by Andrew Lane
“It’s kind of relaxed,” she said and handed over the grub.
Perry nodded and took the grub away. Tatia waited, hiding her nerves. Five minutes later Perry returned.
“All okay,” he said. “Slotted in perfectly.”
Tatia winced, still sickened by the way that hound and grub fitted together. She nodded and went back to the hounds in their vehicles. The one who’d handed her the spare grub was waiting.
“Do not ask me to shake hands,” she said. “Because I’ll break your arm.”
Instead it dropped its weapon onto the ground.
“No,” Tatia said, knowing it wouldn’t understand the words. “We keep ours.”
The hound waited for a few seconds, then trotted back to its vehicle. Tatia could have sworn it shrugged. All the vehicles then moved away with a shrill whine of massed engines, towards the nearest low, curved building – but leaving behind the flat-bed with the two containers.
“Holy shit!” a Pilgrim shouted, “Will you look at that!”
As if a signal had been given doors opened simultaneously in the two nearest spacecraft. Two distinct types of alien emerged, one flowing like the pink slug it resembled, without eyes on stalks but with a fringe of tentacles, the other a tall, glittering arthropod, which walked jerkily out of the huge asteroid. It was followed by what looked like a floating collection of rags the size of a large trash bag – brightly coloured for once, albeit no colours that Tatia could actually name – that fluttered erratically in the harsh sunshine and warming air. There was no way of knowing if it was an alien, pet or vermin.
A high-pitched whine announced another vehicle, this time flat and with three wheels, bearing a collection of gossamer-like creatures, each with a central nucleus the size and shape of a watermelon. The creatures floated towards the Pilgrims – they had to be using an updown-field generator of some sort, Tatia decided – then paused, hanging in mid-air as both groups examined each other, one with eyes the other with…
The Pilgrims might have lost their belief in aliens as gods but the fascination, the probably misplaced fellow-feeling, still remained. They laughed and smiled, moved slowly towards slug, insect, raggedy thing and gossamer beings, human hands held up and open in a gesture of peace.
More aliens arrived, as if these were the first humans they’d ever seen. Which meant they’d never been on Earth or a colony world. Tatia was puzzled. Why were humans so interesting to them? They were just another life form, surely, one amongst thousands in the galaxy. Was it their escape? The capture of a Cancri space vehicle? Were they hoping to trade? Impossible to know without asking, impossible to ask.
She walked quickly to the two recce groups and ordered them to take their weapons back to the SUT. Nobody objected; they’d seen the Cancri drop its weapon onto the ground and understood the trade. Except, as Tatia realised, that had been between human and Cancri, had not necessarily included other species. She shrugged mentally as they took their weapons back towards Perry. If the odd Pilgrim got hurt, even killed, so be it. Better than a trigger-happy Pilgrim killing hundreds of aliens. The humans were outnumbered and still trapped. They might hold a few Cancri hostage, but that couldn’t last forever. No. The way home meant a peaceful mixing with the aliens and an exploration of the city. Tatia wasn’t sure why exactly, only that it seemed the obvious thing to do, her intuition exposing another signpost pointing towards Earth.
She set off on her own, positive that she’d come to no harm.
In a Cancri building a kilometre away she found the collection: two rows of shelves that held only human artefacts. Some of them looked brand new, but most of the items were second-hand and grubby. Books, dirty plates, footballs, bicycles, a man’s cap, a pair of woman’s high-heeled shoes. All items likely traded for alien technology. She saw a Roman sword and other ancient objects: the collection spanned the ages. Aliens could have been collecting human artefacts and rubbish for thousands of years. But why just file them away? Was this some kind of Cancri bank deposit? A department store?
