Hearts of Oak Read online

  The humans turned back to look at the three figures on the pathway. The one holding the thing that was probably a weapon took a small step closer and said in a smooth, mannered voice: “We have nowhere to put you.”

  None of the humans had expected it to speak English, or anything they could recognize. It had spoken it oddly, putting emphasis in places no native speaker would, but it was English all the same. Iona was very surprised, but the fact she passed out a few seconds later had nothing to do with surprise. She passed out from exhaustion. The surprise was just a coincidence.

  Her last thought as she slumped to the walkway was They’re going to put me in another bloody cage, aren’t they?

  * * *

  Iona woke in a pale yellow room with no windows. Slowly she became aware of figures moving around her and at first she thought she was dreaming because they seemed to be walking up and down the walls. Then she realized she didn’t know anything about these beings and maybe they could walk on walls. Gradually she realized she was the one on the wall. She lay in a bed that had its own gravity, variable according to what suited the occupant, and it had been mounted vertically for reasons she didn’t immediately understand.

  Circular patches were stuck to her arm and abdomen. Tubes and wires trailed off from these patches, connecting her to sleek machinery mounted on the wall to her right. The clothes she’d been wearing upon leaving the dome had been removed at some point and replaced with loose-fitting black pajama-type garments. They weren’t terribly comfortable.

  The memory of what had happened came back to her. Her body tensed up as she realized she was still a captive of these creatures. She could tell it was not possible to get out of the bed. If she dangled a foot off the side the gravity automatically increased, preventing her from rising. They had indeed put her in another cage.

  Iona breathed deeply and felt a pain in her chest but it wasn’t the pain she was expecting. Her lungs didn’t protest—they seemed fine—however there were needle-like sensations across her ribs, in the skin and the bones. She touched a hand to her chest and found a scar right down the center of it. The scar was very tender, though it felt very clean.

  She wondered how long she’d been unconscious.

  The figures around her noticed she was awake. Until this point they’d been acting like she wasn’t there: now they began to act like they were far too aware of it. Two figures attended to the machines to her right. Another figure stood directly in front of the bed and addressed her. She couldn’t tell if it was the same one that had led them out of the cage—she had yet to find any way of distinguishing the figures from each other—but it was holding the same device, the thing that might be a weapon, and was pointing it at her.

  The bed’s gravity field made Iona feel like she was looking up at the figure. It was a strange and unpleasant way to hold a conversation but she was determined not to let on that she felt discombobulated.

  The figure seemed to be waiting for her to speak. From its point of view it must have been like talking to a portrait hanging in a gallery.

  “How are the others?” Iona said.

  “They are being restored,” the figure replied.

  “Does that mean they’re alright?”

  “They will be.”

  Iona pointed at her chest. “What happened here?”

  “Damage. Extensive. We replaced the relevant parts.”

  Iona’s eyebrows raised. “Replaced?”

  The figure pointed at the wall opposite Iona and a diagram appeared on it—a cutaway of the human body with all organs visible. The lungs and other parts of the respiratory system were highlighted.

  “You replaced all that?” said Iona.

  “Yes.”

  “With . . . what?”

  “Organic component replication. We took a sample of your DNA and used it to grow replacement parts.”

  Iona considered this: it wasn’t an entirely strange idea. She felt like this technique had existed on Earth. Yet she still found it unsettling that pieces of herself had been substituted for identical pieces. She wondered where her old lungs were now but didn’t like to ask.

  “You know a lot about us, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, you speak our language.”

  “We have been watching you for a long time.” This was true. The figures had been looking at them for so long without ever trying to communicate. It had never occurred to Iona that they could have done so but chose not to.

  “Have you put me in one of the other domes?”

  “No.”

  Iona waited for an elaboration on this statement. None arrived. “Where are we then?”

  “A medical facility. You burned the habitation deliberately. You put yourselves at great risk.” The phrasing was neutral but Iona still felt like it was a criticism.

  “We did burn it deliberately, yes—”

  “To force us to open the door.”

  “What? No.”

  “You knew we could not let you die.”

  Iona found this information interesting. “We didn’t know that, actually.”

  “But you burned the habitation.” Iona noticed the figure didn’t ask questions. Instead it made statements that implied a request for information.

  “We burned it because there was something dangerous in it.”

  “You are dangerous.”

  “We’re not dangerous.”

  “We know you are dangerous.”

  “Something more dangerous than us.” A terribly urgent thought occurred to her. “You haven’t let it out, have you?”

  “You mean the fifth human?”

  “No, not her—”

  “Your fellow killed the fifth human after we placed it in there with you.”

  If they knew about this they had indeed been watching activity inside the dome closely. Iona wondered how they’d kept such close tabs on them—tiny drones perhaps?—but there were other things to worry about right now.

  “No,” she said, “there was a cat. You know, the small creature.” Iona used her hands to vaguely suggest the size and shape of Clarence. She expected skepticism from the figure but it seemed to take this at face value.

