Netherspace

by Andrew Lane

  “Perhaps,” Henk said patiently, without even a hint of superiority, “but the atmosphere’s almost suspiciously clean. Sorry, should have been more exact. I found three alien viruses only. Each one disintegrated on contact with human DNA – skin, hair, blood and so on – with the DNA unaffected. We’re like poison to them. But that isn’t to say that’s it. Could be anything out there.” He sounded genuinely concerned and Kara flashed him a quick smile.

  Back in her cabin she accessed her AI. > You understand what’s needed?

  < You were very precise.

  > And you’ll do it. It wasn’t a question.

  < Your every wish is my command.

  > Problem?

  < It doesn’t feel right. It’s intrusive.

  > Your emotions are part of your program. Manufactured, like your personality. Only there to make for a more human-like interface. And help what we’ll politely call your thought processes.

  < Doesn’t matter where they come from. Doesn’t matter what my thoughts are. I think them; I am me.

  > But you’ll do it.

  < Already done, princess, and they didn’t feel a thing.

  It was, Kara thought, a hell of a time to be discussing philosophy and ethics with a chip implanted in her left cerebral hemisphere. Still, it was a small price to pay. Relief washed over her. As of now she’d ensured the SUT couldn’t leave the planet without Kara, Marc and Tse on board, alive or dead. It was her duty to get Marc and Tse home, or what was left of them. She’d left someone on the battlefield once and had promised herself never again.

  The colours had decided her, the colours lurking behind Henk and Nikki’s eyes and probably Tate’s, although she hadn’t talked about it with Tse. She’d tried but every time the subject was broached, Tse became even more inscrutable than before.

  The colours that suggested the staff belonged more to netherspace than Earth… and were no longer purely human.

  Kara told the AI to call her in two hours and went to sleep.

  NOW

  Tatia sat by the Cancri SUT’s open entrance, listening to the sound of the sentries chatting, their voices still rich with the day’s excitement.

  It seemed the city was some sort of galactic meeting-place. She’d never imagined so many different types of alien. For so long there had been three main gods for the Pilgrims: Gliese, Cancri, Eridani. And today they had fourteen more, that had walked, slithered, fluttered, oozed, bounded and even rolled towards the Pilgrims. Some had discernible eyes, even faces, but one had fewer features than a Gliese: an alien shaped like a jitney-sized rugby ball that seemed to roll around by shifting its own internal centre of gravity, and given how it shot around every which way, any external features would be continually ground into the dust. But they wouldn’t come within touching distance of a human. That made sense, since the humans could be carrying all manner of nasty bugs, but did nothing for those Pilgrims who had begun to believe again. Heartrending cries of “We are not worthy!” had filled the air and Mariana – so Perry told Tatia – had been forced to slap a few faces before serious grovelling broke out.

  Tatia couldn’t get the two dead bodies out of her mind. But then, she asked herself, alone in the dark of an alien spacecraft, why should she? Wasn’t that one of the greatest mysteries of all? Leaving aside how perfectly preserved they’d been, why were the bodies there – along with all the other Earth artefacts, some of which were… were… so old…

  …could be from an Earth museum…

  …surely there’d be records of aliens trading before the official first contact, couldn’t keep that sort of thing quiet…

  Crap. Double crap. There’d been records and legends and movies and vid series about aliens secretly dealing with Earth since forever. Standing alone in that vast warehouse, before she’d noticed the two dead men, Tatia had understood. Aliens only ever traded for something being used at the time. An object still warm, perhaps, from human contact. An artefact still fresh with human DNA? If you hold the DNA you also hold the human. But why keep artefacts after DNA had been taken? And why not simply walk up – or slither, roll, flop, fly – to a human and take a mouth swab?

  Perhaps humans were somehow special to aliens and these, their objects, had an intrinsic value. Perhaps these artefacts were the alien equivalent of a lucky charm. Oh, undoubtedly there were also aesthetic considerations – alien aesthetics? Tatia giggled, heard the hysteria in her own voice and ground her fingernails into her palms. As long as aliens also traded for junk, we could pretend they were obsessed with our entire culture. But what if all they really wanted was us?

