Blurred Vision: Seven billion voices about to be silenced

by Chris Botragyi

  ‘Yes, but it’s possible, right?’

  ‘Anything is possible, Mark. Though if you’re suggesting that we have been taken to prevent, say, a future scenario? Well, that’s a bit too much.’

  ‘Yes. What if that’s the point precisely?’

  ‘Okay. But what scenario? Are you saying that we are to be executed because in the future our jobs, or important positions in society, will have some major effect on these slimy bastards? You know, throw a spanner in their works somehow?’

  ‘What if?’ said Mark with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘It’s only a theory, but a plausible one, yes? 48 hours ago most of the world’s population would have said that aliens and spaceships don’t exist – now look.’

  ‘True. But if you think these creatures have come back in time to kill us, heroes who topple an alien empire years from now? That’s grasping at straws a bit, mate.’ James looked to the floor. ‘Sorry.’

  Mark felt defeated. The one person that he thought might understand him, didn’t. ‘You’re right, maybe I’m losing it completely. Perhaps I’m having a breakdown? Anyway, take no notice, it was just a strange feeling that I had, that’s all.’

  ‘What sort of feeling?’ asked James curiously.

  ‘I’m not sure, almost like I know something. It was a strong sensation that came back to me.’ He paused as he collected his thoughts. ‘What if the General was right… what if I do know something?’

  James turned to the Professor, whose face held a worrying expression. ‘I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’

  The sounds of tiny insect pitter-patter broke the quiet as the two men sat, huddling themselves to keep warm. The strain was prominent, etched into their dazed and weary features. Their senses had become slowly accustomed to the terrible stench that wafted through the air. Though they probably couldn’t tell the difference between it and their own unwashed bodies.

  ‘Where are you from, Mark?’ said James with a scratch of his bedraggled dyed hair.

  ‘Paignton originally, in Devon. Though the States has been my permanent base for the last, well, quite a while I think.’ He cast his mind back home to his youth, and to the carefree attitude that saw him enjoy those gorgeous warm summer days before the new school term. The boat trips with his dad from Paignton harbour, those were fun times.

  He thought of the 18th century harbour that rested along the western shores of Tor Bay, between Torquay and Brixham harbours. Surrounded by a lovely picturesque fishing village, which always brought the tourists flocking, its fairway approach lie on the port side, and not the standard starboard side. It was truly unique.

  He remembered the day that he had chosen the cinema with his friends over one of the boat trips. The crippling sadness that had adorned his dad’s face as he knew that their bonding adventures were at an end – that his son was growing up. How he didn’t give it a second thought as he charged off with his friends. It was a great time when he was young, and he felt privileged for being allowed to experience it. But his dad’s face…

  ‘Reminiscing, eh? Wow, must have been nice.’ James blew into his hands for warmth. ‘Were you a surfer boy? I bet you were. That’s why you moved to the States. Did you study over there, in America?’

  The barrage of questions shook Mark from his memories. ‘Yes and no,’ he said, clearing his fuzzy past with a shake of the head. ‘Most of my education was local before going to Oxford to gain my degrees and main qualifications. But America is where I always wanted to be. And yes, the surf is very appealing there, that I do remember.’

  ‘That must have been strange?’ said James.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Having a Cornish accent, and then arriving in the good ole US of A. Bet they had a field day with your accent to begin with!’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ chuckled Mark half-heartedly, almost painfully. ‘But I always had a knack for adopting different accents whenever I stayed somewhere for a long enough period of time.’

  ‘Makes sense. I was going to say that you don’t have that much of an English twang. I thought that you might have been born there, in the States, before moving here.’

  ‘No, no, no, I’m an Englishman, born and bred,’ said Mark. ‘You?’

  James stared at the Professor, looking right through him as though he wasn’t there. ‘I still can’t remember, my mind is blank. Every time I try to think, I get nothing except blackness.’ He looked to the floor, frustration simmering as his mind raced. If only I could remember, it might add a bit of clarity and meaning to who I am. He raised his head; he could see Mark’s dark eyes glaring at him through the smoky swirl. ‘How is it that you can, and I can’t?’ he asked with a sad desperation. The need to know was becoming agonising to him.

