by C. Litka
Chapter 20: Friday 19 July
01
The sky scrapes across the dull purple hills, hiding the more distant ones in a grey veil of rain. The wild and abandoned countryside marches by, dark and brooding beyond the swirls of smoke and steam from the blue RSR 4-6-0 engine and my reflected face on the rain splattered window of the carriage. It was a brighter day when I set out this morning.
I set out early on the first leg of my journey to Glasgow and my weekend with Red Stuart. The sky was lightly overcast and the morning soft and mild. The closer I got to Inverness, the busier the road became – pedestrians and swarms of bikes, colourful gypsy caravans, clanking tinkers' wagons, farmers, their families, their dogs, their sheep and cattle, fine ladies and gentlemen in carriages, couples in dogcarts, big electric coaches filled with boisterous passengers, piled high with gear, and the occasional big petrol or pre-Storm electric car all bound for Inverness. It was the Highland Games weekend, with its market, fair and rides and, of course, games – a powerful magnet that drew people from every social stratum of Scotland. Glen Lonon would be packed with guests, so it was an ideal weekend to escape to Glasgow.
Inverness was festooned with banners and buntings in white and blue, its streets filled with festive citizens and visitors dressed in tra, mod and traditional highland garb all drifting through the livestock and booths that lined the main streets. The arriving trains poured out their noisy passengers, though my train, going south to Perth, is scantly filled. So with the weather so gloomy and the landscape so dreary, I'll spend this leg of my journey bringing this account up to date.
02
By the time I woke up Monday morning, the edgy urgency of Sunday's adventures, the sense of danger and the Otherworldness eeriness had faded, but not entirely dispersed. Sitting in the bright morning sun on my bench outside, sipping my morning cup of tea, I was able believe everything I witnessed was an unintended electromagnetic phenomenon of TTR's device and turn a blind eye to the fact that it explains absolutely nothing. However, the one lasting effect it had was that I'm now fully invested in TTR's papers. Learmonte's instructions aside, I intend to give every scrap of paper my full attention. If there's a clue in those papers, and if I'm bright enough to see it, it will be found.
Sunday night's feverish thoughts about Nesta were also fading, with a conscious effort on my part. I can list off the top of my head half a dozen reasons that make it impossible to consider her anything but a friend, any one of which would be sufficient on its own. Of course logic is never enough, so I called on my allies, Penny and time. In little more than a month I'll have finished my work and gone down to Cambridge and Penny. I just needed to be careful how I acted and what I said to Nesta – and I'd years of practice doing just exactly that with Penny. I was, however, a bit nervous about seeing her again.
I plunged into work right after breakfast and worked hard all day transcribing the hand written notebooks which I finished by supper time.
Nesta called and we went for our bike ride as usual. It was almost, but not quite, the same. Nothing drastic, just a slight change of key. We were no longer play-acting that I was one of the clan. She'd accepted me as one of them and the last of her reserve had evaporated away. Not that she talked or acted differently, it just seemed natural now, making it easier to be with her, and making my fondness for her reasonable in that context.
As we rode into the glen, she asked if I had any further thoughts about the nature of the Gate and the field it seems to generate.
'I rather put it out of my mind today and just worked,' I admitted with an apologetic smile. 'To be honest, I haven't a clue.'
'I didn't set any conditions when I took you there, so I can't expect to make them now,' she said. 'Still, I was wondering just how you intend to treat it.'
I hadn't given it any thought, but it didn't need much. 'As a deep and dark secret, at least until I know more,' I said. 'I accept the logic of doing nothing until there's a complete understanding of the phenomena.'
'And if you find something more?'
'I'll tell you. If you think it's necessary, we can see your father.'
'That's bound to go well,' she said ruefully.
'Well, I'm not expecting to find the answers in TTR's papers. It'll take years of work to flesh them out. But if I'm wrong, well, I'm working for Professor Blake. He'll expect a full report. I could call special attention to any relevant information in my report which would certainly get back to your father.'
My attitude seemed to put her at ease. She'd apparently been uneasy about what I might do, knowing how potentially explosive the secret was.
