Eva

by Simon Winstanley

  Siva’s looping journey through the Solar System had passed close to Earth in the March of 1989. A radio telescope triangulation unit had failed and interpreted the data as a Siva course change. In response, an automated phone call had gone out to those within Archive, telling them to convene at their nearest bunker.

  Monica remembered their troubled journey and entry to the Whitehall Bunker, she also recalled the arrival room she was seeing again now. In an attempt to distract the children, helium balloons decorated the multicoloured walls while pop music encouraged them to dance and play. All the children were given a gift upon their arrival to further add to the party-like atmosphere.

  “I remember this,” said Douglas, shaking his head, “Seeing it from here, I never realised how many of us there were.”

  “Yeah,” Kate confirmed and then pointed someone out, “But did you realise we were all in the same room as Eva?”

  At one side of the vibrant room, Dorothy Pittman was talking to Eva; the gift she’d received had apparently been a frilly-looking baby doll.

  “She’s nearly eleven years old and about to be invited to the Pittman Academy,” said Kate, “Now, watch this.”

  Eva handed over her baby to Dorothy.

  “I think this is where it started,” said Kate.

  As Monica watched, Dorothy kept the baby and gave Eva a tiny bracelet charm.

  “Kate, what was that?”

  “A fragment of lunar rock,” she replied, “Taken during the very first lunar EVA.”

  The young Eva looked fascinated by the trinket and, without a backward glance at the baby, walked away to study the lunar fragment under a brighter light.

  “Although she never really thought about it,” Kate watched the young girl, “It began here, an identity that evolved out of her life’s regrets and hopes.”

  The cheerful music continued to play and somewhere a balloon popped, causing a ripple of childish laughter. Monica turned to see the other children dancing in circles.

  “I am Eve,” Kate stared at the scene, “I will birth the new mankind. Born in the fires of the old, they will renew the Earth.”

  “Pardon?” asked Monica, but then realised Kate was reciting from memory, “Was that the mantra you were telling us about?”

  Kate nodded sadly, then turned to face her.

  “Her life’s events shaped the phrasing… made her more receptive to the recurring dream.”

  It took a moment for Monica to isolate the one word that seemed out of place.

  “Receptive?”

  The Whitehall Bunker scene froze.

  “All the events I’ve shown you…” Kate looked between her parents, “and Eva’s recurring dream shared one thing in common. When I looked closely, each event showed signs of temporal intervention.”

  “Like the thing you do?” Monica clarified, “Influencing details?”

  “Yes, except I had nothing to do with the events surrounding Eva.”

  Douglas seemed to see the logical conclusion first.

  “You mean that temporal interventions were being made before any of us arrived in the Boundary?”

  “It seems impossible,” said Kate, looking at the frozen scene, “but, yes, the signs are there, if you look for them… and I have.”

  Monica realised what Kate was not saying. She could also see the direction of her daughter’s gaze.

  “Katherine, were we influenced?”

  From Kate’s expression, Monica knew the answer before she spoke.

  “Mum, Dad,” she gestured at the scene, “this is a convergence event. A large-scale bulk manipulation that steered causality.”

  With the scene still frozen, the perspective shifted.

  Monica could see her younger self standing next to her husband, both of them watching their young daughter dancing in circles with the other children.

  “The Heavy Rain false alarm was the catalyst for both of you planning to leave Archive,” said Kate.

  Monica knew this was true; that very hour she’d raised her concerns with Douglas. On their way back from London, they’d begun their plans to build the Warren.

  The view moved again to show General Broxbourne talking with a small group of individuals.

  “It’s also the day that Jim Broxbourne initiated the Atlantic Ridge Colony project,” said Kate and spotting Monica’s frown added, “Our very own Sea-Bass submarine being one of their later service vessels.”

  There was another view shift.

  “Ivan Meznic, orphaned just one day earlier, is taken under the protective wing of Dorothy Pittman…”

  Another view shift.

