Junction

by Daniel M. Bensen

  Which is exactly what they are doing, Daisuke realized with a chill. If that thing in the middle of the soldiers’ formation wasn’t a wormhole, it was something equally unknown and dangerous.

  Orange light shone from the hole and slid off the muzzles of the weapons pointed into its center. Daisuke was reminded of chimpanzees he had once seen fishing for termites, poking grass stems into holes in the ground and waiting for something to bite.

  “Matsumori-san, this is Syahiral Hariyadi,” said Nurul. “Colonel in the Indonesian National Armed Forces.”

  Daisuke looked around to see a short, powerfully built man in a green uniform and black beret. The colonel looked up at Daisuke, his wide, smooth-skinned face just a little large for his body.

  “Oh yes, ‘the Iron Man of Survival’,” said Hariyadi, his accent round and dense as a cannonball. “They told me you’d be here, and that I was expected to join you in your ridiculous propaganda piece. Well, the UN may have time to shepherd minor celebrities around, but I have a duty to ensure the future prosperity of my country.” He jerked his chin at the Astarinas and said something in clipped Indonesian, then nodded at Daisuke. “You may stay here and wait for someone to put you somewhere.”

  For a dizzy moment, Daisuke nearly agreed with him. But by the time he had translated “You’re absolutely right, sir, I don’t belong here,” into English, his career-progression instincts had caught up with him. Daisuke had built a career on saying the right thing at the right time. That, and throwing himself into danger. He did both now.

  “I agree, Colonel, I was brought here very suddenly,” he said. “I still don’t understand the hurry, but the Americans seemed very insistent.” Daisuke saw now why they’d chosen him, a Japanese man, for this job. An American or Australian wouldn’t have been able to talk like this to an Indonesian soldier without antagonizing him.

  Hariyadi curled his lip, angry, but not at Daisuke. “Of course the Americans are insistent. They know any delay will strengthen the position of the Republic of Indonesia and our rightful claim on the resources within our borders.”

  That sounded serious, but nobody would expect the Iron Man of Survival to debate politics. “I see, sir,” said Daisuke. “I don’t know about politics, but I am very eager to see what is on the other side of the wormhole.”

  Hariyadi’s lip remained curled. Daisuke’s eagerness, false or true, didn’t seem to gain him much traction with the colonel.

  In a flash of inspiration, Daisuke realized who the next person to speak in this scene should be, and looked at the Australian pilot who’d flown them here.

  “Sir,” said the pilot as if on cue, “we have orders from Colonel Pearson.”

  “Who does not outrank me,” said Hariyadi.

  The gun-toting men around them tensed, and Daisuke couldn’t help but wish someone was filming this.

  “I am eager to explore,” he repeated. “Not only out of a love for the unknown, but as a means of showing what wonders the human race is capable of. You will play an important part in that story, Colonel, if you are to come with me.”

  Hariyadi only grunted, but it was the grunt of a man imagining his name in the history books.

  Daisuke looked at the pilot again, and again the soldier received the subconscious signal that he should speak. “Do you have a communication from the United States government or the UN that countermands my orders, sir?”

  Hariyadi glanced up at the sky, then down at the wormhole. “No,” he said. “If I do receive such orders, I will place these civilians under protective custody. Understood?”

  “Affirmative,” said the pilot.

  “Yes,” said Daisuke.

  Hariyadi turned an ironic expression on Daisuke. “Let us not waste time. Matsumori-san, may I invite you into the newest territory of the Republic of Indonesia?”

  “Film,” whispered Nurul. “Film!”

  Daisuke glanced from the camera to Hariyadi to the funnel-shaped hole in the earth. The circle of blue at the bottom seemed to stretch away, pulling Daisuke with it as his left thumb found the groove in his ring finger.

  Switch on that smile, he told himself, and jumped through the wormhole.

