Binary system, p.5
Binary System, page 5
She felt her heart thumping in her ribcage. She slid further down the bulkhead and felt the charger pressing against the small of her back, hard and cold. A Skelt turned its long head to regard her, then looked back at the speaking Fahran. She glanced across the vessel to the ad hoc entrance; three Skelt peered in, though obscured by the attenuated shanks of their fellows.
You are unobserved now, Delia.
Here goes...
Heart thumping, her mouth suddenly dry, she moved her right hand down by her side and felt the ice cold disc of the charger through her thermal glove. She grasped the device and, while the Skelts’ attention was still on the Fahran, slipped it under the elasticised band on her thermal jacket, the frozen metal against her skin making her gasp involuntarily.
Well done, Imp said.
She rose to her feet and leaned against the bulkhead.
The Fahran came to the end of its spiel, and in due course they exited the life-raft and stood in the cavernous hall, regarding the craft.
A Skelt turned to her, its mandibles working.
Imp responded, and Fahran relayed its words.
The Skelt says that we have given it much to contemplate, Imp told her. They claim to understand the principle of jet technology, and wish to take the vessel apart. Evidently they are cognizant of the concept of reverse engineering. It informed me that they will transport the vessel to one of their machine shops. Then they wish you to be on hand to assist in the process. That, at least, should buy us time.
A second Skelt appeared before her, bending so that its bony face was centimetres from hers. Its mandibles worked, its words high-pitched clicks. She took a step back, intimidated, but a second later the alien vanished.
What did it say? she asked, alarmed.
It issued a warning, Delia. It suspects you are dissimulating – holding back your knowledge.
And...?
It threatened you.
Tell me.
If you don’t divulge the secret of the life-raft’s technology, then it will have you put to death.
The light-bearers moved, the flaming torch swooping like a comet across the chamber towards the double-doors. Guards appeared suddenly to either side of Delia, and she felt a peremptory jab in the small of her back. Before they left the chamber, the Fahran looked up into her eyes and lifted a hand in what might have been a farewell gesture.
One of the Skelt addressed her again, and Imp said, They will come for us at dawn and take us to the machine shop.
Dawn?
Approximately four hours from now.
She felt another prod, and the guards escorted her at speed from the chamber, across the square and back to her quarters.
Chapter Nine
ON HER RETURN she found a tray of food beside the bed-pit.
She ignored the meal and turned her attention to the charger, pulling the disc from under her tunic with elation and activating it. Normally she would have slipped the device under her pillow so that her Imp would recharge it while she slept, but she was too wide-awake to sleep now. Instead, she slid it under the hood of her thermal suit, pulling the elastic tight around her face and securing the charger in place at the nape of her neck.
She sat down and stared at the food: a grey-green mush and a strip of what might have been overcooked meat. Next to the thick pottery plate stood a goblet full of what looked like water.
She picked up the plate and sniffed the food. While it didn’t look too appetising, it didn’t smell bad. The liquid had no odour.
What do you suggest? she asked.
Take a small sip of water, a morsel of the mash and the merest taste of the meat-analogue. I’ll run an analysis.
She hesitated. If I can’t metabolise this... she thought.
If her Imp’s analysis on the food and water found that the foodstuffs of this planet were inedible, inimical to her metabolism, then she was as good as dead. And it would be a slow, unpleasant, lingering death of starvation and dehydration. Better, she thought, for a swift end at the hands of the Skelt.
She considered the irony of her situation: she had overcome vast odds on her way here. She had survived a starship blow-out; then her Imp had located a nearby world; the atmosphere of that world had proved amenable to human life, and she had survived a crash landing... all for nothing, if she was unable to metabolise the food of this strange planet.
She picked up an eating implement like a square-ended spoon, dipped it in the mush and took a tiny taste. It wasn’t as vile as it appeared; in fact it was quite palatable; a strong, iron-rich vegetable, she suspected. The meat tasted like well-done beef. She took a sip of tasteless water.
She paced the length of the chamber, from the slab of the door to the high, arched window and back.
You should rest.
I’m too nervous to rest.
She approached the slab of the door and pushed experimentally; it swung outwards on gimbals. Through the gap she made out a guard with its back to her. She pulled the door shut and moved away.
She could always, she thought, attack the Skelt as it turned and paced away from the door. In the medi-pack was a laser scalpel with an extendable ten-centimetre blade... But even if she managed to overcome the lightning-fast guard, the chances of her escaping from the city were scant – and to what end? She had no idea how she might contact the Fahran, or what she might do then. She was trapped on an ice-bound, alien world moving from inimical winter to a hellish summer.
She came to the window, suddenly stupefied with despair at the enormity of her plight.
She recalled the Skelt’s threat: that if she failed to divulge the secret of the life-raft’s technology, then she would be put to death.
Imp...
Go on.
I was wondering, how long you might be able to string the Skelt along, before they realise –
Imp interrupted: Judging by the scant Skelt technology I have witnessed so far, I think that they do not possess the means of manufacturing a jet engine. Thus I will offer to assist them in developing an engine from the ground up, so buying you even more time.
