ALL NOVEL Little Helium
The government of Bouwon-Phane must have been expecting us. You could hear the disparaging tones in the voices of the landing officers, even with the Ariel on “sub” mode, and the delay in giving us permission to dock was just a minute longer than usual. But we were allowed to dock, and guided to the station tethered directly to the interplanetary administrative center on the planet’s surface. That was where we said our goodbyes to Commander Carver and the rest of the crew of the Lance of Croatoan; they were going to stay in orbit to refuel, while we had to go to the surface of the planet itself.
Bouwon-Phane was an unnerving planet. The very air was so saturated with chlorine that it turned an unhealthy pale green, corroding the light of its small, cold star into unpleasant shades. Even the plants were odd. The unique spectrum of the star meant that most plants were the dark purple of red wine, and Bouwon-Phane was almost as dominated by its foliage as New Malagasy had been up until a few weeks prior.
Speaking of chlorine, that was going to be a bigger problem than getting to talk to Dr. Erobosh. Fortunately, the Architects had had several centuries of contact with oxygen-breathers, and the difficult technique of letting us more vulnerable species survive their unique planet had been brought down to a science. They gave us suits, and backup suits, and backup suits for our backup suits, and enough compressed oxygen to pressurize an aircraft carrier. Breathing was the easy part, though. A breathing mask was a simple invention. The hard part was that, at a sixth of an atmosphere's partial pressure, molecular chlorine has a nasty habit of dissolving flesh.
The Architects, and everything else that had evolved on that hell planet, got around this issue by being made partially out of plastic. The rest of us had to make do. Soft-skinned species like humans would last about ten minutes before they ran out of skin and bled to death. My carapace would extend that to about an hour, two or three if I could stuff cloth into my joints and force the chlorine to actually dissolve through my entire carapace. That time limit was, of course, entirely hypothetical, as the bio-plastic suits they gave us would flawlessly protect against the chlorine, and every major city on Bouwon-Phane had extensive oxygen-pressurized facilities for offworlders. Still, it wasn’t great being given only a day’s worth of instruction on how to operate the piece of equipment that would mean the difference between life and, frankly, the absolute worst way to die I have ever heard of.
So after filling out the paperwork certifying that we knew how to not die, and the other paperwork that certified that if we did die it was our own faults, we were finally allowed down onto the planet’s surface. The capital of Bouwon-Phane was a city named Vivicol Siglan, a busy metropolis squatting on either side of a broad river; clearly a city with a long, long, long history, nothing like the clean construction of New Malagasy or Kursh. As the buses took you through the winding streets, you could almost see the history laid out before you. The structures near the elevator were some of the newest, all smooth synthetic materials, plastics and carbon composite, but the closer you went to the riverfront itself, the more you started to see older buildings made out of marsh clays and weird, pale wood. And then, near the south side of the city, were all of the autoplexes.
The Bouwon-Phane autoplexes weren’t quite as elegant as the ones on New Malagasy, though they had a sort of brutalist splendor that the greenery on the other planet had tended to cover up. They were about the same size, a substantial fraction of a mile high and containing ten thousand inhabitants each. Around twenty of them ringed the edge of the city, pumping water into and out of the river.
The government buildings weren’t in the autoplexes themselves, being substantially older, but it was clear that affluence attracted affluence. The Architects, you see, were firm believers in “limited capitalism” which is like regular capitalism except there’s a bunch of government offices whose jobs it is to go yell at the capitalists whenever they get too uppity, and also you tax the rich slightly more. But not enough that all of the autoplexes and government buildings aren’t covered in elaborate scrollwork and inlay to show off how important they were.
I’ll admit to being slightly biased against the government that had arrested and imprisoned my friend. It probably would have been a perfectly aesthetic city if I hadn’t been thinking about Xara the entire time, wondering what kind of conditions he was being held in, wondering if I’d be allowed to see him. The bureaucrats up in orbit had given us the directions to the courthouse where he was being held in preparation for his trial. It was a huge, squat building, angular and square, made from heavy blocks of some kind of beige stone, heavily carved with rigidly artistic scenes of Architects engaged in reasoned debate and discourse.
