Voyage

by C. Paul Lockman

  The bar room of the pub, one of only five buildings in this tiny village, was about half full with ramblers, fishing types and cyclists, whose steeds were arranged in a neat row outside. The building itself was of thick stone and had the air of solidity and permanence associated with the oldest and best rural buildings. I liked it immediately.

  “Will you be having some breakfast?” asked the owner in a thick, Welsh accent, as I entered. She was a round, portly woman who gave the impression of having served massive breakfasts to hungry hikers for several decades, and to be very good at it. I felt sure I would enjoy this.

  “Yes, if it’s no trouble.” She smiled kindly and led me to a table by the window, near to some German cyclists who were discussing their route for the day, a large Ordnance Survey map spread out on their table. The owner came straight to me with a notepad, ready to take my order.

  “Well, I’m a hungry lad this morning. What can you offer me?”

  She seemed proud of their fare. “Bacon, two sausages, two eggs, fried bread, tomatoes, mushrooms and a slice of black pudding. Coffee or tea are included, for £7.95.” I told her that sounded fantastic and settled back to enjoy the window view while she created breakfast in the kitchen. The lake was peaceful, tranquil. Nothing to suggest that an alien spacecraft was hanging out, about 100m down, controlled by a prodigious artificial intelligence which could serve breakfasts probably as tasty as the one I was about to consume. I couldn’t resist a little smirk at the thought. No-one else in all the world knew, but me.

  I was obviously grinning to myself as the owner returned with a huge plate of food. “Did you have any luck this morning?”

  I turned, slightly surprised, as she plonked down the plate which was piled high with steaming food. It smelled delicious. “No, I’m afraid not, ma’am. Nothing biting.”

  She chuckled. “You want to be careful of the Dragon, mind”, she offered, with a cautionary finger. “You’ll know about the legend, of course.” I told her I didn’t, making a start on my sausages. “Well, they said there’s a dragon at the bottom of the lake who likes to come out in the small hours, while everyone’s still asleep and… gobble up the fishermen! Comes out like a crocodile from the water, they say”, she explained, gesturing a huge, snapping mouth emerging from the lake.

  I couldn’t resist another chuckle. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if that were true”, I said around a mouthful of fried bread piled with mushrooms. “The lake certainly is deep enough for all manner of surprises to be lurking there.”

  She seemed satisfied with this answer and returned to another table to take their order. I felt great. Tea arrived, helping to wash down the gargantuan breakfast. I felt sure the metabolic pills were still working. I had demolished the whole plate but could surely have eaten several more. But no. Drawing such attention to myself would be foolish. I thanked the owner, polished off the whole pot of tea, and walked out into the morning sunshine.

  My watch let me know that I was a few minutes early, so I took my time walking back down to the lake, fishing rod slung over my shoulder like a rifle. The sun grew higher, heating the valley and transforming the dark, forbidding waters of the lake into a glittering marvel. Back at my rocks, I checked on the suitcases and then chose my path up the mountain which backed onto the lake. There was a ridgeline at the top where I knew my other self would soon be arriving, so I approached from the opposite side, clambering up a steep incline and hiking up to the ridge in such a way that I was kept invisible from the far side. I had to wait until my other self (what an odd expression, I mused as I hiked up) had reached the ridgeline and had taken the final check of his map. I couldn’t remember turning to look this way again until the abduction. If I were well hidden, there was no danger of being seen.

  I checked my watch again. I was due, not late, but I should be able to see myself striding along the ridgeline to the summit. I took a sip of water from my rucksack. Breakfast had been laden with salt and my mouth was dry not only with that, but in anticipation of seeing myself walk up the mountain.

  A minute passed. There I was. I crouched down, afraid even to breathe. I was hiking happily up the ridgeline, having apparently already made my final map check. I would be at the summit in moments. I watched, somewhat in awe. Is that how I walk? I decided I actually had rather a strange gait, somewhat lopsided. Perhaps that was how I walked before Carpash sorted out my central nervous systems. These days, I felt like each stride had the security of a giant’s footfall. To my eyes, the figure reaching the summit looked almost shaky on his feet.

