Kuldesak

by Richard Cowper

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

Earth, 2000 years after the holocaust which drove man deep underground; a ghostly, deserted planet peopled only by the diligent robots who, century after century, silently harvest grain which no man will eat. Up into this eerie world comes Mel, a questioning young Roamer who has disobeyed the Law which says he must never venture into or beyond the Lost Levels. Together with three companions, and a companion not of this earth, Mel takes on the awesome task of freeing human beings from the tyranny imposed upon them by their remote ancestors; of justifying the agonized cry of Barney as he died in a Forbidden Level; 'I am a man! Everything is for Man!'

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 187

Sample

From his peep hole above the spring Coney watched the silver bubble drifting down towards the sand-spit which the retreating tide had exposed twenty minutes earlier. His black nose twitched; his round ears flicked back and forth; but never for an instant did he allow his attention to stray. A dry bracken frond rustled faintly and his senses at once recorded “water mouse”. A fragrance of sphagnum moss wrinkled his nostrils. A wild bee hummed past a hand-span beyond his whiskers. Two hundred feet below him four pied oyster-catchers were strutting in the ripple at the water’s edge. Coney was aware of an almost unbearable tenseness that seemed to be located in the region of his stomach. See: hold: tell.

Ten feet above the drying sand the bubble’s gradual descent was arrested. It revolved slowly, one complete turn. ‘Amazing’, opined the Anthropologist. Truly amazing.’ Which is to say that the concept of amazement was engendered somewhere within the cortex of the being known to his fellows as “the Anthropologist” and transmitted soundlessly to the corresponding receptive centre in the cortex of his companion “the Explorer”. Both beings had “names” in the terrestrial sense: the Anthropologist’s sounded rather like the simultaneous twanging of two adjacent harp strings and the Explorer’s resembled nothing so much as the noise of water being poured out of a narrow-necked bottle. Such sounds defy phonetic transcription.

If the human ear might have made a distinction between their names, the human eye, unable to perceive their double hearts and their four vocal chords, would have searched in vain for a distinguishing feature in their forms and faces. Outwardly they were identical twins, and in all but two respects they came as close as it is possible to come to that ideal of godlike physical perfection which was extant among the Ancient Greeks when Praxiteles was in his prime. Their hair was short, fair and closely curled; their noses were straight; their mouths and chins firm; their teeth white and even. They both stood a fraction over six feet in height and, at this particular point of space and time, weighed a trifle over 155 terrestrial pounds. Their limbs were perfectly proportioned and they both possessed the full quota of toes and fingers. Nevertheless, had a human eye been able to range over their naked bodies, it would surely have flickered shyly as it reached the area where the thighs joined the abdomen. At the point where in the human male there droops that Thing of Joy which is a Beauty for ever, these ethereal visitors were as bald and smooth as porcelain. Furthermore their chests carried no such vestigial nipples as adorn the male human breast. In fact, within the terrestrial meaning of the words, it was impossible to say whether they were male or female.

Having completed its turn the bubble recommenced its descent, finally taking up a station about six inches above the damp sand. The two visitors stepped out, or, more precisely, they stepped through the translucent membrane of their vehicle which, seemingly ineluctable, appeared to wrap each of them in an all—but-invisible layer of itself before letting them go. As the last umbilical filament detached itself and rejoined the parent capsule, first the Explorer and then the Anthropologist vanished from sight.

From his vantage point above the estuary Coney emitted a sound which was part growl, part whimper. The short reddish brown hair on the back of his neck rose until it was standing perpendicular and his upper lip drew itself back to expose sharp white incisor teeth. He did not know why he growled. Later, perhaps, Mel would be able to tell him. He had seen the silver bubble bulge outwards and then gather itself in again, and some part of him over which he had no control had registered fear. His upper lip quivered and slid tremulously down over his teeth. The bristles along his neck sank slowly back. He wriggled his forepaws into a more comfortable position beneath his jaw and settled down once again. See: hold: tell.

The Explorer and the Anthropologist strolled slowly down the length of the sand-spit. Perceptible only to each other and to those observers whose retinas happened to be sensitive to the infra-red wavelengths, they moved as though over an invisible carpet which cushioned and insulated their tread. They passed within a yard of the shrimp-questing oyster-catchers and the birds did not turn a feather. ‘Don’t tell me—***s?’ transmitted the Anthropologist and laughed.

The Explorer gave a mental shrug. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later. The carbon-based pattern….’

‘But this!’ The Anthropologist indicated the sun-dappled hills and the clouds sailing serenely above. ‘Who could have believed it?’

‘I know what you mean,’ agreed the Explorer. ‘Why even the salinity conforms to within a tolerance of point five. Roughly speaking it’s a mirror image of ***’ (here a mental picture of a familiar, green, cloud-swirled planet passed between them) ‘though, of course, the configuration of the major land masses bears only superficial resemblance.’

The Anthropologist frowned. ‘And you say you’ve arrived at a total of ***?’ (again a concept was exchanged, indicating a time-span in the region of two thousand terrestrial years).

