by Gary Gibson
‘Maybe you should ask Herr Frank why it was so damn easy for me to hack into the Crag’s computer network,’ Tomas snarled, his hands gripping the sides of his chair. ‘It was all there – the truth behind why we wasted so many years locked up in that Godforsaken shit-hole, just so that drooling cretin you call a Tsar could grab himself a few more years on the throne. As far as I’m concerned, you and him and all the rest of them can go fuck yoursel—’
Borodin raised the pistol from his lap and shot Tomas three times in the chest in rapid succession. The force of the impact threw him backwards. He landed in a sprawl on the floor and lay unmoving.
I stared at his corpse, a keening sound fighting its way up from my throat before I managed to find the words to speak.
‘Why . . . why did you . . . ?’
‘Mr Szandor was not essential,’ said Borodin. He pressed a button set into one corner of the desk. I heard a faint buzzing from somewhere outside the double doors. ‘You, unfortunately, are. Now, if you could answer my question?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Is the Hypersphere too badly damaged for it to ever function again?’
I swallowed hard and nodded, my eyes fixed on the weapon once again resting on Borodin’s lap. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
‘Thank you,’ Borodin said drily. ‘That’s actually more of a straight answer than I’ve heard from Herr Frank in nearly ten years. I gather much of what we’ve learned about the Hypersphere is thanks to you, Miss Orlova.’
The doors swung open, and the same two guards stepped into the room. ‘Clean this up,’ said Borodin. They saluted, then grabbed hold of Tomas by a leg and arm and unceremoniously dragged his body back out through the doors, pulling them shut as they went. A trail of smeared blood marked his passage.
‘Now, Katya,’ said Borodin, ‘I want you to focus. Look at me.’
By an effort of will, I turned back from the doors and looked at Borodin. I felt sure I would never leave that room alive.
‘Herr Frank,’ said Borodin, ‘was recently given orders that, should the Hypersphere programme fail to produce conclusive results within the next six months, all of the research personnel under his supervision are to be executed. That means you, your father, and all the rest of the exiles held in the Crag. However, there has been a new development, one that even Herr Frank is not yet aware of: we have learned of the existence of a second Hypersphere – and an undamaged one at that.’
‘A . . . second Hypersphere . . . ?’
Borodin placed his pistol back on the desk beside him. ‘What I’m about to tell you is a state secret, Katya, so listen very carefully. For a few years now, we have known of the existence of another civilization that, like our own, is in possession of transfer stage technology. And like us, they are engaged in exploring Earths parallel to their own.’
‘You mean . . . the Syllogikos? But they disappeared long ago.’
Borodin shook his head. ‘No. Not the Syllogikos.’
He handed me a folder – a blue one, its cover stamped with warnings. My hands were shaking so badly that I had some difficulty opening it. I gazed blankly at the pages within. After witnessing Tomas’ murder, the words might as well have been in Swahili.
‘As you’ll see,’ said Borodin, as I stared down, ‘this other civilization refers to the Syllogikos as “Stage Builders”.’ He moved to stand beside me and slid a photograph out of the back of the folder in my hands, placing it on top of the pages. It showed several men and women, all standing grinning in front of a number of huge metal shelves piled high with an assortment of unidentifiable machinery of all shapes and sizes. Just barely visible in the shadows behind them was a Hypersphere, mounted in a cradle.
The shock of seeing an intact Hypersphere was almost enough to make me forget what had just happened. ‘Do they know what it is? Or what it can do?’
‘Not at all. Their understanding of Syllogikos science is, so far as my spies can ascertain, extremely limited.’
‘Then . . . why are you telling me all this?’
‘Your insight regarding the Hypersphere makes you well-suited to a very specific task I require of you. Consider it recompense for your escape attempt. You will identify on which specific alternate this Hypersphere is located, and then travel there to assess whether it is indeed operational. If it is, you will aid one of our agents in its retrieval. Because this will initially require infiltrating this other civilization, you will undergo a period of training specific to your mission, before being embedded amongst them with a cover identity sufficient to allow you to pass as one of them.’