We fished in the long twilight after our ride and afterwards I had her over for tea before walking her home in the flickering twilight of the Maig Glen storm. Given my emotional turmoil of the night before, all of this may sound like playing with fire, but I was determined not to let those romantic fantasies take on any physical form. I'd treat her exactly like I had been. Yes, it was playing with fire.
Tuesday we rode as usual, occasionally stopping to talk to the estate hands we'd meet. She knows everyone by name and I'm coming to know them as well, greeting them when I see them around. And afterwards we fished until it grew too dark.
03
On Wednesday evening we headed east for a change of pace, following the Lonon river towards Maryfield without saying much. Nesta had little to say since she was reviewing her clinic appointments in her head and I, having spent my day poring over TTR's papers, and weeding the co-op garden for a couple of hours, had little to say as well.
Passing through Maryfield, we turned north following the main road, crossing the Lonon and riding past the road to Strayfeller before Nesta turned off on a rather overgrown lane. I'd a vague notion of where she was leading us – we'd be arriving back at Glen Lonon from the north, crossing the Lonon at Little Lonon. We rode side by side separated by a tall grass strip between the wheel tracks, passing abandoned cottages and a few isolated farms with barking dogs, until we left little Loch Arnhil behind. Here the lane all but disappeared under the tall grass that arched over the faint wheel tracks. Following this rarely used cart path, we looked to be riding though knee high grass until we entered a dark pine forest and the grass was replaced by a carpet of fallen pine needles. It was dark under the pines, as the sky had been growing overcast. Not threatening, yet, but it held the promise of rain.
The path followed the foot of a steep hillside – little more than a long, narrow clearing between the pines towering over it. Shafts of light filtered down through the canopy highlighting the fallen branches and brambles of the steep forest floor, plus the occasional stands of poplars in the small meadows where the pines had died or fallen. Once more I felt the wild touch of nature freed from the shackles of mankind. Once again I realized how quickly nature could forget us.
'Not much of a road,' I said. 'Are you sure it'll get us home?'
'Oh yes. No one lives along it between Arnhil and Little Lonon so it's rarely used. Still we come this way when out riding. In fact, the clan rode this way earlier in the summer – the day I begged off, as you recall. So you needn't worry,' she added with a laugh. 'We just have to follow it and it'll take us home.'
'If we can follow it,' I said, and added, 'I thought these pines were planted to be harvested at some point.'
'Aye, they were, but the Storms altered those plans. There's not much call for pulp these days, and on our land we don't harvest the forests because Mother preferred the deep green of the forests over the bare heather covered hills. It's not like we need what little money the wood would bring in at the moment,' she replied.
'They're spooky,' I said, looking about.
'They're untamed, that's all,' she replied. 'Not unfriendly.'
I decided not to argue the point.
We'd ridden for about ten minutes in the forest, when Nesta swerved closer and touched my arm.
I glanced at her and she put her finger to her lips and slowing down, pointed ahead alon
g the lane. Between the trees around a bend, I saw a number of soft lights slowly moving down from the hill.
As we slowed to a stop Nesta whispered, 'Your Riders. If we are very careful and very quiet, we might catch a clear view of them.'
I nodded. We silently dismounted and laid our bikes down carefully, and started walking along the edge of the pine needle cushioned lane, keeping close to the bracken and bramble that lined it. Nesta, no stranger to these woods and stalking, made each step very carefully, and I made certain to step exactly where she had, and only after she directed me to move with a motion of her hand. Eventually we stopped behind an old fallen pine at the edge of the lane where we could see through the remaining trees into a clearing made by a small burn. The deer were slowly making their way down to the unseen Lonon river. We were downwind and silent enough not to have spooked them. Still, they seemed wary, looking up and peering about, ears twitching. St Elmo's fires danced at the tips the of the bucks’ antlers, a ghostly glow against the darkness of the forest behind them. I counted five antlered deer, and perhaps as many as twenty hinds, drifting silently through the rocky clearing. Even without the bucks' glowing crowns, it made for a magical scene.
We crouched behind the old tree, watching them for perhaps five minutes while they slowly meandered down, and then, perhaps catching sight of us, were off in an instant in long lopping leaps, to disappear into the darkness of the deep woods.
'Now tell me they're not Riders from the Otherworld,' said Nesta turning to me.
