2000 Light Years from Home (James London)

by Iain Benson

  Xia sighed, and started firing indiscriminately again. Everybody dived for cover. She and London both ran for the door. Part of the ceiling exploded to their left as somebody missed; a booth followed suit, although much closer it still counted as off-target.

  “They shoot like storm troopers,” said London as they emerged into the gritty, sulphurous air and orange light of the great outdoors.

  “What are storm troopers?” asked Vera.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said London. “How did you get out?”

  “I left when the shooting began,” Vera replied. ”I would rather avoid being shot as it can be painful.”

  “I am of the same philosophy,” said London. “Did you get what you needed?”

  “Yes,” said Vera as they walked back across the dusty ground towards their stolen ship.

  Suddenly they all remembered simultaneously that they needed some aluminium.

  “I would find it immensely difficult to stay awake for the entire time it takes to get to Baal Cetin,” said the fur ball as he re-joined them.

  “So where’s the nearest supermarket?” London asked. “Tin foil will be on the same aisle as bin bags and cling-film, unless it’s Aldi, and then it’ll be on the same aisle as teabags and gorilla suits.”

  “What’s Aldi?” asked Xia.

  “A supermarket that is apparently organised by colour, or something,” said London.

  “We do not require tin,” said Vera. “We require aluminium.”

  “Tin foil is made from aluminium,” London said.

  “Then why is it called tin foil?”

  “Presumably for the same reason that a can made from steel is called a tin can,” London said.

  “I do not follow.”

  “Not all humans are chemists, so we call stuff whatever our parents called it.”

  “So, at some point in the past the cans and foil were made from tin?”

  London thought about it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think it’s down to people’s inability to distinguish between tin, steel and aluminium.”

  “Understandable,” said Vera. “For reference, they are easily distinguished by their melting points.”

  “Right,” said London. “We don’t tend to melt stuff just to see what it is. We use it, recycle it and forget about it.”

  “Your planet sounds most interesting,” said Vera.

  “I like it,” said London. “I’ve decided I like it an awful lot more since I left it.”

  “Sorry to bring the subject matter back to the current predicament,” said Xia. “In the absence of supermarkets, where are we going to get aluminium? Preferably, before Isinglass gets some crew together to come after us, and take this ship off us, too.”

  “Fair point, Xia,” Vera conceded. “I would suggest the nearest junkyard.”

  “I shall return to the ship,” said Bonbon. “I will merely slow your progress.”

  Vera nodded to the fur ball, who bounced off seemingly backwards, its eyes now pointing the other way.

  The trio left the combination landing field, spaceport and shopping centre with its leisure and retail units through a gap between two of the units. Beyond, houses stretched off in all directions. There were a variety of shapes and the idea of following a road seemed an ad hoc rule observed by very few architects, with a mazy set of gaps between the houses forming the street network. London was quickly turned around and lost, and he considered his sense of direction almost as strong as his sense of touch, and much stronger than his sense of adventure. He doubted he could find his way back if they got separated. He wished he’d brought string, a map, or instructions on laying out a proper road network.

  The light retained the harsh wavelength, the air remained dusty and London now realised he had a burning feeling in his nose and felt short of breath.

  “Is there something wrong with the air?” London asked Xia.

  “Low oxygen content,” said Xia, “plus sulphur and ammonia.”

  “Ah,” said London, unaware that none of those things were healthy.

  They passed a group of houses that looked like igloos made of a yellowish stone. Later on, some taller buildings of a more cubic nature, stacked irregularly so they appeared almost ready to tumble down. Round several more corners, square, round, oval, triangular houses. They walked through a shopping area, past a café and a shop selling something rolled into metre long tubes. Either that or they sold metre long tubes. The surroundings were almost monochrome. Only a large blue box with small white windows clashed with the single colour world, as it was the only thing with colour.

  “Vera? How do you know where you’re going?” London asked.

  “I do not know where the nearest aluminium supplier is,” the lion replied. “I am following the scent of it.”

  That took London aback, as far as he was aware one of the selling points of aluminium was its odourless nature.

  “Are you keeping track of which way is back to the ship?”

  “Of course,” replied Vera casually. “Are you not?”

  “There have been more left and rights than the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace,” London said. “I doubt Google Maps could navigate me back through that. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve built more houses behind us and knocked some down.”

  “Unlikely,” Vera had trouble with anything other than factual statements. “It takes several hours to build a house. Nor do I understand why the guard would require changing.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” London muttered.

  After several more twists and turns, walking down an unusually long and snaking passageway between two tall buildings and crossing a piazza that was crying out for a statue or a fountain in the centre, Vera seemingly picked a shop at random.

  London and Xia followed. The shop front was solid yellowy stone like much of the neighbourhood. The door was an arch in the facia of the shop, edged with white stone. Along the roof line were thin slit windows made of a milky type of glass. There was an odour like baked bread coming from inside, but London knew better than to expect bread.

  The temperature dropped from slightly above unpleasant to slightly below pleasant as they crossed the threshold. The air improved noticeably. The acrid smell and the shortness of breath both went. It made London feel slightly lightheaded and giddy. Even the light was better. The light shafted through the milky glass into a room with shelves running down the centre, stacked with a wide variety of items, all familiar looking.

