Voyage

by C. Paul Lockman

  “Fucking hell”, I breathed.

  There was another short pause and Hal said, “I have been instructed to reprimand you in the event of your using profanities.”

  I stared at the black box on my sofa. Reprimand? “Go right ahead, Hal”.

  “You are a naughty boy”, he said, in a completely normal speaking voice. I burst out laughing.

  “Consider me reprimanded, Hal. Point taken.”

  We spent the rest of the afternoon considering our first moves. Hal was fully aware of the project and its intentions, and walked me through the initial steps. The first thing to do was to upgrade my own technology in the house, to save time and effort. Our schedules were likely to be busy, Hal felt, and it was best not to be distracted by trifling issues like making food or washing the dishes. Hal put together a build queue for Forager and Brunel which would keep them busy for a couple of days. Once that was complete, we could begin working on more important matters.

  The power cell took less than an hour to build. Brunel’s nimble arms hoisted the reaction chamber up into its central position, and then constructed the rest of the microwave output device and the metal outer shell of the structure. He then covered the metal case with a thin, plastic sheet, dropped a cylindrical glass case over the whole machine and took a package of red liquid from Forager’s output tray. This, it turned out, was the lava. He pumped the liquid into the glass case, began the reaction process in the core, and stepped back, seemingly to admire his work.

  “We are receiving electrical power”, said Hal with a touch of the ceremonial. “Batteries will be fully charged in three hours. Expected battery life in the absence of a microwave power source is around six days.” Not bad, I thought. “Shall I instruct the robots to continue with the rest of the build queue?”

  “Yes please, Hal”, I answered. “And why not ask Brunel to move things to their proper places.” Hal agreed and gave Brunel the instructions. Next on the list was a communicator.

  “Hal, we need a way I can talk to you directly while I’m out. Can you arrange that?” Hal responded in the positive. “It should be discreet, like a mobile phone. I want to be able to have voice conversations, and to view images and video you send me. I also want wireless Internet. Can you do that?”

  Hal added the communicator to his build queue and forager began producing the phone’s motherboard and SIM card. “Anything else?” he wanted to know. I sat on the sofa next to him, watching the robots efficiently piecing together the replicator. What would I need?

  “How about some money? Can you make that next in the build queue? I want to go out tonight.” Hal had examples of every currency ever used. Downloading the Internet at Holdrian had been a masterstroke by Bassar. I headed off for a shower while Brunel put together the phone. Forager then began producing metal sheeting with gusto and Brunel quickly assembled it into an outer casing about the size of a microwave oven. I decided to leave them to it.

  By the time I came back, there was a silver replicator on the floor by the sofa, and a stack of £10 notes on the side table by the power cell. “Thanks, Hal.” The robots were now working on a dishwasher for the kitchen. “This is a terrific setup we have here. If I may, Hal, I’ll leave things in your capable hands. I’m off to the pub.”

  The Boatman had been my local boozer before I left, so I felt there was no reason not to head there tonight. I was rested, incredibly well fed, and my musculature was quickly getting used to 1-G. The ten-minute walk was refreshing too, after being inside all afternoon. A nice pint or two, maybe watch some TV, catch up on the news. I chuckled to myself just thinking about it. There was no way it could feel like I hadn’t been away for at least seven months (and it felt a lot longer), but as far as anyone here knew, I hadn’t done a thing. Hadn’t been anywhere.

  I swung open the door and headed to my usual seat at the end of the bar. It was fairly quiet, a couple of regulars in the corner and one couple I didn’t recognise eating an early dinner. I still wasn’t hungry. The thought of the incredible feast I had enjoyed on the Phoenix, not to mention the massive farmhouse breakfast, kept hunger pangs at bay. A pint would be nice, though.

  “Usual, love?” asked Sally. I nodded, asking her how she was doing. Sally was the salt of the earth, an efficient, no-nonsense barmaid on the ungenerous side of 40. She had served me immaculately poured pints beyond counting and every regular knew her to be a gem. I sipped my bitter. Got to get Hal to figure out how to make this, I thought to myself. That said, I might never leave the house again.

