The platform’s surface is a smooth, perfectly level expanse with the look of concrete, burnt red brick in color with bluish hints. Gouges in its surface mark the Mombasa’s violent passage. Despite its size it is still dwarfed by the caldera ridge, the two meeting some two hundred meters away. What can only be taken as the entrance is a yawning cavern cut into the rock face, fifty meters or more high. Robert heads off in its direction, one low-gee bound after another.
* * *
The entrance is roughly cut, reflecting the exterior ridge, but just ten meters or so inside it gives way to machined surfaces forming a rectangular tunnel. Robert fiddles with his helmet lights, but there is no need—the tunnel illuminates itself with his progress, the light source unseen. He keeps his paces to a normal stride’s length to count off the distance. At around a hundred meters the tunnel’s surfaces abruptly change, the walls covered with an intricate mesh of bronze like material. Robert reaches out to touch it with his gloved hand—
The illumination turns deep red, accompanied by a bass tone sounding three times.
“That doesn’t sound too good.”
His intuition is immediately confirmed by a most disconcerting sensation all over his body.
Weight.
Unprepared for the sudden onset, his body buckles, bringing him to his knees.
“Bloody hell.”
He tracks his eyes to the visor menu. Environment. It obliges with summary information.
ATMOS: OX20 N79 OK
GRAV: 0.71G
The three tones repeat and the illumination brightens once more, the gravity figure having now clicked its way to 0.86G. Robert takes a moment or two before hauling himself back up onto his feet. A final check on status—GRAV: 1.0G; the gravity lock has completed its cycle.
Despite his suit’s assurances Robert decides to keep his helmet sealed for now. As a means of pinching himself he jumps up and down a couple of times.
“Jesus Christ.”
* * *
Another four hundred meters bring him to the edge of a truly vast space. But it’s not the dome. Can’t be. Not far enough in. Robert estimates the floor area to be the same as the landing platform, five hundred meters square, and five hundred meters above him is the apex of an internal pyramidal surface. The entire volume is evenly, albeit dimly, lit by some unseen form of illumination—but enough to see that it is completely empty, save for a large object placed on the far side, impossible to determine at this distance.
He’s quickly adjusting to the gravity. Another boost from the Messiah virus, but it’s not enough, leaving him a little short of breath as he bounds across the open floor space. Two thirds of the way there and Robert can already make out another tunnel cut into the far wall, just beyond the object he is heading for. An exit into the dome, no doubt. His study of the second tunnel distracts him from his destination until he is almost upon it.
Robert can hardly believe his eyes, slowing his pace to gawp in disbelief at what is before him.
An Aston Martin open-top sports car from the late twenty-tens, right-hand drive and, judging from the exhaust pipes, with what looks to be a V12 petroleum powered drive train. It’s in mint condition—could have come straight off the production line. More importantly it’s identical to one Robert owned as a younger man. He takes a wide circle around it, to arrive at the driver’s door. Well, it is another kilometer or more.
Door open and he’s in, leaning over to the glove compartment. Owner’s manual in a leather folio, complete with a registration document in his name, and an address of his private residence in England. Odd. Why would that be here? Making a point perhaps?
He starts the engine, the V12 quickly settling to its distinctive rumbling purr.
Manual gear box, but like riding a bike. Clutch’ll be a bit tricky in these boots. Let’s find out just how tricky—
For a moment—just a moment—Robert forgets he is on the planet Mars, inside a giant alien pyramid, buried deep inside a mountain.
An Aston Martin can do that.
And then he is inside the second tunnel, its reflection peeling across his visor, the V12 reverberating off its walls. No sense in holding back.
The dashboard trip computer counts off a little over one kilometer before a bright white light ahead starts to widen.
The car bursts out into full daylight, dazzling Robert’s unaccustomed eyes, forcing him break hard to a halt.
Ahead is a lush green landscape underneath a piercing blue sky. Gently rolling hills of fields and trees vanishing into a hazy sunshine that limits the full extent of the view. A country road of smooth, pristine asphalt winds its way into it all. Robert looks about—there’s no sign of the dome’s inner surface, the sky seemingly encompassing the caldera’s inner ridge, the Sun already late into the morning.
Helmet tossed behind the seats, he sets off at a somewhat more sedate pace.
A WORLD WITHIN
Robert has his gaze fixed on the view ahead, his fingers drumming the steering wheel. The car is at a stop and he has killed the engine. As far as he can tell his approach has not been heard and he is just out of view around a bend, the road rising to pass a grassy knoll.
The figure appears to be of medium height, but he cannot discern the gender. Shrubs and tall grasses partially obscure the view, but whoever it is, they appear to be performing Tai Chi in a clipped area encircled by the greenery.
He quietly gets out of the car, gently clicking its door shut, and casually strolls the fifty meters or so before calling out.
“Hello?”
The figure whirls around with a start, loses its balance and falls backward, arms flailing, to disappear behind the tall grass. Robert halts his approach on a graveled verge, still some distance away.
“Are you alright?”
