familiar stars. He could see the nebulae. A comet drew a fine line of white across the sky and towards the moon. Sitting in his pants, in the dark, shivering, his nipples hardening, he was reminded of the time he’d been locked out of the flat.
He turned his head back to where he’d walked from. The cave opening to the star-door was long behind him. He turned to face the other way and saw the starlight reflecting off the rocks. A pin-point of light. Yellow in the darkness. A peculiar way for the light to bounce off the sandy rock.
Wait …
It wasn’t starlight. Moomamu squinted his eyes and strained to focus. It was an opening lit by the yellow flames of a lantern or a candle. Somebody must have been in there. Thoughts of water came to his mind and he climbed to his feet and started to make his way towards it.
He held himself steady against the cooling rock face as he walked towards the light. His legs were weak and the closer he got the more they shook. They were giving up already.
“Nearly,” he said. “Nearly …”
The wind picked up and the sand stabbed at his legs. The opening to the cave — the source of the light. It was getting bigger. Growing in size and brightness. Pushing him onwards.
By the time he made his way to the entrance, the wind had grown angry. It howled as it threw sand upwards, hitting Moomamu in the face. He covered his eyes and made his way inside the cave entrance. The candle flickered with the wind, struggling to stay alight.
The cave was deep. He followed the light until coming upon the source. It was a room of sorts. No, more than that. A square room that didn’t belong. Carved out of the stone. A chair, table, boxes of supplies — water, tinned meats and fishes, beans, various fruit slices. Along the wall was a row of candles. The wax dripped down onto the shelf cut from the wall.
He fell forwards and grabbed one of the water bottles. Never having unscrewed a bottle in his human life he tried to pull the lid off at first. It took him an infuriating few minutes before he finally managed to unscrew it. He gulped down the entire bottle within seconds and then grabbed a tin of pineapple slices. It was a pull-tab. He flicked it open and grabbed a slice of the pineapple. The sweet sugars made his face scrunch up. The texture of the pineapple was godly against his tongue. As he ate the slices he looked around the room again.
No pictures. The furniture looked like it had been stolen from various corners of time and space. He picked up one of the chequered blankets from the side, wrapped it around his shoulders, and sat on the metal-framed chair. Its green fabric molded itself to his shape. He let out another involuntary groan. One of comfort. He then picked up his legs and rested them on the table.
He laughed.
He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t help it. This was the comfiest he’d been in months. It was funny, sort of. He chuckled away as he finished the pineapple and drank the remaining sweet juice. He dropped the tin to the floor with a tink and found his laughter fading away. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how much closer he was to home. But, at least, there were no cats to jab him with sticks or claw at his skin. He pulled the covers around him some more and sank further down into the chair. Within the minute he was asleep. In the darkness of his dreams he heard a meow.
Dr Liz Thompson
He was all of the James Bonds rolled into one. Packaged in a tailored navy suit. Fresh breath and a strong cologne that reminded Liz of the shopping centre in Maidstone.
“Are you okay, Dr Thompson?” he said. His accent was thick and plummy. His scent tickled her nose. She blushed.
They were sitting in a bog-standard black cab. Nothing fancy, not even for MI6. The cab bumbled along through the near-empty roads. A strange lack of red double-decker busses. Public transport had mostly been canceled, on account of the giant black cloud.
“I always kinda wished I’d get a call from MI6 at some point, but never did I expect it to be … whatever this is.”
She looked out of the car window at the City of London. She’d never seen it so empty. Sure, there were the standard homeless sleeping off their cans of Special Brew and a few nonces in suits too busy for black clouds. Even a couple of hipsters, a boy and a girl, possibly, smooching away on the corner of Borough Market. That place was usually buzzing with tourists munching on cheeses from across the country and dipping their fingers in the chutney samples, but it was empty in there. A ghost town.
“I would understand if you were scared,” the man said. His hair was perfectly coiffed and his beard was trimmed to just the right length of stubble. Chiseled by the gods themselves. If Donald knew she’d left the house with a strange man in a black cab it would likely finish him off. A couple more beats and his old ticker would peter out.
Her cheeks filled with warmth and she tried to remember that the man was young enough to be her grandson. Oh, Liz.
“I’m not scared, I don’t think,” she said. “I’m just confused is all. I thought it was my husband who was having the cognitive issues. I was supposed to be the sane one. How can I tell him off for talking to the TV if I’m off to see the great black cloud in the sky?”
The streets were darker too. The famous London grey was draped in shadow. She wondered if she should ask them to take her home. If she should escape. Grab Donald and get the first flight back to Pasadena. Back to home. They had the air-miles, even if she couldn’t stand the plane food.
