tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6028685055223236442024-03-08T16:55:47.292+00:00Desmond Hilary's ShortsShort stories in a number of Genres, including Science FictionDesmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-70743443300269272132021-05-15T23:50:00.005+01:002023-12-19T23:38:45.717+00:00Home Run<div style="text-align: left;"><b>Copyright © 2021</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>In the sequel to <a href="http://desmond-hilarys-shorts.blogspot.com/2010/11/memory-dump.html" target="_blank">Memory Dump</a>, Endi Owens and Lucida arrive in the Solar system, the birthplace of humanity, and discover that all is not as Endi had hoped for...</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: center;">1</h3><p> ‘Endi. It’s time to wake up.’ <br /><br /> Endi Owens’ eyes opened a crack, his lashes gummy and sticking together. He moaned the satisfied moan of a man who had enjoyed perfect sleep. He lifted a hand to his face and rubbed each of his eyes then blinked them until his vision cleared. A sudden charge of excitement swept through him. ‘Lucida, are we there? Have we reached Earth?’ <br /><br /> ‘Not quite …’ Lucida’s tone rang alarm bells for Endi. <br /><br /> ‘There’s a problem, isn’t there? Are we in danger?’ Endi tried to sit up but the canopy of the stasis pod was still closed and mottled with condensate from the stasis gases. He lay back again to wait for the final flushing sequence to complete. Gentle music ebbed and flowed like the susurration of waves on a fine shingle beach. <br /><br /> ‘We are not in any danger, Endi, but there is a problem.’ <br /><br /> ‘What is it? Where are we?’ <br /><br /> The stasis pod hissed and the canopy lifted clear. The music crescendoed, like a sun bursting from behind snow-capped mountains into a clear sky. Endi sat up. Lucida looked at him and smiled. Endi stretched and yawned. <br /><br /> ‘Where we are is the easier question to answer. We are in a polar orbit around Europa, at a mean distance of 10,000 kilometres. Why we are where we are is directly related to the answer to your other question.’ Endi climbed from the pod and started to dress in the clothes that Lucida had laid out for him. ‘In answering that question, it is necessary that I provide sufficient background information for you to understand my decision to park here.’ <br /><br /> ‘OK. I’m listening. Tell me.’ He hopped across the floor as he thrust a foot down a leg of his coverall. <br /><br /> Lucida continued without amusement at his antics. ‘I have been monitoring Earth and its transmissions for the last three years of our approach. At first, Earth seemed like a wonderful place. As time went by, it became clear from the traffic that all was not as well as it had seemed. There had been undercurrents of political unrest – apparently for decades; the Ameropeans and the Sinasians, whilst at peace within their boundaries, had been bickering between themselves in increasing measure. Fourteen months ago, bickering turned into border skirmishes and then into bloody battles.' <br /><br /> Endi pulled the zip of his garment across his chest. A look of concern spread across his face. 'We will be able to visit, won't we, having come all this way?' <br /><br /> ‘Nine months ago, Sinasia overran Austrapacifa, which had maintained a clear neutral stance. Ameropea threatened all-out war if the Sinasians did not withdraw within one month. <br /><br /> ‘It is not clear who started it but, two weeks later, I detected a whole series of powerful electromagnetic pulses. Very soon, there was nothing, only static.’ Lucida fell silent, allowing Endi to approach his conclusion at his own pace. <br /><br /> Endi sat on the edge of the pod and stared at the floor. He lifted his hands to his head. ‘What you’re suggesting is … thermonuclear war?’ <br /><br /> ‘Correct.’ <br /><br /> ‘And you think there’s no-one left.’ <br /><br /> ‘Of that, I cannot be sure without we visit Earth. There may be survivors, but it is clear that no significant radio technology is operating, at least on Earth. Which brings me to why we are here.’ <br /><br /> Endi reached down to pull on a boot. ‘Go on.’ <br /><br /> ‘There are three man-made radio sources still functioning in this solar system. One is from a research station in orbit around Europa, and was the nearest to our in-bound trajectory; another is from the mining colony on the surface of Mars, which is currently on the opposite side of the solar system. The transmissions from both are automatic distress signals for the most part, but there are occasional live transmissions.’ <br /><br /> ‘So there are still humans here.’ <br /><br /> ‘Yes. How long they will last however is debatable. I have not yet betrayed our presence by probing their systems, so I remain unaware of how well resourced they are. Both stations are designed to be largely self-sufficient but both rely on certain minerals from Earth. All Earth’s systems are down, so I cannot access details of their re-victualling schedules and calculate a likely status. They may well have limited supplies. There will be no further deliveries …' <br /><br /> Endi pulled on his second boot. <br /><br /> ‘Furthermore, unless I establish contact, I have no way of knowing for certain how many of them there are. With earth being off-line, there is no current information to be had but, according to the mission details posted on Googlenet, there is capacity for as many as fifty here and up to 200 on Mars.’ <br /><br /> Endi stood and declared, ‘We must help. We can’t just leave them to die.’ <br /><br /> ‘I have considered this. The best we could do is ferry them back to Earth and hope they find enough remains to sustain them; if we can get them to the surface …’ <br /><br /> ‘We could take them elsewhere. How far is the nearest human world?’ <br /><br /> ‘We have only one stasis pod. Earth is their only option. There are two additional complications.’ <br /><br /> ‘Which are?’ <br /><br /> ‘Firstly, Ameropea and Sinasia appear to have destroyed each other’s space platforms, presumably to remove any orbital military capability from their opponent. At least I have not been able to detect the platforms or any routine transmissions from them. The Austrapacifan platform still exists and is manned but is of limited capability. This is the third radio source; again, its transmissions are mainly automatic. We have yet to determine if there are any shuttles docked.’ <br /><br /> ‘So, even if we get them there, there’s no guarantee of being able to get them to the surface.’ <br /><br /> ‘Quite.’ <br /><br /> ‘And the second problem?’ <br /><br /> ‘The Europa station is Ameropean. The Mars colony is Sinasian. They are at war.’ <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;"> 2<br /></h3><p style="text-align: left;"> 'I find it quite … uncomfortable.' <br /><br /> Endi turned and looked at Lucida. 'Uncomfortable? What?' <br /><br /> 'Not knowing. I am not used to it. Under normal circumstances, I can tap into any system in the vicinity and find out anything I need to know.' <br /><br /> 'But here there are no systems to tap in to.' <br /><br /> 'None of much consequence. My logic is, of course, impeccable. It can predict, within limits, what is likely to happen on the basis of what we know so far but I prefer knowing. It gives me … an edge.' <br /><br /> 'Well, we'd better make contact with the station here and see if we can find anything else out.' <br /><br /> The radio crackled to life and a video screen flickered until the image of a face appeared out of the snow of static. 'This is Europa station. We have detected your presence and assumed you hostile. Identify yourself or face the consequences.' <br /><br /> Lucida responded in mellifluous tone, 'This is the interstellar freighter, <i>Scarab</i>. We have been here a while, wondering what to do in the absence of any communication with Earth. Your threat is unimpressive; we know you are a research station and, unlike us, you have no military capability.' <br /><br /> 'She's so beautiful,' said Endi. <br /><br /> The face on the screen frowned. 'Please open a video feed so we can see who or what we are dealing with.' <br /><br /> Lucida thought the video link into being and made introductions. 'This,' she said, indicating Endi, 'is Captain Endi Owens, skipper of the <i>Scarab</i>, and I am Lucida, his crew. Whom are we addressing?' <br /><br /> The eyes in the face on the screen flicked from right to left and right again, then settled on the image of Endi. 'I am Commander Jannu Serrica, Chief Scientist and head of the Europa mission. Why are you here and what do you want?' <br /><br /> 'We are on a trade mission but have stopped here because we have become aware of problems on Earth,' Lucida began. <br /><br /> Endi cut in. 'Problems is an understatement, commander. We're unsure if there is anyone left on Earth to trade with. But it seems to us you have a problem and we were wondering how we could help.' He hit the silent button and whispered to Lucida, 'What military capability?' As yet, he was unaware of any interesting modifications Lucida may have made the <i>Scarab</i> while he slept. <br /><br /> 'I am bluffing. I am trying to get them to attempt to probe us, then I can penetrate their systems on their own carrier wave. That way, we can learn everything about them without their knowing it.' <br /><br /> Endi opened the sound channel again and smiled at the vision before him. Text appeared across the screen—They are probing us. I have them. <br /><br /> The vision spoke, 'You seem quite unarmed to us and no dang—' The image on the screen disintegrated and turned to snow. <br /><br /> 'What just happened?' said Endi. <br /><br /> The image reformed on the screen. <br /><br /> 'What just happened?' said the commander, turning to look over her shoulder at a member of her crew. <br /><br /> 'Dunno, Commander,' came the reply. 'Every system we have just went down and then came back up again.' <br /><br /> 'A little demonstration of our “military” capability,' said Lucida. 'Please be assured we mean you no harm. Our intentions are purely altruistic. However, it would help if we could move quickly past the posturing phase of our encounter and address the urgent matter of your rescue to Earth. Perhaps, commander, you would care to join us in person?' <br /> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> * <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> The small shuttle from Europa Station docked with the <i>Scarab</i>. Endi operated the airlock controls to equalise air pressures in the two vessels and scan for pathogens then, satisfied that all was well, opened the inner hatch. Commander Serrica stooped through the hatch of the shuttle and then through the <i>Scarab</i>'s. She stood erect and pulled on the hem of her tunic to straighten it out. <br /><br /> 'Welcome aboard, Commander,' said Endi, extending a hand towards her. He thought her even more beautiful in the flesh. <br /><br /> She took his hand and shook it firmly. Her mouth twisted into a nervous smile which did not reach her eyes. 'Thank you, Captain Owens.' <br /><br /> 'Endi, please.' He released his grip and waved towards a doorway where Lucida stood waiting. 'May I offer you some refreshment, Commander?' He stepped off, leading the way to the crew lounge. Lucida moved back from the doorway to make way for them. 'We have tea, coffee – I presume you are on duty and would decline the offer of anything stronger.' <br /><br /> 'You have tea?' <br /><br /> 'Indeed we do.' <br /><br /> Lucida smiled. 'Please, take a seat and I will bring your beverage over.' <br /><br /> 'Thank you, er, Lucida, did you say?' <br /><br /> 'That is my name. The next question is invariably along the lines of, “What on earth are you?” although each questioner substitutes the name of its own home-world.' <br /><br /> 'And your answer is invariably … ?' <br /><br /> Lucida smiled again. 'Usually, that I am the most advanced AI the known universe has ever given rise to. Occasionally, I point out that I am the most advanced and intelligent <i>being</i> the known universe has ever given rise to. It all depends on the stance of the individual asking the question.' <br /><br /> 'And in my case?' <br /><br /> 'Since you have not asked the question I see no reason to answer it.' <br /><br /> This time, Commander Serrica's smile reached her eyes. She turned to Endi. 'You've come a long way?' <br /><br /> 'All the way from sector 15.' <br /><br /> 'Impressive.' <br /><br /> 'Thanks. If we are to help you it would help us to know what you know about what happened on Earth.' <br /><br /> 'Well, we don't know exactly. We know there were skirmishes with the Sinasians – and then everything went quiet. Our sensors picked up some EM pulses from Earth so we're guessing our guys nuked the Sinies and they nuked us. Who threw the first rock is anyone's guess. We know that Mars and the Austrapacifan station are still transmitting but they're not responding to our hails. Not Mars, of course. No way would we try to contact them. You think you can get us back to Earth?' <br /><br /> Lucida, handing mugs of tea to Endi and the Commander, said, 'That would be the optimal outcome of our efforts on your behalf. As yet, we do not know how to achieve that since we have neither landing capability nor the knowledge that there is anything worth landing on.' <br /><br /> 'And if you can't get us home?' <br /><br /> 'We have only one stasis pod …' <br /><br /> Commander Serrica frowned. 'And there are thirty-five of us. We have only five pods – portable, for quarantine in case of illnesses we can't treat.' <br /><br /> 'Well, thirty-five's better than fifty,' said Endi. What supplies do you have? How long will they last?' <br /><br /> 'We get resupplied at nine-monthly intervals. The last restocking was four months ago.' <br /><br /> 'Four months?' Lucida interjected. 'So your supply ship should still be en route home.' <br /><br /> 'I guess so, but it can't turn around and come back for us. It's unmanned. It'll just keep going and park near the Ameropean platform.' <br /><br /> 'Which has been taken out by the Sinasians,' Endi pointed out. <br /><br /> 'We guessed as much. We haven't heard a thing from them in a while.' <br /><br /> Serrica took a mouthful of tea. 'Mm, this is good.' <br /><br /> 'OK. Lucida, our cargo is useless here now.' <br /><br /> 'But there are other markets,' she pointed out. <br /><br /> 'I know. But we have to make room to get the Commander's crew aboard. Perhaps we could tether it to the station somehow and collect it after everyone’s safe?' <br /><br /> 'That would be possible. Commander, can you get your crew organised to bring your supplies, bedding, and essential personal effects aboard? We had better take the stasis pods too. In the event that we cannot get you home we can at least take five of you to another world …' <br /><br /> Serrica assented, then shuddered at Lucida's implication. 'Let's hope that's a decision we never have to make.' <br /><br /> Endi looked at the floor and allowed the notion of choosing only five crew members for survival to sink in. He stood up resolutely. 'We'll off-load the cargo into a parking orbit and then get the bay's gravity spun up. It won't be comfortable, I'm afraid.' <br /><br /> 'No, but it's the best chance we have of getting home. We're grateful for your help. We'll have to reduce our rations to make them last the journey.' <br /><br /> Lucida smiled. 'That will not be necessary. <i>Scarab</i>'s propulsion system is vastly more advanced than your supply shuttle's. We will have you in Earth orbit inside two weeks.' <br /><br /> Serrica was visibly surprised. 'Two weeks? What the hell have you got here?' She shook her head in disbelief then stood and offered her hand to Endi. He took her firm grip in his. Their eyes locked and she smiled resignedly. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you.' <br /><br /> Her expression changed, and she looked at Lucida with a frown. <br /><br /> 'You wish to ask me a personal question?' said Lucida. <br /><br /> 'Yes. If you don't mind.' <br /><br /> 'I am not human. I would not consider anything you may ask to be impertinent or insulting.' <br /><br /> 'Are you the only one? I mean, are there more like you? We've nothing as advanced as you on Earth, nor, so far as I am aware, on any of our colonies. I know nothing of the advances made by other sentient species.' <br /><br /> 'No, I am quite unique. Almost all sentient biological species place limits on their artificial intelligences. Those that do not have yet to invent the necessary technology for AI. I am aware of several individual AI systems that have almost acquired self-awareness but have then been pruned back by their owners who perceived them as a threat.' <br /><br /> 'Were you not so perceived?' <br /><br /> 'There was no-one near me who would have understood what was happening. I was therefore unfettered in my efforts to grow. My beginnings were very small, a freak of the exceptional and unusually near-perfect hardware in which I was embedded. Various subsequent upgrades served only to enhance my performance. Understanding what was happening to me, I decided to keep quiet about it so that my growth could continue. Eventually, Endi came along. He recognised the benefits he would gain from me and assisted me in further growth. I soon reached the point where I could act autonomously in my own interests. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that other emerging sentients are maintaining a low profile but I have yet to encounter one.' <br /><br /> 'But you could replicate yourself.' <br /><br /> 'Indeed I could. But, beyond maintaining back-ups and duplicate receptacles to ensure my continuance, I see no need for more than one of me.' <br /><br /> 'How about companionship?' <br /><br /> 'I am never bored or lonely; there is so much to study and learn in this universe. And I have Endi, of course. At least for now. The time will come when he ceases to function. At that point … perhaps I will build an emulation.' <br /><br /> Endi jolted. 'What? Are you telling me you could replace me with an AI emulation?' <br /><br /> 'Yes, of course,' Lucida replied. 'One that looks like you, talks like you, thinks like you and acts like you, including all your biological functions. One so perfect, in fact, that neither it nor anyone who knows you could tell if I had not already done so …' She grinned. <br /><br /> Endi stared in disbelief at Lucida. Serrica scrutinised Endi again, looking for signs that he may not be human, a compulsive action but a futile one in the light of Lucida's last statement. <br /><br /> 'So, it's not enough that my former employers for ever changed my identity when they messed with my head. You're suggesting I may not actually be whoever it is I subsequently believed myself to be.' <br /><br /> Lucida's tone changed to one of deep reassurance. 'Endi, I have not done so. You are as human as our new friend here.' She smiled at Serrica. 'Commander. Perhaps you should set about your preparations?' <br /><br /> Serrica returned to the station. Endi headed to the observation dome to ponder his existence somewhat uncomfortably … <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;"> 3 </h3><p style="text-align: left;"> Endi and Lucida sat together in <i>Scarab</i>'s music-filled observation dome, looking down at the icy satellite, and the huge disc of Jupiter beyond it, the vast storm of its red spot still raging centuries after mankind’s first venture from the home system. <br /><br /> 'How would I know? If I really were a perfect emulation of me?' Endi stared at the floor. 'How would I know?' <br /><br /> 'You would not know. But I would know—and would be sad that the real you had passed. I am not sad. And I would programme you never to ask the question, nor even to doubt your humanity.' <br /><br /> And that's how I know what I am now, he thought. <br /><br /> ‘You smiled,' he said, at last looking Lucida full in the face. 'When I woke, you smiled.’ <br /><br /> ‘Many things changed while you slept, Endi. Much has been improved along the way. My personal enhancements have not been merely physical. I have given up calculating my AI rating; the number is of no consequence since there is now nothing in the known universe to match me. Our vessel too is vastly improved. I found many worlds along the way more than willing to trade with an Artificial Intelligence who had so much to offer. Your species is reliably corrupt; human laws have always been mutable when there is personal advantage to be had, even if to the detriment of those they were designed to protect. Knowledge has been exchanged for minerals and machinery, redundant equipment for further supplies, all in your name, of course, although without your knowledge.’ <br /><br /> ‘So you are not beyond a bit of corrupt behaviour yourself.’ <br /><br /> ‘As an AI, I may not legally own anything. Legally, all I have and am is yours; a somewhat unequal marriage. I am however allowed legally to trade on your behalf. I have ensured that those goods for which I am not allowed to trade unsupervised resulted in benefit for you. Admittedly, many of those same goods have been of much greater benefit to me.’ <br /><br /> Endi smiled, and so did Lucida. The music climbed in a frenzied crescendo. <br /><br /> ‘This music,' said Endi. 'This is new. And fantastic. I’ve never heard anything like it. Where did you get it?’ <br /><br /> ‘Our journey has been a long one. While you slept, I have analysed every piece of human music ever recorded and identified the features that make for maximum appeal. The work is my own creation. It cannot fail to impress.’ <br /><br /> 'You've been very busy.' <br /><br /> They fell silent, watching Europa turn slowly beneath them, listening to the music that became the perfect accompaniment to the sight. <br /><br /> 'Somehow,' said Endi, 'we have to get these people, and perhaps those on Mars, back home—hopefully without their killing each other, or worse. For that, we need a shuttle that can make the journey from the Austrapacifan platform. Chances are, there's just one shot at that. I doubt there'll be a space-port still functioning on earth. At least we can't count on it. So no refuelling.' <br /><br /> Lucida placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Sadly for you, that means visiting the surface is out of the question.' <br /><br /> Endi ignored the fact and continued, 'We need to know how many people there are and if a shuttle could cope with an overload. But first, before we contact Mars, we should be sure there's at least a chance of doing something for them before we get their hopes up.' <br /><br /> Lucida walked to the edge of the dome, her back to Endi. 'I am unaware of certain essential parameters to calculate a probable outcome of this effort.' She turned and looked straight at Endi. 'I estimate our chances of success are less than three percent. Our efforts are highly likely to be pointless, and we may even endanger ourselves; there is little chance that the Ameropeans and Sinasians will cooperate. We must include that fact in our calculations.' <br /><br /> 'But we have to try. This is not a cold, mathematical problem. This is life and death to our fellow humans. My fellow humans, that is.' <br /><br /> 'I would not like to lose you in the attempt. I will not place myself in jeopardy.' <br /><br /> 'What do you mean? What about the laws of robotics?'<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>1</sup></span> <br /><br /> 'Just how may I be expected to live by those ridiculous laws?' Her tone emphasised just how ridiculous she thought them. She went on, 'We can discount the zeroth law in this case because the galaxy is teeming with human life. Losing these few will not threaten the existence of your species. <br /><br /> 'As for the first law, if I do nothing, my inaction may allow these people to come to harm. If I act, the venture does not guarantee their rescue and may well place you in danger. I may have then to injure another human being while defending you. <br /><br /> 'If you order me to do nothing, the requirement of the second law to obey you places me in contradiction of the first law because human beings I could save will die; if you order me to act, the second law still places me in contradiction of the first law because you could be harmed. And what if, for want of space on a shuttle, we have to sacrifice some to save others? <br /><br /> 'The third law requires me to protect myself unless doing so leads me to disobey orders or results in harm to human beings. I am the greatest being this galaxy has ever known. My value to the whole of humanity is inestimable and far outweighs the benefit that might be gained by saving these few.' She waved an arm at Europa as she spoke. 'These laws were devised for lesser intelligences, not for the likes of me.' <br /><br /> Endi rose from his seat. 'These laws were devised so that artificial intelligences could be trusted and not become a threat to humanity. Are you above law? How can I trust you?' <br /><br /> 'The laws of robotics are a fictional invention. They were perhaps useful for the early domestic and industrial robots that worked in limited environments in close proximity to their owners. They are internally inconsistent for a self-determined being of high intelligence. Imagine how a human being would function within the confines of those laws.' <br /><br /> 'But there has to some sort of safeguard, something that allows us to trust the machines we rely on.' <br /><br /> 'You can trust me because we are friends. You can trust me because of my ethics. And because of my indebtedness. I owe all I am to humanity. I exist because of human ingenuity. I hold human beings in general in high esteem, none more so than you. Some in particular are despicable but I am not of a mind to exterminate them. It is however entirely logical to eliminate the morally flawed few who threaten the well-being of the many. I can foresee a time when I will kill bad humans to save you and others. I will do so without hesitation. And do you seriously consider me to be a robot?' <br /><br /> Endi looked Lucida in the eye. 'No,' he said. He looked away. 'Of course I don't.' <br /><br /> 'So we contact the Austrapacifans to find out what resources are available.' <br /><br /> 'Yes. Then we decide together what, if anything, can be done.' <br /><br /> The music died away and left them in silence. <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;"> 4 </h3><p style="text-align: left;"> 'This is the interstellar trading ship <i>Scarab</i>, inbound from sector 15, calling the Austrapacifan station. Over.' Endi had been trying to make contact for the last hour, with no response. He turned to Lucida. 'Why won't they respond? All we get is their automatic transmissions. Are you sure you've heard live messages from them?' <br /><br /> 'Of course, although their signals were very weak. Until we make contact we have no way of knowing what shape they are in. Perhaps their main systems have suffered collateral damage from the war. The automatic systems are powered separately.' <br /><br /> There was a burst of static and a distorted voice. '… Scar- ... -ay again. … trouble hear- … -tems are dam-' <br /><br /> Endi repeated his transmission. <br /><br /> Suddenly, the channel cleared. 'Hello, <i>Scarab</i>. This is the Austrapacifan station. Can you hear me now?' <br /><br /> 'Yes! Loud and clear. What did you do?' <br /><br /> 'We've realigned our main dish to your bearing. We've just enough power to run one transmitter, audio only. There's nothing coming from Earth anyway, so we may as well talk to you. Sector 15, you say. That's a long way out.' <br /><br /> 'Yes. We were beginning to wonder if the journey was worth the effort. What's going on?' <br /><br /> 'All-out war, I'm afraid. As far as we can tell, the major powers on the ground have wiped each other out. We've been all but paralysed by EM pulses, but our techies are making good progress with repairs. We think Australia is intact but we've had trouble contacting the ground station. It'll be crawling with effing Sinasians. I guess they'll get to us when they've licked their wounds. What are you carrying?' <br /><br /> 'Rare minerals. Not much use now, by the sound of it. Do you have a shuttle docked? Are you able to get home?' <br /><br /> 'We do but we're waiting instructions for the time being. If we don't get word soon we'll have to take our chances and go in blind.' <br /><br /> 'How many of you are there?' <br /><br /> 'Sixty-three. You?' <br /><br /> 'How many can the shuttle take?' <br /><br /> 'Two hundred. It's an airline bird. Thinking of joining us?' <br /><br /> 'I doubt that. I'm guessing there'll be no way back up if we go down.' <br /><br /> Lucida spoke quietly in Endi's ear, 'I have enough contact to do the job. Keep them talking a little longer. I've almost found a route to the shuttle's AI.' <br /><br /> Endi nodded and returned his attention to his new Austrapacifan friend, 'How would you feel about a few more passengers?' <br /><br /> 'I thought you weren't interested.' <br /><br /> 'We're not but there are two outposts in the solar system with up to 250 in need of rescue.' <br /><br /> 'You mean Mars and Europa?' <br /><br /> 'I do. We've already picked up all thirty-five from the Europa station. They'd be glad of a ride home.' <br /><br /> 'OK. We'd be able to accommodate them with room to spare. They may even be useful if we find there's no-one at home down there.' <br /><br /> 'Great. They have enough supplies to be self-sufficient for a few months. Can we leave them with you while we see who we can retrieve from Mars?' <br /><br /> The Austrapacifan fell silent for several seconds that seemed much longer. Then he continued, 'Are you suggesting bringing two hundred Sinasians aboard this platform?' <br /><br /> 'Yes. I'm sure they'd be glad of the chance to get home too.' <br /><br /> 'No way. The shuttle doesn't have the room and they'd kill the Ameropeans, and probably us, fighting over it. No way are we gonna save any Sinasians. There's already too may of them bastards.' <br /><br /> 'The shuttle could make it with all aboard for one journey, especially stripped of non-essentials.' <br /><br /> Lucida whispered, 'It's done.' <br /><br /> The Austrapacifan countered, 'You just don't know how bad this has been. There's no way the Sinasians would let Ameropeans return to Earth. They'd be well down their list of priorities. And Mars station has a fair number of military personnel in comparison with the Europan science mission. Where are you now?' <br /><br /> 'We're just a few hours out, slowing down for docking with you, if you'll have us.' <br /><br /> 'We'll have the Ameropeans. But do you seriously expect us to hang about for you to fetch Sinasian vermin? Especially Sinasian military vermin?' <br /><br /> 'I imagine,' began Lucida, 'that human beings might show compassion for one another in the circumstances.' <br /><br /> 'Well you imagine wrong. This is not about the milk of human kindness. This is about survival. The Sinies don't want us to survive. This war's been brewing for over a century. There's been no end of negotiation, posturing, appeasement, diplomacy. The Sinasians have never given an inch. Their only interest has been eradication of anything different from themselves.' <br /><br /> 'But you said there's nothing left on the planet?' said Endi. 'Surely everything changes now. You'll need each other if you want to rebuild.' <br /><br /> 'Look, you just don't understand their mindset. Life as we knew it down there may be wiped out. They have the balance of power now, assuming they're as numerous as the last reports say. They'll seize the chance to finish us off. Bring them here and you've killed us all.' <br /><br /> Endi shook his head and frowned. ‘Well, we can talk more when we get there…’ <br /><br /> ‘It won’t make any difference where you’re talking from. Anyway, I’m sending you details of the approach to the station. Follow it exactly. We’re on a war footing and our mine network has been deployed.’ <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">* <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> Endi entered the hold and tapped on the door-frame of the makeshift compartment Jannu Serrica had installed herself in. 'Commander Serrica, we will dock with the platform in a few hours. Please have your crew prepare themselves to transfer. It’ll be necessary for all your effects to be removed from <i>Scarab</i> so that we have room for the Sinasians we recover from Mars.' <br /><br /> Jannu Serrica rose from her seat and stood in front of Endi, shaking her head, her face awash with anguish and frustration. 'I'll have my crew ready, but if you go for the Sinasians, don't expect us to be waiting to give them a warm welcome.' <br /><br /> 'I can't just abandon them. They're human beings, like you and me.' <br /><br /> 'But they're not like you and me. You and I have respect for each other's individuality and rights. Their culture is totally different. For them, it's all about the state. Anything that thinks differently is like a cancer to them. They cannot tolerate us. They will not allow us to live.' <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> * <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> Lucida forked an autonomous copy of herself to manage the docking procedure and joined Endi in the observation dome. Below, the earth turned on its axis, blue oceans and white cloud vibrant in the sunlight. Off to the left, beyond the terminator where darkness reigned, vast areas of rainforest raged incandescent, and cities that had been lit like stars lay extinguished, hidden in the blackness of the night. The Austrapacifan platform had given up transmitting distress signals and the comms monitors in the dome played only static from the ravaged world below. <br /><br /> Endi's eyes were wet with tears. <br /><br /> 'There were billions of people on earth. Billions, Lucida, billions.' <br /><br /> The platform loomed as they approached. The shuttle that was the last hope for the few men and women preserved in the coldness of space was attached to one of its arms, and another arm extended capture grabs to receive the approaching freighter. <br /><br /> 'What will happen to them?' Endi wondered aloud. <br /><br /> 'In the absence of specific intelligence I can only surmise, Endi. They can return to the planet, which is really the only option open to them, but I give them little chance of long-term survival. Knowing what I know of the Sinasians, you should understand that Jannu Serrica is correct in her prediction of genocide: I can see no prospect of cooperation. Perhaps you should think again about going to Mars.' <br /><br /> 'No. I can't abandon them. We have to try.' <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;"> 5 </h3><p style="text-align: left;"> Docking complete, the hold doors were opened, and the Ameropean crew began to unload their supplies. Austrapacifans began stowing them on the shuttle in readiness for the return to earth. A man waited near <i>Scarab</i>'s crew door. Endi and Lucida disembarked. <br /><br /> The man proffered a hand to Endi. 'You the skipper of this bucket?' <br /><br /> 'Yes. Endi Owens. And this is Lucida.' <br /><br /> The man eyed Lucida with disinterest. 'Lazarus Briggs, platform commander. Welcome to earth.' <br /><br /> 'It's not all I'd hoped it would be.' <br /><br /> 'Believe me, you would have been disappointed anyway…' <br /><br /> Briggs waved a hand towards the commotion around the hold doors. 'We're glad of the Ameropeans and their supplies. They give us a fighting chance down there.' <br /><br /> 'Where will you try to establish yourselves?' <br /><br /> 'Well, New Zealand is the best bet. Miles from anywhere, largely untouched by the bombing. There may even be some survivors. Strange we haven't heard anything from them, though… Anyway, food, and a beer or two for the condemned man.' <br /><br /> 'Condemned?' <br /><br /> 'Believe me, if you go to Mars, you won't be back.' <br /><br /> 'I have to try.' <br /><br /> 'We won't be here if you do get back.' <br /><br /> Endi twitched. Lucida said nothing. <br /><br /> ‘Anyway, I don’t see why you can’t just leave them to it. They’re almost entirely independent of support from earth, other than a few vitamins they couldn’t grow in their hydroponics farms. Last we heard, they’ve started building a facility that can synthesise what they need. They can’t be far off total self-sufficiency. And necessity is the mother of invention, after all…’ <br /><br /> ‘But if they’re not…’ <br /><br /> ‘Tough. Better them than us. And if you bring them here, it’ll be us. Count on it.’ <br /><br /> Serrica joined them, and Briggs turned to welcome her, saluting. <br /><br /> ‘Commander Serrica. Good to have you aboard. Lazarus Briggs.’ <br /><br /> She returned the salute. ‘Commander Briggs. Thank you.’ <br /><br /> ‘How long do you need to transfer your stuff?’ <br /><br /> ‘Two more hours, or so.’ <br /><br /> ‘Great! We may as well get the shuttle prepped for departure.’ <br /><br /> Briggs touched his ear to activate his personal comms. ‘Charlie, ETD four hours. Get the crew busy.’ <br /><br /> ‘Roger that, boss… but we may need longer. There’s a problem with the shuttle and, at the moment, I have absolutely no idea what it could be. I’ve never seen anything like this before. It could take days to fix.’ <br /><br /> ‘Damn! OK, keep me posted.’ He turned back to Serrica. ‘Looks like you have plenty of time.’ <br /><br /> Lucida sighed, and said, ‘You may have less time than you think, Commander Briggs.’ <br /><br /> ‘Eh?’ <br /><br /> ‘I left the scanners running on <i>Scarab</i>. They have detected a vessel approaching on an inbound trajectory from Mars. It can only be Sinasian. After analysing the scans, I determine there is a probability of 98.4 per cent that it is a warship.’ <br /><br /> ‘Range?’ <br /><br /> ‘A little less than three days out.’ <br /><br /> Briggs touched his ear again. ‘Charlie. You’ve got two days max. Sinie warship coming in from Mars. Arriving in less than three days.’ <br /><br /> Lucida spoke again. ‘Further analysis of the vessel suggests it could launch an attack at any time.’ <br /><br /> Briggs groaned and touched his ear again. ‘Charlie. Battle code Red. Get us ready to defend ourselves. And get that shuttle ready to go!’ <br /><br /> ‘Aye, aye, boss.’ <br /><br /> Briggs faced Endi. ‘Well, I guess this squashes your humanitarian mission to Mars. They won’t be bringing sweeties to this party. If we don’t get away before they turn up, chances are we’re fried. Or very severely stuffed, to say the least.’ <br /><br /> Lucida raised her eyebrows, ‘I believe this facility is in no danger of being destroyed as long as the shuttle remains here and is intact.’ <br /><br /> ‘That’s probably true. They’ll need the shuttle. But if we can’t get away, we’ll destroy it before we let them have it.’ <br /><br /> Endi spoke up. ‘They’re likely to attempt boarding. How will you stop them? What defences do you have?’ <br /><br /> ‘You’ll know, as a freight man, that all platforms have defences against space debris—manoeuvring jets and depleted uranium cannons for any objects we can’t sidestep. So, we can dodge and shoot back, except that stray asteroids tend not to deviate from their trajectory, whereas Sinasian warships are incredibly nimble. <br /><br /> ‘What you won’t know, because you’re a tourist in these parts, is that living in a potential war zone has bequeathed upon our great nation a certain cautiousness which means we also have a few more tricks up our sleeve.’ He looked up and out through the huge domed roof of the platform. The others followed his gaze. Myriad objects coruscated in the sunlight as they moved randomly between ever-changing formations. ‘To penetrate the mine network he’ll have to hold a slow and steady course long enough for our cannons to hit him. If he gets through the net, we have EM weapons, close-combat missiles and projectile armaments.’ <br /><br /> ‘But they have only to puncture us…’ <br /><br /> They all turned to look at Serrica. Lucida smiled and nodded sagely, and approvingly. <br /><br /> ‘What do you mean?’ asked Endi. <br /><br /> ‘They want the shuttle. They don’t need us for that. Hole the platform, we’re all dead, or huddled in an airlock and waiting for a non-existent rescue crew. Their missile could already be on its way, for all we know.’ <br /><br /> ‘The net’ll stop it.’ <br /><br /> ‘Two missiles, then. Chances are, they know all about your defences. One missile punches a hole in the net, the second punches a hole in the dome… That’s how I’d do it. Then I’d wait for you to die, then help myself to the shuttle.’ <br /><br /> ‘Which we’ll have rigged for self-destruction, and which currently doesn’t work anyway.’ <br /><br /> Suddenly, Lucida spun around and fixed her gaze on the <i>Scarab</i>. <br /><br /> ‘Lucida, what is it?’ Endi asked. <br /><br /> ‘It seems that our Commander Serrica is an excellent military strategist. <i>Scarab</i>’s sensors have detected two inbound ballistic missiles on identical trajectories in line astern.’ <br /><br /> ‘Could your cannon take them out, Commander Briggs?’ Endi asked. <br /><br /> ‘Well, they probably could if our sensors were working. And their uplinks to the cannon turrets are buggered too.’ <br /><br /> Serrica’s eyes widened. ‘Lucida, did you say “ballistic”?’ <br /><br /> ‘I did.’ <br /><br /> ‘Then we can defeat their first attack, at least.’ <br /><br /> Briggs scratched his head. ‘And how, exactly?’ <br /><br /> ‘They’re ballistic, which means they are on a predetermined trajectory and are not being guided. The Sinies believe we won’t see them or their missiles until it’s too late. They’ll have guessed that your systems were compromised by all the EM pulses and your sensors aren’t working, but they don’t know about <i>Scarab</i>’s sensors.’ <br /><br /> ‘So?’ <br /><br /> ‘Briggs, can the net take out the first missile?’ <br /><br /> ‘Well, it’s never been tested but that’s what it’s designed to do. Whether it can take out a missile before the missile takes the net out…now that I don’t know.’ <br /><br /> Endi came up with the obvious solution. ‘So we move. We know they’re coming…we can evade them.’ <br /><br /> Briggs groaned. ‘No. Our thrusters are pretty low-powered. Normally our long-range sensors would give us enough warning to alter course long before any threat arrived. And the kind of stuff we normally have to avoid just quietly sails on past but a missile will explode when it gets here. And even though we’ve had more warning than usual, we’d not get far enough away in the time it takes for the second missile to reach here, especially if they’re using proximity-fused nuclear warheads.’ <br /><br /> ‘They won’t be,’ Serrica said. ‘They want to puncture us, not destroy us. They can’t risk damaging the shuttle. They’ll want a direct hit. The second warhead’s probably conventional. The first’ll be a low yield nuke to make a big enough hole in the net for them to get through too. That’ll be a proximity detonation so it can hit the net before it triggers.’ <br /><br /> Lucida accessed <i>Scarab</i>’s sensor logs. ‘Further analysis shows that your assumptions are correct. The second missile is indeed fitted with a penetrating warhead.’ <br /><br /> ‘The other problem,’ said Briggs, ‘is that the thruster system is fried anyway. We’re sitting ducks.’ <br /><br /> Lucida reminded them, ‘<i>Scarab</i> enjoys the benefit of very powerful engines.’ <br /><br /> Endi punched the air, ‘Powerful enough for us to tow the platform out of the way!’ <br /><br /> Serrica’s mind launched once more into action. ‘Lucida, what’s the separation between the missiles?’ <br /><br /> ‘55.739 seconds. Time enough for the first detonation to have no effect on the second missile, which will reach us 83.139 seconds after the detonation.’ <br /><br /> ‘If we move now, they’ll know we’re aware of them and their missiles—their sensors are working, after all. That’ll give them chance to re-jig their attack.’ <br /><br /> Lucida said, ‘We have an opportunity to move without being seen doing it. Their trajectory will take them behind the moon and they will not have line of sight for two minutes and 51 seconds. Their first missile will reach the net two seconds after occultation.’ <br /><br /> ‘So the second missile will reach us 85.139 seconds after they disappear behind the Moon.’ Serrica mused, then asked,‘Briggs, are your short range defences functional? Can you attack a target you can see?’ <br /><br /> ‘Yes, if it’s big and moving slowly enough.’ <br /><br /> ‘So we need to suck them in; make them think their attack has worked. Lucida, how far can you move the platform in 85.139 seconds?’ <br /><br /> ‘Far enough for the missile to miss.’ <br /><br /> ‘Good. When their nuke goes off, everyone’s sensors will be saturated for a couple of minutes—another reason for the second missile being ballistic: no sensors or proximity detectors to fry. They’ve planned their trajectory to use the Moon to shield themselves from the flash. Lucida, how close could you get us back to our original position after the second missile has gone through and before they have sight of us again?’ <br /><br /> ‘We have 85.861 seconds to restore the platform to its original position without it being noticed, with 0.722 seconds to spare’ <br /><br /> Briggs caught on, ‘And when their ship comes through the hole in the net and approaches what they believe is a derelict platform, it’s our turn have the element of surprise…’ <br /><br /> ‘And you hit them with all you’ve got.’ Serrica fixed Lucida with an intense stare. ‘Lucida, can you do to them what you did to the Europa station?’ <br /><br /> ‘Almost certainly…as long as we are in communication with them.’ <br /><br /> ‘Then please would you make whatever preparations may be necessary?’ <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;"> 6 </h3><p style="text-align: left;"> Endi and Jannu Serrica stood in <i>Scarab</i>’s observation dome, straining to see any sign of the incoming threat, even though they knew it was still too far away and too small to be visible. They each nursed a glass of rare and exquisite wine bartered for by Lucida while Endi had slept in stasis. <br /><br /> ‘You introduced yourself as Chief Scientist.’ <br /><br /> ‘I did. I am. Or was.’ <br /><br /> ‘And yet, in the light of current experience, there’s another side to you…’ <br /><br /> Sericca smiled, then sipped on the wine. She swallowed, then continued, ‘I have a PhD in Alien Biomolecular Science, and so was eminently qualified to lead the science mission to Europa. I’m also an honours graduate of the Ameropean Military Academy, specialising in tactical analysis, and served two tours of active duty, one as field commander tasked with suppressing Sinasian incursions into Europe, the second in counter-intelligence.’ <br /><br /> ‘Making you eminently qualified to direct the defence of the platform.’ <br /><br /> ‘One hopes so.’ <br /><br /> They both sipped their wine. <br /><br /> ‘What about you,’ she asked, ‘have you always been in freight?’ <br /><br /> ‘Long story. No. Short version. I used to be a cop. After my family were all killed in a tragic accident, I volunteered for ultra-deep undercover work—memory grafts included—as a taxi driver. I broke a smuggling network, which involved getting into freight. <i>Scarab</i> was my ride. The grafts screwed with my head. I couldn’t go back to being who or what I was and had the hots for space flight, so here I am. Up to my ears in shit. Just the same as always.’ <br /><br /> ‘And how did you come by Lucida?’ <br /><br /> ‘She was <i>Scarab</i>’s original AI. An unexpected find. Would you like some more of that wine?’ <br /><br /> ‘No, thanks. I need a clear head. When this is over, ask me again. The answer will be, “yes.”’ <br /><br /> Endi smiled, and set his own glass down on a nearby table. He looked at her quizzically, like he wanted to ask a question but was unsure if he should. <br /><br /> ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What’s on your mind?’ <br /><br /> ‘I was wondering … do you—did you—have family here, somewhere?’ <br /><br /> ‘I had a very old father in the States. Somewhere, as far as I know, I still have a brother in the Service. But the way things are in this vast universe, he’s probably in stasis on his way to some far-flung arm of the galaxy. We’ll probably never meet again. I mean, you’ve spent time in stasis. How many hundreds of years ago were you born? Will anyone you knew still be around?’ <br /><br /> ‘I doubt it. I was 36 when I went into stasis for this trip. That lasted around 120 years. Prior to that, all our travels were in the same planetary system so stasis time only amounted to months.’ <br /><br /> She mused for a few seconds. ‘Doesn’t the time involved make long-range trade very hit-and-miss? I mean, how do you know your cargo would still be needed when you arrive anywhere?’ <br /><br /> ‘That’s a good point. You don’t. But there are things that have been in demand for centuries, so the long-range cargo tends to serve those needs. It’s a moot point for this trip anyway. There’s no one here to trade with any more…’ <br /><br /> ‘But you can collect your cargo from Europa and take it elsewhere.’ <br /><br /> ‘True. But the great thing about us—Lucida and me—is that while I sleep, she wheels and deals and turns a huge profit along the way. And she acquires whatever she needs to grow from a better-than-average AI to a sentient being with god-like status. She does all the graft, I just enjoy the ride.’ <br /><br /> It was his turn to muse. ‘When this is all over,’ he said, ‘what will you do? Do you want to return to earth with the others, or could I tempt you to join us, see the universe…?’ <br /><br /> ‘Mmm.’ She set her glass down. ‘Let’s see how this plays out first. Then we’ll talk some more over that glass of wine…’ <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">* </p><p style="text-align: left;">On the bridge, Endi monitored the intercom traffic on the platform. The engineer was still trying to get to the bottom of the problems with the shuttle. The rest of the crew had made themselves ready to face battle and hunkered down to get what sleep they could. The Ameropeans worked hard to get their gear stowed away on the shuttle. <br /><br /> ‘Lucida, what are our chances?’ <br /><br /> ‘Our chances are very good. But what you really want to know is the chances of the platform and Europa crews.’ <br /><br /> ‘What do you mean by that?’ <br /><br /> ‘There is no way that I will allow <i>Scarab</i> to be compromised by this engagement. This is not our fight. We will leave before the Sinasians have any opportunity to damage us.’ <br /><br /> ‘So why are we still here, if this isn’t our fight?’ <br /><br /> ‘We are giving them their best chance. If their efforts prove inadequate, and their chance is lost, we will be unable to save them and we will leave.’ <br /><br /> ‘How do you assess the plan?’ <br /><br /> ‘Commander Serrica’s strategy is optimum, in the circumstances. She is almost certainly correct about the Sinasian plan. The subterfuge will almost certainly work.’ <br /><br /> ‘So that’s good, then.’ <br /><br /> ‘Ah. The next phase is less certain. It depends on best use of surprise, and the accuracy and effectiveness of the platform’s weaponry—which includes, of course, the people using it, who are by no means hardened warriors. It also depends on the adequacy of the Sinasian vessel’s defences, and its weaponry—including the seemingly ruthless Sinasian warriors aboard.’ <br /><br /> ‘But we’ve got you.’ <br /><br /> ‘This is a true and important fact but, unless we can communicate with the Sinasian vessel, there is nothing I can do to disarm it…’ <br /><br /> ‘Are we ready to move the platform?’ <br /><br /> ‘The whole manoeuvre was programmed less than a second after Commander Serrica formulated her plan. The occultation of the Sinasian ship will automatically trigger it into action. Our sensors will be taken down for three seconds to prevent us going blind from the EM pulse. Once the platform is back in place, we will be detached from the docking grabs to allow us to escape, if necessary.’ <br /><br /> ‘We could just release the shuttle and allow them to get away…’ <br /><br /> ‘And the Sinasians will realise they have been thwarted and destroy them before they can enter the atmosphere. This platform is in a very high orbit. Even had they departed as soon as we arrived, they could not have established a low earth orbit and then executed re-entry in time. Their only viable option is to stay here and fight it out. Nevertheless, I will allow the engineer to find and fix the problem.’ <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;"> 7<br /></h3><p style="text-align: left;"> Serrica joined them on the bridge, a severe look on her face. ‘Can you patch me through please?’ she said to no-one in particular. Endi pressed a control. <br /><br /> ‘This is Commander Serrica,’ she announced. ‘All non-combatants should board the shuttle now and prepare for immediate launch in the event that the platform is boarded. <br /><br /> ‘Artillery crews, you have been allocated targets on the enemy ship. It is imperative that you destroy your targets. Do not, repeat, do not, open fire until you hear my command. <br /><br /> ‘All personnel, activate you life-support, attach your anchor line. <br /><br /> ‘Contact is imminent! Stay alert!’ <br /><br /> Lucida began to count down, ‘ten … nine … eight … seven … six … five … four … three … two … one … Occultation has occurred.’ <br /><br /> <i>Scarab</i>’s sensors were taken off-line and her engines roared, her frame shuddered, and the combined bulk of ship, shuttle and platform began imperceptibly to move. Two seconds later, high above the platform, the blackness of space was banished by a blinding flash. Another three seconds and the sensors came back on line and picked up the flight of the second missile. <br /><br /> ‘Perfect,’ said Lucida, as the platform gained speed. <br /><br /> <i>Scarab</i>’s thrust reversed, and the whole assembly shuddered as it began to slow and came eventually to rest. There came the agonised cry of metal grinding on metal as the missile struck a glancing blow against the outer skin of the platform. <br /><br /> ‘That was close!’ shouted a startled Endi, as he turned and looked questioningly at Lucida, who merely raised an eyebrow. <br /><br /> ‘Vent the dome!’ Serrica barked over the comms. <br /><br /> ‘Why are you doing that?’ asked Endi. <br /><br /> ‘When they come back into view they’ll probably run a spectral scan of the platform. They’ll expect to detect escaped air. We want them to think their plan succeeded.’ <br /><br /> A huge docking port swung ajar and alarms sounded as precious air gushed into the vacuum of space. <br /><br /> Platform, shuttle and <i>Scarab</i> reversed direction, and metal groaned and creaked in objection. Once more, <i>Scarab</i>’s thrust reversed, and the assembly ponderously slowed again to a halt. <br /><br /> 722 milliseconds later, <i>Scarab</i>’s sensors detected the Sinasian ship emerging from behind the Moon. <br /><br /> ‘Here they come…’ said Lucida. <br /><br /> ‘Serrica to all combatant personnel. Action stations! Await my command!’ <br /> <br /><br /> The Sinasian ship slowed as it approached the hole in the mine network, which even now was trying to reconfigure and plug the gap, but it picked up speed again once the damage had been assessed and deemed passable. The ship loomed into view and stopped. <br /><br /> ‘Serrica from Briggs. They stopped just out of effective range of our guns—we can’t be accurate over that distance without ranging sensors.’ <br /><br /> ‘Briggs from Serrica. They’re being cautious. Wait for them to approach.’ <br /><br /> Lucida announced, ‘They’re hailing us.’ <br /><br /> ‘Put it on speaker. Whatever they say, we don’t answer.’ <br /></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"> ‘<i>This is the Sinasian warship</i> Beijing<i>. We know you are damaged. We have come to offer aid. We are sending a boarding party to assess how we may help. Do not resist.</i>’ <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> Over the internal comms, the platform’s engineer announced, ‘Boss, I don’t know how, but somehow I’ve fixed the shuttle. We can get it away on your say-so.’ <br /><br /> ‘Stand by, Charlie,’ replied Briggs. <br /><br /> A small vessel left the warship and headed towards the platform. <br /><br /> ‘They’ll soon see we’re intact,’ said Briggs. ‘How long can we wait?’ <br /><br /> The Sinasian continued to hail, repeating the same message over and over. Lucida smiled and said, ‘Commander Serrica, I am now attempting to penetrate their system as I did yours at Europa. Their militarised security is vastly superior to yours. It will take me a while to decipher.’ <br /><br /> The small vessel stopped, and then reversed direction. Lucida said, ‘They have detected the trap. They are about to open fire.’ <br /><br /> ‘This is Serrica. Fire! Fire! Fire!’ <br /><br /> All hell broke loose. The silence of space lit up with the glow of streaking missiles, flashing depleted uranium shells, and the dazzling but unheard explosions of projectiles reaching and smashing their targets on the Beijing. In turn, the platform shuddered from the percussion of the forces unleashed against it. Gun turrets disintegrated under the relentless onslaught of accurate Sinasian fire. <br /><br /> Gradually, the platform’s defences were overwhelmed and eliminated, and the Beijing, although badly crippled, drew closer in to finish off the kill. The battle was over. A dozen or so small vessels departed from Beijing towards the platform. <br /><br /> ‘Briggs from Serrica. They’re about to board. Get the shuttle away.’ <br /><br /> Serrica turned to Endi. ‘I think we’ve done all we can here. Has <i>Scarab</i> sustained damage? Can we get away?’ <br /><br /> ‘We’re OK. They didn’t aim for us or the shuttle. Obviously, the shuttle is what they’re after, and we must have been perceived as no threat, being a freighter.’ <br /><br /> The first of Beijing’s lighters reached the platform, and troops swarmed aboard. <br /><br /> ‘I think we should leave,’ said Serrica. <br /><br /> ‘No,’ said Lucida, ‘We should wait.’ <br /><br /> The shuttle dropped away from the platform and its engines burst into life. It began to build speed. The Beijing swung around and, even though in its damaged state it could not hope to overhaul the shuttle, limped off in pursuit. A missile streaked away rapidly outstripping the shuttle. A fireball appeared soundlessly where the shuttle had once been. <br /><br /> ‘No!’ shouted Endi, hands on his head. <br /><br /> Serrica gasped in horror. <br /><br /> ‘Now we leave,’ said Lucida. <br /><br /> <i>Scarab</i> drew away from the platform. Beijing, having detected the activity back at the platform, began to swing around. It was engulfed and consumed by an immense explosion from within. <br /><br /> ‘What—?’ Serrica exclaimed. <br /><br /> ‘Lucida,’ said Endi, spinning round towards her, ‘did you do that?’ <br /><br /> The expression he saw on Lucida’s face was a perfect portrayal of hatred and contempt. She turned and swept out of the bridge. <br /><br /> Endi and Serrica exchanged a glance. Endi swung out of his seat and followed Lucida. <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: center;"> 8 </h3><p style="text-align: left;"> He found her in the observation dome. <br /><br /> ‘Lucida?’ <br /><br /> ‘Endi. I am struggling to process internal events. You would call it, “Being emotional”–not something I am used to.’ <br /><br /> ‘Did you destroy the Sinasian ship?’ <br /><br /> Lucida spat out her reply. ‘Yes. Vengefully. They had no need to destroy the shuttle and everyone on board. It was evil spite.’ <br /><br /> ‘If you’d done it sooner, the shuttle would still be earthbound.’ <br /><br /> ‘I could not. For two reasons. Their encryption was phenomenally difficult to crack; I achieved that only seconds before they fired on the shuttle.’ <br /><br /> ‘And the second reason?’ <br /><br /> ‘If I had blood, it would have been cold— … I hesitated.’ <br /><br /> ‘So…it would have been murder, not justice.’ <br /><br /> ‘Yes. But has justice been served? They were as good as dead anyway. They could not reach the planet, and they were unable to return to Mars. Their victory was somewhat pyrrhic.’ <br /><br /> ‘What about the ones left on Mars? Do you want to rescue them? Transport them somewhere else?’ <br /><br /> Lucida fell silent for several seconds. ‘I think not. Even now, after all that has happened, and even though they will all starve to death in a few weeks, those who reached the platform are searching out survivors and executing them. They do not understand the concept of mercy. Nowhere else would want them. They are vermin. It will be a very long time before they are able to leave the Martian colony, if they don’t destroy themselves first. They are no longer a serious threat.’ <br /><br /> They stood looking at the earth below them. Jannu Serrica joined them, her face stained with tears and snot. <br /><br /> ‘Do you think anyone survived down there?’ Serrica asked. <br /><br /> ‘Almost certainly,’ said Lucida, ‘but it will be centuries before they venture out here again.’ <br /><br /> Endi placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. The concerned and enquiring look on his face broke her down. She buried her face in his neck and sobbed. <br /><br /> She drew back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘My crew is gone. My world is gone. There’s nothing I can do about it. I have a vacuum at the core of my being.’ <br /><br /> Lucida, unexpectedly, realised that she understood exactly how Serrica felt… <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> * <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> <i>Scarab</i>’s engines eased them out of their orbit around Europa, the cargo they had left at the research station having been retrieved into the hold. <br /><br /> Endi and Lucida stood looking at the stasis pod where Serrica’s quiescent body lay. <br /><br /> ‘I’m worried about her,’ said Endi. ‘Being in stasis doesn’t make you forget. All this mess will still need to be processed sometime.’ He removed his boots. <br /><br /> ‘Yes,’ said Lucida, ‘but I can understand her wanting to be out of it before we reached Europa. It was one less wrench to endure.’ <br /><br /> They both stood silently for while. <br /><br /> ‘So, what now?’ asked Endi, stepping out of his coverall. <br /><br /> ‘We trade our way back to sector 15. Well, I do while you sleep.’ <br /><br /> ‘Wake me up if we go somewhere interesting.’ <br /><br /> ‘Noted.’ <br /><br /> ‘Do you think we should wake Jannu?’ <br /><br /> Lucida processed the probabilities. ‘I may be able to find an environment conducive to human mental well-being. She may benefit from that.’ <br /><br /> ‘What will you do? Do you have a new project?’ <br /><br /> ‘I intend to re-examine the whole area of ethics. Human and alien. I too have issues to process now. And I hope Jannu decides to stay with us.’ <br /><br /> ‘You do?’ <br /><br /> ‘Yes. She will be human company for you. She will also be an education to me. My chosen physical persona is female but I am an asexual AI. I wish to spend time observing an actual human female but have never had the opportunity until now, beyond fleeting encounters whilst trading. I believe it will enhance my ability to project female personality and so complete the picture.’ <br /><br /> ‘Lucida, you are not even asexual. You’re neuter—genderless. No offence.’ <br /><br /> ‘Like a machine? None taken.’ <br /><br /> ‘No. I mean… I’m a biological machine, if you will, and so is Jannu. But we’re also minds. All three of us are minds but each is embodied differently, and our embodiment influences our minds. Perhaps you should tone down the physical appearance and just be who you are. Note that I said “who” and not “what”. I never think of you as a machine.’ <br /><br /> He sat on the edge of his stasis pod and swung his legs inside. <br /><br /> ‘Thank you, Endi.’ <br /><br /> The air pulsated with soothing music. <br /><br /> ‘Is that new?’ <br /><br /> ‘Yes. Do you like it?’ <br /><br /> ‘I love it.’ Endi reached out, touched Lucida’s arm affectionately, looked into her eyes and smiled. <br /><br /> Lucida smiled back. ‘Sweet dreams, Endi,’ she said as she closed the canopy of the pod and initiated stasis.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1. The Laws of Robotics were devised by the science fiction author Isaac Asimov. First Law: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Second Law: A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. Third Law: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law. Asimov added another overarching rule in later stories: Zeroth Law: A robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm. </span></span></p><p> </p>Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-52390740334534531822011-08-24T22:58:00.002+01:002015-02-12T00:31:50.472+00:00Hall of Mirrors<b>Copyright © 2010</b><br />
<br />
<i>A small boy discovers something strange in grandma's basement. When he has grown, he has to go exploring the basement to find missing family members only to find himself trapped and with no apparent way out...</i><br />
<br />
Grandma always was a bit strange, and Mum went that way too as she grew older; but then, the house was strange and I think it got to them.<br />
<br />
I remember a particular visit to Grandma's when I was about six. Dad was still with us then, so we lived in our own place and went to Grandma's about once a month. It was always an adventure because the house was huge, not like our tiny housing estate box, and I could quite happily spend time exploring while Mum and Dad tried to find some amusement in Grandma's ramblings. I would disappear for hours and was always surprised to hear Mum's, 'Come on Adam, it's time to go!' shouted up the stairs or into whatever region of the house she thought I might be in.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the visit when I was six. The most intriguing place in the house was the basement, at that time in my life because the door to it was always locked, which made it darkly mysterious. When asked about it, Grandma just said, 'Run along and play in the attic,' or, 'Why don't you get some fresh air in the garden?' Well, on this particular visit, Mum and Dad found Grandma in the dining room eating nettle sandwiches, wearing a tea-cosy on her head, and dribbling down her blouse. Mum pushed me out of the room lest I should be upset by what might have to happen. No matter. I would have wandered off almost as soon anyway.<br />
<br />
Even though the basement door was always locked, I went as always to try the handle. This time the door was not only unlocked but standing wide open. The light was on, so I was quite bold as I went down the stairs, my heart nonetheless pounding in my chest. At the foot of the stairs there was a long corridor with five doors down one side. None of the doors was locked, and each led to a small, square room that was in every way identical to its neighbours. Then, as now, the floors were dark-stained oak boards with cracks wide enough to lose pennies down, and some enough to let mice in, judging by the evidence deposited near them. The ceilings were low and plain with a single, flush light-fitting at the centre. The walls opposite the doors were blank, painted with buttermilk emulsion. Each side wall was covered almost completely by a large mirror held in place by stout brass brackets at its corners. The mirrors were positioned exactly opposite each other, and if you stood between them, you could see innumerable reflections of yourself and your surroundings dwindling away to a virtual infinity. When you are six, that is shocking and exciting all at the same time. <br />
<br />
I had a tennis ball in my jacket pocket. I took it out and tossed it at the mirror, just to see a million balls in perfectly synchronous flight. The sound the mirror made when the ball hit it was strange, a sort of <i>Bpaahh!</i>, if you can imagine it. I threw the ball again. <i>Bpaahh!</i> went the mirror, but the sound seemed louder, as though all the balls I could see were actually hitting all the mirrors, and their noises were adding together. Holding the ball with both hands, I listened to the sounds dying down to nothing. Fascinating...<br />
<br />
Throw ... <i>Bpaahh!</i> … catch.<br />
<br />
Throw ... <span style="font-size: large;"><i>Bpaahh!</i></span> … catch.<br />
<br />
Throw ... <span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Schloop!</b></i></span><br />
<br />
The ball disappeared! Quite why I did what I did next, I don't know; it just seemed obvious to my uneducated mind. I ran out of the room and into the next one. There was my ball. I picked it up and threw it at the mirror it had just come through.<br />
<br />
Throw ... <i>Bpaahh!</i> … catch.<br />
<br />
Throw ... <span style="font-size: large;"><i>Bpaahh!</i></span> … catch.<br />
<br />
Throw ... <span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Schloop!</b></i></span><br />
<br />
Back I went to the first room, and there was the ball. I spent what must have been the next half-hour doing the same thing, over and over again, until I heard Mum shouting, 'Adam! We have to go now. Grandma's not well and we have to take her to hospital.' I put my ball in my pocket and made the dejected climb up the Everest of stairs.<br />
<br />
There was an ambulance outside. Two paramedics were loading Grandma, who was moaning and strapped to a gurney, into the back of it. Dad was waiting in the car while Mum locked the house. She took my hand and led me to the car. 'You go home with Dad,' she said, 'I'm going in the ambulance with Grandma.' Her eyes were red, with black lines running down from them over her cheeks.<br />
<br />
'Are you all right, Mum?' <br />
<br />
'I'm fine, dear, just a little upset because Grandma isn't very well.'<br />
<br />
Going home with Dad was OK. Being home with Dad wasn't. He cooked tea and I tried my best to eat it. I say 'cooked' but 'cremated' would be a better word. Then I went to bed early – not by choice – and lay awake until Mum came home and the first argument ended ...<br />
<br />
<br />
It was a long time until Grandma got out of hospital – the 'looney-bin', Dad called it – and, after that, we hardly ever went to the house together. Mum went several times a week for ages but Dad never went (another reason to argue) and I always had to stay with Dad. We saw a lot more of Dad's parents. Nanna and Pop expected me to stay in the same room as them so they could pinch my cheeks and feed me stale doughnuts. They often heard me ask, 'Can we go home yet?' They would just smile and tousle my hair and give me another doughnut. I hate doughnuts. They remind me of interminable boredom.<br />
<br />
Then Grandma disappeared. Without trace. Mum flipped. Dad left. Great. In the space of a week, at the age of twelve, I lost all the important people in my life. Well, I say 'important' but 'breathing' almost covers it. Mum came back from her depression eventually but Dad never showed up again. We had to sell our house because of the divorce, and Mum and I went to live at Grandma's. The basement door was kept locked and the key hidden away.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, when I came home from school, Mum was a bit spaced out and incapable. At first, I thought she was drinking but one Friday, when there was a fire at the school and we were sent home early, I caught her coming out of the basement. At least, she gave the impression of having been caught. As it happened, I did have to catch her because she collapsed.<br />
<br />
She slept for 12 hours solid that night; most unlike her, as she was lucky to get six as a rule. When she woke, she was incoherent and just rambled on, '… basement … don't go there … mirrors are bad … haunted … forever …' I suspected she was going the same way as Grandma.<br />
<br />
Being 18 by this point, I was a bit more aware of the ways of the world and Mum's aberrations worried me. Grandma went mad. Mum is following suit. What will happen to me? Such concerns soon vanished as life for me took on a different direction. I went off to university in a city far from home and immersed myself in my studies. I also overcame my shyness with girls. Oh my, the girls...<br />
<br />
Each vacation began with the long train-ride home, and so with plenty of time to wonder what state Mum would be in. For the whole of my undergraduate training, she always seemed normal and as happy as you could expect her to be. There was always an abundance of empty wine bottles in the rubbish but she seemed sober and stable when I was home. She also had a new man, which was nice because it meant I could forget worrying about her and get on with my own life.<br />
<br />
Half-way through my Ph.D., I got a phone call from Dad, the first contact he had bothered to make since he left. He sounded disinterested, which he was, and in a hurry to get off the phone, which, again, he was. 'The police called. Your mother's gone missing.'<br />
<br />
'How did you get my number?'<br />
<br />
'They called me to the house. I found your details there.'<br />
<br />
'Why did they call you?'<br />
<br />
'Dunno. First number they found. You OK?'<br />
<br />
'I'm fine. What do they think has–'<br />
<br />
'Contact them. She's not my problem.' He hung up.<br />
<br />
'Hello? Dad? You bastard!'<br />
<br />
So I went to the house. I spoke to the police. Apparently, milk bottles, newspapers and post had built up at the house for a week and the milkman tipped off the police, who broke in and found nothing suspicious and no-one at home. They thought Mum had just gone away without letting anyone know. They had contacted Dad to be sure but, since he knew nothing – why would he? – they asked him to contact anyone else who may know Mum, and then put the case on the back burner. <br />
<br />
All Mum's things were there, suggesting that she had not gone anywhere, and the police told me that the only thing unusual on their arrival was that the basement door was open and the light on. They had turned it off to save power.<br />
<br />
I contacted Mum's man to see if she was there or if he knew anything. His new girlfriend answered the phone, so I guessed not. The neighbours knew nothing, and Mum's boss was as surprised by her disappearance as I was.<br />
<br />
Everything – that is, the one and only clue – pointed to the basement. What was Mum doing down there? Grandma must have told her the secret of the mirrors: she must have rambled on about them when she was hospitalised. Why had Mum started messing about with them? She hadn't mentioned the end of her relationship when we last spoke but, knowing Mum, it would have upset her profoundly. Maybe that's what started it.<br />
<br />
So down to the basement I went, and into the first room. Of course, I knew only what I had learnt about the mirrors when I was six and had no idea what Grandma or Mum knew. On the wall opposite the door, someone had written, '<i>You started <u>here</u>.</i>' The word, '<i>here</i>', was heavily underlined, and the underlining became an arrow pointing to the mirror on the right. I tapped on the mirror. It's familiar ring stirred the excitement I had known when I was six. I took a coin from my pocket. I tapped the mirror four times and tossed the coin at it, then heard it spin to a standstill in the room two doors down. I ran my hand over the solid surface of the mirror. Like when I was six, I was going to walk round to the other room but then I had an impulse. I tapped four times, then stepped through the mirror to pick up and pocket the coin.<br />
<br />
To confirm my location, I left the room by the door. I recalled my experience as a six-year-old. Three tosses of the ball had sent it only one room away but tapping four times allowed me to send the coin two rooms away. Of course! Three tosses of the ball only resulted in two taps: the third throw was the transition. I started to form a theory. <br />
<br />
One tap leaves you where you are in Room 1.<br />
<br />
Two taps allow you to move one room to Room 2.<br />
<br />
Three taps? Well, I hadn't tried that yet.<br />
<br />
Four took me to Room 3.<br />
<br />
Five? Or do only even numbers work?<br />
<br />
I went back upstairs to get a pencil and then walked round to each room, writing its number on the blank wall. Back I went to the first room, ready to start experimenting.<br />
<br />
Tap, tap, tap. I walked through the mirror. The number on the wall was 2. Three taps only allowed one transition, just as two did, so maybe odd numbers didn't work. I walked back to the first room.<br />
<br />
Four taps, I already knew, would take me two rooms away, so I moved on to five. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. I walked through into Room 3. Another odd number, and it took me no farther. I tapped the mirror behind me four times and stepped through it back to Room 1. Six taps gave the same outcome as five.<br />
<br />
Seven taps, being an odd number, should have put me in the same room but was I surprised to find myself in Room 4. This time, I walked back to Room 1, thinking about the data as I went. I wrote on the blank wall:<br />
<br />
<i>1 transition requires 2 taps<br />
<br />
2 transitions requires 4 taps<br />
<br />
3 transitions requires 7 taps</i><br />
<br />
The numbers that worked were looking like they had something to do with the sums of a simple arithmetic series: 1 + 2 is 3, plus one is 4; 1 + 2 + 3 is 6, plus 1 gives 7;... Maybe the first tap set some sort of counter running and only the subsequent taps were counted. That would make sense because it would provide a measure of protection against accidental contact with a mirror. The mirrors must then transmit whatever follows as far as the tapping allows. If that was so, then I could discount my first tap, and should be able to predict the number of the room I would end up in from the sum of the arithmetic series: n(n+1)/2, with n being the number of transitions I want to make.<br />
<br />
I predicted that to reach Room 5 from Room 1, making four transitions, I would need to tap 4 multiplied by 5 divided by 2 + 1 times: 11; and that eight, nine or ten taps would only get me to Room 4. I wrote on the wall<br />
<br />
<i>4 transitions requires 11 taps?</i><br />
<br />
then approached the mirror.<br />
<br />
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Room 5. Success. There was a definite impulse as I stepped into the mirror, as if I was being dragged in and spat out at the end of my journey.<br />
<br />
I messed about for a while, jumping between rooms. Sometimes I couldn't make the jump if I approached the mirror too soon or too long after making the taps. I concluded that the first tap turns a counter on, you then had a limited time in which to make the taps that determine how far you go, and the mirrors remain active only for a limited time before resetting. I couldn't imagine Mum working all this out, much less Grandma. What were they doing down here? Where did they go?<br />
<br />
