Space, Inc

by Julie E. Czerneda

  I couldn’t help myself. I blurted out, “My father! You know my father?”

  His smile returned. “Yes. And from your reaction, I know now that he has been trustworthy and discreet. We met at the collegium, but I will tell you more of that shortly. I only ask that you permit me to finish what I have to say before asking any questions.”

  If his novel wasn’t enough to make me adhere to his request—and I assure you it was—Dr. Aly’wanshus of Aaul’in had a willingly captive audience now.

  He began:

  “My people have believed for many millennia that we were alone in the universe. In truth, we have never even contemplated the existence of other beings or systems beyond our own. Unlike humans, who have long had a tradition of literature that speculates about other life and worlds, we have no literature of the fantastic—no true literature at all. Writing is limited strictly to religious purposes for recording certain important events.

  “Believing ourselves the only intelligent life in the universe, we have developed a philosophy of life, a religion, if you will. We have always believed that the universe is a deity—the Unali’wahnah. Everything in the universe, which we believed consisted of only the few planets of our solar system, our two moons and sun, make up the physical being of Unali’wahnah.

  “We believe that we, the Aaul’inah, are the very mind of Unali’wahnah. As though each of us is one ‘brain cell’ of It. Thus, every action we take, every statement we make, every interaction we conduct, is a function of the thoughts of Unali’wahnah. This is why, were you to visit our world, you would see that most things are quite peaceful, orderly, and deliberate. After all, who would wish to disrupt the thoughts of a god?

  “And so it was for countless millennia … until your ship came.

  “We had developed technology, as innovation is seen as the maturing of Unali’wahnah. One of our advances was space travel. Some two hundred or so of your years ago, it was decided by our leadership council that we would reach out to the moons, for as part of Unali’wahnah’s mind, the Aaul’inah should have a presence there. And so it was that we had ships to turn the Chicago away.

  “It was fear that made us do so. Genuine, all-encompassing fear. Suddenly, after so long alone, another part of Unali’wahnah—a part that should not exist—had come to us. And when we sent it away, it left and didn’t come back. As the action of the mind of Unali’wahnah, our people should have automatically perceived this as a correct action. But, there was concern that we might have mistakenly denied Unali’wahnah another part of Its maturation.

  “We had the capability of tracking this mysterious visitor, for we had long ago developed the technology to look out across Unali’wahnah, though we had apparently never looked in the proper direction to discover your kind. By tracking the Chicago, we discovered that there were other worlds, with living beings on them.

  “Our leaders debated among themselves in closed council sessions for many years, and finally determined to officially ignore your existence. But, secretly, scouts were sent out, and we monitored your transmissions and nets. You may have discovered the scout on Hurst, but many others have monitored your colonies for a long time.

  “Then, not only were our leaders and space teams aware of you, but our population became aware as well. For your people began to transmit messages to our planet, in a crude version of our language. Our leaders tried to deny your existence, saying that the transmissions were a garbled test of a new communications system for the moon bases. But it was too late.

  “My colleagues and I are determined to discover the truth about your people. We knew the truth of your existence because we are the hereditary heirs to seats on the council. Our parents were Obligated to keep us informed, should any of us need to succeed them on short notice. Obviously, we were forbidden from telling others about you.

  “I am the senior member of the group. I will be the first of the ‘new thinkers’ to join the council, but we will not have a significant number of like-minded councillors for many years yet. In any event, it will be a difficult and lengthy process to get our people to recognize you in any substantial way. That is the daunting task that looms before me.

  “Although we are expected to replace our parents at the appropriate time, we must also have an occupation until that time. I wished to be an educator, and was assigned to educate young adult Aaul’inah in space sciences. Such is my claim to the human title ‘Doctor’ or ‘Professor.’

  “When the transmission came from the collegium inviting us to exchange personnel, it was summarily dismissed by the council. But I knew of it and had the means to reply. So I secretly managed to leave our world and came to your collegium.

  “Your father was among those with whom I worked. He is a brilliant physicist and he taught me much about the unseen universe, as well as how to improve communications between our planets.

  “I sent you my novel both because your father spoke so highly of you, and because of my admiration for the books you have edited. I suppose I wanted to see if my effort was worthy of your attention. At the very least, it pleases me to have met both of the Bradden men—the man of science and the man of letters.

  “My ship leaves in two days, and I will be essentially stranded on Aaul’in for many years. The time draws near for me to succeed my mother on the council. I must return home and discover whether my original excuse for this absence is still acceptable to my parents. If I am successful, I will take my seat on the council and begin to strive for open relations between our peoples.

  “If I am unsuccessful, I will face the penalty for disobeying the orders of the council. I will spend the rest of my life in solitude; cut off from my people; unable to take my part in the mind of Unali’wahnah”

  He didn’t settle back into his chair, as a human who’d finished telling a story would, but the finger tapping stopped. It suddenly occurred to me that he’d been tapping to keep musical time while making such a lengthy speech in a foreign language—like a metronome with an odd timing I couldn’t quite follow.

