Subcutis Page 16

  This was most assuredly not Wisconsin. For one thing, there were more pebbles on the ceiling, kept there by who-knew-what force. Plucking an ebony specimen from the floor and flinging it upwards, she found that it stuck right above her head. The walls had a stony look and feel to them, but were brightly coloured – a mix of blues, purples, reds and yellows that reminded her of Gypsy’s wardrobe. When she stood near to them, they reacted to her presence by shifting smoothly to a more muted colour.

  “Okay,” she said, rejoining the others. “Now this is what I expect from an alien spaceship. Serious weirdness. If I’m not very much mistaken, we’re meant to walk on the ceiling as well.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen what looks like a computer terminal up there. You see, that dark, polished area? I’d like to try and access it.”

  “Leave that to me, Skipper. I’ve got a plan.” Annie approached one of the ladders. It was an exceedingly simple design: two parallel bars running from floor to ceiling, rungs in the middle and near the top and bottom. Taking a short run-up, she put a foot on the first rung, got two hands on the second and thrust upwards.

  There was a brief sensation of weightlessness, then Annie was being pulled towards the ceiling. She tried to get her feet on the final rung, but the gravitational shift was disorienting; she slipped off and landed on her backside with a scrunching of pebbles.

  “Grace by name, graceful by nature?” Hunter chided gently.

  Annie grinned. “I’d like to see you do better.” She scrambled unsteadily to her feet, her confused directional sense redefining ceiling as floor and floor as ceiling,

  “Touché. I’m a little old for gymnastics. Going to need a hand.” With a little planning they were able to manoeuvre the captain across unscathed, Annie supporting her from the outer surface and Iris from the inner.

  “Now for that terminal …”

  Access proved surprisingly easy. A single tap activated the little screen, after which a menu full of buttons bearing the Matan script appeared. Using the dictionary, and with many false starts, they navigated their way to the ship’s logs.

  A deep voice boomed throughout the ship; the bearded cyborg who had attacked them, Annie supposed. She noticed Hunter shudder slightly, and guessed that it was bringing back unpleasant memories. But the sight on the screen noticeably brightened the captain’s mood.

  “Look there! Words scrolling across as he speaks.”

  “D’you think they’re the same?” asked Annie. “Written and audio?”

  “Yes … yes, exactly. This is huge: link the two together and we can speak their language. If more come, we can communicate. Co-operation instead of combat! A meeting of minds for two cultures separated by a million stars … that’s how it’s supposed to be. Annie, we need to find a way to transfer this data into our computers.”

  “Alrighty! Then we’re probably gonna need a look at this thing’s innards. Is that an access panel?” The technician had spotted a rectangular panel above the computer screen. Exploring its edges, she found a series of grooves she could slip her fingers into. She pulled upwards, and the panel came loose with a satisfying pop.

  Shining the light of her wristband into the cavity that had been revealed, Annie saw a series of transparent packets of amber gel. There were sixteen in total, which was no surprise; the Matan did a lot of things in multiples of eight.

  “Not quite what I was expecting,” said Hunter, peering over Annie’s shoulder.

  “Me neither. Although, this set-up does look kinda familiar …” She clapped her hands abruptly. “Ha! Bet that’s it! DNA computing.”

  “I’m not familiar with it.”

  “Before your time, probably. And before mine, obviously, but I’ve studied the theory. It was all the rage for a decade or so last century – artificial DNA strands that could store literally bucket-loads of data. But processing speed for simple tasks wasn’t so great, and there were issues with data degradation. We moved on to better tech.”

  “It’s nice to think that we might be ahead of them in one area, at least. But the big question is, can you extract the data?”

  Annie cogitated for several seconds. “You got anything with you that can take a DNA sample, Iris?”

  The doctor touched her backpack. “Yes. A cell sampler.”

  “Okay. Maybe we can do it then, if we can figure out a way of hooking your widget up to these packets. Hmm. Lots and lots of unknowns … might not be possible … Flora would be better qualified … don’t have my best tools …” She grinned suddenly. “I’ll give it a go.”

  For the first time since they’d left Earth, Hunter grinned back at her. “That’s my girl.”

  * * *

  They had to work through the night, but they got their data. It might have proven impossible if the alien computer had had any sort of security protection, but in the event their only real challenge came in extracting the data without damaging it.

  With Annie and Iris doing most of the work, occasionally contacting the Bona Dea to pick Flora’s brains for ideas, Hunter had time to explore the ship.

  It was an unnerving place, but as the captain became used to the the mind-bending layout, she realized that it wasn’t so very different from her own ship. There were strange artefacts, certainly – asymmetrical objects bristling with rough protrusions strewn on tables, a meter-high glass box filled with intricate parts which clicked and turned busily yet seemed to serve no purpose – but she saw much that was familiar as well. Tables, chairs, a deck of cards with bright colours and symbols, a room where slabs of meat were kept refrigerated, books, cutlery and control panels.

