2000 Light Years from Home (James London) Read online

  The bullet hit Twelve-Gamma in the shoulder, barely slowing him. The next bullet missed as Twelve-Gamma zigged and zagged towards him. As he came closer, London hit a thigh, chest and just above the left eye. Nothing fazed this beast of a man. London made a run for it, diagonal, heading for the jetty.

  “I hope that wood’s flimsy,” London said, feeling the earth pound under his feet as Twelve-Gamma curled round to close the gap. London made it onto the jetty a hairsbreadth ahead of the attacker.

  As hoped, the jetty creaked. For the first time, London’s assailant paused. London ran to the end of the jetty, the boats splashing gently in the water on either side of him. With the cows mooing in the field off to the side, the scene took on a surreal quality. London faced his attacker along the thin wooden strip out into Windermere.

  Almost on cue, the moon came from behind a cloud, giving London his first proper look at who had seemingly wantonly attacked him. Twelve-Gamma wore a powder blue one piece jumpsuit, stained red by the bullets that had hit. A bald head returned the glare of the moon, casting almost baby-like features into shadow. The attacker was standing like an animal, ready to spring. With trepidation, Twelve-Gamma placed a foot on the first board. Even from several metres away, London could hear it creak alarmingly. The creature, for it was hardly a man, stepped back, fearfully.

  London knew that he was beholden to taunt his assailant, but couldn’t bring himself to do so, in case it came down the jetty towards him, for he had nowhere else to go.

  “Now, would be a very good time to get some therapy for my nautiphobia,” he muttered under his breath, looking at the bobbing boats. He couldn’t help but smile, as he added: “As long as it’s not flood therapy.”

  Using Excalibur, London cut one of the ropes to a boat. Now he had an escape plan, he could taunt his assailant.

  “Scared of a bit of water?” he called.

  There was no response.

  “Catfish got your tongue?”

  There was still nothing.

  “Oh, come on. That was a good one!”

  London stopped talking. There was a low-pitched sound. It was a very odd sound. Like a train approaching; at speed.

  London looked around. He couldn’t see anything. Twelve-Gamma must have also heard it, but his binaural hearing was superior to London’s – as was just about everything else – and Twelve-Gamma looked up.

  London also looked up and saw a small grey shape getting rapidly larger. Actually, it wasn’t getting larger, it was getting closer. That is an important distinction.

  The lecturer in Conspiracy Theory and Practice should have been able to identify an alien spacecraft when he saw one. And he did. It took a moment, though.

  “Oh,” he said.

  Twelve-Gamma was looking up when the spacecraft landed on him.

  Inside the craft, Warsnitz looked out onto his landing area.

  “Textbook landing,” he said. “And nobody is around. Perfect! This is going to be a cloud in the mist.”

  A cloud in the mist is an idiom for Warsnitz’s people. The best translation is “walk in the park”.

  Warsnitz rummaged under a pile of boxes that smelled vaguely of pizza, proving that it truly is a universal constant. He found his control gloves and visor and turned them on. With an almost inaudible whirr, two small grey figures came to their feet, shedding clothing and detritus in a garbage waterfall.

  “Whoa,” said Warsnitz, looking at the world through egg-shaped eyes. He could see himself, and tried flattening his hair. The small grey aliens, with spindly limbs, large heads and protruding tummies ran their hands across their own triangular-shaped heads.

  With a muttered “awesome”, Warsnitz sent the creatures to the door. There was a hiss, as the door opened, a ramp lowering to the ground. The ungainly looking creatures exited the craft, heading for Warsnitz’s target: the cows.

  Two lab-coated technicians looked at each other with a worried look.

  “What happened?” the man asked.

  “I don’t know,” the woman replied. “Everything was going so well. The guy having a gun and a sword was unexpected, but Twelve-Gamma coped very well.”

  “It appeared to be afraid of water,” the man said.

  “It was the first time it had encountered water,” she said. “It was outside its design parameters. That is something to definitely correct in Thirteen-Alpha. Do you think we can make them breathe underwater?”