  “This is certainly different from how I’d thought this meeting might go,” I said.

  He laughed a strong, hearty, musical laugh. “I don’t suppose it is like anything I anticipated two years ago either. When I came here, I had no idea what to expect. And I have tried to repay the things I have learned with the many things I have taught my colleagues at the collegium, and the little I’ve shared with you today.”

  Now he sat forward, and it was obvious our species shared at least that outward expression of eagerness. “Please. I am so happy to have you here, but I’ve taken up more than enough of your valuable time. I must ask you about my novel.”

  I sat forward as well. “I’m in no hurry, Doctor. If what you say is true, I won’t likely get the opportunity to share a conversation with an Aaul’inah for some time, if ever again. However, you’ve done me a great honor today. And I’m going to repay it now.

  “In simple terms, Beyond Here is fabulous. Doctor, you have created the most riveting, original science fiction story I have ever come across. We humans are inured to space travel and alien races these days—the Aaul’inah excepted, I suppose. I can get decent re-creations of the classic sf story types from Terence Jool and Skye Perrin …”

  “I did like Perrin’s Starship Waterloo” Aly’wanshus commented, “Though it wasn’t as good as that Heinlein in your Twentieth-Century Classics collection last year.”

  I nodded. “That is my point. We’re stuck on trite ideas of interstellar adventure and bipedal aliens—despite having relationships with four species that don’t fit that bill. We just don’t seem able to produce truly new ideas any more.

  “You, however, have. I mean, we’ve done tales of interdimensional travel, alternate universes, and the like. But the one you’ve created is totally unique. And you’ve actually managed to capture the human element of your explorers, without our stereotypes.

  “I want to publish Beyond Here. I have to publish Beyond Here.”
>
  His earbuds appeared again. “I am honored, Mr. Bradden.”

  “It’s Del.”

  “Del.” His earbuds slowed, settling back into place. “Del, I am not certain that would be possible. Publication would reveal my presence here. And everything my friends and I are working for would be compromised.”

  “Not necessarily.” I quickly continued. “The work has to be translated into English, and slightly edited. It can be published under a human pseudonym. As much as I would love to broadcast all over NewsNet that K&T and Del Bradden are publishing the very first English-language novel by a nonhuman, I’m willing to forgo the recognition just so I can publish this book.”

  “You barely know me, Del. Why would you do that for me?”

  I sighed, “I wish this could be the great uniting moment for our peoples, Doctor. But, at the very least, let me make you a published author. I’d hate to send you home with this novel still in your trunk.”

  He laughed again, “Two years ago, I wouldn’t have understood what you meant by that. I wouldn’t have known what an author or a trunk was, or why it might be important. Today … I want to give you your wish.”

  My jaw dropped. I’d thought the politics of his situation would outweigh all the rest.

  He reached out to shake my hand. “Your father tells me it is customary to seal a business transaction like so.”

  I reached out as well. “In my business, we usually finalize it with a contract and payment.”

  “We will need to keep the contract itself secret, Del. Your father did arrange to use his corporation to quietly handle my affairs on Christea. I suppose the ‘royalties’—is that the term?—can go into the spending account he set up for me when I arrived. Perhaps someday I will return to spend it. Or others of my kind will make use of it.” Our hands met.

  So … why am I sitting here telling you all this? Is Del Bradden a man of his word or not? Is he so eager to publicize his grand publishing achievement that he’d betray an alien being too far away to do anything about it?

  No. It’s because circumstances change. Sometimes in ways we can’t conceive.

  Ordinarily, the acquisition stage of book publication is boring to the general public. And it may be so in this case. I’ll give you the short version.

  I returned to the office late in the afternoon and made a quick comm call to my father. He was smiling the instant he saw me on his screen. Apparently, Aly’wanshus had informed him of our meeting. Dad said he was thrilled that the cat was out of the bag with me. We agreed on how to set up the contract, and to have a long talk over (and after) dinner that night.

  I printed out the basic translation for Mr. Burke’s review. The author, I said, was an eccentric crewman from one of the original colony ships, who lived in Star Falls (the conveniently distant town where my father had set up the Doctor’s account). I told Mr. Burke we could have the book for a song, and the author wanted any money from it to accrue to his account for any family members who might come to Christea at some later date.

  Mr. Burke read it that night, and loved it. “Could use a bit of editorial polish, Del. But, I think you’ve got something special here. Give the old fellow ten percent above our usual first-timer advance. We all owe quite a bit to the ones who weren’t born here.”

  About twenty minutes after the contract was signed, and the advance transferred, Dr. Aly’wanshus’ ship lifted off. And he left Christea for good.

