2000 Light Years from Home (James London)

by Iain Benson

  “A conversation between these guys would be deafening,” said London.

  “I’ve never heard them talk to each other,” said Xia. “I don’t think they do.”

  “They have no thoughts,” said Bonbon. “It is like they are not really here.”

  “Ah,” said London. “So on Earth, when people think they’re being haunted, they’re not. They’re being visited by these aliens.”

  “Hauntings?” asked Vera.

  “The ghostly remains of the departed,” explained London.

  “When a corporeal being dies,” said Vera. “It is no longer.”

  “Tell that to Derek Acorah,” London said.

  “You are a very strange being,” Vera said.

  They were led through an arch into the top level dining area. The yellow-hued wood wrapped around itself to create tables and pillars up to the ceiling; the walls merged seamlessly into the floor and ceiling. A broad staircase led down to the next level, and although there were no diners on the floor they were on, the Tryful led them to the floor below, which was identical, but for the half dozen diners. London could smell cooking beef. He almost drowned, his mouth was salivating that much.

  They were led to a table. London chose a chair, and got to examine the table close up. It was a part of the tree. It grew out of the ground, one piece of living wood making up the furniture. It wasn’t carved; it had grown into the shape.

  He decided it was futuristic after all.

  “Three burgers,” said Vera as he squeezed himself into the chair.

  “Certainly,” said the Tryful.

  London glanced up but the ghostly apparition was no longer there. It had not walked away, it simply ceased to be.

  Anticipation was making London’s stomach twist, he felt like he was six years old being taken to a fast-food burger place for the first time. He could smell the food in the air.

  “How long does it normally take?” London asked.

  “In my experience, it does not take particularly long,” said Vera. “I have only been here once. This was before I met Xia. My experience therefore may be atypical.”

  “Your burgers,” said the booming voice of a Tryful, once again simply appearing. Burgers were placed on the table. London desperately wanted to watch to see where the Tryful went, but also desperately wanted to eat. He watched the ghostly figure for a couple of seconds, glanced down at his plate, and when he looked up again, the Tryful had gone.

  London looked back at his plate. There were some leafy items in a variety of colours, but having eaten salad at a fancy restaurant, purple leaves were not that unusual. There was a distinct lack of any kind of breaded product. Whether it was a called a barm, bap, batch, bun, muffin, cob or roll it was not on the plate. Vera picked up his burger using a curly purple leaf, and started eating. Vera sounded like he was making appreciative noises of the food. Xia was also looking at her food dubiously.

  “Do they normally look like this?” she asked London.

  “No,” said London. “Normally, they’re in bread, and at least vaguely circular. Burgers are also minced, not just meat. This is a steak.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, using some leaves to pick it up and bite into it. She chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. “That tastes lovely.”

  London couldn’t hold back any more, he also picked up a leaf, wrapped it around the steak and bit into it.

  “Oh my god,” he said. “That is disgusting.”

  “What is wrong with it?” Vera asked. “Mine tastes perfectly acceptable.”

  “I need to give them cooking lessons,” said London. “It tastes stringy. It’s not uniformly cooked. Also, a burger should have bread, it should be minced. It should be mixed with onions and seasoning.”

  “Perhaps they do not have bread and onions,” Vera said.

  “They have cows,” London replied. “Out of the various food stuffs, I’d have put cows at a much higher difficulty level on the obtainable scale.”

  Even though it was the worst steak London had ever tasted, he ate it and felt better for doing so.

  After they had finished, and Bonbon had eaten the remains of the leaves, a Tryful reappeared at their table to remove the trays. London watched it carefully, to watch how it vanished. It turned sideways, vanishing as it did so. Almost as though it was two dimensional and when it was sideways on, he couldn’t see it. Vera paid up on the way out.

  “Where do we go next?” London asked.

  “We go and see the owner of the Ranch,” said Vera. “It is he who has my ship.”

  They left the restaurant the way that they had come in. Heading along a roadway made from a branch. There were an awful lot of cows in the trees around him, some on comparatively quite narrow branches. They seemed oblivious to the drop down into the darkness of the forest below. London peered over the edge of the walkway. He could see crisscrossing branches making it impossible to see very far. There were cows below, munching on the grassy vines; lights dotted here and there illuminating the scene.

  After rounding a trunk so wide it could have been hollowed out to house the population of Reading, London saw a large structure with a line of cows waiting to go inside. They passed by on a different branch, some light breaking through the canopy above to create a pleasant dappled effect on the bovine queue. London had only ever seen a milking shed on Countryfile on the television, but recognised it instantly. Beyond, he saw a collection of buildings, again built out of the living trees. On the far side, London saw a golden space craft. Long and sleek, with a circular vertical hoop around it’s middle, connected to the body by tendrils of pure energy. Floodlights lit it from every angle, rivulets of light running along the flanks.

  “My ship,” said Vera, coming to a standstill to admire it. London had to admit, it was exactly how he’d pictured a space craft should look.