“Well, we understand how strange or stressful this could be. I mean, the whole thing is unprecedented. Wouldn’t you agree, Dr Thompson?” When he spoke his voice was calm, confident. He took his time with each word. Nothing was rushed. He spoke like a TV therapist. Each sentence led you in a certain direction, designed to elicit the response he required for his mission.
“Yes,” she said as she looked over to the Shard. The angular cut of glass and building. The tallest in London. For now. The base of the building was thick. She allowed her eyes to wander upwards, following the reflective windows until her eye-line reached the tip and disappeared into the black cloud. “I can see how this would be a strange one, even for MI6.”
Everybody had referred to it as a cloud, but looking at it from this distance, Liz knew they were wrong. It wasn’t a cloud at all. Clouds are wispy and fluffy. This was mo
re of a bubble. An undulating, oily-black membrane, the top of which disappeared above and into the skies. The news people said it reached all the way out of the atmosphere.
From where Liz was sitting, it looked like pressing her finger against the side of the cloud might pop it, exploding a mess of tar onto the city.
“Dr Thompson. I just want to remind you that your husband is with the best care. If you like I could call him for you? Would you like to speak to Donald?”
“No that’s okay. Some days I think he’s forgotten who I am.”
With that, the man’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and placed it against his ear.
“Yes, David speaking. Yes. Nearly at the site now. ETA two minutes. I’ll pass on the message,” he said before putting the phone down.
“Any news?” Liz said.
“Nothing more than we already know.”
Nothing at all then, Liz thought.
They’d phoned her the day before. Out of the blue. They seemed just as confused as she was to be having the conversation. They said the cloud had descended from space. Took out a couple of pricey satellites on the way down. They said the cloud had some sort of intelligence. Something about a message relayed out and across the planet. Picked up by those who had the equipment — NASA, SETI, the Roscosmos. Apparently the message was clear: ‘Miss Sam home. Miss Sam home. Cooper. Miss Sam home.’
That was all they needed. It took them minutes to put the pieces together. A finger pointing directly at Liz.
“And you know that this may all be a mistake. We’re still not sure how it’s all going to work.”
“I know,” she said as the car pulled up at the entrance of the jagged tooth of a building. “Look, something I’ve learned to live with in this world, is that life … well, I mean to say, sometimes it just doesn’t make a goddam lick of sense. So, with that said, take me to it and let’s see what happens eh?”
David nodded and opened his door. He climbed out, walked to her side, and let her out. As a gentleman should.
Liz looked out at the armed guards, the men in black suits with headsets on. Fifty or so. The giant glass entrance to the Shard had been cordoned off. An opaque plastic sheet covered the door with a zipper splitting it in two.
“This way, Dr Thompson,” David said as he placed his hand on her shoulder, denoting the way with his other. “Before we go in, we’re going to get you to wear some protective clothing. Will that be okay with you?”
She nodded and he led her up the walkway past ominous-looking individuals in uniforms with guns pressed to their chests. A woman with freckles and red hair was stationed next to the entrance. She handed her and David a set of plastic overalls each and a white fabric mask to cover their mouths. She then fixed a small black fabric circle to David’s earlobe. Bluetooth or something.
“No need to worry. We’ve not measured anything toxic,” the woman said as she helped Liz route her hands through the sleeves of the overalls.
“It’s fine,” Liz said. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
She readjusted her glasses.
Even in the ridiculous overalls, David looked handsome, his blue eyes and dark curls reaching over the white mask.
Two of the armed soldiers unzipped the plastic covering to the entrance and waved them through, nodding, avoiding eye contact as they stepped into the Shard.
For the first time since receiving the phone call, she was worried. Empty public seating, lonely potted plants, a closed coffee vendor. The place didn’t look right without the armies of tourists in the main plaza. In their place were more soldiers and scientists, and tables full of computers and monitoring equipment. Behind them, amongst the mess of technology and wiring, was a man in thick-rimmed glasses, similar to her own.
“Don’t mind them,” David said, leading her past them towards the main elevator entrance.
She’d already had it explained to her. It didn’t make sense. Not really. The elevator wouldn’t work. It had stopped working when the cloud made contact with the tower. Once the skin touched the tip of the Shard, the elevator had locked and the stairwells filled with the cloud itself, blocking any entry into it.
That was why Liz was there. The cloud had called for her. Perhaps it would let her enter.
“Well then, David, shall we see if this works?” she said as she pressed the elevator button.
