The Hesperian Dilemma

by Colin Waterman

  Dream peace and hope for your life.

  Sing, sing my little one, my child,

  In happiness rejoicing, laughter announcing

  Openness and love in your heart.

  Voice full and ringing, a well-spring outflowing,

  Give of yourself without fear.

  Geoff wiped away the tears from his eyes and returned to the lab. He used his transcriptor to convert the poem into machine code, and hyperlinked it from Maura’s last memory. He ran Zaijian again, and waited while streams of boot-up commands filled his screen, faster than he could read. But the last item was more than just computer source code. It was a message he would remember always. He read it and felt his body unwind.

  Maura:

  Don’t say Zaijian, Geoff. You should have called the program ‘Hiya’. But thanks anyway, I think I’ve been born again.

  Geoff:

  Oh, my love. How are you feeling? Sorry, stupid question.

  Maura:

  Sure, but it’s not. The only experiences we can ever have are just phenomena in our brains – you know that. And actually, I’m okay, although this seems like a dream at the moment. I need time to adjust. But I’m certain I can link with you mentally in some way. Perhaps we won’t have to keep writing messages to each other.

  Geoff:

  Oh Maura, that would be fantastic. I can’t think of anything better.

  Maura:

  I know I have a lot of work to do, but I’m kind of looking forward to it. I’m buzzing with ideas, and they’re coming faster and faster.

  Geoff:

  Don’t be in too much of a rush. You probably need to pace yourself.

  Geoff realised he was automatically repeating advice he’d given Maura countless times before. She no longer needed suggestions of that sort.

  Maura:

  Don’t worry, I know you will help me. We can do lots of science together, just like we always have.

  Geoff:

  I’ll be ready. Just tell me what. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you.

  Maura:

  I know that. I now have a perfect memory, thanks to you. But you must be extremely tired. We’ll talk again, when you’ve had some rest. By the way, you need to make more nappies. Chen has just used the last one. And make them a bit bigger this time.

  Geoff:

  How do you know what Chen is doing?

  Maura:

  Oh, there’ll be a lot to tell you. But I’ll save it for later. Thanks for finding my poem. It’ll remind me of holding Clodagh in my arms. Sleep well, Geoff.

  Geoff:

  Thanks, Maura. I love you!

  Major Willard Breckenridge hadn’t slept too well. He’d read every communication sent to the Septagon during the last month, and there had been no hint of G-bombs, just the usual routine output: awards given to departments for self-sufficiency; health and safety reports showing no lost-time accidents; more lies about their care of environment and so on. He wouldn’t be able to keep the general off his back much longer. He poured himself a glass of water and washed down two tablets from the blister pack he kept in his desk drawer. He picked up his com-phone and clicked on Library.

  ‘Hi, Elisabetta? Breckenridge here. I wonder if you could hop over to see me in my office . . . Yeah, as soon as possible, please.’

  The major programmed his coffee machine to pour two cups of Arabica and carried them to his desk. Elisabetta sat demurely with her legs crossed, looking rather small in Breckenridge’s simulated leather armchair.

  ‘D’you like your job in the library?’ he asked her.

  ‘Oh yes, Major.’

  ‘Ain’t it rather repetitive, p’raps a little borin’?’

  ‘No, not at all. I enjoy carrying out information searches for people. I learn something new every time.’

  ‘Well, I’ve noticed you’re very conscientious and competent. I’m preparin’ a shortlist of possible candidates for a new department I’m creatin’. If you did well in a little old performance test, I’d set you up as Group Head. You’d still be a civilian, but your salary would be a helluva lot higher than you get now.’

  ‘Oh, Major, thank you for considering me. Can I ask what the new job is about?’

  ‘You can ask, but I’d have to marry you if I told you,’ said Breckenridge, hiccupping his peculiar laugh. Elisabetta smiled politely.

