by M. D. Hall
Beron’s voice then cut off sharply. Fearful, she had made a noise, or they had some technology that could detect eavesdroppers, she turned and ran to the nearest teleport station where she thought of the car park, which then materialised as the corridor faded out of view.
Quickly slipping her shoes back on, she stepped off the teleport platform and briskly walked to her car, the only one in the park.
Tala, having sent Beron away, walked over to the window at the end of the corridor where, only moments before, she had received notification, courtesy of her cortical implant, of an unauthorised presence in the Te’an office section. Looking out of the window, she saw Liz’s small car glide away. This changed things markedly. The conclusion that Liz Corcoran had heard everything Beron had said was the only safe one. Thinking it through quickly, but thoroughly, she decided what needed to be done. Gerry Wye, the US President’s Chief of Staff had been pressing for a private meeting. It was time to accelerate the timeframe of her second meeting, she would return Wye’s calls.
Liz looked in her rear view mirror, and saw the elegant curves of the office complex, now darkly silhouetted against a full moon rising behind it, presenting an altogether more sinister aspect. A single pale light on the floor she had just vacated, now a malevolent eye within which, she knew stood Tala, watching, scheming. Cursing to herself, she realised matters had become a great deal more difficult, and dangerous. She swept down the road towards her apartment, glancing at the mirror a lot more than she normally would.
The following day, she arranged another site meeting, and insisted Hugo attend. He knew better than to ask why and simply went along with it. Once they were far enough from TeCorp headquarters for her to be satisfied they could not be overheard, she told Hugo of what had happened the previous night.
‘It could mean something and nothing,’ he replied, ‘although at a guess, it’s more likely to be something. We need to keep alert to anything different. If we went to the President with gut feelings, they’d cart us off and I couldn’t blame them. You can't take any more risks, we’re both on their radar.’
Liz nodded, knowing that she would disobey her boss. Her plan needed a lot more work under the radar, including his radar.
Ω
On the same day, Tala was fomenting her own plans, which included her second meeting.
Δ
The next nine days were the most hectic the cadre had experienced. After long discussions and analysis of the copious document that was the agreement, they officially asked to join with the Te. Naturally, as their visitors had instigated the idea, the request was favourably received and a date, three weeks ahead, was fixed for the Unification Ceremony.
In anticipation, the Te’ans had begun adapting a room within TeCorp headquarters. To describe the place where the signing was to take place, simply as a room, would be a gross understatement. What was to happen there would, to the representatives of Earth, fix mankind in a future they could never have imagined just a few short months before, a future they would not face as disparate peoples. What they did, in anticipation of the asteroid strike, was merely an essay, preparing them for the greatest novel they had ever written.
No, to describe it as a room did it an injustice, but a room is what it was. Bearing in mind what it would bear witness to, what kind of room did it need to be?
The ideas were Te’an in origin, but Tala did consult with the cadre and Hugo Black, before instructing subordinates to effect the necessary changes to a large boardroom.
There was no mistaking the use of Te’an technology, but in appearance all parties agreed that it was to be simple, neutral in design, to symbolise a new beginning.
For posterity, it was to be called the Unification Chamber, but most people would refer to it as the signing room.
It was large and windowless. There were two doors: one from the upper floors, through which the President and his entourage were to enter, three minutes before the signing ceremony; the other door would be used by everyone else.
The room was lit by its walls and ceiling which were suffused with a warm natural glow. The walls were uncluttered but for three clear screens, and two large analogue clocks, close but unconnected to their adjacent walls - unconnected to anything in the room - simply floating in their allotted places. One of the clocks was situated behind and above, where President Conway and Tala would be positioned, the other diametrically opposite.
The walls were curved and slightly undulating. The combined effect of this and the materials used, was to render the room nearer to acoustic perfection than anything a Tellurian would have previously experienced. The floor was soft yet firm, with no sound emanating from footsteps.
A mean temperature was achieved through the installation, within the walls and ceiling of individual microclimate control units, which monitored the heart rate, body temperature and other physical conditions of every person present.
The six agreed that the President and Tala would position themselves behind a large polished black granite table so that they, and the three screens, were facing the invited audience. On the centre of the table, positioned between the seats, was a pad upon which the two representatives would place their hands, simultaneously, thereby recording their ratification of the agreement.
No cameras for the press corps were necessary as images, recorded by the walls themselves, were fed directly to their parent organisations. Apart from the communication devices of the secret service, the only other means of communication with the outside world was a seemingly incongruous intercom that appeared to be an afterthought.
Approved facsimiles of the agreement, which had been painstakingly examined by senior lawyers representing the cadre, together with authenticated palm prints of the two representatives, would appear simultaneously in the Te’an flagship - due to arrive, shortly before the ceremony - and the offices of all the governments of Earth. There were to be no actual signatures appended, but as is often the way with such events, the public latched on to a term that seemed to encapsulate the spirit of what was about to happen.
This was the room in which the future of mankind was to be determined.