There was an ancient penny-farthing still with a day’s dirt from Victorian streets on its absurd wheels. Why were aliens so obsessed with bicycles? There was an ancient war chariot, the blades fixed to the wheel hubs stained black with dried blood. There was what had to be one of the first televisions – she’d once seen a picture – resting next to a large, black and pointed stone that had a strange attraction for her. Like the other two items the design was good enough to be almost art. Tatia picked it up, marvelling at how right it felt in her hand. Then saw how the point had been made sharp by delicately chipping away flake after hard flake and realised she was holding a Stone Age axe, a perfect example of form and function combined. Next to that was a child’s half-completed colouring book. Then several badly amateur paintings of kittens, so lifeless that they were probably copied from a photo. Here a half-eaten, wizened apple (no decay? Sprayed with something?) and here a photo of what looked like a shark suspended in a tank of water. It was strangely familiar and Tatia decided the suspended shark had to be an old window display, the kind of thing Harvey Nicks in London still did.
She noticed that some of the original artefacts had been copied. Badly, crudely, but definite copies made from materials she didn’t recognise. Or rather a series of copies, each one becoming less like the original. Her intuition said this was important. But it made no sense.
Someone, something was watching her.
Tatia spun around, saw only endless shelves of human souvenirs and their clumsy copies. There was nothing overhead, only the glowing roof that illuminated the building. But she sensed something – yes, a thing – that was definitely aware of her. Interested in her. She had a fleeting impression of something small and perhaps delicate. Powerful, though… and perhaps ruthless? No. Determined. Tatia recoiled from the idea, bile rising in her throat, and forced herself to think calmly.
> Did you just notice something?
< You became agitated. Why?
> Something was watching me.
< Possible. It’s a big warehouse.
> No. From outside.
< What does your intuition say?
> Gone away again.
As it had, as if wanting to hide, which made no sense at all. Or not wanting to attract attention to itself, to Tatia? A reflex action? That could make sense. Humans don’t recognise half the defence mechanisms they have. Like not walking under a ladder in case there’s a waiting leopard or worse at the top ready to pounce.
And then concern became horror.
They were at the far end of one row, lying side by side.
Two human bodies, naked, male. So perfectly preserved that for a moment she thought – hoped – they were still alive. But they were cold to the touch, with no breath, no heartbeat. And all Tatia could think was that she’d found two call-out fees.
She fled back to the landing field, remembering to stop and control her breathing before she arrived – a leader must never seem panicked – to join the Pilgrims, staff and over a dozen assorted aliens. She didn’t share what she’d seen with anyone, not even Perry. It was too raw, her conclusions the last thing the still-traumatised Pilgrims needed to hear.
14
Kara had been watching Marc become intimate with an assault rifle – so different from the simulity – when a klaxon announced they had left netherspace. They reached the canteen as a planet began to fill the screen. Henk sat at the head of the table, his body language suggesting he owned it.
“You’re sure?” Henk said patronisingly to Tse. “The Cancri live here?”
“It’s where we’re meant to be,” Tse replied. “To find the Pilgrims,” he added quickly.
The last planet, the only planet Kara had ever seen from space was Earth. She’d never forget how blue-white beautiful it was. The Cancri planet might well be beautiful to some people. To Kara it was a reddish ball of boredom. Mono-coloured, no clouds.
Kara glanced up and saw the disappointment on Marc’s face. Understo
od it as well. Marc would want something dramatic. Something artistic.
“Nikki and Tate figured out, roughly, how far we are from Earth,” she said. “I mean in realspace. About sixteen point seven light-years, somewhere in the Aquila constellation. So the local sun could be Altair.” She saw Marc freeze for a moment and too late understood why.
“That’s a bad star,” Marc said, a little haltingly. “Illomened in Western culture. Danger from some kind of reptile. But the Maori called it the ‘pillar of heaven’. Type-A main sequence star almost twice as big as our sun. Over ten times as bright.” He sounded a little puzzled, as if not sure how he knew.
“So we’ll need sunglasses,” Kara said briskly. She knew that the simulity had suddenly poured data into Marc’s conscious mind. No surprise he looked as if his gob had been severely smacked. One main thought: Henk must not know. Nor the rest of the staff. They’ve been corrupted by netherspace. The simulity stays secret. “What was it, Marc – did you study up for an artwork?”
