CHRONOSCAPE: The future is flexible we can change it

by Roger Ley

  The unconscious part of your brain is an operating system that runs your infrastructure, while your consciousness rides on top, thinking it’s in charge. Like a child with a toy steering wheel, sitting next to its parent, thinking it is driving the car. Determinism is very similar, you think you’re in control but free will is just an illusion.”

  “So, I’m not the ‘Master of my fate, the Captain of my soul,’ I’m an automaton, clock-working my way through life, with no choice or responsibility for my actions?”

  “Some cultures call it predestination, some call it destiny, others call it the will of God, you can call it what you like.”

  Riley shrugged, “Thanks for that, you’ve just inverted my whole perspective on life. Where are we going next? I feel like the ghost of Christmas past.”

  Farina paused, and then said, “Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, published 1843.”

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “Implants Martin, I am in constant touch with Tower Memory. All Corporeals have them, both humans and Synthetics.”

  “Is that how you control the capsule?” he asked.

  “Yes Martin. Shall we return to your quarters?”

  “Your turn to cook.”

  “I am accessing 21st Century recipe files as we speak.”

  Later, they lay in each other’s arms. Riley was convinced that she enjoyed their couplings, but now he was back in worry mode, nibbling at his finger nails.

  “Something’s been puzzling me,” he was leaning up on one elbow.

  “Really Martin? Tell me, I will explain anything I am able to.”

  “Well, Tolland mentioned ‘the religion of a particular tribal chief on a small island in the 21st Century,’ what did he mean by that?”

  “The tribal chief was a prospective King of England, Prince George, the son of William V. He secretly converted to Islam, and married an Arabian princess, a princess of the House of Saud. It was a love match, although there was a certain amount of encouragement and manipulation by the boy’s grandparents, Diana and Dodi Fayed. There was public turmoil in England as Prince George’s coronation approached. The divisions were both religious and racial, both potent stimuli at the time. As the political unrest gathered momentum, the situation was resolved by the realignment of the Timestream. It became irrelevant, you need not concern yourself with it.”

  “An interesting story though.”

  “Yes, but hardly original. You need to rest, shall I set the Deepsleep?”

  “I’ll tell you when I need to rest, Farina. You’re not my mother, try to stick to one role at a time. I want to avoid the Deepsleep and for you to stop using the suppression field, I don’t like being taken over, and all this talk of determinism makes it even worse.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kenya 2331

  The capsule had clouded and cleared again. Through the membrane he could see a dystopian scene, winter near Kisumu Spaceport. There were people dressed in smart military uniforms, while the rest wore coarse, homespun fabric and animal skins. Everybody carried a firearm. The military hand guns were sleek and modern, while the civilians carried heavy muzzle loaders that looked homemade. Vehicles showed a similar polarization: dog sleds and snow mobiles, hover cars and horse drawn wagons. In the distance, a shuttle was taking off on a pillar of blue light, the engines almost silent. Riley didn’t recognize the technology. A horse and buggy rattled past.

  “Are we visible?” he asked.

  “No Martin, you will become visible as you step through the membrane. I will position us behind a building so that you can leave the capsule unobserved.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair. “What are we doing here?” he asked.

  “Tolland wants you to witness the fragility of the Fightback, Martin. You need to see how easily it could fail, and the human race be starved into extinction. It would be a Chronoclasm for the Commonwealth, our civilization would disappear, like a burst soap bubble, as you have said.”

  “So many choices, so many turnings,” said Riley.

  “Not really Martin, not if you believe in determinism and that our path is laid out before us.”

  “Fuck me, this is a bucket of spiders,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “This is the lowest point in the Fightback, the time of smallest human population. Tolland wants you to experience it at first hand, to see it, smell it, touch it. He wants you to immerse yourself in it for a few hours, keeping a low profile, and then come back to the capsule. I’ll be drifting above you, just in case.”

  Riley walked around the building and onto the icy street. Farina had provided him with a fur coat, homespun clothing and boots. He carried the requisite blunderbuss and had a pack of furs on his back. He walked towards the trading post that Farina had pointed out. The town was a mix of single story log buildings and larger ones made from sawn weatherboard. There was little use of brick or stone. He smelled wood-smoke, sewage and rotting meat. Scrawny cats and dogs eyed each other over piles of stinking refuse. It wasn’t easy to love humanity when it smelt like this, he thought.

