2000 Light Years from Home (James London)

by Iain Benson

  London whipped around and planted a foot in the centre of the guard insect’s chest. Satisfyingly, it flew across the room and crumpled over a table of tic-tacs. They erupted from their table and came at London. London side stepped the first and tripped it, sending it sprawling, before catching a second and throwing it at the other two. He hoped one of them was Warsnitz.

  Using the bar as a vault, London propelled himself into the nearest of the two bouncers, over them and through the door they had come through.

  He was in a silvery corridor that looked amazingly like the one from the block he’d left.

  “Their decorator has a significant lack of imagination,” London muttered, wondering how anybody found their way around in the endless silvery corridors. This corridor had one major difference to those he’d been in before: this one reeked like spilled petrol.

  Direction was unimportant, movement was the key. London headed left. The first few doors did not respond as he waved his hand over the handle spot. He ran on, waving wildly on either side of the corridor making him look like a jellyfish on roller skates. Behind him, he could hear the insect bouncers click clacking down the corridor in pursuit. Eventually after a hundred metres, London found one that opened, and went inside.

  Given the odour of rancid milk that engulfed London as he stepped over the threshold, he had the impression he was in a drug den. The light was dimmed and the air felt sticky with milk residue, almost hazy like smoke on water. Tic-tacs were blissed out in booths around the room. There were low, plush benches in each booth on either side of a table low enough to make his shins ache just looking at them. Each booth had two or three tic-tacs. London wondered if they were so blissed out, that the air was hazy because of, for want of a better word, pollen.

  London retched.

  There were murmurings from a booth in the corner as he walked past. The tic-tac had to think it was hallucinating, seeing a huge bipedal creature walking through the gloom.

  London knew it didn’t take a lot of milk to bliss out a tic-tac, but just how much milk were aliens stealing from Earth? They had to have stolen cows and set up a local production line to keep this number of junkies in product.

  “Milk junkies,” London mused with a half-smile. “Munkies.”

  He liked his new nickname for them.

  A shaft of light cut through the room, illuminating the deep purple of the furnishings. London ducked into a booth next to a grey clad tic-tac. It opened one eye lazily.

  “Glass,” it slurred lazily at him, taking another vial from the table and sucking it dry with a noise like an elephant with a kazoo lodged in its trunk.

  “You lot need to try cheese,” he said the Kurian. “We make it out of milk, but it’s a lot less sloshy. You could probably roll up processed cheese and smoke it. Although, I don’t think there’s all that much milk in them. Come to think about it, it probably wouldn’t burn. Plastic doesn’t.”

  The shaft of light closed. Either his pursuers had decided not to pursue him in here, or they’d not seen him.

  “Girl ass,” the tic-tac said, looking like it was attempting to enunciate more clearly.

  “Not right now,” London said.

  He slipped out of the booth and discovered a third option. His pursuers had come into the club.

  “Oh crap,” London set off again across the club away from the door. The insects were like zombies. They didn’t move particularly fast, but they didn’t stop, and there seemed to be a lot of them.

  London bent over to run through a low door into a room where slugs and tic-tacs looked to be cleaning clothes. He could see the outside through arches in the opposite wall. Exterior to his current building, he corrected himself. Outside here was somewhere he didn’t particularly want to be with his current outfit. Outside in this vicinity required clothing more designed towards the self-contained breathing apparatus with self-regulated heating. At least in this inside interior space the air seemed cleaner, even if he could still smell old milk wafting through the door behind him.

  Keeping with the policy of keeping moving, London headed towards the arches, looking around him. There were machines that had to be washing machines. Either that or they were used for duplicating the clothing put in, and destroying the old one. Which could be how washing machines worked back home. Perhaps washing powder was dried clothing ingredients. London shook the idle thoughts from his head and moved back onto the main street.

  “June spit!” came a voice from up the street. London looked, there were a dozen insects, one pointing at him.

  The walkways were crowded, and quite slow moving. They were definitely not as fast moving as the pursuit vehicle that floated over London. It was dusty green and shaped like a three year old’s attempt at drawing a car.

  He looked around. The buildings here were getting more closely spaced. Aerial pursuit would be impossible. His main issue was finding somewhere they couldn’t see him on whatever security system they were using until he wanted them too. The vehicle landed just up ahead next to a black ziggurat straight out of Blade Runner.

  “Do the unexpected, James!” London told himself, swerving towards the vehicle and the four insects emerging from inside.

  Flashing a white smile, London leapt onto the front of the vehicle, then the roof. With the insects looking on, London swung onto a low ledge of the black building. He took out his gun and shot at a bit of the craft that looked important. It turned out it was very important: The craft exploded, throwing London backwards, and scattering the insects it had contained. The ledge was about twenty centimetres wide and a little slippery; London scrabbled to keep his balance, getting back to his feet. He had upped the ante somewhat. With more insects pouring into the area from all sides, London decided to find somewhere else to be. He set off along the ledge. Every five or so paces, a strut from the building needed negotiating. Even so, London got to the corner before the insects had brought more air support.

