by Alex Scarrow
‘Can I trust you, Joseph?’
Joseph Olivera lurched. That question came right out of nowhere and caught him entirely off guard. Waldstein was standing beside him in the lab, seemingly emerging from thin air.
‘Wh-what? Yes! Of… of course, Mr Waldstein.’
A long, uncomfortable moment.
‘I’m so very sorry about what happened to Frasier. He was the closest thing to a friend I have.’ He shrugged. ‘ Had.’ He sighed. ‘God, I’ve known him for nearly ten years.’
Joseph swallowed compulsively. He had the suspicion that an aura of guilt was glowing around him: a scintillating sparkle of betrayal giving away his secret intentions to Waldstein’s deep penetrative gaze.
‘The argument the other day… I’m sorry you had to see that. That was unfortunate. I wish Frasier and I hadn’t fought like that. I…’ Waldstein looked away. ‘And I truly wish that hadn’t been the last time we spoke.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But he had doubts, Joseph. Doubts about this project. Even if that awful attack on the road hadn’t happened to him, he would have had to leave us.’
Joseph nodded.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking it would be a sensible precaution to deposit some more pre-growth embryos back in the San Francisco drop point.’ Waldstein nodded to himself. ‘Yes, we should arrange that. As soon as is possible. Get some ready to transport.’
‘Go back there? Again? Are you sure?’
‘I know, Joseph. It’s risky. But I suspect they’re going to get through more support units than I originally anticipated. You know… when we were setting up the 2001 team, I was half convinced they’d never actually be needed — that they’d be just sitting there kicking their heels. That I was overreacting, being paranoid. Worrying too much about other time travellers out there wanting to destabilize our timeline!’ He shook his head. ‘I realize now maybe I wasn’t paranoid enough!’
‘Yes, sir.’ Joseph checked their inventory on the holo-screen in front of him. There were two dozen embryos on ice: part of the batch being readied for the US military’s field-testing programme. ‘How many would you want me to prepare?’
‘Let’s give them half a dozen. Maybe send them some of both types of hybrid; the heavy-duty model and the female recon model. Might as well give them a few of each.’
Listed on the screen were the other clones, who were nothing at all to do with the US military. ‘What about the pure-clone models? The Madelaines, Liams… the Saleenas?’
Waldstein gave it a moment’s thought. ‘No… if we send back pre-growths of themselves they’ll know what they are. We were very lucky with that first team. Very lucky that the Liam unit played along with us and kept the new team from finding out what they are.’
‘It’s part of his programming. He’s loyal. Duty oriented. That’s his personality template.’
‘But even with your programming, Joseph, they’re not a hundred per cent reliable, are they?’
Joseph shrugged. ‘They have the capacity for independent will. That’s what makes them better — ’
‘- tactical decision-makers, I know. But when all’s said and done, unlike the military hybrids, those three are just like real people, aren’t they? They’re like real kids. If they ever found out they were products? Good God, who knows what they’d do?’ Waldstein sighed. ‘I do sometimes wonder if what we’ve done is… a cruel thing: created three children who-never-were and then gave them this sort of burden. If that was me,’ he said, smiling sadly, ‘if I discovered that was my lot, I think I would almost certainly turn on my maker.’
Joseph nodded.
‘No, they’ll have to be on their own. We can’t send back pure-clone embryos. If it happens again — if another one of them dies…’ Waldstein shrugged. ‘Then I’m afraid they’ll have to work around that problem.’ He sighed. ‘There’s only so much we can do for them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So, if you could organize that? Prep some embryos and ready them for transport?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Waldstein looked out of the lab’s small window, a long moment of deliberation before he finally spoke again. ‘And I’ll take them back myself. But this has to be the last time we go back to assist them with supplies. The last time I go back. It’s getting too damned dangerous.’
Joseph looked at him. ‘Perhaps…?’
‘What?’
Be very careful, Joseph.
‘P-perhaps… this project has already become too dangerous, Mr Waldstein?’
The old man stared at him for a moment. Joseph wondered what thoughts were thrashing around behind those intense eyes. He struggled to keep his composure. ‘I… I just wonder if things have become — ’
‘We don’t have much of a choice in the matter. This has to work. You understand that, don’t you?’
