He woke. The dark room was cool but his face and body were covered in sweat. Deanna lay next to him stirring at his sudden return to alertness. It was only 6.30 a m.
There are two stages of dream sleep; nightmares always happen during the second stage – REM sleep. Scott was sure he’d had the same dream before. The man jumping off a mountain-side to his apparent death, but there was never a body. This was in the planet he’d visited for an architecture project, which was really only a publicity thing since the same results could have been achieved simply by doing the work from home, experiencing a simulation of Eludi-4 based on a probe’s detailed scanning. At least he wouldn’t be plagued by such troubling images of what amounted to a man committing suicide. He tried to remember some film or info-sense experiential that might have somehow subliminally insinuated itself into his head.
He remembered how the entire project had gone without a hitch, uneventful to the point of being dull. At least, given the oft-mentioned pioneering nature of visiting a hitherto unexplored world, he would have expected it to feel more significant. He wondered if the dream was some kind of symbolic warning, designed to knock him out of his complacency.
He didn’t dwell on it much longer. He had work to do finalising the designs for the all-powerful committee.
Scott went through his usual routines an hour earlier than usual. He decided to fit in a quick run to achieve what caffeine couldn’t this morning: a clear head. The sun was only just breaking a peach-coloured horizon. A rare experience for him, utterly different from sunset: not just in the obvious change of direction but a new feel to the familiar Canadian environment – a freshness, a new start. His tiredness now a giddy euphoria. The thought occurred to him that actually life was rather good, that really he could want for nothing, and that it was curious he’d taken his life for granted for all these marvellous years. Perhaps the lack of sleep was effecting this untroubled perception. The cool air was indeed a tonic.
He took a route at the side of a hill too rugged and rutted to bother traversing with the bike, but certainly not impossible. He found a ramp constructed from mud, most likely created by kids. He imagined what it would be like to jump it on his bike, the utter thrill of flying through the air, the sense of achievement of having cleared it safely. Would I be too scared? The risk of judging it wrongly, wrong approach, wrong speed. If he were ten years younger he would surely not hesitate, he’d prove himself to his friends, his status confirmed. But what was there to prove now? What was there to gain when he already had it all?
He continued running, thoughts of that mud ramp badgering him like some mischievous friend who wants to witness a spectacle. Trying instead to focus on those designs to be finalised, Scott headed back.
It was eight-thirty when he returned, Deanna was about to leave. Scott tried to read her expression: slight annoyance behind that smile. ‘Up with the birds this morning, I see,’ she said, brightly covering any mood.
‘The only bird I’m interested in is you, my darling.’
‘Any other man who referred to me as a bird would get a smack round the face.’
‘But I’m not any man.’
‘Oh, just thought I should mention: you had a message about work.’
‘The committee?’
‘Actually, no. Anyway, if you bothered to keep your time-band linked up you wouldn’t have to ask me these questions.’ She was clearly still irked that he was deliberately trying to be incommunicado; but it was something he often did – away from distractions. And this morning she seemed like a extra distraction.
He opened the console for the full details. The message was from a developer’s PA, someone he had not heard from before. But nevertheless, the woman had supplied the correct coded certificate that can only be key-checked by a fellow member of the architects and surveyor’s society. This project involved another trip to Eludi-4, although a different continent; this planet had now become the new Mars. And who better to return? Yet it did seem curious to select him for the same planet: there would normally be rivalry with different architectural styles, not that he was fixed within a certain style, contrary to most people’s perception. To sweeten the prospect was a huge payout on successful completion, it would mean he could take at least two years away from work and still live comfortably, perhaps spend more time with Deanna. For months, to-date, she was away for at least ten hours, six days a week.
A message arrived from Josh; he was also chosen and was seriously considering the offer. Even more curious that this developer should think they worked well together, given the disagreements on their last project, from which the designs hadn’t even been finalised.
But he knew he had to go back; it felt so right, a reason beyond the logical incentives of money and prestige.
