ASIM issue 55 Page 8

  “I just can’t put my finger on it,” I continued. It was an old tactic: If in doubt, just plough on and ignore this useless appendix of a partner. I thumped the wall to make a point. Only, the force sent me spinning head first into a vacuum bowl. The powered suction threatened to tear my head off. I yanked myself free, tears streaming down my face.

  “You guys okay?” asked Ridley from outside.

  “Fine!” North sang out. Although when he looked at my expression, he wasn’t so sure. Because, you see, suddenly I understood what was going on.

  “I’ve got it!” I yelled through thick tears of pain. I clutched my stretched head. “I’ve worked it out.”

  “What?” asked North.

  I grinned as blobs of blood from the slight scalp wound whirled around my skull like electrons around an atomic nucleus. “Gravity.”

  “Yes,” North nodded furiously. “What are you talking about?”

  “The gravity. How many spaceships have you been on?”

  North went cagey. “Loads …”

  “And how many without artificial gravity? How many spaceships did you have to float around in?”

  North started to see. He was just annoyed I got there first. Again.

  “None. This is the first one,” he said. “Spaceships always have artificial gravity. Why haven’t I thought about it before?”

  “Come on,” I punched the door opening button. I couldn’t tell North; I could only show him.

  The door opened to Ridley’s anxious face. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep. Fine.” I nodded, looking at North. He gave Ridley a nod.

  “Okay,” she said and pointed a flamethrower at us. “Why don’t you tell me who the hell you really are?”

  She wasn’t prepared for the big grins that grew on our faces. Her aggression was reassuring. Indeedy yes, Warrant Officer Ridley was an upstanding example of the SF Female.

  * * *

  Ridley smoked her cigarette at the table. North and I floated around her. On a shelf in the kitchen, two nodding ducks poked their beaks in and out of a glass of water. The Conrad was powering down.

  “The crew are getting back into the hypersleep chambers,” said Ridley.

  “What about the alien?” asked North.

  “Bash convinced the Captain if it can survive anything it can survive a ten month journey back to Earth. I don’t personally think it can live that long.” She looked up at us. She was doing her job. Not her Warrant Officer job; her real job. And she didn’t even know it.

  “Let’s go through this again,” she said. “You’re some kind of space agents?”

  “Not space agents,” I tried to think of something to tell her. “That’s just the nearest analogy your human brain can comprehend.”

  “Look, if you’re an agent and you’re in space, I can comprehend pretty easily that you’re a space agent.”

  “It’s not just space, love,” said North. One glance from Ridley told him not to call her ‘love’ again.

  “Time agents, then?”

  “No,” I replied patiently. “If I could just stop myself spinning around this kitchen, I might have a chance to explain properly.”

  “That’s gravity for you,” said Ridley.

  “Exactly.”

  North tried again. “Look, lo—I mean, Lieutenant. This Universe of ours is exciting. Full of incident and adventure; fulfilled lives and dreams. Fun.”

  Ridley shrugged.

  “But there are forces at work,” North continued. “Dark forces that threaten from another reality: a reality where there is only chaos. Chaos and boredom and mediocrity and randomness. A universe where nothing makes sense. It feeds from our reality.”

  Ridley looked at me. “Is he for real?”

  I nodded. “Apparently.”

  “And occasionally, stuff gets from their reality into our reality. And our job is to … well, seal up the cracks that let that happen.”

  “And that’s what’s happened here?” asked Ridley. “One of these cracks?”

  “Obviously,” I said.

  We stared at each other. “So,” Ridley said. “What is it then, this crack?”

  North shook his head. “We don’t know.”

  “But wouldn’t we know if something wasn’t proper?”

  I’d had enough. “Actually, I do know. Come on, North, time’s wasting. We must move.”

  Ridley pushed herself up. She was heading for a door lock button. “You just wait here …”

  I nodded at North, who smiled ruefully. “Err, Lieutenant.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, love.” North raised a hand and shouted. “Pause!”

