The Strange

by Masha du Toit

  Bright.

  He swore inside his mask. He’d not had time to make sense of what he’d seen, but whatever it was had flared against the inky blackness of the void.

  He forced himself to open his eyes again.

  I can still see. It’s fine. I can still see. The inside of the lock looked exactly the same as before, except for the now open hatch and the light that flooded through it.

  It’s not actually all that bad. I’ll just have to keep looking down, at the outside of the Eye. I just can’t look up, that’s all.

  Slowly, he put his head and shoulders through the hatch, and saw that he was in a sort of open cage, made of metal bars. The bars were far enough apart that he could pull himself between them, but close enough together to stop him accidentally drifting away.

  That was a relief. If Isabeau had lost her grip going out, at least she’d not gone floating off into the void. This cage would have stopped her.

  He pulled himself out of the Eye, always keeping hold with one hand and trying to ignore how strange it was.

  One moment he was in the grip of gravity, the next he was floating free.

  It took an effort to close the outer hatch. He didn’t want to do it, but if he left it open too long, it would probably set off an alarm.

  I was right. No gravity. Ndlela let himself float in the cage. It felt exactly like swimming underwater. He took stock of his surroundings, as far as he could without looking up.

  Up. What was up? He tried to remember which direction the floor of the airlock had been, but that was no good. From now on, the surface of the Eye would be his “down”.

  He wished he’d thought to ask Tomas more about the carillon filaments. Tomas had described as a web, high enough above the surface of the Eye so you could easily walk beneath them.

  Were they all over, or just in certain places? Would they act as a net, to stop him floating away if he lost his hold? How strong were they—and were they dangerous to touch?

  That seemed likely, if they had anything to do with powering the portals.

  He forced himself to concentrate. First thing. Where’s Issy?

  He didn’t dare look up at the brightness above but studied the outside surface of the Eye around the hatchway. It was coated with something like thick, black fur. Pulling himself closer, Ndlela realised that it was a soft layer of sticky dust. The bright light from above cast his shadow over it and showed up every grain and fold. It looked like a deep layer of black moss.

  Ndlela knew what he was looking at, from the reading he’d done about the Eye.

  This must be mulm. The detritus of the void that settled on the Eye and stayed there, clinging on because of static, or some more mysterious force. The mulm was easy to displace, as there was a clear path worn into it.

  The path was too wide to have been made by Isabeau alone, but the lack of any other tracks suggested that this must be the way she’d gone.

  How one travelled over the Eye was clear enough, when he took the time to look. A grid of rings, large enough to be handholds, had been bolted into a grid all over the surface of the Eye.

  In addition to the rings, several cage-like corridors led out from the hatch in various directions. Once, long ago, they must have been like the cage itself, open lattices that provided enough security to allow a maintenance worker to pull themselves along without the risk of accidentally floating away into the void. Now, years after their construction, the corridors were little more than a line of broken posts, some arching over, others ending just a foot or two from the surface.

  All at once, Ndlela remembered something that the glim-instructor had mentioned about the suit. The stretchy straps attached to his waist were there to clip onto something, to stop one from floating off into the void. Ndlela went cold at the thought, and immediately clipped himself on the nearest ring.

  But how do I move, now?

  He could pay out the strap for about two metres, but then he’d have to come back again to unclip it.

  The inner voice was growing more urgent now. Move, move, move, it said, like a secondary heartbeat.

  Isabeau was out here. All that mattered was finding her.

  With trembling fingers, Ndlela unclipped himself again and tucked the end of the tether back into his belt. Luckily the suit’s gloves were thin enough to make the manoeuvre easy.

  Ndlela inhaled deeply enough to make the breathing apparatus hiss, and set off, pulling himself along from ring to ring, always careful to stay on the track that had been worn in the mulm.

  He quickly saw how the path had been created. Each time he reached for a ring, the slightest brushing of hand or knee swept away a fine layer of mulm. When he shoved himself along by pushing on the metal surface with a foot, and a cloud of the fine, black dust scattered out around him.

