Netherspace

by Andrew Lane

  “Stay down!” Not triumphant. Icily in command. Her heel smashed into his right knee, so quickly he barely saw it. He whimpered. Humiliation washed over him. He realised that they’d been taunting him, to make him emerge from his room and into the shipping container’s central corridor. They’d needed to know he didn’t have a weapon tucked into the back of his belt, or on a shelf just inside the doorway. In fact the automatic pistol he’d inherited along with the letter knife was still in the top left-hand drawer of his desk, while the ammunition was in the top right-hand drawer. Both very tidily arranged.

  It takes a brave man to fight knowing he’ll lose. Or a stupid one. Leeman-Smith had enough self-awareness to know that he was neither. But his time would come. Then he’d make her suffer. He slowly wiped the tears of pain and humiliation from his eyes. They still needed him. After all, ultimately he had control of the SUT’s AI.

  * * *

  Or not, given the data streaming into Kara’s mind. She held up a hand for quiet from Tse and Henk – she didn’t expect Leeman-Smith to either be quiet of his own accord or follow her instructions – and listened, head on one side, to the inner voice of her AI.

  < I can talk to the SUT’s AI through the program I originally inserted, but it can’t actually do anything. It’s been physically disconnected. Oh, and it’s also been corrupted.

  > You mean its data is corrupted?

  < No, I mean it’s been suborned. Turned. There’s a subroutine in its code that records everything happening on board for later download when the SUT gets back to Earth. And not to GalDiv either, as one might expect. As far as I can trace, the download is addressed to an AI that’s registered to the Human Primus brigade. But that’s not important right now. Well, it’s important, but not vitally important. There are enough low-level functions operative to maintain life support and provide manoeuvring ability, as I mentioned earlier.

  Her AI’s persona had changed: it was more soldierly than before.

  < I can handle the navigation algorithms. So could Tse’s AI, by the way – I also scanned its memory.

  > Well done. And I prefer the new persona.

  < Bet you say that to all the AIs. Hussy.

  “You don’t control the SUT’s AI,” Kara said to Leeman-Smith.

  “I do. Believe me.”

  “No, you don’t. But you are a secret Human Primus. You have a morbid fear of alien life.” She saw Leeman-Smith’s face crumple and knew he was all but broken. “That panic in the engine room was planned, wasn’t it? You would have broken the drive even if netherspace hadn’t given you an excuse. But you also knew that I’d never agree to return to Earth. So you killed the fee.”

  Leeman-Smith sneered. “Really? If I’m so scared of aliens, why have I gone Up so many times?”

  “Gone Up? Did you hell!” She glanced at Tse and Henk and saw they were listening carefully. Good. Kara needed them to report back to the others. “You only work the solar system – and even then just the inner planets. Only a lousy couple of seconds in netherspace, and if the drive breaks down, Mars or Earth rescue you. No need for a Gliese rescue or a call-out fee. No wonder you shat yourself when that netherspace snark took an interest. And that’s your mistake, Mr Mission Manager.” Leeman-Smith recoiled as if slapped. “You knew what happens in theory if a fee dies – but not in practice. You thought the mission manager chose the next fee… or if there’s a ballot, the manager’s exempt. Doesn’t work that way out here. And you never imagined those sealed orders would put me in charge. You sabotaged the drive because you were shit scared. You killed the fee because you thought the RIL-FIJ-DOQ would have to return to Earth and get a new one. You planned for me to take the fee’s place when the Gliese show up. And you know the joke?” She stopped, smiling at him. “You don’t have any authority. Not with this staff.”

  “You’re mad!” Leeman-Smith blurted out. “I did not kill the fee.” Desperation made his voice crack. “I swear to you. I didn’t…”

  “Means. Opportunity. Above all motive,” Henk said quietly. “Everything you’ve done confirms it.”

  Kara drew a secret sigh of relief.

  Leeman-Smith asked the obvious question. “Why would I want Kara dead?”

  “Because she’s a threat to your authority,” Tse said. “And without her this mission is delayed, maybe never happens.”

  Henk nodded agreement. “Wouldn’t suit Len Grafe’s Human Primus if humans and aliens managed to communicate with each other.”

