by S A Pavli
“People never cease to amaze me,” he said. “Think of something, anything, it doesn’t matter how bizarre or ridiculous, or even dangerous, and some lunatic will either be doing it, or volunteer to do it.”
“Oh I don’t know,” said Sobell. “This isn’t so lunatic. I was tempted to volunteer myself.”
“Well, I have to say, seeing pictures of those alien Trans-Gates has given me more confidence. But let’s face it, putting something inanimate through does not guarantee that a thinking human being will go through unharmed,” said the Professor.
“But now we know they are safe,” said Sobell with a nod of satisfaction.
“All being well,” agreed the Professor cautiously. “Putting an AI robot through as the test subject is a good idea,” he continued. “There is a remote possibility that electric interference may disrupt brain function and AI brains are the closest thing to human brains.”
“I would have thought a sheep’s brain is closer to most people,” muttered Sobell.
“Well, yes, biologically, and of course we will put animals through first before a human. But the AI brain will record any interference. Sheep are not too good at that.”
“I meant…” began Sobell, before deciding not to bother to explain. Clearly Professor Chan was too engrossed to pick up on his feeble attempt at humour. The numbers clicked down remorselessly, with Steven Marks counting the ‘tens’. With ten seconds left, he started to count the digits. On the count of zero the hum of the machinery changed subtly and a vibration rumbled through the floor.
“It’s taking up the load,” announced Marks. “Power distribution even, focus steady. There is something coming through.” On the gantry above them, in the centre of the Gate’s arch, an object suddenly appeared. It wasn’t gradual; one second there was empty space, the next second that space was occupied by a Mark six android robot. It stepped forward away from the arch and the whine from the machinery settled down to its previous level. Steven Marks clicked a button and spoke into the microphone.
“Hello Santa Cruz, this is London. We have your package.” A massive cheer surged up over the noise of the machinery, and a couple of white hats were thrown in the air. Engineers on the floor were shaking hands and embracing. The professor found himself shaking hands and embracing Raoul, then Steven, followed by all the engineers in the vicinity.
“Fantastique, fantastique!” shouted Sobell, grinning broadly and slapping the professor on the back effusively. There was much fist waving and the babble of conversation before Steven Marks eventually established order.
“Back to your stations everyone, let’s take the thing down in good order. George, go and apprehend that robot and bring it down here.” The Gate had to be shut down in a synchronised fashion, otherwise power surges could damage the system.
After a few further minutes of technical conversation and congratulations, the professor and Raoul left the engineering team to shut down the system and made their way to the professors office.
“Have you heard from Carstairs yet Michael?” asked Raoul.
“I’m going to check my mail now,” said the professor. “Come and join me. I think we can celebrate with a good glass of Scottish whisky.”
“I am not one to turn down hospitality,” said Raoul with a chuckle. “Although a good French brandy would be better.”
“When you are the host, we will have brandy,” said the professor.
They entered the professor’s study and after pouring a couple of generous shots of his 20 year old whiskey, the professor seated himself at his terminal to examine his incoming mail.
“Here’s to the Gate,” said Raoul. “Now we just have to make it ten times smaller and one hundred times cheaper.”
“No problem,” chuckled the professor. “Ah, here we are; a personal message from Carstairs. Good of him to contact me directly.”
“It’s the least he could do,” muttered Raoul, taking a sip of his whiskey. He was about to remark on it’s smoothness and flavour when the professor jerked back in his chair.
“Good God! Is this a hoax.” he exclaimed, his eyes scanning the message.
“What is it Michael?” asked Raoul, leaning over his shoulder to read the mail. As he read the text his jaw dropped and his eyes took on a look of disbelief. Michael Chan turned to look at his colleague.
“I can’t believe this,” he said. “The alien civilisation was destroyed by a life form which migrated through the Trans-Gates?”
“How can anything live in Hyperspace?” asked Raoul, but it was a rhetorical question.
“He tells us that we should shut down the Trans-Gates,” said the professor plaintively.
“That’s ridiculous,” spluttered Raoul. They both looked at each other blankly. Chan turned back to the screen again, as if hoping the message may have changed. He re-read the message slowly and carefully, then leaned back in his chair.
“But if it should be true?” he asked. Sobell pulled up a chair and sat down, then realised that he was still holding his whiskey glass. He put it down on the table, then picked it up again and took a big draught, before banging the empty glass down.
“Damn!” he muttered, gasping as the fiery liquid burned his throat. “What…” he began, then changed his tack. “Does he give any further details?”
“No. That’s it,” replied Chan.
“And he expects us to believe that? No scientific data to support it?”
“They got the information from the alien robot,” said Chan.
“The alien robot may be mistaken. The translation may be incorrect.”
“Yes, all that is true. But can we take the chance?” asked Chan. “We have to ask for clarification. More scientific data. Until then, we must stop all experiments.” Sobell threw up his hands in a Gallic gesture of frustration, muttering to himself in French, but subsided slowly.
“I suppose so,” he said reluctantly.
“Hopefully not for long,” said the professor. “I will ask for more information. They have a physicist on the team at Elpida. Er… Doctor LeBlanc from the University of New Athens.”