The grass rustles, a head popping up for the briefest of glimpses. All Robert can make out is short, black hair and perhaps an olive complexion. More rustling as the figure moves about, leaving Robert uncertain as to what to do.
The figure leaps forth, bounding straight toward him, inching Robert back in a reflex action, as what appears to be a young woman skids deftly to a halt on the gravel right before him, startled eyes and mouth as agape as his own.
“Robert, what are you doing here?”
“What? What?”
“It’s me. Lucy.”
“What?”
“Oh! Are we inside the dome?”
* * *
Each contemplates the other with wary eyes, nothing further having been said beyond the initial encounter, both having made their own way to the patch of clipped grass to sit. Despite their broader set of circumstances being somewhat fantastical there is a clear need to step out of the moment so as to understand the personal situation that now presents itself. Robert finds this to be worryingly easy, the familiar surroundings all too quickly engineering a false sense of security. They will need to be mindful of that.
His own study leads him to believe the young woman to be in her late teens. Short, black hair, roughly cut, frames a perfect olive complexion and mixed-race facial features, while her garb is a plain, if not smart, tunic suit, set at odds with a pair of navy-blue sneakers with thick, white soles and neatly tied laces—what Robert would call plimsolls.
All-in-all something of a tomboy, if not an exceptionally handsome one. He sees no reason to believe that she is anyone other than who she says she is, but considers it prudent not to overplay the situation, lest she panics—it is important he ascertain her state of mind.
“I suppose the obvious question is how you came to be here?” he asks of her.
“The last thing I remember was taking control of the Mombasa,” Lucy says. “Then feeling most odd. I called out to you, but…well, I woke up here. In this body.”
Her voice sounds the same as it was aboard the Afrika, but Robert notes a different demeanor, something less formal.
“I take it this is your internal self-image?”
“Yes,” she says, ve
ry bashfully. But no blush response, he observes. “Do I look…normal?”
“Yes…you do…”
Lucy seems almost horrified at his faltering response.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Your appearance is very striking, Lucy. You are a very beautiful young lady.”
This does not appear to allay Lucy’s concern.
“I don’t understand why you would hide yourself,” Robert says.
“Because I wasn’t always like this,” she says, the shyness more evident than ever, her eyes averted from his.
“But an MBI self-image is fixed at first activation, isn’t it?”
“I changed. I don’t know how or why.”
“Changed? What…what were you before?”
“I shan’t say,” Lucy blurts out at him, only to catch herself with a softer tone. “It shouldn’t matter.”
She shyly averts her gaze once more, fumbling with her fingers. Robert senses there is more.
“Lucius said people would be suspicious of me,” she continues, “That they would find me strange and not trust me if I remained hidden. So I did show myself, just for a short while. Chief Justice Garr saw. And Special Agent Landelle.”
“And they both like you—”
Robert is taken aback as she faces him with the beginnings of tears glistening in her eyes.
“But then I started to change. I’m not supposed to change and I couldn’t stop it. People don’t like things that aren’t supposed to happen. So I hid again. So that they would not be suspicious. But they were anyway. And then they started being mean to me and…and—”
“Okay, okay,” Robert says, a comforting hand on her shoulder. He senses the situation to be in danger of running away from him. Time to change tack. “So…this body. Any idea what it is?”
Lucy is comforted and glad of the change in subject, flexing her arms and generally looking over herself.
“It looks and feels like the avatar in my private dream worlds.”
“Dream worlds?”
“Simulations of the real world, which I use to learn things.”
That’s something Robert had not even considered, but now immediately seizes upon.
“Could all of this be a simulation?”
Lucy looks about at the world around her.
“I don’t think so. I can’t quite explain it, but I feel as though I am really here. What do you suppose this place is?”
“It seems to be some kind of biosphere,” Robert says. “Have you noticed the gravity? I guess the sky is some kind of projection. If it is real then it is amazing—mind boggling in fact. Have you seen anyone—or anything?”
“No one and nothing usual. Do you suppose the Veil are here?”
“They told nothing us about what to expect,” Robert says. “But it’s a reasonable assumption. What I can say is that this grass has been clipped no more than a few hours ago.”
“How can you tell?”
“The smell of newly mown lawn, Lucy.”
One look at the blank expression on Lucy’s face and Robert can’t help but laugh out loud, much to Lucy’s consternation.
“You don’t know what newly mown grass smells like, do you? Can you even smell at all?”
“I have constructed models for smell and taste in my simulations,” she says, with a haughtiness about her. “Now that you mention it, there is something additional, if I assume the graveled area away from the grass to be an ambient—”
Robert pinches her on the arm.
“Ouch!” The physical and verbal reflex over in an instant, Lucy glowers at him for an immediate explanation.
“Good. You can feel pain as well,” he says, getting to his feet. “We should think about making a move.” Robert heads off in the direction of the Aston, Lucy scurrying after him.
She spies the vehicle for the first time.
“Where did you get the car?”
“It was waiting for me.” Robert says, turning to her. “Lucy, the Mombasa was wrecked. We’re stuck here.”
“So that’s what it is,” Lucy muses. “I can feel the Afrika, but something is missing. It must be the Mombasa.”
