by Nick Jones
Jen felt the knot in her stomach loosen slightly.
Search echoes.
She didn’t need to say a word. Her expression must have done enough, as though she was telling him off and pitying him all at once.
‘I know how it sounds,’ he snapped again, his voice childlike and defensive.
‘Do you though?’ Jen replied, remembering the years of debate.
In the beginning, people had been scared. Mind interfaces, augmentation, thought comms. They had been understandably concerned about thought privacy, but that was all in the past. All she had to do was reassure him, talk him down, make him see sense.
Callaghan stared into his glass.
‘You’re talking about mind searching,’ she said softly. ‘You know that, right?’
‘I thought it was a part of the splintering at first,’ Callaghan explained, undeterred. ‘But then Aldridge came along, you know, our guy under the train. I ran the test on him, and others, to –’
‘Others?’ she interrupted, working to process the information. ‘How many?’
‘It seems that if you’re a hibernator, you have them.’
That got Logan’s attention. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Of the people tested so far, only hibernators appear to have the echoes.’ He was more animated now, unable to help his enthusiasm even though the subject was clearly scaring him.
‘Don’t you think it’s unlikely that you, and only you, could have discovered this?’
‘Yes, okay, but once you know where to look…’ He trailed off.
‘Have you told anyone else about this?’ she asked.
‘No, why?’ The question seemed to increase his nervousness.
‘Because you shouldn’t. The Symbiosis Act, Peter. It prevents all of this. Everything is bound by it. What you’re suggesting is impossible.’
Callaghan finished his whiskey and shrugged his shoulders. The Act ensured data was encrypted within the biological host, that it couldn’t be tampered with or interpreted in isolation.
‘I think someone has broken the rules,’ he said with resignation.
‘So what, then? They’re searching us right now, are they? They’re all in on it? Jim McArthur, Richards, the Prime Minister?’
Callaghan recoiled, and Logan instantly regretted the outburst.
He stood and began pacing the room. ‘I’d rehearsed this a few times. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t deny what I’ve found.’
There was a long silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jen said in a feeble attempt at a truce. ‘You need to understand how this sounds. Just, please don’t start screaming conspiracy. Let me do some digging. You can run some more tests. Just don’t do anything drastic.’
He nodded.
‘So, do you think they’re searching us now?’ she asked, as carefully as she could manage.
‘I don’t know. But I doubt it. I think it takes time. I think they do it during the Hibernation cycle.’
His tone, so matter-of-fact, is what scared her. This man she had known for years, Duality’s consultant of choice, trusted expert witness on a number of high-profile cases, seemed convinced of mind searching. She couldn’t stand by and watch him throw his career away on a half-baked theory. That’s when an idea came to her, so obvious she couldn’t believe it had taken until now to suggest it.
Jen said, ‘Test me.’
Peter stared at her.
‘I’m serious. I’ve hibernated for a year; I would have the search echoes. Can you do it? Here?’
‘I could try,’ he replied. ‘Yes. Probably.’
‘Then do it.’
He grabbed a small square device from the table next to him and tapped it, launching a holographic interface. She watched him work, his face complete concentration. Thirty minutes later, he was set up and ready.
‘Just relax and close your eyes, you won’t know a thing about it.’
Jen sat back in the chair and said dryly, ‘And tomorrow, you will wake up and realise how insane this all sounds.’
The scan took less than three minutes. Jen blinked and looked at him, unable to decide if his expression was confusion or fear.
He was rubbing one eye and repeating himself.
‘That can’t be right,’ he mumbled.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
Callaghan’s eyes tightened, and he shook his head.
‘For God’s sake, Peter, tell me,’ Jen shouted. ‘Did you find echoes?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, you’ve got them, you’ve got echoes, but there’s something else.’
‘What do you mean, something else?’ Her stomach was doing flips, the moment charged with a dark destiny.
He grabbed the screen, turning it towards her. ‘You can see it. There. It looks like a file, a memory, but it’s been buried really deep.’
In the centre of the scan was a highlighted section, words she couldn’t make out.
‘Is it like the echoes?’
‘No, those are searches; they’re quite weak. This is a full and complete memory. It looks like it’s been encrypted – and it’s been there a long time.’
Jen had heard of thought encryption, sometimes used by the military to avoid details falling into enemy hands. Was this similar? If so, surely Callaghan would know how to do decode it.
‘Can you unlock it?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t even know where to start.’
‘Is it Military?’
He paused and sighed. ‘I don’t think so. The encryption… I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Jen stood, peering over his shoulder at the offending, blinking dot. ‘Well, if it’s not one of ours, then who put it there?’
Callaghan didn’t answer. Instead, he gasped, hands pressed against his head. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘What now?’
‘It just disappeared.’ He turned to her, his expression confusion, face drained of colour. ‘I think it just unlocked itself.’
Chapter 14
Jen was on her rooftop looking out over a dark denim sky that bled into the orange glow of London. It was early on Sunday morning, and she couldn’t sleep. It had been three days since Callaghan’s discovery and she’d thought of nothing but that tiny flashing dot, the hidden memory and his claims that it had magically unlocked itself.