I shook my head. 'No, I've given up on even trying to explain the things that happen in Glen Lonon. I'm willing to settle for just calling it magic.'
She smiled and we returned for our bikes.
We could hear the low rumble of thunder even before we emerged from the woods to find the Lonon flowing on our left. The lightning was still beyond the wooded hills that sheltered Glen Lonon, but it looked to be a close run thing.
'There's a powerhouse we can take cover in ahead, but I think we can make your cottage if we try,' she said.
'Then let's try,' I said as we picked up speed.
The track followed the Lonon's north bank, past a brick powerhouse and then across the iron bridge by Little Lonon. The clouds were now rolling overhead laced with lightning, much like the evening of my arrival. Thunder echoed in the glen, but the sharp lightning still seemed beyond the trees as we crossed the cattle grid and raced across the horse paddock towards the stables and the Groom's Cottage beyond. Out of breath, we pulled up as the first of the big rain drops started to crater the dust of the lane.
'That was... close,' said Nesta between breaths as we wheeled our bikes into the cottage and parked them behind the settee.
'Couldn't have cut it... finer... if we tried,' I admitted, adding, 'Tea!'
Light strobed through the dim cottage followed almost immediately by a splitting crack.
I glanced back at Nesta, flushed and rather wild looking after the wild ride. She grinned. I must confess that my heart may've skipped a beat.
04
Thursday afternoon there was a shadow and a knock on the screen door. Looking up from my work at the desk, I found Renny framed in the doorway.
'Hello Lonsdale, come in,' I called out, pushing my chair away from the desk and standing.
'Greeting, Say,' he said cheerfully stepping in. 'Sorry to take you away from your work, but I've come to break a leg or an arm or was it your head? Something, anyway. She was pretty insistent I break something of yours. Orders from Flora, you know.'
'You're welcome to take me from my work, but why does Flora want an arm or a leg broken?' I asked as we shook hands.
'Oh, she's just looking after my interest in Nessie – she claims. Accosted me as soon as I pulled in, warning me about a snake in the grass called Say who was hanging about my fiancée all the time. She insisted I come down and have a long talk with you, and well, break something, just to get through to you. Rather than have her nagging me, I decided to come down directly and have a chat. I wanted to thank you anyway for looking after my Nessie. Killing two birds with one stone.'
'I'm certainly glad you don't take Flora's concerns seriously. I know Flora's eager to wed Ham and sees yours and Nesta's wedding as an essential first step, but she does take our bike rides and fishing all too seriously,' I said, adding, 'Can I offer you something? A beer, ginger beer, or a cup of tea?'
'You know; a beer would go down fine. I've had a long drive and Flora gave me no time to get comfortable.'
We settled on the bench outside my door, cool in the shade of the cottage with our beers.
'Nessie has forbidden me to mention this to you – she was afraid you'd either see it as a betrayal in telling me or you'd get very embarrassed, but I can't let it go unmentioned. I want to thank you for what you did for my Nessie last Sunday. Can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate it, and well, you're a member of the Lonons as far as we're concerned,' he said earnestly.
'I feel horrible for initiating the whole affair. I'm just thankful it didn't turn into a tragedy. It was a close run affair,' I admitted. 'I get scared just thinking about it.'
'Enough said,' said Renny with a nod and then taking a sip of his beer, 'Still, I'm glad you had a chance to see the gate in action. What do you think?'
'I think your gang's surmises about the energy being collected from the atmosphere and stored – in some way I can't imagine – within the lab or surrounding area and then discharged seems most likely, but the problem is, as I'm sure you realize, that it's not an explanation as to how it's done. It doesn't help that I don't have access to the info-net here, so I've not been able to do any special research on it.'
'And your reading hasn't helped either?' he asked with a glance.
'Ah, well officially I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't really want to give Lord Learmonte any grounds for a lawsuit, but that said, I've read nothing anywhere that can explain what's going on. But I haven't yet reached the heart of the matter. I'm hopeful that the answers will be found, though it may take years. You and Nesta may well have to deal the phenomena.'
'If need be. Enough said. I gather Uncle Ian is not too keen on you.'