  Up ahead, down the street, London could see two more of the vehicles approaching. He smiled, and slid down the wall. He was proving something of a handful.

  An arc of electric blue energy scored over his shoulder, leaving a charred trace on the material. They no longer considered him harmless, it seemed, and were now trying to take him down. London raced into the front of the nearest shop, his eyes sweeping across the racks of clothing. There were plenty of tic-tacs perusing the clothing, and London hoped that this meant that the insects were less likely to fire at him.

  London ran out of the shop, across both travellators and down a narrow gap between two tapering buildings made of smooth grey stone. He nipped down a gap to the right, keeping mental track of his route as he went. He paused, risking a peek back. Four insects were coming down towards him warily checking in doorways. Looking up, London could see a yellow vehicle searching. The insects saw heat. He would stand out amid the cold buildings. A shaft of light from an open door spilled out into the alley. London ran over and ducked inside. The aerial search would be useless.

  The corridor beyond wasn’t silver, it was black. There was enough light to see and London saw a ramp heading down. Perhaps underground, he’d have better luck at evading being shot.

  At the bottom of the ramp, he found himself in a long and narrow well-lit storage area with a high ceiling. Smooth sided crates with vaguely visible markings were stacked three high in places down each side of the room. London recognised a water dispenser that reminded him he was thirsty. After a long drink, London opened the nearest box. It was filled with the ration bars he’d seen on Warsnitz’s ship. London grabbed a few and ate one. All the crates appeared to contain the same thing.

  London considered hiding out in the basement for a while, but there was a plan. He had to stick to it. He had another long drink of water and headed back into the fray. Instead of returning to the street, London followed the dark corridor further. Every few metres more ramps led down into darkness. Curiosity almost had London exploring each room, but sensibility told him not to wa
ste time. The insects had to stay focused on him as much possible. The exploding flying car was probably helping in that regard.

  Eventually, the black corridor ended on the other side of the building, and London emerged into the light. He was between two more tall grey buildings. At one end of the chasm like alley, he saw insect patrols, so he went the other way. At the other end, he saw more insect patrols, and this time they saw him and started converging from both sides. London scanned around and saw an open door a little further on. He sprinted to it, running inside. Now, it seemed, would be a good time to go top-side. He’d hopefully given Xia and Vera couple of hours in which to steal a ship.

  He found himself on yet another silvery corridor. Door marks just at the edge of his vision gave him no information about what lay beyond. He was looking for a very specific pattern of swirls and dots. About thirty metres in, he saw it and skidded to a stop.

  He waved his hand over the open patch. The elevator door sighed open like it was pleased to see him. London stepped into the lift.

  “Pomp,” he said.

  The doors didn’t close.

  “Pimp, pamp, pemp,” London said, still the doors remained open, awaiting a correct floor destination. “Pump.”

  The doors shut, with the sound of insects approaching.

  The problem with using the elevators was that he was visible on the security systems. Although he held the Elephant and Castle climbing competition record, London wasn’t about to try climbing to the top of these buildings. They were much higher than a castle, and elephants helped you up if you gave them a peanut.

  Thankfully, the elevator floor remained in place and when the doors finally opened, it was onto an empty silvery corridor. With a smirk, London picked left, and set off with a light jog, having had a refreshing rest in the elevator for a few minutes. Corridors crisscrossed the one London was on, but London kept a straight line. Eventually he got to a pair of double doors. He pushed through into the open air.

  All around him were the landing areas for space craft. Hopefully, he’d kept the insects so occupied with him that Vera and Xia had been able to get a ship. The current dock was empty, a long strip of pale grey stretching into the blackness. Above him, London could see the twinkling lights of the other side of the space station. To the left and right, other docks, some with craft, some without. Standing on the lip, London looked down on the streets far below. Off to one side, he could make out the black ziggurat that had seemed so big close up, now, a child’s building brick. Craft moved back and forth coming and going.

  Behind him, the door opened. Twenty insects emerged, each carrying a weapon. Behind them were three tic-tacs.

  “Colon bottle umpiring,” the tic-tacs ordered, from behind their chitinous barricade.

  London looked around. There were no space craft in the near vicinity.

  It meant one of two things: Either Vera and Xia had been caught, or they’d escaped without him.

  London slumped.

  It’d been a long shot.

  He peeked over the edge of the platform one more time, on the off chance he could perform a salute to the insects and tic-tacs before stepping off seemingly to his doom, only to land on a space craft rising up the side of the building. Sadly, had he done this, he’d have fallen about a kilometre to the street below. He put his hands up and walked towards his captors.

  He cast a longing look over his shoulder as the door closed behind them. Whatever the insects were carrying, they looked like weapons. Even had Xia suddenly appeared, he wasn’t escaping.

  “Golf buggy,” said a tic-tac.

  He was taken in an elevator not to prison, as he’d expected, but to a room with smooth black walls. No corridors, no holding cells. He went in the elevator at the top, and out into this room at the bottom.

  The room was small, semi-circular in shape, with a dark screen making up the far wall. London was shoved into the centre of the room, whilst the insects fanned out on either side of the elevator door. London looked back as the door slid shut with a sarcastic sigh. His attention was suddenly grabbed when the dark screen became transparent, or was switched on. It was difficult to decide if it was a screen or a glass wall.