  The man sucked his teeth. “That sounds hard.”

  “Fish do it,” she said. “It can’t be that hard. They’re not very bright.”

  “True,” the man said. “I’ll run it past Wishbone, and see what he says.”

  “More worryingly, is why all the feeds died at the same time.”

  “There was something above it,” the man rewound the feed from Twelve-Gamma. The underside of the spacecraft was clearly visible, but unidentifiable. “See.”

  “What is that?”

  “It looks like a shipping container.”

  “Do you think the target knew about Twelve-Gamma?” The woman looked worried. “He was a random person for the test. Why did he have a sword, a gun and a shipping container?”

  The man rewound the feed further. He paused the feed with London framed stood at the far end of the jetty. With a small joystick control, he zoomed in until London’s face filled the whole screen.

  “Well, Janet,” said the man, finally revealing the pinched-faced woman’s name. “I don’t know who he is, but he must know something about our project.”

  “You are right, John,” Janet said, indicating that they were either named for comic effect; by a mother who did not get very far through the Ladybird Early Reader books; or, they have code names, and these are not really their names at all.

  “I shall send a message to Wishbone,” John said. “He will definitely need to know about this.”

  “As usual,” Janet said with a condescending smile, “you have succinctly and accurately summed up the situation with an alacrity and perception that belies your low IQ.”

  “Sarcastic cow,” John muttered, writing an email.

  Back at the jetty, London did not know whether to be grateful or worried.

  On the one hand, his mysterious attacker was now a puddle. On the other, his PhD thesis about how aliens never visited Earth and all sightings were, in fact, a government conspiracy to cover up secret weapons testing, was now in tatters. Given that Twelve-Gamma was trying to kill him, London decided that he would be grateful. The craft that had saved him was a boxy affair. It looked more like a battered Fiat Panda than a sleek saucer.

  As London watched, the side of the craft opened and a short ramp descended. London saw a short spindly creature. It was grey in colour, an overlarge head and big eyes emerge into the lights of the craft, swiftly followed by a second. London could not believe that all the reports of aliens he had read that shared a common theme of the ‘greys’ was accurate to such a degree. They looked about, and wandered off in the direction of the cows.

  London looked at the sword in his hand. He’d come here to return it. But seeing the inside of a space craft was very tempting.

  There was no reason he couldn’t do both, he figured.

  “Lady of the lake, I need you!” London called out across Windermere. He didn’t know if it would work, or if he should just throw the sword as far as he could. He’d often thought that it should have come with an instruction manual.

  His cry vanished off across the still water.

  Nothing happened.

  He rested his hands on the pommel, the tip of the sword cutting into the wood. He peered out across the water, staring into the dark, willing the lady to appear.

  “Where are you, you daft demigod?” London whispered.

  “Who are you calling daft?”

  London turned around. With perfect white, almost glowing skin, Vivian was standing casually on the water between two boats. She wore a diaphanous gown that flowed around her long legs like the
water on which she was standing. Her features were cast in a slightly playful grin, waves of dark hair mimicking the slight waves of the lake.

  “There you are,” London said. “I’ve brought your sword.”

  London tried handing her the sword.

  “Are you in some kind of hurry?”

  “Kind of,” London pointed at the space craft, lights dimly glinting at the other end of the jetty. “I want to have a look around that alien space craft before its owners get back from whatever they are doing.”

  “They’ll be milking a cow,” said Vivian. “They always do that.” She waved a hand, more for effect. “I’ve stopped time.”

  “You can do that?” London spotted the ducks had all frozen.

  “Of course I can.” Vivian looked offended. “Time is perception, gods are perception.”

  “Damn, where were you when I was doing my exams?”

  “I was beneath thirty metres of water.”

  “Good point,” said London “Anyway, here’s your sword.”

  London again tried to give her the sword.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to keep that?” she said. “You will need it. You have not been defeated in battle. You are entitled to keep it.”

