Eva

by Simon Winstanley

  “Always forwards, Cassidy, never back.”

  Danny started to reach forwards and the recording ended.

  For a few minutes, she and Marshall sat quietly on the floor, gathering their thoughts. There was just too much to take in. Not only had the exiles survived, they had thrived. If Danny’s message was to be believed, they were beginning journeys on spacecraft. Tyler may have been aboard one of the spacecraft she’d seen in the logo. She looked around at the faded sign and the rest of the room.

  It seemed that Atka’s traditions had been based on what his ancestors had found here: automated message fragments that were clearly beyond their understanding. Over time that misunderstanding had compounded into ritual; ceremonies adorned with the shiny contents of this room. At some point they’d found the Node, standing on an isolated altar, and incorporated that too into their beliefs. The realisation dawned on her that she was only standing in this room now because of this ancient and uncorrected mistake.

  Leaving the Node had been a goal for so long that she now had no idea what to do next, but she found her attention being repeatedly pushed towards the shorter video clips.

  “Er… Computer?” she tried speaking slowly, “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Cassidy,” the voice responded, “You may also speak at normal speed.”

  “Er… OK,” she said, unsure if she’d actually be able to phrase things any faster, “In the, er, short version of the message, you said that you’d preserved key things.”

  “Yes.”

  “But Danny’s message was mostly about saying goodbye,” Cassidy pointed out, “How exactly did ‘Equator, find us, Eridanus’ preserve anything?”

  There was a pause, then the computer spoke again.

  “The message from Daniel Napier contained sentimental elements, but they were not the most important factors to be preserved. At the time the recording was made, the exact duration of my hibernation was unknown. In the event that my core system failed, my high-efficiency automated message was intended to preserve the minimum number of words that would be necessary to issue an instruction.”

  “Equator, find us, Eridanus?” said Cassidy, “That’s an instruction?”

  “Yes. In conjunction with the other information within this facility, the instruction was intended to direct the people of the Node towards the Eridanus Launch Centre. My interactive -”

  “Wait, just stop…” Cassidy found herself staring again at the circular logo on the wall, “We need Gail in here.”

  INDEPENDENCE DAY

  4th July 2014

  It had taken many months to complete the Samphire submarine dock, but the necessity to leave the USV had given people a sense of purpose. The mindset of purely insular survival had shifted towards adaptation and exploration.

  The Warren’s access tunnel had been sealed with a thick layer of expanding polymer foam. A hose system had also been put in place to redirect the slow water flow towards the new dock, where it could be pumped out of the USV.

  The main tunnel immediately outside the USV had now been explored during several dives. Although divers could swim past the train wreck, it would be completely impassable for the intended new submarine.

  Izzy looked out over the embarkation zone to the submarine sitting low in the massive water tank that abutted the USV wall. When the voyage got underway, the sub would submerge fully and a pressurised roof would slide into position over the tank. That roof would then prevent back-flow from the main tunnel when the carriage-sized outer door opened and allowed the sub to transfer outside.

  For Tristan, the submarine construction itself had been a detailed but fairly straightforward operation. He’d known that Archive had procured dozens of Westhouse submersibles in kit form, so the fact that three had been shipped here hadn’t been a complete surprise.

  Izzy still sometimes found it hard to comprehend just how long Archive had been preparing the worldwide contingency plans. When she considered the fact that she was now taking advantage of their extraordinary efforts, she found that her animosity towards Archive had waned.

  Although the submarine had been completed several weeks ago, its first long-range voyage would begin today and she would be aboard. When she looked at the people who’d gathered to witness the departure, she felt a peculiar sense of guilt at being among the first to leave.

  Marcus arrived at her side, “Quite a turnout.”

  “Yeah,” she looked around, “You haven’t seen Tristan, have you?”

  “Says he’s doing the final checks,” Marcus pointed at the sub, “I don’t think he likes the spotlight.”

  “No,” Izzy agreed. When it came to public ceremonies, she knew he preferred not to be the centre of attention.

  “I think our American buddy would’ve been proud,” Marcus looked around at the crowd.

  Without Nathan’s actions to seal the USV, she knew none of them would be standing here today.

  “It was a nice idea to time the launch for Independence Day,” she replied.

  “Yeah, well,” Marcus shrugged and stared in the direction of the Glaucus stairwell, “we owe him one.”

  Sarah Pittman moved towards the microphone that had been set up for the occasion.

  “Good morning, everyone,” her voice carried around the USV.

  A round of applause went up from the crowd and Izzy could see the genuinely cheerful look on the faces of those around her. As the clapping subsided, she could also hear cheering coming from the far side of the USV; those unable to attend in person were watching the event on screens in the village square.

  “We’re gathered to see the launch of the USV’s first Westhouse vessel,” she said, “The result of everyone’s hard work and cooperation.”

  Again the crowds clapped their agreement, eventually coming to order when Sarah, still smiling, raised a hand.

  “However,” she continued, “before getting underway, we have a renaming to conduct. Although the ‘USV three dash Alpha’ is the correct technical designation for our vessel, it lacks a certain flair.”

