The Light-years Beneath My Feet (The Taken)

by Alan Dean Foster

  First one, then two more, then every weapon was lowered, on both sides. Crew and indigenous Kojnians regarded one another through the night. An officer of average skill knows when to hold his position and when to attack. A superior one knows when to fall back. Saluu-hir-lek peered up at the Vilenjji.

  “I find I without necessary resources to fulfill you request. Therefore it with much regret I say that I must decline you offer.” Before Pret-Klob could respond, the general had turned back to the aliens with whom he had shared both the good and the bad for many ten-days.

  “If yous go with this Vilenjji, Saluu-hir-lek prevails. If yous leave Niyu, Saluu-hir-lek prevails. Due to financial arrangements, I would prefer first option, but circumstances dictate I recognize second.” His eyes came to rest on the unyielding Viyv-pym. “I sorry you attached to political arm of government. You would make fine officer.” Pivoting, he gestured to his troops and simultaneously uttered a curt command. In response, they began to holster or shoulder their weapons and shuffle back toward the vehicle that had brought them. The potentially deadly confrontation was over.

  Just like that. Only not quite.

  Pret-Klob had not moved. If the Vilenjji was armed, he chose not to reveal a weapon. A wise choice, given that the transporter crewmembers who had so forcefully prevented him from recovering his inventory had not shifted their own positions. Instead, he let his stretched oculars scrutinize them one and all.

  “Human Marcus Walker, canine George, Tuuqalian Broullkoun-uvv-ahd-Hrashkin, K’eremu Sequi’aranaqua’na’senemu: know for a certainty that this only constitutes yet another expensive delay in the implementation of the inevitable. If you will now come with me willingly, I am authorized, on behalf of my re-formed association, to make a onetime offer and grant you a percentage of the profit of your own individual sales when you are sold.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Walker managed to reply with remarkably little recourse to sarcasm, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to decline. We’re going home, you see, and letting you sell us someplace would put a serious crimp in those plans.” Turning to go, he found himself hesitating.

  “Something I don’t understand, Pret-Klob. If the Vilenjji are such dedicated businessfolk, and such careful monitors of the bottom line, and these attempts to repossess my friends and I are costing you so much—why do you keep at it? Why don’t you just give it up and focus your energies on more immediately profitable activities?”

  Pret-Klob gazed back at him. “It is not good to allow inventory to escape. It creates a bad precedent. Most especially, it is not good when the inventory in question, though of variable capacity, is manifestly inferior to the Vilenjji.” Efficient translator implant notwithstanding, the other creature’s true alienness succeeded in communicating itself to the interested Walker.

  “To allow you to go free, after you forcibly excused yourselves from our control, would be to admit your equality with the Vilenjji. This would call into question the very principles on which our trade is founded. That we cannot permit. Hear me clearly, human. There should be no misunderstanding. I and my association will follow you wherever necessary, for as long as is necessary, overcoming whatever difficulties may place themselves in our way, until we have recovered our property. This is an absolute.”

  Hanging from the end of one of Braouk’s powerful tentacles, Sque whispered to Walker, “Do not let his words trouble you, Marc. The Vilenjji are as full of gas as the sixth planet of Asmeriis.”

  “They don’t trouble me, Sque,” he lied. Louder, to the Vilenjji, he said, “You do what you have to do according to the principles you live by. We’ll do the same. And if we are fated never to meet again, know that I ardently wish you poor sales and inaccurate accounting.”

  The Vilenjji stared at him a moment longer. Either it was truly impossible to genuinely upset one of his kind, or else they had developed the ability to wholly internalize their irritation to a degree unmatched by any species Walker had yet encountered. Conscious of the fact that the vehicle that had brought him to the port was now almost loaded with its complement of put-out Kojn-umm soldiery, he turned on his sandal-clad foot flaps and lurched heavily in its direction. Insofar as Walker was able to tell, the Vilenjji did not look back.

