Concept YUS (Cross-World Murder Cases Book 1) Read online

  After turning into a side corridor, the robocar stopped. A stout, red-haired man in a military uniform warily approached me, gestured for me to follow him, and after a short walk, led me into a small, carefully arranged room.

  “Please prepare yourself. Liftoff is in half an hour.”

  He closed the door behind him, and I was alone. So, it seemed that I had been cleared to travel. Suddenly this alternative, while preferable to the others I had contemplated, chilled me with its immediacy. How would I handle meeting the aliens? What would be their attitude toward me? What awaited me in their starship?

  I started pacing the room. And why were they insisting that people settle on Eyrena? More generally, what has attracted them to us for all these years? They are searching for something. They want something that only we have! Maybe our flesh? Our brains?

  A primal, almost savage panic rose in me. Yet somehow I also managed to remain detached, an observer ironically monitoring his own reactions and patiently waiting to see where they might lead. Walking over to the sofa, I stared blankly at its colorful upholstery until my eyes clouded over and a simple thought slowly and painfully emerged from the chaos in my head: I should prepare myself for the liftoff.

  I opened the closet and discovered a new sports suit, a light-blue shirt, a pair of shoes, and underwear. In plain sight on one of the shelves lay a sphinx pistol with a holster and an unopened carton of bullets. In other words, I found everything I needed, including an electronic notepad and a watch supplied with a compass and various other devices.

  I took off the flight suit and tried on my new clothes. Not surprisingly, my jacket was too tight, and the pants too loose. I was foolishly pleased that at least they were the right length—as if it mattered how I would look to the Yusians. Or even on Eyrena, after all, unless the breathtaking beauty Linda Ridgeway awakens a desire to impress her with my taste in clothes.

  When the redhead returned, exactly on time, we climbed into the robocar, heading who knew where? Now the shelf behind us bore two bulky suitcases: my “personal” luggage. We entered a tunnel that led steeply upward, apparently to the above-ground exit. Exiting the robocar, we each took a suitcase, while I carried my briefcase as well. The escalator took us up to a small platform. As we crossed it, the door at the far end opened, and ahead of us spread an endless concrete expanse.

  The rain had stopped, replaced by a damp, cool silence. A shiny new robot approached us and took the suitcases. A currently popular retrofantastic type with precisely human features, it wore the manufacturer’s label, “essiko,” on its left shoulder. Then the redhead, relieved at having fulfilled his duties, wished me a prompt return and, stepping back, disappeared through the automatic door. At least I could no longer see him.

  As I walked toward the Yusian starship, its unearthly blackness nearly blinded me, freezing the surrounding air into bright white outlines, and the slender connecting arcs of its fuselage glittered like lightning. Enormous, perfect, and absurd. And unshakeable! Its antigravity flaps fiercely grappled the ground; its stabilizers, which looked like suction pumps, dug in as if they were thirsty roots absorbing moisture.

  The starship had landed between two of our launch pads and towered over the shuttles parked there. How tiny and vulnerable they seemed by comparison. These same shuttles, which had filled our hearts with pride as symbols of human progress until ten years ago, were nothing but feeble dwarfs next to the wizardry of the Yusians.

  I started walking faster and then turned to glance over my shoulder at the robot. He was striding quietly and rhythmically behind me, my man of steel, silicone joints extending and contracting without a sound. Water drops glimmered on the angular shoulders: he must have waited for me in the rain. I slowed so he could catch up, and we continued on together.

  Soon I could clearly distinguish the Yusians near the starship. They were lying in heaps on the concrete surface, their bodies jerking spasmodically. Their limbs would sometimes shorten and shrink until scarcely visible and at other times stretch to amazing lengths, slapping and bubbling in the puddles left by the rain. When I stopped, one of them rose and rushed toward me. For a moment I thought that we would crash and fought my impulse to jump aside.

