by Roger Ley
She heard Patrick arrive soon after five o’clock. He sniffed the air in the apartment, “So it’s a takeaway tonight, is it?” he asked, smiling as he grabbed her around the waist and kissed her. He saw the fly swat lying on the coffee table and became more serious. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Sorry, my mind hasn’t been on cooking,” she gently disengaged. “There’s something I want to show you. I recorded this last night. Don’t talk, just watch it all the way through, and then we’ll talk.”
Mary played the recording. Patrick became more intent as it progressed. When it finished he didn’t speak but restarted it and watched Riley’s arrival in slow motion. He stopped it again where Riley seemed to be toasting Mary’s health and then watched the disappearance of the two scientists in ultra-slow mode, reversing and replaying it several times.
“If it wasn’t you who’d recorded this, I’d assume it was a fake,” he said.
She told him about Abraham’s visit that afternoon.”
“Are you going to report this?”
“What, a man with a message from the far future arrived in Abraham’s office, a man who is supposed to have died fifty years ago? I’d be grounded and back in psych eval in a second.”
“What about the video file?”
“They’d court-martial me for faking evidence.”
“What should we do?” he asked.
“Well, it’s a suicide mission if we do what they want. If I go back and change the past, everything will change in the present. We might be dead, we might not be born, we might marry other people. I’m just not doing it.”
“But you do it all the time.”
“No, don’t you see the difference? We make changes in the present that alter things a week or so later. I told you how we prevented the destruction of Central London, for instance. This is different, we’ll be changing our past and that will affect our present in unpredictable ways.”
“Yes, I can understand that, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”
“They want a meeting; I’ll insist that you’re included. If I was going to do the mission I’d need an orderly.”
Abrahams had rented a hotel suite. There was no sign of Riley. Mary examined every inch of the rooms and sealed the bottoms of doors and ventilator grills with masking tape. She looked crazy with her fly swat and tape but didn’t care.
“We’ll suffocate at this rate, with no fresh air coming in,” complained Abrahams.
“Then it’ll encourage everybody to be brief. We can adjourn when we start going blue.”
Abrahams was making tea for them all when the wardrobe door opened and Martin Riley stepped out.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said. “I loved CS Lewis when I was a kid.” He smiled and then became serious. “Pardon my levity. What’s he doing here?” he pointed at Patrick.
“Mary needs him,” said Abrahams.
Riley nodded at Mary, “I’m sure Peter has told you who I am,” he said.
So, no introductions then, she thought.
“I would’ve liked to see you materialize,” said Patrick. Mary knew he was still suspicious even though he’d seen the recording.
“Best to keep your distance when I arrive,” said Riley, “not so dangerous when I leave.” He looked around at Mary’s security measures. “Let’s get on with it, while there’s still oxygen in the room. Peter has explained the reason for the mission, we have to realign the Timestream and save the future of mankind. It’s the most important thing that any of you will ever do.”
“What do we have to do?” asked Patrick.
“We have to go back and stop SIS from replacing Diana and Dodi’s driver in 1997? We need Henri Paul, to be at the wheel. The French police said he was drunk and that was why they crashed. The accident will happen as it did originally, the Timestream will realign, end of story. Pity they weren’t wearing their seat belts. Clunk, click and all that.” The others looked blank. “Old TV advert.”
“How will we stop the SIS from replacing the driver?” asked Abrahams.
“By stopping their agent from delivering the instructions to his asset at the Ritz,” said Riley.
“What instructions?” asked Patrick.
“The instruction to replace the driver,” said Riley impatiently.
“So, we’ll assassinate this SIS man I suppose.” said Mary. “Always such subtlety.”
“Yes, your area of expertise, I believe,” said Riley.
Mary flinched, “So how are we going to do it?” she asked.
“By sending a ‘packet’ upstream into the past,” said Abrahams. We need to target it, and that’s where you come in.”