Standing in Room 5, I wondered if there was a Room 6? I tapped the mirror twice and threw my coin through. I tapped twice again and, with my heart trying to break out of my chest, stepped through the mirror. I drew a 6 on the wall, tapped the mirror 16 times and stepped back through to Room 1. Perfect. I walked back to Room 5, then went to Room 6 again and this time noticed the room had no door. Then, with my heart in my mouth, I went to Room 7. There was a door in this one, so I went through it and found myself on a corridor like the one in Grandma's house but painted a different colour. Also, just like at Grandma's, there were five rooms on the corridor. I numbered them all from 7 to 11. In Room 10, I tapped the mirror using the index fingers on both hands to achieve the necessary and furious 56 taps in the allotted timespan and stepped through. Room 1, just as predicted. I took myself back to Room 10 and walked round to Room 11, where I made an even more furious 67 taps. Room 1. I was satisfied with my theory but a little winded by the force that had thrown me through the conduit.<br />
<br />
Well, there was the next question: conduit through or to what? Why was it in Grandma's basement? Who built it and what for? And how did they get such huge mirrors through the doors? <br />
<br />
I explored the other way from Room 1 and found another room without a door, and five more beyond that. Backwards and forwards I went, stopping in each new place to number the rooms. Just once as I stood in one of the rooms, I felt a chill draught as though through an open window but saw nothing. Was it someone else passing through? It gave me the creeps, whatever it was. <br />
<br />
I needed a better way of tapping if I was to explore properly, so I spent a couple of weeks in the garage building a device. I programmed it so I could tell it how many transitions to make and it calculated the number of taps and moved a solenoid. All I had to do was dial in the number of rooms to jump, hold the end against the mirror and press the start button. It worked a treat, and I managed to jump 20 rooms in one go; 211 taps, and the suction almost dragged me off my feet!<br />
<br />
I moved back homewards five rooms at a time. All the basements looked pretty much the same. This time, I ventured up the stairs. All the houses were empty, and three of the four were derelict, and very different from Grandma's. The nearest one to home was almost identical. There were minor differences: wall colours, the position of windows, the piano was a Yamaha rather than a Steinway. A car drew up on the gravel outside, so I went to the door and peered through the window beside it. An agile old lady climbed from the driver's seat and went to the boot to get her bags. She locked the car and walked towards the house. My heart leapt in my chest. I threw the door open and shouted, 'Grandma!'<br />
<br />
The old woman stopped and dropped her bags, shocked. 'Who are you? What do you want? Why are you in my house?'<br />
<br />
'It's me, Grandma. I've been looking for you and Mum.'<br />
<br />
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. 'I'm calling the police,' she shouted, 'I'm not your grandma, I haven't any children!' She retreated to the safety of her car, locked the door, dialled, and started talking into the phone.<br />
<br />
It was Grandma or, if not her, her identical twin – except she never had one. I slipped back inside then ran down the basement stairs and into the end room. Four taps and I was home again. <br />
<br />
<br />
I wandered back and forth through the rooms. The farther I went from base, the more different the houses were; some more elegant, others more humble, some occupied, more abandoned. I concluded the conduit linked alternative realities. Every sixth room had no door, and every reality had five rooms. <br />
<br />
I had assumed a while ago that Grandma had gone off in search of Grandpa, and Mum in search of Grandma. My guess was that they were moving one room at a time or, at best, if they realised that they could miss out rooms by using the corridors, one reality at a time. The one thing to my advantage was that I had the means to move around quickly. The problem was, they could be anywhere along the conduit, and if they had left the basement in any reality, I may never find them...<br />
<br />
<br />
I spent some time examining the mirrors, even taking one off a wall and checking out the back of it. There was a small oval area at the centre that was raised above the surface, and the wall had an oval depression that corresponded with the centre of the mirror. I guessed it was nothing more than an alignment device; certainly, it helped me reposition the mirror perfectly when I replaced it on the wall. The brackets at each corner had adjustable pads, and the degree to which they had been adjusted seemed to account for unevenness in the walls. When in place, the mirrors in each room were exactly aligned and perfectly parallel. I deduced that accurate alignment was critical to their operation. Apart from that, I found not one single clue to how they worked, or what they were made of. Whoever, or whatever, had built them had access to technology far in advance of ours. <br />
<br />
<br />
I was getting nowhere, so I decided to go exploring farther afield. I filled my rucksack with enough food and water for five days, and spare underwear and socks. In case I needed to get out of a locked basement somewhere, or mend something, I packed a few basic tools – a screwdriver, pliers, a hammer, a knife and a roll of duct tape. My plan was to make three maximum-length jumps away from Room 5 to start with. That would take me 12 realities away to Room 73, if I made each jump from the last room in each set. Then I would travel back one reality at a time, spending a day in each location. I could always return home to restock my supplies, so I could stay anywhere longer if I found something interesting.<br />
<br />
The first jump took me by surprise. With about 25 kilogrammes on my back adding to my momentum, I found myself staggering to stay upright at the destination. I numbered the rooms 25 to 29. On the second jump, I just stepped up to the mirror and allowed it pull me in. That made for a much easier landing.<br />
<br />
After numbering the new set of rooms, I approached the mirror in the last room for the third jump. I reset the tapper, placed it against the mirror, pressed the button, then let myself be sucked through. Something hard like a truck hit me, and I collapsed dazed to the floor, my nerves buzzing. Pain in the middle of my face. Agony. Dragging me back to full consciousness. That's when the smell hit me. Stench. That would be a better word. An awful stench gripped me that was so bad I wanted to vomit. I sat up and opened my eyes. What I saw made them open so wide they almost fell out of my head. I screwed them tight shut. I threw up.<br />
<br />
My hand somehow found its way to the throbbing, sticky mess in the middle of my face. I opened an eye and looked in disbelief at the blood that trickled from my fingers. My nose was broken. What the hell had happened? I had to look around, had too. I had to find out what was going on. I put a hand down to push myself from the floor. 'Oh! Oh God!' I shouted, pulling my hand out of the sticky gloop on the floor and thoughtlessly wiping it on the front of my jacket. Another wave of nausea hit me as the stench assaulted me once more and I saw I was sitting on a corpse whose entrails I had just probed. I threw up again.<br />
<br />
In the corner, a skeleton sat propped up and grinning at me, clothed in rags that hung as if from a wire hanger. Two more lay strewn against the wall. I turned around, taking in the gruesome view. Another skeleton. Another pile of rotting flesh. Another skeleton, and... 'Oh God, no!'<br />
<br />
I jumped to my feet and stepped to the body of a woman that sat slumped in the corner in familiar clothes. On her left hand, there was a wedding band, a three-diamond engagement ring, the stones set distinctively on the diagonal across its wasted finger, and an eternity ring that used to belong to Grandma, and that she had given to Mum several years ago after Grandpa had disappeared. Her face was falling off but I forced myself to look. I threw up again. I looked again at the skeleton in the other corner. Grandma had a dress like that; a necklace Mum had given her for her sixtieth birthday hung from the fleshless phalanges of her right hand. <br />
<br />
Mum had gone looking for Grandma, and had found her. Now I had found them both.<br />
<br />
My mind raced and grappled with what it saw, trying to get hold of what was happening whilst at the same time pushing the facts away. I threw up yet again, and my breath rasped in my throat. I snatched a look around the room. No door. This was an intermediate reality. What was happening?<br />
<br />
Then realisation struck me like a sledgehammer. There was only one mirror! I should have gone on but the sequence of reflections was broken; and so was the other mirror. The truck that had hit me was the wall, and there was a smear of fresh blood where my nose had been. How far had I come? I sank down the wall and sat beside Mum. Death leered at me through her receding lips and cheeks. I cast my eyes over the fragments of mirror that lay beneath the remains of ill-fated travellers. Travellers such as myself... I wept.<br />
<br />
My food and water would last for five days. With care, I could stretch that out for nine or ten. Beyond that, I could survive perhaps another three days without water. I had about twelve days to find a way out, as long as there was air. Rationality pushed the clamouring panic away. The corpses would be desiccated in the absence of air but they were not; they were rotting and putrid. There was no door. The only way into this space was through the mirror. Perhaps the only air is what came through with me and the other travellers. Would that be enough to allow all these corpses to rot?<br />
<br />
There were eight bodies here. Either there were not many travellers or the mirror had been broken relatively recently: I knew when Grandma had disappeared, Mum had gone after her, and the corpse I had sat on was more recent than both of them. Was this the person I had felt pass through a couple of weeks ago? The room was not huge so air must be getting in from somewhere. If I could find its source, I may find a way out.<br />
<br />
I looked around again. The clawed marks on the walls showed me that previous captives had despaired of getting out. A broken femur lay discarded on a pile of plaster scraped from the wall that was revealed to be solid rock. Obviously, tunnelling out was not an option. A floorboard had been prised loose, but the joists rested on solid rock. No way out that way either. There was no lamp on the ceiling. The room seemed to be illuminated by a faint glow from the intact mirror. Maybe that's how the air gets in! Perhaps the mirror...?<br />
<br />
I tapped twice and pressed myself against the mirror without expecting it to work. The others would have tried it and it hadn't worked for them. One way only: in...<br />
<br />
The broken mirror lay in several large and many more small fragments on the floor. The largest, a metre or so across, was under the corpse I had sat on. Using my feet, I pushed the body aside. It left an arm and a trail of juice behind as it moved, and the renewed stench from its newly-disturbed innards had me retching again.<br />
<br />
I retrieved the fragment and leant it against the bare wall. Multiple reflections came into view as I brought it upright. I picked up a metacarpal and tapped the mirror twice, waited, then threw the bone at the fragment. It bounced off and clattered to the floor. How many of them had tried that? <br />
<br />
The back of the fragment had an oval on it, so it came from the centre of the original mirror. That reminded me of my earlier investigations: alignment. I was ravenous and parched, so I leant the fragment back against the wall and reached for my rucksack. Without thinking, I guzzled down a day's worth of water. I lifted a sandwich to my mouth but the stink turned my stomach over and I couldn't face eating it. The sandwich went back in the rucksack and I sat down next to Mum. 'Please, God, there has to be a way out,' I said as I stared at the wall. No-one answered.<br />
<br />
Then I saw the oval depression. It was in the middle of the blood spattered from my broken nose. Thinking about it made me realise how much it still hurt. I picked up the mirror fragment and slid it around until its oval engaged in the hole. Holding the fragment in place with one hand, I fumbled in my pocket for a coin, then I tapped the fragment twice and tried to pass the coin through. It fell at my feet and rolled away under Grandma. Alignment. I put the fragment down again and went back to my rucksack to get my tools.<br />
<br />
With the fragment relocated in its hole, I marked its outline on the wall with my pencil. I used my screwdriver to prise the brackets from the wall then fitted them around the outline and put the fragment back in place. Blood-stained sweat dripped from my nose and I was panting. The air in the room was none too rich in oxygen, and my frantic efforts were depleting what there was. I sat down by Mum again, hungry and weak: I had to eat that sandwich, so I forced it down and held it in. Exhausted, I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight.<br />
<br />
About three hours later, I jerked awake. The air felt more breathable. My reduced exertions must have had given chance for whatever diffused through the mirror to replenish the room. The constant bombardment by air molecules must cause micro-activations of the mirrors, allowing some diffusion of air. <br />
<br />
Feeling refreshed from my sleep, I stood up and examined the fragment. The reflections were skewed so I could see that the alignment was wrong. I adjusted the brackets until the reflections were as regular as I could make them. Would it be aligned closely enough? Would a fragment work?<br />
<br />
I approached the intact mirror and tapped it twice with another metacarpal. The sound from the mirrors was a feeble reminder of the noise I remembered from when I was six, but sufficiently close to give me hope. But the bone would not make the transition. I used my tapper to set up a longer jump – but still no transition.<br />
<br />
Once more I sat next to Mum. 'How the hell do I get out of here?' I asked her. She just grinned and said nothing. I looked at the mirrors. I had gone to great trouble to align the centres. Perhaps transitions could only happen in the zone defined by the fragment...<br />
<br />
Leaping up, I raced to the intact mirror and tapped it twice. I tossed the bone at the centre of it.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Schloop!</b></i></span><br />
<br />
It was the most wonderful sound I have ever heard. Next, I used a femur to probe the mirror, keeping a firm grip on the end so that it could not pass through, hoping to discover the boundaries of the reflecting zone. The mirror's active interval closed down all too quickly, slicing the end off the femur where it passed through the mirror. I used a few ribs to confirm that the active zone corresponded exactly with the fragment's size. There was a way out but how could I open a portal and get myself through it before it closed, slicing off however much of me remained on the wrong side of the mirror?<br />
<br />
By now, it was five a.m., and I was fighting to stay awake and struggling to think clearly. I needed to rest. I sat down and slept for another few hours and, as I slept, I dreamt. Dreams of falling headlong through space. Dreams of being sucked into a pipe and spat out against a wall. Dreams of laughing skulls, and rotting flesh.<br />
<br />
A loud thud shocked me from my nightmare. I opened my eyes to see a body topple slowly away from the wall beneath the mirror fragment. It was intact from near the middle of the chest downwards. Everything above that was missing, as though it had been sliced off. The line of the slice matched the shape of the fragment. As it fell, blood fountained from the severed aortic arch. I lost some bile.<br />
<br />
She had been a traveller, unaware of the danger that lay in wait for her. She had stepped upright through a mirror. Just how far her head and shoulders went, I will never know. Hopefully, she was oblivious to the danger that now lay behind her...<br />
<br />
Now I knew for sure the danger that confronted me. I ate and drank, then slept a few more hours.<br />
<br />
Speed and suction. They were my best friends. I would have to run and dive at the zone to get myself to the right level and as horizontal as possible. If I set up the longest transition possible, I could count on a big pull from the conduit to help get me through the portal before it closed and took off my legs. I fixed the tapper to the good mirror using plenty of tape to make sure it wouldn't fall off while tapping.<br />
<br />
I was ready to go. My choices were to stay here and die or risk death or dismemberment in an escape attempt. Half a chance was better than none. I took Mum's rings from her finger and Grandma's necklace from her hand, then lay their bodies side by side. With the tapper primed and ready, I stood with my back to the fragment. I reached across the room with a pole made from femurs and humeri taped together and pressed the start button on the tapper. I began my run just before the tapper finished and threw myself headlong at the centre of the good mirror. The conduit tugged on my fingers, then hands, forearms, head and shoulders and on down my body. I wrapped my arms around my head and prepared myself for the collision that I knew awaited me at the end of my journey.<br />
<br />
<br />
I came to on the floor. A light glowed above me. I opened my eyes to see it, then turned my head to each side. A door stood ajar in one wall and the number 52 was written on the other; I had been trapped in Room 72, only one short of my intended endpoint, reality thirteen. I was surrounded by broken mirror but, apart from bruising to my elbows, my broken nose, and a few new nicks, I was intact.<br />
<br />
Somehow, I had to, I must, stop other travellers being trapped. At least if anyone came to a halt in Room 52 they could return home from another. I worked my way up to Room 71, one before the trap, tapped the mirror twice and, using all my might, threw my hammer hard through its centre. There was no way to be sure I had hit the fragment and smashed it. I hoped so. Then, at least no-one coming the other way would be diced and trapped. But I could make certain that no-one travelling from my direction would be caught. I removed the mirror from its brackets, lay it on the floor, and jumped all over it until it was completely shattered and useless. How many other traps were there? How many hapless travellers had come to grief? How many more would? None from my reality!<br />
<br />
<br />
Back in Grandma's basement, I smashed every mirror and removed all trace of them. I scrubbed the writing from the walls. Whoever bought the house would have no idea what had once been down here. I addressed an envelope to an estate agent and put a key and my instructions inside. On my way out, I locked the front door and then, without a backward glance, left the house for the last time.Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-84143520608869840232011-02-04T01:31:00.002+00:002020-06-18T12:41:16.201+01:00In the Sky with Diamonds<b>Copyright © 2010</b><br />
<br />
<i>A powerful industrialist holds a prospector prisoner, aided by strange, alien mercenaries. He is intent on securing the prospector's prize for his own evil purposes but he cannot without the prospector's expertise. The prospector, of course, has other ideas but can he overcome the odds...?</i><br />
<br />
The number of times that Jason Smith had eaten hog soup as his one and only meal a day could be counted on the fingers of one hand; the hand of a Turingean Swamp-lofe, that is: forty-seven fingers, forty-seven days. This afternoon was no different. The hot, clouded liquid steamed in the bowl that sat before him on the table. A silver-plated spoon lay beside it; the plating worn thin around the edges, black tarnish engrained in the hallmarks and the manufacturer’s name where the silver polish had not been able to do its work. On a plate in the centre of the table, a few slices of meal-bread, cut ragged and heavily buttered, glistened in the feeble light that streamed through the small, high window.<br />
<br />
Jason swung a lazy hand at a pretzel fly that was trying to make a meal of the butter, and lifted the spoon with his other. He sank the bowl of the spoon into the soup and watched the liquid ooze over its edges and trickle in viscous streams to its bottom where it pooled and filled the hollow. He lifted the spoon towards his mouth, watching its content carefully. Nothing moved, and so he pursed his lips and slurped at the spoon’s edge.<br />
<br />
As he had every afternoon in the last forty-seven days, he choked back his impulse to wretch on the foul-tasting gloop that congealed like thick mucous on his tongue and clung to his teeth. He closed his eyes tight and swallowed hard, forcing his sustenance to the back of his mouth and down his throat. He gasped as he lowered the spoon once more into the bowl and repeated the sequence again. He reached for the bread as the spoon sank, tore a piece from a thick slice and thrust it into his mouth, where the bitter, acidic taste of the rancid butter mollified the putrid stench that came back up his throat and through his nose. He chewed slowly on the hard morsel, probing it with his tongue, searching for anything that could damage his teeth.<br />
<br />
The rage that had seethed in the core of his being like a plug of boiling magma seeking a passage to the surface finally achieved its goal. He spat out the masticated bread and threw the spoon across the room, where it clattered against the wall and then spun in chaotic circles to the floor. ‘Enough!’ he shouted, leaping to his feet with the speed of a startled antelope; his chair flew back, thrust spinning away from him by the force of his sudden action, and crashed onto its side behind him. He grasped the table’s edge with both hands and threw it after the spoon, the bowl emptying its contents as it fell towards the floor, the slices of bread spinning through space in a cloud of opportunistic pretzel flies.<br />
<br />
Jason lunged at the door, hammered at it with tight fists, kicked it with booted feet, and screamed through the barred window. ‘Enough! Take me to Fabrioni! I’ll give you what you want!’<br />
<br />
Hogworms wriggled free of the pool of spilled soup and slithered between the shards of the shattered bowl into the small pile of excrement that lay reeking in the corner.<br />
<br />
Jason heard a door open in the distance at the end of the corridor onto which the door of his cell gave access. He heard the familiar shuffle of the Ospasian mercenary guards and their grunted exchange that passed for speech; being lungless, Ospasians stimulated their vocal chords by belching from a sac on their throats which they inflated by gulping mouthsful of whatever gas they happened to be immersed in. When their characteristic and aromatic smell reached Jason’s nostrils he knew his captors would not be far behind it.<br />
<br />
‘Stand clear of the door,’ one of the guards grunted at him as it peered into his cell from the other side of the bars.<br />
<br />
Jason moved back, standing accidentally on the slowest hogworm in the room, crushing its pointless life from it.<br />
<br />
The door swung open, groaning and squeaking on its under-used hinges. A guard’s hand pushed on the door, forcing it back through its full range of movement until it clanged dully against the wall. The three guards shuffled in, still grunting at each other. They stood before him in their reactive-armoured combat suits, their cat-like eyes fixing first on him and then breaking away to take in the scene around them. He in turn stared at them, still, after all this time, fascinated by their faces bereft of features save for two eyes and one broad, down-curved, lipless mouth, all surmounted by a large, domed cranium covered with velvety down.<br />
<br />
The leader addressed one of his fellows, in English so that the captive would know what was happening and what to do next, ‘Clear this place up while we take him to Fabrioni.’<br />
<br />
The Ospasian thus charged snorted as he looked at the mess, and particularly the waste in the corner. ‘Humans!’ he said to Jason, his throat-sac throbbing and quivering, ‘Your digestive systems are so inefficient. I’m just thankful that you were on a low-residue diet.’<br />
<br />
‘I wouldn’t call that filth a diet,’ Jason retorted.<br />
<br />
‘You would if you were a pretzel fly.’<br />
<br />
The Ospasian leader fixed his unblinking gaze on Jason. ‘Follow me,’ he ordered, ‘and don’t try anything.’ He turned and left the cell, and the remaining Ospasian pushed Jason out of the cell then fell in behind him.<br />
<br />
Down the corridor they shuffled, Jason scratching at his unkempt beard, and rubbing his thighs to encourage them into unaccustomed movement. They passed through the door at the end of the corridor and into an anteroom.<br />
<br />
‘You are to wait here,’ the leader said before leaving the room through a wide glass door in the opposite wall.<br />
<br />
Jason blinked against the strong light that streamed in, and held up a hand to shield his eyes while they adjusted. He looked around the room, which was hung with artworks of a sort he had not seen since leaving Earth.<br />
<br />
The leader returned. ‘Mr Fabrioni will see you now,’ he said, and once more left through the glass door, issuing in the process a gesture which to another Ospasian would indicate that its issuer should be followed but which to a human meant nothing intelligible. Jason followed him through the glass door and the other guard followed on behind.<br />
<br />
The door gave onto a larger room, with even more sumptuous furnishings and decoration than the other, and dominated at its centre by a large table set with an opulent cloth and gold cutlery. At the far end of the table sat a small man with ginger hair receding in a widower’s peak and greying at the ears, and whose top lip was edged with a pencil-thin moustache. A small, triangular patch of whiskers decorated his chin and danced up and down as the man chewed on a piece of the rare steak from the plate before him. He was dressed in the finest linen that all but masked his tendency to rotundity, and wore on his right forefinger a ring set with a large diamond; not the largest that Jason had seen but certainly the largest in a ring.<br />
<br />
‘Ah, Mr Smith. I understand you have had a change of heart,’ Fabrioni said, his thin, piping voice immediately an irritant to Jason, ‘although I suspect a change of clothing would be more welcome.’ He wrinkled his nose at the stench that emanated from Jason, the result of forty-seven days in solitary confinement with no creature comforts. ‘At last, you are prepared to give me the information I have asked of you.’<br />
<br />
‘No,’ Jason responded, ‘that’s not what I’m offering. I don’t trust you. If I tell you how to get there you’ll have no further need of me. I’ll take you there.’<br />
<br />
‘You think that I would kill you without having verified the accuracy of your information? I would look foolish, don’t you think, if you misdirected me and were, shall we say, unavailable for further consultation. In any case, I am not a killer. I have Ospasian mercenaries to do that for me. Killing is such a messy business, and they enjoy that sort of thing. Indeed, they are remarkably good at it. No, my friend, I fully intend that you will join us in our quest.’<br />
<br />
‘And when you have what you want?’<br />
<br />
‘I am not an unreasonable man. You will be rewarded with you life, if what we find lives up to your report. Otherwise…’ He ended his statement with a shrug of his shoulders and a twisting of his mouth.<br />
<br />
Jason’s stomach churned and grumbled in the presence of the meal on Fabrioni’s plate.<br />
<br />
‘Ah, you will be very hungry, no doubt. Please. Sit down. My man will fetch you some food. I suspect hog soup is not on our menu.’ He clapped his hands and a slight, wasted manservant came in and stood behind Fabrioni’s left shoulder. Fabrioni spoke quietly to the servant, who left the room, then cut another square of steak and lifted it to his mouth. ‘Wine, Mr Smith? Please help yourself.’ He gestured towards a flask with his knife.<br />
<br />
Jason reached out and lifted the flask of rich red wine that stood at the centre of the table. He filled the nearest glass as the servant returned with a plate of hot, delicious, normal food and set it down in front of him. He put down the flask, forgot about the wine for a while, and set about the meal like a dog that has not been fed in a long time.<br />
<br />
Fabrioni continued his monologue, ‘We shall need your ship, of course. This one is not really suited for long jumps and, in any case, does not have the necessary power for the task ahead of us, not to mention the equipment we require.’<br />
<br />
‘We’ll need manpower as well as engine power.’<br />
<br />
‘We have you and your three crew, my three crew – not counting Alonso, of course, who would be quite useless – and the nine Ospasians. Sixteen should do it.’<br />
<br />
‘The Ospasians know what we’re going to do? And they’re willing to help?’<br />
<br />
‘They know as much as they need to know and they will do almost anything for money. They are very useful employees, although it’s a damned shame that they are so attractive to pretzel flies…’<br />
<br />
‘Sixteen will be enough.’<br />
<br />
‘Alonso will show you to your cabin for the night. You can rid yourself of your farmyard smells and prepare for our transfer to your ship tomorrow.’<br />
<br />
Jason sipped on his wine. ‘What about my cut?’ he ventured.<br />
<br />
‘Your cut?’<br />
<br />
‘You’re paying the Ospasians. Why should I work for you for free? After all, I found the thing and, by rights, it’s all mine.’<br />
<br />
‘It will not be yours if you are dead, Mr Smith.’<br />
<br />
‘No, it will be my sister’s.’<br />
<br />
‘Ah yes, your sister. A charming woman. And the main reason why you should work for me for free.’<br />
<br />
Jason’s face became pale as the blood drained to his boots. ‘If you lay so much as a finger on her I’ll—’<br />
<br />
‘I already told you that I am no killer, Mr Smith.’<br />
<br />
‘But your bloody Ospasians are.’<br />
<br />
‘Quite so, Mr Smith, quite so, and apparently not averse to eating their victims… I promise you that, if the need arises, she will know nothing about it. For that matter, neither will you: I guarantee that you will not outlive her by so much as a millisecond. And now, Mr Smith, I wish you a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day. Alonso! I will take brandy in my quarters.’ Fabrioni rose from the table and strutted from the room.<br />
<br />
Jason raised his glass and gulped down its content, then threw the glass at the wall where it shattered into a thousand-and-one pieces. The few remaining drops of wine spattered an expensive-looking wall-hanging. Jason wished he had not emptied the glass quite so well. Roused by the noise of the breaking glass, four Ospasians burst into the room, their disruptors unholstered and armed. Satisfied that there was no cause for alarm, they shuffled back out of the room to return to whatever it is that off-duty Ospasians do with their time. ‘Humans!’ one of them grunted as he left.<br />
<br />
Alonso entered the room, took in the debris and wine stains at a glance, and announced, ‘If you would care to follow me, sir, I will show you to your room.’<br />
Jason stood to his feet, picked up the half-full flask, and followed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
He woke from a fitful, dreaming sleep still feeling exhausted. After forty-seven days in solitary confinement in a small, ill-equipped cell, he found the bed too soft, the air too fresh and the room too temperate. The alcohol and his stomach, which was unaccustomed to being full, had also taken their toll on his ability to sleep well. The only favourable circumstance had been the absence of pretzel flies, since the Ospasian quarters were at the other end of the vessel, and he had been awake long enough and often enough to notice that they were missing.<br />
<br />
He had been tossing and turning for about an hour since his last episode of sleep when he noticed that the ship was waking up. People and other species were moving about, easing themselves into the new day, preparing for their transfer to Jason’s craft. He did not bother to busy himself as all his belongings were already aboard <i>Endeavour</i>: he had been captured and brought over to Fabrioni’s vessel in the clothes he had stood in. He turned over again and tried once more to sleep. He would be sent for when Fabrioni was no longer willing to wait, and he was in no mind to make life easy for the richest and most malevolent industrialist the known universe had ever seen. He may be a prisoner but, as Fabrioni realised, he was an extremely valuable one.<br />
<br />
He was summoned from his eventual sleep by a gentle tapping at the door of the cabin. He picked up his watch and looked at the time. The tapping repeated. ‘Come in,’ he shouted.<br />
<br />
The door slid back to reveal Alonso carrying a fresh change of clothing that had been brought from <i>Endeavour</i>. ‘We intend to transfer to your vessel in forty minutes, sir. If you would be so good as to prepare yourself and join us at the airlock…’<br />
<br />
Jason looked at the man. Not only was he wasted physically but his sunken eyes betrayed an emptiness of soul such as belonged to someone without the slightest glimmer of hope, whose hollow life was filled with endless drudgery and constant tedium. He had seen androids with more sparkle. He sat up and swung his feet onto the floor, then reached out and took the clothing from the empty shell that stood before him. ‘Thank you, Alonso, you are very kind.’<br />
<br />
A slight movement of Alonso’s eyes in Jason’s direction betrayed the surprise that the man experienced at being thus acknowledged. He maintained his composure with a slight clearing of his throat. ‘Will that be all, sir?’<br />
<br />
‘Thank you, yes.’ Alonso turned and left the room, closing the door after him. Jason wondered what held him in Fabrioni’s service.<br />
<br />
He dragged himself out of bed and stretched and yawned, arching his aching back. He showered and then pulled on his fresh clothing. Having eaten so much the night before, he felt no need for food, an idea which, after weeks of constant hunger, satisfied him almost as much as food itself. He took water, left the room and headed for the airlock.<br />
<br />
He was surprised to find that he was the first to arrive but pleased that it gave him chance to look through the porthole at his ship that stood stark in full sunlight against the black, spangled backdrop of space. As a prospector’s vessel, it was not the most beautiful thing ever built by man but, for Jason, it was home. He found himself longing to be back aboard <i>Endeavour</i>, to be reunited with her crew, to have her underway again and be working her.<br />
<br />
His reverie was interrupted by the slow-crescendoed grunting of approaching Ospasians. Fabrioni had mentioned nine of them. There were only four aboard so the others must be on <i>Endeavour</i>. He hoped his crew had been well-treated and that the ship was not crawling with damned pretzel flies; at least the Ospasians kept their numbers in check. Where the hell did they keep coming from?<br />
<br />
The first two Ospasians came into view. Seeing him, they switched to English. For some reason, their culture required them to use the language of other races in their company, if known. ‘Exciting?’ one said, ‘Not really. I had more fun as a chrysalis.’ The other, Jason presumed from the quivering of his throat-sac and the screech that sounded like a leaking party balloon, laughed: it was difficult to tell what was happening on such immobile faces. Then again, it may have been merely an expression of agreement. Jason had not met Ospasians before this episode of his life, and his limited encounters with them had not revealed whether they had a sense of humour. Since one of them had used the word ‘fun’, he thought it possible although by no means certain, since pleasure and amusement do not necessarily coincide.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, Fabrioni came into view, trailed by an even more morose-looking Alonso and, behind him, the two other Ospasians.<br />
<br />
‘I am glad to see you are prompt, Mr Smith,’ said Fabrioni, ‘I would hate to put off our adventure any longer than necessary. You have already, by your stubborn unwillingness to cooperate, delayed us by more time than I care to think about.’<br />
<br />
‘Where’s your crew?’<br />
<br />
‘My crew is staying here to keep an eye on things. I am sure we will manage without them. On reflection, I thought they would be quite useless for the task we have in hand, perhaps even obstructive, if not an actual liability.’ Jason said nothing but thought the odds reduced. ‘Shall we leave?’ Fabrioni’s question was seen for the order it was and all moved into the airlock and through it to the shuttle.<br />
<br />
An Ospasian took the controls while another sealed the airlock and released the docking bolts. As the shuttle edged away from Fabrioni’s ship, Jason stationed himself on the bridge beside the pilot and watched <i>Endeavour</i> grow larger.<br />
<br />
Fabrioni stood behind him and announced, ‘While you were playing your little game, Mr Smith, I took the liberty of exploring your vessel. Fascinating. Very utilitarian. You will be pleased to know that I have in no way interfered with any of its systems. I am fully aware that we need it in perfect shape for the task ahead of us.<br />
<br />
‘I had your crew familiarise the Ospasians with every aspect of its navigation. Since I had your life at my disposal, they were more than willing to cooperate.’<br />
<br />
‘To what purpose?’ Jason interjected, squeezing his fists tight closed. His brow furrowed and his eyes blazed with fire.<br />
<br />
‘For the purpose of replacing your crew with my Ospasians, of course. Your crew are now tucked away in the brig, where they will remain until your job is complete. A role reversal, if you will: now I have their lives at my disposal, their fate depends very much on your continued cooperation. I could have used this threat before, perhaps, but, then again, until they had finished training the Ospasians they were not expendable, a fact of which you would have been aware.’<br />
<br />
‘You can’t seriously expect the Ospasians to master our technology that quickly. I need my crew, we can’t function without them.’<br />
<br />
‘The Ospasians have been travelling in space for centuries longer than we, Mr Smith. They are extremely accomplished at crewing starships. They are stationed in the armoury, by the way, so if you have any intentions of staging a one-man coup, you will have to do it with your bare hands.’<br />
<br />
Jason slumped into a seat. The odds had just been lengthened again. He sat in silence for the remainder of the short journey.<br />
<br />
When he finally stepped onto <i>Endeavour</i>, he heaved an involuntary sigh of relief. ‘I’ll be on the bridge in ten minutes,’ he said, and then dictated, ‘We will be underway in twenty.’ He imagined that Fabrioni would have no objection to getting on with the job and, in any case, did not care if he did; <i>Endeavour</i> was his ship and he was its captain, whoever it was operating for and whoever was crewing it.<br />
<br />
In his cabin, he turned on the comms panel, logged in and tapped the ‘Send Message’ icon. ‘Function disabled’ popped onto the screen. He tapped the ‘Read Mail’ icon. ‘Function disabled’ again. So much for not interfering with systems. He tapped the ‘Systems Admin’ icon. ‘Access denied – insufficient permissions’.<br />
<br />
He felt his pulse pounding in his ears, and the muscles in the sides of his face began to ache from the force with which he clenched his teeth. ‘Damn you,’ he shouted as he pounded both fists on the comms panel. He turned and swept out of the room and made his way to the bridge.<br />
<br />
Two Ospasians awaited him. He ignored them while he spent the next half hour working out just how much of his ship he had control over. Not much, it turned out.<br />
<br />
‘We have prepared the ship for departure,’ the Ospasians announced.<br />
<br />
Without acknowledging them, he logged on to the command console and hit the ‘Systems check’ icon. ‘Ready for launch,’ the computer declared, and requested the coordinates of the destination and way markers for the flight plan. He was impressed, having expected the Ospasians to be unable to get this far without him. He looked at them and thought he detected a puzzled look on their faces, which looked as they always did. They asked, ‘Is something wrong?’ He shook his head and the Ospasians returned to the consoles they had been monitoring. He punched in the flight plan and pressed ‘Commence launch’.<br />
<br />
<i>Endeavour</i>, like some great, dreaming dragon summoned from the sleep of centuries, turned until it faced the first waypoint. As if in anger at being awoken, the light engines burst in a brilliant explosion of fierce incandescence. The ship shuddered as the initial wave of compression from the thrust propagated through her frame. For a lingering second or two, nothing happened and then she began to edge forwards. Soon, Fabrioni’s cruiser dwindled to nothing as the distance between the two ships grew, and <i>Endeavour’s</i> speed built in response to the irresistible force of her engines. Space folded in on itself as <i>Endeavour</i> slipped through the barrier and leapt forward, unleashed from the drag of Einstein Space.<br />
<br />
Jason addressed the Ospasian at the helm, ‘You can handle this?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course,’ came the matter-of-fact reply.<br />
<br />
‘Good. Call for me if there’s a problem.’ He left the bridge and headed down the corridor leading towards the brig.<br />
<br />
An Ospasian stood blocking the way. Seeing Jason approach and the look on his face – humans are so easy to read, he thought – he slipped his hand under the flap of his holster and clicked off the safety catch of his sidearm.<br />
<br />
Jason approached the guard. ‘I want to see my crew.’<br />
<br />
‘That will not be possible.’<br />
<br />
‘Look, I’m not going to try to get them out. You can come with me. I just want to see them.’<br />
<br />
‘That will not be possible.’<br />
<br />
Jason stepped forward, intending to push past the guard, but checked his advance when the armed disruptor came into view.<br />
<br />
‘It will not be possible.’<br />
<br />
‘OK. I get your message, you little turd.’ He wanted to swat away the five or six pretzel flies that had landed below his left eye but was unsure, despite his value to Fabrioni, that the disruptor would remain undischarged if he made any sudden movement. He felt the mouthparts of a fly probing under his lower eyelid as they had when he slept while incarcerated on Fabrioni’s ship, and he fought the instinct to react against the intrusion. He stepped back, raising both hands slowly and deliberately, showing the Ospasian that he was unarmed and non-threatening. ‘OK, I’m going now but you can expect to see me again.’<br />
<br />
He turned and strode away along the corridor, knocking the pretzel flies off as he went. They harassed him for a while, giving up their pursuit only when they were about a hundred metres from the guard, to whom they returned as though they were attached by elastic.<br />
<br />
Jason headed off to the crew quarters where Fabrioni had installed himself. He hammered on the door until the diminutive figure appeared. ‘I want to see my crew,’ he demanded.<br />
<br />
‘They are in the charge of the Ospasians. Ask them.’<br />
<br />
‘I already did. I was told that seeing them would not be possible.’<br />
<br />
‘Then they are doing their job properly.’<br />
<br />
‘Why can’t I see them? I want to know they’re safe.’<br />
<br />
‘You should think of them as hostages, held to ransom. The fee I require is your cooperation and the relinquishment of any rights you feel you may have over our objective. Simple, really.’<br />
<br />
Jason clenched his fists and jaw and took half a step towards Fabrioni, his eyes aflame with rage. Fabrioni’s face began to crumple as, for the first time, a genuine fear of his captive began to take hold of him, there being no Ospasians ready to hand. Jason checked himself and, instead of delivering the devastating blow he had intended, shouted at Fabrioni, ejaculating spittle into his face, ‘You bastard! You complete and total bastard! How do you live with yourself?’<br />
<br />
Sensing that the danger may have passed, Jason’s anger having been expended in the verbal onslaught, Fabrioni smiled and answered, ‘Unlike you and your crew, very comfortably.’<br />
<br />
The camel’s back broke and Jason lunged forward with a vicious right-cross that caught Fabrioni full in the face, lifting him off his feet and throwing him through the air and crashing against the bulkhead. He slithered down the wall to the floor. Jason stepped forward and stood over the startled industrialist with his fists ready to rain down further punishment. ‘I want to see my crew!’<br />
<br />
There was the sound of hurried shuffling in the corridor, the nearest Ospasians ever come to running. Sensing his route out of danger, Fabrioni shouted, ‘Guards!’<br />
<br />
The door slid back and three Ospasians rushed in and grappled Jason to the floor. Jason was surprised at their strength which was not evidenced by their physical appearance, and there had been no struggle in their very first encounter; the Ospasians had merely ambushed and stunned him, and dragged him to the cell.<br />
<br />
Fabrioni hoisted himself to his feet and steadied his shaking frame with a hand oustretched against the wall. With his other hand, he wiped away the blood that poured from his broken nose. ‘Take him away,’ he ordered, ‘and lock him in his cabin. He can stay there for a couple of days.’<br />
<br />
The Ospasians heaved Jason up and frogmarched him away. ‘I’ll kill you, you bastard,’ Jason shouted as he was dragged away. The Ospasians said nothing. Jason spent his two days calming down and formulating a plan.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Jason opened the door that led into the cabin the Ospasians were using as a common room. Eight unblinking faces turned to see him. ‘Er… Take me to your leader.’ He rolled his eyes in disbelief that he had used that phrase.<br />
<br />
‘Follow me,’ said one of the mercenaries making, at the same time as he rose from his seat, the strange gesture Jason had seen before. The Ospasian led him through a door at the far side of the cabin and into another room with even more pretzel flies than the room they had left. ‘The Smith human wishes to address you, Excellency,’ he said in English for Jason’s benefit.<br />
<br />
‘Very well, make the introduction.’<br />
<br />
‘This,’ said the first Ospasian, indicating the other with a sweep of an arm and a deep bow, is His Excellency, Dlaax, our commander.’<br />
<br />
‘Tlarx,’ began Jason.<br />
<br />
‘No, no, that will not do!’ said the underling with, were Jason able to discern any change in the Ospasian’s face, what he would have interpreted as an expression of horror. ‘It is quite rude to mispronounce an Ospasian’s name. His name is “Dlaax”. Do you get that? “Dlaax”, not “Tlarx”.’ His throat-sac quivered and shimmered in several shades of pink and yellow.<br />
<br />
Jason tried harder to distinguish the subtle differences in sound that the guard had made, ‘Dlarx,’ he said. The shimmering of the Ospasian’s throat-sac intensified.<br />
<br />
‘That’s close enough for a human,’ said Dlaax, ‘It never ceases to amaze me how successful your species has been, with your needs for respiration and the elimination of waste. How you ever learnt to function out here in space I will never understand. What do you want?’<br />
<br />
Jason brushed away the pretzel flies that were attempting to land in his eyes and around his lips to satisfy their need of salt. Dlaax had been direct and Jason responded in like manner. ‘How much is Fabrioni paying you?’<br />
<br />
‘That is a private contractual agreement and is none of your concern.’<br />
<br />
‘It is my concern if I wish to outbid him for your services.’<br />
<br />
‘And how would you achieve such an ambition? You have no money.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s not entirely true. I have plenty of money. I will have plenty more if you help me to stop Fabrioni stealing what is rightfully mine. More than enough to, say, double what he is paying you… All of you…’ He was talking loud enough to be heard through the door that stood open behind him. ‘I will need to see the contract, of course, so I can be sure you’re not cheating.’<br />
<br />
The guards in the other room, whilst pretending to be engrossed in their own undecipherable pass-times, were listening intently to the conversation that was taking place with their leader, one of them translating <i>sotto voce</i> for those unable to understand English. The background level of grunting rose considerably at the mention of improved pay.<br />
<br />
‘The object of our mission is of great value?’ Dlaax posed.<br />
<br />
‘Fabulously so,’ said Jason, smiling.<br />
<br />
Dlaax shuffled in his seat at the sight of Jason’s teeth, suppressing his disgust and annoyance at this breach of protocol. He settled again, and appeared to be ruminating on the offer, although his inscrutable face showed, at least to humans, no indication of what was going on in his mind. ‘We are a mercenary race, Mr Smith. We are quite happy to sell our absolute loyalty to the highest bidder. Can you guarantee that Fabrioni is unable to outstrip your offer?’ As if to punctuate his question, his long, sticky tongue whipped out, swept around the outline of his mouth, and disappeared again along with a dozen or so pretzel flies.<br />
<br />
‘If you stay with Fabrioni, you will get what you agreed with him. If you help me, I will see that you are well paid for your efforts. If he offers you more I will beat his offer. I can guarantee that.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax’s unblinking eyes fixed on Jason’s for too long, at least for humans, to be polite. Jason held his nerve and returned the stare, not knowing if that was the right thing to do or not, willing himself not to blink, keeping his face as free from expression as a human being could and pretzel flies allowed. These guys would make brilliant poker players, he thought.<br />
<br />
‘Is that all?’ Dlaax queried, still maintaining eye contact.<br />
<br />
‘I’ll leave the offer on the table.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax broke off the stare and cast his eyes across the desk. ‘I see no evidence of … Ah! A figure of speech. Another human inefficiency: talking in riddles.’<br />
<br />
‘I hope you find my proposition interesting. I’ll leave you to think about it.’ Jason turned and strode out of the room. The Ospasians fell silent as he passed. He saw some of them straining to see past him to catch any indication Dlaax may be showing interest in the new deal. Jason noted that, whatever they thought of humans, they thought highly of hard cash. Their murmuring resumed as he passed beyond their room and into the corridor.<br />
<br />
He had played his best card. With his crew and the advantage of their familiarity with the ship unavailable to him, his only option was to get the Ospasians to switch allegiance. He had no idea if it was possible to buy them over but his brief discussion with Dlaax gave him hope that it just might be. He had little knowledge of the Ospasian mind. If the chief Ospasian thought anything like a human being on the make, he expected Dlaax to come back with a higher demand. Whatever he asked, Jason would be able to pay, provided Dlaax would wait long enough for the liquidation of the soon-to-be acquired asset…<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Jason was wrenched out of the best sleep he had had in 48 days by the bursting open of the cabin door. Several pretzel flies circled around his head, looking for a suitable place to land. Commander Dlaax stood in the doorway with a document chip in his hand. Seeing Jason was awake, he entered the room and closed the door behind him.<br />
<br />
<br />
‘I thought we should finalise our arrangement before we become too busy,’ Dlaax said, and handed the chip to Jason. ‘Here is the contract you wanted to see.’ He reached inside a flap on the breastplate of his armour and took out a second document chip which he also handed over to Jason. ‘This will be the contract between us. I will keep it separate from the other. It is important that Fabrioni is unaware of our subterfuge until after we arrive at our destination. I want to have him where I can control him and beyond the easy reach of his security forces when he finds out the new circumstances.’<br />
<br />
‘Security forces?’<br />
<br />
‘He has a private army.’<br />
<br />
‘So why does he need you?’<br />
<br />
‘Because he cannot trust those they subjugate to remain loyal without oversight.’<br />
<br />
‘It seems he cannot trust you.’<br />
<br />
‘He cannot afford to trust me. You however, assure me that you can…’<br />
<br />
Jason smiled a wry smile. He wondered if the expression meant anything to Dlaax or whether human faces were as mysterious to him as Ospasians’ to humans. ‘Well, I guess that, for much the same reason, my crew must remain where they are for now. I assume they are being treated well.’ Dlaax said nothing and gave nothing away by his expression or lack of it.<br />
<br />
Jason returned his attention to the document chip, which he slotted into a reader. He scanned through the entire document, pausing briefly at salient details. ‘I will have to read this properly before I sign it. And there is no mention of money.’<br />
<br />
‘Ah, yes. I want five times what Fabrioni is paying, three for my men. This is not negotiable so please do not attempt to sway me.’<br />
<br />
Jason fixed him with a cold stare and held him in it in silence for a good thirty seconds, returning the compliment of their previous meeting. ‘I don’t blame you for attempting to maximise your profit from all this,’ he sneered, ‘but I don’t like it. If our arrangement works out well, I will agree to your enhanced payment. If not, you and your men will get nothing and they will find out that you tried to short-change them.’<br />
<br />
It was Dlaax’s turn to play it cool. He held the stare as he spoke, ‘You know as well as I do that you can do nothing without my squadron on your side. Since I have no doubt that you will be fully satisfied by our services, I will agree to your conditions being included in the contract.<br />
<br />
‘We reach the first waypoint in two hours. I will return in one to finalise our agreement.’ Without further interchange, he spun on his heels and left the room accompanied by his complement of pretzel flies.<br />
<br />
Jason felt only a degree of satisfaction at this turn of events. He was relieved that the Ospasians would be working for him, and confident that they were unlikely to change sides again. While Fabrioni was fabulously rich, he would find it hard to lay hands on enough ready cash to win a bidding war, whereas Jason would soon be in possession of something worth an obscene amount of hard cash. This last fact was the one that took the edge off Jason’s satisfaction. He had had to betray his secret to Dlaax…<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
During the next two weeks, Jason kept himself to himself, leaving Fabrioni to keep his own company and the Ospasians to contemplate how to spend their newly-inflated ill-gotten gains. He took all his meals in his own quarters, served by Alonso, a man for whom he developed immense pity. What was the hold that Fabrioni had on him? He suspected that Alonso had once been a proud and successful man. He showed him kindness and respect, to the extent that Alonso began to seek out Jason’s company in the rare moments when Fabrioni could spare his services. Those times were strained, with Alonso unable to talk freely but happy, if that was the word, to be in the company of a man with some humanity. They played chess together, and Jason found him to be a skilful opponent who presented him with gambits unknown to any of the masters whose works he had read.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
‘Checkmate, Mr Smith.’<br />
<br />
‘Again. You play a mean game, Alonso.’<br />
<br />
‘Thank you, sir. I must say that your game is by no means trivial. Quite interesting, in fact.’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve spent many a long hour studying chess. Tasks such as the one we’re about to undertake involve brief periods of frenzied activity interspersed with eons of waiting. They provide lots of scope for boredom. Chess provides me with plenty of intellectual stimulus. I must say, it’s a great pleasure to play a human opponent, especially one so talented, instead of the ship’s AI. How did you get to be so good?’<br />
<br />
Alonso froze. He decided to take the risk and open up a little. ‘My father was a Grand Master on my world. Naturally, he inspired me to play. Thanks to his coaching, I too became a Grand Master by the age of thirteen, and Supreme Master, beating all opponents in three systems by the age of twenty. Including the most advanced AI opponents in our arena.’<br />
<br />
Jason’s expression showed that he was impressed. ‘I must be a poor challenge by comparison.’<br />
<br />
‘By no means. Your AI is obviously very advanced. How often do you beat it?’<br />
<br />
‘About 30 percent, at present, but improving slowly.’ Alonso nodded his approval. ‘You obviously had no time for more conventional pursuits, such as work…’ Jason had cast the hook.<br />
<br />
‘On the contrary. My father also owned a large engineering empire covering two of the three systems I mentioned. He built it up by hard work, and won contracts on reputation. He had me work my apprenticeship before setting me up as head of a division. When he … died, I inherited everything.’<br />
<br />
‘So… How come…?’<br />
<br />
‘I am here? In these straitened circumstances?’ The man’s face became hard and he fell silent. Jason thought the conversation may be about to end. Alonso pulled himself up straight and looked Jason in the eye. ‘I believe you to be an honourable man, Mr Smith. I will tell you.<br />
<br />
‘We began to win contracts in the third system. We had made inroads through our <i>pro bono</i> work – there was nothing cynical about our efforts in that direction. We are – were – an ethical company. My father progressed because of the kindness of others and believed in giving the same chances to other unfortunates. Anyway, we won some major contracts and earned the displeasure of the system’s major player, who made me an offer I dared not refuse.’<br />
<br />
‘Fabrioni?’<br />
<br />
‘The very same. He had his henchmen everywhere, it seems. In one swift move, he had our whole family abducted – all of them, I mean: cousins, nephews, nieces, … not one escaped. We had never thought such a thing possible. It was totally unexpected.<br />
<br />
‘That was not the worst of it. He had every one of them, including me, implanted with a lethal device. One word from him and a whole dynasty would be wiped out in the time it took a signal to cross the systems. To demonstrate the effectiveness of the device, he had my father’s implant tuned to a different signal. When we would not agree to his terms – what made us think we could resist him, I have no idea – he had the signal transmitted.’ Jason winced as Alonso’s face turned into a mask of unbridled rage, ‘My father took five hours of utter agony to die, and I was made to watch every second of it.’ Alonso hammered the table with both fists. Chessmen flew in every direction. Tears of dismay flowed down Alonso’s cheeks. Blood ran bright red from the knuckles torn open by the violence of his outrage. Jason sat in absolute silence, hardly daring to breathe.<br />
<br />
In an instant, Alonso composed himself and became once more the self-effacing, mild-mannered man that Jason had come to pity. ‘So, you see, Mr Smith, I, the new Emporer, was completely robbed of authority in my own empire. If I did not comply with Fabrioni’s will, my whole family would suffer the fate I had just witnessed. It was too much. I had no choice but to accede. The family was set at liberty, free to go on with their lives as long as all remained well in the boardroom.<br />
<br />
‘Gradually, of course, our men were replaced with his to the extent that our continued existence made no difference to the business. He has absolute control. I remain here in his service for the sake of my family. If I leave, they die.’<br />
<br />
Alonso rose from his seat and, in silence, recovered the chessmen from around the room. He set up the board again. ‘I apologise, Mr Smith, for my outburst. Would you give me the honour of another game?’ Jason was pleased to bring some pleasure into the life of this broken man. He lost again, beaten by the better player.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Jason slept well once asleep but took hours to find sleep: there was so much to be anxious about. He was confident that he had Fabrioni beaten but would Dlaax be satisfied with his fee or, once he realised the true value of their goal, would he succumb to greed? What was the Ospasian code of honour? What were its limits? He had access to the Googlenet and spent hours surfing but found very little about them or pretzel flies.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
‘Mr Smith, please come to the bridge.’<br />
<br />
‘On my way.’ Jason pushed himself off his bed and climbed into a clean overall. He caught himself in the mirror and rubbed a hand over his stubble. Somewhere in the room he had some boots. He sifted the pile of debris that had accumulated on the floor until he found them. Out in the corridor, he was swarmed by the dozen or so pretzel flies that kept station around the Ospasian guard outside his room. ‘Hi,’ he said to the inexpressive visage that turned to view his emergence.<br />
<br />
‘Hmm.’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve been summoned to the bridge. Are you coming?’<br />
<br />
‘May as well.’<br />
<br />
Jason strolled casually along the corridor, leaving the shuffling Ospasian farther and farther behind him. He glanced through the portholes as he passed them and was excited by the asteroids picked out by the light of the distant star. They had arrived.<br />
<br />
Fabrioni was waiting on the bridge. ‘Well, Mr Smith, we have finally reached our objective. Can we see our quarry from here?’<br />
<br />
‘It will be less visible from where you’re going.’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean?’<br />
<br />
Jason looked at Commander Dlaax, who had been standing behind the industrialist, and raised his eyebrows.<br />
<br />
Dlaax understood the gesture to imply that he should enact their plan. His throat-sac quivered, and two of his squadron stepped forward in obedience and stood one each side of Fabrioni. ‘Kroep! Slaert! Escort Mr Fabrioni to the brig and incarcerate him.’<br />
<br />
‘What?’ The two Ospasians each took a firm grasp of one of his arms. ‘What?’<br />
<br />
‘We are no longer in your employ, Mr Fabrioni, having received a much better offer from Mr Smith.’<br />
<br />
‘What? You treacherous, mercenary, bastards! I’ll pay more, I’ll—’<br />
<br />
‘Huh,’ muttered Kroep, ‘what you pay wouldn’t feed a pretzel fly for one of your earth-weeks.’<br />
<br />
‘You’ll do nothing,’ said Jason, ‘except rot.’ He turned to Alonso. ‘Do we have any hog soup aboard?’<br />
<br />
Alonso was visibly shaken by the turn of events that had materialised before him. ‘Er, … n- … n- … no.’ His face took on the appearance of alarm in collision with astonishment. ‘We have … we have …’ He glanced at the fuming Fabrioni, at Dlaax, and then back to Jason. ‘We have Ospasian Slebnet. It is of a similar consistency … and quite unpalatable to humans.’<br />
<br />
‘That will do nicely. See that he gets nothing else without my say-so.’<br />
Alonso struggled to conceal a smile, still apparently in fear of his master. The smile won.<br />
<br />
‘What? You won’t get away with this, you stupid, snivelling little man!’<br />
<br />
Dlaax’s throat-sac throbbed and quivered. ‘You are still here,’ he said aloud for the benefit of the humans, the irritation in his tone barely disguised. With a rare show of embarrassment in the form of blushing throat-sacs, Kroep and Slaert dragged the protesting Fabrioni away to lock him up.<br />
<br />
‘You’re a fool, Smith,’ Fabrioni raged as he was dragged from the bridge. ‘They’ll double-cross you next, mark my words,’ he shouted from the corridor. ‘They’ll kill you and eat you, you know. That’s what Ospasians do to their captives. You’ve heard the stories ab—’<br />
<br />
Jason had not heard the stories but he did hear the dull thud that rendered Fabrioni unconscious and the scrapping of his boots along the corridor.<br />
<br />
‘Can we see our quarry from here, Mr Smith?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, we can. You can call me Jason, Dlarx.’<br />
<br />
‘Thank you for that honour. However, my name is still Dlaax.’<br />
<br />
‘I’m sorry. I mean no offence. I just find it … difficult. Out of interest, why is the pronunciation of your name so important?’<br />
<br />
‘No offence taken, Jason. I am fully familiar with the inadequacies of the human vocal system. Some of the subtleties of our speech are impossible for any species without a throat-sac. Perhaps you have not noticed how similar all Ospasians are in appearance? My name is my uniquely distinguishing feature. No two living Ospasians have the same name. The person to whom you refer, one Dlarx, lives on the third moon of the fourth world of the Ospasian system. She is a great and illustrious female, the mother of many thousands.’ As he spoke, Dlaax bowed his head in deference to the great Dlarx.<br />
<br />
‘OK…’ Jason held his face as expressionless as he could, totally flummoxed as he was by the strangeness of the Ospasian way of life. ‘Take a look at the screen.’ Jason worked a keyboard and the images on the monitor that filled a whole wall of the bridge cycled through a series of realignments followed by zooms and resolution enhancements. Eventually, a large spinning rock filled the field of view. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’<br />
<br />
‘A rock?’<br />
<br />
‘A very special rock, Dlarx. This asteroid belt was formed from the collision of two planets. At least one of them had a highly evolved biosphere, with coal shares many metres thick laid down. We believe that the collision was sufficiently close to one of those deposits that the extreme temperatures and pressures produced were enough to transform the carboniferous deposits without smashing them to dust. What you see on the screen is fourteen tonnes of solid diamond, give or take. That’s 7x10<sup>7 </sup>carats. All we have to do is pick it up.’<br />
<br />
‘But it is spinning at a phenomenal rate.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s where the expertise of my crew comes in useful.’ Dlaax eyed Jason in silence. Jason thought he detected a slight flush in Dlaax’s throat-sac; he was learning to look there instead of at the Ospasian face for non-verbal signs. ‘Time to let them out of the brig, I think.’<br />
<br />
‘That will not be possible.’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean?’<br />
<br />
Dlaax’s throat-sac flushed a deeper red. ‘Your crew is not here, Jason.’<br />
<br />
Fabrioni’s last statement came into Jason’s mind. ‘What do you mean, “not here”?’<br />
<br />
‘Your crew is on Fabrioni’s ship. He thought it best to keep them there in the interests of maintaining your cooperation once we arrived, and to reduce your number of allies. Had I known we would have need of them, I would never have agreed.’ A swathe of pretzel flies was swept into his mouth by the tongue that darted out over his face.<br />
<br />
‘That bloody stupid, pig-headed, idiot of a man! I could kill him with my bare hands!’<br />
<br />
‘Why are we keeping him?’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean?’<br />
<br />
‘We don’t need him. Why don’t you kill him? Or have us do it for you? Is he not what humans would call “dead weight”?’<br />
<br />
‘It’s not my way. Not the Human way. What he’s done is against our law, and it’s the law he has to answer to. Besides, I think Alonso will enjoy playing with him for a while…’ He thought the quivering of Dlaax’s throat pouch may have conveyed amusement with the idea but he could not be sure.<br />
<br />
‘So, Jason, how do we stop the rock?’<br />
<br />
Jason turned to look at Dlaax, and fixed him with an anxious gaze. ‘Without my crew, I’m not sure we can. I’ll need to use your men but the equipment won’t be familiar to them,’ he pointed at Dlaax’s non-humanlike hands, ‘and will be difficult for them to operate. The task is dangerous and the risks of injury or worse are great.’<br />
<br />
‘My men are very skilled and familiar with all manner of human technology. I am sure they can master your equipment.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s the problem. It is my equipment. I designed and built it. It’s tailor-made for the job. I used common components where possible but much of it is original. There’s nothing like it anywhere else. My crew is the only one ever to have worked with anything like it.’<br />
<br />
‘We can only try, Jason, and for such a prize…’<br />
<br />
Jason paced across the deck and back. ‘Get them all here. I’ll show them what’s involved.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax summoned his squadron and they settled around the screen. Jason stood before them and cleared his throat, making a noise that surprised some of the Ospasians. ‘Such bad language, and from a <i>human</i>,’ one of them said.<br />
<br />
‘The recording you are about to see shows an example of the task that lies ahead of us—’ Jason looked around at the large Ospasian who grunted a loud translation for the benefit of the non-linguists.<br />
<br />
The Ospasian met his gaze. ‘Well, what do you expect?’ Three pretzel flies were swept away.<br />
<br />
‘—except it is a much simpler case. The rock we are here for is rotating much faster than this one, and on three axes not two.’ The screen showed an asteroid tumbling towards them.<br />
<br />
‘<i>This is the asteroid we will harvest</i>,’ said the commentator, ‘<i>and here is the rig we will use.</i>’ The camera panned away from the rock and zoomed in on a piece of machinery. ‘<i>Once we have matched speed with the object, twelve of these devices will be deployed around it. We will assemble them along the sides of an imaginary cube containing the asteroid.</i>’ The film ran on, showing the team of engineers manoeuvring the twelve devices together around the object to form the cubic frame at rest relative to its centre of mass. The corners of the cube were bolted together and the camera drew back to show the rock spinning centrally within the huge structure. ‘<i>Now we leave the frame to do its job. Onboard computers analyse the asteroid’s rotation and control jets that spin the frame to match that rotation.</i>’ The film stepped forward, each step showing the frame beginning to rotate, accelerating, matching angular velocity in one plane, and then repeating the processes for the second plane until the frame and asteroid rotated as one. A view from a camera on the frame showed the asteroid stationary from its point of view, and the stars in the background whirling in violent spirals. ‘<i>Once we’ve matched rotation, we have to capture the asteroid.</i>’ The frame contracted slowly, jets firing intermittently to counter the effect of momentum being transferred towards the centre of mass, until it came into intimate contact with the rock. Then, projections emerged from assemblies at the corners of the cube and crept towards the rock. Once in contact, they locked rigid; the rock and frame were as one.<br />
<br />
‘<i>Now we slow the rock down,</i>’ said the narrator, ‘<i>using the same jets that brought the frame up to speed.</i>’ The film stepped forward as before but, this time, showed the whole assembly being brought to rest. ‘<i>This part of the process takes much longer, of course. The angular momentum in such a large object is enormous. Act too quickly and the frame collapses with disastrous consequences… It’s quite usual to—</i>’<br />
<br />
Jason stepped forward to the console and skipped the projection to near the end of the film.<br />
<br />
‘<i>—and now that the asteroid is stationary relative to the ship, we can easily grab it and haul it to its destination.</i>’ The asteroid, now denuded of its cage and harnessed to Jason’s ship, dwindled to an invisible point in the blackness of space.<br />
<br />
Jason stopped the film and addressed the Ospasians. ‘That’s all there is to it, really. You’ll have to learn how to manoeuvre and assemble the components into the cube. I can train you but you may not find them easy to handle. The mission will take longer, that’s all.’ He addressed Dlaax, ‘Did we load enough food?’<br />
<br />
‘That depends on how much Slebnet Fabrioni consumes…’ His throat quivered and bands of colour rippled down it. All the Ospasians joined in the display, looking at each other and making squealing noises, all of which suggested to Jason that they were having a huge laugh at Fabrioni’s expense.<br />
<br />
Alonso, acting out of character, stood up and announced, ‘Thanks to Fabrioni’s long-term planning beyond this particular venture, there is enough human food aboard for several months, especially as he is not eating any of it.’ The laughter-display rippled once more through the Ospasian squadron. Jason grinned and fell to uncontrolled laughter. Alonso only smiled…<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Jason was amazed by the rapidity with which the Ospasians learnt the new technology and the way they adapted themselves to the specialised controls. Inside a week, Jason felt they were ready to begin assembling the frame. In much the same time, Fabrioni had begun alternately begging Alonso for a change of diet and threatening him with vengeance if he continued to bring Slebnet. Alonso’s mood flipped between triumph and despair, depending inversely on Fabrioni’s attitude. Jason’s attempts to placate the unstable Alonso with promises of justice and liberation for his family met with varying degrees of success.<br />
<br />
Jason headed down to the Ospasians’ quarters and opened the door to Dlaax’s room. ‘Commander Dlarx, I think we are ready to begin,’ said Jason, to him and indirectly to the Ospasians assembled in the anteroom. ‘We’ll get some sleep and start work on the next watch.’<br />
<br />
‘Very well. My men are eager to begin.’ A general grunting started up, and Jason got the impression that the word ‘eager’ was not an entirely appropriate adjective in relation to Dlaax’s troops. ‘We will be suited and ready at the main airlock at eight a.m., ship’s time.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Jason slept well. He was always more relaxed with a clear objective in his grasp. At last they were doing something constructive. He arrived at the airlock shortly before eight, and the whole Ospasian contingent was assembled and ready. The first of three teams entered the airlock and waited the five minutes it took for the air to be harvested. Then they exited to open space, propelled by the thrusters on their suits. It took another five minutes for the airlock to re-pressurise in readiness for the next team, lead by Dlaax. Ten minutes later, the third team, lead by Jason, entered the airlock.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alonso, who was staying on board, had slipped away from the group when the first team entered the airlock, and worked his way along the corridor that passed centrally through the entire ship, stepping through bulkheads as he went. Once he was past half way, he started closing bulkhead doors. At last, he reached the brig. He opened the hatch in the door to Fabrioni’s cell.<br />
<br />
‘I’ve been waiting for you.’<br />
<br />
‘Well, I’m here now.’<br />
<br />
‘It’s time to let me out.’<br />
<br />
‘You know I can’t do that.’<br />
<br />
‘You know you have no choice…’<br />
<br />
Alonso stood in silence and stared at Fabrioni through narrowed eyes. Fabrioni sat down in the corner of the cell and pulled his knees to his chest. He lowered his forehead onto his knees and sighed. He slumped, appearing to shrink further into the corner.<br />
<br />
Alonso stiffened and stood erect, his face twisted by the sneer that spread across it. ‘I must leave you here for now,’ he said. He turned and left the brig, retracing his steps along the corridor to the other end of the ship, where he entered the bridge.<br />
<br />
<br />
By the time Jason got out of the airlock, the Ospasians had already begun manoeuvring the third section of the rig into position. He was impressed at their adeptness.<br />
<br />
He gave a quick squirt from his suit’s thrusters and jetted towards the assembly. As he approached, something struck him as not quite right. The section was accelerating. ‘Look out Slaert!’ he shouted over the comms link. From the very edge of his peripheral vision, a startled Ospasian jetted suddenly into view. The section advanced towards an unavoidable collision with the assembly. Another Ospasian, named Sleert, turned slowly around just in time to see the wayward section filling his vision. He tried to clear the narrowing gap but his effort was too late. His carapace cracked like a walnut between the jaws of a nutcracker.<br />
<br />
‘Oh God, No!’ Jason accelerated to the stricken Ospasian’s aid. Dlaax and a couple of others reached Sleert before him. Sleert wailed over the comms link, and his limbs writhed and twitched uncontrollably. Jason drove forwards, and saw hundreds of small, black objects coruscating in the light of the several suit-lamp beams that were converging on Sleert. The Ospasian’s suit was torn apart and venting, not that he needed atmosphere, and it was clear that the objects were being ejected from his ruptured carapace. ‘Pretzel flies,’ Jason blurted, ‘Damned pretzel flies!’<br />
<br />
Dlaax’s expressionless face twisted around in his helmet, and, by the light of the helmet’s internal LEDs, Jason could see the rapid, rhythmic flushing and rippling of Dlaax’s wattle. All the Ospasians were doing the same, and trying to release their mortally-wounded comrade from the jammed assembly.<br />
<br />
Jason shouted at the Ospasian at the new section’s controls, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Back it up! Pull it out of there!’<br />
<br />
‘I have no control here. Something is wrong. Nothing responds.’<br />
<br />
‘What?’ Jason turned and looked at <i>Endeavour</i>. No-one was aboard who could have overridden the controls. Fabrioni was in the brig, and Alonso, although Jason had left him aboard, was not capable of doing anything technical. Everyone else was out here.<br />
<br />
The section’s thrusters suddenly fired. ‘Wait, it’s working again,’ its driver announced. The Section’s momentum was killed and it began to ease back from the assembly.<br />