  One enclosed area had undoubtedly been the pilot’s living quarters, boasting a bed and a collection of photographs of Matans that could easily have been developed in a darkroom on Earth. She found another room where pressing a button appeared to make the floor fade to transparency – whether this was a holographic illusion she couldn’t be sure – giving her a view of the forest outside. The room was halfway up the outer deck, meaning that she was actually standing parallel to the ground.

  A tool for observation, or simply for pleasure? Hunter imagined the spectacular views that would be available when the ship was travelling through space. One might lie face down and watch the galaxy stream by; like being out there amongst the stars, without the encumbrance of a bulky spacesuit – every adventurer’s dream.

  As strange as this place was, it was encouraging to think that the Matans shared many of the same passions as Hunter and her crew. If she could ever open a proper dialogue with one of them, they’d have common ground to build on.

  By the time that Annie finally confirmed that the extraction had been successful, they were all keen to leave. The mysteries of Legan technology were tantalizing, true, but unravelling them could wait for another time.

  The ship had one last surprise for them. As she completed the transition back to the inner deck of the ship, Hunter spotted a little alcove that she hadn’t noticed before.

  Inside, floating in tanks filled with a clear liquid, were two feet, one arm, two lungs, one eye and part of a brain. They were the same body parts that the cyborg had been missing.

  “Displayed like trophies,” said Hunter with wonder.

  “I’ve still got some of my baby teeth in a box somewhere, but this is taking things a little far,” said Annie. “He didn’t lose these in an accident, did he?”

  “I don’t think so. He had them cut off, amputated, replaced with awkward technology which his body was constantly trying to reject.”

  “They’ve definitely got some sort of machine fetish going on around here. Weird people.”

  “I dare say they’d think the same about us,” reproached Hunter. But there was certainly something disturbing about the single eye staring balefully at them from its tank. It was blue, just like hers. What could drive a sentient creature to mutilate itself like this?

  “Come on. Time we were leaving.”

  They exited the ship with no problems. But th
e image of that eye stayed with her all through the long walk back.

  X

  … The information retrieved from the cyborg’s ship has proven to be a goldmine.

  As hoped, the logs contained matching written and audio records. Taken together, these finally told us the correct pronunciations of the letters and words we’ve seen so much of since we found that first old building. As our translation team had already deduced, there are thirty-nine consonants and nine vowels in the Matan alphabet. These cover a range pretty familiar to me as an English speaker; the main reason why there are more Matan letters in total is that some sounds, such as “ch” and “sh,” are conveyed by a single character, as are certain pairings of consonants, “cr,” “tw” and “pl” being the most common examples.

  As useful as this is, more exciting for me are the contents of the logs and other communiques, the majority of which Gypsy has managed to translate. This is by far our clearest look into the mind of a Matan, and the story told is easy to relate to – a lonely pilot, name of Jukudewa, on a solitary journey through space, fighting boredom and missing home. From what we can gather of his mission, it involved flying to Mahi Mata – Srisade is his word for it – conducting checks of some description and returning home. The ‘home’ in question proves to be the second planet of this system. We hadn’t take a particularly close look at it before now, as it seemed a poor relation of Mahi Mata; long range scans suggested a barren world with no signs of habitation. The pilot’s logs, however, indicate that a thriving colony has been established there, with great sealed domes above the surface and a city beneath.

  Things get really interesting in the last few entries. Jukudewa found evidence that the atmosphere of the planet had been breached, and detected our ship on the surface. He showed little curiosity as to the nature of the Bona Dea but seems to have been highly excited that we were able to land, which for reasons he frustratingly failed to state had been believed impossible.

  He landed. He contacted his home world, Lega. They responded, ordering him to remain in his ship and return to orbit until a second vessel joined him. But Jukudewa was already several hours dead when that last message arrived. Evidently his curiosity got the better of him.

  So they’re coming. There’s nothing to say what capabilities or crew complement the new ship will have, nor when it will arrive. But it is coming, and it will find us.

  Hunter’s response has been to instruct all crew members to try and master the Matan language. Communication is the answer, she feels – the only way to turn potential war into peace …

  – Daniella Winters, Journal Entry #425

  Four days after the excursion to the alien ship, Hunter was in her quarters studying Matan vocabulary – she still thought of the language as Matan, although the correct name was Togadilo. Happily, it was proving to be a highly rational tongue, easy to learn. She suspected that it may even be a constructed language along the same lines as Esperanto: there seemed to be no irregular verbs, very little variation when it came to the pronunciation of each letter and a logical structure governing the construction of words. As long as the delegation from Lega gave them a few weeks before blasting into orbit, she was confident of being able to open a dialogue with them. Then hopefully her negotiation skills, honed through hard decades in the boardroom, could come into play.

  Her door chimed. She had a fair guess as to who it would be – it was surely time for Rivers to come a-flowing by. “Come in.”

  Her guess was wrong. Instead of the round face and curls of Sandra Rivers, she saw the strong jaw and sharp crew-cut of technician Lorna Costa, her features softer than usual, as though she were making an effort to appear friendly.

  “Good evening, Captain.”