  “It doesn’t work around electricity,” London pointed out.

  “You are carrying a phone, which contains electricity. Excalibur will work in the presence of a god.”

  Vivian smiled, foreshadowing the third book.

  “There are gods, too?”

  Vivian gave a wry smile. “What do you think?”

  London returned the smile. “Yeah, I get it. Anyway, I can’t be carrying a broadsword around with me, and it’s not right keeping it above a radiator.”

  “Well, you know where it is, if you need it.”

  Vivian held out her hand. London put the sword into her hand. Actually letting go suddenly seemed hard. Vivian tugged at the sword. London opened his fingers.

  “It looks like you are worthy,” London said with a smile.

  “For a mortal,” she said. “You’re pretty cute. You know, I’ve been stuck here for a few hundred years. It’s got pretty lonely, if you catch my drift. Do you fancy coming back to mine for a bit of Netflix and Chill?”

  “I think I’d prefer to look around the spaceship,” London said. “No offence.”

  “Oh, none taken.” Vivian turned and walked out into the lake, stepping down like she was on a grand staircase, vanishing with each step. As her head vanished under the water, she raised her hand, allowing London to see the sword as a final goodbye before it too, sank beneath the waves.

  A ghostly voice drifted over the lake. “You’d best get a move on, time has restarted.”

  The ducks resumed their rustling movement, the waves set off across the lake again.

  Startled, London turned and jogged down the jetty. It wasn’t quite a lifetime ambition to have a look around a real alien spacecraft, because London didn’t really think aliens visited. He’d also not believed in unicorns until recently. However, once presented with the reality, and opportunity, there was no way he was going to miss out on seeing inside. London took a detour to his car to lock the door and checked that he didn’t need a pay-and-display ticket after dark. He innately distrusted traffic wardens, and didn’t put it past them to make a midnight patrol.

  The spacecraft was far from what he’d expected. Especially close up. It looked like a family car previously used in a rally and a demolition derby. There were pockmarks, dents, scrapes and graffiti all over the side. Nor would anybody describe it as sleek. Boxy, ugly or a disaster zone were all more applicable descriptions. Close up, it was pretty big, like a flying bungalow. London touched the side, running his hand across the surface. It felt frictionless. At the corner, he peered around. There was no sign of the aliens. Keeping his back to the craft, London edged along to the ramp, and slipped inside.

  The lighting inside was far too blue. There was a peculiar smell like somebody had poured bleach all over a farmyard while the pigs were playing in apple sauce. The hatch opened onto a passageway running left and right. At one time, the walls had been white, but there were a few stains of unidentifiable origin discolouring them now. Lighting strips ran along the tops and bottoms of either side, about half were broken, some dangling down from the fittings. There was no indication which way was fore and which was aft. Actually, there was. London did not have the receptors in his eyes to see the writing. London didn’t know, but if he’d turned right, everything would have turned out differently. As it was, he employed his technique for solving mazes and turned left, ducking slightly as the ceiling was very low.

  A few steps down, there was a door. It was a pale blue door with top and bottom panels in a slightly darker blue. A white bar ran diagonally from top to bottom. London scanned the surround, but he could not find anything for opening the door. He attempted walking at it, waving his hands around it and kicking it. However, it did not budge. He pressed all over the door, and pressed the side of his head on it, looking for depressions or extrusions. But there was nothing. He was coming to the conclusion that it had to be opened from elsewhere when he heard a clank.

  Not three metres away, the aliens had come back on board. They turned right, not seeing London. More worryingly, the door was closing. London quickly crossed the few steps to the door, just in time to witness the moonlight glint off his Volvo before the sliver of a gap vanished, leaving an almost seamless wall, but for a fine line, the door marked in the same blue diagonal halves. London turned after the departing aliens. White liquid was dripping from a long index finger.

  “Excuse me,” he said, loudly enough to be heard, but the figure walked up to another door at the other end of the corridor. It opened with a swish, and closed behind it. London ran over and knocked.