  Kara wondered what Henk and the rest of the staff would do if they knew the truth about the murdered hostages. Probably go join Human Primus soon as they could. “I’m in charge,” she said, quietly but with an obvious note of command, “and my decision is that Mission Manager Leeman-Smith takes the place of the dead call-out fee.”

  The new fee shook his head, as much in disbelief as denial. “You can’t make me.” His voice quavered: a child caught doing wrong. “It’s my SUT. My grandfather—”

  “Oh, I can,” she interrupted. “And that story about your granddad is shit.” She looked at Henk and Tse and smiled grimly. “Yes, Douglas Leeman-Smith was on the moon mission that first contacted the Gliese. He was a linguist. He was also one of the first trades ever made. Certainly the first living one. Wasn’t happy about it, apparently. Tried to refuse.” She saw the tears running down Leeman-Smith’s cheeks. “But his commander was seriously hard-nosed. Time was running out, everyone was terrified the Gliese would take off and never be seen again. When it became obvious, finally, that a live human was the buy-in fee for the galactic trading club, that was it. Douglas wasn’t a scientist or mechanic, so not a vital staff member. They tranquillized and hogtied him then did the trade. Next thing, the Gliese arrived on Earth and set up their market stall. No one ever saw Douglas again. The information’s been suppressed ever since, and he’s been lionised as a hero. People need heroes.”

  “Fucking hell!” From Henk.

  “Harsh.” From Tse.

  “It wasn’t only about trade,” Kara added. “That mission, and the folks back home, those that knew the truth, were terrified of the Gliese, desperate to be friends rather than enemies. Customers rather than potential competitors. A high price for Douglas but a small price for humankind.” She saw a tiny moment of doubt in Henk’s eyes and understood why. “I used to fuck a general,” she said with deliberate crudeness. “Good soldier but hated keeping too many secrets. Pillow talk was a secret history lesson. Anyway, like grandfather, like grandson. Seems apt.”

  All pride vanished. “You can’t! Please, please!” Leeman-Smith moved to hug her legs, like a man on a crumbling cliff face grabbing desperately for a single exposed root.

  Kara looked at Henk enquiringly.

  “I got something,” he said. “Brought it with me. He’ll go happy and laughing.” He squatted down next to Leeman-Smith who was curling into a foetal position. “Won’t hurt a bit,” he reassured and pressed a small hypo-spray against the back of the man’s neck, just below the hairline. Sfffft. Leeman-Smith relaxed within seconds. “You’re going on an adventure,” Henk said brightly. “Won’t that be fun?”

  < External sensors indicate there’s an SUT approaching, Kara’s AI told her. < I suspect it’s the Gliese.

  “The breakdown truck’s arrived,” Kara said and sighed inwardly. Now all she had to worry about was who had really killed the fee and why.

  ONE DAY EARLIER

  No plan survives contact with the enemy.

  They couldn’t break out at dawn because the Cancri never showed their pointy or squishy heads until full daylight, which was a mistake. They wouldn’t see the humans lying concealed on top of the SUT.

  And then there’d be a diversion: several humans suddenly taking a great interest in the oddly wheeled vehicles, perhaps even trying to start one up. They’d act docile enough if the Cancri motioned them away; nonetheless, it would be out of character.

  Tatia had ordered that nothing was to happen before the grubs were on the roof.
The grubs would be their protection.

  It began as planned: the humans wandered around the warming violet desert, as they often did. There were a few more than usual outside, but she hoped the Cancri wouldn’t be interested in the anomaly. Ten of them wandered over to the vehicles; a dozen more towards the sunbathing grubs. Easy, guys, Tatia thought, easy.

  But then one of the no-hopers, not included in any actual fighting, lost it and ran towards the Cancri building, shouting that the others were trying to escape. Not that the Cancri would understand what he was shouting, but it would provoke them, and that wasn’t what the humans wanted.