  Ridley instantly fell into unconsciousness. She floated gently in the air. North almost looked angry.

  “Okay, South, you better know what’s going on.”

  “I do, North, I do. Follow me.”

  * * *

  “You don’t get it? Of course you don’t get it.” I launched myself along the corridor with amazing control and determination. My deductions made me confident travelling in the zero-gravity. “None of us do. Because it doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “In space, no one can stand on a floor.” I tried not to look very, very pleased with myself. I’m pretty sure I succeeded. “Gravity!”

  “Stop saying ‘gravity.’”

  I reached the connecting corridor. “It has to be here somewhere. Somewhere brightly lit.”

  “What’s here somewhere brightly lit?” North caught himself and scowled. “Enough of the questions. I’m beginning to sound like a Companion and you know the rules. I could get into trouble. Just give me the explanation. Who is hiding somewhere brightly lit?”

  “Our enemy,” I revealed. “You see, what’s happening is—”

  “Let me save you the trouble, Wrong Righter!” A voice boomed from the far end of the corridor. Ahead was a bright white light. “Let me bring you down to Earth.”

  North gasped. He grabbed my ankle. “The Literalist!” he hissed.

  I nodded. “The Literalist.” And flew into a metal cabinet.

  We floated out of the corridor and into the huge cargo bay. A different cargo bay to the two we had already been in on the Conrad. This one was a really brightly lit cargo bay.

  Overhead, metal rattled.

  The Literalist sat high up, suspended in chains of his own making. He was cross-legged; his multifaceted eyes shielded by the white box of energy that powered his leech-like abilities.

  “Forgive me, Wrong Righter guys,” he said. His voice was pompous and seamed with a smug resonance. “I am communing with my brothers. We have discovered an oversight in the records of the Imperial Space Navy of the Third Galaxy. The deck plans for the plasma engines in their type IV Destroyer class Starships claim they are phased to a wavelength of six-point-eight. If true, these vessels could not exceed Lightwarp Seven, as stated clearly in the chronicle Space-log two-three-two-point-six ‘Captain’s Honour’. An oversight they will soon regret. Awesome.”

  “Don’t listen, South!” North snapped. I jerked awake. Oh, that Literalist was a sly one. He knew how certain superior Wrong Righters could occasionally be susceptible to literalist tendencies. The baggage it attempts to instil in its victim’s mind. After all, there have to be rules. You can’t just make it up as you go along. Things have to make sense or there’s no order. No order. No order at all …

  “South!”

  Again, I jerked back into the cargo hold. I shook my head; feeling like I was emerging from a deep sleep. How come North was not affected?

  “Thank you, North,” I said, clearing my mind. “Literalist. Your tricks will not work on us, pedant.”

  The Literalist rattled his chains. “Well, well, well. North and South. The Wrong Righters. Awesome. How are things at the Moral Compass?”

  After his mild success bringing me around, North clearly felt ready to try a quip. “Why not come with us and find out?”

&n
bsp; “One day, I might just do that,” said the Creature. “It would be interesting to see how you stand up to the rigours of my examination.”

  I inspected the blurred, corpulent figure overhead. “‘Interesting’ you say? I’m surprised. Considering your dedication to removing the concept of interest from the universe. If you and your brethren ever have your way, everything that happens would take forever and be too difficult to attempt. We know the destiny of the Literalisers: to clutter the universe to a standstill.”

  North nodded. “Put simply: you want to ruin everyone’s fun.”

  “Uh-uh. Wrong call, guys,” came the reply. “I’m all for interesting. I just want people to do their jobs properly. It has to be proper. Take this situation for example.”

  “Let’s not,” said North.

  “Let’s think about gravity,” said the Literalist. The cargo room began to spin. The Literalist’s chains clinked as the creature slowly turned to compensate. North and I had no such compensation. We fell over. Huge floating cargo containers suddenly crashed to the ground and began to slide. We rolled; caught inside a gigantic slow-moving centrifuge.

