In the late afternoon September sun, the train swept along a curve in the valley amid the US Montana Rockies, heading towards the Canadian boarder. Snow-capped mountains with ascending alpine forests cast long shadows. The only sense of motion the train gave was the view of the verdant scenery passing by at five hundred kilometres an hour; maglev was still the most efficient form of travel.
Drowsiness had taken over Scott. He was safe, comfortable; the work would surely be accepted, and he’d be paid handsomely. And yet something was so very wrong. In his mind he could see the man leap from one of the approaching mountains: that final act of madness guaranteed to ensure death. ‘You will forget; they will all forget’. Forget what?
Those three days on Eludi-4 hardly seemed real. Had he missed her so much on that planet that he imagined her – telling him to go back? Her beautiful face filled with rage in the incongruous way some people do in a dream. And on waking you think: that was not a proper representation, just a cypher for some aspect of the psyche. Deanna my superego, telling me I am over-ambitious, hubristic in thinking I can be the fulcrum for a new world.
He tried to picture in his mind the real Deanna: kind, gentle, warm, considerate. But those were clichés of ideals, a desire for one’s true love to be. Perhaps some biochemically induced belief; and only if they fell apart would he see her in her true light. It was not as if there’d be a shortage of rivals for her affections. In the last two years since they’d been together, they hadn’t been away from each other for even a day. Now four and a half days of visiting wealthy clients in need of her expertise. And which of those were men? Were single? Or just wondering what other talents she could demonstrate. The lure of a life of true wealth.
As the sun settled towards a cloudless horizon the train terminated its journey at Banff. Scott had been drifting in a semi-conscious state. He didn’t want to leave this train, or his current serenity. He told himself he should be in some excited anticipation at the prospect of returning home, but the world beyond this train-car seemed to have changed. Still, he alighted after the second synth-woman reminder that there were no further stops.
An airbus hove into view, greeted by the other weary passengers, most of whom were doubtless returning from work.
In a seat almost as comfortable as the train’s he was lifted above the small town, an area remaining stalwartly resistant to anything resembling industrialisation – or even suburbanization; traditional-style residential houses with their solar roof panels reflecting the pink-orange sky like a beacon to their owner’s pride. He imagined Josh’s derision at such a sentimentally compromised design, commenting how people always looked to the past, finding some kind of solace in a false nostalgia. But this part of the world had a unique mindset, not swayed by the pressures to build high (logically so as not to impose on green areas). Population growth reflected in his own commissions, his payment. The architect of those houses – which were no more than fifty years old – far from being some by-the-book conformist was something of a rebel, eschewing the huge government subsidy in favour of his own ideal. And judging by the extraordinary value of those properties, people loved him for it. Deanna had designed the interior of a few of those houses; their owners were seriously wealthy.
The airbus headed east, gaining a hasty momentum that seemed out of place in this landscape.
His cabin was situated about ten kilometres west of Calgary, and then he’d have about a twenty minute walk from the nearest stop; a remoteness he was particularly proud of.
Scott hoisted his rucksack off the luggage holder feeling a substantial weight that was not lessened by any antigrav aid, so commonly used these days; it would provide the necessary exercise to leg muscles underused for this day.
As he stepped on to the short platform, the cool air wiped away the sleepiness with disorientating haste. He had to scan round to find the route. Twilight was now taking hold, only a few wisps of cloud at the horizon still holding on to their salmon pink luminescence. One path from this side of the station, leading to a small village. He continued on what was not much more than an off-road track, the kind of terrain he would ride on two wheels. To walk it felt so much more strenuous, the weight on his back bouncing and forcing his legs to take up the shock, feet pounding despite the aircushion absorbers on his soles. Here was another part of the world not yet ‘developed’. These days a home could be isolated from the power grid, relying on self-generated electricity, the solar and wind generators always worked on a reserve, so even in those dark winter days there would be enough, but as a safeguard his car – their car – could sacrifice it’s own power store. This evening he knew Deanna would be away; there was hardly any need to comvise her to find out. Actually, he’d rather not know. It was silly, the thought that she’d ever be tempted by one of her clients. Yet somehow the possibility loomed in his mind. Whilst he’d been away she gotten lonely; a wealthy male client had tempted her to stay for dinner to ‘discuss the use of lighting on the design’, perhaps extending her remit to his bedroom, so impressed would he be with her plans for the living room.
Stop it!
In the near-darkness he arrived. The car wasn’t there as he’d expected. The lights to the cabin were off. Fine, save power. As he got within a few metres the grounds illuminated by a bioluminescent band running under the solar-panelled roof, revealing the neatly trimmed garden, the blue-white light spilled over to reveal the contrasting wild undergrowth. To tame the surround was to interfere with the natural order of things; Deanna insisted he would not cut back anything beyond the garden itself. He knew her staunchness on this was influenced by her native American heritage; the importance of preserving the natural environment was the core of the Cree belief system. And who was he to argue with that? It seemed perfectly reasonable. Still, the conflicts with his own work were inevitable. So the chance to find an alternate from landscape development on earth seemed an ideal compromise.
Scott pressed his hand on the biopanel and looked into an iris scanner. The door unlocked but only after a worryingly long delay. As if she’d want to change the admittance log. The hall illuminated at his presence. The living room was already illuminated by the ‘mood’ OLED spotlights of green and blue; curtains partially drawn, encrusted with smaller glowing versions to complement. On the synth-fur rug was a real ball of fur: Gerald the cat. He stirred at Scott’s approach.