  ‘It’s probably just how the brain works, James, that’s all. We each process things differently. Your memories might come in one massive burst, whereas mine have been dribs and drabs over the course of our time here,’ said Mark. ‘We are all different.’

  His attempts at an explanation still didn’t have the desired effect. James appeared unsatisfied, this he could tell. But his words would have to suffice – he didn’t have another theory to ease the increasing fragility within.

  Outside the room, more screams reverberated down the corridor.

  James’ eyes shot up from the floor. ‘What the fuck was that?’ he said, alarmed as he looked to the door.

  Mark heaved himself up from his slumped position, a worried look crossing his weary face. ‘I don’t think I want to know.’

  The blood ran cold, chilling the bones. James looked to Mark, whose sagging skin hung from its frame. ‘Was that another human voice?’

  ‘Can’t be sure with these bastards, it’s past the point of knowing whether they’re playing dirty tricks or not.’ The Professor’s eyes searched the air. ‘Could be another form of torture.’

  He stood up and walked slowly towards the door, waving his hands as he sought focus through the mist. The cries seemed to have subsided. ‘Can’t hear anything, I think they’ve stopped,’ he whispered, a twisted look upon his face as he strained to listen. He looked back across the room, searching for where James sat.

  ‘Mark!’

  The door panel lit up, stopping the Professor dead in his tracks. The thick door shot across, sucking out the haze. He watched as it began floating out and down the corridor. He started to back up one step at a time as the tall shadows filtered through the cloudy veil. The wispy swirls parted slightly, just enough as four large eyes looked down upon him with hostile intent.

  He frantically searched his back pockets for the weapon which, after a nervous few seconds, met his skin with its cold steel. He thrust it aimlessly forwards at the presence that he felt was approaching. The crackling light gave away his position. A thin arm shot through the mist, connecting with his head like a sledgehammer, sending him reeling to the floor. The device flew from his weakened grip.

  Come here, human. It’s your turn to die!

  ‘Oh God, oh God,’ said Mark, quivering as he frantically patted the floor, feeling for the weapon as the words reverberated around his skull. ‘Arghhh,’ he gurgled as a moist hand clasped his neck violently.

  It tightened its hold with each human kick for survival, slamming him against the wall to tame the liveliness that fought for freedom. The alien brought its arm back; its eyes took in Mark’s terrified expression as it held him face to face. For the first time, the Professor could feel hatred exuding from the creature as it absorbed his image. Its deep eyes, cold, hard, were windows to a soul filled with detestation.

  Mark struggled pointlessly. He tried to peel the alien’s fingers from his throat. The other shadowy figure loomed over the shoulder of the first, watching on as though enjoying the scene in a sadistic trance.

  Heavy steps could be heard pounding the grating. James came hurtling out from within the mist, leaping at the side of the creature holding Mark. Even though its arms were thin and gangly, they were still strong as they failed to
release the Professor. The second Grey swatted James to the floor like a fly. He lay there on his back, dazed and hurt, useless.

  He lifted his head painfully, quickly realising that the darkness upon his face was due to the alien’s long shadow. It stood over his head, keeping watch on him. James looked up at it, disheartened. In its hand was the weapon that Mark had dropped; its fingers entwined around the gadget. He turned his eyes towards Mark.

  The fight in the Professor was fading. There was an ugly crunching sound as the alien slowly closed its hand. Mark’s eyes remained wide, his face a deep shade of violet as the oxygen diminished. Sensing death, the alien released its iron hold from his damaged neck. It took a step backwards, watching on as the human held his throat, struggling for breath as he collapsed to his knees.

  The alien gave Mark time to recover some composure, but the damage was done. He could hardly talk anymore except for a hoarse, wheezy crackle with each excruciating movement. He painfully climbed to his feet, sputtering hard as his vocal chords were now crushed. With his left hand clutching his throat, he reached out towards the alien with his right. Each time his arm was knocked sideways as the Grey mocked his every attempt. Without warning it threw its right arm directly at Mark’s head.

