Secret Cargo Page 3

  STATUS REPORT 0003: CHRYSLER-ZEPP EMERGENCY BEACON DETECTED

  STATUS REPORT 0004: PLANETARY LANDING INITIATED

  STATUS REPORT 0005: PLANETARY LANDING COMPLETED

  STATUS UPDATE 0006: LIFE FORMS DETECTED

  STATUS UPDATE 0007: LIFE FORMS IDENTIFIED AS HUMAN LIFE FORMS

  STATUS REPORT 0008: HUMAN LIFE FORMS IDENTIFIED AS IN PERIL

  STATUS UPDATE 0009: JULESVERNE PROCESSING

  STATUS UPDATE 0010: STANDBY

  STATUS UPDATE 0011: ACTION RECOMMENDED

  STATUS REPORT 0012: SECURITY LOCKS OFF

  STATUS REPORT 0013: CONTAINER OPEN ROUTINE COMMENCE

  There is a high-pitch whine, followed by a creaking sound as the wooden staves begin to open up, like the petals on a flower. Or at least how I imagine the petals of a flower would open, as I’ve never seen a flower in real life, merely 3D prints of them.

  “Neat,” says Meredith, “the top is opening up like the shutters and blinds of a market stall. They still have them in Portobello Market in London Town, I used to see them every morning and the shopkeepers open them up like that. I wonder what’s inside?”

  As if reading our minds (can an AI read a human mind?) the screen starts flashing more status messages.

  STATUS REPORT 0014: CONTAINER OPEN ROUTINE COMPLETE

  STATUS UPDATE 0015: REFRIGERATE ALL FOOD STUFFS ONCE OPENED

  STATUS UPDATE 0016: USE BY DATE OF PERISHABLE FOOD IS SEVEN DAYS

  STATUS UPDATE 0017: JULESVERNE ON STANDBY

  Meredith laughs. “Only an AI would warn two people stranded on a barren planet, lost somewhere in deep space, of the importance of refrigerating food and complying with use-by-dates! Right,” adds Meredith excitedly, “shall we explore our bounty?”

  “Try stopping me,” I reply.

  6. Single Malt Whisky and Venison Pies

  The contents of the container live up to Meredith’s promise that Fortnumandmason is an über purveyor of luxury goods. There are packages of foodstuffs I never knew existed before. Mock-turtle soup in self-heat cans. Stilton cheeses in ceramic pots. Pastry-covered pheasant, rabbit and venison game pies. Bars of Lindt chilli-flavoured dark chocolate. Meredith assures me they are all both very expensive and highly nutritious. And there is alcohol to drink. Crates and crates of vintage Sandeman tawny port and Macallan single malt scotch whisky.

  “Oh Blessed Gaia,” says Meredith, “are we going to have a party! And a bonfire, these staves are real wood.” We both turn towards each other and there is an awkward moment when we both almost hug each other but then shy away.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Meredith adds, “we ought to unload all the cargo now.”

  “Why, you little slave-driver?” I ask. Not only are there a lot of crates and boxes to shift but the container space they are already stacked in seems to be a perfectly safe place to leave them.

  “Just in case the semi-autonomous AI gets it into its mind to fly off somewhere else. We don’t want to wake up one morning and find this bird has flown!”

  Reluctantly I nod my head. I don’t want to move all these crates but I also don’t want to risk losing this cargo. It could be the difference between life and death. There’s also a shadow of a doubt at the back of my mind about the AI. Tradition holds that while going through final programming, the engineers run a personality test and then name the AI after a historical character, real or fictional, with whom the AI most closely shares the same psychological traits. So why is this AI named after a nineteenth century French author often described as the father of science fiction?

  I’m resigned to moving all the cargo myself, as I’m the man about this house, but Meredith volunteers to help me and seems to find it easier to haul the boxes around than I do. Fifteen minutes into our parcel moving double act, I accidentally drop one of the boxes. It is one of the crates of chocolate bars so nothing delicate or too breakable is at stake but as it falls from my arms, it bounces across the floor of the container and hits the far wall of the unit with a firm but hollow sounding thump.

