Beyond Asimios: Book One Read online

  I’m afraid. I don’t know what is really happening here. It’s like a dream, but every time I wake up, there I am, standing in front of my little mirror, the door waiting for me to open it and join the others on the bridge. I know I should be excited. I know this is unprecedented and that I should be writing down every impression and every thought for posterity, but I just can’t manage it. I’m tired and lonely. I wish I were home. I wish I were home back on Earth, actually, with you. Even the thought of Asimios Station makes me shudder. I want rain and wind and pollen!

  Your love,

  Avery Graf

  PS Yes, your bones have gone missing. The whole thing is a disaster and I never meant for you to find out about this. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out who might have perpetrated this awful deed. Why, pray tell, would anyone want to disturb a grave, let alone, an Asimios grave? If ESCOM or anybody at the station was up to this, I’ll do my best to find and punish the thieves. If someone else was involved, ie. Oreg, then I don’t know how far I can pursue justice. But trust me when I say that I will get to the bottom of this!

  PPS I know we argued a lot, Julie, (or maybe I should say that it was I that argued a lot) and I know that I was loud and a bit overbearing and I apologize for this. But under my temper and hard-headedness, I loved you. I tried to do everything for you and I gave you what I could. But most of all, you taught me how to receive. I often wish we had more time. You changed me in so many ways.

  When Graf finished with the letter he closed the notebook and lay back in his cot. The memories of Julie were tangible. She was in the room, but her ghost shifted and couldn’t be directly traced. Graf closed his eyes. He took several long breaths as the engine cores rumbled from the beyond. Then he sat up and opened up the notebook again. He took out his photo-pen, stretched his arm and put this down:

  Dear Dad,

  My honorable and respectable father (and I’m not being cynical when I say this), I think it would be an understatement if I told you that the last three days ranked up there with Hillary and Norgay’s Everest ascent, Armstrong’s touching down on the dusty moon and Yilmaz’s first footprints on Mars. But then again, I am reminded of the modesty you instilled in us. Even though I am very likely the first human to meet and communicate with and alien, I am reminded that you would insist that I not gloat. But, oh, how nice it is to gloat. Look at me! I’m gloating all over this tiny room and nobody can do a thing about it!

  Okay, enough nonsense. Yes, yes, yes, I’ve been recording everything. My VI dutifully takes down all the metrics: time, temperatures, atmospheres, etc… and I’m also recording images of the ship, the alien, Oreg, and the alien technologies worth examination. It’s simply astounding to be in such a completely new environment, yet I’m constantly accosted with feelings of familiarity. Now and then I experience the sensation that this craft was designed with a person like me in mind.

  You’d be awestruck and thrilled to learn about the power plants that propel this craft: terrifyingly efficient. I’ve been keeping a close eye on our benevolent captain and I’ve recognized some of the overhead readouts as engine temperatures and fuel capacities; beyond those basic indicators, I haven’t a clue. With no possible help from my VI, Goerathian writing is all Greek to me.

  We are travelling at roughly twenty percent light speed. Why do I know this? Because I’ve asked our captain, that’s why. With a bit of arithmetic, I estimate we’re travelling at about one hundred thirty-seven million miles per hour, roughly three and a third billion miles per day. With the distance of an AU coming in at about ninety-three million miles, we would get from the Earth to the sun, and half way back, in an hour. To put this in perspective, a modern-outfitted ESCOM transport would take over four months to reach Mars. At our velocity, we’d do the trip in fifteen minutes. What, exactly, the science is behind these engines remains unknown, but perhaps our friendly droid will be able to piece this puzzle together.

  Otherwise, I’m fine, Dad. I thought I might be making my grand exit back there on Asimios, but as always, outcome is a slave to circumstance.

