The Six Directions of Space Read online

  Tayang looked at me sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Miss Bocheng. We’ll have you right as rain in no time.”

  The sick bay was larger and better equipped than I had been expecting, almost as if it belonged in a different ship entirely. I was relieved to see that no one else was using it. Tayang helped me onto a reclined couch while the other stewards pulled a screen around the stricken eunuch.

  “How do you feel now?” Tayang asked, fastening a black cuff around my forearm.

  “Still a bit funny.”

  For the next few minutes, Tayang—who had clearly been given basic medical training—studied the readouts on a handheld display he had pulled from a recess in the wall.

  “Well, it doesn’t look—” he began.

  “I should have listened to my friends,” I said, shaking my head. “They told me not to come here.”

  He tapped buttons set into the side of the display. “Your friends warned you that you might end up getting poisoned?”

  “Not exactly, no. But they said it wasn’t a good idea traveling on the Burkhan Khaldun, down the Parvan Tract. They were right, weren’t they?”

  “That would depend. So far, I can’t see any sign that you’ve ingested anything poisonous. Of course, it could be something that the analyzer isn’t equipped to detect—”

  “And the eunuch?”

  “Just a moment,” Tayang said, leaving the display suspended in the air. He walked over to the other bed and pulled aside the curtain. I heard a murmured exchange before he returned, with a bit less of a spring in his step. “Well, there’s no doubt that something pretty heavy’s hit his system. Could be a deliberate toxin, could be something nasty that just happened to get into him. We’re not far out of Gansu; he could have contracted something there that’s only just showing up.”

  “He’s been poisoned, Mr. Tayang. My bodyguard. Doesn’t that strike you as a slightly ominous development?”

  “I still say it could be something natural. We’ll know soon enough. In the meantime, I wouldn’t necessarily jump to the conclusion that you’re in immediate peril.”

  “I’m concerned, Mr. Tayang.”

  “Well, don’t be. You’re in excellent hands.” He leaned over to plump my pillow. “Get under the blanket if you feel shivery. Is there anything you’d like me to fetch from your room?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “In which case, I’ll leave you be. I’ll keep the analyzer attached just in case it flags anything. The other stewards are still here. If you need anything, just call.”

  “I will.”

  He was on the verge of leaving—I had no doubt that he was a busy man—when something caused him to narrow his eyes. “So if it wasn’t about being poisoned, Miss Bocheng, why exactly was it that your friends didn’t want you taking this ship?”

  “Oh, that.” I shook my head. “It’s silly. I don’t know why I mentioned it at all. It’s not as if I believe any of that nonsense.”

  “Any of what nonsense, exactly?”

  “You know, about the phantoms. About how the Parvan Tract is haunted. I told them I was above all that, but they still kept going on about it. They said that if I took this ship, I might never come back. Of course, that only made me even more determined.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I told them I was a rationalist, not someone who believes in ghosts and goblins.” I shifted on the couch, giving him a sympathetic look. “I expect that you’re fed up with hearing about all that, especially as you actually work here. I mean, if anyone would have been likely to see something, it would be you, wouldn’t it, or one of the other crew?”

  “That would make sense,” he said.

  “Well, the fact that you obviously haven’t… there can’t be anything to it, can there?” I crossed my arms and smiled triumphantly. “Wait until I tell my friends how silly they’ve been.”

  “Perhaps,” he began, and then fell silent.

  * * *

  I knew that I had him then; that it would be only a matter of time before Tayang felt compelled to show me evidence. My instincts proved correct, for within a day of my discharge from the sick bay (the eunuch was still under observation, but making satisfactory progress), the steward contrived an excuse to visit my quarters. He had a clean towel draped over his arm, as if he had come to replace the one in my bathroom.

  “I brought you a fresh one. I think the cleaning section missed this corridor this morning.”

  “They didn’t, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.”

  He lingered, as if he had something to get off his chest but was struggling to find the right words.