  It was easy to understand why the Gliese had finally revealed themselves: human technology had advanced to the point that aliens couldn’t hide any more. Or pretend to be gods? No. That had always been a human conceit.

  But little point in worrying about something beyond her control. Other things had been discovered that day. The two recce groups had returned before the sun got too hot. Some of the low, round buildings were empty, others filled with containers like the ones that had supplied food and water to them, and still supplied Cancri nutrition inside the spacecraft. Other buildings had been filled with shelves holding weird and incomprehensible objects. One recce team had tried to get into the black tower, but couldn’t find a door, and after a while two Cancri appeared waving guns, so the humans had left.

  In the afternoon, when it was comfortable to go outside again, they’d discovered that the spacecraft’s landing gear – five large skids, arranged in no particular order – had become one with the ground. A hard grey material similar to the foam cladding used on spacecraft covered each skid and extended downwards, effectively anchoring the craft to the planet. Maybe it was some waste product left behind by those black screw-like things that spiralled through the ground, but if so then the things had been directed. Not that they could go anywhere even if the SUT hadn’t been stuck, as Perry had said, other than schlep pointlessly around the sky.

  Something else had happened: two large containers, identical to those back at the prison compound, appeared outside the craft. One was full of water, the other fresh fruit, vegetables and three large Serrano hams still wrapped in plastic. It had been the hams, so incongruous, so pointless, that made Tatia furious. She’d found herself loathing the Cancri as much for what they were as for anything they’d done.

  They’d spent the afternoon – Tatia, Perry and Mariana – debriefing the recce patrols and discussing their findings.

  “It’s a trading post,” Perry had finally said. “Nothing else makes sense.”

  “Rather big to be a shop,” Mariana commented, gesturing towards the city outside.

  “No, he could be right,” Tatia said. “It’s a big universe, right?”

  It did make sense. Warehouses crammed with goods; no sign of manufacturing; all manner of aliens. What else could it be?

  “There’s something else you should know,” Tatia had said slowly, knowing there wasn’t any other choice, and told them about the warehouse she’d found.

  There was a long silence when she’d finished. No one said, “Are you sure?” or even, “I don’t believe you!” Both Perry and Mariana stared off into the distance, busy with their thoughts.

  “Will you show us?” Mariana finally asked. “Tomorrow?”

  Tatia had nodded. She hadn’t said about the sense of being watched. She doubted that she ever would.

  Tatia had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking to the other Pilgrims until it was time to sleep.

  But every time she closed her eyes, Tatia saw the two dead men.

  She must have dropped off eventually because the next thing she knew was someone shaking her as they alternately laughed and cried that she had to come and see a miracle. As she rose slowly to her feet Tatia saw an insect, a bit like a wasp, hovering in the doorway. She rubbed her eyes – There are no insects on this planet, are there? – but when she looked again it was gone.

  Once again there was a mob block
ing the entrance, but this time one that parted easily, even eagerly, to let her pass.

  “They asked for our leader,” someone said.

  It was mid-morning and a crowd of aliens had gathered, but she only had eyes for the four figures in front of the many-shaped crowd. Four humans, two men and two women. Three wearing what looked like military combat gear, two carrying ugly-looking rifles. The other man wore overalls and stood next to a lightweight electric-motored mini-truck. Tatia thought they looked very professional and determined. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes but was damned if she’d cry.

  “S’okay,” Perry said from behind her. “You’ll be fine.”

  The woman with the rifle moved forward, reminding Tatia of a cat stalking its prey. She was dark-haired, attractive, and had the most disconcerting, direct gaze. As did the armed man who stood scanning the alien crowd for any threat. He glanced once in Tatia’s direction, his gaze pausing for a moment as she stared back.

  “You’ll be the Pilgrims and staff of the LUX-WEM-YIB,” the woman called out, her voice low and commanding.

  Tatia stepped down onto the planet’s soil. “The LUX-WEMYIB survivors,” she said. “What kept you?”