  “Nothing emerged from the habitat except you and the other three humans.”

  “You can’t let it out. See, it made Steve kill Alyssa. That’s what it does, it gets inside your head—if you let it out it’ll do the same thing out here.”

  “Nothing more will emerge from the habitat.”

  “Good,” said Iona, relieved.

  “The habitat has been reset to default.”

  “And . . . what does that mean?”

  “The matter comprising the habitat has been reprocessed into energy.”

  “We did most of that job for you already,” muttered Iona—then a thought occurred to her. “Wait—all the matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Including our spaceship?”

  “The spaceship was nonfunctional.”

  “We still might’ve wanted it.”

  “All matter comprising the habitat has been reprocessed.”

  Iona was surprised by how deeply she felt the loss of the Mull of Kintyre. She’d only remembered its existence very recently but it had come to stand for the life she’d lost. Burning the city she’d lived in as long as she could remember had been difficult to accept but she had accepted it. Losing the ship, broken and ruined as it was, felt harder to accept.

  But the figures had done the right thing. They’d resolved the issue in the cleanest possible way. Just blitzed everything inside. It was all gone.

  “Can I go outside, please?”

  * * *

  The figure advised Iona to keep to the walkways. It didn’t say what would happen if she stepped off the sides and Iona didn’t want to ask, although she noted it was still pointing that weapon at her.

  The figure had informed her two days had passed since they’d stepped out of the dome. The days here were roughly three hours longer
than days in the city, which had presumably been attuned to the humans’ natural rhythms. It was afternoon, and quite sunny, but still a little cold.

  The medical facility was located in a space between two of the domes. As she walked between them Iona noticed something she’d been too distracted to absorb the last time she was here: the domes were located in a shallow canyon, its sides only a little higher than the domes themselves. Steps had been carved at regular intervals along the sides, leading up out of the canyon.

  Iona still felt anger at the figures for holding them all captive but she had to keep it in check. Aggression would not help the situation. Understanding it might. She still had little idea of what was going on or why.

  “These other ones,” said Iona, pointing at the domes around them, “are there humans in them too?” She held out some hope that more of the Mull of Kintyre’s crew had survived the crash.

  “No, they contain the other life of this planet,” the figure said.

  Iona stopped walking. “What other life?”

  “Other life.” The figure pointed the weapon upward and operated a control. In the air directly above the muzzle an image appeared of something dark brown and birdlike, with no beak and wings at least five times the length of its body. This image was replaced by one of a shaggy creature that looked like an antelope covered in grass cuttings. Then a long-limbed insect-looking thing with twelve legs, six of which were on its back. There were more.

  Iona realized the thing wasn’t a weapon at all. It was a device for displaying visual recordings, which meant . . . it probably also made visual recordings. That was why the figure had been pointing it at her all this time, it was keeping a record.

  Something of the situation clicked into place for Iona.

  “I think you’ve made a mistake,” said Iona gently. “That’s the native life of this planet.” She didn’t know this for certain but none of the creatures looked familiar; she didn’t get that flash of recognition she usually did when encountering something from the old world.

  The figure shut off the images (it had shown at least a dozen by this time) and pointed the recording device back in her direction. “Yes. Protocol for preparation of a new planet. The terrain and atmosphere are to be made suitable where necessary. Prior to this, examples of native organic life are to be preserved.”

  “Yes, yes—” Iona felt sure she was right about this now. “And that’s why you said you couldn’t let us die. I understand all that but we’re not part of the native organic life.”

  “You were here when we arrived.”

  “But we came here for the same reason as you, to set up a colony. We were both looking for life-supporting planets in this area—if we had similar criteria of course we’d both choose the same one. You’ve colonized our colony!”

  The figure didn’t confirm or deny any of it. Iona wasn’t sure if it was still processing what she’d said or just had nothing to say.

  “You see,” she continued, “you just swept us up with everything else. And the ship was in there—you probably built it around us, didn’t you—” Iona stopped and looked around. “But if you can do all this, if you’re so advanced . . . why didn’t you realize we’re not native to this planet? Wasn’t the spaceship a clue?”

  “The presence of the spaceship was noted and reported to the deciders.”

  Iona raised her eyebrows. “Deciders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are the deciders?”

  “They define the protocols. Everything is clear.”

  “They’re like . . . your bosses?”

  “Yes. Anomalies are reported to the deciders.”

  “So the buck stops with them. Okay. I’d like to see them.”

  “You cannot. None of them are here.”

  “Where are they then?”

  “At home.”