As soon as we were off the bus, we were on a beeline up the steps of the courthouse. The chemical suits made the walk harder than it would have been, but even I was able to keep up, fueled as I was by the mix of anger and concern over Xara. We hit the first wall of bureaucracy about ten feet past the doors, at which point Amanda proceeded to go completely ballistic. She spoke Architectine, apparently, and fluently enough to go off on the poor Architect at the front desk with a barrage of rapid-fire yelling that would make even the most hardened Karen blanch. It wasn’t long after that before they let the lot of us into the building.
There were at least three more layers of increasingly-important lawyers and bureaucrats separating us from Xara. The first two were quickly cowed and blown aside by Amanda’s display of bloody-minded complaining and legalese. The third must have been someone vastly more important. They were a short, slender Architect with an elaborately decorated blue tunic and a hip-pouch full of papers. A scared-looking lawyer brought us to the room where they were engaged in conversation with a few other Architects, and just from the pheromones wafting off of them I could tell that they thought of us more as a distraction than a serious problem. Amanda spoke to them quietly and slowly, but without becoming deferential. That could only mean one thing: this was an Architect who could not be intimidated.
Something else that made Bouwon-Phane difficult to acclimate to was seeing Architects without their masks. So many weeks around Dr. Erobosh had caused me to associate the olive green breather as being their “real” face; the gnashing jaws and long fangs felt deeply unnatural, even though they weren’t all that bad compared to a Pioneer jaw, or even a human mouth. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would have continued being weird for more than a day or so, it added on to the sudden immersion to make for an unsettling experience.
Steph did her best to fill us in on what was going on while Amanda talked with the very important Architect. Though her Architectine was admittedly poor, she explained that his name was Kitheiranmachtl Dashot, and he was a yalngal, which is a role that doesn’t really have an English translation. Essentially, he was sort of a combination of lawyer and jail warden, and he was in charge of Xara’s case. It was up to him, ultimately, who would be allowed to speak to Xara during his pre-trial detention, which neatly explained why Amanda had suddenly become very nice to him.
Eventually, Dashot left us alone in the room. “Alright,” Amanda said in a low whisper, “I think this is working. He said that Dr. Erobosh doesn’t really have a legal team at this point, so there’s nothing to really stop me from volunteering. He’s going to inform Erobosh about this now, then fill out some paperwork, then it’ll all be official.”
“Why are we whispering?” Quinn said.
“Just in case,” Steph said with an edge of irritation.
“Whatever,” I said, realizing that whispering was extra inconvenient with my new mandibles. “Does this mean that we can talk to Xara?”
Amanda did a weird sort of half-nod, then switched to a shrug. “It depends. Assuming he wants it, I should be able to sign off on that sort of thing as his legal counsel, but the gods only know if the Architects are going to spring some kind of obscure fucking policy to prevent that. I’ll have to brush up on my Architectine code.”
“I hope we can talk to him,” I said. “There are some things about this whole situation that I need to know. Any idea about the time frame?”
“Get comfortable kids, it’s going to be a few hours. With a bit of luck and a lot of skill, I’ll get this set up before the end of the day.”
She got this set up before the end of the day. After a whole bunch of paperwork, running back and forth between different departments, and other such busywork, Dashot kindly escorted us over to the jail wing. The jail wing, where people were held before trial, did not look like a jail. It looked more like a hotel, albeit one where every door was barred and locked from the outside. The walls were all a sterile white, the floors decorated with floral-patterned carpets, and there were even lifeless landscape paintings hanging from hooks at regular intervals.
We were once again placed in the waiting room while Amanda went in and spoke to Xara, escorted in by armed Architect guards. The conversation lasted about an hour. When Amanda came back to the waiting room, she looked downright harrowed, her face having apparently aged ten years in so short a time.
“What happened?” I said, springing out of my chair. “Is something wrong?”
“Doctor Erobosh wants to talk to you, Cathy,” she said. “And only you. Nobody else.”
Miri, Quinn, and Steph were all stunned into silence, but I could see from the way that they looked at each other that they were pretty deeply worried. I know I was. There was, admittedly, some kind of logic to it; of all the other members of our little group, I was definitely the one Xara had become closest to. But that didn’t explain why he wouldn’t even allow Miri or Steph into his cell.
At a gesture from Amanda, I walked up to the guards. It felt like there was a string pulling me forward, inexorably, while my body filled up with fumes and left me light-headed and empty. That same sense of dissociation continued throughout the journey through the nigh-identical winding halls of the jail wing. I wondered if this was all just a dream. As though the world would be so forgiving as to let this be a dream.