  The woman laughed. “Traffic was a bitch. I’m Major Kara Jones. Captain Marc Keislack,” gesturing to her obvious bodyguard. “Captain Tse Durrel. And this is Medic First Class Henk Vandeverde.”

  “Have you come to take us home?” a man’s voice called from inside the Cancri spacecraft. “Please?”

  * * *

  Kara Jones thought it was probably the strangest sight she’d ever seen. Stranger even than the time she killed the Gliese. Around her a mass of assorted aliens the like of which she had never imagined – including a multi-coloured flapping thing that surely had to be the alien equivalent of a pet – and in front a Cancri SUT that had apparently been hijacked by humans. Insect drones had been quietly investigating the craft since dawn. She knew three Cancri steeds were being held in a cabin; Kara assumed they were hostages – and good for the Pilgrims. She did not know why two maggot-shaped riders were missing. But perhaps the strangest of all was the young woman facing her. Beautiful in a classic small-nosed, generous-mouthed, wide-eyed way, but her face was drawn with stress, which made her more interesting. The strawberry-blonde hair was drawn back tight in a greasy ponytail, once manicured nails chipped. Her tattered robe was torn off just above her knees but she wore it as if it were the latest in haute couture. She looked as near like a warrior queen as Kara had ever imagined, the leader of all those behind her.

  Kara turned to Marc, amused and impressed by how simulity training had taken over. He was now more soldier than artist. “Relax. Keep the rifle pointed at the ground.”

  He nodded, looking beyond Kara to the woman facing them. “She’s only missing a sword,” he said quietly.

  “Don’t get excited,” Kara told him. “They could all be contaminated.” She moved a few paces forward and spoke to the young woman. “And you are?”

  “Tatia Nerein.”

  Information poured into Kara’s mind from her AI. < Tatia Nerein, heiress and recent consort to the con-artist who led the Pilgrims. So presumably Juan Smith was dead. < Tatia Nerein, an orphan from the Out adopted by a wealthy couple from Seattle City. Aged twenty-four. High IQ. Highly intuitive. Treat with respect.

  “And Juan Smith?”

  “Dead.” No emotion.

  Kara nodded. “Okay. We are here to rescue you, but that means negotiating with the Cancri, which may take some time.” She spoke only to Tatia. “Right now you all need to be examined by Henk, our medic. Just a scan to make sure you’re not carrying anything, takes a few seconds. Before that I want you to please release the Cancri you have captive.” She’d expected surprise – how do you know that? – and defiance – not until we leave. Instead Tatia narrowed her eyes for a moment, then half-smiled and nodded.

  “You sent in drones, right?”

  Kara nodded. “It made sense.”

  “I thought I saw a wasp… You want the Cancri released as a sign of good faith?”

  Kara hid her surprise at such a quick uptake. “Tse, our negotiator, believes it’s best.”

  “Okay. It’s not as if they’re much use any more.” Tatia turned and spoke to a tall, grey-haired man standing nearby. “Perry, let the hounds go.”

  < Perry Flach, mechanic on the LUX-WEM-YIB. Age sixty-three. Divorced, two children. Suspected of free spacer contacts/sympathies. Treat carefully. “Have they been any trouble?” Kara asked. It looked like Perry was Tatia’s second-in-command.

  Perry shook his head. “Just keep away from their mouths. They’ve got nasty-looking tongues.” He went back inside the craft.

  “The grubs aren’t intelligent,” Tatia said. “The hounds are.”

  Grubs. She had to mean the maggot riders. “Had us fooled. Look, while your people get checked, could you and Perry tell us what happened? GalDiv was sent a vid of a child being executed by a Cancri.”

  “Him, and a man. Murdered. Slaughtered.” Tatia’s tone was mild, her eyes fierce. “Not executed. They’d done nothing wrong.”

  Kara raised her hands. “Okay. But, Tatia, don’t think the Cancri or any alien has the same emotions or even thought processes as a human.”

  “Really? Can they learn by experience? Well, yes, they have to. Otherwise they’d have become extinct. So, if they learn that killing one of us means that one or more of them dies, they’ll stop doing it, right?”

  “Assuming they give a toss,” Kara pointed out. “Would you like to get your people ready?”

