by John Meaney
—Welcome, good Magni. You understand why we prepare to fight?
To his pacifist eyes, she suspected, these were disturbingly martial surroundings. Surely, though, Magni and his contemporaries knew what was coming eventually.
—I understand why, Lady Kenna, in half a million years, it would be a good idea to have fled this galaxy. You’ve achieved modern bodies. Why not travel, and see the cosmos?
—You know why. If people always flee, eventually every galaxy will fall.
Magni shrugged in a very human way.
—Everything dies finally. We’ve already left the homeworld behind.
—Yes, you have.
Magni looked surprised, correctly reading the undertones in her words.
—And you’re making use of it?
—Did you think an army could consist of four individuals? Kenna smiled. We will be billions when the time is right. And welcoming to our allies.
For nearly six hundred millennia, she had been refining logosophical models, and there were some she could have deployed now as a form of persuasive rhetoric: those that showed how evolutionary strategies based on fleeing invariably led to an impoverished state, and finally extinction. But Magni would dismiss them as relevant only to others, not to his refined self.
—I really don’t think so.
Magni raised his hand, a languid salute to Roger, Gavriela and Sharp, then spun on one heel, turning the gesture into a geometric rotation cloaked with sapphire light. For a second it glowed; then the light and Magni were gone.
Roger was the first to comment.
—If that’s how the children turned out, I’m not impressed.
—They’ve tried communicating with the darkness. Gavriela was looking where Magni had stood. You can tell they’ve tried and failed.
Sharp’s antlers swung as he shook his head: once a purely human gesture, now natural for him as well.
—Tried and died, I think.
It confirmed what they had predicted. But there was more to think about: the advances of contemporary humanity, apparently negated by fatalism, to judge by Magni’s rejection of fighting at Ragnarökkr. After a moment, Gavriela gestured towards Ulfr’s empty seat.
—Being civilised is not what’s going to save us. The further back you go, the truer the warrior.
—We can’t force his return. Kenna raised her palms. You know that.
Roger and Sharp commented together, a form of resonance occurring ever more frequently as the millennia passed:
—Our preparations are the same, regardless.
—They are indeed. Kenna inclined her head.
—So I’ll check the body halls. Roger’s face looked like diamond. It’s time to speed up the growth.
—It is that, agreed Kenna.
Roger teleported out of the hall.
TWENTY
EARTH, 2034 AD
Christmas was coming and the weather was hot. It might be the northern hemisphere, but this was California, which made its own rules. Lucas was bemused because the only snow in sight was polystyrene in window displays. Thanks-giving (which he mockingly celebrated as Bloody Ungrateful Day) had been spent at Brody’s place. Amy had cooked and Jacqui had helped, because one of the things the half-brothers had in common was culinary ineptitude.
‘I know two full sisters with thirty years difference between their birth dates,’ Amy had said, ‘so I suppose it’s not that weird for you guys. With different mothers and all.’
It was not so much the age gap as the fact of Brody’s existence that still astounded Lucas. And the way that Brody had known their grandmother in her later years, while all Lucas had experienced was strange letters from the past, from before he was born.
‘We should have a cousin, at least one,’ Brody had said. ‘But something happened, something Gran didn’t want to discuss. I’m not sure what it was.’
With three weeks to go before Christmas, Lucas had invited Brody and Amy to spend the weekend with him and Jacqui. They would go out for dinner later – the table at Laughing Benny’s was booked – while for now they loafed on soft couches in the lounge, with dishes of pretzels, nuts and chips on the coffee table, and beers in progress all round.
Half asleep, Amy called up a display on her qPad.
‘A cousin called what, surname wise?’ she said. ‘Wolf, Woods or Gould?’
‘No,’ said Brody. ‘It was Russian, or do I mean Ukrainian? Shimenko.’
A list of results came up, and Amy shook her head. ‘Too much, too vague.’
‘Yeah.’ Lucas pointed his qPad at the big wallscreen, pop-ping up a games menu. ‘What do you fancy, guys?’
‘Narrow it down by cross-links,’ Jacqui told Amy. ‘Related to Woods, then whatever else you can think of.’