  London picked up a kettle.

  He looked at it with a puzzled expression.

  Next to it was a frying pan. It was definitely a frying pan. On the top shelf was a cutlery organiser filled with knives and forks. London put down the kettle and picked up a pizza cutter. He made the blade spin and put it back down, going down the shelf, able to identify everything.

  “I think we’ve come to an Earth shop,” London said to Xia as she picked up a baby’s christening rattle.

  Further down the aisle, Vera picked up a long green, cardboard box. Even from three metres away, London could see the words “Aluminium Foil” on the side. He could even make out the supermarket logo.

  “Everything ends up on this planet, eventually,” said Xia. “I guess Earth items must too.”

  They heard the sound of raised voices from the other end of the shop. London put down the tiny xylophone.

  “That is a ridiculous price for aluminium,” they heard Vera say. “It is one of the most abundant elements in the universe.”

  “Well, you see, pal,” came another, more weasel-like voice, nasal and grating. “What you have in your hands is a bona fide relic from a long extinct race of superior beings.”

  London and Xia came round the corner and saw a human sitting on a stool. He was in his early fifties, balding with his remaining hair hanging in a straggly grey curtain around the back of his head and a loose blue jacket over a white tee-shirt.

  “I don’t think Earth is extinct,” said London. “I’ve just co
me from there.”

  “Aw, bollocks,” said the man. “I didn’t know you were human, did I? Here, take the foil on the house.”

  “Why would I wish to take the foil onto your house?”

  “He’s always like this,” said London. “I’m James. This is Xia, that’s Vera.”

  “Timothy, pal,” said the man. “My friends call me Tim Earthy, on account they can’t speak proper, like.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I was chucked in the back of a space craft that was looking for milk,” said Timothy. “I thought I’d be probed, but instead they dumped me here. They only wanted my wife.”

  “And now you run a shop?”

  “I collect all the stuff people accidentally pick up off Earth. I find it, fix it, clean it and flog it on,” said Timothy. “You’d be surprised what the beanbags and beavers will buy. Anyway, how did you two get here?”

  “I’m an accidental stowaway,” said London, “and Xia was kidnapped.”

  “Milk smugglers?” Timothy asked.

  Xia nodded. “Yes. Vera rescued me.”

  Timothy snarled. “They’re bastards they are. My wife was taken as a milk cow, when they realised she was too old, they dumped us, and now we live here. Do you want to come upstairs and meet her? I’ve got tea and digestives. Admittedly, both are very stale, but they’re the freshest digestives for two thousand light years. I’ve been saving them for a special occasion.”

  “As much as the idea of tea appeals,” said London, who actually hated the stuff, but would have drunk it for nostalgia purposes, “we really have to be getting a move on.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Have you heard of a pretty big beaver called Isinglass?”

  “Oh yeah,” nodded Timothy. “We stay out of his way. He’s a right nasty bastard.”

  London looked over at Vera who was examining a yo-yo. “He kind of pissed him off.”

  “Not good,” Timothy said.

  “For the second time,” London added.

  “And he’s still alive?” Timothy nodded in admiration. “I’ve got a newfound respect for him. I’ve not seen one of his species before. Where’s he from?”

  “No idea, another galaxy, or something,” London said.

  “Oh shit, you’re kidding me?” Timothy said, his eyes widening in fear.

  “No?”

  “Get him out. Take him far away from my shop. If they know he’s been here, I’m dead. If anybody asks where you got the foil, say it was Tony’s, he’s my competition.”

  Timothy took a gun out from behind a book case containing real paper books, and held it in his lap.

  London took the hint, steered Xia away from the plastic Coke bottles, collected Vera and dragged them from the shop.

  “What’s the matter?” Xia asked when they were back in the warm, smelly, oxygen deprived air and orange light of the outside.

  “I think Vera has a bit of a reputation,” said London. “When I mentioned he was from another galaxy, Timothy freaked out.”

  “His reaction was understandable given my reputation,” said Vera. “Come, we have the foil and our destination. It is time to leave anyway.”

  Whether Vera was following his nose or his memory, he took them back through the maze of housing, shops and storage buildings with what seemed like unerring accuracy, but equally well could have been completely different to the route they’d taken coming and added ten minutes to their journey time. Whatever the truth, they walked between two domed shaped buildings, turned left, and there was the building they’d come through.

  By now, London was feeling the effects of oxygen deficiency and poisoning from ammonia and sulphides. He was wheezing, had trouble breathing and there were either bizarre shadows on the planet, or he had dots in front of his eyes. He couldn’t smell the sulphur any more, but given the tightness in his chest, he suspected it was still present. He didn’t realise that no longer being able to smell hydrogen sulphide is a symptom of being poisoned.

  “We should have brought a rebreather for you,” Xia said. She seemed more able to cope with the air.

  “That sounds like a better idea than dying,” London said with difficulty, as they walked out of the shadow of the port building back in to the orange light of the port field. “We’re almost at the ship now, I’ll be fine.”