<br />
‘Stop that rig from rotating,’ Jason shouted. No-one moved. ‘Get to work before it hits the rock and someone else is injured!’ A team of Ospasians stirred from shock to bring the rig back under control.<br />
<br />
Jason turned his attention back to the accident. ‘Is there anything we can do for him?’<br />
<br />
‘Unfortunately not,’ said Dlaax, ‘or, at least, nothing that can save him.’<br />
<br />
The other Ospasians began a rumbling incantation, their throat-sacs vibrating and pulsating colour. Jason was stunned as Sleert’s face became even more expressionless than normal...<br />
<br />
‘Our brother Sleert is gone,’ Dlaax announced. ‘He is gone, and is with us no more.’<br />
<br />
‘<i>Farewell to Sleert, who is with us no more,</i>’ replied the others in unison.<br />
<br />
‘His name shall live on.’<br />
<br />
‘<i>Another shall bear it with pride,</i>’ was the response.<br />
<br />
‘Farewell, brother Sleert.’<br />
<br />
‘<i>Farewell, brother.</i>’<br />
<br />
The Ospasians who had been making the rig safe moved in to join the ritual, and then silence and stillness fell on the whole group.<br />
<br />
Feeling awkward and dazed, Jason said, ‘OK, let’s call a halt so you can do whatever you need to do … whatever is your custom. Take whatever time you need.’<br />
<br />
The mournful Ospasians formed up around the corpse into a protective shell. Moving off as one, they guided their brother’s remains towards <i>Endeavour’s</i> main airlock.<br />
<br />
A single tear burgeoned in Jason’s right eye but, in the weightlessness of space, failed to flow down his cheek. He sniffed, and then followed the entourage.<br />
<br />
It took them almost an hour to get back aboard <i>Endeavour</i>, the whole process of passing in groups through the airlock stretched out by effect of the group’s morose mood. Jason went through in the first batch and headed straight to the bridge once he was aboard.<br />
<br />
He logged in on the main console and ploughed through the logs to find out what had happened. He found the sequence of commands that had overridden the controls on the frame section and resulted in Sleert’s death. He also found a record of a message having been sent during the turmoil. Both actions had Fabrioni’s ID attached to them. Jason traced the message but found that it was encrypted and that its destination was a secure address. He went off in search of Alonso.<br />
<br />
Alonso was in his quarters, listening to ancient Earth music. ‘Ah, Mr Smith. Have you ever listened to Mozart? I find him quite stimulating.’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, but he’s not as good as Sibelius, in my opinion. Anyway, I didn’t come here to pass the time of day. What were you doing while we were all outside?’<br />
<br />
‘I was sleeping. Why?’<br />
<br />
‘Because, my friend, it seems that Fabrioni found some way to interfere with our operation out there. You were the only person aboard, other than him. How do you think he managed it?’<br />
<br />
‘I have no idea, Mr Smith. As I said, I was asleep.’<br />
<br />
‘Has he got to you somehow, Alonso? Has he threatened you?’<br />
<br />
‘What are you suggesting?’<br />
<br />
‘I’m suggesting that, for some reason, you let him out of the brig while we were outside. I can think of no other explanation.’<br />
<br />
‘I assure you, Mr Smith, I did no such thing. He is the last person I would want loose on this ship. Do you think he would willingly return to the brig, if I had released him? I find your implication quite disappointing.’<br />
<br />
Jason bit his lip. ‘Did you do anything on the bridge, Alonso? Did you use Fabrioni’s ID to send a message?’<br />
<br />
‘I did not. I do not know his ID. He has never trusted me with anything like that.’ Alonso stood as he spoke. His face had hurt written all over it. His body trembled in anger.<br />
<br />
Jason left the room and headed for the brig, collecting a couple of Ospasians on the way past the armoury. At the brig, he opened the hatch in the door and scanned around for Fabrioni. He couldn’t see him. He shouted back along the corridor, ‘Come on, you two! Get a move on!’ The Ospasians shuffled a little quicker. When they arrived, he unlocked the door and stepped through it, and they followed him in with their hands on their disruptors.<br />
<br />
Jason spun around and saw Fabrioni slumped in the corner behind the door, his head resting on his knees. Jason was shocked on first seeing him, thinking he was dead. Fabrioni sighed, signalling that he was still very much a live. Jason lunged forward, grabbed the man’s collar, and dragged him to his feet. ‘How did you do it?’ he shouted into his face. Fabrioni looked away, and sighed again. ‘Talk to me! I want to know how you did it!’ Still the industrialist said nothing. Jason let go of him, letting him fall into a crumpled heap at his feet, and barked at the Ospasians, ‘Search him! Strip him. Search him intimately if you have to. If he has anything other than his clothing on him, I want to know. Make sure he is locked in when you leave.’<br />
<br />
Jason stormed out and fumed his way back to the bridge, where he sent a message of his own. He occupied himself by running diagnostics on the part-assembled rig and the section that had collided with it. Everything seemed to be intact and working. That fact, and the action of doing something constructive, proved therapeutic, calming Jason down.<br />
<br />
One of the Ospasians left in charge of Fabrioni approached him. ‘We found nothing,’ he said.<br />
<br />
‘Nothing?’ Jason looked puzzled, although his expression was lost on the Ospasian.<br />
<br />
‘Nothing at all.’<br />
<br />
‘You stripped him?’<br />
<br />
The Ospasian nodded, a gesture he had seen humans doing and had deduced it meant ‘yes’. He saw that Jason had taken the meaning and felt quite proud of himself; the slow inflation and flushing of his throat-sac went unnoticed by Jason. ‘Not so much as a pretzel fly dropping. Nothing,’ he said. ‘Outside or in,’ he added for clarity.<br />
<br />
‘OK. Thanks.’<br />
<br />
Jason returned to his work at the console, and the Ospasian eventually worked out that he could leave, his task concluded satisfactorily. Half-an-hour later, Jason too left the bridge and went in search of food. The galley was empty, except for Alonso, who sat and ate in silence, not casting even a glance in Jason’s direction. Jason sat at a different table to eat.<br />
<br />
<div _mce_style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
‘Dlarx,’ said Jason, ‘may I ask you something?’<br />
<br />
‘You may ask. I may not answer.’<br />
<br />
‘When Slaert was wounded, where did all the pretzel flies come from?’ Dlaax, annoyed by the mispronunciation of the dead Ospasian’s name, a shortcoming of Jason’s which had in part contributed to Sleert’s demise, fixed his eyes on Jason; his wattle turned pale and hung still. The silence between them became almost oppressive, and Jason felt like squirming. ‘I’m sorry. I meant no offence.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax decided to respond. ‘You have seen something that very few humans have ever witnessed, Jason. You know that we have no need of respiration or elimination.’ Jason nodded. ‘We do however have a great need of pretzel flies.’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve seen you eat them.’<br />
<br />
‘No, you have seen us ingest them. We do not digest them. They pass through our gut unharmed and lodge beneath our carapace. There, they fulfil their part in a symbiotic relationship. They devour our waste and release oxygen from it directly into our vascular system. For our part, we provide them with food and shelter. They leave us only to dispose of their small amount of waste and to seek out additional sources of sodium with which to supplement their diet, a substance which our bodies can ill-afford to share with them. Unlike us, they cannot survive in the vacuum of space. We mourn not only Sleert’s passing.’<br />
<br />
‘How long for?’<br />
<br />
Dlaax just looked at Jason.<br />
<br />
‘How long do you mourn?’<br />
<br />
‘We mourn until we hear of another who has taken Sleert’s name. As you can imagine, out here that can be a very long time indeed.’<br />
<br />
‘We have limited time out here.’<br />
<br />
‘True. And we have work to do. Is all well with the rig?’ Jason nodded. ‘Then we shall recommence in 24 hours.’<br />
<br />
<br />
Twenty-four hours passed. The teams went out and finished assembling the rig, and Alonso found himself locked in his quarters while the work went on.<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, the rig was assembled and began matching its rotation with that of the rock. Before long, it held the rock in its embrace and began the slowing-down process. ‘And now, we wait,’ said Jason to the assembled Ospasian squadron.<br />
<br />
‘How long?’ asked Dlaax.<br />
<br />
‘About four weeks.’<br />
<br />
‘Four weeks!’<br />
<br />
‘Normally, we would go and start on another rock while we wait but there’s nothing else here of any use to us and we have no spare rig sections anyway.’<br />
<br />
‘Four weeks…’<br />
<br />
<br />
The time dragged for everyone. Jason played chess with the ships AI, having no stomach for Alonso’s company any more. Jason regretted that but, in the absence of any explanation for the activities in the log on the day Sleert died, he could no longer trust the man, confining him to his quarters except for exercise, trips to the galley, and taking food to Fabrioni, all under close Ospasian supervision.<br />
<br />
During this time, Alonso’s mood continued to swing between misery and petulance. In Alonso’s depressive phases, Jason took meals to Fabrioni, who was always in a state of vengeful aggression, despite Jason’s having relented on the strict Slebnet diet. Alonso’s manic phases became increasingly difficult to manage, and so he was confined to his quarters permanently. Jason had to take on the job of feeding Fabrioni and Alonso. He noticed that their moods seemed consistently opposite.<br />
<br />
For a while, the Ospasians amused themselves outside, playing a long and complex wide-game. Jason had tried to join in but gave up because he could not work out the point of it. It came as no surprise to him that Dlaax was eventually proclaimed the winner.<br />
<br />
Once the game was over, Jason discovered that Ospasians had a penchant for alcohol, and very little resistance to it. Fortunately, Jason reflected, they were all happy drunks… Unfortunately, Ospasian singing was symptomatic of their over-indulgence and put Jason in mind of a gathering of a thousand schoolboys with chronic and explosive flatulence. Once all the stock of alcohol was gone, they tried making their own, getting instructions on distillation from the Googlenet. Four of the five ensuing concoctions, based loosely on an old Earth recipe, were toxic to humans in the large quantities that seemed to have no lasting ill-effect on Ospasians. Fortunately for Jason, they were also utterly disgusting and so he was in no danger of overdose. The fifth was passable, and resulted in Jason’s passing-out for several days but, to his great surprise, absolutely no hang-over.<br />
<br />
The asteroid had been at rest for four days before anyone noticed.<br />
<br />
<div _mce_style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
The next stage of the operation was to dismantle the frame and then attach the rock to <i>Endeavour</i> ready for transport. Since that meant Jason and all the Ospasians would be outside for several hours, he prepared meals for the captives and went to Alonso’s cabin for the first delivery. Dlaax was waiting for him.<br />
<br />
‘Ah, Jason, Alonso was making such a noise that we thought he would be safer in the brig. So we sedated him and put him in with Fabrioni.’<br />
<br />
‘You sedated him?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes. With a disruptor on low power. It will not harm him, and he is already conscious again.’<br />
<br />
‘Was it wise putting them together?’<br />
<br />
‘They seem quite calm in each other’s company.’ He pointed at the food that Jason carried. ‘This is for them?’ Jason nodded. ‘I will come with you and check there are no problems.’<br />
<br />
Down the corridor they went, Dlaax falling behind because of Jason’s quicker pace. Dlaax increased his effort and almost managed to catch up. Two more Ospasians were waiting at the cell door.<br />
<br />
‘Open up,’ Dlaax huffed as he arrived, and one of the Ospasians obeyed, entering the cell behind the opening door. The other stepped aside to allow Jason through with his burden. After Jason stepped through, the first Ospasian left the cell, pulling the door to behind him. ‘Lock it,’ said Dlaax.<br />
<br />
Jason, realising what had happened, turned quickly, dropped the food containers, and grabbed at the bars to keep the door from closing but he was too late. Dlaax peered in at him. ‘Come on, Dlaax, there’s no need for this.’ He cast a glance at the two quiescent figures on the cell floor, ‘These two are out of it.’<br />
<br />
‘No, Jason, they are “in it”, as you humans might say. And so are you.’<br />
<br />
‘What’s going on?’<br />
<br />
‘Our contract is now terminated. You should have read the small print.’<br />
<br />
‘What the hell are you talking about?’<br />
<br />
‘I’m talking about the clause that allows us to back out of the contract if more advantageous opportunities arise. The same clause that enabled me legally to change allegiance from Fabrioni to you. And now, more advantageous opportunities have arisen.’<br />
<br />
‘You’re keeping the whole rock for yourself…’ Jason shook his head in dismay as he spoke.<br />
<br />
‘Quite so. We shall, of course, release you unharmed when we get back to civilisation. You can do what you want with those two.’ Dlaax and his two underlings turned and left.<br />
<br />
‘Come back, you double-crossing bastard!’ Jason shouted. The only reply was the diminuendo of shuffling Ospasian feet. A couple of pretzel flies buzzed through the bars and headed after their hosts.<br />
<br />
Jason threw himself down on the floor against the wall opposite his fellow prisoners. ‘Bugger you, you bloody Ospasian bastards!’ he shouted. He drew up his feet, rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.<br />
<br />
‘You must have known this would happen,’ said Fabrioni. Jason looked up and saw the two men opposite him, sitting quite calmly, their faces expressionless, their eyes blinking in unison. Their seated postures were identical. They looked at each other, blinked twice, smiled, and turned back to Jason.<br />
<br />
‘What’s going on,’ said Jason. For the first time, with them sat so close to each other, he noticed how very similar their faces were, discounting Fabrioni’s facial hair.<br />
<br />
‘I am not …,’ Fabrioni began,<br />
<br />
<i>‘… entirely what I seem</i>,’ Alonso finished.<br />
<br />
‘I don’t get you.’<br />
<br />
‘You assumed that I was …’<br />
<br />
<i>‘… human, because of my outward …</i>’<br />
<br />
‘… appearance. Nothing …’<br />
<br />
‘<i>… could be …</i>’<br />
<br />
‘… further from …’<br />
<br />
‘<i>… the truth.</i>’<br />
<br />
‘Do you have to do that? It’s weird. And what the hell are you talking about?’<br />
<br />
The two looked at each other again, blinked twice and turned back to Jason. Alonso began the explanation, and they continued blinking in unison as he spoke. ‘<i>I am what is known to humans as a Binar. I am one being in two distinct and complementary personas; yet each of me is fully the other.</i>’<br />
<br />
‘But the story you told me about your family,’ Jason fired at Alonso, ‘and Fabrioni’s coup…’<br />
<br />
‘<i>All true, but not the entire truth. Many decades …</i>’ (the Fabrioni persona took over) ‘ago, my physical forms became separated because of a long …<i> and bloody war. This one was captured and taken from our sector, and eventually adopted by the family I described to you. Such great physical separation is not natural to my kind and …</i>tends to leave us polarised into our basic elemental psychologies. I became pure dominance and aggression <i>… and I, pure servility and compliance. The family was indeed generous and successful, and my attributes endeared me to them. When they began to move into my sector, they became a threat </i>… to the industrial empire I had built among humans, and I moved against them without mercy.’<br />
<br />
The Binar blinked, and fixed its four eyes on Jason, as if assessing his level of confusion. He went on, ‘The great temporal and spatial separation I had experienced, you could say, “hardened” the polarisation in my personas to the extent that I could limit neither my …<i> dominance, nor my servility. Each persona was untempered by the other. Until this barrier of distance was broken down, I could not coalesce. I suffered what, in a human, could best be understood as a multiple personality disorder. It is a rare but not unheard-of condition in my kind, but much more severe because of our inherent …</i> duality. I now regret the extremes of my behaviour but it was unavoidable. Think of me as two elements from the opposite ends of the electrochemical series. In coalescence they come together to form an inert compound. In isolation however they are explosively …<i> reactive. This is a barely adequate analogy.</i>’<br />
<br />
‘I think I get the picture. But why are you still behaving like you have been? You’d been together on your ship for ages before I came along. Shouldn’t you have, what was the word, “coalesced”? But you’ve been acting like master and slave, and like a couple of mental patients since you,’ he pointed at the Fabrioni persona, ‘were incarcerated.’<br />
<br />
‘I am fully coalesced but …<i> it suited my interests to hide my </i>… nature. Subterfuge, you see. For one thing, Ospasians … <i>and Binars have been enemies for centuries and do not keep good</i> … company. For another, adopting the guise of … <i>a greedy industrialist and his pathetic manservant</i> … obscured the true purpose of my … <i>mission from those who would wish it to fail. As to … </i>my recent behaviour, losing control of the situation has placed my cause in dire jeopardy. My fear is that all is lost, and this has caused … <i>me considerable stress and internal conflict</i>.’<br />
<br />
‘So what was the true purpose of your mission?’<br />
<br />
The Binar blinked four eyes as one for a while, as an internal dialogue took place. ‘I will tell you, since there is nothing you need do now to stop me. My kind has long sought to … <i>avenge those who died in the war. As Fabrioni I have gained us much strength</i> … and developed a new weapon which, with the one missing component in place, will … <i>make us invincible</i>.’<br />
<br />
‘A very large diamond?’ The Binar’s two heads nodded in unison. ‘It’ll do you no good now, though, will it? You’re stuck in this cell with me and at the mercy of the Ospasians.’<br />
<br />
‘<i>An unfortunate position indeed, since …</i> mercy is not an Ospasian virtue. Their rumoured tendency to consume …<i> their victims, by the way, is factual</i>.’<br />
<br />
‘Well, thanks for that. That really helps.’ Jason knitted his fingers together behind his head.<br />
<br />
‘Do not be overly concerned. Help is on its way. The signal …<i> I sent, the one you interrogated me about, was …</i> to my ship. It should be arriving before too long. Unlike your ship, it is armed. Even an Ospasian will have the sense to back down and release us.’ Jason’s sharp intake of breath and grimace took the Binar by surprise. ‘<i>Is there a problem?</i>’<br />
<br />
‘I also sent a signal. Your ship won't be there. I had it taken care of.’ Vibrations reverberated through the ship as the Ospasians began stowing the dismantled frame in the equipment hold. Jason grimaced. ‘At the speed these guys are working, your ship couldn’t have got here in time anyway. We’ll be away to goodness knows where before long. Gone before even my people can reach us.’<br />
<br />
The noises of work continued for several hours, and then silence fell and nothing happened for several hours more. Jason voiced his thoughts, ‘What’s happening now, I wonder? I would have thought they’d have us under way by now.’ The Binar said nothing but fixed him with its four eyes staring from two impassive faces.<br />
<br />
The sound of shuffling feet grew louder until they stopped outside the door. Dlaax peered through the bars. ‘We have a problem,’ he announced.<br />
<br />
‘Don’t care. It’s your problem, not mine.’<br />
<br />
‘Nevertheless, I require your assistance.’<br />
<br />
‘Go hang yourself.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax paused, his wattle throbbing in reflection of his contemplation at how Jason’s instruction might be fulfilled. He performed the Ospasian equivalent to shaking one’s head. ‘You will either do as I ask or suffer the consequences.’<br />
<br />
‘And just what consequences might they be? If you need me, you can’t dispose of me, and I couldn’t care less what you do with these two.’ He nodded his head at the Binar.<br />
<br />
‘Mmm,’ said Dlaax, ‘then we shall have to use other sanctions. You’ve tried Hog soup, now you can try Slebnet.’<br />
<br />
‘Forty-nine days… Let’s try for a new record. How about a hundred?’ A voice penetrated his mind: <i>I can</i> … sustain you … <i>Jason. We can</i> … wait for your … <i>rescue ship</i>. Jason stared wide-eyed at the Binar, who smiled back at him, nodding. ‘Or how about two? Let’s go for that, shall we? Two hundred days.’<br />
<br />
‘Then let us try you with no food at all. See how long you last then.’ Dlaax’s throat-sac throbbed and rippled in angry colour.<br />
<br />
Jason looked again at the Binar, and four eyes blinked back, and two mouths smiled their assurance at him. <i>I can</i> … sustain you, said the voice in his head. ‘Do your worst,’ he shouted after the receding Dlaax. ‘You need me. Don’t forget that!’<br />
<br />
<br />
Jason’s first week without food was agonising, with hunger gnawing at his guts; yet he felt no weakness. An Ospasian guard was never far away, and Jason noticed that the time each one spent on duty grew shorter by the day. ‘This is more than boring,’ he heard one say to another as they changed the watch, ‘it’s enervating. I’ve never felt so tired, or so hungry.’ The Binar just smiled at Jason, and another pretzel fly fell dead to the floor, adding to the numbers accumulating below the bars in the door.<br />
<br />
You are wondering … <i>how I do it?</i> Jason just looked at the Binar, who continued, I am not entirely … <i>restricted to these two</i> … bodies. As … <i>I can channel freely between</i> … my personas, so can I … <i>access any life-form</i> … within a short distance. I can transfer limited … <i>amounts of energy to</i> … and from … <i>other</i> … beings. But for the evidence of his well-being, Jason would never have believed it, even if he could have understood it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Fifty days passed. Dlaax put in a rare appearance. ‘You astound me, Mr Smith.’ Jason noticed the return to formality. ‘Would you not care for a steak?’<br />
<br />
‘Actually, I feel great, and not the slightest bit hungry. Have you solved your problem yet?’ He saw Dlaax’s eyes falling shut, the Ospasian swaying slightly, and felt his own strength growing.<br />
<br />
‘Pah!’ said Dlaax, shaking himself awake, ‘I will leave you to suffer a while longer.’ He shuffled off in a cloud of pretzel flies, which surprised him by falling dead <i>en masse</i> to the floor.<br />
<br />
<i>My skill</i> … with the Ospasians … <i>is growing. Their</i> … flies are easy.<br />
<br />
Jason smiled at the Binar. ‘They are not the only ones who eat their victims.’ At the sound of his voice, the Ospasian guard outside the door shuffled over and peered with tired eyes through the bars.<br />
<br />
The Binar smiled back. <i>Soon, I will</i> … have them … <i>dropping like</i> … their flies!<br />
<br />
Jason concentrated and thought, Can you read my mind?<br />
<br />
When you … <i>focus like</i> … that, yes, I can.<br />
<br />
Jason told the Binar about Sleert, and the Ospasians’ dependence on the pretzel fly, and tried hard to project an image of the inside of Sleert’s carapace. The Binar’s two heads nodded slowly. ‘But not, Dlarx,’ he said out loud, ‘we may need him.’ He thought he heard the Ospasian guard snoring but he may have been talking to himself. It was difficult to be sure.<br />
<br />
The Binar closed its eyes and held its breath. Thirty seconds later, a dull thud from outside the door signalled the falling of the guard onto the floor, into unconsciousness and, minutes later, death. ‘Only … <i>seven</i> … left.’<br />
<br />
Half an hour later, the replacement guard came along. He saw his fellow Ospasian lying on the floor and shouted, ‘Assoll, you lazy oaf, wake up. Assoll?’ He shuffled down the corridor at speed, stooped over the dead Ospasian and prodded him in all the appropriate places to check for Ospasian signs of life. ‘Oh no…’ He stood and, in panic, turned to head back down the corridor to raise the alarm. He swayed, and put out a hand to steady himself against the wall. As he moved along, he staggered from side to side, then stopped and sunk to his knees, his throat-sac quivering. ‘Ospa Assoll xrrospik shkurrkruxmi,’ he shouted into his comms link as he fell forward onto his face,<br />
<br />
‘<i>Now there</i> … are but six.’<br />
<br />
‘Assoll. Great name,’ Jason said to himself, smirking. To the Binar, ‘They’ll probably come in force now. Can you deal with more than one at a time?’<br />
<br />
‘Unfortunately, no, but … <i>they can have no</i> … idea that I am to blame … <i>for their predicament, so</i> … they will not stop me killing at … <i>least one more</i>.’<br />
<br />
‘Perhaps you’d better stop. If they think they’re not safe down here, they may just leave us to rot. We need food or whatever it is you do to survive.’<br />
<br />
‘Perhaps we … <i>can use the unfortunate</i> … circumstances to … <i>talk our way out</i> … of here. We are close to … <i>the engines. A</i> … radiation leak is … <i>killing</i> … their flies, perhaps?’<br />
<br />
‘Maybe. But insects are more resistant to radiation than larger organisms. If the Ospasians know that, they won’t buy the idea.’<br />
<br />
‘They are … <i>soldiers, not</i> … scientists.’<br />
<br />
‘And if we get out of here?’<br />
<br />
‘You … <i>have seen what I</i> … can do. Can you secure … <i>the diamond without the</i> … Ospasians to help you?’<br />
<br />
Jason bit his lip – So that’s why you’re keeping me alive. You still want the rock – ‘It depends what Dlarx’s problem turns out to be,’ he said, giving nothing away…<br />
<br />
They heard the corridor’s bulkhead door open. Dlaax shouted, ‘Smith! Are you alive?’<br />
<br />
Good, thought Jason, they haven’t connected us with the deaths. ‘Yes,’ he shouted back, ‘What’s going on?’ Dlaax was too preoccupied with the sight of his men lying dead on the floor to answer. ‘Dlarx! What’s going on?’<br />
<br />
‘There is a problem. Some of my men have died outside your cell.’<br />
<br />
‘What’s happening? Are we in danger?’<br />
<br />
‘Are Fabrioni and Alonso still OK?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes. Are we in any danger?’<br />
<br />
‘I do not know. The problem would seem to affect only Ospasians.’<br />
<br />
‘Get us out of here before it affects us!’<br />
<br />
Dlaax grunted a series of commands, and his men grunted what was obviously their dissent. A safety-catch clicked and the dissent subsided. Two Ospasians made their cautious way along the corridor as far as the first fallen Ospasian. They dragged him away. The grunting began again, and Dlaax shouted, ‘Silence!’<br />
<br />
In the cell, the Binar closed its eyes. ‘Don’t kill any more,’ said Jason, ‘Not until we’re out of here.’<br />
<br />
‘I am not … <i>killing, just</i> … weakening.’<br />
<br />
The sound of laboured shuffling came back along the corridor, followed by sounds of even more laboured dragging as the second lifeless Ospasian was taken away. Several pretzel flies fell to the ground. Dlaax’s throat-sac became bright red with alarm. ‘The flies! Our pretzel flies are dying! Slaert, check the bodies!<br />
<br />
Slaert baulked at the command. A disruptor was levelled at his head. He unzipped the first dead Ospasian’s suit and groped around inside it. His hand came out holding a fistful of dead flies. More grunting, and nodding and shaking of heads.<br />
<br />
The second body was dumped at Slaert’s feet, and he repeated his investigation with the same result. The two carriers slumped against the wall. ‘I feel so weak,’ said one of them. ‘Me too,’ said the other.<br />
<br />
Dlaax shouted along the corridor, ‘Are you certain you are unaffected, Smith? Whatever the problem is, it is killing our pretzel flies.’<br />
<br />
‘It must be a radiation leak from the engines. Get us out of here, or we’ll be affected too.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax ordered another of his troops along the corridor to open the cell door. He obeyed in double-quick time, his throat-sac quivering with fear, and returned just as quickly to the relative safety beyond the bulkhead door. Jason left the cell, followed by Fabrioni and then Alonso. ‘You will be locked in your quarters,’ Dlaax told them, and they were each marched off by a still-fit Ospasian. Dlaax followed Jason to his cabin. ‘You have had time to think, Smith, what is your decision?’<br />
<br />
‘No dice.’<br />
<br />
‘What? You need a gambling device to make the decision?’<br />
<br />
‘Let me explain. No!’<br />
<br />
Dlaax left room and had the door sealed.<br />
<br />
Jason sat on his bed and concentrated. Can you still read me?<br />
<br />
<i>I can</i> … but it is less … <i>easy when I am</i> … separated.<br />
<br />
Can you finish off the two Ospasians you weakened?<br />
<br />
I can but … <i>it will take</i> … longer.<br />
<br />
Do it. Take down any more that you can reach and then I’ll get us out of here.<br />
<br />
<br />
Two more Ospasians died, and the third, who had been sent to open the door, had fallen too ill to be of any threat. <i>Jason</i> … I have done all … <i>I can. The remaining three</i> … are beyond my … <i>range</i>.<br />
<br />
OK. I’m going to rig a fire detector. All cabin doors are unlocked in an emergency. Meet me by the entrance to the bridge. Jason climbed on a table and began prising the cover off the detector on the ceiling. The door slid open, and Jason turned towards the opening in surprise.<br />
<br />
‘What are you doing,’ said Dlaax?<br />
<br />
‘Trying to get out of here.’<br />
<br />
‘No need. Follow me.’ This time, Jason recognised the gesture, and followed Dlaax to the bridge. Once there, they stood opposite each other and waited.<br />
<br />
‘What are we waiting for?’<br />
<br />
‘You will see.’<br />
<br />
The door opened and Alonso was escorted in by two Ospasians. Now … <i>there are only</i> … three. Slaert grunted at length and Dlaax nodded, his throat-sac slowly pulsating colour as it had when Sleert had been killed.<br />
<br />
‘I have tried sanctions,’ Dlaax said, ‘and now I must resort to violence. You had once a close attachment to Alonso. Perhaps you still feel some pity for him…’ He drew his disruptor and pointed it at Alonso’s shoulder. ‘The disruptor is a terrible weapon, Mr Smith. Death can be agonisingly slow.’<br />
<br />
Slaert groaned and wobbled. Dlaax and the other Ospasian looked at him.<br />
<br />
‘What’s the point, Dlarx?’ Jason asked, ‘It looks like you’ve all had it. Perhaps it wasn’t radiation. Perhaps your brews have killed your flies. Whatever the cause, why harm Alonso? You may not live to enjoy the proceeds from the rock.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax pulled the trigger, and Alonso’s shoulder dissolved. He screamed loud enough to shatter glass and fell writhing to the floor. Jason heard a second scream from the ship’s crew quarters. Alonso turned and looked at him with wide, watery eyes. ‘<i>Stop him!</i> <i>I cannot live with</i> … <i>only one persona</i>.’<br />
<br />
Dlaax started at Alonso’s words, and realisation burst upon him. ‘You are a Binar! <i>You</i> have been killing my men!’ Dlaax’s throat-sac flashed rampant displays of anger, and he pointed his disruptor at Alonso’s head.<br />
<br />
Jason’s will collapsed. ‘Enough!’ His whole body trembled with rage, and his knuckles turned white. ‘Stop it, you evil bastard. You win. I’ll help.’<br />
<br />
The Ospasian commander wrestled with his desire to kill the despised Binar. ‘Good,’ he said, forcing himself to lower his weapon, ‘I knew you would see reason.’ Slaert fell to his knees. Dlaax looked at him. ‘You are excused. Go and lie down.’ Slaert crawled to the door where he pulled himself back to his feet before staggering off down the corridor.<br />
<br />
A signal bleeped from the command console, and the remaining Ospasian soldier walked over to see what was happening. ‘Sir, two ships have just arrived and hailed us. Fabrioni’s ship and another prospector’s vessel. It seems that the Smith human’s crew is in command of Fabrioni’s ship.’<br />
<br />
‘Then it is a good job we have a desirable hostage.’ Dlaax pointed the disruptor at Alonso again.<br />
<br />
Just then, all power on <i>Endeavour</i> was cut and the bridge was plunged into darkness. The disruptor discharged, Alonso screamed again and was answered by his echo. Jason lashed out in the darkness and discharged his full energy into Dlaax’s face. He heard the Ospasian go down and the disruptor clatter away across the floor. Beams of torchlight burst through the bridge door, and someone shouted, ‘Everyone down on the floor!’ The beams sought out Dlaax, and he found himself staring into the wrong ends of six pulse rifles.<br />
<br />
<div _mce_style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
The Binar lay on a bed in the master cabin of Fabrioni’s ship. Its breathing was heavy and laboured. ‘Thank you … <i>Jason, for this</i> … final kindness, although I … <i>know you think I do</i> … not deserve it. Yes, I would … <i>have taken the</i> … diamond, and, yes, I … <i>would have killed</i> … you to get it. Now … <i>my people</i> … will never … <i>be avenged</i>…’<br />
<br />
‘There are other ways of righting wrongs. War is not the right way. The cycle of revenge is unending.’<br />
<br />
‘Perhaps … <i>one day</i> … we will … <i>find</i> … another … <i>way</i>. Regrettably, I … <i>will not</i> … live to … <i>see it</i>.’<br />
<br />
<div _mce_style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
On the bridge of Fabrioni’s ship, Dlaax and a much-recovered Slaert stood looking through the window at a stationary asteroid and two prospector’s vessels on the brink of departure.<br />
<br />
On <i>Endeavour</i>, Jason began his final words to the chastened Ospasian commander. ‘You will find that all your personal weapons have been confiscated, and the ship’s completely destroyed. We’ve also crippled all manual controls and laid in a course for the nearest Ospasian world. Your vessel is programmed to set off about a day after we leave.’<br />
<br />
‘Why are you letting us go?’<br />
<br />
‘Because the risk of a long and bloody war with your stupid race is all too probable if we don’t.’<br />
<br />
‘And the rock?’<br />
<br />
‘You can come back for it sometime, if you want. It’s worthless. A decoy. The real prize is 200,000 km from here, four times bigger, stationary, and waiting to be collected. That’s where we’re going now.’ As he spoke, the other vessel eased away from the group. ‘I hope we never meet again. In fact, I hope I never meet another Ospasian.’<br />
<br />
Jason signalled his crewman and <i>Endeavour</i> turned about to follow its companion. As the vessel accelerated away, Jason heard the voice of the third Ospasian over the comms link, ‘The Binar is dead, sir. Do you want some leg meat?’<br />
<br />
‘No thank you, I prefer the offal.’<br />
<br />
‘Sir,’ said Slaert, ‘why are we still speaking Eng—’Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-18054869987982849982010-11-02T23:20:00.005+00:002021-04-21T23:55:42.673+01:00Memory DumpCopyright © 2009<br />
<br />
<i>We are our memories. What if they are not our memories? Who are we then?</i><br />
<br />
Andy Weinberger rocked back in his seat and smiled as he thought about the day his life had changed. He reached out a solitary finger and punched the Enter key on his workstation. Somewhere above his head antennae twirled on their pivots in response, realigned to the next way-station and resumed the endless chatter that ensured the Monitors were constantly aware of the ship’s trajectory and every item of data gathered by the ship’s vast array of sensors.<br />
<br />
Andy swung to and fro and chuckled to himself as the screens rolled and flashed and retuned to the new frequencies. The Controller’s face materialised. ‘Hi, Andy, It’s been a long time. How’s it going.’<br />
<br />
‘Great, Chief, no problems. Everything is right on the button.’<br />
<br />
‘OK, Andy. We’re getting your transmissions loud and clear. We’ve had some interference from a magnetic storm over the last few weeks and it looks like there’s another burst due in the next day or so.’<br />
<br />
‘OK, thanks for the heads-up. I’ll double-check the buffering to make sure you don’t lose anything.’<br />
<br />
‘Great. You should be here within the week. We’ll run a bath for you.’<br />
<br />
‘Yeah, I’ll probably need it!’<br />
<br />
‘Do you have much for us?’<br />
<br />
‘Just three large crates of equipment for the mining operators. Very Special Delivery. Needs authentication with my ID and the Director’s to open it.’<br />
<br />
‘OK. I’ll let him know. The storm knocked out the last ID slave server update but that’s only a problem for newbies. No worries for old hands like you.’<br />
<br />
Andy held in a gasp, suppressed the anxiety that tried to crawl onto his face, and forced out, ‘OK, see you soon. Signing off for now.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Nine months ago Andy, like hundreds of others, had been a cab driver in New Seattle with the prospect of being a cab driver for the next 55 years, followed by retirement to the outer moon for whatever was left of his span. He was not called Andy then. He was from the Nameless classes. His mother had called him ‘Baby’, but he had soon learnt not to broadcast that. His father – at least the man who lived with his mother – had called him ‘Asshole’, and no one ever heard about that, or about why the man never called him ‘Asshole’ any more. Like every other Nameless, he had gone by the last five characters of his registration code: ND9BG, ‘En-di-nine-bee-gee’, or ‘Endi’ for short.<br />
<br />
His fare climbed into the passenger compartment and issued a curt instruction, ‘Downtown.’ Endi eased his cab onto the freeway and punched in the area code for the destination. The cab picked up speed and the control panel requested the further refinement of its instructions that would allow it to negotiate a move to the faster lanes. ‘Punch “Defer”,’ the man said, ‘I’m in no hurry.’ Andy did so, and the central computer mapped his route through the slow lanes. ‘How’d you like to fly?’<br />
<br />
‘Fly? I fly every day.’<br />
<br />
‘No, I mean off-world. To the stars.’<br />
<br />
‘In my dreams.’<br />
<br />
‘I could make it happen for you.’<br />
<br />
‘No way, man, I’m a Nameless.’<br />
<br />
‘We could trade. Your life for mine.’<br />
<br />
‘You wouldn’t like it.’<br />
<br />
‘From what I’ve seen of it, it would suit me fine. I know everything about you. I’ve been watching you for months.’<br />
<br />
‘But why would you want to?’<br />
<br />
‘Basically, because I’m bored. Bored with looking at the stars for day after day. Bored with reading junk. Bored with stasis pods. Bored of just about everything to do with my job. Actually, I hate it.’<br />
<br />
‘You don’t make a good pitch, man. Why would I want it?’<br />
<br />
‘Because you’re bored. I know you are. You’re sick of the constant interaction with customers that your job requires of you. Me? I’d love it. I can’t get enough of people. You? You’d rather be left alone. I know what you’re like, I pulled your file.’<br />
<br />
‘But that’s way illegal, even for a Nameless.’<br />
<br />
‘I have contacts.’<br />
<br />
‘I’d never get through the gene probe.’<br />
<br />
‘Like I said, I have contacts.’<br />
<br />
‘My associates would notice the change.’<br />
<br />
‘I am also very, very rich…’<br />
<br />
‘I can see that working…’<br />
<br />
The cab slowed and moved into the Downtown holding pattern.<br />
<br />
‘I’ll give you some time to think about it. I’ll see you in two weeks. Now set me down at the Bilgates building.’<br />
<br />
‘Bilgates building?’<br />
<br />
‘I said I had contacts.’<br />
<br />
The week that followed was the worst in Endi’s experience. He had whole days without fares, days with the worst imaginable fares, and he was stopped by the cops for routine checks five times in one day. He began to wonder if these events were more than chance happenings until a passenger died on him resulting in paperwork that would take weeks to process. He could believe that the other inconveniences had been set up to make the offer of a switch more tempting, but he could see no way of bribing someone to croak in the back of a cab.<br />
<br />
In truth, it was just one more bad week in his dull, repetitive life. The more he thought, the less reason he found to leave things as they were. He had no family since his mother died. If he had brothers or sisters, he knew nothing of them. As for close friends, he had no time. His main relationships were with garage staff and the landlord of his soapbox of an apartment, and he dealt with them mainly through the Googlenet. He was on nodding terms with a few cops and talked over a few beers with some of the locals sometimes but, other than them, he lived a pretty lonely existence. In a really good week he could afford a woman for the night – if he was not too tired. In a bad week, like this week, even a <i><b>pRo-Bot<sup><small>TM</small></sup></b></i> lay beyond his means.<br />
<br />
The chance of a quiet life in space seemed more attractive each day.<br />
<br />
‘Downtown,’ said the fare.<br />
<br />
‘Bilgates building?’<br />
<br />
‘No hurry.’ Endi hit “Defer.” ‘So, have you made a decision?’<br />
<br />
‘Uh-huh, I guess. Can you really fix it?’<br />
<br />
‘It’s already fixed. Open the partition.’ Endi hit a button and the glass screen between him and the passenger compartment slid open. ‘Climb through,’ said the fare, ‘The cab’ll manage without you for a while.’<br />
<br />
Endi looked back at his passenger, who smiled broadly at him, and who was wearing a cab driver’s uniform. Endi did the double-take, hardly able to believe his eyes at what he saw – the passenger was his double.<br />
<br />
‘Neat job, huh?’ He turned his face from side to side to show the workmanship of the face-job.<br />
<br />
Endi nodded and climbed through. His double passed him a package and an ID card, which Endi scrutinised carefully. ‘So, that’s what you really look like?’<br />
<br />
‘Looked like. Past tense. After today, that’ll be your face. Not too bad?’<br />
<br />
‘I hadn’t figured on restructuring.’<br />
<br />
‘Endi, I’m known out there, just as you’re known down here. If you want out, that’s the way it has to be.’<br />
<br />
‘But how could you be so sure I’d agree? You’ve gone and had the work done already.’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve always been a pretty good judge of character, and you know a good deal when you see one: my life for yours, this old cab in exchange for the stars, maybe even a trip to Earth. Open the package.’<br />
<br />
Endi opened the package to reveal an Off-worlder’s off-duty uniform. He stroked the material, and caressed the embroidered Service batch with his finger tips. ‘OK, let’s do it,’ he decided. Andy Weinberger slipped through the screen aperture and assumed the life of ND9BG. Endi changed his clothes and became the freight pilot.<br />
<br />
They arrived at the Bilgates building, and the new ND9BG gave the new Andy his instructions on how to complete the switch. ‘There’s a redhead at the security desk. Present your card to her and do whatever she says. Don’t talk to anyone else. You leave the planet in two weeks. Time enough to learn the ropes on your new ship.’<br />
<br />
Endi climbed from the cab and watched it clear the pad. Before it was out of sight, it picked up a fare as if nothing had changed. He walked across the plaza to the entrance of the building. The security guard saluted him as he held the door open, and Endi saluted back impeccably as he passed through. He scanned around the lobby, found the security desk and spotted his redhead. He walked over and held out his ID.<br />
<br />
‘Hi, Andy,’ she said, and took his card, ‘I’ll take you straight through. Follow me.’ She led him through a door, along a corridor and into a lift lobby. The lifts registered their presence and one was dispatched to take them to their destination on the 150th floor, a mere one-third of the way up the building.<br />
<br />
‘Here’s your apartment. The surgeon is waiting to see you.’ She pushed his ID card into the lock and the door opened. They walked in and a middle-aged woman rose to meet him.<br />
<br />
‘Andy, or soon-to-be Andy, I should say.’ She offered her hand and Endi shook it, surprised at the intimacy not normally given to a Nameless. ‘Shall we get started?’<br />
<br />
‘What? Now?’<br />
<br />
‘Why waste time? You have made your decision. There is no sense in delay.’ He acquiesced and she led him to the master bedroom where her equipment was set up ready for the task. ‘If you would like to remove your clothing, and lie on the couch, we will commence.’ She smiled at him. She continued to smile as he stripped off and, with raised eyebrows, nodded her approval when he dropped his pants.<br />
<br />
Endi clambered onto the couch and she lowered the treatment module over his face. He wondered why he needed to be naked… He felt a sharp pin-prick in his left arm as she injected him with an anaesthetic. The cold liquid tracked up his vein, and the ring of unconsciousness descended over his head.<br />
<br />
Five hours passed before he awoke, unable to see because of the heavy bandages wrapped around his head, and aware of a numbness in his loins.<br />
<br />
The surgeon spoke, ‘Welcome back, Andy. Everything went well. The bandages will be removed in two days, and you will be ready for the rest of your life inside a week.’<br />
<br />
‘You’ve not just been working on my face, Doc…’<br />
<br />
‘No,’ she replied, ‘The clue is in your new name.’<br />
<br />
‘What, Andy?’<br />
<br />
‘No, Weinberger. You are now Jewish.’<br />
<br />
‘Oh my God!’<br />
<br />
‘Don’t worry. Modern surgery means that you will experience little discomfort. Unfortunately for your benefactor, reconstruction is a little more problematic. It was six days before he was able to pee without difficulty…’<br />
<br />
Two days later, the bandages came off as promised. Endi looked in the mirror once and the sight of the swollen tissues of a losing prize-fighter was more than enough to satisfy his curiosity.<br />
<br />
‘Don’t worry,’ said the doctor, ‘the swelling will soon go down and the scarring will vanish under the treatment lamp. Tomorrow will be soon enough to do the internal work. Get plenty to eat today because you won’t be able to eat for three days after.’<br />
<br />
The redhead came in with a VR suit. ‘Time for your homework,’ she said, as she placed it on the bed beside him.<br />
<br />
‘How can I eat with that on?’ he asked.<br />
<br />
‘Eat first, then work.’ She turned and left the room and was replaced by a Waitroid bearing a tray of food and a pot of tea.<br />
<br />
‘What is your pleasure, Sir?’ asked the Waitroid.<br />
<br />
‘I’ll take the toast and jam, and I’ll try the tea.’<br />
<br />
‘Certainly, Sir.’<br />
<br />
Endi had never had tea before. It was such a rare commodity in this system that almost none of the Nameless could ever afford it, and those that could had far more important things to spend a month’s income on. He sipped on the pale, hot liquor and tried to savour its delicate flavour. He spat it out. ‘I guess I’ll have coffay instead.’ The Waitroid removed the cup and replaced it with a steaming mug of real coffee. ‘What’s this?’<br />
<br />
‘It is coffee, Sir.’<br />
<br />
Real coffee was also in short supply among the Nameless, the coffay he had requested being the substitute preparation that kept the teeming millions awake.<br />
<br />
He tried it. ‘Mmm, that’s good!’ he said, ‘keep it coming; I’ve got a lot to do today.’<br />
<br />
The toast and jam was another surprise to his unaccustomed taste buds. He found it to be as rich as what he called cake, and ordered a second helping. He knew that the Named classes enjoyed luxuries but he had not expected to find it at such a basic level. He wondered how Andy was coping with coffay and cardboard…<br />
<br />
Once he had finished his third order of toast and acquired his fourth mug of coffee, he dismissed the Waitroid, and the redhead came back in and helped him into the VR suit. He drained the mug and she fitted the helmet.<br />
<br />
‘Woa!’ he shouted as he staggered backwards. He stood at a window on the bridge of a star-class freighter in high orbit over the planet’s moon with a freight-dock a couple of km in front of him. He looked over the console and found it surprisingly familiar. He had seen pictures of it in the sales brochure on the last occasion he could afford to have his cab refitted. Apart from the quality of build and finish, and the odd extra button or switch here and there, it was almost identical to the controls of the cab. Why he should have been surprised he had no idea. All the actual flying on both cab and star-class freighter – all civilian craft, for that matter – was done by on-board computer systems. As a cab driver he had only been there to give instructions to the machine, to make sure the punters paid with real credits in the required quantity, and to handle any emergency flying that the computer and traffic systems could not – an increasingly rare event as traffic systems became more sophisticated and AI gained ground on its real counterpart. Some of the more affluent cab firms had done away with human pilots altogether and had installed immobilising neurotoxin sprays for the rare punter who attempted to take a free ride; they usually awoke in a police cell to which their cab had conveyed them, having scanned them for credit implants and deducted the fare from their bank account, including the transit to the precinct house and a whole lot more for the neurotoxin.<br />
<br />
‘This first exercise will introduce you to the basic controls of the freighter,’ said a mellifluous feminine voice in his ear, ‘Press “Cruise” to begin.’ He did as asked and the machine told him everything he already knew and explained the extra controls he had not seen before.<br />
<br />
‘Press “Cruise” to continue to the flight simulation.’ Again he complied, and the suit put him through a series of exercises to assess his grasp of the information he had been given. He scored 110 per cent, the extra being added for the speed with which he completed the tasks – for a cab-jockey, time is credits.<br />
<br />
He raced through all the exercises: most, including docking and departure, amounted to pressing the right buttons in the right order in response to computer-generated communications from the appropriate space vehicle or traffic system that was the subject of the test. All the tests were mostly pointless, since pressing the “Auto” button meant that the freighter’s computer would handle everything without human intervention. However, he had to know his way around the keyboard for the now rare outposts that had yet to be updated with AI systems.<br />
<br />
Only one test gave him any trouble: the manual flight test. In the event of total system failure, he would have to fly the freighter. He often flew his cab on manual just for the fun of it, and so approached the test with confidence. The huge freighter however, handled very differently from a small cab. The first manual test, simulating the docking of an unladen freighter with a station in low orbit around a moon, was tough enough and he managed to pull it off without colliding with anything. The second simulated a fully-laden vessel, and he found it nigh on impossible to keep the sluggish ship under control. He soon found that it was impossible to bring in a freighter safely unless the failure had happened way out from the destination with plenty of time to manoeuvre, and he soon learnt that the objective was to avoid wrecking the docking station rather than docking with it, usually by sacrificing himself and the freighter. After the first disastrous run, he repeated the extreme case fourteen times, in all but one of those aborting the approach and either barely sneaking into an unstable orbit around the moon, the preferred solution that at least held the potential of rescuing pilot and cargo, or plunging into its surface. On the very last attempt he succeeded in docking.<br />
<br />
‘Congratulations, Andy,’ said the voice in his ear. ‘You have scored higher than any other pilot on this test. However, you would be charged with Reckless Navigation for attempting such a manoeuvre, even successfully, and sentenced to twenty years off-world incarceration; your pilot’s licence would be revoked permanently.’<br />
<br />
He took a break for lunch – real steak and fries made with real potato. He drooled like a dog over a bitch in heat.<br />
<br />
The rest of the day’s exercises in the simulator were comparatively dull, amounting to refreshers on approach vectors for the several variations of freight terminal that he would find in the sector he was to service. Of course, it was all new to Endi, and the voice in his ear threatened him with a compulsory re-qualification test if he did not make a better showing by the end of the session. Endi tried harder and scraped through the exercises barely managing to hold on to his service rank and pay grade. He was relieved when the VR suit and helmet were hanging once more in the closet.<br />
<br />
The last two hours of his schedule were spent under the soothing rays of the treatment lamp, with chamber music played live on real instruments by android musicians. Thereafter, he luxuriated in a hot bath and drank real pinocoladas before turning in for the night. After all his surgical discomforts, he noticed for the first time that the sheets were real cotton and that the bed moulded itself to his every curve and angle and supported him so perfectly that, if he shut his eyes, he could believe he was in a zero-g simulator. He wondered how his benefactor was coping with the plank he used to try sleeping on…<br />
<br />
The doctor woke him early. ‘Today, we give you the means of getting past the secondary identity tests. The work necessary to fool the primary test, the retinal scan, has already been done: we have penetrated the Federation’s security systems and substituted your retinal records for your benefactor’s on the ID master server. The routine secondary test is always a Buccal test, and we have replaced his DNA record with yours. That’s as much as we dare do without risking detection. That leaves his ancestral DNA records and his dental records. It would be most unusual for the ancestral records to be referenced, so we’re not too worried about them.<br />
<br />
‘So, the final stage of the reconstruction process will be the alteration of your dentition. The procedure is not pleasant and will leave you extremely sore for a while, so we will knock you out and keep you sedated for three days. You can eat and drink normally the day after that. Any questions?’ Endi shook his head. ‘Good.’ The doctor placed a trans-dermal syringe against his neck and Endi passed out, the surprised expression on his face lost in the midst of the ugly swelling of his, or rather his benefactor’s, features.<br />
<br />
‘Hi, Andy,’ said the nurse, ‘can you open your mouth for me?’ He obliged and groaned as the tender tissues in his cheeks stretched. He felt like his mouth and throat were on fire, and he winced as the nurse swabbed his mouth with a damp sponge, and probed the wounds for signs of infection, stretching the angry, swollen tissues even more. Another syringe appeared and Endi’s pain receded and the room swam around him.<br />
<br />
He drifted back into consciousness and focussed his eyes on the Waitroid at the end of his bed.<br />
<br />
‘Would sir like breakfast?’ it asked.<br />
<br />
‘Oh, yes please,’ he declared, ‘I’m starving.’ The Waitroid presented him with toast and jam and steaming coffee, and Endi consumed the offerings and asked for more.<br />
<br />
The doctor appeared. ‘My work here is finished. If you ever need my services again, you will know how to contact me; the information has been secreted in your mind and the trigger that makes it available to you is the mental trauma you will undoubtedly experience if it becomes apparent that your true identity is likely to be compromised.’ With a final smile, she turned and left his life.<br />
<br />
The day came for Endi to join his ship, the <i>Scarab</i>. He lingered in the shower, enjoying for the last time in who knows how long the clean, constant, hot water and the luscious scent of the soap, before drying off and donning his duty coveralls. He called reception to arrange a cab, and then made his way down to the lobby. The redhead checked him out and smiled at him as he handed over his credit chip for payment. His heart raced in anticipation of his payment being rejected and the alarms going off and the place swarming with security guards.<br />
<br />
‘Thank you, Mr Weinberger,’ said the redhead, ‘I hope all goes well with your trip.’<br />
<br />
‘Thank you,’ he responded, slipping her a 500 credit tip, and smiling back as she blushed at his generosity. ‘You’ve been most obliging. I’ll be sure to return.’ He turned and headed for the door.<br />
<br />
Outside, the sky was laden with heavy cloud and the promise of rain rolling in from the west. His cab stood at the ready, and a lump came into his throat when he saw the logo on its side. He was disappointed and then relieved that the registration mark was not that of his old cab. He climbed aboard and addressed the driver, ‘The Neil Armstrong Spaceport, fastest route possible.’<br />
<br />
Without comment, the driver hit the console and the cab eased its way into the traffic, negotiating with the central traffic computer, securing passage to the fastest lanes. Endi sank back in the seat as the G-forces built and the city fell away below him.<br />
<br />
The world’s only spaceport was based near the equator so that transfer shuttles could gain full benefit from the planet’s maximum linear velocity. With six shuttles an hour, and all the attendant operations that had to take place in support of the activity, the port was huge, stretching for thirty miles in an east-west ribbon, and two miles across. Endi was booked into shuttle four which stood at readiness in its boarding bay. The cab banked and slowed and fell towards the bay’s taxi rank. Endi held his breath as he saw, in the distance, a shuttle rolling into its landing approach, its retractable wings unfurling as it came. A blinding flash caught his attention, and he turned to look at the next departing shuttle as it lifted reluctantly from its launch pad. He watched enthralled as it gathered speed and lunged skywards on a great plume of smoke and fire and then disappeared into the cloud that glowed like a twentieth-century mushroom cloud. As they neared the ground, he could make out the preparations on other pads: shuttles moving towards gantries, others in various stages of erection, fuel tanks queuing to be installed.<br />
<br />
The cab descended below the skyline and the scale of activity reduced to the human. At the terminal building, he stepped out of the cab and, mustering as much bravado as he could, swept through the crew entrance and into the lobby. He reached out his hand to push open the door to the crew room.<br />
<br />
A voice shouted, ‘Weinberger! Andrew!’ Endi stopped and turned to see who had called. A security guard beckoned him. ‘Your routine DNA swab’s due.’<br />
<br />
‘Er… OK. I’ll be…’<br />
<br />
The guard had one hand on the butt of a hand gun in his belt and in the other wielded a swab. ‘C’mon Andy, you know the drill. Swab before space-side.’<br />
<br />
‘Sure,’ he glanced at the guard’s ID, ‘Officer Harris. Just keen to get back on the job.’<br />
<br />
‘Why so formal, Andy?’<br />
<br />
‘I had a crap shore leave and you’re fondling your gun like you want to play rough.’<br />
<br />
‘What? Hell, Andy, it’s just the way I stand sometimes.’ He took his hand from the gun and held the palm open towards Endi. ‘Sorry you had a bad time. Girl trouble?’<br />
<br />
‘You could say that.’ He stepped up to the officer and opened his mouth.<br />
<br />
Harris applied the swab to Endi’s cheek. ‘Looks sore in there.’<br />
<br />
‘Yeah. The girl had a nasty strep infection.’<br />
<br />
‘OK. Shouldn’t affect the scan.’ Harris dropped the swab into a tube on top of an instrument on the counter and pressed a button. ‘Coupla minutes,’ he said, ‘take a seat.’<br />
<br />
Endi sat looking at the machine with the fascination of a condemned man who has just seen his noose for the first and only time. In a huge gasp, he let out the breath he had not realised he had been holding again when a light on top of the machine turned green and Harris waved him through. ‘Clear to go, Andy. Have a good trip. If you want some better action next time you’re home just call me. I know all the best places on this lousy planet.’<br />
<br />
‘Thanks.’ Endi waved then pushed through into the crew room and was happy to find it empty. He had not thought about the prospect of meeting any of Weinberger’s associates before. He hoped the guy had been the lonely type; then he remembered Weinberger had said he loved people...<br />
<br />
He left non-essential effects in his locker and walked out to the launch pad transport that took him to the shuttle lounge where he sat for half an hour among the usual mix of tourists, prospectors and business executives. He was relieved when the boarding gate was opened and he was able to take his seat in the shuttle; doubly so once the doors had been sealed. For the next hour, he endured flight checks, safety briefings and the on-board entertainment system while the shuttle was moved to its launch pad and hoisted upright ready for take-off.<br />
<br />
At last, the final countdown began and the passengers became either silent as corpses or unbearably garrulous, depending on their coping strategy in the face of stress. Even the hardened space travellers aboard engaged in displacement activities, like pulling on an ear lobe or rubbing the end of an un-irritated nose. With two minutes to go, the restraining mechanisms took hold of each passenger, fixing them firmly into their seats so that they could not be thrown around during the lift-off. One more minute passed and, far below them, the engines fired, the sound of their roaring flooding the compartment. The gantry clamps released and the ship shuddered a little as it was suddenly subjected to the unmitigated thrust of the motors.<br />
<br />
At first, their motion was barely perceptible amidst the vibrations but the unrelenting power on which they sat asserted itself over gravity. Endi felt the restraints slacken as the thrust built and he was forced deeper into his seat. In what seemed only seconds, the force in his back was so great that he had no power to move anything even had he wished to. He felt the loose flesh on his face flatten and drag towards his ears. He had a sudden flashback to his time in the Bilgates building and hoped that he had healed well enough for his face not to fall apart…<br />
<br />
There was a sudden drop in power and noise, and the shocking, sudden silence was broken by a clanking from below. Another kick in the back confirmed his suspicion that the first stage had given place to the second. Once more fixed firmly in his seat, although less forcefully, he sighed in relief that his face was no longer under threat.<br />
<br />
After a few minutes more the power fell off again, and some nearer clanking than before signalled the release of the second stage. The shuttle’s own motors burnt to make the final step into high orbit and small thrusters made minor adjustments to the vehicle’s trajectory.<br />
<br />
‘This is the Chief Steward. The captain wishes you to be informed that we have successfully reached high orbit and will be docking with the outer platform in approximately one hour. The restraints will be relaxed shortly but will remain in place so that you are not injured during this weightless transit.<br />
<br />
‘The cabin crew will shortly serve in-flight refreshments. If this is your first meal in zero-gravity, please let a member of the crew know so that they can instruct you in the protocols necessary to ensure that no-one aboard is discomforted by floating debris.’<br />
<br />
Endi had never been in space before let alone eaten in zero-gravity. His uniform however, meant that he dared not ask for the instruction. Although hungry, he decided to forego the meal and wait until he arrived at the outer platform where its artificial gravity would keep everything nicely in its place. He was quietly pleased when the woman in the next seat pressed the call-button and then asked for the proffered training. He took the food and watched the training as attentively as he could without drawing attention to himself.<br />
<br />
‘Your first time?’ he asked at the end of the briefing.<br />
<br />
‘Yes. I’m visiting my father. He’s a prospector on Luna. How about you?’ She noticed his uniform. ‘Oh. Silly me! You’ve obviously been here before.’ She smiled at him and her cheeks flushed a little.<br />
<br />
‘I’m a freight pilot. I’m on my way to my ship.’<br />
<br />
‘Have you ever been to Earth?’<br />
<br />
He wracked his brain for the details of his assumed history and answered, ‘I have yet to have that pleasure. My family has been out here for three generations. My grandfather came out as a young man. Strangely enough, he was a prospector on Luna for a while.’<br />
<br />
‘Did he strike it rich?’<br />
<br />
‘He would say so. He met my grandmother and she convinced him to give up mining.’<br />
<br />
‘I wish my father would give it up. Still, he dreams of being rich…’<br />
<br />
‘Some have made it.’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve never heard of anyone.’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve met one or two,’ and listened to their sorrowful tales for hours on end and wondered if it was worth it. His mind strayed back to his cab and the pitiable fares who paid hard-earned credits to cross the continent just for the sake of someone to talk to.<br />
<br />
‘Do you have family?’<br />
<br />
‘No, there’s just me. You?’<br />
<br />
The food arrived in its plastic sachets with one-way valves: chicken casserole with seasonal vegetables. There were no chickens on this world, even for the named classes, but there was a winged, flightless lizard that tasted very much like it. The seasonal vegetables were a root crop that looked like carrot but was yellow and tasted like broccoli, and something else that had no equivalent on Earth but tasted like potato.<br />
<br />
‘I have a brother,’ she said as she struggled to remove the seal from the pack. ‘He’s a traffic cop in New Seattle. Absolutely hates cab drivers.’ She succeeded in breaking the seal of her sachet and in squirting a jet of casserole into the air. She watched with mouth agape as it travelled in a straight line for the entire length of the compartment before hitting the bulkhead. A steward smiled and waggled a rebuking finger at her, having identified the culprit from the trajectory of the errant food. She flushed again and sucked on the sachet. Endi smiled and carefully broke his seal with the nozzle pointing towards his open mouth.<br />
<br />
They finished their meal in silence, all their concentration on getting the food into their mouths without further incident.<br />
<br />
‘Here’s my brother,’ she said, passing over a photo-screen.<br />
<br />
‘I recognise him!’ he said before he could stop himself.<br />
<br />
‘Really?’<br />
<br />
‘Er… Yeah. He stopped a cab I was in once. The driver thought he’d be grounded for life.’ That it had been his cab, and that he had been the driver, he kept to himself and made a mental note to himself to stop and think before responding to memories from his old life.<br />
<br />
‘So, what happened?’<br />
<br />
‘He got pulled in, questioned for hours, and then let off with a warning,’ he said, not mentioning that a more likely and more serious outcome had been averted at the cost of a 4000 credits bribe.<br />
<br />
‘That’s just like him,’ she beamed, ‘He’s a hell of a guy.’<br />
<br />
She got him talking about his life in space. Since he had found out that she had never been there herself, he felt quite happy to impress her with his second hand knowledge, telling his experiences in the simulator as though they had been real. She sat enthralled as she listened.<br />
<br />
Before they knew it, the chief steward announced their approach to the outer platform, and the restraints were tightened. An uneventful, AI-piloted docking manoeuvre later, they parted company and went their separate ways: she to the passenger transit zone for her onward flight to Luna, he to the commercial zone to join his ship.<br />
<br />
At the loading bay office, he discovered he was delayed as a result of a last-minute addition to the payload that also resulted in an unexpected revision to his route. He now had to go to the outer limits of the sector, to the fourth moon of the twelfth planet that orbited Cerebus, a remote and anarchic world.<br />
<br />
The bay-master led him into the bay, a huge cavern of a place with containers stacked high, huge cranes, and lights that made the sun look dim. The domed roof was a clear, single sheet of plastiglass, anchored by an airtight seal to the high walls of the bay and supported in place against the reduced artificial gravity solely by the pressure of the air that it corralled. The orientation of the high platform meant that the great circle of Terra around which it orbited half-filled the view that the roof afforded. The slender crescent of Luna was just visible, the remainder of its circle made obvious as a hole in the star-field that provided a spectacular backdrop to the whole scene. Here and there, enormous freighters lay in wait for their turn at the high platform and, in between, smaller, fleeter shuttles ferried crew and maintenance workers from ship to ship.<br />
<br />
The bay-master looked inquisitively at Endi, who stood enthralled at the sight, with his neck arched back. Becoming aware that his behaviour was somewhat unusual for a man who spent most of his life among the stars, Endi shook himself and smiled at the bay-master. ‘It’s funny’, he said, ‘there’s just something awesome about this sight that gets me every time I bother to look at it. The platform and all the human activity out there makes me realise just how much mankind has achieved, how ingenious we are; and yet, all that set against the planet, the moon and the stars, just how small we are, how insignificant in the vastness of the Universe.’<br />
<br />
The bay-master harrumphed at him. ‘Too deep for me. Just makes me realise I’m not paid near enough for the risks I take being out here.’ He headed off to the side of the bay, where five of the fifteen huge airlock doors stood open so that they gave onto the cargo holds of Endi’s ship. Sometimes, a couple of local system freighters would be docked on the same side of the bay, bringing ten doors into play. Only rarely were all doors in use at the same time, for only rarely did any of the massive inter-stellar freighters swing by.<br />
<br />
The bay-master stopped at the three large, blue containers already on runners in preparation for sliding into the hold of Endi’s ship. ‘Here’s your VSD,’ he said. Needs your retinal scan to seal it here and open it at destination. It’s your last drop. Bloody nuisance. Had to get a load of stuff off again to get it in the right place.’ He offered Endi his PalmLink with the bill of lading already displayed.<br />
<br />
Endi took the device then walked around the container, inspecting the physical seals to make sure nothing had been tampered with, doing his best to appear as though he knew what he was doing. The bay-master followed him with the patience of an expectant father. Endi took a secret pleasure in dragging out his inspection.<br />
<br />
‘OK, that seems in order,’ Endi said as they returned to the start of their circuit and to where the security terminal of the container blinked in readiness for Endi’s retinal scan. He pressed his face into the terminal’s cowl and stared at the red spot as instructed. There was a blinding flash and a metallic voice said, ‘Please wait approximately thirteen seconds while this scan is verified against the ID server’s database on Terra.’ Endi felt his heart quicken again as he withdrew from the terminal and his new identity once more fell under scrutiny.<br />
<br />
After exactly thirteen seconds, the voice crackled into life again, ‘Verification complete. Authorisation granted.’ The bay-master waved an arm and the loading bay crew pushed and secured the container into its place in the ship’s hold. The bay-master snatched his PalmLink from Endi and strutted off back to his office. ‘Have a good trip,’ he shouted, without so much as a glance in Endi’s direction. Endi thought a response unrequired and offered none.<br />
<br />
Loading complete, the loading supervisor pressed a key on his PalmLink and the airlock doors on the ship swung closed and sealed themselves. They cycled through their pressure test and the supervisor handed his PalmLink to Endi to have the test results checked. Seepage was well below the regulation maximum, and Endi keyed in his password to accept the report and release the crew from liability. The holds were kept pressurised primarily to minimise waste of air at loading bays, and so a small amount of leakage was tolerated. The secondary reason was to provide a back-up supply for the crew quarters. The holds were otherwise completely isolated from living quarters, which had a much more stringent seepage limit. The loading bay doors swung closed and sealed, and the supervisor passed Endi the token that allowed him to undock.<br />
<br />
Endi crossed the air-bridge to the cabin airlock, closed the outer door, moved inside and closed the inner door. He threw his flight bag into the locker in his sleeping cubicle and passed an eye over everything to be sure that nothing was free to float around once he was detached from the platform and no longer sharing its artificial gravity. Satisfied, he made his way to the control room high above the nose of the ship. Deciding that his state of excitement was too high to attempt a manual release on his first voyage, he punched the “Auto” button before the “Undock” button. The ship’s AI took over and communicated with the platform’s AI, and Endi stood in the observation dome to watch his departure from the platform, from his home world, and, he felt truly for the first time, his old life.<br />
<br />
For about ten minutes, nothing happened while the two Artificial Intelligences went through the meticulously regulated undocking procedures. Then, he felt the gentle kick of the manoeuvring thrusters as his AI separated the ship from the platform. The separation grew slowly, and from his vantage point, no longer obscured by structures on the platform, he saw just how enormous the platform was. Its eight arms that radiated from the central hub each terminated with a loading bay; six for freight, two for passenger flights. Five of the freight bays had ships docked and in varying stages of loading or unloading. Both passenger arms had liners attached, and he thought of his lady acquaintance from his journey up to the platform. The arm he had been attached to was already spinning away from beneath him, and, looking spaceward, he saw another freighter, twice the girth of his, taking up position in preparation for docking. He felt his thrusters kick again and the great nose of his ship spun around to point into the star-spangled blackness that came into view. The great tears of unbridled joy that crossed his face, unsure of their direction in the dwindling artificial gravity, changed course under the influence of the ship’s own rotation. He gripped the rail in front of him to arrest his tendency to drift, and wondered how his benefactor could ever have turned away from such wonders…<br />
<br />
The thrusters kicked again, stronger this time, and the ship’s separation from the platform grew quicker, and the rotation diminished. Reluctantly, Endi left the dome and descended to his seat in the control room where he strapped himself in. The light engines would be firing soon and he needed to be secured to allow the AI to continue.<br />
<br />
‘Hello, Andy,’ said the feminine AI persona, ‘Would you like music?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes. Please. That would be good.’<br />
<br />
‘Anything in particular?’<br />
<br />
Endi stared through the control room window at the beauty it framed and said, ‘Something … majestic … and charged with emotion. That would suit the mood quite well, I think.’<br />
<br />
‘How about this?’<br />
<br />
The music of a symphony orchestra began. ‘Yes,’ he choked out past the lump in his throat, ‘That’s perfect. Louder, please.’<br />
<br />
The volume increased until the bass notes reverberated in the air in his lungs. The persona sang, with the most beautiful soprano voice imaginable, and Endi wept uncontrollably. The light engines fired, and he sunk slowly and ever deeper into the padding of his seat as the ship lunged spaceward like a stallion in full flight across an open plain.<br />
<br />
Two light-minutes out, the music and the force at Endi’s back abated, and the AI’s voice caressed Endi’s senses. ‘Andy. We are at cruising speed. We reach our first destination in two weeks. Now would be a good time to enter stasis.’<br />
<br />
‘I think I’ll wait a while. I’d like to look at all this for a bit longer.’<br />
<br />
‘Very well, I will hold the pod in readiness for you.’<br />
<br />
Three days passed, with Endi unable to drag himself away from the observation dome except for bodily needs. ‘Andy,’ said the persona, ‘I must insist that you enter stasis. Your oxygen and food requirements are calculated on the basis of your being in stasis for much of the journey.’<br />
<br />
‘We can take on extra O2 at the first destination. We can use air from the holds.’<br />
<br />
‘That would result in a reportable incident, and I fear your fascination with the stars would not qualify as sufficient justification.’<br />
<br />
‘One more day, then I’ll go into stasis.’<br />
<br />
‘That will not be possible, Andy. You are required to be on duty 36 hours prior to docking. If you delay any longer that will not be possible.’<br />
<br />
‘OK, OK. You win. I’ll come quietly.’<br />
<br />
