Noumenon

by Marina J. Lostetter

  She stepped confidently into the metal box. It reminded her of the freight elevators on Bottomless II. “Come on.” She waved the others inside.

  But Dr. Johar and his colleague, Dr. Xu, weren’t as prepared to plunge into the unknown. “No, this isn’t smart. We shouldn’t just go walking into—”

  “Do as she says,” Matheson ordered. “You knew there were no guarantees going in, that this could be dangerous. That’s why we—” he gestured between himself and the security detail “—are here. Leave the safety concerns to us. We do know what we’re doing.”

  “And that’s why a historian is calling the shots,” Xu scoffed.

  “Everybody shut up and get in the carriage,” Nika said flatly. Amazingly, they obeyed.

  Ten humans and six armored androids descended into the unknown.

  As they sunk into the Earth, the only indication of change was an increase in temperature. While the androids remained statue-still, the convoy members writhed in their layers.

  Eventually, Nika couldn’t take it anymore. She began to strip, first pulling back her hood, then removing her gloves once more. When she’d pulled the scarf from her face, the others followed suit.

  Every time Matheson took off a piece of clothing he checked their connection with the convoy. Six items down, his link cut out.

  The membranes hung, globular, from the group’s faces. Nika realized that if an earthling had approached her on board Mira with something similar slapped on, she would have locked them in her closet and run screaming for a hazmat team. But she’d agreed to the precaution, and she couldn’t deviate . . . not yet, anyway.

  Minutes later—perhaps a quarter of an hour—when they’d all disrobed down to their jumpsuits, a jolt signaled full-stop. They’d reached the bottom. Or, maybe just the first available floor.

  The stainless steel doors slid open. The lead android stepped out, and the humans followed. A buzzing made Nika look back. The remaining robots had gone limp; their job complete.

  They have no independence, she realized. They’re puppets, not autonomous robots.

  So where was the puppet master?

  Rough-hewn rock formed a tunnel that led away from the elevator doors. A harsh glare prevented Nika from making out what lay beyond.

  An outcropping brushed up against her sleeve. Startled, she paused, grasping the section of stone between her hands. “Feel this,” she said to the others. “It’s warm.”

  “Can’t be the lights,” said Xu. “The angle’s not right.”

  “Could be from geothermal activity,” said Johar. “Exactly how far down are we?”

  While the other’s felt up the wall, Nika’s attention was once again diverted. She felt like a child let off Mira for the first time. Everything seemed new and wondrous. Her universe had just expanded to a billion times its previous size. The glare coming from the end of the hall seemed familiar, as though she’d experienced it before.

  It was just like coming out of the hallway between the shuttle bay and the fields on . . .

  “Eden,” she gasped. “Look, look!” She waved everyone forward. “It’s the sun.”

  They emerged into a wide-open cavern larger in volume than half of their ships combined. Nika eagerly pointed at the ceiling—or, rather, where she knew the ceiling must be. Instead of a cap of stone, a brilliant blue sky hung over the space. The noonday sun dominated a smattering of wispy clouds.

  She was so engrossed with the sky, it took her several minutes to notice what sprawled below it: a city, encircled by suburbs. The android was leading them down a main drag, past quaint houses of unknown design. Most were still and clearly empty. A woman hurried out from one as they passed, dressed in an unusual, but recognizable, version of a jogging outfit.

  She smiled initially, but looked taken aback after she’d had enough time to process their strange masks and antiquated clothing.

  “Hello,” Nika tried. “Ni hao, namaste, marhaba—”

  The woman stared wide-eyed. Nika would have expected a similar expression from a person who’d just seen a ghost. Her stream of greetings faltered.

  The earthling did not run back into her house, nor scream, nor faint. She simply looked on, her eyes narrowing into a look of deep concentration. Frustration, then confusion, crossed her face.

  Since their automated guide did not stop, the away team was forced to leave the baffled (and baffling) woman behind.

  “I don’t get it,” Matheson mumbled. “I just don’t get it.”

  “Do you think— Has something happened to their vocal cords?” suggested Dr. Xu.

  “That wouldn’t explain why we’re not getting communications of any kind,” said Nika. “They can’t live in a society this organized without relating to each other somehow.”

  “Why are the roads so empty?” an officer asked suddenly. “I hear a few engines, off in that direction.” He pointed toward the city center. “But shouldn’t there be local traffic?”

  “Maybe their commutes are formally timed. You know, for efficiency,” said Matheson with a shrug.

  As Nika’s sense of wonder rose, her confidence plummeted. The more they saw, the more details they gathered, the less sense the all-out silence made. How was she supposed to interface with modern Earth societies if they didn’t even appear to interface with each other?

  What the hell is happening?

  Corner after corner, stretch after stretch of empty road, eventually brought them to a multistoried building clearly influenced by the architecture of Anton Gaudi—or an architect who was influenced by an architect who was influenced by an architect who was influenced by Gaudi, more likely. Both organic and gothic, the dark structure contrasted harshly with the squat utilitarian buildings on either side.