The door to Xara’s cell had two digital labels on it and a lever to open it. One label listed his name; the other said “Oxygen.” The guards paused upon seeing the second label, conversing briefly in Architectine. My Ariel helpfully translated; apparently the rooms could switch between being pressurized in oxygen and being pressurized in chlorine, and his had been full of chlorine when Xara had talked with Amanda. Still, the oddity was no reason to deny me entrance.
Once I was through the airlock, I took off the helmet of the suit and took in the place where Xara had been trapped for the last few weeks. It continued the “creepy hotel” theme from outside. Apparently the jail cells were built for comfort, with the toilet even being hidden behind a stall, another little landscape painting over the bed, and a narrow bookshelf across from the bed. And that was it.
Xara had put his breather mask back on; apparently he was allowed to keep that and not much else. He was waiting for me on the bed, looking out the narrow digital screen that served the purpose of a window.
“Xara?” I said.
He turned around, and I could see his eyes brighten as he saw me. “Catherine. It’s nice to see you. For some reason I had a feeling that you would actually be foolish enough to follow me. How’s your illness treating you?”
I hurried across the room, sitting down next to him on the bed, which was the only piece of proper furniture in the room. “It turns out that it was just a basic nutritional deficiency. So now that I know what I have to eat, I’m actually totally fine.” I extended my upper right arm, twisting it around to show the scarring. “Aside from this, this arm might never heal fully.”
“That’s still better than I would have expected,” he said. “Am I to assume that you turned to travel this way as soon as you were healed?”
“More or less,” I said, hesitantly, scanning around the room with unfocused eyes. “I mean, look around you, Xara. You’re being held captive.” I paused. “I assume my mother told you our plan to get you your freedom?”
“I don’t agree with it, and I don’t believe that you’re going to get me acquitted. I…” Xara took a long, slow breath and looked down into his lap for a moment. “I plan on pleading guilty in exchange for a reduced sentence.”
That explained Amanda’s expression, then. The room suddenly felt several degrees colder, darker, and more empty. “I don’t understand,” I said softly. “Why? Why throw your life away like that?”
“I am not throwing anything away,” Xara said calmly. “My initial plan has failed, so I am pivoting to a new one. If I cannot keep my modified engine out of my government’s hands, then I shall march into prison with my head held high, and make sure the journalists record the entire story of the truth as I do so.”
“So, what, this is some kind of protest to you?”
“Yes!” he said. “This entire thing was a form of protest! And, as I have been caught, refusing to pretend that I have done anything morally wrong is the last form of protest available to me.”
“Please don’t do this, Xara,” I said, unsure of what I was going to say next, but utterly certain that I had to say something. “Don’t… don’t make me say goodbye; not now, and not like this.”
Xara’s eyes were half-shut, and though he tried, he could not bear to meet my own gaze. He placed one clawed hand over mine. “I am sorry, Cathy. There are some things more valuable than just one man, one scientist. And my principles will not allow me to take any other course.”
I tore my hand away from him, stamping my foot on the sterile carpet, turning away from Xara while desperately trying to ignore the scent of desperate, longing sadness on the air. “Fine!” I said. “Have it your way. But if you’re going to do this, at least give me an explanation.”
“Of course, Ca—”
“And a proper explanation this time! The whole story, all of it.”
“Of course,” he said slowly. “We have all the time in the world, now; so there is no reason not to tell you the whole story.”
Xara fell silent for a minute or so, clicking his teeth together as he figured out how he would tell the story. I gave him my patience. If he was thinking about it, after all, that meant he was planning to tell the story properly, which meant he was taking this seriously, which meant I’d already gotten through to him.
“I assume you have figured out, by this point, that the ship’s computer on board the Helium Glider is not a normal computer?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Most computers don’t get scared.”
He nodded. “That is because Helium’s personality is built upon a neural scan of an eleven-year-old girl, taken some decade and a half ago by Earth reckoning. It lacks her memories, and possesses a computer’s skills in physics and navigation, but the quirks and affect are all her.”
“And the girl…” I had a guess who she was, but I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how it might upset him if I guessed wrong. “She’s your daughter?”
Xara shut his eyes and slowly nodded.
“She would be twenty-six, now, wouldn’t she? But I’m guessing there’s a reason why you’ve never mentioned her before now…”
“My daughter is indeed dead, if that’s what you are trying to imply.”
I winced at how casual he was in just outright saying it. “What happened to her?”
