by Rexx Deane
Was the being Human, or an alien? What a stupid idea – he’d never heard any of his friends speak English, let alone an alien. He peered at the face but kept his distance. The skin was smooth and shiny, like porcelain, and the eyes lacked any detail; the holes were dark – it was a mask.
‘It was difficult to find you,’ Sebastian said. ‘I’m not here to harm you, if that’s your concern. I just want to ask some questions.’
‘You have a weapon. Put it down over by the bend and I will consider speaking to you.’
Sebastian walked thirty metres back down the tunnel, drew the gun from its holster between finger and thumb, and slowly placed it on the floor. Walking back, he held up his hands.
The panel snapped shut. A second later the door squealed open.
***
The Ultima Thule huddled on the comet as the turbulent threat of the ice sheet inched ever closer.
Aryx frantically pounded commands on the shield generator console. The faint, rain-like patter grew louder and became the gentle susurration of drizzle, but it did little to relax him; it only served to remind him of the turmoil to come. What configuration should he use for the shield? It couldn’t be made large enough to cover the side of the ship.
‘Computer, make the shield into a flat plane, angle it upwards at forty-five degrees. I’m trying to get most of the particle stream to blow up over and let the rest go under.’
‘Configuring,’ the computer said.
The low sigh became a hiss of white noise.
‘Hurry up!’
The scouring wind became a roar, interspersed with loud bumps and clangs. The storm was upon him.
‘Come on, do it already!’ Aryx’s knuckles turned white; his teeth threatened to shatter.
The turmoil stopped.
‘Shield adaptation complete.’
He let out a deep breath. The tap-tap of stray particles pinged against the hull intermittently. At least the worst of it was deflected. The shield generator began to vibrate on its mountings.
‘Computer, what’s happening?’
‘The landing site is passing through the shadow terminator. The sun will be at zenith in thirty minutes. Suggest shield reconfiguration at that time.’
‘So what, I only need to worry about when we pass out and back into shadow?’
‘Affirmative. Solar wind debris is at its peak during transition through solar terminator.’
‘Well, I’d rather be safe than sorry.’ Over the next five minutes, he watched the sunrise on the navcomputer and moved the shield upwards to compensate.
‘Can we contact Sebastian?’
The computer took a moment to reply. ‘Real-time communications are not possible at this time. Charged particles caused by the intense solar radiation are interfering with the signals.’
‘Can we send a recorded message as a data packet?’
‘Affirmative. Data packets can be repeated in bursts and verified.’
‘Good. Record and send the following message … Sebastian, the storm is passing but it’ll come again in just under an hour, so you need to get back to the ship as soon as possible once it’s passed. Oh, and I’ve found something interesting about the cube. I think it’s a self-powered processing core of some kind. It seems to be picking up signals from the ship and is interacting with them somehow. Not sure exactly what it’s doing yet, but it’s doing something. End message.’
***
Sebastian stepped through the doorway into a large cavern carved from the comet’s interior in the same way as the icy tunnel. From the ceiling, fifteen metres above, hung columns of faceted crystalline stalactites, connected to each other by thin sheets of crystal or glass, whose multi-coloured panes filtered light from bright white globes suspended from the ceiling. A natural, crystalline cathedral. He’d never seen anything like it.
The floor, which had the same grey metallic finish as the corridor, was littered with large, colourful woven rugs. To the far right, a rectangular arrangement of couches sat around a low table and the far wall consisted of an array of display screens with a pair of enormous bookcases to either side. In each corner of the room stood large potted plants with sunlamps hanging over them. To the left, at the opposite end of the cavern, was a kitchen area with a U-shaped counter. Behind it, a set of metal open-framed stairs ran up the wall and into an alcove above, where the curved ceiling receded into darkness.
He staggered back as the masked inhabitant stepped out from behind the open door. He wore a long, black hooded robe that revealed nothing, save for the white porcelain mask. A hermit-monk from an old horror movie, living on an isolated, mist-shrouded island. An island where he probably ate visitors.
