WARPING EFFECTS / CH. 2:OPTIONS
GEMSMITH CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS, RESTORATION, FRIDAY 22ND DECEMBER, 2295
“Mrs Williams, I was told I should jump at any chance I had to meet you, but I'm really not sure why.”
“But you came anyway?” Sarah smiled. “Well done. Who told you that, Karella or someone at the palace?”
“Karella.”
“She probably didn't want to presume I'd want to meet you, but I do. So, I've heard quite a lot about you, and you've probably mostly drawn a blank about me. True?”
“I know of your involvement in getting the truthsayers set up, I read that you have a lot of investments, and Mother said you could be trusted.”
“I'm glad she thinks so. We don't see eye to eye on everything, of course.”
“You know her?”
Sarah smiled, “I do, and you are suddenly hiding your thoughts. I invite you to use your othersight on me, young seer, it's only fair, since I've heard so much about you from your proud mother. I'm glad you've worked out the gravytree problem.”
Wondering how Sarah had heard about that, Heather looked at this rich woman with othersight. “You... you have the gift!”
“I do, and sometimes I get other insights too. So, as I understand it, you're going to be visiting my third cousin Eliza this evening, and probably tomorrow too, and in the national interest she's planning to suggest the crown sponsor your work. That's great as long as you don't end up with your hands too tied. Plus Karella tells me that as a member of the Academy you get all the fish you want when you're in Atlantis, a small research budget, however the Mer define that, access to the workshops, fabricators, etc and that you're also an honorary citizen of Atlantis so you get the chance to trade in pearls and hitch a ride with friends when they go gold-collecting or whatever.”
“Really? I hadn't heard that bit.”
“Yes, but from personal experience I can tell you it's mostly cold and frustrating. But anyway, what I want to tell you is that even with Karella and the academy covering charges for the Mer fabricators, sometime you're going to need bigger lumps of cash. For instance to set up a high-security research centre on Mars, with occasional trips into the deep solar system.”
“There'd be strings attached, I presume.”
“Yes, and they depend on what sort of funding you want. Option one is that you offer me some kind of return on my investment, within, say, a fifteen year period. If you can convince my financial advisors that it's a reasonable investment, then I've got a pool of money for that sort of thing. You need a few million and have a good chance of ten percent compound interest? Ask anyone in venture capital, that sort of thing is not really a problem at all. Option two is that you declare it to be a work of God, that the people who work there are doing so in a voluntary or missionary capacity and are either Christians or accept they're going to be in an environment where people want them to sort out their relationship with God. I'm not in any way opposed to giving a one-off donation to help set up a work of God.”
“Missionary scientists?”
“I've listened to Karella; isn't that what your verse indicated? For completeness, funding option three is that you declare it a charitable cause, and make a convincing case. Generally I prefer giving to missions than charitable causes, but there are other donors who have the opposite attitude. Funding option four is that somehow your research centre becomes part of my group of companies; in which case there'd be lots and lots of strings, but we could set it up so you could concentrate on research and the administration and management could be handled by the GemSmith group.”
“I ... I struggle to see how that'd work.”
“Well, let's say that you worked out how to communicate faster than light. If that's a radio-type device, I can certainly see plenty of commercial applications, but even if it's only a message-capsule based system, that might still be commercially interesting. I'd see it as a very valid investment to secure exclusive commercial exploitation rights to something like that (with manufacturing permission from everyone, of course). In exchange for those rights, I might offer you a partnership in the joint venture company, a well-stocked research lab and staff to work on bringing it into a commercial reality. We'd probably have to promise the various other parties something too to secure their agreement, like a share of the profits, funding for a university lecturer, or maybe you'd agree to give undergraduate lectures or short courses in the basics of space-time warping, something like that.”
“Doesn't that boil down to the same as option one?” Heather asked.
“Not really. Option one is I lend you a wadge of cash based on whether I think, on the balance of probabilities, I'll eventually get far more money back out of your work. Option four is me offering you and your research staff permanent employment, medical care, and so on, on the basis that eventually you'll turn a profit, and when you do GemSmith gets all of it. It's a much closer relationship and it'd be able to start earlier in the research and development cycle, but you'd be a GemSmith employee, ultimately I'd be your employer, and while you live comfortably you wouldn't get rich out of it. Option one, it's entirely possible you would. Or you might fail to turn a profit, and run out of money before the project is finished, which happens quite regularly, sadly. Read any venture capital contract very very carefully, if you do decide to go that way, because some of them you hand over your life's work and promise never to work on it again if the project fails. I don't put that sort of thing in, but others do. Sometimes it's even the lawyers who write up the request, and are supposed to be on the side of the researcher, thinking it'll get them some advantage.”
“Why do I get the feeling that I'm being pulled in different directions?”
“Because three determined ladies with the gift and substantial influence each have their own vision about how to make your dream become a reality and also satisfy their own consciences about not playing favourites just because the daughter of a friend has come up with the most interesting advance in physics since the forcefield. Some sort of compromise is probably best. But speaking of daughters, since you're in town, I'd really like you to talk to Maggie. She's three years younger than you.”
“With any particular reason in mind?”
“Growing up with a gifted mother can be a bit hard sometimes.”
“Ah. She's going through the 'get out of my skull' stage?”
“Worse: 'How do I know my thoughts, hopes and dreams are even mine?'”
“Oooh. OK. I'll talk to her, but it's not like I'm a psych-counselor.”
“So much the better. John is one of those. She loves physics, but since I studied that she's tempted to take history instead.”
“I presume you don't want me to tell her you've asked me to sort out all her woes.”
Sarah laughed, “Probably not the best start, no. By the way, message from your mother, she's OK if you talk about her having the gift to Maggie.”
“That makes things easier. I'm also going to ask that neither of you get the least bit curious about what we say to each other. Or at least... you'll not act on your curiosity.”
“Urm, OK.”
“Can you get Mum's agreement to that too?”
A few seconds later, Heather heard her mother's thoughts. [OK, Heather, you may assure Maggie that there'll be no active curiosity from parents, aunts, uncles or moderately distant cousins.]
[What qualifies as moderately distant cousins?]
[Mystery, for instance, on her side.]
