Sputnik Caledonia

by Andrew Crumey

  ‘You mean the thing in my pillow that made me ill?’

  ‘The new device is more refined,’ Kaupff said in what was meant to be reassurance but instead sounded sinister. ‘You’ll be driven to the research centre in a while to try it out. You’ll suffer only a little discomfort.’

  ‘No worse than a trip to the dentist,’ Vine added, then stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to go now.’ He walked briskly out of the room, leaving Kaupff and Robert sitting silently together.

  For a few moments the old professor toyed with his cup before returning it to the table, then he stared at Robert with eyes well trained in concealing emotion. ‘Have you looked at Goethe yet?’ he asked, and Robert shook his head. Kaupff tutted disapprovingly. ‘I expect you had a late night at the Blue Cat.’

  ‘I read Rocket to the Stars, though. I brought it with me.’

  ‘Did you learn anything?’

  Only that the doomed monkey in a spacesuit was a pitiful sight; a helpless creature unaware it was being sent on a one-way mission. ‘Free fall is what happens when a spaceship orbits the Earth, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kaupff agreed, ‘that’s one way of achieving it.’

  ‘So I’ll be weightless?’

  ‘Completely,’ said Kaupff. ‘We have to be sure you won’t feel nauseous.’ He didn’t know that Robert was already gladly tumbling. ‘But let me tell you what Goethe said about the universe. Only through love do we come to her. She is all. She is whole and yet always unfinished. Does that make sense to you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Robert could see Dora, and he could see the pistol in her hand.

  ‘And Goethe said that when we observe nature we study ourselves. We want you to become one with the Red Star, organically connected to the life of the cosmos; the new transducer we’re about to test on you will help make this possible, though it seems the process has begun already. Information is reaching you from a distant world – perhaps an entirely separate universe.’

  It sounded as crazy as Tim and Miriam’s apocalypse. ‘Rosalind told me she could make people see God using magnets.’

  ‘They only think they see God,’ Kaupff corrected. ‘There is no God.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Kaupff prickled. ‘Because I am a scientist, a materialist and a Marxist.’

  ‘But what if this other world I’m getting messages from is heaven?’

  Kaupff laughed derisively. ‘Well, just think how lovely it will be when you get there.’ Then he added seriously, ‘Indulge in childish superstition if you wish, but there is no room in this mission for thumb-sucking bedwetters who believe in angels and tooth-fairies.’ There was a harshness in Kaupff’s words, a cruel mockery almost like Davis’s taunting last night. ‘Was your mistake about your age a Freudian slip, Coyle, or the neural noise I took it to be? Are you a man or a boy?’

  ‘Which would you prefer?’ Robert said boldly.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Kaupff’s eyes expressed indignation, but also, Robert thought, understanding.

  ‘I need some air,’ said Robert. ‘Let’s go outside.’

  Now Kaupff’s watery blue eyes narrowed with suspicion; he spoke softly. ‘Come not between the dragon and his wrath. You displease me, Coyle.’

  ‘The breeze on the bowling green might help.’

  The professor nodded curtly and stood up; Robert followed him out into the lobby and towards the reception desk where Jason greeted them with a deferential smirk. ‘I shall be needing my outer coat,’ Kaupff informed the butler. ‘Do be so good as to fetch it for me.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ He came out from behind the desk and walked smartly away to Kaupff’s rooms.

  ‘He’s able to let himself in?’ Robert asked when he was gone. ‘You trust him?’

  Kaupff straightened. ‘I have nothing to hide. I’m a patriot.’

  The tension remained while the two men waited in silence. Robert could see his coat hanging, the rucksack was out of sight, and he wondered if he should retrieve the items himself, but didn’t want to appear in too much hurry. It seemed far too long a delay, though only a couple of minutes passed before Jason returned carrying Kaupff’s grey winter coat over his arm, as well as a green woollen scarf; a thoughtful addition showing unexpected familiarity with the professor’s wardrobe.