Joseph could hardly meet his eyes. ‘But…’
‘There are no buts, Joseph. We’re the first and the last line of defence. Do you understand? Do you honestly think we’re the only people in the world right now with viable time-travel technology? I’m not a fool. Yes, there’s a law now: ILA Ruling 234. A draconian law. But I’m not naive enough to think there aren’t people out there quietly working on time travel all the same.’
‘Yes, Mr Waldstein.’
He leaned over and squeezed Joseph’s shoulder affectionately. ‘You’ve seen for yourself what our team in the past have narrowly prevented.’
Joseph looked at the small window. Outside that window, beyond the reach of their laboratory stasis field, he’d witnessed a time wave arrive and leave behind it an irradiated wasteland. Just for a few minutes it had been there — a hellish landscape — then washed away by another wave moments later.
‘I know this isn’t an ideal world — ’ Waldstein laughed drily at that understatement — ‘but there are an infinite number of possibilities far worse.’ Waldstein squeezed his shoulder again. ‘Trust me. Just stay the course. You’re a good man, Joseph. I know I can trust you. I know that.’
‘Th-thank you, sir.’
He got up off the stool and stepped away. Other matters appeared to be on his mind. ‘I have a damned meeting I need to attend in Denver tomorrow. W.G. Systems’ investors, some of our major clients. I could do without that right now, but…’ He sighed. ‘It’s one I really do have to be at.’ Waldstein looked harried, stretched, like plastic wrap over the hard corners of a box, pulled taut to the point of ripping.
‘I know things have been difficult recently, Joseph. I… I wish Frasier was here with us still. It’s… well, what happened to him was horrible. I suppose it’s a sign of these awful times. You know, I sometimes think we deserve this hopeless world. All our mistakes have finally come home to roost, haven’t they?’
Joseph nodded, and Waldstein looked like his train of thought was heading off in some other direction. ‘Just you and me running this project now.’
‘Yes, Mr Waldstein.’
‘We need to keep things going. To keep things on track. All the hard work’s been done now. All we need to do now is just make sure our team can continue doing their job. I’m sure they’ll be fine back there.’ He smiled. ‘They’re good kids. I’m so proud of them. And you too, Joseph. They’re as much your creations as they are anyone else’s.’
‘Thank you.’
Waldstein nodded and turned to go.
‘Mr Waldstein?’
‘Yes?’
‘When will you want the embryos ready by?’
He sucked in a breath. ‘I hate doing this, you know? Having to step into that white mist. Knowing that it’s killing me cell by cell. Knowing that every time we open a goddamn portal we’re broadcasting our presence to those who might be looking for it.’
‘That worries me too, Mr Waldstein.’
‘And this, then, will have to be the last time. They’re on their own after this.’ Waldstein sighed. ‘Have the embryos good to go for this evening, will you? Let’s get it don
e and out of the way.’ He nodded to himself. ‘This evening.’
‘I will have them ready.’
‘Thank you. And after that… hopefully the Saleena unit will be ready to drop back in Brooklyn?’
‘She’ll need another thirteen hours, I think, to full growth. Then I’ll need a few hours to upload and configure her new memory.’
‘Fine, as soon as she’s ready get her sent back. You’ll be OK doing that on your own?’
‘Of… of course, Mr Waldstein.’ Joseph tapped his h-pad. ‘I have the insertion data-stamp as we discussed: outside the archway, directly after the 1941 corrective wave. I have it all ready.’
Waldstein nodded. ‘Of course.’ He sighed, trying a weary morale-raising smile. ‘Then that’ll be all our messy housekeeping done. Back on an even keel, as I think the saying goes.’
Joseph watched Waldstein go. Then, finally alone in the lab, he took in a deep breath and let it out.
Jesus.
He recalled a couple of things Waldstein had said. Things that had echoed what Griggs had been fixating on.
We deserve this hopeless world? We need to keep things on track?