  On the other side were three tic-tacs each with a display next to their chair.

  The tic-tacs took it in turns to tell London things he couldn’t possibly understand, presumably reading from their screens.

  “Look, I’m going to interrupt here,” London said. “I have not got a clue what you’re talking about. I’m human. I don’t speak your language, or know your laws.”

  There was a brief discussion. The middle one faced London and said: “Golf buggy.”

  The glass darkened. He was dismissed.

  Ever hopeful, London looked around in the hope that he had been released. He was disappointed.

  At all times London had a dozen insects watching him. After his hearing, London turned to face them and took out a ration bar. The insects tensed until they saw what it was. London chewed it, looking for any way out of the room. The elevator door opened. One of the guards gestured at the door to London. Although the insects had a peculiar way of talking, London was sure he also said “golf buggy.”

  “That’s a popular phrase today,” said London walking through the door. “I guess I’ll go to my grave wondering what it means.”

  London was about to say ‘Puss’ to make the elevator set off without the insects, when he realised he was not in the elevator. Behind him the door hissed shut. He had to have come through a different door, because he was in a room with two doors, both closed. The one behind had no window, so London went to the one that did. It looked like bare metal. The window three-quarters of the way up with a diagonal slash in the top half of the door. London looked through it, feeling the coldness of the glass beneath his fingers. The room smelled of beef stew.

  Through the glass he could see the infinite void. He wondered which sparkling dot was Earth’s sun. There was nothing else in the darkness. No rescue, no space craft.

  A klaxon blared. A blue light flashed above the door. London took a deep breath, and clamped his nose shut. He would look for escape right until he couldn’t look any more. This might be that moment. A chill surrounded his heart.

  The airlock opened. London felt all the air rush through the crack in the door, dragging him towards it. He felt his skin prickle as the moisture on it evaporated instantly. His hair crackled, his vision blurred, his eyes drying out. The air in London’s lungs tried to escape out of London’s ears. With the door fully open, London was launched into space.

  Vera tugged Xia along away from the hissing gas cloud.

  “Do you have a better plan this time?” Xia asked him.

  “Yes,” the big blue lion replied. “This time we don’t get caught.”

  “Great plan,” Xia said, having lost none of her human sarcasm in the years of her captivity.

  “I’m glad you think so,” replied Vera. Only humans had invented sarcasm.

  Xia let it go and followed Vera to an elevator. “Flight deck,” Vera said, the lift surging upwards.

  At the subsequent popularly decorated silver corridor, Vera chose right and opened the first door. There was no ship on the dock, they continued down to the next one.

  “I don’t like that one,” said Xia, looking at the tiny two-seater moored at the end of the dock. “It’s too small.”

  The next one was dismissed as being too big. The one after had Di-lithium Crystal engines, that were apparently very inefficient and had to be ejected at the first hint of trouble leaving people stranded light years from anywhere.

  “Nah,” said Vera at the next one, a boxy affair painted vivid blue. “It clashes with my mane.”

  After a little while of looking, they located a ship that they thought would be suitable. They wandered down the dock. It was a sleek looking craft, brilliant white, with big bulbous engines. Vera knelt by the locking device in a raised lectern shaped plinth by the ship.

  �
�It’s no good,” he said. “I can’t break this.”

  “Last time we took a locked ship, the whole place was shut down in a flash,” Xia said. “And that’s where all this started.”

  “You speak the truth,” Vera said. “We need the unlock code.”

  “Perhaps the owners left the code inside the ship?” Xia said.

  She went over to the door. There was an unfamiliar script by the door, and button not the usual wave pad. Intrigued she pushed the button. Double doors in the hull hissed apart, a smooth ramp sliding down.

  “Thank you for choosing to use the open facility,” said the doors.

  Xia looked at them perplexed. She went to go in, but a silvery robot with a big head and stubby arms was blocking the way.

  “You can’t come in,” said the robot. It managed to sound just a little morose.

  “Why not?” Xia asked. “We have to come in if we want to steal this ship.”

  “You don’t want this ship,” said the robot. “It’s terrible.”

  “We don’t have many options,” said Vera. “Are you meant to be able to stop us?”

  “I know,” said the robot. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Here I am, a brain the size of a planet, I’m essentially nothing more than a glorified car-alarm. I’d complain, but honestly, who would listen?”

  “You know what,” said Xia, turning to Vera, “perhaps we don’t want this ship after all. That robot looks a bit heavy. It’d probably want to come along.”

  “Yes, it is an effective anti-theft device.” Vera agreed.

  “The lock would probably cause problems anyway,” said the robot. “The station won’t let you go without paying your bill.”

  “And do you know the lock code?” Vera asked.

  “No,” said the robot. “Do you think they’d trust me with something like that? No, of course they wouldn’t. If I was you, I’d find somebody with a ship, and get them to give it to you.”

  “That is a good idea,” said Vera.

  “High praise coming from somebody who thinks putting a sharp bit at one end of a fork is a good idea.”