  The tears ran down James’ creased face as he watched the shadowy forms helplessly. ‘No, please, no.’ Clang! He winced as the Professor’s severed head flew to the floor. The body quickly followed, leaving behind a vertical bloody trail that spewed out from the neck as it slid down the wall. ‘You fucking bastards, you fucking animals!’ he cried, closing his eyes as he turned his head away.

  The alien clutched the Professor’s right ankle and proceeded to drag it towards the door. The other Grey walked away from James and lowered its lengthy frame, squatting as it picked up the decapitated head. It held it by the hair, away from its body, careful not to get any of the human’s blood and brains upon its skin. It stopped and glanced at the weapon in its left hand, and then back at James. It flicked its arm out, sending the device in a crashing skid along the grating before the wall stopped its spinning momentum.

  The door whizzed open, allowing the two creatures to pass through without breaking stride. The poor light added a brief glow to James’ tear-streaked face. He watched Mark’s body twist and turn as it was brutally dragged down the corridor’s vast surface. The light vanished just as quickly as the door closed, returning the room back to its near dark state.

  Chapter 10: Backwards Glance – Mark’s Story

  PROFESSOR Mark Bennett pulled at the cobalt blue tie knot in an attempt to loosen it from his stiff neck. He puffed out his cheeks, relieved at finishing the long dissection of his work. His mouth was extremely dry; he picked up the tall glass of still water before him, and sipped gently. The Head of the Theoretical Physics Department then took a deep breath. His dark brown eyes travelled the heads of the world’s media who, sitting before him, chattered amongst themselves like excitable children.

  A chorus of satisfied sighs filled the large beige conference room at Stanford University as the air conditioning kicked in once more. It whirred efficiently as it circulated amongst the many guests, giving instant relief to all who congregated at this historic press gathering.

  Mark got the nod to continue. He smoothed his tousled greying hair into place with the palm of his sweaty right hand. A sharp cough cleared his raspy throat. He leant in towards the cluster of small microphones that sat upon the wooden podium, centred at the head of the room. The press pack stared back at him with the same astounded looks that they’d had for the last hour and a half. The room fell completely silent as they waited for the Professor to speak.

  ‘Hello, ahem, excuse me. Hello again. If you wish to have more information on the mathematical breakdowns, and the quantum physics research that accompanies it, then you will find everything you need to know in the Progress of Theoretical and Experimental Physics journals which will soon be available. If not, then I suggest that you buy a copy of Time magazine.’

  A stream of gentle laughter swam around the room as the camera flashes flickered incessantly, dazzling the Professor’s vision.

  ‘So, the math has been explained, or the boring bit as some may call such,’ said Mark in his adopted Californian tongue as he gripped the edges of the podium. ‘Now let’s get on to the good stuff – the practical lessons.’

  The crowd chuckled again, though this time there was a keen shuffling of backsides on folding wooden chairs. This is what they had all been waiting for.

  Mark gestured to his three white-coated colleagues to delicately wheel in the metallic, six-foot cuboid machine. Gasps climbed the air at the audacity of the proposal on offer before them.

  Their shocked faces reminded him of Edvard Munch’s famous painting, The Scream.

  Mark beamed as he turned his reasonably athletic body towards the many faces. ‘I gather that this is why you have all been so patiently putting up with me?’ He let the apprehension build in the room for several seconds before continuing. ‘Well, here it is. I give you the Wormhole Extender and Rotating Expansion device, or W.H.E.R.E. for short, though we here at the University prefer to call it the “backwards glance”.’

  With that, he grabbed a handful of the white sheet cover and threw it back over the top of the machine, watching as it fell gracefully to the floor. Tah-dah! His female colleague quickly gathered the sheet in a bundle, giving the Professor a grin as she passed by him.

  A field of hands grew high as loud mutterings demanded immediate answers. Mark tipped his head towards the thin cross-legged journalist who sat in the front row.

