2000 Light Years from Home (James London)

by Iain Benson

  Warsnitz wobbled his head again, and went to a wall panel. The tic-tac waved a stumpy hand over one corner. The wall slid back to reveal what could only be described as a sink. Waving a hand under an outlet, water came out and vanished down the hole at the bottom. London took the empty flask from Warsnitz. He rinsed it out, filled it from the tap and drank it himself. The water had an odd taste to it. It could have been he’d not rinsed it out properly. However, it did the job.

  “Have you got anything that works like a toaster?”

  Warsnitz wobbled his head again. The way Warsnitz swivelled his head and set off in a different direction was disconcerting. It opened the food cupboard. London watched as Warsnitz deftly opened a bar, dropped the wrapper where he was standing and wandered off towards the cockpit. London also took out a bar. He opened it in the same way he’d seen the alien do it, which proved easier than his first attempt.

  This bar was green in colour and had a texture of mouldy cheese. He sniffed it. There was an odour of slightly mouldy fruit. Again, he followed his survival training, broke a small piece off and placed it between his bottom gum and lip. The flavour was almost, but not quite, like buttered grass. After a few moments of no lip swelling and no gum bleeding, London tentatively swallowed the morsel.

  Nothing happened. Two different bars hadn’t killed him.

  He ate the bar. He had no idea how nutritious it was for him, but it didn’t appear to be making him ill.

  “Water, food and shelter,” London smiled. His basic needs were sorted. Now he needed something to stop himself going bored out of his brain. The first job was seeing what else was in the walls, now he knew how to open them.

  London waved his hand over a section of wall, which slid back to reveal a small room with what was quite obviously a toilet in it.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  As the lights were always on, London started to lose track of the time and what day it was. His watch, quite an expensive model that linked to his phone, monitored is heart rate, always showed the right time, was powered by movement and the heat of his body and was currently useless, what with being on the bed in the hotel. He took to sleeping when he was tired, eating when he was hungry, and drinking when he was thirsty. He called this ‘cat mode’.

  Warsnitz seemed to spend most of his time wasted on milk, and the pair barely interacted, though Warsnitz did not seem at all interested in helping London learn a new language, nor did the three legged tic-tac seemed inclined, or indeed, able, to learn English. It was, London mused, Warsnitz’s loss. London knew a far easier way to get milk than to mutilate cows, and he couldn’t tell the alien. It came in bottles from the supermarket. London had checked every cubbyhole, room and cupboard on the ship. All there was to drink was water; he didn’t dare touch Warsnitz’s stash of processed milk, as he only appeared to have a couple of dozen litres. It was an inordinate trip for the diminutive alien to take for a few bottles of milk. It had to be worth it, unless the engine worked without fuel.

  As far as London could work out, the engine was a box at the back of a hold that was otherwise empty; fastened with a seamless fastening to the rear bulkhead. It had a display on the front that gave many incomprehensible reports on the state of the engine, if that’s what it was. For all London knew, it could have been a fridge. If it was the engine, it was remarkable. It was about the size of an American-style refrigerator and made no noise. Despite this, it was transporting them across the galaxy at some multiple of the speed of light, without any sensation of movement. It was powering the gravity, the lights, and everything else on board.

  There had been a strong temptation to press the screen when London had been looking at the engine, but thoughts of ejecting the warp core from Star Trek ran through his head. Those actions rarely ended well for the crew of the Enterprise; especially if they were wearing a red shirt.

  After five sleeps that could have been anything between three days and a week, London was sitting in the cockpit with a plastic glass of water when all the screens came on, flashing in a variety of colours. Lights lit up across the instruments and a shrill piercing whistle alarm sounded, undulating in pitch. London got to his feet, trying to make sense of what he was being told and failing. He felt like a small child that had set off the alarms in a shop by taking a toy outside.

  The big screen at the front brought up a grey, roughly circular object bristling with protrusions all over. Lights flickered and glittered across the surface. More worryingly, it was getting rapidly closer. Thoughts of pirates and alien warships crossed London’s mind.