I struggled to take all of this in. ‘Gospodin Borodin,’ I said, ‘I am no spy.’
‘You and Tomas managed to subvert the Crag’s security systems and escape from a secure penal facility in one alternate, before escaping to another. I think you’re entirely qualified. If you manage this, then you, your father and all of your colleagues will, I assure you, remain alive. But from this point on you take orders only from me, and you will not see your father or anyone else until this task is completed. Is this understood?’
I licked suddenly dry lips, my head full of a deep bass thrumming. I knew to refuse would mean a bullet in the head. ‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ He pressed the buzzer again and stepped back towards the window, studying the view. Footsteps approached and the double doors again swung open to admit Herr Frank, his face a mask of fury.
Borodin turned from the window. ‘Herr Frank, Miss Orlova will remain with me until further notice. I trust the details of our . . . arrangement remain satisfactory to you.’
Herr Frank regarded the other man with hard, flat eyes. ‘Please wait outside a moment, Miss Orlova. I wish to discuss something.’
I hesitated, then Borodin gave me a small nod. ‘Wait in the outer office, Miss Orlova.’
I made my way through the double doors and sat in the chair that was the only furniture in the room beyond. Herr Frank slammed the doors shut, leaving me alone. I stared dully at the streaks of blood on the tiles. No tears came, no grief. At least, not yet.
I looked around. Another set of doors leading back into the corridor were also closed. I got up and tentatively tried the handle, but they were locked.
I stepped back over to the chair, then paused. I could hear muffled shouting coming through the doors leading into Borodin’s office: the two men were arguing loudly.
I glanced up, seeing a narrow transom window situated above the office doors. Most of what I could hear was coming through it.
A sudden, powerful impulse gripped me. The chair was upholstered and set into a heavy wooden frame. It could easily take my weight. I pushed it up next to one of the doors, then clambered on top of it, kicking off a shoe for ease of balance before placing my bare foot on top of its backrest. I hauled myself up, catching hold of the lip of the upper door frame beneath the transom window by my fingertips.
The chair teetered dangerously beneath me, and for one panicked moment I thought I might be sent tumbling to the floor. But then I managed to steady myself enough that I could lean in close to the transom and hear what they were saying:
‘. . . The Tsar is unsatisfied with your progress, Herr Frank, but this is the last straw. We cannot – cannot – afford to be discovered. If Dmitri’s agents had got to those two before you did, I doubt even the Tsar could save our necks.’
‘Prince Dmitri will find out nothing,’ Herr Frank replied, his voice cold and angry. ‘Nor are you in any position to make demands, not since your demot—’
I heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘Let go of me,’ I heard Herr Frank say, his voice full of outrage. ‘Damn you, let—’
‘Listen to me,’ said Borodin, so quietly that I had to strain to hear. ‘Just because Dmitri handed my department to some puppet of his doesn’t make a difference. All that matters is that the Tsar has at most a few months to live, perhaps less. And I am not the only one with close ties to him, Herr Frank. We have no choice but to help each other, becaus
e if we fail, the instant Dmitri takes the throne he’ll eliminate anyone loyal to his father – and you and I will find ourselves kneeling over a ditch with a gun against the back of our heads. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand perfectly,’ said Herr Frank.
‘Remember – this must remain between the two of us, and no one else.’
‘Of course.’ Herr Frank’s voice sounded distant, terse.
‘I am not so lacking in resources as you seem to think. The girl will undergo training. And you still command the Crag.’
‘So long as Dmitri doesn’t find out what we’re up to,’ said Herr Frank. ‘There are rumours his network of spies rivals your own.’
‘Then you had better get back there,’ said Borodin, ‘and make sure he doesn’t. Is that understood?’
I listened for more, but heard nothing. Then came the sound of footsteps approaching the doors. I dropped back down in a panic, the chair briefly wobbling beneath me before I managed to drag it back to where it had been.