  Time passed enjoyably, slowly. It began to rain quite heavily, the droplets beating against the thick glass panes of the windows, which were of that square, unclear type beloved of bar owners. I had just finished my pint and was keeping half an eye on the evening BBC news when a girl walked in. She was wearing a faun trench coat and was shaking off her umbrella. Having propped it up against the doorway to dry, she pulled off her trench coat and approached the bar.

  “Get caught in the rain, did you, love?” asked Sally. It was a universal truth that, regardless of age, gender or marital status, Sally would call you ‘love’. I had never heard her call anyone anything else in the ten years I had known her.

  “Yes, I rather did… took me by surprise.” She had an educated accent. I wondered if she was something to do with the University, of which the town was very proud.

  “Well, a drink’ll warm you up. What can I get you?” Sally made for the pint glasses, part of an automatic routine she had followed thousands of times.

  “House whiskey? Double?” asked the girl and Sally swung round to tap a glass into the appropriate optic. The girl got herself comfortable. I had Sally get me another pint and watched the girl with interest. Twenty-nine, at the oldest, I reasoned. No wedding ring, no rings at all, actually. Slightly pale, although it was cold and rainy outside. Nice figure. Difficult to tell proportions with that big sweater on, but I’d sure like to find out. Certain things need satisfying regularly, I thought to myself, and it has been four decades since I had any action.

  Sally returned with my pint, gave me a look which said, ‘talk to the girl, for God’s sake’ and went out back to change a barrel. Well, fuck it, I thought. If I can travel through time, surely I can get this right?

  “Quite some rain out there, isn’t it? I was surprised… there wasn’t any forecast.” The girl turned to me and smiled slightly. This must happen to her all the time, especially if she’s used to frequenting local pubs in small Welsh towns. I wondered if that sounded just numbingly dull as a starter question. The weather. How original.

  “Yes, its heavy. Pleased I brought my umbrella.” She took a sip of her scotch.

  “Well, summer or no summer, this is Wales. Best to be prepared. Have you come far?”

  Better, I thought. Let’s see if we can get some personal information here. Just don’t let it be, ‘I’m here visiting my boyfriend’. I’d have to go home and see if Hal could design me a shag for the weekend.

  “No, not really. I was attending a one-day course at the University and I’m just killing time before getting the train back to London.” Ah, so the academic guess was right. But timing was now a problem. Ach.

  “What was the course about?” I turned to face her, planting my pint on the bar within easy reach, for some quick Dutch courage.

  She reached into her bag and showed me the brochure. “Alternative Energy and the World Economy”. I smiled, despite myself. Now, this is something I know how to talk about. Garlidan had grilled me on every aspect of this while we were formulating the plan. If she wanted to talk shop, I was in business.

  “Did they have any good ideas?” I wanted to know.

  She sighed slightly. “Yes, but it’s all so small-scale and slow”, she complained. “Wind power, wave power, biofuels… they’ve all got such big drawbacks. Even solar is too expensive to be put into large-scale use at the moment. We’re relying on old, dirty technology to tie us over until new science can be done. And there’s never enough
money…” she looked at me to make sure I was still there. She seemed relieved when I looked straight back at her.

  “I agree”, I said simply. She gave me another look. Sally returned and grinned to see me at least talking to the girl.

  “Pardon?”

  “Rates of investment are far too slow, which means the technology will mature at the same slow rate. If a massive capital influx spurred on the research, dividends, both in terms of cleaner power, and return on the investment, would accelerate in tandem. You’ve got to spend the money. Otherwise we’re in a long-term lowest-bidder situation in which the problem never really gets solved.”

  She stared at me, slightly stunned. “Are we in the same business, I wonder?”

  I nodded. “I’ve been working on this recently. The economic ramifications, the technology required, pretty much every aspect. It is totally feasible. Just needs about 30 billion dollars up front, right now.”