[Oh, yes. Hmmm... should we include Matthew in the chat? Or a follow-on one.]
[Not this time, Sarah's thinking in about ten minutes. As for later, see what Maggie thinks. And Sarah.]
“You're... forming a relationship with Prince Matthew?” Sarah asked, surprised.
“We've had three, no four conversations, he's given me and my parents a guided tour of some bits of Atlantis and tea at the palace will constitute the closest thing to a pre-arranged first date. Life is hectic this month.”
“I assume you can see things in him that Maggie doesn't... Last time they came to visit she stayed with friends rather than be anywhere near him.”
“OK. Maybe I won't suggest it.”
“There being rather a lot of gifted parents around this part of the world, Maggie's grown up bumping into their kids quite a bit, so maybe you should be asking her for introductions.”
“That's an idea. It was a real shock to learn that Mystery was a mother. It seems strange to think of meeting people I've been praying for anonymously.”
“Anonymously?”
“I wasn't good at discretion as a child: I outed a couple of Mer before Atlantis started moving, for instance. I guess Mum got into a habit of saying things like 'one of my friends has a daughter with a broken arm.' rather than naming names. I was pretty confused when Karella mentioned Sarah as though I ought to know who you were.”
“So you know the names of people who've called you, but no one else, and you don't know relationships, or any of that?”
“I know Kate and where she works and not talking about that place. I know she has gifted colleagues at work, but not who.”
“Me and John,” Sarah supplied.
“John being your husband John?”
“Yes.”
“I also know Mystery, and that she has a cousin Karen, who's called me once or twice. And that you have the gift makes you the anonymous third cousin but I didn't know that. I think I've heard Karen's husband has the gift, but don't know his name. But as for who has how many children, or ages; I don't know much at all, except I could list them by prayer points.”
“OK, so you're not at a total loss. I'm afraid I haven't been so discreet, so Maggie knows your name, that you're from Mars and have been studying physics with the famous Boris Gravitymaster. Expect envy on that point.”
“There are some Earthlings on the course if she wanted to apply. And since it looks like I'm staying on Earth for a bit, there's space in the Guillemot that brought me here, as far as I know. Term starts in mid-March this cycle.”
“That option probably hasn't occurred to her at all. It didn't to me, anyway.”
“You've no objections?”
“No, but she's not a natural risk taker, never has been. It'd be a huge step for her, possibly too big. But anyway, feel free to suggest it. She's been doing some office-work here, so if you don't think it's too much of a rush...”
“No problem. Like I said, life is hectic this month.”
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GEMSMITH CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS, RESTORATION
“I'm Heather Findhorn-Bunting, and I'm now supposed to meet Maggie Williams,”
Heather said to the receptionist. When she'd arrived, it had been a girl who looked barely out of school, now it was a woman old enough to be her mother. Heather wondered how many receptionists they had and what the rota pattern was.
“Pleased to meet you at last, Heather,” the woman said, “Sarah said you were on your way. I'm May.”
“The May? Please accept my apologies for categorising you as receptionist.”
“I'm at reception, hence receptionist. But you've met Maggie, she was on reception earlier. Purely as someone who's known her all her life, how did she do?”
“Professional manner, welcoming, efficient, and didn't give away any secrets.”
“Good for her. I sent her to make some tea in interview room seven, which is certified sound-proof, bug-proof etc. It's also underground, so the views aren't great, sorry. Access is from the left-most lift over there. The computer will take you straight there.”
“The one that says 'high security lift, no public access?'” Heather asked.
“Yes. It sort of came with the site of the office.”
“Ah. This is where I pass on greetings from Dad's colleague, Will, to everyone who knows him and leave it at that, isn't it?”
“It is indeed,” May said, with a grin. As promised, the lift let Heather into an interview room. Maggie greeted her.
“I'm told you like physics but are thinking of studying history at university.”
“Oh? Mum was listening then?”
“Listening, or listening-in?” Heather asked.
“Listening. She totally failed to react, though. So much for that conversation starter.”
“Do you want to try to enthuse me about history?”
“Not really. It's worth knowing so you don't repeat everyone's mistakes, like invading Russia in winter is a really dumb idea.”
“It's never a good idea to invade Russia.”
“So, that's history out of the way. But to listen to my form teacher, physics is like history, all other people's work, and if I want to be creative I should be an artist or a writer and take a course in that.”
“And do you want to be creative?” Heather asked.
“Not if it involves a manual dexterity or coming up with words to put on a page.”
“How's your maths?”
“School maths is boring.”
“Kid's stuff normally is. You've been reading ahead?”
“Sort of.”
“So, why are you feeling guilty about it?” Heather asked, based on what she saw with othersight.
“I'm not.”
“Please don't lie to me, Maggie. If you don't want to say, say that, but don't say your hair's green with purple spots, or you're not feeling guilty about maths for some reason. They're equally obvious to me, just like Matthew was faking disinterest in my lecture when he thought I was someone else.”
“My thoughts are hidden, we're not touching.” Maggie said. “How do you know?”
“Othersight. As soon as I mentioned maths, a wave of guilt bubbled up in you and your mind turned guilty-looking, and that's when you hid your thoughts. But while hiding your thoughts just makes you less visible in general, like hiding under a blanket, we're close enough that I can still see your mental state under it. Right now, you're very curious, as well as guilty, and a bit scared that you're being confronted about it, I think. It's an important guilty feeling, it goes right into your inmost being, and that bit of you is always visible. Want a picture of how I see you?” Heather offered her hand.
“Did Mum know you can do this?”
“No idea. I didn't tell her, she didn't say. Depends on how much she's talked to seers other than me. She did say it's not always easy having a mum who's gifted. I quite agree. Your guilt twinged at that, too, didn't it?”
“It did,”
“You know,” Heather said, conversationally, “I don't imagine it's very pleasant feeling guilty all the time. But I'm probably saying too much about what I see. It's a habit of mine. Did you hear about when I outed a couple of Mer before Atlantis moved?”
“That was before I was born.”
“I know. The story still circulates though. I was only two or three; a couple of Mer came to Atlantis and apparently I announced they were married, which was rubbish — they were cousins — and he was a boy mermaid and she was a girl mermaid. Much to everyone's confusion since mermaids were a myth.”