  Their ship was obvious even from distance. It looked the same as all the others with the major difference being the forty or fifty assorted aliens surrounding it.

  “Not again,” said Xia.

  “Go and take James to the supplies shop in the port building, and purchase a rebreather,” Vera told her. “I will take care of this.”

  “Be careful,” Xia said. “I’d rather you didn’t die.”

  “They will not want to kill me,” Vera sounded rather sure of that supposition. “How to make my ship fly at intergalactic speeds is a secret they will want.”

  “Yes,” Xia said. “But they might get unlucky.”

  Inside the port building, Xia located a rebreather that would fit London, immediately he felt able to breathe.

  He made muffled noises at Xia.

  “Sorry?” she said.

  London lifted the mask. “Let’s go and help Vera.”

  “If he needs it,” Xia said with a shrug.

  Walking back down the compacted sand, they could tell where the fight was, but couldn’t make out Vera, due to the mound of aliens.

  “There you are,” said a raspberry voice behind them.

  Two Julips stepped in behind London and Xia, pressing various weapons into their backs, while Isinglass waddled in front of them.

  “You’d be strongly advised to let us go,” said London, lifting the face mask to talk.

  “Why would I do that?” Isinglass made a raspberry noise London assumed was the closest it could get to a laugh. “I will kill one of you, and threaten to kill the other, unless your blue friend tells me what I want to know.”

  London nodded and lifted the rebreather. “I understand,” he said. “It’s a standard play.”

  “Which one of you is the human who was with him last time?” Isinglass asked. “You humans all look alike to me.”

  “Do you want to kill that one first, or last?” asked Xia.

  “Why do you ask,” Isinglass asked.

  “Well,” she replied with a smirk, “if you’re killing the one who was with Vera last time last, then I’m the one who was with him. But…if you’re going to kill the one who was with him last time first, then he is the one who was with him.”

  London used the time that Isinglass was processing Xia’s logic to glance around. He’d brought two beavers. They were solid-looking. Their fur was short, bristled and brown. Their faces were flat, but for a protruding nose that was also a top jaw. Large black, oval eyes betrayed nothing of where they were gazing, their triangular ears twitched. The two guarding them had white smock-like clothing on, slightly stained. They both also had the same kind of gun that was currently in London’s inside pocket.

  London had an idea.

  “Accovacciarsi,” he said to Xia.

  She looked at him puzzled. “Accovacciarsi? Certo?”

  London said “Si,” before repositioning the rebreather.

  Hoping that ‘accovacciarsi’ was the Italian word for ‘crouch’, and that he’d not got it mixed up with ‘vaccine’ again. The last time he’d done that, the poor tour guide in the Coliseum had been very confused, and got beheaded by one of the living statues plaguing Rome.

  He did have the right word, and Xia dropped to the floor, London lent to the side and swept his leg up and round, clearing Xia’s head and connecting with her guard’s face. London hoped that his high-gee upbringing would have the desired effect. It did. The kick sent the beaver spinning off to the side. London didn’t stop moving however, rolling onto his shoulder, bringing out the complicated energy weapon. He had to hope he had it the right way around as he pressed the button.

  The top half
of London’s guard vanished.

  “That was overkill,” said Isinglass, looking at the smoking remains.

  London looked up. Isinglass had a weapon of his own pointing at London.

  Xia also had one of her two guns out. “Drop it, Isinglass.”

  “Drop yours,” he replied. “I was always going to kill one of you. I don’t mind doing it here.”

  “And then you die,” Xia said.

  “But so will your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend,” Xia replied. “He’s our customer. He paid to get home, and paid up front, so I’m not bothered either way.”

  Isinglass hesitated long enough, and London fired up from a low angle taking the beaver’s head clean off.

  “He’s right about it being on too high a setting,” Xia said. “The power supply will last longer if you turn that dial down. It’ll still be effective, but won’t leave a big hole in the wall behind them as well.”

  She was pointing at a small circle.

  London rotated the circle with a series of clicks. If it had been designed by a human, it’d probably have a touch screen even when one wasn’t warranted.

  “What does this switch do?” he asked.

  Xia looked at it. “Oh? That changes the colour of the beam.”

  By the time they reached the remains of Isinglass’s mob, Vera had dispatched them. He was rubbing his lower lip and had green blood dribbling down over his right eye. This was definitely a case of ‘should have seen the other guys’. The other guys in this case were scattered around the compressed sand, the lucky ones were moaning.

  “We need to leave,” said Vera.

  “Isinglass is dead,” said London.

  “All the more reason for us to leave with haste,” Vera replied. “The authorities will be on their way. Admittedly, they will be arriving at a sedate pace, thus ensuring that we are long gone by the time they arrive.”

  “Sounds about right,” said London, realising some things were the same the universe over.

  ***

  Wishbone was idly flicking through pages on a tablet when Janet and John came in. John suspected that his boss watched them approach, and immediately adopted a nonchalant pose.

  Wishbone had a liking of long tables. His current one was no exception, although this one appeared to be from the Ikea Megalomaniac collection. As usual there was only one chair at the far end, in which Wishbone reclined, not looking up at them. Display screens now ran the length of the room, each showing various scenes from around the world.