A new list came up and Amy shrugged.
‘Still a bit too much. I’ll try again later, maybe.’
‘3-D go, Viking Rampage or CyberTrivia,’ prompted Lucas. ‘What do you think?’
‘Shtemenko,’ said Brody, sitting upright.
‘Do what?’
‘That was the name.’ Brody grinned at Amy. ‘I remember.’
‘There’s still quite a few—Oh, wait.’
Lucas stopped on the verge of selecting Viking Rampage. ‘What have you found?’
‘Something right up your alley.’ Amy gestured at the wallscreen. ‘Can I?’
‘Er, sure.’
What appeared on the screen was the beginning of a scientific paper, the body of its content available for a reasonable price.
AN ANALYSIS OF LEAKED GAMMA-RAY BURSTER EVENT DATA: PROVENANCE AND INTERPRETATION
Barabanshchikova, I.V., Rukovskaya, A.V., Shtemenko, L.A., Fedotova, L.L., Khudorzkina, M.G., Putyatin, A.S., Luzhkov, V.I., Wang, J., and Yagudin, I.G.
Abstract: Following the release of cosmological event observations into the public domain in Arxiv-compliant format, we present a forensic analysis of the data provenance that suggests a high probability (≈97%) of authenticity. In addition, we present Fourier analysis and distance estimating results based on known type-luminosity correlations to give a best estimate of the event’s origin, assuming the authenticity of the data. We conclude that the origin lies at a distance of 420 MLY from Earth, beyond a cosmic void located in the direction of the galactic anti-centre. The authors are aware of the importance of further verifying the observational data.
‘Holy shit,’ said Lucas.
The others looked at him. He had shared something of the events that led to his meeting Gus in the lab at night and sending a graphene memory flake into mu-space, but not everything.
‘The gamma-ray burster event.’ Brody tapped his qPad. ‘If this is our cousin, he’s got similar interests to you, Lucas.’
Amy had searched for intersections between Lucas’s work and the unknown Shtemenko’s.
‘And there she is,’ Brody added, causing a secondary window to pop up on the wallscreen. ‘How do you pronounce that?’
Lucas was about to attempt sounding out the Cyrillic – it read Людмила Артуровна Штеменко – though his Russian vocabulary was zero, but Brody tapped again, replacing the words with Ludmila Arturovna Shtemenko.
‘Moscow University,’ said Jacqui. ‘How about that? Another physicist in the family.’
Amy pulled up her knees and leant sideways on the couch towards Jacqui. ‘You’ve not been on vacation with Lucas yet, have you? Since moving in, I mean.’
Lucas blinked.
‘Why, no,’ said Jacqui. ‘Do you think Moscow is pretty this time of year?’
‘It’s December,’ said Brody. ‘Are you kidding? It’s bloody freezing.’
‘Er . . .’ Lucas gestured at Brody and Amy. ‘I thought we’d spend Christmas hanging with these guys.’
Jacqui nodded, solemnity in everything but her eyes, which danced. ‘So we’d better fly back before then.’
Lucas looked at Brody, who laughed.
‘Touché, Lucas, mon frère.’
‘Bring us back some of those dolls,’ said Amy.
‘And vodka.’ Brody waved his beer. ‘Definitely vodka.’
Lucas rubbed his eyes.
Their hotel was not what they had expected: heavy on the dark wooden furnishings, including thick doors that slid open rather than swung, and the twin beds were laid end-to-end along one wall, like bunks in a submarine, instead of side by side. In the hotel coffee shop – something familiar, they thought – when Lucas bit into his jam and cream scone, he nearly spat it onto Jacqui in reaction to the shock of salt and fish.
‘What the—?’
‘Oh,’ said Jacqui. ‘It’s red caviar, not strawberries.’
‘Holy bleeding crap.’
He wiped his mouth with a paper serviette, and pushed the plate aside.
‘It’s fun, Lucas. New culture. Exotic details you’d never learn by staying at home and reading.’
‘Ugh, right.’ He swigged coffee to get rid of the taste. ‘Are you sure you’re American?’
Jacqui kicked his shin under the table, but gently.
