The Captured

by Kyte, Adrian

  He jumped out of his seat as if a further shock had surged from underneath. This environment had seemed normal to the point of banality; no reason to question – it was simply his workplace, on a routine Monday morning. Now he’d become the impostor, a man who was afraid of being discovered for the lie he was living.

  As he was about to walk out someone entered his office. He didn’t know or remember the name of the man, even though the unruly brown hair and ill-fitting lab-coat presented a vague familiarity.

  He lightly raised a hand to Torbin as if ready to stop him leaving. ‘Glad I caught you,’ he said. ‘Need to run these figures by your good self.’

  Torbin the apparent diligent employee, now about to be exposed for the fraud he was, in the most humiliating way.

  ‘The zyglotron irradifiers have been recording some unusual results in the last two hours. Take a look a the correlates. I’ve sent the data to your terminal.’

  Torbin felt the sweat gathering under his arms and shirt collar, throat constricting. Just one chance to escape from here. Yet he sat back down to look at the data before him. None of it made even a modicum of sense.

  ‘Mmm.’ Torbin nodded in his best attempt to fake comprehension. ‘There does seem to be something of an anomaly here.’

  ‘Yes.’ His colleague nodded more enthusiastically. ‘A bit of a mismatch on the fourth and the ninth result, don’t you think?’

  ‘Indeed, there is something of a discrepancy there.’

  ‘The mad thing of it is, I ran the experiment three times and the results came out the same! How can they be so divergent from the model?’

  ‘That’s odd.’ Now Torbin tried desperately to think of something to say that made him seem like he knew what the heck he was talking about. Well, somehow he’d bluffed it so far. ‘I … wonder … if we’re looking at a sensor failure here, rather the actual results being off.’

  ‘It could be a misalignment of the secondary wave accuitors. They haven’t been calibrated for a while.’ The man bowed and shook his head. ‘Oh shit. The sponsors are not going like if we have to do a full mechanical strip-down. That’s at least two weeks of lost research, and with the competition snapping at our heels. Oh boy Logens are not gonna be happy.’

  ‘Well, I guess there’s nothing else we can do.’

  ‘Guess not.’ He shook his head again. ‘Well, I’d better run this by the boss-man. Imagine how happy he’ll be!’ He raised his hand in a half goodbye wave. ‘Catcha later.’

  No you won’t, Torbin thought. Once the colleague was out of sight Torbin made for the door. It obediently slid open. Still two more to go. Other scientists briefly acknowledged his presence as he passed through. Fortunately people in this profession were not known for their gregariousness, so at the most all he got was a nod. The last door was the most secure; it scanned everyone who entered or left. He couldn’t imagine how this could take more than a second. What kind of scanning was it doing? All the while the paranoid thought that somehow his mind was being scanned, or at least his galvanic responses, analyzing these signs of stress in a way a lie detector would – a man with something to hide.

  Someone was approaching. An older man in a dark suit, his boss perhaps. The door finally opened, just as the man reached him.

  ‘Torbin!’ the man called out. ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘I really must be going.’

  ‘Going? Going where?’

  ‘I’m not feeling too well.’

  ‘Really, this is an urgent matter,’ the man insisted.

  ‘Gotta go now.’ The door shut behind Torbin.

  He could see the man looking frustrated on the other side, then the door sliding open. The man was following again, but now Torbin had started running. His car in the parking bay. The side opened at his presence. The man shouted ‘wait!’ But now Torbin was inside the car. The thought struck him: is it safe to go home? He was supposed to be meeting this Roidon character in less than two hours.

  ‘Take me to the nearest forest,’ he told the car.

  * * *

  44

  The Machines were attacking the B’tari moon base. It was only ever a matter of time, of course. Everyone there had been expecting it; defences were ramped up to paranoid levels. Still not enough; no defences could ever be enough. Since the first quantum fluctuation indicating their presence Zoraina had taken the escape route. In fact, almost all the inhabitants had evacuated the base at the strong recommendation of the commander.

  Now she watched, from a few million kilometres away in her personal craft, the Machine insecticide dismantling what had once been the most secure base in the sol system. It was clear what they were after – their formally captured Elusiver. There they would find him, or what was left of him; enough that they’d detect his presence, would not know that his brain had been scrambled until inside the complex. And by then she and her colleagues would be gone. Officially, she had been rebuked for ‘precipitating his death’, thus having a level of security clearance suspended and other social privileges, which meant no official leave for the next year – a rather theoretical punishment, given the current circumstances. Unofficially, her commander was rather relieved at the Elusiveness's death. They would have had to take him with them at the obvious cost to their safety. The only other item of interest to the Kintra-machines was the simulation of Earth, now contained in a twenty centimetre cube; running without interruption, simply at this time invisible to scrutiny from anyone – which seemed morally far more acceptable than being plugged into a display where any aspect could be magnified at will as if humans were microbes to be studied. To think, nine billion – or at least a billion and a half fully replicated – human beings, and Roidon, living their lives as if nothing was any different to the real world (at least that is what she was led to believe by a technician), not a wasted atom for processing and memory. Somehow it didn’t seem right – seem ethical – to have so many sentient lives contained in such a small volume.