  I watched as I threw my hands in the air upon reaching the top, and then tossed down my rucksack and sat happily down to enjoy the view. How many lifetimes ago did it seem? I thought I even looked younger, almost boyish, but I had only aged 7 months since leaving. The other me seemed to hear something and his head snapped round. Ah, yes, the airplane noise. Strange that I couldn’t hear it. He was looking around, a rather pissed-off expression on his face. He stood, whirling around, looking both directly up and off down the valleys on either side.

  And then he disappeared. It was as if he had Relocated. There was no trace. His bag had gone with him, I saw. I waited a minute, looking around to see if there was any sign of the ship, but there was none. It felt odd to admit it, but I still had actually no idea how the Takanli scientists had plucked me from that hilltop. There was no way it could have been Relocation, as there was no infrastructure to facilitate it. I had been there one moment, and gone, completely gone, the next.

  I walked up to the hilltop, slightly self-conscious. I double checked that no-one was here – at this altitude, high above the valleys, there was no way anyone down below could have seen, either (and I’m sure the Takanli team knew that also) – and stood exactly where I had been, at the summit. I caught something with my foot.

  It was a small, brown, wooden box with strange symbols engraved on it, not unlike Celtic runes. Jakalzzian, I knew, from the ancient city Garlidan and I had walked around together, and which had impressed him so much. That, at least, told me who it might be from. I picked it up and opened the small, golden latch which held it closed. Inside were three Red Cubes of equal size. Messages from my friends on Takanli, perhaps? I would find out soon, once I got myself home. A large part of me couldn’t wait.

  Within an hour, I had scrambled back down the slope to the shale beach, found the suitcases and flipped open their wheels, and dragged the whole lot around to the road and then to the small parking lot which served the lake side. The red car which had been there on Cyto’s satellite photos was where it should be, as was my white Golf. I found my keys, loaded the suitcases into the boot, and sat in the driver’s seat. This was the first time I had felt truly comfortable since arriving. I had owned this car since I was 17 and I drove it almost daily for one thing or another. The seat seemed moulded to my shape and the wheel position was perfect.

  I reversed out of the parking space and made my way out of the park. It was a beautiful August morning, coming up to midday. My home was around an hour’s drive from the Park, mainly on decent roads, so we made good time. Amid the strangeness of the journey and the huge adjustment needed to find all of this normal once more, I was surprised to find that I felt wonderful. Perhaps it was the great food or the mountain air. Perhaps something had clicked in my mind upon seeing myself disappear on that summit. Certainly that element of the plan was a good idea. I had seen the starting point, and now I was living its results.

  My street was vibrant with green trees and kids playing in the road. I had a flash of memory which showed me the horribly burnt out buildings Jackson had shown me, and the towering mushroom cloud of the nuclear blast. It was reassuring, pleasing to see my street and, around the corner, my house in perfect condition. The garden looked pretty good. I remembered that I had spent an hour there after work yesterday (I chuckled… ‘yesterday’?!) tidying up and weeding. I brought the car to a smooth stop in the driveway and unloaded the cases. People could figure I’d just c
ome back from my holidays. It was August, after all. Quite a holiday, I mused.

  I left everything in the living room and went straight up to bed. Hauling the cases, swimming up from the Phoenix, walking around the lakeside and particularly hiking up to the ridgeline had wiped me out. I was still a little fragile from the prolonged zero-G environment while in stasis, and my muscles felt leaden and tired. I threw back the covers, jumped naked into bed and was almost instantly asleep.

  Chapter XXXIV: Installation Wizard

  There is stasis, and there is sleep. They are not the same. In stasis, the mind has been calmed and anaesthetised to such an extent that brain activity itself appears under threat. The charts show only tiny fluctuations in an already suppressed cerebral system. Very little is happening.