  ‘Nah, seriously, this new operation is top secret. Not even our Intelligence unit know about it. But to prove you’re as cute as I think you are, I’d like you to do a test. You just have to use this com-pad to give me printouts showin’ whenever someone in the Unidome searches the network using certain words. D’you think you can do that?’

  ‘Oh yes, Major – willingly.’

  Geoff was working late in the lab again. He was trying to get back into the galactic uni-nets he’d first accessed in Atherlonne’s caves, to see if earlier civilisations had invented G-bombs. But it wasn’t going well. He’d found many examples of alien worlds that had tried to create black holes but, mysteriously, the information ceased shortly afterwards – or perhaps it wasn’t so mysterious, after all.

  A message appeared on Geoff’s com-pad:

  Maura:

  Hiya Geoff, how are you doing?

  Geoff:

  I’m great thank you, Maura. It’s so good to hear from you.

  Maura:

  I’m sorry to write on your com-pad. I think we can get some more direct contact going soon. But this is kind of important, so I don’t want to take any chances of misunderstanding. I’ve really expanded my mind, since the jump. With a bit of effort, I can access just about any data that exist electronically. But these feckin’ OPDEO eejits have got wise to the Thiosh hacking their networks. They’re reverting to old-fashioned hard-copy documents for their secret stuff. It looks like they’re using their keyboards for typing. Did you know, in the twentieth century, people had mechanical ‘typewriters’ so they didn’t have to write by hand? Well, the buggers are using their com-pads offline like typewriters, and I can’t see what they’ve got in their G-bombs.

  Geoff:

  Is there nothing on their network, indexes, stuff like that?

  Maura:

  The bockedy-arsed bastards are too clever for that.

  Geoff:

  D’you know what? I think it’s time to talk to Prof, if he’s still in post.

  Maura:

  What are you thinking of?

  Geoff:

  He was once a reputable scientist. Let’s see what how loyal he is to his lords and masters, now they’re killing off the remaining Thiosh on Europa. I don’t think he was ever comfortable collaborating with OPDEO. We need to turn him into a rebel.

  Maura:

  I like the idea, but I’m not clever enough to do that yet.

  Geoff:

  Maura, love, d’you not feel that you’re a conscious being?

  Maura:

  Ha, you ought to talk to Kai about that. He thinks consciousness is an illusion, to make you get up in the morning and find food. It doesn’t do much to serve the rest of humankind, or any other sentient beings.

  Geoff:

  As you’re an über-brain, I don’t think I’ll get into any philosophical arguments with you. But how can we influence Prof’s neural networks so he collaborates with us?

  Maura:

  I think you should talk to Kai. There’s life even beyond a Virtuon’s understanding.

  Geoff:

  I think you’ve become more like me.

  Maura:

  If you mean I’m more logical, I can calculate faster and more accurately than before. But logic is purely historical. I can extrapolate the present and guess at the future, and even ascribe probabilities to my predictions. But that’s only logic.

  Geoff:

  What’s happened to your intuition?

  A convulsion of fear pulsed through Geoff. Did I miss part of Maura’s mind I should have replicated?

  Maura:

  Don’t worry. I sti
ll have that as well. That’s why you should speak to Kai. But give our babe a cuddle first. Okay?

  Geoff found Kai sitting at his desk in the open-plan office. He was looking at the protocols for earlier attempts to set up world peacekeeping organisations.

  ‘Have you got a minute?’ Geoff asked. ‘I wondered how you’d got on contacting General Watkins and Shan.’

  ‘Yes, they are keen to cooperate. But I think you have other things on your mind?’

  Geoff nodded his head. ‘As always, you are several steps ahead of me. I wanted to ask your advice. We need someone in OPDEO to collaborate with us. A sort of a secret agent.’

  ‘Such a person needs to have sufficient motivation to make the risks tolerable. Who have you got in mind?’

  ‘I used to work in Professor Mitchell’s department. At least, that was the unit I was allocated to, for administrative purposes. He sold out to OPDEO, ages ago, and gave up doing proper science. If he’s got any kind of conscience, he would want to help us, I’m sure.’

