The Fifth Science

by Exurb1a

  Dr. Alexander came to Tisho’s quarters one night on the pretence of some administrative matter. Soon enough he got to the point. He wanted Tisho to take an item with him on his journey. It was a wedding ring, his dead wife’s. She had been an integral member of the Astronomy Faculty, and it seemed only right that her last keepsake should go for a trip into the black, should rest on some alien planet.

  “Who said anything about me going into the black?” Tisho said.

  Dr. Alexander only asked that he consider it.

  The next day Io came to his quarters, explained herself. Ha’Izaak’s craft had no allegiance to its master and appeared to be in full working condition, capable of multiple ribbondash trips. The journey back to Ertia would take just a few days. Tisho could be naturalised as a citizen within a week. If he wanted.

  The decision had not been a hard one.

  Besides, bringing back a Morae native would do wonders for Io's story, maybe even stop her ending up in the clutches of the law.

  Now in the black, with the invisible hull just a hair’s breadth before his nose, Tisho asked, “What do you think will happen now?”

  Io shrugged. “To the Fifths? Nothing much for a few thousand years yet. But when it happens, whatever it is, perhaps it will be a good thing.” She turned to him, smiled. “I think you’re going to adore Ertia, I really do.”

  The stars hung impartially, watching the two little carbon units. Phaedrus and Hare watched the carbon units also.

  It's going to be quite a wedding, Phaedrus muttered.

  Theirs or ours? Hare said.

  Tisho felt himself an insignificant speck of order destined for a much larger, though also insignificant spherical speck of order. Well, if a speck knew itself to be a speck then what a fine speck it was.

  There would be more than oceans on Ertia; land too.

  And people. Lots of people. Maybe some of them would be allies, close friends.

  “How do you feel?” he said.

  “Fine. For the first time in a very long while. I'm fine.”

  Io wasn’t looking out at the stars. Io wasn’t looking back at Morae.

  She had Majister Denyer’s urn in her hands, his ashes safely within it.

  She had her gaze fixed firmly on the sun, on Beelzesh.

  She hoped He would be awake soon. She hoped He would be good.

  The Caretaker

  Well yes, the ghosts would be here soon.

  He sat on his wicker chair watching the sand in the sandglass drip to dregs. When the last grain fell into the bottom chamber, the air took on a metallic smell. Bizarre echoes sounded about the field.

  William braced himself.

  There was a calm.

  Then the vehicle materialised.

  It was spherical, standing on three insectoid metal legs. It appeared to be made of chromium or some such. There was a small circular porthole at the front. A man put his face to it from inside and looked about cautiously. William waved politely. The man inside waved back. A moment later and a door appeared in the wall of the vehicle. There was a loud hissing as the pressures equalised, then the door folded open. The man poked his head out. “All well?” he said.

  “All well,” William said. “Do you want some fresh air? Won’t take me a moment to fuel you up. Come get some air.”

  The man took in the surroundings, the sky, the countryside, the little compound. He stepped out. He was wearing a white jumpsuit, a heatcoil at his side: clearly a soldier. He was young, mid-twenties, wild black hair with a sizeable beard.

  He saluted to William. William reluctantly returned the salute and held it for the minimum time.

  William entered his living hut and fetched the charging cable. He dragged it through the dirt, all the way to the soldier’s craft and began the charging sequence.

  “There,” William said. “It’ll only take twenty minutes or so and you can be on your way again. Would you like some water? There’s a pump just by the fence over there.”

  “Please, yes,” the soldier said and jogged over to the pump. He worked the handle and splashed himself all over. When he was done he stood and looked out past the fence, into the evening. The sun wasn’t far from gone. The forest was a pop-up book on the horizon. In the middle-distance everything was mud and dead.

  The soldier returned to William. He saluted again. “Ensign Orr Matthews,” he called out.