  Tatia watched the Pilgrim in charge of the diversion party exclaim in surprise. He looked towards Mariana and her group, checking to see how near they were to the grubs. They were moving faster, now, still towards the grubs. He glanced towards Tatia’s group, over by the SUT, but she motioned to her people to remain out of sight. He began trotting towards the vehicles. Better early than not at all. The rest cursed and followed.

  Tatia watched in angry disbelief.

  A Cancri raised its gun and shot the no-hoper. His head exploded into red and grey mush.

  For a moment the diversion group paused, then someone screamed defiance and the group became a mob, changed direction and ran directly at the six or so Cancri who’d appeared from their building.

  Riots are often born of fear and deep frustration and this was no exception. Mobs are as intelligent as the stupidest person present, and this was no exception either. Those Pilgrims not on diversion, grub or SUT duty rushed back inside their building, not to escape but looking for something, anything, that could be used as a weapon, and discovered that the food and water hoppers had just been filled. It wouldn’t make any sense or difference, but they had to do something. Even just scaring the Cancri would be enough. Assuming Cancri did feel fear.

  Mariana’s group were the youngest, fittest and most agile. They reached the grubs’ building a few seconds before two Cancri guards did, with more on the way. For once the Cancri got too close, their guns easily taken away from the hounds and the grubs forcefully removed, twisting and mewling. Other Pilgrims swarmed onto the roof, plucking grubs like swollen fruit.

  The grubs wriggled, their skin soft and apparently covering nothing but jelly; they were far lighter than the humans had expected. The humans slid back down, holding the surviving grubs in front of them like shields.

  That was the essence of Tatia’s plan: the Cancri would not want to kill each other. They’d hold back, if only for long enough for her people to capture the SUT. It was a plan that depended on speed, surprise and spreading confusion. It also depended on certain assumptions made about an alien species. This was problematic.

  The diversion group had captured three guns – strangely shaped objects, but they did have an obvious firing end and an obvious triggering switch – and five grubs. The hounds had retreated to their building. Seven humans were dead or dying. The rest were trying to figure out how the guns worked, leaving the grubs on the ground. How could they have known? The little black spiralling things in the violet sand had always moved away before. Not this time. There was an eruption, or a small-scale sandquake, and one of the grubs was swallowed by a tide of black.

  “Get the other ones!” someone shouted. “Then get back!” They retreated towards the SUT, waving the grubs around like so many overstuffed cushions to dissuade the hounds from shooting.

  There were four Cancri in front of the SUT, firing at any human who came close. The Cancri didn’t realise there were humans above them until too late. Tatia and six others dropped down on them, and Tatia felt what had to be thin bones, or their alien equivalent, snapping as the hounds crumpled beneath them, suddenly and catastrophically immobile. They grabbed the guns, threw the Cancri into the SUT’s airlock and followed.

  “Go find the engine room,” Tatia told Perry. “Make it work!” She detached one of the grubs from its mount – it came away with a nasty sucking sound, leaving the little mouth-like slits on the hound’s back gaping messily – and took it to the entrance, waving it above her head to attract Cancri attention. She saw Mariana running towards the SUT with her group – three dead, judging by the number – carrying more grubs. The diversion group were also coming in her direction and so were six armed Cancri.

  Twenty humans appeared from their building and began hurling cabbages, tomatoes and what looked at a distance like roast chickens towards the armed Cancri. Tatia couldn’t help laughing. If this succeeded, they were going to have a hungry voyage home.

  The grub in her hands exploded, showering her in pale blue goo that stank of rotting seaweed. She gagged as she threw what was left onto the ground. Had to be a mistake. Had to be a mis-aimed weapon.

  Except that Cancri were also firing at Mariana’s group and the diversion group. She saw three grubs explode, just like hers, Didn’t they care? Were they some sort of hive mind with no concern for the individual?

  Unless.

  “Oh, no, it can’t be,” she muttered. And then shouted for someone to bring her the grubless hound. A young man rushed up with it in his arms. It seemed relaxed, despite the fact that one of its legs was clearly damaged, but it watched her intently. Its triangular mouth opened and a black tongue… no, a black tentacle, with three clearly flat sides like an elongated pyramid appeared. Tatia pointed one of the captured guns at it. The tentacle vanished as the hound’s mouth closed.