  Immediately this happens, a warning announcement blares into life:

  WARNING - WARNING: ITEMS IN SECOND UNIT NOT FOR GENERAL UTILITY

  As one, we stop and stare at each other. “What second unit?” asks Meredith. “I thought the far wall the box rolled into marked the full extent of this container.”

  “There must be another compartment concealed in that end wall.” I reply. “I wonder what’s hidden in there?”

  “Something very valuable I’m guessing, like maybe jewellery? I was starting to wonder if there was something else going on. I mean although this food and drink is very nice,” she says, gesturing at the container, “it all seems a little over-the-top even for Fortnumandmason. Shall we take a look?”

  “I’m game but how are we going to get in. I suspect appealing to the AI’s better nature isn’t going to work this time. We are poor stranded human beings,” I say, doing my best to mimic Meredith’s voice, “if we do not have access to precious metals and gemstones we shall die.”

  When I begin to examine the end wall of the container a little more closely, it becomes clear the unit’s outer measurements do not match the inner dimensions. Then, by carefully tapping along the side of the wooden staving, I detect the hollow sound again. The staving definitely conceals a hidden compartment but I cannot see an obvious way of getting into it.

  “Stand clear,” I hear Meredith say, “I’m coming through.”

  I look around just in time to see her powering up the laser-axe. If you’ve never seen one before, it looks like a cross between a hatchet, a chain saw and a ray-gun out of an old twentieth century Buck Rogers sci-fi movie.

  “If I cut out a couple of the staves,” she continues, “we’ll be able to see what’s inside and, if necessary, reach in and get at it.”

  It takes her perhaps three minutes to remove enough of the woodwork for me to be able to peer inside the hidden compartment – and all the while the unit’s audio warning is repeating the same message:

  WARNING: THIS IS FORBIDDEN - WARNING: THIS IS FORBIDDEN - WARNING: THIS IS FORBIDDEN - WARNING: THIS IS FORBIDDEN - WARNING: THIS IS FORBIDDEN- WARNING: THIS IS FORBIDDEN - WARNING: THIS IS FORBIDDEN - WARNING: THIS IS FORBI...

  The sound suddenly cuts off mid-announcement and I look round to see Meredith pulling the axe out of the smouldering remains of what had once been a loudspeaker unit.

  I turn back to examine the now exposed cavity. “That’s odd,” I say as I examine the inside of the compartment. “The space seems to be filled with metalised plastic packages. They look like those vacuum packs electronic components are shipped in. Here, I’ll pull one out so we can examine it more closely.”

  The package I remove measures about twenty Old Earth inches square. I tear open the plastic wrap to reveal the shiny brass and copper shell of a mechanical, crab-like device.

  7. Boy meets Girl

  “It’s just a scuttler,” I say.

  “A scuttler! Are they all scuttlers?” asks Meredith.

  I reach out and touch some of the other packages. “They all feel the same. Looks like this entire section is filled with scuttlers.”

  “But why?” asks Meredith. “Cheap and simple domestic robots that can be programmed to carry out pretty much any routine household chore and maintenance task. You can find them in almost every home, on every planet. Hardly the sort of luxury goods you’d associate with Fortnumandmason.”

  “More to the point,” I say, “you can find them for sale in almost every shop on every planet. So why would anyone go to all the trouble of hiding them within a concealed compartment.”

  “Perhaps they are not simple scuttlers?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” says Meredith, “at Lloydz there were rumours of scuttlers being fitted out with AI. The word was some megacorps were shipping them out to the planets as a cheap alternative to human and humanoid labour.”

  “And Fortnums are involved with t
his?”

  “Nah, more likely a tech smuggler bribed someone at the container company.”

  “I wonder if this scuttler,” I say, placing the unit I’d just unwrapped on the floor of the container, “has AI?” I switch on the unit and stand back. For a few moments, the scuttler’s twin camera eyes – they have two ‘eyes’ to give them stereoscopic vision, makes it easier for them to hit the cup when they pour your tea in the morning – flicker a deep cherry red but then they start to flash a vivid shade of electric blue.

  “That’s weird,” says Meredith, “all the scuttlers I’ve seen have only displayed green, amber or red eye colours. Never blue. Look, “the container’s AI screen is also flashing blue. They must be communicating with each other. Syncing data maybe?”