  ‘Hi Professor, Dan Finkelman from the Los Angeles Times. This is quite a boast, is it not?’ he asked in a curious tone. ‘I know that you all here at this prestigious University must have something special, otherwise the world’s eyes wouldn’t be watching. But is this for real?’

  Mark smiled courteously as the hands rose again in a cacophony of eager pleads, like a class full of students begging to impress their teacher.

  ‘Mr. Finkelman, it’s a straightforward question so I’ll give you a straightforward answer.’ His eyes moved to include the whole room. ‘I understand that you are restless from all of the previous jargon, I know that I am. But now I give you the gift of time travel to the past!’ A lively grin pushed his dark eyebrows upwards as he returned his attention back towards Finkelman. ‘Do you really think that I have spent the last 90 minutes acting out a prank?’ he laughed. ‘Yes, it’s real.’

  Another cluster of hands shot up. Mark circled the group with his right index finger. ‘Erm… yes, you there.’ He pointed towards the attractive blonde woman who sat a few chairs to the right of the balding Finkelman.

  ‘Audrey Kleinmann from the New York Times. Forgive my under enthusiastic colleague, Professor,’ said Kleinmann with a disconcerted look to Finkelman, ‘but to cut to the chase, when do we get a demonstration?’

  Mark rubbed his hands together excitedly. ‘Thank you for your directness, Miss Kleinmann is it? I know this is what you all really wish to see, so here we go.’

  Kleinmann nodded respectfully as she tapped her black digital recorder repeatedly against her tanned chin.

  The room went silent once again as Mark approached the machine. He began to push several buttons that sent the device into a loud hum. His fellow colleagues tapped away on their computer keyboards as they entered in the required information. Their hands bounced up and down at speed as they punched the plastic keys with force.

  ‘As was said during the talk on the dynamics of the mechanism earlier, it manages to produce the equivalent energy of diminishing stars that, in space, have collapsed and folded. These would then fall into a rotating ring of neutrons that produces the centrifugal force needed for such an effort.’

  A sudden intrusion derailed Mark’s train of thought.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Professor,’ asked the fresh-faced journalist who sat fidgeting with his pen and notepad. ‘But centrifugal for
ce, could you explain please?’ He quickly realised his amateurish error.

  Frustrated glances centred on the now embarrassed man as he sunk slowly into his seat.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ agreed Mark majestically. His glare hovered jokingly over the young journalist before continuing. ‘For those who were not paying attention, think of a ball on a piece of string for example. Once you swing the ball, the string pulls on the ball causing it to follow a curved motion, this is called centripetal force.’ He moved his arms in a series of explanatory gestures. ‘Now the ball, which in our case is our mass, will tend to snap the string due to its mass and speed. The ball will then fly away from you, this is called centrifugal force. So, think of the ball being myself who, is swung around a black hole – a Kerr black hole in this instance – without a singularity, all the while following the rotation of the hole. The string, or centripetal force, will pull me towards the centre of the hole.’ He stopped to take a breath, and gazed out at the sea of anticipation. ‘Is everyone following me so far?’ he asked, to which silence remained. ‘Good. In a normal black hole this would be bad because of the singularity. Now, the singularity is the point in a black hole that would use centripetal force to pull me in and crush me. So, centrifugal force would be needed to send me away from the singularity once my mass snaps the string. But don’t forget, the bigger the mass, the greater the force.’

  A crowd of digital voice recorders stood firm in the air, surrounded by the clicking cameras. Mark turned and walked towards the large whiteboard that was fixed to the wall behind the podium. He picked up a red marker pen from its black plastic ledge, and proceeded to explain the science through a series of diagrams.

  ‘Okay, this is why a Kerr black hole will be used. A Kerr black hole is a rotating hole that doesn’t have a singularity. Instead, it has collapsed stars that become a ring of neutron stars spinning around the hole. Because of this ring there is no singularity, no point in the hole that would crush me. Therefore I will be able to pass straight through the hole unharmed.’