Boundary (Field Book 3)

by Simon Winstanley

  For her, its circular pattern had an elegance and simplicity; something that belied the fact it was the most abundant element in the Universe.

  Throughout the preceding day, a trail of similar symbols had been successfully placed; each one increasing the man’s receptivity to the symbol that she would now create.

  The hydrogen and oxygen within the seawater only aided the process of manipulating the electrostatic forces. At the appropriate moment, she removed the heat energy from the water within the boundary of the three-dimensional structure she wished to produce. The tonnes of seawater instantly froze as its temperature briefly dropped to absolute zero. Once the symbol was fully formed, she returned the energy to the surrounding water in kinetic form, sending a massive subsurface swell in the direction of the submarine.

  It had the intended effect; checking the resulting lines of convergence, she could already see the submarine had returned to the ocean floor site and was manoeuvring itself into position, directly above the icy symbol. Technically, they had been given a choice; their actions had indicated their willingness to become part of the plan, even if they could not yet conceive of their destination.

  She watched as the arcs of continuity and consequence rearranged themselves throughout time. It was a bold step, to knowingly cause such a scar, but she hoped it would heal in time.

  ANCHOR

  28th December 2013

  Anna Bergstrom waited until she was sure that Dr. Chen was out of earshot, then pulled the hatch door closed. In zero gravity, it took her much longer than she’d anticipated. Every motion she took suffered an equal and opposite reaction; to move something with large mass required anchoring oneself to something immovable.

  “Miles,” she turned to him and insisted he wipe his eyes with the absorbent cloth, “We’re in trouble.”

  “Why?” he frowned and wiped his face, “It seems we’re necessary aboard -”

  “Nej!” she found herself defaulting to Swedish, “No, I’m not talking about that. You remember the Mark 3? At Öskjuvatn -”

  “Yes, the fire, back in August? I was there. You and Douglas were lucky to escape.”

  “We weren’t lucky,” Anna shook her head, “The fire protected something we discovered.”

  “What?” said Miles, “What do you mean, it protected -”

  “That’s just it,” Anna hesitated, “I can’t tell you.”

  “I want to help,” Miles frowned, “I really do. I told Douglas I’d do everything I could to help you, but -”

  “It’s OK,” she held his arm, partly to reassure him but also to prevent them from drifting apart, “It wasn’t your fault. It’s just that…”

  She glanced down at the silver metathene injector case in his hands.

  “Chen has you taking the drug because he doesn’t know you’re clear. He assumes you’re still an Ego,” she then studied her bandaged hand, “I’m afraid that if the drug takes hold of you again, Chen will…”

  “He’ll, what?” Miles urged her.

  “He’ll make you get the information out of me.”

  “I’d nev…” Miles began, but then stopped.

  “Archive got the full Field inversion equations out of me at Andersen, but they didn’t get… everything. Miles, I won’t be strong enough next time I’m tortured. Next time it might be you who does it, not Pittman. If Chen or the others study my work, while I’m creating a new set of Field equations, it’s only a matter of time before the discovery is made again. It is too great a risk.”

  Miles appeared to stiffen slightly.

  “What do you need me to do, Anna?” he said determinedly.

  “Miles,” she squeezed his arm gently, “You must kill me.”

  Miles recoiled instantly, an action that in zero gravity only brought them closer together.

  “I can’t,” he said, “What could possibly be so -”

  “You could make it look like I was trying to sabotage something,” she continued, “Any one of the systems aboard are critical to survival -”

  “No, Anna -”

  “You could tell him you were doing it ‘For the good of Mankind’, he’d believe you…”

  Miles’ expression seemed to change suddenly, as though he’d been struck by sudden inspiration.

  “Anna, stop,” he said quietly, “There’s a better way, but I don’t think we’ve got much time. Listen. After General Napier had you escorted from Iceland, I explained how Monica Walker had… disabled… the ego-morph part of me.”

  “Yes, but you never explained it fully,” Anna recalled.

  “Because Napier himself boarded the transport plane and I had to stop talking.”

  Anna knew this was true; there had been occasions, during the flight to Andersen Air Force Base, when General Napier had left the cabin. Miles would take the opportunity to steal a few moments of conversation with her; but the amount to be covered meant shallower overall depth.

  “Monica discovered that for an ego-morph, the metathene is useless without a core drive. The thing on which everything else can be anchored.”

  “Everything else?”

  “Everything that Archive wanted me to do,” he looked away from her, obviously recalling things he was not proud of, “The anchor persuaded me that Archive’s instructions were an execution of my own free will.”

  In that moment Anna realised that, under the controlling choke of the metathene and conditioning, his free choices had never truly been free. Only during the time that she’d known him, had his choices been his own; and he’d made the choice to help her.

  “Under a strong hallucinogen,” Miles recalled, “Monica circumvented my ego-morph conditioning by using the idea of a crossword. She would feed me clues and ask me to fill in the blanks.”

  “Why would the ego-morph part of you help her?”

  “Because of the core drive that my anchor was attached to,” he replied.

  “Which is what?” Anna studied him.

  “Even as a child, I liked to help people,” he gave a shrug, “Ironically, I helped Monica to break me out of my own mind.”

