by Roger Ley
“What do they do in there? Are they frozen?”
“No, no, not frozen, they are software entities who live in virtual worlds of their own invention. Many of them interact; I believe Sir Isaac Newton is an accomplished player of a game of tokens called ‘Bridge.’ His partnership with Professor Hawking has so far proved unbeatable. Apparently, Professor Einstein and Alan Turing are catching up. An ancient game called ‘Go’ is also popular with the Incorporeals.
Some are also active in the Corporeal world, involving themselves as committee members within government, or pursuing academic specializations. The Mathematicians are particularly prolific.” He chuckled, “there is a rumor that we have a dormant copy of Genghis Khan for emergency use if we are ever invaded, but I’m not sure of the truth of this.”
Riley stood, and walked over to the curved window, there was no glass, but he felt increasing resistance when he tried to push his hand through it. He stared out over a land that was once called Kenya, now farmed, presumably by automatic machinery. He was completely eclipsed by these people and their civilization. If he returned to 2051, as they suggested he would, it would be forty years after his extraction. Estella would be nearly ninety, if she was still alive. Hank and Cliff would both be over fifty. The whole situation was mind boggling. Early morning or not, he decided to have the whiskey that Tolland had offered him. He returned to the table, from where the other two were silently observing him, and sat down.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kenya the 2300s
Seated in the time capsule again, Riley and Farina floated over a frozen, broken landscape. At Riley’s request, they had travelled back to see the Earth a hundred years after the Collision. Farina had made the upper half of the sphere transparent and the lower half partly so. He had felt uncomfortable floating hundreds of meters above the ground, sitting in an armchair with no visible vehicle around him. They were invisible to the world they were over flying.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “The clouds, the ice, the snow, it’s like Antarctica, there’s no life, no plants, no animals, just rocks and snow.”
“We will soon reach the equatorial strip where life clings on,” said Farina.
The landscape began to show patches of green, through the white, Riley spotted herds of reindeer, and what looked like fur clad nomads herding them.
“Animal skin tepees, has mankind been reduced to this?”
“Life on Earth was almost extinguished Martin, there were various off-world colonies: Armstrong on the Moon, Olympus Mons on Mars, and Arks on their way to the nearer stars, they all offered help. The Arks turned back, and eventually went into Earth orbit. Humanity re-established itself in the equatorial regions, where the temperatures were highest, and then began the Fightback as the ice receded.”
“What caused the ice age, after the asteroid hit the Earth?”
They were floating over pine forests now. Smoke rose from occasional cabins built in clearings. Riley could just hear dogs barking as they passed over.
“The Collision killed millions instantly in North America, and it was energetic enough to disturb the subduction zone on the western coast of the United States. A string of volcanoes along there suddenly came to life, but it was the ash from the super volcanos at Yellowstone and Long Valley that did the most harm. Dust clouds covered the globe, blocking out the sun for decades. Temperatures dropped, crops failed year after year. The ice advanced from both poles. In fact, we’re still rebuilding and reintroducing species now, two thousand years later. Billions of people died, mainly of starvation, but there were plagues, and roaming gangs. It’s best not to dwell on the suffering. The first five years after the Collision were the worst that humanity has ever experienced. Look down there Martin, that’s the beginning of the Fightback, the new city of Kisumu, you can see the small spaceport.”
He watched a squat, box-like vehicle, landing almost silently, on four jets of blue flame.
“Probably one of the Ark shuttles bringing medical supplies,” she said. “This was where the British Government made half-hearted, and then eventually panic-stricken preparations for the Collision. But that’s another story. This would be a good time to return to the Tower.”
“I’d like to see the rings,” said Riley. “They’re edge on from the equator, so they’ll be almost invisible from the Tower.”
“I can take you further north if you like.”
The walls of the sphere misted over and then cleared a few moments later.
Riley gasped; Earth’s rings arched over the darkening sky from east to west. They were brightly lit with striations separating them into different colored bands.
“My God, they’re huge, they’re wonderful.”
“They are at their best in the evening, illuminated by the Sun when it has moved below the horizon,” said Farina, who was also looking upwards. “I have chosen a latitude that displays them at their most impressive. Their aspect changes with the season.”
“Beautiful,” said Riley. “I wish I had a telescope.”
“There is not much to see. They are rock fragments varying in size from dust to boulders. They often collide; large pieces sometimes fall to Earth near the equator. We have to keep a constant watch for them.”
Riley gazed at the face of the full Moon. “La Bella Luna, she doesn’t change.”
“We should return to the Tower now. We can view the rings again, on another occasion.” The sphere misted over and cleared, they were back in the arrivals area. They stepped out of the capsule, the seats melted away again. Like an old hand, he allowed the floor to take him across to the elevation shaft.
“Let me try this without the suppression field,” he said, and managed his fear of the vertical journey by not looking down. “Would you like to eat with me?” he asked when they reached the door of his apartment. “I do a pretty good ragu sauce.”
“Thank you, Martin, I would enjoy that.”