It’s difficult to be specific,’ the Explorer explained, ‘but the indications point to something around that figure. Our main difficulty has been to trace a progression through the types of artefact.’

‘??’

‘Well obviously at some point the machines must have become self-perpetuating. Possibly it was a gradual process spread over several generations. We always have to assume the connivance of the inventor race unless we have definite evidence to the contrary.’

‘Which you have not found?’

The Explorer shook his head. That does not mean that we won’t find it. After all it was only yesterday that I stumbled on my first irrefutable evidence of racial survival.’

‘Which is precisely why I am here.’

‘Which is why you are here,’ concurred the Explorer.

Over the brow of a hill a mile from where they were standing a silvery, spider-armed, Farming Factor appeared and began spindling busily back and forth among the neat rectangles of ripening cereal. The two visitors watched it for a moment without comment, then the Anthropologist who had, presumably, been following some thought path of his own, enquired: ‘I suppose you have considered the possibility of a pandemic?’

‘No evidence at all,’ replied his companion, ‘or, if there was it’s been effectively destroyed. Of course you may turn up something.’

‘Yes, it’s possible, I suppose.’ The Anthropologist blanked for a long moment then queried: ‘You still haven’t told me what brought you here in the first place.’

‘Here? Where we are now?’

‘No, to this otherwise totally barren and insignificant system. To this particular planet.’

‘I followed my ***.’ (The best translation for this is “inner nose”.)

‘Seriously.’

For answer the Explorer proffered a concept whose nearest terrestrial equivalent would perhaps be the quest for Atlantis or El Dorado, but it was proffered in such a way that the Anthropologist could not be certain whether it was intended humorously.

‘I had no idea that you were a ***.’ (No earthly equivalent exists for this, though a skein wound out of the disparate threads of Pantheism, pilgrimage, mysticism and the Hegelian “ineffable synthesis of discordant opposites” might just possibly convey a hint of it.)

The Explorer shrugged, then smiled. ‘I admit that I did happen to turn up something curious in the Psychic Archives for this Sector. Did you know that this area was surveyed cursorily in ***?’ (Here a time-span covering roughly twenty thousand terrestrial years.)

‘Of course I knew. What I was hoping to establish was some personal evidence of attempted contact. Obviously not “evidence” within the Codex qualification but—well, you know what I mean.’

The Explorer permitted himself the small luxury of an enigmatic grin but was not, apparently, prepared either to confirm or deny the suggestion.

‘It would give me some thing to start on,’ pleaded the Anthropologist.

‘It would be wholly unethical,’ chuckled the Explorer.

‘So there was something. I suspected as much.’

‘Intuition. Nothing more. I believe you will find something.’

‘Something sophisticated?’

‘Technically sophisticated by our standards—that I doubt, or we’d surely have encountered it by now. Culturally or psychically? Well, who knows? There, I’ve given you all the help I can.’

‘Thanks for nothing,’ sighed the Anthropologist.

They retraced their steps along the sand bank to where in the mellow glow of the westward-sinking sun the bubble still hovered. When they reached it they turned with one accord and looked back up the estuary. The gawky, metallic Factor, its brief task completed, had vanished whence it had come. The clouds were melting away leaving a vast swathe of pellucid sky. ‘Uncanny, isn’t it?’ mused the Explorer. ‘Here particularly.’

‘Is that why you brought me here?’

‘One of the reasons undoubtedly.’

The Anthropologist nodded. ‘If I didn’t know, I’d be prepared to swear that *** lay just around that bend.’ (A vivid image of a little lakeside town superimposed upon an aural undertone which recalled a faint, nostalgic carillon of glass bells.)

The Explorer sighed. ‘What wouldn’t I give to have my fingers round the *** of my ***?’ (Concepts untranslatable: boat? flower petal? soaring seagull?)

‘Why do we do it?’ wondered the Anthropologist.

‘Why do ***s***?’ (Again untranslatable. Approximates to “fish/swim: birds/fly: men and women make love.”)

Along the slopes of the far inland hills violet shadows were gathering. A solitary star swam up the eastern horizon, a single silvery point of light. The Explorer nodded at it. ‘Time for me to be off.’

He stepped back into the bubble and handed out three small bundles. ‘Is that everything?’

The Anthropologist nodded. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

They clasped arms briefly and pressed mouths. ‘Don’t forget who you are,’ chuckled the Explorer.

‘My name is “Arfaxis”,’ replied the Anthropologist in passable English.

‘Excellent,’

The Anthropologist stepped back a few paces. The bubble rose, slowly at first, then, gathering speed, dwindled with breathtaking rapidity to a twinkling golden spark which vanished high in the sky overhead.