  One last note: the aberration of light is astonishing at this velocity. Yes an amorphous white ball hovers in the center of our visual when the captain opens up the bridge windows. This is at twenty percent light speed, mind you. Apparently though, you’ll be thrilled to hear, at light speed, if I understand Oreg correctly, the whole aberration phenomenon falls apart and the stars surround the traveler once more. I hate to admit it here, but your theory might have been correct. At light speed, something happens that we haven’t understood. More on this later...

  Sincerely,

  Avery

  Again, Graf leaned back and took a breath. His father was now in the room, smiling his soft smile and staring across at him in the old father image he remembered. His hair was gray hair and he was slightly hunched, just as he’d been only months before his death. But Graf was not on Earth when his father died. He had been on Asimios. He only had the images of his father that were sent as he approached death. Now, for some reason, those images seemed real, like he had been there with his father. Graf’s mind was playing tricks on him. He was starting to see what he wanted to see, the way he wanted things to be…the way he wished things had happened.

  As the time for the portal opening neared, Graf and Oreg were concluding their twenty-fourth chess match (Oreg took the previous game) and Oreg was preparing a final attack on Graf’s king when an info squirt came through that forced Oreg to put the game on hold. They had been observing an increase in ship traffic and there were a couple instances, in Graf’s opinion, when a collision with their ship seemed immanent.

  —It’s a damned parking lot out there, Graf said hotly as he stood and stretched his legs.

  —So many ships, Miranda said. Thousands.

  —I never would have imagined this, Graf said, his eyes wide as he gazed out of the windows.

  As activity around the portal increased, so had Consortium presence. Security patrols consisted of two or three dagger ships that produced neon emergency light bursts whenever they responded to trouble.

  —I’ve requested that a pick us up, came Oreg’s translation over Graf’s VI as Oreg turned to Graf. I need to collect some information at Karmehki Tower, one of the gathering stations, and I was hoping you would join me. You might find it interesting. Food is there…many places to eat a real meal. You presence would be of great help.

  Graf was surprised by Oreg’s offer.

  —I would like that very much, he said. What do I have to do? I mean, I don’t really have anything to wear. When I left the Asimios Station, socializing wasn’t the first thing on my mind.

  —We will find you something, Oreg said. Miranda, Oreg continued as he turned to look down at the droid who was standing with them on the bridge. It isn’t safe for you on the tower. A non-Consortium droid will draw attention…or worse. It is best if you remain here.

  Miranda gave a small bow.

  Just then, in the distance, the torus bloomed with light.

  —They’ve begun to power the portal, Oreg chirruped as he stepped forward to look through the windows. The others stood next to him and observed the giant ring. Once all the ships have entered from the other side, Oreg added, it will be our turn.

  —How long will that take? Graf asked.

  —Not long, Oreg huffed. He drew up the holo and brought the torus into magnification. Alarm signals wheeled and flashed on the perimeter of the circle while an iris of brilliant warmth grew outward until the entire mouth became a looking glass into a distant corner of space.

  —It is sunlight form Gorhamash, our home star, Oreg said with affection.

  The portal was now open and for a moment it seemed that everyone in the system was stunned by the spectacle—activity came to a near stop while thousands of beings gazed upon the hole punched into a distant part of the galaxy. A pair of small craft zipped through the portal mouth, then something strange happened: a long and ominous shadow
blotted out the warm light of Gorhamash. Something massive and dark was gliding through the opening.

  —A Consortium battlecruiser, Oreg said as he watched the dark shape move through the ring. This is unfortunate, he said.

  A moment later Oreg’s ship alerted them to the approach of a vessel and Oreg collapsed the holo and turned his attention to Graf.

  —Come with me, doctor, he said. He took Graf by the hand and pulled him down the hall.

  —I do like a softer boot, Graf said as his chubby body hurried to match Oreg’s long stride. I have flat feet, you see…

  5

  They boarded the taxi through an airlock at the tail of the ship (Miranda sent Graf a message over his VI wishing him safe travels), and soon they were on approach to Karmehki Tower. The taxi turned and spun and toppled in various automated vectors and velocities until it settled roughly onto one of the station’s receiving bays. Graf never got a good look at the tower during the flight—he was too busy preventing himself from puking—and he still was suffering from vertigo as he stepped out onto the platform. Oreg was right behind him, visor lowered and hood pulled up over his head. They waited for a moment or two while Graf steadied himself, then Oreg started out for one of the bay doors, and Graf hurried after.