Riley prepared the meal, the food in the fridge and freezer was vegetarian, although the protein came in various flavors and textures, some looked like meat. They sat down at the table and he opened a bottle of red wine.
“Thank God you guys still approve of alcohol,” he said as they clinked glasses. Suddenly he was overcome by a powerful pang of sadness; the meal reminded him of Estella and the boys. His throat constricted, he couldn’t speak and his eyes filled. Farina stared for a moment then stood, took his hand and led him to a couch. They sat for a few moments, still holding hands. She leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss felt natural to him, they lingered and she began to help him out of his clothes. Farina released her body stocking at the shoulder and it fell away in one piece.
“Have you switched the field on Farina?” he asked as his heart rate fell and his breathing slowed.
“Yes Martin, but only lightly, I hate to see you suffering.”
“Switch it off, I don’t need it.”
She lay with her hands behind her head, with one leg bent at the knee. He lay next to her.
“How do you wish me to respond to your lovemaking?” she asked.
“That’s a rather clinical question. Lovemaking is supposed to be spontaneous.” He was puzzled.
“I believe you have not realized yet Martin, I am a Synthetic Person.”
Riley rolled over and stared at her for a moment.
“A Synthetic, you’re an android?” He ran his fingers over her skin, pushed gently into her ribs and breasts and stomach. She felt warm, soft, normal. He sat up, “You’re a robot? I was going to screw a robot?”
“Not a robot Martin, I am a Synthetic Person. I have normal human ratings for emotional and cognitive awareness. I have legal rights and responsibilities. I have citizenship.”
“I was just about to screw a robot,” he said more loudly. He sat shaking his head, laughing despite his perplexity. “After everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours this takes the biscuit.”
“I am not a robot Martin, I am both sentient and
organic.” Her voice had risen and Riley noticed a slight flush in her cheeks.
“That’s very good,” he said, leaning forward and brushing his finger over her blushing cheek. “Very convincing, very convincing in all respects. Tell me, do you enjoy lovemaking or are you programmed to pretend?”
She sat up. “I have pleasure centers much like your own. I am a person, not a prehistoric sex toy, with limited responses and a few pre-recorded erotic phrases.”
Riley looked at her smooth nakedness and had to admit that, synthetic or not, he found her appealing, and things had not been going well between Estella and himself. It had been a long time since he’d had the comfort of human contact.
Farina laid her hand on his thigh. “Come Martin,” she whispered, “I have switched off the field.” She lay down again and tilted her head back on the pillow. Staring up at him she ran the tip of her tongue around her lips.
God, he thought, the male sexual reflex is so easy to manipulate. He lay next to her; his excitement grew as she reached across to stroke him gently. He would never know whether she was telling the truth about her enjoyment, but so what? In that respect Synth sex wasn’t very different from human sex.
“How would you like me?” she whispered as she gripped his shoulder with her other hand to pull him down. She dug her nails lightly into his skin.
“Pleasant enthusiasm will do for starters,” he said. “We’ll see how it goes from there.”
Afterwards they lay side by side.
“How was it for you?” he asked, laughing quietly.
“Very pleasant, thank you Martin. You reached a satisfactory orgasm; I assume that you found our love making gratifying.”
“Oh, I was faking it.” Farina’s brow furrowed. “No, sorry, just joking.”
“I can arrange for various enhancements if you wish.” A rotating ring of embarrassingly explicit holographic images appeared in the air above them.
“Let’s talk about that another time, I’m tired now. Will you be staying the night?”
“If that is your wish Martin.”
“Yes,” he said getting up, “that is my wish. Show me how to set the ‘Deepsleep’ thing on the bed. Then you can tell me the plan for tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kenya the 4400s
“Seven o’clock, time to get up, I hope you had a restful sleep Dr Riley,” the bed’s gender-neutral voice murmured in his ear. He half expected to see Farina leaning over him as he opened his eyes, there was a shared quality to their voices, but he could hear her rattling crockery in the kitchen. She came into the bedroom with a cup and saucer, sat on the bed, and handed it to him. He smelled the coffee and took a sip. It was weak and thin but at least it was hot. He sipped it.
“I hope it’s to your taste Martin.”
Jesus, he thought, am I really honeymooning with a piece of software?
“To be honest, it’s bloody awful Farina, how much coffee did you use?”
“Five grams per cup.”
“Well, use ten next time, the temperature is right though.”
“The temperature was eighty-three degrees Centigrade as I handed it to you Martin. I will remember.”
“What are we doing today?” He hadn’t been listening the night before, the bed had taken him, as he lay with Farina spooning into his back, her arms around him.
“We are to meet with Tolland again. He wishes to discuss your indoctrination plan.”
“Okay. Tell me, do you need to sleep or have downtime, whatever you call it? Or were you lying awake beside me all night, staring at the ceiling?”
“I need little ‘downtime’ as you call it, but I used your ‘sleep time’ usefully.”
“Doing what?”