Time for what, exactly? I’m stranded here! Look, even if I could get off-planet there’s no way I can get back to Earth, let’s face it.
You are looking too far ahead. First we must consider your immediate survival. When we have secured that, then we consider how to evade the Skelt.
And then?
And then it would be a wise move to establish contact, and relations, with the opponents of the Skelt, the Fahran.
To what end, she wanted to ask? She was stranded here, ten thousand light years from the nearest of her kind, with no hope of ever returning...
She raised a hand and stared at the massed stars above the distant mountain range. And if I can’t even digest the damned food on this hellish world? she raged.
Imp did not respond.
Imp, I said...
I heard you, but on that score I have some news.
She swallowed, suddenly tense. Go on.
My analysis of the constituents of the food you sampled shows that you can metabolise the nutrients of this world. In other words, Delia, you can survive.
In spite of herself, she felt a quick stab of pleasure. That’s something, at least.
It is the first step along the road to gaining your freedom. The Skelt want something from you, and despite elements within their ranks threatening you with death, I suggest that the scientists and technologists of this world will be eager to keep you alive until we have divulged all the secrets we have to offer. This of course is to our advantage – and buys us considerable time and leverage.
To what end?
Fortunately, all negotiations with the Skelt go through the agency of the Fahran translator. The advantage of this is that I can question him on all aspects of the Skelt and their domination. Perhaps, with the assistance of the Fahran, we might be able to escape the Skelt.
And go where? she asked. If the Skelt rule much of this world, and have the other sentient life-forms in their power... I’m sorry. I’m being pessimistic. It’s just...
I understand.
You do?
You are far from home. You are alone. The chances of your ever returning to the ones you love are vanishingly small. Of course it is natural to feel despair.
And you don’t?
I am a self-aware artificial intelligence, with advanced cognitive and computational capabilities, but without emotion. I think logically. Your welfare is my priority. My aim is to ensure your survival, and hence my own.
And yet you understand that it’s natural for me to feel despair.
I understand the psychological system that engenders such a state – I understand, but cannot empathise.
You see emotions as a weakness, then?
In some situations, certain emotions can lead to impaired judgement. However, in others, for humans the ability to think emotionally, to empathise, is an advantage to the attainment of certain desired conditions.
She leaned against the embrasure of the window and stared out at the midnight pit. You can have no comprehension, Imp, of how much I miss my parents, Timothy, my friends...
That is correct. I have no comprehension.
She felt the need to weep. She fought the urge, and ordered Imp to summon the images of her parents.
She turned so that they could be projected into the room.
They appeared before her, standing beside the bed, as solid-looking and lifelike as if they had been whisked light years through space in order to ease her loneliness.
“It’s good to see you again, Mom, Dad...”
“And how is our favourite spacer?” her mother said. “What adventures have you been having lately?”
Delia felt a catch in her throat as she replied, “Oh, I’m far away on an alien world, an ice-bound planet soon to undergo a fearsome summer.” And I’ll never, ever, see you again...
She was overcome with the thought that her parents would be going through hell at this very moment. In their timber-built villa on the shores of a lake thousands of light years away, they would be grieving the loss of their only child in the catastrophic starship blow-out – the worst accident in the history of spaceflight.
If only there were some way of telling them that she had survived; that, at least – even if she was denied ever seeing them again – would be some small measure of comfort and relief.
“And what are you doing now?” she asked.
“Oh, Ed’s just about to drive down to the store for some nails,” her mother said, smiling at her. “The porch needs fixing again. And later the Taylors are coming over for dinner.”
All a lie, of course, a simulation created in the memory banks of her Imp – but a comforting lie, nevertheless.
“I miss you,” Delia said.
“And we miss you, too, Cordelia,” her father said, his watery grey eyes full of love.
End, she commanded – and the homely images winked out of existence.
She considered summoning the image of Timothy, but the sight of him would be too much to bear right now.
Delia, Imp said now, you should rest. In three hours the Skelt will summon you, and who knows how long we will be required to remain in their machine shop. You need to sleep.
She shook her head. I can’t sleep now.
I will sedate you.
She would welcome the oblivion if she did sleep, but then her next encounter with the aliens would come all the sooner. She had no desire to be awoken and whisked off to do the bidding of the fascistic locusts.
No. I’ll sleep later, naturally, when I’m tired.
Then at least finish the food, Delia.
She crossed to the bed-pit, sat down and took up the plate. She almost enjoyed the vegetable mush, but she had to force herself to eat the meat. It was slimy and tasteless; she tried not to consider the type of animal from which it came.
She finished the meal and drank the accompanying water, but was still hungry. She opened her pack and ate an energy bar, finding its familiarity reassuring – a tablet of cereal, fruit and sugar, manufactured on planet Earth!
She lay in the bed-pit and, despite her earlier decision, was about to instruct Imp to sedate her when she heard a sound. At first she thought it was the guard, come for her prematurely. She sat up, staring across at the door – but the sound was coming from the other end of the chamber, near the window.