  Warsnitz waddled in, it took London a moment to realise the spikey haired alien was singing Gloria. But then, it would have taken him a while to recognise that song if Laura Brannigan had been giving him a personal rendition. Although London couldn’t read the alien particularly well, the unhurried waddle indicated that the by now monstrous vessel was not as worrying as London feared it was.

  The tic-tac plonked down in one of the chairs, folding his third leg around behind him in a practiced manner. One chubby finger stabbed a blue circle on the screen in front of him and the menacing looking craft in the big screen was replaced by an identical twin to Warsnitz.

  London did not understand anything of the exchange that followed, but he knew that something bad was going to happen as Warsnitz’s head kept rotating round to look at London. They could have been discussing the weather, stocks or how Tic-tac United’s results were doing.

  Warsnitz returned the screen back to their surroundings. London could now see it was a large rock, covered in buildings and lights. There was a hole that expanded as they closed in on it, until it filled the view screen. Through the other side the view expanded to look more like New York City than the inside of a rock. The twinkling lights were windows, the bristles were buildings. It was a space station. The little alien got out of his chair.

  “James,” he said, picking up the plastic cup off the melon and carrying it to the cockpit instrument panel. He put it down. “James,” he said again.

  “I see,” said London. “We’re now where we were going. So can I go home soon?”

  London picked up the cup and took it back to the melon. “Home?”

  Warsnitz retrieved the cup again. “Blight he; smorgasbord.”

  “Yes, I realise that we’re now at Blight he; smorgasbord,” said London, pointing at the melon. “I want to go home.”

  “Diphthong curlicue,” Warsnitz said. It could have been a question or a definitive statement. London gave up and dropped into the other chair. Either he was going home shortly or something else would happen. It was largely out of his control.

  On the screen they were now gliding through the city. They passed numerous tall towers with lights running up and down their edges. Around them, London could see other vehicles arriving or leaving. There were a wide variety of shapes; there were even a couple that looked like the stereotypical alien spacecraft of disks or triangles. Mostly, they were blocky and utilitarian. They were every colour London could see and he figured that some of the black ones were colours he couldn’t perceive.

  As they continued, London had a feeling of mounting dread. He put it down to a fear of the unknown: He had no idea what would happen.

  After moments that felt like hours, their craft was passing towers with flat protuberances, circular areas at one end. These had to be docks, quays or landing platforms. Less than half were filled, but Warsnitz’s craft travelled past several empty bays before rotating and dropping onto one surrounded by glowing lights.

  A flip-flop in London’s stomach coincided with the craft’s cockpit instruments going dark.

  “Malarkey circuit,” Warsnitz said, getting to his feet.

  With a lack of any alternatives, such as any kind of knowledge of how to pilot the ship back to Earth, London followed the tic-tac out of the cockpit and down the short corridor to the main door.

  The door opened with a hiss, the ramp extending down. The smell of ammonia grew stronger,
the light was a harsher blue and everywhere was filled with an ever present monotonous hum that reminded London of the time he’d had tinnitus. What really grabbed his attention were the beings at the other end of the ramp. There was another tic-tac, this one in a dark blue draped item of clothing, flanked by two very large beings that Escher may well have been drafted in to design. They were all limbs, eyes and weaponry.

  Warsnitz wobbled his head and walked down the ramp. His head turned back to London and he said: “Hitchin Mercedes.”

  The two very large aliens came up the ramp and prevented London leaving the ship, looking at him through compound eyes. This close-up they smelled like wet ashes in an extinguished barbecue. They had segmented bodies that flickered with iridescent colour, thin necks held up a ridiculous oversized head containing mainly eyes. London could feel heat radiating off them.

  “Clickity, click,” the left one said.

  London looked at him. “Sorry, I appear to have forgotten my can of Raid. You’ll have to be a bit more explicit.”

  “Clack clack clackity,” it said. There seemed to be more urgency in the tone, either that or London was projecting.

