Penumbra

by Eric Brown

  Speechless, they stared at the pix of Paris a century old.

  ‘Okay,’ Bennett said. ‘Silly question: how the hell did it get here?’

  Mackendrick said, ‘Let’s go through the cabins again. Check everything. There must be something else that might explain what the hell’s going on here.’

  For the second time they searched the deserted settlement.

  Bennett had no idea what made him look up, back towards the transporter and beyond. He stepped from the first cabin, having found nothing other than the broken chair, and glanced at the distant mountains, then the transporter reflecting warped highlights of the gas giant. Behind the vehicle was the long, low rise of the earthwork. His heart hammering, hardly daring to hope that he was right, he set off up the hillside. Mackendrick and Ten Lee were going through the second row, and he didn’t want to alert them in case he was mistaken.

  He passed the transporter and ran the last fifty metres. The ground underfoot became soft, waterlogged. The hill rose before him, the purple grass covering the shape of something long and low, and strangely familiar.

  He knelt and tore away a handful of purple grass, revealing a section of silver metal.

  He stood and walked along the length of the sunken structure. He pulled at the vegetation, which came away easily, and peered down. This section of the upper bodywork had been removed, no doubt in the process of cannibalisation, and only the struts and spars of the framework remained. He climbed down, using the frame of the skeletal ship as a ladder, and found himself in the hold of a colony liner, a vast central chamber like the nave of a cathedral, illuminated by the pale light of Tenebrae falling through the rent he had made high above.

  He stepped forward, moving down the length of the ship. He imagined its final descent, the inability of this cumbersome, clumsy craft to negotiate the storms that lashed the planet. He saw it ploughing into the plain, nosing up a bow wave of soil. He considered the terror of the thousands of colonists as they imagined death on an alien world so far from home.

  There was very little of the ship left other than its shell and framework, and much of that had been removed, no doubt taken to help with the construction of a more permanent settlement elsewhere. The settlement of cabins had been a temporary measure, makeshift accommodation for colonists while they dismantled and transported parts of the ship to a more viable site. This completed, they had departed the cabins, leaving only broken furniture, and the tantalising pix of the Eiffel Tower. And over the years the starship had slowly submerged into the bog, and the vegetation of Penumbra had gone to work and reclaimed the land ploughed by the starship.

  He paused beside a flange of outer panelling that had come loose from the framework of the flank and fallen. On the panel, excoriated by its transit through the void and faded by the storms, he could just make out the red, white and blue logo of the Francois Aeronautics Line.

  He wondered how it had found itself so far off course, on the Rim of the galaxy instead of in the safe cone of inhabited space known as the Expansion. Unless, of course, they had set out deliberately to explore this far afield. It would be just like the French, with a gesture combining bravery and bravura, to flout convention and head for the Rim.

  He considered the events of the short day, the discovery of the ruins and the wreck of the liner. It was ironic that, of the two finds, it was that of the old liner from Earth which had filled him most with wonder, made him forget for however brief a moment the fact of himself, his cares and concerns. He turned and made his way back along the length of the ship, hurrying to tell Mackendrick and Ten Lee what he had discovered.

  He was climbing up towards the rent he had made in the grass when he heard the sound of laser fire burning through the air. His heart kicked. Laser fire . . . not pulser fire. Which meant that someone other than Mack and Ten Lee was doing the shooting.

  He reached the hole in the grass and peered through.

  Down below in the settlement a cabin was burning, filling the twilight with its garish illumination. He tried to make sense of the scene. He saw two vehicles bounce to a halt outside the settlement, absurdly spindly contraptions with balloon tyres and next to no bodywork. Perhaps a dozen men - small dark figures at this distance, but obviously human - poured from the vehicles and ran towards where Mackendrick and Ten Lee stood with their arms above their heads. One of the humans fired again, setting to flame a nearby cabin, a display of blatant overkill given that Mack and Ten had already surrendered.

  The humans swarmed around their prisoners, old-fashioned laser rifles levelled and ready, and gestured for

  Mackendrick and Ten Lee to move towards the closer balloon-tyred vehicle.

  Slowly, arms still in the air, they obliged.

  Bennett watched, considering his options. If he attacked now, attempting to free his friends, he would be hopelessly outnumbered. He wouldn’t stand a chance, and his actions would probably get Ten and Mack killed as well as himself. It would be wiser to wait, bide his time. He’d remain in hiding until the humans left the settlement, and then follow at a safe distance in the transporter. At some point he would leave the vehicle and continue on foot. He was armed. He would have the advantage of surprise. He would find where Ten Lee and Mack were being kept and attempt to effect their rescue.

  The humans boarded their vehicles and drove off, bouncing over the purple grass. They moved quietly, obviously electric-powered, their wide tyres leaving helpful tracks in the vegetation.

  Then the transporter started up, and he told himself that he should have known they were hardly likely to leave behind such a valuable resource as a fully equipped transporter.