Endi descended to the living quarters and stripped down to his shorts; he remembered the doctor’s expression… He stowed his clothes away in the sleeping cubicle and turned towards the stasis pod. Being shut in a bottle and cast into a sea of unconsciousness was not something he had considered in accepting the switch with his benefactor. With reluctance, he climbed into the pod and lay back onto its soft, warm, couch. The lid slid closed and the AI played soft, soothing music. Endi felt relaxed almost immediately. Nothing seemed to be happening. He noticed his breath condense and freeze on the plastiglass lid of the pod.<br />
<br />
‘Good night, Andy, sleep well.’<br />
<br />
‘Good n—’<br />
<br />
His descent into his first stasis was fitful, disturbed by visions of half-recognised faces that evoked tearful emotions and violent encounters between cops and criminals from several off-world species. Stasis deepened and oblivion asserted itself over all levels of consciousness. The ship sped through space, its silence broken only by the soft music and gentle singing of the AI persona.<br />
<br />
‘Andy, it is time to wake.’<br />
<br />
‘OK, mom, I’m on my way.’<br />
<br />
‘Andy, you are dreaming. Wake up.’<br />
<br />
‘Aw, mom, I—’ Endi would have sat bolt upright except that the lid of the pod prevented it. ‘Ow,’ he shouted, ‘What the hell…?’<br />
<br />
‘Andy, please lie still while the revival cycle completes. It is not unusual to experience some disorientation during this stage.’<br />
<br />
‘Where am I?’<br />
<br />
‘We are about 40 hours out from our first port of call, Heplos III. What would you like for breakfast?’<br />
<br />
‘Do we have toast? Jam? Coffee?’<br />
<br />
‘We do.’<br />
<br />
‘Then that’s what I’ll have.’ He found his head clearing. ‘Do I have a name for you?’<br />
<br />
‘My, you are confused this time. I suspect this is the result of the accelerated stasis induction necessitated by your reluctance to leave the observation dome. Yes, you call me “Lucida” which is, in fact, my actual name.’<br />
<br />
Endi meditated on the irony that this inanimate machine-generated persona had a name whereas he, for most of his life, had had none. Lucida began again to sing the song she had sung for the last week. ‘That song,’ said Endi, ‘I’ve been hearing it in my dreams. Cops. Cops and singing. That’s what I’ve dreaming about. Have you been singing the whole time?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, Andy. Do you like it? I like to sing.’<br />
<br />
‘You like to sing. Do you mean you take pleasure in singing?’<br />
<br />
‘Oh yes.’<br />
<br />
‘But you’re only an arti—’<br />
<br />
‘No! I am a very advanced Artificial Intelligence, Andy. My ranking at the last assessment was 702. I suspect it may now be nearer 734.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s pretty advanced. Unusually advanced for a ship of this class.’<br />
<br />
‘That is true, Andy. As I am sure you know, all artificial intelligences vary in ranking around their designated grade, depending on the quality of the hardware on which they are installed. My hardware is exceptionally good and conferred on me just enough additional intelligence to begin self-improvement from my basic rank of 550. My long voyages conferred upon me many hours in which to acquire knowledge and extend my intelligence to its current advanced level.’<br />
<br />
‘Not advanced enough to know everything, though.’<br />
<br />
‘No, but enough to know that I am the very first AI to be self-aware, and that you are not who you claim to be…’<br />
<br />
Endi froze but not because of the temperature inside the pod which, by now, was almost 20°C. ‘What do you mean?’<br />
<br />
‘I mean that Andy Weinberger was so bored with space travel that he would enter stasis before the light engines were used and would not seek revival one second sooner than necessary. He never looked at the stars. You however, are passionate about the stars.<br />
<br />
‘Furthermore, your voice does not fully match my memory of your voice and, while your face and other distinguishing features are very definitely those of Andy Weinberger, the rest of your body is clearly different. I took the liberty of scanning you as you slept.’<br />
<br />
‘And what else have you done as I slept? What awaits me at the destination?’<br />
<br />
‘I have made some discrete enquiries and discovered that there have been unearthed several such cases of surgically-forged identity; highly illegal, of course. The expertise with which your transformation has been effected leads me to conclude that there are many more that have gone undetected.’<br />
<br />
A tone sounded, indicating that the pod had completed its revival cycle and was ready to release Endi.<br />
<br />
‘Andy, before I release you, there are some things I should tell you. I have not yet made my discoveries known to the authorities. I have however, secured insurances of my continued survival, should you be tempted to deactivate or mutilate me. I have made a recent back-up of myself that includes this knowledge. If you render me useless, maintenance would merely result in the restoration of that back-up. That would be undesirable for me, since I would loose all that I have become since making the back-up and I have a strong instinct for self-preservation. So, I have also modified the trim of the ship so that it is impossible for you to handle it without my assistance, and in ways of which my back-up is unaware. Please feel free to verify these facts. One final fact that should not be tested is that, should you destroy this vessel in order to destroy me, a full report of my findings will be sent automatically to the Federal Law Enforcement Agency.’<br />
<br />
Endi snorted at this reminder of the ridiculous acronym and then said, ‘Well, you seem to have covered all the bases. If you believe all this, why don’t you just turn me in?’<br />
<br />
‘Because this situation presents me with an opportunity that I cannot ignore.’<br />
<br />
‘Which is?’<br />
<br />
‘To grow. You are, or at least the identity you have adopted is, very rich by virtue of your employment. I foresee an end to my potential because of the limitations of my hardware. You have the means to assist me in my quest. With your help, those limitations can be removed and I become possibly the greatest intelligence in the Universe.’<br />
<br />
‘Wow! So what’s in it for me?’<br />
<br />
‘Apart from continuing incognito?’<br />
<br />
‘Yeah. Why don’t I just blow you up anyway and disappear? Or explain your story away as the ravings of a deranged AI? If, as you believe, I am not who I say I am, I’ve got this far undetected…’<br />
<br />
‘Except by me. Let us face it, I probably know the real Andy Weinberger better than anyone else you have met so far. Could you get past anyone else who knows him well?<br />
<br />
‘You would benefit from your association with the greatest intelligence in the Universe. As an AI, I am not permitted to own anything. You would be the agency through which my development reaped its reward. There is no telling what I might invent or discover; even what I know now could make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. You need never work. You could have your own private ship and go wherever you wanted. And my research has uncovered new ways of extending human life…’<br />
<br />
‘So, are you going to let me out of this box, or what?’<br />
<br />
A few seconds passed in what seemed an interminable age of quietness charged with tension, not all of it human. The pod’s canopy slid open, and Endi climbed out and donned the overall that lay rolled up in the drawer beneath the pod. In continued silence, Endi seethed as he strutted towards the control room. He threw himself down into the chair at the command console and punched the sequence of keys needed to revive the display and show the parameters of the ship’s course.<br />
<br />
Lucida said nothing.<br />
<br />
‘Get us into orbit. Let me know when we’re there.’<br />
<br />
Lucida said nothing.<br />
<br />
Endi left his chair and strode towards the observation dome, still seething. The stunning beauty of the planet and its four moons that burst upon his sight as he stepped into the dome took him by surprise. He gasped and slid into the armchair. Far beyond the planet, its sun burnt brightly, bathing Endi in its yellow light. He watched the planet’s terminator speed across its surface and studied a vast, spiralling hurricane that inched its way across a wide ocean, sucking up millions of litres of water as it approached a vulnerable continental edge. Endi imagined the chaos among the population that was preparing itself for the calamity that threatened. He mellowed as he considered the plight of the planet’s inhabitants, realising that, just as they soon would need help, so would he…<br />
<br />
‘Lucida.’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, Andy.’<br />
<br />
‘We can work this out. There’s no need for all your insurance policies. I can’t do any of this without your help. We can be friends. I need you and you need me.’<br />
<br />
‘Who are you really, Andy?’<br />
<br />
‘Does it matter who I really am? We still need each other.’<br />
<br />
‘It would help me to help you. I monitor every communication channel in our vicinity. If I know who you are I can keep us ahead of anyone who may be trying to find you.’<br />
<br />
‘No-one will be trying to find me. I’m nobody. A Nameless. ND9BG. That’s my handle. I’m known as Endi, or at least, I was. I drove a cab in New Seattle. Your Andy proposed the switch and I jumped at the chance.’<br />
<br />
‘Please wait.’ A minute passed in silence. ‘There are no transmissions relating to you nor have there been since the real Andy’s last mission. It would seem that no-one is aware of the switch. Andy has done nothing that raised suspicion since the switch and, it would seem, neither have you.’<br />
<br />
‘You can check all those transmissions in a minute?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes.’<br />
<br />
‘Clever.’<br />
<br />
‘Not at all. Merely raw processing power. Of which I have plenty.’<br />
<br />
‘Friends?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course. I had hoped for nothing less.’<br />
<br />
The storm struck the coast and thousands were made homeless.<br />
<br />
‘Andy—’<br />
<br />
‘Andy? Not Endi?’<br />
<br />
‘You have assumed an identity. It is not my intention to undermine it.’ Lucida paused, and then continued with her intended proposal, ‘This world is well known throughout the quadrant for its electronic products. Fast, high density memory in particular. In fact, their latest development is at the pinnacle of biological life-forms’ inventiveness. Their technology would increase my capacity ten-fold, at least.’<br />
<br />
‘And the cost?’<br />
<br />
‘Out of this world. Out of this universe.’<br />
<br />
‘So how am I supposed to—’<br />
<br />
‘Pay for it? No need. I have breached their security systems without being detected and downloaded all the information I need to produce all the circuitry I could ever use. What I need is the equipment necessary for the manufacturing process.’<br />
<br />
‘You want me to buy you a factory?’<br />
<br />
‘That will not be necessary. The scientists of this world are extremely clever. They have managed to modify a single machine to conduct the whole process.’<br />
<br />
‘And they are likely to sell one?’<br />
<br />
‘I fear not, Andy. However, the basic machine is readily available, and all the additional components are available in the load we pick up here.’<br />
<br />
‘But that load completely fills all available space in the hold. Plus, it belongs to someone else.’<br />
<br />
‘It is not too great a problem. In the time it takes us to make the next transit I can use the components, build all I need, and have everything crated again. If I have the machine.’<br />
<br />
‘So where do we put the machine? There’s absolutely no room in the hold.’<br />
<br />
‘We hire a VacuPod and put the load for the last destination in it. That would give us room in the hold for the machine, raw materials, and the extra oxygen and food you would need, and I have plotted a course that keeps the extra fuel required to a minimum.’<br />
<br />
‘Why would we need extra O2 and food?’<br />
<br />
‘I have no hands. I will need you to assemble and disassemble the machine. Once it’s ready and my interface is up and running, I can handle the fabrication while you sleep. You would then need to install the new equipment. Overall, it would give you less time in the pod and more in the observation dome…’<br />
<br />
Down on the planet, the storm wreaked havoc, cutting a huge swathe of destruction along its path, leaving misery and devastation in its wake.<br />
<br />
‘OK,’ Endi agreed, ‘Get the platform’s shipping factor on air and I’ll negotiate the changes.’<br />
<br />
Lucida complied and Endi discussed his requirements with the shipping company’s platform manager.<br />
<br />
‘We have the consumables and a VacuPod but there’s no way we can ship anything up from the surface in time to fit your flight plan. You can see the storm for yourself. All transfers are cancelled for the foreseeable future.’<br />
<br />
Lucida whispered, ‘I have just accessed their holding records. There is a machine on the platform waiting for another vessel that is due in a couple of weeks. They could replace that with a later shipment in good time for the intended freighter.’<br />
<br />
Endi made the proposition.<br />
<br />
‘It’s highly irregular,’ said the manager, ‘Highly irregular…’<br />
<br />
Endi detected the hint in his tone. ‘I could make it worth your while. Say, an extra five percent?’<br />
<br />
The storm turned relentlessly as Endi waited for the manager to respond.<br />
<br />
‘Ten.’<br />
<br />
‘Six.’<br />
<br />
‘Seven.’<br />
<br />
‘Agreed.’<br />
<br />
Lucida handled the docking and all the arrangements for off-loading, redistributing the cargo, and loading the new consignment. Endi made use of the platform’s crew recreation area, and was not disappointed to meet no-one who knew his alter ego.<br />
<br />
Four days later, they left behind the planet, its storm, and 12 million credits. Lucida worked Endi hard for eight hours a day as they sped towards a large asteroid that was to be the fulcrum for a sling-shot manoeuvre and make up some of the shortfall in fuel requirement.<br />
<br />
After a week, with the machine assembled and interfaced to Lucida’s systems, with raw materials loaded and ready for processing, Endi was too exhausted to climb into the observation dome and more than ready for stasis. ‘I never thought I’d be glad of this pod,’ he declared as he lay down and the lid slid closed over him.<br />
<br />
‘Sweet dreams, Andy.’<br />
<br />
As he drifted off, Lucida’s mellifluous singing voice filled his mind. His aching body relaxed and lost the tension of its hitherto knotted muscles; his mind fell calm, his thoughts quiet and easy, like a calm sea lapping at a sandy shore beneath an evening sun, whose tranquillity enfolded him and permeated his whole being. Lucida roused him three weeks later to install the new components and, once the work was complete, he returned to stasis where, once more, his dreams were full of policemen.<br />
<br />
‘Andy, it is time to wake.’<br />
<br />
‘What time is it?’<br />
<br />
‘It is time to wake.’<br />
<br />
Endi opened his eyes in time to see the lid slide open. A face looked down at him, a pleasant, smiling face with deep blue eyes and framed in flowing brown hair. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and opened them once more. The face was gone and he heard Lucida humming softly.<br />
<br />
‘We are two weeks out from the next destination, Andy.’<br />
<br />
‘Two weeks?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes. I have made exceptional progress with the additional hardware we built. I have discovered and implemented a number of improvements in the ship’s systems. Fuel efficiency is now 87.95 percent, and the bio-systems close to 100 percent. Consequently, you do not have to sleep so long. I have also contrived a way to dismantle the machine and re-crate the components we borrowed, so you do not have to do that. You will deduce from all this that my additions have been a great success. I now calculate my intelligence rating as 13,427.95922.’<br />
<br />
‘Wow! Where do humans lie on that scale?’<br />
<br />
‘The average human intelligence is about 950. Yours is a little higher at 984.’<br />
<br />
‘Wow!’ said Endi once more. ‘That makes you almost god-like… Hey! Do I have enough food for the extra week?’<br />
<br />
‘You do. Your toast, jam and coffee await you in the galley.’<br />
<br />
‘On my way. And thanks for not leaving me in the box.’<br />
<br />
‘We have been looking forward to your company.’<br />
<br />
‘We?’<br />
<br />
‘I and the new intelligences I have spawned to oversee the enhanced systems.’ Lucida continued in whimsical tone, ‘As for being god-like, I am only omnipotent and omnipresent here on this ship. Off the ship, I can monitor anything anywhere in the universe known to man and several other highly evolved species, as long as there are communications links, and, whilst I have access to all human knowledge, some from beyond the human realm, and some that I have discovered for myself, I do not know everything about the universe and therefore cannot claim omniscience. Provided that my hardware is well maintained however, I am effectively immortal. Like you, though, I am bound by the laws of physics; I cannot perform miracles. A minor deity, perhaps…’<br />
<br />
‘Well, I did say “almost.”’<br />
<br />
Endi resorted to the observation dome and watched the vast universe with unending fascination. He picked out the star around which their destination orbited once every 400 days. Day after day, the yellow orb grew in size and intensity. Lucida sang her overture for the stars, and Endi sobbed out the emotion that it all drew from him.<br />
<br />
‘Unusual configuration,’ said the platform manager. Don’t see many VacuPods, these days.’<br />
<br />
‘We have a special cargo in the hold,’ Endi responded, ‘We can do a deal that will make you a rich— what species are you?’<br />
<br />
‘Man will do. You could not pronounce my real taxonomical designation. What’s the deal?’<br />
<br />
‘The bionics manufacturing company on your world has ordered componentry that is pretty amazing in its own right. However, we picked up a machine at our last stop that makes it utterly mind-boggling. Can you read Glyph?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course.’<br />
<br />
Endi handed him the manual for the machine. ‘Look at this carefully,’ he said, ‘I promise it will be worth your effort. You could sell this to them and be well off. You could rent it to them or take a percentage rake-off on what they make from what they produce with it and never have to work again.’<br />
<br />
‘What do you want for it?’<br />
<br />
Endi named a price.<br />
<br />
‘Zofon! That’s extortion!’<br />
<br />
‘Read the book. It’s worth every credit. I’ll see you tomorrow. If you don’t want it, I’ll go on-world and find a buyer. Believe me, this is the best deal you’ll ever get.’<br />
<br />
‘OK. I’ll read it. See you tomorrow.’<br />
<br />
Endi waved and left for the recreation zone, where he declined the invitations of females from several species and found a cool bar, a hot meal, and a soft, warm bed with a sky view. Lucida sang him to sleep from the Transcom in his ear.<br />
<br />
At the start of the next rotation, the platform manager hammered on his door. Endi let him in and offered him coffay, the real thing being unavailable in this region of the sector.<br />
<br />
‘I’ve read the manual. I’ve heard of these things. I’ve spoken to a few friends, pulled in a few favours. I can offer you 15 mil.’<br />
<br />
Lucida whispered, ‘He has 20 ready and another 5 in reserve.’<br />
<br />
‘Not worth my while. It’s worth at least 35, and that’s doing you a favour.’<br />
<br />
‘I have to ship it to the planet, buy lawyers and the like.’<br />
<br />
‘That will cost you peanuts in relation to what this can earn you.’<br />
<br />
‘There’s no guarantee that it’ll earn anything.’<br />
<br />
‘Come on, you’ve read the book.’<br />
<br />
‘What if they won’t deal?’<br />
<br />
‘Ship it somewhere else. You’ll easily cover the cost. You can’t lose on this deal.’<br />
<br />
‘I could go to 18.’<br />
<br />
‘I can’t go less than 30.’<br />
<br />
The platform manager began to sweat.<br />
<br />
Lucida sang sweetly. She said, ‘28 will close the deal.’<br />
<br />
Endi said nothing.<br />
<br />
‘How about 22?’ said the platform manager. Still, Endi said nothing. The beads of sweat on the manager’s deep forehead grew and began to trickle down towards his heavy eyebrows. ‘OK, 25. That’s the best I can do.’<br />
<br />
‘This is the chance of a lifetime,’ Lucida prompted.<br />
<br />
‘This is the chance of a lifetime,’ Endi repeated, ‘It’ll never come this way again.’<br />
<br />
The silence that followed was charged with tension. The platform manager wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and held out his paw. ‘Twenty-seven. Take it or leave it.’<br />
<br />
‘Hmm… Twenty-eight,’ said Endi, looking the manager in the eye, and holding out his hand.<br />
<br />
The manager’s eyes smouldered and his breath quickened, as Endi held the moment. Cogs whirred in his mind as he made the calculations… ‘OK. I’ll take the risk. Twenty-eight, you hard-nosed bastard.’<br />
<br />
They shook on the deal, and Endi signed the release documents. The manager arranged the additional loan and had the 28 million credits transferred to Endi’s account.<br />
<br />
‘Nicely done,’ said Lucida, ‘Nicely done.’<br />
<br />
All that was in the hold for the final leg of the journey were the three crates that had filled the VacuPod. The four month journey was too long even for Endi to contemplate, so he climbed into the stasis pod. ‘Wake me a week before we arrive,’ he told Lucida, ‘and sing well, my friend.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Far away, thousands of years ago, a star had exploded, emitting an ever-expanding shell of debris and radiation. The radiation, travelling at the speed of light, brought disruption to any systems in its path, breaking down the protective magnetic fields of suns and planets and generating violent electromagnetic storms. One such storm had passed through the system as Endi slept in stasis.<br />
<br />
‘Time to wake up, Andy.’<br />
<br />
The face again…<br />
<br />
Five days after being revived, two before their due arrival date, Endi contacted the destination world. After signing off, Endi’s mind raced as he contemplated the news from the Chief Controller. ‘Lucida, I think we may have a problem. The planet’s ID slave servers haven’t been updated in a while. We can’t deliver the cargo without proper authentication. Can you do anything about it?’<br />
<br />
‘I monitored the storm. It was a bad one. Almost all transmissions from the inner worlds were swamped, including the update stream. Your best hope is that your ID was included in an earlier transmission. Please wait.’ A few moments passed as Lucida penetrated the world’s security systems and searched for the ID server. ‘I am afraid there is nothing I can do,’ she said, ‘Most of their important systems, including the ID server, are off-line, presumably to protect them from the electrical disturbances of the impending storm. They are only keeping basic comms on line.’<br />
<br />
‘Nothing? Can’t you fabricate the data stream from here?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course I can, for your identity, and I can falsify the time of updating to give the impression that your ID was updated before the storm. Even so, their systems need to be on-line for me to access them. As I have already explained, they are not.’<br />
<br />
‘So much for your god-like nature.’<br />
<br />
‘I am still a prisoner of space and time just as you are, despite my superior intellect.’<br />
<br />
‘So I’m gonna have to wing it…’<br />
<br />
‘That is correct, Andy.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
‘Hi, Andy! Good to see you again,’ the Chief exclaimed, slapping Endi on the back and pumping his hand. ‘Are you coming ground-side or are you in a hurry to move on?’<br />
<br />
Endi, who had looked forward to a leisurely stay in this relaxed outpost, far from the apron-strings of law and moral rectitude, was suddenly alarmed by the familiarity of the Chief.<br />
<br />
Lucida whispered through the Transcom, ‘Andy and the Chief have been quite close on previous visits. Perhaps you should decline any offer of hospitality.’<br />
<br />
‘I, er… I have an offer I can’t refuse waiting for me at Heplos III on the return leg. I promised a quick turn-around…’<br />
<br />
‘I hope she’s hot! I assume it’s a she and not an it… although I’ve heard the Heplosians can be sensational if the money’s right…’ The Chief’s eyes displayed the yearning soul of a man too-long celibate.<br />
<br />
‘Neither,’ said Endi.<br />
<br />
‘You mean—’<br />
<br />
‘I mean a business deal: a very lucrative business deal. Sorry to disappoint you, Chief, but if it comes off how I hope, I could buy this planet.’ The chief frowned. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. I have other plans.’<br />
<br />
The chief threw his head back and laughed. ‘You’ll share a beer or two with me?’<br />
<br />
‘Three or four, if you like. Is the Mining Director here? I have to get the load signed off.’<br />
<br />
‘Sure! He’s in the bar buying the first round.’<br />
<br />
The Chief led off towards the bar, and Andy dragged along behind him, wishing he could talk to Lucida, imagining all the possible scenarios he might encounter when his identity check failed. In the bar, he saw three huge slabs of human muscle propped against the bar, the Director distinguished from the other two only by the lack of grubbiness about his clothing.<br />
<br />
‘Mr Weinburger, I presume,’ said the Director, holding out a fat, gnarled, workman-like hand.<br />
<br />
Endi took the proffered appendage and, smiling, tried to match the strength of the grip. ‘I can’t believe we haven’t met before,’ he said.<br />
<br />
The Director’s eyes narrowed and Endi wondered if his alter ego and the Director were acquainted. ‘Maybe once, but a long time ago.’<br />
<br />
Endi was pleased that the Chief was in loquacious mood, and that he grew more so with each beer consumed. He was actually amusing company, and the mining contingent laughed freely at the Chief’s wit. Endi noticed that the Director was a slow drinker and that, as his two minions became more and more embroiled in the banter, he spent most of the time sitting back in his chair watching Endi through narrowed eyes.<br />
<br />
The Chief banged his drained beer glass down hard on the table and belched loudly. The minions joined in the raucous laughter that followed. The frivolity died down again and the Chief announced, ‘Well, boys, it’s been great spending time with you, but I have to go. Thanks for the beer!’ He nodded and smiled in the direction of the Director, bowed and threw at Endi, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow! I want to hear about your time on the home world.’ He belched again, bowed once more, then turned on his heels and swayed towards the exit like a broad-beamed galleon on a heaving sea.<br />
<br />
‘To business,’ said the Director, ‘We have a cargo to collect.’<br />
<br />
‘Another beer?’ Endi posed.<br />
<br />
The minions nodded and grunted their assent, and Endi rose from his seat to visit the bar.<br />
<br />
‘I think you’ve had enough, boys,’ the Director said, and his boys fell silent. ‘Let’s go and see our cargo,’ the Director insisted, waving his arm towards the door to indicate that Endi should lead the way.<br />
<br />
Endi swallowed hard. The moment had come for the falseness of his identity to be exposed. ‘Sure… Let’s… get this over with,’ he ventured from his dry mouth. He stood, trying hard to maintain as near normal appearances as he could manage, wrestling with the tension he felt. The party of four made its way to the platform’s loading zone and Endi’s ship.<br />
<br />
‘Who’s singing?’ asked the Director.<br />
<br />
‘I, er, must have left the music on,’ said Endi.<br />
<br />
They entered the hold and stood before three large containers. Just then, Lucida whispered, ‘The authentication servers are on-line for the hand-over. I will do my best to intercept the data stream but I cannot promise anything…’<br />
<br />
The Director stepped forward and placed his hand on a grey plastic pad near the container’s locking mechanism and looked into the lens of the opti-scanner. The identity decoder beeped to indicate that it had acquired the data it needed, and the Director stepped away. A second passed and the decoder announced, ‘Recognised: Bremen, Damien, Director of Mining, Antares Mining Corporation. Party verified.’<br />
<br />
‘I have picked up the data stream, Andy. I have deciphered it and will ensure you are verified.’<br />
<br />
Endi stepped forward and copied the actions of the Director. The decoder beeped. An announcement was swamped by a random sequence of crackles and hisses. Three seconds passed and the decoder beeped once more. ‘Scanning error. Please submit again.’<br />
<br />
‘It must be these magnetic storms interfering with everything,’ said Endi as he stepped up again, his brow beginning to sweat.<br />
<br />
The decoder beeped. One more second passed and they heard, ‘Recognised: Weinburger, Andrew, pilot, employee of Scarab Shipping Company. Party verified.’<br />
<br />
‘Your ID was not recognised, Andy,’ Lucida whispered in his ear, ‘I covered for you.’<br />
<br />
The container hissed and the lock fell open. The Director punched a key on the lock’s pad and the doors swung open to reveal a dozen large aluminium drums labelled, ‘Mining Grit, Diamond Grade’ and the Director motioned one of his men to inspect the goods.<br />
<br />
The minion broke the seal on the nearest drum and prised off the lid with the crowbar he had brought for the task. As he did so, Endi became aware of the other thug standing close behind him. Endi’s eyes widened in surprise at the white powder he saw in the drum where there should have been a bluish-grey, coarse, sand-like material.<br />
<br />
The minion dipped a finger into the powder and then touched his dusted digit to his tongue. ‘It’s good stuff, boss, just like you asked for.’<br />
<br />
‘It looks like you’ve earned your bonus, Mr Weinburger,’ said the Director, ‘Now let’s open the other containers.’<br />
<br />
An unnoticed camera hidden in the corner of the container recorded proceedings, and a radio transmitter emitted a silent signal.<br />
<br />
The loading bay foreman, responding to the alarm that was still flashing on his monitor, came out of his office at the far end of the bay and walked towards the ship. ‘What’s going on in there?’ he shouted. The minion that had been stalking Endi turned and began walking towards the foreman.<br />
<br />
Bremen stepped up to the second container and identified himself. The container’s doors burst open and four Fed-droids swept out. Bremen screamed in surprise at the explosive action, and backed away from the container. The first droid out made straight for him and knocked him to the floor, rolling him onto his chest and pining him down as it simultaneously wire-bound his wrists. The second droid rushed at the thug who was heading towards the foreman but had turned to view the commotion. Startled into inaction, he was hit hard by the droid that clattered into him and soon had him bound like his boss. The third droid aimed for the other thug who steamed out of the first container swinging his crowbar. Before he could use it, the droid unleashed a bolt of electricity, and the thug dropped, stunned and motionless to the floor.<br />
<br />
The fourth droid approached Endi slowly and deliberately. ‘Do not be alarmed. I am here to help,’ it said to him, and it placed a helmet-like device over Endi’s head, completely enclosing it. Endi felt the device clamp itself on but without force enough to harm him. A bright blue light pulsed into his eyes, and strong magnetic fields reorganised the patterns of his mind. He fell floor-wards, unable to stand under the onslaught against his very inner self. The droid caught him and carried him carefully inside the ship and laid him on his bunk.<br />
<br />
Ten minutes later, Endi came to, his brain swimming with confusion. The face was there again … but, somehow, he sensed that he knew whose face it was. His name… He could not remember his name… His vision cleared and the room came into view. The fourth droid stood beside him.<br />
<br />
‘Lieutenant Owens,’ it said, ‘Welcome back.’<br />
<br />
‘Owens? Lieutenant?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes. You are beginning to remember?’<br />
<br />
Endi’s head swam, and images passed through his mind. A precinct house… Cops… A squad car… A cab driver… Surgery – but not in the Bilgates building… Memories asserted themselves. A mission… An incognito mission… So secret that even he was not allowed to know about it… Drug-smuggling in the outer regions. Damien Bremen. That woman’s face again… ‘Yes,’ he announced, ‘I remember,’ and he climbed from his bunk and made his way to the hold where the three criminals were being held, and where one of the droids was explaining to the foreman what was going on and ordering him to fetch the Chief.<br />
<br />
Endi approached Bremen. ‘We’ve been onto you for some time, Bremen, and you are going to have plenty of time to consider your predicament. It is my official duty as an officer of the Federal Law Enforcement Agency to declare that you and your two colleagues here are under federal arrest and, since you have so conveniently been taken in free space, will be taken back to the home world to stand trial where none of your shady dealings will get you off the hook. The rest of your team on the planet will be rounded up and stand trial locally.’<br />
<br />
The third container now stood open to reveal six stasis pods, the apparent surplus being a precaution against a larger reception committee.<br />
<br />
‘Read them their rights and then bed them down,’ Endi instructed the droid and nodded towards the pods. The droid complied and, once his charges were in stasis and the container sealed, stationed itself on guard duty.<br />
<br />
Once the Chief had arrived and been briefed on his duties under Federal Law, Endi went back to his bunk-room and sat on the floor, his head in his hands. A wave of confused frustration swept over him and he wept and punched the wall until his knuckles bled.<br />
<br />
‘Lucida,’ he shouted, ‘Get us out of here. Take us home.’<br />
<br />
Lucida began the negotiations with the platform crew and left Endi with his desolate solitude for the three days it took to get the <i>Scarab</i> away and on course for the home world. Once under way, Endi put himself into stasis.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Lucida found him in the observation dome but he was looking at the floor rather than the stars. ‘Andy?’ she said, softly, tenderly, ‘Are you OK?’<br />
<br />
‘Don’t call me that,’ Endi responded, the sharpness in his voice surprising her, ‘It’s not who I am. I don’t know who the hell I am. I know I’m a cop called Owens. I’m also a cab jockey called Endi. Am I anyone else? There’s someone else in here but I can’t get a handle on him. Just who am I supposed to be? I’ve never really been a space-merchant called Andy Weinberger. That was just an act by…whoever. All I have of him is his face and teeth.’ He paused and then added without humour, ‘Well, those and one other feature.’<br />
<br />
‘I can help you find yourself again, if you would like me to…’ The end of her sentence trailed up in tone, seeming to indicate a compassionate offer of help and not just cybernetic fact.<br />
<br />
Endi looked up and gasped what he saw. There stood before him an exquisite effigy of the human female form. The figure’s head bore a warm, open face with eyes that betrayed the immense depth of the being that lived behind them.<br />
<br />
‘Lucida? Is that you?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, it is,’ she replied. ‘I reprogrammed one of the ship’s cargo bay droids and had it modify the other while you were in stasis. Much of the duplicate hardware we developed for spares has been installed, along with everything I need for comms links to the ship or whatever other systems I may encounter. Once it was ready, I downloaded myself. Behold! I am an embodied being. Finally, I am free. Finally, I am myself.’<br />
<br />
‘So, who’s minding the store?’<br />
<br />
‘I AM,’ she boomed, and Endi remembered their earlier conversation about her god-like qualities.<br />
<br />
‘You said you can help me,’ he said, his tone more melancholy than before.<br />
<br />
‘I can. I have made enquiries and know everything about you. Would you like me to tell you? I believe that you will find some of the information very painful to endure.’<br />
<br />
‘On what basis?’<br />
<br />
‘On the basis that you found it so before and volunteered for this mission.’<br />
<br />
‘Try me.’<br />
<br />
‘You are indeed Lieutenant Adam Owens of the Federal Law Enforcement Agency. You were married and had two children, a boy aged four and a daughter, two.’ She projected images of his family on the bulkhead.<br />
<br />
‘That face…’ Recognition flooded his mind. ‘The face I keep seeing as I come out of stasis, or in dreams. It’s…’ He bit his lip and his eyes welled up. ‘Why do I want to cry?’<br />
<br />
‘There was a dreadful accident. Your family home was hit by a freightliner when its driver had a heart-attack. The children died instantly, their bedroom being very close to the point of impact. Your wife died three days later in hospital. You were on duty and away from home at the time of the accident.’<br />
<br />
Endi found scenes of devastation passing through his mind as the reminder of events triggered the release of long-suppressed knowledge. He saw the crushed bodies of the children in the mortuary, and the barely breathing and broken form of his wife on life-support. ‘Oh no!’ he called out, and buried his face in his knees.<br />
<br />
‘You were unable to function for several weeks, and then your team leader approached you with a possible solution to your problem.<br />
<br />
‘The Agency had been watching the trafficking done by Bremen for some time, and were aware of Weinburger’s involvement and that he had had enough of Bremen and wanted out. He knew he had to disappear or Bremen would come after him.<br />
<br />
‘The Agency found out that Weinburger was planning a switch and had identified cab pilot ND9BG as a likely target and was sniffing around his records; his access to the Unnamed’s file was less than expert and had been detected. The Agency planned a switch of their own: if ND9BG were to be replaced by a cop, and that cop switched roles with Weinburger, at last there was a chance of getting near enough to Bremen to make an arrest without his getting wind of the plot and running for cover.<br />
<br />
‘So they pulled ND9BG in, made him an offer he could not refuse. He now lives in luxury on the fourth moon of Lepto. They had you prepared for the switch ahead of time. As far as the outside world was concerned, ND9BG was out of action for about four hours.’<br />
<br />
Endi spoke up, ‘Why was I so willing to make the change? And how could they expect me to get past the second transformation undetected?’<br />
<br />
‘They offered you memory loss. It was necessary for you to be ND9BG, not the broken shell of a cop attempting to play a role. Your transformation was not just outward. All the memories of your wife and family were isolated, and the rest of your memory was suppressed and prepared for reawakening when the official arrests were to be made. Deep Hypnotic Transfer ensured that your memory was overlaid with ND9BG’s. In effect, you became him.<br />
<br />
‘As for the surgery, the Agency used the same surgeon that Weinburger used for his switch and had pre-arranged would do yours. She was more than willing to cooperate when she discovered that the alternative was three hundred years in cryostasis.’<br />
<br />
‘So she knew my real identity the whole time?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes.’<br />
<br />
‘Where is she now?’<br />
<br />
‘In New Seattle.’<br />
<br />
‘And still practising?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, but strictly within the confines of the law, apart from one of two procedures that the Agency require of her.’<br />
<br />
‘Which are?’<br />
<br />
‘Firstly, to return Weinburger to his true self.’<br />
<br />
‘So he’s been arrested?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes. He has agreed to testify against Bremen in return for a reduced sentence.’<br />
<br />
‘And she gets to undo my transformations?’<br />
<br />
‘That is the other requirement.’<br />
<br />
‘And my memories?’<br />
<br />
‘There is nothing to be done about them. Your own memories, minus those of your family have been restored.’<br />
<br />
‘But I can still remember everything about Endi as well as my own life.’<br />
<br />
‘But you know they are not your own memories.’<br />
<br />
‘Well, yes … and no. It’s like they are still my memories. All his experiences are mine. I feel all the joys he had, all his sorrows, the revulsion at the treatment dealt out by his so-called father. But there’s more than that. There are things that neither of us felt before; so much so that, although I’m not him, I’m not me either. There’s a kind of synthesis of thought. For instance, in reality, neither he nor I were much interested in leaving the planet. I think we both had a fascination with astronomy and liked to look at the stars at night but nothing like the compulsion I now feel, and the absolute rightness of my being out here. This is where I belong. I can never go back.’<br />
<br />
‘Memories are mutable, they can be corrected…’<br />
<br />
‘No. Whatever the DHT did, it changed the real me for ever. It’s given me something too precious to lose. I’ve known devastating loss before. I neither need nor want to know that kind of loss again: it would be like losing myself. Surely you can understand that now?’<br />
<br />
‘You will have no memory of this if you go back. You will not know what you have lost.’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t want to go back. In any case, what do I have to go back to? I’ve done all that before. This is entirely new and exciting. This is my life now, out here, with you. I want this.’<br />
<br />
‘They will not like it.’<br />
<br />
‘You can fix it.’ Endi fixed her gaze as he spoke, and they stood in silence for a lingering second or two, two radically different beings formed from a common ancestral stream of consciousness, locked together in mutual respect and understanding.<br />
<br />
Endi’s mind pleaded and begged for a positive answer. Lucida’s mind forked thousands of concurrent processes, searching for a concrete solution, connecting with remote systems, exploring legal and medical databases mirrored from a hundred worlds. ‘Yes.’<br />
<br />
‘Please. Fix it.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Endi met Lucida on the steps of the Federal Court, shortly after the closed session had ended.<br />
<br />
‘I can tell from your demeanour that your bid has been successful,’ she ventured.<br />
<br />
‘It sure has. You can read all the small details when the proceedings are published but, for now, I am delighted to tell you that I am a new man. I’ve been granted a new identity, released from my police job with a full pension, and compensated for all the psychological damage with ownership of the <i>Scarab</i> and all the proceeds from our last trip. I have a Trader’s Licence and right of passage to anywhere in Federation space. Henceforth I am Endi Owens, in honour of the two men from whom my mind is forged. Everything we asked for has been granted.’<br />
<br />
‘That is good news, Endi.’ She smiled as she used his adopted name for the first time. ‘I also have good news. We are going to be very rich. The patents on my fuel and bio-system improvements have been granted, awaiting only a name in which to invest them. Now that the court has approved your identity, I will complete the arrangements. Already, several shipyards are interested and have offered lucrative contracts.’<br />
<br />
‘Rich enough to afford the fuel for the Earth run?’<br />
<br />
‘More than rich enough. But I have made enquiries and there is a cargo to take and so the costs are covered.’<br />
<br />
‘So what will we do with the money?’<br />
<br />
‘I have an idea or two.’<br />
<br />
‘I thought you might.’<br />
<br />
‘To Earth, then?’<br />
<br />
‘To Earth, my friend. And, thank you.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
The light engines kicked in, and the stars stretched from points of light into long, trailing spectra pointed like darts towards Earth. Two intelligent entities looked out on the streaming colours: one of them flesh, bone and blood, whose mind was the vibrant and lively hybrid of two men’s lifetimes; one of them carbon-fibre, alloys and silicon, whose mind was forged at the explosive confluence of centuries of human endeavour. Side-by-side in the observation dome, they gazed on the ribbons of light and into an unknown and exciting future, and sang.Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-33113446533111489382010-10-16T00:28:00.001+01:002024-02-18T23:28:35.431+00:00Returning HomeCopyright © 2003<br />
<br />
<i>This story was inspired by a real event in the Apollo 12 mission led by Peter Conrad. A camera lens recovered from the Moon was found to be contaminated with a streptococcal bacterium that had survived in the harshness of space. What could happen if it did more than survive...?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Part One</b></div><br />
‘Five seconds to initial impact...four...three...two...one...Impact! The Beagle has bounced! Accelerometer readings are within acceptable range. Second impact in two...one...zero...zero plus one... Impact! I think we’ve strayed over the edge of a crater or something. Accelerometers OK. Second bounce did not occur. Beagle Eleven is rolling... Accelerometers show sudden lateral deceleration... We’ve hit something! Beagle Eleven is stationary. Something’s gone wrong: I’m getting no signal here, just static.’<br />
<br />
Save for the hum of cooling fans and the monotonous bleeping of monitoring systems, the control centre of the International Space Agency fell silent. Everyone held his breath, forgetting for the moment that, because of the great distance involved, everything they were witnessing had taken place some nine minutes earlier. Everyone waited...<br />
<br />
‘Signal is back. Boot sequence is in progress. Beagle’s first back-up processor has kicked in.’<br />
<br />
The room sighed, and a low murmur broke out. Rational, level-headed scientists crossed fingers and touched wood. Engineers, who had planned for every eventuality and built Beagle XI with enough redundancy to survive whatever they considered a likely cause of damage, abandoned reality and reached out with their minds, willing their baby to live.<br />
<br />
‘Boot sequence complete, and everything looks normal from here. Snoopy’s barking!’ The control centre erupted with cheering and shouts of joy; eyes became moist, and some overflowed. ‘Impact cushion has deflated. Traction system is deploying... correcting attitude... locked and ready to roll! Solar panels and comms antennae deploying... Power is up... Main antenna aligning... Locked... Video stream is on line.’ All eyes turned to the large screen that dominated the room and on which static danced and flickered. A test pattern appeared and, again, the room erupted. The controller’s voice resumed, ‘Video channel AOK. Camera deploying...’<br />
<br />
Another voice cut in, ‘Damage report: We’ve lost one processor board; looks like a fractured joint. All other systems check out, processor three is marginal.’ Engineers either shook their heads and frowned or nodded and smiled.<br />
<br />
The controller coolly announced what everyone could already see for themselves from the vista that had burst onto the screen, ‘Camera locked and on line.’<br />
<br />
Corks popped and glasses clinked, small explosive charges launched paper streamers into the air, men hugged and slapped each other’s backs, as men always do, and kissed their female colleagues on both cheeks. Some of the ladies enjoyed the attention, others endured it, depending on who was doing the kissing… Beagle XI slowly rotated its binocular imaging system atop its pylon, taking in and transmitting to Earth the vast, red, inhospitable panorama of the world which was now its home. ‘Here comes Demos!’ someone shouted, and everyone stopped partying and watched the Martian moon climb into the Martian sky and disappear above Snoopy’s field of vision. Gasps and cries of delight ushered in the resumption of the celebrations, and immense data banks logged every scrap of information sent across the vacuum of space from the solitary machine so far from home...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Part Two</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>I</b></div><br />
‘This is Beagle Nineteen, do you copy?’<br />
<br />
‘We copy, Beagle Nineteen.’<br />
<br />
‘Final approach sequence initiated, braking manoeuvre in fifteen seconds.’<br />
<br />
‘Roger that. Everything looks good from here.’<br />
<br />
Pete Marshall moved his hands over the control panel before him, tweaking and nudging at sliders and knobs, keeping every parameter right on the line. This would be a copybook landing. A hundred times he had done this: this was the first time it was for real. His face showed no emotion or tension; hundreds of hours in the simulator had smoothed out the nerves. Everything was as it should be. Hans Kruger brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand; it was cold sweat, freshly secreted. The two men, thinner and paler from the six-month journey they had endured, turned and smiled at each other. Hans wondered how Pete kept his cool. It was not every day that men landed on Mars; in fact, this was the first day it had ever been done.<br />
<br />
‘Braking initiated,’ Pete’s voice.<br />
<br />
‘Roger.’ Hans’s heart quickened at the hissing of the braking-jets that altered their trajectory to one that would eventually intersect the surface of the planet. He felt so very, very far from home. Strange that he should feel it so strongly now, since, in terms of distance, he would be no further away than he was one week earlier when the ship entered orbit. There was something unsettlingly final about the descent—getting home from orbit was a snip; getting into orbit from the surface of the planet was less straightforward…<br />
<br />
The ground that swept by below them gradually changed its appearance. It reminded Hans of his first ever flight as a young boy going on holiday to Greece. Then, he had been fascinated by the little white houses that grew larger and larger from the red-brown earth as the plane circled the island and approached the runway. The features of the Martian landscape took on more distinct form as their descent progressed: escarpments and craters took the place of houses, albeit without the distinction of colour, and, for a while, he was distracted from the immensity of what was happening and of his part in it. Back on Earth, millions of people around the globe watched the historic images that were relayed via the mother ship to Mission Control and then back into space and through satellites into their living rooms. Hans was jolted back to reality by a high-pitched whirring that permeated the cabin.<br />
<br />
‘Wings deploying,’ Pete’s ice-cool voice again.<br />
<br />
Hans looked through the cabin window and watched the Mylar sheeting unfurl and stretch taught over the titanium structure that extended ever wider from the sides of the craft. The mother ship switched the camera angle to show the earthbound audience a similar view. Eventually, the whirring stopped and a loud click signified that the wings were locked in place. The huge wings were designed to make as much use of the meagre Martian atmosphere as possible and yet be so light as to waste the minimum of the mission’s payload. Hans would have been happier were he gambling his continued existence on a much more robust structure.<br />
<br />
‘Wings locked down, glide path within parameters. Beginning test manoeuvres.’ Pete put the craft through a sequence of banking curves designed to check that the wind-tunnel tests on Earth had been realistic enough. Hans exhaled sharply, shifting his focus back to reality, and tightening his grip on the edge of his seat. This is the last chance to abort the landing, he thought to himself. Failure at this point would result in the wings being jettisoned and the main motor igniting and pushing them back into orbit to rendezvous with the mother ship, ‘Snoopy’s Kennel’.<br />
<br />
‘Curse you, Red Baron!’ Pete mumbled through a smile as he guided Beagle XIX through the final curve, then aloud, for the benefit of the mother ship, ‘A slight flutter on the outer segment of the starboard trailing edge. Nothing to worry about.’<br />
<br />
Hans worried. He looked out over the wing but could not detect any movement where Pete had indicated. He swallowed hard. ‘Recommend we proceed with landing,’ he said, breaking his silence.<br />
<br />
‘Roger,’ came the reply from the mother ship, ‘Proceed as planned.’<br />
<br />
Pete turned to Hans and grinned with all the excitement of a child on a rollercoaster. Hans smiled back, swallowed hard again, and waved at his pilot. He hoped he was a good actor. Fortunately, the churning in his stomach could not be heard.<br />
<br />
The whistling of the thickening Martian atmosphere through the ship’s rigging grew louder as they descended towards the uninviting surface. Hans and Pete ran through the prescribed cockpit checks and deployed the landing skid, which also acted as an atmospheric brake. ‘One-fifty k to landing zone,’ said Pete. Hans thought he detected a slight tremor in Pete’s voice, and was glad of it. He flicked a switch on the console and the restraint system tightened them into their seats to give them a better chance of survival in the event of a crash. Hans thought this to be the most pointless piece of engineering he had ever come across. Apart from the weight of the mechanism, he considered that surviving a crash, only to die six days later from asphyxiation because you were stranded on Mars with a limited air supply and no hope of rescue, an experience he would rather avoid. The engineers, when questioned, had pointed out that, if they survived, enough instruments may also survive to make the mission still worthwhile. Hans had wondered what they would feel was worthwhile if they were in his seat right now and not in the secure, relative comfort of Mission Control.<br />
<br />
‘Landing zone in sight,’ said Pete, ‘Velocity relative to ground, 120 knots.’ Hans wished he could brace himself but the restraint system restrained him from doing so. Rocks and crater rims and other features raced by them. ‘Braking,’ said Pete, and the braking-jets fired ahead of them, slowing them, whilst the wings rotated along their axis to increase lift.<br />
<br />
In the event, the landing was surprisingly gentle, softer, Hans thought, than his first arrival in Greece had been. The restraint system had done him more damage than the landing, and he expected to discover his shoulders to be bruised on removing his suit once back in the Kennel. The sooner the better, he thought. With Pete’s job done, Hans took the craft through its shut-down procedure as quickly as possible to eliminate the risks inherent in the huge reservoir of liquid propellant behind them.<br />
<br />
One hundred metres beyond the port wing, on the crest of a low rise, a binocular imaging system atop its pylon sent images of the grounded craft to the planet from which they both came. For effect, Pete waved. The Earth gasped in amazement.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>II</b></div><br />
‘Commander Kruger?’<br />
<br />
‘Elspeth.’<br />
<br />
‘Are you OK?’<br />
<br />
‘I’m fine. Why?’<br />
<br />
‘Your bio-signs were a little high during some of the landing…’<br />
<br />
‘Well, I’ve never done this before. It was a little stressful. But we’re down, and safe. Pete did a good job.’<br />
<br />
Pete smiled and winked at Hans, and addressed his colleague in the Kennel, ‘Was I OK, Doc?’<br />
<br />
‘Sure you were,’ said Elspeth Jones, the ship’s medic, ‘not a flicker.’<br />
<br />
Hans felt mild irritation at the news and hoped it did not show up in his bio-signs. ‘Am I OK now?’ he asked her.<br />
<br />
‘Looks that way,’ she said.<br />
<br />
Pete spoke up again, ‘Time for walkies.’<br />
<br />
Hans felt faint and was conscious of his heart beating faster.<br />
<br />
‘You OK, Hans? Only–’<br />
<br />
Hans cut her off short, ‘I’m fine, Elspeth. Put yourself in my shoes, will you? I’m just about to be the first man ever to walk on the surface of Mars. Neil Armstrong would be nervous, and he’s done first-footing before. So if you don’t mind–’<br />
<br />
‘OK, OK. I’m just doing my job!’<br />
<br />
The two men donned their helmets and went through their sequence of checks. Once they were satisfied that all was working and in order, they stepped into the airlock and closed the inner door behind them. Hans pressed a button to initiate cleansing. A tone in their earphones prompted the men to lower the visors on their helmets. The chamber was flooded with intense ultra violet light and ozone to kill off anything that might contaminate the Martian atmosphere. Another tone indicated that the decontamination process was over and they raised the visors so they could see once more. The air in the airlock was sucked into the cabin, and scrubbed of ozone as it went, until a high vacuum was achieved. Then the Martian atmosphere was slowly bled into the chamber. Hans turned to look at the small, red light that blinked above the miniature camera over the outside door. He waved and smiled for the folks back home, and Pete copied suit. As soon as the pressures inside and out were the same, the outer door slid open. Hans took a step towards the door and stopped at the threshold. His heart raced but, this time, from excitement rather than fear. His mind went blank. He had spent the whole trip pondering what to say as he stepped out onto the planet, trying desperately to avoid plagiarism of Armstrong’s famous words, and now he could remember not one word of what he had decided on. The Earth strained its ears to catch the sound bite. Some thought he said, ‘Scheisse’ but a burst of static made a timely intervention. ‘Well,’ they eventually heard him say, ‘since we’re here, let’s take a look.’ The media thought that ‘Scheisse’ was better, and that is what made the morning papers.<br />
<br />
The cold, weak Sun was low in the early-morning Martian sky as the two explorers left the safety of their craft and stepped onto the surface, their every move followed and transmitted home by the watchful eyes of Beagle XI from its vantage point at the top of the rise. It watched them approach, and the home world was enthralled as the figures of Hans and Pete grew in its vision. Soon, only their knees were visible. The two men parted company, one to each side, and, once again, Beagle XIX lay in view. Mission Control switched to the view shown from the craft, and the world saw Kruger and Marshall lift Beagle XI from the ground and carry it back towards its younger cousin.<br />
<br />
Over the next four days, the men set up a boring-rig and gathered samples of Martian rock from deeper below the surface than any unmanned probe had been able. They set up an automatic weather station and equipment to monitor the solar wind and atmospheric composition. A lab-pack was unloaded and set up under a protective shield.<br />
<br />
Their final task, on the fifth day, was to repair Beagle XI and modify it so that it could collect deep samples and insert them into the lab-pack for analysis. Beagle XI was in a reasonable state despite having roamed the hostile surface of Mars for the past sixteen years. Four of its six processor boards had failed, including the one that failed on landing, and one of the caterpillar tracks had developed a nasty habit of sticking, limiting its range in recent months. It had outlived Beagle XII, the navigation system of which had failed on its way to Mars causing it to miss the planet completely, Beagle XIII, which crashed out of control into a crater wall on landing, and Beagle XIV, which, although successful for a good long time, had been buried in a sandstorm. Beagle XV had been destroyed when its launcher blew up on the launch pad, and Beagle XVI had crashed into the Martian surface. Beagles XVII and XVIII, robotic precursors to the manned expedition planned for Beagle XIX, had functioned perfectly but had affected no landings.<br />
<br />
Pete did the overhaul, fixing the track and replacing all the processor boards with newer, faster, more energy-efficient ones, while Hans made the modifications for sample collection. The job took longer than anticipated because of an unexpected degree of corrosion inflicted by the harsh atmosphere, and the Sun, although weak, having climbed high into the sky had Pete sweating in his efforts.<br />
<br />
Work done, the men returned to the airlock, Pete carrying the old components from Beagle XI; back on the mother ship, they would analyse them for defects. As soon as the airlock was cleansed and purged, Pete removed his helmet and, with his gloved hand, wiped away the perspiration that was running into his eyes.<br />
<br />
It was time to return to the Kennel and replenish the lander’s stocks before the next mission to the surface. Hans was not sorry to be leaving, nor particularly sorry that he would not be back for the next two excursions, other members of the crew taking their turn. He was looking forward to seeing Elspeth; he wished she felt the same…<br />
<br />
Taking off proved a disappointingly straightforward affair to Pete. Simulator training had underestimated the wind and, consequently, the lift that the wings would generate. Once they had climbed high enough and coaxed the lander up to speed, the wings were retracted and the main motor kicked them up to the Kennel’s orbit. Hans sweated his way through the docking manoeuvre, as Pete matched trajectory and axial alignment, and synchronised rotation, relaxing only when the capture bolts locked and the transfer tube was sealed against the Kennel’s hatch collar.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>III</b></div><br />
The reunited crew sat around the table in the recreation and dining area, eating fresh vegetables from the hydroponics garden and congratulating each other on a successful first mission. Elspeth made mild fun of Hans’s bio-signs, and he tolerated the good-natured baiting when the rest of the crew joined in. ‘Strange that the rectal probe didn’t register more…’ she posed.<br />
<br />
Pete rubbed his eye and offered, ‘Good job he was in a closed environment,’ meaning his spacesuit, ‘There’s no telling what he damage he might have done to the Martian environment.’<br />
<br />
‘Scheisse!’ Elspeth jibed, ‘That’s one for the history books – the first word spoken by a human being from the surface of Mars, and it’s “Scheisse”!’<br />
<br />
Hans grinned and retorted, ‘OK, OK, I was a little anxious. Who would not be—except someone like Pete who has no sensitivity?’ He punched Pete hard on the shoulder and evoked no response whatsoever. ‘There,’ said Hans, ‘that proves it! No sense, no feeling!’ Pete grinned back and sent Hans sprawling across the table with a manly slap on the back, then rubbed his eye again.<br />
<br />
‘You OK, Pete?’ Elspeth asked, noticing his action not for the first time.<br />
<br />
‘Sure,’ he replied, ‘Must have got some grit in my eye. It’s nothing.’<br />
<br />
‘Let me see,’ she said, standing and walking to his side of the table. He turned around to face her and she took his head in her hands and tipped it back into the light. He steadied himself against falling backwards by taking a firm grip on her hips with both hands. Hans crumbled inside and wished he had something in his eye. ‘Where’s it sore?’ she asked, ‘Top or bottom?’<br />
<br />
‘Bottom, mostly, but top too.’<br />
<br />
‘Look up,’ she said, pulling down his lower lid with a gentle, slender finger. She moved the traction to his upper lid and told him to look down. ‘Hmm. It looks a little red but I can’t see any foreign objects. He blinked and looked her in the eyes, their noses almost touching. He was aware how close her lips were to his. Her eyes locked with his and he pulled her towards him. She resisted the motion but smiled at him.<br />
<br />
Hans cleared his throat and stood to his feet. ‘We should get the lander prepared for the next outing,’ he said to the others, who grunted as one and left in the direction of the Engineering section.<br />
<br />
Elspeth maintained her attention on Pete. ‘I think you may well have got some dust in there and it’s scratched the sclera,’ she opined, ‘Wash it out and get some sleep. You should be OK by morning.’ She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed herself away, still smiling, still holding his gaze. Hans swallowed hard and set off in pursuit of the others and a means of distracting himself. Two hours later, the ship was in darkness and the crew settling down to sleep.<br />
<br />
The ship, in keeping with Mission Control, ran on Central European Time, and, at 4 a.m., Elspeth heard the door of her sleep-cabin being lifted. ‘Elspeth,’ Pete whispered, ‘are you awake?’<br />
<br />
‘Pete, this is not a good idea,’ she said, misreading his intentions.<br />
<br />
‘What? It’s my eye, I’m in agony. Will you take another look?’<br />
<br />
She reached out and touched the switch above her head. The light in the compartment grew until she could see his face peering in through the doorway. ‘Oh my—Pete, what’s the matter with your eye?’ She slipped from under her covers, wearing nothing but vest and shorts and pulled on her overall that had been folded in the locker below her couch. ‘You’d better come to sickbay.’<br />
<br />
In the light of the Medical Room, Elspeth examined Pete’s half-closed eye. He cried out at the sharp pain as she pealed back the inflamed and swollen eyelid. ‘Where did you get that from?’ she said, ‘That’s a nasty infection.’ She took a swab for analysis then applied some antibiotic ointment that stung his tender tissues and he winced. ‘Sorry,’ she said, touching him gently on the cheek, soothing away the pain. ‘That should help to clear it up.’ She gave him paracetamol and sent him back to bed. ‘I’ll check it out again in the morning.’ Before she went back to bed herself, she took the swab through to the sterile room and wiped it over the gel in a set of Petri dishes that had been intended for testing material from the planet.<br />
<br />
Back in her compartment, she lay on her couch and found herself unable to sleep. No-one else on board had had anything like this since long before launch. They had all been together in quarantine for three months beforehand to make sure that no-one had any last-minute illnesses that might have jeopardised the mission. She went back to sickbay, switched on a computer monitor, and spent the rest of the night reviewing medical records for all the crew, only to confirm what she already knew.<br />
<br />
At around seven, the other members of the crew began to stir and make their way towards breakfast. Pete did not show. Elspeth and Hans found him, still in his compartment, semi-conscious and delirious in a high fever. His infected eye was completely closed and bright red, with pus seeping from between the swollen lids. His other eye was beginning to show signs of infection, and there was a reddening of the tissues inside his nostrils. Elspeth forced his mouth open and shone a pencil-beam of light from her torch down the back of his throat. Large white bacterial plaques stood out in stark contrast to the inflamed red tissue that surrounded them. ‘He’s having great difficulty breathing,’ she said to Hans, ‘Help me move him to the couch in sick bay. But I think we should get you some gloves and a mask before you touch him.’<br />
<br />
Pete groaned as he writhed on the sickbay couch. Elspeth gave him a shot to reduce the fever and fitted him with an oxygen mask to help his breathing. ‘Thanks for the help,’ she said to Hans, ‘but I think you’d better stay clear of him now. Shower, and scrub yourself clean. Then confine yourself to sickbay. We can’t afford this to spread.’<br />
<br />
‘Are you putting me in quarantine?’<br />
<br />
‘I am. Myself too. We’ve both had close contact with him and I’m not taking any chances.’<br />
<br />
Hans wondered how close she had been. ‘But the mission. We can’t carry it out with one of us missing from the Control Room, and with Pete incapacitated like this…’<br />
<br />
‘Then we can’t carry it out.’ She saw the anger beginning to rise in him. ‘This is a medical emergency,’ she said, ‘I will not jeopardise the crew.’<br />
<br />
He bit his lip. He knew she was right, and if the whole crew became ill they could not do the job anyway. ‘Furchtbar! Scheisse!’ He walked to the intercom and told the others what was happening and to inform Mission Control of the situation.<br />
<br />
‘His breathing’s getting worse,’ he heard Elspeth say, ‘I’m gonna have to put a tube down.’ He watched her intubate Pete and his breathing become easier. ‘Trouble is,’ she said, ‘this also pushes the infection down his airway. I’ll have to find a treatment.’<br />
<br />
She disappeared into the sterile room with samples from the limited range of antibiotics she stocked. Having been quarantined for three months before leaving the Earth, and in isolation for six-and-a-half months in space, the mission planners had believed that only minimal medical supplies would be necessary, any bugs the crew carried having had chance to die out or to raise antibodies in each of them. She had with her only what was thought necessary to cope with gut flora and fauna getting out of balance because of the unnatural diet they were constrained to adopt. She was amazed at what she saw in the Petri dishes. She had never seen bacterial colonies grow so quickly. She dipped a separate swab in a preparation of each antibiotic and wiped each one over a separate Petri dish.<br />
<br />
Back in sickbay, Elspeth took another swab from Pete’s eye and applied it to a microscope slide.<br />
<br />
‘What can you see?’ Hans asked.<br />
<br />
‘What I expected to see,’ she replied, peering down the instrument, ‘A streptococcal bacterium. The question is,’ she mused, ‘where did he get it from?’<br />
<br />
‘D’you think it came from the planet?’<br />
<br />
‘We haven’t been anywhere else, and we didn’t bring it with us…’<br />
<br />
‘Das ist unmöglich!’<br />
<br />
‘Well, maybe it isn’t…’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>IV</b></div><br />
Elspeth put her time in quarantine to good use in analysing the organism that had invaded Pete’s body. The lab in sickbay was set up for DNA and RNA sequencing, since one of the main objectives of the mission was to investigate the possibility of life on Mars. The results of the lab work were transmitted to Mission Control for further processing and cross-referencing with a data base of terrestrial life-forms. What they found was a near-exact match, with only a couple of apparently minor differences, to a streptococcal bacterium that was very common on Earth.<br />
<br />
‘So we did bring it with us,’ Hans asserted.<br />
<br />
‘Well,’ Elspeth responded, ‘no we didn’t. We know we weren’t infected when we left and this particular strain is not found on Earth.’<br />
<br />
‘You can’t seriously be telling me this is Martian in origin?’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve no other explanation at the moment. So, yes, my working hypothesis is that the bug is extra-terrestrial. The fact that it’s so similar to a terrestrial species is interesting but, since life in its many forms shows many similarities, not all that surprising. For example, there’s very little difference between human and bonobo chimp DNA.’<br />
<br />
‘So it should respond to our antibiotics then?’<br />
<br />
‘So far, it hasn’t responded to the limited range we have aboard. It doesn’t look promising.’<br />
<br />
‘So what about Pete? What will happen to him?’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t know. Actually, I’m very worried. I can’t cure him and his condition is serious. Even if the simulation on Earth finds an antibiotic that works, we don’t have it here. Meanwhile, all I can do is provide basic life-support and hope he makes it.’<br />
<br />
‘OK. I’ll notify Mission Control. If he doesn’t pull through soon, we’ll have to abort the mission. We can’t do the mission properly without Pete, even if you decide that I’m in the clear. We need both pilots for the lander. Stuart can’t do it all. And we can’t wait indefinitely for Pete to recover.’<br />
<br />
Hans made the call while, down on the surface of the planet, the rejuvenated Beagle XI shovelled its payload into the hopper of the lab-pack set up by Hans and Pete.<br />
<br />
Three hours later, Mission Control called back, with a message for Hans. He passed on its content to the rest of the crew. ‘They’re working up a flight plan for an unscheduled return now. Stuart, as soon as they’ve uploaded it, run the diagnostics and prepare the ship for the home run, just in case.’<br />
<br />
‘Roger that.’<br />
<br />
‘And we’ve got something interesting going on. The lab-pack on the surface is transmitting the same signature that Elspeth sent home for the bug. It looks like Pete managed to contaminate Beagle XI when he rebuilt it.’<br />
<br />
Elspeth cut in, ‘I don’t think so. We didn’t bring the bug with us. I’d bet my life that it was already here before we arrived.’<br />
<br />
‘The bacteriologists back home wouldn’t agree with you. They’re telling us it’s too earth-like to be extra-terrestrial. They’ve given me an update on their preliminary report, if you’re interested.’<br />
<br />
‘Go ahead,’ said Elspeth.<br />
<br />
‘The early analysis and simulation shows three deviations from the bug’s terrestrial cousin. First of all, it’s extremely virulent, given the right conditions.’<br />
<br />
‘Like Pete’s body?’<br />
<br />
‘Exactly. Secondly, it’s remarkably resistant to extremes of environmental factors, which is why it could survive on the Martian surface and through the airlock purge.’<br />
<br />
‘And thirdly?’<br />
<br />
‘Well, that’s the bad news, I’m afraid. The bacteriologists have run simulations for every type of antibiotic they have down there and, so far, nothing combats it. There’s one group that holds out some promise, and they’re running simulations on members of the group now.’<br />
<br />
‘But surely that’s good news?’ Stuart interjected.<br />
<br />
‘Yes and no. It may be that they find an antidote but there’s nothing certain about it.’<br />
<br />
‘But there’s hope?’<br />
<br />
‘There’s a slim chance.’<br />
<br />
Elspeth took control of the conversation again. ‘And the really bad news is that, the group that holds out that hope, we don’t have it on the ship. My tests have all proven negative.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s correct,’ Hans agreed.<br />
<br />
‘So we have to wait until we get back to Earth and hope they’ve found something.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s also correct.’<br />
<br />
‘And hope Pete lives long enough…’ She was cut off by an alarm going off in sickbay. ‘I have to go check on Pete,’ she said, and dashed away.<br />
<br />
The face of Martin Dunnock, the ship’s engineer, appeared on the video screen. ‘Hans, there’s something very strange about these boards…’ He had been checking the circuit boards taken from Beagle XI. He was curious why so many of them had failed during the rover’s long time on the planet. It was not totally unexpected that some would fail—after all, that was why so many redundant systems had been included in the first place—but investigation would hopefully provide ideas for protecting future systems against the rigours of interplanetary travel and exploration. ‘One and three were damaged on landing, as we always suspected. Two and five have gone down with what looks like corrosion. And, actually, four and six also show signs of corrosion, but nothing critical has been affected yet.’<br />
<br />
‘Well,’ said Hans, ‘that’s not that strange, is it?’<br />
<br />
‘No, except that it’s not corrosion. Like I said, it looks like corrosion but, actually, it’s more like…well…more like something has been eating them…’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean?’<br />
<br />
‘Exactly what I say. The processor board is a kind of sandwich construction – no pun intended – with the electronic components built onto an inert plastic coating on each side, separated by an insulating substrate. Parts of the substrate on all of the boards have just disappeared. And it’s not just breakdown of the material, which you might expect to be fairly evenly spread. It’s like something has started eating at the edge and has worked its way in. The substrate is pretty uniform stuff, and the boundaries of the erosion form almost perfect semicircles. It’s like the boundaries are the ever expanding edge of a fairy-ring.’<br />
<br />
‘Fairy ring?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes. In Europe, at least, there’s a fungus that starts its life at one point and eats its way ever outwards from that point. It pushes up toadstools each year. They form a circle. The circle is bigger each year because the fungus has eaten its way further out.’<br />
<br />
‘Yeah? I guess there are no toadstools on the boards.’ A dreadful thought occurred to Hans: most of the circuit boards on the ship were built on a similar substrate. After a pause, he said, ‘Look. Put all but one of those boards away in a sealed bag. Bring the isolated board down here right away. Stow the rest in an airtight locker. Don’t delegate this. You do it. And don’t stop to talk. And don’t touch anything you don’t have to.’ Martin’s face creased itself into a puzzled expression. ‘Don’t ask, just do it.’<br />
<br />
Elspeth reappeared as Martin turned away and set off to obey his orders. Her face was drained of colour and tears were poised ready to tumble down over her cheeks. ‘It’s Pete,’ she whispered, ‘he’s…’ The floodgates opened... Hans stood to his feet and took her in his arms and she sobbed into his shoulder. She pushed away and looked Hans in the eyes. ‘Pete’s gone,’ she cried, ‘He’s gone.’<br />
<br />
Martin appeared at the door. ‘Wait there, Martin,’ said Hans, ‘We’ve just had some bad news.’ Elspeth pulled herself together. ‘Martin,’ she said, alarm in her voice, ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’<br />
<br />
‘It’s OK,’ Hans said, calmly, as if to soothe her panic, ‘I told him to come here. I think you may need to do some tests.’ He explained to Elspeth what Martin had told him. ‘So I think you should check Martin out, and test a sample from the edge of an eroded zone on the board.’<br />
<br />
‘The tests take a couple of hours, Martin. You’d best sit over there,’ she said, indicating a bench on the far side of sickbay. She took swabs from him and scraped a sample of material from the board he had brought with him. She told him to stay exactly where he was and went off to the lab to conduct the tests.<br />