At first, nothing happened. She felt the disappointment in the room behind her. More confusion for the pile. She looked to David, who smiled and said “Leave it a second,” as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
He was right, though. Out of nowhere the lift came back to the life. The blue LCD display dinged and the inner workings of the lift whirred away — the gears and cogs and pulley systems doing their thing.
“What do you think is up there?” Liz said.
David didn’t answer at first. His jaw clenched, the calm and suave exterior dropping.
“Honestly, Dr Thompson, I haven’t got a bloody clue.”
She laughed, and even under that white mask, she could tell he was smiling.
As the elevator doors opened. Liz felt a nervous energy fill her chest. Her pulse began to beat just that little bit quicker. Like she’d agreed to something she wasn’t sure about, and very soon there would be no turning back. They both stepped inside.
The lift looked mostly normal. Mirrors reflecting her scared old-as-hell face. Brightly lit from the floor — enough to burn her eyes somewhat. And the usual panel of buttons.
“Which floor?” she said.
“The Shard has an open-air observation deck on the 72nd floor. That’s going to take us inside.”
He nodded her on and she pressed the button. The doors shut behind them and the lift cranked into life. It zoomed them upwards, much faster than a standard elevator. Modern technology at its finest. She reminded herself that she’d taken her IBS medication. She should be fine.
They both looked away from each other. Her feet ached. Normally at this time she’d fill her foot spa with hot water and some smellies, put the kettle on, set the TV to Coronation Street, and would melt into the sofa as Donald snoozed away. Afterwards, she’d massage her varicose veins and fall asleep herself. It was a comfortable sort of life. And it seemed a million miles away at that moment. Far from this gloomy, cloudy day in the capital. Still, though, as far away as Donald was, she sensed she could still hear his snoring. It had only gotten worse with age.
She looked to David who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts too.
“Are you married?” she asked.
He shook his head to say no.
“Not yet, but … I have my plans. Wife, kids, home in the countryside, a couple of dogs. Maybe a cat. Haven’t decided about them yet,” he said.
“Sounds lovely,” she said.
“It will be.”
The lift stopped its ascent and the doors opened. A draft of wind hit them immediately. Broken glass marked the floor where the partitions on either side of the viewing plaza had smashed.
They took a step forward and looked up and around them. Definitely not a rain cloud. The black had engulfed the top of the Shard completely. They were standing inside it. They looked up and around the cloud. Odd sparks of electricity crackled static as the tiniest parts of the cloud moved. Standing this close, the fabric of the cloud appeared to be liquid in nature. They were standing on the inside of a giant wave of black that was so high Liz couldn’t see the ceiling.
“Well, this is interesting,” she said.
Moomamu The Thinker
“Get your claws off me!” Moomamu screamed.
Wait—
What—
Where was he?
Who was …
He looked around the room. No, not his room. Not his prison cell. No thump-sticks. No guards. Snuckems’s purr rung in his ears but he was certain it was only in his mind. A cat taking pleasure in his work. He shuddered.
Sweat fell from Moomamu’s chin and landed on his bare stom
ach.
His heart raced. His pulse thumped. And the tips of his toes were light and fizzy. He groaned as he climbed up to his feet, accidentally pushing the chair to the floor behind him. The metal frame clanged against the rock. In front on the table were an empty bottle of water and the empty tin of pineapple slices from the night before.
He shook his bare foot in the air, kicking out the remaining fizz. His back ached. His neck was sore. Every movement produced a popping and a clicking from the air pockets between his bones. He walked over to the stash of water bottles in the corner and grabbed a fresh one.
When he’d first woken as a human his body was well nourished with strong, supple muscles, but when he looked down at his chest, stomach, and his legs, he could see the bones within. His skin was stretched over the curved ridges of his ribs. His kneecaps protruded further out than ever before and the sacks of muscles around his legs and arms were all but gone. He’d done a shitty job at being a human. He’d had the vessel for only a few months and he’d run the thing into the ground.
He hadn’t noticed the night before, but there was another room. Only half as tall as the cave. Cut away like an afterthought. The edges smoothed over.
He stretched his arms into the air with a pop and a crack and peered inside. A wooden cross made from driftwood leaned against the end. Ornaments and bones, a box made from animal skin. Pictures of humans taken from all different corners of time. A fat religious book. Moomamu wasn’t sure which religion it belonged to and it didn’t matter. They were mostly the same anyway. A name was etched into the fabric of the cover, though, under a fine coating of dust. A lighter shade of brown scratched into the leather: ‘My dear husband, Felix Barraclough’.
He drank from the water and flushed it around his mouth before swallowing. His throat and tongue still felt dry. He took another mouthful and headed outside.