  He stopped short a meter away. His squared torso, split by deep horizontal clefts, towered above my head. Waves of heat rhythmically blasted from his body—maybe his breath? I was shaken with disgust. Only when my fingers began to tingle did I realize how tightly I had been clutching the handle of my briefcase. I transferred it to my other hand, just to have something to do, and then tried to appear relaxed as I waited for his next move.

  Still trembling, the Yusian was rearranging himself, accompanied by an intermittent wheezing. Finally seeming satisfied with his appearance, he then pulled down the skin on his forehead and bit into it with his left aperture. Two huge milky lidless ovals slowly surfaced and stared at me. I starting feeling dizzy, almost paralyzed, and my head grew so heavy that I needed all my energy just to hold it up.

  The Yusian, probably sensing my condition, bent backward and covered the eyes with his limbs. The effect produced was more bearable, and I began to regain my equilibrium. I knew that, according to established protocol, I was supposed to stand on his right side when I was ready to have a conversation. When I did so, the Yusian adjusted himself again, and his torso clefts slowly opened. I understood that he was about to talk.

  “Will bodily connection with Eyrena be yours?” it asked me in intricate English.

  “Yes,” I croaked.

  My short answer had a very strange effect on the creature: his body stretched upward, the whites of his eyes were swallowed by an amazing expansion of black pupils, and his voice intensified into a scream, “Our awaiting is stopping! Leave to go!”

  We started walking toward the starship. The other Yusians had already gathered in front of its opening. They were swaying unpredictably, emitting continuous rumbling noises and moving closer and closer together, doing their best in order to express—who knows what?

  We passed them and entered an elevator. Noiselessly we ascended to a room with many trembling ellipses at the edges. The Yusian moved toward the nearest one, crossed it, and was engulfed in rays of dense violet light. I followed uneasily, while the robot following me carried with ease both the suitcases and his serene electronic soul.

  We found ourselves in a narrow gallery with high, curved brackets along the sides, from which spouted, as if from fountains, unbearably bright blue sparks that spread all around us without dying out. Almost blinded, I continued to follow the Yusian, trying to keep my distance from him—and from it all.

  The gelatinous floor shivered and squelched under my feet as I constantly sank up to my ankles. I tried taking enormously wide steps but staggered and instinctively grabbed one of the idiotic brackets. Before I could open my fingers, it split up the middle and slipped, or more precisely flew, out from both sides of my clenched fist. Then the bulging ends thinned again and lengthened toward each other, reuniting forcefully but silently. I had the queasy feeling that I had touched something living: flexible, cool, and able to react. As far as I could see, my hand was unharmed, though it felt drier than the other one. The Yusian stopped, apparently to wait for me. It dawned on me that, if he thought I was having problems, he might want to support me himself, so I made a supreme effort to walk normally.

  I was pleasantly surprised when we entered a spacious living room that looked entirely human and, most importantly, had ordinary illumination. The room was luxuriously furnished with a thick Persian rug, huge mahogany bookshelves filled with carefully arranged books, sumptuously comfortable sofas and armchairs, a cellaret, and an audio and video system.

  “Will stay alive here without worries,” the Yusian said.

  “But how did you manage to arrange all this in such a short time?” I asked, pleased to hear my cordial, conversational tone of voice. “The decision to send me on this journey was made only last night.”

  Or maybe the decis
ion wasn’t made last night? I asked myself.

  “Always we model anticipations in advance!” the Yusian sang enthusiastically, swaying to the rhythm of his words. “Will accomplish that what our persistence.”

  “Persistence” indeed! And what might this persistence amount to? When I met his manic gaze, my entire body shivered with disgust. I had no desire to answer him, nor did I know what to say. Nodding evasively, I waited for the Yusian to begin, hoping he would tell me what I needed to know and then leave me on my own, as far as that was possible on a starship.

  “This robot be with you,” the Yusian started again. “You ask for him travel advises only among agreements of human agent, but we not avoiding him too.”

  “Yes, yes,” I vaguely confirmed my “asking.” “I am glad that the human has received your agreement too. Did he visit you today?”