  The right hand insect shoved London down the ramp to the awaiting tic-tac. London could see Warsnitz ambling quickly off across the docking spindle. Away from the ship, London got a good look around him. The ceiling arched away from the wall in front of them, a dull brown in colour, millions of windows all around it. On either side, spreading away into the gloom were other spindles. Some had craft on, lights illuminating them; others were empty and dark. The floor looked a bit like rock, but felt smooth underfoot.

  “Harpies justifiable knuckle,” the tic-tac in dark blue told him.

  “I’m sure,” said London. “But I have no idea what you’re saying, so if you could just grab Warsnitz over there and tell him to point this crate back towards Earth, I’ll be on my merry way.”

  “Paste saxicolous.” The port tic-tac took a tube off its belt and switched it on, looking at a glowing screen that rolled from the tube. “Gimmick indelicate callipygian.”

  London spread his hands out. “Look, I’m sure this can all be solved, whatever it is.”

  “Auxiliary osculate,” the tic-tac made a gesture to the two insects. They moved in to flank London. The tic-tac turned around and walked towards the door.

  London sighed. “Somehow, I think I might miss the start of next term.”

  The two insects shoved London ahead of them. He’d been arrested before and it appeared that this was another of those universal constants.

  Not for the first time, Wishbone wished he’d built his base of operations inside a volcano. Then he would have had such a ready access to heat, power and waste disposal, and he wouldn’t have had to build his recycler. After a brief hiccup with the Delta line, Epsilon was now up and running. The dozen defunct Delta models were walking obliviously into the recycler. At least it provided nutrients for the next batch.

  “Apart from that insatiable need for blood,” John said, “those Delta models were okay.”

  “A little too much vampire bat,” Wishbone mused. “I had kind of hoped they would be able to fly.”

  “Their bones might be too dense,” Janet said. The men looked from the burial to her and nodded.

  “Perhaps you could have different lines for different jobs?” John ventured.

  “Mix in a bit of whale for underwater,” said Janet. “Use some polar bear for arctic work. You know? Use those sorts of adaptations.”

  “It’s a thought,” Wishbone admitted. “Mammalian DNA is so alike. It’s almost as if you split off last week. I’m surprised giraffes and porcupines can’t breed.”

  “The giraffe would have to be careful, and the porcupine would need a stepladder,” John said.

  “Such diversity,” Wishbone said. “It’s quite remarkable, you know.”

  “Yes, the eco people keep banging on about it,” Janet said.

  “Apparently,” John added, “we share fifty percent of our DNA with a banana.”

  “Give yourself a bit more credit,” Wishbone said dryly, “It’s more like forty-nine percent.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m sure,” Wishbone turned from the burial. “I think we’re ready. We are heading for the Middle East tomorrow. Increase the gestation rate of the Epsilon line. We’ll take a hundred. That should be enough to bring the region under control.”

  “Okey doke,” Janet said.

  After he’d gone inside and closed the door, Janet turned to John and added. “It looks like it’s going to finally get interesting around here.”

  Wishbone opened the door. “You’re right,” he said, before closing it again.

  John shrugged at his lab partner and they followed the polo-shirted bald headed megalomaniac inside before the midges came out and ate them alive.

  Chapter 4

  In which London meets a human

  The walk from the spacecraft was interesting. Once they passed through the doors, they entered a silver corridor that arced off left and right, with a short walk to what turned out to be an elevator. Pipework ran along the junction of ceiling and wall, with doors off at regularly intervals. The elevator doors sighed as they opened, as though they were orgasming. The two guards, the tic-tac and their unwilling guest entered the small white chamber.

  “Hippo,” said the tic-tac, and the elevator started moving.

  London didn’t really like elevators. They rarely saved that much time, were prone to letting you down when you really needed them and sometimes had vanishing floors that led straight to the shark tank. The floor of this elevator stayed quite solid, however, there was a definite feeling that it was taking him to his doom. He also knew there was going to be issues with escaping when the lifts were voice operated and he didn’t know the language. It was hard enough navigating the voice operated operator on his telephone banking facility.

