Eric Brown - Kéthani

That night, not even the pulsing light from the Onward Station could wake him from his dreams.

He woke late the following morning, dragged from sleep by something indefinable working at the edge of his consciousness. He lay on his back and blinked up at the ceiling, recalling the events of the night before and sensing the start of a debilitating depression.

Then he became aware of what had awoken him: his phone, purring in the pocket of his jacket where he’d dropped it last night.

He pulled his jacket towards him and fumbled with the phone. “Standish here.”

“Inspector Standish? Director Masters at the Station. I wonder if you could spare me a little of your time?”

“Concerning Roberts…?”

“Not over the phone, inspector.”

“Very well. I’ll be right over.”

The Director thanked him and rang off.

He splashed his face with cold water, brushed his teeth and then made his way out to the car, his head throbbing from too many beers in the Fleece last night.

It was another sunny morning. He wondered what Amanda was doing now. As he drove through the quiet lanes and over the moors, towards the Onward Station, he imagined her in the arms of her lover.

At the sight of the rearing obelisk, he recalled what had come to him in the early hours, as he stood staring up at the spread of stars.

It seemed, in the harsh light of day, highly improbable.

He left his Renault in the parking lot and stepped through the sliding door. Director Masters himself was on hand to greet him.

“If you’d care to step this way.”

He led Standish along a white corridor. They came at last to a sliding door, but not that of Masters’s office.

The door eased open without a sound, and the director gestured Standish through.

He stepped into a small, white room, furnished only with a white, centrally located settee. He heard the door click shut behind him, and when he turned to question Masters he realised that the director had left him alone in the room.

A minute elapsed, and then two. Vaguely uneasy, without quite knowing why, he sat on the settee and waited.

Almost immediately a concealed sliding door opposite him opened quickly, and he jumped to his feet.

Someone stepped through the opening, backed by effulgent white light, and it was a second before his vision adjusted.

When it did, he could only stare in disbelief.

A slim, blonde woman stood before him. She was dressed in a white one-piece suit. Her expression, as she stared at him, was neutral.

It was Sarah Roberts.

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Then he looked more closely at the woman before him. It was almost Roberts, but not quite; there was a slight difference in the features, but enough of a similarity for the woman and Roberts to be sisters.

Standish managed, “Who are you?”

She smiled. “I think you know that, Doug.” It was the familiarity of her using his first name that shocked him, as much as what she had said.

“I was right? Roberts was…?”

She inclined her head. “This soma-form, and variations upon it, is how we show ourselves on Earth.”

His vision blurred. He thought he was going to pass out.

Was he one of the few people ever to knowingly set eyes on a member of the Kéthani race?

“Why? I mean—”

“We need to come among you from time to time, to monitor the progress of our work.”

“But this…” He gestured at her. “This isn’t how you appear in reality?”

She almost laughed. “Of course not, Doug.”

“What do you look like?”

She regarded him, then said, gently, “You would be unable to apprehend our true selves, or make sense of what you saw.”

He nodded. “Okay…” He took a breath. His head was pounding, with more than just the effects of the hangover. “Okay, so… what do you want with me? Why did you summon me here? Is it about—?”

She smiled. “The killing of the woman you knew as Sarah Roberts.”

“The light from the sky,” he said, “the patch of melted snow outside the farmhouse…” He shook his head. “Who killed her?”

“There is so much you don’t know about the Kéthani,” the woman said, “so much you have to learn. Like you, we have enemies. There are races out there who do not agree with what we are doing. Sometimes, these races act against us. Two nights ago, three enemy agents came to various locations on Earth to assassinate our envoys. They escaped before we could apprehend them.”

He nodded, let the seconds elapse. “Why do they object to what you’re doing?”

She smiled. “In time, Doug, in time. You will die, be reborn, and eventually go among the stars. Then you will learn more than you can possibly imagine.”

“Why have you told me this?”

“We want you to solve the crime,” she replied. “You will return to the farmhouse and search it. You will find a concealed space behind a bookcase in the main bedroom. You will assume that the killer hid there, emerged, and killed Sarah Roberts, stole her jewellery box, then escaped a day later using the cover of the tracks in the snow made by you and your colleagues.”

It was his turn to smile. “But I know what really happened,” he began.

“You do now,” she said, “but when you leave the Station you will remember nothing of our meeting.”

He was overcome, then, with some intimation of the awesome power of the Kéthani, and his people’s ignorance.

“You are a good person, Doug.” The woman smiled at him, with something like compassion in her eyes. “Let what has happened to you of late be the start of a new life, not the end.”

He was suddenly aware of his pulse. “How do you know?”

“We know everything about you,” the alien said. She stepped forward and reached up.

Her fingers touched the implant at his temple, and he felt a sudden dizziness, followed by an inexplicable, heady surge of optimism.

“The implants allow us access to your very humanity,” she said. “Goodbye, Doug. Be happy.”

She stepped through the sliding door, and seconds later the door to the corridor opened and Standish passed through. Masters’s secretary escorted him towards the exit.

By the time he left the Station, Standish could only vaguely recall his meeting with Director Masters. He blamed the effects of the alcohol he’d consumed last night, and headed towards his car.

It came to him that he should check the farmhouse again. There had to be a rational explanation of what had happened there the other day. Murderers simply did not appear out of the blue and vanish again just as inexplicably.

He paused and gazed over the snow-covered landscape, marvelling at its beauty. He recalled Amanda’s leaving last night and it came to him that it wasn’t so much the end of his old life, but the beginning of a new phase of existence. He experienced a sudden, overwhelming wave of optimism. He recalled the invitation from Lincoln and the others to join them at the Fleece again, and knew in future that he would.

Smiling to himself, without really knowing why, Standish started the engine and drove slowly away from the Onward Station.

That Tuesday, Zara came home in a good mood. That in itself was reason enough for me to be suspicious. These days she was usually quiet, uncommunicative. I’d ask her what was wrong, and she’d reply that she was tired, or stressed out at work. For a long time now we’d lived what amounted to separate lives, going about our own interests and concerns without involving each other. From time to time I’d make the effort, attempt to rekindle the spark of bur early relationship; but her rebuffs left me feeling hollowed and isolated. Often my enquiries escalated into full-blown rows, as if she resented the fact that I was questioning the state of our relationship. Perhaps she was feeling guilty.