  When you sleep the deep, natural sleep of the tired man, however, the brain is lit up and active. You dream, you turn over regularly, you snore and snuffle and mutter meaninglessly. This is the sleep which truly rests one’s body, truly allows the mind time and space for recreation. It emerges refreshed.

  I woke up after eighteen hours to another bright, sunlit morning. I had forgotten to close the curtains and light streamed in. The familiar patterns on my ceiling reassured me. I was back, I was home, and I felt absolutely fantastic. The first order of business was to spend ten minutes in the bathroom with the New Statesman. Then a long, hot shower. Feeling like treating myself a little, I jumped in the car and drove into town to one of those large chain hotels. I didn’t normally go there for a haircut, as I try to save money and prefer small, local businesses, but a friend of mine had recommended them. Just off the lobby was a traditional Italian barber where you could not only get a supremely neat haircut, but a good old-fashioned shave with thick foam and a traditional razor. He slapped on some aftershave, took my not inconsiderable tip with grateful thanks, and bid me a good day.

  Back home, I decided to unpack. The three black suitcases sat ready in the living room. I decided to open them all and carry out a cursory inspection before getting into the details. I knew what each contained, but had never actually had the chance to get them out and play with them. The first snapped open to reveal a black box about the size of a DVD player. It looked like it was made of obsidian and had a rugged, stony quality. All of its faces were completely smooth and impenetrable. I brought it out of the box and set it on the sofa.

  The second suitcase contained a silver-grey metal machine which reminded me of a replicator. There was an output tray and various controls were dotted around two panels on its side. It was about the size of an office printer and where you might find the power socket, there was a much larger circular hole. This machine I left on the floor.

  The final suitcase held another silver machine the size of a toaster, but it seemed to be packed away a lot like a Swiss army knife. Various protuberances were hidden within the body of the machine. It rested on four stout legs which were padded. I set this on the other seat of the sofa and took the armchair for myself. I had instructions to follow. I addressed the black box I had unpacked first.

  “Wake up, please Hal.”

  A tiny flash of green travelled from one side of the top obsidian face to the other. It stayed at the edge of the box for a second, and then returned.

  “Ready”, said a rather deep baritone voice.

  “Welcome to Earth, Hal”. I smiled. This had all been agreed and prepared at Holdrian. Bassar, once he had watched the movie, roared with laughter at the whole idea. My computer would be named Hal, and he would sit at the centre of our efforts to heal the Earth. I couldn’t wait to see what he could do.

  “Thank you. I hope your journey was smooth and enjoyable”. We had talked for several hours about the personalities of the computer on the Phoenix, and of Hal. They should be personable, affable, I insisted. None of the perfunctory, chopped up communications we had experienced with the humanoids or the White Cloud on Holdrian. They would sound like friends of mine, react like people, and be as cordial and accommodating as they could. We were going to be spending a lot of time together. We may as well enjoy the experience.

  “It was very smooth, thank you. I want you to carry out a self-diagnostic before we wake the others. Let me know how you’re doing after all that time asleep on the Phoenix.”

  The green light returned, flashed left, then right, then left again and then began a criss-cross pattern which covered the whole of the black face. This pattern then continued to the other faces. It took around a minute.

  “Everything is working perfectly. I will require an external power source in the next four hours, if full functionality is to be maintained.” Hal had spent the forty years on standby – there was no true sleep for him – and now needed to power up once more.

  “That’s great, Hal. We’ll address the power issue very shortly. How did you spend your time during the cruise?”

  There was a brief pause. “Could you repeat the question, please?”

  “Of course, Hal. What were you doing while I was asleep?” Hal only had a small library of my voice and mannerisms to digest. He was still learning how to understand me, I knew.