  “He visited us. As a voice,” the Yusian replied. “If surroundings outside make comfortable, then can embark on it now. Afterward it produce Yusian conditions, and some space suit obtrude on you.”

  I refused to “embark on” anything, so I simply stopped speaking once again. The Yusian also remained quiet for a long time, but this didn’t seem to bother him. He just stood there, not even looking at me—or anything else, for that matter. His eyes bounced around their shared socket like ping-pong balls.

  “Differentiate yourself for while!” he unexpectedly broke the silence.

  If I knew how to “differentiate” myself, I would probably have done so, just so he would leave me alone! His presence weighed on my nerves like a hydraulic press.

  He finally stirred and approached one of the living room doors, freezing there as if trying to hear something. Instinctively I listened as well. At first I heard nothing but then detected a vague stamping, scratching, and finally—a dog whining! The Yusian opened the door. On the threshold stood a little black puppy, swaying unsteadily. When the huge inhuman figure bent above him, the puppy froze and, as if in slow motion, sank to the floor. I hurried over and took him in my arms. His little body trembled convulsively, his heart beating against my palms in his panic. I stood up and stared angrily at the Yusian.

  “Is Jerry” was his only remark as he turned and exited out the door we had entered.

  Chapter 5

  Left standing in the middle of this imitation of an ordinary, earthly living room, I tried to calm the trembling puppy by tenderly repeating his name, “Jerry, Jerry, Jerry.” Haunted by the memory of that grotesque inhuman creature bending above his little body, I could barely swallow my hatred and frustrated rage. I stared down at the feebly drooping head, not knowing what to do.

  I pressed him tenderly to my chest and carried him to the sofa. Lowering my head to listen to his breathing, I was aware of nothing but this little fragile ball of life, thrust into my hands by the unfathomable whim of a Yusian mind.

  Before long, Jerry pulled himself up, sat stiffly on my knees, and raised his dark velvet eyes to me. I smiled at him, and when he settled comfortably and curiously nuzzled my coat, I frankly laughed with relief. The sound of my own voice startled me, and I cast an embarrassed look around. The room was dead silent, both utterly ordinary and unbearably alien at the same time. Alien! My journey was beginning, toward two dead bodies at some base on a distant planet. My one hope was that I would at least arrive safely.

  I looked at my watch: 4:27 p.m. Thirty-three minutes until liftoff. No doubt they were watching me, so I decided to demonstrate my composure by exploring my temporary residence. When I set Jerry down on the carpet, he joyfully wagged his stub of a tail and snapped at one of my trouser legs a few times, already over his fright and ready to play. Not relaxed enough to join him, I casually continued my explorations while he lay by the sofa, obviously disappointed.

  One door led to the kitchen—entirely automated, in perfect order, absolutely clean, and white. The only spot of color was a clumsy and pretentious still life hanging above the table. I immediately crossed to stare at it openmouthed, as if I were an art critic enthralled with a masterpiece. Picturing a vase of yellow carnations surrounded artistically with red fruits, this daub would look out of place anywhere, even more so on a Yusian starship, was my first thought. But then I sympathized with the artist—another human. To paint the carnations in such details required great patience. And the tablecloth with its miniscule patterns too—great patience, if no imagination. Yet, the flamboyant signature suggests that he must have been pleased with his work. So here I find myself, on a Yusian starship, identifying with him. How bizarre that only now, standing in front of an unsuccessful painting, do I realize that I love everything human, with an unimaginable love—as overpowering as suffocation, as deep as despair, and as blind as fanaticism!

  I left the kitchen, hopefully as casually as I had entered, and next discovered a spacious bedroom, amiably furnished with light-blue silk wallpaper, a crystal chandelier, a king-sized bed, thick golden curtains, and a skillfully carved walnut wardrobe. Unquestionably the Yusians had gone to a great deal of trouble. “Let us immerse object in natural environment” was probably what they told each other.