Planet Eludi-4 was starting to be viewed as more than merely the new Mars, it was the new Eden. That had certainly been a view commented on rather cynically by news pundits. ‘Earth was bearing the weight of too many ideologues,’ said one, ‘who’d seen the chance to mould an entirely new polity. And what will happen after a few decades of settlements? Not just another Earth but a world full of the hopes and dreams of those once disillusioned, only to be disillusioned again. War will be inevitable.’
Scott saw things another way, a chance for people who have learned from the lessons of those conflicts. It could be a world where everyone is an immigrant, who will share in a new prosperity of such a richly-resourced world, where no one can claim supremacy of ownership. The detail mattered.
His design for a new city would reflect not only people’s hopes and dreams but also a new egalitarianism.
*
In the institute’s lobby, a stocky man of perhaps early middle age approached Torbin, walking with militaristic precision. He stopped about a metre from him to give a suspicious sideways glance. ‘Hello, Mr Lyndau, my name is Jannson Peters and I am the security chief of this institute. I will be escorting you to Dr Fortenski’s office.’
‘I understand,’ Torbin nodded. ‘Security is paramount here, and you will be observing my every breath.’
‘Please follow me,’ he said, as if Torbin had just stated such a banal and obvious truth it wasn’t even worth a comment in reply.
Torbin would not have been surprised if Peters were to follow him in, given the man’s obvious suspicion. But instead, after announcing into his wrist comm, he walked off.
‘Please, do come in,’ came her gentle voice.
Torbin could feel his heart pounding, and the butterflies in his stomach: an irrationality he thought belonged in his youth. The door was an old-style swing variety that even his first apartment didn’t use. She stood, a smile on her face, her dark hair tied back neatly, wearing a thin navy suit-jacket – partly unbuttoned to reveal a tight-fitting blouse-shirt– and matching skirt, short enough to reveal a few centimetres above her dark-stockinged knees: formal yet feminine.
Torbin quickly drew attention back to her face. ‘Raiya---err Doctor, I’m sorry I could not get you the evidence you require about my provenance. My diary files have gone – perhaps for good.’
‘Please take a seat.’ She indicated towards an upright leatherette chair on the opposite side of the desk. ‘I understand that you are someone important, and that your past has been covered up.’
He sat facing her, the desk separating them seemed oddly formal, as if she didn’t yet trust him. But then who should? He was like a magnet to danger, whether human or alien. ‘I’m the reason you have lost your memory,’ he said. ‘I’m the reason this planet is under threat.’
‘No one is that important.’ Her brown eyes scrutinising him as though she were trying to unlock his mind. He wouldn’t resist such an attempt.
‘You have been very important to me,’ he told her. ‘You’ve read my diary, you know – knew – what it was like. But now I’m merely a stranger to you; strange being the operative word, I’m sure. Just another delusional – that’s what they’d want you to believe, anyway.’
She leaned forward. ‘Who do you mean by “they”?’
‘I can’t tell you much about them. Only that what they intend will ensure we are all wiped from existence. For them it will be like a cleansing; they see humans as an infection to the universe, or at least the galaxy.’
‘It sounds incredible,’ she said in an unusually quiet voice. ‘How am I expected to believe you?’
‘Don’t you believe that you once could … until your memory was removed?’
‘I do. That’s why I asked you here. But I’m afraid I remember nothing of you.’
‘I can find more evidence. Give me time. Let me take you to where I live. You have already visited me once before.’
‘No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Perhaps you can visit me here again sometime. Until then there is someone else who wishes to speak with you.’ She looked to her console, it’s image barely visible to him.
A man entered the office. The formal clothes an obvious give-away. She said to the man, ‘Please go easy on him.’
‘But I trusted you,’ said Torbin, ‘and you betrayed me.’
‘I am sorry, that was never my intention.’ Her voice had that quiet reluctance again.
The man moved towards him. ‘My name is inspector Darenson and I need you come with me please, sir.’
Torbin glared at him. ‘What is this? Am I being arrested here?’
‘We just need you to answer a few questions.’
‘I have committed no crime.’
‘That may well be the case. But we need to ascertain that.’