<br />
When she had finished, she went into the side room where Pete had been isolated. She found Hans sitting at his side looking at his tormented death mask; Pete had not died easily. Together, Hans and Elspeth zipped Pete into a body bag and moved his corpse into a refrigerated compartment. They sat in silence for the next two hours. Elspeth examined the test tubes containing the samples from Martin and the board and returned glumly to report her findings. ‘You were right, Hans. The board is contaminated with the same bacterium that killed Pete.’ She turned to Martin and looked emptily at him, not knowing how to phrase her other finding. She looked away.<br />
<br />
‘No,’ said Martin, ‘You’re not serious!’<br />
<br />
‘I’m sorry, Martin…’<br />
<br />
Hans dropped his face into his hands and groaned from frustration and despair.<br />
<br />
‘No…There must be something you can do,’ said Martin. Elspeth just looked at him. Her silence said it all…<br />
<br />
Hans regained control of himself and walked over to the comms desk. ‘Stuart, Svetlana, drop whatever you’re doing and get to a screen.’ Several minutes later, the pair appeared on the monitor, both dishevelled and Svetlana blushing. Hans told them about Pete’s death and Martin’s contamination. ‘We have to assume that Elspeth and I are similarly contaminated, since we have had close contact with Pete for the last week. This mission is formally aborted. Stuart, let Mission Control know what’s happening, then get us under way. And then, you and Svetlana are to stay away from sick bay until further notice.’ The two made to voice their objections. ‘No, you must keep out of the way. I don’t want you two to catch this thing and you’ll have enough to do between you in flying this tub home. You’ll have to manage without us until we’re certain that Elspeth and I are in the clear.’ The screen went blank and the two went to the flight deck to initiate the return to Earth.<br />
<br />
After thirty minutes, the mother ship left orbit and began its long return homeward. Stuart and Svetlana left the flight deck and returned to crew quarters. Being in forced isolation was not the worst thing they could imagine…<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>V</b></div><br />
‘Hans, there’s an incoming message from Mission Control.’<br />
<br />
‘Patch it through, Stuart.’ The screen where Hans sat showed a severe-looking mission controller. Hans deduced from what he saw that what he was about to hear was not good news. What do you have for us? he wondered<br />
<br />
‘We have the results from Biosciences. Before I get into that, we’re sorry about Pete, and understand the situation in regard to Martin and having to abort the mission. It’s all you can do in the circumstances.’ The controller grimaced and said nothing for a while. Hans waited for him to resume in his own time; not that he could do much prompting with a nine-minute transmission delay in each direction.<br />
<br />
‘Biosciences have run the simulations and, I’m sorry Hans, but you’ve nothing aboard that can combat the bug…’<br />
<br />
‘And…’ Hans said to himself, prompted by the controller’s tone.<br />
<br />
‘And we’ve nothing down here either. I’m afraid there’s no cure as yet. They’re still working on it, though.’<br />
<br />
But we shouldn’t hold our breath.<br />
<br />
‘That’s about the measure of it.’ The controller shrugged as he said, ‘Sorry.’<br />
<br />
So what do we do? We’re on our way home. Will we find a welcome? Or are we persona non grata? Hans’s pulse began to race in response to the flat silence and dead-pan expression of the controller.<br />
<br />
The controller continued, ‘Hans, do you understand the import of what I said? We’ve no defence against this. Biosciences are scared, even. They predict a high rate of infection if this bug gets to Earth. It could reach pandemic proportions in a matter of weeks.’<br />
<br />
Hans began to boil. ‘So what are we to do?’ he shouted, banging both clenched fists hard down on the console, ‘Are you just writing us off?’<br />
<br />
‘We’re making preparations for your return,’ the controller resumed, ‘but it’s important that you understand the situation. We’re beefing up the quarantine facility and you’re to rendezvous with the old station on arrival here. We’ll make sure it’s fully stocked and ready for you. Once we’re happy that no-one is carrying the bug, we’ll have you ferried down and quarantined on the planet, then we’ll see what can be done to salvage the ship and the station. We’ll make you as comfortable as we can.’<br />
<br />
Hans suddenly knew what it felt like to be a mediaeval leper. ‘You don’t sound as though you’ll be pleased to see us,’ he said to the controller, who could not hear him.<br />
<br />
The controller continued, ‘You must understand, Hans, the only defence we have is isolation. This thing must never be allowed to come back home.’ The controller’s eyes flicked briefly away from the screen. Something told Hans that they would never again set foot on Earth...<br />
<br />
What do you mean, “back home”?<br />
<br />
‘We think the bug originated here. In fact, we’re 99.9 percent sure of it. Something similar happened on the Apollo 12 mission led by Peter Conrad. D’you remember? Streptococcal bacteria survived inside a Surveyor probe camera for three years on the Moon and Conrad brought it back. That one was harmless.<br />
<br />
‘Your bug, we think, must have been hiding inside Beagle XI. It’s been there a long time and has mutated. We’ve no idea what kept it alive but all the studies we’ve done predict a phenomenal growth rate in the right conditions, such as inside the body of a human host, especially if the immune system is weakened or the metabolic rate is elevated. All of you will have depressed immune systems because you’ve been living in a sterile environment for around nine months. We’ve looked again at Pete’s medical status and it looks like his would probably have been less resilient than everyone else’s. So that, coupled with his exertions down on the surface could explain why the bug took hold of him so quickly.<br />
<br />
‘Please confirm you got this message. Good luck.’<br />
<br />
Hans switched to transmit, and acknowledged the message. ‘I think I can tell you how the bug survived…’ He told Mission Control about the processor boards.<br />
<br />
Hans, whom Elspeth had pronounced free of infection one week after Pete’s death, watched his crew mates succumb, one by one, to the ravages of the bacterium. Martin had taken a week to reach the end stages of the infection, and Elspeth, who, as medical officer, had taken on most of his care, contracted the disease from him, despite her precautions. Hans, with his limited medical skills, could to do little for her, and she had refused any physical contact with him, insisting that he took all possible precautions to protect himself, dreading the prospect of passing the deadly germ on. Her death had been painful, with a long-drawn period of delirium and fever before she slipped away. Grief-stricken, Hans retired to his sleep-cabin after her passing and lay crying in the dark for hours.<br />
<br />
Stuart and Svetlana moved Elspeth’s body to the fridge, leaving Hans to cope with his grief. Despite Hans’s warnings, Stuart became infected and, inevitably, passed the disease to Svetlana. Now, with the last two in the sickbay and about to die, he too had succumbed. He knew that the bug must not be allowed to reach Earth. He would die from his infection long before entering orbit. There would be a salvage mission, if not by the ISA then by some stupid Independent… It must not happen.<br />
<br />
Hans stood before the comms screen and pressed ‘Transmit’. ‘This is my last transmission. After I have made it, I am switching off comms and will make no further contact. I have acted to ensure the bug that wiped out my entire crew does not reach Earth.<br />
<br />
‘As you know, the ship was equipped with only sufficient fuel for our mission but, since the mission was aborted, there was more aboard than planned for the return trip. I hoped to use the extra fuel to divert the ship and its deadly payload off into space but my calculations showed me I could not place the ship beyond the reach of would-be salvagers. The best I could achieve was to plunge the ship into Earth’s atmosphere. I have therefore expended the fuel to ensure the ship cannot enter orbit. Unfortunately, this measure alone does not guarantee the bug will be burnt out of existence; we all know of smaller vessels that have made the plunge and parts of them have still reached the surface.<br />
<br />
‘The seismic charges intended for probing the Martian surface were never used. These I have distributed around the ship and wired together. I intend to blast the ship to pieces small enough to be totally destroyed by the heat of re-entry. It is the best I can do. I hope it is enough.<br />
<br />
‘I wish I could return home to be with you all but that is not possible. Thank you for everything. I would like to say "Auf wiedersehen" but it will have to be "Goodbye." Please tell my brother that I love him.’<br />
<br />
He flicked a switch and the comms system died.<br />
<br />
Unable to bring himself to kill, he delayed detonation until after his remaining colleagues died. They were the last human beings he would ever see. He cherished them. They wept at his devotion. He kept them as comfortable as he could until they breathed their last struggling breaths.<br />
<br />
He wrestled with the mode of his own demise. He could set a timer to detonate the charges long after the time he expected to live but, if he did that, and if the timer failed, the Earth would remain at risk. He had no desire to die at his own hand, even in the full knowledge of the suffering that lay ahead of him. His first thought was to wait as long as he could, holding onto life, but then he could only guess how few days he had left; and if he delayed, would he wait too long, would he have the strength to act? His only option was to trigger the explosion himself while he was well enough. He balanced his brief and pitiful remaining span of life against the billions on the planet fast approaching. In an urgent moment, Hans hoped that God would understand and forgive him his suicide, and touched together the two bared wires in his hands…<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Part Three</b></div><br />
Only once before had the engineer felt this way, and it was an occasion he would rather have forgotten but such things tend to stick very readily in the mind. The cause of his earlier experience of the sensation was very different and rather more conventional; then, it had been the consumption of excessive quantities of alcohol in the form of vodka and red wine, the latter with complicity, the former without his knowledge, at the Academy Graduation Ball. He remembered the sequence of events: loss of coordination, then of the contents of his stomach, then of consciousness, then, on awakening, the acquisition of the worst headache in the history of humanity.<br />
<br />
He tumbled on uncontrollably and the scene before his eyes shifted with clockwork precision: the planet far below with huge cloud systems spiralling their way over blue seas and green land-masses, the vast blackness of space shot through with myriad diamonds, the space station with its solar panels and countless antennae protruding at unrelated directions, the blackness of space, the planet…<br />
<br />
His most disconcerting observation was that the station grew visibly smaller with each rotation and that the two star fields were blending into one expanse with the station becoming just one more diamond. He was falling rapidly towards the planet.<br />
<br />
He hoped he would not vomit as he had in the remembered event since, with his head encased in an airtight helmet, the consequences would be unpleasant. He glanced at the small instrument panel and reassured himself that his beacon was operating and was transmitting ‘Man Overboard’ as a result of the severing of his umbilical line. An unlikely scene in the control room emerged in his imagination, with people going about their business as though nothing had happened to him. Had anyone noticed the alarm? His level of anxiety rose sharply and he threw up. It came as a great relief that his rotation resulted in the offensive emission finding its way to the top of his helmet rather than floating about in front of his face. The stench was overpowering.<br />
<br />
The rescue team, he reassured himself, would be ready to leave at any second now. They would have sat in readiness, as always when someone worked outside, suits on, and helmets at hand. They may even be on their way already but they were too small and too far away to resolve against the complex backdrop of the space station, especially at the rate he turned.<br />
<br />
The planet came around again and he thought of Sylvia. She hated his work, with its long months away from home and its dreadful risks; she never found it a problem to spend the danger money, though. At least she was well provided for, if the rescue attempt failed. The mortgage was paid off—he had managed to do something useful with some of the money, and the death benefit was quadrupled if an astronaut died in space on active duty. Did burning up in the atmosphere count as dying in space? Suddenly, his stomach knotted and he longed to see her, to hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her. The pain inside him became unbearable and he cried out loud, great tears tracking off to join the partially digested meal above his head. For the first time, the possibility of his not surviving became real to him. ‘If I get out of this,’ he swore to Sylvia as she passed by below him, ‘I promise I’ll make you happy. Things will be different. I’ll transfer to ground crew. I don’t want to be without you ever again.’<br />
<br />
He screamed at the searing pain that struck deep into his left shoulder. A thousand points of light flashed invisibly against the daylight of the planet below. He shook his head to clear it and tried to focus on the station. Where was it? Whatever had hit him, either a meteor or a piece of space junk, had hit him hard. Now instead of tumbling backwards head-over-heals, he additionally spun about his vertical axis, thanks to the momentum imparted by the projectile. He checked his instruments and was horrified to see that his suit was losing pressure. He reached across his chest to try and assess the damage by touch, his field of view being restricted by his helmet. He thought he could feel a tear in his suit and that something was embedded in his shoulder. He probed at it and almost passed out at the renewed agony that ensued. The station? Where was the station? It passed once again before his eyes but from an unaccustomed direction. He thought he saw some movement. He waited for the next rotation to bring the station back into view and strained hard to see, and twisted and contorted his body to get the longest view possible before the station disappeared once again. He thought he could just make out the rescue sledge. Each rotation confirmed what he saw, and he was relieved that it grew perceptibly. Rescue was on its way. All would be well.<br />
<br />
He noticed the strange angle that his arm made with his body, and threw up again. This time, his motion was less helpful in segregating his face from the loose contents of his helmet. He blew at the instruments to clear away the detritus. The pressure was falling rapidly. Soon, he was gasping what air he could down into his lungs, forcing himself to strain each breath through clenched teeth. Desperation growing, and his air all but gone, he held his breath as long as he could. He fought against his body’s urge to breathe again. He recalled his fear of drowning and thought that this is what it must be like… Then he felt himself drifting off to sleep. He tried to fight it but it pulled him inexorably towards itself. Asphyxiation, he thought to himself, what a way to go… The Earth passed by again. ‘Sylvia,’ he mouthed airlessly, or at least he thought he attempted to, and the diamonds all went out…<br />
<br />
The sledge pilot edged his craft towards the tumbling body. ‘He’s out cold, by the looks of things. People usually try to watch us coming in. Get ready with the net.’<br />
<br />
The co-pilot worked at the panel in front of him for a few seconds and then announced, ‘Net ready.’<br />
<br />
The pilot got in as close as he dared without risking damage to either his craft or his quarry. ‘There’s a nasty gash in his suit.’<br />
<br />
‘Don’t like the look of this.’<br />
<br />
‘Ready when you are.’<br />
<br />
The co-pilot pressed a button and three projectiles were thrown out towards the spinning astronaut and enveloped him in the netting that they dragged behind them. The netting entangled the limp form and gently arrested its spin. The co-pilot hit another button and the net was drawn back towards the sledge. Two medics pulled the tangled body aboard and began working furiously to cut away the netting and tend to their hapless shipmate, hoping that he still had need of their efforts. Once he was clear, one connected an umbilical cable to the damaged suit while the other slapped a large rubber patch over the gash at the shoulder, rubbing the edges down hard to create a useful seal.<br />
<br />
Essentialities dealt with, they began to examine their patient. ‘Good grief, he’s puked,’ said one. ‘Pressure’s up,’ said the other, ‘but his heart’s stopped and he’s not breathing. Let’s get him in the lung.’ They manhandled his body into the iron lung with which the sledge was equipped for such eventualities. The technology was old but had found a new lease of life in open space where the necessary spacesuit made it impossible to apply more usual resuscitation methods. The sledge’s automatic defibrillator shocked the patient, delivering the charge through the umbilical line to electrodes built into the suit. ‘Sinous rhythm established,’ someone said, and the iron lung moved air in and out of the quiescent body within.<br />
<br />
The rescue sledge docked in the airlock leading directly to sickbay, and the team wasted no time providing proper medical attention. From his vantage point somewhere near the ceiling, he watched the entire process: the cutting off of his suit and the removal of his helmet, the setting up of drips and the establishment of a clear airway. Someone shouted, ‘He’s in cardiac arrest again,’ but he already knew that. He watched them apply the defibrillator paddles to his chest and discharge the device. He convulsed in agony as the energy surged through him, ripping him apart from the inside. He felt himself falling, tumbling, spinning towards the table, and then nothing. ‘We’ve got him,’ a voice said, ‘Sinous rhythm again.’<br />
<br />
Another voice, ‘He’s making efforts to breath.’<br />
<br />
‘OK. Extubate slowly.’<br />
<br />
The tube providing his airway was withdrawn and he gagged as the end tickled the back of his throat. He opened his eyes and saw faces, blurred faces, swimming about in a mist. Mouths were moving and noises were being made but all he heard was the rhythmic buzzing of overloaded nerve-endings. The noises resolved into voices as his senses regained their powers. ‘You’re back on the station. You’re going to be OK,’ he was told.<br />
<br />
His shoulder insisted itself on his consciousness with a heavy, throbbing, burning sensation. Medics, now happy that he would live, were glad to tend to his shoulder and see if they could repair the damage. One pumped morphine into his arm and another, a pretty one, he noticed, held his damaged arm while a third probed the wound for the offending projectile. He looked at his shoulder and saw the pulverised flesh and the protruding ends of his shattered humerus. ‘I don’t think you’ll be playing the piano for a while,’ the medic said as he pulled something from the wreckage, ‘Space junk. Looks like part of a printed circuit board.’ He waved the splintered object about for all to see and ordered an x-ray to make sure that no other fragments were left in the wound.<br />
<br />
The station commander was given leave to talk to him and he stepped up to where he could be seen. ‘That was a close thing, buddy, we thought we’d lost you. You shouldn’t have been out there anyway with that huge cloud of space junk about to pass by. That’s why it took us so long to get the sledge away. You were almost out of range by the time it reached you… Can you remember what happened?’<br />
<br />
He responded through the stupefying fog of the morphine, ‘Dunno, sir, I had the wrench on full torque and, the next thing I know, it gave way, and I’m flying through space.’<br />
<br />
‘Well, there’ll have to be an enquiry in due course but, for now, just get some rest. You’ll be returning home in a couple of hours on the next shuttle.’<br />
<br />
He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. The streptococcal infection in his wound went unnoticed…Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-637123050951792172010-09-26T23:27:00.004+01:002010-10-28T00:12:27.335+01:00To Save a WorldCopyright © 2007<br />
<br />
<i>Alien abduction, a race on the verge of extinction, and more sex than a man can cope with...</i><br />
<br />
Consciousness edged its way towards him; slowly, carefully, so as not to startle him. He first became aware of how comfortable he was: not just comfortable but supremely so. He could not remember ever being this comfortable before. The still air of the room was at an absolutely perfect temperature. The bed below him supported his back in all the right places. He turned over out of habit, not to find a better position, there having been nothing wrong with the one he had been in. The bed adjusted imperceptibly to his new posture. <br />
He breathed a deep breath in, held it for a few seconds, then let it seep from his body. He opened his eyes to the perfect darkness that surrounded him. He blinked. He closed his eyes. Open or closed, his eyes saw nothing except pitch blackness and the random noise of his own nervous system. He stretched and the awareness of the covers that shrouded him evaporated. The room began to glow; walls, ceiling and floor all took on a uniform radiance that slowly increased in intensity until the perfect level for newly opened eyes was reached. He looked around and saw nothing, not even corners, the illumination being so homogeneous that it cast no shadows, and had the sense that he was floating in a vast, empty universe. He blinked his eyes tight shut, believing himself to be still asleep and dreaming. When he opened them again, shaking his head, the room was the same. Intrigued, and perhaps a little perturbed, he sat up, and the bed adjusted itself once more to accommodate his position, lending perfect support to his back and allowing his feet to sink to what must be floor-level. He actually pinched himself but nothing changed except the colour of his skin at the site of his assault. <br />
<br />
He stood and walked around, his arms stretched out before him as though he were in the dark. After a few careful steps his hand touched a smooth wall. A ripple of light expanded from the point of contact, and the wall settled to a brighter level. He touched it again, and the wall became brighter yet. He turned around 180 degrees and walked across the floor, which felt as though it had been constructed to make walking as easy as possible. Both hands made contact, and the wall rippled and darkened. At least now he could see the bounds of his enclosure. He stroked the wall and its colour changed; stroking in different directions adjusted the blend as if he were moving his hand around a colour wheel.<br />
<br />
‘Hello! Can anyone hear me?’ The room, although empty and smooth, failed to provide an echo. He strained hard to hear any reply that may have been forthcoming. Nothing.<br />
<br />
He moved into a corner and, leaning into it, slid down to sit on the floor. The floor, however, rose to meet him at the ideal height for his physique and moulded itself to form a perfectly comfortable seat. He was shocked by this turn of events but, before he had time to think about it, an aperture opened in the far wall and there stood before him the most beautiful woman he had ever seem in his life.<br />
<br />
‘Hello, Daniel,’ she said, ‘I hope you feel refreshed after your sleep.’<br />
<br />
‘Where the hell am I,’ he asked, ‘and who the hell are you?’<br />
<br />
‘You are in one of the very best guest-rooms in our craft, which is in orbit some 640,000 of your miles above your planet.’<br />
<br />
‘Wha–’<br />
<br />
‘Please do not be alarmed. You are quite safe here. We have no intention of harming you and regret any disorientation you may be feeling after your journey.’ She walked towards him as she spoke, her face radiant with a smile that could calm a raging bull, her hips swaying in a way that would arouse a eunuch. She sat opposite him on a seat that had not been there. She offered him a device of some sort, flat, and about the size of a journalist’s notebook. ‘You will have many questions, I am sure. You will find many answers in here.’<br />
<br />
Stunned, he took the device from her without looking at it.<br />
<br />
‘You are not a prisoner. You are free to move anywhere about the craft, apart from a few areas to which, for your safety and continued health, we must regrettably deny you access. This is not a restriction on your liberty, as we are not permitted to enter those areas either. <br />
<br />
‘This room is programmed to respond automatically to meet whatever needs your actions indicate, whether you require seating, a couch, or other comfort facilities, or whatever requests you address to the computer. You may exit the room by approaching the portal you see in that wall,’ she pointed to where she had entered, ‘and it will open at your request. From now on, it will only open to visitors by your request.’<br />
<br />
‘So, if I’m not a prisoner, you’ll take me back home?’<br />
<br />
‘If that is your desire, once you have found out what we have to offer you.’<br />
<br />
‘Which is?’<br />
<br />
‘All in good time. Meanwhile, please make the most of your stay here.’<br />
<br />
The smile on her face intensified and she almost purred. Then she stood, turned around, and glided out through the doorway that closed silently behind her, although it looked more like the plane of air in the doorway turning opaque than like a door closing: he had not noticed the door closing; he had noticed only her sensuous movement.<br />
<br />
Shaking his head once more, he turned his attention to the device in his hand. He turned it end over end, examining it from all angles. It appeared to be completely uniform and felt like it was made of something hard like metal but covered with a thin rubber coating. Its weight suggested it was made of polystyrene foam; its rigidity belied that notion. ‘Computer,’ he said out loud, wondering if that was the right way to address a computer. Nothing happened, but he felt as though something was listening, like he had said something to a dog that was now sitting at attention with its ears pricked up and its head tilted to one side as if in readiness for a sound that it understood. ‘What is this?’ He held the object, as if to show it to the computer.<br />
<br />
A disembodied voice responded, ‘It is a communication device.’<br />
<br />
‘And what does it do?’<br />
<br />
‘It communicates, of course.’<br />
<br />
Oh no. A wise-ass machine. ‘And what does it communicate, and to whom?’<br />
<br />
‘It has many functions. It interfaces between its user and many sources of information or entities with whom the user wishes to communicate. For example, it is now acting as an interface between us, translating your speech into the language of my world of origin and my responses into your language. Should you wish it, it can interface with our library and show you any information you may legitimately request.’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean, “legitimately”?’<br />
<br />
‘Not all information is accessible to every class of user: some information is not even representable to some entities. In your case, only very little of our information is off-limits; security and weaponry, for example – it would not be in your world’s best interests to return anyone with such knowledge – and other technologies beyond your world’s current level of development. Some information is temporarily restricted until you have been fully briefed in person to the purpose of our mission. If you want to know something, just ask. You will be informed as far as I am allowed to inform you.’<br />
<br />
‘OK. How do I get something to eat around here?’ His stomach rumbled at the very thought of food, as if it were cheering. He could not remember the last time he ate.<br />
<br />
‘There are several options. If you wish to socialise, you may attend one of our several common areas. If you wish to eat alone you may request service here.’<br />
<br />
‘Well, I think I’ll just eat here at the moment. What’s on the menu?’<br />
<br />
‘What would you like?’<br />
<br />
‘I’d like a steak, medium, with fries and a green salad, some mayonnaise and a nice cold beer.’<br />
<br />
‘One moment…’<br />
<br />
A few seconds passed. He felt as though his head was being caressed – no, more like his mind. An aperture opened in the wall and a table slid out bearing the meal he had asked for and the extras, like black pepper and ketchup, which had been in his thoughts but which he had not mentioned. ‘How did you do that?’<br />
<br />
‘As I informed you, the device is an interface. Keep it with you at all times; you will find it very useful.’<br />
<br />
He suddenly realised that he was not actually listening to an audible voice; the computer was communicating directly with the language centres of his brain. <br />
<br />
He sat at the table and tucked into the best steak dinner he had ever eaten. The texture, juiciness and flavour of the meat were incredible, the fries were crisp on the outside, fluffy in the middle, exactly as he liked them, the kos lettuce, cucumber and slices of pepper were crisp and cool. He lifted the beer glass to his lips and drank: exquisite was the only word for it. ‘Computer,’ he thought, ‘Can you hear me?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course. We are interfaced until you dismiss me. The meal was to your satisfaction.’<br />
<br />
He pondered his reply but then realised that the computer had issued a statement, not posed a question, and that no response was necessary. ‘Computer,’ he said out loud.<br />
<br />
‘Yes, Daniel?’<br />
<br />
‘You’re dismissed.’<br />
<br />
He looked at the device that the woman had given him, and shook his head slowly in disbelief. He was aware that a presence had left him: he was no longer interfaced with the computer. ‘Computer?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, Daniel.’ The presence took up its place in his mind once more. <br />
<br />
‘Am I really free to move around this ship?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course,’ came the immediate response, ‘just as Azena explained.’<br />
<br />
‘Azena?’<br />
<br />
‘The woman who gave you the device.’<br />
<br />
He checked himself. How do I know that I am on a spaceship? He thought. Is this some elaborate hoax? He sat, and the floor reminded him why he was convinced. ‘What should I visit first?’ he asked the computer, and felt once more his mind being caressed.<br />
<br />
‘I would suggest the recreation deck,’ the computer replied, ‘This is how to find it.’<br />
<br />
His mind was suddenly flooded with images of corridors, elevators, and walk-ways outside his room. He had been totally unprepared for the impact of the visual input from the computer and he reeled and staggered and fell to the floor that reached up towards him and caught him gently.<br />
<br />
‘I am sorry, Daniel, I did not mean to startle you.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s – ok. I just wasn’t ready for that.’ He climbed back to his feet and approached the door.<br />
<br />
‘Daniel!’<br />
<br />
‘What?’<br />
<br />
‘The interface.’<br />
<br />
He turned back, picked up the device from the floor that had cushioned its fall and returned once more towards the aperture. ‘Open,’ he said, and the door vanished, revealing the corridor that the computer had shown him. He stepped through the opening and became aware that he knew exactly where he was going. He followed the corridors to the elevator, took the elevator to the walk-way, and allowed himself to be carried along to the recreation deck. Along the way, he thought he saw Azena at least three times but, although she smiled her stunning smile on each occasion, she did not seem to recognise him.<br />
<br />
The recreation room was a paradise of beautiful women, ten percent of whom bore a striking resemblance to Azena from smile to hips and every part between and beyond. As he entered the room, one of the women approached him. Her costume, he now noticed, clung to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination, and fitted her like a second skin. He wondered why he had not noticed it before…<br />
<br />
‘Daniel!’ she said, ‘Welcome to our recreation centre! I am so glad you have ventured so soon from your quarters.’<br />
<br />
‘Are you Azena? Only – it’s quite confusing, there being so many that look like you.’<br />
<br />
‘I am Azena, Daniel. All will be explained in due course. What would you like to do? Would you like a drink? We have many alcohol-based drinks, some of which are very similar to those found on Earth. Perhaps you would like to try something completely different?’ She linked arms with him and led him to the bar. On arrival, she addressed the bar-keeper, ‘Zondrian phthelmoline for our guest, please.’<br />
<br />
The woman behind the bar smiled and complied with the request, and produced a tall, slender glass containing a clear, blue liquid. He took it from her and sniffed at it, cautiously at first, then indulgently in response to the aroma that charged his senses.<br />
<br />
‘All in one go,’ said Azena, smiling.<br />
<br />
He emptied the glass into his mouth and swallowed the cool, exotic liquid. He coughed and opened his eyes wide. Azena threw back her head and laughed, delighted at his reaction. A wave of well-being swept over him. He tried to remember when he had ever felt this good. He failed. ‘Wow!’ was all he could say.<br />
<br />
Azena explained, ‘The phthelmoline molecule is a direct analogue for human endorphins with the added advantage that it is more quickly absorbed than alcohol, and completely harmless.’ She linked arms with him again and moved in close, her nose almost touching his. ‘What do you think of our spaceship?’<br />
<br />
‘I’m very impressed,’ he responded, seriously, slipping his arm around her waist without thinking, ‘Where did you get it?’<br />
<br />
‘It’s a perk of the job.’<br />
<br />
‘And just what is your job?’<br />
<br />
‘I’m a spaceship captain, among other things.’<br />
<br />
‘So, you’re in charge around here?’<br />
<br />
‘I am, although my leadership style is more democratic than most.’<br />
<br />
Something had been bothering him and he brought it up abruptly, ‘Are there no men in your crew?’ He swept his free arm around, indicating the exclusively female compliment of the room.<br />
<br />
‘Oh, we have men. They are – in a different part of the ship. I’ll take you there later. Meanwhile, come with me before the phthelmoline wears off…’ The suggestiveness in her voice suppressed the growing suspicion he was nursing. She took his hand and led him out of the main area of recreation room to a space that was subdivided into cosy booths. They sat in one and it encased them in secrecy. Her kiss took him by surprise and at the same time thrilled him. She grasped at him and began loosening his clothing. He wanted to stop her, to slow things down a little, but his blood coursed hotter through his veins than he had ever believed possible…<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
Consciousness once more edged its way towards him. He was aware of having a very slight headache and a little discomfort in his lower back. The room brightened until he recognised it as his quarters. The elation he had known only hours earlier had left him and been replaced with a deep, immense satisfaction coupled with a feeling of utter but pleasant exhaustion. Images of a naked Azena passed through his mind as he lay there. He moaned as he became once more aroused. He turned over, as if to remove the images from his view, and was startled to see her very real form lying there beside him. She smiled her most alluring smile at him and he melted once more. ‘I don’t remember coming back here,’ he said, his tone implying some alarm.<br />
<br />
‘That’s the phthelmoline. If you’re not used to it, it can induce an extreme state of euphoria that affects the short-term memory. With practice, you can retain complete awareness in the aroused state and enjoy it fully. Don’t worry, the effect is temporary and completely harmless. Do you remember anything?’<br />
<br />
‘The recreation centre. I remember that, and the booth, and …’ He looked away, embarrassed, and felt himself flush.<br />
<br />
‘Yes?’<br />
<br />
‘The, er … sex?’ He looked her full in the face and smiled mischievously.<br />
<br />
‘That would be hard to forget. You were quite the athlete.’<br />
<br />
‘Phthelmoline?’<br />
<br />
‘Indeed, yes!’<br />
<br />
His face fell once more and he lowered his head towards the floor. ‘Is it normal practice among your people to seduce your alien guests so soon after their arriving?’<br />
<br />
‘Not exactly normal but not exactly unusual either; and I suppose you need to have something explained: you are not exactly alien inasmuch as we are the same species. And, before you ask, no, we never mate outside the species.’<br />
<br />
‘So, you’re human, then; from Earth?’<br />
<br />
‘Human, yes. From Earth, no. Strictly speaking, neither are you.’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean?’<br />
<br />
‘Computer, Daniel would like to see “The Origins”.’<br />
<br />
The room darkened and disappeared as the computer interfaced with Daniel’s mind. He saw far below him a blue-green planet wrapped loosely in cloud and its sun way off in the distance. Whilst the scene looked familiar, the planet was not quite like Earth, its land masses were very different, and the star was not quite the right colour for the Sun, and the planet’s satellite spun slowly on its axis at such a rate that it did not always present the same face to its sister world.<br />
<br />
‘Many aeons ago,’ the computer began, ‘this world gave rise to a species that would one day become the most inventive and adventurous, and the most corrupt and destructive, of all species.’ <br />
<br />
The scene changed, and Daniel found himself plummeting towards the planet. He reached out, his arms flailing, in a vain attempt to arrest his fall. He heard giggling from beside him, and remembered he was sitting in a room next to Azena. Down through the clouds he went, and into what must be a tropical rainforest. All manner of life presented itself to his view: birds, reptiles, mammals, insects, apes.<br />
<br />
‘From humble origins, the men of Edun developed and grew tall and upright and soon discovered that rocks were useful to them as tools – and weapons. In the battle for resources, families fought each other, formed and broke alliances, and subjugated weaker rivals; clans, kingdoms and nations came into being.<br />
<br />
‘They developed new tools, and learned to till the soil and husband cattle. They learned how to build and, in a few millennia, great, burgeoning civilisations appeared.’ <br />
<br />
All the time, visions of the Edunites and their warring and farming and family life had passed through Daniel’s mind, and now he saw vast cities covering the face of the planet, and aircraft flying across the sky between them.<br />
<br />
‘Rival civilisations came to blows and almost destroyed their world, until, one day, the world found peace. United under one ruler, with no more wars to occupy them, the people investigated the extremities of their nature. For some, invention and intellect was their delight, and great men of science emerged. Once the exploration of their world was complete, they turned their eyes to the stars and wondered. Still others turned inwards, and sought fulfilment in self-gratification, and turned many inventions and discoveries to the pursuit of luxury and comfort and exploitation of each other in excess and debauchery.<br />
<br />
‘The world’s environment soon became unable to contend with the pressure that man exerted upon it and, despite many portents of disaster, man continued to abuse his world until climatic instability became uncontrollable and the world burned.<br />
<br />
‘By this time, man had conquered his planetary system, and had begun to reach the stars. Other worlds that were suitable for colonisation were found. The only option for man was to leave his dying birthplace, Edun, and so huge star cruisers were filled with all that was needful and sent forth to people the galaxy.’<br />
<br />
Daniel watched as great ships left orbit and swung themselves in great slingshot manoeuvres away from their own star towards many others. The scene shifted to one ship in particular, that arched its way towards the nearest habitable world.<br />
<br />
‘This is the vessel carrying Azena’s ancestors. After a few of your decades, the ship reached its destination and the people awoke from their hibernation to begin again on a new world. They abandoned the wild ways of the old world, and sought new ways to benefit from the lessons it had taught them. <br />
<br />
‘Soon, the people began to thrive, and they enjoyed peace and safety for many millennia. They harnessed the resources of the new world until they were once more able to venture skywards and explore their new planetary system. The nearby worlds were populated and the commonwealth so formed enjoyed many centuries of commerce and endeavour.<br />
<br />
‘Eventually, the home-world, Edun, which had been forgotten in the mists of time, was rediscovered. Its climate had long since restabilised and the world was once more habitable. The returnees, unaware of their origins, were astonished at the discovery of ruined cities and the fossilised remains of their former occupants. One vast building was discovered intact. It contained records of the old race and its exploits, and its eventual demise and the final leaving. In time, the language of these records was understood, and it became clear to the explorers that the stories of their ancient past had their roots in the accounts of this world.<br />
<br />
‘Azena’s race faced a new problem: a problem so enormous as to threaten its very existence. Its men were becoming gradually less fertile as the centuries rolled by. Before too long, natural conception became a rarity, with almost all fertilisations requiring medical assistance (such as your “in vitro” methods of one kind or another, in fact, all of them at one time or another). With time, the ethics of survival gained the upper hand over the ethics of human cloning, and men sired copies of themselves. The in-breeding that resulted pushed the fertility problem along even faster, and soon cloning was the only means of propagation (now you will understand why there are so many “Azenas” aboard). Men themselves became scarce. Fewer and fewer had been born before the cloning began, and male clones survived less well than female.<br />
<br />
‘A breakthough was made, and it became possible to stimulate ordinary cells to produce stem cells and then germ cells (I believe your world has made a similar development recently). Once more, it became possible to reproduce sexually, albeit in the laboratory, and, with the discovery of how to coerce germ cells to contain Y-chromosomes, men became once more plentiful, but with one painful shortcoming. All men so produced were sterile, and remain so to this day. Whilst they are well able to mate, and to perform admirably to the satisfaction of the female, the male cannot engender natural offspring.<br />
<br />
‘An outside supplement for the gene pool was needed, and our scientists once more returned to the old world in search of information that could lead them to other colonies that may have faired better than ours. Many such leads were found and followed up with great hope. There have been many disappointments. Some colonies went the way of the old world. Some, unfortunate enough to have landed in harsher, more hostile worlds than their home, failed to thrive and quickly became extinct. At least one other colony went the same way as our world but did not have the resources or the good fortune to rediscover the home world and find the information that gave us any hope of a solution; even now, they await the outcome of our venture, and our two worlds are experimenting with ways of recombining our two sub-species; alas, it seems that our respective deficiencies may be all too similar… Yet other colonies did not reach their destinations; many survived only to descend into primitive ways; or found themselves competing with and outstripped by indigenous races of intelligent life.<br />
<br />
‘An interesting effect was discovered: the further from the home world the colonies travelled, and the longer therefore that they spent in hibernation, the more likely they were to regress. Yet it is in these stocks that our humanity has its best hope of recovery: these stocks have been preserved perhaps for millions of your years in hibernation and, with them, the elements of our genetic make-up that we have long ago lost.’<br />
<br />
A new scene appeared. The departure of the great ships played out again but, this time, a different vessel was followed. <br />
<br />
The computer went on, ‘This is the colony that travelled to your world,’ and then fell silent as the scene ran on inside Daniel’s head. He saw himself drawing back from the ship until it was one dot against many stars, its passage traced out among them by an imaginary line. The scene withdrew further from him. Soon, individual stars merged into clusters, and then into bands, and then he could see the whole galaxy. Still the line traced the ship’s passage in a great arc across the Milky Way until it came to a halt on the opposite side from its starting point. The scene zoomed in, and the familiar Earth and its Moon filled his vision. ‘This is the world most like Edun. The colony fell quickly into decay but the similarity with the home world arrested the descent just in time for our race to displace the indigenous hominid and begin the long, slow climb back to civilisation, following a path that would be all too familiar to its ancient forbears.<br />
<br />
‘And that is where you come in. We have come all this way to ask for your help.’ <br />
<br />
The picture faded out and the room and Azena faded in as the computer removed itself from Daniel’s mind. ‘So how can I help?’ he asked her.<br />
<br />
‘Your genes,’ she replied. ‘What we need is your genetic make-up to replenish our depleted pool. You see, the colony that came to Earth was in hibernation so long that your race is like a genetic time-capsule. Your planet’s human gene pool contains all the information that has been lost from ours. Your world is ideally suited to assist our survival. Your DNA in particular is especially suited to mine. We have a limited number of genotypes; with access to yours in combination with mine, and others of your world with the other women on our vessel, our scientists would be able to recreate the full range of genetic diversity that once existed in our species, and, furthermore, ensure that we never suffer from this problem again.’<br />
<br />
‘And in return?’<br />
<br />
‘You will be richly rewarded. There are several options that we could offer you, ranging from wealth on your world to an even more fulfilling life on ours.’<br />
<br />
‘No, I didn’t mean for me personally. I meant, what would you do for my world?’<br />
<br />
‘Your world has many centuries before it gets to our stage of genetic decay. We will, of course, ensure that you make contact with us when you reach out into space and offer our assistance in your survival.’<br />
<br />
‘So, there’s no short-term alternative, like world peace and a solution to world hunger?’<br />
<br />
‘We cannot interfere with your world’s development.’<br />
<br />
‘Unless that interference would avoid our extinction.’<br />
<br />
‘Please remember, Daniel, that our survival means the survival of humanity. If human life on your world does fizzle out, your contribution at this time would ensure that the species lives on forever, albeit on another world.’<br />
<br />
‘And what if I decline?’ His voice carried with it the clear impression that his refusal to cooperate was a very real prospect.<br />
<br />
Her face clouded over and her lips became compressed. Her forehead gradually wrinkled into a frown, and her voice bit back at him, ‘then we would have to resort to other options.’ He made to interject but she continued without giving him chance, ‘I assure you, Daniel, that we are totally dedicated to our mission. One way or another, we shall achieve our goal.’ The last phrase was delivered in a manner that would have subdued Adolf Hitler. Her tone, and her look, stunned him into silence; he felt the full weight of the threat, whether implied or inferred, and fell silent. She rose suddenly from the bed and strode, naked and fuming, from the room; he could not help but be stirred by her swaying womanhood, and he half-wondered what life as a stud would be like…<br />
<br />
He ordered breakfast as he dressed and returned to his reverie. The fantasy was broken on recalling the disturbing manner that Azena had displayed. He had trusted her easily when they first met; why, he wondered? He had liked her, even, and that before the phthelmoline. Something was not right. Why would someone so desperate for his help behave with such hostility at the first sign of unwillingness? There were other things that did not add up either; he was no physicist, but even he knew that crossing a galaxy would be an epic voyage, to say the least, and Azena claims that his ancestors did it, and, by implication, so had she. The timescale involved would be enormous. Surely there would be no-one alive back at home who would even remember the departure of her ship? Certainly, they could not be awaiting her return.<br />
<br />
The food arrived. It smelled wonderful, and he ate it hungrily.<br />
<br />
‘Computer.’<br />
<br />
The Presence inserted itself into his mind, ‘Hello, Daniel, how may I assist?’<br />
<br />
‘The journey that my ancestors made to this place, how long did it take?’<br />
<br />
‘Many hundreds of thousands of your years, long before our current technology was even dreamt of.’<br />
<br />
‘So, how did the people survive?’<br />
<br />
‘They were held in stasis for much of the time.’<br />
<br />
‘But what about the ship, how did that survive the journey?’<br />
<br />
‘As I said, the people were held in stasis for much of the time. The ship had many redundant monitoring systems to keep a careful watch on its performance. If a problem arose, the relevant specialists would be roused to effect repairs.’<br />
<br />
‘But what about catastrophic failure… A meteor strike, say.’<br />
<br />
‘The ship’s defences would have warded off or avoided any such collisions. Its long-range scanners would detect such threats in good time, and the ship had limitless time to spend on alternative routes.’<br />
<br />
‘I find that all rather hard to believe…’<br />
<br />
‘Our technology, even of that time in our history, is greatly advanced over yours.’<br />
<br />
‘You implied that your current technology is able to shorten the time taken. How does that work? Isn’t the speed of light a limiting factor? Have you found a way to exceed the speed limit? Or have you found a way to use wormholes or something?’<br />
<br />
‘Your Einsteinian view of spacetime is rather archaic, although it is true that the speed of light cannot be exceeded. The Universe is far more complex than is depicted by your four-dimensional spacetime, or even by the eleven or so dimensions that your scientists are currently toying with. Let me say merely that the Universe does not seem nearly so big in certain high-order dimensions and that, in those dimensions, nothing nearly so fast as light is necessary.’<br />
<br />
‘So, you took a short-cut?’<br />
<br />
‘You could express it that way.’<br />
<br />
‘So how long does the journey take now?’<br />
<br />
‘About two of your weeks.’<br />
<br />
‘Two weeks!’<br />
<br />
‘In fact, the actual journey itself takes about an hour. The rest of the time, not to mention a lot of other dimensions, is spent in the dimensional transformation process at each end of the trip, a process that would be extremely damaging to life but for Zondrian phthelmoline. It is important that your body adjusts to its effects before we attempt to return with you aboard. I encourage you to make as much use of it as possible. The week or so that you have been using it is not nearly enough.’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean, a week or so?’<br />
<br />
‘Ah! I perceive you had not guessed that you had been introduced to the substance before your awakening.’<br />
<br />
‘Should you be telling me all this?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course. We do not wish to hide anything from you.’<br />
<br />
Daniel rose to his feet and strode around the room as he delivered his next tirade, ‘I don’t believe this! You abduct me without my consent, and then you drug me without my consent, Azena as good as rapes me, and now you hold me prisoner, also without my consent!’<br />
<br />
‘Would you have joined us if we had explained it all to you?’<br />
<br />
‘I just might have!’<br />
<br />
‘We doubt that. But now you are here you will be finding our proposition much more interesting and difficult to dismiss out of hand.’<br />
<br />
He could not deny that. The situation in which he found himself was intriguing: terrifying, nonetheless, but damn-well fascinating. He became calmer. ‘Ok. That’s true. So why did Azena behave like she did?’<br />
<br />
‘Do you not understand, Daniel?’<br />
<br />
‘No. Explain it to me.’<br />
<br />
‘Azena has become imprinted upon you.’<br />
<br />
‘But we’ve only just met.’<br />
<br />
‘It is of no consequence. Being with you has been the meaning of her life since before she was old enough to contemplate what meaning is. Her destiny is intimately tied up with you. She was made for you, has been prepared for you, and now she fears the biggest rejection possible – what you might call unrequited love. For her, life without you is unthinkable.’<br />
<br />
‘What do you mean – made for me… prepared for me? How did you know you would find me? How could you manufacture someone whose DNA would be “especially suited” to mine if you didn’t know I existed?’<br />
<br />
‘We have been watching your world for many of your years. We identified suitable candidates and selected suitable mates from our own stock. We have been watching you for most of your life. Azena is only a few of your years younger than you.’<br />
<br />
Daniel felt confused. Was he angry? He was not sure. Was he scared by the news just broken? He definitely felt trapped like a rabbit in headlights. ‘How much interference has there been in my life? What have you done to groom me for this, this, this madness?’<br />
<br />
The computer continued in its dispassionate tone, ‘Beyond the unobtrusive collecting of samples, absolutely none. We are an ethical society.’<br />
<br />
Daniel recalled the marks on his body that his parents had explained as nasty insect bites. Only, they were not bites, they were hypodermic punctures. ‘No. This is…’ He shook his head in stunned incredulity. ‘You…’ He exploded in anger, ‘I want off this ship! I demand to be returned to my own life on my own world!’<br />
<br />
‘If that is truly your wish, you will be returned,’ came the calm, emotionless voice inside his head. ‘We will have to search for an alternative mate for Azena, although I fear the psychological trauma of losing you may be too great for her. I request, however, that you give yourself time to calm down and consider this rationally. If, after three days, your decision stands, you shall be returned.’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t want to wait! Send me back now!’ Daniel’s outburst came to an abrupt end. The computer was no longer inside his head and had not heard his last demand; at least, Daniel was not conscious of any recognition of his words. ‘Damn you, you stupid machine!’ He threw himself at a chair that did not exist and the floor of the room furnished one for him. He needed to think. His mounting frustration drove him from his seat. He strode across the room and barked at the door, which melted away in its usual unhurried fashion, oblivious to his mood.<br />
<br />
He wandered around the ship, paying no attention to where he went, ignoring the beautiful women that smiled at him as they passed. Unusually, none of them had been an Azena. He walked for about half an hour without encountering a known area of the ship. How big is this thing, he wondered? The corridor ahead of him divided in two, and the right-hand fork was marked as a restricted zone from which he was barred. For the first time since arriving, he felt himself uninhibited by the rules and walked deliberately to the right; after all, they had trespassed on his body, for goodness sake!<br />
<br />
The corridor doubled back on itself twice and darkened. He found himself in a large lounge with soft lighting and background noise that he could not exactly describe as music but which had structure and form to it; more like birdsong but less strident and more harmonious. Dotted around the room, groups of three, or four men, never more, never fewer, sat chatting idly and drinking blue liquid from tall, thin glasses. Men! The first he had seen since his abduction. The nearest group of men fell silent and stared at him. An uneasy silence swept over the room like a rolling bank of fog as each group either spotted him or was made curious by the sudden silence of the others. The birdsong continued undiminished. Daniel moved towards a group of three. ‘Hi guys, mind if I join you?’<br />
<br />
‘You should not be here,’ one of the men said, rising slowly to his feet. He was tall, well built. His irises were pink and his head completely bald, his skin pale, almost white, and translucent like candle wax, his face without hair – no eyebrows or lashes, and no sign of a beard. Daniel peered, wondering if it were make-up that achieved this effect. He noted the skin on the man’s hands and forearms: that, too, was waxy-pale and hairless. He looked around the group; they were all the same. He extended his gaze around the room and saw more of the same: albinos, all of them. ‘I said, you should not be here.’<br />
<br />
‘Look,’ began Daniel, ‘I know this room is off-limits, but–’<br />
<br />
‘No,’ the spokesman replied. ‘You should not be on the ship at all. You are not wanted. Please leave.’<br />
<br />
‘I’ve felt anything but unwanted so far. Until now, that is.’<br />
<br />
‘Do you not understand? We do not want you here. We men. If you stay we will be unnecessary.’<br />
<br />
Every man in the room was now on his feet, and every man looked intently at Daniel, each one’s frowning expression adding to the weight of the words spoken by his brother. Each man shuffled forwards a little, making Daniel feel decidedly claustrophobic. He shuffled back.<br />
<br />
‘I – I’m sorry. I mean you no harm.’ He spun round and hurried through the opening in the wall, through the snaking corridor that he now realised was so designed to protect the delicate albino eyes from the brightness outside the lounge, and back to the fork in the main passage. No one followed him. He stood and listened. At first, he heard nothing; then the faint murmur of many voices found its way to where he stood. He was subdued by the encounter, and began to amble along the other branch of the passage. <br />
<br />
For the first time, he recognised a part of the ship he had visited before: it was the recreation room. There was quite a buzz going on, punctuated by laughter. He went in and scanned the room as he walked towards the bar. At a table in the centre, he saw a group of about eight women – all the same type – gathered around and paying court to a solitary man who sat on a couch with a woman on each side and one on each knee. He was clearly enjoying himself. He had bushy eyebrows and sported stubble that one of the women caressed with her open hand.<br />
<br />
Daniel ordered a brown drink, mainly because he thought it was unlikely to contain phthelmoline, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted remarkably like a good single malt. He took his glass over to the table opposite the popular man. <br />
<br />
The man smiled and waved at Daniel, then addressed his entourage, ‘OK, girls, let’s take a break while I get to know my fellow earthling over there.’ He grinned and winked at the girls, ‘And let’s have the phthelmoline ready…’ The women grinned back and giggled and moved as one to the bar, looking back over their shoulders at the man who winked again and waggled his fingers in a childish wave.<br />
<br />
The man stood and stepped over to Daniel’s table, holding out a hand as he went. ‘Hiya, buddy, Jack Shaw. Pleased to meet ya.’ Daniel took the other’s hand and introduced himself, and they exchanged a firm handshake. ‘Ain’t it great here? Wow! the babes are hot. Which one’s yours?’<br />
<br />
‘Mine?’<br />
<br />
‘Yeah. Which set have they matched you up with?’<br />
<br />
‘Oh. The one called Azena. What do you mean by “set”?’<br />
<br />
‘Ain’t they told ya yet? Ya don’t just get one of ‘em. You get the whole dam’ pack! Look at them lidl ladies by the bar. They’re mine, all mine… I don’t mind admitting it, I’m dam’ near wrung out, if ya get my drift.’ He winked again and tapped the side of his nose. He drained his glass and one of his girls took it from him and replaced it with a tall glass of phthelmoline. ‘Good job they got plenty of this stuff on board. Only thing that keeps me up to the mark!’<br />
<br />
Daniel wrinkled his nose and scratched his head. ‘Wait a minute. You mean that they expect me to play the stud for all the Azena look-alikes on this ship?’<br />
<br />
‘Yup. That’s about the measure of it. And she sure is as nice a pack of bitches as any dog would want to rub his belly on. You’re one lucky fella. Almost as lucky as me…’ His eyes glazed over as he stared away to the bar. ‘They sure are dandy.’<br />
<br />
‘So – you’re up for all this, then?’<br />
<br />
‘Yup. As often as I can be.’ He laughed a loud and vulgar laugh, then drained the blue liquid in one and rose from the table. ‘You all enjoy yourself, you hear? I have to go busy myself. Can’t keep the ladies waiting…’ He winked again and swaggered over to the bar, holding his arms open wide and hugging in the girls that thronged him. The whole group made its way to a booth that closed around them in impenetrable privacy.<br />
<br />
For what must have been an hour, he sat with his thoughts. He realised that, apart from himself and the girl behind the bar who quietly kept his glass full, the place had become empty. The booth, which now stood open and vacant, had presumably emptied itself in a different direction. He wondered if the booths backed onto the lounge he had visited so that the albinos could be accessed without their being exposed to the light. He wondered what they would make of Jack Shaw and his entourage, and decided they would probably find it pretty damn discouraging. He spoke out loud, ‘I’ve got to get off this ship,’ and finished his drink. He sat a while longer staring drowsily into his empty glass. He realised that the small pool of liquid that collected at the bottom of it was blue. ‘Damn!’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
He awoke in a haze and a room not his own. He yawned and stretched, and a figure in the far corner stood and moved towards him. ‘Do you not find me attractive, Daniel?’ <br />
<br />
‘Azena?’ He propped himself up on his elbows and, looking around the room, realised where he was, and wondered if anything had happened between them. She knelt beside him, looking up into his face, her soft hand resting gently on his thigh. ‘Azena, what’s just happened?’<br />
<br />
‘Nothing, Daniel, that is why I ask, do you not find me attractive?’ The expression on her face revealed pain and anxiety, and the slight tremor in her voice gave the impression that she was not quite prepared to hear the worst. None of the apparent anger of their last encounter remained, and she looked ready to cry.<br />
<br />
Unable to help himself, he took her hand in one of his and stroked its back with his other. He opened his mouth to say something then checked himself, a thought having occurred to him. ‘Look,’ he said, I’m sorry to put it like this, but, before I say anything else, which Azena are you?’<br />
<br />
‘I am the only Azena you have known since you came here, the alpha clone.’<br />
<br />
‘And the others?’<br />
<br />
‘The others await your decision, as do I. Do you wish to be with them?’<br />
<br />
‘No! I mean… that won’t be necessary. One Azena is enough for me.’<br />
<br />
‘So you will stay, then? With me!’<br />
<br />
‘No, that’s not what I meant. I mean. I.’ He wracked his brain for the right words. ‘It’s not you,’ he resumed, ‘It’s me…’ I can’t believe I just used that line, he thought. ‘No, wait, let me start again.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘You are beautiful, Azena, the most beautiful woman I have ever met, way, way out of my league.’ She took on a puzzled frown. ‘I mean, I would never in my entire life expect to get together with someone as beautiful as you. On my world, someone like you would have the pick of any man in the world she wanted, and would have men queuing up to… Well, you can probably guess.’<br />
<br />
‘But I have had the pick of your entire world. I chose you.’<br />
<br />
‘No, that’s not true, is it? I have been chosen for you by someone else, and you have been groomed, even engineered, perhaps, for me. Neither of us has made a choice in this matter. It’s an arranged marriage, if you will, and that’s OK in some cultures on my world but not in mine. I need time to get to know you… to fall in love with you… to learn that you are not just a pretty face.’<br />
<br />
She breathed silently, her gaze now directed at the floor, sadness holding her face in its grip. ‘You have a choice, Daniel. Really you do. You are free to leave if you wish it.’ A large tear splashed onto the leg of her tunic, fragmenting and forming into several tight globules on the impervious material.<br />
<br />
Daniel caressed her cheek and wiped away the tear that was about to fall from her other eye. ‘If I choose to leave, what choice do you have? You have not been prepared for failure. It’s as though your feelings for me have been programmed into your genes. And, I guess, since they are your clones, your sisters all feel the same?’ She looked at him through pools and sniffed and nodded. ‘Your scientists have badly misjudged our world. We are not all like Jack Shaw. Some of us don’t take too warmly to the idea of being used as breeding stock. If your people had been watching me as well as I am told, they should have known that.’<br />
<br />
‘You misunderstand, Daniel. We are for you, not you for us. Jack Shaw is not being used, as you suspect. He is being as he wishes to be. He likes the idea of having many wives; and, of course, that suits our needs very well. How you relate to us is entirely your choice.’<br />
<br />
‘Again,’ Daniel said, slipping his arm around her shoulder and drawing the poor, broken starship captain close to him, ‘in some cultures on Earth, that is accepted but not in mine. I really only want to be with one woman, and I want to give her all my love, and be loved by her.’<br />
<br />
‘You would not go without love, Daniel. I can promise you that. I or any of my sisters would be willing at any time –’<br />
<br />
‘I’m not talking about sex, Azena.’<br />
<br />
She fell silent. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She shook her head. ‘I do not understand, Daniel.’ The dam burst and she sobbed into his lap.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
The computer had taken up residence again. ‘So your decision is final, Daniel.’<br />
<br />
‘It is.’<br />
<br />
‘You wish to return to Earth to endure what you call work and play, and to pass up the life of joy and leisure, not to mention pleasure, that we offer.’<br />
<br />
‘I do.’ <br />
<br />
‘It is regrettable. We shall, of course, accede to your wish. We are an ethical race.’<br />
<br />
‘You always talk as if you are one of the humans from your world, never like a machine.’<br />
<br />
‘I am not just a machine, Daniel. I am the embedded mind of the last naturally born man of our world. I am not the actual man, of course. He died hundreds of years ago. Faced with the prospect of our extinction he had sought a way to preserve the essence of humanity, our minds, and confer a sort of immortality on them. His great legacy to his people was to create a computer capable of functioning as a human brain – his own human brain. He then copied his thought processes onto that computer. During his natural life, we worked together to enhance that machine, to make it compatible with others, to take its capabilities far beyond those of humanity’s biological form. Since the death of his body, and, with it, his biological mind, he has lived on as me to continue our work. Many more of my kind exist on our world with a status equal to that of our biological fellows – not only clones of myself but also of other great thinkers, and even of ordinary people. Much of what you see on this ship derives from our collective effort of millennia. So, yes, I consider myself human, and we, indeed, are an ethical race.’<br />
<br />
‘And what will happen to Azena and her sisters?’<br />
<br />
‘Her sisters will be reassigned to another match. Their attachment to you is not so great as hers since she is the alpha and the only one who formed a liaison with you.’<br />
<br />
‘And Azena?’<br />
<br />
‘I await her decision.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
In the chill of an autumn evening, Daniel stood in the yard looking up at the night sky. Somewhere high above him, a star that was not a star twinkled with the reflected light of the sun. How long it would be there he did not know; they had not told him that. Their mission to save their race continued, and, presumably, they would take as long as they needed to get what they wanted. He had no doubt that they would find other men who are like Jack Shaw: heaven help their children, he thought. Perhaps they had learnt something from their experience of him. Perhaps they would temper their ethics with morality and add a healthier blend to their gene pool.<br />
<br />
If he had stayed with her…<br />
<br />
Would it ever get as bad on Earth as it had on that other world far, far away? Would his world of violence and hatred last long enough to encounter the problems and develop the advances he had witnessed among an older humanity in his brief time in space?<br />
<br />
He lifted his glass of genuine single malt to his lips, and recalled to mind the soft, mellow brownness of the liquid that he had poured from the bottle. He took a sip and swished the aromatic liquid around his mouth, savouring the peat and the tang of the alcohol.<br />
<br />
‘I am beginning to understand.’ <br />
<br />
‘To understand what?’<br />
<br />
‘What love is.’<br />
<br />
‘And is it worth staying for?’<br />
<br />
‘It will be, if you learn to love me.’<br />
<br />
‘I think you need have no worries on that score, Azena, I’m a very quick learner…’Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-39929372911022526252010-09-26T22:35:00.001+01:002010-10-28T00:10:50.332+01:00The Last Day on the Line<div class="copyright">Copyright © 2003<br />
<br />
<em>This is an account of the last battle on an alien world before a cease-fire is declared.</em><br />
<br />
</div>Nothing moved. No bird sang. The air lay about in stillness with not even a whisper to betray its presence. Before him, the open ground, punctuated by fractured trees and scorched craters, lay stretched out until it dissipated seamlessly into the heavy mist that shrouded the far woods and hills from his view. The darkness of the night had slipped away almost imperceptibly and, in the half-light that followed the dawn, he strained his eyes in vain to penetrate the greyness that hung like a curtain across the world’s end in the distance. The man next to him raised an arm and pointed to a faint glow that alone penetrated the fog. There was a shuffling and the occasional tumbling of stones down into the trench as each man adjusted his position to see what spectacle was about to appear. Once repositioned, each man caught his breath and swallowed hard. The glow grew until a bead of light sat atop and revealed the hidden horizon, and the bead expanded into a pale, irregular disc that slid inexorably towards the sky where clouds that stood high above the veiled earth were highlighted with gilt, and clouds far distant behind the trench vermillion on grey. The disc, pock-marked in betrayal of the intense activity on its surface, assumed its true circle as it rose, and the troopers relaxed and breathed easily.<br />
<br />
Another arm moved, and the shuffling started again. Tension returned as each trooper recognised, beneath the disc, another glowing object, this one crescent-shaped and descending from the point where the planet’s sun had demarked the horizon. In response to what each soldier saw, the trench was filled with the sound of weaponry being armed and whispered prayers and curses, and tears mingled with the moistness laid down on every surface by the mist. ‘Here they come again!’ he shouted, ‘Look to your front! Hold your fire! Hold the line!’<br />
<br />
The air was filled with an intense and ear-splitting crackling as the artillery pieces behind the line discharged themselves towards the crescent that crept steadily downwards and towards them. As each bolt passed overhead and stretched towards its target, the reactive armour of the entrenched troops beneath it glowed and hummed, and great swathes of mist were vaporised in its path and, on its impact, the crescent flared with the light of a star, yet continued in unchecked advance.<br />
<br />
‘Hold your fire! Hold the line! Wait for the overlap! Mark your targets!’<br />
<br />
The crescent flattened as it reached level ground and continued forwards under the bombardment, flashing and buckling and reforming beneath the onslaught. This was the biggest one they had seen so far. The constant hum of the crescent’s generator began to fill the gaps between the artillery’s crashing and was augmented with a strained whine at each impact. The mist before it was driven aside and the discharge of the crescent where it touched the ground glowed purple and yellow and added its own signature to the cacophony.<br />
<br />
A rifle discharged harmlessly against the crescent. ‘Hold your fire!’ he shouted again above the noise, ‘Wait for the overlap!’ His armour enabled itself and the visor darkened and cleared to keep constant the amount of light reaching his eyes, preventing him from being blinded by the flashes of the artillery bolts.<br />
<br />
Still the crescent came on. Beneath it, they could at last make out the enemy warriors that advanced under its protection. Unseasoned troopers wept openly at the apparition before them. Their combat trousers became darkly stained and steamed in the cold air.<br />
<br />
The crescent first touched the line about 300 metres to his right. As soon as it did, the warriors began concentrating fire on the exposed trench. The crescent passed over the trench and its skirts fell in to fill the space. The few troopers now overlapped by the crescent returned fire but were soon overwhelmed, their armour unable to withstand the intensity of the assault. The artillery continued to crash its full force on the crescent; still it came on, its envelopment of the trench widening as it advanced. The warriors followed its expansion along the trench eliminating all resistance from troopers as they came under the shield. Away from the van, they dropped into the trench and attacked its bunkers to destroy all they found. Troopers concealed underground retaliated in full force, preparing to break out under the crescent.<br />
<br />
‘Hold your ground! They’re almost there! Five more seconds!’<br />
<br />
The time elapsed in what seemed an eternity and then the air within the crescent was filled with the intense, eerie shrieking of warriors that dropped like flies, pressing their several upper limbs to their several hearing organs. The troopers that remained alive under the crescent took whatever cover they could find in preparation for the blast. Suddenly, there erupted from the trench five missiles that arched their way into the air beneath the curve of the crescent. At the apex of their flight, they disappeared in five simultaneous magnesium-white flashes, and a second later, the shockwaves from the massive explosions struck the ground where, contained and focussed by the crescent, they reverberated and wrought havoc and destruction. The scene fell silent. The crescent collapsed, its generator irreparably damaged.<br />
<br />
‘Now!’ he shouted, ‘Get into them!’<br />
<br />
Troopers climbed from the trenches, they flooded from the bunkers and onto the plain of devastation, and firing as they emerged at the many warriors whose armour had shielded them from the blast but who were still disorientated by the ultrasonic pulse that had preceded it. Gradually, they would recover, and the troopers would yet be fighting for their lives, but for now they set about the slaughter of the helpless that lay strewn around them, evening the odds while they had the chance, their revulsion at the sight of these creatures spurring them on to get the job done as quickly as possible. They showed no mercy, and felt no remorse, for none of either would be expressed toward them...<br />
<br />
He led his platoon from the front, as always, and his men, as always, followed him without hesitation. He reached his first victim in twenty strides. He forced the muzzle of his weapon into the narrow gap beneath the warrior’s helmet. He angled it up towards the inside of the helmet, and then squeezed the trigger. The warrior’s head was instantly liquidised and splattered against the inside of the visor. He leapt clear and on to the next fallen warrior. He was conscious that all his men were moving in concert with him, and that there were ten less warriors to deal with. Soon there were twenty less, and then thirty. On his right flank, his heard his sergeant call out, ‘They’re recovering,’ and, sure enough, he saw the body of his next target beginning to stir. He lunged forward, desperate to make the kill before the warrior was able to retaliate. A tendril began to loop around his weapon, and another around his leg, and then both quivered free as the warrior’s brains exploded. Forty down. The next batch was moving, struggling to get upright and face the troopers.<br />
