Solaris Rising: The New Solaris Book of Science Fiction
Page 28
“Bridges. Helen Bridges.”
“Thank you, Miss Bridges. I’ll put in a good word for you at the APP.”
“What was that about?” Haggerty asks once we’re outside. “We’ve missed the suicide. I bloody hope he went through with it or we’re in a shitload of trouble.”
“That ledger – you always see him carrying it around when he’s shown on the TV Reminder Reports. He’s never shown anyone the contents.”
“Why do you care?”
“Anyone with access to that ledger is potentially our killer,” I explain.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Haggerty argues. “It doesn’t take much effort to find out when someone is going to die.”
“No, but to know precisely enough to step in at the last moment and kill them yourself. That takes a very detail-oriented mind.”
“You think the Chief Librarian is the killer?”
“Think about it. Why is this guy never caught?”
“Because he just isn’t. We… I’d remember it.”
“It’s more than that. It’s because he knows exactly whom he can kill with impunity. He targets those who are going to die alone and he knows where they will be and at exactly what time. But he cares about history, don’t you see?”
“Cares? Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s only killing people who are going to die anyway.”
“Surely that’s just so he can cover his tracks.”
“That’s part of it, but I think he believes that if you’re about to die, you’re fair game.”
Wednesday February 20th, 2013
Today is Day One and everyone is happy.
Breaking the habit of a lifetime, I skip the café and just go for a walk along Western Road. It feels like the day after a massive storm, like the power is out and nobody can get to work or even turn on a television. There’s a sense of community, camaraderie, as if we’re all in this together.
There’s no panic, no rioting. Day One is like a national holiday. With the exception of those having the most confusing Noob Day imaginable, everyone else has already lived days beyond this one. They all know what the Slip was; they all know that at midnight, every night, the Switch will happen and it’ll be some other day, a random day of their life.
But today is different. As I pass by, everyone smiles and says hello. Everyone knows the rules, but the rules haven’t been put in place yet. Everyone knows that they will soon be getting pamphlets telling them when to fuck, when to buy a car, when to die. But not today. The Archive hasn’t been set up yet. The APP doesn’t exist. The government hasn’t locked down Britain’s borders, imposed martial law or abolished the election process yet. They did shut off access to the internet beyond Britain’s borders though, that was done pretty fast. Nobody knew they could do that until it happened.
Still, today everyone feels free.
In reality, we’re no freer today than any other day of our lives post-Slip. But it feels as if we are.
I’m tempted to get on a plane while I still can and head for Mexico. Rumours are that while North America, Europe and most of Asia go into lockdown just like Britain, some countries – especially in Latin America and Africa – just go with the flow. Whatever will be, will be. Kind of makes a mockery of the whole, “Don’t change history or the universe will explode” concept.
It’s a fair walk back to the Seven Dials and my house. Laura greets me at the door, Jason in her arms. I take him from her and kiss his head. I’ve heard it said that when your mind is that of an adult and you wake up one morning as a baby, you don’t remember any of it. I wouldn’t know because I was already an adult when the Slip happened. I look into Jason’s eyes and I see… something there. Will he remember me?
To my surprise, Laura leans over and kisses me so passionately I feel compelled to avert Jason’s innocent eyes. He coos uncomprehendingly.
“What was that for?” I ask Laura.
“It’s Day One,” she says, as if that explains everything.
Everyone seems in a good mood today.
I ask hopefully, “Is it time for his nap?”
Afterwards, we lie together and enjoy the silence of the bedroom. Mercifully, Jason hasn’t stirred in nearly an hour. We know we don’t have long now before he wakes.
“Tell me about Jason,” I say. “Will he be a doctor?”
“No. A musician.”
“Really? Cool! Anyone I might know?”
“Heard of Pagan?”
“Yeah!” I sit bolt upright. “You’re shitting me! Really? Wow. I heard people talking about this Pagan guy and wow, he’s huge! Never put two and two together before.”
“Jason plays bass in Pagan’s band.”
“Oh. Well, that’s still pretty cool.”