“Never heard of him,” said Sobell.
“No, I am sure he has never heard of us either. But he will now,” said the professor. We should also let the Americans know,” he added.
“Yes…the Americans. They will be very unhappy,” said Sobell.
“Is there anything we can do to protect ourselves against these things?” mused the professor. He read the mail from Carstairs again and shook his head. “We need to talk to the team at Elpida. What are they doing to protect themselves? Carstairs doesn’t say.”
“Well to do him justice, this is just an urgent message to warn us. He says that further detailed news will follow,” said Sobell thoughtfully.
“Yes, I am sure the media will get it before we do,” muttered the professor sourly. “Raoul, go and give the bad news to Steven and the team. And our American friends. I’ll get together a request for more technical information to Carstairs.” The professor looked at his unfinished whiskey and scowled. “Just when things were going so well….” He was interrupted by a buzz from the screen and an incoming call icon. He clicked the receive key on the terminal to display the face of Steven Marks.
“Ah professor…you should come down here,” said Steven, looking agitated.
“What is it Steven?” asked the professor, a stab of anxiety suddenly piercing his innards.
“We’ve lost contact with Santa Cruz. We were doing some further testing before winding up when they just went off line. They are not answering on any of their comms links. Even the public exchange is down. I thought it may be a power failure, but the Trans-Gate link is still up and functioning.” The stab of anxiety turned into sick nausea and all of professor Chan‘s demons were suddenly crowding in on him.
“I thought you were closing the system down,” croaked the professor, his brain temporarily frozen
“Yes, the Americans wanted to do some further tests,” said Ste
ven impatiently.
“Have you shut our end down?” asked Sobell quickly.
“No…not yet,” began Steven, looking perplexed.
“For God’s sake, shut it down immediately,” said Sobel. Steven Marks looked baffled.
“Now, Steven, Now! Immediately, do you understand?” shouted Sobel. Steven was galvanised by the urgency in Sobell’s voice, and leapt up immediately, disappearing from the screen without terminating the call. Sobell terminated the call, and his fingers flew on the keyboard
“Hello TGA-Con, this is Dr Sobell.” The icon for the research centre‘s computer appeared on the screen.
“Yes Dr Sobell, what can I do for you,” said the polite voice of the AI control computer.
“I want you to get me the highest police authority in Santa Cruz California,” he said. Meanwhile, professor Chan seemed frozen, his face a mask of terror.
“It may take a few seconds Doctor, it is not a number I have on my files,” said the computer.
“Quickly, this is a matter of life and death,” said Sobell.
“I can only work at one speed Doctor Sobell,” said the computer primly. Before Sobell could argue, a list of names and numbers scrolled down the screen.
“I have the following numbers,” said the computer, and began reading the list on the screen. Sobell scanned the list quickly.
“That one,” he said quickly. “Commissioner Will Jameson’s office. Tell him the call is from the office of the Prime Minister of Great Britain.”
“But…” began the computer.
“I have authority from the PM,” said Sobell quickly. “This is an urgent matter which does not concern you TGA-Con. Do as you are told.”
“Yes Doctor Sobell. Of course,” said the computer. “Putting you through now.” The face of a pretty young lady appeared on the screen. She looked down at her screen and her eyes grew wide as she deciphered the apparent origin of the caller.
“The commissioners office. How can I help you?” she enquired, quickly suppressing her surprise.
“Listen very carefully….” began Doctor Sobell, his face a grim mask. “We believe there has been a serious accident at the University of Los Angeles research centre at Santa Cruz. Please put me through to the Commissioner immediately.”
“Excuse me sir. The Commissioner is at a meeting,” she said.
“Please interrupt the meeting. I have direct responsibility from the British Prime Ministers office.” The girl looked again at the authentication code transmitted by the TGA-Con computer, and nodded quickly.
“Yes sir. Who should I say…,” she began.
“Just the PM’s office. Quickly,” shouted Sobell. “We have no time to lose. Peoples lives are at stake.” The girl jumped like a startled rabbit, her face a picture of alarm.
“One second…,” she gasped, and the screen went blank.
“Shit, shit, shit…!” muttered Sobel. “Come on girl.” Meanwhile, the professor remained transfixed, his mouth gaping open slowly.
“Raoul…,” he began. “Are you sure…?”
“No harm if the authorities over there investigate as soon as possible,” said Sobell. “If everything is OK, you can apologise profusely for my hysteria afterwards.” The screen lit up again to display a room with a large table and six individuals seated around it. One of them leaned forward towards the camera.
“I am police commissioner Jameson. You are calling from the British Prime Minister’s office? If this is a hoax, I’ll have your guts…,” he said, scowling out of the screen.
“My name is Doctor Sobell, from the University of London. This is Professor Chan, who is in charge of the Trans-Gate experiments here,” interrupted Sobell. Before the commissioner could say anything else, Sobell continued remorselessly. “We have been working with a team of people from your Santa Cruz facility. We have lost contact with them, and we believe there may have been a serious accident with the Trans-Gate.”
“The Trans-Gate?” said the commissioner frowning. “Yes… I’ve seen the news. What sort of accident? And why should that concern me?”
