“All people
in Canada are the same age... more or less. Maybe this guy” – Alighieri tapped
one of the tubes, belonging to an old, well-dressed man – “would never date a
19-year-old girl normally, ‘cause he’d be so much older and people talk. Now,
they’re chronologically 519 and 570-whatever, it’s not so much of a
difference.”
“I don’t
know. I would think it’s physical age that counts. You know the Half-Life
series? There was a scientist who got frozen like this, which I think was to do
with his job. Chronologically, he was about 40 and he had a girlfriend who was
20-something – a baby when they froze him – but it was OK because physically he
was in his twenties too.”
“Half-Life –
what was that, like, mid-1900s?”
“About 2000
onwards, I think. I’ve forgotten most of school now.”
“God damn it,
I hate these suits.”
“The temperature control gone again? Hold on a minute.”
Blake stood
behind Alighieri, drawing a nano case from his pocket and tipping the tiny
robot onto Alighieri's shoulder. The nano's spindly legs unfolded, and it started scuttling
over the suit panels, chirping quietly as it tuned up the suit. The only other noise was the weird, pulsing hum of the tubes.
“Ah, there it
is. Right, let’s get going.”
“Come on...” He teased the nano back into the case and shut it. “Ah, we’re making
good time. We’re already almost at the Memorial.”
A stone column
stood a few hundred metres ahead, with a light burning at the top.
“Weird to have a memorial when they’re still alive.”
“Barely. Even
if they did come back, how would they cope?”
“Still weird.”
“You know
they brought a new high-intensity beam up from CalTech last week?”
“No?”
“Kept it
pointed at one of the tubes until it overheated, and there wasn’t a scratch
there afterwards. Heated up everything around it – the technicians got
first-degree burns even through the suits – but the tube wasn’t even warm.”
“Shit.”
“So what’s
she like?”
“Who?”
“You know, this
woman – Carin?”
“I only met
her once. She’s OK, I guess. She’s not, like, a tramp or anything, and Dad
seems happy.”
They stood a
moment, as Curators always did, at the base of the Memorial. There was an
engraved plate on it, and through constant cleaning and the dry, cold atmosphere, it had escaped corrosion
and dirt.
PLANET EARTH
ONTARIO CONTACT MEMORIAL
ON 19 SEPTEMBER 2010, THIS SPACECRAFT LANDED ON THE SURFACE OF LAKE ONTARIO,
BRINGING THE FIRST KNOWN EXTRATERRESTRIAL VISITORS TO EARTH. ON 24 FEBRUARY
2011, AFTER A PERIOD OF MUTUAL INTER-SPECIES COOPERATION, THEY PERSUADED THE
ENTIRE CANADIAN POPULATION TO BE CRYOGENICALLY FROZEN ABOARD THE SHIP. IT IS
NOT KNOWN HOW THE POPULATION WERE PERSUADED SO EFFECTIVELY, BUT THE MESSAGE
APPEARS TO HAVE MET WITH NO RESISTANCE. THE VISITORS THEMSELVES DIED FOR UNKNOWN
REASONS SOON AFTERWARDS. THEIR MOTIVES REMAIN UNDISCOVERED, AND IT IS UNKNOWN
AS OF THIS DATE WHETHER OR NOT CANADA CAN EVER REAWAKEN.
24 FEBRUARY 2011
33, 659,212 CANADIAN CITIZENS CRYOGENICALLY PRESERVED
24 VISITORS DECEASED
“I still find
the whole thing bizarre.”
“Yeah. What
could persuade someone to be frozen aboard the ship?”
“And of
course the skeleton crew.”
“You ever go
up and see ‘em?”
“The Pilots?
I have done a couple of times, but the lockdown’s so strict it takes days.”
“I heard they
found out one of those cables they got is like a vein, and it pumps blood all
around the Pilots and the ship.”
“That’s an
urban legend, just like the Escaped Canadians that are supposed to be out in
the wilderness.”
“I got some
pretty good sources.”
“Can we just
send the signal and get home? The second shift’ll be along in a minute.”
“Sure.”
They walked
briskly down another corridor of freeze-tubes and turned into the central space
of the ship: a 200-metre high cavern lined with more of the tubes, row upon
row, a silent regiment of the nearly-dead. At the centre, at the end of a long
walkway, a single black column rose up through the middle of the space, its perfectly
smooth surface covered with bright swirls of colour, constantly moving and combining
into new symbols, though none were recognisable. A large metal collar had been fitted
to the column, with square components and displays that looked clumsily
incongruous. Blake tapped at the computer on his wrist, speaking
slowly into his helmet mic.