“I’ll take a fly drone in the time capsule and release it in Paris, back in 1997,” said Riley. He looked at Mary, “You’ll be piloting it.”
“I don’t see what’s in it for us,” she said, her dislike of Riley coming to the fore. “If we do what you ask, we sign our own death warrants. We might survive the changes but we’ll be different people. The people we are now will no longer exist.”
“I was going to appeal to your better natures,” said Riley sarcastically, “tell you it’s for the good of mankind, but I suspected I wouldn’t convince you. However, I have an ace up my sleeve.” He reached into a pocket and removed a cylindrical box and tipped the contents onto a coffee table. It was a delicate net of silvery metal threads. He spread it out. “I can copy your brain states and take them forward to the future with me. That way you get the best of both worlds; you’ll still have the chance of a life in the new present, but there’ll be the certainty of life, as you are now, in the future.”
“Nice try,” said Mary. “How can a ‘brain state’ be alive? Are you going to give us new bodies? Will they be clunking robots, or will you grow them for us in tanks? Maybe you’ll give us the bodies of erased criminals, if you still have them, in your perfect world of the future. How could you prove you’d even taken a copy of a brain state? It sounds like snake oil to me.”
Riley continued, “The process isn’t difficult to understand, it’s digital, but at a much higher resolution than is possible in the 21st century. We take the copy, and then move it into the Commonwealth’s Tower Memory. They have copies of people that might be useful to them, scientists, mathematicians, musicians, politicians. They’re called ‘Incorporeals.’ Apparently, they even have a section for war leaders in case there’s ever need of them. Most of them are inactive, but they’ve made an exception of Sun Tzu, he’s active and, I’m told, surprisingly likable, plays a lot of Go. Genghis Khan is left sleeping, he’s too dangerous, they’re afraid he might take the place over.”
Mary was confused, she wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not.
“What sort of world do these ‘Incorporeals’ inhabit?” asked Patrick. “We’ve been talking about virtual living for decades.”
“They make up their own separate environments, like lucid dreaming, but much more real. There’s a common meeting area, configured as a park with trees and plants and guest houses.”
“And fluffy bunny rabbits,” said Mary. “Oh, fuck off, with your Tower Memory and your Genghis Khan. It’s bollocks; I don’t believe a word of it. Prove it.”
“I can’t,” said Riley. “They’ve taken a copy of me, because I too will disappear when we push the button on this. I’ll update my file at the same time as I copy you.”
“Can you contact this virtual version of yourself?” asked Patrick, still interested despite Mary’s derision. “Have you ever spoken to it?”
“No, it’s inactive; they don’t allow active duplicates, although they keep themselves backed up regularly.”
“How regularly?” asked Patrick his professional interest piqued.
“They do it once a month, unless they’ve done something notable or are planning to do something dangerous. It gives them a different attitude to life; they take more risks, although nobody wants to die early and go to Tower Memory before their time.”
“What if we
refuse?” asked Mary, she wouldn’t be diverted by Riley’s ‘future’ talk.
“Look,” said Riley impatiently, “if you don’t do it well find another pilot. Nobody will believe your story if you blab, and then, after the Realignment, as far as you and Patrick are concerned it’s ‘game over.’ Do I make myself clear?” Mary said nothing. “You two only need to worry about yourselves, my children live in this reality, along with their children, my grandchildren. Don’t you think I’m concerned for their welfare?”
“I refuse to kill anybody,” said Mary. “Whatever your plan is, I’m not committing another murder, no matter how you try to sell it.”
“Look Mary,” said Riley, “we need you to target a particular SIS agent, but I can show you his death certificate. He dies of natural causes, a massive heart attack, two weeks later. We’ll take a small part of his life, but it’s collateral damage. You’re used to the idea in the military. Given the importance of what we’re trying to achieve here, two weeks taken from one life is not a big sacrifice. The agent knew the risks when he signed up to the Security Service.”