She moved from the bed-pit and, cautiously, crossed the room.
She heard a sound, and another, like ice cracking underfoot. Then the lowest pane of glass in the tall window shattered across the marble tiles, and the small figure of a Fahran squeezed through the gap and climbed to its feet before her, a length of black bone griped like a club in its small left hand.
Chapter Ten
THE ALIEN SPOKE in an urgent whisper.
Imp translated: “You are in danger.”
She asked why, and Imp relayed the question. As it did so, Imp told her, It is the translator we met earlier. His name is Ahntan an Mahn. Mahn for short.
The Fahran spoke, and Imp translated: “My friend works for the Skelt Council. She was present at their last meeting, just two hours ago, and overheard the Skelt discuss your fate. My masters are divided, with the scientists on one side and the military on the other. The latter do not trust you, and petitioned for your immediate execution. The scientists said that there was much to be learned from you – much that might aid the Skelt oppression of the Fahran and the Vo – but the military were adamant.”
Delia felt something tighten in her stomach; gut fear.
The Fahran went on, and Imp relayed its words. “The military outnumber the scientists on the Council, and the Council leader – who in theory is neutral – favours the military. They voted, and a decision to order your execution was passed.”
“When will they...?” she began, her heart pounding as she awaited the alien’s reply.
“They will come at dawn, three guards and a judge, and put you to the sword.”
She said, “What can I do? I have no suitable weapon. If you could supply me with...”
At this, the alien reached out its abnormally long hand and Delia felt its warm fingers enclose her wrist. Its liquid brown eyes looked into hers as it spoke.
Imp translated: “You would stand no chance against the Skelt. They move at great speed, and their skin is resistant to the blade. The only way is to run.”
She tried not to laugh. “Run?”
“I have come to take you from Alkellion –” That’s the Fahran name for this city, Imp supplied. “We will head south from here, over the mountains towards the equator. The journey will be long, and dangerous, but it is the only way.”
She wanted to hug the alien to her. “But how? The chamber is guarded.”
Even as she asked the question, she feared the reply.
As she expected, the small blue alien gestured to the window. “We will descend into the chasm.”
“Is that possible?”
“I came that way. In darkness, we will not be observed. We will be away from here before the Skelt discover your disappearance.”
She nodded, despite her fear of what might lie ahead. “You put yourself in danger to help a stranger.”
“The risk is balanced against the trouble it will occasion our enemy.”
“One moment. I have supplies I must take with me.”
She fetched the medi-pack and the pack containing food and water, then considered the charger. It was far from secure, lodged where it was in the hood of her thermal suit. She removed the disc and slipped it into the medical pack.
The Fahran was crouching beside the broken window pane, peering down into the darkness. More than ever Delia was reminded, in his hunkered, ape-like posture, of a chimpanzee. Then the creature turned his long, narrow head towards her and the fact that he was an alien reasserted itself: nothing born of Earth had eyes so huge in a face so narrow, and nothing, she told herself, possessed such iridescent lapis lazuli fur.
His thin lips moved, hissing an urgent sibilance. Imp translated: “You must follow me. Care is imperative. Think not of speed at this time. Move slowly, considering every hand- and foot-hold.”
She nodded, then was aware that the gesture would mean nothing to the alien, and added, “Very well. I understand. However...” She examined the opening through which the alien, Mahn, had entered. “I don’t think I’ll fit through there.”
She saw the bone with which Mahn had broken the glass, and picked it up from the floor where he’d left it.
She slipped the length of bone through the gap between the lower frame and the window sill and pushed it forward. The metal spar resisted her pressure at first, and she pushed harder, until the spar buckled and the glass shattered. Her heart racing, Delia looked over her shoulder at the door. Seconds elapsed. The guard had not been aroused.
Heartened, she applied more pressure, and the metal frame twisted, leaving a space which, she judged, she’d be able to squeeze through.
The alien slipped through the gap; it was as if the creature became suddenly boneless, his pelt flowing from the chamber like poured ink. On hands and knees Delia poked her head through the opening and peered down.
Now she saw how Mahn had scaled the sheer precipice. A fine capillary network of what looked like ivy vines branched out across the stonework, faint in the starlight. Here and there she saw gaps in the mesh where it had broken off under the weight of the Fahran, and she feared that the root system would be unable to bear her weight.
Already Mahn was three metres further down the precipice, staring up at her with his huge eyes.
Taking a breath, she pushed her pack onto the window ledge, then turned onto her stomach and eased herself through the gap feet-first. Her left foot found a precarious hold on a vine, and biting her lip in apprehension she allowed it to take her full weight. She retrieved her pack and slipped it onto her back. Still clutching the sill, she lowered her right foot until she encountered another vine, then let herself down little by little.
The lighted archway above her head was but one of a hundred such windows in the cliff; above and below her, light spilled into the night. Her heart raced. If a Skelt moved to one of those windows and peered out...
