Thrice upon a Time

by James P. Hogan

  "So?"

  "So what?"

  "So, did you get a date?"

  "I don't know."

  "What the hell do you mean, you don't know?" Lee demanded. "Either you're seeing her or you're not. What happened?"

  "You wouldn't believe it." The doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

  "You screwed it up," Lee declared flatly.

  "I did not screw it up. Her boss screwed it up. He came muscling in at exactly the wrong moment. Another minute and I'd have been all fixed up."

  "That's the lousiest excuse I ever heard. Come on, be honest—you blew it."

  "I did not. Look, I've gotta come back in a week for a check. We'll see then what happens. I'll lay you money on it."

  "Five pounds," Lee said at once.

  "You're on."

  "You'll screw it up."

  "We'll see."

  A week later Murdoch returned and was told that Anne was off for the day, visiting her family in Dundee. His arm was healing satisfactorily, and there was no need for him to come back again. The visit cost him five pounds.

  Chapter 30

  Through April and into May, groups of scientists, political advisers, and delegates from various governments visited Storbannon to meet Charles and his team, to learn more of the breakthrough and what it meant, and to see the machine for themselves. Most of the visitors spent a few days there, and the Guest Wing was reopened to accommodate them. The place began to acquire the atmosphere of a cosmopolitan, residential club for the world's scientific and political elite. As further research into the machine and its workings continued, a model gradually emerged of a dynamic timeline continuum in which spontaneous fluctuations at the quantum level could occasionally manifest themselves as major changes in events at higher levels. This meant that a future situation as described in a message that was sent back could be found to have changed when the recipients of the message eventually arrived there, even if no action was taken because of the message. The discovery of this fact, achieved through a long series of experiments that involved sending back random numbers, in no way detracted from the value of the new technology; on the contrary, it implied that the outcomes of major undertakings frequently hinged on apparently trivial details, and the ability to know in advance just how significant such details would be promised undreamed-of possibilities. In fact the whole thing seemed too awesome. Everybody who became involved agreed on the need for a full-scale experiment along the lines that Charles had originally suggested, but nobody was willing to take the initiative in proposing the actual form that such an experiment should take. The enormity of what it implied had mentally paralyzed all of them.

  At Burghead, the physicists working on the reactor problem progressed with the task of integrating Charles's theory into their design calculations. By the end of May they had reached a point where a series of moderate-power tests of the reactors and the accelerator system were needed to check their preliminary results for a revised arrangement of target geometry. A schedule of tests was drawn up accordingly, and arrays of instruments were set up around the target chambers to capture details of the complex interactions that were expected as conditions approached the onset of the extreme nonlinearities featured in Charles's equations. Murdoch had not yet seen the Burghead system running. Accordingly he drove up to the plant on the day the tests were due to begin, and by midmorning was in the main control room in the Reactor Building, watching the checkout procedures as the accelerators were brought up to the power levels required.

  Mike Stavely scanned a column of mnemonics that had just appeared on one of the displays in the mosaic of screens and indicator panels before him while Murdoch watched over his shoulder. All the stations in the control room were manned, and on every side displays changed and lights flickered as the computers analyzed, summarized, and reported the status of every section and subsystem of the nine-square-mile complex. Elizabeth, Courtney, and a few of the other senior executives were standing around in small groups to observe the tests getting under way.

  Mike turned his head slightly to speak into a microphone projecting toward him from one side of the console. "FIC's third phase are all plus. Sequencer has unlocked. How are the quad-field stabilizers?"

  "We've still got orange," a voice replied from a grill above one of the screens. "Status checkout still running."

  "Advise as soon as complete, will you," Mike said.

  "Will do."

  Mike flipped a couple of switches, entered a code into a touchboard, and spoke into the microphone again. "Are you there, Linac One?"

  "Reading," a different voice replied.

  "We need vacuums, RTX affirmations, and pilot lineup vectors."