She sits up. Her body, trapped in linear time like everyone else’s, displays the legacy of motherhood. Her breasts are swollen and her nipples are tender from feeding a voracious baby. Her once smooth stomach is now wrinkled with stretch marks and excess skin. Bags beneath her eyes betray the sleepless nights she has endured. She has never looked more beautiful to me.
“I do love you,” I tell her. Right now it’s the truth.
“I know. I hate what the Slip has done to us but I don’t hate you.”
I hold her tight. I know the baby will cry at any moment. He may well have lived two thousand days of his life already, but very soon he’s going to need a feeding and a nappy change.
I promise Laura that in the days I live after this one, I will try to be nicer to her, and spend more time with Jason.
She holds me a little tighter.
“Bass player for Pagan? Really?”
She laughs. “I know. He’s quite well off too, so you don’t have to worry about the four of us after you’re gone.”
My blood runs cold. “Four?”
“I mean two. The two of us. Jason and me.” Laura turns pale.
I stand up, not caring that I’m naked, not bothering to keep my voice down.
“You said four.”
She stands up and starts to dress, her head bowed. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That’s why our marriage is a failure. That’s why I always get the cold shoulder from you. That’s why Jason looks at me oddly when he’s old enough to wonder who I am. I kept waiting for the day when you’d tell me why our marriage is failing, but I wasn’t going to find out, was I? You fucking whore!”
“You expect me to stay a widow for the rest of my life?”
“No! But… shit. Four? So you have another kid with him, right? Boy or girl?”
“Craig, please…”
“Boy or girl?” The baby is crying now.
“A girl,” Laura whimpers.
“And what’s his name?” I don’t want to know; I have to know.
“David. I meet him a year after you die. I’m not unfaithful while you’re alive!”
“Bullshit!” I’m screaming now. I’m flying out of control. I’m so mad I can barely see straight. I want to smash something. “Each day you’re with me – the next day you’re with him! Then you’re back with me again, but I’m no David, am I? You can’t wait to get through the days with me so you can be back with him. Am I right?” I yell the last question again. “Am I right?”
She is in tears now, wanting to tend to the baby but I’m standing between her and the door.
“So these years post-Slip you’re living through with me before I croak – they’re just an inconvenience. They’re just something to burn through until you can be with my replacement and your two perfect kids and…” I tail off. “Dear God. Jason calls him Daddy.”
Laura is shaking her head now, trembling.
“He calls that fuck, ‘Daddy’, doesn’t he? I’m dead and gone, and that fucker knocks you up and moves in and steals my son!”
She stands, her fists clenched. “Listen to me. I have a lot more days to live than you do so cut me some slack, okay?”
But I’m not listening. Laura
is already lost to me, has been since this crazy jumping in time shit started. Now at least I know why, I’m the stopgap in the way of the real love of her life. What really kills me, what eats at the very core of my being, is that my son doesn’t know what to call me because he already has a dad. I can’t believe how self-absorbed I’ve been that I never stopped to think about this before.
“How come I don’t already know this?” I demand. “Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
“I asked everyone you know not to tell you my future. I didn’t think you’d be able to handle it.”
“Too fucking right I can’t handle it! My God, my wife is having a… a trans-temporal affair, and my kid doesn’t think I’m his dad!”
Today was set to be the best day of my life since the Slip. Now it’s the worst.
Wednesday June 7th, 2017
I’ve been itching to get back to this final week of my life for so long. I’ve lived what must be months in my own timeline subsequent to Day One. Since then I’ve not even been able to look Laura in the eye. Sometimes she knows why, sometimes she doesn’t. I idly wonder if my attitude towards her since finding out about David is actually the cause of the divisions between us, but I dismiss those worries because she’ll have known she ends up with David long before our marriage breaks down. It makes my head hurt thinking about it, so I don’t. I have one goal now. Just one.