  “Hold on, North!” I yelled my support.

  “I get that,” North sniffed. Peals of Literalist laughter rang in my ears.

  “What is it with artificial gravity?” it boasted. “Why make people walk on a floor in spaceships when it’s so much easier and scientifically sensible to float. You’re in space, right. So why waste a fortune building these huge machines to keep the crew walking on metal floors when you don’t have to? It shouldn’t happen. It’s wrong!”

  The Literalist’s voice was building. He was winding himself up into a self-righteous pedantic frenzy.

  “North,” I said when I could avoid the tumbling equipment long enough. “He’s in the cycle. Building up to his next phase of being …”

  North nodded at me; our temporary differences long forgotten. This was work. “If he goes full Spoiler, there’s no possibility of reversal.”

  “And by arguing with him, we’re helping to accelerate the metamorphosis.”

  “The meta—what?” North clearly felt sick. Very sick. He looked at me; his face pale and shocked. “What can we do?”

  “You can do nothing, Wrong Righters!”

  I realised North was trying to think. Not something he is that good at. “Why don’t we try, you know, out-Literalising it?” he asked. “Find some nit-picking mistake in its plan and cause it to destroy itself?”

  “So how do we do that?”

  We stared at each other.

  “Well yeah, there’s …” North began. “Er.” He shrugged. “It’s probably a bit difficult. Okay, I’m not saying it’s easy.”

  “There’s never been one recorded case of a Wrong Righter out-sadding a Literalist. Even if you found an error, they never admit they’re wrong. Biologically, they cannot.”

  “So what the hell do we do, then?”

  “The universe of strict truth for every single detail will soon be mine! Ha ha ha!”

  “Come here and say that!” bellowed North.

  The response was more laughter. Globules of self-satisfied spittle rained down.

  However, once again, something clicked in my mind. I grabbed North’s arm. “Yes. You’ve done it.”

  “Have I?”

  I forced myself to stand. The gravity pocket was like moving through mashed potato. “Help me get up there.”

  The slowly turning Literalist was barely visible through the thick cocoon of dripping, knotted chain spinning around its body. The square white light of power glowed with renewed vigour. The energy field was growing; gaining strength. Soon it would expand and mate with the Literalist in a strange, inexplicable and unexplainable way. At which point, the creature would be infused with enough energy to absorb the Conrad and its occupants.

  “You sure you want to go up there?” asked North.

  I looked at those swinging chains. “You’re right. I lack the brute animal strength to climb. Also, I can distract the Literaliser and you can’t. So you—well …”

  North knew what was coming. He looked at me. “So what? What exactly are we meaning here? I want you to say it, South. I want you to say those words.”

  I swallowed. “I’m going to distract him until you climb the chains. Then you have to think of a way to get through his attention-deflector safeguards and socially interact. Simple.”

  * * *

  The bright light was intense. Far too bright to look at directly. One of the creature’s safeguards.

  North was halfway up the sticky chains that bound the Literalist to its energy box and climbing had to be a git. I knew North was convinced I had put him into mortal danger out of spite.

  I felt a sudden rush of compassion for him. I understood it couldn’t be easy for North with his limited intellect and great big teddy bear heart. With me as a partner. I could be pretty harsh and smug and unforgiving, I realised that.

  North’s meaty arms hauled up fist over fist. He was sweating with the effort now gravity was pulling him down. Didn’t take long to get used to moving in Zero-G. Made life a lot easier. Of that the Literalist had not been mistaken. But Right was Right.

  “Back, Wrong Righter. Back!” snarled the glowing creature. “You dare not look upon my scornful face. My safeguards are too embedded.”

  The chains shook violently and North cried out. His right hand lost its grip and he dangled, eighteen metres above the spinning cargo hold. Somehow, he kept hold and yanked himself up. He wouldn’t be able to hold on a second time.

