by Mark Anson
‘Okay.’ Clare turned and was just about to set foot on the ladder back up to the Mesa, when there was a heavy clunk from below, and the release handle swung round. The hatch leading to the memory deck opened, and Mordecai climbed up slowly until he stood on the deck. He turned to face both of them.
‘Captain.’ His deep voice resonated in the circular lounge deck. He put on an apologetic expression. ‘The intercom circuit was open, and I couldn’t help overhear what you and your lieutenant were saying. Please forgive me.’
Clare’s face hardened, but inside, she was thinking quickly. How much had he overheard?
He spread his hands, and sighed. ‘I have not been communicating with you as well as I should have, and I see now that this has caused some issues with trust. If you would allow me, I would like to try to show you something.’ He gestured down, towards the memory deck. He hesitated for a moment, then added: ‘Please … prepare yourselves for some things that you may find difficult to accept.’
Clare and Collins exchanged glances. Collins shrugged fractionally.
‘Very well, doctor, we’ll listen.’ Care’s tone was noncommittal.
‘Thank you, captain. If you’ll both follow me.’ He led the way back down into the memory deck, and beckoned them over to the couch in the middle of the room. He picked up the drawing lying there, and looked at Collins. ‘Lieutenant, I must congratulate you. I had not appreciated the significance of the stars in the drawing. This all begins to make a lot more sense now.’
Collins shrugged. ‘All what? You’ve told us nothing.’
‘I ask your patience. Some of this is – difficult to explain.’
‘We’re waiting, doctor.’ Clare wasn’t in the mood for any more of Mordecai’s reticence.
‘Very well.’ He looked down, and there was a long pause. He seemed to be having difficulty framing his next words. ‘I am afraid I owe you and your executive officer an apology. I have not been entirely truthful over the maturity of the hibernation technology aboard the Ulysses. Your recent discoveries have – highlighted the need for complete candour.’
He waved his hand round the room, around the curve of memory banks. ‘As I have already related, the technology we used to help extend hibernation relied on storing an individual’s memory engrams. The equipment you see in front of you does that by making a detailed record of the brain state, almost down to a quantum level. The amount of memory required to store this is stupendous. Our laboratory tests used equipment that occupied a whole room, just for one individual; there was no way we could shrink this down to the size needed to fit into a spacecraft, even using the technology that you see here. We were in danger of missing the launch opportunity for the Saturn mission.
‘We had to resort to more extreme measures to find some way to reduce the amount of memory needed. We went back to an earlier method that we had previously abandoned, to compress the memory engrams. I need to explain how this works, so that you can understand.
‘You may think that each of our memories are unique and distinct, and so they are. All three of us have led completely separate lives, and the memories and experiences that have shaped us are our own. However, large tracts of memory are very similar between us. For instance, early memories of childhood have many common features, with only a few key differences. We may all remember the first time we rode a bike, for instance. My bike might have been red, yours might have been blue. I might have ridden for ten metres and then fallen over; you might have managed to get further. But a surprisingly large amount of the experience and the emotions that make the complete memory is similar between us.
‘I have used a simple example to illustrate the point, but much of our long-term memory is like this. It is surprising to discover that our memories can have so many common elements; a typical thirty-year-old, for instance, has more than half of his memories in common with another individual of the same age. Our memories are driven by our learning processes, and these are remarkably common across individuals.
‘We found we could reduce the enormous storage that would otherwise be required for the memories of an entire crew, by storing common features together, and just recording the differences that existed between individuals. What you see in front of you, in these memory banks, reflects that. The common memory is stored over there –’ he indicated an unlabelled section of the racks – ‘and each individual’s components in their named section. The captain’s is over there, for instance. During revival, the individual’s memories are melded with the common components to recreate the unique engram, and this is played back into the subject as he or she is revived.’
He stopped, and seemed to be thinking how to express his next thought.
‘We had seen problems, however, during our initial experiments with the technique. We sometimes saw revivals where the individual’s memory was corrupted during the melding process, and spurious memories were created, that had no relevance in fact. The human brain is an enormously complex artefact, and tiny errors – rounding differences, if you will – seemed to cause significant change.
‘For these reasons, we had abandoned the technique, but when we realised we had to save even more memory, we went back to it, and tried to understand the problem. After intensive effort, we believed we had the problems sorted. We only had a few months before the mission was due to leave, and there was no time for a proper test, at least not for a mission of this duration. The crew was fully involved in the decision to go; I briefed them personally on the risks involved, and their decision to go was unanimous.
‘Even though we had addressed the problem with melding shared memories, however, there is still a fundamental weakness in the process. Should anything happen to the shared memory record – if it is damaged, or decoded wrongly in any way, the same error will be copied to all the individuals that share that portion of the common record. I think it was you, captain, who referred to the crew’s behaviour as a shared psychosis, and this is not far from the truth.
‘I believe that this is what happened to the ship when it rounded Jupiter. Something … got in to the shared memory, and affected all the crew when they were revived. This seems to have been particularly deep-seated case, and it has resulted in a false memory, which is unusually strong and detailed.’
