Until now Torbin had no way of knowing he was truly heading back to earth, or that he would not be displaced to some distant time in the future, removed once more from everyone he knew.
Whatever form of hyperspace, taking the ship thousands of light years, had now switched off. The first planet, Neptune, enlarged and zipped past in a blur. He imagined the deceleration force must be so powerful that no human body could withstand it. But for a brain suspended in liquid there’d be no sensation. After a few subjective days the illusion of a body had mostly gone; only when asleep did he have the feeling of being whole, although without the sense of heft and effort of movement of his waking memories – they were fading as if now becoming an unhelpful irrelevance. Something changed that would once have seemed like a horrifying prospect: he was beginning to feel like a part of the ship. He imagined how a totally paralysed person might still have the sensation of limbs and a torso, since the brain was wired for their input. But here the ship was providing him with total immersion space; that burgeoning sense of a body – the ship’s hull. Another illusion, of course, fed into him by the wealth of telemetry regarding its state, reporting any abrasion to the primary plating. He knew, now, the ship was running on emergency reserves, never intended to go this far, hence the shutting down of shields.
Ever since the ally Elusiver (imagined or not) had made its presence known, the computer ceased communicating with him. Torbin mused that it was some kind of sulking objection at being usurped, though more likely it sensed its primary purpose in sending him to the black hole was no longer valid. There had been no further sign of the Elusiver, no word of leaving, assuming it really had visited. But with even a cursory understanding of their abilities, such a bulky thing as a space craft was not really necessary for interstellar travel.
Earth grew from a blue dot to the screen-filling globe in literally a few seconds, as if a film had been sped up ridiculously. Torbin felt he needed more time to mentally prepare. He was sure the B’tari would detect his arrival immediately and have a craft waiting, his ever vigilant overseers. Certainly they may be slightly taken aback by his lack of a body, although that was unlikely to present much of a challenge in growing him a new one, he imagined.
The ship fell into obit. Half an hour passed. Nothing.
If the B’tari were not coming for him then he’d have to somehow make his own way back to the surface. The ship was not designed to break orbit. Barring any stealth cover, unbeknown, someone would spot him.
After an hour he spoke to the computer. ‘Please come back online. I require urgent assistance.’
‘My function is limited due to a breach in protocol,’ said the computer, tersely. But Tobin let out a breath in relief; just to have it respond.
‘I need to be placed in a shuttle. Can you do that for me?’
‘I can engage the emergency evac procedure, which will drop you into a pod.’
‘Fine. Just do it.’
The green symbols, overlaying the encompassing half circle of Earth, turned red and started changing rapidly. A few seconds later a klaxon sounded. Abruptly the view switched off. He expected there to be some sensation of falling but realised – with no tactile facility, no sensory function beyond sight – he’d feel nothing.
For a few seconds there was just darkness, then a dull red light followed by an oblong viewer. He appeared to be static, until he noticed the red glow in the forward view. The pod was entering Earth’s atmosphere. Perhaps it was programmed to home in on the nearest gravitational source, and this was originally to be the method of delivery into the singularity.
‘Computer,’ he tried, ‘are you controlling this pod?’ No answer.
North America filled the viewscreen and grew at an alarming rate. At this point he felt glad not to be in a body: to feel no nausea, and if the pod were to crash – no pain.
Somehow the pod knew where he wanted to go, and it was taking him there at an alarming rate. Only when he could see the trees, the fields of western Canada, did the view shift to a more horizontal plane.
The touchdown in a field seemed to be smooth, although the craft appeared quite elevated as if on legs. Just as he was beginning to contemplate how long it would take before someone discovered him, he fell through the floor. The impact onto the grass was hard. This time he did feel pain, an internal mental throb. The only fortunate thing was to have landed upright, still encased in the transparent life-support box with its adjoining nutrient/blood supply capsule.
He noticed the light changing, a shadow lifting. It was the pod taking off, silently … no, he had no hearing. A brain in a case in a field, at the mercy of the local wildlife. Yet he wasn’t as afraid as he thought he should be; the world was disconnected, an ethereal quality through its pink-orange hue. No longer the illusion of a body, just a numb floaty feeling. But an awareness of being utterly alone. He didn’t think it was the same as feeling lonely, that was him as the outsider: observing others but never connecting. This was something more visceral, a simple absence. If any person found him, what would they think? The victim of some sick experiment, perhaps. And even if he were to be discovered by someone who knew him they might not identify him as Torbin. Am I really Torbin anymore, or just his memories? My consciousness – now questionable.
He wondered if dying may be a blessing after all.
*
They watched a twenty-six second replay of the creature as it reclaimed what was left of the clone. In real time the whole event happened in only two and a half seconds. Even played back at thirty times below normal speed its actions were a blur. Any attempt to prevent the creature in its mission was a woefully futile gesture: Zardino had reached for a well-concealed weapon, only to be forced back by the creature in its whirl of activity. Roidon had looked on, more fascinated than disconcerted. He knew he should take a more concerned approach, at least a serious if not troubled look when the creature proceeded to force its way past the various B’tari layers of security on its way out. In fact, it hardly needed to use any force, it just seemed to breeze past as if every perceivable B’tari countermeasure amounted to no more than a holographic projection.
And yet this scenario – playing back repeatedly for any clues – seemed pointless. ‘They must have known there was nothing useful left of the clone to reclaim,’ Roidon surmised.
‘Our idea of useful and their’s maybe somewhat different,’ Zardino said. ‘Perhaps there was some trace evidence in those remains.’
‘But we already have all we need from the clone. So why go to the trouble?’
‘I won’t claim to understand their psychology but it’s possible they merely wanted to prove a point – that they can enter our most secure domain at any time of their choosing and take whatever they wish.’
‘Except they didn’t take the memory scans.’
Zardino appeared lost in thought for a few seconds; Roidon realised this was him engaged in neural communication. He said eventually: ‘Actually, the scans have been wiped. Don’t ask me how it could have happened – our data store is not only quantum eight dimensionally encrypted, it is kept in a metre thick dutainium vault. In essence, there is no more of a secure way to store data. Some B’tari have even called it paranoid, others over-zealousness.’
‘They’ve proved that nothing we can do will stop them. Then we might as well admit defeat, stop fighting the inevitable.’
‘Accept our fate,’ Zardino added sardonically. ‘That kind of defeatist logic is exactly what they want us to adopt. They demonstrate their god-like abilities so we can fall to our knees in awe.’
‘They really have got to you, Zardino. A race so advanced they make you look like ineffectual children to their powerful adults.’
Zardino was silent once more. Roidon wondered if this was out of feeling offended or he was once again in communication. After about a minute he said, ‘I have consulted with the council. They agree this is an emergency situation. Accordingly, we will have to leave this system and return to the B’tari home world. It is many light years away, and the journey will not be without risk.’
‘Don’t you think this is exactly what the Elusivers want. Surely your home world will be their main target.’
‘Protection measures have been prepared for such a threat. We are far stronger in the place of our origin.’
‘Forgive me for being somewhat doubtful of your ability to survive against a species so advanced … well, I hardly need tell you.’
‘Have faith, dear Roidon.’
‘Not this time. At least not in your strategy. I am going it alone.’
‘As you wish.’
***