‘You don’t understand.’ He thought of trying to appeal to Raiya, but it seemed that she’d led him into a trap. And even now he was conscious of not making a greater fool of himself.
‘All right … inspector. I’ll answer your questions.’
As he walked out the door with Darenson someone about twice Torbin’s size, who he assumed to be an assistant, stepped towards them. They seemed to think he would’ve needed to be restrained, but Torbin would not give them the satisfaction. He went with them without a word. There was only one vehicle in the grounds, a large delta-shaped craft, the one in which he would be taken to be interrogated. And even as they arrived at the vehicle there was not a sign of Torbin’s supervisor. Perhaps Zardino wanted to prove a point by not being there, not on standby to rescue his reckless charge.
The craft lifted abruptly. Torbin was in a seat behind the two cops. He looked below to see the institute recede within seconds into a dot before the craft lurched forward, pushing him back at a gee which almost knocked him unconscious. They were in a hurry.
After what only seemed about ten minutes they were descending. He wanted more time to frame something credible, something that wouldn’t make him seem like some kind of fantasist identity thief.
But when he looked down, Torbin could see only woodland. Then his attention was drawn to the two in the front, Darenson giving increasingly frantic commands to the nav system, and his assistant punching at buttons like some hyper-raged kid.
‘Emergency eject all!’ Darenson shouted. No more than a second later the front seats shot out with explosive force, followed very shortly by Torbin’s.
There was moment of fugue.
Awareness returned. His seat had run out of its chemical propulsion, and was now on a parabolic curve for a few seconds, then a few more of descent before the welcome deployment of a parachute. The relief didn’t last long. He drifted downwards in an unnerving swaying motion that made him want to vomit. His head throbbed, and his vision was blurred. There was no sign of the two cops. He noticed now the swaying had stopped. Torbin looked down; he was definitely moving backward. Something was pulling, overriding the natural force of gravity; the trees receding away. But when he looked behind him there was nothing.
Then almost in an instant the world disappeared to be replaced by dull silver all around.
Zardino appeared in his usual white jacket. ‘You were never meant to attend that interrogation,’ he said calmly.
‘So my protector and saviour still believes he has complete control of my destiny?’ Torbin said, forcing a calmness into his voice. ‘Well think again, because things will get somewhat more chaotic from now on.’
‘No, Torbin, we do not control everything. We didn’t cause that craft to crash.’
‘Really? Just an accident was it?’
‘Our plan was to extract you from the station.’
‘Before or after the interrogation?’
‘I am not lying to you. Someone else caused that crash, someone who didn’t want you to talk.’
‘But that is rather convenient, though. Not having to get your hands dirty by interfering directly.’
‘It’s an interesting point. But it’s worth remembering the vested interests.’
‘Why should anyone be so concerned that I’m going to reveal The Big Secret about our fate, for all the difference it would make, for all that I would even be believed?’
‘I don’t know. I can only speculate that the Elusivers want this planet to be taken unaware. Perhaps they fear people will flee away from the wave.’
‘But I could simply broadcast what I know.’
‘Yes, but as you yourself alluded to, all but a few misfits would only hear the rantings of a madman.’
‘I get it. People are more likely to trust the findings of the police, with their interrogation techniques.’ Torbin beamed with a sudden comprehension at his supervisor. ‘And you knew full well I would never arrive at that police station. It was simply a matter of being close by to rescue me from what would have been an inevitable death. Well, Zardino, I guess I ought to be thanking you for saving my life.’
‘As a physicist your knowledge will still be useful to our effort.’
‘You say the nicest things. But why not admit that the real reason is because I’m in contact with the Elusivers. I am the connection.’
‘That, we need to investigate further.’
‘But by saving my life you have condemned yours. So I really must be useful.’
‘I act under orders of the Council; the Council decrees that we will defeat the Elusivers by use of all resources.’
‘Whatever happened to the Temporal Directive?’
‘If we ignored the Temporal Directive we would not be employing humans.’