'We're certainly not kindred spirits, though he seems to have taken a greater dislike of me than simply not liking me or my attitude would seem to warrant.'
'Oh, for the same reason Flora wants your legs broken. You're too close to Nessie.'
'But you're not upset?'
He shook his head. 'We love each other, Say. Unfortunately, from the point of view of Lord Learmonte, Flora, and my dear father, more like brother and sister than lovers. Not that it matters to them. Marriage is all that matters.'
'Why?' I asked. 'If I'm not being too personal, that is. I gather Flora's afraid Nesta's still in love with Ham, though she denies she ever was, but why would Learmonte care about who Nesta marries?
'For Learmonte and my father, it's part business and part, well, we're not quite sure. Growing up, our parents expected Flora and I to get married. Nessie was to marry Ham, but that seemed on a whole different plane than Flora and I. With Nessie and Ham, it was two lifelong friends thinking how cool it would be if their children fell in love and got married. With Flora and I, it almost seemed as an arranged marriage,' he paused and took another sip of beer.
'Why, why an arranged marriage?'
'That, Say, is the great mystery. We pondered it the entire time we were growing up, and as near as we can make it out, it was a way of making reparations... I can give you the short version, if you're curious.'
'I am, but it really isn't my business.'
'Oh, you're caught up in the gears, so you might as well have the full brief. There are two distinct reasons why Nessie and I have to get married. One, as I said, reparations, and secondly for business. The first may be largely sentimental, but the second is cold hard business, and two old pirates like Learmonte and my father aren't going to let Nessie and I slide out of their plans.
'The first thing you need to understand is that my father and Learmonte go way back, friends from childhood. And they want to die friends from childhood. There was a third friend involved in this, Ron Dalgleish, Nessie's mother's late brother.
'When the storms hit, Ian Mackenzie, as he was known then, and his father were in America on a sales trip, and Mr and Mrs Dalgleish were on a missionary trip to Africa, leaving their children in the care of Ron and an elderly aunt. Emily was 14 at the time. When things got rather dicey, my father retreated to the family estate in Oxfordshire, and he took his friend Ron with him, along with his brothers, sisters and aunt. Ron died during the first influenza pandemic, but my father continued to look after all of them. So much is history.
'Now we delve into pure speculation. We – the clan – believe that my father fell in love with Emily, Nessie's mother. Quite frankly, everyone who knew her, did. She was simply one of the most remarkable persons you'd ever meet. She was pretty, cheerful, very kind, level headed, imaginative, and had a strange power of intuitive understanding and getting along with all sorts of people. She was everyone's best friend – and somehow could be without making anyone jealous. She just had a way about her. She was wonderful. So he fell in love with her. But he was almost ten years older, and though you wouldn't guess it from the industrial tycoon he became, very shy around women, so he likely just waited for Emily to grow up and fall in love with him. Really, it would've been in poor taste for him to push the relationship, since he had been supporting her and her family for five years. I'm certain he'd not have wanted her to think she owed him anything for that, making the marriage the price to be paid for all those years of supporting her family. That, anyway is how we see it. It's just our guess, the people involved have kept their secrets.
'Anyway, Ian Mackenzie, after an amazing series of adventures, made his way home five years after the start of the Storms and Emily Dalgleish falls madly in love with him, dashing my father's long cherished hopes. Now, if it was anyone other than Emily Dalgleish, that would likely have dashed Learmonte and my father's friendship as well. But, Aunt Emily, being Emily, kept them friends, and indeed when my father married my mother two years later, my mother became Aunt Emily's closest friend as well. My sister and I grew up more in Aunt Emily's house than our own, even before my mother, whose health had suffered during the Storm Years, died when I was nine. And after she died, Aunt Emily took us in and raised us as her own.
'Now what we think is that one of Aunt Emily's daughters marrying me is a way to make amends for breaking my father's heart way back when. It always seemed more than just the idle talk of two sets of parents. It was like a promise to be kept. And that is the first reason Nessie and I are expected to marry – now that that young snip of a girl Flora has thrown me over for Ham. It was Aunt Emily's dying wish, and I could not refuse her anything. Nor could her daughter.