‘You are a bad person, Lucas Woods.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
The wide, traffic-choked boulevards were Paris writ large. Lucas and Jacqui wandered the city, used the famous Metro with the palatial marble-lined stations, saw Red Square and St Basil’s Cathedral, found nothing much to look at in the Cultural Park that was also Gorky Park – Lucas had thought they were different places – and had dinner at the hotel, took NoLag tablets and went to sleep.
Next day, feeling odd from the travellers’ medication, they took a taxi to the Sparrow Hills north of the city proper. Their appointment was at ten, and without the meds they would not have been awake at that time; but Lucas regretted taking the stuff until they were standing in clean cold air at the campus: suddenly he felt great.
Moscow University looked the way it should: neo-Baroque and magnificent, rearing above a snow-covered plaza that overlooked the curving river and the spreading city beyond.
‘I’m glad I thought of coming here,’ said Lucas.
‘Yes, dear,’ said Jacqui.
Their qPads worked with the campus systems, directing them to Astrophysics, along a corridor that led to a small office with one of those heavy doors on runners. As they approached, it slid open and a black-haired woman looked out.
‘Ludmila Shtemenko,’ she said. ‘How do you do.’
‘Lucas Woods, and this is Jacqui Khan.’
They shook hands and went inside, where his putative cousin poured them tea from a pot – Lucas was disappointed by the absence of a samovar – and handed over the steaming glasses.
‘Please call me Ludmila Arturovna.’ She smiled. ‘Is what colleagues do.’
‘Your father Artur,’ said Jacqui, ‘was Lucas’s uncle, though they never met. Sorry I don’t know your father’s patronymic.’
Lucas shrugged, not knowing how to cope with this cross cultural minefield. From his cousin’s frown, they might have offended her – or she might just be concentrating on the English words. He was a monoglot, and embarrassed by it.
‘Perhaps,’ said Ludmila Arturovna, ‘you should call me Luda. And I call you Luke and Jacqui, OK? If we are family.’
No one had ever addressed Lucas as Luke.
‘OK,’ he said.
Before coming, they had chatted online about the possible family connection, and a bit about their respective jobs. Now they went over the same ground in person, as a form of reassurance, growing used to each other.
‘Have you finished tea?’ asked Luda finally. ‘I show you laboratories.’
They poked around offices and cluttered labs with wire tangles everywhere, including the industrial-looking cryogenics area devoted to solid state research.
‘I was with Professor Zbruev’ – Luda dropped her voice as they neared one of the cryo chambers – ‘when gamma-ray burster event occurred. Interesting to see if you—Ah, there he is.’
Zbruev was an ordinary shaven-headed man in rumpled clothes – but Jacqui clutched Lucas’s arm and muttered: ‘Let’s go past.’
‘So,’ said Luda.
They ignored the remaining labs, and used a fire exit to walk outside into the snow.
‘Luke is my cousin,’ Luda went on. ‘But you saw it, Jacqui, no?’
Jacqui reached down, scooped up a little fresh snow, and rubbed her face with it.
‘Lucas had a girlfriend once,’ she told Luda, ‘who was just like Zbruev. Nasty bitch.’
‘Nasty . . .? Ah, I understand.’ Luda looked at Lucas. ‘You did not see lovely darkness?’
‘Lovely?’ said Jacqui.
‘Is . . . strong attractive, you understand?’
‘Alluring,’ said Jacqui. ‘You have to fight it.’
‘Yes.’
Lucas shivered, disoriented and wondering how much the meds had to do with this conversation. On the rare occasion Jacqui had raised the subject of dark auras, she said they repelled her. Luda’s reaction was different.
‘But you do fight it,’ said Jacqui. ‘That’s the main thing.’
Tears sprang out in Luda’s eyes. ‘I am so glad you are here.’
‘Me too.’ Jacqui touched her arm. ‘We know we’re not alone. What we see is real.’
‘Oh, I know is real. Always.’
Something in her voice broke Lucas’s heart.
Darkness fell, and they were still talking, but indoors. From the students’ union – if Lucas understood Luda’s description correctly – they moved to a faculty common room, and stayed until seven p.m. Now, besides night workers like cleaners, there was still a small number of people around, some carrying out research that for one reason or another was best done at night.