  The artificial gravity was set to something slightly less than that of Asimios, Graf decided as they left the bay and entered a hallway. Here two guards that stood watch. They were remarkably human-like, Graf thought, and they quickly stood at attention when Graf and Oreg passed in front of them. Graf found this amusing, and he looked up at Oreg, but the Oreg didn’t respond. Next, Oreg took them down a wider yellow-hued hall that ended, Oreg explained, at a transport node that would shuttle them to the main market. A car had arrived just as they were getting there, and the door irised open and a number of “people” spilled out.

  First out of the gate was a hover chair with a diminutive pilot—was it a child?—in top hat and red, brass-buttoned military jersey, who whooshed past them at impressive speed. Another group followed, three Goerathians, Graf was sure, and they appeared to be drunk and sunk in some obnoxious and bawdy revelry. (Graf caught a good deal of their conversation on his VI, none of which should be translated here.) These Goerathians were shorter than Oreg, and rather rough-around-the-edges. Their clothing and grooming didn’t measure up to Oreg’s standards, and they fell strangely silent when they spotted Oreg. One of them hiccupped as he passed and he was quickly admonished by an elbow to the ribs from one of his mates.

  Behind the Goerathians strode four tall hominids. They were draped in gray burnooses, faces obscured in the shadows of their hoods, and they walked side-by-side in pairs in a silent and careful manner. After this collection of wraiths came a mysterious person wrapped in dark green cloth. He had an Arabic-looking Ogal and headscarf. His face was arresting for its lack of definition—it was an iridescent blur. After the Arab came a pair of stout, happy, bald men who might have passed for good-natured Terrans if it weren’t for their absence of human ears on their smooth and hairless domes. One of them bowed toward Oreg and Graf as it passed. One more humanoid exited the car, but this one was of considerable genetic aberration, whose head appeared to be fused to its shoulder. The creature staggered as it went, in such a manner that Graf thought it must surely be in pain. As it went by, its prominent whale’s eye gazed at them with trepidation.

  Once they were in the car, Graf took a deep breath. He looked up at Oreg, but the Goerathian seemed focused on other things. Then a sound came from outside—the sound of an avalanche. In stomped a towering security droid, and Graf felt his heart nearly leap from his chest as the droid regarded them blankly, turned its opaque helm back to the door, and stood. The door irised closed and the car lurched forward toward its next stop. This security droid was older, Graf surmised. Its paint was peeling and it reeked of coolants and hydraulic oils, and it was riddled with the dents and dings of years of service. It was an instrument of menace, though. A deadly enforcer. It had a frightening array of weaponry festooned to its forearms and wrists, and it looked as if it might crush a human flat under its heavy feet without compunction.

  Graf looked up at Oreg and Oreg looked down at him. Neither spoke.

  When the car reached its next stop the doors opened and the droid bounded away, the avalanche fading as the crowd parted and then swallowed it up. Oreg tugged on Graf’s shoulder.

  —Consortium guard, Oreg hissed.

  —Not a very friendly chap, is he?

  Oreg motioned for Graf to follow, and they made their way down the hall where they took a turn to a larger entrance that led to the tower’s bazaar.