  “Mr. Tayang?” I pressed.

  “What we were talking about before.”

  “Yes?” I inquired mildly.

  “Well, you’re wrong.” He said it nicely enough, but the defiance in his words was clear. “The phantoms exist. I may not have seen anything with my own eyes, but I’ve seen data that’s just as convincing.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I can show you easily enough.” He must have been intending to say those words from the moment he had decided to come to my cabin, yet now that he had spoken them, his regret was immediate.

  “Really?”

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  “Tell me,” I said forcefully. “Whatever this is, I want to see it.”

  “It means your friends were right; and you were wrong.”

  “Then I need to know that.”

  Tayang gave me a warning look. “It’ll change the way you think. At the moment, you have the luxury of not believing in the phantoms. I know that there’s something out there that we don’t understand, something that doesn’t belong. Are you sure you want that burden?”

  “If you can handle it, I think I can. What do I have to do?”

  “I need to show you something. But I can’t do it now. Later, during the night shift, it’ll be quieter.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I said, nodding eagerly.

  * * *

  Close to midnight, Tayang came for me. Remembering to keep in character for someone half convinced she was the target of an assassin, I did not open up immediately.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Tayang.”

  I cracked open the door. “I’m ready.”

  He looked me up and down. “Take off those clothes, please.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He glanced away, blushing. “What I mean is, wear as much or as little as you would wear for bed.” I noticed that he had a jacket draped over his arm, as if he was ready to put it around my shoulders.

  “Should we meet someone, and should questions be asked, you will explain that I found you sleepwalking, and that I’m taking you back to your cabin via the most discrete route I can think of, so you don’t embarrass yourself in front of any other passengers.”

  “I see. You’ve given this some thought, haven’t you?”

  “You aren’t the first skeptical passenger, Miss Bocheng.” I closed the door and disrobed, then put on thin silk trousers and an equally thin silk blouse, the one scarlet and the other electric yellow, with a design of small blue wolves. I untied my hair and messed it to suggest someone only recently roused from the bed.

  Outside, as was customary during the night shift of the BK’s operations, the corridor lights were dimmed to a sleepy amber. The bars, restaurants, and gaming rooms were closed. The public lounges were deserted and silent, save for the scurrying mouselike cleaning robots that always emerged after the people had gone away. Tayang chose his route well, for we did not bump into any other passengers or crew.

  “This is the library,” he said, when we had arrived in a small, red-lit room, set with shelves, screens, and movable chairs. “No one uses it much—it’s not exactly a high priority for most of our passengers. They’d rather drink away the voyage with Temujin airag.”

  “Are we allowed here?”

  “Well, technically there’d be nothing to stop you visiting this
room during normal ship hours. But during normal ship hours, I wouldn’t be able to show you what I’m about to.” He was trying to be nonchalant about the whole adventure, but his nervousnous was like a boy on a dare. “But don’t worry, we won’t get into trouble.”

  “How is a library going to change my mind about the phantoms?”

  “Let me show you.” He ushered me to one of the terminals, swinging out a pair of hinged stools for us to sit on. I sat to the left of him, while Tayang flipped open a dust cover to expose a keyboard. He began to tap at the keys, causing changes to the hooded data display situated at eye level. “As it happens, these consoles are connected to the Burkhan Khaldun’s own computers. You just have to know the right commands.”

  “Won’t this show up?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not doing anything that will come to anyone’s attention. Besides, I’m perfectly entitled to access this data. The only thing wrong is you being with me, and if anyone comes down here, we’ll have time to prepare for them, to make it look as if I caught you sleepwalking.” He fell silent for a minute or so, tapping through options, obviously navigating his way through to the information stored in the computer’s memory bank. “I just hope the company spooks haven’t got to it already,” he murmured.