  The only path they could see to reach it was through the Ranch house. The house was two storeys high in a U-shape around a central courtyard containing a floral garden and fountain. The second floor had balconies overlooking the well-lit flower garden. Armed insects patrolled the courtyard and the balcony. Obviously, the Ranch owner was paranoid about security. As the owner of one of the major milk producers in the galaxy outside of Earth’s gravity well, this was probably justified.

  “They’re a little better armed than Isinglass’s guards,” Xia pointed out. “How do we get to your ship? I don’t think Keta Malika will simply hand it over.”

  “No,” Vera admitted. “He has gone to a lot of trouble to get my ship. If they can work out how it works, he will be able to become the biggest milk smuggler in the galaxy. No law agencies will be able to catch him.”

  “Bear hunt,” muttered London.

  “What is a bear?” Vera asked.

  “It’s a large carnivorous creature on Earth,” London explained.

  “There are no such creatures here,” said Vera. “I do not understand your remark.”

  “We can’t go through it,” said London, “we can’t go around it; we’ll have to go under it.”

  “What has this to do with hunting a large carnivorous creature from your planet?”

  “It’s a children’s song,” said London, he sang a little bit.

  “You teach children to hunt dangerous animals through song?”

  “I think the bear is a metaphor for something difficult, to teach perseverance,” said London. “The song provides no details on what to do to capture the bear when it’s found, and suggests running away instead. Come to think of it, it’s not a very good moral.”

  “The more you explain your world, the more bizarre and interesting it becomes,” said Vera.

  “When we get home,” said London, “I’ll get you a proper burger and an ice cream.”

  “Won’t he stand out?” Xia asked.

  “We’ll go to Brighton,” said London. “He won’t be the oddest sight there. People might think he looks odd, but will be too polite to say anything.”

  “I look forward
to it.” Vera looked back to his ship. “But first, we need to get to my ship.”

  London went to the edge of the walkway and looked down. The nearest branch was quite some distance down. Even though the gravity was lower, it would be a serious injury falling that far. London scanned around. There were lower branches, but none readily available. He looked at the grassy vines attached to the branches.

  “There does not appear to be anything within reach of the ship,” Vera pointed out, peering over the edge with London. “Do you have any thoughts?”

  “Tarzan,” said London.

  “Tarzan?”

  “He is a character from a story. He would swing through the jungle on vines,” said London.

  “Let me get this right,” said Xia. “You want me to swing from branch to branch on cow food? No.”

  “You take Bonbon back to the spaceport,” said Vera. “We will retrieve my ship, and meet you there. If we do not return in a little while, take the ship and leave.”

  Xia looked dubious. Bonbon reassured her; they all felt that London and Vera would be fine.

  “Thanks for that, Bonbon,” said London.

  The blue pompom and Xia headed off back towards the restaurant. London led the way, Vera following as they headed for a side branch up to the milking shed. Lots of branches from all over the forest came together at the milking shed to allow the cows access. They joined the cows at the door, a white light spilling out onto the branches. Inside was completely automated, the cows willingly walked into a funnel that took them through the process, milking them and depositing them back at the entrance where they trotted off to feed on the branches again.

  “Impressive,” said London.

  “Why do the cows come?” Vera asked. “Surely it would be in there interest to leave?”

  “They’re the same on Earth,” said London. “They queue up at the gate waiting to be milked. It must be bred into them.”

  “This is the weirdest aspect of your world I have yet encountered.”

  “Agreed,” replied London, squeezing past a cow.

  Away from the walkway, the branches felt more like branches. They were rougher and more rounded. The cows had no problem walking from branch to branch, hopping across the small gaps, but the moss and vines were slightly slippery. London had new found respect for the arboreal bovines. As the pair hopped from branch to branch, holding onto the occasional bush, they dropped down lower into the treetops. The light from the Ranch and the milking shed cast shadows around the boughs. Scents from flowers growing out of the wood added a perfume to the air. Small creatures buzzed around, generally avoiding them, occasionally bumping into them.

  They dropped down further, the gloom increased, with the only light coming from the yellow lights strung up at intervals that provided just enough illumination. London paused in the gloom. A single shaft of light found its way briefly through the canopy, illuminating a narrow diagonal strip across London’s eyes. He blinked.

  “We need to start back up,” he said.

  “That tree there,” said Vera, pointing across a five metre gap.

  London took out his phone and turned the flash light on. He scanned the beam around looking for anyway to connect their current set of branches with the ones they needed.

  “It’s time to Tarzan,” said London.

  London secured his phone and climbed up and across to a branch with vines drooping over the edges. He pulled at them, surprised at how easily they separated from the wood. Vera joined in, and together they fastened them together. It took them several minutes, but soon they had a fairly strong rope. London looped it over a low thin branch, testing its strength by swinging on it. It held.

  “Let’s do this,” London said, walking as far out as he could before the branches started to bend and creak alarmingly. After a few goes, he managed to swing the end of the vine under the branch and tied it off.

  London held the other end and looked down into the darkness. There were fewer branches visible, but that didn’t mean they were completely absent.

  “You want to go home?” he asked himself.

  The answer was an emphatic ‘yes’. London headed back up the branch towards Vera. His eyes fixed on the other side of the chasm, London ran along the branch. As it started to bend, he threw himself into the darkness off the side, hands wrapped by the vine and hoping against hope it wouldn’t snap.