  He wanted to look up, to see whether he could spot Isabeau somewhere out ahead of him, but the sharp outline of his own shadow reminded him of the danger. Whatever was making all that light, it was too bright to risk looking at it with his newly unbandaged eyes.

  Each time he grabbed a ring, he made sure his fingers grasped it firmly before he released the previous hand-hold. Even the lightest shove might send him drifting away from the surface of the Eye, hovering just out of reach of the rings.

  He was so intent on taking hold, and letting go, taking hold, and letting go, that he nearly missed the signs.

  What was that?

  Ndlela took hold of the nearest ring with both hands and pulled himself around to look behind him.

  He’d not imagined it. It was easy to see the traces, a track curving off to the left and away from the main path.

  Carefully, he manoeuvred himself around and went ring to ring back to the place the tracks diverged. Frowning, he studied tried to see what must have happened.

  Scuff-marks, and a single hand print, clearly visible in the deep layer of mulm next to the path.

  Ndlela’s heart contracted into a chilly nub. That hand was too small to be anyone but Isabeau’s, and from the look of it, she’d gone on from here, leaving the path in an increasingly diverging route of her own.

  Hand over hand, Ndlela followed this new track. It was just a few scuff marks and prints, not nearly as clear as the main path, but still easy enough to follow in the untouched layer of mulm that stretched all around.

  Every few rings, he made himself look ahead, squinching up his eyes to filter out as much of the light streaming down from above. It was hard to be sure, but he thought that Isabeau’s tracks curved oddly back and forth.

  She got lost. Disoriented. But why had she left the main path?

  When he finally reached her, it was so unexpected that both of them nearly lost their grip.

  Ndlela clung to Isabeau, flailing a hand to find a ring, kicking up a storm of mulm. After a heart-juddering moment he got hold of a ring and shoved a foot through it. He fumbled one handed at his belt, and after a failed attempt, got his tether clipped safely to the ring. When he’d tested that it was secure, he clipped the second tether to Isabeau.

  She pressed her faceplate to his, so that he could see her pale and frightened face.

  For long moments they stared at one another.

  Ndlela felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rise in him and struggled to control himself. Of course. They could not talk. They could not hear. The suits probably had communication devices, but he didn’t know how to use them. They could not even lipread, as the breathing apparatus covered their mouths.

  Isabeau rolled her eyes at him. What did she want? Oh. She was pointing at something on her arm. Ndlela peered, frowning. A gauge of some kind. The suits had mechanical gauges, no digital readouts, presumably because of the unreliability of electrical technology in the Eye.

  Again, Isabeau tapped the gauge and at last Ndlela saw what she was trying to tell him.

  The sharp, black needle was hovering just above the red.

  For several heartbeats he tried to understand. What did it measure? He looked at the
corresponding gauge on his own arm and comprehension flooded him with ice.

  Oxygen. She was running out of oxygen.

  Thoughts bounced around, jamming his head. Why? How had that— But how?

  No. He had to stay calm.

  What were the facts?

  Isabeau was running out of oxygen.

  What could he do?

  Give her his supply.

  How? There must be some way of sharing oxygen, but he had no idea how that worked. Numbly, he patted his suit, looking for some likely tube or nozzle.

  Nothing.

  Maybe he could take off his mask?

  But Isabeau must have read his thoughts. She was shaking her head vehemently, and she was right. It wouldn’t work. Even if he managed to get his mask off, even if the vacuum didn’t instantly blind him, even if he somehow managed to fit the mask on her, what then?

  Maybe they could take turns breathing? And at the same time work their way back...

  Otherwise Isabeau would... No. He would not even think of it.

  She was frowning at him now, tugging at his arm and pointing—

  Oh.

  She had cleared a patch of mulm and was writing in the thin film left behind.

  KNOW WAY BACK?