Frasier Griggs was right. He was certain of it now. Quite certain that beneath his carefully orchestrated enigmatic composure, withstanding his publicly declared ambition to save mankind from itself — Waldstein had quietly gone insane. The man seemed utterly intent on steering the ship on to the rocks, not away from them. Intent on steering mankind towards its own demise.
Pandora.
Joseph realized it was all down to one person. Himself. Griggs had been foolish and confronted Waldstein directly. Now he was dead. Perhaps he could smuggle a warning to the team, just something to alert them to whatever this ‘Pandora’ was that Waldstein was attempting to preserve. Something discreet. A note. Something.
It’s just me now. I’ve got to do more than that.
He looked once again at the message from the past. The Liam-now-Foster unit had ordered a replacement Saleena like someone might dial up a pizza. The unit did his job diligently, loyally — just like he was programmed to do.
Saleena Vikram.
Olivera had an idea. Another way that he could attempt to derail this project. Something he could do, something subtle enough that it could be sneaked past Waldstein’s ever-watchful eyes. A deliberate, conspicuous continuity error in Sal’s memory line. Enough of a jarring continuity error that she’d end up picking at it like a scab, worrying away at it until she’d finally worked out what it meant. Now that was something Waldstein might not spot — some small additional memory embedded in her mind, a detail not quite right. A detail that was quite impossible to be true. And it would trouble her. Make her question things.
He’d been thinking about that last night as he’d sat alone in this lab, while trying to catch a few hours’ sleep on the metal-framed cot in the corner. While he’d been watching her grow in the tube, the faint outline of a child’s body floating in a glowing amber soup.
Then he had it. It came to him.
A certain blue bear that he recalled seeing in the dusty window of an antique shop back in 2001. Not too far from the archway, as it happened. Close enough, in fact, that she was bound to stumble across it sooner or later. See it with her own eyes and then wonder how it was possible that she’d recall seeing it tumbling over and over in an inferno in Mumbai, in the year 2026
Chapter 34
13 September 2011, Interstate 90, Newton, Massachusetts
‘But that’s completely bleedin’ crazy!’ said Liam. ‘You’re saying… what? That I’m a…’
‘A meatbot, Liam. You, me and Sal — we’re just weedier, nerdier models of Bob and Becks,’ said Maddy with a bitter tone.
Liam laughed a little maniacally. ‘Aw, come on! That’s a corker, that is! There’s no way at all that I’m — ’
‘Think about it, Liam. Think about it!’
‘I don’t need to think about! I’m Liam!’
Maddy got up and took a step forward. ‘I was never on an airplane from New York to Boston. A plane that supposedly blew up,’ she said. ‘And you, Liam, you were never on the Titanic and Sal was never living in 2026 in Mumbai. They’re all just made-up memories.’
‘ Made-up? ’ Liam frowned. He had a mind full of memories. His family and friends, Cork, his school, leaving home for Liverpool because what he really always wanted to do was to work his way on to a boat and get to see the world. But then… cross-examining those memories — and he’d done that several times over the last few months — there’d always seemed to be troublesome gaps, missing bits. He’d put that down to all that had happened to him recently — a lifetime’s worth of traumas and adventures that he’d struggled to survive through over the last few months. Who wouldn’t forget something like their mother’s maiden name after all of that? Right?
But it was more than that, wasn’t it?
‘I can remember a whole life before this, so I can. A whole bleedin’ life! ’
‘Yeah? Really?’
‘Aye.’ Liam nodded vigorously. ‘Of course I can!’
‘OK then… so how did you get the job as a steward aboard the Titanic?’ There was a challenging tone in her voice, a come-on-then-genius tone. It sounded almost spiteful.
‘Well, I…’ Liam shrugged, expecting the memory to come along at his will. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Had he just walked aboard and asked for a job? Had it been that easy? He reached further into his mind, assuming, hoping, this was just a mental blip — going blank because she was pressuring him, goading him. He tried to rewind his mind. The night the ship went down, the screaming, the panic. He recalled a gentleman calmly drinking cognac in the reading room, preferring drunken oblivion to drowning soberly. A girl left to die with him because she was in a wheelchair. He recalled an hour earlier, the ship jolting in the night, crockery lurching off dining tables and smashing on the floor.