  He felt twigs and smaller branches crack as he crashed through them, before the vine became taught and snapped him around in an arc. He flew through the darkness, the lights from above lining the edges of his target tree.

  An ululating cry disappeared off into the darkness as London came round and back up to the opposite branch. He went past and reached the apex of his swing, letting go and dropping onto the branch, slipping on the moss and plants. He grasped the stem of a tall pink flower that arrested the slip, and allowed him to come back to his feet.

  “Your turn!” he yelled at the big blue lion.

  “Is the yell compulsory?” Vera asked, drawing the vine back up.

  “It’s traditional,” London told him.

  Vera shrugged, and headed back up the branch, rope in hand. London watched as his mane ruffled in the wind of Vera’s run through the trees, before leaping off rapidly being swallowed by the darkness. There was an extended space between heartbeats before Vera came hurtling out of the dark, his teeth gleaming in the slight light, lips pulled back. He flew past London, and started on his way back down. London braced himself on the branch and caught the vine as it went past. The sudden weight of the extra-terrestrial almost dragged London off, but he held on, wrapping the thick vine around his wrist. London pulled himself into a better position, dragging the vine up until he saw a furry blue clawed hand emerge over the lip of the branch. Several more heaves and Vera was able to clamber up onto the branch.

  “I enjoyed the swing,” said Vera. “However, I feel I need to work on my landing.”

  “You could say that,” said London, who had red welt marks across both palms and up round his wrists. “You are very heavy, do you know that?”

  “I am aware,” said Vera. “Come, let us get my ship.”

  There was a path back up, but it was unlit. More importantly, no cows had grazed bare patches into the plant cover, leaving the path tricky to navigate. They grasped flowers and bushes to haul themselves over the more treacherous parts. Neither spoke as they worked their way up, eventually emerging on the far side of the compound where Vera’s ship was held. They were in the darkness created by the brightness of the lights around the ship. Insect guards patrolled all over the compound, as well as numerous beavers, beetles and tic-tacs. The guards, to an insect, were facing towards the Ranch building. The ship looked graceful, balanced precariously on the narrow ring around its centre-point.

  “Where is the landing gear?” Vera muttered. “Why are they resting my ship on the drive? They are fools.”

  Using the light from his phone torch, London led Vera over a maze of interconnecting branches until they reached the compound. Arc lights in each corner illuminated the ship exceptionally well, but there were shadows. The pair moved into the shadows, a small triangular patch of almost darkness at the back of the ship. It allowed them to get into the shadows beneath Vera’s ship. Vera grabbed London’s shoulder and pointed up at the underside of the ship.

  London looked up, the metal. It looked like liquid gold. London could just about touch it when he reached up and stroked the surface, it felt warm to the touch, soft like silk.

  Vera reached up more easily. He sensually stroked a patch. A hatch slid open, and a ladder descended.

  “Come on,” Vera set off up the ladder into the craft.

  London followed the lion into his den.

  The padded chair in the Oval Office turned languidly, but it wasn’t president Cruise occupying it. Cruise was on the subservient side of the desk.

  “Looks like you’re not Top Gun anymore,” said Wishbone. On either side of him were four
of his soldiers. They accompanied the megalomaniac everywhere now. There had been two attempts on his life, both had failed. He was dressed in a monogrammed pale blue polo shirt and casual beige trousers.

  “The senate are capitulating for the time being,” said Cruise. “You haven’t won.”

  Wishbone picked up a piece of paper on the desk. It was a very old piece of paper.

  “This is your constitution,” Wishbone held it up and examined it closely. “I must say, it is very quaint. This first bit about congress, it’s a bit moot now, isn’t it? Very dry, this next bit. It’s hard to read as well. Blah de blah. “

  Wishbone took a lighter and set fire to the ancient document. He handed it to one of his soldiers, who held it until the last of the ashes had floated off into the air.

  “The constitution is more than paper,” said Cruise. “It is in the hearts and minds of every American.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Wishbone dismissed the claim with a wave of his hand. “Save those speeches for your movies. In here, between you and me and the people watching in the bunker downstairs, admit it; you’re beaten. You’ll be able to go back to that science fiction religion now, go back to making movies. You can leave running the country to me.”

  Former President Cruise narrowed his eyes. It was his trademark stare, and it had won him the election.

  “You may think you’ve won,” Cruise said. “But you will never defeat us. You will never defeat America.”

  “Seriously?” Wishbone gave a chortle. “That sounded so trite. The USA doesn’t exist anymore. If you like I’ll call you the first state of the World Union.”

  “Were we the last to fall?” Cruise looked for any shaft of light in the gloom of despondency.

  “There’s about a few left, mainly small island nations,” said Wishbone. “Does the UK count as four countries or one? So that’s one or four, depending on how you count that pointless little island. Oh, and North Korea. We went there the day before yesterday. Every single person in the country wanted to fight us. It’s a very Weird Place. We’ll go back in a bit. Some countries I’ve not invaded might get in touch and surrender without having to visit. It’s mainly dribs and drabs now. Soon we’ll have them all.”