  The lights of the deck stuttered and died. The only glow came from the pulsating energy box. We were running out of time.

  “Literalist! O Literalist,” I called. “Before you go, there’s a little problem.”

  “Bugger off. I know what you’re up to. Won’t work. I’ve won.”

  North kept climbing.

  “I concede that fact,” I told him. “I accept your superiority. In fact, I wish to run a little niggle by you. I have been waiting to ask this of a Spoiler. May I ask my question?”

  Silence from above. North kept climbing.

  “You may ask your question, Wrong Righter,” it said. “But no tricks.”

  “My question is about the Shape-Changing Things from the Planet Chameleos.”

  “You made that up,” the Literalist could not hide its contempt. Rightly so. “There is no such badly named creature.”

  But its light dimmed just a fraction. North continued to climb. I marvelled at my partner’s persistence; his courage. I had to keep helping him.

  “Oh, right,” I said. “I’ll forget it then.”

  The chains chinked. The cylindrical cargo bay continued its slow revolutions. Ship’s equipment continued to slide and drop as it travelled. And all the time, North climbed.

  “Okay,” said the Literalist. “What’s the question?”

  “The Things can imitate any life-form,” I replied. “To a perfect degree. So they’re indistinguishable from the life-form they absorb—”

  “Get on with it.”

  “Well, I understand how that can happen in a physical sense. Matter replaces matter. But what about memories? I’m talking sentient self-aware life-forms here. How can they pretend to be a person with character? I mean, memories aren’t physical things. So how does it know them? Surely as soon as someone who knew him asked a question about his personal life, that’s it. Found out. And then it’s time for heads to split open and break out the flamethrowers.”

  Up above, the chains rattled. North swung out in a wide arc. He smashed into a turning wall.

  Scrabbling wildly, North managed to hold on. “Blimey, South,” he yelled. “The idea is you distract it. Not kill me …”

  “Fool of a Wrong Righter!” the Literalist bellowed in triumph. “There are dozens of theories that easily explain that possibility.”

  “No there aren’t!” I shouted. “I’ve never heard any.”

  There came a great
sucking noise as the Literalist drew in breath. It was almost at Spoiler stage. Great spider-like legs were emerging from the energy box. “Idiot! Have you never heard the theory of symbiotic-absorption?”

  “There’s no such theory!”

  The energy box light dimmed again. I saw North climb the chains more easily. His strength was almost gone but he kept going. What he was going to do when he reached the Literaliser, I had no clue.

  “The theory goes that the invading parasitical cells isolate the host’s original higher brain function cells. Isolates but do not absorb. So the victim retains some sense of self; unaware he is riddled with new alien DNA …”

  I felt heat now as well as light. The glow was throbbing. The Literalist was nothing more than a ball of light. A gigantic hairy energy limb emerged from the ball and brushed against the tiny figure of North. My partner would be discovered in a matter of seconds. I had to act.

  The Literalist was still talking, involved in its self-satisfied explanation of whatever. “… Should the imitation feel threatened, it instantly absorbs and transforms these cells to provide it with the extra push of energy to complete its metamorphosis and fight the threat …”

  I gave it my all; dodging crates and containers and heavy metal objects as I verbally tussled with the creature. A plastic cat box slammed into my temple but as I fell over I retained presence of mind to shout: “Evidence! Give me evidence!”

  I sensed the dark shape inside the glow was pleased with itself.

  “Time’s up, Wrong Righter. I am about to annihilate you. You with your inane easily brushed-aside questions a child could answer.”

  I saw it wiggle its new limbs with pleasure. The Literalist could feel the rush of victory; the burst of energy that would wash over its form and provide its reason for living; its purpose. How it craved that tidal moment. When it would become Spoiler. Almost there. And there was nothing I could do.

  I couldn’t see North. He would now be trapped in the safeguards. Somehow he had to find a way to get through and see the face of the creature.

  Like that was going to happen. We were out of ideas.