Resistance is Futile

by Jenny T. Colgan

  ‘And that’s bad.’

  In Connie’s experience, nothing was more tedious than non-mathematicians asking her if everyone she met was autistic or Aspergers-y or weird. There were plenty of delightful, sociable mathematicians, and plenty of introverts too, which was quite nice back in the day you were just allowed to be a bit quiet without everyone slinging a bunch of labels at you all the time. People she met who might have been on the spectrum tended to be both exceptionally high-functioning and very, very happy to be doing a job they loved, so that wasn’t problematic either. Unbelievably stupid Hollywood movies helped nobody: a certain amount of eccentricity in the work environment didn’t bother Connie one bit.

  This chap, however, seemed a little more that way than usual.

  ‘So you’ve met Luke,’ said Evelyn.

  ‘At 10.22,’ supplied Luke helpfully. ‘Umm…’

  He looked thoughtfully in the direction of the raisin cookies. There was a pause.

  ‘Would you like to come in and have a raisin cookie?’ said Evelyn. Luke suddenly beamed and stepped across the threshold. His smile transformed his whole face.

  ‘Yes!’

  He ate two cookies enthusiastically, then looked fixedly at a third.

  ‘Two is polite,’ said Evelyn warningly, pouring him a cup of tea. ‘It’s like living next door to Winnie the Pooh,’ she added to Connie. ‘Except without Pooh’s rigorous, analytical brain.’

  Connie looked at him curiously.

  ‘So where did you apply from?’

  Luke waved long hands about.

  ‘Oh no, I was here already,’ he said.

  He glanced up at her.

  ‘The university is very good to me.’

  ‘He’s brilliant apparently,’ said Evelyn crossly. ‘Never published. Never taught. They just let him hang out.’

  ‘Really?’ said Connie. ‘You’ve never published? Wow.’

  Luke smiled quickly and looked slightly embarrassed.

  ‘So have you published a lot?’ he asked slightly distractedly.

  ‘Here and there,’ said Connie, although she was fiercely proud of the papers that had appeared in academic journals, even if her mother had looked at them as if it wasn’t very much to show for her supposedly incredibly clever daughter and all those years of supporting her through ever more advanced degrees.

  ‘Not as much as me,’ chipped in Evelyn. ‘I kind of wrote the book. Oh no, hang on, I actually wrote the book.’

  ‘So tell me about your universe,’ said Luke, ignoring Evelyn. ‘How probable is it?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ said Connie. ‘Four elephants on the back of a giant turtle, then just turtles all the way down. I’m not… I’m looking for real-world solutions, that’s all. Practicalities. I’m a rational person.’

  Luke looked amused.

  ‘In an irrational job?’

  ‘Why, because I’m a woman?’

  ‘No,’ said Luke slowly. ‘Because it’s an irrational job.’

  ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘Because the irrationality is the fun bit,’ said Luke. ‘Everything else is just slide rules.’

  ‘Slide rules took us into space,’ reminded Connie. ‘Don’t underestimate the slide rule.’

  Luke smiled.

  ‘But they don’t write poetry about slide rules.’

  ‘Well, maybe they should,’ said Connie. ‘An ode to those of us slogging away in the foothills instead of messing about with stardust.’

  ‘An unfoolable fool,’ said Luke.

  ‘What?’ said Connie, prickled.

  ‘… with a slide rule. A poem about slide rules, there we are. I would also have mentioned your hair, but I couldn’t fit it in.’

  ‘No,’ said Evelyn, glancing at her watch.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is the time you ask me for a cookie to take away and I say no, then change my mind.’

  Luke frowned. Connie suddenly glanced at the heavy, old-fashioned watch on his wrist. It was telling completely the wrong time.

  Luke blinked twice rapidly.

  ‘Can I have some more cookies for later?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Luke got up to go. ‘See you later,’ he said. He looked at his dysfunctional watch and frowned a little more. ‘At the weird meeting thing. I don’t really understand meetings. I don’t understand when everybody says, “Yabba yabba yabba,” and everyone says, “No,” then somebody taller says, “But no, what about —?” and then they just repeat, “Yabba yabba yabba” again and everyone says, “Oh yes, THAT’S the ‘yabba yabba yabba’ we meant.” I really don’t understand them at all.’

  Evelyn spun three cookies into a freezer bag and handed them over.

  ‘And then a tall person says, “Thank you for coming,” even though you have to go and it’s miserable and nobody wants to be there and so it’s a lie.’

  He made his way to the door.

  ‘It just seems such a very time-consuming way of telling lies.’

  ‘Bye, Luke,’ said Evelyn, rolling her eyes at Connie.

  ‘Now,’ she said when he’d gone. ‘How many years have you been working in maths departments?’

  ‘Uh, six?’

  ‘Have you ever met a mathier specimen?’

  Connie simply shook her head.