  “…who first notices the storykiller efforts of Robert Wild. The man who goes on to develop the ego-morph control program.”

  Another shift.

  “Eva’s father, Thomas Gray, is given additional funding to develop the Siva deflection system.”

  Another shift.

  “Ronald Bishop, son of the cortical enhancement program founder, reaches the safety of the Whitehall Bunker.”

  Monica remembered how she and Douglas had delayed the departure of the bunker’s elevator so that Ronald could get aboard. He later repaid the favour, when his son Nathan arrived at the Warren with a list of red-lined names and a prototype Zygote bank.

  The scene now collapsed and zoomed away to be replaced by the familiar window view of the Dover coast. However, the comfortable warmth of the simulated cottage seemed to have faded.

  As Monica looked around the room, she had the impression that the environment seemed less well defined than before. The photo frames around the room seemed just as two-dimensional as the photos they contained, the woodgrain of the table was now a plain brown colour. Minor approximations were apparent everywhere. She looked over to Kate and saw that she was staring blankly at the flat cottage floor; it seemed that Kate was so lost in thought that she was having difficulty maintaining the environment around them.

  “Katie?” she said softly.

  The fireplace flickered and the room’s former detail resumed.

  “You were right, Mum… it was arrogance,” said Kate, still staring at the floor, “I assumed I was the only one making interventions, I wasn’t looking for evidence of it elsewhere. Only when I began training Dad in Boundary interaction did I realise that I wasn’t unique. I should have realised sooner.”

  Monica closed the distance between them and put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, an action that caused the fire’s warmth to fill the room again.

  “I arrived here with human outlook,” Kate shrugged.

  “Well of course you did!” Monica half laughed.

  “Maybe it was a comfort to sit in the echo-chamber of my own timeline… visiting and revisiting familiar events,” she looked between her mother and father, “I just wanted to save you both.”

  For the first time since her arrival, Monica could actually see her daughter; not the unstoppable force that had rewritten countless histories, but her own vulnerable child. Isolated and alone, her daughter had only acted to find her parents.

  Douglas added his arms to the embrace, holding them both close.

  “It’s OK,” he said, “We’ll take this slow, right Mon?”

  “Of course,” she replied, squeezing Kate gently, “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Monica could feel her daughter’s brief chuckle.

  There was no way of knowing how much time had truly passed, but Kate raised her head and smiled at both of them.

  “OK,” she nodded, “Let me show you the other interventions I found.”

  HOUSTON

  25th December 2013

  Standing in front of the elevator doors, Lawrence could hardly keep up with the acceleration of events. Barely an hour had passed since the Siva deflection system had been overridden by one of the Floyd Lunar Complex crew. The result had caused a prism alignment failure that, in all likelihood, would result in the destruction of the FLC itself. Three of the crew had managed to reach the
RTO module and leave the lunar surface, but then the situation had degraded even further.

  A few moments ago, an unknown agency had hacked into Houston Mission Control, redirected the Return To Orbit module and then cut both the power and phone lines. In the chaos that followed, he’d heard rumours that the sheer amount of Helium-3 in and around the FLC could trigger a cascade fusion event within the Moon itself. The Moon had been a constant Earth companion for over four billion years, so the notion that it could suddenly cease to exist seemed ridiculous to him.

  The more immediate issue was that the FLC could no longer deflect Siva. Lawrence remembered the Chelyabinsk incident back in February that had caused worldwide panic; by contrast, when the public became aware of the FLC’s failure there would be a catastrophic loss of world order. He knew he was not alone in reaching this conclusion; an air of unease was beginning to spread through the small group gathered in the dim corridor.

  He watched as Communications Director Ross Crandall inserted his key into the slot that would summon the elevator, but somehow Lawrence already knew that no elevator would arrive. It appeared that their only choice now was whether to remain underground or take their chances on the surface.