  Okay, a slight change of plan. He would follow on foot, find where Ten Lee and Mackendrick were being held, and get them out.

  He watched the transporter and the balloon-tyred vehicles pass into the glare behind the burning cabins. He waited long minutes, aware of the laboured thudding of his heart. There were no signs that the humans had left any of their party. The only movement was the dance of shadows as the cabins burned themselves out.

  Heart racing, he climbed from the starship and ran towards the settlement, feeling suddenly vulnerable out in the open. He passed the burning cabins and paused behind the last shack in the row. After the brightness of the flames, it was some time before his vision adjusted to the twilight. The distant minor sun provided meagre illumination, perhaps twice that of a full moon on Earth. He made out the mountains narrowing on either side, the plain sloping off to the left and eventually, a kilometre or so away, ending in a pass between high foothills. In the pale starlight the tracks of the vehicles showed as dark parallel lines of flattened vegetation.

  Bennett left the sanctuary of the last cabin and jogged across the plain to the three sets of tracks in the grass. He slowed to a walk, his breath coming with difficulty. He had tried to work out on Redwood Station, using the gym every other day, but he had only maintained a low level of fitness. It was no preparation for a long-distance run.

  He peered ahead. Far away, on the pass between the enfolding foothills, he could just make out the three small shapes of the beetling vehicles.

  He combined jogging with long stretches of walking, taking deep breaths through his nose. Soon the weight of the rifle became a burden. The absurd notion of ditching it brought to mind the very real fact that soon he might have to use it to free his friends. The thought of killing people, even those who had captured Ten Lee and Mack, filled him with dread. He set the rifle to stun.

  Perhaps an hour later the plain narrowed and rose towards the pass high above. He paused, knelt and regained his breath. He looked up at the crest of the incline, wondering what he might find beyond. Christ, but there might be kilometres to go yet, before he came to the humans’ permanent settlement.

  Bennett stood and set off, refusing to contemplate the possibility. The climb was enervating after the distance he had already covered. He stopped often, kneeling to rest his legs and fill his lungs. The crest was elusiv
e, an optical illusion that seemed never to get any closer.

  At last he slowed and moved to the rugged ground where the hillside rose in a tumble of rocks. He would proceed with caution from here; he had no desire to walk straight into trouble. He crept over the uneven terrain, keeping his gaze fixed ahead, alert to the slightest movement. He came to the highest point of the pass, stood and peered down.

  The land fell away acutely from here, forming a vast valley lodged between the converging mountains. On the near slope of the valley, Bennett made out perhaps a hundred dwellings: domes perched on broad bands of terracing, timber lodges, more substantial villas made from stone, all illuminated by the light of the stars and the minor sun. Then he saw, on the distant far terraces, yet more dome habitats and villas. Stationed on the mountainside at strategic positions around the valley he made out the tall, slender shapes of wind turbines - perhaps a hundred in all. No doubt the balloon-tyred vehicles were powered by electricity generated by the turbines.

  He wondered at the population of the settlement. Star liners held five thousand citizens, and they had been here for perhaps a century. The vast scatter of dwellings and the proliferating turbines suggested that they had prospered. The growth of the colony also suggested that they had managed to utilise and maintain the manufactory with which all colony ships were equipped.

  The pass became a track that extended high above the settlement, following the contours of the mountain. In the distance Bennett made out the last of the vehicles, the transporter, as it disappeared behind the bend. His heart sank. He had kilometres yet to traverse. He was about to set off when he saw, in the distance, the reappearance of one of the balloon-tyred vehicles; the track evidently curved back on itself, following a zig-zag route to negotiate the steep slope of the valley wall. The vehicles carrying Ten Lee and Mackendrick were now coming back towards him.

  He ran along the track, then turned down the incline, moving through a field of some kind of wheat. He passed a dome habitat, the hemisphere darkened, and paused on the edge of the farm above the road. He crouched behind a dry-stone wall, his pulse racing, and peered over. One by one the vehicles passed a matter of metres from where he was concealed. He made out, on the leading truck, the crouched form of Ten Lee. The vehicles turned, easing around a bend on to another stretch of lower track. He saw the first vehicle stop before a big timber lodge, built out over the drop and supported on pillars. As he watched, Ten Lee and Mackendrick were manhandled from the vehicle and marched into the building. The vehicles started up and moved off. Half a kilometre away they turned into an area beside one of the farm buildings.

  Bennett climbed over the low wall and ran across the track. He moved through another field, bent double, and stopped beside the retaining wall. Fifty metres away was the lodge in which Ten Lee and Mackendrick were imprisoned. A light showed in one of the long side windows.

  He waited. At last the light went out. He jumped over the wall, crossed the track and approached the building, feeling conspicuous with his rifle. If anyone should look out and see him now, in his distinctive flight-suit, carrying a rifle . . .