  Chapter Two

  The Far Side

  Imagine a mirrored ball at the bottom of a pit. That was how Daisuke might have described the wormhole to viewers, but that wasn’t accurate. A mirror would have shown nothing but the dark rocks and earth around it. The wormhole, however, was blue, white, and green. The colors were an incomprehensible smear at its edges, but at the center, they twisted into an image of sky and trees. Mountains in the background like none on Earth.

  Not a ball, but a three-dimensional hole, thought Daisuke as he bumped and slid down the shallow slope of the pit in the soil of the New Guinea Highlands. And that still didn’t capture the feel of the thing.

  The wormhole pulled. Even while falling toward it, Daisuke felt as if he was stuck on the floor of an upward-accelerating elevator. He was descending faster than mere Earth gravity should account for, and as the wormhole swelled in Daisuke’s vision, the image of trees and mountains gained depth. A wave of cold, like diving into a calm lake, and Daisuke passed through, plunging feet-first into another world.

  Blue sky above him. Green trees around him. And people. More soldiers. Details he couldn’t see because he was still sliding down an incline. The inner surface of the pit on Earth had become the outer slope of a hill…somewhere else.

  Daisuke tried to get his feet under him, but the gravity kept increasing the farther he got from the wormhole, and his knees creaked as he tried to force his downward momentum into a different direction. In the end, the best he could do was to slide down the hill on his ass, legs tucked in front of him, boots flat against the grassy ground. Then at least he could spring to his feet quickly once he slid to a stop.

  He was in a military fortification just like the one on the other side of the wormhole in Indonesian Papua back on Earth. Nothing other than interplanetary travel could explain the way the sun was so large and orange, or the way Daisuke was so heavy. His feet interacted with the ground wrong, as if he had just stepped onto land after a long sea voyage. Even the air felt different – thicker, laced with scents that Daisuke would never be able to describe to the audience at home.

  Which was unfortunate, because despite its alien smells and sensations, the other side of the wormhole looked very much like Earth. Beyond the bustle of muddy soldiers, silver-tan grass rippled across the flanks of the hills. The sky was a clear, pale blue, hung with hawks. Birdsong punctuated the sounds of machinery and men’s voices. Pretty, but the land around the wormhole was boringly un-alien in every way that would show up on camera.

  Cameras. Daisuke looked around for his audience and remembered his role.

  “I’m here!” he said. Then, since the soldiers waiting to welcome him likely didn’t speak Japanese, he said, “Hello!” in English.

  Nobody answered him. Nobody was even watching him. The people gathered here, those who didn’t have other jobs to do, were staring up at the crown of the hill, where the wormhole to Earth glimmered like a black pearl.

  Even as he watched, the wormhole disgorged the rest of the party. Nurul managed to stumble down the hill with some grace, while her husband simply let himself roll, shielding his camera with his body. Hariyadi looked like he wanted to find the man responsible for the gravity and have him flogged. The three Indonesians slid to a stop near Daisuke and stood shakily in the new gravity, adjusting their clothes and squinting in the ginger-colored light.

  “Good afternoon, Colonel Hariyadi.”

  The speaker was a man in an American uniform. Chin up, hands on hips, chest protruding just past his belly, he looked like a bald and aging superhero. “Welcome to Far Side Base.”

  “Such a stupid name,” said the stumpy, grimy woman standing next to the soldier. “You might as well
call this place XKCD.” Her accent was Australian. Some sort of technical contractor? Not military or government, or she wouldn’t have spoken out of turn. Certainly not media, or else she would be better groomed.

  Hariyadi ignored the civilian woman and spoke to the man and fellow soldier. “It is I who should be welcoming you, Pearson. The fact that you positioned yourself here while I was overseeing the construction of Near Side Base is legally irrelevant.”

  The American – Pearson – maintained a stony expression while his companion rolled her eyes. “Are these other people supposed to be the journalists?” he asked.

  Hariyadi introduced the Astarinas and Daisuke, who examined the civilian woman with growing understanding. Those rumpled khaki clothes, that greasy hair. The accent, the sunburn, the squint, her inclusion in this welcoming party. Daisuke realized who she must be. He smiled, extending his hand toward her.