  She moved over a couple of seats, put down her scotch next to my pint, and sat with me. “So, I give you your thirty billion. What do you do with it?”

  “Buy a nicer car”, I joked. That got a laugh, I was amazed to see. “In seriousness, I’d get a massive solar array built in orbit and transmit the electrical power it produced by microwave to ground stations.” She almost dropped her drink.

  “There was a guy lecturing on that today. He got laughed at.”

  I took a sip of my pint, gave Sally a nod for another. “That’s understandable. ‘Where’s the money going to come from?’ Always the same question. Such a narrow view. This is more important than money.”

  She was warming to me rapidly, I noticed. Who would have guessed that being a colossal geek, trained by extraterrestrials, would come in handy when it came to pulling girls? “It is. And it seems a really elegant solution.”

  We talked it through some more, getting even to the point of doing math on a napkin. Astonishingly quickly (well, according to her, anyway), I had figured out that the next generation photovoltaic cell’s increased efficiency would require around 1200km² of solar panels to generate sufficient power for the entire world. This was not as much as it sounded, I reminded her, because they can be launched in compact boxes which unfurl in orbit. Dozens could be sent up in one go. I also failed to mention that the ‘next generation’ cells currently on Earth’s drawing boards were monstrously inefficient compared to the Takanli designs on Hal’s hard drive.

  We talked science, politics, the environment. This was going beautifully. Her name was Gemma and she was from Hampshire, I learned. Postgraduate student in London, almost finished her PhD which had an alternative energy focus. And her train was leaving in forty minutes. We got more drinks and grabbed a table in the corner, away from Sally’s curious, amused glances.

  “You know what the real problem is?” she asked as I started work on my fourth pint. I didn’t worry about the alcohol. Metabolic pills or none, Carpash had enhanced my liver so comprehensively that I could drink down a bottle of scotch in one gulp and not get drunk. I just loved the taste.

  “Tell me”.

  “The oil companies.” She harrumphed and sipped her drink. “They stymie research into alternatives, and then re-brand themselves with flowery, green logos and all kinds of ‘clean’ slogans. They’re full of shit.” She seemed actually bitter about them, and with good cause. She pulled off her sweater, obviously too hot in the warm, cosy pub.

  “They’re not my favourites either. But what happens to them if an alternative energy source becomes available? Say someone invests in the orbital thing, or the Saudis plaster their desert with solar panels?”

  She thought for a second. “They’d go under unless they diversified. Once the initial costs are recouped, solar will always be preferable to fossil, no matter where it is. They’d stop buying oil, which would have pretty enormous ramifications.”

  “Like what?” I leaned forward, curious. She was pretty, not what I would call beautiful, you know what I mean, but she had an interesting face, very active eyes and a cute nose. Now that her sweater was out of the way, her white blouse allowed quite large, firm breasts to be defined. Maybe 38C, I thought to myself, trying not to steal glances too often.

  “Well, the scrabble that’s going on for Caspian oil wouldn’t make any sense any more. The way the Republicans are trying to contain Russia and the way Russia is grasping for the Arctic oilfields, none of that would be logical. We could put all of those rivalries aside. The playing field would be made level.”

  Lovely sentiments, I thought. I wondered if that is actually how it would play out. World equality and prosperity brought about by cheap, readily available electricity from a completely clean source. Conflicts resolved before they began… there being actually no sense in starting an energy conflict when everyone had energy. And if everyone had energy, everyone had development. If we could get clean cars, too, now that would be something.

  We talked all this through, excitedly forming a view of a world without fossil fuels and the petty conflicts they promote. Then she glanced at her watch. “Damn. I think I’m right in the middle of missing my train.”

  “What time is it?” I pretended to want to know, looking at my watch. True, she had missed it. “Show me your ticket, would you?” She reached into her bag and brought out the white envelope from the train company. It was a cheap one, not changeable. This might get expensive. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ve got a friend who works in their main office and he owes me a couple of favours. I know he can organise tickets. I’ll give him a call and we’ll get something sorted. What time do you want to go?”