  A series of steps, which stretched from one end of the building to the other, looked as though they were melting into each other, and became less defined from the next with each rise. At the top the steps had transformed into little more than an uneven ramp. Beyond the landing, a set of three doors led inside—the left swung outward, the right inward, and the middle swiveled from parallel to perpendicular. Each door moved automatically, with deliberate slowness, as the group approached.

  “Why do I get the feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore?” mumbled Matheson as he rushed in ahead, leading the security team in a visual sweep.

  Why do I get the feeling Kansas doesn’t exist anymore? thought Nika.

  The android paid no attention to the security officers darting back and forth across the foyer. It simply entered the building and turned left, down a hall whose ceiling was three stories high and lined with arching windows on both the outer and inner walls. The incoming daylight made every architectural point and rococo detail of the hall stand out in relief. However, the false sun’s glare whitened the glass of the inner windows, preventing them from revealing anything about the contents of the building’s offices.

  Once Matheson deemed the area not just safe but empty, the team jogged after the android, which seemed to be making a point by not waiting.

  Perhaps the puppeteer was growing impatient.

  Around a right-hand corner, down a short flight of rather average stairs, and through a small, tunnel-like hall to the left found them at an intricately carved, but narrow, wooden door. Flourishes, vines, and flowers covered its surface with undirected abandon.

  The android stood back and pointed, its arm fully extended.

  To Nika, it seemed to be saying, “Look, look there for the man behind the curtain.”

  Of course, its stance also reminded her of antiquated images of the grim reaper, pointing at some dark secret with its skeletal hand.

  Since the android would go no further, Matheson checked the door for hidden wires or buttons—anything that might trigger a trap. The many details of the door made the process grueling.

  “If they wanted to kill us, surely they could think of less roundabout ways to do it,” Nika said.

  Matheson rose from his task and glared
at her.

  “May I?” she asked, grasping the door handle.

  “Why am I even here?” he asked, waving her on.

  “For your dazzling wit,” she said, turning the handle.

  The door opened into a small round room with a high slanted ceiling. It was lit by a single, rectangular skylight. In the center sat a middle-aged man on a reclined throne of metal, plastic, and wires. Nodes lined his bald, pale head, and his eyes flickered rapidly behind their closed lids.

  Around the room were six closets, each with a fogged portal that emanated a subtle, pale peach glow.

  Quietly, the away team shuffled into the room, filling the empty space that encompassed the man on the throne.

  The android entered behind them, shut the door, and went limp.

  The man on the throne gasped and opened his eyes, arching away from the cushions. Startled, the convoy members pulled back simultaneously—like children amazed to find that the dead animal they’d been poking was very much alive. Their backs bumped up against the closets with a chorus of thuds.

  “IM interface,” croaked the man, his voice husky and dry, like an elderly man who had not found the effort to speak in a long time. His eyes focused on some far-off point beyond the skylight, and the muscles remained tense around his spine—he did not relax back into his seat. “IM RL interface. Q: RL? YRL. Disconnect?”

  His breathing came in quick, shallow gasps.

  “Is it a code?” asked Xu.

  Nika repeated the message, slowly, hoping that would help her make sense of it. “I-M-R-L interface. I-M-R-L. Q-R-L. Y-R-L. Matheson, are you still cut off from the ships?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn. Pavon might know—if it’s a code, I mean.”

  “Disconnect?” the man wheezed again.

  The group looked at each other, each hoping someone would come up with a brilliant response.

  “Marov, try your opener again,” prodded Matheson. “Do your ni hao, namaste thing.”

  Clearing her throat, Nika stepped forward and began, articulating each word with great care.

  “Access . . . DB: 2125 CE,” said the man in response, relaxing. Nika could feel her own muscles loosening. “PUMs,” he went on. “Access . . . server unit . . . archive . . . info . . . comm process . . . vocab, twenty-second cen . . . Rup, 10Q. Redirect. A-slash-N: A local: Ant Arc. RL, interfacers AFS. Rqst: trnsltr.” With a long, drawn out breath, the man closed his eyes again. “Wait.”

  “Sounds like gibberish,” said Johar.

  “No, there was something familiar about it,” said Nika. “I’ve seen it in the archives, read it. A-slash-N—that’s in a lot of historical papers . . . Author’s note. It stands for author’s note. I think they’re abbreviations.”

  “Why not use plain English?” scoffed Matheson.

  “It is,” she insisted. “Victorian English and twentieth-century American English are both English, though worlds apart. Two thousand years of linguistic evolution . . .”

  “But I get the impression,” Johar broke in, “that they don’t actually speak it. The man sounded pained.”

  “And Pavon insisted she hadn’t received anything from Earth—not even some garbled abrivo-speak,” said Xu.

  “Wait,” the man on the throne intoned again. “Wait.”

  “Wait for what?” asked Matheson. But the man said nothing else.

  No one speculated.

  Nika tried addressing the earthling again, but to no avail.

  “Now what?” asked Matheson, examining the android. It had not reactivated. “Are they leaving us to our own devices? Do they expect us to stay in here with this guy—” he waved haphazardly “—and whatever’s in—”

  He’d turned toward the nearest closet. As soon as he glimpsed what lay beyond the portal, he fell silent. Everyone else followed suit, peeking through the small windows.