  He nodded vigorously. But was there enough time? According to the gauge, Isabeau had used nearly all her supply. He tapped on her gauge, then at his wrist, willing her to understand.

  She nodded and started writing again.

  GO POD?

  What? Ndlela shook his head and tried to gesture his incomprehension.

  Impatiently, Isabeau kept writing.

  GO SHIP POD SHIP

  Finally, Ndlela understood. The track in the mulm he’d been following before led to the pod-ship.

  Nodding to show he’d understood, and that he agreed, Ndlela unclipped the tether from the ring and clipped it to Isabeau instead. Now they were connected by two straps.

  Fighting the urge to hurry, Ndlela manoeuvred himself around, paying out the straps. With one last glance into Isabeau’s faceplate, he turned away and hauled himself from ring to ring.

  His breath hissed in his ears, and he was trembling, although he wasn’t cold. A glance behind told him that Isabeau was copying his every move, hauling herself along from ring to ring. Luckily the track was easy enough to follow.

  He fell back into the same rhythm as before. Look for a hand-hold. Let go one hand. Reach. Grasp the ring. Look for a hand-hold. Let go the other hand. Reach. Grasp the new ring.

  Sooner than he’d hoped, he reached the main path again. Good. Good. That didn’t take so long.

  Now he had to decide. Go back to the known security of the hatch—or go on?

  How long had it taken him to get this far? He had no idea. He tugged on the strap, and Isabeau came up next to him. Tapping on his own gauge, he got her to understand. She held out her arm so he could see the gauge on her wrist.

  It had dropped visibly. If he was reading it right, she had only a few minutes left. And then? How long could she last, once the oxygen ran out?

  Not long enough to get back to the hatch, he was certain of that.

  He simply could not decide. Peering into Isabeau’s mask, he saw that her eyes were tightly closed.

  Go back? Or go on.

  Every moment he hesitated was an instant shaved off his sister’s life. He had to decide, and he had to decide now.

  With a muffled groan, he turned away from the path back to the hatch.

  He knew for a fact that Isabeau didn’t have enough air to reach it. At least there was a chance they might get to the pod-ship in time.

  What if this pod-ship doesn’t have an airlock or air supply?

  He really could not think about that.

  Hand over hand he pulled himself along. A tug at his belt told him Isabeau was following.

  Hand, over hand. Hand, over hand.

  How was she doing? Was her air running out already?

  He found he was holding his own breath and forced himself to breathe normally. He glanced behind him. Isabeau had let go and was floating away from the surface of the Eye. He made sure that his grasp was firm and waited for the straps connecting them to tug tight.

  It’s fine. Maybe it was better for her to conserver her energy, and just let him tug her along. She’d be using less oxygen this way.

  Or maybe she’s passed out. Maybe—

  That thought got firmly buried as well.

  Hand over hand. Hand over hand, never daring to stop long enough to look for their destination.

  He crashed into a ladder and nearly lost his grip. Something loomed above him. Ndlela still dared not look up. He could not afford to be blinded.

  First, he hauled Isabeau in. She still moved, but in a sleepy, vague way that flooded him with dread. Always careful, always with one firm handhold, he climbed the ladder.

  A hatch.

  For long moments he stared at it blankly, trying to make sense of it. How did it open?

  Oh. There, what was that? A recessed handle.

  He pulled the handle down and felt the hatch shift and give, and unbelievably, slide open.

  Manoeuvring first himself, and then Isabeau through the hatch took unbearably long.

  What now?

  Another hatch, of course. With a similar handle.

  He pulled at it, cursing, desperately, wrenching at it. Why would it not open? Isabeau floated limply next to him. She might already be—

  The outside hatch was still open.

  Cursing himself, Ndlela closed the outside hatch, then blinked in surprise as light bloomed around him. Closing the hatch had uncovered a strip of colls that now glowed with a soft, welcoming light.

  No time. Got to get that other hatch— No. First the air.

