by Richard Gohl
“Well done Ryan, that’s given us plenty to think about!” said Wez “What the…?” said Alia slowly, looking wide eyed at the other women.
“They’ve found habitable planets that will take less than ten years travel,” said Wez “Get him out now,” said Alia.
“Ryan come back.” Madi shushed everyone as Ryan made his way back through the different doorways and arrived in the physical world again.
“What’s going on?” asked Ryan, sitting up and looking at them. “It sounds like they’re going!” said Bes.
“The Napeans?” said Ryan
“And they’re leaving us behind,” confirmed Alia. “Well of course they are!” said Madi
“This is huge.” said Alia
“What did it mean?” asked Madi. “…planets are the same.”
Wez spoke slowly, “2 of the 9 hospitable planets are … twin planets.”
“What does that mean?” asked Bes
“That …those two planets in that system are the same.” said Wez
Chapter 31
A Tonic and a Debrief
IN THE REAL world there were an amazing number of bars per head of capita. There were small hole in the wall bars that were just a long, high, stone table with some stools, poor lighting and some background noise or music. There were big bars hewn from the natural rock, such as the ones that existed next to each transdome; large, open, split-level with lots of recycled wood and building material salvaged from ancient city or picked up from the Napean rubbish heap, broad windows and plenty to do. They were unlike any of the other underworld buildings—high roof, big front door and huge rooms. They usually had large front windows so that passersby could see the fun going on within. The modern pub had a room for everything: pub sports, pub movies, pub music, pub food, pub meeting, pub gambling and probably any other activity known to humanity.
When Alia asked Wez to meet him for a drink, hope leapt in his chest, before he was aware that she just wanted to talk about the network information. With the lubrication of alcohol and the required intimacy of bar conversations—it would be easy for Wez to misread the signs. He’d have to be careful.
Madi was spending more time with Ryan, Claire was busy as usual and Bes was meeting a man somewhere. It was possible they might see her later.
Alia came passed Wez’s house to collect him. He had been looking at an algorithm, which represented part of the design for the Napean network. Its existence was still something of a mystery. He was developing a theory that, as well as being a virtual object, the network, actually existed somewhere physically.
She let herself in, yelling out, “Wez! I’m here!” and strolled into his lounge. Her smile made him feel like his entire being was encapsulated in warm honey, pleasantly sweet but completely paralyzing. She went to his cold room and grabbed a bottle of beer. “Traveller?” she called out to him. She opened one, taking a long swig, and then threw another across the room. Luckily he caught it. “Oops. Better open that one outside,” she advised.
Alia set a cracking pace as they walked to the pub. No one strolled in the underworld streets; there was nothing to look at. They went to one of the large transdome bars. They intended to get a seat, but it was busy, so just they stood quite close to the bar, drinking and talking. He struggled to concentrate as she placed her lips close to his ear to make herself heard. But as the conversation developed momentum, he started to relax.
Looking around the bar, one could see all shapes and sizes. Gnarled faces, hairy faces, red faces, pale faces. Some of the younger ones sat in small groups talking, with one or two doing most of the work while other members sat in various states of interest. There were older patrons sitting on their own, glad to be doing no work at all and in various states of inebriation. Several sat almost in a state of reverie, meditating on some facet of their life, or were simply just relieved as the alcohol massaged the brain into a state free from pain and worry.
Alia and Wez were animated as they talked. They had both always believed that biota would be found on other planets. It seemed that life was like fire—a freakish accident requiring only some basic ingredients. Yet they were disturbed by the information they had found and that it had been kept secret.
“There was a staggering amount of information there,” said Wez.
Alia replied: “I’ve been in a daze since hearing it. I feel like we’re just one tree in a huge, never-ending forest.” The idea seemed to be causing her physical discomfort. She wriggled her shoulders and ground her fingertips into her hair. Wez was thinking, She’s so cute when she’s trying to work something out! And then he reassessed: It’s not that; she’s just so cute.
It took him a while to respond. “Well, we are descended from tree monkeys…”
“I think you might be missing my point,” said Alia.
“No,” clarified Wez. “I mean we’re like monkeys who depend on that tree... and we don’t know how to move to another tree.”
“They must be doing light speed…” said Alia, remotely.
“It can’t be nuclear power; that went out years ago. They were working on mortifism as a power source. It’s almost free energy.”
“Oh! The stuff from black holes?”
“Partly—axion matter.”
“Who would want to travel, though? The universe is horrid,” said Alia, half-jokingly. “I know,” agreed Wez.
“I mean, look at what the sun did to us! We were just sitting quietly on our own planet, minding our own business, then POW!”
“True,” said Wez. “Technically, we shouldn’t even be here.”
“But we survived!” said Alia positively.
“We just keep finding ways of perpetuating ourselves,” said Wez. “And that’s a bad thing? You think we should just end it all?”
“Maybe. Probably the intelligent option,” he said, taking a long draught of a light brown amber fluid.
“But,” said Alia, “we’ve stumbled across information as important as… the Bible, only it’s factual... and you think that now is a good time to flick the switch?”