  “It’s no good, sir,” Karl Meyer called out and pointed to the battery-powered greenish light over the closest door, “The only power on this floor is in that exit sign. I don’t know how widespread the issue is but we should check out the main entrance… make sure we’re not locked in.”

  Lawrence saw Karl’s statement cause an anxious ripple through those standing around him.

  “What?” Ross faced him, “You think we’re being contained?”

  “Maybe,” Karl pulled at his hair, “The speed and scope of the shutdown looked pretty comp-”

  The general disquiet in the corridor suddenly escalated into chaos, and people battled to reach the exit stairs. Lawrence felt himself pushed bodily against the wall and then a shoulder connected with his face. He hit the floor in the midst of stampeding feet, some of which ran over his back. The noise receded and he looked up to see Karl standing over him, extending a hand. As he got to his feet, he could see that Ross had fared little better; Greg Campbell was helping him to get up.

  “Son of a bitch!” Ross angrily kicked a hole in the plasterboard wall, “They stole my Lifeboat Pass!”

  Instinctively, Lawrence checked his pocket and was relieved to find his pass was still there. In theory, the card guaranteed the holder an Archive-assured place of safety in the event that Siva reached Earth. Though if things became any worse, there may be no safe place, even with the official-looking pass.

  While Ross continued to curse and deliver savage kicks to the plasterboard, Greg backed away towards the exit.

  “Greg?” Karl called out.

  “I’m sorry!” he shook his head and moved more quickly, “I’ve gotta get to my family. I’m sorry!”

  Greg turned and ran through the exit. As the door closed, Lawrence could see he was bolting up the narrow access stairs towards the surface.

  Immediately, Karl took hold of Lawrence by the shoulders. For one awful second, Lawrence thought that he was about to have his pass stolen too, but there was a different sort of desperation on Karl’s face.

  “Larry, right?”

  Lawrence nodded and risked a glance at the hands on his shoulders. Karl noticed and immediately let go.

  “Sorry,” he apologised, wiping the sweat from his forehead, “Look I need you to… I mean… Please can…”

  Lawrence could see that he needed some sort of favour but was having extreme difficulty in asking.

  “It’s alright,” Lawrence pacified, “just tell me.”

  “It’s my wife, Janine,” he ran his hand over the back of his neck, then pointed at the elevator, “When we all came back up here, I left her down at the Starfish level… She’s trapped down there with our son.”

  Lawrence could almost feel the Lifeboat Pass burning in his pocket. The others had left, presumably in a desperate bid to reach the publicly dug survival tunnels. He’d been awarded his pass on the basis that he’d discovered the SOS message of the FLC crew; he should use what was rightfully his to ensure his own safety. But as fast as the indignation formed, he knew what his reply would be.

  He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, “I’ll help you.”

  “Thank you,” Karl bowed his head and turned to face Ross, “Janine and Abel are stuck down at the FLC simulator.”

  “Shit,” Ross summarised and kicked another hole in the wall, “We need a way back down there anyway. Maybe we can get control back with some of the older kit.”

  He jabbed at the elevator button again, but nothing happened.

  “Any ideas?” Ross asked Karl.

  “How far down do the stairs go?” he pointed in the direction of the exit.

  “Not far enough,” Ross confirmed, “The staging area is isolated for a reason.”

  As the other two debated possible access routes, Lawrence cast his eyes around the narrow corridor. After Ross’ repeated assaults on the wall, the air was filled with light-brown plasterboard dust. The tiny particles swirled in the air currents, illuminated by the sickly green glow of the emergency exit light.

  Then he felt it.

  Where the inspiration had come from he couldn’t be sure, but it was persistent and identical to a feeling he’d had before. Lawrence felt his focus pulled towards the wall next to the elevator. As Lawrence watched, the dust fell through the air, but not towards the floor. As though guided by a perversion of gravity, the fine dust was falling onto the wall. Around one of the holes that Ross had made, was a circle of fine dust, broken in one place by a small dot.