  As Tatia turned away Perry Flach reappeared, leading three Cancri hounds on ropes made out of rags. He stopped to untie them, slapped their hindquarters and stood back. The Cancri trotted away, one of them pausing to look back at Perry. A black triangular tongue appeared and a drop of green drool fell to the ground. The hound turned and rejoined the other two. All three vanished into the crowd of aliens, the latter keeping their eyes/consciousness fixed on the humans.

  And the thing is, Kara thought, we’ll never know if that last hound was drooling, “Goodbye,” or, “I know where you live.”

  The sun was high and all the survivors had been screened by Henk by the time Tatia and Perry had told their story. Towards the end they were joined by Mariana, who’d been organising the screening. It was then that Tatia described the warehouse she’d discovered, and the few conclusions she’d drawn, probably wrong. Kara had the impression that she was keeping something back.

  In turn, Kara had explained about the Cancri message, apparently asking for Marc; and that Tse was a pre-cog and what that implied. None of the three survivors seemed surprised. After the past three weeks little or nothing would likely ever surprise them again.

  Kara glanced at Marc and Tse in turn. “Make any sense? The warehouse?”

  Marc shrugged.

  “Still doesn’t make sense,” Tse said. “Why kill that kid and send GalDiv the vid? Oh. Right,” answering his own question. “To demonstrate how serious they were. It wasn’t a threat to kill more. It was showing how important this is to them. Death is used for emphasis.”

  “Why kill us when we tried to escape?” asked Tatia.

  “Mariana got it part right,” Tse said. “Quarantine probably. Also, keeping you away from them,” pointing at the ever present crowd of aliens. “They were desperate to keep you secret. This probably isn’t their home planet. It’s where they trade and mix with other alien species. Makes sense – you wouldn’t want others knowing where your home planet is. Look, we could go mad trying to understand their motives. Most important now is to find out what they want so we can go home.”

  Mariana stood up. “What’s stopping us leaving now? You’ve got an SUT big enough to take us all, so you say.”

  “Which is also easy to shoot down or attack in space,” Kara said. “But if negotiations don’t begin within a day, or if they break down, then we leave. Okay?”

  “I want to be there,” T
atia insisted. “When you negotiate. I have the right.”

  Kara shook her head. “No. You’re too involved. Tse, Marc and myself work as a team. You and the others can use the time to get clean.” She pointed into the sky where a large egg-shaped object was slowly descending towards the landing field. “In that. The SUT RIL-FIJ-DOQ. Bit tight on water, but enough for a shower each. We’ve also got sonic cleansers – not so luxurious, but they work. Also a wide selection of freeze-dried food.”

  “You can tie me up and gag me if you like,” Tatia said calmly. “But I’m going to be there.”

  Kara glanced at Tse, who shrugged. So no pre-cog reason why not. “Give me your word that you won’t interfere, no matter what, unless we ask you?”

  “You have my word.”

  “One false move and you’ll be sedated,” Kara warned.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Okay.” She looked at Perry and Mariana. “The RIL-FIJDOQ will land close to the Cancri SUT. Henk will introduce you to Tate and Nikki, our mechanic and navigator. Your people keep the hell away from the control and netherspace drive rooms. A section of shipping containers with mass-living quarters are available. Bunk beds. Stay there or outside. Okay?”

  Perry stood up. “Okay. When do you think…”

  The unfinished question was answered by the alien crowd suddenly dispersing. In the near distance a group of vehicles were driving towards them.

  “I think very soon,” Kara said. “We’ll take our truck. Enjoy your shower.” She smiled at Marc. “Showtime.” What are the odds of getting away, all of us? Not good. How can they be?

  The Cancri vehicles stopped fifty metres away. She watched Marc walk towards them alone, as they’d agreed, as Tse had said would be the best approach. It was nearly midday and 38 °C in the shade of the awning that now extended from one side of the truck.

  Four hounds moved to meet Marc and stopped ten metres away. Two of them were grubless and looked dusty. The two with grubs attached had coats that gleamed. One of them carried a tray on which were a series of small objects that glittered in the morning sun. The other carried a gun.