He took the hint and nodded. “It was for the Eridani,” he recovered. “You know, the ones like big, ugly bamboo pythons. With nasty little hands. And nightmare faces. Never finished it, though. The planet still looks boring.”
“The view from this far out’s never too exciting,” Henk said, pulling up his sleeve and tapping the interface tattoo on his forearm. “Let’s see what the sensors have got.”
Basic data began streaming across the bottom of the screen. The planet was roughly the same size as Earth, although with only ninety-three per cent of the gravity. Atmosphere breathable. High ultraviolet, dark glasses recommended. Midday average, sea-level ground temperature 43°C. Midnight average, sea-level temperature minus 10°C. That was it, as if they were mere tourists.
Henk cursed. “The AI’s become an idiot. Normally we get far more than that.” He thought a moment, then turned to Kara. “Then again, I’m used to an explorer AI with proper sensors. Maybe it’s the best this crate can do.”
“So what’s your usual landing procedure?” Kara asked.
“We float in the atmosphere for a while, taking samples and detailed sensor readings. Then we land and mostly play it by ear. Is the wildlife dangerous? If there’s a dominant species, how intelligent? Can humans exist there?”
“Thing is,” Tate added, “we’re not doing a survey. We’re finding out if it’s worth doing one. And is it safe, far as we can tell, no guarantees. Then GalDiv sends a large team to check out every damn thing. But no one’s ever sure. It’s not bugs or viruses. They haven’t evolved to attack humans. Yet. But it could be toxins in the atmosphere. An animal that hates strangers. There have been colonies that simply vanished, no sign of a struggle. Everyone assumed the Gliese took them. Maybe we should suspect the Cancri.”
And all the while the planet became more massive on the screen. They could make out mountain ranges, vast areas of what looked like desert and the very occasional splash of colour that could be anything. There were several river-like features stretching from a mountain range to the middle of a desert, but as yet no sign that they contained water. The relevant sensor wasn’t working.
“Yeah, well, this time’s different,” Kara said. “We’ll find their largest city or habitation and land, do a recce on the ground.”
Henk seemed to be about to speak when a large sea, unmistakably liquid, came into sight and three of the watchers breathed a sigh of relief.
“You don’t know what’s in it,” Henk said. “Could be heavy metals, poisonous chemicals, shit you never heard of. Do not think you’ll be frolicking on a beach, people. Universe’s got many ways of making human life impossible. And I’d like to point out we haven’t seen any sign of habitation.” He turned to Kara again. “You think the Cancri live underground?”
Kara ignored the arrogance in Henk’s voice. Perhaps he was deliberately, crudely asserting himself. Perhaps it was the superiority of the veteran explorer. Perhaps he was living up to the crap example set by the former mission manager.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” she said casually.
“Well, stick with me, do what you’re told and I’ll keep you all safe,” Henk said and smiled. “Hate to explain a death to GalDiv.”
Kara felt Marc tense beside her – no one questions the boss’s authority – and pressed her foot warningly against his. “Won’t happen,” she said mildly.
“You’re right it won’t,” Henk snapped. “You’re going to be good little soldiers, right?”
“It won’t happen,” Kara said reasonably, “because I do the reporting.” Henk wasn’t acting at all like himself, she thought. Was it drugs, illegal booze or psychosis? She rose to her feet and walked around the table towards him. Henk smiled again. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Marc and Tse were studiously watching the screen. She stood in front of Henk, who leaned back in his seat and leered up at her.
“Why so aggressive?” she asked softly and held out her hand.
“Didn’t mind the other day,” he said and took her hand in his.
Kara applied a “come-along” hold in less than a second. It uses pressure on finger joints, tendons and nerves to produce excruciating pain.
Henk gasped, his body suddenly rigid. His eyes screwed shut for a moment then opened wide. He glared up at Kara.
Small coloured tendrils were flickering in the corners of his eyes, as if a tiny squid was behind the eyeball and anxious to come out. Kara relaxed her hold but still gripped his hand. The tendrils went away.
