* * *
Ramani is as quick to hop off the shaft elevator as Ril, each carrying an instrument to inspect the space around them in more detail. Beyond an ethereal sense of their presence, for those so endowed, Veil engineers are not easily detected, existing for the most part in the higher spatial dimensions and only rarely bothering themselves with lower space.
“They are no longer here,” Ril says, adjusting his instrument. “Perhaps they were just curious.”
Ramani is equally engrossed in the analysis pouring out of her own device.
“No…they’ve moved to another location. Can’t quite make out—”
“Moved? It’s not like them to bother with translations in lower space.”
Ril seeks to verify Ramani’s assertion. A moment’s frustration is replaced by alarm at what his device is revealing. “They have changed something.”
“They’ve altered the scenario parameters,” Ramani says.
“Not just altered…they’ve locked the scenario itself.” His eyes seek out Ramani’s with a look of horror. “We’re no longer in control.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Why would they do that? It’s a direct violation of the Community’s primary directive. And they never act rashly in the early stages—”
“It must be the bond.”
“Could they have found a jewel?”
“Or are certain of one. They clearly see something that we do not. Something we have missed.”
“Then we must entertain the possibility that they intend to provoke a heightened response.”
“The Community will be powerless to intervene.”
“No—the safeguards—”
“Time, Ramani, time. There isn’t enough.”
“Then we need to get Robert and Lucy out of here.”
Both their instruments chime, displaying a schematic of the Nexus, markers racing toward their position.
“They’re coming for us,” Ril says. “I suspect our options are going to be limited.”
REDEMPTION
Lucy’s inexhaustible reserves of curiosity dispensed with the afternoon, with every corner of the residence and its garden being fully inspected. In the early evening Robert cooked for them both—lamb steaks with minted new potatoes, carrots, and peas. Doubtless the lamb was from some Frankenstein vat, but to him it was entirely convincing nonetheless. Besides, he was guilty of far worse and achieving considerably less—the Trinity facility having been not just his prison, but before that his own little shop of horrors, a misguided attempt to feed the world when time finally ran out.
For dessert Robert had Lucy prepare a blackberry and apple crumble, providing only basic guidance on what the end result should be, suggesting she work the rest out for herself, a careful line of questioning during the main meal having established that while her library of knowledge included culinary principles it did not extend to expertise, which in Robert’s mind was a sure-fire formula for an entertaining hour or so, albeit at Lucy’s expense.
First, while there was still enough light, she was to collect the best fruits for the job from the garden, her earlier inspection having already identified a cooking apple tree and a comprehensive collection of cane fruit. But it took a good few minutes afterwards to convince Lucy that the simple steel implement handed her was to be used to remove the apple skins, certain as she was after a number of attempts that it was not as it was purported to be.
Apples peeled, and kept ready in a pan of water with lemon juice, the crumble topping was next, the flour, butter, and sugar needing to be combined by hand in just the right proportion to achieve the desired consistency, Lucy being so delighted at the sensation it was hard to get her to stop.
Robert’s assertion that the topping was satisfactory was not well received, the temptation to press Lucy’s buttons even further having proven to be too great, the consequences of which meant that no amount of playful criticism could deter her from precisely arranging each piece of fruit just so in the pudding bowl.
Lucy’s initial instinct was to simply dump the crumble on top of it all and scrape the excess off—there was more than enough to cover the fruits and it seemed the most expedient route. But she was easily persuaded as to the merits of using a table spoon to achieve a more efficient outcome, her masterpiece then being completed by a series of deft strokes with a fork to press the topping into place, creating an intricate Zen-like pattern with its tines.
The oven proved more challenging. Lucy appeared to be completely baffled by it, requiring a good twenty minutes to decide upon the optimal settings, making a detailed study of its controls, operation manual, and those inner workings accessible without disassembly—an outcome Robert thought to be certain should she be left unsupervised. Even then she insisted on watching the entire baking process through its glass door. For his part Robert could easily have sat and watched her for hours on end.
Thirty minutes in the oven and voilà.
A little time to cool and the pudding proved delicious.
That just left the mess.
Despite the presence of a dishwasher, Robert insisted that they both did the dishes by hand, with Lucy assigned the role of drying and putting away, with no amount of protest able to persuade him otherwise. His ulterior motive was conversation, the mundane task a distraction for that part of the mind that would otherwise turn its attention to restraint when it came to the thinking process, his hope that it would prove as true for Lucy and it did for himself.
So for the remainder of the evening he went over what they had seen during their tour of the Nexus, picking Lucy’s brains for observation and supposition. Despite her at-times overwhelming adolescence, she was still a highly accomplished engineer for whom no detail was too small to be overlooked.
* * *
The morning sees Robert ready to confront Ril and Ramani further, waiting patiently as he does, seated at the patio coffee table, the cut log set before him. Lucy is less patient.
“Do you think we should be concerned that Ril and Ramani haven’t turned up today? They said they would.”