  The Machine insecticide had now entered the base. Sections were flung into space as if made of the most brittle plastic rather than ultra-strong edutainment alloy. Scans showed it had now entered the medical centre. Time to get as far away as possible; already she had stayed dangerously too long and she’d be the next logical target. Her craft entered a null-highs mode, travelling essentially without mass in a protected bubble of space. Theoretically safe now even from the Machines and apparently undetectable, not that she was convinced of it.

  After traversing about five thousand light years she arrived at the B’tari outpost planet. Her craft reconfigured itself into a shuttle and then a submersible before entering the planet’s deep ocean. This was thought to be the one place the Kintra-machines were reluctant to enter. Of course it was only a matter of time before they did, but at least on Earth they avoided the ocean depths, though instead removing all life to either be destroyed or assimilated.

  The main bulk of the base was buried under three hundred metres of bedrock where no detectable thermal signature could escape; aquatic viewing domes were holographically hidden – there for reasons of sanity. The only danger was in the process of entering. An iris-like aperture opened for less than a second to a tunnel at least ten kilometres from the base. Once in the tunnel she sent out a request for a module to take her to the main complex. There she was greeted warmly by a female whose role was not quite clear but who directed her to some personal quarters: Disappointingly modest for someone of her rank but perhaps an obvious sign of her official punishment.

  Despite its vastness she couldn’t help the feeling of claustrophobia, even though the base had a conference hall large enough to hold the twenty thousand B’tari present with ample room for a performer. Amidst the calming blues (presumably to mimic the sea) it was filled with mirrors and converging panels, in some acknowledgment for an added sense of space but now reflecting the packed-in crowds. All the times she’d travelled in a starship hardly bigger than her quarters without a thought of confinement,
and yet what was it about the notion of being below ground that could be especially discomforting?

  A band was playing something akin to Earth folk music but containing sentimental references to old B’tari culture. Even though the greetings were warm and drinks offered – since she was forbidden from ordering any – Zoraina could not help but feel like an interloper. After all, she still retained her completely human appearance, where others had only gave an outward mask of humanness more for sojourns on planet Earth; now they’d reverted to fully scaly B’tariness, back amongst old kin. Her reversal would not be impossible but meant at least forty-eight hours of immense discomfort. Besides, she had become so accustomed to being human-like, had made love to a human male and found it a not entirely unpleasant experience – if a little weird at first. Had she gone native? It wasn’t uncommon for her kind, who had observed humans for so many of their centuries. Anyway, no one now seemed to be at all bothered; they recognized her commitment to the cause, her loyalty to their aim of defeating the Kintra. So, why not accept the drinks offered? Why not get drunk?

  Eventually she didn’t care, didn’t object to one b’tari male who seemed particularly fascinated by her exotic appearance. She ended up in his bed. At least this would prove (Zoraina told herself) she had not diverged entirely from the love of her kind.

  * * *

  45

  Alone. It felt like such a familiar thing, as if he had been in this forest before hundreds of times. And yet it had seemed like such a random choice, first place that had come into his head. Now, standing beside his car Torbin felt he had time to think, breathing space. It wasn’t inconceivable that even here he’d be monitored. But why would anyone bother?

  In seventy-two minutes he was supposed to meet with a man called Roidon Chanley. What kind of name was that anyway? It sounded somehow pretentious and grandiose. He was given no evidence that this man represented a genuine cause, much less that there was any threat to life on earth. No, this all could be a setup. Certainly, he guessed anyone who could hack into his work’s personal message mail must be more than just some chancer out for a con; so specifically targeted.

  Had he welcomed it? It gave him some vague uncomfortable notion of standing atop a high diving board: a moment of panic, a moment of risk, life out of control from one action.

  And now there seemed no way back. It was as if leaving as he did had such a finality about it that to return was inconceivable; return the ultimate admission of weakness – and fear. Fear of throwing away a good career; he’d surely put in jeopardy his life with Emelda. Was she hoping to start a family? He couldn’t quite remember; as far as he knew they had never discussed it, but – he suspected – she had dropped hints. (Women, he understood, could make some oblique reference such as to a friend who had been trying for a baby, and that she – of a similar age – was worried that time was running out, although these days that biological clock could be slowed if not reversed.) After all, she was forty-one and he forty-five: a man who should have embraced responsibility of a husband years ago instead of this … partnership arrangement. In any case, he knew he would be rebuked for up and leaving. And he was so looking forward to a night with her.

  Instead he got back in his car. fifty-six minutes to go. The location was in Nevada of all places, over four thousand kilometres away. The car obediently set off, rising with an urgency that slightly winded him. He was tempted to speed, sensing people from his workplace were out looking for him. But why should they go to such efforts? All he’d done was walk out before his shift had ended, surely he had enough authority to do that and be given the benefit of the doubt. But somehow he suspected they suspected he was drawn away by some darker imperative.

  The car just kept within the limit and still arrived fifteen minutes before he was expected. With no way to hide the vehicle, he touched down on parched land two kilometres from the coordinates, before it took off to find somewhere more secluded. He was likely to be late. Good. Best not to seem too eager.