“Any other times?”
“Well, I declared that Hathellah was a 'princess Mermaid', I think I announced that she and Boris were engaged, and I certainly told mum she was pregnant.”
“You've got a brother or sister?”
“Twins: Fern and Violet, they're seventeen. They stayed on Mars, giving an occasional look at how the family claims are doing and otherwise earning themselves lots and lots of kilos as tour-guides.”
“They didn't want to come?”
“They're weird: they think physics is boring, plus they've been looking forward to earning pots at influx for a year. Fern's into law, and Violet is quite the investigative journalist. They'll hitch a ride with some Mer some other time, I expect. Have you got any siblings?”
“No. Just me, fourth cousins I see occasionally and honorary first cousins I see every month or so, some of them. When you said Matthew, did you mean prince Matthew?”
“Yes. I hear you don't get on?”
“Everyone assumed we were an item, or going to be an item. I mean? Fourth cousin? Ew... I know it's legal, but...”
“Too close for Mer, too close for Mars, too, these days. Attitudes are rubbing off.”
“And with Mum having the pain, not at all wise.”
“I didn't know that!” Heather said, and saw worry in Maggie's face. “Oh don't worry. I can hold my tongue now. I didn't tell Boris he's been spouting rubbish for ten years, after all, and they're round for tea every other Sunsol. I'd just much rather tell people what I can see in them than listen to lies. Back to Matthew... you don't mind me having plans for him, do you?”
“You mean... you and him?”
“Yes. It seems to be mutual, but he's a bit confused still.”
“But you're not?”
“I'm very carefully not telling him exactly what I see when I look at him. Firstly, he'd probably turn redder than a beetroot if he knew part of it, and secondly I might be wrong about the rest.”
“The first part...”
“Attraction in males of the species is quite noticeable. Their heads start pulsing.”
“Only their heads?”
“Please, Maggie, this is a spiritual gift. I imagine on the merely physical side there are other effects, but what I see is his head pulsing. Well, shrinking rhythmically. You know... the way people say the brain turns off?”
“His head shrinks?”
“Yes. It's quite sweet really. The guy's head shrinks and the link between the two people gets stronger. Less I, more us.”
“And the girl doesn't?”
“Not in such a noticeable way; but yes, more slowly. These days I can tell at a glance if people are siblings, married, probably getting married, or just being silly. It's scary sometimes.”
“Scary?”
“When you see two friends, and they are just not right for each other, or they are right for each other but one of them is dating someone else... So I try not to use it on friends in that way.”
“Are you always so open about your gift?”
“Not normally, no. But we're going to be friends and you needed me to prattle on about something to give you time to decide to trust me.”
“You can see we're going to be friends?”
“Nope, just a total blind stab in the dark, that. Nothing to do with us both growing up isolated from the people around us, keeping secrets for other people, not sure who we can be open with, or if there's anyone we can really be open with, or ever will be, even, except our mothers, of course, who have a nasty habit of forgetting their little girl has got big and some things are best discussed vocally please. And your dad, too, I understand, which must be even more embarrassing, because dads are.”
Maggie found herself giggling. “You're so right. And I do trust you, which is crazy-quick. So, here it is.” She was suddenly serious. “I stole mum's memories.”
“What?”
“Filched the whole lot. Well, stole a copy, anyway.”
“How?”
“We were always close. Mum says we were communicating before I was born, which is ultra-unusual. I used to cry when we were apart, because I wanted her thoughts close. In other words I was a horribly demanding baby. Even when I was about eight, I'd still creep into bed beside her in the middle of the night, and I'd ask wordless questions. Her brain would give the answer, at dream-speed, and so I ended up understanding loads of stuff. I saw how she used her gift, what she could do, and how she made a memory-ball. Have you heard of them?”
“Yes.”
“I know how to do them, I know what being in the Peace is like, but I can't get there myself, of course. I know what it feels like to rummage through someone's thought-processes, I know all sorts of things I shouldn't, and I liked science at school. But then there was something I didn't understand, magnets, I think it was. I guess I was eleven by this time, and I snuck into their room again, and touched fingers, and I quite deliberately asked her unconscious mind if I could have a memory ball of science. I knew it was wrong, but she'd been busy and I wanted to know.”
“I thought memory-balls were just between gifted people.”
“So did mum. I was blindly experimenting and determined to get the answer to my puzzle. So, I asked for a memory ball, and her unconscious mind gave me one. The next afternoon, I woke up at the institute with a blinding headache. I'd been unconscious for twelve hours or so. Mum was in a terrible state, she remembered making the ball for me, in her dream, you see, and thought she'd killed me. She hadn't, but I remember her science classes, and her lectures and her class-mates, and the experiments she's done, her understanding of physics, everything. I'd got a lot of what makes my mum think the way she does, her science label applies to practically everything, business included, except the humanities, and romance. Praise God, I didn't get that. And she claims to have forgotten exactly what the factors are in the Dirac equation, or force-field theory, or whatever, because she doesn't use them. But I've got this memory ball in my mind, baked by her unconscious. It's all in there. And I get confused. If I'm tired, or distracted, I can't tell if it's my memory or hers, sometimes. I sit through a class — which is boring because I remember how her teacher taught it, and then get surprised the teacher's a man not a woman, or that their handwriting has changed, or they don't write the explanation in the same way.”
“Wow,” Heather said.
“You asked why I feel guilty? That's why.”
“So your life for the past few years has been a mixture of learning totally new stuff and studying what you probably remember better than the teacher, and those bits remind you of what you did?”
“Yes.”
“And the evil one as been making you feel constantly accused about it.”
“I know I'm guilty.”
“No, you're constantly reminded of how silly it was to ask for that much. You asked, you didn't take. A more sensible approach would have been to start small, wouldn't it? And it would have been really good to get your mum's conscious agreement, but you obviously got her unconscious agreement, or she wouldn't have made it for you. Therefore, it was not theft.”
“What do you mean, 'a more sensible approach'?”