‘If I answer your questions,’ the hermit said, ‘will you go away and leave me in peace?’
The man was roughly the same height as Sebastian, and his eyes level with his, but the dark holes gave nothing away.
He shifted uneasily. ‘Yes … If I get the answers I need, I’ll leave you in peace.’ He wasn’t used to speaking to someone whose expressions were hidden, and the man’s reaction was difficult to gauge.
The mask tilted back, as though regarding him momentarily. ‘I do believe you will.’ It turned slightly, and the man gestured to the couches with a leather-gloved hand. ‘Where are my manners? Would you like to sit?’
Sebastian looked down at his suit and then at the plush sofa. There was little choice if he didn’t want to insult his host. ‘Yes, thank you.’ Leaving a faint trail of comet dust on the rugs, he perched on edge the nearest seat; his nervous shaking was replaced by the warmth of embarrassment.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ the man called from somewhere behind.
Sebastian turned. He had moved into the kitchen and was standing in front of a kettle.
‘Just water, thank you.’
The man stopped busying himself with utensils. ‘Why is it that people on official business always ask for water when offered a drink?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe they’re told not to drink anything else?’
‘Did anyone tell you not to ask for anything other than water?’
‘No, I guess not.’
The masked hermit-monk laughed. At least it wasn’t a hollow, macabre laugh.
Sebastian relaxed a little, and allowed himself a nervous ‘Heh!’ and turned his attention to studying the pattern on one of the rugs, trying to lose his unease in the weave.
The man returned to the lounge carrying a tray littered with tea-making paraphernalia and a glass of water, which he placed on the table in front of Sebastian. He took a seat on the couch to Sebastian’s right, then leaned forwards and proceeded to stir the contents of the teapot.
Sebastian took the glass and sipped. Then it hit him: the man didn’t have an inch of skin visible … he was covered completely from head to foot. He watched carefully as the hermit poured himself a cup of tea, added milk, and stirred it with a small silver spoon. Sitting back to drink, he brought the cup to his mouth and it clinked against the mask. With a grumble, he got up and went to the kitchen. What was he hiding under that mask?
The hermit returned and picked up the cup. This time he inserted a small plastic straw into the mouth opening, took a sip, and placed the straw on his saucer. ‘Please excuse me, I’m a little unused to visitors,’ he said, resting the cup in his lap. ‘Now, what business do you have with me?’
Sebastian put his glass back on the table, clearing his throat as he did so. ‘I’m investigating the bombing of a lab on Tenebrae station.’
‘I’ve never heard of the place, but do go on.’ The masked voice was fluid and unstrained – likely speaking the truth.
‘The bombing was unusual in that there was no trace of an explosive device.’
‘That sounds unfortunate, but it doesn’t explain why you’re here.’
Sebastian continued, undeterred. ‘We are in the process of cleaning up some video footage, but found traces of an unidentified mineral outside the lab in whic
h the explosion took place.’
‘That still doesn’t explain your presence. I assume there is a point to this exposition?’
He pulled his collar with a finger. ‘I apologise. I managed to get some basic properties off the sample and was able to track down a supplier. Once we knew where it came from, we traced the shipment here.’ There was no need to point out that he was aware of two buyers.
A long silence. A hand went to the masked chin. Perhaps he was uneasy, wondering how they had tracked him down.
He had to win the man’s confidence. ‘There may be another lead, but I’m here because you’re the most concrete lead we’ve got in the investigation so far.’
‘I see.’ The hermit put the cup on the table and folded his hands in his lap. ‘Do you suspect me of being the bomber?’
‘The evidence may only be circumstantial, but if you can help us to eliminate you from our investigation, I’d be most grateful. You’ll find the tracker in the hopper.’
The man relaxed slightly. The eyeholes appeared deep, dark and foreboding. ‘For some reason, I like you. I’d be glad to help.’ His tone softened and he laced his fingers together. ‘Do you know what the mineral actually is?’ he asked, the question slow and deliberate.