  She nodded to two people behind her, who then busied themselves taking hold of a piece of cloth that was covering a short section of the submarine’s hull.

  “In recognition of services that were vital to our survival,” she said, “It gives me great pleasure to rename this vessel…”

  Izzy watched the two people remove the cloth from the hull.

  “… The Iseult,” said Sarah turning to look and clap in her direction.

  The crowd spontaneously erupted into applause and Izzy felt her cheeks erupt into redness. Marcus was grinning and clapping by her side.

  “You know I hate that name!” she hissed under the applause.

  “Don’t blame me!” he laughed, “You go savin’ the USV, people will wanna show their thanks!”

  “I didn’t clear that airlock all by myself,” she insisted, “Did you know about this?”

  “Tris told me a few minutes ago,” he admitted, “It was his idea.”

  “But, The Iseult?” she sighed, looking at her full name emblazoned on the side of the sub.

  “Could’ve been worse I s’pose,” he shrugged, “Sarah wanted to call it somethin’ else.”

  She could tell he was dying to tell her, “Go on.”

  “The Tristan and Iseult,” he grinned.

  •

  The forward view wasn’t as wide as the Sea-Bass’ bubble window used to be, but Tristan could see their surroundings clearly enough: the flooded main tunnel lay ahead of them.

  Earlier teams had cleared the car wreck, but the wrecked train behind them was, of course, immovable; that direction, at least in a sub, would remain inaccessible. There was only one other way out.

  He saw the rubber seals expand around the USV’s carriage-sized airlock door.

  “USV, this is the Iseult,” he spoke into the handset.

  At his side, Izzy smiled and shook her head.

  “Iseult this is USV,” Sarah’s voice returned over
the speaker, “Go ahead.”

  “We have positive confirmation that the outer main airlock is secure,” he replied, “Please confirm pressure equalisation in the transfer tank.”

  “Standby.”

  Marcus made his way forward into the small cockpit and stood in the narrow gap between their seats.

  “So this is it then?” he looked out through the narrow window, then glanced between them, “The first voyage of Tristan and Iseult.”

  She elbowed him in the leg, “Watch it, Blackbox.”

  Tristan found himself smiling, “How is everyone, back there?”

  “Busy with the fairy lights,” Marcus glanced over his shoulder.

  In some ways, Tristan could see that his reference wasn’t so far from the truth. During their departure from the USV, they would be leaving behind a long trail of guiding lights; whoever used the tunnel next wouldn’t need to navigate it in darkness.

  “Iseult this is USV,” Sarah returned, “Transfer tank equalisation confirmed. We’ll start loading the second sub.”

  “Understood,” he replied, “We’ll make contact again at the drop-off.”

  “USV out.”

  He became aware of Marcus staring at the monitor that showed their rear view; the tunnel was now up-lit by the first of their guide lights.

  “I was here before it flooded,” Marcus stared blankly, “The poor sods never had a chance.”

  In the low-lit water, masses of ropes now spanned the tunnel width; safety lines put in place by the divers who’d built on their first efforts. Seemingly caught within this spider’s web was the twisted carcass of the train carriage, torn open along one edge.

  “I don’t know if this is any consolation,” said Tristan, “but when we were out there, we never saw any bodies. They could’ve got out before it flooded.”

  Marcus just nodded and looked out of the window.

  Progress was necessarily slow along the tunnel, but laying the guide lights gave Tristan time to become accustomed to the helm. The Sea-Bass had been a larger vessel, but somehow Mat always made manoeuvring seem easy. He knew it was optimistic, but there was the possibility that Mat, Lucy and Pavna were already on their way back from the ARC.

  Suddenly, the forward lights of the Iseult were no longer illuminating the tunnel.

  “Is this the point?” Izzy asked.

  “We’re at the drop-off,” he nodded.

  Through the narrow window he could see that the lights were having no effect because there was nothing to illuminate. The tunnel and surrounding rock were simply missing. He’d seen the video footage brought back by other divers over the first few weeks, but to see it in person was an entirely different experience.

  Mere metres away, the former English Channel suddenly fell to ocean-like depths.

  Although he’d felt the water’s high flow rate during their bid to open the personnel airlock, the tidal effects were stronger here. After disconnecting the chain of guide lights, he manoeuvred the sub out of the current and brought it about; facing the direction they’d come from.

  Almost like a section diagram from an old textbook, it seemed that a ragged bite had been taken through the local topography. Their tunnel, now illuminated by a thin and receding string of lights, was surrounded by various strata of rock; each layer getting lighter as it neared the sea’s surface.

  Tristan picked up the handset.

  “USV this is the Iseult.”

  “Receiving, over,” Sarah replied.

  “We’re at the drop-off,” he reported, “High turbulence on exit. Proceeding to the Glaucus Dock land entrance for visual inspection.”

  “Understood, stay in contact. USV out.”

  The physical distance to the Glaucus entrance was trivial but they proceeded with caution; rising through the seawater and slowly moving inland. After only a few hundred yards, a circular gap in the surrounding devastation told Tristan that they’d reached the right place. At the centre was a completely destroyed spiral-plate airlock.