Three days and nothing.
She hadn’t felt anything – although, to be fair, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting. What would a new memory feel like?
She shrugged. So many questions. Who put it there? And why? She was concerned about Peter, too. He had supported her on some very difficult high-profile cases, been a confidant, a friend, but in all their years she’d never seen him in such a state. In his profession, such outlandish theories could kill a career. He could be struck off within days, metaphorically hanged. If he persisted, Jen doubted she would be able to save him.
She felt a chill ripple up her back, sending gooseflesh over her arms. The night was sharp, and despite three layers, the cold was settling in. She decided to try T’ai Chi. It always helped her think, and she had plenty of that to do, plus it would keep her warm. She glided through the movements, her hands pushing as if through water, fluid motions followed by passages of tension igniting heat in her core. As her heart rate steadied and her breathing became smooth, a thought arrived.
What if Callaghan was right?
Mind privacy had been such a hot topic during reformation, and with the Hibernation programme well underway, it was back on the agenda again. She looked out over London, millions of people already chipped and hibernating with more joining soon. Next year she would be back in Hibernation, part of the January switch. Surely they couldn’t do it? They wouldn’t be able to get away with it. She shook the thoughts away, convincing herself that Callaghan would call tomorrow. He would tell her, “It’s this old house making me imagine things. Don’t tell anyone. Can we just forget it?”
She completed the Tai Chi form, fli
cked the remnants of green tea from her mug and went back downstairs, where she lay awhile, staring at the ceiling. Although convinced sleep wouldn’t come, she eventually slipped under its veil and into a deep slumber. Her recurring dream came again, except this time it was different, this time it didn’t stop in the usual place. It continued, allowing fears long forgotten to rise up, scratching, hungry and restless.
* * *
It was a scene she knew all too well, the cornfield, clouds moving by, except she had an awareness of being asleep, along for the ride, an odd sense of voyeurism. To her right was a young girl she recognised instantly as herself, aged nine. As the familiar gust of wind whistled through the jagged corn, it brought with it a realisation. Jen would be watching the familiar dream as a spectator. The young girl turned, looked straight through her and darted away.
The dream was playing out as it always did, exactly to the note. A horrifying thought arrived, one that made her figurative legs go weak.
Am I going to see myself ripped apart, eaten alive? Is this how the dream ends?
In the distance she saw her father and the young girl chasing after him and heard the thrashing corn behind her, the creatures closing in. Jen followed and arrived at the clearing in time to see her father pass through the doorway. She watched her younger self, tears streaming down her cheeks, frantically twisting the door handle, eyes darting and bright with fear. Jen went to her, hands trembling, and watched, helpless, as her adult hand passed through the solid object.
I’m a ghost, she thought. I’m already dead.
The sound was building. She knew how this gruesome scene ended. In a moment the creatures would fall on this helpless girl and pull her apart, and Jen would be made to watch.
And listen, Jen, you get to hear the ripping and gnawing. The screams of youth. The sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh.
Jen stood defiantly over the girl, breath bursting in and out, tears welling up inside her. If she was a ghost, then defiance was pointless, but she had to do something.
You left us both, Daddy.
The first of the dark figures broke through the corn and Jen, struggling to process the information, finally faced her demon. Huge, midnight-black and encased in a thick shell, its small head twisted towards her, mandibles flashing in the moonlight. It was a giant beetle. She recoiled, fighting an overwhelming impulse to flee. The girl was crying and pounding the door as more beetles flooded through the corn into the clearing. There were at least seven now, closing in around them, their hungry mouths like razor combs, clacking and vibrating.
Jen felt a wave of nausea as her legs folded beneath her. She couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They burst out, weak, guttural sobs mixed with a terrible sound of insect feet scratching at the ground. There were too many beetles to count now, like a sea of black ink surrounding them. Jen turned to see her younger self standing, poised, ready to run straight into the solid door, and in a sudden rush of clarity she finally understood. What if this was the memory, buried for all these years, and the doorway is a metaphor? If the memory had been unlocked, surely all she had to do was open the door…
With that single, basic thought the door flew open, bathing the clearing in a thick column of blinding light. The swarm of beetles writhed and curled, their terrible, high-pitched screams like tortured whale song. The delay was long enough for the girl to dive into the light and Jen to follow. The door slammed shut behind her, silencing the nightmarish howls instantly and forever.
Jen lay on the ground, panting and crying. Time passed, tears flowed and she found herself praying that when she opened her eyes, what she saw wasn’t somewhere worse. What could be worse? She smelt grass and felt a cool wind whipping up and over her. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes.
A full moon hung majestically over a dark Cotswold scene, one she recognised instantly. She was home. The recurring dream, the nightmare that had been with her for so long, had finally been resolved. She had unlocked a memory and opened the door. Now, she needed to find out what happened next.