“You've discovered something new, woman. You bit off more than you wanted and its stuck in your throat, but wow.... I assume you've let someone document you. Or have you just bottled it all up and tried to pretend it didn't happen?”
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“They wrote me up.”
“When?”
“When it happened.”
“And since?”
“No.”
“And have you told anyone, say in the past three years, that you're still getting these flash-backs from your mother's memories?”
“I didn't used to get them.”
“So they're not documented anywhere?”
“Probably not.”
“You've just hidden them away from your parents, cousins, honorary cousins, Kate and everyone? Hey, stop the guilt trip, Maggie! I'm just suggesting it's not sensible, not that it was wrong. You're no thief. Now, thinking of what's sensible... tell me about your University plans. You've got a brain full of out-of-date degree-level physics, am I right?”
“Yes. So it's a mixture of easy and replacing stuff and I don't know what's me and what's mum. Mum found physics easy. Do I or am I just remembering her?”
“Want a little test?”
“Pardon?”
“Want me to give you a little test on some new physics your Mum never learned? And we'll see how easy it is for you?”
“Urm, OK.”
“Do you know anything about type two force-fields?”
“Err, two-dimensionally curved ones, you mean? Mum studied them a bit.”
“No, I mean the sticky sort Dad discovered independently from the Mer, before I was born.”
“Oh! Your Dad is Simon Bunting?”
“Findhorn-Bunting now, yes.”
“That's top-secret stuff!”
“Some bits of it. Not all. Are you interested?”
“Yes!” Maggie was on the edge of her seat.
“You've heard Dad's name, have you heard about the hedgehogs, disks and spikes?”
“Yes.”
“And the relationship between them?”
“Not really, just a small hedgehog makes a big disk and a humongous spike, and it killed Mer.”
“Good start. Have you got a pen, a ruler and some sheets of paper?”
“Is a wrist unit no good?”
“I suppose you could use one,” Heather said, smiling at the absurd thought, “but aren't they too valuable to cut up?”
“I'll try and find some paper.”
“Good idea.”
“There must be some in the building. Somewhere... urm.”
“We can keep it all thought-experiment if you like.”
“Might be easier, just three of four orders of magnitude, you know.”
“OK, imagine you've got a piece of paper. You can leave it as a flat thing, or you can make it into a tube, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Or you can do origami on it and make it into a box and then collapse the box into a spiky thing.”
“Yes.”
“And if you allow it to be cut up and glued, you can make it go in all sorts of different directions, yes?”
“Yes. But as it's the same sheet of paper it's always the same total area.”
“But what about the glue lines?”
“Glue lines?”
“Imagine every time you cut or bend it, you need glue to hold it together.”
“Oh! You'd lose area. And the more complicated you get, the more area! That's why hedgehogs are small!”
“Exactly. Imagine your sheet of paper is initially a three meter diameter circle. When you make it into a spike — actually a thin cylinder, you end up with a spike thirty one point five metres long and a bit under one millimetre diameter. Tell me about the area lost to glue.”
“That's lots. OK, urm. Hold on, that can't be right... your so-called glue area is more than seventy times your surface!”
“Sad isn't it? If I make the tube smaller, the length shrinks.”
“That's really not right, it ought to grow!”
“And the longest pipe I can get from my piece of paper is about thirty eight metres, at around three millimetres diameter. At that point my so-called glue area is about proportional with one over r. Another data point for you. If I make a cone, then the flatter the cone is the bigger its area is.”
“Well that's nice at least, since I guess it avoids sharp transitions,”
Maggie said, then thought for a while. “It's radius of curvature, isn't it? There's some correction, like a subtraction that depends on radius of curvature, in a really strong way. And it's depending more strongly than one over r, when r is small.”
“Well done. Keep talking. I'll tell you it's a multiplier.”
“But... it can't do that, because when the sheet is flat then radius of curvature is infinite. I need something that goes sky high near zero radius of curvature and heads to one or something.... what on earth is it? One plus inverse r? An exponential of one over r?”
“You're close. Exponential of two over pi cube-root of almost pi times r.”
“'Almost pi'?”
“Three point one zero, assuming x is in metres. It's got no physical reason to be pi, of course, it's just close. That's what you get with empirical equations.”
“It could equally be two thirds and another constant inside, couldn't it?”
“Probably. But I don't like exponentials of fractional powers of metres either. At least pi is a sane number when you're dealing with circles.”
“What happens when you bend it in a second dimension?” Maggie asked.
“What would you guess?”
“I'd love it to be right next to the cube root, so that when you bend in three dimensions you get a whole dimension, but that doesn't make sense, does it? You'd never get a reduction when you bent it in one dimension, the infinities would get in the way.”
“You want to bend a two dimensional sheet in three dimensions?” Heather asked, amused.
“OK, I admit it, it's not called that, is it. What is the word. Making it twisty, you know? Unless you've got another dimension to work in, of course.”
“Strangely enough, I have. The one space-time gets warped in by mass.”
“Oooh, fun! Does it work?”
“What?”
“Bending things in that dimension?”
“Pass. Actually... maybe it does, what an interesting thought! We'd probably need a black-hole to test it in a lab of course. Not that I'm really interested in feeding any lab into a black hole. It'd be really embarrassing explaining why everyone's radiation detectors are going off and why there's an accretion disk where the bench used to be.” Maggie was trying not to laugh at the image that conjured up in her mind, Heather saw. “So, I think you're interested in physics, you yourself personally. Do you agree?”
“OK, I'm convinced: physics is fun. But somehow I don't think they study this at the local university.”
“Probably not. But I understand your mother studied there... Isn't it worth thinking about going somewhere else?”
“Radical thought. Where do they teach it?”
“Option one, Mars, the course I've just been on. Option two, Atlantis.”
“Atlantis?”
“Crazy idea I've just had. Did you hear they made me an academician?”
“A what?”
“Member of the Atlantis Academy. Roughly speaking a permanent research and teaching post.”
“Teaching? Who?”
“Whoever wants to be my apprentice. I don't really think I ought to take anyone on yet, not until I work out where I'm going to be based. But it's a possibility. I could try to persuade someone else to though.”
“But Mars is a real option?”
“Closest approach is the twelfth of Feb. Final reaction drive ship leaves a month before.”