  A clicking sound from the direction of the hatch caused them both to turn. Instinctively, Anna let go of Miles’ arm in case someone should enter. A second later, the clicking sound happened again.

  “It’s the pumps,” Miles realised, “Dehumidifier, filtration.”

  Anna breathed a sigh of relief, “How did you know?”

  “This stuff,” he tapped the metathene case, “I can already feel the changes, the awareness it brings. There’s a small window of opportunity, Anna, to re-use the remnants of what Monica put in place.”

  He tapped his forehead again.

  “The crossword idea is still in here, and you’ll need to imprint some new answers,” he said, reaching into one of his pockets, “The first is this. Silver Coin.”

  He turned and framed the coin against the window. From their perspective, the embossed moon on the coin was the same size as the Moon that lay shattered in orbit.

  “The second crossword answer, is the instruction that I can’t break,” Miles continued, “When I left Dover, Monica made me aware that my instructions were to assist Kate. Clearly, I can’t do that anymore, but perhaps I could be made to act in your best interests instead. The words should be…”

  “Protect Anna?” she suggested.

  “No. Like the original crossword, all the answers must have the same pattern,” he smiled, “Six, Four. Assist Anna.”

  •

  A subtle tone sounded within Dr. Chen’s ear.

  “Father?”

  “Yes, Fai.”

  “I have some new data.”

  “One moment,” he said quietly.

  Ivan Meznic had entered the far end of the module and, pushing between handholds, he glided easily along the length of the room to meet him.

  “Valery asked me to tell you,” said Ivan, showing him a tablet screen, “CMGs are back online.”

  In contrast to the larger reaction thru
sters they had manoeuvred with earlier, the Control Moment Gyros adjusted the rotation of the ISS in relation to the planet below.

  “She says that, relative to Earth, we’re still at anchor.”

  “That is good news, Mr. Meznic,” Dr. Chen smiled, “Was there something else?”

  “Yes,” Ivan nodded, similarly smiling, “I got past the mineralisation issue on the aeroponics mist heads. The fabricated polymer nozzles are giving us nutrient droplets of ten to forty micrometres.”

  “Plant life is now possible?”

  Ivan simply smiled and nodded.

  “Mr. Meznic, we are all in your debt.”

  Ivan looked slightly embarrassed and, after mumbling a modest acceptance of the compliment, pushed his way back along the module’s length and disappeared from view.

  Dr. Chen waited a few seconds then tapped his ear.

  “Fai, you said you have new data, please continue.”

  “I have completed uploading the Archive data files.”

  Three days before, in response to an electrical overload within General Napier’s pacemaker, the linked smartphone had deactivated the firewall surrounding all of Archive’s digital data. It had then removed all password protection, making it available to anyone. At the time, satellite communication and even ground networks worldwide had been failing, so achieving a connection to that data was difficult; but not impossible.

  “And what have you found, Fai?”

  Fai appeared to pause before replying.

  “Everything.”

  He’d only ever given her the data that he saw fit. For her to have access to everything that Archive had ever done, represented a loss of his absolute control. It was possible that she had even discovered information about him that he would rather have kept confidential.

  “Would you like me to repeat my response?”

  It was also possible that the nature of her pause was due to the dataset being too large to summarise succinctly. Even now, he occasionally fell into the trap of anthropomorphising her responses.

  “No,” he shook his head, “Please ensure that these files are not accessible by the crew of the ISS.”

  “Of course. I have detected a connection between the ISS dataset and those of Archive, and wish to bring a matter to your attention.”

  “Continue.”

  “According to the current schedule, I project that the remainder of the ISS construction work will miss the completion date by seven weeks and two days.”

  “Because the ISS did not have a full complement of crew members during the Apollo 72 launch?”

  “Yes, Father. According to the uploaded data, Mike Sanders, Lana Yakovna and Cathy Gant all have extensive spacesuit experience from their time working at the FLC. They also have zero gravity training.”

  It took him only a moment to realise what Fai was suggesting, but it was not a comfortable thought.

  “You are suggesting that their skills should be used to meet the original schedule?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He knew that Fai still had a certain naivety when it came to assessing human emotion; the way that the FLC crew had been forcibly hibernated was unlikely to translate into their wholehearted cooperation.

  “Within the uploaded Archive files, I have detected a reference to a compliance technique. It is compatible with the FLC crew’s low-level use of metathene and may elicit behaviour conducive to the completion of the ISS Chronomagnetic Field.”

  “Continue,” he frowned. Fai seemed to be demonstrating an analysis technique that bordered on the proactive, something he hadn’t seen before.

  “The technique is contained within a folder titled ‘Morphology of the Ego’,” she reported, “It is a metathene-based hypnotic process, used to establish compliance. Authorship of the document is attributed to Robert Wild and Dorothy Pittman.”

  Dr. Chen retrieved his tablet from a pocket and synchronised it with Fai.

  “Show me.”

  FIRST DAY

  6th September 1976

  “Good morning, children.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Pittman,” Miles joined in musically with the other new children.