  He had not been idle during the cruise, it seemed. “I was preparing for the mission, naturally. I was also co-ordinating with the ship’s computer and undertaking a study of the phenomena associated with FTL”. He meant ‘Faster-Than-Light travel’, which was poorly understood. Hal’s observations had already been compiled into a learned book on the subject which he would send back on a subspace frequency when we were able.

  “That’s good, Hal. I congratulate you on your work. Why don’t we get the other machines up and running, and then we’ll see about some power.”

  “A good suggestion”, agreed Hal. “I will wake Forager first, so that he can begin the resource process”. I watched as the printer-sized machine came to life. Lights blinked on and I could hear movement inside. “Forager is operational. Are we close to a source of water?”

  I went to the kitchen and filled a pitcher with water. I grabbed a funnel from under the sink and returned to Forager, pulling out a telescopic, flexible tube from the circular aperture at the back of the machine. I set up the funnel and poured the water in. Two red lights on the top of the machine turned green. We were in business.

  “Shall I instruct Forager to begin producing the materials for the power cell?” I told Hal to proceed and Forager whirred into life. Within a couple of minutes there was a stack of short metal beams in Forager’s output tray. These, I knew from the briefings, were part of the internal structure of the power cell which we would need to keep these three machines going. Simply plugging them into the mains would drain the National Grid to an extent which would only draw attention to the house. Besides, the electricity bill would be enormous.

  I took a moment to appreciate this marvel of miniaturisation, not to mention its ability to transform water into any material known to science. And Holdrian science was aware of a very great many materials, 98% of which had never before been seen on Earth. He had the ability to manufacture not just the metal structure of the power cell, but the tiny electrolysis plant which would provide hydrogen from water, and the reaction chamber itself which performed a fusion reaction using the hydrogen. He made these parts very quickly, in a sequence agreed with the construction robot, which I was about to meet.

  “Would you like me to wake Brunel?” Hal asked. I concurred, and the other robot began to come to life, unfurling some of its hidden equipment and revealing itself to be a many-armed, quick moving construction robot. Each of its ‘arms’, as I immediately thought of them, could bend in any direction, to any extent, and form a huge variety of tools at their tips. This was done using microtechnology; each arm contained millions of tiny, metal cells which could be brought together in virtually any shape – a drill bit, a hammer, a grapple or screwdriver, as Brunel showed me during its waking cycle. I was impressed immediately.

  “As you know, neither of these machines can speak, although they both have teleme
try and other forms of output. These will link up directly with my own systems, so that all three of us form an integrated unit. This will extend to any other machines we manufacture.” As Hal was saying this, Brunel had trundled over to Forager’s output tray and grabbed most of the growing stack of metal beams. He seemed to stop in mid-motion. “Where do you want the power cell to be?” asked Hal.

  I thought about this. “Can it be anywhere in the house?”

  “Yes”, replied Hal. “The range of the microwave system is about seventy meters, although efficiency decreases with range”. I had an idea.

  “Put it on the side table by the sofa here. Can Brunel make it look like a lava lamp?

  Hal paused for three quarters of a second. In that time he had established that he knew what a lava lamp was, had an image example on his prodigious internal disc, and could therefore knock together the design blueprints. By the time he spoke, he had formulated the blueprints, sent them digitally to Forager and Brunel, and they had in turn replied.

  “That will add thirteen minutes to the construction process. Is that acceptable?”

  “Yes, Hal, that’s fine. I have visitors occasionally and I wouldn’t want some alien nuclear-electric generator sitting in the corner of the room. I need to think of ways to hide you guys too, for the time being. Can you move?”

  “No”, replied Hal, “but Brunel can carry me”.

  I looked at him, then at the little robot, which was toiling away assembling the internal structure of the power cell. Many of the beam were already in place, attached to a sturdy metal base which Forager had just produced. “Isn’t that a lot of weight for a small robot?”

  Hal didn’t think so. “Brunel can carry a weight exceeding seven tonnes using one of his six arms”, Hal replied. “I weigh only twenty-one point six kilograms.”