“That's not much time.”
“No, and you wouldn't get any cargo if you caught the last one either. Your average student is about half-way to Mars already.”
“I've missed it, then,” Maggie said dejectedly.
“Well, you could catch the first ship after Christmas, I suppose. I know people who've got to Mars with less cargo than you'd get if you did that. But I happen to know a cousin of yours who can borrow a peace Guillemot, and was volunteering to taxi me there just before he decided to ask me out. Actually I've sort of got a date with him tonight, if you can call meeting his family a date.”
“His family... you're invited to the palace?”
“Yes.”
“And you've been on planet Earth for what, a week?”
“Less, actually.”
“Fast work there, Heather.”
“As I thought to Mystery Voice, it wasn't my idea, honest.”
“Hmm, so what was it, love at first sight?”
“I think the fact I totally failed to recognise him helped.”
“Oh, his poor ego!” Maggie said, chortling.
“He's fed up with being eligible bachelor number one to quarter of the planet. The way I'd asked him if he could just get me some plain water when he was handing out drinks really counted in my favour, apparently. And he seems to have a thing about long hair.”
“I thought Martians were supposed to have short hair.”
“That's still going round? That's about twenty-five years out of date. Word of advice, if you do go by reaction ship: as cabin-luggage, take some seeds, concentrated plantfood liquid and growing compound, and get them growing as soon as you're under boost. That way your first harvest is going to be six weeks earlier than most people's. The good thing about taking a reaction ship is you get a lot of adjustment time, you get to learn about the culture, safety things, and so on. It really helps you adjust to Martian thinking. Embassy staff who come that way actually do much better than the ones who come straight to Mars by Guillemot.”
“So you'd actually recommend I ditch everything and catch a flight to Mars in a week?”
“You wouldn't be the first. But no, I'd recommend you spend the time doing other things. Like working out what you'd miss most and if you can take it with you.” Heather heard Maggie decide she couldn't say she'd miss her mother, even though they weren't as close as they ought to be. She smiled. “And if you'll accept some other advice, go hold hands with your mum and tell her what you've told me.”
“I'm not a little girl any more.”
“No, you're not. But you love your mum. I can see that, you're linked to her tightly, but it's painful, which it shouldn't be. I get the feeling you've not held hands with her in a very long time and it's hurting you.
"That's probably feeding into you feeling guilty about the memory accident — which was very Martian, by the way, even if your mother doesn't think you're a risk-taker. But shutting your mother out isn't very sensible either.”
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INSTITUTE FOR THE HUMAN MIND, RESTORATION, FRIDAY 22ND DECEMBER, 4.30PM.
Maggie walked along the underground corridor to the Institute, and came out in the broom cupboard. It had shrunk since she'd last been here. Or maybe she'd grown. The computer flashed her the all-clear and she entered the building-proper. She knocked on her father's office door.
“Yes?” John called.
“Me, Dad.”
“Hello, love! I thought you'd sworn never to set foot in the Institute again?”
“Not really sworn, Dad. I've just been talking to Heather.”
“Oh yes?”
“And among other things, she's convinced me to get documented properly.”
Dr John Williams looked at his teenage daughter, and said “Not an easy decision.”
“No. So, for a second opinion, Dad... Did I steal mum's memories, trick her out of them, or just ask her when she wasn't in a fit state to say no? And is the crippling guilt I've been feeling for years from God or the enemy, like Heather said? And any ideas what to do with these flash-backs I'm getting? And is going to Mars to study a good idea or should I try for Atlantis?”
“Flashbacks?”
“Wrong teacher teaching biology, why are they writing their formulas different to last time, oh it's a different teacher again. Someone's repainted Ivan's lab. Where's the university's science block disappeared to?”
“Mum's memories are leaking?”
“Leaking? They're all there, mixed in with mine. It's not like you once said about a memory ball being like a reference library. I remember being in the university physics lab and getting a crushing head-ache when too many people came in.”
“That's what you meant? That you weren't sure which were your thoughts and which were mum's?”
“Yes. What did you think I meant?”
“That you were fed up with Mum calling you, precious. Like you said.”
“Hearing her thinking physics didn't help.”
“How long has this been going on for?”
“A couple of years. But it's getting worse, along with the guilt.”
“Maggie, you didn't steal the memories. Mum might have said something like it at the time, but you didn't steal them. You couldn't have. We've had this conversation before.”
“We have?” Maggie asked.
“Yes. Maybe you're just more ready to hear it now.”
“I guess so. I know Kate said any time. But that was years ago, and she's retired, and...”
“She meant it love. She'll be glad to have an excuse to come to the institute, I'm sure. Shall I see if she's free?”
“Please.”
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INSTITUTE FOR THE HUMAN MIND, RESTORATION, FRIDAY 22ND DECEMBER, 5PM.
“Want to start at the beginning?” Kate asked.
“Can I try something, Kate?”
“What?”
“I'm remembering... asking mum for the science memory wasn't the first time I'd done it.”
“It wasn't?” Kate asked in surprise.
“No. I asked her about making memory balls. And she gave me the memory ball about making them. Can I try to put one together for you? It'd save time.”
“You think you can?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Not too big a one, girl, the one your mum gave you was a monster.”
“How about I spin one of talking to Heather this afternoon? Would that be OK?”
“Go smaller for now. One aspect of the conversation, first.”
“O.K.” Maggie thought and remembered what she wanted to do. Pull together the thoughts, spin them together and turn them over and over until they'd joined together into a ball. She imagined it happening in her mind, and then offered her hand to Kate.
[Mars, Eh?] Kate thought to her. [Well, girl, you can do that. You sure you don't have the gift?]
[Fairly. Feel free to check.]
[You don't.] Kate said a second later. [So, your Dad said flashbacks?]
[Another ball?]
[Not big, just what you told him and what you told Heather, if that's different.]
[It is a bit. Here.]
[Well, that's interesting!] Kate started taking notes. Mentally asking Maggie for more details, and also any other details about what she'd done to make the memory ball, and how she'd persuaded her mother's unconscious mind to prepare it for her, and all the other things she hadn't told her all those years before. It was like putting down a heavy burden, Maggie found.