“I connected to Tower Memory and communicated with some of my friends, Incorporeals and Synthetics, based in other Metrotowers. Then I performed a routine backup, and after that I reviewed and deleted some redundant files.”
Well, that’s told me, he thought.
“I hope my snoring didn’t disturb you.”
“You did not snore much Martin, but you had a lot of rapid eye movement, you were dreaming for about forty percent of your sleep time. This is an unusually high figure, but not surprising given your recent experiences. I expect you were deleting redundant files of your own.”
He wondered what she meant by that.
An hour later they had retraced their steps to Tolland’s office.
“You seem in good spirits Martin. I believe Farina has shown you the effects of the Collision, and I hope your sexual interlude was enjoyable.”
“Actually Tolland, in my culture we don’t discuss our sex lives much. We consider it to be a private matter between the individuals involved.”
Tolland seemed surprised, “Oh, I had the impression that your society was obsessed with the subject. I will not mention it again.” He paused and sipped water from a glass. Riley realized that his every move was being scrutinized, again. He’d talk to Farina about it, he wanted some guaranteed privacy.
“I’ve thought about our discussion yesterday,” said Riley, “and I see a flaw in your explanation.”
“And that is?”
“If you have copies of these various scientists and politicians in Tower Memory, then you could have taken copies of Peter Abrahams and myself any time you wanted, while we were asleep or even drugged. Your explanation doesn’t make sense. You don’t need me here, that is to say my Corporeal self, you must have other reasons.”
“Yes, you are right Martin, I was trying not to overload you with information, after all, your indoctrination is just beginning. Like your government in the 21st Century, we never make retrospective Temporal Adjustments. It is too dangerous; the results would be unpredictable. The Collision would probably protect us if we did make a TA back in your time, but the Council has no appetite to risk our reality. We prefer not to even enter your era, we only observe it.
In your year 2051, you help to make the adjustment which realigns the Timestream, and we do not wish to interfere with that. We also know that you make various appearances in the Timestream, after your accident in 2020. It is our intention to facilitate the inevitable. To help you achieve the Realignment. To smooth the path.”
“What about the Tsunami in 2004, and the 2010 Earthquake? I’ll only cooperate if we give warnings. We could save hundreds of thousands of lives.”
“But no warnings were given Martin, our hands are tied. It would change our past if we intervened, and frankly those events pale into insignificance when you consider the billions that died soon after the Collision. We have to ‘follow the script Martin.’ We cannot go back through history making alteration after alteration; you of all people must see that.”
Riley sighed, Tolland’s logic was indisputable.
“Yes, I understand, but those catastrophes were so personal to me. I feel responsible for not giving warnings and guilty about the loss of life.”
“Martin, what you do over the next few months will be in the long-term interests of the whole human race.”
Riley and Farina returned to the time capsule.
“This will be your first reappearance,” said Farina, smiling, as the walls clouded and a few moments later cleared again.
Riley looked out through the membrane at a suburban garden, it was evening; he could hear voices on the other side of a hedge. One was protesting loudly, the other was placatory; he couldn’t make out the words. Suddenly there was a cry, and the sound of a scuffle, followed by several car doors slamming. Riley stepped through the membrane, and into the front garden of the house he’d shared with Estella, before they were married, before Cliff and Hank were born. The air was cool, with a damp organic smell; he heard traffic noise from a main road some distance away. Orange sodium street lights lit the scene. He walked across the lawn to the front gate, and stepped out into the street. The red tail lights of a black Range Rover were receding from him; he couldn’t make out any of the occupants. A bicycle lea
ned against the hedge. He remembered buying it at the cycle shop on Great Northern Road, twenty years before; it was an expensive racing model. He stroked the handlebar, resisting the urge to ring the bell, wheeled it through the gate and down the side of the house. He leaned it against the shed in the back garden. There were no lights visible, Estella wasn’t home yet, so there was no point peering through the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. After a final look around, he stepped back through the membrane, ignoring the discomfort of the decontamination field, and sat in the empty chair.
“Why did you move the bicycle Martin?” asked Farina gently.
“Because someone might have stolen it. Do you think I’ve caused a ripple in the Timestream? I wasn’t thinking, it just seemed the right thing to do.”
“It was the right thing to do Martin. Where did you find it when you got back from the safe house?”
“I remember thinking it might have been stolen and being relieved when I found it leaning against the shed.”
“You’re right, it was leaning against the shed, and you were supposed to move it. The question is, did you have any choice?”
“Of course, I had a choice. Nobody made me move the bike.”
“No, nobody made you, you just did it, you followed the script, and that is what we want.”
“The script?”
“Like most humans of your time, you think your conscious self is making your decisions, but you are mistaken. Most of your actions are automatic and unconscious. When you play a physical game, such as tennis, there is no time to consider all the variables involved. The approaching ball’s velocity and spin, the angle of the racket in your hand, the path of your swing, the strength of the impact, are all dealt with too quickly for conscious analysis. But when you get a slow shot, and have time to think and plan it, you are more likely to make a mistake. Most of the time it is your unconscious that is playing the game, while your conscious self is observing.