  ‘Thank you, Jason,’ Kaupff said, taking the garments and wrapping himself warmly while the butler fetched Robert’s belongings, passing him the rucksack only once the recruit had finished buttoning his coat with fingers made clumsy by unease. The bag, when he took it from Jason’s slim hand, appeared to have lost none of its incriminating weight, and soon the men were outside in the cold sunshine, on their way across the courtyard.

  Kaupff tried to lighten the mood. ‘This is a beautiful place to live, don’t you think?’ The high walls and tall leaded windows of the Lodge instead struck Robert as resembling a prison. They reached the path through the trees and Kaupff walked with hands clasped behind his back, breath billowing as they crunched over dry twigs. ‘I’ve paid a price, of course. On the outside I could have been famous – I might have won a Nobel Prize. But I love my country, Robert. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the greater good.’

  The sacrifice uppermost in Robert’s mind was the kind made by Dora. ‘Who decides the greater good?’

  Kaupff halted. ‘Do you doubt the value of this mission, Robert?’ They were at the spot where Davis had hidden while spying on them.

  ‘Only as much as I doubt everything in the Installation. Do you know what goes on at the Blue Cat?’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘Women are abused, violated. They’re kept like animals. What sort of greater good is that?’

  Kaupff resumed walking. ‘There are many things in our society that are far from ideal. But we mustn’t let that distract us from the basic principles of justice and equality on which our society is based. Patriotism means love, and love must be unqualified. It’s our country, right or wrong. We have to do our duty.’

  ‘Even if it means a woman spreading her legs for a brute?’

  ‘Even if it means death.’

  They had reached the disused bowling lawn with its view of the Town, wreathed in chimney smoke and looking small and dismal in the morning sunlight. ‘You speak of love, Professor, but only of loving countries or stars or the universe. What about people? Don’t they matter more?’

  Kaupff stared down at the lawn, still damp with glistening dew, and said nothing.

  ‘After I left you yesterday, Davis questioned me.’

  Kaupff looked up, startled. ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s searching for spies.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Kaupff, ‘but what help could you give?’

  ‘None,’ Robert told him. ‘But later, when I came out of the Blue Cat, I was attacked by a gang, beaten up.’

  Kaupff’s expression distorted first in surprise and then, as the implication of the news struck him, in near panic. ‘Did they hit your head? Did you lose consciousness? Robert, if any cranial damage has been done, it could wreck our plans. What were you doing getting into drunken brawls?’

  ‘They weren’t hooligans,’ said Robert. ‘They’re subversives. They interrogated me about the mission.’

  Aghast, Kaupff shook his head in sorrow and fear. ‘This is a disaster …’

  ‘No, they’re harmless fools – they think the Red Star has been sent by God.’

  Kaupff held Robert by the shoulders. ‘We have to tell Davis at once – they must be rounded up and shot.’

  Robert stared incredulously at him. ‘You want them murdered? What are you – a scientist or a thug?’

  ‘They’re terrorists, Coyle, and if you won’t tell Davis then I will.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be wise.’

  Kaupff released him. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s you he wants arrested.’

  He blinked and jerked his head backwards in stunned disbel
ief, recoiling from the verbal blow. ‘Me?’

  ‘If believing in God makes you a terrorist then what about fondling a man?’

  Disgust filled the professor’s face. ‘How dare you.’

  ‘Davis saw you hugging me. And in your bedroom …’

  ‘Nothing happened. Do you think the place isn’t bugged? Would I be so stupid?’ The professor was proud, defiant, but also faltering.

  ‘Innocent actions can be misinterpreted, good intentions can have bad consequences. Should someone be shot for good intentions?’

  Kaupff laughed feebly and evasively. ‘If you’re suggesting …’ He trailed off.

  ‘Davis claims that when you taught at a school here years ago you interfered with a boy.’

  ‘That’s a damnable lie.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  The change in Kaupff’s bearing amounted almost to a physical collapse; he was as battered-looking as anyone can be while still standing. ‘So you’re protecting me as well as the Christians? And do you think I’m a harmless fool, too?’