  “I want you to stand in the doorway,” she said to the young man. She regretted the fact that she didn’t know his name. Suddenly it seemed important. “Hold the hound up. I’ll cover you.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then lifted the hound high and walked forward. Tatia followed to one side, gun pointed outwards, without the faintest idea how it worked.

  He stood there as if presenting the hound for sacrifice. The firing stopped. A moment later Mariana arrived, panting.

  “You can leave those outside.” Tatia pointed at the grubs. “We don’t need them any more.” She said the same thing a moment later when the diversionary group arrived.

  “What the hell?” Mariana demanded.

  “We got it wrong,” Tatia said tiredly. “The grubs aren’t the brains. It’s the hounds.” Mariana stared at her. “Seriously. And you can put it down now,” she told the young man. “Keep it safe – and stay away from its mouth, okay? Where are the rest?”

  “We got them in some sort of storeroom, looks like.”

  “Remove the grubs and keep them separate,” she told him, then turned back to Mariana. “We saw grubs riding hounds, and assumed they were the smart ones. Maybe the hounds use the grubs’ telepathy to communicate.” She shook her head in frustrated realisation. “There was a joke, back on pre-Gliese Earth. Any aliens observing them would think cars were in charge and humans the slaves who cleaned their owners when they were dirty, fed them when they were hungry and cured them when they were ill.”

  “We made a mistake about who’s who,” Mariana pointed out. “Maybe we’re wrong about the netherspace drives and the updown-field generators being Gliese like ours.”

  Tatia shook her head. “No. That one I’ll take to the bank. These hounds aren’t smart enough to develop them.” She grinned. “I mean, look how easily we won.”

  12

  Marc watched the approaching Gliese SUT on the screen in a canteen that now smelled of curry: one of Tse’s favourites. Marc had wrongly assumed the pre-cog was a vegetarian, or at least fussy about his food. Yet Tse had never been so animated as when he discovered a freeze-dried chicken madras amongst the supplies, along with Bombay potatoes, sag ponir and tarka dhal.

  The image of the approaching SUT was transmitted from sensors that poked their long metal struts from inside the metal ISO containers of the RIL-FIJ-DOQ to the outside of its foam cocoon. It looked much like he imagined the RIL-FIJ-DOQ did – a roughly elliptical mass of fuzzy grey material peppered with its own struts and sensors. Areas of the shell looked distinctly moth-eaten;
interesting and reassuring that the Gliese SUTs weren’t immune to netherspace. Other struts ended in nothing, which probably meant the sensors had come off. Or been pulled off. All very different from the orderly, pyramidlike structure he’d seen loading humans in exchange for netherspace drives. Maybe this was the equivalent of a battered pick-up with a spare truck engine in the back.

  It was impossible to make out the scale of the thing, with nothing but the star field behind it. Maybe it was the size of a battleship and had thousands of aliens on board ready to do their bit; maybe the size of a jitney with one discontented Gliese mechanic sitting inside, cursing its luck at yet another callout to the back of beyond.

  As he watched, however, a curved grid of green light sprang up on the screen, covering the image of the Gliese SUT. No, he thought, leaning closer to the screen in amazement – the grid was actually being projected onto the Gliese SUT from the RIL-FIJ-DOQ itself. The sensors on the outside of the SUT’s cocoon must also include some kind of laser measurement system. At least, he hoped that was what it was. He wouldn’t want to think that someone else apart from Leeman-Smith had gone loopy and was aiming verboten laser weapons at the Gliese. He caught the error in his thinking, and snorted. It didn’t actually matter whether the RIL-FIJ-DOQ was measuring the Gliese SUT with its lasers or trying to burn it to cinders; it only mattered what the Gliese thought was happening. Anyway, there couldn’t be any major external weapons on the RIL-FIJ-DOQ, like a military laser, otherwise they’d have vanished in netherspace. And still no one knew why.

  The Gliese seemed not to mind. Presumably it happened every time.

  After a few seconds the curved green lines vanished and a box appeared in the corner of the screen. Inside the box it said:

  Length: 306 metres

  Diameter at mid-point: 34 metres