Boundary (Field Book 3)

by Simon Winstanley

  Although he could easily picture the mechanics of the situation, the feeling of reacquiring weight was unsettling. The last time he’d felt the effects of increasing gravity, it had been when he’d arrived at the FLC. Back then, the retro-dropper’s descent to the lunar surface had been peppered with jolts and thruster firings, but aboard the ISS there was only smooth acceleration.

  As the ISS continued to spin up, he felt the muscles in his back begin to compress against the floor. Smiling, he tried to look at his feet but found that the low artificial gravity was already making it difficult to raise his head.

  After several seconds the invisible sideways force evaporated, leaving only a sensation of weight.

  “One sixth of a Gee,” Cathy experimented raising her arms off the floor, “Never thought I’d miss lunar gravity.”

  “And do you?” Lana levered herself up on one elbow.

  “I’ll let you know,” Cathy slowly pulled herself into a sitting position.

  “OK, guys,” Valery’s voice came again, “we’re at our target spin rate of three rpm. Be advised that in the Ring, Coriolis effects are still a contributor. Watch your step and try not to leave things in mid-air. It won’t work.”

  The mention of ‘Coriolis’ caused Mike to think back to their hasty escape from the FLC within the Coriolis crater. The more he thought about Eva’s actions, the more he was convinced that she’d tampered with her own metathene levels. More recent conversations with Lana and Cathy aboard the ISS only seemed to reinforce the theory.

  While in training for the FLC mission back in Houston, they were each made aware of the mental edge that the metathene delivered, but they were also advised of the disorders that could result if it was abused. At least here on the ISS they didn’t need to worry about manually maintaining their dosage levels; Dr. Chen’s wristbands administered exactly the right amount automatically, every time they slept.

  “Earth to Mike? Come in Mike?”

  He suddenly realised that Cathy had asked him a question.

  “Sorry, Cathy. What were you saying?” he slowly got to his feet.

  “I said, seeing as we’re in this together,” she gestured to the Ring’s environment, “D’you want to join us in a walk round this big hamster-wheel?”

  “We’re in this together,” he found himself replying, automatically.

  Cathy frowned at him, “Why did you say that?”

  “What?”

  “We’re in this together?” Cathy replied, her face a picture of confusion.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, now suddenly unsure, “Why?”

  Cathy appeared to blink the thought away, “Could’ve sworn I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Is just your brain adapting, da? I also oshalevshiy,” she mimed circles going around her head.

  They set off at a fairly leisurely pace, acclimatising themselves to the new set of physical rules. Under the influence of gravity, he thought, Cathy’s hamster-wheel analogy was quite apt. The peculiarities of the perspective meant that for every forward step, the floor appeared to descend into position in front of them. Within a minute they would return to the same point, stuck in a seamless loop.

  HYDROGEN

  ~

  Studying the time-lines of the four individuals aboard the ISS, she could see they would enter a period beyond her influence. It was now clear that human affairs were beginning to spread beyond the confines of Earth. She knew that she must therefore take a wider view in solving the extinction problem.

  The fine line between influence and intervention continued to fade, as again she reasoned that her needs justified the action. If the confluence event was to occur, she must intervene.

  She studied the time ahead for the ISS and turned her attention to a gas giant beyond the asteroid belt. The planetary scale involved was immaterial; composed primarily from hydrogen, it was well within her experience to control. It would simply require patience and, unlike most of her previous interventions, she could use time itself to obscure her actions.

  AWAKE

  DAY04 : 17FEB2027

  From the moment she awoke, Kate could sense the change.

  Fundamentally, she knew she was the same person, but there were additional, unquantifiable, new layers to her perception.

  She looked around the empty Node infirmary, it appeared the only occupied bed was her own. A glance at her hand confirmed that an intravenous drip had been attached to her wrist and a pulse monitor clipped to her finger. A reflection, in a glazed cupboard window opposite her bed, confirmed that a machine was reading her pulse and that her oxygen saturation level was in the high-nineties; a figure she somehow knew was acceptable. She returned her attention to the room.