  “I’m William,” William said without meeting the soldier’s eyes. Most of the travellers felt the need for this strange display of military prowess when they arrived. William suspected it was a reaction to finding the world so quiet and deathly.

  “Would you like to check your chronometer?” William said.

  “Certainly.” The soldier examined an instrument on his wrist. William had one too and did the same. The soldier said, “489 years transit, so…Year 1384.”

  “1387,” William said gently, correcting his maths. “You’re only two hundred years away now. The second half of the journey should be much shorter. No adverse reaction? You’re keeping healthy?”

  The soldier shrugged. “There was some nausea when I set off, but it passed.”

  “That’s good.”

  The soldier looked William up and down, perhaps pitying the old man’s slouch and wrinkles. William was in constant pain now, from his back and from an enlarged group of veins in his left leg. There was only so much the medical bot could do. These days it just dispensed painkillers for him; a subtle message that he was simply wearing out and recovery was no longer an option.

  William checked the craft and said, “Strange, it’s not holding a charge.”

  The soldier came over. “Took a zap just as I was setting off. Look.” He pointed to a black scorch near one of the stabilisers.

  William bent down and took the casing off the stabiliser and examined the circuit. “You should’ve told me. The inlet circuit’s fried. I’ll have to replace the whole board.”

  “You have the parts?”

  William nodded. “I make most of it from scratch while I’m waiting for you lot. Gives me something to do. It’ll take about an hour. Sit in my hut while you wait, if you like.”

  “I’d prefer to stay here if it’s all the same to you,” the soldier said.

  “Of course,” William said. He had seen this before, the little loneliness in them. He went and fetched his tools and a new inlet board and returned to the craft. The soldier set up a metal stool in the sand and watched the repair process intently.

  “I think it’s great what you do here,” the soldier said. “You’re very famous, back in my time.”

  “That’s kind, thank you,” William muttered.

  From the perspective of when the boy was coming from, however, William wouldn’t be born for centuries. How could they possibly know who he was?

  Still, the compliment was kind enough, he decided.

  “How long have you been doing all this?” the soldier said.

  “Oh, about twenty years.”

  “Twenty years…” the soldier whistled. He took out a little utility tool and unfurled the various attachments one by one. “That must send a fella a little mad after a while…”

  William tried to smile. “I get to meet interesting folk like yourself. It isn’t so bad.”

  “I bet, I bet… Anyone come back the other way yet?”

  “No. Sorry,” William said formally.

  Generally this was followed by a query about temporal physics, the kind that demonstrated a rudimentary knowledge. Do we know it’s impossible to travel back yet? Or some such.

  William would always, politely but firmly, explain that as far as temporal physics knew, travel backwards along the timestream was forbidden by every known physical law. The traveller would then make some misguided statement about how, in the deep future, surely everything had been discovered and perfected. William would, politely but firmly, confirm that was certainly possible, but if a thing is prohibited by nature then all the progress and smarts in the universe wou
ld not bring it into being. And backwards travel, for all everyone knew, was indeed prohibited by nature Herself.

  There was a furious howling in the distance. The soldier jumped up, grabbed the heatcoil from his hip.

  “It’s all right,” William said. He nodded to the perimeter fence. “They can’t get in.”

  “What are they?” Matthews said, almost in a whisper.

  “Foragers mostly. Closer to animals.”

  Matthews fetched a pair of binoculars from his vehicle and glassed the horizon. After a moment he said, “They…they look like men and women.”

  “They were men and women,” William said.

  “Will they attack?”

  “Like I said, they can’t get in. They know the fence is electrified. We’re perfectly safe.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that…” the soldier said in a tone suggesting that was exactly what he was worried about.

  The howl came again and was joined by another. The soldier’s eyes were wide, his nostils wide. To calm him William said, “How were things with Antica when you left?”

  The fear in the soldier’s eyes disappeared immediately, giving way to pride. “Oh, marvellous! We were crushing the scum. I speared three of the bastards myself. That was partly what got me travel rights.”

