Eva

by Simon Winstanley

  Acting on information given to him by Bradley Pittman, Alfred had given Kate a glass of metathene-laced water. The immediate results seemed to suggest that the metathene had interacted with the cortical enhancement she’d inherited from her parents, though the exact nature of the interaction was less clear. Within minutes of drinking the water, she had begun assisting with complex Field theory. However, this feat had ended with her collapsing into a coma. When she’d awoken, her physical condition and mental state had appeared to degrade rapidly.

  It had been his intention to study her; he’d even organised a Node-wide blood test to check if any other occupants shared similar genetics. The plan had gone awry though when Kate had exercised her choice to leave the Node with the exiles.

  If Kate represented some new genetic variant, possibly one with altered capabilities, then the passage of time outside the Field would be a problem for him. The Node’s internal travel time was intended to be a decade, but outside the Field this would equate to twenty-four thousand years; more than enough time for a superior form of human to gain an evolutionary advantage. By the time the Node completed its journey, he could find himself belonging to a fundamentally weaker species.

  Kate’s decision had put him in a quandary.

  If she left the Node, she represented a threat to his future. If he overruled her choice and forced her to stay, then this would reflect extraordinarily badly on his fledgling presidency.

  Using the same method as the one he’d employed to dispose of Colonel Beck, he hoped to electronically target Kate Walker’s Biomag. If he got the timing right, then it would seem that her Biomag had simply failed during the Field’s resizing operation. Her worrisome genetic chain would be gone, but the illusion of free will aboard the Node could be maintained.

  Bringing up his touchscreen tablet, he could see that the Field emitters were already preparing for the change in geometry. Accessing a separate tab, he remotely deactivated Kate’s Biomag. A moment later he had visual confirmation; standing on the rough terrain outside the observation window, eyes wide open, Kate was doing her best not to move. As he watched, she turned her head and stared directly at him.

  It was difficult for him to put into words, but he felt a physical rush of power. Somehow, she knew that he was responsible and was unable to alter her own fate.

  He heard someone rapidly approaching from behind him so he dropped the tablet to his side, obscuring the screen from view. As he turned, he saw it was the recently appointed civilian liaison officer. He knew from the most recent list that her brother had exercised his right to leave the Node.

  “Ah, Miss Briars,” he called as she continued to approach, “I was sad to hear that your brother chose to join the exiles.”

  “Yeah, I need to talk to you about that,” she arrived at his side, “Look, he’s not a Novaphile, or anything like that -”

  “Of course not,” Alfred replied, but spotted an opportunity to sow seeds of faint accusation, “Being the brother of such a prominent member of our Council, the notion of him being Exordi Nova is preposterous.”

  “Well, exactly,” she smiled, “He just hasn’t thought it through. Please can we delay their departure, so that I can talk-”

  “I’m so sorry,” he turned to face the window, “The process is just starting now…”

  Alfred could see panicked looks being exchanged between the exiles. He looked over to where Kate was standing and was greeted with an odd sight. The crutches she’d been heavily depending on over the last few weeks now lay on the floor, and her hunched posture had vanished. Now standing fully upright, Kate’s eyes were closed and she was calmly holding her Biomag.

  Alfred felt a sudden, prickling anxiety scratching at his confidence. Her serene behaviour meant that he’d missed something.

  Suddenly the sky flashed into an even faster blur and he felt a swell of nausea.

  The Field had contracted.

  The Node was now travelling even faster though time, bound for a future that was built on the exiles’ first moments.

  Individuals were no longer recognisable in this accelerated view. Occasionally, groups coalesced in discussion, but then flew apart again and regrouped elsewhere as yet more plans were made. Supply crates sprang open and resources scattered over the area in front of the observation window. As the sun plunged down towards the horizon, a bright orange camp fire exploded into view and tents blistered into existence on the ragged terrain. Suddenly he saw heavy activity centred around the Mark IV dedication stone.

  The stone had been his idea; a commemoration to those who had died in bringing the Node to fruition. But as he watched the unfolding scene, he realised the exiles were defiling it. Carving lettering into it.

  Abruptly the exiles stopped moving. An action that must be taking hours in the world beyond the window. Although he couldn’t read the words from here, he knew this was an act of defiance.

  They were literally standing by their words.

  On the main Observation Deck below the balcony, Alfred could hear the gathered crowd growing noisier. Several people were using the digital recording binoculars to see what the exiles had written. Turning on the spot to look for some binoculars he saw that the pink-haired woman nearby already had a set.

  “Give me that!” he wrenched them from her grasp and focussed them on the dedication stone.

  He half expected to see Kate standing alongside the other exiles, but she was absent. Perhaps the Biomag deactivation had done its job, he hoped. He panned the binoculars along the exiles and saw that each of them bore a circular Exordi Nova marking on their forehead.

  This was an orchestrated show of unity.

  He now saw Danny Smith, elbow propped on Kate’s crutch and holding aloft a small silver case. The memory of a brief fight he’d had with Danny slammed into his mind: while Alfred had pinned him to an infirmary bed, Danny had obviously stolen the metathene case from him.

