Zardino brought the craft to a halt two hundred kilometres from the temporal field device; it was now almost totally bereft of any moon remnant, just a fragment of rock under its dark conical form. Torbin had insisted they move in close enough that he could make contact with the device; Zardino had no truck with this suggestion purely on the grounds that it would be a suicide mission, not accepting that the device had developed a special connection with him, or that – as a highly intelligent entity – it could be reasoned with. In addition, a personal connection was more likely to secure a memory downlink: the recorded mind-state of Roidon Chanley. How Raiya would love him to do this; may even love him for it, for all the value the platonic sense of the word love meant.
Instead Zardino deployed a robot probe. The nature of the device meant the probe was only able to form a narrow bandwidth link; it had to return to transfer the download. Torbin had, however, patched himself in to that link.
The probe struggled to make the last few kilometres to tethering range. It really seemed as if the device wanted no business with it. The probe looked about to explode – it was glowing red to an orange pink just around its engine, its own fusion thrust (essentially a myriad of explosions) right at the limit, fighting against the repulsion force. To a casual observer the device seemed to defy physics, as if it were still fixed to the full mass of the moon. The reality of it, even to Torbin, was still shrouded in theoretical multidimensional quantum resonance. Simply put, it had virtual mass. This was Elusiver technology evolved to something that may even be beyond their comprehension.
Finally, after increasingly frantic warning signals, it managed to hook onto the device's surrounding cage.
Torbin spoke into the link-mic. ‘Are you receiving my voice,’ he said tentatively. He waited ten seconds for a reply. There was no knowing if the the probe had made audio contact, simply a hope that transmitting on the same frequency he used in his metal body (a standard band) would still be received.
After seventy-two seconds it replied. ‘Torbin, you are not needed here. I am self sufficient.’
‘How can you be? You're adrift in space.’
‘There are others who will find me, will detect my signal.'
Torbin thought to question who these others were, but he he felt certain he knew what the answer would be. Instead he said, ‘There is someone who can help you now. Roidon Chanley. First we will need a copy of his mind-state.’
Silence again for almost a minute. Torbin imagined that must have seemed like hours of cogitation, or argument, to the two minds in that device.
‘We have determined there is a logical basis for your request. You may establish a data link. But be aware that his original mind-state has been subsumed with additional data.’
The probe extruded a cable to mate with the device's input port.
Roidon’s mind-state had now expanded to almost five terabytes, the original memory added to by the immense knowledge of the device – its observation and theoretical reasoning. Torbin imagined Roidon having to have his brain greatly enlarged to accommodate the extra knowledge. It tickled him slightly to think of Roidon having to cope with a massive head, support struts and the like. What would Raiya think of the man then? It would not suit Roidon’s vanity, for sure, even if it did serve as a metaphor made literal. Except he was thinking of the old Roidon; what remained of the man seemed barely a pale shadow, and Torbin began to feel uneasy with himself at his scorn.
The data transfer took four minutes. As the probe moved away, Torbin was wrenched back from his focus on it by Zardino who, with a baleful look, shook his head. He said simply, ‘They’re here.’ He signalled at the forward console which then projected up an image of the probe, unmagnified, about the size of his thumb. It took Torbin a few seconds to see what was wrong. A spacial disturbance, a rippling in space, moving towards the probe.
Zardino ordered the craft to move in towards the probe. But they both knew it was too late. It happened so rapidly. The spacial distortion became a dark object: arachnid shape, its legs curling around the probe lie a spider capturing a fly. Then vanished.
‘The Elusivers.’ The words tumbled out of Torbin almost as a reflex.
‘My ship was too slow, and now we’ve given them a prize gift.’
Torbin wanted to tell Zardino how this more cautious plan was flawed, how his own plan for making personal contact with the device may have worked. At least they would have had to abduct him with Roidon’s memory state. Yet what was the point of going over mistakes and miscalculations? He said only, ‘We have to repeat the process, don’t we?’
‘Not only that. We need everything the device knows. A complete copy.’
‘And risk its total knowledge being taken by the Elusivers? That will take some persuading!’
*
Deanna had been making some enquiries about Gerald: the cat they’d told her – whilst locked up at the institution – was being cared for in a sanctuary. But none within a hundred square kilometres had any record of him.
She was crying now, feeling shattered yet hyper-tense. She wanted her medication, even though it disgusted her to have become dependent on the chemical cosh. There was hardly anything in the house: a tin of soup, powered milk. She hadn’t eaten since last night at the institute, and could barely even remember the type of food. What she wanted desperately was alcohol – the normal way of self-anaesthetising.