  “Ah, wonderful…” William murmured, pulling out a few charred wires. “The war was still going strong then?”

  “Stronger than ever.” Matthews looked about at the horizon again. “Say, how did the war end up, then? You must know.”

  William had the speech well rehearsed. It was practically automatic now. “So many folk were sent ahead that the war was put on hold. Antica dropped a nuke twice. Garic used nerve agents a few times—”

  At the mention of the enemy, Matthews' eyes shot wide. “The bastards! Just like them. That’s just like them.”

  William resisted reminding the soldier that murder is murder, whatever the means. He continued. “By the end of it so many folk were either dead or travelling that there was no point continuing. When you arrive at your temporal coordinates, I suppose the war will be up and running again.”

  “Marvellous!” the soldier smiled.

  “Mmm…” William muttered. He began fitting the new inlet board. On rare occasions he would offer the travellers a drink, if he liked them. This was not one of those occasions.

  “The air smells a little odd,” the soldier said.

  William bolted up, smelled the air himself. “Get inside your vehicle and stay there please. I’ll come and get you shortly.”

  “What?”

  “Get inside. This is an emergency situation. A pathogen event. Get inside or you may become very ill.”

  “Pathogen?”

  “Yes, a terrible disease. Airborne. Will you get inside?”

  The soldier entered his craft hurriedly. William said, “I’ll come and get you when it’s over. Don’t leave before, you understand?”

  “Yes, thank you very much,” the soldier said. William sealed the airlock and raced off to his hut. He fetched the wheeled curtain and unfolded it, blocking the soldier’s view of the other half of the field.

  The metallic smell increased, so thick it was possible to taste. A curious whoop-whooping sound grew closer, pinged all about William. From nothing a large white cube materialised in the dirt, perhaps two Williams high.

  Immediately a door formed in the hull and opened and smoke billowed out. A figure fell through the smoke, a woman. She wore a red technician’s toga. Her hair was starburst white, but her face put her in her early twenties. William rolled her over. She was badly burned. “The xenon valve…” she whispered. William raced inside, his scarf over his mouth to ward the smoke off. The cockpit was a mess of flashing lights and swarm-images speaking of some huge technical failure. He found the pressure valves. He knew Garic well and located the valve that meant xenon and twisted it closed. A few of the warning lights died, then all of them. The smoke began to dissipate and he ran back outside. The girl was on her knees cradling her face. William had a little nanogel in his pocket and rubbed it on her cheek. The burn faded to grey, repairing.

  “Oh god, thanks,” the girl murmured.

  “Give it a few minutes and it should be all healed. What happened?”

  “Hit turbulence. One big jolt killed the pressure system.”

  “It doesn’t look too serious on the inside, just a few burst pipes. We’ll get you going again soon enough.”

  “Thank you…”

  William fetched her a cup of water from the pump. She demolished it in a few gulps and said, “Isadora Feng, Experimental Division.”

  “A scientist?”

  She nodded.

  A calm came over her and she sat up properly and looked about. “I haven’t moved, have I?”

  “No,” William said. “You know that’s impossible. You’re still in the same spot geographically.”

  “Then where is Teashu…” she said, meaning the city she had left from.

  “Time. Lots and lots of time. You’re halfway through the journey. Teashu fell about five hundred years ago. There are ruins dotted here and there.”

  “God…”

  William said, “I don’t mean to pry, but I noticed your vehicle has gravity veins. I thought that was illegal.”

  Isadora said, “I’m coming from the end of the war. There wasn’t really anyone left who cared much about legal and illegal by that point.”

  “Gravity veins are dangerous.”

  “We were done for,” she said flatly. “We had to get out quick.”

  “All right, all right…”

  She examined the compound. Her eyes settled on the curtain. “What’s that?” she said.

  “I’m just in the middle of repairing some other equipment at the moment. You can wait in my hut a little while, then I’ll be back to fix up your pipes, all right?”

