The Telemass Quartet

by Eric Brown

  “I work in wood and clay,” Sylvie said. “Old-fashioned, I know. But I respond to the elemental nature of the media. It works with what I have to say.”

  She led the way over to a statuette of a Vhey fashioned from clay; Hendrick and Mercury moved around it, making appreciative noises. In Hendrick’s opinion it was unsuccessful, anthropomorphising the alien and rendering it animal-like; missing was any true apprehension of its essential otherness.

  “Very nice,” Mercury murmured.

  Ralph led them over to one of the crystal mobiles and lowered it on a pulley so that it hung at head level. “What I was trying to explain earlier about the Vhey being symbiotically linked to the most elemental functions of the universe . . .” He smiled deprecatingly. “It’s a hard concept to capture with mere words, but maybe this emotion mobile . . .” He gestured to the crystal. “Step under it, then reach up and touch one of the pendants.”

  Hendrick gestured for Mercury to go first.

  Taller than him, she had to duck in order to insert her head. She raised a finger and touched a crystal.

  The mobile turned, coruscating, and emitted a low, musical hum. It might have been nothing more than a child’s entertaining gee-gaw—but then he saw Mercury’s expression as she experienced the mobile.

  A minute later the music ceased and she stepped out from beneath the crystal. “That was . . . amazing.”

  Hendrick took her place and touched a pendant crystal. The lights on the inside of the mobile were more intense, almost blinding, and the music soothed—faint at first, and then gaining intensity. He sensed something; he was imbued with a feeling of peacefulness, of oneness with something outside himself, yet in some way connected to him. He became aware, little by little, of the vastness of the universe and was filled with the notion that—rather than being reduced to an insignificant speck at the realisation of his relationship to something far bigger than himself—he was in some elemental way conjoined to the life force that underpinned the vastness.

  Then the music ceased and the lights dimmed, and he stepped out. “Incredible.”

  “It’s my interpretation, puny as it might be, of how the Vhey respond to the universe,” Ralph was explaining.

  “Based on . . . ?” Mercury wanted to know.

  “Based on observation, and on the one occasion that I had the privilege to speak with a Vhey.”

  Hendrick said, “You didn’t find the experience . . . unsettling?”

  “To begin with, yes. Deeply unsettling. But then I sensed something of the elemental nature of the alien before me. She told me of her relationship with nature, and I vowed to transmute the experience into something that everyone might share.”

  Hendrick nodded, aware that he was conflicted. Without the evidence of the crystal, he would have accused the artist of spouting meaningless, neo-naturist abstractions . . .

  Mercury tipped her head, smiling at him.

  Sylvie said, “Shall we adjourn for dinner? I know that Edward is looking forward to meeting you.”

  She led the way into the violet, star-speckled twilight and across the greensward to the communal long house.

  SIX

  THIRTY ARTISTS DINED BY CANDLELIGHT AT A LONG table.

  Hendrick’s first impression of Edward Lincoln was that he was mentally unbalanced. He sat at the head of the table, a big-boned, stooping Englishman in his sixties. He wore his grey hair long, merging with a straggling beard, but it was the intensity of his gaze that struck Hendrick as betokening a state bordering on insanity. His hands shook as he ate, and from time to time he slavered, dabbing at the resulting drool with a stained napkin.

  Hendrick and Mercury had been accorded privileged seats next to Lincoln, and Hendrick felt the man’s power—something like pent-up rage—emanating in an almost physical force. The other artists deferred to him; they were meek in his presence, soliciting his opinion on the work of various artists when the talk turned highbrow, and ready to agree with his every pronouncement.

  At one point Hendrick glanced across at Mercury, who held his gaze and gave her head an almost imperceptible shake.

  Lincoln had the disconcerting habit of changing conversational tack at whim, one moment holding forth about the Abstentionist school of Mars, and then calling down the table at someone to remind him of the name of a long-dead artist responsible for the methane sculptures on Titan. No sooner had he learned this, and issued a damning condemnation of the form, than he turned to Hendrick and barked, “And what brings you to Beltran? Heard you were on some kind of fact-finding mission?”