  The other unoccupied beds were neatly turned down, and the drinking glasses on each bedside table were empty, upturned and centred on a white square of tissue-paper; whoever was tending the infirmary had no current patients but had the time to satisfy their mild obsessive-compulsive disorder. She could picture a woman, the doctor assigned to the Node infirmary. She had once sat opposite her in the mess hall. The woman had placed down a well-ordered tray of food and cutlery, her plastic cup had been similarly upturned, then someone had called the woman’s name. The doctor’s name now obediently presented itself: Caroline Smith. Although the name was largely irrelevant, Kate was momentarily proud of her ability to extract it from an old memory. The feeling was short-lived.

  A sea of recent memories flooded her current thoughts, and temporarily she was bombarded with the recent traumas surrounding the Node, ranging from the global to the personal. Since losing her father, she had questioned her own decisions multiple times; overwhelmed by the thought that events may have resolved in an alternative way if she’d made different choices. But right now, with her altered awareness, the very quality of this deluge of thought was different.

  The frustration and vagaries of indecision that typically gave rise to anxiety, were absent. In their place was a curious calm. She could still hear the individual streams of unresolved questions calling for her attention, but collectively they coexisted like waves on the surface of an ocean. She found she could focus past its surface to deeper layers if she so wished; but from afar, despite its churning chaos and choices, the ocean seemed in perfect balance.

  Prioritising, she knew the most salient issue was the Node’s survival. Everyone aboard the Node had been engaged in the attempt to decode her father’s detailed, digital flick-book of Field correction equations. There had been only seven hours remaining before Siva’s theoretical arrival when she had seen a connection between two of the pages. She recalled that she had managed to say three words before her collapse; but without looking at the pages again she couldn’t be sure if the words were helpful or the result of an oncoming fevered state.

  Angling her upper body slightly, she could see the infirmary clock reflected in the glazed cupboard window. The first set of numbers confirmed that four days had passed since the Node’s launch. She’d been unconscious for four days; it explained the intravenous drip and, after a brief examination, the catheter between her legs.

  The second set of numbers displayed the fact that outside the Node it was mid-February 2027; over fourteen years had passed since the Field had engaged.

  Siva’s arrival must already have happened, yet they were still here; her father’s message must have worked. She became aware that she was grasping the Biomag that hung around her neck. His last gift to her. One that had ensured her survival at the expense of his own.

  Her heightened awareness suddenly prodded at an assumption she had made about it being his last gift. Before she could examine the thought any further she heard footsteps approaching from outside the infirmary.

  For all she knew, the Node now contained the sole survivors of the human race, but she knew she mustn’t lose sight of one fact. This was still an Archive facility. Pittman’s assertions that she was somehow different because of her parents’ genetics, now seemed to carry weight
. She had no way of knowing where Pittman had received his information, or who he had told, but for the time being she considered it best to conceal her latest developments. She closed her eyes and laid her head back down on the pillow.

  The door to the infirmary opened and Caroline Smith entered, apparently still involved in a conversation with the man who followed her.

  “… assured that you’ll have my full support, Dr. Barnes,” she laughed.

  “Please, Caroline, it’s just Alfred,” he replied.

  The casual nature of their conversation further confirmed to Kate that the Node appeared to be in no immediate danger, and was clear of Siva’s chaos.

  Kate’s thoughts flashed briefly to her mother, who was fond of using the phrase ‘embrace the chaos’. She hoped that her mother had managed to do so in the safety of the Warren beneath Dover. The thought provided little comfort: The Node’s accelerated advance through time meant that in a matter of days, her mother’s natural lifespan would inevitably come to an end.

  Kate refocussed on the present and chose to approach the situation in a way that utilised the best of her parents’ abilities.