‘How can you have let this go ahead, when you knew this was a risk?’ Collins asked, frowning.
Mordecai looked at him levelly. ‘The potential benefits of the technology were felt to be sufficiently great that an extended trial was warranted. And as I have just said, we believed we had the problem addressed – at least in short ground trials. I do not know what happened as the ship rounded Jupiter, but something happened, something … got into the memory banks, with the result that we now see.’
Clare had been listening carefully. ‘So why wasn’t Moreno affected the same way? If this was shared between the whole crew’s memories?’
‘Not all elements are shared the same way, or to the same degree. I checked after you told me your suspicions; Moreno had the lowest amount of shared memory in common with the other subjects. This appears to have made a crucial difference, and allowed his mind to reject the engram to some extent. Even so, you will have noticed that he wrote in Latin, and referred to “the door”, so he may have been subject to a lesser form of the delusion, and not escaped it entirely.’
‘It’s a pretty powerful delusion, to cause them all to think they’ve seen the same thing, to this level of detail, and to be able to get the stars in exactly the same position.’
Mordecai looked worried. ‘Yes. I have never seen an instance like it. Once I saw the drawings, I realised immediately we were dealing with a shared memory error, and I devoted my efforts to trying to find the problem. I have not succeeded. Your deductions, which I overheard, are likely correct. What we do not know is the exact nature of the delusion that the crew were following.’
He picked up the drawing again. ‘A doorway. A portal. A gate to another realm; the “kingdom of shadows”. T
hese concepts are present throughout early human history, across many different cultures. Something primal, a deep-seated superstition has come through. What is surprising is the extraordinary detail of the location. Psyche is a real object, and none of the crew have visited it; this memory cannot have come from one of them. The key is to try to find out – or experience – what they saw on revival.’
‘Experience? You mean you can see what they saw?’ Collins asked.
‘In some measure, yes. This console here allows playback of memory engrams directly into the subject. It allows engrams to be reinforced, or reimplanted, in the event of any problem during revival.’ He indicated the console. ‘Any set of engrams can be reimplanted at various strength settings. Now, the same method can be used on a subject who is not the original owner of the memory, and at very low strengths, this allows us to have a faint experience similar to theirs. The effect is only temporary – a few minutes at most – since our own memories are very strong, and reassert themselves quickly over the false ones.
‘The technique is dangerous, and should only be attempted by someone who has been trained to deal with the schizophrenic distortions it can cause. I am qualified to do this, from my years of experience with the technology, and this is what I have been doing – I have been trying to experience what the captain saw.’
He paused, to let this sink in. Clare stared at him, her thoughts a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. Eventually she said:
‘And what have you found?’
‘Nothing.’ He spread his hands, and Clare could see that he wasn’t lying; his face showed his disappointment and frustration. ‘A few impressions perhaps, but nothing that I can put my finger on, certainly nothing relating to the vision. I have been using the equipment on steadily higher power settings, to see if the delusion asserts itself, but so far nothing. There are – some dangers with using higher powers, which is why I need to proceed slowly, and take care.’
‘What kind of dangers?’
Mordecai looked uncomfortable, as if he had not intended getting on to the subject.
‘Any risks are minimal, for an expert like myself; I have trained my mind over the years to recognise the warning signs. Nevertheless, if the implant is made at too high a power, the brain may be unable to reject the imposed memory, or recognise it for what it is. The subject enters a state where real and false experiences combine in a – disastrous way, what we call a memory embolism. I must stress, however, that as long as progress is made carefully, with only small increases in power each time, the risks are controllable.
‘This is our best chance of finding out what the false memory is, and I intend to keep on trying. I am well aware of the risks, which is why I am proceeding slowly, and why I need more time.’
Clare looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Have you run this past USAC Command?’
‘No, I have not run this past Command,’ Mordecai answered, his voice rising, ‘I am in charge of this investigation, I can proceed how I see fit, and I do not wish to share my suspicions until I am certain!’ He closed his eyes and paused, evidently controlling himself, and adopted a more reasoned tone. ‘Captain, if we can find out what compelled them to come here, what they think they saw, then we are uniquely placed to investigate further. I implore you; do not make your report until I have had another day of trying.’
‘Why don’t you want me to report what you’re doing?’ Clare’s voice was sharp.
‘Because you don’t need to.’
‘Well I don’t think you need to take these risks, doctor. We have a good idea where they put down on the surface. If we go down there and we find the lander – if we find the crew’s remains, then our work here is done, surely.’
‘But we won’t – know – why!’ Mordecai’s expression changed. ‘Finding the lander tells us nothing about the reasons they came here – we must find out the precise nature of the delusion!’
‘I think we’ve got sufficient idea of that already, doctor,’ Clare said firmly, and stepped forward slightly. ‘I am going to make a report to my command, and I will ask if I should continue to support your investigations. If they agree, fine. If not, I will follow my orders.’