  The furs were not for sale, they were part of his cover. Farina had told him she’d bought the clothes and other props from a native, and had been evasive about the medium of exchange. He wondered if it had involved a sexual favor.

  He noted wooden signs hanging outside the buildings as he walked past. There was a leather worker, a wood yard, an undertaker, a chandler, a general store. Feeling reasonably confident of his disguise, he entered a tavern, its sign showed a Bear and Penguin and it advertised itself as a ‘Freehouse.’ The bartender looked up and smiled as he pushed open the door and walked across the bare wooded boards to the bar.

  “What’s your pleasure sir?” he asked as he dried his hands on a dirty grey rag.

  Riley looked at the price list chalked on a board behind him. “A Boilermaker please.”

  The barman nodded, reached down a tankard, and pulling on the turned wooden handle of a beer engine, filled it with a cloudy brew of flat looking beer. He placed it on the bar, sat a shot glass next to it and filled that from a bottle of clear spirit.

  “Both made on the premises sir, using only the finest Kenyan beet sugar and malted barley.”

  Riley sipped the beer, it was passable. He tried the spirit, it had almost no flavor, just a sense of burning as he swallowed. He hoped the burning in his throat wasn’t mirrored in his brain cells.

  “Four times through the still sir,” said the barman smiling. “The boss is proud of his ‘flash’. Can I pour you another?”

  “Yes, yes please,” said Riley feeling that things were going well, he took another swig of beer and downed the spirit. The barman looked expectant, Riley realized that he had no idea how he would pay. The furs he thought, surely, they’ll accept one or two skins in exchange for a couple of drinks. He broached the matter with the barman.

  “You mean you ain’t got no Ark tokens?” The barman’s friendliness had disappeared. He looked Riley up and down, then leaned back through an open doorway behind him and called, “Hey boss, another penniless trapper who can’t pay for his drinks.”

  A few moments later a figure emerged, bearded, unkempt, hostile and probably drunk on his own profits, by the look of him. He stared through red-rimmed eyes as the barman muttered something in his ear and jerked his head in Riley’s direction.

  The landlord lifted the bar hatch and strode up to Riley who was hurriedly extracting one of the furs from his pack. He snatched the fur and examined it closely, he sniffed it, pulled a tuft of hair from the skin and rubbed it between his finger and thumb. He thrust his face close to Riley’s.

  “Old,” he said, “old and musty and stiff and worthless, like you,” his voice rose to a shout, as his spittle flecked Riley’s face. His eyes bulged, his breath stank. “You miserable sniveling bastard, you come in here, smelling like a whore’s parlor, drinking my flash and wanting to pay me with a few skanky beaver skins. Well, you can fuck off, you scro
unging freeloader.”

  He drew his fist back, and punched Riley full in the face, knocking him backwards onto the floor. He followed up by kicking and stamping on any part of Riley he could get to, he stepped back and took a flying kick at his head but missed and fell over. Riley dragged himself under a table and struggled to release the canister of pepper spray that Farina had given him. An arm reached in, the landlord grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out. Riley sprayed his face liberally and there was an ear-splitting scream as the aerosol took effect. The landlord sank to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

  “Where the fuck have you been? I recognize you now,” he wailed. “Five years, five fucking years you bastards. Five years I’ve been here in this stinking pit.”

  Riley scrambled to his feet on the other side of the table as the barman approached holding an ancient battered cricket bat. He crashed through the door and into the street, turned and ran back the way he’d come. Rounding the building, he saw the faint ripple of the capsule’s membrane and dived through it. He looked back and glimpsed the barman standing holding his weapon and peering around as the membrane shrank to a point and disappeared.

  “Can we go home now?” he said as he lay on the floor coughing and bleeding. “I’ve had enough fun for one day.”

  They arrived back at the Tower and Farina helped him to his quarters.