  Nevada was hot. It was the kind of dry sun-baked heat that gripped you immediately; merciless, stifling and unremitting. It made him feel giddy in less than a minute, just as he imagined it would. He was conscious of his breathing; had to force the air in slow, calm waves.

  Perhaps he should have landed nearer the location, perhaps he should have taken water. The more he walked, the more pointless it seemed to turn back, and the more he felt he wanted to collapse, even with the destination so near. He wondered if Roidon had chosen this location because of its inhospitableness, but couldn’t think why. In fact, in this heat, thinking about anything more than basic survival seemed like an unnecessary process; a dangerously wasteful distraction.

  The location was an old shack. Its front door so dilapidated with rot it seemed it would fall apart on opening. Was there no security system here?

  He simply knocked. Then waited. It took what he guessed was two minutes before the door creaked open.

  There was something about the man who stood before him that seemed familiar, like someone he’d known from some distant past he’d rather not remember; at least on a conscious level it wasn’t a positive feeling. Roidon nodded in acknowledgement, as if he had read Torbin’s suspicion and understood it. He was wearing a basic white t-shirt, at least half a size too small, Torbin reckoned, and light cotton trousers; more suitable for this heat than even Torbin’s attire and yet there was something unnecessarily vain about the man. Maybe it was his meticulously styled hair, or the likewise honed physique. Already he sensed arrogance.

  ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ Roidon said, gesturing for Torbin to enter.

  With no exchange of words Torbin followed Roidon down a steep set of metal steps into brightly illuminated room, replete with panelled lights and in-console display, it put him in mind of a old sci-fi movie but not one he could name.

  ‘What do you do here?’ Torbin asked.

  ‘A direct question. I like that.’ He nodded and grinned. ‘From here I can monitor the world. But that’s not all.’ He pointed towards a smoked glass door. They went through.

  Torbin stopped to take it all in. There was equipment he didn’t recognize – a pod with a transparent bubble top. A control console inside and what looked like a pilot’s seat. ‘A laboratory?’ he wondered.

  ‘Very well observed, Torbin,’ Roidon said, like some patronising school teacher giving a tour to a new pupil.

  ‘And that?’ he said, pointing at the pod.

  ‘That’s your future. That’s all of our futures.’

  ‘Why did you ask me here?’ Torbin surmised he’d get no specifics about that equipment at this stage.

  ‘To help me save all sentient life on earth.’

  ‘Oh. Is that all? I thought it was for something important.’

  ‘Actually, I have understated our mission.’

  ‘Our mission?’

  ‘It’s more than about saving people. It’s about saving the past.’

  ‘What about the present?’

  Roidon nodded again, with a sigh of acknowledging an inevitably obvious question. ‘The present,’ he explained, ‘such as it ever exists, may seem to have been okay to you. But – it pains me to tell you – it really isn’t. It’s lost. We are living on borrowed time. It’s just that you are being deceived into thinking the world continues...’

  Torbin waited for the finishing words of a sentence, which didn’t come, and in that time concluded that this man had issues of a psychological nature that rendered his own insignificant.

  ‘Continues – in what sense?’ he finally asked.

  ‘That’s not important now. We need to take things one step at a time.’

  ‘No. You need to explain to me why I am here.’

  ‘Really no time for existential explanations.’

  ‘Really, I have someone who is expecting me home.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. You want to get back for some loving. Well there’ll be plenty of time for that. All the time in the world.’
<
br />   Torbin suddenly felt conflicted. In one instance his mind was telling him to get out of here, go back to the life that promised security, happiness. Then: how assured was that security? How permanent that happiness? This morning it all seemed to be in place, familiar and certain, and then he saw it crumble before his eyes, as if some elaborate structure had one crucial piece removed and he was losing sight of its original form – how it should be.

  ‘I’m not going to forget what matters,’ Torbin said, partly to himself.

  ‘No, Torbin,’ Roidon assured. ‘That’s why you came here to help me.’

  * * *

  46

  Zoraina woke to find him still in her bed. Now she studied him sleeping she concluded he was really rather unattractive. Was it something about his scaly forehead? No, there was nothing unusual there; she guessed in B’tari terms he was quite average looking. And last night she had certainly desired him … or was it more a desire to be once again fully integrated within the fold, and he was just some typical example of their kind?

  Their kind? Maybe too long on Earth in human form had taken her identity as a b’tari. There was a word for it: b’sapient – was the English translation. Those who had gone native. Then perhaps last night she was trying to convince herself otherwise. The drink, of course, helped, it seemed to smooth the edges of her nerves and his rough skin on hers.

  She actually felt a sense of disgust now, but she didn’t want to rush out of bed and awaken him. She just wanted to get away. Away from this whole place.

  ‘Yes I’m a b’sapient,’ she whispered to herself, answering the accusation in her head.

  But where to go? The Kintra-machines were swarming half the galaxy. She was fortunate to make it to this place. It wasn’t even that she was simply taking refuge. No, there was work to be done. She still had overall responsibility for the Earth simulation. She’d insisted on it, it was essentially her baby. Incredibly, she was even allowed to keep it in her quarters, running away on its rechargeable power pack.