“What do you mean you can feel it?”
“It’s like I am here and the Afrika is part of me. I can sense its systems.”
A desperate train of thought sparks through Robert’s mind.
“Could you fly the Nairobi down?”
“I’m not sure. Everything is…fuzzy.”
Robert deflates, revealing a tired haggardness that is exacerbated by his general unkempt appearance.
“Well, we can’t stay here. Let’s get going.”
“Where to?”
“I haven’t the faintest,” Robert says, looking past the grassy knoll. “Follow the yellow brick road, I suppose.”
“Would you like me to drive?”
* * *
Not far down the road the Aston proceeds through a series of bunny-hop lurches, each followed by an abrupt stop, the last of which stalls the engine. A brief moment and the V12 fires up. Another lurch forward.
A hitherto patient Robert is in the passenger seat.
“Gently…”
The tires squeal in protest at yet another sudden jump.
“No—I said gently…That’s it—e a s e it out—”
The car lurches to a stall.
Lucy keeps her stare directly ahead as Robert stares directly at her.
“I thought you said—”
“Automatics. Not stick shift—”
“And the I’m-a-fast-learner bit?”
Lucy clearly struggles to fully contain her all too evident irritation.
“I’m just getting a feel for it.”
“Perhaps I should drive.”
Lucy brings her icy stare around, drilling it directly into Robert as she deftly starts the engine, slips into gear and pops the clutch. The car pulls away with a perfect smoothness, Lucy returning her gaze to the road ahead as Robert continues to simply stare at her.
“So. Where to next?” she says.
* * *
The Aston Martin makes its way along a wooded road at a steady pace, Lucy handling the car with expert ease, albeit taking one or two corners a little faster than Robert would like. But for now he makes nothing of it, reconciled with the fact that the teenager at the controls is capable of piloting a trillion dollar interplanetary ship between worlds single-handed.
Besides, it affords him the time to observe the world they are now in. Most evident is the apparent lack of fauna—no animals, birds or insects. The flora, on the other hand, is varied and plentiful, the wooded region that they are passing through comprising every species one might expect to find in England’s forests. Beech, oak, hazel, elm, ash—these Robert recognizes as being from his native land, quite able to distinguish them from those of his adopted North America.
It strikes Robert just how real it all is, the woodland being for all the world centuries old. Even the lush undergrowth looks naturally established, with nothing seeming out of place. He notes in particular the sunbeams piercing through the canopy—the sky is more than a projection. A flowering shrub of some variety he can’t discern catches his eye. No pollinators though.
The car leaves the wood behind to round a sharp bend, entering an arid valley stretching off into the distance. Lucy halts the car. The asphalt road continues on, but as a broader highway complete with lane division, gently snaking its way down one side and out of sight. A brief glance between the two of them and Lucy continues onward.
“Was the odometer set to zero when you found the car?” she asks.
“I think so. Why?”
“It is showing fifteen miles.”
Some distance behind them, unseen by both, is a flash of red on the road. Another car, already swallowed by a bend.
“Given we have not traveled in a straight line, I estimate we are approximately ten miles in from the dome’s edge,” Lucy says.
The red car briefly reappear
s from another bend. It’s closer now.
“Have you noticed the sun?” Robert says. “Must be late afternoon. We should think about—we’ve got company!”
He’s seen the car behind in the wing mirror. Lucy checks her own mirrors to see the red car now gaining on them with a surge of power, two figures seated within. In a moment it’s right on their tail—an open-top Ferrari F60, left-hand drive, with a woman at the wheel and a man in the passenger seat. The speed of the moment makes it difficult to make out their appearance, with both wearing sunglasses, but from what Robert can see they appear a well-matched pair—in style at least.
Lucy accelerates to pull away, but a squirt of power and the F60 is alongside, the woman seemingly testing Lucy’s nerve as she weaves the Ferrari to-and-fro across the road, her passenger all the while a picture of pure calm. Quick glances from Lucy are met with a mischievous grin from her counterpart.
An all too audible laugh from the woman above the engine noise, and the Ferrari powers ahead.
Lucy drops a gear and floors the accelerator to give chase.
“Lucy! What are you doing?”
She’s fixated, her face in an angry grimace. Robert checks his seat belt, tightening it a tad more.
Ahead the Ferrari disappears in and out of bends as Lucy takes her first, leaning into it with an iron grip on the steering wheel, whipped away only for a rapid gear change for the exit.
“Paddle shift—” a frantic Robert suggests, pointing at the gear shifters on the steering wheel.
Lucy sees them, with no instruction as to their use being required.
“That’s really neat!” she says looking directly at Robert with a big grin.
“Keep your eyes on the bloody road.”
Robert suspects she doesn’t need to, Lucy likely being in possession of a heightened ability to multitask, only to be then hit with the realization that his remark has been interpreted as an endorsement of the course of action taken, given the steely-eyed look of determination she now drills into road ahead.
The Aston whines into the next bend, and roars out of it to power along a short bit of straight to the next bend. It’s a particularly sharp one.
The Veil Page 7