‘Are we?’ she asks, glancing across at him as he drops back to walk by her side. He doesn’t offer to take the heavy bag, but she knows it is only because he hasn’t thought to ask. Bertie is not thoughtless. He is the opposite of thoughtless.
‘Oh my god, Miri. Is that bag heavy? Let me take it . . . um . . . So you hold the seashell and . . . No, actually I can put the seashell down here and . . .’ He gently places the seashell on the flat rocks. His movements are childlike, overly precise, and the way he squats and stands suggests someone with learning difficulties instead of possibly the greatest genius that may have ever lived. When he stands, he beams at her, as if he has already forgotten why he put the seashell down in the first place.
‘Bag,’ she says. ‘It’s heavy.’
‘You should let me take that . . . What’s in it? Wow, that is super heavy.’
‘Can we go to the shack now, please, Bertie?’
‘Of course,’ he says with a huge grin as he shoulders the bag. ‘So I rigged up this cooling system using the solar panels . . . I mean, the sunshine here is just epic. Like, so pure. Anyway, so, like, I’ve got the average temperature down to two degrees above zero . . . Celsius, of course . . .’
‘Of course.’
‘And, yeah, so, haha! The space-flight problem. Like meteors don’t ever run out of steam do they? Haha! Can you imagine if meteors used steam-engines? So . . . I mean . . . it’s the propulsion, isn’t it? They get going and they go . . . and, I mean, like, they have gravitational pull forever pulling them towards a larger body, but . . .’
Miri listens, and everything he says makes sense. Meteors will simply keep going like, forever and ever, like, epic. So what keeps them going? What made them go in the first place?
Miri has lived a life of many places and many peoples. She has killed for many reasons, some true and righteous, others blurred and indistinct, but in all those years and in all those places, she has never met anyone like Bertie.
He catches her looking at him and smiles before switching subjects in the blink of an eye and starting to describe the mating habits of the local crab population.
Miri didn’t factor for Ria and Emily coming through the portal, but she’s lived a life of adaptation and changing expectations, and moved swiftly to assess, evaluate and take action to ensure everything is still done correctly.
Everything had to be done right.
Bertie had to be kept away from his father and everyone else. Roland had to be kept away from his son and everyone else.
Harry, Safa and Ben had to be debriefed. Roland and Bertie had to be debriefed. Emily had to be debriefed.
Every day for the last month, Miri has gone to each in turn to debrief and go over everything they know and exactly what happened before she arrived. Their isolation was key. Retaining sterility of the subjects during the debriefing stage was crucial. Bertie and Ria were brought here, and whereas Roland was tricked into going, she simply asked Bertie and Ria and said she wanted them kept apart until she had spoken to everyone. A month is a long time to debrief, and by asking the same questions each and every session she knew she was irritating them, but therein lies the subtlety of the manipulation.
Now Roland is dead and Emily is a member of the team. This is the game, and Miri is back in it. The thrill is there. The lust to be in the lead and winning.
‘Hi,’ Ria calls out, rising from the patch of sun she was lying in. She looks better, but the same sadness is in her eyes. The same drawn, introspective look that comes from deep personal grief. The bruises on her face now almost gone.
‘Ria, how are you?’ Miri asks, her tone still soft and warm.
Ria offers a smile and shields her eyes as she looks at Miri.
‘You’re taking the sun,’ Miri says, observing the glow on Ria’s skin. ‘Be careful you don’t burn.’
‘I shall, thank you,’ Ria says politely. ‘How is everyone?’
‘Fine,’ Miri says.
‘Bertie would love to see them again . . . He adores Harry and Ben . . .’
‘Soon,’ Miri says.
Ria offers the smile again, weaker this time. ‘Bertie, can you get Miri a drink, please.’
‘Totally,’ Bertie says, nodding eagerly as he strides off, still with the heavy bag over one shoulder.
‘How is he?’ Miri asks once Bertie is out of earshot.