  She’s right. It’s too much of a coincidence for there to be any other explanation. Eventually the two-way flickering of blue lights ends and the scuttler sits there with its eyes pulsating a steady amber colour.

  “Let’s see what happens when I give it an instruction.” I pick up the scuttler, turn it around and point it in the direction of the distant forest of mushroom trees. “Hello little scuttler,” I say, as even I, the Last of the Luddites (one of Earth’s ancient cults) know scuttlers are voice-activated. “We want you to investigate those trees and report back to us with your findings. We want to know if they can be eaten? Do you understand? Do you accept this mission?”

  The scuttler’s eyes flash green twice, then suddenly, briefly flash blue, before reverting back to their steady, pulsating amber. Then I feel its eight legs begin to stir so I put it back on the ground. Without making any sound, it slowly unfolds its legs, flexes them all a couple of times, then rises into a walking position and begins to move towards the distant patch of vegetation.

  “Bring us back a risotto,” shouts Meredith at the departing scuttler. Then she turns towards me and says “Well that’s enough drama and excitement for one day. Now I think it’s time to party. Let’s start on some of this food that has fallen into our laps.”

  “Time for a drink as well. What do you fancy? Scotch or port? Or port or scotch? Or scotch and port?”

  “Praise be to Gaia,” she replies. “I was wondering what a girl has to do to get a drink around here.”

  Later that evening, when the larger of the two suns in the sky above us has set and there is just the dull orange glow from the smaller of the binary stars, we break into a second bottle of scotch to accompany our coffee. We are sitting around a bonfire I made with some of the timber I cut from the container, when suddenly a memory jumps into my head and I click my fingers.

  “Got it,” I say. “Whisky Galore. We’re like the characters in that movie. Stuck in a remote spot when suddenly a ship load of cases of scotch comes our way. And we’ve got food and chocolate as well. Funny that 300 years after that film was made, we should find ourselves light years from home in the same situation.”

  Meredith says nothing and then I realise she is crying.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask. “I know the movie is hardly a classic but wasn’t that bad.”

  “It’s not that at all,” she replies. “Well it is a bit, I suppose. You know the movie has a couple of boy-meets-girl-who-have-to-overcome-challenges-before-they-eventually-live-happily-ever-after romances? That’s like us, only it’s not. Boy meets girl. Starship explodes. We escape certain death only to find ourselves marooned on a barren planet. Then in the final reel, bounty falls down from the skies to save us. But then what? Do we live happily ever after? Do we become this planet’s Adam and Eve and procreate to keep the human race going?”

  I’m about to say something as this talk is rushing headlong into emotional territory that’s making me feel distinctly uncomfortable but before I can open my mouth, Meredith drives the conversation right over the cliff top.

  “Look at me,” she says. “What do you see? A woman? I look like a woman. I act like a woman. I talk like a woman. I’ve got breasts like a woman. But I’ve also got something else!” She blinks back a tear and then looks down.

  I follow her gaze, then enlightenment dawns and all the other aspects of Meredith’s behaviour, that had previously left me confused, suddenly begin to make sense. A feeble “But...” is all I can stammer.

  “But, yes, I’m really a man. I was born a man. Or should I say I was born a woman in a man’s body. You know when we passed the old International Space Station, I mentioned I’d had a bad experience there? That’s when it all started to fall apart for me. Egged on by some of the other kids in my class, one of the girls – and a right little minx she was – started coming on to me. If I’d had been a quote, unquote normal teenage boy, I’d have been gagging for it. Instead, nothing. You know how cruel kids can be. From then on I was known at school as Master Limp, the Girly Boy.

  “And now? I’ve had the hormone treatment. I’ve had breast implants. I’ve had cosmetic surgery but I haven’t had the final cut yet. That’s why I was on this flight. I’ve spent the last ten years on Earth saving up for this. I was heading for a new world. One with reputedly the best gender reassignment surgeons in the galaxy. A place where I could start my life over again with a new identity. But now... I’m just some hideous chick with a dick! I’ve misled you Alexis. You are doomed to spend the rest of your days stuck here with me. You must be wishing now you’d rescued someone else and I wouldn’t blame you if you hate me.”