  When I returned to the living room, Jerry didn’t budge. My gloomy mood must have infected him as well. As I sank into one of the armchairs, my attention was immediately drawn to a strange little object at the center of the otherwise-bare table. I should have noticed it before I left the room earlier. Or wasn’t it here then?

  I reached for it unwillingly, holding it gingerly between two fingers. It was warm—or still warm? And flexible, as if made of rubber. One side was fluffy and light brown, while the other was whitish. No, pale, like—like the color of human skin. Yes! This was a miniature effigy of a human head!

  Placed on my palm, the effigy was as small as a marble. Examining it closely, I recognized my own image—complete in every detail, down to my reddish ear and the bruise beneath my eye. I gazed at it more closely: the cheeks and chin were brown with stubble, unshaven—as was I! The hair separated into thin fibers, even the eyebrows. When I pushed them carefully with my finger, the lips opened to show white teeth, as small as grains of sand.

  There was no point in trying to guess what it meant: a mockery, a gift, some kind of a hint, or something else entirely incomprehensible to me. Even after I put it in the cellaret, its warm, soft touch seemed to linger on my fingers.

  When I returned to the armchair, the curtain behind the sofa caught my attention. A heavy brocade. What would I see if I pulled it aside? Probably an imitation of a window and some landscape as phony as that painting in the kitchen. But what if the window were real and on the other side were Yusians in some of their disgusting positions—performing inner transformations or splits—and what if this apartment were part of their laboratory? Right now they could be observing me, preparing me for some inhuman experiment!

  Time was flying; very soon the Earth would be far out of my reach.

  The clock now read 4:43 p.m.—only seventeen minutes left. I turned to the robot. It was high time he gave me the promised travel advises. But he stood motionless and silent, his yellow eyes emitting a dull, indifferent glow.

  “Hey, you, robot!” I shouted. “Isn’t it time to begin preparing me for the flight?”

  “There was no preparation planned,” he replied rhythmically.

  “What?” I was amazed. “No preflight program? No cameras to monitor the launch or other orientation?”

  “This apartment is provided with everything you will need for your safety,” he continued in a monotone. “We have launched already.”

  “Already!” The image of the concrete launch pad stuck in my mind—simple but human. Long gone now. We left the Earth just like that, without a tremor! How was this possible?

  “If in jolt because of our new condition, don’t need it more,” a polite voice suggested from somewhere above.

  I lost my temper.

  “But this is ridiculous!” I objected, without having anything in mind.

  “Opinion lacks me
aning,” the voice answered tenderly. “Best not occupy psychologically unhealthy position.”

  “Position?” They are watching me from above, bent and miserable in their luxurious armchair. I rose abruptly, which I shouldn’t have done, and crossed my arms.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, Yusian! I’m just fine.”

  “I not attach worry minimum to you even!” the words above my head continued rapturously. “Pleasing me to investigate you, my fixed primary task. A chance!”

  “A chance?” Trying not to scream, I barely whispered, “Really? And during the entire trip you plan to—investigate me?”

  “Yes! During every second. Until you become past.”

  The last expression, whatever it meant, did not ease my mind. “Very well, very well,” I murmured.

  “So you like to be chance for incoming conclusions?” the Yusian asked joyfully.

  I had heard that they expressed themselves oddly in Earth languages. I also knew that the meaning of their words had little, if any, connection with their pompous, markedly benevolent tone. Despite that, I was momentarily convinced that I was talking to a silly child, which was sufficient motivation for me to blabber mockingly, “Mmm yes, I find it very likeable. Exceptionally likeable!”

  After a short silence, the Yusian added, “Apprehending you effort yourself, but meet no result. I find beginning of my patience but do not have end. Judge me—must search it in you?”

  A child? I think this “child” was threatening me! “I’m surprised you don’t know where the end of your own patience is,” I said slowly. “I, for instance, always know where mine ends.”

  “Where it ends now?”

  “At the same place where your tolerance ends!” I hissed, obviously irritated.

  And, of course, I immediately received my comeuppance: “Are efforting self again! But are under our stopping and more tolerable is to accept us.”