Robert appears fixated by the log’s growth rings.
“Perhaps we should explore,” Lucy suggests.
Robert raises his gaze from the log to stare at her.
Putting together a picnic didn’t take long—as well as the refrigerator there was a well-stocked pantry with plenty of savory treats to hand, not to mention the more practical items such as bottled water.
The utility room yielded the wicker hamper from its expected location. Not for the first time did Robert find himself inspecting an object with some suspicion, the previous item having been the potato peeler he had handed Lucy. As alien reproductions they would be remarkable, but Robert considers them more likely to be store-bought, with there being plenty of boutiques ready to serve up such merchandise to the anglophiles of North America, and the fantasy of Ril and Ramani shopping for it was far too appealing to let slip by.
Indeed, it was of note to him that items of lesser significance to the historical setting, such as the potato peeler and even the oven, could very well be actually contemporary, and it would make sense for them to have been acquired in such a way—why go to all the trouble of manufacturing when there is ready access to the originals in malls across the Earth. But where did they get the money? Joseph?
With the hamper slung into the boot of the Aston, Robert buckles up and starts the engine.
“Okay then. Let’s go explore.”
* * *
A suitable location was not difficult to find—a roadside verge overlooking a rolling field of just-ripening wheat, swaying in a gentle breeze. With the hamper deployed, and its contents set out on a picnic blanket, Lucy and Robert sit themselves lazily in the long grass to look out over the golden sea before them. That it is a rendition from a particularly low point in his life is not something Robert feels Lucy need know, but it does leave him somewhat morose and distant.
“Are you angry with me?”
Lucy asks, shyly.
Robert surfaces from his mood.
“No, of course not. Why would you think that?”
“Because you are quiet. Not talking.”
“It’s all this, Luce. A world made perfect. I couldn’t dream of a more beautiful place to spend my days.” Robert’s gaze drifts back to the wheat field. “Who’d have thought,” he muses to himself. “Me and a field of wheat.”
“You could stay here,” Lucy says, brightening.
“As tempting as that may seem, I’d just be swapping one prison for another. I am no more free here than I was inside Trinity. Perfect though it may be, I would happily trade it all for just a moment with a field such as this in England.”
“But if you return to Earth they will—”
He turns on her, not to chastise, but to ensure she understands.
“I can’t stay here. What if that’s the test? To see if I would—”
“Ramani said there would be no tests—”
“I’ve faced the world down before, and I’ll face it down again. If they choose to kill me then damn them all to hell.”
Catching himself mid-rant, he sees the disappointment on her face.
“I imagine that you have been thinking about this yourself.”
“We could bring my mind down from the Afrika—”
“Luce—”
“Why not! Why shouldn’t I? People are horrible to me on Earth! I could be happy here.”
It’s not the sentiment he intended, and he can see it putting her in bad place. He moves quickly to correct his mistake.
“It is not for me to tell you what to do,” he says to her. “I’ll respect whatever decision you make. But I will say this to you—home is where the heart is.”
“What does that mean?”
“Think about what really matters to you. What and whom you want around you. Those are the things that define you. Don’t let anyone or anything force you to compromise on that.”
A forlorn Lucy has no response, lost as she is in thought.
“You have friends on Earth, Lucy. Would you not want to see Dr. Bebbington again? Or Chief Justice Garr? Even Agent Landelle has a soft spot for you. And don’t tell me that Chief Mission Controller Montroy wasn’t your favorite during the trip out.”
“I like Toby. He’s nice to me.”
“Everyone that has had the opportunity to get to know you ends up liking you.”
“I suppose.”
Robert can see it dwelling on her.
“Complicated, isn’t it,” he says.
After a long moment of contemplation she bites into a sandwich. Robert watches her munch away, a warm smile creeping onto his face. She catches him grinning at her.
“What?” she demands, mouth full.
Robert cannot help but laugh out loud. Realizing her bad manners, she brings her hand to her mouth, but is unable to avoid laughing herself. It has the two of them in stitches until Lucy finally manages to stop and swallow.
“If people could see you the way I do now…it would go a long way to helping them understand you. So why wouldn’t you show your avatar?”
“Because I shouldn’t have to. I should be accepted for what I am and not on some pretense.”
“Just seeing you laugh…even cry—”
Lucy turns away shyly, hiding the emotion showing on her face.
“That was a compliment, you know,” Robert says.
“I know. It’s just that it reminds me of all that. People being mean to me.” She turns to confront him. “Robert, why do they hate me so?”
“It’s not so much hate as fear, Lucy. You are something that they do not understand. Something new. Change has a tendency to frighten people. Ril and Ramani were right in that regard. But I think you’ll find that the world has reserved its true hate for me.”
“But you made them hate you—even though you saved them.”
“Saved them from what I should have seen in the first place. I am not entirely innocent in that regard, Lucy. But getting them to focus on me made the threat of the Messiah virus real—gave it an identity. A face. Their hatred of me kept Messiah contained.”