The bleep before the voice: ‘You have one incoming call’ startled her so much she jumped. Gerald? Found?
‘Accept,’ she said.
‘Miss Flores?’ The voice projected into her ear, making it sound like the man was sitting next to her.
‘Yes. Is this about Gerald?’
‘Gerald? No. My name is Detective Palman and I am calling from Calgary police station. I have here a man who appears to be Scott Alendry. His credit chip certainly checks out, and he provided your address.’
Deanna felt the room spinning. Then a blankness. She came to with the voice in her ear, ‘Miss, Are you okay? Miss?’
‘I … I am.’ She wondered if this was a dream. ‘How. How could he be back?’
‘Well, that’s the curious thing.’ Palman paused, cleared his throat as if to compose himself. ‘He seems confused; having problems with his memory.’
‘I don’t understand. Can you tell me for sure it’s really him?’ She was really having her doubts. Perhaps he was just another fantasist who’d wanted to be Scott. Or this was some kind of elaborate ruse?
‘Of course. I have notified the relevant authorities. And you can be sure that every possible test will be performed to verify Mr Alendry’s identity. However, I think it’s best you come and visit him.’
After explaining she had no means of transport the station sent a taxi pod. They clearly were eager for her to be there, and this added to her suspicion. Still, there didn’t seem an awful lot to lose now. And just the thought of seeing him again. It was almost too much.
When the taxipod touched down at the police station Deanna’s craving for something narcotic intensified. The building reminded her of the place that had been her prison for the last few months, a strikingly formal structure within spartan grounds leading to an imposing entrance.
The difference here was that the large door opened as if it were the entrance to an old listed house, which it may have been.
It was like stepping back in time a few centuries. There was even a desk sergeant, a woman who looked to be in her early fifties.
‘Miss Flores. I’ll inform Detective Palman.’ The woman then spoke in to her console, and seemed to be responding to a voice that Deanna could not hear. All she could hear was the thudding of her heart and the persistent nagging thought that had been with her ever since she heard the news of his return: Not really him. The desk sergeant offered her the obligatory cup of tea, but she accepted only a glass of water.
Detective Palman stepped through into the reception area. He was smaller than she imagined him to be, wiry with close-cropped slightly greying hair, not so intimidating. He looked at her with a half smile that flattened out quickly; generally there was something harangued about his expression. Perhaps the authorities were already pressing at him.
‘Miss Flores.’
‘Call me Deanna, please.’ His formal politeness made her feel all the more uneasy.
‘Yes of course, Deanna. Please follow me.’
They went through a corridor, passing a row of doors on both sides. Deanna felt her stomach and throat constricting, wishing she’d drunk more of that water. Palman was walking at an urgent pace, and neither spoke. They turned left into a shallow alcove with a double door. Palman pushed open the right door with some force, then turned round to hold it for Deanna to pass through. As she did so he said, ‘If you can confirm this man’s identity I could leave you both alone.’
Deanna nodded. She could hardly speak. She looked about. And yes: he was there, standing in this sparse, brightly-lit room. She looked back to Palman. ‘Yes,’ she said in a strained voice. ‘That is him. That’s my Scott.’ Yet still that nagging doubt; perhaps, she thought, her time as a ‘mental patient’ had taken away her confidence in reality, and that this was some elaborate manipulation/simulation.
‘Okay,’ Palman said brightly. ‘I imagine you must have a lot to catch up on. However, an official from the N-S-I-D is on his way so you can only be with him for a few minutes.’
‘I understand.’
Scott stepped forward. ‘D!’
Deanna moved to meet him. ‘Scott.’ She found herself shaking her head in disbelief, before embracing him. ‘You’ve been gone so long,’ she said after a while. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know, D. It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes any sense.’
‘We’ll work it out. I know we will.’
She only noticed Palman was there when he coughed. ‘You will have to leave him here for a while,’ he told her.
‘So they can take him away and conduct a battery of tests? Last time I asked questions about him I got taken away and declared insane.’
‘Deanna?’ Scott said, looking horrified.
‘It's okay now, babe. It won't happen again.’ She wished she hadn't mentioned that in front of him; it was the last thing he needed now.
Palman stepped towards them. ‘Deanna, I will personally keep you informed on Scott's situation.’
Deanna quietly thanked him and allowed herself to be led out the room.
***