  Calculating the number of ways that events could unfold, she briefly disconnected the pulse monitor from her finger and fixed her eyes in a wide stare. A second later, when the pulse monitor began emitting its loud warning alarm, she screamed and sat bolt upright.

  Caroline was first to react, taking rapid strides over to her.

  “It’s OK Kate!” she reassured her, muting the alarm, “You’re OK, you’re safe.”

  Kate slowed her rapid breathing and allowed her eyes to relax a little, but continued glancing between Caroline, Alfred and her surroundings.

  “You’re in the infirmary, Kate,” Caroline explained, “You had a seizure, do you remem-”

  “Dad’s message! What hap-,” she stammered on purpose, “Did they -”

  “Yes, Kate, everyone’s fine!” Caroline continued to pacify her, “Dr. Bar-, Alfred, please can you get some water?”

  “Of course,” he replied and walked to a different bedside table.

  Water, thought Kate.

  The last time that he’d given her water she’d suffered a mental spike shortly afterwards; an episode that had concluded with her physical collapse and a trip here. Another parallel thought presented itself: Alfred had also arrived with Pittman in the same helicopter.

  “You gave us quite a scare,” Caroline continued, “When we brought you in, your blood pressure was sky-rocketing and you’d suffered a severe epistaxis.”

  Kate knew Caroline could have used the simpler word ‘nosebleed’ but had chosen to use medical terminology instead. Of course, she thought, Caroline was attempting to impress Alfred. Already, within a human ecosystem barely a few days old, the political manoeuvring and fluttering of tail-feathers had begun.

  “Will I…? I mean, can you cure this, epis… thing?” Kate did her best to look anxious. She then coughed, covering her mouth with a lightly-clenched fist, taking care to cough some of her spittle onto her waiting fingers.

  “Oh, I think you’ll be fine soon,” Caroline smiled at her.

  Kate returned a genuine-looking smile while watching Alfred, who was only now returning with a glass of water. Water she had no intentions of accepting.

  “Thank you,” Kate smiled and, with her heart racing, reached out for the glass.

  Once he’d transferred the glass into her grip, she coughed loudly and at the same time she squeezed her spit-moistened fingers. The glass of water shot from her fingers in Alfred’s direction.

  From Kate’s perspective, she saw the event unfold in intricate detail. His reaction to her sudden cough had been to blink, preventing him from seeing the following tenth of a second. The glass sailed on towards him, trailing an arc of glossy-looking water before arriving at his shirt. The glass crumpled the shirt’s fabric and impacted with his chest, then Kate watched as the momentum transferred to the remainder of the water. It splashed upward from the glass, flowing up across his shirt and hurled droplets towards his face and spectacles.

  The glass hit the floor and smashed at his feet.

  “Oh!” Kate reacted in horror, “Dr. Barnes, I’m so sorry! Are you OK? I…”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, swiftly retrieving a handkerchief and wiping his mouth and spectacles, “It’s just a little water.”

  Kate knew the statement clearly wasn’t true. She’d aimed the glass well enough to avoid hitting the Biomag hanging around his neck, but his initial reaction had been to wipe his mouth with a handkerchief rather than check the Biomag’s integrity. The water had, almost certainly, contained something else.

  “I’ll get a dustpan,” said Caroline, turning and walking towards the other end of the room, “Neither of you step in that glass, I don’t want to be treating lacerated feet…”

  “That was so clumsy,” Kate continued to flap, “I feel so stupid, I’m so sorry…”

  “It’s fine, really,” said Alfred, opening his jacket and stowing the handkerchief, “no harm done!”

  Kate wasn’t sure if his last words were a pardon or a regret.

  “Maybe I should stay here for now,” she sighed, looking around the infirmary, “I can’t even hold a glass of water…”

  “Perhaps you just need a little rest,” he replied, but then his body language shifted very slightly, “If you have any more insights though…”

  “Insights?” Kate frowned.