But Lucas, Jacqui and Luda were able to move around the corridors in the main physics block without seeing anyone. The room they ended up in was cluttered with SQUID scanners and atomic magnetometers; and to one side stood a glass-fronted cabinet, locked for the night, with shelves of items waiting to be analysed.
‘From archaeology.’ Luda pointed into the cabinet. ‘Found in grandfather’s, um, belongings when he died. FSB gave to Professor Zbruev’s department. Mother knew about crystal, but story was bitter. I don’t know details. Is very old,’ she added. ‘Centuries. Looks new.’
The object was crystalline but shaped like a spearhead.
‘Belongs in a museum,’ said Jacqui.
But Luda was lost in thought.
‘Grandfather told Mother, crystal was best thing to come from London, apart from Mother. Made Mother angry. I do not know why.’ Then she shrugged. ‘Had something else, FSB not know. Stayed in family. Also old, from Siberia. My grandfather found old site, kept piece no one knew about.’
Luda dug inside her pocket, and pulled out a metal shard. Then she held it close to the glass.
‘Holy crap,’ said Lucas.
Red fluorescence brightened inside the spearhead: sharp lines forming what looked a symbol:
Then Luda tugged at his arm, pulling him 90 degrees to one side. The upper ‘branch’ was hidden by the change in angle, while orthogonal lower ‘branches’ were revealed:
‘That’s not natural,’ said Lucas. ‘Really not natural.’
‘Pattern in crystal. Like two futharks superimposed.’ Luda gestured with the metal shard, and the red lines grew brighter. ‘Runes, you understand?’
Jacqui pulled out her qPad and searched.
‘Alternate runic alphabets,’ she said. ‘They sort of coexisted, and mingled.’
‘Coincidence.’ Lucas could not believe how far they were pushing this. ‘Fracture lines of some kind.’
‘Energy comes from where?’ Luda stepped back, taking the metal shard with her, and the red fluorescence dimmed to almost nothing. ‘See?’
She pushed the metal inside her pocket.
‘One hour, we meet my friend,’ she added. ‘Important. All of us, OK?’
Lucas looked at Jacqui. On one level, they were here o
n holiday, long-lost family members a side issue, and never mind dark auras. But this . . .
It seemed like fantasy, but last year’s cyberattack that took out the gamma-ray burster data around the globe, that had been real and had originated from somewhere. Perhaps from the country that pioneered clandestine cyberwarfare, while allowing everyone else to think China went first.
He wondered how many of the academics here were sponsored by the FSB.
They trudged along paths in the snow to a tram platform, and rode the thing into the city. There they changed twice and ended up in a wide dark street, where a blank door led downwards into a cellar-level nightclub with primary-colour spotlights whirling and music throbbing. They found seats in a darkened booth. Lucas fetched four vodkas from the bar, because of the friend they were due to meet, and when he returned to the table, the guy was already there.
He was overweight and heavily bearded, and placing a small wrapped package on the tabletop.
What the hell are we mixed up in?
Conspiracies abroad. FSB. Dark auras and museum trinkets. Anti-jetlag meds that messed with your head.
Some holiday.
Unwrapped, the package contained a crystal spearhead, its dimensions the same as the sample back at the university. The nameless friend rewrapped it and slid it to Luda, who tapped her qPad – she had already logged in to her bank account – and thanked him.
They exchanged farewells in Russian, and the guy left.
‘We leave something behind,’ said Luda, raising her vodka, ‘when we steal original. Is duplicate, right? Ordinary quartz.’
‘When we—?’
‘And you smuggle out of country, dear cousin.’
‘That’s insane,’ said Lucas.
‘You can count on us,’ said Jacqui.
Truly insane, except that he had known, from the moment he saw the red fluorescence, that he was meant to safeguard the crystal, for some purpose he might never know, besides keeping the woman he loved happy, not to mention his new-found cousin and their shared synaesthetic . . . experiences. Whatever. Right now, he planned to keep on drinking vodka until things made sense or he stopped caring; but when it came to paranoid-schizophrenic conspiracies, one thing was already clear.