  “Excellent,” she smiled, “Now before we go inside, I’d like you all to turn around and wave to your parents…”

  Obediently he turned with the others to face the tall crowd of parents a few feet away. Many of the mothers waved handkerchiefs and dabbed at their faces; his mother was one of them.

  “… they’ll collect you again in a few hours…”

  His mother wiped her eyes and nodded to him bravely; she was so proud of him. He gave her his widest smile to show her that everything was going to be alright. It seemed to have the opposite effect though, because she began crying again and pretended to blow her nose.

  “… So…”

  Miles waved to his mother then turned to face his new teacher. He’d met Mrs. Pittman at his fourth birthday party, where she’d given him a special gift that he’d treasured ever since. She’d insisted that he call her Aunty Dot, but he knew that in school he should use her formal title.

  “Is everybody ready?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Pittman,” they chorused as one.

  As they all began to file indoors, he turned around to give his mother a final wave, but found that he couldn’t see her among the crowd. He knew she must still be there, but felt a slight swell of anxiety in his chest. Still unable to see her, he was carried along with the others and had to face forwards again. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up.

  “Hello Miles,” Aunty Dot beamed at him.

  “Hello Aun-, Mrs. Pittman,” he corrected himself, suddenly feeling more comfortable in her presence. Continuing to smile, she gently pushed him in the direction that the others were heading.

  Miles had seen pictures of a classroom before, but this was the first time he’d been in one. The tall walls were covered in large, blank sheets of faintly-coloured paper and the warm air was filled with the smell of the school’s lunch preparations. A row of coloured hooks lined the wall just inside the door, around which the other pupils buzzed trying to find their named hook. After finding his, he hung up his coat and made his way across the room to find an empty desk. It didn’t take him long to realise that these too had neatly written name labels placed upon them, so it was a simple matter to locate the desk that had been prepared for him.

  When everyone was seated, Mrs. Pittman closed the door and walked to the front of the classroom.

  “Welcome,” she smiled, “I am so pleased to see you all. During our first semester together, we’re going to fill these walls with such wonderful work!”

  She clasped her hands together as though she could hardly contain her enthusiasm and Miles felt a thrill of anticipation run through him. He found himself turning to look at the others who wore similarly bright expressions.

  “Now. Before we start. I’ve met some of you before, do you still have the special gift I gave you?”

  Miles’ hand instantly darted to his pocket to retrieve a bright silver coin; the one she’d given him at the party. He held it up so that she could see it. Aunty Dot smiled at him briefly and then focussed on other children behind him. He turned around to see that the others were similarly holding things aloft. Some were waving thin bracelets with charms on them, others were pointing to necklaces, and several children held shiny items of different shapes and sizes between their fingers. Miles turned to face the front again and, seeing the expression on Aunty Dot’s face, couldn’t help but smile too.

  “Oh my word!” she placed her hand on her chest, “I guess none of us are strangers! I know you all already! Now everybody make sure that you bring your gift with you, every day!”

  Miles turned and smiled at the boy next to him but spotted that he wasn’t as happy as the others; something that Aunty Dot seemed to suddenly pick up on.

  “Now, Maxwell Troye,” she crossed to his desk, looking concerned, “Is everything alright? Did you forget to bring you
r gift with you?”

  Maxwell shook his head and bit his lip.

  “Then whatever’s the matter?”

  “My dad pawned it…” he bit his lip again.

  Miles thought he saw a flicker of anger on her face but it disappeared so fast that he was no longer sure.

  “I tell you what, Max,” she smiled, “I’ll talk with your dad about getting it back, but could you do something for me?”

  Maxwell nodded.

  “Well alright then!” she beckoned Maxwell to come to the front of the class, while she retrieved something from behind her desk, “It’s important that we start the day bright and ready to learn. So, every day, each of you will take one of my special vitamin sweeties!”

  The class gasped in awe as she produced a wide-necked candy jar, filled to the brim with golden-yellow sweets.

  “Just remember to bring in your special gift, and you’ll get one of these, every day. Now, Maxwell, please take this jar and make sure everyone gets a sweet.”

  Maxwell started making his way around the class, offering the jar to each of the children. Miles could see them hastily untwisting the transparent wrappings and popping the yellow-coloured treats in their mouths. His mouth started watering in anticipation as the jar got closer. At last, he took a sweet and didn’t even register opening the wrapper. The yellow glow on his tongue seemed to travel quickly to his brain, where he felt it fizzling. If learning was like this every day, then he knew he’d enjoy his time at the Pittman Academy.

  “Today,” Aunty Dot said, “We’re going to begin learning about science. I’ll need someone to help -”

  Immediately, Miles felt his hand shoot up in the air; he liked to help.

  •

  Dorothy thought the morning session had gone well; the class were attentive and largely cooperative during their basic science experiments. The children had played with pots of coloured water and had only seen the fun, rather than the fact she was evaluating their comprehension of equivalent volumes.

  She knew that the metastable-cortothene compound within the sweets took several days to build up sufficient levels within the thalamus so, as ever, patience would be the key. If there was any trace of her father’s cortical enhancement drug within any of the children, then the metastable-cortothene would activate it. But she knew it may take weeks before any latent genetic abilities began to show.