“Okay.” Henk smiled, this time in contrition. He was breathing heavily. “Getting a bit above myself. Sorry. Maybe the fee dying and Leeman-Smith going got to me.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“You are.” He took back his hand and massaged the bruised fingers. “Ouch.”
“Got off lightly, mate,” Marc called, still watching the screen. “If Kara was really pissed off she’d break your arm. Twice.”
One hour later they’d identified several small settlements and one large city. The only city. No obvious crop cultivation. No obvious transport systems.
“It’s not what I expected,” Marc grumbled to Kara. They were in one of the storage containers, unpacking and checking their gear, a ritual soldiers had performed before battle for thousands of years. “None of it is. I always thought of space travel as far more, oh, glamorous. Other planets, too. Where are the glittering spires, the gravity-defying buildings?”
“This city’s got spires,” Kara said shortly. “Open that crate over there.”
“A few.” Marc popped the crate’s lid. “But mostly they look like molehills.” He looked inside the crate and froze. “Hey! Those are insects!” They lay in neat lines, gleaming in the harsh overhead light. Butterflies, bees, wasps and cruel-looking hornets.
“What they are is drones,” Kara said. “Most are for surveillance, others have a sting. When you operate them it’s like you’re the bug.” She was silent a moment, transported back twenty days earlier and sixteen or so light-years away. She could feel the sun, hear the faint wind in the trees… and watch her laptop dissolve into dust, after she’d received the message that would send her into deep space. She’d felt trapped then. Now even more so. She glanced at Marc and saw that he, too, seemed to be lost in memories. “Penny for them?”
“Thinking how I once told Greenaway the reason going Up didn’t attract me was all the smart computers. And now we’re part-fucked because the RIL-FIJ-DOQ’s AI can barely add two and two. And we rely on these” – pointing at the drones – “and your super-smart AI. When we get back I’m going to upgrade. Still, at least it’s home-grown tech.” He saw Kara stifle a smile. “What?”
“AI developed out of those simulity cubes,” she said. “They enabled technicians and theoreticians to work like a group mind and overcome the problems that had stumped them for years. Sorry.”
Marc threw up his hands. “I give up.”
“We’ll find you a planet with glittering towers later,” she
promised. “I’ll get my AI on it.”
< What am I, some sort of fairy-tale tour guide? It didn’t sound pleased.
> People have been complaining about too-cute, smart-mouthed AIs since forever.
< Scared we’ll take over? You need Tse, not me.
“Do you two get on?” Marc asked. “Do you ever become aware of it when you’re, I don’t know, having sex or something? Do you think it takes notes?”
“It goes to sleep. Offline.”
“You say that. But how do you know?”
< Yes, Kara. How do you know?
* * *
Kara decided to land on the city outskirts at night, when fewer aliens would see them and possibly panic. Although she had to assume the Cancri leaders knew they were there. There’d be no leaving the SUT until daylight. Kara thought ruefully of how properly trained soldiers could operate as easily at night as by day.
She called a meeting and announced they’d be landing a couple of klicks south of what looked like a space access point. Then emphasised that their business was with the Cancri only. They could mix with other species – they guessed others were here from the different types of spacecraft seen – after business was over and the Pilgrims rescued. And in case the staff hadn’t realised, hanging around in mid-air a) made them a floating duck and b) might be interpreted as an aggressive act. It was better to land and wait to be welcomed. Or not.
They’d floated to the ground like overweight thistledown as Henk checked the atmosphere for bugs of every kind, the diagnostic machine blinking and bleeping wildly as it was asked to do in an hour what would normally take at least a day.
“Far as I can tell, it’s clean,” Henk finally said. “Probably more so than Earth. No manufacturing here, that’s for sure. That is, manufacturing Earth-style. But a freak wind could still blow something nasty in from the other side of the planet. Anyone going outside should take a filter-mask and oxygen, just in case.”
“I’m hoping the Cancri did their own checks before bringing the Pilgrims here,” Kara said. If they are here. There again, they’d slaughtered a man to attract attention. Would they really worry about airborne viruses? Come to that…