“She was arrested for a small amount of illegal drugs, about four years ago now. A minor crime, victimless. She would have long since been released if she hadn’t died in a fight less than a year into her term.” Xara paused, his eyes still closed and his head sinking to his chest. “She wasn’t even involved, at least according to what they told me, but one of the other prisoners had a makeshift blade, and… one thing led to another.”
“Fuck,” I said. Then, after some more thought, “Fuck. I… I can see why you might not be the biggest fan of the government, now.”
“It was pointless!” Xara roared, the sudden noise echoing from the walls and startling me enough that I jumped back in my seat. “The system created a place to concentrate all the worst impulses of our species, then threw a young woman into it to die! And for what? She didn’t hurt anybody. They threw my daughter’s life away in the name of law and order, and then they have the gall to turn around and say that they operate in the name of justice!”
The end of Xara’s outburst left the room feeling hollow, like the echoes were taking something out of the room as they faded from it. I didn’t know what to say. Even if I did, I almost definitely didn’t have the strength to put words out into the cold, empty air that Xara had left behind. So I sat still, clasped my hands together, and simmered in a stew of feelings.
“I used to call her my little Helium,” Xara said, eventually, rasping the words out through a tired throat. “Because she was small, and light, and her voice was squeaky enough that it sounded like she’d been inhaling helium gas. Even after her mother and I split up, I gave my all for her. And look where it brought me.”
“I… I’ve never lost someone,” I said, waveringly. “At least, not anyone close. I sort of lost my entire species and both of my biological parents before I was born, but I’m only just learning about that, so… I’m sorry. I’m trying to fill the air and it isn’t working.”
“It’s alright, Cathy, I understand,” Xara said. “It’s a natural impulse, I think, to seek connection.”
“You remember her, though, don’t you?” I said. “I guess that’s the difference between you and me. That probably makes it worse, though, doesn’t it…”
“I don’t know, Cathy,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at emotions.”
“So, after she died…what happened next?”
“I had a lot of thinking to do. You understand that I’d spent most of my life up to that point working for the same government that killed her, giving them my energy and effort so that they could use my inventions. I determined that they didn’t deserve the fruits of my decades of labor,” he said, the scowl audible in his tone even as it was covered by his breathing mask.
“So you stole the prototype and all of the plans?”
Xara’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and he glanced around at the corners of the room in a sudden burst of what could only be paranoia. “We’re likely being recorded. It is alleged that I then stole the prototype and all of the plans, yes. And if I had done that, I would have flown off to the furthest corners of known space to make sure that those bastards would never get their investment back. At least, until the Order took notice, slaughtered the people I’d hired as crew, and set me on a course for the Forbidden Zone. Allegedly.”
“I see,” I said. “So what now? You walk into prison with your head held high, knowing that you hold the moral high ground?”
“When you put it that way, it makes me sound completely insane,” Xara said. “But yes, that is what I intend.”
“You can’t just do that. We came all this way to save you, and—”
“I very much appreciate the gesture,” he said carefully. “But not even your mother stands a chance of getting me off the hook for this one. They did catch me still piloting the ship that I’d allegedly stolen from them, after all.”
I threw my head into my hands, wishing once again that I had the anatomy to cry. “So I went all this way for nothing..”
“No, of course not. You showed that you cared, Catherine. And you gave me someone to talk to. Maybe you can visit me in prison, the next time you can afford the trip.”
“No, no! There has to be something else we can do.”
“There isn’t,” Xara said.
Frustrated, miserable, and at the end of my rope, I threw all restraint out the window and threw my arms around Xara’s shoulders, pulling myself as close to him as possible. He, in return, gently wrapped his arms around me and patted my back in the display of a man very unused to affection.
“Once a year,” I said. “If I can afford it. And I’ll try to afford it.”
Xara gently peeled me off of him, keeping one hand on my shoulder. “Alright. It is possible that, between the plea deal and your mother’s negotiation skills, I might get released before I die of old age.”
“You’d better.”
“No promises.” Xara said, stiffening his posture. “You should go. I imagine you’ll have some difficulty finding arrangements in this city as an oxygen-breather, and it would be best if you worked toward that goal before nightfall, rather than after.”
“I… okay. Yeah. Goodbye for now, Xara.”
“Goodbye, Catherine.”
I very nearly forgot to put the helmet back on my anti-chlorine suit, except Xara reminded me on the way out. I had other things on my mind.