  “Oh no…” Izzy covered her mouth.

  His first reaction was to quickly inspect the immediate area. With an immense sense of relief, he saw that there were no pieces or components associated with the Sea-Bass. At the very least, they’d managed to depart in one piece.

  “It’s OK,” he reassured her, “They got away.”

  “How d’you know?” said Marcus.

  “It’s only been a few months, so I’d expect to see large hull fragments,” he explained, “There aren’t any.”

  “Where would they have gone?”

  The truth was that he didn’t know. Of the four people who had been left standing in the Glaucus offices, he was the only one who knew of the ice ring anomaly that had once appeared on this site. Mat, Pavna and the rescued occupants of the Warren had departed from here suddenly; there was no way to know their destination.

  “The original plan was to return to the ARC,” he said truthfully.

  “So let’s go and find them,” said Izzy.

  “Might be a bit tricky,” Marcus pointed at their instruments, “Your compass is a mess.”

  The arrow appeared to be fluctuating so rapidly that all directions appeared to be north.

  Tristan had experienced compass interference before; it had given him a direct bearing to the USV. Like previous occasions, he felt that a detail was being brought to his attention.

  “It’s just interference,” he watched the arrow, “It’ll stabilise.”

  Sure enough, after a few seconds the arrow came to rest. Again it seemed that a course of action was being presented to him. The decision to follow the indicated direction, of course, would still be his choice.

  CHOICE

  ~

  The events in Atka’s village were now seated in the deep past. The branches of timelines that had emerged from his daughter’s impulsive intervention had resulted in new growth.

  At the time, he’d been furious with her, questioning how she could have been so careless. She’d then calmly reminded him of a poignant fact: before he’d succeeded in rescuing Monica from the USV, his own emotions had caused far greater timeline changes and had also made a far bigger hemispherical disturbance in the USV’s lake.

  Monica had defused their disagreement, stating a maxim that she’d always lived her life by: only by adding a little chaos to order, could there be any joy.

  He looked around his construct of the Samphire Cottage kitchen.

  As far as possible, he’d tried to recreate the time before they’d built the Warren. The floor under their feet contained no concealed trapdoor, the windows were simply glazed rather than reinforced, and he’d even remembered the twee-looking wall clock.

  While Kate was outside, he handed Monica a pair of binoculars. Though only a simulation, they were a visual reproduction of the original binoculars that she’d once given to him.

  She took them from him and smiled.

  “We used to stand right here and use these,” she looked out of the window, “taking it in turns looking out over the English Channel.”

  “Looking at the small boats,” he nodded.

  She read the three engraved letters that he’d been careful to recreate on the side of the binoculars.

  “And saying ‘I C U’…” she smiled, “I can’t believe you remembered that detail.”

  “Of course I remember it,” he said, “We used to write it on our notes to each other.”

  The view beyond the window was less authentic; a sky that was filled with the timelines of their continuum.

  “Go ahead,” he looked out of the window, “Take a look.”

  She raised the binoculars but then paused, “Why do I need to use these?”

  “Because they’re not really binoculars…” he explained, “They’re more like a quantum resonance differentiation filter for the Boundary itself.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled back at him, “that’s much clearer.”

  “I mean that the Boundary’s own -”

 
; “It’s OK, darling,” she raised the binoculars into position, “I’m sure it’ll make sense. Where am I looking?”

  He stood behind her and tried to aim her in the right direction.

  “After we created the manifold inflection that brought Anna and the others together, we saw new timeline patterns.”

  “The curly, circular and dot ones?” she began, “And the ones that looked like springs?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I’ve been studying them -”

  “Oh, I see it!” Monica suddenly exclaimed, “The one with multiple intersections?”

  “That’s the one,” he said, “Now carefully use the focus wheel. Move it really slowly.”

  He could see her fingers feel for the knurled metal wheel then adjust it.

  “OK,” she said, “What’s supposed to…”

  Her sudden silence told him that she’d seen it.

  She repeatedly rolled at the metal wheel; turning it to one extreme, then all the way to the other. Occasionally she’d open her mouth to speak, but would always change her mind.

  Eventually she lowered the binoculars but continued to stare through the window at the arcs of continuity that laced the sky. He knew her well enough to know that she was upset by the sight she’d seen. Like him, she could see the consequences it could have for them both.

  “We’ve achieved so much, haven’t we?” she took a stuttering deep breath, “Over so long.”

  She quietly walked away from the window and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Saved so many lives,” she placed the binoculars down on the table and sighed, “Made history. Unmade it. Most of the time they couldn’t even see it happening around them… they could never see the choice…”

  “The only difference is that we can see the choice,” he said.

  Monica began weeping and instantly he was by her side. He wrapped his arms around her, as he’d done when she’d fallen from the heights within the USV. He held her tightly, as though he could absorb her discomfort by sheer pressure.

  “But…” she sobbed, “It would all end…”

  “Hey,” he squeezed her, “It’s gonna be OK. Just because we’ve been given a choice, it doesn’t mean we have to take it.”