  She looked to William, then the curtain, and back to William. Preemptively William said, “The war is still going on ahead, I suppose. Right now though there’s no one to fight it, not here. Just enjoy the peace and I’ll have you on your way again soon enough.”

  “Okay,” Isadora said quietly.

  He tried to look encouraging and repeated that she should stay where she was. He went back behind the curtain to where the first craft was waiting. Matthews was at the porthole staring out. William waved. Matthews waved uncertainly back.

  William went to work quickly on getting the new inlet circuit into the Antican craft. It was a fiddly job and Antican engineers had a bad name when it came to easy repair. He looked up a few times to meet eyes with Matthews. Matthews was watching intently from the porthole still.

  The inlet circuit was in its nook finally and William used a little heatcoil to solder it into the system.

  The distant howling came again. William heard the sound of scuffling from beyond the curtain. “Don’t get up,” he called to Isadora. “We’re not in any danger.”

  “What the hell is that?” she shouted.

  “The local wildlife. Don’t get up, you’re still healing.”

  Then slower and with contained rage she said, “No really, what the hell is that?”

  William turned. Isadora was on his side of the curtain already, staring at the Antican craft. William jumped to his feet, put his hands up. “Now look. This is all completely routine. I’m just patching him up, like you. Then he’ll be on his way.”

  Matthews was staring from his porthole, mouth open.

  “You’re a turncoat,” Isadora said.

  “No, that’s not it. I was left here to patch craft up, any craft, Antican or Garic. I don’t take sides. You just happened to both break down in the same coordinates. Bad luck is all. Now go and sit down and I’ll be with you shortly, all right?”

  Isadora took her dustgun from a pouch about her leg. “Stand aside,” she said.

  “Whoever they killed, whatever they’ve done, it’s nothing to do with him. He’s just a young pawn in all this, like
you.”

  “Pawn!” she yelled.

  “No…not pawn. A victim then, of a war that was fought centuries ago.”

  “And will still be going on in another five hundred years.”

  “We don’t know that. Maybe they all travelled ahead and worked it out. Please, please just go back behind the curtain and wait for me.”

  Isadora drew her dustgun and fired off a matterblast, eagle-quick, hitting the Antican vehicle. It ignited. The airlock shot open and Matthews dived out, heatcoil in hand. He rolled on the ground, darted behind a parts box for cover. Isadora raced over, dustgun raised.

  “Stop, for the love of God,” William yelled.

  Isadora vapourised the box, screaming. Matthews responded with shimmering fire pockets from his heatcoil, missing the girl by inches. She parried, darting behind debris.

  Fire and dust flew about like confetti. William ran for cover, getting his tools to safety. He crouched behind a concrete block, powerless. Matthews was fast, but Isadora was smart and she vapourised every scrap of cover he ran for before he reached it, leaving him darting about like a desperate rat. He shot off a few panicked bursts of heat, one destroying a power bank, the other leaving a huge hole in the perimeter fence. Finally there was nowhere left to go. He scrabbled backwards on his ass.

  Isadora approached him at a leisurely pace, dusting off her toga.

  “When are you from?” she said calmly.

  “Please,” Matthews said.

  “When are you from?”

  “The Battle of Arta’Lanesh.”

  “I was born twenty years after. Do you know how it ended?” Matthews shook his head a little. “You dropped sarin gas on the entire town. You killed thirty thousand people.” Matthews said nothing.

  Isadora raised the dustgun, aimed the thing right at Matthews’ head.

  “The old man says the war is over,” Matthews garbled.

  Isadora said, “Not yet.”

  A hideous screech sounded, loud this time, close.

  A human-shaped creature was standing at the hole in the perimeter fence. It was a mess of ripped cloth and scars, of open tissue still bleeding, the bone clearly visible beneath the tissue. Its teeth were snaggled and bent. Its eyes were dim and devoid of intelligence. It looked from Matthews to Isadora to William.