Waiting all day is agonizing. I join Haggerty on some APP calls but I’m barely there. I coast through our talk with a guy who refuses to give all his money to charity. In his hand is a pamphlet, ‘Miscellaneous Actions’ written on the front. Haggerty is telling him that, like it or not, on this day he will give his favourite charity all his money. It’s always happened, it always will happen. When he still won’t do it, Haggerty makes the transfer himself, ignoring the man’s protests.
But I don’t care.
Just one goal.
Darkness falls at last. I tell Haggerty I have to go home but instead I head for the Archive. Over the last few months in my own timeline, I’ve found every excuse to come down here and study the security layout of the building. The Archive is well protected but break-ins are so rare now that the guards almost never see action, and when they do they all know it’s going to happen. Consequently they are bored, indifferent and easily avoided.
8pm. Right on cue, the guards change shift. As usual, the team clocking off congregates on the front steps, waiting for their replacements to arrive. I’m already on the other side of the building, crouching and staring at my watch. 8:10pm, the cutover occurs. That’s when the new shift reactivates the alarm system in case any of the sensors need resetting. That means the whole system is down for thirty-five seconds. I use that time to smash a hole in a basement window with a well-wrapped arm and slide inside.
It doesn’t take long to get up to the fourth floor. I know the motion sensors are down tonight because three weeks ago I used my APP override pass to book a remote maintenance upgrade for tonight. Strictly speaking, while APP officers are authorized to change history, it’s only supposed to be a last resort. I say screw that.
I break into the Chief Librarian’s apartment with ease. He’s sleeping soundly because two weeks ago I arranged to have a large bottle of whisky sent to his rooms. Expensive enough so that he wouldn’t put off opening it; not so expensive he might save it for a special occasion. The bottle stands empty on a table and the snoring can be heard throughout the apartment.
I find the ledger on his bedside table. I consider for a moment looking for the murder weapon but he’s unlikely to keep it here.
Instead, I open the ledger to the entries for this week. Each day has been allocated two facing pages, full of names, dates and details. The left-hand page bears the relevant day’s date. Beyond today the details are a little sketchier but not by much.
I turn to June 5th. Sure enough, there’s Parkhurst. Nothing about his entry stands out, but the Librarian wouldn’t be stupid enough to circle and highlight his next victim. I spend some time reading the details for the days I have not yet lived through after June 5th. There’s not much point in looking at days before that – I already know they contain no other victims. Frustratingly, I don’t see any candidates. I’m looking for people who die alone, but there’s nobody. Nobody until the 12th, anyway. I spot one likely candidate, details inked onto the right-hand page in perfect handwriting. With a sinking feeling, I realize that there’s really only one potential victim before I die.
Me.
“What the hell do you want?”
My boss doesn’t sound happy. It’s late now, 10:30pm. Mobile phone held to my ear, I’m crouched in a bathroom on the third floor of the Archive, hoping that nobody will hear me. I don’t want to whisper because that may tip off my boss that I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be. I mumble something about my kid being asleep and talk as loudly as I dare.
“Chief, listen to me. I think I can catch Parkhurst’s killer.”
“Jeez, are you still on this? We never catch him! Let it go.”
“Sir, I don’t have long to live, linearly speaking. Just indulge me.”
There’s a long suffering sigh on the other end of the line. “Fine, what do you want to do?”
“On the 12th of June, at the time that I die, I want a dozen APP officers watching me, in hiding.”
“Uh uh, Carter. You die alone. I saw your pamphlet. Not even the APP can change that.”
“I’m not asking you to change anything about how I die. I just want our people there in case… in case I’m the next victim.”
“You think the killer would dare attack an APP?”
“Why should he care what my job is? All he cares about is that I die alone, early in the morning, in an exposed location. Doesn’t matter if I’m APP, he knows we won’t break the rules even for one of our own.”
“It’s out of the question, Carter. I’m sorry.”
He hangs up. I sit with my back against the tiled wall beside a row of sinks, head in my hands, wondering what the hell I’m going to do. And then I know.