Mary remembered the young pilot in the drug cartel incident. He hadn’t deserved to die, he hadn’t signed up for military duty, but she’d still gone ahead with the mission.
“Patrick and I need to talk,” she said. Riley didn’t reply, he stood up and walked to the center of the room. He paused as an iridescent “skin” enveloped him, moments later he disappeared. There was a pop, as air filled the space he had occupied.
“I find that disappearing trick a convincing argument,” said Patrick. “I vote we go ahead.”
“Yes,” said Mary wearily, “I suppose you’re right. We’ve no choice.”
“How are you progressing Martin?” asked Farina. She was waiting in the time capsule as he slid through the membrane.
He sighed, “I’m having to hold their hands. The drone pilot, Mary Lee, is dragging her feet. Her partner will go along with whatever she decides, he’s curious about future technology and that’ll help us. Abrahams is on side, we impressed him with our ‘brief tour of the future.’ Anyway, they can have an hour to talk it over.”
“Do they realize that their personal existences will end if they go ahead?”
“I’m not laboring the point with them but I’m sure they do. I’ve explained Incorporeal living. Anyway, I need a break; that Mary Lee is a pain in the arse.”
“Would you like a massage Martin. Perhaps we could make love?”
“God, you say the nicest things Farina, and it may be the last opportunity we have.”
The chairs reconfigured themselves as a double bed.
Afterwards, he lay and rubbed his temples. “Tell me Farina, what’s it like being a Synthetic?”
“That is a subjective question Martin, you need to be more specific.”
“You eat, you drink, you enjoy making love, and that’s a pretty good Turing test. You don’t get moody. Can you reproduce?”
“No Martin, we cannot reproduce, and we only eat and drink to make humans more comfortable in our company. It is a form of socialization, but we need not do it. My repair and energy needs are more efficiently managed than your own, as are other aspects of my design. I can exist without oxygen for a long period, control the growth of my hair and fingernails or even change my apparent ethnicity.” She paused and Riley watched as her hair, skin and eye color began to darken. “Increasing my melanin levels is relatively easy; changing facial features takes hours. I do not suffer moods but I can develop emotional attachments. I have allowed myself a deep attachment to you.”
“That’s nice of you Farina, I like you too, but I will disappear soon if the Realignment goes to plan.”
“Yes Martin, and then I will delete the attachment and remember you fondly. Sometimes I will replay our happy times together, but I will not miss you. This is a major difference between us. Estella treated you badly, but you continue to feel an attachment to her. It will take a long time for the attachment to fade. It makes you unhappy because it is an emotion with no positive outcome. Humans dwell on the past even though they cannot change it. It is inefficient, but that is the way you are made.” She stroked his face and gave him a sad look. “Poor Martin, you are a slave to your emotions, like all your race. Except the psychopaths, but they are exceptional.”
Riley felt patronized, he sensed her sympathy but realized that she was not human, she was a different species. He reached up and held her wrist, something was missing.
“You will not find a pulse Martin. My circulatory system is distributed. Like the Tin Man, I do not have a heart.”
He paused for a moment. Soon he would need to say goodbye and something had been playing on his mind.
“Farina, er, I’ve been meaning to ask you something; it’s about the incident in the bathroom, after the fight in the ‘Bear and Penguin,’ do you remember?”
“Yes Martin, I remember, I remember everything.”
“Could you delete it if you wanted to? I’m still ashamed of my behavior, I don’t know what came over me, I’m so sorry.”
“You were angry Martin, you were scared and hurt and you blamed me for putting you at risk. Your emotions were in turmoil, that was why you threatened to hit me.”
He shuddered, he had nearly punched a helpless woman, it didn’t matter that she was a Synthetic, it was still wrong.
“I can delete it from my memory Martin, if that is what you wish, and nobody will ever know it happened, except you, but that is the real problem. The incident does not disturb me because you were acting out of character and at the mercy of your emotions. I forgive you Martin. The greater problem is whether you can forgive yourself.”