‘He’s Bertie. Nothing bothers him for long. He’s over it already . . .’ She trails off again, staring after her brother. ‘I told you about the dog. He wept like a baby for a few hours, then it was like it never happened. Same with our grandmother . . . He . . . he processes things differently . . .’
‘Yes.’
‘I hate him for that.’
Miri doesn’t reply, but waits as Bertie goes into the shack, getting caught in the doorframe by the bag on his shoulder, then spending a full minute trying to figure out how to fit both himself and the bag through at the same time.
‘It’s not a bad hate,’ Ria adds into the quiet, glancing at Miri. ‘Not a bitter hate. I just wish I could . . .’ The last words choke off with the memory of her mother trying to run through the house amidst the carnage.
Miri rests a hand on her shoulder. Grief is powerful, and it must be given time to vent and play out. ‘I’ll give you a few minutes,’ she says quietly before walking off.
The shack isn’t a shack at all, but a timber-built summerhouse. It was a flat-pack self-build Miri bought from a huge home construction depot in California. Before that, Ria and Bertie had a large canvas army tent, but Miri knew that having a solid structure would help them settle and give Ria something to think about.
Miri had collected the summerhouse with Doctor Watson. Two older people making a purchase together drew no attention. They used a hire truck to get it to the waiting Blue, hidden in the countryside; then they brought Harry, Ben and Safa through to help carry it on to the island. The whole exercise served many purposes. It introduced them all again and enforced the knowledge that Ria and Bertie were safe and being cared for.
Bertie was thrilled to see them and talked non-stop of the things he had seen during the days on the island. He was clearly drawn to Ben and Harry, and told them about how he spent the nights like, totally mapping constellations with Ria. Bertie even followed them back through the portal to the bunker to help carry the lumber, without a flicker of a glance at anything. He was so enraptured in telling them what he had seen that it just did not occur to him to look round or question where they were. He made the time machine and had used it many times, so it was nothing new to him. He just followed them in and out until the lumber was stacked. Two minutes later, he had forgotten they were even there as he started sorting the wood and tools.
The shack was built within two days. It was built perfectly too.
Over the course of the two weeks, Ria and her brother had asked for very little in terms of supplies. Ria because of shock and grief, Bertie because he just didn’t think of anything. Miri leaves them plenty of food, drink, reading materials and essentials. They are both washing. Bertie is shaving, and they are eating.
Bertie has the same height and build as Roland, and the same dark hair, but whereas Roland normally kept his lacquered and neat, Bertie pays no heed and lets it stand up wild and unruly. It suits him though. Even now, walking barefoot round an island with his top off and wearing baggy shorts, he looks entirely at ease.
For her part, Ria has the same dark hair but the facial features of her mother. A large girl, bookish and geeky-looking. Awkward, and seemingly always bordering on embarrassment.
‘Is that a chair?’ Miri asks, looking at the item in Bertie’s hands, then round at the stripped electrical products she’d previously brought him. Spools of wire wrapped around thick twigs in order of size and usability. Piles of component parts, and the cases stacked neatly to one side.
‘I made it for you,’ he says, rushing to carry the wooden chair over. Tree branches for legs and left-over planks from the summerhous
e used for the seat and backrest. ‘For your bad back,’ he adds, nodding earnestly.
‘Thanks.’
Bertie carefully adjusts the angle of the chair and checks the position of the sun, before he spots the bag he dropped and runs off to rifle through the contents. The chair is surprisingly comfortable. ‘Very good,’ she says. He doesn’t reply, but acts like a child on Christmas Day. Giddy with pleasure and happiness at the bundle of presents.
‘That’ll keep him happy,’ Ria says, walking up to them. She sits on the ground and leans her back against the side of the summerhouse. ‘Debriefing again?’
‘Do you mind?’ Miri asks.
‘Carry on,’ Ria says quietly. ‘How many times do we have to do it?’
‘As many as necessary. Bertie, I’ll start with you.’
‘Okay,’ Bertie mumbles, examining an old transistor radio as if it holds the secret to immortality, which it may well do to him.