  Not until the big surface transporter had cleared the port perimeter did the armed crewmembers who had put their lives on the line for the sake of the visitors finally secure their own weapons and prepare to enter the transatmospheric transfer craft. A cheerful George was the first one up the ramp, already chatting amiably with and making friends among the delighted crew. Braouk followed, carrying Sque, who avowed to any who would listen that from the very beginning of the confrontation she had known exactly how it was going to turn out. Walking just ahead of them, the astronomer Sobj-oes was unable to escape the K’eremu’s unrelenting paean to her own infallibility.

  Walker lingered, waiting on Viyv-pym. It was left to her to inform him of something he expected but still did not want to hear.

  “I not going with you, Marcus Walker. I not qualified to be of crew.”

  His head tilted back only slightly, he stared into her wide, brilliant, golden-yellow eyes. “Surely you can’t go back to Kojn-umm, Viyv-pym.” He gestured with his head in the direction taken by the departed troop transport. “Just because Saluu-hir-lek paid you a backhanded compliment doesn’t mean he won’t find a way to deal with you once you’re both back in your own realm. He may not be human, but I know how guys like that work. We have the same types in my business. They don’t forget something like this.”

  “I need not return Kojn-umm,” she assured him. “As someone with off-world diplomatic and commercial experience and expertise, I have been offered a succession of admirable positions by both Biranju-oov and Charuchal-uul. Should I wish take advantage of it, opportunities even in Fiearek-iib are open to me.” A long-fingered hand indicated the city that lay just beyond the main port. “Many excellent choices are mine.” The hand swept downward, and both long fingers came to rest against his sternum.

  “When I first save you from Vilenjji and bring you here from Seremathenn to make food presentations for notables of Kojn-umm, I not think it end quite this way.” The delicate fingertips brushed his chest. “Good journeying to you, Marcus Walker. I have learn much from you. I hope you have learn some small things, maybe, from me.”

  “I know that I have, Viyv-pym.” Placing the two middle fingers of his left hand against her lower neck, he let them drag gently down her lissome front. Then, impulsively and without thinking about it, he put both arms around her and pulled her close. Though she resisted slightly at first and was taut with lean muscle, he outweighed her by more than a third.

  As he put a hand behind her head and drew it down toward his own, a single not-so-subtle thought ran through his mind as he kissed her. What in the hell do you think you’re doing? For one thing, she had no lips and therefore could not properly kiss him back. He didn’t care. He very much wanted to kiss her. If only, he told himself fatuously, in the spirit of scientific experimentation.

  Taken completely aback, it took her a moment to respond. When she did, it was perhaps in a similar spirit. Or maybe it was nothing more than an instinctive reaction to what he was doing. In any case, the ring of muscle that encircled her small, round mouth contracted, and she inhaled forcefully.

  It was not like his first kiss, nor even like those he had enjoyed on successful outings with members of the opposite sex of his own kind. But his lips were bruised for weeks afterward.

  The ironic thing was, if he ever did want to boast of it to his buddies, no one would ever believe him.

  Jhanuud-tir-yed turned away from the latest multistory media projection that was currently dominating the central atrium of government central in the capital city of Fiearek-iib. Other functionaries, passing around and through the image, were enthralled by the great expedition. As for herself, during the previous ten-days the vice premier had seen and experienced quite enough of the
aliens. That they had nearly failed to depart in the intended fashion was a fact known only to a few. With care, it would remain that way, nothing more than an imperceptible bump along the road to what everyone hoped would be a glorious footnote in Niyyuuan history.

  Things could have been worse, she knew. They could have been much worse. No one was happier to see the four visitors finally depart Niyu than the venerable vice premier. Given the way the visitors had manipulated the traditional forces of Kojn-umm, Toroud-eed, and several other realms, it was a relief to see them go. While most of the attention had been focused on the bipedal human and the massive Tuuqalian, it was the smaller pair of visitors who had kept Jhanuud-tir-yed awake at night. That seemingly charming four-legged thing—what had it been called? George, yes. A single naming for a singular creature. And that arrogant, pompous jumble of tendrils and glitter who called herself Sque. The vice premier hadn’t trusted the K’eremu from the first time she had observed her lurking in the background, letting her more affable companions do the preponderance of the talking.