  Connie took a nap, then wandered back down to what she was already thinking of as the bunker. Having a meeting at night was odd, but this whole thing was odd.

  The weather had truly warmed up though, and the evening was practically balmy for spring. Crocuses and daffodils lined the edge of the quad as she walked out and down, past the student union, loud with the noise of incredibly intelligent, self-confident undergraduates, the cream of Britain’s youth, balancing pints of cider and black on their chins and hollering about snooker.

  She had taken a luxurious, foaming bath – she could very much, she had decided, get used to this; it was like the nicest hotel she’d ever lived in – put her clothes (not very many) away in the big, heavy armoire, selected a floral dress and leggings, then changed and stepped out into the lovely spring evening, the scent of early hyacinths and heavy blossom in the air. It was delicious after smoky Glasgow, although that had a charm of its own. She lingered, the cobblestones of the old streets gently lit by wrought-iron lamps overhead, then moved out of the noise of the students and past the ring road and it really was wonderfully quiet in this little town on the edge of the fens.

  She saw the dimly lit maths and sciences building ahead and stopped. There were a few people entering, looking furtive. Her new colleagues. Her work ahead, in this new life, this new job. She bit her lip. She just had to get on with it. If she wanted to do real work – proper work, work that could be built on and remembered – then she just needed to focus on the job. Whatever that was.

  At the doorway the security guard checked her new ID very carefully, shining a torch in her face and scanning the barcode. That was a little odd, but Connie was too preoccupied to notice. The door was unlocked for her – possibly they had security issues at night. Although unless someone was very good at getting high on whiteboard pens, she wouldn’t have thought they had much inside anyone would want to steal.

  She followed the long corridor down to the bunker. The piano, she noticed, had vanished. She wondered where it had gone.

  Nervously, she pushed open the door and stepped indoors.

  Friendly Arnold immediately gave her a wave, as did Evelyn.

  ‘You missed dinner,’ said Evelyn. ‘They got the roast potatoes wrong again.’

  Evelyn was sitting next to Luke, who was staring out of the window, but at a nudge from Evelyn, turned his head. His eyes looked huge behind his horn-rimmed glasses; a deep brown with a sharp line of sooty, long, very black eyelashes across them. His gaze seemed to slip off her face and onto her hair, but his pupils were large dark holes. For a second, Connie thought he looked blind. Then, with effort, he wrenched his gaze onto her face and gave an apolo
getic movement of his lips she took for a smile, and mouthed, ‘Yabba yabba yabba.’

  She glanced around the room. Arnold said, ‘Hello! Is your apartment nice? Surely they wouldn’t put us in an awful joint if they were going to Hunger Games us?’

  He looked pensive.

  ‘Or, like, that’s exactly what they would do.’

  But Connie wasn’t listening as her gaze had fallen on Sé. He was as rangy and handsome as ever, his skin a coppery colour, an old soft-looking plaid shirt. She bit her lip, aware that the rest of the room, including Ranjit, were all watching them, except for Luke, who was staring out of the window again.

  ‘Um, hello,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Hi, Sé.’

  ‘Hey, hi there, uh, Connie. How you doing?’

  Sé said this in such a studiously cool way – and his high, fine features, long mouth and almond-shaped eyes did always give him a look of distance – that Connie was slightly mollified, as his gaze slid away from her face. He was obviously just as uncomfortable about this meeting as she was, which somehow made her feel a little better.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Good, thanks. A surprise to see you here.’

  ‘A surprise for all of us to be here,’ he returned in his deep baritone.

  It was true: they felt like anxious children waiting in a classroom for the new headmistress. Evelyn was strictly ticking things off on a to-do list. Luke was drawing fractals on a piece of paper with his left hand. Arnold was watching an episode of Futurama on his iPhone. But no one could quite hide their nerves.

  At 9.15 p.m. precisely, the door slammed open in a dramatic way. In marched three figures, all men. Connie felt Evelyn give a ‘hmmm’.

  The first was a tall, broad-shouldered figure. He had thinning blond hair, expensively trendy, very thin glasses and was wearing a pale blue shirt with a pastel cashmere jumper knotted in a studiously casual manner around his shoulders. The other men with him were wearing suits. He gave a nonchalant look at the mathematicians – Connie suddenly felt very scruffy in her floral dress, and she was reasonably sure Arnold had something from his dinner on his Time Lords Lego T-shirt – and sat up a little straighter. Sé was, as always, immaculately neat in a brown checked shirt on his lean form. Evelyn was wearing black trousers and don’t-mess-with-me biker boots, and Luke was wearing – what was he wearing? It was an old corduroy jacket with elbow patches, and a soft old jumper over a worn shirt, which looked incredibly faded. Clean, just very worn, yet obviously they matched and were made to go together. Ranjit was wearing a polo shirt which looked like his mum had ironed it.