  Lawrence had seen this pattern earlier, surrounding a rotary dial that had highlighted a disused FLC emergency channel. The feeling of guided inspiration had been strong then too.

  Before he realised what he was doing, he’d knelt down at the side of the hole and was studying the cables within. Among the wires was a small control box acting as a junction between two multicoloured ribbon cables. Lawrence read from a dusty label on the side of the box.

  “What does ‘Auth Key Con’ mean?”

  “How the hell did you see that from over there?” Karl joined him.

  “Maybe it’s the authorisation key control,” Ross peered at the box, “Some of this stuff’s been here since the sixties. Things only get added when there’s a need. Maybe it was the cheapest way of adding a key-op panel to the old elevator system.”

  “Then… can we just un-add it?” asked Karl.

  Without waiting for Ross to reply, Lawrence disconnected the ribbon cables from the control box. When he placed the cables next to each other, the colour coding was identical and the two connectors looked like they should clip together.

  “Mr. Crandall,” Lawrence had a thought, “Does the Starfish level have its own independent power?”

  “Yeah,” Ross replied, “what are you -”

  Lawrence pushed the connectors together and immediately the elevator doors sprang open.

  The journey down was as swift as before and the elevator emerged onto the raised metallic walkway that overlooked the simulation of the Floyd Lunar Complex. Without the lunar regolith to cover it, the cylindrical chambers surrounding the central drum looked like a six-legged starfish on a lunar-grey beach; a fact that had given rise to its nickname. For the second time, Lawrence descended the metalwork steps. Again, noting that the further down they went, the colder it seemed to become.

  As they reached the bottom of the steps, the starfish-like profile was no longer visible; the cylinders, even lying horizontally, towered over him. On the Moon, the six cylinders surrounding the Drum had been constructed from airtight Space Shuttle external fuel tanks. Here on Earth, an identical setup had been constructed; each piece having been lowered down through the cavernous room. Again, Lawrence found himself staring up towards the dim recesses of the roof and its sturdy winching machinery.

 
Fast approaching footsteps from behind them caused Lawrence and the others to turn around.

  “Karl!” Janine shouted and embraced her husband, “Oh Karl, no!”

  “It’s OK!” he smiled, “I’m here now, it’s OK.”

  “How can it be OK?” she stood back from him, her expression aghast.

  “I mean it’s OK. We’ll get Abel…” he glanced around, “is he in one of the sleeping quarters?”

  “Yes he’s…” she pointed loosely towards a nearby set of doors, “What do you mean it’s OK?”

  From her fraught expression, even Lawrence could see that there was something wrong. Something new and wrong.

  “Oh Karl, it’s on every radio channel,” her eyes were filling up, “It’s the Moon…”

  While Abel slept, the four of them sat and listened to the broadcasts; each station relaying the horror of the shattered Moon and the super-fragments that would reach Earth within days.

  As Lawrence listened over the next hour, every radio station that was still broadcasting seemed to come to the same conclusion. The final lunar shard ‘Tranquillity’ would drive itself into Colombia, initiating a tsunami that would overwhelm the Gulf of Mexico and inundate the southern United States. Houston would be one of the first casualties or, depending on the severity, one of the first fatalities.

  “Three days,” Ross Crandall muted the radio feed, “We’ve got three days to get an action plan.”

  “An action plan?!” Karl actually laughed, “For what? There’s nowhere to go! No-one on the surface stands a chance, everybody up there’ll be fighting to get to whatever bunkers they can find!”

  “Aren’t we deeper underground if we stay right here?” asked Janine, “One of the storerooms has got a whole shelf of food, couldn’t we just wait it out? Wait until a rescue -”

  “Janine,” Ross interrupted her gently, “In three days there’ll be nobody left to rescue us. We could probably ration the food for a few weeks, but that’s not the problem…”

  Ross pointed upwards at the massive access doors and winding machinery in the roof, high up above the FLC simulation.

  “… the problem is that.”