  “You’re the biologist who discovered the wormhole.”

  She frowned at Daisuke, crinkling the freckled bridge of her nose. “The Nun discovered the wormhole. I’m just the one they told about it.”

  The who? This wasn’t the time for digressions. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Daisuke persisted. “I’m Daisuke Matsumori. I’m sure you, ah, haven’t seen my television program?” He laughed self-deprecatingly.

  “No. But I am sorry I missed it.”

  Daisuke didn’t miss the way her eyes flashed down his body. He suppressed the desire to run a hand through his hair.

  The American thrust himself into the fraught silence. “I’m Colonel Gregory Pearson, commander of the American and UN troops of Far Side Base. This” – he nodded to the biologist – “is Anne Houlihan of the University of Sydney. It is thanks to her” – traitorous and foolish leaking of valuable strategic intelligence, his scowl communicated – “that we are all here.”

  Ms. Houlihan was the same height as Hariyadi, but rather wider. She looked like she hadn’t changed her clothes, much less bathed, in a week, but if she felt intimidated to be surrounded by all these posturing soldiers, she wasn’t showing it. Daisuke, a connoisseur of wilderness survival equipment, appreciated her shirt and pants as the perfect outfit for exploring new planets. Her boots, especially, looked like she’d recently used them to kick a crocodile to death. Her eyes were the color of raw honey, and her dimpled smile was bigger, toothier, and more genuine than any expression he’d seen in a long time. Her hand, when she shook his, was very warm.

  “This is all very impressive,” Daisuke said.

  Anne looked as if she’d bitten into a leech. “This display of imperialism, you mean? You should have seen the shrine complex that was here before these dipshits tore it down.”

  Daisuke hid his shock. If there were a camera running, it might have made sense for Anne to steal the scene and win some support from her civilian audience. Otherwise, why antagonize her military hosts?

  In any case, she should be interesting to work with. Daisuke had had expert guests on his shows before, and they usually turned stony and unresponsive – afraid of doing something foolish on camera. A few of them eventually managed to relax and be themselves, but nobody had come roaring out of the starting gate like this before.

  “We are securing the wormhole,” said Pearson, which might have been a response to Anne’s insult, or he might have just moved on to the next line of his planned patter.

  Whichever, Daisuke took the cue, twisting to look back up the hill. The wormhole at its tip was rimmed with the blue and green of this extraterrestrial mountainside, but its center was dark brown, showing the soil around its counterpart back on Earth.

  “‘The High Earth Hole’, the Papuan natives call it,” said Pearson. “Its other side in Papua is ‘the Deep Sky Hole.’”

  “Natives?” said Nurul. “Those would be the Nun people?”

  “That’s right—” Pearson looked as if he might go on talking, but Anne interrupted him.

  “The Nun say they’ve been terraforming this place since the beginning of the world.” Her side-eyed glare shuttled between Pearson and Hariyadi. “And then we showed up and started squabbling over it.”

  “I am not in the business of squabbling, Ms. Houlihan,” said Hariyadi. “I am here to ensure the Americans do not take what is not theirs.”

  “No fear of that, Colonel.” Pearson bared his teeth in an expression he probably imagined was a smile. “We, and I mean specifically we six people” – he swept them all with his stare – “are to spearhead a peaceful and multinational exploration effort, beginning tomorrow.”

  Hariyadi snorted and Anne scoffed. “Oh, yes, we’ll just have the planet explored by dinner, won’t we?”

  Pearson played his trick again, answering the biologist’s question while seeming to ignore her. “We will make a start tomorrow with aerial reconnaissance. The first ever flight of an aircraft on this planet.” He nodded to Daisuke and the Astarinas. “We rely on you to represent our peaceful exploration efforts to the world.”

  Nurul only nodded photogenically, but Rahman looked as nervous as a seal hunter watching an orca swimming under the sea ice toward him.

  Daisuke attempted to clarify the situation, or at least as much of it as Pearson was willing to reveal. “So, Colonel,” he asked, “we have no idea what we will see out there, beyond the mountains?”