“So we’ve learned that our planet is one of many that are habitable but we can’t get to any of them. Our boat’s sinking, there’s an island just over there… but we can’t swim,” he observed.
“It is actually worse than that,” said Alia.
“Oh, really?” Wez liked talking philosophy with anyone; this was bliss. “Why is it worse?” he asked.
“Because our boat was sunk by some other people, on another fine boat just over there,” said Alia.
“Mmm. Well, it’s time we put a little hole in the side of their plans,” he said.
“What’s the point of starting a war with them when neither of us are leaving? I mean, how do we know they haven’t cracked it?” she asked.
“Cracked what?” asked Wez.
“All we have to do is get half way to light speed and we can visit our neighbors! Or at least something quicker than those old golf buggies we get around in…”
“I’m sure aliens would have already invented golf buggies…” said Wez.
“Yes, probably even funnier if they’d already invented golf… as a means of combat and hit you over the head with a nine iron,” said Alia.
Wez laughed at her joke. She liked him doing that—laughing at her joke. She liked him a lot. Wouldn’t do him, though. At least, she didn’t think she would.
“Anyway, we need to summarize this whole thing, if we’re going to,” said Alia.
“Easier said than done,” said Wez, trying to maintain his rational brain. “We have to rely on their summary…”
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“Well, let’s—as you say—establish the main points, have one more look through the Napean memory banks, and then work out a plan.”
Chapter 32
Luhrman in Pursuit
THAT SAME DAY Mark Luhrman exited through the Stirling Gate with all the other real workers heading back underground for the day. He ma
de his way as far south as he could, arranged accommodation in one of the many hydro communes, and started work the very next day. The work was tough and hot, but on the positive side, once a crop had been planted, tended, and harvested, workers had a certain amount of free time and Mark began scouring all the transdome bars, private drinking houses, from Blackwood to Belair, and then up to Stirling—some twenty-five in total.
He wasn’t the world’s most sociable or charismatic guy. Chatting with random people wasn’t his forte. But it didn’t matter where he went, everybody had an opinion on the bloody Napeans.
He got better at it.
His early attempts at espionage conversation were poor. He’d sidle up to someone and say, “How about those Napeans, eh?” He was usually met with a sideways glance or a vague nod of the head as someone waited to buy a drink. But soon Mark learned that it was better to raise certain specific issues.
“Rumour is, they’re leaving…” always worked well. Along with “Reminds me of my son…” Mark had a whole story about his “son” and the son’s tragic abduction, ready to reel-off on cue. Another good topic to drop into conversation was: “Yeah, well, if it keeps cooling down up there I guess we’ll have the planet back!”
Some were terrified of even talking aloud about the Napeans after the gassing in 2202, but most real people felt so removed from anything going on “up there” that it didn’t take much cider to be freely speaking what was on their minds.
Of course, being passionate and being completely drunk went hand-in-hand, and Mark had a number of times fuelled conversations about the Napeans and then had to leave the bar because it had all become too scary.
It was always better to be having a conversation rather than no conversation. Something was better than nothing; how people loved to talk! One such conversation led Mark exactly to where he wanted to go. He had been talking to a man who had clearly had five too many—but Mark knew that one person could lead to another and that perseverance was the key.
This particular man’s name was Byron. They’d been discussing the gas drop. Most real people found it too traumatic to talk about. The drunken man had been suggesting reprisals and getting excited at his own ideas. Mark hadn’t been showing a lot of interest, yet the drunken man continued suggesting increasingly extreme ways of exacting revenge on the Napeans, and then decided that it would be a good idea to involve the couple standing behind Mark.
“What d’you think?” said the drunk guy over Mark’s shoulder to an Athena of a woman, standing behind them. “I dn’t it about time we got even with those plastics up there?”
“Yeah, whatever, mate,” the tall woman yelled back at him. She was standing at the bar in quiet conversation with a guy with a shaved head and a three-day growth.
“So you’s would agree that we should…?” he persisted. The tall woman cut him off: “Sorry, I’m involved in another conversation here.” She feigned a polite nod and turned back to her friend.
“Well, iss not rocket science, love,” the drunk slurred. She ignored him.
“Oi!” The man started yelling at her. “We all live… here, together… you got no right to act like you’re…” he forgot what he was saying and then moved toward the woman, putting his hand on her shoulder. Rather than intercede, Mark noticed the woman’s companion put his hand on his brow and start shaking his head.
The woman shrugged off the drunk’s hand and spun around to face him. She was slightly taller.
Astoundingly, the drunk then threw a punch at her. As his right “jab” came towards her,
half-mast though it was, with her left hand she slapped his fist in the direction it was already travelling but more downward, forcing the right arm to fold down over the left—all in one continuous movement. Her right hand, which had been hovering, slapped his face, hard.
“Oh fuuuck,” moaned the drunk, putting his hand up over his cheek and eye. He wandered off out the front door with everyone looking at him.
Mark was stunned by the woman’s striking qualities.