  “Hello?” He wondered if the door was soundproof, because he couldn’t hear anything through it.

  The world shifted under his feet. His inner ear told him he was stationary, his eyes told him he was stationary, but his stomach told him he was travelling upwards very quickly. London decided to trust his gut, and started pounding on the door, yelling. He had a dinner reservation at a four star restaurant the following evening, he didn’t want to miss it. London rested his head on the door and heard what sounded like music. For a brief moment, he felt weightless, but not long enough to lift him from the floor.

  “Crap,” he muttered. “I’m in space.”

  Chapter 2

  In which London finds space boring

  Had Warsnitz known that the warning light on his screen meant that he had a passenger, he might have realised that the banging and shouting originated from his passenger and not, as he thought, from a loose wire in the banging and shouting computer. His solution for the supposed loose wire was to turn his music up. In this regard, he was much like any other driver who doesn’t really know how their vehicle works.

  Once the craft was on course for home, Warsnitz picked the puppet aliens up. A small amount of white liquid was dripping from one long index finger. Warsnitz stuck the alien’s finger in his mouth. He closed his eyes. It was bliss. Still, he couldn’t zone out, he might lose the lot. With the finger in his mouth he decided he’d head for the galley and empty his precious cargo into containers. At the door, he wafted his hand precisely seven centimetres away from the left hand side of the door, telling it to open.

  London fell into the cockpit.

  London climbed back to his feet, facing Warsnitz. Or, rather, looking down at Warsnitz.

  London looked at the grey aliens being carried below one of three arms of a hairy tic-tac. The greys looked limp. One had one finger in the tic-tac’s mouth. The tic-tac had three short stumpy legs, was a sickly yellow, with black wiry hairy around the back half of its head. The shoulders seemed to start too high up the neck, which was almost the same width as its head. It was wearing a blue and red jacket and blue shorts. As the large, oval eyes rose up London’s body, the mouth fell open, allowing the
limp finger to fall out. London looked at the rows of sharp pointed teeth and didn’t think that this alien was in any way herbivorous.

  Warsnitz for his part looked up and up at this overly tall individual. Smooth pale skin, dark short fine hair atop an overly round head, with two eyes so small, Warsnitz wondered how they let enough light in for the creature to see. In his experience, clothes were a fair indicator of sentience, so unless this creature had evolved a fleece lined jacket and jeans, and its feet looked like hiking boots, it was definitely sentient. It also looked exactly like the picture he’d seen of these creatures (a picture of Nelson Mandela). He tried to remember what else it said. Ah, yes. They were very dangerous and had a propensity for sudden and unpredictable bursts of irrational violence. They also told stories to each other of how they would and could destroy any alien invasion. Even if the invading aliens were big, scary, had acid blood or could turn invisible and level a forest with a wrist bomb.

  “Hi,” it said.

  Warsnitz stepped back and almost dropped his puppets. That would have been a disaster. However, whatever ‘hi’ meant, he didn’t think it could be good. He drew himself up to his full height.

  London watched as the little yellow alien stood on tiptoes. He wondered if it was some kind of greeting, so did the same.

  Warsnitz was worried. The tall alien had suddenly become taller. Its feet bent in an unusual way, Warsnitz didn’t even know how it was possible to stand upright if feet bent like that. Warsnitz wished that his passenger wasn’t there, which was something they both agreed on.

  “It’s a long shot,” said London aware that these were quite possibly the first words exchanged between humans and an alien species, “but is there any chance you can turn the ship around? I’d like to go home.”

  Warsnitz couldn’t wait any longer. He flip-flopped off down the corridor to the galley, pushing past London.

  London surveyed the cockpit, he had to admit, it was not like he’d expected. He had visions of 2001 Space Odyssey he was getting Student Bedsit. The view out of the view screen was impressive though, with the moon just vanishing underneath them at speed. Below the screen was a bank of computer screens. They were filled with meaningless graphs and flashing symbols. In front of these were two chairs, one of which was covered in clothing, the other in stains.