  Hendrick finished chewing and pushed his plate away. He wiped his lips, buying himself time. “That’s right. We’re examining the cost of Europe’s maintaining a post on the planet.”

  “Thinking of axing the post of chargé d’affaires? Pascal will be delighted to get away from the place. The introvert brings nothing to cultural life here. He’s a hermit, and a bore at that. No wonder no one wants to visit him.”

  “What makes you think that Europe might axe the post, Mr Lincoln?” Hendrick said. “In my opinion, the Vhey have much to teach us. It . . . It might be wise if we were to expand the mission, and employ xeno-biological specialists who might be able to liaise with the Vhey.”

  Lincoln turned his intense grey gaze on Hendrick, assessing the statement. “More humans on Beltran? That’s the last thing we want. The place is unspoilt, let’s keep it that way. We don’t want the human race despoiling paradise.”

  Hendrick said, “You’re very isolated out here. What do you do in a medical emergency? The nearest doctor must be—”

  “We rarely have need of a doctor,” Lincoln interrupted. “We lead healthy lives. As I said, we regard Beltran as paradise.”

  Mercury said, “So it’s all very well for you, and your select group of artists, to reap the rewards of paradise?”

  Lincoln wiped his mouth with a palsied hand. “We give back what we take, Ms Velasquez. We grow our own food—the salad you’ve just enjoyed is the product of our own garden. We have zero impact on the ecology of Beltran. We merely absorb the beauty around us, and create. And in return . . .” He stopped.

  Mercury said, “Yes?”

  “In return, the Vhey study us.”

  “Study?” Hendrick asked.

  Lincoln waved. “You must have seen them? They’re out there in their thousands, watching us. Find us fascinating, you see. Much as a biologist finds fascinating a pullulating plate of bacteria under a microscope.”

  “Is that how you characterise the human race?” Mercury enquired. “Or what you think the Vhey make of us?”

  “I wouldn’t presume to know what they Vhey make of us, Ms Velasquez. I dread to think. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all the human race amounts to: a random accident of nature, ravaging through the universe like some predatory cancer.”

  He slopped more wine into his glass, and in another conversational lurch peered down the table and addressed Sylvie. “And how is planet Earth, speaking of the cradle of our benighted race? And did you manage to avoid Pascal on your return?”

  “Earth was Earth,” she replied with a bland smile. “And as Pascal was entertaining Mr Hendrick and Ms Velasquez, we didn’t care to intrude. However,” she went on, “Matt mentioned that Pascal was enquiring about your recent guests.”

  Lincoln swung his leonine head towards Hendrick. “What’s that?”

  Hendrick cleared his throat. “Pascal wanted to know if Ms van der Muellen and Dr Hovarth would be dropping in to see him before they leave Beltran.”

  Something flared in Lincoln’s eyes, but all he said was, “How the hell should I know? I’m not the couple’s keeper, am I?”

  Mercury asked, “Where are the pair now, Mr Lincoln?”

  “Again, how should I know? They spent yesterday here as my guests, and then left in their rented flier, sightseeing.”

  “They’re friends of yours?” she asked.

  “Knew Hovarth when I was a student in Paris,” he
said dismissively, then looked down the table at Ralph. “Talking of Paris, did you drop by the Sommers exhibition while you were there?”

  Lincoln pointedly ignored Hendrick and Mercury for the rest of the meal, preferring instead to trade small talk with his acolytes. However, after coffee had been served—an ersatz brew apparently grown on the slopes of the mountain—Hovarth turned to Mercury and barked, “Care to come to my study later, you two? We need to talk.”

  Mercury agreed, looked across at Hendrick, and raised an eyebrow.

  “Now, what’s the real reason you two are on Beltran?” Lincoln said as soon as they stepped into his study, a lavish room of polished wood and low beams adjacent to the dining area. The furniture was homemade and the walls hung with a dozen artworks depicting scenes from around the Expansion.

  Lincoln poured three brandies without asking them what they might prefer, handed out the drinks, then eased himself onto a sofa. “Well?”

