by Rod Rees
Henry Cavor looked the epitome of Victorian determination: his eyes glared out at the world, his chin was broad and resolute and his mouth set in an implacable line. This was a man who knew what he wanted and was determined to get it.
‘Henry Cavor was an uncompromising individual and extremely demanding,’ explained Madden. ‘Many thought him mad, but single-handedly he reformed and reformulated physics. It is my belief that if not for the accident that killed him in the prime of his intellectual life and the decision of the Bole family, who had been financing his investigations, to keep his work secret, Henry Cavor would now be as revered as Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein. Henry Cavor was the man who recognised the potential of developing an antipode to Cavorite, a substance he called Etirovac, which rather than repelling gravity would attract it. His hope was that using Etirovac he would be able to create what he called a Gravitational Anomaly.’
‘A remarkably prescient hypothesis for a Victorian scientist,’ purred Dong E.
Madden smiled as he refreshed their coffee. ‘Indeed it was. The first reference to a Gravitational Anomaly is made in Henry Cavor’s diary, dated 22nd September 1875, where he defines it as a phenomenon which occurs when an infinitely large gravitational force is contained in an infinitesimally small space. Such an anomaly could, he postulated, be used to distort space–time.’ Madden shook his head in mute admiration. ‘The tragedy is that his work was prematurely ended when he died suddenly in 1883. Fortunately, though, Henry’s son, Edward, was able to continue his father’s work.’ Madden nodded in the direction of a third portrait hanging near the window of his office.
The face that stared out from the portrait was a sad one. Handsome and fine-featured though Edward Cavor was, he had none of his father’s fiery determination about him: his mouth and chin were weak, his blond hair thin and his overlarge blue eyes almost tearful. It was as though being the son of such an unprecedented genius as Henry Cavor had drained him of confidence.
‘He was the man who confirmed that a body covered by activated Etirovac will absorb gravity and, as it does so, will become more and more compressed, gravity squeezing it ever smaller. Edward Cavor’s experimentation, even using the crude measuring equipment of a century ago, showed the extent of this compression to be almost limitless, and as a body’s mass is, of course, unaffected by this compression, this concentration of mass in an infinitely small area has disturbing effects on the space–time continuum. This was the observation that led Edward Cavor to the investigation of black holes.’
‘Incredible,’ gasped Dong E as she gave an amazed shake of her head which she knew made her untethered breasts move in the most appealing way. Madden’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. ‘But surely, as these points of maximum gravity are usually created when a star implodes, they must be astronomically sized events. Doesn’t it follow that you would require an astronomically sized laboratory to accommodate such a beast?’
‘Edward Cavor contended that if a laboratory could be built which was swathed in Cavorite – and remember, Cavorite repels gravity – then it would be possible to contain a black hole. We would be able to condense’ – Madden laughed at his own drollery – ‘a black hole into a laboratory-sized phenomenon. This insight gave us unprecedented opportunities to study the oddities of time.’
‘Oddities?’ prompted Dong E.
‘It should be remembered that black holes distort not only space but also the rules governing the fourth dimension, time. Today, it is accepted by all physicists that time slows in the vicinity of a strong gravitational field, the concept known as time dilation. But Edward Cavor went further. He was always perplexed by the thought that black holes were simply bottomless pits into which the universe’s light and detritus are sucked, never to emerge. Cavor thought this had a somewhat inelegant finality about it, and as he discovered, there is light at the end of a black hole. To be cosmically coherent, two black holes have to be combined to form the top and bottom elements of the same cosmic structure, this called, in the published literature, the Einstein–Rosen Bridge but you must excuse me if I use the original name: the Cavor Duality.’ Madden took a sip of his coffee. ‘To form a Cavor Duality you need two black holes and hence two TiME machines to create them … or at the very least, a single TiME machine situated at two separate temporal coordinates. It is this Duality that allows us to send our Message Spheres backwards in time.’