  The anger he felt flared even more when he saw that the Node’s doctor was standing by Danny’s side, marked with the same circular ring of ash. She hadn’t been standing with the other exiles before the Field had contracted; she hadn’t even been on the list of people who were leaving. Alfred began to feel a compounded yet directionless sense of betrayal.

  His binoculars now passed over the freshly-chiselled words on the dedication stone; its hollow, carved lettering filled with black ash. The exiles were sending his often-used Latin phrase back to him, not as ‘Crescat nos fortior’ but ‘Crescat Kate fortior’:

  ‘Kate grows stronger.’

  It was clear to see that although Kate’s crutches were present, she herself was not. In horror, he realised what the exiles were doing. They were elevating Kate’s name to be a powerful symbol of remembrance and resistance. A statement of resistance that was being broadcast through the Node’s large observation window for all to see.

  Abruptly, the view became a solid white.

  He dropped the binoculars to his side and saw that the entire observation window had been switched opaque. The outside world was now obscured behind electro-tinted glass. Glancing round the balcony he saw that the pink-haired woman was approaching him.

  It took him a moment to realise that she was carrying the key to the electro-tinting control. He remembered that Colonel Beck had used the opaquing technique during briefings; for all intents and purposes, while Beck was speaking, the outside world did not exist. Alfred had been impressed enough at the time to scribble the word ‘Obscura’ on a scrap of paper.

  The young woman’s actions were equally impressive. Despite the fact that her own brother was among the exiles, her quick thinking had stopped any further propaganda from smearing his presidency.

  “We’ve seen enough of their lies,” she held the key out towards him.

  Above the sounds of confusion that were already drifting up from the Observation Deck, her words and actions somehow spoke louder.

  “Thank you… Miss Briars,” he accepted the key.

  “Pl
ease,” she said, “Call me Cassidy.”

  CURIOSITY

  21st December 2112

  Lana continued to watch the newly reconstructed Discovery craft recede from the ISS. During the departure, the fabricator machines responsible for the Discovery’s construction had again ceased work; although they continued their slow manoeuvring toward their required orbital positions.

  “It looks like we’re reaching the clearance distance, Lana,” Mike reported.

  “Confirmed Mike,” Lana pointed in the direction of Earth, “Go get some fresh air.”

  At the FLC, it was a phrase she’d use when Mike was out replacing the CO2 scrubber cartridges at the FLC’s Lima station. Here though, those same words carried new hope.

  “Copy that, keep the lights on,” Mike used his old counter-response.

  Unexpectedly she found her eyes welling up and all she could do was wave. Before her arm could complete a single sweep, the Discovery vanished from sight. Fai had apparently reactivated the Chronomagnetic Field surrounding the ISS.

  At their relative progression through time, several hours had already gone by for Mike, Cathy and Anna. The realisation hit her that she was already part of their past. She removed an absorbent tissue from her pocket and held it against each eye in turn. Taking a deep breath, she spoke to the artificial intelligence within the ISS.

  “Fai, how long until you have to wake the crew?”

  “Two hours, thirty minutes,” Fai’s voice sounded from a nearby comm panel.

  The fabricators were once again a blur of activity outside the Field, though as Lana watched they appeared to be reducing in number.

  “Is it going to work?” Lana pointed out of the cupola window.

  “In external relative time, nine hours have passed since the fabricators began orbital deployment,” said Fai, “I anticipate a progress report after one week has elapsed.”

  “A whole w-” Lana stopped, “Relative?”

  “Yes, Lana,” Fai confirmed, “Their report should arrive in approximately four minutes.”

  Lana shook her head in amazement at the relative time-frames at work. In four minutes she would know if Foothold was technically possible. She would then have just over two hours to set the plan in motion before the crew were revived.

  She turned to face the cupola window and the time-accelerated view beyond. The Earth below appeared to have resumed its spinning-top pace; continents and oceans existing only as streaks and blurs stretching around the globe. Somewhere down there, she thought, her friends had already begun their preparations.

  “Udachi,” she wished them well.

  After a few seconds Fai spoke.

  “Syntax mismatch.”

  “Explain?” said Lana.

  “My apologies, Dr. Chen did not foresee the need to install Russian as a core language set and no database exists that I can assimilate. Please can you verify the meaning of the word ‘Udachi’?”

  “Good luck,” Lana turned away from the window, “I was wishing them good luck.”

  “Lana, communication with the Discovery is not possible,” Fai returned, logically, “Your message cannot be -”

  “I know,” she sighed, “It is just something that people do.”

  “Even if the recipient cannot hear your wish that a compound probability resolves to their favour?”

  “Yes,” Lana laughed at the phrasing.

  “Wishing for an outcome has no measurable effect on probability,” said Fai, “If the intended sentiment cannot be received, then is the true purpose of the message to provide reassurance to the person who transmitted it?”

  Lana had never thought of it like that but suspected Fai was probably right.

  “It’s a very human idea,” Lana replied, “we… hope… for outcomes.”

  “Curious. I have a second question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What is ‘Matryoshka’?”

  Lana immediately recognised the pet name that only her father had used.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “In a conversation between you and Anna before her departure.”