Three Days ago
Δ
Nathalie had gone back into the house, she had forgotten her gloves. I suppose she'll probably need them where she's going, he thought, knowing that she would most likely never stray outdoors during the entire trip.
Jonathon ‘Jon’ Tyler looked into the rear view mirror, still no sign, and his mind drifted back to the time they first met. He was in the Musée d'Orsay, Paris and had been standing, she later told him, for over thirty minutes looking at a painting by Monet of the painter’s garden at Giverny. Lost in himself, he failed to notice the approach of a stunning French girl who, when alongside him, asked what it was about the painting he found so fascinating.
A year later, he was still unable to give a reason. She had occasionally mentioned it, when in the mood to tease him, and the teasing continued when she moved with him to England, after his unexpected, but pleasurably extended stay in Paris came to its inevitable end.
It would have been more convenient for her had they lived in London, but when he offered to give up his lectureship, she would have none of it. Nathalie found that she loved York, and enjoyed being away from hubbub that surrounded all capital cities. She reminded him that she now balanced her work and personal life perfectly, had never been happier, and would not want things any other way; he believed her.
Three years earlier, he had inherited a huge redbrick house from his paternal grandmother. Like his father, he was an only child, but his grandmother had made it clear that as her son had already fashioned himself a very comfortable lifestyle, she would skip a generation, his parents did not resent the sentiment.
He could never have afforded a house like this on a lecturer's salary and, on more than one occasion, had seriously considered selling it. Now, he was glad he had resisted the temptation. Standing in a third of an acre of ground, that had seen bet
ter days - he was no gardener - it had the advantage shared by all such houses, built in the early part of the twentieth century, solid, thick walls and high ceilings. Nathalie loved it, partially because of its atmosphere, but also because it afforded her the perfect surroundings to practice; her recording company actually paid for the conversion of one of the ground floor rooms.
Jon loved classical music, but could not play a note on any instrument, so what Nathalie, an up and coming concert violinist, saw in him remained a mystery.
He looked, once again in the mirror, she must have put them somewhere really safe.
The life of a gifted, musician is a busy one; the life of a beautiful, gifted musician is hectic and, despite cutting back on her schedule, she remained very much in demand. The more she resisted, the more she was fêted. She was on her way to China to start a three week Asian tour, and this would be the longest they would have been apart.
The passenger door opened, and she settled herself into the seat beside him. 'Sorry,' she smiled, ‘they were not where I left them.'
'Wouldn't any colour have done?' He knew, the moment the words were out of his mouth, that it was a stupid question. Her eyes looked skyward as she smiled indulgently, then pointing ahead said. ‘To the airport James,’ in a very poor rendition of an English upper class accent.
He pulled away in his old, but not yet battered estate car. ‘Why Manchester? We were meant to have an AG port here in York, I mean,’ he was beginning to sound exasperated, ‘sixty miles, and even then you’ve got to take a jet…and no direct flight!’
Nathalie shook her head, still smiling. ‘Look at it this way, I will be one of the last people ever to take this journey, it is the last flight into Beijing by jet, and I can use the time to relax.’
He knew exactly what she meant, the weekend had not gone the way they had planned. What was meant to be a quiet Friday night in, followed by Nathalie taking the AG - still from Manchester - on Saturday, took a different turn.
At precisely seven-thirty on the Friday evening, the door bell rang, neither of them were expecting visitors. Nathalie was upstairs finishing her packing, and Jon had just taken a couple of sea bass fillets from the fridge.
As he opened the door, his best friend, Roger Turnberry and his wife Samantha tumbled into the hallway. With the door still ajar, Jon turned towards them, Nathalie was already leaning against one of the newels at the bottom of the stairs.
Both Roger and Sam were beaming. ‘We’ve done it!’ Roger almost shouted.
‘Done what?’ asked Jon, and like him Nathalie was smiling, infected by the good mood of their friends, although neither had any idea why.
‘Got pregnant!’
That was when the celebrations began. The sea bass went back into the fridge, and Nathalie made a quick call to their favourite restaurant, luckily, for a Friday, there was a cancellation. Within the hour they were sitting around a table munching on bread and talking, as friends do, about nothing in particular and had a great time. They lost count of the toasts, sparkling water for Sam.
Towards the end of the evening Roger got up, and began to make his way to the toilets when he tripped over a handbag strap, that had strayed into his path from under another table.
An hour later the four of them were in Accident and Emergency. Five hours after that, Jon and Nathalie were taking Sam home with the promise they would return with her later that morning to take Roger, and his cast home.
On the way to the airport, Jon flicked on the wipers as the heavens opened. Within moments the road was awash, and he had to slow to crawling speed. He half turned to Nathalie and, winking, said. ‘You know this is all down to the North-South divide?’
She sighed. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, North-South divide? I am not even sure I want to know.’
‘Too late,’ he grinned. ‘You can bet all the towns in the South have got AG ports, we’re only an afterthought up here.’
‘I see,’ she replied, ‘you only mention this when it starts to rain?’
‘Because they’re probably responsible for that as well.’
‘The people in the South?’
