Since his first attempt to put things right, Torbin suspected he was under closer observation than ever. His personal quarters had never felt so confining. Not that the physical space of this room was any less than he enjoyed at even his most expensive house. A fake window about two metres squared, showing an alpine vista – or any scene he so desired – that even opened to fake fresh air. There was exercise equipment, and a panoply of entertainment ports.
He could be living in a mansion and still feel like a prisoner, knowing that his every movement would be tracked … but only for his own safety, they would surely tell him, except the comfort of safety was theirs alone. How typical of the B’tari to not want to be seen as controlling; they tried to allow him the illusion of freedom. In theory he could go anywhere, at least they wouldn’t physically stop him – no more than a liberal-minded parent would stop their determined teenage child from a risky venture.
Only an immersion in the past offered that true feeling of independence. One of the programs contained a simulation of his family. His wife Emelda, there as if part of a tableau: her wavy copper-red hair framing soft smiling features, reminding him of her positive outlook, and acceptance of his (admitted) eccentricities. The children: Luken, aged five; Andrea, seven, knowing their father was someone important, but not yet old enough to be asking those difficult questions.
Torbin could not imagine any other woman accepting him so completely. From childhood he had always been a loner – an oddball, some would say; never one of the gang, never part of the in-crowd. Not that he was the aloof genius the media had made him out to be. In fact, his academic record was at best patchy; school never held much interest, there were even suggestions that he undergo ‘imprinted learning’ (a latterly illegal process of grafting knowledge onto neuron networks) such was his failure at the core subjects – even mathematics, which at the time seemed irrelevant. But then at one physics lesson a teacher started telling the class about a physicist who had been researching the possibility of wormhole technology: the Nobel prize winner had been able to create a micro-wormhole for all of two and a half picoseconds. For the first time Torbin had a genuine interest in a lesson. And that evening he researched this scientist’s work, even looking at the then meaningless equations, determined that one day he would solve the conundrum of how to create a stable channel for information to pass. The following days he paid attention even to the seemingly irrelevant math of a pre-college pupil. His tutors were astonished – by the end of term – at his inexplicable improvement; he even had to convince the school principle that he was not cheating or receiving special tuition. But Torbin now had a goal, he would become the Great Scientist, the Pioneer. And the prize would be his.
Such intense studying never served to improve his chances with girls. Perhaps it was in his college years when he was developing his so-called aloofness. There sometimes was the occasional smile from a girl after a furtive glance from him when he then recoiled with embarrassment. He was sure there were discussions about who would take the nerd for his first sexual encounter; he didn’t need to overhear the chatter amongst the girls – when their attention swivelled to him from a near dinner-hall table, and then back to the ensuing giggles – to know just what they were saying. It wasn’t that he was completely without any friends. He did hang out with a group of four, thought of as the uncool geeks who were, if anything, proud to be such, to have their definitive place. After all, they would be the ones to earn the big money, and then the beauties would come running to them. Torbin, however, was not entirely comfortable with such complacency. It was never going to be about the money, he assured himself. The right girl would want him for what he had striven towards rather than for any framed piece of paper, that award which said he was now a success. But there were the girls in his undergraduate years who were suddenly finding him attractive, whereas before he was someone only to be laughed at, at least it seemed. In those hormone-rich times he was even tempted to succumb to their advances, not particularly proud of himself afterwards, but the toast of his friends nonetheless.
It was at the age of twenty-four, in his post graduate year, when he met the woman who would eventually become his wife. He was already working fifteen hours a week as a research assistant at the Montana particle accelerator site (a ringway extended for two hundred and fifty kilometres underground, the world’s biggest). He now had the confidence of someone on the way to becoming a fully-fledged physicist. He met her at a bar on a rare night out; his birthday celebration with a small crowd conspicuously absent of women. From the looks and giggles of this girl’s friends he thought he knew what had motivated her to approach him. After she’d said a tentative ‘hi’ prompting his group to ceremoniously disperse to their safely observable distance. He said: ‘I know you’re only here because you’re friends dared you.’
Then her look of mock astonishment. ‘How could you suggest such a thing?’
Whether or not it was true, the girl would feel obliged to prove herself genuine. And so, he gave her a chance; over the weeks and months she did just that. Yet only when she accepted his marriage proposal was he finally convinced.
It wasn’t what he would call love at first sight; he doubted that she felt that way either. It wasn’t even that he had a definitive type in mind as an ideal. But he’d learned from the experience of those pretty girls that good looks (of the generally accepted standard) were a novelty that could soon wear thin; and to them he was surely just a good financial prospect. Here he knew was something deeper. Funny, he thought, how different someone can look over time when nothing has really altered in their appearance, as if the hidden depths emerged as an augmented reality only visible to him. She became the ideal he could never have envisioned.
Torbin was brought back to the present with a start when his comm buzzed.
‘There is someone who wishes to speak with you,’ said Zardino, his b’tari appointed guardian. ‘I think you will be interested in what he has to say. Please join us in the conference room.’
Since his last foray trying to alter the past, Zardino had clearly been concerned Torbin would make some other attempt. Actually he’d hoped to see the psychiatrist woman again, he really felt he had a real connection with her. But who would this be – some B’tari appointed shrink?
He entered the blue and grey-white conference room, where Zardino was seated at the far end of the long onyx table in his usual brilliant-white suit. At the side was a man he immediately disliked the the look of – someone who clearly spent a lot of time at the gym and generally appeared to have a certain vanity about him, with his carefully styled hair.