‘I had always thought, Sam, that time travel is impossible because it violates one of the fundamentals of physics, the concept of causality … that time travel cannot happen because cause must always come before effect. We can’t drink a cup of coffee,’ and here she raised her cup, ‘before it’s been poured.’
‘You are quite right, Dong E, classical physics states this to be the case. But Nature is a perverse creature which enthusiastically ignores man-contrived rules and regulations. Edward Cavor’s view was that simply because we are unsure how temporal paradoxes might be resolved, does not mean they cannot be resolved. His work demonstrated that causality is not an insuperable hurdle to time travel. At the juncture of two black holes – at the Cavor Interface – the universe is acausal. The Interface is the point of maximum possible gravity and as such is the place where time is frozen, and as time is negated then there can be neither cause nor effect just as there can be no before or after. So in answer to your question, Dong E, causality does not prevent time travel because it does not exist.’
‘That’s a little difficult to get my head around,’ said Dong E with a frown. ‘Perhaps if I was to see a TiME, I might be better able to understand?’
Madden shook his head mournfully. ‘As I say, security regulations make that impossible.’
‘Such a shame.’ There was an awkward silence: it was time, Dong E decided, to take control of the situation. ‘You must have a marvellous view of the park from your office, Sam.’
Madden nodded towards the huge windows that made up one entire wall of his office. ‘Be my guest.’
Dong E rose from her chair and oiled across the heavily carpeted floor – her heels silent on the thick Axminster pile – to the huge panoramic windows. Even without being able to see him, she knew Madden’s gaze followed her every step of the way, his appreciative evaluation having an almost tactile quality as his eyes slid over and around her undulating body. But never one for half-measures, Dong E pulsed a little more motion into her ass.
Madden must have pressed a button on his desk because as Dong E came to stand in front of the windows – which had hitherto been shaded a dark amber colour – they mutated to crystal-clear and for the first time sunlight penetrated his office. After the gloom, the sunlight streaming into the room was so bright that Dong E was forced to take an involuntary step back and to narrow her eyes. Squinting against the harsh desert sunshine, she looked out over the coiffed and manicured parkland that was the ParaDigm campus.
‘It’s very beautiful, Sam.’
‘Not as beautiful as you, Dong E.’
She looked around and found him staring unblinkingly at her. Now was the moment. ‘You know, Sam, I find you very attractive. Maybe it would be possible, when my work here in Nevada is finished, for us to spend some time together … some private time.’
‘Robert …?’
‘Don’t worry about Rivets. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, now, will it?’
For several long seconds Madden sat motionless, as though he was uncertain quite what to do next. Finally, warily, almost fearful, he raised a hand and beckoned Dong E towards him. She oozed back across the room, around the desk to position herself next to the seated Madden.
Cautiously, he caressed his fingers gently over the toned flesh of Dong E’s left thigh. ‘You’re so, so beautiful, Dong E,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you. Your skin … it’s so soft. It’s so wonderful.’
As though dismissive of these oh-so-tentative overtures, Dong E used a foot to push Madden’s chair back from the desk, sliding herself int
o the gap she had created, then hitched her bottom onto the polished wood surface and leant back. The message was unmistakable, she was offering herself to the man. She had to stifle a smile: she had a distinct feeling of déjà vu, as though she had done the exact same thing in another life.
Madden accepted her offer. He rose from his chair and with studied deliberation drifted his two large hands up over her body until they came to Dong E’s necklace. He was obviously a little perplexed by how heavy and industrial it was. ‘Perhaps you would be more comfortable if you removed this.’
‘I can’t,’ she answered in her sultriest voice. ‘It was a present from my mother before she died. I promised never to take it off.’ She leant forward to kiss Madden gently on the lips and then, as though struck by a sudden thought, shied away. ‘No … I’m sorry … I can’t do this, Sam. I can’t torture myself.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘If I’m not allowed access to TiME, I won’t be able to help Rivets with his work. Worse, I think he already suspects that I have feelings for you. He’ll probably send me back to London.’
Sam Madden gnawed at his lower lip for a few seconds. Finally: ‘I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm for you to have a look at the thing.’