  After this outburst, Meredith breaks down in tears and without thinking, I put my right arm around her and hug her. I pull her close to me and kiss her face. Then I take a deep breath and whisper in her ear.

  “So you’re a pre-op trans-sexual, big deal! But you see there’s a secret I also need to share with you. I’ve been frightened to mention it before now, for fear of how you would react.” I take a deep breath. “When we were passing the Space Station, you noticed the look of unease on my face and asked if the place held bad memories for me? I told you it was because I suffered chronic space sickness there during a school trip. That was a lie. The truth is the bad experience was one of the teachers sexually molesting me. He had a reputation for being a dirty old man at the school but until it happens to you, you never know whether the stories are true or just gossip.”

  Her eyes are still wet with tears but Meredith has stopped crying now. She looks at me and asks “What did this teacher do?”

  “He cornered me in one of the toilet cubicles and attempted to rape me!”

  “Rape?”

  “He pushed me against a wall, pulled down my jeans and, well he would have had his way with me except he got all excited and.... Let’s just say he had a very short fuse. I’m not sure what he was going to do after that. I mean what was his post-rape contingency plan? Threaten me or bribe me with sweets to keep silent? Maybe he was going to push me out of an airlock? What happened next is still a mystery to me as I’ve no idea why I reacted the way I did. Relief? Hysteria? I don’t know, I just know I started laughing and laughing and laughing. Then suddenly he was gone.

  “I cleaned myself up and rejoined the school party. Told them I’d been violently sick. Of course I should have immediately said something about the attack, reported him to the school board but he was a senior teacher and most of the other staff members were in awe of him. He had security of tenure and they were all on short-term contracts. Probably up to the ears in debt as well, still paying off their own college fees and desperate to cling on to their jobs. You’ll have heard about how bad a mess the United States of Alaska-Texas-Miami were in back in those final days of the Palin Dynasty.

  “The thing is, after the attack, whenever I saw him again, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. With hindsight I realise it must have been some kind of post-traumatic shock reaction but once all the other kids saw what I was doing, and the fact he did nothing to stop me – well what was he going to say – they also started laughing at him. You know from your own experiences how cruel school kids can be. And that was it. He was broken. He’d lost his
credibility and authority. Even the junior teaching staff lost their respect for him. He’d blown it.

  “This went on for a few weeks until spring-break when he went on vacation and never returned. They found his car and the remains of his body a couple of months later. He’d driven out into the Dead Zone, somewhere south beyond the Rio Grande, and been mauled, killed and partially eaten by one of the mutants, a sabre-tooth cougar probably, that now live in that part of Mexico. Of course the school tried to cover it up. Make out it was a tragic loss of a revered member of staff but I didn’t care. By then my parents were planning to move and the next semester I started at a new school: Lake Baikal High in a new country on a new continent. After that...” I pause to collect my thoughts and feelings.

  “After that, what?” prompts Meredith.

  “After that I knew I would never let any man ever treat me like that again. And, try as I may, when I eventually started dating, I found the thought of intimacy with a man was a complete sexual turnoff. Sure, I did indulge in a little Sapphic experimentation but I could live without it and eventually I found other interests to occupy my time. Then came the time to go to college. I opted for one of the off-planet universities, where nobody knew me, so I took the opportunity to reinvent myself as a man. It wasn’t that difficult. Father Nature bequested me a flat chest and I already had an androgynous name. I didn’t even need to change my identity. So that’s my sordid secret out in the open!”

  Meredith says nothing, then takes me in her arms and kisses me. “So what does that make us? The Odd Couple? Myra Breckinridge? Priscilla, Queen of the Desert?” she asks.

  “How about Victor Victoria?” I reply.

  “One I missed.”

  “So did most people at the time. A 1982 musical comedy starring Julie Andrews playing a woman pretending to be a gay, Polish, female impersonator. It was a remake of a 1930s German movie.”

  “Get out of here,” says Meredith. “Dame Julie Andrews! Mary Poppins herself playing a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. That makes me feel almost normal.”