‘No,’ he replied, in a mock patronising tone, ‘not the people, the Government, they’re happy we get all the rain, then we have to ship water down in trucks so they can water their landscaped gardens. I’m convinced they’ve got satellites that can steer the clouds about!’
She tried to keep a straight face but failed, miserably. The rest of the journey saw them laughing at the most absurd things, and in no time they had arrived at their destination.
He watched, as she walked through departures at Manchester Airport. She kept looking back at him until she was out of sight. He waited a little while, in case she had forgotten something, or he was needed; she had not, and he was not.
Once back in his car, he drove to a spot he guessed would be on her flight path, and waited until a steadily rising plane flew overhead. It was climbing into a beautiful sky, mostly blue, with small cotton wool clouds, dotted sparsely here and there, replacing the unbroken grey rain clouds that accompanied them over most of their long drive. He was missing her before he lost sight of the plane.
This was the first night he had slept alone for five weeks. Each time she went away, the first night always found him sleeping fitfully. It never ceased to amaze him how someone he never knew twelve months ago, could have such a profound effect upon his life.
Δ ∞
Jon opened his eyes, it was probably the third time he had woken that night, but this time was different. He did not find himself looking up at the ceiling, in their bedroom, he was in a place that was not home, and he was not lying down, but sitting. To make matters even odder, he had no idea what he was sitting on, because he had no sensation of contact, and could not feel the floor with his feet. Maybe, I’m floating, he thought. He looked down and, sure enough, found he was in a chair, which seemed to be firmly anchored to the floor. OK, so I’m not floating, but I must be dreaming, most of his dreams were weird, but this tipped the scales. As it was a dream, he decided to run with it and see where it took him.
A cursory examination of the chair showed it to be plain and simple, in the style of a recliner. Touching his right leg, he felt sensation in both his fingertips and his leg, odd that I can’t feel the chair, but can feel my leg. This should have confirmed that he was in a dream, but a slight doubt began to creep into his mind, what if it isn’t a dream?
He was wide awake, which meant this had to be a dream. Invariably, when he woke, he was sleepy and - he would have to admit, if he was brutally honest - occasionally grumpy, but wide awake, never. He tried to rationalise what was happening, and even that felt odd. I shouldn’t be rationalising, I should be panicking. That realisation should have worried him, but reason seemed to be back in his bedroom, where he was asleep. He wondered whether nipping his leg would wake him, no, it just hurt, but what does that mean? Why shouldn't I be able to feel pain, in a dream? But, if I’m not asleep, then I’ve just woken up somewhere other than where I went to bed, with no sensation of being moved. No, it has to be a dream, doesn't it?
Looking further afield, he found he was in a large room, about the size of a basketball court, but without a point of reference it could be a tenth, or ten times that size. Except for the chair on which he was sitting, there was a complete absence of furnishings.
Diaphanous colours suffused the walls, or what he thought were walls because they seemed to lack substance. None of them had corners, that he could discern, and as his eyes were drawn upwards, the walls appeared to be merging above his head, how far above there was, again no way to tell, or maybe they were not merging, they went so far up they just appeared to merge?
As for the floor, it had a milky translucence, but thankfully appeared more solid than the walls.
Sitting back in the chair, he thought again about his situation. He had gone to bed in his own house and woken up in, for want of a better description, a room without corners
to walls, that were neither curved, nor flat and which extended ridiculously upwards. There was even something odd about the floor. To top it all, he was sitting on a chair he could see, but not feel.
The whole situation was bizarre, but in spite of himself he began to dismiss the possibility of it being a dream. Some part of his mind was forcing him to accept that it was real. Certainly, the sensations were vivid and persistent for a dream, and had remained fixed and solid. He was in good health, so far as he knew, and had drunk nothing the previous night. He was not on prescription meds and had never taken recreational drugs. He was certain of only one thing, wherever this place was, it was unlike anything he had ever heard or read about.
To finally reassure himself that what he was experiencing was ‘real’ he sat forward and, tentatively at first, placed his right foot down on the floor, it was as he thought and hoped, solid. Whoever had brought him here was taking great care to ensure his well being, they were not about to let him step onto thin air.
Standing up, he began to walk towards the part of the wall that seemed nearest. It was more than a little strange, as his bare feet made no sound and still there was no sensation of contact, which made his first few steps very difficult. He almost stumbled a couple of times until he forced himself to trust that each next step would be on something solid, and flat. Thankfully, over the next few minutes the strangeness gradually dissipated. As he continued walking, he noticed the floor did not show any reflections from the walls. More time elapsed, how long, he had no idea, but it seemed a while, so much for a basketball court, he thought.
About to give up, he found himself at the wall. What if I touch it, and get a shock? he wondered. Either this is a dream, in which case I can’t get hurt, or it isn’t and I can. Whoever brought me here, if this isn't a dream, could have harmed me already. Mind made up he, very slowly, reached out with his right hand and touched, nothing!
It was not that his hand went through the wall, the wall was simply not there any more, and he was standing in a simple, white room: white walls, white floor and white ceiling, with two white armchairs in the middle of the floor.