“Are you OK?” she fussed, collecting the crutch, “Here, let me bring the chair to you.”
As Caroline turned around, Kate quickly took in the surroundings. This second wing of the infirmary was a longer segment of arc than the one she’d stayed in before. At the far end, she could see Trevor Pike tending to Scott Dexter and his Biomag. As ever, Scott accompanied her everywhere; the infirmary visit had been no different. Occasionally, he’d glance back in her direction, to check if she was OK, something that was both endearing and annoying in equal measure. It was something she’d just have to accept, it was the price of projecting a weak persona.
The lab had an array of test tubes; some empty, some filled with blood and awaiting their spin in one of the busily humming centrifuges. Caroline’s desk was piled high with paper. Despite the surrounding technology and millennia of evolution, Kate thought, it appeared that mankind still had the primitive need to etch things on surfaces using variations of carbon.
Nestled among the paper stacks was a computer monitor, but its screen was facing away from her.
“Here you go,” Caroline returned and arranged a chair behind her.
“Thanks,” Kate sat heavily into the chair and started to roll up her sleeve, in preparation for the syringe.
It would have been far simpler for Alfred to get his medical stooge, Caroline, to invent a simple reason to check Kate’s blood for metathene receptors. Yet he hadn’t.
With her crystal-clear outlook, Kate could see that the Node-wide blood screening was therefore evidence of a new rationale – he was beginning to fear that others aboard may have a genetic compatibility with metathene.
This was not an altruistic and benevolent test for blood disorders.
It was an evolution threat assessment.
“Name?” Caroline began typing at her computer, and then added with a smile, “I’m just kidding…”
Kate laughed appreciatively for her.
“So, how’s it all going?” Kate asked her fellow Council member.
“So far, most don’t need a boost to the Bergstrom isotope, they got their dose in the week before we left,” Caroline pointed to the centrifuges, “but it’s easy enough to check.”
Over the next few minutes, Caroline extracted several vials of blood, then taped a cotton-wool ball to the inside of her elbow. Kate knew it was just a matter of time before the inevitable was discovered. But the fact didn’t concern her greatly; Alfred’s growing paranoia was integral to her mental ocean of possibilities.
“We’ll know soon if you need an isotop-up,” Caroline seemed pleased with herself.
Kate laughed for her again then, after making several attempts to rise from the chair, she propped herself on her crutches and made her way to the far end of the room, where Trevor had set up the temporary Biomag repair shop.
After she’d persuaded Scott that she didn’t need any immediate assistance he hesitantly departed.
“Your shadow?” Trevor smiled.
“I think he still feels guilty, about the… er…” Kate struggled on purpose.
“Biomag misidentification?”
Kate nodded.
“Hopefully,” Trevor pointed to the apparatus nearby, “We’ll be correcting that fault today. Do you want to step into the centre?”
Six Biomag units, mounted on separate tripods, were arranged around another of the infirmary’s chairs.
“Roy Carter’s idea,” Trevor explained after seeing her expression, “After what happened on the Obs Deck, he figured we could use the same constructive interference pattern. It worked for Gail and that was under much trickier conditions.”
Kate thought she knew the answer to her next question, but thought it might look more authentic if she asked it anyway.
“Surely my own, er, Biomag will keep me anchored?”
Trevor smiled, “Not when I turn it off.”
Kate could easily picture a hexagonal honeycomb arrangement of six Biomags surrounding a seventh empty hexagon at their centre. Caught within the six overlapping patterns, the person on the chair would remain anchored within the Field. However, the thought of allowing anyone to turn off her Biomag still sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
She positioned herself on the chair and Trevor activated the surrounding Biomags. He’d rigged a small light to the top of each, so that he could see at a glance when all the units were in sync. One by one the lights came on.
“OK, I’ve got a stable twelve hundred to one anchoring ratio,” he told her, “You can pass me your Biomag now.”
Kate still felt hesitant. Her father’s Biomag had never left her neck since he’d placed it there.
“It’s OK, Kate, trust me. We’ve done this loads of times already.”
Taking a deep breath, she unhooked her unit and passed it slowly out towards Trevor.
“My word,” he laughed, “this unit’s an old one, maybe I should just give you an updated model.”
“Please,” Kate found herself replying, “It was my Dad’s. Can you try to update it? Please?”
“Sure, I’ll do what I can,” Trevor frowned and pointed to the side of the Biomag, “Did you know the security seal’s been broken? It’s been opened already…”
“My Dad,” Kate thought quickly, “he was always taking things apart.”
Trevor pulled the Biomag apart unceremoniously and looked at the circuitry under a desk-mounted magnifier.
“Yep,” Trevor seemed to confirm aloud, then angled the opened Biomag in her direction, “Good job we found it. This could’ve gone any time. There’s enough room in the housing to update it though. Looks like you’ll be getting your Dad’s unit back.”
Kate had already removed her father’s memory card, so there was no real need to retain the original Biomag, yet she felt an unaccountable sense of relief at the news.
“Thanks, Trevor.”