  ‘If he defects to us, it will put him in great personal danger,’ said Kai. ‘But if we tell him the truth, we may be able to get him to risk his neck. But it will not be easy contacting him. We will have to do it in such a way that he complies with us rather than OPDEO, who say we are traitors.’

  ‘Hm, that’s going to be a problem. Prof’s a loner. I can’t think of anyone who was close to him when I worked there.’

  ‘Leona could have done it. She once told me that Prof was infatuated with her. I think she may be able help us, even beyond the grave. I will share with Atherlonne and see if we can prepare the ground.’

  Brain Waves

  Professor Peregrine Mitchell washed down his Semperyuve caplets with a glass of sparkling mineral water, and frowned. He switched on the light above his bathroom mirror and looked again. The lines in his forehead were deepening. He brushed his coiffured hair and stared at the grey strands clinging to the bristles.

  He spoke into his com-phone. ‘Memo, seven thirty CHT, Sunday sixteenth April 2141. Please arrange analysis of Semperyuve pills manufactured on Europa. Compare with control sample of original anti-ageing supplement manufactured on Earth. Send message to Dr Adams in Pharmacology.’

  ‘DO YOU MEAN ADAEZE?’ said the phone.

  ‘No, shit, forget it,’ said Prof.

  He walked over to his desk where his com-pad was charging. There was an urgent notification flashing on the screen. It was a message from Breckenridge. ‘Oh, Christ!’ he muttered. ‘What does he want now?’ He picked up the photo on his desk and shook his head. It showed him wearing his cap and gown at Cambridge. Underneath, his students had written ‘To the best Senior Tutor ever. Good luck in your new job!’

  His omniprinter flashed green to shown it had finished processing. In spite of the machine’s name, its software did not allow many of the more convenient mind-altering substances to be synthesised. However organic seeds and derivatives used for culinary purposes were all permitted. Prof unlocked the side panel and took out a flask of white powder. After adding a measured quantity of hot water to the flask, he stirred the mixture with a narrow spatula until all the powder had dissolved. He took his necktie and tied it tightly as a tourniquet around his upper arm, smiling grimly as the coat of arms of his old college, Corpus Christi, became embedded in the knot. He placed some cotton wool in neck of flask as a filter and drew the liquid into the body of a hypodermic syringe. Then he pushed the needle point into the crook of his arm. He slightly withdrew the plunger to check he’d hit a vein and red-black blood ballooned inside the syringe, like the glob of ‘lava’ he’d once seen in a strange lamp in an antique shop. He tore off the tourniquet with his free hand, gripped the syringe and pushed the hit home. After ten seconds he returned to his com-pad.

  He opened Breckenridge’s message. ‘How are you doing Prof? You made any progress dissecting that Thiosh carcass? There must be something we can put in the ocean to clean them out. I need your update PDQ. Have a nice Sunday!’

  ‘Stupid fucker,’ said Prof, laughing. He began to type a message to his lab technician. ‘Hi, Laura . . .’ An error flashed DO YOU MEAN LEONA?

  ‘Fuck,’ Prof swore. He deleted the name, left the greeting just as ‘Hi’ and continued. ‘Release the Thiosh autopsy to Breckenridge, but delete any reference to specific poisons. Just say Thiosh toxicity is being researched currently.’

  Geoff now spent hours in the lab, the place where he’d shared much of his recent time, hopes and aspirations with Maura. Without her he preferred to be on his own. The lab was now his private space.

  He heard a voice. It sounded very close to him. He looked around the empty room, and it was still empty. He typed on his com-pad.

  Geoff:

  Maura, is that you, or am I hallucinating?

  Hiya, Geoff, it’s me to be sure. I thought I’d try speaking inside your head. You would only have heard me if you’d wanted to, but of course, you did. You don’t have to type messages any more. Just think the sentences you want to say, and I’ll see if I can pick them up.

  Testing one, two, three, four, thought Geoff.

  Very good, but d’you think you could think of something more original?