  "Coming up now," the voice advised. "Vacuums are Go. RTX slaving to your Channel Five."

  Murdoch watched for a moment longer as another screen filled with hieroglyphics, and then he sauntered across to where Elizabeth was standing with Simon Vickers and one of the engineers. "From what I can tell, it seems to be going fine," he said.

  Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, all on schedule. With a bit of luck we'll see some one-shot firings before the end of today. I hope it goes smoothly from here on. If things ease off a bit, I'll be able to get down to Storbannon again. How are things going down there?"

  "We're getting some pretty interesting people coming through," Murdoch replied. "It's a pity you couldn't get down in the last couple of days. We had a bunch of people from all over talking about possible cosmological implications. You'd have liked it."

  "Cosmology?" Elizabeth looked puzzled. "What's the machine got to do with cosmology? I'm not sure I follow."

  "It's amazing," Murdoch began. "They—" He stopped as Vickers returned his eyes from something that he had been watching on the far side of the room and nodded to acknowledge Murdoch's presence. "Hi, Simon."

  "Good to see you again, Murdoch," Vickers said. "You've come up to see us begin the tests, eh?" He glanced quickly around. "Where's Lee? I'd have thought he'd be around to see the system working as well."

  "He's not feeling too well," Murdoch said. "He was in bed most of yesterday, and couldn't get up today. Said he felt washed out."

  "Oh dear, I do hope it isn't anything serious," Elizabeth said. "Have you had a doctor there?"

  "He said it was just a bug," Murdoch told her. "Thinks he'll be okay tomorrow."

  "I hope he's right," Vickers said dubiously. "It couldn't be that funny thing that people around here have been coming down with, could it?"

  Murdoch shrugged and sighed. "You know Lee. I wouldn't have thought so though. It seems to be affecting just Burghead people."

  Since the beginning of May, eight of the Burghead technical staff, all of whom worked in the Reactor Building, had succumbed to a mysterious sickness that had not yet been fully diagnosed. There had been a minor flurry of speculation in the press and news media that the sickness could have some connection with the fusion-related activities going on at Burghead, but this had died away after official statements that the effects had nothing in common with any that would have resulted from radiation.

  One of the technicians at a nearby panel called the engineer over to point out something on a display, and Vickers moved away to join them. Murdoch and Elizabeth began walking slowly toward one side of the room and stopped in front of the large window that looked down over the reactor bay. The bay was brightly lit, and a number of technicians were moving around among the mass of tubes and steelwork surrounding the reactor housing.

  "What were you saying a minute ago about cosmology?" Elizabeth asked.

  "In the last couple of days we've had a German cosmologist and a Russian astronomer getting interested in the fact that matter-annihilation produces tau waves," Murdoch told her. "They pointed out that celestial black holes annihilate matter on a huge scale; therefore they ought to produce tau waves on a huge scale."

  "I see… " Elizabeth said, starting to sound interested. "That's an intriguing thought. What happened then?"

&nbs
p; "They used some of Grandpa's equations to try to estimate how far back in time the tau radiation from a supernova collapse should rematerialize in normal space, and what the characteristics of the transfer would be. The results were interesting, to say the least: They gave a concentration of energy equal to about a hundred times the amount radiated by an average galaxy, rematerializing inside a volume of about one millionth of a galactic diameter. And it would rematerialize approximately four billion years ago!"

  Elizabeth's jaw dropped open in amazement as she saw the implication. She stared incredulously at Murdoch for a second, and then gasped, "Not quasars!"

  "Yes, quasars!" Murdoch exclaimed. "They must be. The quasars that we see today from four billion years in the past must be nothing less than the white holes that today's black holes are feeding through tau space!"

  "A closed system," Elizabeth breathed. "The quasars evolved into today's galaxies, which produced the supernovas, which produced the black holes. The whole thing is a closed system."