‘Captain, this is ridiculous; you are already under orders to give me every assistance—’
‘—consistent with the safety of the Mesa and its crew. I don’t consider you risking a – a “memory embolism” to be a risk worth taking when we have a good pointer to where the crew went, and I will ask for clarification. I also think you’ve been less than forthcoming with progress on your investigations, which makes it difficult for me to assist.’
Mordecai looked furious. A vein pulsed in his temple. ‘Captain, I have just shared everything I know with you – everything! I consider this to be unwarranted interference, and a gross violation of your orders!’ He was shouting now.
‘Fine,’ Clare said calmly. She glanced meaningfully at Collins, who shifted his position fractionally. In the meantime, doctor, I’m going to ask you to take some rest, away from this chamber, and I’m going to close and lock the hatch. Now, are you coming with us?’ Her words were firm, and she looked him directly in the eye. Collins was alongside him now, ideally placed to put him in an arm hold.
‘Your superiors will hear of this,’ he said icily.
‘Yes they will, because I’m going to tell them,’ she said smoothly. ‘Now, after you?’ She indicated the stairwell.
Mordecai’s face darkened, and he stomped towards the ladder, pushing past Clare. Collins came up and stood next to her as Mordecai disappeared from their view and started thumping around on the lounge deck.
‘Man, is he not happy,’ Collins observed.
‘Nor am I. I don’t like any of this, and I don’t like how he’s just drip-feeding stuff to us when it suits him. Will you lock this door behind us, and keep an eye on him? I’m going to call Command.’
It was late now, Clare thought; she needed a proper night’s sleep, lying down in her berth, not just catching a few hours in the commander’s seat. The exchange with Mordecai had left her emotionally drained, and she felt uncertain where she stood with removing him from his work. Well, she’d find out soon enough; she had sent her report in to USAC Command as soon as she’d got back up to the Mesa. Collins was still on board the Ulysses, keeping a watchful eye on Mordecai, who had gone to one of the berths, flung the curtain across, and presumably gone to sleep.
There had been no reply to her message after half an hour, so she stood up and went over to her day berth; it was close by the flight deck and she would hear any urgent message that came in. Not that she was intending to take any immediate action; the reply could wait, and the rest would do them all some good.
She lay awake in her berth for some time. It was the first time she had slept in it since the day before they had found the Ulysses, and she felt beat. Sleep just wasn’t coming; she kept thinking of the abandoned, empty spacecraft below her, and each time she drifted towards sleep, her thoughts wandered to the fate of its crew. What had they seen, in the few minutes of revival, that compelled them so strongly to abandon their mission, and come here, seemingly resorting to cannibalism to survive? What had made them so afraid to use the stasis chambers? The captain’s words in the ship’s log filled her with a sense of dread.
The log had provided some clues, as had the drawings, but nothing real, no description of what they were expecting beyond the … portal.
The kingdom of shadows.
She had typed it in to the ship’s computer of course, but the response – an ancient allusion to Hell, an underworld, a kingdom of the dead – just made her feel more uneasy.
The kingdom of shadows.
On the world of iron, a gate into the kingdom of shadows.
A breath of cooler air stirred the curtains of her berth, and she drew the blanket closer around herself.
Had she gone too far with Mordecai? She didn’t think so; he clearly didn’t want USAC to know what he was doing, and there had been alar
ms ringing in her head at some of the things he’d said. If Command supported him, there would be no real harm done; the rest period would do them all good.
Yes, some sleep would do her good, she thought, and her thoughts drifted away. She had no memory of closing her eyes, but at some point, she slept, and in her dreams, she found herself floating through the empty decks of the Ulysses. This time, however, the scrawled words in the airlock continued into the ship – go back, they said, in letters written in blood on the walls; leave the gate closed. She was standing in front of these words, wondering what they might mean, when she was awoken suddenly by a piercing, unearthly scream.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘I’m sorry,’ Collins said as soon as he saw Clare. ‘He waited until I went to the bathroom – I thought he was asleep. ‘Now he’s locked himself in there –’ he indicated the closed hatch, leading to the third deck.
Clare jumped off the ladder onto the deck. She shot Collins a withering glance. ‘Why didn’t you call me when he went in there?’
‘I did,’ Collins said tightly. ‘You didn’t respond. I’ve been trying to get the door open, but he’s locked it from inside. Then – well, you heard.’
She ignored his comment, and looked around. ‘There must be an emergency release somewhere.’
Collins pointed to a red handle by the side of the hatch. ‘I’ve tried it; he’s locked it somehow from the inside.’
Clare had to try it herself, but he was right – the release handle wouldn’t budge. ‘Shit!’ She thumped the hatch in frustration. ‘Right, go back into the Mesa and bring me the entry toolkit. We’re going to have to drill it.’
It took nearly an hour before they could get the hatch open. Swearing in frustration, they had to drill out all twelve bolts securing the hatch flange to the bulkhead, and then wrestle the hatch away from the opening.