  She seemed relieved and pleased at this news. I could tell she wanted to head off about as much as I wanted her to. “I’m not sure. Why not try to get an open ticket?”

  “Good plan. Would you excuse me? I’ll be right back.”

  I have a thing against people using their phones in the pub. The collision of high technology with the traditional comforts of a bar room has always made me uneasy. I stepped out into the pub’s porch and called Hal.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Hey, Hal. Listen, I need you to fix up an open single train ticket from here to Paddington, and have it waiting at the station’s customer service desk. Do that straight away, would you. I don’t care what it costs.” I gave him the rest of the details.

  “Not a problem.”

  “And I may have a guest this evening, so you guys need to vanish somehow. Can you get Brunel to take you up to the spare room and put you under the bed? The others can join you there.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “How is the construction going?”

  “The replicator and dishwasher are complete. We have made efficiency improvements to the domestic electrics, so that there is a 70% less transmission loss in the wires. Your television will now receive every channel in the world for free. Brunel fixed the exhaust problem on your car, and made several improvements to the engine which will enhance its responsiveness and fuel efficiency, but I hope you will allow us to install an electrics package which removes the need for fossil fuels.”

  “Thanks, Hal. That’s terrific. Now, go ahead and book that ticket, and I’ll be home in an hour or two.”

  “Understood. Enjoy the evening.”

  I loved Hal straight away and that has never changed. Back in the pub, Gemma was watching the TV and sipping her scotch. “All sorted”, I announced as I retook my seat. “There will be an open single ticket in your name at the station. You can travel any time you like.”

  She smiled, really sweetly. “Including tomorrow?” Her face gave everything away. My cock experienced its first jolt of excitement since leaving Aldara at Holdrian, forty years before.

  “Yeah… including tomorrow.” I smiled back at her. Oh, this was going well.

  “Do you live around here?” she asked, coming to the end of her drink.

  “Actually, it’s only a few minutes’ walk, and the rain’s stopped.”

  The walk back was
lovely. An hour of rain had cleansed the air and washed down the pavements. We talked some more about her work, and I artfully dodged questions about what I did. I worked from home, I explained. This was true, although the amount of work I’d been doing recently was pitiful. Before leaving for Takanli, I had done tech support work for a couple of local companies who didn’t know how to run their computers properly. I referred to myself as an ‘IT Specialist’ and Gemma seemed satisfied by that. I looked forward to satisfying her in other ways.

  Then, a slightly panicked thought. “Gemma, I’m sorry but would you mind if I made one very quick phone call? It really won’t take long.”

  “Sure. I’ll head into the corner shop there. Come in when you’re done.”

  I flipped open my phone. “Hal… yeah, I’ve got a delicate job for you. I need you to manufacture some condoms, just like the ones in the shops, and put them in my bedside table, in the drawer… Yeah, that’s right… I don’t really care…. What?.... Er, large. Thanks, Hal.” We made our way back to my place, arm in arm in the warm, late evening.

  “Nice place”, she commented as she walked in. I was worried as hell about some trace of my alien connections being visible. Walking ahead of her, in the manner of a guided tour, I checked that everything was as it should be. The lava lamp was circulating enjoyably. The replicator, in its new guise as a high-quality stereo system, sat on one of the shelves in the living room. The dishwasher looked brand new but she didn’t comment. I am actually getting away with this, I thought.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” This was an area in which I would need no help from Forager or Brunel. My drinks cabinet was always fairly well stocked.

  “Scotch?” We clicked glasses and drank together. “Now tell me something”, she began, reclining on the sofa. “How come someone as eligible as you isn’t married?”

  I smiled into my glass. “Just not met the right girl, I guess.” My thoughts flashes briefly to Falik, all those light-years away. And then to the agreement which said that evenings like this were just fine. “Not a lot of interesting, eligible ladies in the computer business.”