Within a few minutes he’d handed it back to her, with the update in place.
“We’ll just get you rebooted,” he smiled, tapping on the unit, “then you’ll be all set.”
“You’re a good man,” Kate told him.
His cheeks flushed slightly and he smiled but made no reply. Perhaps she’d embarrassed him, she thought. As her Biomag resumed its Field anchoring duty, the six surrounding lights went out.
“There,” Trevor now spoke again, “Still in one piece.”
•
Trevor turned off the lights and headed out of the infirmary. It was nearing midnight and the end of a long day of repairs. But the day wasn’t over for him yet.
He made his way down the central spiral stairs, hugging the outer rail to take in the view. Although the lighting in the Node had been dimmed, there were still signs of life. Looking down through the incomplete floors he could still see one or two individuals moving supply trolleys or carrying boxes between floors; the sound of their footsteps lost in the vast open space.
He entered the Observation Deck which, although electrically unlit, was still bathed in the rapidly fading dusk light coming in through the window. He looked up to the Observatory level at the apex of the Node and saw that the lights were off; Gail Armstrong must be using the reflector telescope to carry out more astronomy tests.
He crossed the floor and arrived at a secluded seating area, overarched by large, broadleaved plants. Slowly, he thought, the Node was making it up to spec; soon this lower deck area would be a pleasant garden space, concealing the cold mechanics of the Node’s walls and structural supports.
The remaining light of dusk faded, leaving the Observation Deck in near darkness. Only the low-level floor lighting remained on, picking out dim pools of light by the doorways and stairs. He heard Alfred Barnes clear his throat:
“Is it done?”
Trevor took a seat next to him and, in the current darkness, was glad he didn’t have to look him in the eye, “Yes.”
“Good,” he said in a positive tone, “I want to move things forward.”
“I’m done,” Tr
evor began, “I’ve made the -”
“You’re done when I say you’re done,” Alfred interrupted coldly, “I don’t think you realise what’s at stake here. Or your part in it. For the first time in… history… we have the opportunity to be free of the old ways.”
Trevor was beginning to see his own actions in a new light. Triggered by emotional pain, he’d allowed himself to justify unconscionable thoughts.
“Listen, Alfred,” he attempted to explain, “I know what you’ve said about maintaining law and order, but surely… triggering a Biomag failure is a measure of absolute last resort?”
“We’re already at that point,” Alfred replied immediately, “It’s just that I can recognise it.”
Trevor was about to try again, when Alfred let out a short laugh.
“Now, that, I believe is providence!” the silhouette of Alfred’s arm was pointing to the Observation Deck clock, “Look at the date.”
Trevor turned to the digital clock at the base of the vast window, it read:
‘0019_12.06.AM : 04JUL2076’
“Fourth of July?” he replied, “Don’t they happen every few hours in here? What’s your -”
“The year,” came Alfred’s voice from the darkness.
Trevor looked again at the date. If it had been a year lower, then Alfred could have been referencing the passing of sixty years since Siva’s arrival. Another anniversary lost in the blur of so many receding years.
“I give up,” he conceded, “What?”
“Three hundred years ago,” Alfred replied, “well, for the world out there, a nation declared their independence. Just as we will declare ours.”
“How exactly?” Trevor felt his frustration rising, “Throw some crates of tea out of an airlock?”
Alfred let out a long sigh before speaking.
“It’s important not to underestimate symbolic acts,” he said calmly, “They echo down through the generations.”
Outside the window, the stars turned and the year 2076 continued its fleeting journey.
2076
4th July 2076
“Miss me?” Leonard smiled and took her hand, “Come on, we have to go!”
Cathy allowed herself to be led back to the Drum where the pathetic attempts at paper Christmas decorations still littered the walls.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The ISS is calling,” Leonard smiled, “I’m routing their call to Chamber 6.”
“But where are the others?” Cathy attempted to pull her hand away, but he maintained his grip.
“They’ve gone,” his expression was a picture of regret and his grip softened, “It’s just you and me now, Cathy.”
“But, Mike? Lana?” she persisted, “Eva? Where did they go?”
“Shh,” he said softly, “I’ll explain afterwards. We shouldn’t keep their good crew waiting. We’re in this together.”
“Together,” she smiled, feeling a rush of recognition run through her.
Leonard gestured for her to go through to Chamber 6.
“I’ll be through in a moment,” he gave a tight-lipped smile of encouragement, “Floyd’s still being a little uncooperative with the communication relays.”
She left the Drum behind and made her way into Chamber 6.
She couldn’t remember when it had last been this quiet at the FLC, except perhaps during the nights. But even then, there was always the background noise of the O2 pumps, and the sound of the others breathing from within their improvised bunks above the Drum.
Like the breathing sound that had arrived behind her now.
“Evening, Gant,” came a voice from behind her. The voice didn’t belong to Leonard, but she recognised it immediately.
She turned to find Eva standing there. Before she could react, Eva punched her in the face and Cathy found herself flying back into the airlock. The door closed and she could hear the external airlock beginning to cycle open to the vacuum of space. The air suddenly began to grow thin and she fell to the airlock floor, struggling to draw breath. She felt her vision blur and darkness closed around her.