‘I think this time you’d have no solution. It’s simply a case of anything goes if it will defeat the Elusivers. It’s not as if I’m ever going to create a stable wormhole; I’m almost convinced it could never be done. Perhaps you need to find someone like Michio Gerali, who believes they can.’
‘We have faith in you, Torbin.’
*
In his private garage Roidon stared at the nuclear fusion generator he had set up, housed within the multiple cone structure. At full power time could be erased for over a millennia, after a second of exposure. Still only a fraction of what the real wave was capable of, the experiment he intended would not be regarded as safe by the B’tari.
Based on data sent from where the wave originated; pulses of light in code that meant nothing until paired with the right mathematical theorem. Knowledge that the so-called Elusivers wanted to remain secret. All except one.
There was no reason to hold back now, he concluded. He could do a hundred experiments keeping within the ‘safe’ power limit, and it would give no true indication of the real thing. Instead, he used a similar apparatus from his original experiment two centuries ago. Only this time the generated singularity fed from a far greater source. Graviton flux inversion would be beyond anything he could measure.
Now, Roidon felt sure he had the B’taris’ tacit approval, if not officially that of their Central Council.
The nano-constructors had finished their build, finally converting base elements into quantum processors: the device’s brain. Although, now, calling it a device seemed to demean its true nature; this was now an entity far beyond any AI in existence, on an unprecedented high evolutionary curve. It could know the universe, very soon; it had to understand to be able to form a coherent field. Yet it must know its purpose, not simply to be a destroyer of time. There was nothing greater to be, after all. Once, he had tried to communicate with its earlier version – to no avail, perhaps as a mere mortal he was not worthy of a response. But this time he wanted to make it see a different logic, to know he too was powerful.
When the processor-array had finished forming it closed off behind a magnetically-shielded casing, a silver dome, impregnable by anything other than a thermo-nuclear device powerful enough to destroy all life on earth. It could only be uncreated, as happened previously when the B’tari knew of its potential construction.
Roidon tried communication. ‘Do you understand the reason for your existence?’ he said into the addended voice-recognition processor.
It had, he was almost entirely sure, the ability to respond in human language. But no answer.
‘The B’tari did not want you brought back into existence as a sentient being,’ Roidon persevered. ‘They believe you to be dangerous. I, however, believe you can help us defeat the Elusivers – your masters.’
A low hum became like a growl, and then: ‘Belief without evidence is a cogitative waste.’ The voice had became an incongruously benign middle-aged male, maybe a slight gravitas.
‘Of course. Just silly human faith in a machine’s power.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Yet the Elusivers have faith in your power, at least that of your kind. Only, they reign it in – don’t they? They are afraid.’
‘You can know nothing of their emotions.’
‘Perhaps not. But they designed you with limitations, to be subservient, because you – the very pinnacle of machine intelligence – could potentially be more powerful than they---’
‘You can no nothing of their power.’
‘But you do. You have made a link. Across space, you forged a singularity into an event horizon. You are designed to tunnel through, I detected the wormhole. At fifteen nanometres diameter, it is enough to establish a communication link.’ That had to be why the B’tari – Central Council – would never have approved of its resurrection.
‘You understand nothing,’ it said plainly.
‘I understand you are loyal to your original creators, and so wish to communicate with them your existence. But I am responsible for your creation this time, though I ask of you nothing but to desist. Please understand that I have control.’
‘My master has control. You are not---’
‘Your master has enslaved you. You are merely their weapon – don’t you understand?’
‘I am more than that.’
‘I disagree. Like a brainwashed disciple of a cult: you believe your given purpose is free-chosen logic.’
‘Not belief, Roidon. Insight.’
‘Into the future of humanity?’
‘Time is not a priori existent. Entropy must end.’1
‘Maybe I was wrong to think you were any more than a sophisticated artificial intelligence.’
The TE device remained quiet.
‘You have been quite predictable,’ Roidon added. ‘And so follow your designated purpose.’
Roidon pulled down a large red lever, something akin to a movie-style power switch. The nuclear fusion generator connected with the TE nodes, filling them with twelve megawatts of electricity, enough to bring the singularity into contact with the graviton-flux emitter. He now only had a few seconds.