'The second reason is more, well, practical. Both NuEnG and good ol'Advanced Nano Electronics will soon be reaching the age when the employees will've earned controlling interest in the firms. In the next three years, in fact. Neither my father nor Learmonte are ready to give up the reins just yet, so they've hatched this plan of spinning off several of the newer components of their companies and combining them into a single new company. Since employee ownership is based on the age of the enterprise, by spinning off selected parts, the new company would not slip into employee ownership for something like seven or eight more years, while the remaining parts of each would become employee owned right after the younger divisions were spun out.
'Is there anything in this plan that strikes you iffy?' he asked.
I thought a moment and then asked, 'Who is going to run the new company?'
'Exactly! Which of the old pirates is going to be the chief pirate and who's going to have to play his faithful lieutenant? Both of them wish to remain friends, but having spent their lives running their own show, who's going to step back?'
'But what does that have to do with you and Nesta?'
'Everything. You see, they feel that if they were running the company for their grandchild – and that grandchild was one and the same for both of them – they could put their egos aside and work together, even if it meant one would take the lead. Of course, for this to happen, Nessie and I have to supply the grandchild. So you see, they're under a deadline to spin out the company – they'd need to start the process in the next 18 months or so, and they need a grandkid, hence the pressure to marry.
'Nessie gets badgered every weekend. My father is better in that regards, but he holds my continued employment in the family firm over my head. He's make it quite clear that if I wish to continue working for AN-E, I'd best produce a grandchild that'll inherit the Learmonte title. Sir Richard Lonsdale would very much like to see his offspring with a title, even if it's a Scottish one.
'Mind you, I don't think I need to work in the family firm. I hired a friend from uni, who's a genius in manufacturing engineering, and between the two of us, we're getting the old firm to hum a new tune. Bill does most of the manufacturing design, and I use my engineering degree in sales and service. Gabbing with people is more in my line, especially since I can talk to the engineers and follow what they're saying and what they want in a product or service.
'So, with another year or so under my belt, I think I can go anywhere in manufacturing and land a good job on the basis of what Bill and I have done at AN-E. I might be able to do it now, but this year should show even better results than my first, so I'd like to stick it out. Of course, if Nesta and I get married, it won't matter, but we still have to work through that brother and sister feeling we have for each other. And well, we both have busy lives as well...' he paused to take long sip of his beer.
I couldn't think of anything to say.
'And here's the kicker, the law in Scotland says that a minor cannot lose his or her interest in a firm to employee ownership, until they reach their majority. The old pirates think that if they make the poor offspring of Nessie and I the owner of the newly spun off firm, they would have another 21 years to run it. Whether they could get away with that, I'll leave to your imagination. But they'll try, and who knows what two of the richest industrialists, one a peer of the Scottish Realm, can pull off?'
'I haven't met your father, but from my experiences with Lord Learmonte, I wonder how anyone could work as an equal with him, heir or no heir to look after. But then, I gather he wasn't always the way he is now, and perhaps he'll change again over time and with a grandchild...' I ventured.
'That's still to be determined. Neither Nessie nor I are in a hurry to set a date, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it...'
We went on to talk about other matters, mutual friends and acquaintances, and in a general way, the research I hoped to soon be doing until Willie and Watt bounded up to greet us.
'Oh, my' muttered Renny.
Looking up I spied Flora, fists on hips staring at us from under her wide brimmed bonnet.
'You better not be able to walk, Say,' she said as she strode towards us. 'I told you to break his legs, not get him drunk.'
'Sorry, Flora, my dear. I was just getting around to that part,' said Renny, standing up.
I stood up as well.
'Ha!' exclaimed Flora. 'I always knew you were a bendy blade of grass when it comes to rough work. Never mind, I'll get Ham to do the job. Ham will do the job with hobnailed boots on... And don't you say a word, Say, or I'll change my order from a leg to your neck.'
'A leg will be fine,' I said.
'You bet it will,' she replied fiercely as Nesta's ULV estate wagon pulled up in front of the cottage.
'I see my dear fiancée has arrived, so I'll let you two make final arrangements for Say's leg to be broken. Thanks for the beer, Say. Good luck!' And with a nod to Flora and myself, he made his escape, the dogs running ahead to greet Nesta.