  The button was easy to find. Large, and blue. He pushed it with his palm and closed his eyes as he felt the vibration of the pump transmit itself through the wall into his gloved hands.

  How long would it take before there was enough air in the lock for it to be safe to take off their masks?

  He peered into Isabeau’s faceplate. Her eyes were open. She blinked, and refocused.

  She’s still alive. The relief was nearly unbearable. What was she looking at? Her hands were moving— She was pointing at—

  Oh. Of course. A red coll glowed in a panel halfway up the wall. A clockwork mechanism was slowly pulling a slider across it, in time to the throbbing of the pump.

  The slider clicked into place, hiding the red coll, and revealing a green one.

  Isabeau’s eyes were closed again, but Ndlela was already ripping off her mask, pulling at the breathing apparatus, trying to remember how one did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  The moment her mouth was free, Isabeau drew a gasping breath, then doubled over, coughing, gasping, and crying.

  He was crying too, tears spattering the face-plate of his helmet.

  With numb fingers he pulled the thing off and freed his mouth, gasping in sympathy.

  He gathered Isabeau into his arms and felt her curl up against him.

  For a long time, they sat there, on the floor of the airlock, crying, and breathing, and crying.

  Moving Lights

  “I’m hungry.”

  Isabeau sat up and unfurled her cramped limbs. She rose and twisted the handle of the inner hatch, which opened with a hiss.

  “How are you feeling?” Ndlela pulled himself to his feet.

  “Hungry.” Isabeau stepped through the hatch and out of sight. “Hey! Come look at this, Ndlela!”

  Beyond the hatch was a small, domed space. Most of one wall was a window, so Ndlela averted his eyes from the glowing sky outside.

  Isabeau’s hair stood on end, and her face still bore the marks of the mouthpiece, but otherwise she seemed to have forgotten her recent ordeal. She leaned on the back of a chair that was bolted to the floor, gazing around at the little room. “It’s a control room. Don’t you think?” She looked at Ndlela expectantly.


  Ndlela had to agree. A panel below the window held a bank of buttons and switches, and something that looked like a headset and microphone.

  Isabeau opened the small door beyond the window. “Toilet!” she announced. “That’s convenient. And where do you think that goes?” She looked up at a hatch in the curved ceiling.

  “That must be how you get into the pod-ship.” Ndlela tried to make out the many symbols and stickers that were plastered on this circular hatch. “But I don’t think we should open it just yet, Issy.”

  Isabeau, who’d been reaching up, dropped her hands. “Why not?”

  “We just— You just nearly—” The mulish look on Isabeau’s face stopped him. That was not the way to deal with Isabeau. “Issy,” he said more calmly. “Why did you come out here?”

  “You know why. I had to know what Missy was doing.” Isabeau lifted her chin, her mouth a stubborn line.

  Ndlela could see that it would do no good arguing that particular point. “And then what happened?”

  Isabeau dropped her gaze and drew her shoulders up. “I started to follow her tracks. Then I got lost.” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “Then I saw Mom up there, and I got sort of confused.”

  “You saw what?” Ndlela stared at her.

  “I saw Mom!” Isabeau looked at him in surprise. “In the—” She gestured with an upward sweep of her hands. “In the lights. Didn’t you see her?”

  Ndlela shook his head wordlessly.

  “Oh.” Isabeau lost a little of her confident manner. “I saw her. And other things, too— I saw Xun, and her sons. And I saw Crosshatch in the distance, sort of far away. And Mom. Really big. Looking down at me.”

  Isabeau darted him a challenging look. “I really did! It wasn’t just my imagination. It was like the solluster, only much bigger, and it made pictures. I can still see it, sort of, out there, look!”

  Ndlela shook his head. “I can’t look at bright lights yet.”

  “Oh!” Isabeau’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. “I didn’t even notice! You took your blindfold off!” With a quick step she was at her brother’s side, peering into his face. “Are you okay? You can see okay?”