Further still. He recalled the day before. A normal day as a ship’s steward. The routine: up at five, cabin-service breakfasts for those that had ordered it. Cleaning the rooms during the morning. Filling in as a waiter for the midday meal and the evening meal. Then cabin-service teas and suppers served until ten in the evening, then collapsing wearily into his bunk in a small cabin shared with three other men. A typical steward’s day.
Then back further.
But nothing. It was like the blackness after the end titles of a movie. Void. White noise. Nothing.
‘I…’ His mouth hung open until finally it snapped shut with a wet clup.
‘I’m so sorry, Liam,’ whispered Maddy. ‘So sorry.’
‘No! Wait! What about me parents! My family! I remember them!’
‘Go on then, Liam. Tell me about them.’
‘Me ma, me da… they were…’ He closed his eyes. But he could manage to conjure up only one decent mental image of them. Just one. And that was a photograph. Just one faded, sepia-coloured image.
‘What about your home? You said it was Cork, wasn’t it?’
Cork in Ireland. Could he even recall whereabouts they lived in that city? No, not really. He just knew the name. He could conjure up no more than a couple of images of the place — the docks, St Fin Barre’s Cathedral, St Patrick’s Street — and that was about it. Again, almost as if they were mere photographs pulled from some photo archive somewhere.
‘Ah… Jay-zus…’ he whispered.
‘It’s just the same for me,’ said Maddy softly. She sat down beside him. ‘Bits and pieces. Like somebody just googled up a whole bunch of pictures, music, films, news, clothes, computer games, TV shows from the year 2010 and made me out of all of that.’ She wiped a tear off her cheek. ‘You know what my mind is? It’s the search results you get back if you do a “things you might find in the year 2010” search on whatever passes for the Internet…’ She shrugged. ‘From whatever frikkin’ year we actually come from.’
‘Do you think we’ve got computers in our heads too?’ asked Sal.
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‘Maybe I’ll stick my head in an X-ray machine sometime and find out,’ Maddy replied, wiping a snotty nose. She laughed. ‘Maybe not. Last thing I want to know is that there’s nothing in my skull but a rat’s brain linked to a sim card.’ She looked apologetically at Bob. ‘No offence.’
Bob shrugged. ‘I cannot be offended.’
‘And the difference is that we can,’ said Maddy, finding a hint of a smile. ‘So maybe we’re different somehow. Clones, but maybe we’re more human or something.’
Sal nodded. She was looking down at her hands in her lap. ‘I just… I just can’t believe we never worked this out. I mean…’ She looked up at them. ‘When we woke up in the archway, how come none of us thought to ask why we didn’t see a portal when we were recruited?’
‘Exactly.’ Maddy got to her feet. ‘So why didn’t they put a portal memory into our heads? Why make that mistake?’
‘Perhaps…’ Rashim cut in, clearing his throat. ‘Perhaps they hadn’t yet perfected the portal system while they were writing your memories?’
The others looked at him accusingly. ‘Thanks for your input, human!’ snapped Sal.
He raised his hands apologetically. ‘Just saying.’
‘No.’ Maddy shook her head. ‘Rashim’s right. Maybe that’s why they, he, Waldstein… whoever made us was still putting it all together. Maybe they were doing it in a hurry. I guess if we all think hard, we’d find other little errors in there.’
‘My blue bear,’ whispered Sal to herself. She addressed the others. ‘I remembered a bear, a soft toy, in Mumbai… but it was exactly the same bear in the window of that shop in Brooklyn.’ She shook her head. ‘Someone… someone who made us must have seen it in the window, and thought it would make a nice little detail to put into my… life.’ Her voice hitched. ‘Nice touch,’ she hissed.
The room was quiet for a while, the three of them silently trawling through their minds, sorting memories into piles of true and false — sorting them into before and after their recruitment.
Finally Liam spoke. ‘I get it now.’
He looked at Bob, arms crossed and eyes lost in the shadow of a neolithic brow, and Becks sitting beside him slight and wraithlike, with wide, vacant, dumb-animal eyes.