  She could see that Alfred was attempting to study her in the most nonchalant way he could manage, so she made sure her expression remained as vacant as possible.

  “Hotspot, gravity, death,” he watched her, “Apparently, those were the words you used before you collapsed - it got people looking in the right area of the Field equations.”

  Kate knew that the third word was wrong. She had said ‘debt’, not ‘death’. Unbelievably, she could see that he was actually testing her. He was hoping she would correct him. She maintained her blank look.

  “Sounds like I was out of my head,” Kate lied, then toyed with her Biomag, “maybe the, er… thing, hadn’t worked properly? The iso…?”

  “Isotope?” Caroline returned with a dustpan and began sweeping up the broken glass, “It’s certainly possible. I’ve seen a few cases where the isotope actually induced delirium as part of the fever response…”

  Caroline collected the remainder of the sharp glass and stood to face Alfred.

  “I did tell them that glass was a bad idea,” she shook her head.

  “I guess plastic cups would’ve been safer?” Kate offered.

  “Ah, but the Node is a sealed system,” Alfred smiled at Kate, “We can’t easily dispose of anything. Everything brought aboard the Node has to remain useful during its lifespan.”

  Kate was pretty sure that he’d just issued a clumsily disguised threat. If she responded equally cryptically then he would know she had understood. It could also escalate into a premature battle of wits, which she was in no mood for. She decided to derail the conversation by using a cheap, manipulative trick.

  “I’m completely naked!” she stared into Alfred’s eyes.

  His confusion was instant.

  “I mean,” Kate continued, “you said that everything brought aboard had to be useful, and I, well, I didn’t have time to bring any clothes. I’ve got nothing to wear!”

  “Don’t panic!” Caroline laughed, “We can sort you out.”

  Kate decided to increase Alfred’s discomfort and continued her conversation with Caroline in a slightly lower tone.

  “You said nothing’s disposable, but what about, er, you know, feminine hygiene products?”

  Caroline laughed again, but Alfred’s smile was one of embarrassment.

  “I’ll sort you out,” Caroline smiled, “But I think we’ll spare Alfred the details.”

  Caroline beckoned Alfred to follow her, something he seemed glad of.

  “Get some rest, Kate,” Caroline called
over her shoulder, “If you need anything, I’ll be in the office at end of the room.”

  “I’ll call by again,” said Alfred, “hope you’re back to normal soon.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Barnes, that means a lot to me,” Kate smiled and closed her eyes.

  Their footsteps retreated and Kate heard Alfred resume what must have been a prior conversation.

  “So, you say the backup capacitor just failed?” he was asking.

  “Well that’s what Trevor said…” she replied, “But he wasn’t sure why that -”

  The infirmary office door clicked closed, converting their conversation into an inaudible mumble. While they continued their exchange, Kate focussed on trying to recall a detail from a few moments ago.

  With her eyes still closed, she visualised the infirmary and Alfred’s position, complete with the broken glass at his feet. She watched her memory of the event unfold again. In order to wipe his mouth, he’d reached for a handkerchief inside his jacket.

  Kate knew she’d missed an important detail; it was probably something small that she’d not properly registered at the time. She would have to examine the scene more carefully.

  She allowed her senses to drift slightly, becoming aware of the sounds in the infirmary around her. She could still hear the low air-con noise and the conversational mumble from the office. She could hear Caroline’s flat shoes walking a few steps, followed by the sound of broken glass being tipped into a metal container. The broken glass provided an additional memory anchor and, still within her thoughts, she returned to her tableau of Alfred.

  She played through the event more carefully now, but instead of watching Alfred, she concentrated on his reflection in the glazed cupboard window behind him. As he opened his jacket to retrieve the handkerchief, Kate could now see a perfect reflection of his inside pocket. Standing slightly proud of the top of the pocket she could see a round-cornered silver case.

  Kate opened her eyes.

  She had seen this type of case several times before.