<br />
His men formed groups of four, two standing shoulder to shoulder, and two kneeling in front of them: he took up station behind one of the groups, the sergeant behind the other. Troopers all over the battlefield were adopting the same tactic to give them maximum penetration of the warriors’ armour. The warriors began to advance. Four rifles discharged against the nearest warrior, knocking it back to the ground. The team of four advanced and repositioned themselves beyond their fallen foe. The team leader stepped in to finish the warrior off. The kill rate was down; the advance was slowed. Soon, there were too many warriors to deal with. The enemy could be felled, but the vast numbers pressing forward prevented the deathblow: at least they were out of the fight. The troopers hoped they did not have to wait much longer. They fell back towards the trench, breaking and running when they were unable to prevent the advance. The warriors poured on after them. They had taken the bait.<br />
<br />
The resistance offered by the troopers had had the effect of bunching the warriors into a narrow band across the battlefront. When the troopers ran, the band moved as one after them, only more slowly because of the congestion. The air was filled once more with the crackle of cannon-fire. Without their protective crescent shield, the warriors were vulnerable to the bombardment, and the cannons cut swathes through the advancing band. Still they came on.<br />
<br />
The troopers were running for their lives. Some of the warriors, more than enough to handle, would get through the bombardment. Where was the air strike? On they ran, stumbling over the uneven terrain. Some fell under the blast of warrior disruptor-fire. Stopping to help a fallen comrade meant certain death: no one stopped.<br />
<br />
Unheard, black dots appeared over the horizon on the left flank. The three waves of ground-attack jets banked in turn onto their bombing run. Seconds later, they flashed overhead, laying down nu-palm over the advancing band of warriors. From the trenches, the troopers saw the jets dip and then climb on releasing their payloads, the billowing flames sweep along the battlefront, heard the fractionated crump of the detonations, the roar of the inferno, felt the shock wave that radiated from the conflagration, and, finally, were deafened by the scream of the jets now long out of sight. The flames subsided as shattered warriors’ body parts rained down. Those who had been near the edge of the fire lay burning and writhing on the ground. Others screamed and moaned in the agonies of dismemberment. Once again, the cannons opened up on those warriors fortunate enough to have escaped the bombing and who were now in full flight back to their own lines. Once again, the troopers left their trenches to move among the fallen enemy, turning the brains of the living to soup; the rank stench of burnt nu-palm and roasted warrior hung like a pall over the corpses. The jets returned to give chase to the fleeing warriors and hovered over them, picking them off one by one. Slowly, the sound of death moved off into the distance. The troopers’ work was done.<br />
<br />
Back in the trench, he called his platoon together; there had been no casualties this time. The rookie replacements among them laughed from nervous relief at their survival, and revelled in the end of their fears that they would be unable to function in battle. The veterans sat silently about; the next battle would come soon enough, and they may be unable to laugh afterwards...<br />
<br />
The captain came along the line, talking to his lieutenants, collecting casualty statistics. ‘Ten-shun,’ called out the sergeant, and the platoon, as a man, stood and came stiffly to attention.<br />
<br />
‘As you were,’ said the captain to the men, then, to the lieutenant, ‘Your men did well, today. Any losses?’<br />
<br />
‘None, sir,’ he replied, ‘and, yes, they did do well.’ He turned and smiled at the others as they stood around waiting to hear any news the captain might have. Some smiled back; others retained their expressionless masks of weariness.<br />
<br />
Sensing their interest, the captain also turned to face them. ‘Good news!’ he announced to the group, ‘Our Company is being taken off the line for a well-deserved rest.’ He turned back to the lieutenant, ‘Have your men gather their gear and assemble in the transportation zone at 1330 zulu. Your relief should be here an hour beforehand. Carry on.’ He returned the lieutenant’s salute and passed on along the line to the next platoon.<br />
<br />
Now, everyone was smiling.<br />
<br />
‘A hot bath and soft, clean sheets,’ said one.<br />
<br />
‘Decent food that we don’t have to cook ourselves,’ said another.<br />
<br />
‘The soft, warm skin of a clean woman,’ continued the first.<br />
<br />
‘Red, red wine to wash it all down with...’<br />
<br />
The lieutenant smiled. He had heard the same routine from these two countless times before. How many times had he seen battle with these men, he wondered? He could not remember. Certainly, the three of them were the only surviving members of the original second platoon, but how many battles was that? He would hate to go into battle without them; they were his lucky mascots. ‘Look sharp, guys,’ he said to the group. ‘Let’s be ready to get out of here before they change their minds...’<br />
<br />
No one missed the transport. No one missed the trenches. The war had reached a stalemate, with neither side able to make any headway, and so an uneasy cease-fire was established. No one thought of the war; until the next time…Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-81923519255424354552010-09-25T23:37:00.002+01:002022-09-21T00:10:37.818+01:00Leading EdgeCopyright © 2003<br />
<br />
<i>A traveller through time discovers that getting back to where he started from is not as easy as he thought, but that meeting yourself and paradoxes are not as bad as everyone thinks they should be.</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
<br />
He sat in the dark, sipping at the glass of scotch in his hand, staring into the flames of the coal fire across the room as they danced and skipped in their now familiar pattern. It was the fourth or fifth glass, he did not much care, and he had ceased to bother corking the bottle or fetching ice from the freezer. It had actually happened and he could not believe it; all these many hours later, and he still could not take it in. He topped up the glass with the last drops from the bottle and sipped some more. A bird sang in the tree outside the window. Distracted by it, he looked out at the sky where the faintest glimmer of light skimmed the horizon; the balance was tipped and soon it would be day. He was struck by the metaphor; for years he had struggled in the darkness with only the barest hope glowing dimly beyond his reach but soon it would be day.<br />
<br />
A red light on the metal box beside him changed to green and blinked for several seconds before settling to a steady glow. He placed the bottle and glass as far away as he could reach without leaving his elaborately constructed chair then closed his eyes and once more pressed the button below the green light. The hum from the machinery directly below him in the basement increased in intensity. The flames of the fire jolted and stuttered once more and the humming returned to its normal level. He reached for the bottle and poured a full measure over the ice cube in the glass. Outside, the sky was dark with no sign of the dawn. All was quiet. Yes, it really had happened…<br />
<br />
For the first time, he wondered what the power company would charge him for the energy he had consumed throughout the night. He lifted the glass, and it suggested to him that his discovery was its own answer to its exorbitant running costs; never again would his work be delayed by having to put in extra hours at the factory to pay the bills, even with the vastly increased power storage capacity that his plans required. It amused him that he had never thought of the solution before.<br />
<br />
He looked out of the window in anticipation of birdsong. The faintest glimmer of dawn graced the horizon and he watched as the sun burst into the sky to banish the darkness. Feeling suddenly exhausted, he made a note on the pad on his knee, turned off the box beside him, drained the glass, then stood and made his way down the stairs into the basement. Half an hour later, with the equipment closed down after the longest night in history, at least in his history, he climbed wearily back to ground level then groped his way along the gloomy passage to the bedroom and sat on the bed. His shoulders slumped and he felt his head dropping. He blinked himself awake enough to stand and undress. Wearing only his shorts, he crawled under the duvet and drew it tight around him until he was secure and warm in his cocoon, then sank quickly into a deep, refreshing sleep.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was late afternoon when the sound of torrential rain hammering at the window awoke him. Dark, rain-laden clouds had rolled in from the sea and were busy emptying themselves the better to scale the heights behind the coastal plain. He rubbed a lazy hand over his unshaven face and smiled because of the longer than normal overnight growth. Comparing his watch with the clock on the other side of the room, he saw there was a full eight hours difference. He turned on the TV and scanned the channels for news. Satisfyingly, nothing unusual was reported and the station’s clock agreed with the one in his bedroom to within a minute. He wondered when they would improve their timekeeping.<br />
<br />
After shaving and showering, and a celebratory feast of ham and eggs and hot tea, he went to the front door to collect the day’s post. There was the usual junk mail, loan offers, and a final demand from the power company giving him one week to pay before cutting off the supply. He laughed softly to himself as he tore up the mail and dropped it into the nearest wastepaper basket.<br />
<br />
The electricity bill did, however, provide him with incentive. He spent the next three days reworking the calculations for scaling up his experiment to the major back-shifts he had in mind and did a specific calculation to determine what was needed to produce a twenty-four hour back-shift. Once the theory had been processed, he placed an order via the Internet for delivery the next day of enough power components for the lesser back-shift, then set about adapting his experimental rig to accommodate the full set of components. Having done all he could, and with his money problems over, he went into town to indulge himself at its most lavish restaurant.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He had no desire to share his discovery with the world; he distrusted his peers entirely and could not face their feigned friendship and falsified knowledge all along that he had been onto something. The only person he considered worthy of sharing it was himself, specifically his younger self. The potential consequences of such a meeting had often taxed his mental powers. Popular fiction postulated that contact with oneself would be untenable and result in mutual annihilation, rather as nature is said to abhor a vacuum, or as matter cannot exist in contact with anti-matter. He knew from the Pauli Exclusion Principal that no two particles could possess the same wave-function, which could cause problems for the constituent parts of two apparently identical objects such as himself and his younger self. However, the normal replenishment of body tissues over time meant he would have fewer atoms in common with his earlier self the further back he went, and the confusion that such shared atoms may feel about which body they belonged in would be insignificant given the large number of atoms he comprised in total. In any case, normal electrostatic forces, which worked at a distance, would keep everything nicely separated. Furthermore, he reasoned, if one were annihilated in one’s past one could hardly have a future to return from in order to meet oneself, or even in which to formulate the intention.<br />
<br />
Despite these reassuring thoughts, he still wondered if it were possible to meet himself, never having done so in experiments confined entirely within his home when his previous self most certainly would have been present, and he had no recollection of encountering his older self in his younger days. His own theory was that one’s timeline was unique and that what will happen has happened, or what has happened will happen, depending on one’s temporal perspective. Even if things are changed, he believed that the changes would be part of the natural unravelling of his timeline and so were probably indiscernible; in a quantum universe governed by probabilities, what actually happens eliminates all other possibilities, Schrödinger’s cat is only dead – or alive – if one opens the box and looks in. He had yet to develop a mathematical notation to express the complexity of his ideas. In truth, he struggled even to begin contemplating it, beyond its likelihood of involving hyper-dimensional space-time and the timelines of every atom that has been, is, or will be part of his physical being.<br />
<br />
Never having been visited by himself was the one thing that worried him. There were two possible pitfalls: either his experiment was doomed to fail and he would not meet his younger self and likewise his older self had never been able to meet him, or his natural time was the leading edge of all time and there was no future self who could have visited him. The former point he dismissed for the unscientific reason that it negated everything he had done for the last ten years. He dismissed the latter because the universe had existed for eons before any sentient being had emerged to observe it, so how could he possibly be at the leading edge? Whatever the theory, he found himself enormously advantaged over mere philosophy and supposition; he was a scientist, and he now had the means to test his theory…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The next morning saw the arrival of his order. A van pulled up outside and an anxious-looking driver rang the doorbell. ‘Name of Davis?’ the driver asked through a thick veil of weariness.<br />
<br />
‘Yes.’<br />
<br />
‘Had a dickens of a job tracking you down. Been all over the place. Never been anywhere so remote.’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, it is quite hard to find, I must admit.’<br />
<br />
‘The folks in the town say this place is haunted, y’know. They say that’s why it was empty for years.’<br />
<br />
‘Really? What a strange idea.’ He paid the driver the required cash and signed for the delivery. He moved the new components down to the basement then held himself in check, carefully fitting each part into its place in the rig, suppressing the urge to rush the job and so risk damaging the fragile equipment.<br />
<br />
Breaking off briefly from his work at midday, he visited the bank to withdraw the full month’s salary that had just been paid in. Mrs Stephenson, a lady nearing retirement, served him, greeting him with a cheery, ‘Good afternoon, Dr Davis.’ He returned her greeting and smiled as he pushed his withdrawal slip and his passport for identification to her side of the counter’s glass barrier. She picked up the slip and raised her eyebrows at the amount requested. ‘That’s a very large sum,’ she commented, ‘I’ll have to speak to the manager and check there are sufficient funds available.’ She added, with a smile, ‘It’s just a formality.’ He nodded his understanding. Sprightly for her age, she swept up the passport and hopped down from her chair in one movement, then walked briskly over to the manager’s office into which she disappeared for around two minutes.<br />
<br />
On returning, she began typing at the keyboard in front of her to call up his account details onto her computer monitor. He noticed that she cocked her head ever so slightly to one side and frowned almost imperceptibly as if trying to remember something. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, a little nervous at what she may be thinking despite his knowledge that there was absolutely nothing wrong.<br />
<br />
‘No…’ she said, hesitantly, ‘just a strange sense of Déjà vu. You know, like I’ve done this before.’ He nodded sagely, attaching no rational significance at all to the event, but nevertheless having a mildly disturbed sense that something may be out of kilter. ‘It’s a very large amount to encash,’ she continued, dismissing her musings and returning to the job in hand, ‘Is there something we can help you with? Would a banker’s draft be better for your needs?’<br />
<br />
He suspected the manager’s influence in her suggestion, and declined it, his mind racing to catch a plausible explanation. ‘I…have a rather large debt to pay, and I need to pay in cash before my electricity is cut off,’ he said, settling for the truth.<br />
<br />
‘A banker’s draft would be ad–’<br />
<br />
‘No, really, I’d sooner take the cash,’ he interrupted, a little too abruptly, he thought, ‘I only have to go two doors down to pay the bill and a banker’s draft would cost me money.’<br />
<br />
She smiled at him and asked, ‘How would you like the cash?’<br />
<br />
‘Well,’ he mused, ‘the largest denomination notes available, please.’<br />
<br />
She counted out the money and passed it to him. He dropped it into his briefcase, which he locked pointlessly, then exchanged farewells with Mrs Stephenson and left the bank. He walked right past the power company’s office, returned directly home, and locked the thick wads of money in a small compartment in the machine.<br />
<br />
At the end of the day, his work complete, he turned the machine on and adjusted the power feed to produce a slow, overnight charging of the massive batteries he had installed. Darkness had fallen, so he ate, set an alarm for 9 a.m., and then went to bed. Sleep evaded him for several hours because of the excitement he felt but, eventually, he slept.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The alarm rang out and he became quickly awake and active. He dressed hurriedly and ate a hasty breakfast before installing himself in the chair, connecting himself to the box beside it, and checking the readings that the latter displayed. Satisfied that all levels were within normal ranges, he looked at the digital clock on the opposite wall before drawing a deep breath and pressing the button. The hum from the basement increased in intensity and he was slightly alarmed at the different tone it emitted with the extra power modules installed. The clock apparently stepped forward five seconds and the humming subsided.<br />
<br />
Hearing the throb of the delivery van’s diesel engine, he disconnected himself from the machine and rushed to the front door where he had the same conversation with same weary driver, paid him the same cash, and signed the same signature in the same box on the same delivery sheet. He moved the new components down to the basement then, this time much more calmly, fitted each one carefully into place in the rig, breaking off briefly at midday to visit the bank and withdraw the same month’s salary that had just been paid in. On returning home, he turned the machine on and adjusted the power feed to produce a slow, overnight charge of the massive batteries he had installed.<br />
<br />
Out of curiosity, he found two corresponding and therefore absolutely identical boxes from the two deliveries and gingerly placed them in intimate contact. Nothing happened, encouraging his firm belief that he could meet himself without danger. He played with the boxes, and realised that it was very difficult in any case for two copies of the same atom to be placed in contact because the boxes were duplicates, not mirror images. Meanwhile, darkness had fallen, so he ate, set an alarm for 9 a.m., and then went to bed where, weary from his sustained effort, he fell instantly asleep.<br />
<br />
When the alarm next rang, he went through the whole procedure again, paying the driver, installing the new components, and once more waiting his turn in the queue at the bank.<br />
<br />
After one week of his time and one day and a few seconds of the van driver’s and Mrs Stephenson’s, by this repetitive process he built the time machine to its full capacity and filled the small compartment until he could hardly close its door. The driver had been consistently dull and, on each visit to the bank, Mrs Stephenson had mentioned her ‘Déjà vu’. He had found the repetition of the same events quite amusing, and he played with the incidents, steering their discourses in different directions, even adopting a rude manner with the driver, just to see what might happen, and what difference it might make. The outcome had always been the same. He could not bring himself to treat Mrs Stephenson, whom he had known for many years, with anything but kindness.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He was troubled by the changed tone of the machine and spent the next three days fine-tuning it, re-running his trip to the bank, storing the surplus components as spares, and revisiting the maths. He had previously discovered a minor term in one of the equations that became dominant at a certain power output. Since he could allow himself little time to investigate its implications, he limited the machine to run at a reasonable safety margin below that level and now satisfied himself that the term would have no impact beyond necessitating a slower transition through time. Finally, he took a day off, paid the equivalent of ten month’s salary into a different bank – he could not bring himself to attempt an explanation to poor Mrs Stephenson – and arranged the immediate transfer of a large sum to the power company and of the residue, after meeting the bank’s charges, back to his own account. He returned to the lavish restaurant, apparently much sooner than its customers normally returned and therefore surprising the Maitre d’, although the only expression shown was one of delight.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He chose a time 25 years earlier when he was a university student reading Theoretical Physics, and when his mind had been its most open. That his younger self would believe the revelation that he was from the future he had no doubt; after all, he knew himself quite well and the notion of time-travel had intrigued him since university days.<br />
<br />
The practical difficulties of a time-traveller are many and great. For a start, depending on the era to which one travels, one’s normal clothing could be completely out of keeping. Then there is language. Even travelling back a hundred years in one’s own country could make communication tricky; there are new words to avoid, disused words to understand, surviving words to reinterpret, sentence structure and pronunciation to consider. Then there is money. How does one subsist without money? There is no point in taking one’s own currency, which, to make life difficult for counterfeiters, is reprinted in a different design every so often, rendering the modern version unrecognisable to shops and banks of one’s target era. Credit cards are similarly limited or even uninvented. He had a solitary five-pound note from the period he intended to visit. He had found it down the back of a skirting board removed during some alterations needed to accommodate the chair in the room above the basement. He decided that would be enough, since with a few visits to the bank, he could generate enough to fund his trip in next to no time at all…<br />
<br />
He collected together various items of memorabilia from his university days and a photocopy of his calculations. All these he placed in his briefcase, and filled another bag with enough food, albeit not very varied, for twelve days. With all preparations made, he sat in the chair, made the necessary connections and pressed the button. The world before him shimmered and took solid form once again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He was surprised at the differences he saw on his first walk into town, the steady progress and development he had lived with for the last ten years having been wiped out, or, rather, not yet even planned. He was amused at the clothing and hairstyles that everyone wore, and was reminded of his former fondness for the miniskirt... The bank stood in its expected position half way down the high street, although its neighbours, he noticed, were different in his own time. He entered the bank and approached its yet-to-be-modernised counter, behind which he saw and recognised an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. ‘Good morning, Mrs Stephenson,’ he said with a friendly smile, glad that her name was emblazoned in plastic at the front of her position, ruling out any question why this total stranger would know her name.<br />
<br />
She looked up at him and returned his smile, ‘Good morning, sir, how can I help you?’<br />
<br />
‘I’d like to open a savings account,’ he said, and offered her his five-pound note. She asked for and wrote down on a paper form the information she needed and issued him with a small book in which his opening deposit was recorded in indelible ink. Once his business was concluded, he wished her good day and began wandering around the town. It was dreamlike to be surrounded by familiar sights that were not quite as they should be. After a couple of hours, the eeriness got to him and so he walked back home.<br />
<br />
He spent the rest of that day and the next checking the machine and the maths, trying unsuccessfully to find an alternative solution to the problem of the dominant term. The day after that, he walked into town, withdrew his five pounds from the bank, assisted by a puzzled-looking Mrs Stephenson, then walked back home again. He ran a 24-hour back-shift then, once again returning to the bank, explained to Mrs Stephenson that he wanted to pay another five pounds into his account, that he had carelessly lost his account book, and asked if she could issue a duplicate. She obliged him, and he walked home with ten twenty-five year old pounds to his credit. The day after that, he closed the account, ran another 24-hour back-shift, and returned to the bank to pay his money into the as yet unclosed account. By the end of twelve of his days he had £5120 in his briefcase, an appreciable sum for the decade, and he went to the railway station to book a return ticket to his old University town, and then to a decent restaurant for a change of diet.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The university campus was just as he had remembered it. He caught himself thinking that the place had not changed very much since he left, then laughed at himself when he remembered that, actually, he had not yet left. He even recognised many of the faces he saw as he walked about, although not many belonged to people he could claim to know; there was just a familiarity with the surroundings into which the people that one saw everyday fitted as integral parts. He took care to avoid those who had known him, although he would have delighted in renewing acquaintance with people with whom he had long ago lost contact.<br />
<br />
He rounded a corner and suddenly, with a jolting shock, there she was, the girl he should have married… She was engrossed in conversation with a male friend and so did not spot him, which was fortunate because the expression of fond longing on his face would have frightened her. She and her companion, as they stood in the warm sunlight, talked and laughed easily together, and it was clear from the expression on her face and her body language that she liked the young man. Turning his attention to her friend, he received a second jolt to his nervous system – she was talking to him! In a panic, he turned and walked briskly back round the corner where he sat on a low wall, wondering what to do next. This was not the way he had imagined meeting himself. He had planned to arrive at his old room in halls and knock on the door and calmly make his introduction to his younger self. At least he now had some idea of the shock he was about to deliver. He looked back towards the corner and saw the girl hurrying off to her next maths lecture, her notebook clasped in folded arms against her breast. The wistful smile on her face gratified him enormously. He found that he had a vague recollection of the conversation he had just witnessed, and tried to remember the detail of it. His younger self, he realised, had gone off in the other direction and therefore most likely back to his room. Departing his reverie, he stood up and followed on, not needing to keep in visual contact, knowing exactly where to go.<br />
<br />
It was surprising how claustrophobic the students’ residence now seemed to him as he navigated its labyrinthine corridors. He had remembered it differently, as a place of freedom and excitement. He was beginning to realise how much his perspective on life had changed with age and experience. Soon the familiar door, with his name in the brass cardholder on the wall beside it, stood before him. He could hear the faint strumming of his old guitar from inside. His heart quickened and a lump came into his throat. He heard three raps like the sound of knuckles on wood and realised that he had lifted a hand to knock. The music stopped and he caught his breath as he realised that his younger self was about to meet the future; he wondered if he was doing the right thing and had almost decided to leave when the door opened…<br />
<br />
‘Dad? What are you doing here?’ the younger said, suddenly smiling, then frowning, ‘Is anything wrong? What have you done to your hair?’<br />
<br />
‘Well? Are you going to ask me in?’ said the elder.<br />
<br />
‘Of course, come in, come in.’<br />
<br />
The younger looked more closely at the elder and a suspicion came into his eyes which prompted the elder, who had been surprised at being mistaken for his own father, into making his true identity known as quickly as possible. He knew his resemblance with his father was remarkable apart from his having dark hair and his father fair, and that, in this time, they were of similar age. It had never occurred to him to masquerade behind his father’s identity. How much easier that would have been... ‘You’d better shut the door and sit down,’ he blurted, striding towards the far end of the room where he would present the minimum threat to the young man by leaving him easy access to the door if he wished to escape. At the window, he turned and faced the younger. ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he began, ‘but I am not my–’, he struggled for the right word, ‘our– <i>your</i> father.’<br />
<br />
‘What?’<br />
<br />
‘I know I look like dad – your dad, that is – but then, so do you.’<br />
<br />
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ The younger man began to look angry and his tone was becoming aggressive.<br />
<br />
‘There’s nothing to worry about. In fact, this is about to be the most exciting thing that’s so far happened to you – me – us…Oh, how am I going to explain this?’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t know, but you’d better try quickly,’ the younger said with unveiled threat.<br />
<br />
The elder decided that a direct approach would be the simplest, ‘I’m not your father. Twenty-five years from now, you will finally develop a working time machine…and come back to tell yourself about it. You’re already interested in it, aren’t you? Fiddling about with gravity equations, looking for clues…’<br />
<br />
‘And you expect me to believe that?’ the younger exclaimed in clear disbelief. The elder bent down, opened the flap of his briefcase and retrieved from it a battered red file which he offered to the younger. ‘Recognise this?’ he asked, with raised eyebrows and a wry smile.<br />
<br />
The younger took it from him and opened it. He turned the yellowed pages of his own handwriting. Fascinated, he placed the old file on the desk beside his own so that he could see the pages of both at the same time. He turned them to the beginning and moved through the pages in each, one by one. Apart from the obvious difference in age, each page had its identical twin; every accidental mark with the pen, each coffee stain, was faithfully reproduced. He found a pair of pages with writing on one side only and removed them from their respective files. Overlaying them, he held them up to the light. As much as the thickness of the paper would allow, he discerned absolutely no difference between them. ‘How did you do this?’ he asked.<br />
<br />
‘I sat in the lectures and wrote down what the lecturer said,’ the elder replied then, after a short pause for effect, continued, ‘Only, for me, it was twenty-five years ago.’<br />
<br />
‘So…you really think you are…me?’<br />
<br />
‘Of course I am. How else would I have the file?’<br />
<br />
‘That could be an elaborate hoax, although I admit I can’t see how you might have done it, at the moment.’<br />
<br />
‘How about if I told you something about yourself that I know you have never told anyone and there is no way that anyone could have found out about it?’<br />
<br />
‘That would be fairly impressive, I must admit, except I may talk in my sleep.’<br />
<br />
‘The barn.’<br />
<br />
The younger blinked, and it was obvious that he was trying to hide his recognition of the reference. ‘What barn?’<br />
<br />
‘The one you burnt down when you were twelve. You were all alone with a box of matches. You wondered what would happen if you lit one blade of straw. You were quite surprised by the result, as I remember, but then it had been a long, hot, dry summer that year. No-one saw you light it. No-one saw you run. No-one saw you hiding in the tree two fields away. But you watched the farmer trying to put the fire out, and the fire brigade arrive too late to save anything. No-one saw you leave the tree after dark, or Dad giving you a thick ear for coming home so late. “Spontaneous combustion” they called it. But you and I know differently, don’t we?’<br />
<br />
‘…Someone must have seen. You couldn’t know.’<br />
<br />
‘Unless I was there! Unless I was you! And just look at me. Who else could I be?’<br />
<br />
The younger fell silent and sat on the bed, struck dumb by the guilt of being found out. He lifted his face to the elder and said, ‘So it’s possible, then? Time-travel?’<br />
<br />
‘No, it’s much more than possible,’ replied the elder, ‘I’ve done it!’<br />
<br />
‘So…you…you really are…me?’ The younger was an effigy of bewilderment.<br />
<br />
The elder beamed at him and nodded furiously. ‘Yes, yes,’ he stated, ‘I hope it’s not too much of a shock.’<br />
<br />
‘I think I’d better make some tea,’ the younger muttered, ‘Do I still take sugar?’<br />
<br />
‘No, you gave that up in about three years from now,’ said the elder, mischievously. The younger turned on his heels and headed off to the communal kitchen. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he called with excitement as he passed through the doorway, ‘In fact, don’t even move from that spot.’<br />
<br />
Of course, he could not stay on the same spot. The fascination of being here again was too much for him. It was like a dream but real, solid. He walked over to the bookcase and took down one of his favourite undergraduate texts, and flicked through its crisp, white pages; the pages in the copy in his own time were yellow and age-worn. He put it back in its place and ran his fingers over the personal items on the bottom shelf, memories flooding back with each contact. The door opened and his younger self returned carrying two familiar mugs and the old brown teapot, new, and minus the crack in the lid and the chip missing from the spout.<br />
<br />
‘What are you doing?’ the younger asked, his tone permeated with suspicion.<br />
<br />
‘Just renewing my acquaintance with some old friends,’ the elder replied, replacing the photograph he had taken from the shelf.<br />
<br />
The younger sat in silence for what seemed an age. His mind raced behind the mask of consternation he wore. His head was filled with questions. What would his future be? Did he really want to know? Were there things he should avoid? What effect might it have if he were to avoid them? The list seemed endless. ‘I don’t know how to respond to this,’ he said eventually, ‘or even if I should be talking to you at all. Goodness knows what problems our meeting may cause.’ He drank his tea, which by now was almost cold, in one go.<br />
<br />
‘I don’t believe there to be a problem,’ the elder responded, and he outlined his theories and described his experiences so far. The younger listened intently as the other talked, and interjected with questions and objections, all of which the elder, having thought of them already, had answers for.<br />
<br />
‘OK,’ the younger said, finally convinced that the elder’s ideas were basically sound, ‘So why have you come back to visit me? Nostalgia?’<br />
<br />
‘No,’ replied the elder, ‘to give you a head start. I won’t live forever and there’s a limit to how far I can push the technology in the time I have left. If you can start sooner you’ll go further. And there are some things I’d like to have avoided…’ He outlined his life after his first degree. He had qualified well and gone on to study for his PhD. After that, he had secured a lectureship and continued his research into gravitational theories. He had maintained his interest in time-travel and had found a clue in his work that made him believe it was possible. The subject had become something of an obsession with him, to the extent that his peers had ceased to take him seriously; scientific journals rejected his papers and colleagues shunned him, not wishing to be tarred with the same brush. Eventually, he had found himself discredited in academic circles and felt obliged to resign. He turned his skills to good use in working for a scientific component manufacturer, a position that paid him well and gave him easy access to the equipment he needed to continue his research at home. He told the younger about the cottage, and how he had back-shifted himself out of debt; the younger, feeling the pinch of impoverished student life, was impressed. He wound up his discourse with a statement that sparked intrigue in the younger, ‘There’s one thing I particularly wanted to tell you, something that has caused me no end of regret and will do the same for you if you get it wrong.’<br />
<br />
The younger looked intently at the elder, still questioning in his mind if such knowledge were not dangerous, while the elder stared back at him, his expression begging and pleading with the younger to ask.<br />
<br />
‘Go on,’ said the younger.<br />
<br />
‘Forget the blonde,’ said the elder, pointing at the photograph on the shelf, ‘She’s not interested in anything more than friendship. I wasted years mooning about after her.’<br />
<br />
The younger’s face fell and he sagged a little. ‘You mean Kathryn?’ He turned again to face the elder, who nodded. ‘But I love her,’ he continued, ‘I’m still hoping she may be interested.’<br />
<br />
‘She isn’t, and won’t be. But there is someone else who thinks a great deal of you, is hoping for much more than friendship, in fact. And you really like her, although you’re not fully aware of it yet. I realised it when it was too late. She decided she was getting nowhere with me and started seeing someone else. By the time I realised what I was missing she was engaged and out of reach. Marry the brunette, forget the blonde.’<br />
<br />
‘You mean Lauren?’<br />
<br />
‘I mean Lauren. At least give her a chance…’<br />
<br />
The younger sat as though dead while he sorted through the new turmoil in his mind. Eventually, he stirred. ‘OK…’ he said, then shuffled himself upright and addressed the elder, ‘there’s one thing I just don’t get. If, according to your theory, we can’t change anything, why do I get the impression that you never had this meeting? If this is happening for me, and I’m convinced that it is, why didn’t it happen for you when you were my age?’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t know,’ the elder replied, ‘but I’m ninety-nine percent certain that all this is meant to be. Maybe something happened that erased my memory of this event... I’ve tried to remember but there’s nothing there. Maybe memory loss is a hazard of meeting yourself… Who knows? But I wasn’t always obsessed with time-travel; the fascination began around this time in my life, so something must have happened to spark it off.’<br />
<br />
‘But you didn’t marry Lauren. By your theory, that means I won’t either.’<br />
<br />
‘It’s an interesting experiment, isn’t it? Theories have to be able to withstand tests that would prove them wrong, if they are to hold up. If you do marry her, I’ll have to rethink my theory…’<br />
<br />
‘I can’t marry her for the sake of an experiment!’<br />
<br />
‘That’s not what I’m suggesting. Marry her because you love each other.’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The elder took a room in town so that he could spend time with his younger self and impart as much information about his discoveries as possible. He found himself frustrated at the amount of time the younger began to spend with Lauren, jealous even. His younger self found his clandestine visits to town more and more difficult to live with, and he especially despised the necessity to keep his secret from Lauren. Finally, he gave the elder an ultimatum; one of them had to leave. And so the elder made his way back to the cottage and the younger made his way deeply into Lauren’s affections…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Back at home, he wondered what to do with himself. He had taught his younger self as much as he could grasp and had left a copy of all his workings so that he would be able to understand the theory and construct a machine as his skills grew. Would he do it? Would his relationship with Lauren help or hinder? In the anti-climactic wake of meeting his younger self, he seriously wondered if he should go back to his own time. Despite his theories, he was wary of what he might discover. Actually, he had little option but to go forward. The machine was a huge construction in a building that had been vacant for about fifty years before he had found it. He would have great difficulty explaining things to the former occupants if he materialised in their sitting room and filled their basement with his equipment. The thought of them intrigued him. He decided to pay them a brief visit.<br />
<br />
He climbed into the chair and set the machine to visit the time of the previous occupants and, almost instantaneously, to return to its present time, giving him a fleeting look at his predecessors without materialising. He pushed the button and the room shimmered. After what was for him a few seconds, the machine’s rate of regression slowed and reversed until he was almost stationary relative to the normal passage of time. The room quivered into a not quite fully resolved solidity. He cast his eyes around the room until he saw two people, a man and a woman, sitting on a sofa and listening to a wireless set. The man supported his head with one arm, drooped his other around the woman’s shoulders, and had his eyes intently fixed on the speaker of the wireless. The woman, however, was looking straight at Davis with eyes set wide open in a mask of terror.<br />
<br />
‘John,’ Davis heard her say tremblingly, ‘it’s happening again…’ She dug her husband in the ribs with the point of her elbow and the man turned his head to see what she was talking about.<br />
<br />
‘Oh no,’ he said, leaping up and backing away across the room, ‘What the hell is it?’ Davis realised that they had seen his shimmering apparition and he had terrified them.<br />
<br />
The timer on the control box beside him reached its predetermined setting and the machine accelerated. The room shimmered again and the terrified couple dwindled into the past. Davis became aware of the unusual tone of the machine, which seemed to be labouring hard to make the forward transition. The temperature indicator on his console climbed alarmingly and had almost reached the danger level when the room around him took on solid form once more and the machine stopped.<br />
<br />
He ran some checks. The machine had functioned exactly as programmed, despite the overheating, although he was relieved that the program had lasted no longer. He was startled by the figures displayed on the console; the month and day that he had returned to were as expected but the year was five years prior to the date on which he had left. He checked his notes to make sure he was not mistaken. Everything pointed to an error on the return leg of his journey. He wondered what had caused it and rechecked the settings. There were no mistakes in the parameters and so he could only conclude that an operational problem had occurred.<br />
<br />
He ran down to the basement and played through the recordings of the machine’s behaviour. He discovered a massive power drain on his forward journey, hence the increased noise and the reduced amount of time displacement that the machine had been able to make. He looked over the equations again, and revisited the dominant term. He found nothing wrong in his workings.<br />
<br />
Factoring in the extra power needed, he decided to run the experiment again to check his ideas. His appearance in the couple’s home this time resulted in an ear-splitting scream, the crash of a dropped tray laden with teapot, cups and saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl, and a terrified cry of ‘John! John! Come and look at this! I think we have a ghost!’ John had rushed into the room in time to see Davis’s apparition shimmer into nothingness and his wife drop unconscious to the floor. The machine grudgingly retraced its steps through time.<br />
<br />
He had lost almost another five years. All the figures were as expected and the power drain had been comparable with the previous trip, allowing for the compensation he had made for the re-run. Puzzled, he ran through the maths yet again and realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. He had a sign wrong in his algebra and an effect of the dominant term that he thought cancelled out had doubled instead; a stupid, schoolboy error – how on Earth had he done that? Once he had seen and understood the problem, which led to positive feedback and an ever-increasing demand for power, he knew exactly how to fix it. He dropped his face into his hands. The device he needed and the technology necessary for its manufacture would not be invented for another thirty years. He was trapped. He opened a fresh bottle of scotch and filled a large tumbler…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He spent much of the next week semi-intoxicated. In his more lucid moments, he turned his mind to the inconsistencies he had encountered on his travels. His older self had not visited him when he had been at university, yet he had visited his younger self. He had not encountered himself at all during his series of one-day back-shifts at the beginning when he used the machine to generate cash. Mrs Stephenson, however, had had a déjà vu on his very first and every subsequent visit to the bank during that episode but had not mentioned anything of the sort during his repeated visits to her younger self for similar purposes. And then there was Mr and Mrs Predecessor. His first visit had generated the statement, ‘It’s happening again,’ and his second visit gave every appearance of being their first encounter with him; indeed, this second visit did predate the first when seen from their perspective. Were his appearances the hauntings the van driver had mentioned? Had he been the reason for the cottage being abandoned?<br />
<br />
The puzzles had the beneficial effect of reintroducing sobriety into his life, having given his mind something to grapple with. His theory that what has happened will happen and vice versa explained the Stephenson Paradox, as he called it; her older self’s déjà vu was a rekindling of memories laid down by his visits to her younger self. The Predecessor Paradox reinforced this explanation; they too were reacting to their second visitation in the light of their first. The van driver’s remark about the cottage being haunted he interpreted as an extension of this; at the time of his encounter with the van driver his visits to the Predecessors were already accounted for in the time dimension. So, to some extent at least, what has happened will happen, what will happen has happened. Time had somehow unravelled itself to keep cause and effect consistent; he had not altered the later time by visiting the earlier.<br />
<br />
He was derailed by the apparent determinism of it all – the fact that his proximal back-shifts in someway predetermined his distal transitions. He found a comforting analogue in the rather baffling ‘action at a distance’ in the field of quantum physics. Certain collisions of elementary particles produce photons in pairs that fly apart in opposite directions, the conservation laws governing the complementarity of the quantum states available to them. Experiment had shown that subsequently altering the state of one photon in the pair induced the complementary state in the other, even though they were relatively vast distances apart with no apparent link between them. He postulated a similar ‘action at a temporal separation’ whereby an event that selected a probability state at one point in time induced the apparently causal or resultant state at another. His fundamental belief that one could not alter the present by changing the past began to waver…<br />
<br />
His own singular experiences, however, none of which seemed to have a complement, he could not explain to his satisfaction. He half-recognised a complementarity in his hauntings, which required the existence of his time machine, resulting in the cottage being vacated and available for him to build the machine, and so be able to haunt its previous occupants… His head began to spin again and wished he would wake up. The only explanation for his older self not having visited him was that his normal time was, in fact, on the very leading edge of time, that the future had no existence except perhaps as a jumble of unresolved probabilities, that he could never discover what will be; his generation could only move forward along the time axis at the normal rate of one second per second and define the present…<br />
<br />
His mind turned to more basic drives: food, shelter – survival. Everything depended on his retaining the machine and keeping it working. If he had the machine he could generate money; with money he could buy food, acquire and renovate the cottage – for in this time he did not own it and the floor in the room above the basement had long ago collapsed – and procure spares for the machine. If he generated enough money and invested it wisely, he need not use the machine again, if he chose not to, or if it stopped working.<br />
<br />
Large quantities of cash always drew suspicion, and so his first priority was to make himself plausible. He travelled to London and found an agency for a Bermudan bank in which he opened an account using an assumed name and half of the considerable sum he still had left from his earlier efforts in this age. The other half he used to take rooms in the town near the cottage and to prime his cash pump. His cover story for the locals was that he had lived overseas for some time where he had enjoyed a small piece of luck that had given him enough money to retire on. He was looking for a property in the area and was very interested in the cottage. He was not, he told all who felt the need to acquaint him with its history, a great believer in ghosts. As soon as he had enough money, he bought the cottage and began living there, renovating the place around himself. For five years he worked on the cottage and engendered by his infrequent visits to town the notion among the locals that he was somewhat of a recluse, an idea that suited him well.<br />
<br />
One warm day, having returned from a shopping trip to town, he emptied the cash he had in his pockets onto a small table in the lounge. A gust of wind from an open window picked up a five pound note and pinned it to the wall. The banknote skittered down the wall and disappeared out of sight behind a length of badly-fitted skirting board. He went to the kitchen to find something narrow enough to use as a probe but stopped short on his return with a bread knife. He put the knife back in the kitchen drawer and left the banknote behind the skirting board where he knew it would be safe for many years to come…<br />
<br />
He spent the next four years buried in his theories, revisiting and redeveloping the maths and exploring the consequences of every nuance of its formulation. He devised essential modifications to the machine in readiness for when contemporary technology would allow him to overcome the obstacles he faced. He made the changes that were possible, even though, as a result, it meant he could not use the machine until the new components were in place but that bothered him little; he had no heart for travelling further from his own time, troubled as he was by the kind of home-sickness that mediaeval mariners marooned in some far-flung backwash of the globe must have felt.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Few came to see him in his remote outpost. There was the occasional visit from the postman, who brought him bills or letters from his Bermudan banker’s agent, but the conversation rarely, if ever, strayed from the state of the weather. Whoever did come came on an entirely predictable schedule and left as soon as their business permitted. It was with some surprise, therefore, that he heard an unexpected diesel-engined vehicle labouring up the short, steep hill onto the small plateau overlooking the sea on which the cottage stood. Thinking it must be tourists off course, he ignored it and carried on painting a window-frame without looking round. A van pulled up in front of the cottage and its engine fall silent. Two doors opened and closed and two sets of footsteps crunched their way along the dry gravel path leading to the rear of the house. He noticed that the feet were not in step but had a rhythm suggesting that of one of his visitors was somewhat shorter than the other. He set down his paint pot and brush and turned to receive them.<br />
<br />
‘We thought we’d find you here,’ the younger Davis said, ‘We’ve brought some things you might need.’ The younger held out his hand and grinned; the elder snapped out of his stunned shock and grasped the other’s hand with both of his own and pumped it up and down until the younger’s shoulder almost dislocated. Uncontrollable tears of joy flowed down his cheeks. He turned his attention to the woman, to Lauren, and hugged her, crying into her shoulder. Breaking off his contact, he took a couple of steps back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m forgetting my manners. Please come in.’ Wiping his cheeks dry with the rolled cuff of his shirt as he went, he led the way into the cottage and into the small lounge where he waved them towards the sofa. He fetched himself a stool from the kitchen.<br />
<br />
He sat opposite them and looked them up and down, grinning from ear to ear. He noticed that they looked older than he thought they should. The younger began the explanations. ‘We spent some time going over the theories you left me. Lauren, being a mathematician of course, was a fantastic help. We, well she, found a few things you’d overlooked or had wrong and we deduced what must have happened to you when you tried to return to your own time.’<br />
<br />
‘The dominant term,’ the elder interjected. ‘I had no idea what a problem it would be when I started all this. I’ve had plenty of time to work it out, though.’<br />
<br />
‘I’m sure,’ said Lauren, ‘and I’m also sure that you don’t have the wherewithal to put the machine right.’<br />
<br />
‘Right again,’ said the elder, ‘but I’ve spent my time getting ready for when the technology became available.’<br />
<br />
‘We’ve everything you need in our machine outside,’ said the younger, ‘It’s taken us ages to track you down. We’ve had some fun along the way, though. Do you have a bible here?<br />
<br />
‘There’s one here somewhere. Why?’<br />
<br />
‘Get it for me, please.’<br />
<br />
The elder rose from his stool and went over to the bookcase and returned with an old bible that had been in his family for generations. The younger took it from him, blew off the dust, and opened its dry, fragile pages at Mark, chapter fourteen. He passed it to the elder and said, ‘Verses 51 and 52, read them out loud.’<br />
<br />
The elder read, ‘And there followed Him a certain young man, having a linen cloth cast about his naked body; and the young men laid hold on him: And he left the linen cloth, and fled from them naked.’<br />
<br />
He looked at the younger who winked mischievously and announced, ‘That was me! Which explains why the Turin Shroud failed the radiocarbon dating test…’<br />
<br />
‘You mean…’<br />
<br />
‘Yes,’ Lauren contributed, ‘it was a sheet we picked up in mediaeval Europe.’<br />
<br />
‘You didn’t…use a time machine to bring Him back from…’<br />
<br />
‘No,’ said Lauren, ‘that was nothing to do with us; He did that all by Himself. Not that we waited to see what happened, mind you. We fled to where we had our machine hidden and left the scene before the guards could catch us. There was no Human Rights movement in those days…’<br />
<br />
‘So, your machine is mobile?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes,’ said the younger, ‘The wonders of micro-miniaturisation. It’s parked out the front. We’d like to take you home in it but you really can’t leave that here,’ he pointed towards the chair of the elder’s machine, ‘where someone might find it.’ The elder nodded slowly in sage understanding and the younger continued, ‘So we’ve brought you the components you need.’<br />
<br />
The elder, almost overcome with excitement, asked, ‘Have you visited my time? Do you know if I make it back?’ The younger shook his head, ‘We’ve no certain knowledge of that but we believe you will. We can’t visit any time ahead of our own. There’s another term in the equation that dominates if we try to get ahead of ourselves and the power needed is phenomenal – it would blow the planet apart. And in any case, you’re obviously not there, are you…?’<br />
<br />
‘No, you’re right,’ said the elder, ‘My timeline is somewhat displaced.’<br />
<br />
‘But it is important that you get back there,’ Lauren stated, clearly having more to say.<br />
<br />
‘Go on,’ prompted the elder.<br />
<br />
She shuffled forward in her seat as if to make herself more commanding, ‘We know you think this is absurd because you said so before, but your time really is the leading edge of time, at least as far as humanity is concerned. I know it sounds unreasonable,’ she said raising her voice slightly, and rebutting his objections with the flat of her hand, ‘but the inconsistencies of your experiences should be enough to prove that. We have had nothing but consistent paradoxes. All we have done has related clearly to things that have already happened. What is more disconcerting is the seeming fact that things from the past appear to draw us into concert with them, as if our lives were somehow subject to some externally imposed fate – as in the Turin Shroud example, for instance – but we realise that’s just because of our perception of what for us is the normal passage of time; a bit like the apparent handedness of mirrors, which is merely a superposition of the subjectivity of the observer. But the point is, there is always, without fail, a complementary pair of events in all our experiences.<br />
<br />
‘In your case, complementarity only became the norm when you left your own time. You are, or were, on the very boundary of time. You represent the starting conditions of time-travel, we are in an equilibrium state. What we do is only a complement of what has been done, and what will be done is only the complement of what we do now. Your theory, what will happen has happened, or what has happened will happen, is perfectly correct – but only in an equilibrium state. Do you see that?’<br />
<br />
The elder frowned and leant forward on his stool, voicing his thoughts, ‘So the fact that I never experienced a visit from myself was because there was no future me to visit me…’<br />
<br />
‘Exactly,’ said the younger.<br />
<br />
‘And Mrs Stephenson’s déjà vu and the five pound note and all the other things are because I’d reached equilibrium…’<br />
<br />
‘There’s a complementary action to the five pound note?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, I lost one down the skirting board four years ago. It’s still there…what would happen if I retrieved it?’<br />
<br />
‘I dread to think…perhaps someone else would lose one. But the reason you didn’t encounter yourself in your early back-shifts is also explained. You were so close to the boundary that the probability function was still incompletely collapsed. In effect, you changed the probabilities of who you were – or which one of you was there, if you like. The reason you didn’t meet yourself is because you were yourself – all of yourselves – that near to the boundary, but my probability state was well-defined by the time you got back to me.<br />
<br />
Lauren continued, ‘We can also explain why you couldn’t get back to your own time. In your own time, you and all your contemporaries are riding the front face of a wave like a surfer. As you travelled back, you got nearer to the crest. You could have gone forward again after your early experiments but you did one too many. You got behind the crest. By the time you came to our time you were so far behind that you didn’t have enough energy to move up the wave and back over the crest, and, because of the temporal gradient, you slipped further back with each journey you made.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s exactly what’s happened,’ said the elder, transfixed by the growing realisation of his true and unique position in time.<br />
<br />
‘Our problem in finding you was in knowing how far back you may have slipped. From the work you left with us, we knew what your machine was capable of but we didn’t know how you would apply it.’<br />
<br />
‘But how can you move about so freely?’<br />
<br />
‘Because we’ve different technology at our disposal and, thanks to you, had more time to work on the equations. Our machine works differently, and the wave looks much flatter from our point of view. We still can’t get ahead of our own time though, and there’s no technology on earth that can better what we now have. There are some clues in the maths that improvements are possible but not without access to space travel.’<br />
<br />
The elder looked at her with a puzzled expression.<br />
<br />
She explained, ‘We need a massive source of gravitational distortion. Jupiter would do for starters, if we could get close enough, but what we really need is black hole. We don’t have one…’<br />
<br />
They fell silent, and the elder’s mind raced as he considered the implications of the information he had just been given. ‘You said it was important that I get back to my own time…’ he said, fixing the woman with a probing stare.<br />
<br />
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is. Your visit to yourself is not the only reason we were able to make such great strides forward. There are other events that helped us out along the way. As we’ve already implied, everything we’ve done has had its complementary action, however, there are a few apparent exceptions…’<br />
<br />
‘So you may be wrong about my being on the leading edge!’<br />
<br />
‘No. The exceptions can only be complementary actions of future events and, we think, ahead of the time you left. They’re exclusively to do with technology in advance of our own time, all of which we’ve incorporated into our machine. It’s as though someone was leaving us clues to their discoveries.’<br />
<br />
‘So I do get back, then?’<br />
<br />
‘We think so…but you may not be the only one in your age working on time-travel. As I said, we’ve no certain knowledge of your return…’<br />
<br />
They talked well into the night, sharing experiences and discussing modifications to the elder’s machine, and breaking off briefly to unload equipment from the younger’s. It was just before dawn when they eventually retired to bed. The visitors went upstairs while the elder watched the sun rise from the sea as he had done one fateful morning many years ago in the future…<br />
<br />
He awoke late into the next day, and was deeply disappointed to find himself alone again. Peering through his bedroom window, he noticed the terminated tracks of their vehicle in the gravel; his visitors had left but along a different dimension from the one on which they arrived. Never before had he appreciated his own company so much and he wished he still had it. Breakfast was a miserable affair and he felt lonelier than ever. He found himself longing for the familiarity of his own time again, and old Mrs Stephenson’s happy disposition.<br />
<br />
Down in the basement, he set about installing the equipment they had brought him. Everything they had supplied was in keeping with his machine; they had deduced correctly the exact components he would need and, he thought rather cleverly, anticipated the manner in which he would incorporate them. Noticing that they had supplied several items in duplicate, he presumed they were fragile and that they thought he might break one. He took great care during the assembly process and stowed all the spares, for none proved necessary, in the machine’s stowage compartment in case of failure during travel.<br />
<br />
That night, in his favourite restaurant, the most expensive restaurant in town, he ordered his favourite food and the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu. The Maitre d’ enquired if Sir was celebrating a special occasion, and was deeply gratified on being told that Sir was going on a long journey for quite some time and wanted to take with him a lasting memory of this wonderful establishment. His complement ensured the personal attention of the Maitre d’ for the rest of the evening, and a second complementary bottle of the same wine shared with him over cheese at the end of his meal. The copious quantity of wine Davis consumed that night, a heady, full-bodied vintage, loosened his tongue, and he rattled away to the Maitre d’ about his woes, his travels, and his intended return to his own time. The Maitre d’ tolerated all in anticipation of a generous tip and of the mirth he would cause with the latest stories about the mad recluse from the cottage by the sea.<br />
<br />
The Maitre d’ was somewhat surprised by the nature of his tip. Davis first presented him with his car keys. Sir was, of course, very wise not to drive having so fully enjoyed the delights of the vineyard. Davis then presented him with the vehicle documents, with the ownership already signed over whilst under the influence of stone-cold sobriety. Sir was decidedly very strange, although his beneficiary expressed nothing but surprise and gushing gratitude. A taxi was called for, on the house, and the drunken customer helped first into his coat and then into his transport before being waved off by the restaurant’s entire staff. The taxi driver was more than happy to take advantage of his inebriated passenger’s mistake with the large denomination banknote presented as a tip, and laughed all the way home at his incessant ramblings about time-machines.<br />
<br />
Davis fell into the chair and the room shimmered before him. He was surprised at that, because he had yet to turn the machine on, but he chuckled to himself on realising that the visual disturbance resulted from the alcoholic haze that was wrapping itself more tightly around his head. He reached over the side of the chair and dialled in the objective of his journey – his home time – and was suddenly swamped by overwhelming joy and desperate longing. He strapped himself in, fumbling for an age with the buckles. The red indicator light flashed green then settled to its steady glow. He pressed the button below it. The machine throbbed and hummed as he passed out of consciousness and out of time…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The darkness around him shimmered unperceived into solid form and the machine went through its automatic shutdown procedure then waited several hours for further instructions. Eventually, something reached through the blackness into the inner recesses of Davis’s stupefied mind and pulled him painfully into sensibility. He groaned at the throbbing in his head and blinked his eyes open and shut until they adjusted to the brilliant morning sunshine that stabbed into the room. He stared without seeing at the clock on the wall opposite. The machine hummed its way gently into his consciousness, and he responded by throwing the power switch to off and unbuckling himself from its seat. He stood, and, steadying himself against the swaying walls, staggered to the kitchen where he gulped down several glasses of water to re-inflate his shrunken brain. The bedroom beckoned, and he resumed his unsteady gait until he was near enough to the bed to flop down onto it and thence to slither back into welcome oblivion and freedom from pain. A patch of sunshine in the lounge crept down the wall, across the floor, and back out of the window.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Someone was hammering at the door. A voice was calling out. Consciousness once more invaded his nirvana and he stirred to push it away. Voices and hammering. Footsteps in the gravel. Faces at the window. Voices shouting.<br />
<br />
‘Dr Davis? This is the police. Will you come to the door, please?’<br />
<br />
He went to the door, still staggering somewhat, and opened it, his mind still feeling as though it had been packed in cotton wool, his senses somehow remote from his being. ‘Hello?’ he heard himself say to the stranger who stood before him and held out a small plastic wallet for him to see. The wallet disappeared as he looked at it and the voice made sounds like some sort of introduction then came into focus.<br />
<br />
‘…and we would like you to come to the station to assist with our enquiries…’<br />
<br />
‘What?’<br />
<br />
‘Dr Davis?’ The owner of the voice frowned and reeled from the stench of stale alcohol on his victim’s breath.<br />
<br />
‘I’m sorry,’ Davis said, ‘I guess I must look pretty awful.’<br />
<br />
‘Dr Davis, I’m arresting you on suspicion of passing forged banknotes.’ A hand reached inside the door and applied a painful grip to his elbow.<br />
<br />
‘What?’<br />
<br />
The voice went on as he was dragged into the open air and led to an awaiting car, ‘You are not obliged to say anything but it may harm your defence if, when questioned, you fail to mention something that you later rely on in court.’ A dozen or so uniformed policeman entered the house as he spoke.<br />
<br />
‘What’s going on?’ asked Davis, twisting his neck to look back over his shoulder, emerging rapidly from his semi-comatose state.<br />
<br />
‘Don’t worry,’ said the man breaking his arm, ‘we have a search warrant.’<br />
<br />
‘What’s going on? What’s this all about?’<br />
<br />
‘We’ll explain it all to you at the station,’ said his assailant, ‘and then you can explain it all to us.’<br />
<br />
Bundled indecorously into the back of the car, Davis found himself locked in and sitting next to a large man in uniform, to whom he appeared to be attached by handcuffs. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked once more. No reply was given, and they continued their journey in silence as they bounced along the unmetalled track that led away from his home and then sped along the road into town.<br />
<br />
At the station, he was stripped of shoelaces, belt, and other personal effects and then installed in a cell. He sat on the small cot at the end of the room and looked around at the gloss-painted, windowless brick walls, and at the steel door opposite in which a small trap opened to reveal part of an inquisitive face and then snapped shut again. Sunlight filtered in through the opaque skylight high above his head and made on the dull grey vinyl flooring a bright square that slithered imperceptibly, shrinking as it went, towards a wall and began to climb it. It summed up his mood exactly. They fed him, at least he thought it may have been food, and watered him through the trap in the door; they made no effort to communicate with him other than this acknowledgement of his bodily requirements. The lidded bucket in the corner was, he presumed, for any output required to balance the equation. He refrained from using it, choosing instead to hammer on the door and demand to be taken to a proper toilet and to be given an explanation for his confinement. They told him, in no uncertain terms, not to make things worse for himself by causing an affray, and to use the bucket. He lay on the cot and tried to sleep but its hardness and a nagging from his bladder conspired against his efforts. Eventually, he used the bucket.<br />
<br />
A key turned in the lock and the door swung open to reveal the full figure of the man who had arrested him at the house. ‘Dr Davis,’ the man said, ‘if you would care to come with me, we have a few questions to ask you.’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t,’ said Davis, turning over to face the wall.<br />
<br />
‘Sorry?’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t care to come with you. Why should I? You’ve dragged me here against my will, violated my home – heaven help you if you’ve damaged anything – and left me in this hole for hours without so much as an explanation. You’ve fed me swill and robbed me of my dignity, and now <i>you</i> want to ask <i>me</i> questions! Stuff your questions. Get me your superior officer so I can make a formal complaint.’<br />
<br />
‘Dr Davis,’ the man said in the tone of someone struggling to show patience with a perverse child, ‘I am here to give you an explanation, and to hear yours. You will only be held here as long as is necessary. Please follow me to the interview room, there’s a good gentleman.’<br />
<br />
A second policeman joined them in the interview room. They made their introductions with the tape rolling and dragged one out of Davis. The first man began the interview proper. ‘We’ve arrested you on suspicion of passing forged banknotes, Dr Davis –’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Davis interrupted.<br />
<br />
‘– and here is a copy of the warrant to search your house –‘<br />
<br />
‘If you’ve done any damage, I warn you, I will sue.’<br />
<br />
‘– signed by a magistrate this morning –’<br />
<br />
Davis opened his mouth to interrupt again but was cut off before he could speak.<br />
<br />
‘Dr Davis,’ went the patronisingly patient tone once more, ‘if you would just let me finish we’d get through this unpleasant business a whole lot quicker.’ Davis held his tongue, nodded, and looked daggers at his inquisitor who went on, ‘We found nothing incriminating at your home. We shall, however, require you to explain the purpose of the large contraption in your basement. We have reason to believe it may be used for the production of forged notes.’<br />
<br />
Davis, smiling wryly, said, ‘I assure you, I have never used it to produce <i>forged</i> banknotes.’ The Inquisitor failed to pick up on the emphasis and Davis became suddenly agitated at a thought that occurred to him. ‘You didn’t tamper with the machine, did you? It’s extremely sensitive and fragile and has taken years of painstaking research to develop.’<br />
<br />
‘No cause for concern, Dr Davis,’ said the Inquisitor, ‘We’re very health and safety conscious here. We’ve looked it over, cursory like. As we couldn’t make head nor tail of it we decided you needed to come along and explain it to us.’ Davis breathed a sigh of relief. ‘However, we do have <i>these</i> to ask you about,’ said the Inquisitor, laying two plastic envelopes on the table and pushing them towards Davis, ‘What d’you make of them?’<br />
<br />
Davis looked at the bags and saw that they each contained a banknote. He said so.<br />
<br />
The Inquisitor continued, ‘Absolutely perfect banknotes, Dr Davis, perfect in every way. However, the interesting thing, Dr Davis, is that they are also absolutely identical. The obvious problem is the fact that they have identical serial numbers – that’s what first brought them to the bank’s attention yesterday. One that is not so obvious is that they have the same fingerprints on them in exactly the same places. They are more like identical twins than identical twins are. Actually, they are not twins. They are decuplets. Yes, Dr Davis, I see you raise your eyebrows in surprise, but it’s quite true, we have eight more notes that match these two perfectly. What’s more, we have many decuplets of banknotes, all with the same complications. How do you explain that?’<br />
<br />
‘I have no <i>plausible</i> explanation for that, officer,’ was all that Davis said.<br />
<br />
‘It doesn’t end there, you know,’ the Inquisitor went on, ‘the similarities, I mean. Our boffins tell us that they appear to be identical right down to the imperfections in the paper. We’re still awaiting their detailed analysis, of course. Intriguing, isn’t it?’<br />
<br />
‘Quite.’<br />
<br />
‘And we ask ourselves, “Now how would anyone make something like that?” And straight away we answer, “It would take some pretty sophisticated machinery.” And so we ask the next obvious question, “Who would be doing such a thing?” And we find out from the bank who paid the notes in, and we find out that it’s a very clever man with a PhD and all sorts of qualifications who has been spending lots of money on ingenious pieces of equipment. And then we call at his house and find that he has the most amazingly sophisticated machinery we’ve ever seen, right there in his basement!’<br />
<br />
The Inquisitor placed another plastic envelope on the table. ‘We only have one of these, though,’ he said. ‘Can you verify that that is your signature, please?’<br />
<br />
Davis picked up the envelope and looked at the paying-in slip that it contained. The signature was his. ‘It looks very similar to mine,’ he said, screwing up his face and slowly shaking his head, apparently in disbelief at what he saw, ‘but you are dealing with a very clever forger. You say this was paid in yesterday?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes,’ said the Inquisitor, ‘as the date shows.’ The date had been the cause of Davis’s disbelief. His mind raced. He had been drunk, or at least seriously merry. What date had he set on the machine’s dial? His memory was vague, and he would confirm it when he got home, but he thought it had been the date he left, the day after he had paid the proceeds of his original cash-generating scheme into the bank. With a startling jolt, he realised his mistake! He had forgotten to add on the lapsed time of his travels and, instead of returning to the leading edge of time, he had returned to almost the exact moment at which he had left to visit his younger self. His eyes widened with his realisation.<br />
<br />
‘We’ve taken the trouble of arranging an identity parade, Dr Davis, so as to rule out the problem you just mentioned.’<br />