“It is imperative that you contact the power company and shut down all power to the whole of the Santa Cruz area,” said Sobell.
“I don’t understand,” began the commissioner. “Why…?” He was interrupted by Professor Chan, who had suddenly come to life.
“Commissioner, listen carefully. What my colleague is asking must be done immediately. Don’t ask why, please trust our technical knowledge that this is the best way to avoid a huge accident and disastrous loss of life. Please do it immediately. We will stay on the line and await information from you.”
“We can get people into the area in a few minutes…,” began the Commissioner.
“No, that is one thing you must not do. In fact, evacuate everyone out of the area if you can until we can assess the situation,” said the Professor.
“There is a possibility of serious contamination of the whole area,” added Sobell. “You may have to get men in there wearing protective clothing.” The word ‘contamination’ seemed to galvanise the commissioner. His department had conducted exercises to combat nuclear or biological contamination, and this was now something he understood.
“I see” he grated. “As it happens, I have all my section chiefs here. We’ll get onto it.”
“The power must be shut down first to stop the spread of contamination,” insisted Sobell. The Commissioner nodded.
“Understood,” he said tersely. “Stay on the line gentlemen.” He turned to his men and started firing orders at them. The room cleared in seconds as they leapt up and ran to their duties. The professor and Sobell sighed in unison and leaned back in their seats. They looked fearfully at each other, their eyes wide, their features strained. There was a buzz and Steven Marks face appeared as an insert on the screen.
“System is shut down,” he said. “But the Santa Cruz side is still operational. We’ve blown some fuses by doing an emergency shut down, but I think there is no damage. What is this all about professor? And why are they not answering our calls?” The professor and the doctor looked at each other questioningly, as if each expected the other to provide the answer.
“No point keeping it secret,” said Sobell. “It will be public knowledge soon.” The professor nodded wearily.
“Yes, I suppose so. Steven, come up to my office and we’ll explain. This is going to be a long night.”
Chapter 38
It had been decided to repair ZAC the robot’s limbs and give him back some degree of mobility. Jo was hard at work in the Bounty Hunter’s engineering room, sporadically supported by her husband. LeBlanc was conducting his endless experiments on the Virtual, and James Walters was cataloguing and documenting samples from their last planetary expedition.
The Bounty Hunter’s shuttle had returned from orbit with the intention of exploring ‘Science City’ further in order to find the alien archives, crewed by Mark , Major Pete and Leslie. Back in orbit, Captain Anja had been keeping a lonely vigil in the Chameleon, but had decided to join Jo on the Bounty Hunter, more out of loneliness than interest in the little alien robot. This was an unfamiliar feeling for Anja. Long hours spent in starships had inured her to such feelings and she was quite surprised with herself, until she realised that the feeling was associated with the absence of a certain good looking Major.
In ‘Science City’, Mark and the Major were preparing for their third excursion to the giant building that housed the alien Trans-Gate. During the previous two trips, they had transported and set up lights and fuel cells to power them. They had been forced to clear the way, forcing doors open and clearing a hundred thousand years of sand dust and grime to allow ease of access. It had been hot and sweaty work and the two men had returned for a well earned break and some food, before beginning the main part of their task, which was to try and locate the data repository which ZAC the robot believed to be housed in the building.
Leslie had pleaded with Mark and the Major to be
allowed to join them as their link to the ships in orbit. Despite his misgivings, Mark had agreed. On the surface she seemed to be at ease, and even with his new found powers Mark was unable to detect anything amiss. In fact, he was able to detect almost nothing of Leslie’s ‘psychic’ presence. But Leslie had proved useful as the ‘link man’; staying in the shuttle and maintaining a visual link with Josephine and the alien robot. The robot had a record of a repository in the Trans-Gate building, but no more information on its exact location. But the robot did know what it looked like, and had attempted to describe it as best it could with its limited vocabulary.
But they had found no sign of it in the Trans-Gate chamber itself, or the floor above. The building had another seven floors and Mark doubted if they could explore more than a couple more on this trip.
“Looks like we’ll be back here tomorrow Pete,” he remarked, as they prepared to seal up their suits and exit the shuttle.
“There’s so much shit and grime over everything, we’ll be lucky to recognise it if we find it,” muttered Andy, adjusting his helmet clamps. Mark grunted his agreement.
“Still, imagine that. A record of a whole civilisations history and achievements.”
“An alien version of the Encyclopaedia Solaria,” remarked Leslie, referring to the most prominent Earthly encyclopaedias.
“Yeah, complete with alien door to door salesmen,” quipped the Major. Mark frowned at him in puzzlement.
“Door to door salesmen?” he asked.
“Sorry. I’m by way of being a student of history,” said Peter. “In the early days, encyclopaedias were marketed by salesmen knocking on people’s doors. They were sold to gullible individuals with the threat that their children’s education would suffer if they didn’t have in their possession twenty volumes of obscure facts about every conceivable subject.”
“Twenty volumes?“ questioned Mark.
“Oh yeah, this was before the whole thing was computerised and given away free with every packet of cornflakes,” said Peter.
“You are a mine of useless information Pete,” chuckled Mark, shaking his head.