  “Every now and then, someone from Blue Heaven comes aboard and wipes large chunks of the BK’s memory. They say they’re just doing routine archiving, clearing space for more data, but no one believes that. Looks like we’re in time, though. I didn’t see any spooks nosing around when we were in Gansu: they’ll probably come aboard next time we’re back.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll show it to you once. Then we go. All right?”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Tayang.”

  “The BK has cameras, pointed into the direction of flight. They detect changes in the tunnel geometry and feed that data to the servomotors driving the stabilizing vanes and yaw dampers, so that they can make adjustments to smooth out the turbulence. They’re also there as an emergency measure in case we encounter another ship coming the other way, one that isn’t on schedule or hasn’t got an active transponder. The cameras give us just enough warning to swerve the BK to one side, to give passing clearance. It’s bumpy for the passengers when that happens, but a lot better than a head-on collision at tunnel speeds.”

  “I take it the cameras saw something,” I said.

  Tayang nodded. “This was a couple of trips ago, about halfway between Gansu and Kuchlug. They only got eight clear frames. Whatever it was was moving fast, much quicker than one of our ships. The fourth, fifth, and sixth frames are the sharpest.”

  “Show me.”

  He tapped keys. A picture sprang onto the display, all fuzzy green hues, overlaid with date stamps and other information. It took a moment before I was sure what I was looking at. There was some kind of pale green smudge filling half the frame, a random-looking shape like the blind spot one sees after looking at the sun for too long, and beyond that, a suggestion of the curving squiggles of the tunnel’s khorkoi patterning, reaching away to infinity.

  I pressed a finger against the smudge. “That’s the phantom?”

  “This is frame three. It becomes clearer on the next one.” He advanced to the next image and I saw what he meant. The smudge had enlarged, but also become sharper, with details beginning to emerge. Edges and surfaces, a hint of organized structure, even if the overall shape was still elusive.

  “Next frame,” Tayang mouthed.

  Now there could be no doubt that the phantom was some kind of ship, even if it conformed to the pattern of no vessel I had ever seen. It was sleek and organic-looking, more like a darting squid than the clunky lines of the BK.

  He advanced to the next frame, but—while the image did not become substantially clearer—the angle changed, so that the three-dimensional structure of the phantom became more apparent. At the same time, hints of patterning had begun to emerge: darker green symbols on the side of the hull, or fuselage, or body, of whatever the thing was.

  “That’s about as good as it gets,” Tayang said.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “You see these armlike appendages?” he asked, pointing to part of the image. “I’m guessing, of course, but I can’t help wondering if they don’t serve the same function as our stabilization vanes, only in a more elegant fashion.”

  “I think you could be right.”

  “One thing I’m sure of, though. We didn’t build that ship. I’m no expert, Miss Bocheng, but I know what counts as cutting-edge ship design, and that thing is way beyond it.”

  “I don’t think anyone would argue with that.”

  “It wasn’t built by the government, or some mysterious splinter group of Islamist separatists. In fact, I don’t think it was built by humans at all. We’re looking at alien technology, and they’re using our Infrastructure system as if they own it. More than that: every now and then you hear about entire ships and message packets going missing. They’re not just trespassing in our network, they’re stealing from it as well.”

  “I can see Blue Heaven would rather this didn’t get out.”

  Tayang closed the display. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can show you. It’s enough, though, isn’t it?”

  “More than enough,” I said.

  Of course, I had my doubts. Tayang could have easily faked those images, or been the unwitting victim of someone else’s fakery. But I did not think that was the case. I had been looking at genuine data, not something cooked up to scare the tourists.

  I was just beginning to plot my next move—how I would get a copy of the data, and smuggle it back to NHK while I continued with my investigations in Kuchlug space—when I became aware of a presence behind me. Tayang must have sensed it, too, for he turned around as I did. Standing in the doorway to the library was one of the other stewards, an older man whose name I had yet to learn. I noticed that the sleeves of his uniform were too short for him.

  Wordlessly, he raised a hand. In it glinted the smooth alloy form of a small, precise weapon: the kind often carried by government spies such as myself. He shot me; I had a moment to stare at the barb embedded in my thigh, and then I passed out.