  Robert bit his lip, then said, ‘Right now I don’t know what you are.’

  Kaupff slowly put his face in his hands and a moment later started to weep. Robert watched the old man’s shoulders shake, a little at first, then more strongly as the sobs attained a forceful rhythm, but the volunteer offered no comforting hand. Instead he took the rucksack from his back, loosened its buckles and reached down inside, feeling the cold, soft package of meat, the box with its precious gloves, and the gun. What he brought out was Kaupff’s book. ‘I wanted to give this back to you,’ he said, holding it up. Kaupff glimpsed it through the fingers on his face, then hid his reddened, puffy eyes without a word, so Robert placed the book on the damp grass at the professor’s feet. Then he fastened the rucksack, slung it on his shoulder, turned and walked slowly back to the Lodge.

  18

  The car was still waiting for Robert in the courtyard, and soon he was being taken to the research complex as arranged. He saw the great hangar where the simulator stood; the car continued round it to smaller buildings adjoining the rear, an architecturally incoherent collection of low concrete structures with the functional drabness of a community hospital, some of whose offices and workshops Robert had seen yesterday.

  They halted and Robert got out. ‘Thanks,’ he called to the driver, who simply nodded in the direction of the wide glass door behind which Rosalind could be seen waiting. The door slid open and Robert entered what was indeed very much like a hospital reception area, though without patients or milling staff, a care home for ghosts. It reminded him of the place they’d stretchered him to after he became ill – the place where everyone thought he would die.

  Rosalind, in a woollen skirt and sweater, was the only person to be seen, and she was in a hurry. ‘We must begin,’ she said crisply, directing him to follow.

  ‘Are the others here yet?’

  ‘Which others?’

  ‘Harvey and Forsyth.’

  ‘I’ve no role for them in this morning’s activities,’ said Rosalind, leading Robert along an empty, windowless corridor that smelled of bleach. She walked quickly, so that he found himself trotting behind her clicking heels, watching the smooth, rhythmic flick of her rump.

  ‘Did you have a pleasant time at the Blue Cat?’ she asked over her shoulder with a coldly ironic air.

  ‘Delightful,’ Robert told her tartly. ‘And did you have an enjoyable discussion with Brian Willoughby in his room?’

  ‘The man’s a genius.’

  ‘He showed up later at the Blue Cat.’

  ‘I know,’ said Rosalind. ‘I persuaded him to go.’ They had reached her office which Rosalind unlocked, ushering Robert through and instructing him to deposit his bag on the floor, his coat on the peg inside the door she closed. ‘Has Kaupff told you what we’ll be doing?’ He turned and saw her gaze move down his body as though he were a living specimen about to be vivisected.

  ‘He mentioned a new machine.’ Robert looked around the room and saw only the familiar furnishings, the rug with its scatter cushions. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Let’s start with meditation,’ she said. ‘Lie down and close your eyes.’

  ‘You mean I don’t have to break my legs attempting the lotus?’

  ‘It isn’t necessary. Relax and let your mind become empty.’

  He did as she ordered, feeling immediately more peaceful once prostrate and in darkness. He could even see stars.

  ‘What’s alpha interference?’ he asked, and her voice came to him through interstellar space.

  ‘It’s the effect we want to measure. Scalar waves could create electrical signals in your brain; thoughts or impressions.’

  ‘You want to read my thoughts?’

  ‘No, we want to understand their source. A piece of matter falling into the frozen star could make ripples that you see as a cloud or a flower.’

  ‘Or God?’

  ‘Anything. We don’t care about the subjective response, only the physical stimulus.’

  He was floating, though no longer in space. There was a river with some kind of monument beside it. ‘What if I see something beautiful? Something amazing?’

  ‘The particular illusions your brain creates aren’t our concern. They’re noise – we want signal.’

  A boy and a girl were beside the sluggish river, which wasn’t particularly beautiful as there was an old shopping trolley in it. Robert opened his eyes and saw Rosalind looking down at him. It was only then that he realized he had become erect. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘You’re making this happen, aren’t you? Beaming things into my head.’