I had just managed to sit back down when the doors swung open and Herr Frank emerged, his mouth a rigid line of anger.
His gaze dropped to regard my feet. ‘Your shoe,’ he said.
I glanced down. My shoe still lay on the floor. I picked it up and quickly tugged it back on.
‘It’s very tight,’ I said feebly.
He stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Then he stalked past me without another word and into the busy corridor beyond.
THREE
Easter Island Forward Base,
Alternate Alpha Zero, under Authority Jurisdiction
Six Months Later
For a barely measurable instant, I hung in a grey void, caught between one universe and the next. Then I found myself standing on a transfer stage in a broad hangar, while brilliant sunlight poured unfettered through wide open doors directly before me.
I put up a hand to shield my eyes. Even so, the sunshine felt wonderful after long months of freezing rain and unbroken wintry skies. Even the air, when I next drew breath, made me dizzy with its extraordinary richness.
I was not alone. Four others stood next to me on the stage, and it was clear that the transfer process had proven particularly wrenching for at least one of them. I watched as Elena Kovitch stumbled down the broad ramp and past several bemused American soldiers, before vomiting her breakfast against a wall.
Like the others on the stage around me, I wore a uniform, which we had all come to detest – a modified jumpsuit with a hammer and sickle over the breast. Each had a carefully stitched label reading Soviet Science Detachment, in case our hosts somehow forgot who we were. Beneath it was stitched my name: Katya Orlova. That much of my old identity Borodin had allowed me to retain. Everything else was a carefully constructed lie.
Nina Gregoryeva and Vissarion Chakviani, meanwhile, simply stared with stunned expressions, as if until that moment they had been unable to believe that the means existed to travel from one universe to another. Boris Yedov, the Georgian, just stood quietly with eyes half-closed, reciting some Orthodox litany under his breath while fingering the tiny crucifix he habitually wore.
The day before, we had been flown from Moscow to Washington onboard a specially chartered Aeroflot passenger jet, amidst conditions of absolute secrecy. We had barely touched down before we were bundled onto yet another plane and flown to an unnamed military camp somewhere in the American Midwest. Finally, and without delay, we were bussed directly to a windowless concrete bunker that proved to contain a transfer stage.
And now I was here, on a post-apocalyptic alternate that functioned as the Authority’s primary foothold in the multiverse – or the ‘Provisional American Civil Authority for the Emergency’, to give it its full name.
While the others were occupied, I took a moment to observe my surroundings. Americans with accents that sounded strange and vulgar to my ears yelled to each other as they hauled crates containing our equipment and personal effects down from a second transfer stage adjacent to our own. Although most wore military uniforms, a few others in dark suits were clearly civilians. From the way they directed the soldiers it was equally clear they were in charge. One of the suited men regarded us with barely concealed distaste.
I stepped down from the stage and went out through the open hangar doors to savour the sunshine more fully. I looked up into a pale blue sky dotted with seagulls riding high on a thermal. They dipped out of sight behind a rocky bluff, from the far side of which I could hear the boom and hiss of waves. I could feel the watchful eyes of the soldiers on me as I bathed beneath the porcelain sky, but I did not care.
‘Katya?’
I turned when Elena called my name. She had accepted a handkerchief from one of the two men in suits and was wiping her mouth and apologizing profusely for her loss of control.
‘Come back inside, Yekaterina,’ she called to me again. ‘We must keep together.’
I took a last longing look at the sky and went back inside the hangar.
Vissarion and Nina had by now recovered sufficiently from the shock of transferral to make their way down the ramp to join us, closely trailed by Boris. Elena stared pointedly at the crucifix still grasped in Boris’ hand, the chain around his neck drawn taut, until he blinked and finally tucked it back out of sight.
‘I understand all of you speak English,’ said a uniformed man who stepped up beside the two men in suits. We nodded – fluency in English was a requirement for membership of the expedition, and even before I first set foot in his office Borodin had known that I spoke the language. ‘My name is Major Howes,’ the soldier continued, before turning to the two civilians beside him. ‘I want to welcome you to Alternate Alpha Zero, though you’ll find most people tend to refer to it as just “the island”. Easter Island, to be specific.’ He gestured to the nearest of the two civilians. ‘This is Art Blodel, our new director of operations. And this is Kip Mayer, assistant director.’