  Now they were gone. Now life on calm, complacent Niyu could get back to normal. And regardless of the eventual outcome of the possibly doomed expedition, of one thing she was certain with regard to the aliens.

  It had been worth three ships to get rid of them.

  Walker did not know what Sque or Braouk thought of the Niyyuu vessels. Their own species were space-going, sophisticated, and afflicted with their own systems of engineering aesthetics. As for George, the dog volunteered readily, “I don’t care what they look like as long as they start up when someone turns the key and go when somebody steps on the accelerator.” But Walker thought his first sight of the ships, as they came into view on one of the transfer craft’s monitors, was beautiful.

  There were three, just as Walker had insisted upon and Jhanuud-tir-yed had promised. Though not nearly as massive as the Sessrimathe ship that had rescued him and his friends from Vilenjji captivity, they were large enough to inspire awe. Burgeoning clusters of conjoined propulsion components and living quarters, illuminated by if not quite ablaze with internal lights, they floated in orbit awaiting the arrival of the transfer craft.

  It was half an hour longer before Walker was convinced that their motion relative to that of the three waiting starships had ceased. Concerned, he went in search of Sobj-oes. He found the astronomer forward, chatting with one of the officers who had volunteered to be a part of the expedition. To the human’s relief, and somewhat to his consternation, she had a ready explanation for the apparent delay in docking.

  “It the media,” she informed him. “All those assigned to this voyage clamoring for best position to make first recordings.” She indicated the image on the nearest monitor. “This the beginning, an important moment. Each individual desires compose best possible imaging, most dramatic lighting.” She inhaled breathily, her red- and-black-painted mouth contracting to a tiny opening. “Is not science. But is necessary.”

  “My friends and I could do without it,” he confessed. “We’re pretty tired.” He found himself wishing Viyv-pym was aboard, to intercede with the media on his behalf. But Viyv-pym was gone for good, back on Niyu.

  I have been away from home for a very long time, he reminded himself firmly.

  “I’m glad you’re coming with us,” he told her. Sobj-oes was not Viyv-pym, but she was at least a sympathetic and familiar face.

  “I would not miss it.” The astronomer was a taut bundle of anticipation and excitement. “We will be visiting a portion of the galaxy far outside familiar boundaries. Opportunities should abound to observe previously unrecorded phenomena, visit new civilizations.” Her luminous eyes caught the light as they stared back at him. “What scientist worthy of the designation not leap at the chance to experience such things?”

  “This is as much a leap into the unknown for you and the rest of the Niyyuu on this voyage as it is for my friends and I. We’re going because we have no choice but to keep going. You have something to return to. Doesn’t it bother you that you might not come back?”

  A two-fingered hand reached out to stroke his right arm. “Any scientist embarking on long journey knows they might die before end of journey is reached. If no one willing to take that chance, no science ever get done.”

  A new voice interrupted them. “It is always encouraging to hear a mature understanding of the nature of understanding Nature voiced by one of the lesser orders.” Sque arrived in what had become her favored fashion: born aloft on one of Braouk’s tentacles, her scorn preceding her. “I myself look forward to the acquiring of new knowledge.”

  “And I sing,” the Tuuqalian rumbled, having to bend low as usual to avoid banging the upper part of his body and his stalk-mounted eyes on the ceiling, “of new spaces encountered, rarely seen.”

  As well he should, Walker knew, since his homeworld was the one they were heading for, and the only one thus far of the three that the displaced travelers desperately sought whose location was even feebly surmised. He steeled himself inwardly. If only one of the four of them made it home, that would be an impressive accomplishment in itself. Guided only by a faint perception of distant possibilities, they were flinging themselves into the unknown.