  * * *

  The figure led Iona up a set of steps that led out of the valley and onto a bleak, dusty plain. A large transparent sphere stood incongruously on the soil. Suspended in the center of the sphere was a loosely humanoid creature that somewhat resembled the figures, but its body seemed more refined, made up of intricate threads in shades of brown and gray. And unlike the figures it wore clothing—a loose-fitting dark green plastic-looking garment. Set into its head, about where a human’s cheekbones would be, were two large black eyes. Iona couldn’t tell if it had a nose or mouth: if it did they were probably concealed under the fronds that made up its skin. The figures looked like what you’d get if you left this being to melt slightly in the sun. Iona and the figure stopped in front of it and looked up.

  “This was our assigned decider,” the figure said.

  Iona realized this was a memorial. The body had been preserved and left on display, as if watching over the figures. “What happened to . . . it?”

  “It died from an illness during the journey. We reported back to homeworld expecting a replacement to be sent.”

  “But they didn’t send one? They just left you to run the whole operation?”

  “Their presence is only necessary for policy decisions. We are capable of performing all functions. Mineral deposits are delivered via the haulage chain.”

  Iona blinked. “You’re stripping this planet.”

  “And we will return it, as far as possible, to its natural state when we are finished.”

  “I thought you were here to research it.”

  “Research is a subsidiary activity. The focus is mineral extraction.”

  “And you reported our presence to these deciders.”

  “Yes.”

  “And they told you to keep us locked up?”

  “They did not respond. In the absence of guidance we treated you as native life. The protocols were clear.”

  “Have you reported to them that we’re outside the dome now?”

  “We report all unusual activity.”

  “Did you report Alyssa’s arrival?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did they reply?”

  “No.”

  “Have they ever replied?”

  “No.”

  “In all the centuries since you came here and set up this . . . operation, you’ve had no contact from them at all?”

  “No. In the absence of further instructions, we continue until the planet is exhausted. The protocols are clear.”

  * * *

  That evening Iona stood in the observation room of the dome that had previously housed the city and looked through the window into the off-white interior. So many times she’d stood on the other side of this window looking at figures, believing the world beyond the window was so much smaller than the world she lived in. But her world had always been tiny, and now it didn’t exist at all.

  The dome had been shut down but Iona could tell the figures were still considering whether to reactivate it and put the humans back in once they were fully recovered from their injuries. She was preparing her argument that the figures’ protocols didn’t say they had to do this because the humans were not native life, and if their protocols said they didn’t have to do something then they shouldn’t do it. Iona rehearsed this argument repeatedly: it dominated her thoughts. But she was aware that if one followed this to its logical conclusion, the only reason the figures were keeping the humans alive was the protocols told them to preserve the native life. The humans would be left to fend for themselves and Iona was not at all confident they could. The figures would be reluctant to share any of this planet’s resources. Their protocols told them their primary function was to strip the place, and if the humans took even a small portion of what was here this could easily lead to conflict. Her ideal scenario—in which she convinced the figures to adapt one of the craft in their supply chain into a vehicle capable of making the trip to Earth—seemed remote indeed.

  Iona walked outside and found Victor sitting on the ground, leaning against the outer wall of the dome. After her conversation with the figure up on the plain she’d spoken to the other humans and e
xplained the situation. Their reactions had varied. Steve in particular had reacted with anger: like Iona he’d demanded to speak to the deciders, but when told he couldn’t he raged at the figures for dumbly following orders. Saori had convinced him to calm down, rightly arguing their position with the figures was still precarious. But Victor had been quiet.

  As Iona sat down next to him he started with surprise, and she realized he’d been lost in thought. She asked if he was alright.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I was just thinking about them guys.” He jerked his thumb in no particular direction but it was clear he meant the figures. “Going on doing the job, following their little protocols, sending back the loot, keeping the supply chain going. But there’s nobody out there, is there?”

  “We don’t know that,” said Iona. “Maybe there is and they just don’t care. Maybe they just can’t be bothered to come out here and deal with it.”

  “Well exactly. It’s not the people who sent them that I’m sad for. I’m sad for them. Poor bloody simple creatures.”

  “They seem engineered for the purpose.”

  “Oh obviously, yeah. Engineered not to be too curious and just carry out instructions. Just going on and on until someone tells them to stop.”

  “Maybe they’re happy doing that.”

  “Nah,” said Victor, gesturing at a figure as it crossed the space between the domes. “You see how interested they are in us? They’ve been watching everything we do all this time.”

  “Yes, because they were told to research the native life—”

  “They’ve had us in there centuries, they know all they need to know by now. They kept watching us because they got something out of it. Something they don’t get in their normal lives.”

  Iona hadn’t thought of it like that. If Victor was right, that made it a great deal more likely that the figures would put them back in.

  13

  THE HUMANS CONTINUED TO live in the medical facility, sleeping in their vertical beds at night. But only the figures’ innate caution had stopped them from dealing with the issue of what to do with them sooner, or at least this was what Iona believed. She told her colleagues as much one day during a long conversation after lunch. Iona was reluctant even to say all this out loud, because she felt sure the figures were listening to them and she didn’t want to give them any ideas, but she needed to work out how to tackle this before it all came to a head.