“I’ll be leaving soon Farina.”
“Yes Martin, I understand the consequences of the Realignment.”
“Will we meet again? Will you be able to visit my copy in City Memory?”
“I’m sure we will meet again Martin.”
“You’ve done so much for me since you rescued me from the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. I wish there was something I could do for you, a friendly gesture to show my appreciation. Is there anything? Flowers, chocolates?”
She laughed, “Well Martin, I would love a foot massage, it is a slight weakness we Synthetics have, we use it as part of our socializing. It will be another experience I can replay when I remember you.”
“I can see that total recall is a big improvement on a photo album,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-One
USA 2051
Riley stepped out of the bathroom in the hotel suite again. The other three were still there. Mary lay on one of the beds, her eyes closed. Patrick and Abrahams were drinking tea.
Mary sat up blinking.
“Right, let’s get on with it,” said Riley, without a greeting or acknowledgement. “We need to make the copies now. The copies won’t remember anything after this, but if all goes well there shouldn’t be much to remember.”
“And our personal data?” asked Patrick.
“Your sprite’s data files will be included,” said Riley. “Don’t worry, you won’t lose your digital legacy, all those clips and snaps.”
Mary sat in a chair and Riley arranged the gold-colored mesh over her head.
“The process takes about ten minutes, it stores the information in the mesh. Here,” he handed out meshes to the other two. “I’m not sure whether it’s safe to talk or move while the copy’s being made. For all I know, one cough and you lose your piano lessons or something, I advise you to sit quietly.”
They sat immobile, the meshes on their heads, like a group under the dryers in a hairdressing salon thought Mary. She had an urge to read a magazine and flipped out her vscreen and did so. Riley stared across at her, she felt his silent disapproval. Fuck him, she thought, he was brusque, bad mannered and crossing swords with him had not led to the mutual respect that such confrontations often engendered. She couldn’t stand the man
One after another the meshes vibrated to sign
al that the process was complete. Riley collected them and placed them in their cylindrical box.
“How strange to think that I have all four of our lives in my jacket pocket,” he said, “such vulnerability.” Mary didn’t like his self-satisfied smile, and decided to stay on the right side of him while he had it in his power to leave her and Patrick behind. She was finding the idea of a world belonging solely to the two of them very appealing.
“Patrick and I will be together, won’t we?” Mary had suddenly pictured them living separate virtual lives.
“Yes,” said Riley, “you can share your world with whoever is willing to share theirs with you. You can even combine data to make offspring that inherit traits from both of you, but you need permission. A license to breed.” He laughed.
“So, we’re backed up,” said Patrick. “Why am I still scared?”
Riley did his disappearing act, the other three took a car to the TM lab.
“Hi guys.” Doug the technician looked up and smiled as they walked in. He was sitting at a workstation in the Temporal Displacement room wearing a tee shirt sporting the slogan, “Wanted dead or alive – Schrödinger’s cat.” The tee shirt, like the joke, had worn thin. He was now in his late sixties, Mary was struck by how old and unattractive his grey stubble made him look.
Doug looked from one to the other of the group. Mary remembered that he had a talent for being around when anything important or interesting was happening.
He looked at Abrahams, “Funny thing Doc, there hasn’t been a peep from downstream for a couple a days. Either there’s a glitch with the software, or something nasty is about to happen.” He laughed, then, as his gaze moved beyond Abrahams, he gaped. “Jesus Christ, it’s Martin Riley,” he said, as the fourth member of the team walked into the laboratory from the direction of the rest room.
“Hello Doug,” Riley smiled, “I’m surprised that you can still remember me, you were just a whippersnapper when I went off the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. Not such a long time for me as it’s been for you, of course.” He looked at the others, “The copies are safe, Farina has installed them.” They paused for a moment as the significance sank in, then Mary and Patrick moved towards the drone control room.