‘I would be enormously grateful,’ Dong E purred as she lay back over the desk.
2:11
New York City
The Real World: 28 April 2019
The Cold War meant that cooperation between the US–Russian Alliance and the British Empire in the years leading up to 2012 was notable by its absence, but the emergence of a common enemy, bin Laden’s al-Qaeda, led to a mellowing of attitudes. As the Alliance became increasingly bogged down in Asia Minor, the British, fearful of al-Qaeda’s potential to disrupt the Indian subcontinent – the jewel in the Empire’s crown – offered the US and Russia increased military assistance. In an effort to upgrade the Battle Performance Indices of American neoFights, the British government authorised ParaDigm CyberResearch to help in the creation of an upgraded Virtual Training Environment to prepare neoFights for the exigencies of asymmetric war. The product proposed – the Demi-Monde – was notable not only for its realism and effectiveness but also because it was the first time the US authorities had embraced the use of ParaDigm’s ABBA quantum computer, having hitherto denigrated it as ‘the Beast’.
Without End: A History of the Central Asian War: Colonel Gilbert G. Perkins, MindSet Publications
Ella knew from her psychology studies that in times of danger their survival instinct made people do predictable things: when a creature is threatened, it tends to return to the place where it has always felt most secure … home. And as she was playing the fugitive, that’s just what Ella decided to do: she steered the Studebaker east along Route 66 in the direction of New York.
Her pursuers would see it as a sensible choice: the black population in the Big Apple was one of the largest in America so it was a place where she wouldn’t stand out quite as noticeably as she did in Kenton territory, and knowing her way around the city would be useful if the FBI – or the Intelligence Bureau – came looking.
Correction: not ‘if’ they came looking, but ‘when’ they came looking.
The two-thousand-mile journey from Las Vegas to New York took her just four days, or more accurately, four nights of hard driving. Having to make her flight look as realistic as possible, she had to keep out of the way of any over-inquisitive Highway Patrollers, and to do this she used the nigh on deserted night-time roads. She slept during the day, parking the car in some out-of-the-way place and only venturing out onto the road when the sun was down. When she finally rolled into New York, she was tired, hungry and dirty but, remarkably, still a free woman.
Happy to be back on home turf, she booked herself into a backstreet hotel and settled down to wait. Vanka made her wait ten days, and just as she was despairing of ever hearing from him – or the Intelligence Bureau – she got the long-hoped-for eyeMail.
‘Why not have lunch at Sylvia’s on Lennox Avenue? I hear the stewed chicken and dumplings are excellent. I love you. Vanka’
*
The Polly chirped in the suite Colonel Zolotov had taken in the rather plush Hotel New Yorker. Despite his luxurious surroundings, Zolotov disliked America: its technology lagged behind that of the Empire – but then the embargo imposed by the British to ensure that no ‘strategic’ technologies found their way into the hands of the Empire’s enemies had a lot to do with that – and its cuisine was despicable. But there were compensations, the most notable of which was that with the pound buying four US dollars on the black market, whores were remarkably cheap.
He disentangled himself from the girl he had been using to while away the morning and blinked the Polly into ‘talk’ mode.
‘Zolotov.’
‘Colonel, we’ve just had a tip-off. Seems Ella Thomas will be eating at a soul food restaurant called Sylvia’s this lunchtime.’
‘Reliable?’
‘Very reliable. This guy seems to know everything there is to know about Thomas.’
‘Get the whole team assembled and make sure they’re equipped with stun gas … this is a Lilithi we’re dealing with.’
*
They came for Ella just as she was enjoying her lunch. She heard them bullying their way into Sylvia’s, heard the screams of the diners. There were four of them. Big men wearing the black-suit-and-white-shirt combo favoured by the British Intelligence Bureau, men armed with automatic pistols who shoved their way past the objections of the restaurant’s manager. In the interest of giving a good performance, Ella moved to escape, but they sprayed a gas in her face. The last thing she remembered was sinking to the floor and everything going black.