You are aware of pain unlike any you have ever experienced. As you remember what happened you feel your stomach trying to turn itself inside out. So you lie still. You shrink the centre of your body’s awareness. You clench tight the breath of your spirit. You try to think of something else—just something—anything to take your mind outside your hurt. Think of X3 Australasian hybrid; think of “moon”; think of Ulf Starson; think of—

‘Mel? Mel, are you there?’ The intense, urgent whisper seemed to breathe right into his ear. He heaved himself up, groaning, and felt around cautiously in the total darkness.

‘Jo?’

‘Oh, Mel!’ It was thanks for a prayer answered. ‘Are you all right?’

Was he? It depended on what you meant by “all right”. ’How did you get here, Jo?’

‘Seeker followed you then he came and got me. He told that you were asleep. I’ve got a foodstick for you, Mel.’

‘Does anyone know you’re here?’

‘Only Bitos. Did they hurt you terribly?’

Mel’s fingertips roved apprehensively over his naked shoulders, encountered a still sticky weal where the electric lash had flayed off the blistered skin, and gingerly withdrew. Again his stomach heaved. ‘Godhole, those shuggers know what they’re about,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t think they’ve salted me, though.’

’Oh, Mel!’

He grunted bitterly. ‘They said it was to remind me to behave myself. I shan’t forget in a hurry.’

There was a faint snuffling sound in the darkness close beside him. A cold, damp nose was pushed against his cheek and then a warm wet tongue was lapping his neck and ear. Mel gathered the soft furry body into his arms and hugged the Partner to him. ‘Tell, boy,’ he whispered. ‘Tell.’

The little animal whimpered excitedly, wriggled up in Mel’s arms and pushed his nose against Mel’s forehead. At once a jumbled series of vivid pictures flickered into chaotic life in the boy’s mind. ‘Steady. Steady,’ he whispered. ‘One at a time now.’

From some concealed niche he was looking down at two Security Handlers. He watched them load his naked, unconscious body on to a floater, fling his clothes on top, then guide it along the tunnel beneath him and out of sight round a bend. A moment of darkness followed, broken by brief flashes of light and then by a small circle of illumination that grew rapidly larger. Next moment he was again peering down into the tunnel and the two Handlers were pacing stolidly towards him, passing below him, and moving away down a long incline. ‘The Middle Tracks,’ he muttered.

The picture suddenly vanished, was replaced by a flying closeup image of a white ceramic wall and then an oddly elongated perspective of a tunnel down which the distant Handlers were still proceeding. ‘Clever old Seeker,’ he murmured. ‘I wonder if the Godeyes saw that.’

For answer the picture suddenly tilted upwards and immediately overhead Mel saw that the Eye for that particular section of the tunnel had gone blind. Luck? Or had Seeker known? ‘Wait, boy,’ he whispered. ‘Jo, did you come by the Middle Tracks?’

‘No, through the Deads,’

‘Where are we then?’

‘Low Fringes.’

‘Aren’t the sensors working here?’

‘Seeker tells not. He tells the whole of this part dark.’

‘Are you sure? How did the Handlers get me here?’

‘Perhaps they didn’t.’

‘Well, something did.’

‘Do you want this food, Mel?’

‘What is it?’

‘Papple. It’s all there was.’

Mel groaned disgustedly, then, still cradling Seeker in his arms, he rose unsteadily to his feet and shuffled in the direction from which his sister’s voice was coming.

‘Over here, Mel.’

Mel stooped, set the Partner down on the floor then stretched out his hand hesitantly. Three paces more. His fingers brushed the cold metal of the cell door, moved upwards and found Jo’s warm fingers crooked round the bars of the grille. He pushed his hand through and touched her face. ’How did Seeker get in?’ he whispered.

‘Through the vent, I think. Here.’

The plastic tube of food was pushed into his hand.

‘I’ve got something for your back too, Mel. Turn round and I’ll try and put it on.’

‘What is it?’

‘Cure. Mark gave it to me.’

Mel grunted, bit off the end of the foodstick and chewed it moodily. Then he squeezed out a lump, bent down, called Seeker to him and gave it to him.

‘Shall I do your back, Mel?’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll make any difference now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, the Elds know I was whipped, don’t they?’

‘Of course they do.’

‘But if I’m healed up…. Bitos said they count our scars or something.’

‘Cure isn’t that good.’

‘How do you know? What about Rill’s leg?’

‘That’s different. Come on, Mel. Turn round.’

Rather doubtfully Mel turned and then backed until he felt the chill of the metal door against his naked buttocks. He shivered. ‘Get on with it, Jo. My chub’s freezing off.’

Jo reached through the grille and, as gently as she could contrive in the pitch darkness, smeared the salve over her brother’s back and shoulders. ‘How long will they keep you here, Mel?’

‘How do I know?’

‘Didn’t they tell you?’

‘Not a word. Owch!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t reach down any further. You’ll have to do the rest yourself.’

Mel grunted.

‘Does it feel any better?’

‘A bit,’ he admitted. ‘Thanks anyway. Now you’d better get back before they come looking for you.’

Jo lingered. ‘How far did you get, Mel?’

‘To that place Cone. . .