  Lana now recalled this was true, but she was a still a little alarmed; a seemingly private conversation had obviously been analysed.

  “Fai, you observe all our conversations, yes?”

  “Yes, Lana. It is how my heuristic matrix acquires and orders information.”

  “You are learning?” Lana checked.

  “Yes, my stochastic-chaining intelligence exists in permanent update. Dr. Chen once told me that it gives me the curiosity of a child, though I am unable to quantify or verify his statement.”

  Lana could picture her own brief childhood and in particular the brightly-coloured wooden surface of the matryoshka that her father had given to her. She recalled the sense of fascination at opening layer after layer, each one containing smaller and smaller painted dolls, until only one tiny doll remained at its centre. In later years she’d realised the ironic statement that her father had been making; for the sake of the future, her inner child had been buried under layer after layer of responsibility. As a child though, she’d only seen the beautiful set of Russian dolls.

  Omitting her father’s reasoning, Lana explained to Fai what the word meant, outlining the appearance and container-like nature of the toy.

  “I see,” said Fai, “A nested set of geometrically similar forms. Thank you for the clarification.”

  “Why is the explanation so important?” Lana found it difficult to believe that such an old toy would be of any interest to an artificial intelligence.

  “My parameters include absorbing and interpreting information, then evaluating correlations to other observed phenomena.”

  “Making connections,” Lana found she was nodding.

  “Yes, Lana.”

  CONNECTION

  13th April 2014

  “Arc vessel Sea-Bass, requesting docking permission. Over,” Tristan spoke into the handset.

  Despite two more attempts to contact the USV docking station, no response returned.

  “OK, Mat, you’re up,” he then looked over to Lucy, “Prepare the main ballast tank.”

  “Should I be worried?” Lucy walked to the central display surface.

  “Prepared,” said Tristan.

  The control room swayed as Mat began using the manoeuvring jets to position the sub above the USV hatch. Tristan switched channels on his handset.

  “Pav, how are we doing down there?”

  “I’ve got Pod Two loaded,” Pavna reported from the lower docking room, “but I think we should only make the call after we’ve interfaced with the hatch.”

  “Mat’s taking us down now for a manual docking.”

  “Yeah I know, I almost got knocked on my…” she broke off mid-sentence, “just tell him to go easy, would you?”

  Mat didn’t take his eyes off the controls, but gave a nod.

  “He hears you, Pav. I’m on my way down,” he hung up the handset and walked towards the stern, “Lucy, if there’s any change in hull pressure, you call abort on the docking, OK?”

  Accessing the ladders outside the control room, Tristan climbed down to reach the lower docking room; itself a two-storey space. Emerging onto its upper deck, he steadied himself on the gantry’s handrail; Mat was evidently still making broader adjustments to their position above the USV hatch.

  At the centre of the room, Pavna was using the motorised loader to manoeuvre the bulky cylindrical container into position. In contrast to the hermetically sealed Pod One that they used for personnel transport, Pod Two was optimised for freight; its open cage structure was capable of deploying large loads and made no attempt to address the issue of comfort.

  He walked out over the open mesh flooring of the upper deck and could see that she’d almost completed aligning Pod Two with the tubular airlock that was on the deck directly below.

  Multiple metallic-sounding clicks echoed up from the lower deck.

  “Docking clam
ps to standby,” Mat’s voice reported over the main speaker.

  Although the room did not appear to move, Tristan could feel the inertia effects within his inner ear and found himself holding out his arms to maintain his balance. After a few seconds, the motion ceased and he heard the docking relays snap closed on the deck below.

  “External docking clamps locked, we have connection,” said Mat, then added in a deliberately lighter tone, “Thank you for flying Sea-Bass, we hope you have a pleasant day.”

  Pavna wasted no time and climbed down through the metallic flooring to reach the lowest deck. By the time Tristan had joined her by the submarine’s airlock, she’d already brought up the access control on her display.

  A series of negative-sounding buzzes were coming from the display as she worked; each buzz appeared to deepen her frown.

  “What is it, Pav?”

  “Nothing, I,” she turned to her comm panel, “Hey, Mat, can you re-engage the docking clamps?”

  “Yep, hold on.”

  The docking clamps relocked into place, sending a mechanical shudder through the decking plates under their feet.

  “OK, thanks, Mat.”

  Tristan could see that her frown wasn’t lifting. For some reason the clamps were locking but not allowing communication with the USV hatch below. Running through possible avenues of errors, Tristan knew there was only one impossible option left.

  “Pav, do me a favour and bring up the sync protocols.”

  “OK, but there’s no airlock diagnostics in there,” she opened the appropriate menu, “What have you got in mind?”

  “Go to clock settings.”

  “OK,” she tapped at the display, “done.”

  “Compare it to the USV clock within their docking control, would you?”

  “OK, but… Ah, there it is,” Pavna confirmed, “They couldn’t handshake ‘cos their clock was out of sync with ours.”

  “By how much?”

  “Only a few seconds,” she resumed her work, “It’s OK, I’ve corrected for it and… Yep, I’m getting a data feed through now. Looks like they had a power failure down there, maybe that’s what caused the problem…”