  ‘The only signals you’re getting are from the frozen star,’ she said. ‘Everything else is noise.’

  ‘What about flashing your legs at us yesterday? Humiliating Harvey?’

  She folded her arms and considered the specimen lying before her. ‘My studies suggest alpha interference should be strongest in sexually aroused subjects. This isn’t about teasing or titillation, it’s an attempt to detect scalar waves.’

  ‘And this is the antenna?’ Robert asked, waving indignantly at his bloated groin.

  ‘It’s a carefully controlled experiment.’

  ‘I suppose every time you make love it’s a kind of experiment?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said calmly. ‘There’s a distinction between work and pleasure.’

  He sat up. ‘What kind did you do with Willoughby yesterday?’

  ‘That’s none of your business. You’d have no qualms about firing a missile at innocent people if someone ordered you to do it, but you seem to think there’s something wrong with using sex as a way of expanding human knowledge.’

  ‘Sometimes missiles are necessary.’

  ‘Sometimes sex is.’

  ‘So instead of blowing up people you blow up cocks? You know, Rosalind, I don’t think you like men very much.’

  She gave a dismissive toss of her head. ‘I don’t see how you can possibly have enough evidence to say anything at all about who or what I like.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ said Robert, rising to his feet. ‘I can read you more clearly than your playing cards.’

  She stared witheringly at him. ‘You don’t know as much about this as you think.’

  ‘I know how you do tricks like this,’ he said, pointing at the still stiffened member jutting awkwardly inside his trousers. ‘This isn’t science, it’s a game – energy beams as a way of playing with men’s minds.’

  ‘I told you already, there’s no beam here.’ She stepped away from him and moved towards the desk, propping herself against its edge. ‘Sexual arousal is a crucial part of the experimental conditions. Any feelings you have about that are your business, not mine. You’re a piece in a machine, Coyle, and if the only way to make you function properly was to give you the Blue Cat treatment then I’d do it. In my career I’ve killed rats and monkeys by hitting them on the head with a hammer
– holding some dirty little soldier’s cock is a lot less unpleasant.’

  ‘Then you’re worse than a fucking whore.’

  ‘Everything you say to me gets recorded in the official project records.’

  ‘Good.’ He paced towards her bearing a grim smile of satisfaction. ‘Then the official record will say you’re a stuck-up bitch who likes teasing men’s cocks because that’s the only part of them you can have any influence over.’

  ‘You’re so very, very wrong, you foolish and obnoxious little boy.’

  ‘The record will also say you’re a charlatan whose only qualification for the high-level support you’ve received is a nice pair of tits and a willingness to show off your legs.’

  She gave a laugh. ‘Go ahead, little soldier, get it all off your chest. If anyone’s got problems dealing with the opposite sex then I think we can see which one of us it is. You simply can’t believe that someone like me, one of those objects you fuck in the camp brothel or think about while wanking yourself to sleep, could actually make a contribution to human understanding. I’ll happily put on record the uninformed criticism of a spotty nineteen-year-old who happens to be the right size and weight to fit in the space capsule and possibly has above-average psychic ability; but if we take away the playing-card trick, Coyle, you’re nothing, and I want you to remember that.’ She went towards the door. ‘Come with me now. We’re going to the laboratory.’

  They walked in icy silence until she paused to indicate a toilet. ‘Go and empty your bowels and bladder,’ she instructed. ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to come and keep watch like you did with Harvey?’

  She ignored the comment and instead pointed to a closed door further along the corridor. ‘Meet me there once you’re ready. I need to prepare the apparatus.’ She began to walk on, then after a few paces stopped and turned. ‘Remember,’ she said. ‘Only bowels and bladder.’

  He went inside and did his best to comply, but was tightened by anxiety at the thought of what Rosalind might have in store. He finished and went to the door she had indicated, opening it to see her standing in readiness in the starkly lit laboratory.