  Hendrick looked across to Mercury. If she were reading the artist, he felt it wise to let her reply.

  She said, “What makes you think that we’re not on a government fact-finding mission, Mr Lincoln?”

  “Accord me a little respect, Velasquez. This is about Hovarth and van der Muellen.”

  Hendrick said, “What makes you think—”

  “Maatje mentioned you, in case you decided to follow her. Matt Hendrick, her ex—right?”

  Hendrick looked across at Mercury, wondering how he might play this.

  She took over. “We’re attempting to trace van der Muellen and Hovarth, and would appreciate your cooperation.”

  Lincoln shrugged, the gesture almost negligent. “As I said over dinner, I don’t know where they went. I’m sorry.”

  Hendrick said, “But do you know why they came here?”

  “As I mentioned, Hovarth and I are old friends. He wanted to visit the planet, and look in on me at the same time. I’m truly sorry that I can’t help you.”

  “You don’t have their contact details?”

  “I don’t, and com contact on Beltran is patchy at the best of times, as I’m sure you’ve found out for yourselves.”

  Mercury moved around the room, examining the artwork and pausing before a big desk. Hendrick noticed a holo-cube of a younger Edward Lincoln, accompanied by a tall, striking, dark-haired woman.

  He said, “While we were with Pascal, he mentioned something about a woman who was resident here at the commune. According to someone who stayed with Pascal, the Vhey took the woman and she never returned. As you will understand, I’m obviously concerned about the welfare of my ex-wife, if the Vhey are unpredictable.”

  Lincoln’s reaction surprised him. The artist flung back his head and bellowed, “What rot! The girl, Pascal’s guest . . . that’d be young Jasmine. Last year she became spooked—it can happen, you know? Beltran isn’t for everyone. The isolation of the commune, the constant attention of the Vhey . . . Jasmine was borderline paranoid when she arrived, and after six months . . . Well, she saw danger where there was none. A woman did leave with the Vhey, yes, to create a sculpture in the jungle to the north—but then she returned to Earth without calling back here.” He smiled disarmingly. “Jasmine, in her febrile mental state, merely grasped the wrong end of the stick.”

  “According to Pascal,” Hendrick said, “Jasmine claimed that the woman remained with the Vhey and was . . . Exalted.”

  Lincoln held his gaze. “As I said, the woman, Oni, returned to Earth. Jasmine was mistaken.”

  “So . . . the Vhey are no threat at all, you’d maintain?” Mercury asked, leaning against the desk.

  “Of course not. Absolutely no threat. They observe us minutely, are intensely interested in us, but as for posing a threat . . . the idea is absurd. Do you think I’d come here, make Beltran my home, if they were?”

  Hendrick finished his drink. “Why did you come here, Mr Lincoln?”

  The artist surged to his feet and crossed to the desk. He reached past Mercury and picked up the holo-cube depicting himself and the woman.

  He stood for a while, staring at it, then retuned to the sofa. Mercury crossed the room and perched herself on the arm of Hendrick’s chair, watching Lincoln.

  “My wife and I came here more than twenty years ago. Maria was dying of cancer. Untreatable. We wanted to get away, to spend her last months somewhere unspoilt . . . which we did. Then I buried her here, in the meadow, and decided to stay on. I can’t leave the place, now, with Maria such a part of it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mercury murmured.

  “I like to think that we’re still together, you know, on some elemental level.”

  He replaced the photograph on the desk and sighed. “I’m dog tired,” he said, smiling across at them. “I’ve had rather a long day in the studio, trying to knock a piece into shape. I hope you don’t think me rude if I shoo you away?”

  “Not at all,” Hendrick said, rising. “Thank you for the meal.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Lincoln said, and stood watching them from the desk as they ducked through the door and crossed the now empty dining area.

  As soon as they were outside, Hendrick said, “Did you read—?”

  “He was shielded. And with a sophisticated, diplomatic-grade baffle. I nearly gave myself migraine trying to get something.”

  “No luck at all?” He led the way across to the A-frame.