Sunday June 11th 2017
According to my pamphlet, I’ll be walking through Brunswick Square early on the morning of the 12th. 3am to be exact. It’s nearly 3am now, but I’m here a day early. On the evening of the 10th, Laura had asked me why I set my alarm so early for the next day. I told her that the day before I die, I want to walk through the streets of Brighton and especially around the place where I’ll die. I tell her it’s my period of mourning for my own life. She doesn’t understand but she doesn’t argue.
So here I am. It’s cold, colder than it should be in summer. I wonder if global warming is to blame – then I realize that I’ve never actually asked anyone who lives longer than I do if global warming turns out to be real or not. I make a mental note to do so before I reach the 12th and I’ve used up all my days. In fact, there’s an awful lot of stuff about the future I’ve never asked anybody.
I sit down on a bench and watch a taxi drive around the perimeter of the square and exit onto Brunswick Terrace.
Hands grab me.
I struggle, fighting back as my attacker pulls me over the back of the bench. I land hard on the grass, knocking the wind out of my lungs. He’s wearing a hood – I grasp at it to try and pull it free. A knife swings towards my gut but I twist out of its way, holding his arm and trying to wrest the weapon free. We roll over and over on the grass, both of us struggling to gain the upper hand.
Suddenly he is pulled off me. Strong hands lift me to my feet.
APP officers. Three of them are holding the struggling perp.
Haggerty takes off the hood.
The Chief Librarian.
“Got you.”
He spits at Haggerty. “You’re breaking the rules!” He cries. “You can’t all be here at the time of his death.”
I chuckle. “It isn’t the time of my death,” I say. “You’re a day early.”
He stares at me now, no longer struggling. “What?”
&
nbsp; “It’s not Monday, it’s still Sunday. I tore a page out of your ledger, the left hand page for June 12th. I made the entries on the right-hand page for the 12th look like they occur on June 11th.”
“What? When?”
“I broke into the Archive several days ago and found out I’d be your next victim, so I made you think I’d die tonight instead of tomorrow. That way all my friends here could accompany me without breaking any rules. Well, no major ones anyway. Barry here is supposed to be trying for a baby. How’s that going, Barry?”
“It’ll happen,” says Barry, twisting the Librarian’s arm a little higher behind his back. “I doubt being here this morning will change that.”
“So there you go, Mr Chief Librarian. No harm done to the precious timelines. Although what catching you will do to history, I’ve no idea. Maybe the universe will explode.”
“You have to let me go! I’m not supposed to be caught!”
“Nope, but in special circumstances, APP Officers are authorized to deviate from established history to serve the public interest. I don’t know how many people you were going to kill after tonight, but I reckon if those people die the way they’re supposed to it’ll more than balance any damage done by throwing your sorry arse behind bars.”
Haggerty steps forward. “Chief Librarian Thomas Hague, you are under arrest for gross-divergence from the established time line, at least three counts of murder and for assaulting an APP officer. You have the right to remain silent but anything you say today or at any time in the future may be used in court against you. Take him to the station, lads.”
Cursing and spitting, the Librarian is dragged away, leaving Haggerty and me alone.
“Fuck me!” says Haggerty. “You did it.”
Monday June 12th 2017
I sit alone on the same bench I sat on yesterday – well not yesterday for me, but yesterday as the world turns – in Brunswick Square. It is warmer tonight, but a gentle breeze flows from the waterfront and cools the air. I remember very clearly the arrest of the Chief Librarian in this very spot yesterday. I feel absolutely fine, even though my time is nearly up. I will die alone and in the future a man called David will be called daddy by my son. Catching the Librarian has proved that the future can be changed – the media woke up to that revelation in a big way – but there’s no escaping the aneurism that will take my life. I spent the day in hospital having more tests done, even though the law forbids a person from attempting to avert their own death. The doctors are less bothered by the rules these days. Things have changed, for everyone. They haven’t all changed at the same rate, on the same days. It’s been a gradual thing, but in the days I’ve lived since Sunday, I’ve noticed. Every day since then I’ve spent either in the hospital trying to find a way to cheat death, or with Laura and Jason. I’ve told them everything, I’ve tried to put David out of my mind, and I’ve managed to enjoy what little time I had left with my son.