  He made the building and crouched in its shadow, aware that he was shaking with uncontrollable fear. He tried to work out what to do next, to form some kind of plan. Try to enter the building without alerting the colonists, obviously. Easier said than done. They were unlikely to leave the door obligingly open. So break in, without making a sound. A tall order. He was not a house breaker. Storm the place, then. But nor was he a commando.

  The decision, in the event, was taken from him. He stood, intending to move around the building to a window where he might see what was going on inside. He had hardly taken two steps when a voice rang out, challenging him: ‘Stop!’

  He turned in time to receive the full force of a rifle butt on the side of his head. The assault was so sudden that he had no time to dodge the blow or catch sight of his attacker. His head seemed to explode with pain and he fell to the ground. He tried to gather himself, get up and fight, but after the initial anger at being caught, he thought again. The man was armed and there might be more than one of them by now. He should stay down and bide his time.

  He felt hands grasp his body, lifting him. He was carried, perhaps by two or three people. He opened his eyes to see where he was being taken, but he was face down and could make out only the shadowy gravel of the pathway. He closed his eyes as his head throbbed painfully.

  Bennett heard a door opening, then closing, footsteps on timber. He was dropped without ceremony to the floor. He was aware of people in the room, perhaps two or three others; small movements and whispers gave them away. He kept his eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness.

  He heard two people conduct a hurried conversation. He tried to appreciate the melodrama of the situation. If this was not actually happening to him, he would have found it hard to believe. He told himself that things like this only happened in holodramas . . . then the pain in his head informed him otherwise.

  ‘They’re not terrorists as we first thought, sir, they’re off-worlders.’

  A pause, then: ‘But how did they find out?’

  Another voice answered, deep and richly textured. Bennett imagined a silver-haired patriarch. He tried to work out the meaning of their dialogue.

  ‘Perhaps Quineau did reach Earth, after all?’

  ‘But Klien was confident of stopping him.’

  ‘Then perhaps their arrival here is purely accidental. They know nothing - they’re explorers, prospectors.’ A pause. ‘I want them questioned. Subtly, of course.’

  A brief silence. Bennett felt himself drifting, the pain in his skull almost too much to bear. He tried to concentrate.

  The first colonist said, ‘We can’t let them go back, sir.’

  ‘What are you suggesting,’ the deep-voiced patriarch replied, ‘that we kill them?’

  ‘Precisely. Then they’re out of the way. Alive, they’re dangerous.’

  ‘If they are scientists and have nothing to do with Quineau, then they might prove a benefit to the colony. They might be just the type of people we need.’

  ‘But if they find out?’

  The patriarch replied, ‘We will have to ensure that they don’t find out - as simple as that.’

  ‘How do we keep them here? What about their ship?’

  ‘Have someone question them as to where they landed. Then send out a team to destroy it. When they find out, we’ll blame it on the terrorists.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ The first colonist sounded uneasy. ‘It would be far easier if we just killed them.’

  ‘You worry too much,’ said the patriarch. ‘Trust me.’

  Bennett felt himself losing his grip on consciousness. He tried to concentrate on the voices, but they faded, became no more than background noise.

  At last, mercifully floating free of pain, Bennett passed out.

  * * * *

  14

  Klien stood before the full-length mirror and dressed with care. Tonight was to be a killing night, when he would do his microscopic bit to make this corner of the Expansion a better place. As ever on these special occasions, he wore his sabline suit.

  He moved to the lounge with its sunken sofa bunkers, its objets d’art, an aria by Verdi playing softly. He stood for a long time, staring at the room until he no longer saw it as a physical location, but as an abstract idea - the one locus of the universe where he was safe, his refuge from all the corruption and the evil out there. He steadied his breathing, tried to control the crazy thudding of his heart. He knew that he had to leave now, to walk off his nervous excitement. He ensured that he had his capillary net and laser pistol and then walked from the house and through the quiet streets.

  The monsoon rain had refreshed the trees and shrubs in the gardens and parks. The rising moon and the lights of the high orbitals reflected in rain droplets on leaves and flowers. It was like, he thought, the garden of Eden. It was hard to believe that this idyllic corner of Calcutta, the meanest
city on the meanest planet of all, was surrounded by so much evil. He thought back to his time on Homefall; it had been a period of innocence, or perhaps ignorance. He had been privileged to live on such a haven, without knowledge of what existed outside. And people like Quineau, they wanted to open up the planet, allow the evil of the Expansion to inundate paradise.

  He walked quickly past the overblown residences of millionaires, many of the houses, like his own, styled upon the grand buildings of history. He was often sickened by the profligacy of wealth, and nowhere was such excess more evident than the country where abject poverty was still a fact of life for many. Oh, dear God, how he missed Homefall. He told himself to concentrate, to think only of the job ahead. If he were to allow his mind to stray, his thoughts to dwell on anything other than his mission, then disaster would befall him.

  He stopped when he came to a com-screen kiosk, stepped inside and pulled on the capillary net. A silver-haired stranger regarded him in the blank screen. Satisfied, he left the kiosk, a new man.