So it begins and again the contrast with Roland could not be starker. Bertie speaks as though this is the first time they have discussed the subject, while also picking up tools and starting to work on the old radio.
His father died and he decided to build a time machine, so that families can go back and ask their loved ones not to kill themselves. That’s it. That was his sole motivation for building a thing that so many others had only dreamt of. It’s all just binary. Everything is binary. He has access to a secret language made of zeros and ones. A language that holds the mystery of the universe, but in order to have that access, his brain has to be wired differently. Miri considers autism and a range of spectrum disorders, but it’s impossible to label Bertie. She thought of asking Ria if he had ever been diagnosed or tested, but held back. Ria hadn’t volunteered the information, and it made no difference anyway.
Bertie built the device in his basement workshop, and once built, he applied the laws of scientific research by conducting tests to ensure it was working properly. During that time, he popped in and out of several different eras. All of which fascinated him at the time, but it is now just something he once did. He recounts how he walked through ancient Rome for half an hour smiling at people who like, were so totally friendly, but, like, all really short, but like not midgets or anything.
What staggers Miri is that he went into the future. He had access to advanced technology and scientific awareness, but paid no attention to it because that would be like, cheating, and anyway, it wasn’t what he was there for. It was on the second test jump to the year 2111 that he discovered the world was, like, broke. Like, totally ruined. He panicked, and assumed he had caused it. She asked him what he saw. He said he went through the portal, saw it was bad, then went back into his workshop to find his drone and used that to film it all. She wanted to ask if he checked radiation levels or saw any signs of what caused it, but avoided doing so to prevent planting ideas or false memories, being unsure of his level of grasp until she knew him better.
It was after Bertie saw the full devastation that he went back to stop his father from like, doing the suicide thing.
‘Harry is, like, really big,’ Bertie says, giving voice to the thoughts in his head. ‘Like, totally make a bigger chair for him. Dad said Safa’s beautiful, but, like, totally tough, and you aren’t allowed to tell her you think she is beautiful. But if someone is beautiful, why would they be angry? I mean, like . . . everyone is, like, beautiful, and you should say that so they feel good . . . You’re beautiful, Miri.’
She blinks with an exceptionally rare flicker of surprise as Ria chuckles softly.
‘What about me?’ Ria asks him.
‘You’re, like, my sister,’ Bertie says, pulling a face.
‘I am your sister – I’m not like anything.’
‘Hang on,’ he blurts with a grin. ‘Like . . . if I put this in here now . . . and . . . ’ He detaches an old MP3 player from the solar panel charge he has also made and attaches a wire leading from the circuit board to the inside of the radio. A hiss, and then the music comes. Played from the MP3 player, but routed through the speakers of the radio, which give a wonderful crackle to the Spanish guitar music. ‘Haha! Got music now,’ he says, nodding at the old radio with obvious glee.
‘Well done,’ Miri says, seeing the look of absolute pleasure on his face. ‘Ria, do I need to go through everything with you again?’
‘No,’ she says while watching her brother. ‘I can’t think of anything.’
‘Is there anything you have not told me?’
‘No,’ Ria says thoughtfully, ‘I really don’t think there is.’
Ria is three years younger than her brother, and although intelligent, she is nowhere near the level of genius of Bertie. No one is near Bertie. My brother is an anomaly. Ria led what she believes is a normal life. It was hard when her dad committed suicide, but they got through it. Her mother had a series of relationships, but nothing really lasted. Malcolm and Konrad stayed working for the family estate until they died in a car accident in 2052. Ria explained that Bertie was more upset about that than at any other time they had ever seen. Malc and Kon. They were always down in the basement, drinking tea and listening to Bertie’s ideas and seeing the things he had made. Ria suspected that hidden away in the layers of Bertie’s unique mind was the thought that he could also save them. Who knows? Only Bertie knows what he thinks, and even if he told us, we wouldn’t understand it.
Ria was completely overwhelmed when Roland came back. It had been fifteen years since his death, and of course Ria and her mother had to deal with the fact that he looked the same as the day he had left. They had aged, grown, matured and developed, but he had not. Roland had walked out of the family home, and walked back into it fifteen years later, but for him it was the same day.