‘How’s my cat this evening?’ Scott enquired.
Gerald leapt up, with what was undoubtedly an expression of fear on his face; he backed away and hissed.
‘Gerald, what is up with you? You know who I am.’ He was always such a friendly cat. Surely even to a stranger he would not react in this way. ‘Okay, Gerald, I’ll keep out of your way.’
Scott slumped down into a leatherette sofa. The tiredness was overwhelming him now. Really, he needed something to eat, a strong coffee would be a start. He was beginning to drift into unconsciousness when he heard the door chime. ‘Deanna?’ But she would be admitted on recognition, unless there was some kind of malfunction with the access ident, which, considering the level of redundancy in the system, was virtually unheard of.
‘Display caller ident.’ The holo screen before him showed two men in dark suits and curious Homburg style hats, and almost unvaryingly stern expressions on their faces. One tall and thin, the other: much shorter and stockier.
His heart raced, the apprehension forcing away much of the sleepiness.
The chime repeated with what seemed like an insistent quality of tone, even though there was no way that could be possible. And yet he felt compelled to move towards the front door, as if there was just no choice anyway.
The door opened with a word command. The figures stood there with a statue-like motionlessness.
‘Mister Alendry,’ the taller of the two said. ‘My name is Ebon Standford, and I am from the Weston Alliance Security Directorate. I have with me a warrant to search your premises.’ He held up the card. Oddly old-fashioned, printed text and an outlined symbol of a globe within a star, on plastic. Scott wondered if he should take it from the man’s hand to examine, but he had no way of knowing whether there was any point in trying to verify the information it contained – he could see from there something about Federal administration rights in security matters.
Scott said, ‘I have to admit I have never heard of your organization.’
‘That would be because we operate at an above top secret level. We have been appointed to represent the interests of the western world in security matters.’ He replaced the warrant into his pocket.
‘Are you here to represent my interests?’
‘There will be time to answer your questions, Mister Alendry. We have questions ourselves. Perhaps we will find the answers within your home.’
‘I doubt that,’ he said rather quietly. ‘But I have nothing to hide.’ He then backed away for them to enter. This must have something to do with his work, some kind of possible threat from a rival developer; there was no other logical explanation. They entered the lounge still with the mood lighting, which only seemed to add to their menace.
‘I will need to scan your personal databanks,’ Standford said. His associate stood adjacent with his arms folded.
‘Sure, go ahead,’ Scott said nonchalantly but now feeling somewhat queasy.
Standford pointed a hand-held reader at the console, its tapered electric-blue front flickering as it absorbed the data. He then looked at its angled panel, which was not visible to Scott. ‘Mmm,’ came the reaction to whatever he was reading. Then: ‘No anomalies here. But I still have one or two questions for you.’
‘Fine.’ His legs were beginning to give out, he had to find a chair.
Standford seemed to sense this. ‘Shall we sit down?’ he said.
They went over into the dining area of the room. Standford placed the reader on the table. ‘We understand you had a strange experience on planet Eludi-4.’
How did he know? Josh? ‘That’s true---?’
‘You saw a man jump from a mountain ledge, but you didn’t see him land. Can you explain why you had never found any further evidence of him?’
‘Not really,’ he said, whilst wondering how that could be considered a security matter.
‘We have reason to believe this man is dangerous. It is imperative we track him down.’
‘Why?’
‘We are not at liberty to give you the details beyond the fact that this man is using an illegal technology.’
‘What technology is that?’
‘It is something which allows unlimited freedom through space and time. In the wrong hands it is highly dangerous.’
‘Sounds like something from science fiction.’
‘If what I told you sounded perfectly plausible then my job would be in peril.’
‘So it’s safe to assume that no one would believe me. Therefore you don’t mind me knowing.’
‘It’s not for me to second-guess the psyche of the people you may tell.’ Standford adjusted his tie.
‘Am I in danger?’
‘That is not something we can determine at this stage. However, if this man approaches you it is likely we will know.’ Both of them then stood up, strangely in precise unison.
‘But it’s me you’ll be monitoring,’ Scott said as they headed towards the door.
‘We will do whatever it takes to ensure the security of this nation. Goodbye for now, Mister Alendry.’ They didn’t look back as they left.
Scott now felt extremely weak. He collapsed on the sofa.
He jumped because it seemed the answer lay at the bottom, rather than death. Just like the mysterious man, Scott was falling from a ledge towards the rocky valley. But he woke just on the point of impact.
‘Scott!’
‘D?’
His eyes were unfocused, as if reality couldn’t wipe away the shock from such a vivid dream.
‘Are you okay?’
His vision returned to see her exquisite form, clad in tight-fitting black skirt and a cut-away matching jacket: superficially formal and yet inviting the imagination. How could those men resist her? ‘I’m okay now,’ he answered, smiling.
‘Sorry I got delayed,’ Deanna said with a sigh. ‘A had a really fussy one this time, always wanted to make some kind of alteration---’
‘There’s nothing here I can see that needs altering – it’s simply perfection.’ His strength was returning.
‘Darling, that’s so sweet.’ She removed the band from her jet black hair, and shook her head for it to tumble about her shoulders in wild abandon.
He stood up, wanting her so badly. Words were hardly needed as they undid each other’s clothes. Her body felt soft and firm in all the right places; and rightness in that wonderful familiarity. For once only the present was here, the past a distant irrelevant memory. Banished from this place.
Scott lay beside her, unable to speak.
‘I guess I won’t need to ask you if you’ve missed me.’
***