  She frowned in the moonlight. “Just the impression that Edward Lincoln is unbalanced.”

  He looked at her. “I did wonder.”

  “I’ve read schizoids before, but Lincoln was different. I wondered if he suffered multiple personalities. Very faintly, I caught competing voices in his head, strange, cross-current thoughts . . . It’s hard to explain.”

  They climbed the steps and entered the A-frame.

  “Oh—there was something, but not from Lincoln. Remember the young man who served us drinks at Sylvie and Ralph’s? Akio?”

  “Go on.”

  “He’s the brother of the woman who was taken by the Vhey. Lincoln was lying. She was taken—and it was no trip north to create a sculpture. She never came back, and she certainly didn’t return to Earth. I didn’t get much from Akio—just a snatch as he was serving us—but I reckon Lincoln knows far more than he’s telling us.”

  Hendrick stared at her. “Maybe the whereabouts of Maatje and Hovarth—and Sam?”

  “It’s possible,” she said.

  They climbed the stairs to the attic room, undressed, and fell into bed.

  “So how do we go about finding out?”

  “We spend tomorrow talking to people. There must be others who know something.” She kissed him and turned off the bedside light.

  He lay in the darkness and stared at the unfamiliar stars through the skylight, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time why Maatje had brought their daughter to Beltran.

  SEVEN

  HE WAS STILL AWAKE, TEN MINUTES LATER, WHEN HE heard a sound from downstairs. Someone was forcing a window.

  Mercury whispered, “Hear that?”

  His first thought was that another Vhey was visiting them.

  He rolled out of bed and dressed silently. Mercury did the same. In the faint starlight he saw her ease the pulser from her jacket and approach the steps.

  He joined her and listened, peering down into the darkness.

  Mercury placed her lips to his ear and whispered, “Wait here.”

  Before he could stop her, she moved silently down the stairs and disappeared into the darkness. He listened, his pulse thudding in his ears. The intruder was moving around down there.

  His heart leapt as he heard sound from below: a scuffle, followed by an abbreviated cry.

  Then Mercury called out, “Matt. It’s okay, you can come

  down.”

  A light went on downstairs.

  He crossed to the steps and hurried down.

  Mercury was assisting a slim, male figure from the floor and easing him onto a sofa. The boy sta
red up at him, wide eyed.

  “Akio,” Hendrick said. “Lincoln sent you . . . ?”

  “No . . .” Mercury said, her head cocked in a way that suggested she was reading.

  “No,” Akio said, trembling. “No, I came to warn you! You are in danger here. Lincoln will send someone soon—”

  “Send someone?” Hendrick said. “What for?”

  “To kill you. I overheard Lincoln speaking with his deputy, Meikles. They argued. Meikles merely wanted to disable you, take you back to the spaceport, but Lincoln said that would achieve nothing. He wanted you both dead.”

  “He didn’t say why?”

  Akio shook his head.

  Mercury said, “Right, we’d better get out of here.”

  Akio looked from Hendrick to Mercury. “Take me with you! Lincoln is . . . He’s a madman. You can’t begin to . . .”

  Mercury interrupted. “I think I can. You know where Hovarth and van der Muellen went, don’t you?”

  The boy nodded. “I can take you,” he said eagerly.

  Hendrick watched Mercury move to the window at the back of the room, which Akio had forced open. She climbed onto a chair and slipped through. Akio went next. Hendrick turned off the light and followed him out, closing the window behind him.

  They crouched in the shadow of the A-frame.

  Mercury whispered, “We have the advantage. They’ll assume we’re still inside.” She pointed. “We left the flier at the foot of the meadow.”

  “We can’t cross it in the starlight,” Hendrick said.

  Mercury pointed along the top of the greensward. “We’ll keep to the margin of the trees and make our way around the clearing to the bottom.”

  “Once they realise we’ve gone,” Hendrick said, “they’ll come after us. We need to disable their fliers.” He nodded at the pulser in Mercury’s hand. “If that thing’s set to full power, do you think it’ll do enough damage?”

  “I’ll blitz the control panel. I just hope we’ll have time. Come on.”