Blodel was broad and muscular, spine ramrod straight as he surveyed us. His expression was flat and hard, his mouth set in a thin line, his hair a wiry grey brush standing straight up from his scalp. Mayer, by contrast, was small and wiry, almost delicate in appearance, although there was a sharp intelligence in the eyes of both men.
‘Just so you know,’ Kip Mayer said to Elena, ‘I puked my guts up the first time I used a transfer stage. It gets easier after the first time.’
‘Thank you,’ Elena replied gratefully. ‘May I ask – where are the other members of our team? My understanding was that they arrived before us.’
Blodel nodded stiffly, and I sensed he was less than comfortable in our presence. ‘The Russian engineering team got here a few days ahead of you, yes. We’re putting you up in neighbouring houses – one for them, the other for you . . . theoretical types. You’ll get to meet them later this afternoon.’
The Soviet engineers had arrived in advance of us, in order to be more thoroughly briefed regarding what little the Authority had so far learned about how their transfer stages worked. I knew nothing about the engineers beyond their names and specialities, although I had heard that Wasikowska, the expedition’s political officer, had been replaced at the last minute.
‘We’ll let you settle into your new digs first and save any further briefings until later,’ said Mayer. ‘But tomorrow we’re dropping you in the deep end. You’re going to visit a couple of other alternates of particular interest to us. Then we’re going to have a little meet and greet so you can get to say hello to our Pathfinders.’
Vissarion frowned. ‘What is Pathfinder?’ he asked, in heavily accented English.
Blodel looked around us with evident irritation, realizing that none of us knew what a Pathfinder was. ‘Whenever we open up a new alternate, the Pathfinders are the first people to go in and explore it. As you can imagine, they’re a pretty hardy bunch. They’re also going to be responsible for escorting all of you through some alternates we’re currently exploring.’ He frowned. ‘Weren’t
you briefed about all this already?’
Elena and the others shook their heads, clearly mystified.
‘Are you joking?’ spat Vissarion. ‘Nobody back home tell us one damn thing, because you Americans refuse to tell us anything outside of barest facts. Chert vozni, I never even knew such places existed until was told I would be sent here two weeks ago. Parallel universes! Transfer stages! Alternate Earths struck by meteors or destroyed by plagues!’ He swore under his breath. ‘When they hauled me into the Kremlin and started telling me all this, I nearly accused them of being drunk.’
‘I apologize for my colleague’s language,’ said Elena, darting Vissarion a hard look. ‘He was a late addition to our team.’
Blodel muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like fucking Russkies, and Mayer shot him an angry look. Major Howes, beside him, closed his eyes for a moment.
‘I’m sorry, Director Blodel,’ said Elena, smiling sweetly as if she hadn’t just thrown up against the hangar wall. ‘I didn’t quite catch that?’
‘I was just saying,’ said Blodel, smiling thinly back, ‘that we look forward to having you here as our guests. It must be nice to have your first taste of visiting a free country.’
‘I wasn’t aware this was a country,’ drawled Boris. ‘I thought we were on some deserted parallel Earth. And speaking of free countries, just how many years has it been since the war ended, and you Americans still haven’t had a free election?’
Blodel’s face coloured, and Mayer stepped quickly forward, clapping his hands to get our attention. ‘Okay!’ he exclaimed brightly, ‘I think it’s about time to get you all settled in, don’t you?’
A few minutes later, we were guided into the back of an open-top truck with benches mounted on its rear bed. We drove away from the hangar, passing through a wire cordon and then onto a dusty road edged with weeds. I looked back to catch a last glimpse of Meyer and Blodel shouting at each other just outside the hangar, pugnacious expressions on both their faces. The road ran parallel to an air strip that looked disused, and