She looked around, praying she wouldn’t wake. It was a strange feeling, being so alert and yet certain this wasn’t real. She spotted the girl from the cornfield creeping along a hedgerow to the side of a churchyard. Jen absorbed the scene and remembered. This actually happened; this was real.
Jen stood but had to fight to stop her legs from shaking, still reeling from the horror of the beetles. Her younger self, wearing nightclothes now – yes that’s right, I remember – slipped through the church gate. Jen followed, tracing along a low stone wall, recalling this night more with each step. In the churchyard, she found her father on his hands and knees burying something. Jen heard her younger self speak and instantly the conversation came back to her. It was as if she was learning, seeing and remembering simultaneously.
She studied her father. Seeing him again was so hard. She desperately wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go. She knew of people who had used dimensional films to relive past experiences, to see lost relatives again. She had tried a demo once but found the experience void of true feeling. This was completely different; she was living this moment, every sense, smell and feeling. The pain of love lost combined with the ecstasy of a rediscovered past.
Her father stood suddenly, horror in his face.
‘Jenny, what are you doing here?’
Her younger self ran and hugged him. Jacob, rigid at first, wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her in return. Jen walked towards the pair, somehow knowing she would remain invisible for the duration of this performance. Her father’s eyes were welling, his skin covered in perspiration. She remembered hearing him leave the house that night. She had been awake and followed, worried about him. How could she have forgotten all of this? Why had it been hidden from her?
‘Jenny,’ her father said.
The young girl looked up and waited patiently, her green eyes glinting in lamplight, melting his heart. Nobody called her Jenny except him.
‘I need you to help me,’ he said softly. ‘Will you do that? Will you help me?’
‘Of course.’ The girl’s voice was kind, innocent.
‘Good girl. I need you to keep tonight a secret.’ He leant in, playfully. ‘Really secret. We need to hide it away so no one can find it.’
‘Like treasure,’ she replied excitedly, craning her neck, trying to see the mound of earth behind him.
‘Exactly.’ He smiled, but the pain in his heart was obvious to her older self.
‘I need you to forget this, Jenny. The church, tonight. Forget all of it. Can you do that?’
The girl nodded obediently.
Jen felt a weight lifted from her as his words echoed back through time. All these years she thought her father had wanted her to forget him. That wasn’t what he’d said at all; he had only wanted her to forget this night, this moment.
‘Daddy has to do this, sweetheart,’ he explained. ‘Trust me, okay?’
He placed one hand on the freshly dug earth and in the other took his daughter’s tiny hands. Jen remembered how that had felt, a vibration pulsing through her, his hands unusually cold to touch, like they were made of chilled metal.
Without warning or fear, the churchyard scene, her father and the girl drifted away into darkness. Jen, still inside the dream, was back in her old room, warm and safe. Her father was perched on the edge of her old, ornate iron bed, looking down on his daughter, now tucked in and sleepy. Again, Jen remembered this.
‘Daddy?’ Jenny asked.
‘I’m here, honey.’ He stroked the hair from her face.
‘I’m scared. I don’t want you to go.’
‘Baby, I have to go. It’s important. Mummy is here.’
The nightlight cast a comforting amber glow across her father’s face. The girl reached up and touched his dark skin, felt the roughness of his stubble. He leant forward and hugged her. Jen could smell him again, conjuring feelings of security long since gone. She lived the moment again, wi
shing it would last forever.
‘Why do you have to go?’ the girl whispered.
He paused and sighed heavily. ‘There is something I need to do, sweetheart.’
‘When will you be home?’
‘A week, two at the most.’ He smiled, hiding his pain. ‘As soon as I can.’
The girl snuggled down into her blanket.
Her younger self seemed satisfied, but Jen knew better. Her father never came home. He died a few days later. Jen was crying now, shouting, pleading with him not to go. Her warnings fell silent, trapped inside a vacuum of time.
Daddy, you die! Don’t go! Mummy never forgives you.
There was nothing she could do. She was on a tortuous rollercoaster, trapped and mute until the end of the ride.
‘Good-bye, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘I love you. I’ll be home soon.’
The girl was asleep by the time her father left the room, the memory of the churchyard locked away in her mind, where it would remain hidden for years.
Jen awoke in tears, her tattered voice breaking thinly in the darkness. She was struck by an immediate and cloying sense of loss. It had been such a gift to spend time with her father again, but the experience had bought fresh grief and new pain. The memory of that night, the one Callaghan had dislodged, was clear and thankfully remained with her. She remembered every detail and vowed she would never lose it again.
So it was her father who had hidden the memory, trying to protect her. But why? And perhaps more importantly, from whom?
A worrying thought came again, one she had dismissed earlier on the roof. If Callaghan was right, and the Government were searching, she needed to be very careful. Whatever her father had buried in the churchyard and hidden away in her mind wasn’t a secret anymore. It was out in the open. Callaghan had believed the searches were most likely performed during the Hibernation cycle. Well, soon she would be back in Hibernation. What then? She had accused Callaghan of being a mad conspiracy theorist. Now it was she who appeared to be spinning out of control.
This is fucking crazy, Jen. You know that, right?