  * * *

  I came around in my cabin, gripped by a vile nausea, a headache like a slowly closing iron vice, and no conception of how much time had passed since Tayang and I had been disturbed in the library. Getting out of bed—I had been placed on top of the sheets—I searched the adjoining annex for the eunuch, before I remembered that he was still in the sick bay. I tried my door and found that it had been locked from the outside; there was no way for me to leave my room.

  Understand, I did not accept my imprisonment lightly, but understand also that all my attempts at escape proved futile. I could not even squeeze through the conduit I had mentioned to the eunuch: such methods succeed in adventure stories, but not in real life.

  Of course, it was desired that I be kept alive. The man who had shot me could have administered a fatal dose simply by twisting a dial in the grip of his weapon. He had chosen not to, and it was no accident that food and water appeared in the room’s serving hatch at regular intervals. But as to who had chosen to detain me, I was uninformed.

  I could guess, though.

  He was the first to see me when the ship docked in Kuchlug space. He came to my room, accompanied by guards. He was as squat and muscled as a wrestler, his bare arms fully as thick as my thighs. He wore a leather jerkin, crisscrossed by thick black belts to which were fastened various ceremonial weapons and symbols of martial authority. A carefully tended mustache curled down on either side of his mouth, with a tiny but deliberate tuft of hair preserved under his lower lip. A stiff leather helmet, long at the sides and back, covered the rest of his head. The only visible part of his hair was a blunt, wedge-shaped fringe terminating just above his eyebrows, which were at once finely drawn, expressive, and deeply quizzical.

  Of course, I knew the face.

  “Commander Qilian,” I
said.

  “Yes, I get about.” His hands were impressively hairy, scarred and knotted like the roots of a very old tree. He snapped his fingers at the guards. “Have her brought to the debriefing facility on the Qing Shui moon. Bring the pony as well.” Then he poked one of those fingers under my chin, lifting it up so that our eyes met. “Give some thought to the particulars of your story, Miss Bocheng. It may make all the difference.”

  * * *

  They took me down to the moon. We landed somewhere and I was carried through dark, rusting corridors to a windowless holding cell. The floor rocked with a slow, sickening motion, as if I was on a ship at sea in a high swell—even though there were no oceans on the Qing Shui moon. They stripped me, took away my belongings, and gave me prison clothing to wear: a simple one-piece affair in orange silk. I pretended to be shocked and disoriented, but I was already summoning my training, recollecting those stratagems I had been taught to withstand prolonged detention and interrogation. As the guards were shutting the door on me, I contrived to slip a finger into the crack between the door and its frame. When the door closed, I yelped in pain and withdrew my hand with the fingertip squashed and red from the pressure.

  I sucked it in my mouth until the pain abated.

  “Stupid bitch,” someone said.

  There was a bunk, a spigot in the wall that dribbled tepid, piss-colored water, and a hole in the floor, with chipped ceramic sides stained an unspeakable brown. Light seeped in through a grille in the door.

  Neither willing nor able to sleep, I lay on the bunk and shivered. Presently—no more than two or three hours after my arrival—men came to take me down the corridor, to an interrogation room.

  It is not necessary to document all that happened—the many weeks that it took for me to permit them to peel back the layers of identity I had wrapped around myself, each time thinking that the victory was theirs.

  Suffice it to say that most of what they did to me involved electricity and chemicals in varying combinations. They did break two fingers on my left hand, including the one I had trapped in the door, but when they pulled out one of my fingernails, it was from the other hand, not the one I had hurt. They beat me around, broke my teeth, extinguished Yesugei brand cigarettes on my skin, but only cut me superficially, to demonstrate that they could and would. Then they had other men come in to sterilize and dress the wounds. Once in a while, a gowned doctor with a Slavic face came to the cell and gave me a thorough, probing medical examination.