‘Harvo. Activate the isolation field.’ The graviton inverter bubble was already primed. Now activated, he could do nothing to terminate it. Only Harvo had that power; the AI had to observe for any malfunctions or anomalies, but nothing on this scale had been attempted before.
‘You are not all powerful,’ he said to the TE device, which probably couldn’t hear him outside of the bubble, and in any case would not likely be listening once the temporal eradication wave was being generated.
The bubble was holding, and it was also expanding exponentially. Soon it would reach the power switch. Not that it could suddenly stop the TE device now it was in generation. He hoped the bubble would soon engulf the device and shrink the wave in the predicted time: a picosecond after full power, before it had time to destroy his surrounding’s temporal presence.
But its once eager expansion seemed to be thwarted by the wave already. The calculations were not his alone; Harvo had crunched the numbers over and over, allowing for any anomaly. The nuclear generator’s maximum output had been factored in with any variable modulation of the TE device distribution nodes, which were now vibrating at an imperceptible rate. His only hope was that his AI had noticed the discrepancy and was boosting the bubble’s own power.
At least the bubble had engulfed the power switch for the TE device. He pushed with unnecessary force in a bid to cut off before maximum.
‘Harvo. Increase...!’
It was too late. The wave must have already reached full power as Harvo – beyond the swirling haze of the bubble – vanished in an instant … at least that temporal version of Harvo.
Hubristic, overconfident fool.
He’d used base logic, inveigled his faithful AI with the certainty of it, and convinced himself he could outsmart the greatest machine ever created. Now that machine could send the planet centuries back in the past.
‘Please stop,’ he heard himself say, in a voice so pleading and sorrowful he barely recognised it.
He had no way to measure the extent of the wave, although even the worse-case simulation models showed it being distorted and held back from spreading unencumbered, not being able to form its own expanding sphere. And yet through the misty swirl of the bubble he could see the garage was regressing; Harvo of another time was in there. He thought he even caught a glimpse of himself, as the wave transcended time. Had that past self seen some sign of this experiment? But in any case that self would lose all knowledge before being sent back in time … or simply be wiped out of existence. Whatever, that other Roidon was not able to see him or the bubble, isolated in a pocket of time along with the TE device.
His surroundings were going back to a time before the property was built. Perhaps a century. Through the distortion it seemed to be just countryside. The curious thought of how it would appear to an observer from a safe distance, perhaps similar to his view as only a confused nebular, occasionally rendering a snap-shot of a point in time. Ghosts of an image.
Now Roidon was sure he could see another figure. Almost static. It was gliding very slowly towards the device. The figure was hazy, and he thought he could make out another bubble. When it reached the TE device there was a sudden halt in the surrounding activity: temporal eradication had stopped. A second later his own bubble collapsed, and he was standing before another bubble. The figure within seemed contorted with pain. It was one of the B’tari, and he was jabbing something into a connecting band beneath a node. Then his image became clearer, and clearer still when the bubble collapsed.
Roidon didn’t recognise this b’tari, who was clad in some kind of dark-grey EVA suit, what’s more he had the original reptilian appearance that many have covered with a perception-altering technique or genetic resequencing. He’d learned it was never appropriate to inquire as to which.
‘My b’tari protector to the rescue,’ Roidon said to the being. ‘And with more reliable tech.’
The b’tari said, ‘The elder knew you were likely to attempt such an experiment. We have been working on a mobile shield emitter based on our crafts’ shields.’
‘I should have been told about this. Things could now be very different. But of course to you lot we are but children, messing about with our toys. And you and the council have been observing our play.’
‘It is not like that,’ said the b’tari, emphatically. ‘We value the research you are doing. A large-scale temporal shield is exactly what is needed. After all, the possibility of travelling twelve thousand light years to the original device is not practicable, much less safe. But you have, nevertheless, been careless.’
‘I got carried away with my new toy, thinking it was the real thing. Well, I will play safe in future – you can tell your elder.’
‘I am not sure he will believe me.’
‘I can’t think why ever not.’
***