  After a dozen seconds which could have taken them any number of levels or just one very slowly, the doors opened onto a black hexagonal room. There was a desk occupied by two more of the insect guards, and doors off each of the walls. In the overly red lighting of the room, London could see the doors outlined with thin red lines. He had a dawning realisation that with different lighting, or different eyes, he may well have been able to see the markings on the walls in Warsnitz’s ship. The lighting came from strips around the tops and bottoms of the walls, whilst various shapes were drawn mirrored on the floor and ceiling.

  There was a brief exchange between the tic-tac and the guards.

  “Clack!” one of them said to London.

  London gave them his best blank stare in return. One of his personal guards grabbed him by the shoulders and moved him onto a small hexagon drawn on the floor. With a sudden whoosh London was encased in a glass tube. It felt like they were trying to remove his week of beard growth with hurricane-force winds that smelled of toilet disinfectant. A strobe effect of green light reminded him of the days spent in warehouses in Stroud, whilst the complete removal of all oxygen for a few seconds nearly made him pass out. By the time the tube was removed, he was dizzy, disorientated, close to fainting and smelling vaguely of Parma violets.

  London staggered to one side. One of the insects caught him. There was no kindness in the gesture; this was all about moving London onto the next stage of processing. He was bundled to the desk.

  “Look!” he said, futilely resisting. “I’ve no idea what I’ve done, what you think I’ve done or even if I’ve done anything at all, just let me go home.”

  There was a flash that managed to be even more blinding than a Samsung phone flash that left him without vision for a few seconds. When his vision slowly swam back into clarity, there was a three dimensional image of his head floating over the desk.

  “Clack,” said one of the insects.

  “Yes, that’s me,” said London. “Can I have a copy?”

  “Clack.”

  “I’ll coll
ect it on my way out then,” London knew they didn’t have the slightest clue what he was saying. At least the tic-tac people had variety in their words. These insect ones seemed remarkably repetitive. It was a wonder they managed to convey anything at all with the snapping of thirty centimetres long, razor sharp mandibles.

  “Yacht jumper,” said the tic-tac, and pointed at London.

  “James London,” London said, wondering if he’d been asked his name.

  “James London,” said a voice remarkably like his own out of a speaker.

  “Clack,” the insect behind the desk pointed at the wall. A door opened revealing a corridor beyond. It had flickering lights, and emanated a grim feeling.

  It looked like a prison to London. A few alternatives presented as ideas for escape. Mostly these involved the weapons being carried by the insects having no effect on humans. It was a long shot and was probably almost certain death. Even if he escaped, there was the problem of how to get anywhere in the elevator without knowing the language. The alternative was whatever lay beyond the door. He was shoved towards it.

  “Slate overt,” the tic-tac said.

  “All right, already,” London straightened his jacket and walked into the prison.

  After a long corridor that curled gentle around to the right, London found himself in a fairly spacious room. The floor was pale grey with slightly raised circular bobbles, spaced equally across it. The ceiling was four metres high, and the lighting was pervasive, difficult to tell where it came from. A strong scent of incontinent camel caused London to wrinkle his nose. He hoped that wasn’t going to be a common smell here. He turned and saw a sheepskin rug with rope like arms about to gather him up. London did not think that this was a friendly greeting, and punched the small round knobbly bit at the top of the rug.

  It crumpled into a woolly puddle on the floor. London hoped he hadn’t killed the rug, and walked briskly away towards the far wall. He wanted to examine his new prison. Between him and the wall were several aliens. There were numerous tic-tac like aliens, quite a lot squat red dwarves with white Mohicans, some slugs, a few of the sheepskin rugs, half a dozen walking rocks, a couple of beavers and over by a far wall, there was a blue bipedal lion with what looked to be a human. They stood-out because there were no others like them, as well as being the only bipeds in the room.