  "And you haven't heard all of it," Murdoch said, nodding vigorously. "How do you think the number works out when you figure the same thing for when the whole universe caves in at the end of it all—the 'Ultimate Collapse'? That'll be the biggest black hole ever. Every particle of matter and photon of radiation will be squeezed into tau space and shot back through time. Guess where to."

  Elizabeth's eyes widened even further; she had already guessed the answer.

  "Forty billion years!" Murdoch said, still nodding. "It will reappear forty billion years in the past. That's what caused the Big Bang! The Big Bang was the end of the universe projected back through tau space. They're both the same thing! How's that for a total recycling system? It has to be the biggest reset loop ever!"

  Before Elizabeth could form any reply, a technician came out of an office that opened out onto the control room floor, looked around, and came over to where they were standing. "Excuse me," he said. "There's a call for Mr. Ross in the Supervisor's Office."

  "Who is it?" Murdoch asked.

  "A Dr. Patterson."

  "Who's Dr. Patterson?"

  "You'd better go and find out," Elizabeth suggested.

  Murdoch followed the technician into the office and was ushered across to a swivel-mounted vi-set on one of the consoles. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he moved around in front of the screen. It was Anne, from the Medical Department.

  "Hello," he greeted brightly. "What can I do for you?" Then he saw the serious expression on her face, and his smile faded. "What's up?"

  "I've some bad news for you, I'm afraid," she replied. "Your friend, Mr. Walker, was taken very ill at Storbannon late this morning."

  "Lee? What's wrong with him? Where is he now?"

  "We're not exactly sure," Anne said. "He collapsed about halfway through the morning and was taken to the hospital at Kingussie. The Emergency Unit at Kingussie contacted us and asked us to get in touch with you. I understand that he doesn't have any direct relatives over here."

  Murdoch was unable to think clearly with the suddenness of the news. "No… that's right, he hasn't," he mumbled. "How much do you know yet. Is—is it serious?" He frowned suddenly as the meaning of something that Anne had said at last percolated through. "Why did Kingussie contact you about it? Is it the same thing as you've had breaking out around here in the last couple of weeks?"

  Anne bit her lip, hesitated for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "It's impossible to say for sure at this stage, but… it sounds as if it could be."

  "If it is, how serious is it?" Murdoch asked, sounding worried.

  Anne avoided a direct answer. "Can you come over to the Medical Department?" she suggested. "There are some things we'd like to ask you. We'll tell you as much then as it's possible to tell."

  "Of course," Murdoch replied. "I just want to call Storbannon first to find out what happened. Then I'll be right over."

  He called Storbannon immediately after Anne cleared down. Robert answered and transferred the call to Cartland.

  "It's a bloody bad show, I'm afraid," Cartland told him. "Robert took him in a tray of something to eat because he hadn't had anything for two days. Then we heard an almighty crash in there a few minutes later. He seemed to be having some kind of seizure, mainly in his arm. He didn't seem to be able to see anything, and we couldn't get any response when we talked to him. I did what I could, and Robert called an ambulance from Kingussie. That's about all I can tell you. What else have you heard?"

  "Only that it could be the same as that thing people here have been coming down with, and nobody knows what it is," Murdoch replied. "I'm going over to talk to them now. I'll call you again as soon as I get out."

  "I'd appreciate it," Cartland said. "I found his U.S. social security card and all that stuff, and sent it off with the ambulance in case they needed it for anything. Do you want me to call his folks in the States?"

  "Better wait until I've had a chance to talk here," Murdoch suggested. "I may have more news later."

  "Jolly good. Okay then, Murdoch, I'll wait until I hear from you."

  Murdoch cut the call, left the control room, and headed for the elevator bank. Minutes later he was up at ground level, hurrying out of the main entrance of the Reactor Building.

  Chapter 31

  Murdoch arrived in the Medical Department and was greeted by the blue-eyed nurse; there was no sign of Anne. The nurse showed him to a door marked DR. M.J. WARING, which opened off the waiting room. From its position, Murdoch guessed that it was another door into the same office that he had seen from the room in which his arm had been treated. The nurse knocked once, then opened the door and showed him in without waiting for a reply; evidently his arrival was being awaited.