‘It’s not something I’ve ever come across before. On Sollers Hope they call it carbyne powder. I obtained a sample from the mine.’ Sebastian reached for his glass and took another sip.
‘They have, no doubt, told you that under ordinary circumstances the mineral is utterly useless. What they will not have told you is that in the hands of a skilled practitioner, it can be used to perform what most people would call magic.’
About to swallow, Sebastian choked. Water from his mouth sprayed the coffee table.
‘At least do me the courtesy of not destroying my furniture … You don’t believe me.’
‘Magic?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I made a mistake coming here.’ He made a move to stand.
The hermit put his hand out. ‘Stop. I suppose it was a stretch to expect you to believe me straight away … Tell me, are you familiar with literature from the Dark Ages?’
Sebastian sat back. ‘Medieval books? I can’t say that I am. But I have a passing familiarity with Norse lore.’ Why was he even talking about this? It had nothing to do with the explosion.
‘Hmm.’ The man cupped his chin and tapped the masked cheek with a finger. ‘I don’t think the Eddas referred to alchemy, but they certainly had plenty of references to magic.’
Sebastian fought the urge to roll his eyes by looking away.
‘You may well roll your eyes but, as much as you might not want to hear it, carbyne is in fact orichalcum, the “Philosopher’s Stone” referred to by the Greeks. The catalyst for transmutation.’ Sebastian raised his eyebrows, but the man continued. ‘The reason alchemists found it difficult to obtain in medieval times is simple. The mineral is in a state of phasal flux and that makes its bonds unstable. Interactions with gases make it dissipate easily, effectively evaporating it. Of course, ancient Humans were unaware of this and, once mined, the supplies of orichalcum would simply vanish within a few hours. If he got to it quickly enough, a practitioner could stabilise it so that it could be safely stored. Of course, there have been very few accomplished practitioners of magic through the ages.’
‘Of course.’ Sebastian nodded. ‘There never were any practitioners of magic.’
The man, apparently unperturbed by his tone, continued. ‘I am not talking about mere sleight of hand tricks, mentalism, or so-called “psychic powers”,’ he said, twiddling his fingers in the air in a mockery of show-magic. ‘I’m talking about the real art, the art of thaumaturgy.’ As he stood, he raised his hands in a dramatic flourish. ‘I am talking about the ability to use the catalytic properties of carbyne and force of will, through visualisation and sound, to alter the very fabric of reality!’
Sebastian sighed silently. He should have just given up and gone home. But, while most of it sounded like nonsense, there was something in the way the man spoke. This wasn’t insane rambling. This was a logical man. He found himself shaking his head slowly.
The man dropped his hands to his sides. ‘I don’t know how you expect me to help you with your investigation if you don’t believe a word I say.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s all just a bit … outlandish.’
‘Is it as unbelievable as an explosion caused by inert powder?’
‘More unbelievable!’ He took another sip of water to cool his boiling blood. ‘I need something concrete to add to my investigation, not some paranormal superstitious babbling.’
‘Then, if you choose not to believe, I cannot help you.’ The hermit turned his back.
‘I can’t just accept something with no scientific proof!’
The man continued to speak, but did not turn to face him. ‘The mayor of Sollers Hope gave me a nickname when he first saw me in my current state. Not a particularly flattering nickname, I might add.’
Sebastian let the air settle. Gave him time to elaborate.
‘He decided to call me The Paper Man, due to my condition.’
‘Condition? What is it?’ He leaned forwards, but inwardly prayed it wasn’t something contagious.
‘If you want to see, you had better prepare yourself. Put your glass down, I don’t want you ruining my antique Persian rugs. Again.’
He placed his glass on the table. This was going to be interesting, and probably embarrassing for the man if he believed he’d done something to himself with magic.
‘I experimented with the art for many years. Unfortunately, my curiosity led to my present, irreversible, condition. If you don’t believe in the existence of magic now, you will.’
Still turned away, The Paper Man put a hand to his face and slowly lowered the mask to his side, gripping it between his fingers.
Sebastian held his breath.