“1947, 15 December 2511, Curators Blake and Alighieri sending
daily contact signal. This will be contact signal number 19C/1783. All
diagnostics show transduction collar and comms equipment is fully functional.
Initiating signal.”
He tapped the
computer again. The collar began lighting up, and the swirling shapes on the
column stopped moving and drew themselves into straight vertical lines,
shooting up the column. As always, this continued for a few seconds before
returning to normal. As always, there was no response.
“Right.
That’s us done.”
“Let’s go.”
“What does your mother think of all this,
then?”
“She hates it
when I talk about work. I think she’s a little creeped out by it all.”
Alighieri looked pointedly at the Memorial as they passed it.
“No, your father leaving to be with Carin.”
“Oh, that. Honestly,
I don’t think she was really surprised. She was perfectly nice about it when
she helped him move his stuff out.”
“Stoical.”
“What?”
The sudden
emergency signal alarm in their earpieces cut through the silence.
“This is New
York Control to all Contact Site Curators, come in please.”
“Control,
this is Blake and Alighieri just coming off-shift. What’s the problem?”
“They’ve
landed again – everywhere this time! They’re in Boston, LA, London... get down
here!”
“Wait, the
Visitors have landed again?”
“Yeah, and
this time they’re working fast. They already got their... message or whatever
out on TV and most of the net... it’s like a fuckin’ riot out there, they’re
all going for the ships.”
“Well, is
anyone stopping them?”
“We tried, damn
it! Listen – I don’t have much time before they get the encrypted freqs and the
military AIs. Don’t let them get you too – turn off all the comms and you might
make it.”
“What can we
do, though?”
“I’m sorry,
this is it. 1953, last transmission of Colonel Milton. Goodbye.”
They heard
the growling metallic report of the Colonel’s Hydra sidearm, and then nothing.
There was a
procedure in place for dealing with this. Swearing intermittently, they
switched off every device on the suits – computers, radios, helmet screens, even
the backup indicators – and ran, their boots clanging on the walkway, past the rows
of tubes.
The shuttle
was still on the dock, and they were almost at the door when Alighieri grabbed
Blake.
“What?”
“The message
probably already got in there! We gotta turn off the comms from the maintenance
panel!”
Moving
quickly around the aircraft’s elegant, tapering tail, Aligheri unlocked and
opened the panel at the rear. Blake followed and tipped the nano in, shouting
“Deactivate all communications systems!” The arachnid robot scuttled over the
shuttle systems, pausing a moment as though to sniff out its objective. Finding
the comms power supply, it destroyed it with a second-long arc of electricity
before doing the same to the backup. As the nano returned to Blake’s case,
Alighieri kicked the comms unit repeatedly, until the casing caved in.
“Come on,
let’s fucking go!”
The shuttle
ride back to New York took five minutes of silent panic, watching the roads
grow ever more crowded with people as they flew into the city. The sky was
completely empty. It wasn’t long before they could see the Visitors’ ship on
the horizon, its sleek black form towering above several of the Manhattan
arcologies. Drawing closer, they could see it had landed in Central Park,
covering most of the park’s area.
“God damn... what the
hell do we do now?”
“I... I don’t
know. Land it on that roof and we can think.”
The shuttle
came gently down onto the 20th-floor rooftop, and they watched the
crowd pouring into the ship.
“Well, I
don’t think we can persuade them.”
“We got no
weapons, we can’t use any of the comms...”
They sat in
silence for nearly an hour. The crowd remained as thick as ever.
“There’s just
one thing we could try.”
“What?”
“Ask people
about the message, but face-to-face. Maybe it wouldn’t work if it was a person telling
us, and we could work out a way to stop this.”
There was
another long silence.
“Yeah. Guess
it’s all we can do.”
Emerging from
the abandoned apartment block, where most of the doors had been left open, they
found themselves in front of the crowd. Blake turned towards one of them, a
soldier who had got rid of his weapons and armour.
“Excuse me?
Could you tell me why you’re doing this?”
The soldier
stared past him and continued walking. Alighieri grabbed him by his shoulders,
shouting into his face.
“WHY? WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL DOING THIS?”
The soldier
suddenly became aware of them, and spoke softly as he held Alighieri's gaze.
“We will
fulfil our destiny.”
He leaned
towards them, whispering excitedly into their ears, and told them all they
needed.
Blake and Alighieri thanked him. The
three turned and walked towards the ship.