[Thank you for listening, Kate.]
[Helpful?]
[Yes. I feel I can serve God properly, now. Does that make sense?]
[You know, young lady?] Kate asked. [I've been wondering lately, why despite plans to the contrary, I've been hanging around here rather than following through on plans and going on a long holiday with Pete before I'm too old to travel. Now I think I know.]
“What, you've been waiting for me to unburden my soul? Thank you, Kate.”
“Don't thank me, let's thank God. Father God, thank you for this talk I've had with Maggie. Use her for your glory as you lead her in the way she should use the gifts you've given her already and any you choose to give her in the future. Bless her with joy and with wisdom as she chooses her path.”
“Thank you, God,” Maggie prayed, “for Kate, for my parents, for Heather and the way she could see through the lies I'd bought into. For May, too, and all she's taught me. Thank you for all these wise people you've surrounded me with, and help me to be a wise teacher too.”
“Amen,” Kate agreed. She looked at the eighteen year old in front of her, with a little smile. “So, Mars, Eh?”
“I don't know. Heather seemed to think Mars or Atlantis were equally possible.”
“And you want to learn all about untapped forces of nature?”
“It sounds like great fun.”
“Not the untapped forces of your mind? Since you seem to have an unusual ability — that is to say your ability to give and receive memory-balls, which we've only seen in people with the gift so far. I'm therefore going to suggest your father needs to apply the prime directive to you.”
“Kate, no!” Maggie exclaimed in protest.
“Once he's persuaded you to sign on, you'd then have a choice of Mars or Earth, or commuting between the two if you can catch lifts. I think Mars isn't a bad idea at all if you're thinking of going there anyway. I'll give you a couple of hours to tell your parents.”
“Kate! I don't want a job. I've got to study.”
“Yes, exactly. Study how you can do what you do, and maybe get Heather to give you a few selective memory-balls, if she can. If you can teach others without the gift how to do it too then you've got a wonderful tool for training people.”
“A dangerous tool. Those flashbacks are worrying.”
“And probably a sign of stress.”
“And if they're not, if they're a sign that I've given myself some kind of brain-damage?”
“All the more reason to spend some time in a brain-scanner, don't you think?”
“I'm going to leave before you convince yourself you need to chain me into one of Horace's machines.”
“What a thing to suggest, Maggie!” Kate laughed. “Go talk to your parents.”
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THE PALACE, RESTORED KINGDOM, 6.30PM, FRIDAY 22ND.
[Don't worry, Heather, you're expected.] Mystery thought to her as she approached the security gate. There were a number of armed guards outside, some in plain clothes, but obvious to her othersight.
[Is this level of security normal?] Heather asked.
[Not really. Security levels are a bit higher than normal, there's this special guest coming. Bella, say 'hi' to Heather.]
“Hello Heather, this way.” Bella said.
[For the record, you haven't been followed.] Eliza told her, as she went through the gate beside Bella.
[Yes I have, there was a Security guy with a great big fluffy dog outside the flat, pretending to be tying his shoe-laces, and he followed me all the way until the last corner. And there was someone on the other side of the street by then too.]
[OK, you haven't been followed by anyone I don't know.]
“Your husband's just coming, Bella,” Heather volunteered, glancing over her shoulder. “And the dog is yours too?”
“Yes,” Bella said, “He's called Mutt. His dad was called Fido.”
“I don't know if you know, but he's not very well.”
“He's been a bit off his food, but...”
“I'm no expert on any kind of animals, Bella, but I noticed he's got an infection. It's near his back legs, it might be his kidneys or something.”
“You're sure?”
“Infection, ninety percent; part of body, very; organ, not at all. I hope it's not cancer, that can look like an infection in some lights.”
“Thank you,” Bella said, “I guess I'll take him to the vet.”
“You're taking it very calmly. Who warned you?” Heather asked.
“No one. But I've met Emilia Knifeteacher.”
“She's a good teacher.”
“I did hear she'd taught you the womanly arts, which is why we didn't quite escort you all the way.”
“Some of them, anyway. Mum taught me to cook.”
“That's a handy skill too. So... could you tell me which way we need to go?”
“Maybe, it depends. The answer might not be where you think we need to go. That door on the left.”
“Really? OK,” And Bella led her into a side room. “Hello you two. Apparently we need to come here first.”
“Oh yes?” George said.
“Don't ask me,” Bella said, looking at Heather.
“Hello,” Heather said, “I'm almost as in the dark as Bella.” She looked around the room. “Ah.” She deliberately decided the gifted woman with the gifted husband must be Karen. “It's nice to meet you after so long, but that is not trustworthy,” she indicated a plant in the corner.
“No?” George said, surprised. “It's been here a long time.”
There was a watering can behind the plant. “Someone was very clever,” Heather commented, looking at it.
[Would you like to be less cryptic, Heather?] Karen asked her.
[I see this {image}.] Heather thought back. [Bugs, I presume. In some gel. I guess slow-dissolving.] The still-embedded ones were about two millimetres long, there were a few on top of the plant's soil, a slightly different shape.
[Implanted in the spout?] Karen thought.
[Every time someone waters something, a bit of the gel dissolves. When it has dissolved enough, the next bug gets deployed, somewhere no one would notice another little dot. Here's one.] She picked up the object, and showed it to Bella and Karen. [See the way it's folded compared to the others? I think that changes the circuit somehow. Oh, and they're in a mesh-network.]
[Security breach.] Karen called to everyone who could hear. [Someone needs to check every watering can for small black objects embedded the inside of the spout. Use written communication. And bug-sweep all plants, inside and outside. I'm informed it's a mesh network.]
[Who informed you of that.] Mystery asked Karen.
[Any other seers around here? It was Heather. When did the new watering cans arrive?]
[A week ago, I think.] George replied.
[I wonder if we're facing a compromised supplier, or the delivery driver?]
[I hate to think. Something like this takes quite some planning. And someone failed to scan them properly.]
[Plastic watering cans... Her majesty thought it'd be nice for them to match colours with the rooms, so they were ordered. Otherwise we'd have just sent someone down to a shop. But for all we know an entire shipment has been made like that.]