Zardino introduced him. ‘This is Roidon Chanley. You may not know the name but he once lived in this compound. He has been very important to our efforts in combating the threat from the Elusivers.’
Now Torbin was sure he would hate this man.
The man spoke. ‘Torbin, it is very good to meet you at last.’ He offered to shake hands but Torbin was having none of it, so Roidon gestured to an empty chair opposite him. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said, as if it were some property of his to offer. He continued: ‘I have heard some great things about your work.’ He had that kind of smug tone of voice – Torbin imagined – of a high-flying lawyer, or an investment bank CEO.
‘I wish I could say the same of you,’ said Torbin, ‘but it seems the B’tari prefer to keep me in the dark.’
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I have also been kept to a strict remit. But now we can share the data.’
Zardino must have sensed the the apprehension from Torbin’s expression. The b’tari said, ‘Roidon also has a theory as to why he may be responsible for our current state of affairs. This might come as a surprise – he once created a version of the temporal eradication wave.’
‘It’s a long story and a previous life, which I’d be glad to share with you presently,’ Roidon said. ‘But suffice it to say, you are not the primary guilty party here.’
‘It was I who sent the message about our technology – across all those thousands of light years.’
‘You may have felt you’d opened Pandora’s box, but I was the one who may have attracted the attention of the Elusivers by using their technology.’
‘And when did you do that?’
‘A hundred and seventy-four years ago.’
‘But there was no evidence of the Elusivers having responded so long ago.’
‘I guess we can play the blame game for some while, Torbin.’
Zardino spoke. ‘And really, arguing over who is responsible is mere speculation. It could be that the Elusivers had intended this for a millennia. But we can at least briefly discuss a way to resolve this problem.’
Torbin sat in the chair at the opposite side to Roidon who said to him, ‘These B’tari, they are ever the optimists. And yet they won’t allow me to take the necessary risks.’
‘That’s a matter for your commander,’ Zardino said ‘But we welcome all your ideas.’
‘Sure,’ responded Roidon, ‘provided they fit within the narrow parameters of the Temporal Directive,’
‘Don’t get him started on that,’ Torbin said to Roidon – who had improved marginally in his estimation.
‘There is someone else who wishes to contribute,’ Zardino said. He spoke into his wrist-comm. ‘You can come in now.’
Torbin was shocked to see the reptilian-looking creature enter the room. Roidon gave not a flicker of reaction.
‘This is our chief astronomer, Zorandi Entola,’ Zardino announced. ‘He is someone who has had direct experience of the temporal eradication wave.’
‘Our host failed to mention that I have no memory of such experience,’ Zorandi said with that typically B’tari accent-less precision, as he made towards his seat. ‘But you may consider me to be the first ever test subject.’
Roidon looked to Torbin. ‘The wave literally erased time right back to his childhood. I’ve been analysing the data from his craft as it passed through the wave, which itself resisted at least five nanoseconds of exposure.’
‘He disappeared from his place in our continuum,’ Zardino explained, ‘but still existed in the present having lived what seems to be an identical life.’
‘A second chance at life,’ mused Torbin. ‘But as if the future had never happened. And yet nothing had changed in this continuum?’
‘For this to have happened to an individual is unprecedented. But because he has no memory of the temporal erasure it is almost as if it never happened; he has no evidence. In fact, he was about to repeat the same experiment before we stopped him. And we know he had previously gone through with it from a tachyon message sent back in time from the craft. He may even have done so thousands of times, and been caught in a temporal loop if we hadn’t detected the transmitted data in deep space.’
‘Five nanoseconds exposure,’ wondered Torbin. ‘What if it were longer, say a second?’
‘That’d be difficult to quantify,’ said Roidon, ‘But we do know this phenomenon is so powerful it could eradicate time to before human existence.’
‘In fact,’ interjected Zorandi, ‘we have evidence of its power – to erase time for millions of years.’
‘Well, that’s no revelation to me,’ Torbin said. ‘Removing us because they think we’re the threat. Resetting the clock. But can you answer me why? What do they fear?’
Zardino raised his hand as if to stop anyone else from speaking. ‘That’s not the most important thing to consider, Torbin. As you have told us, these Elusivers believe themselves to be gods; they’ve made some assumption about human progress. It could be they do not trust you to be responsible for the technology you’re advancing.’
‘Of course, it’s nothing the B’tari have done,’ said Roidon, ‘because you have the Temporal Directive to ensure the universe does not become disrupted, whereas humans have no sense of their action’s consequence.’
Astronomer Zorandi stood up. ‘I have observed the TE wave for nearly a year, and I can categorically state that it is not set to merely target humans. At its superluminal rate it could envelope the entire galaxy – and perhaps beyond, within the next few years.’
Roidon said, ‘They are doing that because it’s cleaner. You’ve seen the confusion caused when it’s localized. But anyway, given how responsible I feel over this, I’ll do what ever it takes.’
‘You won’t need to question my own commitment,’ stated Torbin.
Zardino gave a flicker of a smile and placed his tablet on the table. ‘Then I look forward to working with you all; though bear in mind just how dangerous it will be for us, since we are now the primary threat. But I’m sure you already know that.’
Torbin nodded. ‘Yeah, they have a specific target now; not merely the general human threat any more.’
***