  “Well, thanks for that,” he said as he stood naked in his bathroom. He had showered and Farina was kneeling, treating his bruises with a combination of sprays, quiet sympathy and a mysterious device that tingled as she moved it over his bruises. “The furs were worthless, the clothes stank, the gun was rusty and jammed, I hope you didn’t give too much for them,” he said nastily. Farina didn’t answer as she glanced at the heap of clothing in the corner. “I’d burn them if I was you. And what was that ‘five years’ he was shouting? I’m sure I recognized him from somewhere. There was something familiar about his face behind that beard.”

  “I’m sorry Martin, I cannot tell you that, Tolland has not given his permission. I expect he will make it clear, eventually. The Council wished to show you that the survival of the small group of humans in the equatorial zone after the Collision, is critical to the continuity of the race. Their hold on life was tenuous, fragile, it was difficult to grow enough food, and if there had been even a slight change in the weather pattern, the crops might fail and starvation could have wiped them out. The planet would warm up over the millennia, plants and animals would repopulate territory north and south, but there would be no humans, no cities, no Metrotowers. The Arks in Earth space could not wait for the temperature to rise, they would have left, to try their luck on distant, more hospitable worlds.”

  “Yes, and Synthetics would never be developed either,” he said. “This is just as much your problem as ours.”

  She sighed, sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “I have finished, there is no lasting physical damage.”

  “Oh, so you’re a fucking doctor now are you?” he asked angrily. He felt no urge to let her off the hook, the whole incident had been her fault, she’d dropped him into the situation ill prepared.

  “I have extensive files on human anatomy Martin, and Tower Memory agrees with my diagnosis.”

  “You can tell Tower Memory to go and fuck itself,” he shouted. He grabbed her collar with his left hand and drew his right hand back, ready to punch her in the face.

  “Please do not damage me Martin,” she stammered, leaning back and holding her hands in front of her face. “I’m sorry that our expedition went wrong, I’m sorry if I have made you angry.”

  He felt himself relaxing and realized that she had switched on the neuro-suppression field again. He let go of her and sat on the edge of the bath with his head in his hands.

  “It’s okay Farina, you can switch it off now.”

  She stood, and began to put away her medical kit, not meeting his eye. “I could not stop you without using the field Martin, Synthetics are not equipped to fight humans. If a human attacks us we can run away or try to block blows, but we are not aggressive, it is intrinsic to our design. You were between me and the door, I could not escape.” She left him, and after a few moments, he stepped back under the shower and stayed there for a long time. In the bedroom, as he dressed in clean clothes, he could feel that his injuries were already less painful. He limped into the living room, Farina had gone.

  Riley was ashamed of his behavior. He felt wretched, homesick and lonely. He sat staring into space for some minutes. Activity was the only available remedy, he decided, so he retrieved his journal from his briefcase and, after he’d précised recent events, wrote a list of questions and subjects he wanted to discuss with Farina in the morning.

  The prepacked meal he reheated tasted okay but he couldn’t eat it. In the lounge, he poured himself a large whiskey and chose a book from the shelf next to the television. It was a Cold War spy novel by an author he’d never heard of, he replaced it after a few minutes, finished his whiskey and went to bed. He set the Deepsleep, he didn’t want to become dependent on it, but it was better than lying awake worrying. Did Farina feel, fear or embarrassment, she’d said she had normal human emotional responses but…..He slept.

  Next morning, the bed woke him as before, the door announced Farina’s arrival while he was eating his breakfast. She came into the kitchen, he couldn’t bring himself to apologies, not yet.

  “I’ve been thinking about the ‘Bear and Penguin,’ ” he said, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

  Farina looked at him but said nothing. She seemed apprehensive, but it was difficult to tell.

  “Polar bears live at the North Pole, and penguins live at the South Pole. Penguins should never be in the company of polar bears.”

  Farina smiled, she seemed relieved, had he missed something?

  “Well Martin, after the Collision, the Northern and Southern ice fields advanced so far towards the Equator that for a short time they touched, in places. At the time you visited Kisumu, both species had crossed over, extending both the range of the penguins and the diet of the polar bears, who find penguins very appetizing.”