  The frizzy-haired doctor, who Murdoch had already guessed had to be Waring, was sitting behind the desk inside, clad in a white coat and peering up over his gold-rimmed spectacles. Sitting next to Waring was another man, whose face was unfamiliar. He gave the impression of being tall, even though he was seated, and was lean, gray-haired, gaunt-faced, and of distinguished appearance. He was dressed in a three-piece suit of dark charcoal pinstripe, and was resting his hands on the desk in front of him, fingers interlaced loosely, to reveal brilliant white shirt cuffs fastened by heavy, gold links. Frizzy-hair motioned Murdoch into a chair on the opposite side of the desk, and waited until the nurse had left and closed the door before he began speaking.

  "Mr. Ross, I take it. You are Mr. Walker's colleague from the United States?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry about what's happened, naturally. I don't think we've met before. My name is Waring, and I'm in charge of this department. This is Sir Giles Fennimore. Sir Giles is a specialist from London who is up here to investigate the cases of sickness that have been occurring at Burghead. No doubt you've heard about them."

  "How do you do," Murdoch said awkwardly, not quite knowing what form of address was appropriate. Fennimore inclined his head slightly without smiling. Murdoch looked back at Waring. "A specialist in what? Have you found out what this thing is?"

  "It appears to be a disturbance of the central nervous system," Waring replied. "The cause has not yet been positively identified." He paused for a moment. "It is of an extremely virulent nature, and all the cases that we have seen to date have exhibited rapid deterioration." His voice fell to an apologetic note. "I'm afraid that, so far, there have been no indications of any subsequent… improvement."

  Murdoch could only nod his head numbly. "I see," he managed, in a voice that caught somewhere in his throat. A few seconds of heavy silence passed.

  Then Fennimore leaned forward and brought his hands up to his chin. "You should be aware, Mr. Ross, that we cannot be absolutely sure at this stage that your colleague is suffering from the same complaint as the others from Burghead," he said. "However, from the information that we have received from Kingussie, it does sound highly likely." His voice was quiet, but at the same time firm in the kind of way that could comm
and instant authority and respect without needing to sound overbearing.

  "We should know the answer to that very shortly," Waring said. "Mr. Walker is being moved here from Kingussie at this moment. We expect him to arrive within the next fifteen minutes or so."

  Murdoch studied the two expressionless faces across the desk. There was something very strange about this whole business, he told himself. Why had Fennimore, a "sir" who was clearly far removed from being a prescriber of pills and bottles for family medicine closets, come all the way from London to investigate a few cases of an obscure sickness in a place as remote as this? Why was he here?

  And surely it wasn't normal for a patient admitted to a regular hospital to be transferred to the medical facility of a privately owned industrial plant… or, come to that, any industrial plant. Why were they sending Lee here? The only possible reason was that Fennimore was here. But how had the people at Kingussie known that Fennimore was here? More likely they hadn't known, Murdoch thought. They had probably been alerted, presumably along with lots of other places as well, to watch out for any further cases of the Burghead type, and report them to some kind of agency that knew of Fennimore's movements. Why?

  And given that Fennimore had been informed through some channel such as that, surely it would have been far simpler to send him to Kingussie rather than have Lee brought to him… unless, of course, the medical people at Burghead knew something that the doctors at Kingussie didn't know. And the doctors at Burghead had seen this sickness before.

  All very strange. But Murdoch was neither in a position, nor in a frame of mind, to cross-examine anybody.

  "We would like you to answer a few questions about Mr. Walker if you can," Waring resumed. "It could be of considerable help to us."

  "Sure… " Murdoch shrugged and spread his hands. "Anything you want to know." Waring reached out and tapped a pad on the touchboard of the terminal standing on a small table by the desk. Evidently the conversation was going to be recorded.