  ‘Ahem,’ said the blond, confident-looking man, giving a smile that showed his teeth, but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  ‘Welcome. Welcome, all of you.’

  One of the men in suits shuffled an entire sheaf of papers he was carrying. Connie realised he had also carried in two boxes, and both of them were entirely full of paper too.

  ‘So, welcome and congratulations on your fellowships. We at the university feel that as you are at the very top of your fields; you should be proud of your hard work and success.’

  Something didn’t ring quite true about this, but Connie damped it down as insecurity and paid close attention.

  ‘Although if anyone would like to tell me why there’s a grand piano in the gents, I’d be delighted.

  ‘As I’m sure you know, I’m Professor Hirati, head of the astrophysics institute and overall dean of science. ‘Now, there is no teaching, no seminars, no students as part of your conditions here.’

  He gave his odd smile again.

  ‘But of course, don’t think we’re letting you off that easily!’

  Evelyn glanced quickly at Connie. The man holding the papers stepped forward.

  ‘So, guys.’

  The man rolled up his sleeves in a faux-casual gesture.

  ‘Here’s the deal. We over at the physics department —’

  Evelyn made a quiet tut.

  ‘We were just kind of looking for your help on a small thing here…’

  There was silence in the room.

  ‘We just need you to look at this thing for us… it’s no biggie.’

  ‘What thing?’ said Arnold.

  ‘We just… We just want you to run some numbers on a thing we’re working on.’

  ‘I knew astrophysicists couldn’t add up,’ said Evelyn.

  ‘Can’t you run them through the state-of-the-art computers Geneva keeps buying you?’ said Arnold. Professor Hirati smiled his tight little smile again.

  ‘Well, actually that’s what we want from you. No computers. We just want you to… to have a look for some stuff here. Patterns. That’s all we want from you guys. Just think of it as an intellectual exercise.’

  ‘Without running it through a computer?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Professor Hirati had turned rather pink. ‘Just good old pure maths brain power.’

  ‘But…’ said Arnold.

  ‘So,’ said the professor. ‘That’s the job. No computers. We’ve got you here in this nice, cosy location…’

  ‘This is why I couldn’t get a Wi-Fi signal,’ said Sé.

  ‘And we’re going to give you these… just these numbers we’ve been looking at. And we’re just interested to see what you guys come up with.’

  ‘Slide rules!’ Luke muttered to Connie.

  ‘But —’ said Arnold.

  ‘And the rest of the time,’ said Professor Hirati, ‘you’ll be free to pursue your own research, in your own time, in the lap of luxury, with everything taken care of.’

  The six looked at one another.

  ‘But —’ said Arnold.

  ‘So, I know this sounds very cloak-and-dagger, guys. It’s just a thing, part of our work, no need to worry about it at all, just ruling out something, nothing really, barely worth mentioning. You’ll probably find it fun. So.’

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘I can’t wait to turn all this over to you; I really can’t. I just need you to sign off on these contracts, just to let me know you’re on board for this…’

  He held up some papers.

  Arnold squinted.

  ‘Hey, is that the Official Secrets Act? No way, man!’

  Professor Hirati sighed.

  ‘Really, before we go any further, I just need everyone to sign this… just this piece of paper. A disclaimer, that’s all. People need to sign this to go to the loo these days; it’s everywhere.’

  Arnold looked unconvinced. ‘Hey, man’ he said. ‘I, like, I don’t think so, okay?’

  Professor Hirati gave a too-wide smile that didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

  ‘It’s really nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘You know, in our line of work, we often take on bits and pieces for the government… nothing sinister, just standard practice.’

  Connie looked at Sé out of the corner of her eye: he was rifling through the large leather bag he carried everywhere, overflowing with papers. Sure enough, there was the contract she’d received – Connie was ashamed now to think of how she’d been so delighted and exuberant at having been accepted as a fellow; she’d signed it in double-quick time and sent it back the same day. It had simply never occurred to her that it could be anything other than problem-solving: how could it? She blushed, thinking how flattered she’d been. And now, what were they doing? Sé found the relevant paragraph, buried late in the boilerplate, and read it to himself, nodding solemnly.

  ‘You see the thing is,’ Arnold was going on, ‘it’s like, man, you brought us here to be smart and now it feels to me like you’re treating us like total idiots.’

  Professor Hirati nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I see how you might feel that.’

  He looked around. Outside, it was very dark suddenly. He held up the papers.

  ‘I’m afraid this is all I can tell you. Apart from that it is probably nothing, and that it is Her Majesty’s Government asking you, and that this is a national security reques
t.’

  There was a silence in the room. Except for a slight humming. Connie realised it was Arnold doing the James Bond theme.

  Nobody moved. Then surprisingly, someone jumped up.

  ‘I’ll sign it,’ said Luke. He fished out an antique fountain pen from his coat pocket, then shifted it from hand to hand nervously, as if not quite sure what to do with it. The professor looked at him sternly.