[That's a lot of bugs.] George thought, [but... it's possible. They'd form a network anywhere they can, then some visitor could bring in some trigger device.]
[Heather,] Mystery asked her, [do you have any objections to using your gift to solve this?]
[You think I can? I'd have thought finding where they came from would be in your gift's area.]
[Heather's just suggested we could look for where they came from.] Eliza told George, Karen and Bella. [Well, Heather, I've just looked for people that gave the order to bug the palace, the answer is: no-one, anywhere in the solar system. That's why I was wondering about a whole shipment.]
[So it was just a random trawl?] Bella asked, and Karen relayed, adding her own thought: [or someone just decided to try to bug us, on their own initiative?]
[Maybe. But having searched the solar system, I'm a bit too hot to go looking,] Mystery thought.
[Asking the right question is important.]
[What's wrong with 'Who put them here?'] Heather suggested.
[We did, we just didn't know about them,] George thought. [And we don't want to ask who made them, because that just points to the factory, which doesn't tell us very much. Likewise who designed them: you get a team of maybe a dozen people who have no idea what they're working on. Maybe they even have some kind of life-saving role, like they could have been designed as some kind of preemptive thing intended for spotting earthquake survivors, and some-one switched the software on them.]
[Or might switch the software,] Bella added [I take it not trustworthy isn't the same as guilty, after all.]
[We obviously need to get the things to a secure lab,] George thought to the others, [and then someone needs to work out how they got past scanning.]
[And I routinely check to see if anyone is bringing any bugs,] Mystery added.
[But if they weren't bugs at the time, just inactive network relays, they might be able to slip past you,] Heather pointed out, [that's not just hypothetical, by the way. The ones still buried in the gel look like innocent electronics to me. Only the folded ones are suspicious.]
[Very clever,] Eliza thought, then added, [Bella, can you bring Heather up? I'd like her to look at our plant pots around here, before I start discussing this aloud.]
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THE PALACE, RESTORED KINGDOM, 8.30PM, FRIDAY 22ND.
Heather's meal with the royal family didn't really go as she'd expected. She'd barely had time to share a smile with Matthew before being whisked into their majesty's family dining room. Once there, the topic of conversation had stayed centred on the listening devices and their origin, and Heather found her gift being stretched in unexpected directions: at her suggestion, a map was produced to start with. Where would they go to find devices that were being listened to? Almost every prosperous country on Earth, it seemed. Where would they find the person listening? (the same places) Which part of the world should they go to find who planned for the devices to be sent? (China). Then, apparently in an extension of a technique that princess Eliza had used before, different sorts of questions were written down on scraps of paper and she had to choose the best-looking pieces. Heather didn't even see all the questions, just the folded pieces of paper. Some of the questions she'd been able to reject even as the author had started to write them.
The best, however, they did show her: 'what organisations was the target aimed against?' and 'what were they trying to find?'. Once those answers had been fed to the people from Communications, everyone was finally able to grab a bite to eat, but it wasn't the leisurely meal that had been planned.
The king apologetically put the meat back in the refrigerator; there wasn't time to cook it before people arrived for yet another phase of the crisis response: a meeting with various government officials. So Heather ate bread and butter, and discovered a salty spread called Marmite.
“You realise,” Heather said, enjoying the delicacies, “that the idea of bread as a staple is almost shocking on Mars? This here is once-a-year celebration food to me.”
“Well, I won't feel too bad about not cooking for you then!” His majesty said, with a grin. “Staples are still root vegetables?”
“Yes. You might get up to two and a half tonnes per hectare for grains, and forty or fifty tonnes for potatoes. Carrots can be even better, if you treat them properly. There's some semi-protected outside fields for grains, mainly India and China still trying to persuade Mars that rice works there, but rice likes it warm. Wheat, oats and barley grow better, and root veg is still king.”
Matthew processed that a bit more. “So you really don't get any flour products on Mars?”
“Wheat-flour? Not really, well, special occasions only. You can do a lot of things you'd use wheat for with potatoes, it's not quite the same though. Rule one: ignore all Earth-recipes.”
“I didn't realise.... And every Martian knows all about crop yields per hectare?”
“There might be some who don't. Not many though.”
“Back to the bugs, if we may...” the king said, and the conversation returned to that topic. One conclusion that princess Eliza's searches had been reached was that the palace hadn't been the intended target. Heather's conclusion - reached with her thoughts hidden — was that the royal family (even without the use of supernatural gifts) were effective at crisis management. The security crisis wasn't solved, but by their use of her gift and Eliza's the parameters had been made clear enough that sensible questions about how to proceed could now be asked. The king asked a few more of her, and turned to a grey-haired woman who'd silently entered.
“Mabel, apart from young Heather here having a very practical gift, and that some people have too many bugs, what do we know so far?” His majesty the king asked the head of Communications.
“We know that old age is creeping up on us, your majesty,” Mabel said, “and that some young people are fiendishly clever, just like we were at that age. Other than that, we know that these things came from China, and my educated guess is that it's state-sponsored industrial espionage. I say state sponsored, because there have been questions coming out of China asking trade representatives things like 'how effective the trial seems to be' and 'have you any sign of angry customers?' Maria, no, sorry, Eliza, sends word that the lab says the mesh network is an ultra-low energy pulse transmission on a frequency slightly off the normal wrist unit frequency, and that they don't seem to be transmitting anything other than network maintenance packets so far. Fuller results to be expected in the morning.”
“So they're not active at the moment,” the queen said.
“Not in the lab, no.”
“That's a relief, at least,” princess Eliza said. “Now, Mabel, what I also want to know is if whether any of your mathematicians need a new challenge.”
“There are always some,” Mabel said.
“That's what I thought. Heather's going to have a project with top-secret designs and principles. It needs people who can think their way through maths that makes my toenails curl up. We're talking a long project, probably, decades, but as long as they're sworn to secrecy, then from what I understand there could probably be some rotation. Probably some physicists would come in handy too, am I right, Heather?”
“Urm, yes,” Heather said, surprised at the turn of the conversation. “And electronic engineers. I've predicted we'll be looking for small phase changes in gamma ray and laser signals, that sort of thing.”