  Riley changed the subject. “So, what happened to the TM unit at Langley after my accident?” he asked as he took a sip of orange juice.

  “Peter Abrahams took over as lead scientist. He was the obvious choice, the only one who fully understood the science, and his colleagues respected him for that.”

  “How did he get on with the Colonel?”

  “They got on well, Colonel Wilson was avuncular towards Dr Abrahams, probably because of their age difference, there was little rivalry between them. Eventually Wilson developed medical problems and wanted to retire.”

  “And his relationship with Estella?”

  “They stayed married, until the Colonel died.”

  “Died, how?”

  “He was flying across the Atlantic for a meeting with MI6 in London when his aircraft disappeared from the radar screens.”

  “Sabotage?”

  “Yes Martin, apparently he knew far too much to be allowed to retire. His political masters must have decided it was the expedient thing to do.”

  “Don’t tell me, they hid the press reports, so he didn’t get two weeks advanced warning, just like me.” Riley chuckled. “How ironic, his ‘Policy Four’ certainly worked that time. I wonder how Estella took it. What year was this?”

  “2021, eleven years after your ‘accident.’ She lived for another nineteen years but didn’t remarry.”

  “God, that’s a strange thing to hear. I wonder what happened to the boys, what were their jobs, what did they look like, did they have kids?”

  “We can arrange for you to have sight of them until 2051, or we can provide a report, but are you sure you want to do this to yourself? Perhaps you should concentrate on the program we have arranged for you.”

  “I don’t know what I want; this is too difficult to take in all at once. Let’s stick to the program for no
w. What’s next? Whose turn is it to give me a good kicking?”

  “No more kicking Martin. Let’s go to the Capsule and I’ll explain on the way?”

  They walked down the corridor and stepped into the elevation shaft. Riley would never be comfortable with the experience, as they floated down the many stories to the ‘underground car park,’ as he thought of it, but he felt less panicked. If Estella had switched the field on, he couldn’t feel it. The chairs coalesced upwards from the floor and they sat. The sphere of mist formed and cleared. Riley saw that they were drifting, invisible, over Trafalgar Square in London.

  “It is 2050 Martin. What do you notice?”

  Riley looked at the throngs of tourists as they walked across the Square. Children and teenagers climbed on the bronze lions at the foot of Nelson’s Column, and dodgy looking vendors stood behind hover stalls selling highly colored food and drink.

  “No pigeons,” he said.

  “Yes, they eliminated the rock doves for public health reasons, but what about the clothes?”

  “Well there appear to be a lot of Muslim tourists, judging by the hijabs and prayer hats. What of it? Perhaps they’ve taken over from the Americans and Japanese.”

  The scene greyed out to be replaced by a different view.

  “The market place at Bungay, a small town in Suffolk,” said Farina. “No tourists here, and notice the ethnicities of the people wearing the hijabs.”

  Riley peered through the membrane. “Well, most of them appear to be European.”

  “Today is Sunday, look over at the church.”

  Riley could see people entering the church. Most of the women wore hijabs and long colorful dresses, the younger men wore prayer hats. “Okay, so what are you trying to tell me?” he asked. “That the Muslims bought the church in Bungay and are using it as a Mosque?”

  “No Martin, this is a Sunday, not a Friday, they are all Christians, but Islamic dress has become popular. This was one of the signs that led me to discover your activities. The original Collision survivors in Kenya, the ones funded by the British Government, left good records, we know that they wore European clothes. When I travelled back upstream and found a period where British people wore Islamic fashions it puzzled me. I travelled further back, and discovered that the accident that killed Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed had never happened. It was Princess Diana who had started the fashion, after she married Dodi Fayed and converted to Islam. I realized that this was a branching of the Timestream, or some sort of distortion. Our knowledge of pre-Collision history was rather sketchy, many records had been lost, but I found that, in this continuum, the Twin Towers had never been destroyed. I investigated further, and found other discrepancies. My researches upstream revealed you and your Temporal Messaging technology, and downstream from there I discovered Peter Abraham’s and his improvements. Then, in 2051, you and he cause the realignment of the Timestream. The Council see this as a very significant event, and have tasked Tolland and myself to help you accomplish it.”