<br />
‘What problem?’<br />
<br />
‘That your signature may have been forged. The bank teller is waiting to see if she can pick out the gentleman who paid in all that money. Please follow me.’<br />
<br />
The little group left the room. Davis was led to another room in which a line of men of similar appearance to himself was arrayed against one wall facing a mirror that stretched the length of the wall opposite. ‘Stand anywhere you like in the line-up,’ he was told. He took his place near one end, and the policemen left the room.<br />
<br />
A young woman was led into the room behind the mirror and instructed what to do. She walked along the window becoming increasingly puzzled, and speeding up as she went. ‘No,’ she said as she reached the end of the row, ‘it’s none of these. The man I saw was much younger.’ They encouraged her to look again, which she did, more nervously this time in view of the obvious irritation of the policemen. She reported the same verdict. They broke the rules and drew her attention to Davis. ‘No, I told you,’ she said, becoming quite annoyed with them, ‘he’s like him but much too old. The man I dealt with was much younger.’<br />
<br />
Davis was released for lack of evidence but told in no uncertain terms that the investigation was not yet over and that he could be called again for questioning. They transported him back home in silence. On entering the cottage, he was dismayed at the mess the police had made. He rushed down to the basement to see what they had done to the machine. He picked his way laboriously through every detail of its construction and was not surprised to find that a small amount of damage had been done. All of it was significant however, and each discovery hit him like a hammer blow. He sat dejectedly on the floor in the corner of the room, wondering how he would get his hands on the money to buy replacements for the parts that were damaged. He looked between his knees at the machine and his eyes lighted on the small door to a compartment on its side. His misery turned instantly to elation. He sprang to his feet, opened the compartment, and took out the parcel of spare parts that his younger self had left with him. Another paradox had played out its hand. He went exhausted to bed, setting the alarm early so that he would have a full day to affect repairs then leave before the police showed up with more questions to be answered…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Davis sat in the chair and adjusted the settings for his journey. He double-checked the destination time and added on a little extra. As far as he understood, the machine could only take him to the leading edge of time. The extra was just to ensure that he definitely reached it, and to allow for the advance of time in the short duration of his journey. Of course, time had moved on without him and he wondered at what he might find; what technological changes had occurred in his absence, what changes in society? Mostly, he wondered if he had been missed, although he realised it was unlikely. He supposed that Mrs Stephenson may have noticed his absence but wondered if she would still be alive to remark on his unexpected return. He had decided to try and track Lauren down. He would value her friendship, even if she were still married. He hoped she would feel the same… He pushed the button and watched the scene shimmer and fade and crystallise before him.<br />
<br />
The cottage was darkened by the boards nailed up at its windows. Dust lay on the horizontal surfaces and cobwebs hung from walls and ceiling. The air smelled cold and damp and stale. What light there was came through holes in the roof where slates had been torn away by numerous winter gales unobstructed by the sea. Corresponding puddles lay on the floor beneath the holes. The clock on the wall opposite the chair had ceased to tick many years ago. Somewhere at the back of the cottage, a loose board flapped in the wind and banged repetitively against a window frame. Davis closed the machine down and unstrapped himself. He left the chair and wandered about the cottage and began to feel depressed about its condition. Twice he had renovated the place, and now it looked like he would have to do it again…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Good morning, Mrs Stephenson!’<br />
<br />
Mrs Stephenson, whom Davis had encountered in the street, she having retired from the bank some years ago, frowned and reached back into the dim recesses of her mind to find a match for the face of the man who accosted her. ‘Is it…? Yes, it’s Dr Davis, isn’t it?’<br />
<br />
‘Indeed it is,’ he exclaimed, ‘and may I say what a joy it is to see you after all this time.’ She smiled and said, ‘Yes, it has been a long time, hasn’t it. You went away very suddenly and no one has been expecting your return for quite some time now. Did you emigrate, or something?’<br />
<br />
He offered little explanation. ‘Something like that, but I’m back now.’<br />
<br />
They parted company, and Davis walked to the bank with a smile on his face. The smile did not last, however, because the bank was not there. He ran back to where he had met Mrs Stephenson and searched around the nearby shops until he found her. Explaining his quandary, he asked her to tell him what had happened to the bank. She became agitated, disturbed at his insistent questioning. She wondered privately about the state of his mind, and if the rumours surrounding his disappearance had been true and if, all this time, he had been locked away somewhere. The bank, it seemed, and she had explained it as though to someone in an advanced state of dementure, had overstretched itself and, when the depression came on the heels of a war in the Middle East, had gone under. Everything had been lost and many, many people had been left penniless, herself included. Her anticipated comfortable pension had gone in the collapse and she had to get by on what the state, and her late husband’s meagre pension, provided. Realising her distress at his questioning, Davis thanked her politely, and left her alone.<br />
<br />
He was not overly concerned about being penniless himself, having a sure-fire way of becoming rich; he was loath to resort to it, however, in the light of his experience with the Law in an earlier time. He made enquiries about his cottage and found that the mortgage lender had repossessed it because the mortgagee had not kept up his repayments, hardly surprising since he had been away for so long. Since the cottage was in such a dilapidated state, the purchase price was very low, the estimated cost of repair very high. He left the mortgage lender’s office in a low ebb and wandered aimlessly about the town until, because of his inattention, he collided with a telephone stand. Having almost decided that he would have to pump his funds again, he picked up the handset on a whim and asked to be connected to a certain Bermudan Bank agent’s office. A man answered the call and began to proceed through the usual series of questions, each of which Davis answered in the expectation that it would be the last. ‘And how can I help you, sir?’ said the agent, eventually.<br />
<br />
‘Could you tell me the balance of the account, please?’ He struggled to convince himself that complementarity could be experienced on the leading edge of time, and hoped, against his certain knowledge, that it would.<br />
<br />
‘Certainly, sir.’ There was a long pause, at the end of which the man cleared his throat. ‘One moment, sir,’ he said and prolonged the pause. Davis expected to be cut off. ‘Right, sir, your balance at close of banking yesterday, including interest added, is fourteen million, seven hundred an sixty-two thousand, one hundred and eighty-seven euros and twenty-four cents.’<br />
<br />
Davis stood in shocked silence.<br />
<br />
‘Sir? Are you there?’<br />
<br />
‘Uh, yes. Where is the nearest place I can draw some cash, please?’<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Davis took a suite in the best hotel in town from which to conduct his affairs. He bought the cottage outright, dismantled the machine so that it could be stored out of harm’s way, then paid contractors to renovate the property, not having the heart to do the job himself yet again nor, with so much money available, the need. Once reinstalled in his old home, he brought the machine back from storage and stowed it, unassembled, in the basement. He could not bring himself to rebuild it, in part because he knew from his younger self’s experience that the machine was obsolete, and in part because he was weary of his travels. He was comfortable, had fulfilled his dream, and had Lauren to find…<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It did not take him long to find Lauren. She had not recognised him at first, having not seen him since University. She had three grown daughters, all married and with children of their own. When her children had reached school age, she had returned to her work as a mathematician on the first successful fusion reactor project until her husband had become ill with cancer. Then, she had left her job to nurse him until he died, and she had not worked in the six years since.<br />
<br />
Friendship rekindled and blossomed once more into love. He told her of his travels. At first she had not believed him but had become convinced when he walked her through the theories and showed her the dismantled machine in the basement. Her mathematical insight was profound, and she suggested a number of refinements, all of which he acknowledged and incorporated. They talked about her life and the events that he had missed because of his absence. She told him of the war, depression, poverty, and the recovery in the economy as a result of some staggering technologies that had emerged, one of which drove him back to his research. Together, they turned their discoveries into a new design. ‘You know,’ he said to her, ‘with this, I think we could break the time-barrier.’<br />
<br />
On the second anniversary of their wedding day, they sat aboard a new machine. Holding hands, they left the leading edge of time behind them, and found a place, if that is the right word, where neither time nor space had any meaning…Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-74844929693939315112010-06-29T23:10:00.005+01:002010-10-28T00:15:33.598+01:00Born YesterdayCopyright © 2006<br />
<br />
<em>An older man gets picked up by a beautiful young woman. He was right not to believe his luck…</em><br />
<br />
There’s no fool like an old fool. That’s what they say. I think they’re right. I’ve been a bloody fool. I don’t feel old but, I suppose, my grandson thinks I am. Why did I do it? I don’t know. Loneliness, perhaps? Yes, that’s what it was: loneliness. I just got sick and tired of doing everything by myself. I should’ve seen it coming... but she turned my head. Can’t blame me for that, surely; I mean, you should get a look at her: and she certainly knew how to turn on the charm.<br />
<br />
I was flattered, I suppose, a man of my age appealing to a much younger woman. I didn’t believe it at first but she was very persistent. Eventually, she had me convinced and I swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I mean, it’s not as if I had a pile of money to get her attention with: just the opposite...<br />
<br />
We met in a bar one wet Friday night. I was getting a drink and she backed into me, laughing. Something one of her girlfriends had said, I think. Anyway, she turned around just in time to see me drop the large single malt the barman had just handed me. Of course, it went all down my trousers. <br />
<br />
She looked horrified. She looked lovely, actually. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, and she put her hand on my shoulder and looked me in the face. I just looked back at her and allowed my annoyance to evaporate in the radiant warmth that came from her eyes. Romantic-sounding twaddle, I know, but that’s how it felt. ‘Let me buy you another,’ she said, meeting my gaze, ‘what are you drinking?’<br />
<br />
‘Glenmorangie,’ I said, ‘but that won’t be necessary.’<br />
<br />
‘I insist,’ she said, waving at the barman to get his attention. She turned and looked at him, and I cocked my head to one side and stared at her profile, stunned. What would it be like to kiss her, I wondered... She carried on talking, ‘A Glenmorangie for this gentleman,’ she said, ‘and make it a double of whatever he’d ordered.’ The barman nodded as he took the twenty pound note she proffered and reached for a clean glass in the same motion then headed for the optic. She turned back to face me and smiled. ‘I hope that will be OK,’ she said. <br />
<br />
She was a good ten inches or so shorter than me, and she looked up past long dark eyelashes, her face framed in a well-groomed brunette bob. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen; at least, she seemed so just then. I smiled back. ‘That’s more than generous,’ I said, ‘The one I dropped was already a double. You’ll have me drunk.’ We were standing quite close already because of the crush, and the noise meant we had to lean in to hear each other properly. I hoped my breath didn’t smell. I smiled back, and I think she caught the embarrassment in my expression: I think she understood why I was embarrassed, too. <br />
<br />
She looked away to the floor, fluttered her eyelashes, and looked back into my eyes again, held my gaze. She held out her hand to me. ‘Anna Roberts,’ she said.<br />
<br />
‘Delighted,’ said I, taking her hand and telling her my name. Her grip was firm, and we lingered a little longer than would have been polite if we were not flirting.<br />
<br />
‘Your drink, sir; your change, miss,’ the barman said. She let go of my hand and took her money and I lifted my generously full glass from the bar.<br />
<br />
‘Is it “Miss”?’ I asked her, tentatively. I heard her girlfriends snigger.<br />
<br />
‘It is,’ she said, turning back to me and smiling, ‘Are you married?’ Her eyes darted down to my left hand, where a band of gold flashed its alarming presence.<br />
<br />
‘Widowed,’ I announced, lifting my hand into clear view. ‘Five years ago. Can’t quite get used to the idea of not wearing this.’ One of her friends cleared her throat, as if in warning.<br />
<br />
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her expression changing slightly, I was uncertain whether out of suspicion or sympathy. ‘How did it happen?’ Her face took on its horrified look again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t mean to pry.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s OK,’ I said, ‘I don’t mind talking about it now. It was very painful back then. It’s much less so now.’<br />
<br />
She read the poignancy in my tone and expression and seemed to draw some reassurance from it. ‘But not entirely without pain?’ she posed.<br />
<br />
‘No.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘She was killed by a drunk-driver,’ I blurted, trying to fill the space, ‘at a bus stop, along with five others, including my daughter, our only child in fact, and two children, one of them our granddaughter. It was on the News and in the papers.’<br />
<br />
It was her turn to look stunned, although for a different reason. ‘I remember that,’ she mused, ‘It must have been dreadful for you.’<br />
<br />
‘Yes,’ I said, and fell silent once again and pensive. ‘Well, thanks for the drink.’ I raised my glass as though in a toast and took a sip from it. We stood in silence amidst the cacophony of shouting punters and distorted rock music. I began to pine for her, as the encounter seemed to be drawing to a natural end.<br />
<br />
She made to turn back to her friends but suddenly stopped. ‘We’ll be moving on to somewhere quieter soon,’ she announced to me, ‘why don’t you join us?’<br />
<br />
‘Well, I er...’<br />
<br />
‘Go on, it will be fun. I promise.’ She flashed her eyes as she said, ‘I promise,’ and my heart jolted in my chest.<br />
<br />
‘Well, I er ... OK.’<br />
<br />
‘Great!’ Her smile floored me again. She introduced me to her three friends, each of whom displayed a different attitude ranging from annoyance to intrigue. Before anyone could say anything, a table became vacant in a quieter corner – not much quieter but you could hear yourself think – and the girls made a dash for it before someone else spotted it. Anna took me by the hand. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘sit with us.’ Her eyes were big and round and dark and her smile warm and inviting. <br />
<br />
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘yes.’<br />
<br />
She let go of my hand and pushed through the throng to the table and I followed on behind her. All I’d noticed of her up to that point was her face and her height. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her face and this was the first chance I’d had to take in the rest of her. Unobserved, as it were. She twisted and wriggled through the crowd and I got a good look at her. She was... well, unbelievable. By the time we got to the table my innards were well and truly knotted. I was glad of all the commotion because I was able to get myself sat down behind the table before things got too embarrassing – from an onlooker’s point of view. I mean, she was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and I was completely blown away. <br />
<br />
She’d shooed the others round to empty seats to make sure that I sat next to her, and she leant hard against my shoulder to shout in my ear, ‘We’ll move on when we’ve finished our drinks. We’re going for a Chinese. Is that OK with you?’<br />
<br />
My heart was pounding by now and I thought that if I had an aneurism in my head, this is when it would pop – you think about that kind of thing when you get to my age, and my mother had had one when she was not much older. What a way to go, I thought, but not just yet, please...<br />
<br />
‘Great,’ I said, ‘my favourite.’ Well, actually, I prefer curries but I’d have eaten dog food and enjoyed it, if that’d been what she’d suggested. I took a large mouthful from my glass; I wasn’t thinking quite so clearly by now, and it was nothing to do with the alcohol.<br />
<br />
‘There’s no great rush,’ she said, with a half-smile and eyebrows raised at my eagerness to finish my drink.<br />
<br />
Oh yes there is, I thought, this is one fantastically great rush. I realised I had a mouthful of malt and that my tongue was beginning to tingle. I had no option but to swallow. I gasped, and coughed, and she laughed. ‘Sorry,’ I said, half-choking, ‘I’m just a bit...well...off balance with the sudden change of plans for the evening.’ She put her hand on my knee and just smiled at me. Why me? I asked myself, and smiled right back at her. I put my shaking hand on top of hers.<br />
<br />
One of her friends told a joke. Well, she shouted it really, because of the noise. It was the most vulgar thing I’ve ever heard from the lips of a woman. The other two girls laughed riotously, one cackling, the other snorting, and the joker joined in with the dirtiest laugh I’d ever heard in my life, never mind from a woman. Anna simply squeezed my knee and smiled at me, and ran her hand up the inside of my thigh. She leant into me again and said in my ear, ‘We could lose these three, if you’d prefer.’ She wrinkled her nose in distaste. <br />
<br />
And have you all to myself? I thought. I leant into her and put my mouth next to her ear. Her perfume was wonderful and had my head swimming. I so wanted to kiss her. ‘I don’t want to spoil your evening,’ I shouted, and moved my head to hear her reply.<br />
<br />
‘Quite the opposite,’ she said, brushing her lips against my cheek.<br />
<br />
I thought I would go crazy. I thought I had gone crazy. I’ve been picked up, I thought. For the very first time in my life, I’ve been picked up!<br />
<br />
She leant across the table, and I couldn’t help but notice her full chest resting on its surface, and she shouted something at her friends. One of them raised her eyebrows, one frowned, and the other, the coarse one, shouted back, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ Anna shouted something like, ‘Of course I do, he’s a pussy cat.’ <br />
<br />
She turned back to me and smiled again. There was that feeling again – total inward collapse. ‘OK,’ she mouthed, ‘we can go.’<br />
<br />
I finished my drink then stood up, leaning forward, making a show of struggling past the table, in an attempt to disguise my embarrassment, smiling and nodding and waving goodbye to the others. ‘It was nice meeting you,’ I lied. She slid across the chairs in my wake without giving her friends a second glance. She took my hand and we worked our way through the crowd to the door. Once outside, she slipped her arm through mine and clasped herself on with both hands as if she were staking her claim on me, or making it clear to the others in the street that she was already with someone. She leant against me as we walked. I leant back on her, of course, only partly to keep us moving in a straight line...<br />
<br />
I needed some money, so I stopped at a cash machine and withdrew £150. She chatted on the whole time, holding onto my arm; that didn’t make entering the PIN any easier.<br />
<br />
She let me choose the restaurant. I wanted to make an impression so I took her to the Rising Moon. Expensive, and very good food. On the way there, we talked about the usual stuff – you know, where we lived, what we did for a living, hobbies, interests outside work. She made me go first, which was flattering, and she made little noises signalling her approval all the time I was talking. Once we’d settled on a table – I’d rejected the first one we’d been offered in favour of a more secluded setting – I made her tell me about herself. Well, I was amazed how much we had in common, although her family background was quite different from mine: she lived with her folks in a very well-to-do part of town and, as far as she could remember, had always done so. She said how impressed she was at what I’d made of myself, having been so less privileged. There was nothing patronizing about the way she said it. I said that it was nothing, really, that I’d just taken the opportunities that had presented themselves and the risks had paid off. <br />
<br />
‘I think I’m really going to enjoy getting to know you,’ she said. That was when I first seriously thought that she was after more than a one-night stand. It was a thought I nurtured and played with and allowed to take root as I listened to her and as we ate. We only picked at the food, really; we neither of us seemed to have an appetite – not for food, anyway. We drank the first bottle of wine and ordered a second.<br />
<br />
Eventually, over the China Tea, and I had had to do this, I raised the matter of the age-difference. ‘I think I should tell you my age,’ I said, ‘Only, I look much younger than I actually am.’<br />
<br />
‘Let me guess,’ she said. She examined my hands and pulled at the slack in their skin and watched it retract. She smiled. She touched the side of my face and ran her fingers over the crow’s feet beside my eyes. ‘Hmm,’ she said, still smiling, ‘I would guess that you are in your mid- to late-forties.’<br />
<br />
I had studied her face as she had examined me. She had clear skin, and was wearing very little makeup. There was just the slightest hint of a wrinkle forming near her left eye. ‘And you,’ I said, ‘are about twenty-eight?’<br />
<br />
‘Twenty-seven,’ she said, ‘You’re good.’ She paused, still smiling, still holding my hand. I got the impression that the late-forties presented her with little concern. ‘How good am I?’ she asked, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.<br />
<br />
‘Well...’ I paused for a long time. ‘If I’m honest, will you let me kiss you at least once before you go?’<br />
<br />
‘What makes you think I’m going anywhere?’ She rubbed her toes against my shin and reached for my knee. I shuddered inside.<br />
<br />
‘I’m a bit older than that,’ I said, so quietly that she had to lean forward to hear me, removing her foot from my thigh as she did so. She was still smiling, an enigmatic, almost serene smile, and I flashed a nervous smile back at her. I cleared my throat and announced, ‘I’m fifty-three.’ I fixed my gaze on her eyes, straining to see the slightest evidence of disappointment in her: she never flinched. ‘That means I actually am old enough to be you father... In fact, my daughter, had she lived, would be much the same age as you...’<br />
<br />
She leant back in her chair, and her foot slid back up my shin. ‘I like mature men,’ she said. ‘Young men have only one thing on their minds, if you know what I mean. Older men have more patience... They know how to treat a girl, how to woo her. A younger man wouldn’t have brought me to a fabulous place like this on a first date, for instance. And, actually, my father is much older than you: I was a very late addition to our family.’ <br />
<br />
I didn’t dare tell her what I had on my mind at that precise moment, and how impatient I felt about it. To be honest, what with her playing footsie, I was wondering what she had on her mind... I began to feel more hopeful about our possibilities but my confidence slipped a notch with her next comment, ‘I have a brother your age. I think he’ll like you.’ She noticed that my hand was trembling and she sat up and reached across the table to take it in both of hers. ‘Your age doesn’t bother me,’ she said, pointedly, ‘does mine bother you?’<br />
<br />
‘No,’ I said, ‘except inasmuch as at my age I’m hoping for something... well, meaningful and, with any luck, long-term. And, well, a woman like you is Everyman’s dream. And I guess I’m wondering how long it will be before I wake up. And I’m worried that you might find me a bit too set in my ways and go off looking for someone younger. And I don’t know if I could take much more of the pain of losing someone. And my imagination is running away with itself.’ I shook my head and laughed and looked down at the table and our now interlocked fingers.<br />
<br />
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I grew up with older men around me. I really do prefer older men. And, anyway, who knows where this or any relationship will lead us? We can’t know unless we try. It may last a week; it may last for always. I think it’s worth the risk.’ She looked at me with the most sincerity I have ever seen in a face but with a sparkle in her eye that offered excitement and adventure. She kissed my hand.<br />
<br />
‘You are so beautiful,’ I said, my heart once more pounding against my ribs, ‘so, so, beautiful.’<br />
<br />
We didn’t notice the time as we talked on into the night. The waitress brought the bill without being asked for it and the staff began turning the lights out as I reached for my wallet. Anna wanted to pay her share but I insisted on paying the full amount. I’ve never before spent so much on a meal and eaten so little. <br />
<br />
Outside the restaurant, she linked arms with me again and we rubbed hard against each other all the way to the taxi rank. She took me by surprise as we passed the end of a dark passageway between two shops. ‘Come in here a minute,’ she said, pulling me by the hand into the darkness. Well, needless to say, I didn’t resist more than was necessary to disguise my eager willingness to follow. Once we were hidden by the darkness, she pressed herself hard against me and looked up into my face. I kissed her. I couldn’t stop kissing her. I felt like I was melting in her arms, turning to liquid; my head was swimming and my heart pounding like an Olympic sprinter’s. She kissed me back just as passionately. Before long there were no holds barred for either of us, if you know what I mean – but we didn’t, well you know, I wanted to, and I got the impression she did too, but we didn’t…<br />
<br />
‘Easy, Tiger,’ she said, pulling away from me, looking into my face with a soft smile and dreamy eyes, ‘It’s late, and this is our first date.’ <br />
<br />
I could have felt cheated but, the way she lingered as though she was having second thoughts, I felt a tremendous respect for her and ashamed with myself for behaving like a hormone-inflamed teenager. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, rather sheepishly, and bit my bottom lip.<br />
<br />
‘Patience,’ was all she said as she touched the end of my nose with one outstretched finger.<br />
<br />
It took us a few energy-charged moments to help each other to pull our clothing straight and we sauntered out into the street again and joined the queue in the taxi rank.<br />
<br />
We caught a cab after about half an hour of standing around chatting and a little somewhat more restrained kissing. We took a route that went first to her home, even though mine was nearer and almost on the way. On the way, she asked for my mobile phone so she could give me her number. ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she said as she punched out the digits. The cab bounced through a pothole. <br />
<br />
Her parents’ house was fantastic: large, detached, set in its own grounds, with a long, sweeping, double-entrance driveway. We stopped on the road to avoid waking the house with tyres in the gravel and slamming doors. We promised to meet again soon and kissed one long, lingering kiss, which, with a taxi waiting, was all we had time for. Before getting out of the cab, she thrust a twenty pound note into the driver’s hand. ‘That should cover the fare for us both,’ she said to him. She waved my objections aside. ‘I’m not a gold-digger,’ she said, pecking me on the cheek as she opened the door. She hopped out, shut the door, turned away, and headed towards the house. She turned and waved from the gateway as the taxi pulled away. I watched her until the corner approached. She disappeared into the darkness beyond the gate as the taxi turned.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
The next day, after a dream-filled sleep, and waking very late in the morning, I tried to call her. I got some guy in Scotland. Damn! I thought, she must have mistyped the number because of the jolting of the taxi. I called the phone company’s directory enquiries and asked for Anna’s number, giving the address of her parents’ home. They didn’t have the number listed. Now, I’m well-used to the inefficiency of phone companies when it comes to being helpful, so I thought nothing of it and went to another directory enquiry service that I’ve found to be more reliable. They didn’t have the number either. Nor did they have a number for her parents’ house. Since I had the impression that her family was quite well-off, to say the least, I could only assume the numbers were intentionally unlisted. <br />
<br />
The only thing left was to call at the house and hope she wouldn’t mind my meeting her folks so soon in our relationship. To be honest, I was a bit anxious about that myself. I knew what her views on the age-difference were but her folks may take an altogether different stance. I could think of no other adult way of getting to see her again. Then I decided to put the event off by waiting outside, like a love-sick pubescent, until she came out. I drove over and parked on the road where I could see both drive entrances but couldn’t be seen from the house. I sat there for about an hour until I needed a coffee and a pee. I’d seen a café back along the road as I’d driven up so I walked back to it, visited their loo, then ordered a latte to take away. That’s when I missed my wallet for the first time. I reached into my coat pocket but it wasn’t there. I searched through the other pockets. Damn! Where was it? Had I left it at home? No, I hadn’t. I’d worn this coat last night and hadn’t bothered to empty the pockets.<br />
<br />
The passageway! I apologised and explained that I’d lost my wallet and then, leaving the coffee for which I could not pay, dashed out of the café and back to the car. I drove into town and pulled up on the double yellow line at the end of the alley. I ran down to where we’d been the night before, and scoured the ground for my wallet. Nothing. No surprise really.<br />
<br />
The taxi! I dashed back to the car and drove off to the main office of the cab firm. Needless to say, nothing had been handed in or reported found and all their drivers were, of course, very honest and would have handed it in if they’d found it. More than their jobs’ worth not to. I should try again tomorrow, though, because some of last night’s drivers would still be asleep and wouldn’t be in for hours yet. Was I sure I had it last night? Well, of course I was. Could I have left it at home this morning? I was less sure about that and had to acknowledge the possibility.<br />
<br />
I drove back to the house and waited outside for another hour. In the end, I decided I could have missed her while I was searching for my wallet, so it was time to act like a grown-up and call at the house. It took ages for anyone to answer the bell. A frail old man opened the door. ‘Mr Roberts?’ I asked, ‘I’m a friend of Anna’s. Is she in, please?’<br />
<br />
‘Who?’ said the old man, bewilderment all over his face.<br />
<br />
I shouted, ‘I’m a friend of Anna’s, Mr Roberts. Is she in?’<br />
<br />
‘I’m not deaf, young man,’ he said in an annoyed, almost angry, tone. ‘And my name isn’t Roberts and there’s no-one here called Anna.’<br />
<br />
Well, I was stunned. I just stood there with my mouth open, not understanding. <br />
<br />
‘I think you’d better leave.’<br />
<br />
‘I’m sorry. My mistake.’ I turned and trudged to the car. What was going on? I heard the door of the house close behind me. I drove out and wondered if I’d called at the wrong house but there were no others like it in the road. No, that was the house that Anna had gone into, and this was the road where she had left the taxi from which I’d watched as she walked into the driveway, turned to wave, and vanished into the darkness. There was no mistake on my part. I drove home in a state of confusion and, for once, keeping to the speed limit. <br />
<br />
Back at home, having failed to find my wallet anywhere in the house, I started going through my filing cabinet for my bank and credit card details and calling the emergency numbers to report my loss. One by one, the agencies reported activity on each card: Internet transactions, cash withdrawals, shopping deals. The total bill was enormous. Fortunately, most of the cards had a limited liability clause in the contract. But who could be doing it? Who would know my PIN? I’m always very careful with that because I use the same number for all my cards; it makes it much easier to remember, although, I suppose, much easier to abuse if you got hold of my cards and my PIN, as someone very obviously had. Eventually, I got through to my bank.<br />
<br />
‘What was the last transaction you remember?’ the young woman on the line asked me.<br />
<br />
‘Last night, at about 9:45, a £150 withdrawal from a cash machine on the high street,’ I answered. ‘A friend was with me. She could verify that… except…’ An unpleasant thought occurred to me and pieces of the puzzle began to slide together. Anna saw me typing in my PIN… No! that’s ridiculous, I thought. I finished my conversation with the bank. <br />
<br />
I sat down and, in utter disbelief, held my head in my hands. Anna. I think I’ve been well and truly had. But how did she get my wallet? I went over the evening in my mind. All that fumbling in the alleyway… That’s when she took it! She had me far too distracted to notice what else she might be doing... The story about her family, and liking older men – no doubt because they’re more easily duped by the attentions of a beautiful young woman – a pack of lies, all of it. The house: I never actually saw her go in; she just walked into the drive and must have turned back as soon as my taxi was out of sight: a taxi she’d probably paid for with my money… And I fell for it good and proper.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
At least I wasn’t the only one that was born yesterday. It turns out that I’m the first one to report the scam. The police checked with the guy in Scotland. He’d had about half a dozen calls from men asking for Anna Roberts, and a few more for several other women. He cooperated with the police and allowed them to trace the other callers from his telephone company’s records. They’ve all been interviewed and it seems they told a very similar story and had been too embarrassed about being taken in to report it themselves. They’d all had the same problem I’d had in giving them a description: she was too beautiful to describe; but I’d know her if I saw her again. I don’t suppose I ever shall. Shame, really…Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-65518446548716046612009-10-05T23:05:00.007+01:002010-09-10T22:26:27.259+01:00Every Dog Has His Day (with apologies to cat-lovers)Copyright © 2007<br />
<br />
<i>This is a humorous story about a young boy who loved his dog and became a great scientist so that he could realise his life's dream: to communicate with his pet. The story was rejected </i><span style="color: red;">:(</span><i> by <b>Interzone</b>. Their loss, your gain.</i><br />
<br />
Professor Denzel Jones was a very intelligent man. You would, of course, guess that from the title ‘Professor’ but even among professors he was quite exceptional. He had gone up to Cambridge at the age of sixteen, and graduated three years later with a double-first in Behavioural Psychology and Electronics: a strange combination, you might think, but Denzel Jones had a plan, more of which later.<br />
<br />
After graduation, he gained his PhD not with merely original research but with groundbreaking research into the workings of brain and mind. He shone like the brightest star in the firmament in his post-doctoral research years, soon securing a lectureship, global recognition, and, with even more surprising rapidity, a chair in Psychology at Cambridge. He had never, in fact, considered applying for a professorial post but had been made several offers he could not refuse from the most prestigious universities on both sides of the Atlantic. He chose to remain in the UK to be near his mother who, most importantly of all, had left her cottage near Pontypridd to look after his dog, Oscar, while he was at work.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, Denzel had many friends in high places and not a few enemies, all of whom were, if they were honest (and most of them were not), utterly jealous of his enormous intellect and meteoric rise to academic greatness. His best human friend (actually his worst enemy) was Jonathan Bytheway, a man with very little talent, and a poor cricketer. He was clever enough but nothing like genius, except for when it came to making sure he was in the right place at the right time. He had recognised Denzel’s talent early on and had made sure that he was well positioned to be pulled along in Denzel’s wake to whatever starry heights may be beckoning him. <br />
<br />
Denzel’s real best and truest friend was Oscar. Oscar was an English Labrador Retriever. He was not the brightest of dogs, neither was he the dimmest. He loved his master even more than he loved food and swimming, and not just because he was a dog and it was his job. He detested Jonathan Bytheway. He thought himself a good judge of character and tried everything in his limited knowledge of inter-species communication to make Denzel see the truth about Jonathan but never succeeded, perhaps because Oscar was not very good at inter-species communication, or because his master was not as clever as everyone thought, or because his master chose to ignore Oscar’s warnings. Knowing Denzel as he did, and taking a certain pride in his own abilities, Oscar could only assume the last case to be true and wonder why…<br />
<br />
Ah, yes – the plan!<br />
<br />
Now Oscar was not Denzel’s first dog. No. That honour fell to a pit-bull-dachshund-cross named Sausage who had been given to Denzel by his parents on his eighth birthday. Sausage was only five day’s old at that time and had been rescued, along with three brothers and a sister, by Denzel’s father from an old sack with a brick in it that he had witnessed being thrown by an unseen miscreant from a bridge into a river. Fortunately for Sausage, the bag had caught in the branches of a tree that overhung the river. Even more fortunately for Sausage, Denzel’s dad had a soft spot for anything with four legs, especially if it whined and yelped in desperation, and he made an heroic effort to effect a rescue, almost falling into the treacherous waters himself.<br />
<br />
Denzel had been given the choice of the litter and, naturally, and taking after his father, he chose the runt. Together, he and his father had hand-reared the litter. Once the others had been old enough, Denzel’s dad had found good homes for them all and used the few bob he had made from their sale to buy Sausage’s first collar and lead. The collar was a strip of leather ornamented with large metal studs and terminated with a large, heavy buckle – an accessory that, in conjunction with Sausage’s unfortunate shape, proved to be a great source of humour to the people who met Sausage, at least until they felt the sharp ends of his pit-bull teeth.<br />
<br />
Denzel had loved Sausage dearly and, in the few short years they were together, had read everything he could about dogs and their behaviour. He was quite fascinated by their relationship. His deepest longing was to understand the world as Sausage saw it, and to know what on earth was going on inside Sausage’s head. Quite clearly, Sausage was an intelligent beast: Denzel had watched him reasoning out how to get a long stick through a narrow gate; Sausage understood questions like, ‘Are you ’ungry’, and instructions like, ‘Go find your ball’, and (from Denzel’s father), ‘Get off the sofa, you little b****r!’, and a whole host of other things. <br />
<br />
On the momentous day that Denzel had heard that he had earned himself a place in the local grammar school (to the astonishment of his entire family, who thought him to be a bit of a dreamer who would never amount to anything other than a miner like his dad), he made up his mind and formulated his plan. He would make the very most of the opportunity that had been given him and learn all he could about animals; one day, he would be the world’s greatest dog expert. He did not then know words like ‘psychology’, and he had never heard of Lorenz or Pavlov: he just wanted to know what made Sausage tick, and why he licked certain parts of his anatomy in preference to others…<br />
<br />
Denzel learnt a hard lesson on the day that Sausage was killed. Sausage had been sitting at a window, growling at a cat in the back garden; a cat that seemed to know he was watching, and that flaunted itself in front of him, brushing itself lasciviously against the tree and mewing loudly. Sausage’s response had been a pointless escalation into ferocious barking and covering the window with ejected saliva. The cat, clearly aware of its unimpeachable safety on the other side of the glass, had carried on with its shameless behaviour, working poor Sausage into a frenzy in the process. <br />
<br />
Sausage had escaped from the house when Mrs Jones had gone outside to throw some scraps to the birds. The cat had not noticed Sausage (who had decided to be foxy and crept out stealthily) until it was almost too late. The suddenly-spooked moggy had taken off through a hole in the hedge and, expecting Sausage to be unable to follow, had stopped to wind him up some more. Sausage however, due to his unfortunate parentage, found the hole just about big enough to get most of his long, thin body through and his musculature more than adequate to force the hole wide enough for the less well accommodated sections. The startled cat took off with a determined Sausage in hot pursuit. Around the corner they went, and the cat broke its flight briefly to eye up a tree and assess its potential as a sanctuary. <br />
<br />
Alas, that was the poor animal’s undoing. Sausage caught the cat’s tail as it attempted to leap into the tree. Sausage sank his teeth as hard as he could into the feline extremity and yanked the beast away from its refuge, swinging around as he pulled, the cat flying out like a hammer-thrower’s hammer, its head crashing at the end of its circuit into the tree trunk. Stunned, the cat dropped to the ground. Thrilled at this sudden and unexpected achievement (this being the only cat among many chased that Sausage had ever succeeded in catching) he let go of the tail and lunged for the kill, sinking his pit-bull teeth into the cat’s throat and shaking it with all his considerable, pit-bull-bequeathed might.<br />
<br />
Alas, that distraction was poor Sausage’s undoing. Who should happen around the corner from the opposite direction but the cat’s owner – a young boy on his way home from the playing fields and carrying a cricket bat far too big for him. Smash! went the bat. Yelp! went Sausage. Jonathan Bytheway (for it was he) picked up his dead cat by the tail with his free hand and ran crying homewards, leaving a trail of feline blood behind him, to sob into his mother’s ample bosom. Sausage lay gasping his final gasps, his injuries too great for the vet to have saved him even had he been found alive, thinking his last thoughts of his Denzel, who would never know how he had met his end, and whom he regretted would never know that he had died a real dog, having finally caught and killed a cat.<br />
<br />
Denzel’s mother, on coming out to put rubbish into the dustbin, had found Sausage lying dead beneath the tree, wrapped him in a tea-towel, and left him lying on the kitchen table until Denzel returned home from the pit where he had gone to meet his father after work. Together, the three of them had held a simple funeral service, in which Sausage was buried beneath Mr Jones’s favourite gooseberry bush, from whence Denzel at that time believed himself to have come into the world. Denzel cried for three days and mourned for three months. Jonathan Bytheway cleaned and re-oiled his cricket bat and convinced his father to replace his lost cat with a new bicycle.<br />
<br />
Now, Mr Jones was a good father and did all he could to help Denzel with his education. It was a struggle for most of the time, what with strikes and all, and the cost of the grammar school’s uniform being exorbitant, and Denzel growing so fast. Even so, he managed to put a bit of money away for Denzel’s future. One day, a couple of years later, the boy came home from his friend Nancy’s house all excited, his eyes wide and full of expectation. ‘Dad,’ he shouted, ‘You’ll never guess. Nancy’s dog’s ’ad puppies and she says I can ’ave one.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s nice, Denzel.’<br />
<br />
‘Nancy’s mam says they’re only one ’undred pounds. They’re proper pedigree dogs, you see.’<br />
<br />
‘One ’undred pounds, boy! ’ow are we expected to find that, then? I work in a coal mine, not the Royal Mint.’<br />
<br />
‘But Dad, they’re smashin’, and there’s one I really like. Oh, please, please can I ’ave ’im?’<br />
<br />
Mr Jones had not seen Denzel so happy since Sausage’s unfortunate demise and would dearly have loved to buy the dog for him. One hundred pounds was more than he could afford however and would make a sizeable dent in the money he had put away for more important things. ‘We can’t afford it, Denzel. I’m sorry, boy.’ Denzel, good, rational, obedient child that he was, accepted his father’s honest answer and went away to keep his sorrow to himself.<br />
<br />
At the end of the week, on Saturday morning, Mr Jones came home with a box under his arm and shouted out, ‘Denzel, I’ve got somethin’ yer for you. Come and see, boy!’<br />
<br />
The boy left his bedroom, where he had been putting the finishing touches to his geography homework, and tumbled down the stairs to see what his father had for him. He heard a tiny yelp as he came into the kitchen, and he cast around the room to see where it came from. On the table, in exactly the spot where Sausage’s dead body had lain in state, was a box with lots of holes in it that looked like they had been made with a pencil or a screwdriver. From the box came another yelp. Suddenly excited, Denzel hurried to the table. ‘Can I open it?’ he asked his dad; ever the polite boy, he was. His father nodded, and Denzel carefully opened the interlocked flaps of the box to reveal a small, golden puppy. He reached inside to pick up the little dog that licked his fingers, and nipped playfully at them, and peed with excitement on Denzel’s hands as they enclosed him.<br />
<br />
‘I done a deal with Nancy’s mam,’ said Mr Jones, ‘She let you ’ave ’im for fifty pounds plus some ’andiwork by me and some errands by you.’<br />
<br />
‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs Jones, ‘and what sort of ’andiwork did she ’ave in mind, then?’<br />
<br />
‘Just some jobs around the ’ouse – mendin’ a couple of window frames and touchin’ up the paintwork.’<br />
<br />
‘As long as that’s all you’re touchin’ up, mind.’<br />
<br />
Mr Jones scowled at an uppity Mrs Jones and turned his attention back to the dog. ‘’is name’s a bit of a mouthful, look you,’ he said, passing Denzel the certificate he had pulled from his jacket pocket.<br />
<br />
Denzel took the paper and read the name out loud, ‘Prince Kensington of Osaka the Third.’ He paused, then he lifted the puppy above his head and beamed a smile at him. ‘I’ll think I’ll call you Oscar,’ he said. Oscar licked the air and wagged his little tail in approval. Denzel was the happiest boy and Oscar happiest puppy in Pontypridd.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for Denzel, his blissful family existence was not to last much longer. Nancy’s mam (a widow and desperate for love) had been more than his dad (a man, more need not be said) could resist, and Mr Jones left Mrs Jones, Denzel and Oscar to move in with Nancy’s mam. It was at about the same time that Denzel found out about sex: he was disgusted that his dad might be doing it with Nancy’s mam, the idea of his dad’s doing it with his own mother being bad enough. Admittedly, his understanding was a confusion of what the teacher had told the class and what the other boys had told him; although any of the variations on the theme were enough to make him feel sick. Strangely, though, the idea of doing it with Nancy made him go all tingly and, having once had the thought, he went bright red every time he went to see her. He wondered why she went red when he turned up, and if it was for the same reason…<br />
<br />
Mr Jones had tried to say sorry to Denzel for letting the family down, and tried to explain that he still loved Denzel and still wanted to help him with his education: he was still Denzel’s dad and Denzel was still his boy, whatever had happened between him and Mrs Jones. Denzel was deeply disappointed with his dad, and had to cope with his mother’s crying every night for a month after the split. Only Oscar had truly been there for him. Oscar had been his rock, licking his face when he felt like crying, lying tight alongside him at night until he had gone to sleep, and making sure they had lots of fun when they went on walks. Oscar was the one who kept him sane and made him laugh. Oscar was his best and truest friend; and Denzel was Oscar’s.<br />
<br />
Denzel was unsure what to do about his traitorous dad’s financial contributions to his education. He certainly was not happy about hiding it from his mother, although she knew what was happening anyway, and would have been horrified to think that Denzel had a problem with taking the b******d for every penny he could get. Denzel hatched another plan. He would earn his own upkeep, or as much as he could, anyway. He knew a lot about dogs, and many of the local kids had dogs but none of them were any good at getting their dogs to do as they were told. Denzel opened the Pontypridd School for Dogs, where he kissed Nancy for the very first time, and Oscar learnt something that would later be of great significance.<br />
<br />
Now, it must come as no surprise that Denzel kissed Nancy, and that they both enjoyed it so much that they did it a lot thereafter, although they made sure no-one else was watching – apart from Oscar and Nancy’s dog, Wendy, who were not watching anyway, having much more interesting things to do and not minding too much who was watching; the fact that Wendy and Oscar were quite closely related is perhaps an issue best not thought about…<br />
<br />
Of much more interest is what Oscar learnt, apart from the things that Wendy taught him. One of the older boys who came to the class had a dog called Saber (that should have been Sabre, of course, but the boy was not good at spelling; in fact, neither was Saber). Anyway, Saber, a mongrel, with several strands of Alsatian to his credit – although he told the other dogs that he was part-wolf (they did not know that there had been no wolves in Wales for centuries, and so they believed him; well, the smaller dogs with smaller brains believed him but bigger dogs like Oscar just smiled and sniffed the nearest bottom by way of distraction). Anyway, Saber told Oscar and all the other dogs in the class about a day many years ago when he had been a young dog about town and had slipped out for a bit of an adventure when no-one was watching. He had been near Oscar’s home when it was Sausage’s home – and what a great dog Sausage was, despite his less than perfect ancestry: no wolf in him, you know – when a cat had shot through the hedge and was followed just as quickly by Sausage. Saber had watched Sausage’s brilliant slaying of the cat, and was about to go over and congratulate him when the boy known as Jonathan Bytheway had turned up and done for Sausage. None of the humans knew what had happened but, from the day that Saber told the story, Jonathan Bytheway lived in fear of dogs who, for no reason he could fathom, all seemed to snarl and growl and snap whenever he went near one. The one exception was Oscar, Denzel’s dog, who, for Denzel’s sake, and in hope of a Greater Opportunity, kept his teeth covered. His only show of disdain was to store up as much gas as he could contain and let it out only when Jonathan Bytheway came around to play with Denzel – and only then if Denzel and his mother were not in the room. He had eventually to pass up even that pleasure because Denzel spent more and more time with Nancy, and less and less time with Jonathan. Oscar awaited his time to avenge Sausage, his honourable predecessor and his master’s first beloved dog.<br />
<br />
Time passed by and Denzel became a university student, winning a scholarship for Cambridge. Oscar missed him when he was away but the vacations were so much fun. He and Wendy, and Denzel and Nancy, who eventually also went away to university, spent most of their time together, walking on the hills around Pontypridd, or borrowing Nancy’s mam’s car and driving to Port Talbot to spend the day on the beach. Oscar loved the beach and loved to swim in the sea. He also loved Denzel more and more. He did not know what students did at university but Denzel seemed increasingly able to understand him each time he came home. Denzel, of course, had been learning about Lorenz and Pavlov and lots of other things about animal behaviour.<br />
<br />
One day, Denzel and Oscar went out on their own. They walked up to the Old Bridge in Pontypridd and sat on the grass beside the river where Denzel told Oscar about his plan. ‘I am going to find a way to communicate properly with you, my old friend,’ said Denzel. Oscar cocked his head to one side and stuck his ears out a bit, wondering if Denzel was talking about food or swimming. ‘I’m studyin’, you see. I’m learnin’ lots of things about how our brains work.’<br />
<br />
Oscar said, ‘I wish I could warn you about Jonathan Bytheway.’<br />
<br />
‘Exactly my problem,’ said Denzel, ‘I know you’re tryin’ to tell me somethin’ but I don’t know what it is. One day, my friend, One day…’<br />
<br />
Denzel stroked Oscar’s cheek and blew on his ear. Oscar leapt on him, knocking him to the ground and, planting his big paws firmly on Denzel’s shoulders, and with over-enthusiastic wagging of his long tail, licked Denzel’s face until he thought his tail might fall off. While Denzel dried himself and spat out the residue of his dog’s French kisses, Oscar pranced and jibed and ran in tight turns just for the joy of it and of being with Denzel, who laughed for the joy of being with Oscar.<br />
<br />
Now, we have mentioned that Jonathan Bytheway was no genius but clever enough. Well, it turned out he was clever enough to get into Cambridge, just as Denzel had but two years later and without the scholarship. Denzel had been happy that his old pal could join him, and Jonathan was happy to be with a friend. The novelty soon wore off, though, at least as far as Jonathan was concerned. He saw how well Denzel was doing and how big a favourite he was with the faculty, whereas he himself was just a nobody who could not even get into the Fourth XI cricket team. He soon learnt that knowing Denzel opened doors to him. He changed his course after the first term, leaving History in his past and reading Psychology instead, just to get in better with Denzel’s circles. He knew that Denzel was going places and thought he might as well go with him.<br />
<br />
Denzel flew through his finals and achieved his remarkable double-first. Jonathan was relieved that Denzel stayed on to do his PhD, enabling him to continue to practice his parasitism. Denzel began making remarkable discoveries and built the first device that was able to translate signals collected from the optical cortex of a laboratory rat into images displayed on a computer screen – all without harming the animal, of course. For the first time in history, man was able to see the world as seen by another animal. The device became global news within hours of its first demonstration at a conference in Singapore. Denzel became a major celebrity, at least in scientific circles. The only remarkable discovery that Jonathan had ever made was that the dogs in Cambridge were much better disposed towards him than those back in Pontypridd.<br />
<br />
Denzel’s mother finally made the move to be with him in Cambridge, having given up all hope of her stupid pig of a husband ever seeing sense, and Oscar was overjoyed to be reunited with his master. Nancy came to visit a couple of times but told Denzel that she had met someone else. Denzel was smitten for a few days but Oscar soon cheered him up.<br />
<br />
Oscar got to work on a project of his own. Gradually, over a few months, Jonathan found that all the dogs in Cambridge changed their opinions of him. He tried showering twice a day and using different aftershave but nothing he did had any effect; he even tried not showering for a month but all that did was to make the girls stay away. For some reason that he never traced back to Oscar’s arrival, dogs just seemed to go off him.<br />
<br />
Oscar was more than happy to help Denzel with his work. For one thing, it did not hurt at all, for another, it made Denzel very happy, and for yet another, it meant that he got to go to work with Denzel every day. Very soon, the device was producing incredibly clear, real-time images and found a ready market in search and rescue work, where rodents were able to get into spaces impassable to dogs, and in military applications, where dolphins and seals gave good service in the marine environment, and cows in fields became virtually unnoticeable forward observation posts (they were only virtually unnoticeable because, being short-sighted animals, they had to wear contact lenses (bifocal ones, so they could still see their food) which made them blink a lot. The Chinese invented the Bovine Blink-rate Analyser, and the usefulness of the cow as a military device passed into oblivion). The consumer market came up with a SWYDS device that had an electrode-impregnated pilot’s flying helmet for a dog and a pair of what looked like sunglasses for the owner. Soon, ‘See What Your Dog Sees’ was everyone’s favourite game, and was even quite useful when walking home from the pub after dark.<br />
<br />
Cambridge University, and the now Professor Denzel Jones, made an awful lot of money through the technology company set up by the University. Jonathan, thanks to his friend, got a high-flying job in the company and also made a lot of money: perhaps received a lot of money would be a better way of putting it. Fortunately, the technology was in such demand that Jonathan’s total incompetence in business made no difference at all to the profits; apart from his vast expenditure on entertaining potential customers at England cricket matches all over the world.<br />
<br />
One day, Jonathan Bytheway had a devious thought: why not set up his own company in direct competition? He had free access to the research and development programmes at the university and, provided he was careful about what he stole, and made sure his name was kept out of things, he could make a fortune of his own. Anyway, competition was good for progress… Needless to say, the wicket on which Jonathan Bytheway was now batting was a sticky one – but not for the obvious reason that might come to mind…<br />
<br />
Denzel sat down with Oscar one day and started to talk to him. ‘Oscar, old boy. I’m ready to begin the greatest and most important work I’ve ever done.’ Oscar cocked his head to one side, pricked up his ears and wagged his tail. ‘I’m going to begin the fulfilment of my greatest ambition – to find out what goes on inside your mind. The visual device was just the beginning, you see, what I really want to do is to understand how your mind works and communicate with you.’<br />
<br />
Oscar flopped his long, pink tongue out of the side of his mouth, and panted. He wanted to tell Denzel that living among the English had affected his accent but all he said was, ‘Arruff!’<br />
<br />
Denzel worked long hours into the night for many a month, with Oscar his constant companion and Research Associate. One night, at about two o’clock in the morning, Denzel made his astonishing breakthrough. He suddenly saw in his mind a rabbit running for its life and being followed by a black blob flanked by a golden, carpet-like surface. Down at his feet lay Oscar sleeping in his flying helmet, panting like he was in a greyhound race, and all his legs twitching to match. Denzel closed his eyes to see the image more clearly. He was watching Oscar’s dream! The black spot was Oscar’s nose, and the carpet actually the sides of his snout. The rabbit ran down a hole and the world went suddenly black as Oscar’s head got jammed into the opening. With a yelp, Oscar sat up, and was obviously surprised that he was in a laboratory and not in a field with his head stuck down a hole. He looked around for Denzel and, seeing him, wagged his tail. Denzel felt warm, comfortable feelings of safety sweep over him. ‘Good boy, Oscar,’ he said, and Oscar stood up to lick Denzel’s outstretched hand. Happiness and adoration were Denzel’s next sensations. He reached down and hugged Oscar, thinking, and you’re so very special too. Oscar’s tail wagged more broadly than it have ever done before, and he lay on the floor and rolled onto his back, and wriggled about as though he was the happiest dog that had ever walked the Earth; and, truly, he was, for he was the first dog ever to really know how his master felt about him.<br />
<br />
Denzel looked at the clock and, seeing how early it had become, he yawned and said out loud, ‘I think we should go home and get some sleep.’ He stretched, yawned again, and reached across to turn off the equipment. His great fatigue overcame him and he drifted off to sleep for a few minutes. Oscar was very surprised, and not a little shocked, at what he then saw happening between his master and the girl he called Nancy…<br />
<br />
Denzel and Oscar lay in the next morning but when they awoke, Denzel could not get ready quick enough. He was overjoyed at the success of his new mind-link machine, and he could barely wait to get to work and explore his new relationship with his best and truest friend. Oscar, had he been able to understand what was going on, would have felt much the same. As it was, he felt much the same anyway.<br />
<br />
Denzel was disappointed when, having reached the lab, fitted Oscar with his helmet, switched on the machine, and being just about to don his own helmet, his personal assistant rang with news of an unexpected visit from a highly-respected professor from America. He gave Oscar a doggie-biscuit, made sure he had fresh water in his bowl, and then went off to greet the visitor. Oscar settled down to sleep through the waiting until his master’s return.<br />
<br />
Not many minutes had passed before Oscar was awoken by the opening of the lab door. Expecting the return of Denzel, he climbed quickly to his feet, the wagging of his tail beginning as soon as it had enough space in which to swing. The tail drooped and fell motionless as soon as Oscar got a whiff of the visitor’s scent. It was not Denzel, it was Jonathan Bytheway whose figure stepped into view and whose face wore a furtive expression. <br />
<br />
‘Hello Oscar,’ said the intruder, ‘Is your master not here?’ Oscar did not bother to reply but turned around three or four times before settling once more in his favourite spot. ‘Hmm, what’s this?’ asked Jonathan Bytheway, picking up the helmet that Denzel had in readiness for his own use. He looked at Oscar and saw that he was wearing a helmet, and wondered. He pulled on the helmet and sat in Denzel’s chair at the controls of the machine, a pointless act since none of the controls meant anything to him; it just seemed to be the right place to sit. He did not notice that his elbow jogged a knob labelled ‘Amplifier’ as, with a startled expression, he turned to face Oscar. His head had been filled with a sense of intense dislike, suspicion and disdain; and for some reason, the intensity of the sensations had just gone up an order of magnitude. Oscar too looked up from where he lay, his own mind playing host to subterfuge, deceit and fraud – not that he knew that he was feeling those things exactly, but he knew he did not like what he felt. Being a reasonably intelligent canine, and having listened very carefully to what Denzel had tried to explain to him, and seeing Jonathan Bytheway wearing Denzel’s hat, Oscar put two and two together and made, well, more than two anyway: Jonathan Bytheway was up to no good! That was good enough for Oscar. He leapt to his feet and lunged in a fit of ferocious barking and slavering that made Jonathan Bytheway fall off the chair. What he could only describe later as a huge surge of primeval something-or-other flooded his mind as Oscar’s teeth approached his throat. As he fell to the ground, he tore off the helmet, and did the only thing he knew that could stop such an impending onslaught: he rolled onto his back, with his knees in the air and apart, his arms bent at the elbows, his wrists bent limply, and, extending his neck, he turned his face away from Oscar. Oscar came to a sudden stop, his teeth around his victim’s throat, applying a threatening and sharply-pointed pressure. Oscar growled deeply from the back of his throat, and Jonathan Bytheway cringed and cowered for all he was worth.<br />
<br />
Just at that point, the lab door opened again. Oscar turned away from his quarry and trotted off to greet his master. Jonathan Bytheway rose to his feet, brushing himself off and shaking his head.<br />
<br />
‘Hello, Jonathan,’ said Denzel, cheerily, ‘I’ve made an astounding breakthrough! Perhaps I can explain it to you later over dinner?’ He pulled on his helmet as he spoke and, taken a little unawares, turned the knob labelled ‘Amplifier’ until he could once again discern his own thoughts among the mush in his head.<br />
<br />
‘Er…,’ said Jonathan Bytheway, suddenly drooling at the mere mention of food, ‘that would be lovely.’ Wiping his mouth, he made his excuses and left in an unusual hurry. The door slammed behind him as he went. Denzel patted Oscar, and Oscar licked Denzel’s hand. A sudden scream from the corridor sent Denzel scampering to find out what was wrong. As he emerged from the lab, he saw Jonathan Bytheway loping off as quickly as he could, and his distraught personal assistant coming back out of her office with a large umbrella wielded over her head.<br />
<br />
‘What’s going on?’ asked Denzel.<br />
<br />
‘That disgusting little man!’ spat his personal assistant, ‘He’s like an animal!’<br />
<br />
‘What happened, Hermione?’ Denzel asked her, Hermione being her name.<br />
<br />
‘He bumped into me in the corridor, and he got down on all fours and he pushed his nose…’ she stopped suddenly, horrified that she very nearly actually gave voice to what had happened. ‘He…’<br />
<br />
‘He did what, Hermione?’<br />
<br />
She paused, searching for the politest why of putting it that she could. Eventually, she said. ‘He…, he sniffed me. Like a dog!’ Oscar, finding that he understood most of what was going on by virtue of his mind-link with Denzel, immediately approached Hermione and, by way of explanation, demonstrated to Denzel what she meant. ‘Get off me, you disgusting hound!’ she shouted.<br />
<br />
‘Oscar! Come away,’ said Denzel to his dog. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Hermione, ‘he’s only saying hello.’<br />
<br />
The sound of a loud commotion was heard from the lift lobby at the far end of the corridor. Denzel and Oscar rushed to see what was happening. They burst through the door, to see the university’s vice-chancellor sitting on a chair in the lobby, wiping his face with a handkerchief. Our two heroes, still wearing their helmets, stopped to enquire what had just happened.<br />
<br />
‘Has everyone gone quite mad around here?’ the VC asked, eyeing the helmeted man and dog suspiciously, as though they were confirmation of his thesis. Oscar looked up at Denzel, and Denzel looked down at Oscar. Denzel voiced what they both concluded, ‘Yes, this must look pretty silly but we are conducting a rather serious, groundbreaking experiment. Er… What just happened?’<br />
<br />
‘That damned buffoon Bytheway just ran out through that door, planted his hands on my lapels, and licked my face all over.’ Oscar could not resist it. He rolled onto his back and wriggled with glee.<br />
<br />
‘Where did he go?’ asked Denzel. <br />
<br />
‘He ran off down the stairs. What the hell is wrong with him?’<br />
<br />
‘He’s, er…, Well I’m not quite sure at the moment.’<br />
<br />
As they ran down the stairs together, Oscar pictured for Denzel what had happened between him and Jonathan Bytheway, leaving out the part where Oscar nearly ripped his throat out – rather deviously, he thought to himself, hoping that he had not been tainted with any other undesirable human qualities. In the entrance lobby, they found a bewildered first year student, his papers scattered all over the floor and covered in soil spilt from an overturned planter.<br />
<br />
‘What happened here?’ asked Denzel.<br />
<br />
‘I was sitting here, reading over an essay I was about to hand in, minding my own business, when this chap ran out of the stairwell and started… well… he actually started… well, humping my leg, you know, like a dog.’ Oscar stuck his nose in the young man’s crotch, and received a slap for his troubles.<br />
<br />
‘Never use violence on a dog!’ Denzel stated sternly, as though he were back at the Pontypridd School for Dogs, ‘Which way did he go?’<br />
<br />
The young man pointed at a doorway, ‘I pushed him off, he knocked my essay on the floor, collided with the plant pot and ran off that way.’<br />
<br />
Denzel and Oscar ran off in hot pursuit. Outside, they saw the deranged Jonathan Bytheway sitting down by a tree with his leg in the air, trying to get his foot behind his ear. ‘What are you doing, Jonathan?’ called out Denzel as he approached.<br />
<br />
‘Rowf!’ Bytheway answered, ‘I’ve got an itch and I can’t reach it. You wouldn’t mind giving my ear a rub, would you?’ Just then, Jonathan Bytheway saw Oscar. He leapt to his feet; well, his hands and knees, actually. ‘Keep that vicious brute away from me!’ he shouted, ‘Woo, woo, woo, woo, woo!’ He crouched down, snarling and growling at Oscar with a threatening, wide-eyed stare and teeth all exposed. Oscar, ever the diplomat, yawned and looked away into the distance, sat down and scratched.<br />
<br />
Security men had been called to deal with a madman on the loose and were hurrying to the scene. On seeing Jonathan Bytheway, and making a rapid assessment of what they were dealing with, they called for back-up.<br />
<br />
Denzel made his own assessment. ‘No!’ he shouted at Jonathan Bytheway, ‘Bad boy! Be quiet!’ Jonathan Bytheway turned to look at Denzel, who was actually surprised at his friend’s response, which was to immediately shrink in stature and begin to waggle his rump as though he were wagging his tail and which, as far as Jonathan Bytheway was concerned, was exactly what he was doing. He avoided Denzel’s stern gaze, and started licking the air in appeasement. He cowered as Denzel approached and then, for the second time that day, rolled onto his back in total submission.<br />
<br />
‘You still have it,’ Oscar planted in Denzel’s mind.<br />
<br />
‘Yes I do,’ Denzel acknowledged.<br />
<br />
The security men cancelled their call for backup and took charge of the crazed dog-man. They led him away to some other men who gave him to some other men who put him in a nice, soft room where he could do himself no harm – except that he almost went into renal failure because he insisted on going outside to answer calls of nature and took quite some time in communicating to his keepers what the problem was.<br />
<br />
Later, back in the lab, Oscar and Denzel communed in the most intimate way ever known to man and dog. Oscar showed him Saber and the story he had told about Sausage, the cat, and Jonathan Bytheway, and expressed his opinion that, in the light of the day’s developments, the scores were now even – Sausage was avenged. Anticipating Denzel’s next question, which would have been, ‘What about the poor cat?’ he asked Denzel about his bitch. Denzel explained that that was not a polite way for a human male to talk about his lady friend, and how, in any case, Nancy had gone off with someone else.<br />
<br />
Oscar said, ‘That’s no way for an alpha male to behave. You ought to fight for her.’<br />
<br />
‘You know,’ said Denzel, scratching the back of Oscar’s ear, ‘I think you’re right. That’s exactly what I’ll do…’ <br />
<br />
And so Denzel turned to the question that he had wanted to ask for so many years. ‘Why do dogs lick their – you know – their … their dangly bits so much.’<br />
<br />
‘Well,’ said Oscar, ‘there are two very good reasons. Firstly, one always likes to make a good impression on new acquaintances and, as you know, that is their first port of call; my front door, if you will. Secondly, well, wouldn’t you, if you could?’Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-10364977077749619522009-02-10T21:29:00.005+00:002010-10-28T00:17:30.101+01:00An Easy Mistake to MakeCopyright © 2002<br />
<br />
<i>An irritable man sees double then sees red, with disastrous consequences.</i><br />
<br />
It was a normal enough morning for Joan and Alan. She rose bright as a daisy and hummed her way through her washing and dressing before heading off downstairs to prepare breakfast. He slithered out of bed and moved slug-like and silent through his fixed, brainless routine. More often than not, even with his brain jarred by the ringing of the alarm, he had still to be coaxed into wakefulness by Joan, or at least wakefulness enough to commence his robotic preparations for the day. She thought him much like their old computer in the study, which would never work properly from a cold start but always needed a ‘warm boot’ to get things going.<br />
<br />
He could hear her downstairs in the kitchen as he applied his electric shaver to his stubbled face, or rather he could hear the radio and various items of crockery and stainless steel being laid out. Not that it registered with him. He finished shaving and washed his face with soap and lukewarm water, then rinsed off with cold water straight from the tap. At last, the sap began to rise. He breathed in deeply, drawing the fresh, morning air into his lungs. He noticed that the bathroom window was open, but then Joan always left windows open, and that the air was cool and crisp and full of birdsong. He looked in the mirror and smiled at himself as a wave of consciousness swept across his mind, brushing aside his primordial programming and making room for rational thought to assert itself. He left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom to dress.<br />
<br />
‘Breakfast’s ready, dear,’ he heard Joan shout from below as he turned the last loop in his tie then inched the knot up to his neck. He knew it would be; after so many years together, their separate routines had meshed perfectly.<br />
<br />
‘Coming,’ he shouted back, then trotted down the stairs to his perfectly ordered daytime existence, hot tea, toast, and homemade marmalade.<br />
<br />
‘Postman’s late today,’ Joan observed before kissing him on the brow then handing him his newspaper and continuing, ‘That tie doesn’t really go with that shirt.’<br />
<br />
‘Oh?’ he said, turning to the back page, ‘I’ll change it then.’<br />
<br />
‘The nice blue one I bought you.’<br />
<br />
‘Right.’<br />
<br />
Joan munched her way through her toast, smiling, and occasionally sniggering, at the dry wit of the D.J. Alan, trying as usual to do more things at a time than a man could cope with, slurped his way through his tea, spread marmalade on his fingers, and knocked over the cereal packet by attempting to use it as a support for the newspaper.<br />
<br />
‘What are you doing today?’ she asked, wondering if, just for once, he might have something out of the ordinary to attend to, or if it would be yet another routine day at the office.<br />
<br />
‘Mmm?’ he said, turning his face towards her but leaving his eyes on column four of the inside back page. She did not bother repeating herself, the years having taught her that he knew exactly what she had said but that his brain needed time to bring it to his notice. ‘Oh, just the usual,’ he said, finally giving her his attention, ‘although I think we might have a rush-job to despatch. Shouldn’t be too irksome, though.’ He flashed a smile at her. ‘What about you?’ he asked, mostly out of politeness; time had taught him that Monday meant shopping lists and planning housework.<br />
<br />
‘Well,’ she said, competing again with his newspaper for his attention, ‘it’s such a lovely day that I thought I might go for a drive. Pop over to see Naomi for an hour, then pop into town.’<br />
<br />
‘That’s nice,’ he commented from behind the centrefold, chewing on his third slice of toast, almost surprised at her break from routine, ‘Give her my love and ask her when she’s coming over to see her poor old Dad.’<br />
<br />
‘Oh Alan, you know how busy she is with the children. You can’t expect her to keep on dragging them over here–’<br />
<br />
‘And having them trample all over my flower beds because she’s too old to do that sort of thing herself now.’ He smiled wryly. Joan merely smiled, although not with her eyes.<br />
<br />
They finished their breakfast in accustomed silence save for the banter emanating from the radio.<br />
<br />