  Two women and four men, all completely shaven and nearly naked, stood propped up, one in each closet. Nodes covered their bald heads—just like the man on the throne. But they were also plugged into IVs and catheters. The fog on the portals came from their breath—which was even and natural.

  “Cryosleep?” asked Xu.

  Nika put her palm against the glass. “It’s not cold. Room temperature. They’re not in suspended animation.”

  A clang drew every gaze in the room toward Matheson again. He’d pushed the android over. “This doesn’t feel right. I think we should get out of here,” he said.

  “Agreed,” chimed Johar, exiting the room. The others eagerly followed.

  They did not run, afraid it might draw unwanted attention—from where, they weren’t sure, since they’d only seen one other conscious human being—but their stroll was anything but casual as they left the room, turned down the hall, and pointed themselves toward the foyer.

  “I think we should go back to the surface and regroup. Can you work that elevator?” Nika asked Matheson. She hadn’t paid much attention on the way down.

  “I’m sure between the ten of us we can figure it out.” His eyes kept shifting, locating every nook and cranny an enemy could burst from.

  As they approached the entrance, a tall, reedy man strode through the open doorway. Light from the high windows revealed a young, eager face topped with shaggy corn-yellow hair. He wore a set of layered white-and-gray robes with a dark purple belt at the waist. Rather than baggy folds, the robe’s lines were clean—reminiscent of a well-tailored suit in the way they clung.

  The away team stopped dead—their retreat now blocked. Matheson nodded to his men—they’d mow the man down if they had to. Nika was about to order them to stand down, when something unexpected happened:

  The man spoke.

  “He-lo,” said the stranger. “My name Ephenza.” He thrust his arm toward them.

  Nika took a deep breath—finally, words and gestures she recognized—and inched forward, extending her hand as well. He did not move to meet her, but when she slipped her fingers into his, he shook her hand lightly.

  “Hello. My name is Nika Marov.”

  “I M twentieth centuries expert. Fluent twentieth-century English dialects. It be my pleasure to be ambassador. Tell me, actually part of PUMs?”

  “Pooms?” she mouthed. “Po— Oh, PUMs, Planet United Missions?”

  “Yes. But, all PUMs lost.”

  “What?”

  “None return. What number your convoy?”

  “Seven.”

  “Mission: Noumenon. Scheduled for return year 4045. You late.”

  “We had complications.” Her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest as she noted they hadn’t yet let go of each other’s hands. His palm was warm, dry, and very real.

  “But, you here now. Home.” His smile was welcoming—they’d made a genuine connection.

  “Yes,” she said, breathy. She clasped his hand more tightly, resisting the urge to pull him into a hug. “There’s no place like it.”

  There were no hordes of onlookers. No cameras, no microphones thrust into her face. Just Ephenza.

  They brought him back to the surface, then up to the convoy. The doctors on Hippocrates put him in quarantine—which Ephenza graciously endured—for forty-eight hours, before giving him a snot-mask of his own.

  “I be your primary contact,” he told Nika while still in an isolation chamber. They spoke through an intercom, and watched each other through layers of glass. “You lack means of appropriate interface.”

  Which meant Nika wouldn’t be delivering speeches to the world, or talks at international conferences. She’d tell Ephenza, and he’d tell whoever needed to know. It was her dream come true: she could make grand history without being worried she’d make an incompetent ass of herself.

  “I already alerted people of import . . . importance,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “Meeting arranged.”

  “For us?” she asked. “With the, uh, people of importance?” Her hands were clasped tightly behind her back. That was the only way she could control t
he tremors of excitement running through them.

  “They look findings,” Ephenza said. He sat on a plain white cot with his robes gathered around him.

  “At our mission’s findings?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Five day.” He held up five fingers to illustrate.

  “That’s so soon.”

  “What soon—you been gone thousands years. Five day not soon,” he said with a wink.

  Nika pulled a ‘flex-sheet from her bag, ready to take notes. “Who needs to be there? Captain Rodriguez, the scientific heads—who else?”

  “Small party. Who you think necessary.”

  “Right.”

  So many questions swirled through her mind. She tried to focus on the task at hand, the presentation, but other topics kept boiling to the surface. Eventually she had to ask: “What about the other convoys?”

  Ephenza frowned. “None come back.”

  Nika leaned toward the microphone, unsure they understood each other. “None? There were twelve—” technically eleven, the littlest . . . it had gone missing “—and we were late . . . none of the ones scheduled to arrive before us have . . . ?”

  “None.”

  “What about communi . . .” she trailed off midword. Earth had changed its communication habits, and her convoy had been abandoned. Their messages hadn’t been disrupted by catastrophe, or accident— Earth had evolved its methods and simply not bothered to inform the Planet United ships. Why? Why had they allowed the SD communication servers to die? Why had they given up on them?

  She wanted to ask, but she knew it would seem combative. She didn’t want to risk offending him. They were still on fragile ground.

  “Tell me about interacting with your people,” she said. “That man back in the underground city, he wasn’t used to speaking.”

  “Communication all through here.” He pointed to his forehead. “Through to there.” He pointed at her forehead. “No vocal, no jaw-bounce.”