  Three of them were, anyway. Where was George?

  He found the dog curled up among piles of last-minute loaded supplies in the transfer craft’s storeroom, sound asleep. Kneeling, he gently stroked his friend’s back until George awoke. The dog yawned, stretched, and quivered, pushing out his front legs as he looked up at Walker.

  “What’d you wake me for?” he asked irritably.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Walker sat down beside his friend. “Maybe because we’re about to embark on a journey into deep space that even our crew has never attempted before. Maybe because we may never see a civilized world again. Maybe because this is yet another pivotal moment in our lives. God, what I wouldn’t give for a double latte right now. With nutmeg. And cinnamon.”

  “You’ve managed to get hold of three starships. Don’t get greedy.”

  Walker shrugged and smiled. “I’m a commodities broker. It’s my nature to always want to trade up.”

  George rolled over onto his back and began contorting his spine in ways few humans could match, scratching his back against the oddly tactile surface of the package he had chosen for a temporary bed. Walker looked on with envy.

  “Doesn’t any of this bother you, George? The fact that we’re heading out into a part of the greater galaxy unknown even to the Niyyuu? That we’re going beyond the bounds of what they consider to be known civilization?”

  Ceasing his twisting and scratching, the dog rolled over onto his belly. Panting contentedly, he looked up at his friend and companion. “You know what they say, Marc. ‘Knick-knack, hyperwack, vector a dog a zone, this old mutt goes spacing home.’ Better wandering infinity with a full fridge, even if it’s an alien one, than stumbling around cold and starving in the snow in a dirty alley back home.”

  A glance at one of the transfer craft’s omnipresent monitors showed that they had at last resumed forward motion again and were finally about to dock with one of the three waiting starships. Walker straightened.

  “I wish I had your casual sangfroid, George. I guess no matter what happens, I’ll always be the nervous type.” He sighed. “Sobj-oes says there’s no getting away from it: for the duration of the voyage we’re going to have to tolerate the Niyyuuan media who’ve been assigned to this excursion.”

  George rose to all fours. “No problem. If they get too pushy, I’ll just start barking at them. Their translators can’t handle that.”

  Walker’s smile widened. On the monitors, beyond the starships, several thousand worlds beckoned. With luck, one of them was small and blue and gauzily streaked with gossamer white. But first they had to see home a very large poet.

  “I’m glad you’ve been with me through all this. I don’t know how I could’ve gotten through it all without your company. You’re a good
dog, George.”

  “And you’re a tolerable human, except for the usual odor.” Shaking himself, the dog started for the main hatch. “Let’s go deal with the media. They’re going to be with us for a long time. Make them no promises, or I’ll pee on your leg.”

  “Canine eloquence,” Walker quipped as he matched the dog’s pace.

  “I’ll believe humans have a better way of communicating,” the dog countered, “when I see the evidence of it in the way they run their civilization.”

  “Maybe,” Walker mused as they exited the storage area and turned toward the center of the transfer craft, “things will have changed for the better by the time we get home.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” The dog snorted. “Regarding either possibility.”

  About the Author

  ALAN DEAN FOSTER has written in a variety of genres, including hard science fiction, fantasy, horror, detective, western, historical, and contemporary fiction. He is the author of the New York Times bestseller Star Wars: The Approaching Storm and the popular Pip and Flinx novels, as well as novelizations of several films including Star Wars, the first three Alien films, and Alien Nation. His novel Cyber Way won the Southwest Book Award for Fiction in 1990, the first science fiction work ever to do so. Foster and his wife, JoAnn Oxley, live in Prescott, Arizona, in a house built of brick that was salvaged from an early-twentieth-century miners’ brothel. He is currently at work on several new novels and media projects.

  By ALAN DEAN FOSTER

  Published by The Random House Publishing Group

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