Roland did not discuss his plans. He did not go out, and once the shock of his family seeing him again wore off, he set about trying to do what he could to save the world. What exactly he did, he kept to himself. Neither Ria nor her mother had any idea that he had brought back Malc and Kon.
Gradually, over the months that passed, her father became the man she remembered. Busy, and absorbed entirely in himself. Ria saw her mother at first become rejuvenated at being reunited with her husband, but then Susan began to worry that she was suddenly too old for him. She had cosmetic surgery and started wearing younger clothes. Ria watched her mother slowly breaking down from being reunited with her dead husband only to see him growing as cold as he always was.
‘And you?’ Miri had asked, examining the woman’s non-verbal communications closely. ‘Tell me about you.’
‘Nothing to say. My family are wealthy, so I was bred to be a shallow creature of greed . . .’
That was the first answer. Short, and filled with a grief-ridden show of self-loathing, but gradually Miri drew the woman out and thanked the gods of fortuitous fate for letting Ria get through the portal.
‘That was the last debrief,’ Miri announces, closing her notepad.
‘What now?’ Ria asks after a few seconds of silent thought. ‘Do we just stay here?’
‘I have tasks for you both,’ Miri says, her tone gradually firming from the soft, caring manner to that of a person in charge of the mission.
‘Tasks?’ Ria asks, showing surprise as she looks at Miri. ‘What tasks?’
‘You designed sets and costumes for a holographic film production company. I need . . .’
‘Oh no,’ Ria says, cutting in quickly. ‘I said I helped out . . . I only did it as a hobby because mother knew the wife of the . . .’
‘Do not interrupt me, Miss Cavendish.’
Ria closes her mouth. Miri’s tone wasn’t loud or harsh, but the sudden authority in the woman renders Ria silent.
‘The bunker is sterile. It needs soft-furnishings, furniture, colours . . . I have neither the time nor the inclination to do it. My team will not have the time to do it. You will do it.’
‘But . . .’
‘Ben’s mental health decline was brought on by a
combination of shock and the medications he was given when he arrived. Doctor Watson firmly believes the severe, austere environment played a significant part in that. You will work to prevent that happening again. We also need clothes for different time periods . . .’
‘Oh my god, Miri . . . are you being serious?’ Ria asks, rising to her feet with a look of panic.
‘I am always serious.’
‘Miri, listen . . .’
‘I have listened. It is my job to listen. It is also my job to make decisions and delegate. You have a role in this. You are here, and your presence will mean we do not have to extract someone else to do that role.’
‘I am in grief right now,’ Ria says, hardening her voice.
‘Work helps grief. It occupies the mind. You can choose to remain here with your brother or come back to the bunker and reside there. You can move between the two by asking me to open the portal to enable it to happen. The other members of the team can also come here if they so wish. This is a pleasant environment and it was chosen specifically for that reason.’
‘No. I am not going anywhere near that bunker if my father is there. He ran off and left us. My mother is dead because of him . . .’
‘Your father is not returning to the bunker. He is no longer a part of this. I am not asking. You will work. Do you understand?’
Ria stares open-mouthed and shocked.
‘Expediency matters,’ Miri continues. All trace of softness gone. Her words are flat, dull and hard. ‘It will be done as quickly as possible . . .’
‘Maria’s, like, totally awesome at decorating and stuff. Like, she helped Mum do the house and bought my clothes and helped Mum get new stuff when Dad came back and . . .’
‘Bertie! You are not helping,’ Ria snaps.
‘Bertie, can you make another device?’ Miri asks, turning from Ria to the man now working the back off a large tablet.
‘It’s just binary,’ Bertie mumbles, ‘but, like, I made one and Dad said I totally couldn’t make another one and, but, no, totally . . .’ He stops talking to nod eagerly as Miri processes the last sentence back to herself.
Extracted Trilogy (Book 2): Executed Page 24