  “Is it that late? So it is. I’ve been lost in Matan.”

  “Learning a new language can be pretty stimulating, huh?”

  “Yes. It’s been a fair few years since I last tried it. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it.”

  “To be honest, I’ve never had an ear for them myself. Not a strength of mine.”

  So far, so bland, thought Hunter. Small talk isn’t a strength of yours either.

  Costa spotted the small picture on the cupboard by the bed; a laughing girl with golden hair. “Ah, this must be your daughter. She’s younger than I expected.”

  “Old picture. Amelia was 25 when we left.”

  “Amelia? Now, I’m going to guess that she was named after a certain Ms. Earhart.”

  “Bingo.”

  “She didn’t want to come along? Do some pioneering like her namesake?”

  Hunter flinched ever so slightly. Was this a deliberate attempt to open some old wounds, or did Costa simply not know?

  “She chose a different path. Take a seat, Lorna.”

  “Thank you, Miriam. May I call you that?”

  “Privately, yes.”

  “If I know you, you’re proud of your daughter choosing her own path. Miriam, I’ve always admired your work, particularly the way you’ve pushed us women to fulfil our potential. You’ve got all of our respect.”

  Hunter smiled tightly. “Thank you. Are you going to do something which might lead me to doubt the depth of that respect?”

  “Unfortunately.” Costa briefly affected a sheepish expression, then abruptly dropped the act. “You chose to stay here after our ship underwent its metamorphosis, even when myself and the rest of the crew were safely back aboard. Professor Rivers disagreed, probably more strongly than she had a right to, but ultimately understood your reasons and respected your decision. My feelings were similar. But now our situation has changed.

  “An alien vessel is on its way, quite possibly a military vessel, armed for battle. A handful of carnal robots taught basic combat skills will make for a poor defence against lasers, machine guns or bombs dropped from orbit. We may never see our killers. Even if we do, even if we can communicate with them, are they likely to be satisfied with our explanations as to why one of their people died?

  “Miriam, it’s time to leave.”

  Hunter nodded. “I understand your feelings, and you’ve put your case well-”

  “It’s not just my case. Let’s be clear on that. A number of the crew have expressed these same concerns; I was nominated to represent them.”

  That gave the captain pause. Was a mutiny on the cards? Rivers would be the ringleader, of course. By sending Costa, a crew member from another department that she had no close ties to, the scientist was sending the message that dissatisfaction with Hunter’s leadership was widespread. She may have badly misjudged the mood of the crew. This never used to happen back on Earth …

  But this wasn’t the time for self-doubt. The Bona Dea was her command, and everyone aboard had accepted that fact the day they joined.

  “I understand your concerns. This isn’t a problem with an easy solution. There are unknown dangers if we stay, unknown dangers if we try to break away. My job is to balance them as best I can, and for me the deciding factor is that the people on their way over here are just that – people. They aren’t some unfathomable force like the one which transformed our ship. The logs we’ve translated show that they aren’t so dissimilar to us. Oh, they have beliefs and rituals we find strange, but they love and hate as we do. Cultural differences can be overcome.

  “My feeling about trying to cut the ship loose and escape remains the same. A power beyond our comprehension has chosen to keep us here. Defy it and it may destroy us on a whim.”

  The technician’s blunt features formed a frown. “Then we stay. For how long? What hope is there that we can ever communicate with our all-powerful jailer? You admit yourself that it’s entirely alien to us.”

  “The ancient Matans found a way. Their descendants might know it. I believe this Legan ship might be our salvation, not our doom.”

  “But then you’re assuming a closer link between Lega and Mahi Mata than we have evidence for. They’re the same species, yes, but we don’t know when or how they were spli
t up.”

  Hunter leaned forward. “Don’t we? We have enough of this planet’s history pieced together to know that they all originated here, and that their space exploration program was rudimentary at the time that they underwent their mass transformation to the creatures we’ve seen below ground. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if a group of them left for Lega shortly afterwards. Perhaps they were dissidents, who rejected the metamorphosis offered them. Instead, they transformed themselves using their own technology.”

  “More assumptions.” Costa rose abruptly. “But why carry on arguing? You’ve made your decision, Captain.”

  “Yes. I trust that you’ll relay it to those of the crew who share your concerns.”

  “I will.”

  That went no better than my run-ins with Rivers, thought Hunter as the other woman left. Perhaps a softer touch would have been better, as irritating as these challenges to my leadership have become.

  Truth be told, the case put forward by Costa was a strong one; the Legan delegation might prove to be the greater danger, not the force that dwelt beneath their feet. But a decision had to be made, and it fell to the captain to make it. She wasn’t about to back away from that responsibility, and if the strength of her resolve ruffled a few feathers, so be it. Resentment might grow amongst certain of the crew, but there would be no mutiny, she was sure of that.

  At least, not today …

  * * *

  A few weeks later, Flora and Gypsy sat together in the latter’s room playing their regular chess game. Flora was flattered to find that she had been incorporated into the mathematician’s daily routine: half an hour studying Matan together, then a single game, then bed.