'23kpc' Chapter 30: A Whole Thicket of Questions

On its own, the world constantly surprises. But when it's manipulated by humans...

[Image by Jian Fan, on Alamy.]

Stock reminders: (1) Missed an earlier episode? See the whole series here, including the “Open and Shut” story in which I first came across Guy and Missy’s adventures; through Chapter 7 is still free for anyone to read. (2) Forget a character or some other detail (not counting important plot points — no spoilers!)? No problem — just hop on over to the Reader’s Guide.

From last week:

Determined to give Al Morton some closure about his brother Tyler’s death, Guy had arranged to meet Al at some neutral location of Al’s choice. Al selected the ship’s art museum, named the Rijksmuseum (after its counterpart back in Amsterdam on Earth). Obviously, the ship doesn’t have actual artworks on hand (aside from those created by passengers or crew); instead, it relies on high-definition video and holographic technology to display the works on the walls or project them in midair. Among its featured exhibits at the time: a gallery of works by so-called “AlphaLiteralists” — artists specializing in letters, words, and phrases as objects of art.

Al made a shrewd observation: surely Tyler would have known he’d returned to the wrong spot, right? So why didn’t he just “Muybridge” again, likely to somewhere else more hospitable? And then Al answered his own question: because Tyler would actually have no idea where he was. He might’ve somehow landed within the crust of a planet, for instance. Without knowing where he was, he wouldn’t have any way of planning, let alone following, a route to a desirable destination.

Guy and Al were talking about all this when the AlphaLiteralist display suddenly changed: all the text featured on the walls morphed into the Icelandic word trú¹ in different fonts and mixes of upper- and lowercase letters, over and over, on all the walls.

Guy’s narration picks up at this point…

Chapter 30

Except for me, the patrons in the gallery at the moment seem to think it’s all, y’know, part of the show. Those nutty AlphaLiteralists, right?

But somewhere down in the Rijksmuseum’s control center, somebody — some alert human, or some AI circuit managing the pixels on the wall — must have noticed the sudden departure from the program. It feels like only a minute goes by before a couple of big guys in sharp gray uniforms show up, and they herd out everyone currently in the gallery. I look back over my shoulder as we turn the corner, just in time to see the walls in the AlphaLiteralist exhibit — and the display in the center of the room — go dark.

The uniforms take us to an empty room with a door; all four walls are blank. Another fellow wheels in a big dolly loaded with chairs, and soon, after they take all our names and offer us glasses of water and such, we’re all sitting — nearly all of us puzzled — and waiting.

Whispering, Al asks me if I know what’s going on. I do, sort of, but in a bigger way I really don’t. And I remember D&I’s² secretiveness about the whole trú-and-religion thing, and don’t want to say more than they might want me to. In my mind’s eye, I can picture Idris before me, raising a long elegant index finger to his lips, holding it there, and saying Sssssshhh! His almond-colored eyes glitter.

Who finally shows up to deal with us is not the Idris half of D&I Cheruiyot, but the Daina one. She glides in, naturally, and after a glance around the room heads straight over to Al and me. At first, I’m so surprised to see her without Idris that I almost don’t notice how beautifully exotically she’s dressed. Al brings that home to me, though.