  Pearson jerked his chin up. “That’s correct.”

  “Hasn’t there been….” Damn, what was the English word? “Haven’t there been people who could see these lands before us? Or at least drones?”

  “Exactly,” said Hariyadi. “We should not even be here, off of Earth, where we know so little.”

  Pearson spread his hands. “Say the word, Hariyadi, and we’ll both withdraw all of our men back to Earth.”

  “I get it,” said Anne. “The fate of two worlds rests on the shoulders of two galahs in a dick-measuring contest.”

  Daisuke was unfamiliar with that particular idiom, but it probably meant that the US had spooked Indonesia into rushing its fortification of the wormhole, which had scared the Americans in turn and so forth, the two countries pushing people through to this unknown planet with insane speed. And the vicious cycle was still spinning.

  “So then,” said Nurul, hands crossed over her lap like a nursery school teacher, “our governments all need more information. The sooner we begin filming, the sooner we can tell voters on Earth what they need to know in order to decide these matters for themselves. Shall we film a bit more now?”

  Hariyadi and Pearson looked at the journalist with identical weary expressions. Pearson looked like he was about to say something, but was distracted by an American soldier, who came jogging up to his superior.

  “Sir,” the soldier said, brandishing a walkie-talkie. “We got another exo-injury, sir.”

  “Shit,” said Anne, as if the soldier had addressed her. “It’s someone on the burn teams, isn’t it? Why do you even need a big flat field of charcoal north of town?”

  “It’s, uh, it’s venom.” The lieutenant’s head swung back and forth between Pearson and the scientist. “New kind of treeworm. Little things like maggots. Swarmed up a guy’s leg when he got too close to their tree. Symptoms that followed were—”

  “Swelling, probably?” said Anne. “Flushing? Hives? Generalized feeling of doom?”

  “Doom?” repeated Hariyadi.

  Pearson rounded on her. “Ms. Houlihan, please—”

  “That’s an allergic reaction,” she said. “Incompatible biochemistry.”

  “Sir….” The lieutenant faced Pearson, but eyed the biologist as if she might charge at any moment. “We thought it was poison.”

  Pearson sighed and turned to Anne. “Is it poison, Houlihan?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. Anaphylaxis will still kill the hell out of him, though. Got to jab him.” She mimed punching her own thigh. “With an
EpiPen.”

  Pearson rubbed a knuckle between his eyes. “Tell them what she said,” he ordered. “Don’t forget to requisition more EpiPens.”

  “Antihistamines, too,” said Anne. “Uh, ask a real medical doctor first, though, all right?”

  “Sir!” The lieutenant turned away, speaking into the walkie-talkie, relaying…Anne’s orders?

  Well, who else was qualified to give them? Daisuke didn’t suppose the American or Australian armies employed many speculative biologists, and other civilians with the proper background would take time to track down and transport to the New Guinea Highlands. Daisuke supposed he was similarly underqualified. So both Anne and I are bats in the village without birds.

  All they had to do was to survive long enough to be replaced by someone competent. Daisuke sidled up to Anne and bent to whisper into her ear. “On our exploration party tomorrow, what do you think we can do to avoid being poisoned ourselves?”

  She turned wide eyes on him. “I have no fucking clue, mate.”

  “Feelings of impending doom, indeed,” muttered Pearson.

  * * *

  Smoke swirled up from a dozen firepits, carrying the smell of roasting pork and steaming grass. Army-supplied bowls and Nun tree-bark trenchers of porridge circulated around the guests of the natives’ ‘welcoming party.’

  Daisuke scooped his porridge up with gusto. It had been a long day.

  “Delicious,” he told the flickering eye of Rahman’s camera. “It is so kind of the Nun people to make this feast for us.”

  “This is the second night in a row they’ve done it,” said Anne. “I’m not sure they realize we plan to stay here forever.” The biologist was sitting next to him, which was either a compliment to him or an insult to Pearson, who was across the firepit. Daisuke enjoyed her proximity and her conversation, which was refreshingly blunt.