2:12
The Real World: 30 April 2019
The Demi-Monde: 90th Day of Fall, 2005
The Law of Temporal Boundaries: It is a peculiarity of the Temporal Modulation mechanism that it is dangerous to attempt a Modulation directed to a Temporal Nexus at a distance of less than twenty-five years from the initiating Nexus. The consequences of violating this law are aptly illustrated by the destruction of the Tunguska TiME facility in 1908, the explosion of which, had it taken place in an urban area, would have resulted in many thousands being killed. It is therefore imperative that NO Temporal Modulations are conducted within a footprint of 25 years of the Initiation Date.
‘Precepts of Temporal Modulation’: memorandum written by Beowulf Bole, 14 December 1933
UFA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, BASHKORTOSTAN: THE REAL WORLD
Ella woke to find herself being carried on a stretcher out of an aircraft and across a noisy runway. There was a black-suited guy running along beside her shouting ‘Dorogu! Dorogu!’ and ‘Raskhodeetes, eto delo ParaDigmy!’ and shoving people aside. She was lifted off the stretcher and bundled into the back of a four-wheel-drive, someone handcuffed her and then …
‘E smotri, otklyuchi yeyo PINC.’
Which Ella’s PINC translated as, ‘And make sure her PINC is disabled.’
‘Yest, tovarisch Zolotov.’ (‘As you order, Comrade Zolotov.’)
One of the soldiers pressed what looked like a hand-held scanner to Ella’s forehead, she felt a jolt and then it was as though she’d taken a sip of Alice’s ‘Drink Me’ potion. Everything contracted. One moment she was connected to all the knowledge of the world and the next … she wasn’t.
‘No more Russian, Miss Thomas,’ said the man called Zolotov as he clambered into the truck. ‘Now that I’ve fried your PINC, you’ll have to tolerate my somewhat flawed English.’ He was a tall and very good-looking man possessed of a strange accent, a soufflé of exact English spiced with a flavouring of Russian. ‘I apologise for dePINCing you but I had no choice: Thaddeus Bole is very keen to maintain Yamantau as a PINC-free zone.’
Thaddeus Bole? Yamantau?
It took a real effort of will for Ella not to show her panic. Without PINC she was shorn of information, but worse, without PINC she wouldn
’t be able to send TELEpath messages … she wouldn’t be able to alert Rivets as to her location. Not that she was given much time to fret: a hood was pulled over her head, she felt the stab of a needle in her arm and then … nothing.
TERROR INCOGNITA: THE DEMI-MONDE
They came for Trixie three hours before the Ceremony of Purification was due to commence, taking her across the island to the fortified encampment the UnFunnies had built when they had first come to Terror Incognita, the place where they had been keeping her father prisoner.
She was met by Crowley. ‘Your father is ill, Miss Dashwood, and has asked to meet with you.’
When she was shown into the hut where her father had been living for the last forty days she knew instinctively that Crowley was wrong … her father wasn’t ill, he was dying. In the few weeks since she’d last seen him he had lost an alarming amount of weight and his skin was now the colour of putty. But most worryingly of all, his coughing had become worse: now every time he coughed he spasmed in pain and blood flecked his phlegm.
Trixie’s first instinct was to try to comfort her father but she couldn’t, finding herself hanging back at the entrance to the hut. He was, after all, the man intent on selling the Demi-Monde down the river, on betraying her world to Heydrich.
‘You asked to see me, Father.’
‘I am dying, Trixie,’ he whispered, ‘and so it falls to you to save the Polish workers … to save the Demi-Monde.’
Trixie kept her face impassive to disguise her disgust at what her father was intent on doing. ‘Rather, you would have me be party to your betrayal of the people of the Demi-Monde. I am sorry for you but I cannot forgive your treachery. Because of you, Crowley will raise the Column, Heydrich and UnFunDaMentalism will be victorious and the UnderMentionable races destroyed.’
‘If I don’t cooperate then Heydrich will slaughter all the slave workers.’
‘Better ten thousand souls perish than twenty million are purged because they do not match the distorted racial idealism of Heydrich.’