She drifted through the void between sleep and wakefulness. Conversations she’d had with Lana and Mike drifted through her thoughts. There were blurry feelings about the RTO and the ISS manoeuvring. There had been a struggle in an airlock, but the events now had the quality of a familiar story; its surreal low-gravity nature lacking urgency and intensity. The artificiality of the situation seemed more pronounced now.
She had experienced this fabrication many times over; it varied slightly each time, but it always ended in an airlock confrontation with Eva at the FLC.
Through this hazy self-awareness, a voice reached her.
“Hello Cathy,” it said, “we have spoken before.”
She could feel herself starting to rise into consciousness. She prepared herself for the Moon’s weak gravity, but the burden didn’t arrive. Instead was a feeling of weightlessness.
“Cathy,” said the voice near her ear, “Wake up.”
•
Framed within the small RTO window, Mike watched the Moon silently detonate, ejecting lethal shards of lunar mass in the direction of Earth.
“It’s OK, Mike,” Ross Crandall’s voice immediately reassured him, “We’re sending you to rendezvous with the ISS.”
Mike had a fleeting thought - there had been no communication delay when Ross had replied; but this soon gave way to a rising sense of relief that help was on the way.
“They’re good people, Mike. Work with them and we can get you home. We’re in this together. Over.”
“Message received,” he found himself gratefully replying, “We’re in this together.”
He couldn’t determine how much time had passed, but suddenly he felt the docking clamps take hold of the RTO module. With the airlock door still sealed, he heard a high-pitched hissing sound as the air pressure began to change.
He had the strongest feeling that he’d experienced this exact same moment many times before, but it was clearly impossible; he’d only docked with the ISS on one occasion. Through a fuzzy-sounding communication panel, a voice reached him.
“Hello Mike,” it said, “we have spoken before.”
Charles Lincoln had been the first ISS crew member to speak with him when the RTO had docked. The fact that the voice he’d just heard wasn’t Charles, only highlighted the artifice of the situation. As the air pressure continued to change, the lights within the RTO became less distinct.
“Mike,” said the voice near his ear, “Wake up.”
•
Before the elevator could complete its transit, it slowed to a halt. Then gravity began to fade away. This wasn’t a new experience, it was simply the way Miles prepared to transition into consciousness. The elevator around him began to evaporate into darkness and he prepared to become the ego-morph’s passenger once more.
But something was different.
Instead of inhabiting a small blank space within his own mind, he felt his senses extending into the confines of his own body.
“Miles,” said the voice from a speaker near his ear, “Wake up.”
He slowly opened his eyes. The environment was dimly lit but he could see the silhouettes of people nearby.
As though using his lungs for the first time, he slowly inhaled. The air had a metallic odour and a distinct chill that crept through his chest. As he studied his immediate surroundings, the perspective of the space seemed to arrange itself to fit a memory. He was within a hibernation recess in Module Beta. The small lights on the nearby sealed recesses told him that the hibernation units were still functional, which was good news for the crew, but Module Beta appeared to be without power.
A realisation began to dawn. He had exited sleep and Dr. Chen’s obedient alter-ego was not in control. Furthermore, the metathene’s mental edge was absent.
He pulled the neural band from his head and disconnected his medical wristband from the side of his recess. The silhouetted fig
ures briefly turned in his direction, and he recognised them as two of the FLC crew.
“Why’s it so damn cold?” Cathy was patting at her arms, sending dull echoes off the module’s cylindrical wall.
“Minimal life-support,” said Mike, checking a dimly illuminated display panel, “Any ideas, Mr. Benton?”
Miles eased himself out of the hibernation recess and pushed away from the floor. His head throbbed with the effort; he’d quite forgotten the sensory disorientation that came with waking.
“I have yet to assess the situation,” he said, remembering to adopt his alter-ego’s mannerisms and glancing around his surroundings.
“This is Fai.”
The voice came from the small panel near Mike and Cathy. In the vast volume of Module Beta, the voice sounded quiet and tinny. “Situation report follows.”
Miles manoeuvred himself into position next to the panel.
“You have been in hibernation for nine days twelve hours. The ISS is still following the preprogrammed fourteen-day solar system route. Full life-support is not yet restored. You have been awoken because of your predisposition to assist.”
“Assist what?” said Cathy, rubbing at her temples.
Instinctively, Miles knew the answer.
“Assist in stopping Valery Hill,” he replied before Fai could respond, “Valery killed Charles Lincoln and judging by her empty hibernation recess over there, would I be correct in assuming she’s about to sabotage another system?”
There was a brief pause before Fai replied.
“I cannot extrapolate that event, but she has ignored my requests to return to hibernation. I require human assistance in halting her progress.”
“OK, so, why not just contain her?” Mike shrugged, “You know, lock every airlock and stop her moving about?”
“I am using that technique, but she is using administrative level codes to override the restriction.”
Boundary (Field Book 3) Page 26