She looked bemused, shook her head, and then turned back to the bar, ordering more drinks. The bald man with her was pulling a face at Mark, cringing, and said, “She did say that she didn’t want a conversation…”
“I know,” said Mark. “Sorry, I don’t know the guy; I just came in for a quiet drink!” The bald guy gave a curt nod and turned to look for the woman at the bar. Mark was confident enough to override a little snub. He continued, “I’m not from around here… no, actually, it’s the anniversary of my son’s…” Mark stopped himself short, and then said, “I’m very sorry. Sorry to have bothered you.”
The bald man had turned back to face him, saying. “It’s okay—it’s fine…”
Mark chose to misinterpret the remark: “Oh, thank you, but I don’t want to intrude, really…” The tall woman arrived with the drinks and said to her friend, “Is this guy bothering you?” She smiled.
The bald man turned to her, saying under his breath, “Won’t take a hint.” Mark pretended not to hear and said, “Just lubricating the grieving process… anniversaries…” Mark closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly.
“Sorry to hear that,” said the bald man, exchanging a glance with the woman. They both stood there waiting for Mark to find some self-esteem and walk away, but he just stood there. The woman cracked first—she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Whose anniversary?” she asked with a little head wobble. Her friend, the bald man looked up at the roof in frustration, thinking, Great!—now we’re stuck with him!
“Oh, my son. He was abducted on this day two years ago,” said Mark, trying to establish strong eye contact with both of them. “His mother and I have driven each other crazy ever since. I moved down here for a while. I guess you could say we split.”
“Is that right?” said the woman. “We were just talking about that, weren’t we, Wez?” The bald guy, Wez, didn’t respond.
“I’m Alia. This is Wez.”
“Mark.” They all shook hands. Wez faked a smile and gave a nod. Mark shuddered as he shook hands, realizing these were the people he’d been looking for. Momentarily, he was speechless.
“Sorry to hear all that,” said Alia. “We’ve both lost children.”
“You don’t say,” said Mark shaking his head, “I’m very sorry to have brought all this up…”
Wez, Realizing he couldn’t win, tried to make the best of the situation. “What was his name?”
Mark, somewhat stunned by the whole situation, said “Sorry? Who?”
“Your son. What was his name,” said Alia.
“Oh, er David,” said Mark.
“Well here’s to David,” said Alia. “May you be reunited, one day.” They clinked ceramic mugs and said “To David.”
“And yours?” said Mark, “What was your child’s name?”
“Wanda,” said Alia.
“To Wanda,” said Mark. They clinked again.
“Yep, Wanda…” said Alia wistfully, “she sure liked to Wander.”
“She did?” said Mark
“Seriously, the kid couldn’t keep still. I let her outa my sight for a minute—she took off;
I never saw her again.”
“And were you… I mean did you guys go through this together?” asked Mark. “Oh… no!” said Alia with a laugh. Wez looked at her.
“Wanda’s father died before she was born. Killed actually, by a Napean guard. And my daughter… when I say she wandered off…she was taken off, just like your son. Whoever the fuck stole her… I’ve got a pretty good idea where she ended up!” Alia cursed again, annoyed she’d become so upset so quickly.
“Yeah,” continued Mark, “since I’ve been out on my own I keep running into people who have had this experience. Something’s got to be done.”
“Don’t worry it is,” said Alia. Wez shot her a look which Mark pretended not to notice. “Hey.” said Wez to Alia. “Do we just talk like that?”
“No I guess we don’t.” said
Alia, feeling reproached.
Mark pretended to zone back into the conversation and said “if there was something we could all do, I’d be up for it.”
“Y’know what,” said Wez, “sometimes a few of us get together. There are many people down here who would like answers too. Obviously we must be ultra careful. Are you trustworthy?” Wez, who up to this point had seemed to Mark like a pushover, suddenly straightened up and stared him straight in the eye.
Mark nodded to conceal his lie: “Yeah completely—I don’t even know anyone down this end of town.”
“Can I contact you?” asked Wez. “Yeah there’s a line at my co-op.”
Wez got Mark’s number. Mark couldn’t believe his luck. Sweet eternity was knocking on the door.
Chapter 33
Lone Wolf
“CAN WE JUST shoot them if we find them?” asked Charles, joking.
“Ah no.” said Shane. Although they were friends, Shane had always been highly competitive in their relationship and Charles knew that Shane thought himself slightly superior. Shane took great pride in letting Charles know that Belair security had a much better record than Crafers, which was under Charles’ command.
Shane would joke about anything, but when they were working together he suddenly became the responsible leader. This annoyed Charles so that any joke that might subvert his friend’s little power trip, was always worthwhile.
“Either SCID is being particularly useless, or this person’s got some other way out,” said Shane.
“Could be a false alarm,” said Charles hopefully, “and anyway, don’t pretend you give a damn…”
“I don’t have ‘real freeloaders on my turf…” said Shane stiffly.
Charles’ head moved side to side as he enunciated the words: “Uunless you’ve got them on the payroll.”