“And she needs a secure lab, probably linked to the Mars University or Atlantis.”
“I believe I've heard some rumours about your work in the last day or two,” Mabel said to Heather. “Interstellar drive?”
“Possibly, eventually.”
“What an exciting time to be young,” Mabel said. “You're thinking of a remote location?”
“The gravity here isn't easy on Heather.” Matthew said. “There are relevant physicists on Mars and in Atlantis.”
Prince Albert said, “I think there ought to be an opportunity for a three-way split, with rotation between centres. Maths and computer modelling could mainly be here, probably on floor minus three, Mabel, to keep things under wraps. Physics mainly on Mars, engineering mainly under Mer auspices. Heather, am I right that to presume some quantum-network based simulation would help?”
Heather suddenly realised what was being offered. The Restored Kingdom might not be large, but from what she'd heard the Communications interception department had the finest quantum computing designers in the solar system. And he was right, at this level of reality, quantum computing offered real possibilities. “You're right, I expect it would be very useful.”
“I assume Sarah has offered you something tempting too?” princess Eliza asked.
“Well, she didn't offer me quantum simulation, but she did make some offers. And told me I needed to read the small-print before signing anything.”
“Of course you do,” the king agreed. “Whatever you get offered. Next question... since we're talking scarce national resources, what does the nation get out of lending you some of our finest minds?”
“How about very close collaboration with stuff that's at the cutting edge of Mer technology?” Heather asked.
“You're thinking just knowledge, or practical spin-offs too?” Matthew asked.
“I think spin-offs, with appropriate export controls as normal. I'd imagine that there ought to be some manufacturing that can happen here even if we let the Mer do the really fiddly stuff.”
“Hmm. What like?” prince Albert asked.
“Personal radiation-proof force-fields?” Heather suggested. “It's relevant: everyone on the test-sites ought to have one. And they have numerous other applications. And when you can make them, direct-conversion fusion-power is just round the corner.”
“Hold on. I thought that was one of the things we weren't allowed to learn about?” Matthew said.
She looked at him for a while, before shrugging. “It's not taught, no.”
“But you know how?” he asked.
“So should you, if you think about it long enough. I'm not saying you'd get permission to make Mer pocket-sized fusion reactors, like we did for class, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind you replacing the whole heat exchanger thing.”
“Bringing an instant reduction in reactor weight as well as better efficiency,” her majesty said, breaking the long silence that followed.
“Yes.” Heather agreed.
“And you think Atlantis will agree?” Albert checked.
“I think so, yes. It's a peaceful application of what they've been teaching lots of people.”
“Even though it's potentially got military uses?” Eliza asked.
“So does a radiation shield. Better anti-meteoriod armor for space ships can stop bullets, and my little knife here,” she tapped her waist, “cuts more than paper. But I don't think anyone in this room wants to start a war.”
“You don't think, or you're just checking?” Albert asked.
Heather looked at Eliza. “No one was eager when you spoke of military uses, your highness, were they?”
“No. You noticed me checking?”
“When a gifted person uses the gift, it's quite obvious to me, yes. You shimmer and reach out to fill the room.”
“And you don't get heat problems?”
“I'm just keeping my eyes open, that's not hard to do. It's not like I need to ramp my brain up to decode billions of synapses firing every second. What you do is hard.”
“Thank you for saying so. But when I look for people, that gets me hot too.”
“Yes. I can't do specific hunting like that for long, either. But too long for me is a couple of hours, not a few minutes. You get more precise information, I get less detail for longer.”
“And your gift works even looking at someone through a camera?” Luke, Matthew's younger brother asked.
“It can, yes. Not... well, naturally isn't exactly the right thing to say, but if I ask specifically, the Lord sometimes shows me, and sometimes if I don't ask.”
“Then if I may change the subject... you've met the Tsarina a number of times,” the king said. “How would you describe her?”
“A friend. Firm but kind; generous. And under an awful lot of stress these days.”
“How much do you know about that?” Eliza asked.
“More than I'd willingly talk about,” Heather said guardedly. There'd been no formal announcement about Svetlana's pregnancy, after all, let alone that it was at risk.
“We are aware “, the king said “of problems within the Russian armed forces, and the allegations of corrupt practices at the steelworks on Mars. But would I be right to think it's not just those situations that are making her cancel meetings?”
“I think that's a safe bet,” Heather confirmed.
“Your mother reported that she expected the Tsarina would be cancelling some meetings,” Eliza said, “her report was entirely correct, and totally devoid of details.”
“And she wouldn't say any more?” Heather asked, curiously.
“She said we could ask you if we wanted to.”
“That's a nice evasive answer,” Heather said.
“Heather,” Eliza asked, “When the ruler of a country as big and as significant as Russia suddenly changes plans and cancels long-planned meetings, other leaders gets worried. You clearly know something. Do I take it there's nothing we need to worry about?”
“OK, let me tell you that part of the reason Svetlana is cancelling appointments is a cryptic message I asked mum to pass on. Please feel free to pass the word around that there's nothing military or political going on.”
“But you don't want to tell us what is going on?” Eliza asked.
“Highness, our gifts are different. Your gift is available for you to use but most of the time you don't use it, indeed you mustn't. Mine is different. I can choose not to use it, just like I can choose to walk around with my eyes shut, but it feels almost that alien to me, and it takes concious effort. I have no desire to misuse my gift, but misusing it to me is far more a case of breaking people's privacy and passing on what I've seen than not having my eyes open. Please allow me to not break my vow as a truthsayer and use my absolute discretion about which secrets of people's hearts I reveal to others' scrutiny. I don't think God showed me what he did so we could gossip about it.”
“You're saying it's a purely a private matter?” prince Albert asked.
“I'd rather just drop the whole subject, your highness.”
“What I think we really want to know, Heather,” the queen said, “is if we need to worry. I think you're saying we don't.” Heather nodded.
“And the next question is if we can in any way help.”
“I don't think so, maam, beyond pray.” Heather said. Then she saw she was wrong, as one aspect of the queen's person, that of a weeping mother, came in focus to her othersight. “Oh. I'm wrong about that. May we speak privately, your majesty?”
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