The hood slowly twisted as The Paper Man turned to face him.
Chapter 14
Sebastian blinked and rubbed his eyes; he couldn’t make out the unmasked face beneath the hood.
The face was undefined. With no normal skin tones, it was almost as though the man was transparent, the shadowy depths of the hood still visible behind the head within.
The Paper Man sat down on the couch. ‘I told you to prepare yourself.’ He drew the hood back.
Sebastian recoiled.
The hair was a white stubble, a couple of millimetres long and barely visible against the background of the cavern, and the scalp a papery shell, pulled taut over fine blood vessels that formed a deep-red lace filigree below the surface. The volume of the skull, itself made of a barely visible material, contained a delicate brain-shaped sponge scaffold of blood vessels. The eyes, a strange tracery of red lines surrounding translucent tissue with a semi-reflective film at the back, regarded him with a terrifying, glassy cat-eye stare.
Sebastian averted his eyes, unable to meet the gaze, but continued to study the head, simultaneously fascinated and repulsed.
The structure of muscles around the skull was clear, outlined by the blood vessels within; pale patches of tissue floating amidst the veins and capillaries. Faint hints of muscles in the jaw, lips and nose traced the outline of the face, framed by a short fuzz of grey stubble.
‘Seen enough? Or do you need more convincing?’ The Paper Man stood and flung his robe apart.
The man was see-through, like some biology museum exhibit! Tree-like lungs expanded and contracted. Tea sloshed around in the stomach; parts of the liver, kidneys and other organs quivered, strung together with pulsating threads of deep-red and maroon; the thin outline of bones revealed jelly-like marrow in their depths.
Sebastian choked back a mouthful of bile as the remains of an earlier meal, chewed to mash, crawled its way around the man’s intestines, and he turned away. ‘By the Gods!’
He was wrong; this hermit-monk was something from a horror movie!
‘Believe me now?’
He turned back to face the diaphanous, visceral figure, being careful not to let his eyes linger too long on any specific detail but, thankfully, the man pulled the robe back over himself.
‘How did this happen?’
‘I told you, experiments in thaumaturgy. In my arrogance, I once attempted an invisibility spell. It worked perfectly and I became totally invisible, at least for a time. As you can see,’ he said, pulling off a glove and extending his fingers, ‘I became invisible, but couldn’t turn myself back. I’ve tried many times over the years but every time I attempt it, I black out. When I come around again, I’m back to square one, totally invisible.’
‘This is … bizarre.’ Sebastian picked up his infoslate. ‘Do you mind if I take a scan?’
‘For your own curiosity yes, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t record the results.’
He nodded, and held the infoslate up as The Paper Man turned his hand over in front of it, showing the fine detail of capillaries lacing around and through the semi-transparent bones of his fingers beneath a vellum-like layer of skin.
‘As you can see, I’m slowly becoming visible. The atoms that make up the food I eat don’t become invisible when I ingest them. Instead, they are incorporated in my body in a visible state, so the cells that get replaced the quickest become visible sooner, hence my skin having the appearance of waxed paper, and my blood showing prominently.’
Sebastian nodded slowly. ‘And that’s why Havlor gave you the nickname.’ As the peculiar nature of the situation sank in, curiosity won out. ‘How are you able to see? Doesn’t light pass straight through your retinas?’
‘I have no idea. That’s part of the mystery of magic. The strange thing is, I can still see through my eyelids. It comes in handy when visiting Sollers Hope.’ He laughed.
‘I imagine it does,’ Sebastian said with a weak laugh, recalling the gritty air.
‘I do have problems with vitamin D. My skin doesn’t absorb sunlight on the rare occasion that I manage to get any.’
He looked down at the scans. The information only confirmed the evidence of his eyes. The interstitial fibres, all the invisible parts, came back as undetectable. To the slate, The Paper Man was just that: a shell containing a tree of veins and paper-thin bones. He hit the delete icon, not wanting to dwell on the gory situation any longer than necessary. ‘What happened to your clothes? Did they become invisible, too?’