  The dome, two hundred feet above them at its apex, came to a point of spanning translucent wedges aimed directly at the system’s torus. Through this glass ceiling could be seen the hundreds and thousands of ships that waited their turn to enter the portal. As Graf gaped at the view, Oreg placed Graf in front of him and he pushed him forward through the crowd. People and beings that Graf would never have dreamed of stood at every step. A disco blared loud music and people danced in foreign motions and drank liquids of suspicious color and consitancy, while barkers and hawkers of all casts, their faces terrible and their languages mystifying, howled for attention above a pulsing rhythms. Further along the way, grocers displayed baskets of colorful fruits and vegetables. Kiosks showcased alien amphibians and fish splayed out on beds of blue ice (species Graf would never have thought existed were they not lying there, wide-eyed, before him). Leatherworkers (if it was leather that was crafted…) hung satchels, purses, and holsters for purchase, while other vendors exhibited books, eyewear, guns, and clothing. A number of venders lorded over tables of exotic electronic devices. These were peculiar items that tickled Graf’s engineering sensibilities: wire body nets, hand augmentation gloves, subcutaneous sensor chips, and ocular orb mods all calling out to be touched and examined. Further down the center street, tents hung signs that advertised (this, according to Oreg) services for accounting, pedicure, surgery, fortune-telling, or marriage. Stands in the darker corners of the dome served as meeting places for arcane associations while others lured visitors with promises of spiritual cleansing and religious enlightenment.

  As they pushed through the crowd, all shapes and sizes of hands, paws and claws reached out to push and pull and salute the poor doctor, but Oreg’s long arms kept them from getting too close. A short time later they were under the awning of a small tavern, and Oreg led them to a table in the back of the establishment near the kitchen door that opened and shut under gusts of steam and the rich fragrance of sauces and broths and freshly grilled meats. Graf was salivating and he realized then how desperate he was for a non-synthetic meal. When the server came, a short, bald gremlin-looking character with prominent incisors and a bluish pallor, who acted in all manner of deference toward the doctor, he could barely restrain himself from taking the tiny man by the throat and demanding a double order of everything on the menu. A few words passed between Oreg and the gremlin in a language Graf’s VI couldn’t process, and the server tumbled back into the busy tavern on his errand.

  —There are a number of rules you need to observe if you are to survive on Karmehki, Oreg said. The Goerathian leaned over the table and breathed a briny breath into Graf’s chubby and perspiring face. Number one, he said, the whiskers on his chin tickling the knuckles on Graf’s fidgeting hands: always keep your back to a wall. No one can surprise you if you do this. Number two: if someone is acting suspicious, then that someone should considered a danger. Trust your intuition and be alert. Number three…

  At this point the server returned with two glasses and two carafes: one contained water, the other, by all indications, wine—red wine—and Graf’s heart sank; not because he was unhappy, but because he was immediately transported back to Earth and the memories of his past and the times he had toasted with lovers and reveled with friends under Dionysus’s happy insistence.

  —Number three, Oreg said as he filled Graf�
��s glass with the red fluid and waited a moment. Graf took up the glass and angled it so that the wine trickled into his mouth. Never take a drink unless you’ve poured it yourself, said Oreg. And Graf stopped mid-gulp, the rim of the glass balancing on his lip. Oreg shrugged and Graf set his drink back on the table. Number four, continued Oreg. Do not bring attention to yourself. Move quietly and unobserved. And lastly: wherever you are, always know which way you will escape. Plan a route to get yourself out of any situation.

  Graf leaned toward Oreg and he tipped his glass back and drank it to the bottom.

  —You are beginning to frighten me, Oreg, he said. You remind me of an ESCOM military advisor I once knew. He was always afraid his next step would mean death.

  A moment later the server emerged from the kitchen and deposited two large plates of steaming food in front of them. Graf’s eyes, blurred by hunger, searched frantically for a knife and fork, but found none. He looked over at Oreg who was using his fingers to get at the flatbread under the heap of hot food. After breaking off sections of bread, Oreg used these pieces to scoop the softer food into his mouth. Graf quickly emulated the method.

  The food was excellent, Graf reflected as he washed the meal down by alternating gulps of wine and water. It was Mexican mole, it was jerk, it was curried in some unusual and extra-terrestrial way.

  —What is it? Graf asked.

  —It’s Goerathian, answered Oreg over Graf’s VI.

  —Animal or vegetable?