“Then is that not a reason to stay here? The last of the virus is within you. It would be out of reach here.”
“Hmmm…I hadn’t thought of it that way—”
“But if I were to show my avatar it would be the same. Something to focus on. Something to hate.”
Robert sees that he needs to nip her line of reasoning in the bud. He already has just the thing to do it. Something he has been desperate to get off his chest, but even so finds he needs to steel himself for what might follow.
“Lucy…Messiah could have cured Lucius. Did you know that?”
“I knew after,” she says, solemnly. “He kept it from me.”
“I offered it to him. So did Alka. But he refused. He knew what it could mean if it got out. I wanted to be sure you knew that. And were okay with it—”
“Do you hate me for what I did?” Lucy blurts out. “When I helped Lucius?”
“Lucy…of course not—”
“He was so sick!” Lucy wails, tears welling up. “And in so much pain! I couldn’t bear to see him suffer so. I just couldn’t!” Her mood softens to a sad tone. “When he told me it was what he wanted I was angry at him for leaving me. Then I saw, and I knew what I had to do. I just had to, Robert. I just had to!”
She throws her gaze away, crumpling under the weight of some supposed guilt, convulsing with sobs. A hand on her shoulder calms her, and tentatively she turns back. Robert has a gift for her. A large white daisy flow on a long stem.
“I picked it for you.”
She takes it, averting hers eyes downward.
“For the kindness you did Lucius.”
Robert places his hand under her chin to gently raise her gaze back to him. A tear rolls down her cheek. He wipes it away with a soft slide of his thumb.
“Aren’t we a pair,” he says to her.
As quickly as it had surfaced so once again the machine-based emotion was vanquished, as if it had never been. Robert finds himself wishing he could do that, but then wondering what kind of world it would be if everyone could.
Lucy returns her attention to the delights laid out before them. Choice, for some reason, never seems to engender indecision within her, and a selection is quickly made, the filled roll being stuffed whole into her mouth.
Her eyes widen, her attention grabbed.
“Robert! Look!” she exclaims, pointing out over the wheat field.
Robert is quick to follow her direction.
Some distance away, standing in the middle of the wheat, is a woman.
It is Sharanjit Toor.
Robert is up on his feet, bounding into the wheat, crashing his way toward her. Lucy, initially unsure as to what to do, follows his lead.
Such his is pace he has trouble stopping, stumbling to a halt before the woman, arms flailing. Toor’s expression seems quite distant and unresponsive. Her body sways a little, the resulting reflex action to steady herself seemingly surfacing her mind. Her eyes find Robert. A warm smile for him.
“Bob…I feel most odd. Am I dreaming? Is this a dream?”
Lucy arrives.
“Commander Toor. What are you doing here?”
Toor beams, her manner somewhat drunk.
“Lucy! Oh my!”
“What’s the matter with her?” Lucy whispers to Robert.
But he already has his suspicions, passing his hand through her body.
“It’s just a projection.”
Toor’s hazy demeanor abruptly evaporates to be replaced by a deeply troubled look, some inner turmoil boiling away inside her—
“You must not enter the Emerald City.”
Robert is reluctant to engage with more of Ril’s fakery, but cannot help himself.
“What do you mean? This is the Emerald City. We’re inside the dome.”
“All is not as it seems,” Toor says. “You
must leave this place.”
Whatever the turmoil is, it boils over, snapping Toor to a fully lucid state. She reels at the sight of the world around her. Desperate eyes find Robert once more, her hands grabbing his in an instant. He recoils at the solid touch from what just a moment ago was not real.
“They let me see my niece,” Toor says hurriedly. “I forgive you—”
And then she is vanished, as if never there at all, Robert’s outstretched hands shaking, a flood of emotion surging through him.
THE EMERALD CITY
A scatter of picnic plates, cutlery, and food depict the Olympus Mons caldera, with its six collapse craters.
“We’re about halfway across,” Robert says, tapping a plate. “But we can’t see more than a few miles with this topography. I want to see what they put here.”
He stabs at a round Danish pastry in the southern sector of the caldera.
“But everything we have seen is just countryside,” Lucy says.
“You’re forgetting the Nexus.”
“You think there is another to the south?”
“I’ll bet your bottom dollar there’s something.”
“What about Commander Toor’s warning?”
“It was just a projection, Lucy. And some more of Ril’s parlor tricks. We must be careful—and keep our wits about us.”
* * *
They take their time in packing up the picnic, reserving most of what remains as emergency rations. A few furtive glances from Lucy catch Robert scanning the wheat field all the while.
There is only one road, making the way clear. Nevertheless Robert takes it slow, allowing Lucy to take in every detail, and map the terrain. Just as elsewhere there is considerable variation, each hillock and every bend revealing some form of change—from open grassland to wooded vales, but without any repetition.
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