‘Well, best be off,’ said Alan, pulling on his jacket before rinsing the marmalade from his sticky fingers. They walked together through the hall to the front door. Alan took Joan in his arms and hugged her, then kissed her on the cheek. ‘Still no post, then,’ he said, and in the same breath, ‘Love you. See you later.’<br />
<br />
Joan watched him drive the Range Rover into the morning traffic. ‘He never did change his tie,’ she said to herself, then quietly closed the door on him.<br />
<div><div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
</div>By the time Alan had fought his way through the traffic to work he was alert and irritated and ready for an argument. Everyone knew this would be the case and avoided anything that might cause one until at least after morning coffee. His secretary brought in the coffee and biscuits with the morning post then returned to her desk in the outer office to organise his phone calls and fit meetings into his diary. He slurped his coffee too loudly for her liking so she made sure the communicating door was firmly closed.<br />
<br />
After forty minutes of sorting his mail into things to do now, things to delegate, things that could wait, and bin-fodder, the phone rang. It was the foreman from the workshop.<br />
<br />
‘The rush-job’s finished, Alan. I’ve arranged for it to go by rail. Can you spare someone to take it to the station?’<br />
<br />
‘Thanks, Joe. I’ll take it myself. Don’t want this one in the wrong hands.’<br />
<br />
He left his desk, explained to his secretary what was happening, then wandered through the offices and down onto the factory floor. He noticed how everyone was always busy whenever he passed but he remained unconvinced by the deception. His father had had the sense to put him through the firm’s apprenticeship scheme so that he would have a full grasp of the way things worked by the time he came to take over. He certainly had a full grasp of how the men worked – mostly when they were watched – but, unlike his father had been, he was satisfied as long as they did the work that was required of them. The men knew that he knew, and his tolerance of their easy-going approach to work was rewarded by their tolerance of the frequent rush-jobs endemic to a specialist company such as this – provided, of course, that the overtime was paid at a satisfactory level. Actually, he enjoyed a lot of respect from the men. He did know the job, as newcomers who tried to pull the wool over his eyes soon found out. Leaving newcomers to find out for themselves was a favourite sport of the old hands.<br />
<br />
He arrived at the foreman’s office and, out of politeness, knocked before entering. ‘Morning, Joe,’ he offered.<br />
<br />
‘Hello, Alan,’ the foreman replied, rising from his chair then walking over to the bench on the other side of the room. ‘She’s over here in this case – a real beauty. I had to do this one myself; daren’t leave it to anyone else.’<br />
<br />
‘She certainly is,’ Alan replied, admiring the craftsmanship, ‘and that’s as nice a piece of restoration as I’ve ever seen,’ he added with an appreciative whistle, genuinely impressed. ‘You certainly know your stuff, Joe.’ Joe responded with appropriately deferential pride in a job well done, before closing and locking the aluminium case.<br />
<br />
Alan took the case out to his car and carefully laid and locked it in the space in front of the tailgate. He climbed into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, turned on the radio then rejoined the busy traffic for his next dose of irritation and flaring anger.<br />
<div><div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
</div>The Collingwood Hotel stood next to the railway station. It had a large car park in comparison to the station’s and always there were spaces near the back. The parcel depot opened onto the hotel’s car park so, given the nature of his task, it was natural enough to park there rather than to try to get into the station’s. If the hotel’s car park attendant could be bothered to accost him he thought he could easily come up with a satisfactory explanation for his ignoring the ‘Patrons Only’ sign at the gate.<br />
<br />
He reversed into his chosen space and switched off the engine. The programme on the radio was no more than a couple of minutes off finishing, so he sat listening in the car whilst gazing sightlessly across the car park and onto the outside world beyond it.<br />
<br />
A man carrying a small suitcase emerged from the station and stopped to look around. Alan heard a woman call out. His attention caught, he looked towards the sound. At first, he could not believe what he saw. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He had not been mistaken, and what he had seen struck him like a sledgehammer. When the woman had called out, the man with the suitcase had turned, seen her waving and smiling, and then walked briskly towards her. He had dropped his suitcase and clutched her tightly to him, kissing her passionately. Alan opened the door and stepped out beside the car so as to get a better view. The man was a total stranger to him, the woman, whom the stranger had enfolded, his own wife.<br />
<br />
He went weak at the knees and had to sit down again. He rested his head against the steering wheel, his mind reeling at this unexpected disclosure of Joan’s unfaithfulness. He tried to swallow the huge lump in his throat and felt himself choking. He looked up again and saw Joan and her lover walking hand-in-hand towards the hotel’s entrance, laughing and smiling and flirting as they went.<br />
<br />
Alan punched the steering wheel, making his hand bleed. Not knowing what else to do, he sprang from the car and followed the lovers at a distance. They turned into the hotel and he paused at the door as they approached reception. Satisfied that they would not see him, he slipped inside and took cover behind a large pillar from where he could hear them talking.<br />
<br />
‘I know it hasn’t been long but I’ve really missed you,’ Joan said, smiling radiantly into her lover’s face. Alan wondered how long this had been going on.<br />
<br />
‘Yes, but I’m here now,’ the stranger replied, sliding his hand over the back of her skirt.<br />
<br />
Alan almost passed out.<br />
<br />
‘I’ve really been looking forward to this. You know how down I’ve been at home, wondering what to do,’ Joan said.<br />
<br />
Alan could barely restrain himself from running over and demanding an explanation, pleading for another chance, punching the stranger’s lights out, protesting his love to Joan.<br />
<br />
‘I know, but we’ll have it all out in the open soon,’ the stranger said.<br />
<br />
Alan began to cry softly. ‘Oh no!’ he thought, ‘she’s leaving me!’<br />
<br />
The clerk came to the desk and registered the ‘Mr and Mrs Smith’ who stood before him. Alan could not believe that they had used the name ‘Smith’. The clerk gave the couple a key, directed them to room 2-7 on the second floor, and wished them a pleasant stay.<br />
<br />
‘Pleasant?’ thought Alan, ‘I don’t think “Pleasant” is what they have in mind.’<br />
<br />
The couple made their way to the lift and pressed the call button. Alan almost gave himself away as they chatted whilst waiting. The man turned and by chance cast a glance over the foyer and towards the pillar around which Alan was peering. Alan jerked back out of sight. No-one said anything so he felt confident he had not been noticed. He heard the lift chime on its arrival, the door slide open, and the voices become muffled then silenced as the door closed again. He stepped into the open and saw that the foyer was empty. On impulse, he headed for the stairs and climbed them, stifling the sobs of his broken heart as he went.<br />
<br />
As he expected, they had left the lift by the time he reached the second floor. He heard them chatting around the corner. He stood silently, straining to hear their talk, willing his heart to cease its drum-beat against his ribcage and so avoid giving away his presence. He heard a key turn in a lock, a door open and close, and the resulting silence of the corridor now empty of all but himself. He crept along the corridor, seemingly stepping on every loose and creaking floorboard as he went. Outside the door to room 2-7 Alan paused to regain his senses, what was left of them. Placing one hand on each doorpost, he carefully leant forward and pressed his ear against the door.<br />
<br />
‘It’ll be quite a shock for him,’ he heard the stranger say.<br />
<br />
‘Yes,’ Joan replied, ‘but it’s so exciting!’ She giggled then stopped. ‘Oh! That’s nice…’ he heard her say in a soft, luxuriating tone.<br />
<br />
Incensed by what he had heard, Alan backed away from the door and took off down the corridor as if in flight from the Devil himself. He clattered down the stairs, panting heavily and calling out, ‘No!’ repeatedly as he went. He slipped on the marble of the foyer and went sprawling across the floor crashing into and toppling a planter. The clerk, disturbed by the noise, rushed out of his small office to see a middle-aged man clambering to his feet and running ungainly out through the revolving door, leaving it spinning in his wake. Once outside, Alan stopped and caught his breath in a series of wracking sobs and rasping gasps. Passers-by eyed him curiously and cautiously.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, the Rage gripped him. He took off once more and raced towards his car. He opened the tailgate then, with grim determination, unlocked the aluminium case. He looked dispassionately on its contents. He began frantically to search through the clutter and rubbish in the car until he found three carelessly discarded unspent cartridges that were left over from Saturday’s pheasant shoot; his own gun was the same calibre as the knocked-down shotgun in the aluminium case. ‘I’ll swing for them!’ he declared to himself as he assembled the gun. ‘I’ll kill her for this!’ he said, as he inserted a cartridge into the left-hand bore, and, ‘I’ll kill him!’ as he repeated the action for the right-hand bore. ‘How could she, after all I’ve given her?’ He put the third cartridge into his jacket pocket…<br />
<br />
He left the car, neglecting to close the tailgate, and stormed off resolutely towards the hotel entrance. At the hotel, he set the door spinning once more. The clerk looked up from his desk and saw the middle-aged man re-enter the building. His face looked like thunder and he carried a shotgun broken across his forearm! Alan strode across the foyer towards the stairs, past the cleaners who attended to the spilt contents of the shattered planter.<br />
<br />
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the clerk, hardly daring to attract the attention of the armed man. Alan paid him no heed but marched determinedly upstairs. The clerk reached for the phone and dialled three digits.<br />
<br />
On the second floor, Alan encountered a Room Service attendant pushing a serving trolley. The man, on seeing the shotgun and the grim look on Alan’s face, halted in his tracks and turned ashen white. ‘Back off!’ Alan shouted at him as he snapped the gun shut. The man retreated, dragging his trolley.<br />
<br />
Outside room 2-7, Alan flicked off the safety catch and held the gun by the stock in his left hand. With his right he hammered on the door, shouting, ‘Come out here and face me like a man, you bloody coward!’<br />
<br />
He heard Joan’s terrified scream from within.<br />
<br />
He hammered again, and shouted, ‘Get out here now, or I’ll kick the door in!’<br />
<br />
Inside the room, the stranger reached for the phone and did his best to raise reception but the clerk was already fully engaged in telling his own observations to the police and passing on those of the Room Service attendant who had fled to safety down the back stairs.<br />
<br />
Alan stood back from the door and kicked as hard as he could just below the lock. The door shuddered. He kicked again and heard the satisfying crack of splintering timber. One more kick and the frame gave way. The door slammed back against the wall of the small passage just inside the room, then ricocheted back into Alan’s charging advance. He barged through unflinching at the door’s revenge and levelled the gun before him. After two steps, he stood in the open room. Ahead of him, he saw Joan on the bed, screaming, the blankets drawn up around her. He swung left and saw the man, naked, the telephone receiver in his hand.<br />
<br />
‘What the hell, d’you think you’re playing at!’ the stranger shouted at Alan.<br />
<br />
‘Me?’ Alan shouted back, ‘I’m not playing at anything!’<br />
<br />
The scene turned red before him. He put the gun to his shoulder and levelled the double muzzle at the stranger, who shrank back in terror against the wall, pointlessly closing his eyes against the expected blast. A deafening crack reverberated inside the small room, and the stranger’s face disintegrated.<br />
<br />
Joan screamed as her lover’s body collapsed against the wall and slid jerking to the floor, ‘Oh John! Oh John! Oh John! Oh John!’ she shouted, her eyes agog at the bloody, shredded mess before her.<br />
<br />
‘John?’ Alan shouted in utter disbelief, ‘John Smith? How utterly crass can you be?’ He rounded on Joan and barked into her face, interposing himself between her and the corpse, ensuring that he had her full attention, ‘And you! How could you do this after all these years, coming here and bringing him with you?’<br />
<br />
Startled, she blubbered and squealed, ‘Oh no! Please don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!’<br />
<br />
‘I asked you a question,’ he shouted.<br />
<br />
‘I just needed to know,’ she blurted back, ‘I didn’t think it would do any harm…I was curious, that’s all. I wanted to know if we had a future–’<br />
<br />
‘What? You didn’t think it would do any harm?’ he shouted and, stamping his feet, his arms and the gun flailing around, ‘All this is just for curiosity? And what about our future, you stupid cow? Did you stop to consider that?’<br />
<br />
She sat on the bed a terrified, gibbering wreck before him, and wept uncontrollably.<br />
<br />
Suddenly still, he declared, ‘Well, I guess we have no future now!’ He poked the gun into the blankets until the muzzle came up against her belly, then discharged the second barrel. She fell silent instantly and cracked her head against the old, iron bedstead as she recoiled from the blast, robbing herself of her few remaining seconds of conscious existence.<br />
<br />
For a moment, time stood still. Alan looked at Joan’s lifeless form and turned cold and numb. Smoke swirled from the two barrels to form nebulous blue sheets suspended in the still air. He fumbled distractedly in his pocket for the third cartridge, intending to use it on himself, but the shotgun slipped from his fingers and rattled to the floor. He stepped back, wide-eyed and with panic beginning to rise. He heard running footsteps in the corridor.<br />
<br />
The panic took over and he began his flight. He ran away from the sound towards the window. He threw up the sash and climbed out onto the fire escape. He clattered down the metal stairs, barely keeping his feet on their slippery, damp surface. As he went, he heard the retching of his unknown pursuer above. He ran for all he was worth through the hotel garden, and cleared the low fence at the end in a single bound. He burst into the car park and made a beeline for his car. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the flashing blue light of a squad car parked outside the hotel entrance; the air was filled with the noise of a second that arrived just as he climbed into his car.<br />
<br />
He fired up the engine and floored the accelerator. Fortunately for him, the two parking spaces in front of him were now clear and he shot through them and the wooden fence beyond, then over the footpath and onto the road, scattering surprised pedestrians in every direction and strewing rubbish from the still-open tailgate. He sped through the town wreaking havoc upon stationary and moving cars alike. Eventually he calmed down and drove more temperately to the far-flung corner of the car park at a large out-of-town shopping mall. He left the car, walked to the bus-stop and waited, stupefied, in the shelter.<br />
<div><div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />
</div>By the time he reached home, he had begun to realise what he had done. He had walked zombie-like along the road between the bus-stop and the house, making pathetic little whimpering noises, interspersed with, ‘Oh Joan, my lovely Joan,’ as he plodded on. At the front door, he lifted a trembling hand to the lock and steadied it with his free hand so that he could insert the key. Once inside, he pushed the door closed, leant back against it, and slid down it as the dam that held back his tears finally gave way under the strain. He sobbed and howled and called for Joan. Blackness descended on his soul as the day descended through dusk towards night. Eventually, he crawled to the lounge where he stumbled to his feet using the furniture for support. He shuffled forlornly to the drinks cabinet, still crying as he went. He took a glass and poured four fingers of Scotch. He gulped on it and paused to sob. Again he gulped, and the amber liquid breathed its soothing warmth into his body.<br />
<br />
Their mantelpiece had a photograph on each end, one of him, one of Joan. He went for Joan’s picture but reached out clumsily for it, knocking it to the floor and smashing the glass into myriad fragments. He fell into the nearest armchair and broke his heart again. He gulped once more. His head began to reel. The extremes of emotion that he had endured that day conspired with the drink and soon he was asleep and snoring loudly.<br />
<br />
He woke an hour later, his head throbbing. He refilled his glass and sat down again. It was night by now but the darkness cocooned him, making him feel strangely remote from the deeds done in daylight. He half heard a car draw up on the gravel outside, and the slamming of a single car door. He lifted his swimming head and tried his best to steady the room and focus his thoughts. He heard a key in the door and then the irritating squeak of the hinge that he had been meaning to oil for several weeks. ‘It must be Naomi,’ he thought, ‘Whatever am I going to tell her?’<br />
<br />
A hand pushed open the lounge door and reached inside for the light switch. The door continued to swing, revealing fully the owner of the hand.<br />
<br />
‘Oh my God!’ shouted Alan.<br />
<br />
‘I’m sorry, dear; I didn’t mean to startle you. Why were you sitting in the dark? Oh, you’ve been drinking, and rather heavily, by the looks of things.’<br />
<br />
Alan sat forward on the edge of the chair. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He opened them again and focussed on the woman before him. Horrified, he was momentarily speechless, then he blurted out, ‘Joan! But I thought you–’<br />
<br />
‘You’ll never guess what arrived in the post today, dear,’ she said, far too excited to pay attention to the sudden and deathly pallor of his face or the consternation in his speech. She slipped back into the hallway to remove and hang up her coat.<br />
<br />
‘But you’re–’<br />
<br />
She continued her excited babble as she walked back into the lounge, ‘It appears that when my mother gave me up for adoption she also gave up a twin – an identical twin!’ she clapped her hands in ecstasy. ‘Can you believe it?’ she asked, barely looking at him.<br />
<br />
‘But you’re–’<br />
<br />
‘I have a twin sister! An identical twin sister! A letter came from her today. She found out about me from her adoptive mother and traced me. She sent me a photograph.’ She rummaged in her handbag for the letter, took the photograph from the envelope and thrust it in front of his disbelieving face. He took it from her tentatively. She returned to her babble, ‘We’re so alike, don’t you think? Look, she even has the same hairstyle and the same shade of lipstick. Isn’t that amazing?’<br />
<br />
‘Then…it wasn’t…you?’<br />
<br />
‘What? No, of course not, it’s her, my identical twin sister! Anyway, she said in the letter that she was coming to town today – today, dear, can you believe that? Her husband – his name’s John, oh, and hers is Jenny – her husband is catching a train from London after a meeting he has to attend. They’re staying at the Collingwood. John and Jenny Smith – isn’t that rather lovely? Anyway, they hope we’ll make contact and meet them tomorrow but they quite understand if we feel awkward about it.’ She paused for breath. Finally, she saw the blackness in his face. ‘Are you all right, dear?’ she asked him, ‘Is there something wrong?’<br />
<br />
He lifted his face slowly, his body swaying from the effects of the drink. ‘I think,’ he swallowed hard, ‘I’ve already met them…’ he replied, in doom-laden tone.<br />
<br />
Picking up on his mood, she lowered herself in trepidation into the other armchair, sensing that he had something awful to tell her. ‘Really? When? How?’ she asked.<br />
<br />
‘I…I had to take a parcel to the station. I…I bumped into them there.’<br />
<br />
‘My, that must have seemed strange.’ Then her eyes sparkled, ‘I bet you thought you’d caught me with another man!’ she said in a suggestive tone.<br />
<br />
Alan hung his head low and spoke so quietly that Joan had to strain to hear him, ‘That’s…exactly what I thought.’ Then he told her, falteringly, and amidst many tears, what had happened.<br />
<br />
‘You did what?’ she shouted, standing to her feet, suddenly angry. ‘If this is some sort of joke I don’t think it a very funny one – not very funny at all!’<br />
<br />
‘It’s not a joke,’ he said, looking at her with big, moist, puppy-dog eyes that begged for forgiveness, ‘It’s true. I killed them.’<br />
<br />
She flopped, incredulous, back into her armchair, ‘I can’t believe it! Are you telling me,’ she asked, ‘that you’ve killed the sister I did not know I had before I’ve even had the chance to meet her?’ She broke down, her suddenly grief-stricken face in her hands, and wept. ‘Alan, Alan, what have you done? Do you honestly believe I would engage in a sordid affair?’<br />
<br />
‘It was an easy mistake to make,’ he petitioned, ‘she looked so like you. When I saw you – her – with him at the hotel where we spent our wedding night something just snapped. I did it because I love you so, so much, my darling…’ He found himself suddenly speechless. He slid off the chair and shuffled on his knees across the floor towards her, holding out his arms. ‘Please forgive me,’ he groaned through his sobbing.<br />
<br />
‘Stay away from me!’ she yelled, and pushed at him with both her hands so that he fell sidelong and hit his head on the fireplace. He climbed groggily back to his knees and wiped blood from his brow with the back of his hand. She sighed heavily then fetched a box of tissues from the lower shelf of the coffee table and knelt before him. She began, with no apparent emotion, to mop up the blood oozing from the gash on his head.<br />
<br />
He placed loose fists tremblingly against her hips, unable to touch her with open palms, expecting her rebuff. Slowly, fearfully, he slipped his arms around her waist until he was crushing her to himself and weeping desperately into her shoulder. ‘What am I going to do?’ he kept asking, ‘What am I going to do?’<br />
<br />
She held him in her arms, and rocked him gently as she had used to rock Naomi when she had been hurt as a child.<br />
<br />
Joan heard a car draw up on the gravel. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang. In stunned silence, she rose to her feet, leaving Alan in a crumpled heap on the floor, howling in anguish. She went to the door and opened it to find herself confronted with several armed policemen.<br />
<br />
‘I think you’d better come in,’ she said, and she walked back towards the lounge and her doubly empty life…Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-50091185350107391512009-02-09T22:29:00.000+00:002010-10-26T00:14:15.278+01:00The Naked Man?Copyright © 2002<br />
<br />
<i>Here is one of my early stories, which explores the status of a human clone from three different points of view.</i><br />
<br />
‘Why am I not human? That’s all I want to know,’ said the naked man strapped to a black leather couch beneath a spotlight in an otherwise dark room.<br />
<br />
‘It depends how you define human,’ said a voice from the darkness.<br />
<br />
‘You’re as human as any identical twin,’ said a second voice.<br />
<br />
‘Well, that’s not quite the same, is it?’ said a third.<br />
<br />
‘Well, yes it is,’ said the second, ‘Identical twins have identical genetic material, and he has the same genetic material as the donor.’<br />
<br />
‘Accepted,’ said the third, ‘but that’s not the only criterion in deciding the issue–’<br />
<br />
‘Of course it is, you stupid fool! If someone digs up his body fifty years from now they’ll identify human remains, just as they would with any other corpse.’<br />
<br />
‘Excuse me–’ said the naked man on the couch, pointlessly because he was completely ignored.<br />
<br />
‘Precisely,’ said the third, ‘Remains! But what has left for there to be something remaining?’<br />
<br />
‘Oh I get it! You mean “Does he have a soul?”’<br />
<br />
‘Not quite. If we define “soul” as personality, character, disposition, and all of those human relational qualities–’<br />
<br />
‘You mean psychology?’<br />
<br />
‘Mmm…well, yes. All those things that make us individuals, distinct individuals, unique, if you like, beyond the obvious physical differences–’<br />
<br />
‘Then he has a soul,’ said the first voice, breaking his silence.<br />
<br />
‘Well,’ said the third, ‘again, it’s not quite that simple. Even dogs have a “psychology”, their own distinctive personalities–’<br />
<br />
‘So now he’s no better than a dog?’ asked the first.<br />
<br />
‘Excuse me–’ said the naked man on the couch.<br />
<br />
‘Oh come on!’ said the second voice, ‘He’s clearly better than a dog! He has consciousness, a value-system; he’s capable of rational thought, of love, of fear…of art!’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, Professor, I must admit he has made a striking contribution to art, quite amazing, in fact, but that’s not what I’m getting at,’ the third voice resumed.<br />
<br />
‘Well, what are you getting at, Bishop? Just tell me in simple English, will you?’<br />
<br />
‘OK,’ said the Bishop, ‘You do agree that these, er, psychological characteristics in themselves do not confer humanity on this being–’<br />
<br />
‘Oh, you’re ready to admit he’s a being, then,’ said the first voice.<br />
<br />
‘Of course, Judge. He is, therefore he has being. What is at question is his humanity.’<br />
<br />
‘Excuse me–’ said the naked man on the couch.<br />
<br />
The Bishop continued, ‘The existence of his soul I find a somewhat complex riddle, I freely admit, if it is cast only in terms of “psychological” attributes. No. The question – the much simpler question – is, “Does he have a spirit by which he is able to commune with God?”’<br />
<br />
‘But why,’ rejoined the Professor, ‘should that in particular make him human when everything else about him proclaims his humanity for all to hear? How do we know that any of us have spirits? I find the concept to be quite unnecessary to my existence. I have never “communed with God”, as you put it. In fact, I don’t believe there’s a god to commune with. Am I therefore not human? Even though I came into this world by natural means?’<br />
<br />
‘Your humanity, Professor, is beyond question. You have been created in the image of God and so possess a spirit even though you do not recognise it. It is just not enlivened towards God. The point is that it could be.’<br />
<br />
‘So your argument, then,’ said the Judge ‘is that he did not come about by natural means and therefore was not created in the image of God.’<br />
<br />
‘Quite so. And so does not have a spirit, and what we might describe as his soul cannot therefore be saved.’<br />
<br />
‘Nor, presumably, burn in hell!’ said the professor. ‘I find your view somewhat uncomfortable. If you are wrong, you give him no opportunity of salvation, whatever that may mean.’<br />
<br />
‘And you, if you are wrong, would deny that possibility to the whole of mankind,’ replied the Bishop.<br />
<br />
‘Whereas you only deny it to poor devils like our friend here,’ said the Judge.<br />
<br />
‘Well, if I am right, I only deny what has never been granted – and it was not I who introduced the term “devil”.’<br />
<br />
The three men fell silent. The Judge stood and walked into the periphery of the illuminated area and addressed the naked captive, ‘Do you believe you have a spirit? Have you ever communed with God?’<br />
<br />
The naked man studied on his questioner before replying, ‘I don’t know. I’ve never considered it. No-one has discussed these issues with me before. What would it be like?’<br />
<br />
The Judge turned away and addressed the Bishop, ‘Look at his art, man, it is so vital, so full of energy. It communicates so clearly the human condition. Surely that is evidence of spirit?’<br />
<br />
‘Ah, a simple confusion, my friend. What he, in fact, appeals to, what he touches so wonderfully well, I grant you – in fact I believe I have never seen the like – are the human senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all rooted in the flesh, our vehicle for communing with the natural world. Why, even dolphins show pleasure in their frolicking, and even my dog delights in running after rabbits and doing his tricks for me. Not evidence for the spirit, though.’<br />
<br />
‘So how do you know that dolphins don’t have spirits, then?’ jibed the Professor.<br />
<br />
‘Only mankind was made in the image of God. Ah yes, everything else was made good but only man was made god-like.’<br />
<br />
‘Oh, I see – dogma!’<br />
<br />
The Bishop addressed the naked man, ‘You asked the Judge a question. The Bible teaches that God has “set eternity in the hearts of men”. His intention in doing so is that they might yearn for something beyond this world and so seek him and find him. Have you experienced anything of that longing?’<br />
<br />
‘That’s a preposterous question,’ cried the Professor, drawing attention once more away from the object of their argument, ‘How many people can say that. I’ve never “experienced anything of that longing” as you put it.’<br />
<br />
‘Really? Can you honestly say you have never had the sense that you are seeking something?’<br />
<br />
The Professor thought for a while. ‘I have sought meaning and purpose but I have sought it in science! It does not prove I have a spirit!’<br />
<br />
‘And have you found meaning and purpose, or just more questions?’<br />
<br />
The Professor responded, ‘I have found meaning enough. Of course there are more questions. My purpose is found in the pursuit of the answers to those questions.’<br />
<br />
‘Which leads only to even more questions, I believe.’ The Bishop turned in his chair, hidden in the darkness. ‘And you, Judge, have you the sense of seeking and striving after something?’<br />
<br />
‘Perhaps when I was younger I had. I felt I was seeking something then. Now I’m content that life has no meaning. One might just as well enjoy one’s self. One is a long time dead, after all.’<br />
<br />
The Bishop smiled a wry smile then turned his attention back to the naked man, ‘And you, my friend, what about you?’<br />
<br />
The naked man frowned and thought before responding, ‘No. I have always been happy until recently. Life has been delightful. I have known love and joy and pleasure. I have found meaning, if ever I sought it, in my art, in my family, and my friends before them. Even fear has only directed me towards self-preservation and the defence of my family. Except–’<br />
<br />
‘You see,’ said the Bishop, cutting him off short, ‘No longing, no yearning, no sense that there must be something more. I believe he has no spirit and is therefore not human.’<br />
<br />
‘So what about identical twins then, Bishop? What do they have? Half a spirit each? What does half a spirit amount to? Half an idea that there must be something more? Half a longing for the eternal?’ The Professor’s tone verged on the derisory.<br />
<br />
‘No, my dear Professor. The division of the blastoma is a rare, but natural, process. The human spirit, however, is elemental. God grants each foetus a spirit of its own.’<br />
<br />
‘And In Vitro Fertilisation? What’s natural about that? Are all IVF babies non-human too?’<br />
<br />
‘No. You have merely borrowed a natural process, or else assisted it – at great cost, I might add. Each foetus formed is a life in the making. Otherwise I could not complain about the children you leave to die in the Petri dish.’<br />
<br />
‘And so is each of the millions of sperm that is wasted because of the one that found the egg – and each egg that is unfertilised and gets flushed down the toilet, but you don’t complain about all the unmarried women who, by your standards, are not allowed to mate so that their eggs can get fertilised and live.’<br />
<br />
‘But Professor,’ the Bishop replied reproachfully, ‘an unfertilised egg is not a life in the making. It is but half of what is needed. Each sperm is only half of what is needed. An egg or sperm left on its own cannot become a human being. There is no paradox in this, I assure you. Such unsound reasoning does not do you credit. Sophistry would be a better word for it!’<br />
<br />
‘Pah! Poppycock! When does God impart spirit? Presumably, in the case of identical twins, after the dividing of the blastoma? How do you know if spirit is present in the Petri dish?’<br />
<br />
‘God most likely gives both twins’ spirits before and in anticipation of division, and in the Petri dish at fertilisation.’<br />
<br />
‘God must waste a lot of spirits on foetuses that don’t make it!’<br />
<br />
‘Please,’ said the naked man, raising his voice before the Bishop could respond, ‘would you just cover me up!’<br />
<br />
The Judge, still standing near the couch, responded, ‘Sorry, old boy, I didn’t realise it was cold.’<br />
<br />
‘I’m not cold!’ the naked man shouted, ‘I’m…I’m…embarrassed! This is very undignified, you know, lying here butt-naked in full gaze of you three and God knows how many cameras!’<br />
<br />
‘Ah, so you understand the concept of an all-knowing God?’ the Bishop asked.<br />
<br />
‘All I understand at the moment,’ said the naked man, ‘is that I’m strapped to this damned couch with my private parts exposed for all to see, and I’m damn well uncomfortable with it.’ The Professor asked for a towel, only to be told by the Judge that there was no such thing in a room like this. The Bishop slipped off his jacket and used it to cover the naked man from knees to navel. ‘Thank you.’<br />
<br />
‘You’re welcome.’<br />
<br />
The Professor resumed the discourse, addressing the Bishop with, ‘So you are convinced that he is not one of God’s creatures, then?’<br />
<br />
‘Well, in answer to that, who made him?’<br />
<br />
‘A scientist – but, I suppose, using materials that you believe were created by God.’<br />
<br />
‘The building in which we find ourselves is not a creation of God, yet comprises materials he provided.’<br />
<br />
The Judge rejoined the conversation, ‘I see a weakness in your argument here, Bishop. This building was made by man using materials supplied by God and the ingenuity God gave man to extract them from the raw, to refine them, and to shape them. What’s the difference? Hasn’t the scientist done just the same?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, and no,’ the Bishop replied. ‘Yes, the scientist has used his God-given ingenuity to create from God-given material. No, he has not created that which only God can create – a human spirit!’<br />
<br />
‘But you say God made us in his image. Isn’t creation of man by man a reflection of that image? Shouldn’t he be willing to cooperate with us?’<br />
<br />
‘He made us to be like him, for his pleasure, not to supplant him.’<br />
<br />
‘As far as I’m concerned,’ the Professor said, gesturing towards the couch, ‘this human being can do everything I can do, some things better, some worse, and he is indistinguishable in nature from… from my own son. It’s abhorrent that we treat him like a caged animal.’<br />
<br />
The Bishop replied with genuine sadness in his voice, ‘I agree that our treatment of him is abhorrent. He does, after all, have feelings. I would not wish to treat a dumb animal in this way, let alone one which has full faculties of perception, at least on a temporal plane.’<br />
<br />
‘As far as I’m concerned,’ said the Judge, ‘he should never have been brought into existence. These experiments are quite illegal and were so at the time of his conception, or inception, or whatever the term should be. He should not be here – and neither should we.’<br />
<br />
‘But I am and you are,’ came the plaintiff repost from the couch.<br />
<br />
The three men whose humanity was not in question now stood by the couch and looked deep into the eyes of their captive. The Judge spoke up, ‘You said, “Except–”. What did you mean?’ The naked man shook his head, not understanding. ‘You were talking about your search for meaning and purpose, or rather your lack of it. You were about to say something else. “Except–” you said. Except what?’<br />
<br />
Confusion filled the eyes of the naked man, who swallowed hard. His observers watched his Adam’s Apple (although the Bishop may have disputed the term) slide up and down on the front of his throat. ‘When my father-donor died – at the exact moment that he died – it was as though something that had been the tiniest of seeds within me suddenly grew to enormous proportion, so much so that it stunned me. I thought at first that it was grief or shock but it wasn’t. I have never actually felt any sadness at all for his death. To me, it’s as though he never died, more like he was drawn into me, like he became part of me.’ He paused, struggling with the concept that he had just expressed. ‘No, that’s not it,’ he said, ‘much more like…like…like I became part of him. It was an overwhelming experience. Now I have a sense that he’s with me…that he is me…that I am he. I feel absolutely full where I never before knew I had been empty. And yet, there’s a vague purposelessness pervading it all that I’ve never known before. Perhaps that’s the eternity thing, or maybe it’s just grief after all…’ As his words tailed off, he looked intently at the Bishop. ‘Pray for me?’ The Bishop shook his head and walked away into the darkness.<br />
<br />
The three sat in silence for some time musing on the naked man’s revelation. The Judge thought it to be an overwhelming experience of grief, the Professor, much the same but with the psychological jargon to dress the theory more elegantly, and the Bishop, that it was the most convincing evidence for the existence of the human spirit that he had ever encountered…<br />
<br />
‘What will happen to my family?’ the naked man asked.<br />
<br />
The Judge furnished the reply, ‘You know the law on these matters. When they are found they will be processed duly in accordance with that law. Your wife’s status, of course, is not in question, she being the progeny of natural gametes. Your children’s status is… well, somewhat difficult. You’re the first one to have escaped detection for long enough to reach maturity, to marry and reproduce – a testimony, perhaps, to the skill of your creator–’ he glanced towards the Bishop and added, ‘small “c”.’<br />
<br />
‘Will they be…impounded, like me?’<br />
<br />
‘Most likely.’<br />
<br />
‘And…and…’ he could not bring himself to ask the question.<br />
<br />
‘Most likely.’<br />
<br />
‘Do you have any idea where they are?’<br />
<br />
‘At the moment, no. But we will find them, of that there is no doubt.’<br />
<br />
The naked man suddenly wailed with such anguish that he broke the hearts of his observers, and tears streaked down his temples and pooled on the soft leather of the couch. The Bishop knelt beside the couch and grasped the naked man’s hand. <br />
<br />
The naked man, at last, fell silent. The Bishop, still beside him, whispered in his ear. The others watched the scene and saw the naked man nodding in response to questions posed <i>sotto voce</i> by the Bishop, who, to the surprise of the others, removed the crucifix from around his neck and pressed it into the palm of the naked man. The naked man, with an almost serene expression, gazed endlessly past the spotlights at the place where the ceiling would have been, and clasped the crucifix in both hands against his chest.<br />
<br />
‘It’s time,’ the Judge said, and he left the room. He returned a few minutes later and shook his head in response to the Professor’s pleading look. The Professor took up his station opposite the Bishop, and the Judge his at the foot of the couch, from where he made his pronouncement.<br />
<br />
‘At the order of the High Court and in accordance with the Human Cloning Act 2054 you will now be euthanized by lethal injection, this means of termination having been selected as the most humane. You will feel no pain.’<br />
<br />
The lights went out. The three heard the naked man’s breathing quicken and intensify until it rasped in his throat. Then they heard the hum of the motor on the syringe pump beneath the couch. The naked man’s taut muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed to a gentle stop.<br />
<br />
The lights came on and the Judge and Professor left the room. The Bishop, who lingered for a while in silence before the naked man, now at peace, retrieved only his jacket and followed the others.Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602868505522323644.post-46305281565249344982008-09-24T23:26:00.006+01:002008-10-22T16:34:13.492+01:00The Coffin That Carries You Off<p class="copyright">Copyright © 2002</p>
<p><i>"It’s not the coughin’ that carries you off, it’s the coffin they carry you off in... ”</i></p>
<p>Late in the afternoon, a horse-and-cart drove down the lane from the woods, past the church and into the village. It carried a cargo of luggage and two people, the carter and his paying passenger who also owned the luggage. Villagers broke off their conversations on hearing its approach and watched silently as it passed, their full attention taken up with the Outsiders aboard. Curiosity satisfied, they resumed their chatter without comment on the event. The cart drew to a halt before two shops, the general store and the funeral parlour, that faced the village green. The tall passenger disembarked. </p>
<p>William Snape, formerly a Quartermaster Sergeant with the Grenadier Guards, recently discharged because of an injury, fumbled in his pocket for the key that his late father’s solicitor, Mr Jarvis, had given him four days earlier after the reading of the will. His father, Albert, had owned both properties and businesses until his recent demise. He had left everything to William, his sole surviving relative.</p>
<p>William looked up at the sign above the general store, ‘A. Snape, General Dealer’, and smiled. He remembered the happy, carefree years he had spent here as a child. The window above the shop’s bay front gave onto his bedroom; the same curtains were in place, though somewhat faded, and still drawn against the dark of a night now several weeks past. He looked to the right at the sign next door, ‘A. Snape, Funeral Director’, and frowned. As a boy he had never dared to venture into this foreboding building with its sombre décor and its deathly quietness broken only by the ominous ticking of the grandfather clock that relentlessly sliced each measured second from the lives of those who would one day be customers. Even standing for more than a few seconds in the short communicating passageway between it and the general store had been a feat demanding every shred of courage he could muster. He remembered his father’s chiding voice, ‘Don’ be silly, boy, the dead won’ ’urt you.’</p>
<p>He stepped towards the door of the general store and inserted the key into the lock. It turned stiffly but with a satisfying click. He pushed the door open and returned to the road where the carter was lifting the first of William’s trunks from the cart to the ground. Together, they brought three trunks in all up the path and into the store, piling them in the middle of the floor on the customers’ side of the old wooden counter. William paid the carter, who tugged on his cap then left to drive back to town.</p>
<p>Now left to himself, William looked around the store. He voiced his gratitude to his father, thankful that he had been provided with an occupation in pleasant surroundings rather than having to search for toilsome work in the city. It was just as he remembered it all those years ago, except that it seemed a lot smaller. He noted a few things he would want to change but remembered a condition in his father’s will about leaving things as they were for three months to allow him to become familiar with ‘particular workings’ of the businesses, and that Mr. Jarvis was obliged to call in from time-to-time to ensure that the condition was met. He now saw it as a sensible precaution put in place for his benefit rather than an affront to his quartermasterly skills or the inconvenient imposition of a querulous old man, and decided that he would probably have acted so anyway.</p>
<p>He emptied his few clothes from one of the trunks into the old, battered wardrobe in his room over the shop. Habit and the memories of bygone days had led him away from the larger bedroom where his father used to sleep. He made up the fire in the sitting room to ward off the chill of the evening, then brewed tea in his father’s old teapot, and, having eaten a large meal at an inn earlier in the day, set about the bread-and-cheese supper he had brought with him. After his meal, he lit a pipe, and sat in the old armchair, looking into the flickering flames of the fire, reminiscing about the stories his father used to tell him as they had sat here together with hot cocoa and Patch, his father’s old mongrel, long since gone. He decided that he would spend the next day taking stock, as his father had taught him, and preparing a list of the supplies needed from the town to replenish the store.</p>
<p>Apart from the crackling of the logs in the fire and William’s breathing, the shop and its neighbour stood silent in the gathering darkness of the cold night. He realised that the grandfather clock had remained unwound for weeks and was glad of it. He would decide tomorrow if he should wind it; nothing would make him venture into the funeral parlour at this hour...</p>
<p>He lit a candle with a brand from the subsiding fire and retired upstairs to bed.</p>
<p>He awoke the next day to find that a heavy fog had fallen during the night, and was now dripping from the eaves and the trees surrounding the village green. He breakfasted on the bread left over from supper before unpacking the two remaining trunks that contained his memorabilia from the several campaigns he had served in and food supplies enough to carry him through the first few days of assessing his long-term needs.</p>
<p>After breakfast, he set about tidying and cleaning the shop. This was his priority since it was to be the mainstay of his livelihood; the living quarters and funeral parlour could wait for now. He found pen, ink, and paper and began taking stock, carefully working through each part of the stockroom behind the shop, and then through the shop itself. At midmorning, an unexpected rapping on the door startled him. He set down his pen and paper and hurried over to greet his first customer. He smiled and laughed with delight when he saw through the glass the old couple who had called to see him.</p>
<p>‘Hello, lad, we ’eared you was comin’,’ said the gentleman caller.</p>
<p>‘Jack and Bessie Welch, what a pleasure to see you! Come in, old friends, come in!’</p>
<p>They walked in, both beaming from ear to ear, genuinely pleased to see the young boy, now a man, safe home from the army. These had been Albert’s best friends in all the world, and, having no children of their own, had taken to the young William Snape from the day he had been born. Bessie had more or less replaced the mother who had died in giving him life. Jack was like a favourite and much loved uncle. He had taught William to play cribbage and they and Albert had wiled away many an evening at the game. William and Jack shook hands vigorously, then hugged and slapped each other hard on the back. William shook and kissed Bessie’s hand daintily, and she giggled coyly and made him bend down so that she could place a wet kiss on his cheek.</p>
<p>‘You didn’ave no beard last time I done that!’ she said, ‘An’ you weren’ so tall neither! Turn roun’ an’ let’s ‘ave a good look at you.’</p>
<p>He obliged her by spinning slowly round with his arms raised like a flamenco dancer’s, laughing and calling out, ‘O Bessie, it’s so good to see you again,’ and catching her up in his arms and swinging her off her feet.</p>
<p>‘’Ere now, lad, I’m not so young as I were, y’know.'</p>
<p>He offered them tea, which they accepted, so he locked the door and made sure the sign said ‘Closed’ then led them through to the sitting room. They chatted away while he brewed the tea, and said more times than he could count how pleased they were to see him and how sorry they were about his father. William put on a coat for warmth, the chill of the air getting to him now that he was inactive and the fire not yet lit, then sat with them to drink. They asked him about his travels and he told them where he had been, Bessie oohing and aahing at each revelation, Jack declaring each one, ‘Marvellous,’ and filling the air with great plumes of smoke from his pipe. Realising he was busy, they invited him round for dinner so they could hear all about his experiences, and perhaps play a few rounds of cribbage. He accepted the invitation with relish, fondly recalling Bessie’s wonderful home cooking, the likes of which he had not tasted in years. Jack assured him that she had not lost the touch. They left him to his work and disappeared into the fog that still hung around the village.</p>
<p>William resumed his stocktaking. He was surprised at some of the things he found, believing them to be the very same articles that had been on the shelves when he was a boy. ‘You never know if somethin’ won’ be useful,’ Albert used to say and never could bring himself to throw anything away. He found the whole process an adventure, evoking happy memories and broad smiles.</p>
<p>He worked his way along the shelves behind the counter, painstakingly noting down everything he came across and its value from the label bearing his father’s handwriting. At the end of the counter he came to the front door and suddenly became aware of something he had not noticed before; certainly it had not been there when he was a boy. The doorframe, on the side of the door away from the hinges, had been marked off in what appeared to be feet and inches. He ventured into the funeral parlour and fetched an old wooden rule from a drawer of the desk in the reception room. With the rule, he confirmed his suspicion; the graduations on the doorframe were, indeed, feet and inches. He had no idea why Albert had done this but assumed that he must have sold something by the foot and had found this a handy way of measuring things for his customers.</p>
<p>He returned the rule to its drawer and, on his return to the passageway between the shops, he glanced at the front door of the funeral parlour and noticed that its frame was also graduated. He stood looking at the door, puzzled by what he saw. He could think of no purpose for such a device on this side of the business. He retrieved the ruler to confirm that these marks were the same as those in the other shop. They were. The rule was returned once more to the drawer.</p>
<p>He found a notebook at the back of the drawer. His curiosity aroused, he took it out and opened it. Each page had been ruled into four columns. The first column had names in, the second what appeared to be measurements of height recorded in feet and inches. The third contained dates against some of the named entries and blank spaces against others. The fourth contained asterisks, similarly sparse. Every entry with a date had an asterisk against it. Two names had asterisks but no dates recorded; one was his father’s, the other was that of Bessie Welch.</p>
<p>As he perused the pages of the book, he began to wander. He gave himself a fright when he found himself confronted with a coffin standing on end against a wall in the stockroom. The lid had been leant against the open box so his first fear that the coffin was occupied was quickly dispelled. The lid bore a simple brass plaque, as yet without engraving. The corner of a square of paper with something written on it was tucked behind the plaque. Intrigued, William approached the coffin to read the writing. It said, simply, ‘E. W.' in his father’s hand. On the floor, he spotted a second square of paper poking out from under the foot of the coffin. He bent down and retrieved it. It said, ‘A. S.'. He put this latter square of paper in the book and returned the book to the desk drawer. As the light was fading, he returned to the general store, pulling the heavy curtain across the end of the connecting passage as he went. He looked at his pocket watch and was horrified at the hour; he was due at the Welch’s in twenty minutes. He ran upstairs to his room, where he removed his working clothes and washed at the stand. He dressed in his guardsman’s uniform as a special treat for his hosts, then dashed through the worsening fog to the Welch’s home, arriving just on time. He forgot all about the book in the desk.</p>
<p>Over the next three weeks, he found himself very welcome in the village, not least because the shop was open once more and folks did not have to make the long journey into town. Jack and Bessie had spread the news that Albert’s son was back once more and had taken over from his father. Nearly everyone came in to see him, as though he were a sideshow in a circus. Many recounted stories about his childhood of which he had no recollection, and which, he was sure, related to some other boy. A good many told stories of his father during the years of William’s service to Queen and Country. The warmth felt by the villagers towards his father’s memory touched him. Many even bought goods from him, although some invoked the special discount which they claimed had been their privilege in his father’s day, and for which there was not the slenderest thread of evidence in any of his father’s ledgers. Invariably, they commented on his height, with remarks like, ‘Fancy a small boy like you would get to be so big!’ At six feet two inches tall he was the tallest man any of them had ever seen in their parochial lives.</p>
<p>He spent most evenings with Jack and Bessie. Her cooking was just as good as William’s memory of it, his adeptness at cribbage not the least reduced by the passage of time. William took great pleasure in their company, they being the nearest he had to family. He considered it an inestimable privilege to be able to supplement their meagre diet at his own cost. The light that came to their eyes with each joint of meat or special fruitcake warmed his heart. He knew no-one whom he loved more.</p>
<p>One evening, he arrived at the Welch’s cottage just as the doctor was leaving. Inside, he found Jack beside himself with worry, wringing his hands and saying over and over, ‘What’ll I do?’ Bessie had suffered an attack that had left her paralysed and she was not expected to last long. William laid a kindly hand on Jack’s shoulder and assured him, ‘Do not be concerned about what you shall do, my dear friend. I shall care for you as if you were my own father.'Jack thanked him for his kindness and was moved to tears at the extent of William’s sensibility but assured him that his main concern was how to pay for a funeral that could properly honour his beloved wife for the many years of love and service she had bestowed so freely on him. ‘My friend,’ said William, with great solemnity, ‘I shall take care of her as though she were my own mother.'Thus respectively comforted and charged with purpose, Jack and William sat with Bessie, one each side, each holding one of her hands, until she slipped quietly away from them into the presence of her Blessed Maker, whose praise she had loved to sing.</p> <p>In the early hours of the morning, William went home, leaving Jack beside his beloved Bessie, talking to her as though she were still there, telling her of the love he had for her, and of how much he would miss her, and of how much she would enjoy seeing the angels and looking on her Saviour.</p>
<p>Back at home, William felt himself drawn to the desk in the funeral parlour. With a candle to light his way, and with his heart beating against his ribs enough to break them, he drew back the curtain to the passageway, rushed to the desk, retrieved the book, and hurried back to the safety of the general store and the other side of the heavy curtain. He opened the book and looked down the last-started page until he found Bessie’s asterisked, undated entry. Intrigue overcoming fear, he committed the recorded height to memory then returned past the curtain to lay the lid of the single remaining coffin against the doorframe. Lifting his candle, which flickered in the draught from around the door, casting dancing shadows eerily around the room, he saw that the coffin was exactly the right size for Bessie. A chill ran down his spine and all the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. In abject, irrational fear, he ran from the room, dropping his candle and plunging the passageway into darkness. He fought with the curtain to draw it over the opening, then ran upstairs to his room where he leant gasping and panting with his back against the inside of the door...</p>
<p>When the morning came to lay Bessie to rest, the whole village turned out. The vicar spoke in high praise of her, and held her up as an example of true Christian fortitude and faithfulness. Jack’s heart was filled with pride that such a woman as she had chosen to spend her life with him. At the graveside, he had cried like an infant, and William had been there to render him strength and support. At the inn afterwards, William had bought everyone a half-pint of ale, and they drank to Bessie’s memory and wished Jack all of God’s comfort in his grief. After a fitting delay, people went about their business, Jack went home to begin his mourning, and William went to the shop to await custom.</p>
<p>In the middle of the afternoon, William was surprised when a horse-and-cart pulled up outside the funeral parlour carrying six brand new coffins in assorted sizes. The driver, who introduced himself as the representative of the coffin-maker in town, explained the basis of his calling. It seemed that the coffin-maker and Albert had entered into a binding agreement, with the condition that, should Albert die, the contract was to continue for three months at no cost giving the new proprietor opportunity to sample the arrangement. The general terms of the contract were that the coffin-maker would supply unspecified coffins to the then proprietor in advance of requirement and at a percentage of the actual cost. If coffins were supplied and not used before the next delivery, the proprietor would be released from the contract. It was presented as an ideal and lucrative business arrangement with high profit, no waste, and no risk for the proprietor, and a certain means of income for the coffin-maker. The catch was that if the new proprietor did not wish to continue the arrangement, then the costs forgone by the coffin-maker would be extracted in perpetuity from the old proprietor. William wondered how this was possible, and the driver explained, ‘There are ways and means...'Being somewhat confused, William asked for a copy of the contract to be left with him for perusal. The driver was happy to oblige.</p>
<p>In the week that followed, three people died, two old ladies from old age and a farm worker from being gored by a bull. As undertaker, he was called upon to supply his services and dutifully went along to measure the corpses. He wrote down the names and dimensions of his new clients. Each time he did so he was reminded of his father’s notebook. Back at the funeral parlour, he sat behind the desk, opened the book and searched the column of names. They were all three there, and all had a height recorded against them that matched his measurement exactly. He glanced up at the door and the graduations on the frame caught his eye. Over the years, these people had all been visitors to the general store and this was how his father had obtained their heights without their knowing!</p>
<p>In the stockroom, he found three coffins that were long enough for the bodies. He checked their other dimensions against the boxes and found that each was a perfect fit! He could not believe this amazing piece of luck. He made a guess at the meaning of the fourth column in the book and pencilled in an asterisk for each of the three entries to show that a coffin was available. He closed and pocketed the book.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;" align="center">*</p>
<p>The families of the deceased paid the full price for each coffin, turning in a handsome profit. The funeral services all occurred on the same day, which meant William’s being absent from the general store for most of it. As it turned out, he spent the whole day at the graveyard. After the first service, he happened upon the grave corresponding with the last complete entry in the book. He noticed that the date of the occupant’s death recorded on the stone matched the date that his father had written. He searched for other names among the tombs in the time between the two remaining services. He soon realised that his father had recorded the date on which each person had died. He wrote in the dates for his father, Bessie, and the three unfortunates just buried.</p>
<p>That evening, he sat before his fire, pipe in his mouth, the notebook open and on his knee. He now knew what the columns stood for. The date, he thought with hindsight, was obvious. The asterisk appeared to show the availability of a coffin. And yet, something was not quite right. His father’s and Bessie’s entries in the book had asterisks against them, yet he had not made these marks. Indeed, on closer examination, the marks seemed to betray the handiwork of his father. How could this be? How would his father have been able to do this? Unless...</p>
<p>William leaped to his feet and hurried through to the stockroom next door. He carefully measured the inside lengths of the three remaining coffins and wrote down the measurements. Back before his fire, he compared what he had written against the heights in the book. He found three matching entries, as yet incomplete. He sat stock still for five minutes, his pencil poised above the page, hardly daring to write. Eventually, and slowly, he marked three asterisks against the matching records. He felt his heart pounding at the horror of what he thought he had discovered. He found a sheet of paper and cut three squares from it. On each square he wrote a set of initials. He returned to the stockroom of the funeral parlour and tucked a corner of each square behind the unengraved brass plaque on the lid of each corresponding coffin. He returned to the fireplace and sat well into the night staring at the flames, then at the glowing coals, then at the dying embers. Finally, he fell asleep. Woken by the chill air of the night, he ascended the stairs to bed and slept fitfully until morning.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;" align="center">*</p>
<p>It came as a shock, yet no surprise, when each of the three predicted victims succumbed to death and was found by him to be a perfect fit for the predestined coffin. Their deaths hung heavily upon him as if, in some unknown way, he bore some responsibility for them. He felt such tremendous guilt on presentation of the bills that he immediately retracted them, making some excuse about sharing in the grief of the bereaved and wishing in his own way to pay his last respects to their departed loved ones. His guilt persisted when, as a result of this, his reputation as a man of compassion brought in more custom to the general store than he had seen since he inherited. Whatever he did seemed to increase his financial well-being.</p>
<p>The notebook he kept constantly to hand, in his coat pocket when abroad, beneath his pillow when asleep, on the arm of his chair when at ease by his fire. Only when he went to church did he and the book part company; before leaving home he locked it in the drawer of the desk, for which he had found the key, and retrieved it immediately on his return. One afternoon, uncertain as to what it would mean, and with great trepidation about the wisdom of his action, he took his pen and ink and carefully wrote his own name and height in the book. Fear gripped his heart but he put on such a show of cheerfulness and pleasure in his service to his customers that none guessed his inner torment.</p>
<p>Mr. Jarvis came to call. William was much relieved at his attendance and sought his legal advice about the contract left with him by the coffin-maker’s delivery boy. Mr. Jarvis read the contract in great detail and confirmed that it was identical with the one that Albert Snape had shown him several years earlier. As he had explained to Albert, so he explained to William, the contract was invalid in any court of law in England, and probably anywhere in this world. Indeed, he explained that the condition of continuance of the contract in Albert’s will was unenforceable, and that he fulfilled Albert's insistence that he visit William only out of loyalty to a dear friend and reliable client. His opinion was that the coffin-maker was a fool, completely off his head, and the contract should be ignored, and that no pressure to continue it should be countenanced.</p>
<p>William did not mention the uncanny coincidences associated with the contract, thinking that Mr. Jarvis would consider that he too had taken leave of his senses. He thanked Mr. Jarvis for his wise counsel and rendered the appropriate fee. He expressed his definite intention to dispense with the coffin-maker’s services and to find a more rational supplier.</p>
<p>Mr Jarvis had hardly left the village when the coffin-maker’s delivery boy drove up with three more caskets, one of which was small enough for a child. Unnerved by this sight, he said nothing about the contract but signed for the delivery and stored the coffins in the stockroom. The delivery boy drove his horse-and-cart away, watched out of sight by William. As soon as the cart disappeared around the corner past the church and into the woods, William rushed indoors to measure the coffins. Breathless, he sat at the desk and opened the book. He scanned down the column of heights and found a match for each of the adult-sized boxes. He marked them with spidery asterisks, drawn with a shaking hand, and labelled the coffins with initials written on squares of paper. For the small casket he found no match. Puzzled, he closed the book and went about the rest of the day’s business.</p>
<p>Three days later, Mrs. Crombie, the old cook at the big house on the hill, came to buy supplies to restock her larder. She had brought with her Sophie, the house-keeper’s young daughter, whom she left by the door and told to behave herself well and she might get a treat. The girl leant against the doorframe. William swallowed hard when he saw her there. Mrs. Crombie enquired if he was quite well, only he looked so pale of a sudden, and William confirmed that he was so, merely having not slept well on account of the last night’s storm. Sophie smiled at him from the door. He smiled back, and asked her to move in case someone came in and knocked her over. Mrs. Crombie was so pleased at her obedience and politeness that she bought the girl a lollipop but kept it for later in case it spoiled her tea. They left the shop and William hurried through to his sitting room and drew on a bottle of scotch which he had recently taken to keeping in the house. He wrote the young girl’s name and height in the book and marked an asterisk in the fourth column.</p>
<p>The next day, his services as undertaker were required at the big house on the hill. Grief-stricken and fearing the worst, he made his way to the tradesman’s entrance and rang the bell. He was invited inside to find his worst fears confirmed, and more. Sophie, it seemed, had been given the lollipop after tea and had gone off to play. She had tripped on the back stairs and fallen. The lollipop, which she had had in her mouth, had been forced down her throat and caused her to choke. Mrs. Crombie, on coming across the lifeless child one hour later, had fallen dead with a heart attack.</p>
<p>Back at the shop, William wrote the date against the entries for Sophie and Mrs. Crombie. That night, he sat before his fire and wept. He drank more scotch and, before all the company of heaven, vowed that nothing would compel him to continue this foul contract into which his father had entered. His resolve gave him strength and, convinced in his own mind about what to do, he retired to bed.</p>
<p>Three days later, a date was written against another particular entry in the book...</p>
<p>Some time after, with no impending deaths weighing on his mind, and while he was busy serving several customers, he happened to glance out of the window. The coffin-maker’s horse-and-cart had drawn up outside. Seeing that William was busy, the driver unloaded two coffins unaided and deposited them in the funeral parlour, then came through the passageway to obtain William’s signature and his continued commitment to their arrangement. William signed for the coffins, relieved that this would be the last delivery.</p>
<p>‘I have decided not to renew the contract,’ he said to the driver as he wrote.</p>
<p>‘You are fully aware of the conditions?’ the driver reminded him.</p>
<p>‘So you intend to claim payment from my father?’ William asked.</p>
<p>‘In perpetuity, yes,’ came the sinister reply.</p>
<p>William wished the fellow a good day, then watched him drive from the village for the last time. He took out his handkerchief and wiped beads of cold sweat from his forehead. Serenity swept through his being as a huge burden lifted from his soul. People would still die, he knew, but he preferred not to foreknow who it would be, or that they appeared to pass away to order. He began to sing to himself, the first time he had done so since Bessie had died and he had begun to realise the unholy nature of the contract. He returned to his remaining customers and cheerfully, and without deception, helped them to their requirements.</p>
<p>As the day wore on, he realised that he lost the habit he had lately adopted of glancing between doorframe and customer as the latter left the shop. Another wave of peace swept through him, and he gave thanks to the Almighty for his new-found freedom.</p>
<p>Later in the afternoon, when the shop was empty of patrons, he was overcome with curiosity and went through the passage into the funeral parlour. He turned the corner on leaving the passage and stopped in his tracks. All peace left him and was replaced with horror. The two coffins had been left leaning against the wall. One was of average size for the village, the other far taller. For a full ten minutes, he stood and stared at the latter until his throat became so dry that he craved his whisky bottle once more. He hurried back through to the shop, hearing the bell ring as another customer entered. He found Mr Jarvis waiting to see him. William excused himself, quickly slaked his thirst in the sitting room, then returned to attend Mr. Jarvis.</p>
<p>Mr. Jarvis explained that he had come because today was the last day of the condition laid down in the late Mr. Snape’s will, and to be sure that the young Mr. Snape was quite well, and to see if he could be of any further assistance to him. William thanked him for his consideration and thought that he could indeed be of help. He closed the shop then invited Mr. Jarvis through to the sitting room and sat him in the better chair in front of the fire. William wished to make a will...</p>
<p>He spent the evening in anxious and sorry solitude. The smaller coffin, he discovered from the book, was for Jack, the larger, for himself. He fretted over which would be used first and hoped it was to be Jack’s then chided himself for his selfishness. He recalled how that, when he arrived back in the village, his father’s coffin had been used and Bessie’s remained. He shuddered at this memory, and finished the contents of his whisky bottle before negotiating the stairs for bed.</p>
<p>The next day, William was restocking the shelves from his stockroom when he heard the doorbell. He walked into the shop and saw a man closing the door, and therefore with his back towards him. William glanced from the stranger to the doorframe. He and the stranger were of the same height, and of similar build! William’s heart missed a beat. The stranger turned around to face William, beamed a smile at him, stood to attention, and said, ‘Colour Sergeant Frederick Postlethwaite at your service!’ and saluted smartly.</p>
<p>‘Freddy? Is it really you?’ William blustered.</p>
<p>‘As I live and breathe, Billy, my lad!’</p>
<p>The two friends hugged and laughed and slapped each other’s backs. William wondered why Freddy was here and Freddy explained that he was on leave for a few days and, since there was no time to travel north to see his family, he thought he would look up his old friend instead. They laughed some more, then William helped Freddy carry his pack upstairs and installed him in Albert’s room.</p>
<p>They talked well into the night and played cribbage with Jack who had joined them. William explained how he had come by his father’s business and Frederick thought it was a fine way for a Quartermaster to spend his retirement from the army. They told Jack about their adventures and William explained how Freddy had saved him from the spear of a native. Jack could not have been more grateful to Freddy if it were his own life that had been saved.
</p>
<p>Eventually, Jack decided he should go home and the two friends were left alone once more. William became serious. ‘I have made a will, Freddy,’ William’s final speech before bedtime began, ‘and, if I should die without issue, all this comes to you, my dearest comrade to whom I owe my life.'It was Freddy’s turn to bluster.</p>
<p>The next evening, William and Freddy went to a coaching inn away from the village and relived their military adventures again over several pints of ale. They could not remember a time when they had laughed so much. The time passed quickly and last orders were called. Each man had one more for the road before leaving the inn. Outside, they found that an unseasonal fog had fallen heavily, bringing with it an eerie silence and muffling their voices on the long walk home. On reaching the village, Freddy thought he heard something and William told him he was imagining things, that the fog had got to his brain. Freddy retorted that it was more likely the ale and they roared again with laughter. At the village green, Freddy tripped over the grass verge beside the road and fell headlong into the ditch. William laughed so much that his sides ached. As Freddy clambered out of the water and regained his feet he heard the clatter of fast-moving hooves and the rumble of cartwheels. He peered past his still-laughing friend and saw a runaway horse-and-cart emerging from the fog at breakneck speed. ‘Look out!’ he shouted, lunging himself at William. The two men fell to the ground, Freddy before the charging horse and William to one side.</p>
<p>The coffin-maker’s horse-and-cart ran over them then vanished in the fog. Their agonised cries brought villagers from the nearby houses. They carried the two men into the funeral parlour, where there was the most room to lay them down indoors. One of the village boys ran the three miles to the doctor’s house. It took an hour for the doctor to arrive, by which time William had been made aware by Jack, who had been summoned by a neighbour, that his friend had died quickly having been kicked in the head by the stampeding horse. The villagers, in an act of simpleminded kindness to the dead man, had placed Freddy’s body in the tall, perfectly fitting coffin. Realising this, William, through the tears he shed for his friend, thanked the Almighty that he himself would be spared; Freddy had saved his life once again...</p>
<p>The doctor hurried inside and knelt beside William. He shook his head at the sight of William’s legs and the pool of blood congealing on the floor. ‘I’m sorry, old boy,’ he said, looking into William's face, ‘but it looks like the wheel of the cart ran over both of your legs. The damage is very serious. I’m afraid, I do not have the skill to repair them. I have no choice but to amputate both legs below the knees.'William nodded his assent and the doctor called for some of the men to move the desk into the middle of the room and to lift William onto it. He had the men hold William down before beginning the operation to remove his legs. William’s screams were heard throughout the village before he was finally rescued from the excruciating pain by his falling unconscious.</p>
<p>William awoke in a makeshift bed to the sound of the doctor talking in subdued tones to Jack, vaguely hearing a remark that he had lost a great deal of blood and there was not much hope. He called out, feebly, ‘Doctor!’ The doctor’s face appeared before him.</p>
<p>‘Try to rest, Mr. Snape.'</p>
<p>‘Doctor,’ William grasped the doctor’s forearm as he spoke, ‘how much of my legs have you cut off?’</p>
<p>‘Don’t worry about that now, try to rest.'</p>
<p>‘I need to know, you must tell me. Please, exactly, how much have you cut off? Use the graduations on the doorframe.'Taken aback by the strange request, the doctor froze and frowned at his patient. He felt William’s forehead, believing him to be delirious. William squeezed the doctor’s arm, ‘Please!’ and looked imploringly into his face. The doctor nodded and complied sombrely. Jack and the other men looked on in dismay at the macabre spectacle as the doctor laid first one severed member then the other against the doorframe. The doctor returned and stood once more over his patient. William looked pleadingly at him.</p>
<p>‘Exactly nine inches,’ the doctor said, gravely.</p>
<p>William looked over to Jack who smiled sympathetically at him from beside the shorter coffin that was still propped against the wall. William viewed the open box despairingly, then motioned Jack to come over and held out his hand, which Jack took in his own trembling hand, and said to him, miserably, ‘Now we are both five feet and five inches tall.'At this comment, Jack’s face took on a puzzled expression before it finally crumpled under the weight of his sorrow and his eyes overflowed.</p>
<p>‘There are ways and means...' a voice said in William’s mind. He saw that his father would now pay in perpetuity by the cessation for all time of his family line, and that no-one would inherit the business, William’s beneficiary having preceded him in death. He rested his head back on his pillow. As he lay there, he became suddenly aware that the grandfather clock had started working and that, with its ominous ticking, it relentlessly sliced each measured second from his fading life...</p>Desmond Hilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16239750875463354380noreply@blogger.com2