Nesta climbed out of the car, but contented herself with a wave to Flora and I, before greeting Renny with a
kiss.
I turned to Flora. 'You know, Flora, you're worrying about nothing. You're not being logical. Why should you care who Nesta marries, if you think she must? Really, with Renny and Nesta's wedding hanging fire, you should be looking for alternatives.'
'You're just trying to scare me now, aren't you?' she replied.
'I'm merely pointing out to you that based on your ungrounded fears, any port in a storm should be your attitude.'
'Father would disown Nesta if she married the likes of you, Say. The most you could likely do is to break up her and Renny, leaving her a bitter old maid looking wishfully on my happily married life,' she shot back, at least half seriously.
'I agree that marrying me is out of the question, but I must say that in talking to both of them, it's hard to imagine them getting married, at least any time soon.'
'Oh, you're just being cruel now!' she exclaimed in mock anger.
'You know as well as I that's the case,' I relied.
'Perhaps I do. But I also know it would be good for them, and it would work. Renny has his faults. He's useless when it comes to breaking legs, but he has many sterling characteristics as well. And he does love Nesta, and she him. They just need to be given a little shove, that's all.'
I shook my head. 'Seriously, Flora. I think you're making your sister's life rather hard. And I suspect she's just stubborn enough not to give in.'
'Oh, she always gives in, in the end,' replied Flora with a triumphant grin. 'Good afternoon, Say.' And marched off.
And that pretty much brings this account up to date, save to report my progress on the project that brought me here. I don't suppose I can be more complete and concise than the note I left for Lord Learmonte, so I'll just attach it below.
05
19 July
Dear Lord Learmonte,
Sorry I'm not here to report in person, but with so many guests arriving, I felt it best to spend the weekend elsewhere.
This week I completed the transcription of the handwritten notebooks and the handwritten parts of the printed/copied papers.
The notebooks appear to be jotted down memorandums, out of context and at this point of no immediate value. Perhaps when I get deeper into the handwritten pages, I will be able to use these notes to supplement or extend missing parts. We'll see.
As for the general introduction, or theoretical basis of his work, I was able to use the handwritten notes to better arrange the pages. The actual import of those pages remains obscure. Your grandfather, being an engineer rather than a physicist, either uses terms of his own or adopts and uses a physicist's terms in unorthodox ways. I'm certain that with a close reading of the pages and his notes, and upon reflection, the full meaning of his explanation will become evident. However, as you've made clear, that's not my job, so I've not spent time pondering these mysteries. I can only paint a broad picture based on a superficial reading of his paper.
It appears that he largely adopted an obscure virtual universe theory proposed by a British physicist by the name of Hugh Gallagher. Simply stated, Gallagher's theory proposes that the elementary particles in physics' standard model do not actually exist. They are, in fact, bits of code that describe certain actions, that when combined with other bits of code, it describes the known actions of sub atomic particles, atoms, and so on up to the universe from its beginning to its end.
What I believe attracted your grandfather to this theory is that it proposes that the universe is fixed, unmoving, complete. Any apparent movement is due to the fact that the past is far more readily apparent than the future, and this asymmetrical memory if you will, creates the illusion that things are in motion. And to be more specific, Gallagher asserts that a photon from a distant star striking a sensor in a camera, has not, in fact, travelled from the star to the sensor, rather the code, or program that constructed the universe, simply programmed that photon to appear on the sensor with all the appropriate modifications due to red shift, gravity lens, and such, which suggests time and distances to the observer when in fact, space and time are virtual, created by the program and code that takes up neither space nor time.
You may be getting an inkling of what I think your grandfather attempted to do. He hoped to take a substance that transmitted electrons one atom to the next in line, entangle or program two atoms in line in such a way that when separated, the two atoms still pass along the electron, no matter how far apart the two entangled atoms are because that's what they were programmed to do and thus maintains a circuit capable of carrying electrical energy without a physical connection over unlimited distance.
Most of this is out of my field of study, and to be honest, it sounds more science fiction than science. Gallagher's theory, as far as I know, did not make a dent in our current understand of the physics. That your grandfather apparently built a working model using this theory, means that it might bear closer examination. But that's for others after me to ponder.
A. Say, Ph.D.