  Even in this age of the electronic distribution of books over ColNet and SolNet, book production is not instantaneous. Well … quality book production, anyway. And I’m a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to my work. It took me a few months to properly edit Beyond Here. Not because it needed a lot of work, but simply because any revisions I made had to be absolutely perfect. At the very least, I owed it to Aly’wanshus to be sure I delivered the closest thing to his original vision for the story. When I keyed it in as approved for distribution, I was sure I had delivered.

  Mr. Burke agreed to do some publicity for the novel. We made no false claims about the author; just called him “a brilliant new talent in a classic mold.”

  Beyond Here was released to the general public under the pseudonym Steven Forrester. And sold like no novel had since the colonies were founded.

  The reviews glowed like … well … like Aly’wanshus’ fictitious transition coil drive. “Rich in detail and language.” “A literary masterwork from a lost genre.” “Should be required reading at all secondary school levels.” And my favorite: “Here’s hoping Forrester’s follow-up is already on his editor’s comp.”

  Ten months at #1 on every bestseller list, out here and on Earth.

  In truth, the book lasted at #1 longer than that. But when it had been out for six months, things started to change.

  I was promoted to full editor, with my science fiction releases coming out under our (my) new StarSong line.

  Four months later, I arrived at the office one morning. My new assistant, Helene, also came in every day, and she greeted me cheerily. I was lucky to find someone who loved her job as much as I loved mine. I even made a promise to myself that if she stayed a year I’d let her choose a work-from-home day, if she wanted one.

  I dropped into my chair, and read my internal messages. Meeting at midmorning. Lunch with Mr. Burke. Drinks with influential mediator in the evening.

  Then, I opened my external messages.

  And there it was.

 

  Mr. Del Bradden

  K&T Publishers

  16 Elray Circle

  Landfall CHRISTEA

  Dear Mr. Bradden:

  Attached please find my science fiction novel The Terran Seven for publication by your company.

  I feel certain that you are the appropriate editor for this novel. While I do not know Steven Forrester personally, I believe he and I share a certain philosophy and upbringing. My reading indicates that Beyond Here carries far deeper levels of meaning than your regular readership can recognize. The Terran Seven is similarly composed.

  Please listen to my novel. Messages to this address will reach me, subject to a slight delay in response.

  Thank you for your time.

  Sincerely,

  Wilosh’yata

 

  It was the first of three such submissions that arrived on my comp that week. One more arrived the next week—two more the following. And it continues to this day. So far, I’ve published every one of them.

  I often wonder if the Aaul’inah authors will ever reveal their very successful contact with humans to the rest of their kind. Dr. Aly’wanshus had hoped to change the ideas of his people. All I can do to assist him is to keep their secret as long as they wish.

 

 

  * * *

  Sean P. Fodera spent his high school and college years attending SF cons and dreaming of working (and writing) in the science fiction and fantasy field. An unrevealed number of years later, he became the Director of Contracts, Subsidiary Rights and Electronic Publishing at a major New York science fiction/fantasy publishing house. “Attached Please Find My Novel” is Sean’s first professionally published short story, and marks the fulfillment of the second of his genre dreams. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his lovely wife Amy and their two adorable children Christina and Austin.

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  LEREESA Norton watched the yellow-and-black shuttle complete its docking maneuver and sighed, only partly at the delicate beauty of the winged rocket-plane’s movements against the silver glitter of the stars and the blackness of space, the stabbing flicker of the guidance rockets, and the remnant red glow of its vents.

  When I got this job … an actual chance to work in space! What’s that old saying? Be careful what you wish for: you may get it.

  What she’d wanted was to work for the station in a real job, not as a glorified shepherd for groundlings. She felt like a fraud in her stone-gray close-fitting ship suit.

  Here I am on the glorious high frontier … bored now, she thought, running a hand over her close-cut, loosely-curled black hair—she was of North American-Columbian-Zulu-English descent, a wiry brown young woman with regular, high-cheeked features and green eyes. She’d never imagined men that she could be so bored.

  God, I’d almost welcome a catastrophe!

  Boredom had an actual physical sensation, something like a low-order tension headache combined with indigestion and sleepiness. It was like a cold—it made you feel stupid and lethargic without actually crippling you. Just being in space wasn’t all that thrilling, once you’d been here for a while. The endless shiny whitish beige of the corridors and compartments, the recycled antiseptic cleanliness of the air and everything else, seeing the same people every day— unless you were doing something unusual, it was far too much like being imprisoned in a submarine. Granted the view was better, but a good holo could give you something so close you couldn’t tell the difference.

  The tourists she guided were carefully steered away from the station’s real functions—where her interest lay—and were enthusiastically encouraged to visit and stay in the civilian entertainment and medical areas, which most preferred to do anyway. That was like New Disney World, only with low gravity.