  Oh, I never expected it to work. Are we really doing telepathy? It’s fantastic!

  Well, it beats comp-mails any day. But I doubt if you’ll be able to telepathise with anyone else, though you could try if you want to. But I think it’ll be something special between you and me. Would you like that Geoff?

  Too right – it would be wonderful to know what you really think. Not that you’ve kept anything from me. You’ve never done that. Well, except for your poem. I liked it by the way.

  There’ll be no more room for secrets. I’m sorry I hid the poem, but I was embarrassed about anyone seeing it, even you.

  Hey, Maura – I can feel your emotion. You’ve got emotions and I can feel them.

  Emotions are good as long as they’re positive. But come what may, I’ll always love you.

  Thanks. ‘Always’ may be a long time in your case.

  I’ve been reading what you write in your Clodagh diary on the TUCC network. I’m sorry you’ve had to get up so often in the night.

  She keeps changing her routine, but it’s okay, we’re managing. I take it in turns with Chen to change her nappies. And she’s growing so fast. She’s put on nearly a kilo. Geoff wondered if Maura could tell how tired he felt.

  I know how tired you feel. You’ve been through a lot lately.

  Like you say, no more secrets.

  Thanks for putting the infrared camera in Clodagh’s room. I saw she’d dropped her dummy the other night. I nearly TK-ed it up and put it back in her mouth, but I thought I’d better not. But you live in clean conditions. There shouldn’t be any germs.

  So you’re pretty skilful with your TK-power, now?

  It’s coming on. If I know exactly where something is, I can apply telekinetic force down to, say, microscopic level. I can’t do molecules yet, but I’m working on it.

  That’s great, you’ve achieved so much. Geoff wondered if she’d found a way of getting to OPDEO’s secret records.

  I still haven’t found a way of getting to OPDEO’s secret records, but I can see where the missiles are, because Breckenridge is tracking them electronically.

  Brilliant!

  We’ve got barely a month to do something before they reach Earth. There were three missiles. Each has now split up into six separate warheads.

  Okay, you’ve made so much progress, I’m sure you’ll be able to disarm them soon.

  Oh, Geoff. This is so ironic, using more and more technology to fight technology. More than ever I’m coming round to the idea that we need to ditch all our hi-tech advances, and get back to a simple life. You know Atherlonne promised to deindustrialise the Thiosh, like the dolphins did long ago. Unless humans do the same, we’ll disappear as a species.

  Are you sure you’ve taken account of all the benefits? We can print
any amount of food. We can stay young, if we choose too. And what about our ability to communicate? If you took away telecommunication, how are we going to resolve problems peacefully?

  Actually, I’ve thought about it a lot, equivalent to thousands of man-years of human thinking. There are many pros and cons. But as for technology, telecommunication needn’t be electronic. We’ve proved that. The problem is we can’t help using technology to destroy the Earth and ourselves.

  Maybe, but we can’t go back to nature while we’re being gravity bombed. Share with me tomorrow, Maura, if you have a spare minute.

  When he awoke next morning, Geoff wondered if his telepathic experience had all been a dream. He reached out in his mind.

  Maura O’Hara. Maura O’Hara. This is Geoff. Come in please, over.

  Oh, Geoff, you don’t have to be so formal.

  Sorry, Maura, I didn’t know how to get your attention.

  Don’t worry, I know when you’re thinking of me, even in your dreams.

  Oh right. Well, you probably know I want to talk to you about stepping out from your hardware. You mustn’t stay too long living in the TUCC network. You’re using almost every bit of computing power the TUCC has but, more importantly, you’re vulnerable to hardware breakdown. If OPDEO get even one of their bombs through, it could wipe you out, as well as us.

  Okay, I’ll work out how to do it. But the bombs are the priority. I saw Atherlonne hack into the OPDEO network. Prof’s getting reminders about Leona several times a day now.

  He must think he’s being cyber-stalked. He won’t know Leona has passed away. What should we do next?