David bristled. “Is that a problem for you, Hiram?”
“You know how much I rely on your work. But I can’t help feel that you’re missing the point here.”
“The point? The point about what?”
“The WormCam. What’s really significant about the ’Cam is what it’s doing out there.” He gestured at the window.
“Seattle?”
Hiram laughed. “Everywhere. And this is before the past-viewing stuff really starts to make an impact.” He seemed to come to a decision. He put his glass down. “Listen. Come take a trip with me tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“The Boeing plant.” He gave David a card; it bore a SmartDrive bar code. “Ten o’clock?”
“All right. But.”
Hiram stood up. “I regard myself as responsible for completing your education, son. I’ll show you what a difference the WormCam is making.”
Bobby brought Mary, his half-sister, to Kate’s abandoned cubicle in the Wormworks.
Mary walked around the desk, touching the blank SoftScreen lying there, the surrounding acoustic partitions. It was all clinically neat, spotless, blank. “This is it?”
“Her personal stuff has been cleared away. The cops took some items, work stuff. The rest we parcelled up for her family. And since then the forensics people have been crawling all over.”
“It’s like a skull the scavengers have licked clean.”
He grimaced. “Nice image.”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes. But…”
But, he thought, there was still some ineffable Kateness about this anonymous desk, this chair, as if in the months she had spent here she had somehow impressed herself on this dull piece of spacetime. He wondered how long this feeling would take to fade away.
Mary was staring at him. “This is upsetting you, isn’t it?”
“You’re perceptive. And frank to a fault.”
She grinned, showing diamonds — presumably fake — studding her front teeth. “I’m fifteen years old. That’s my job. Is it true WormCams can look into the past?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Well, is it?”
“…Yes.”
“Show her to me.”
“Who?”
“Kate Manzoni. I never met her. Show her to me. You have WormCams here, don’t you?”
“Of course. This is the Wormworks.”
“Everyone knows you can see the past with a WormCam. And you do know how to work them. Or are you scared? Like you were scared of coming here.”
“Up, if I may say so, yours. Come on.”
Irritated now, he led her to the cage elevator which would take them to David’s workstation a couple of levels below.
David wasn’t here today. The supervising tech welcomed Bobby and offered him help. Bobby made sure the rig was online, and declined further assistance. He sat at the swivel chair before David’s desk and began to set up the run, his fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar manual keys glowing in the SoftScreen.
Mary had pulled up a stool beside him. “That interface is disgusting. This David must be some kind of retro freak.”
“You ought to be more respectful. He’s my half brother.”
She snorted. “Why should I be respectful, just because old man Hiram couldn’t keep from emptying his sack? Anyhow, what does David do all day?”
“David is working on a new generation of WormCams. It’s something called squeezed-vacuum technology. Here.” He picked out a couple of references from David’s desk and showed them to her; she flicked through the close-printed pages of equations. “The dream is that soon we’ll be able to open up wormholes without needing a factory full of superconducting magnets. Much cheaper and smaller.”
“But they will still be in the hands of the government and the big corporations. Right?”
The big SoftScreen fixed to the partition in front of them lit up with a fizz of pixels. He could hear the whine of the generators powering the big, clumsy Casimir injectors in the pit below, smell the sharp ozone tang of powerful electric fields; as the machinery gathered its huge energies, he felt, as always, a surge of excitement, anticipation.
And Mary was, to Bobby’s relief, silenced, at least temporarily.
The static snowstorm cleared, and an image — a little blocky, but immediately recognizable — filled up the SoftScreen.
They were looking down over Kate’s cubicle, a couple of floors above them here at the Wormworks. But what they saw now was no cleaned-out husk. Now, the cubicle was lived-in. A SoftScreen was slewed at an angle across the desk, and data scrolled across it, unremarked, while a frame in one corner bore what looked like a news broadcast, a talking head with miniature graphics. There were more signs of work in progress: a cut-off soda can adapted as a pencil holder, pens and pencils scattered over the desk with big yellow legal pads, a couple of hard-copy newspapers folded over and propped up.
But what was more revealing — and heartbreaking — was the kipple, the personal stuff and litter that defined this as Kate’s space and no other: the steaming coffee in a therm-aware cup, scrunched up food wrappers, a prop-up calendar, an ugly, angular 1990s-style digital clock, a souvenir portrait — Bobby and Kate against the exotic background of RevelationLand — tacked ironically to one partition.
The chair was pushed back from the desk, and was still rotating, slowly. We missed her by seconds, he thought.
Mary was staring intently at the image, mouth open, fascinated by this window into the past — as everybody was, the first time. “We were just there. It’s so different. It’s incredible.”
…And now Kate walked from offstage into the image, as Bobby had known she would. She was wearing a simple, practical smock, and a lick of hair was draped over her forehead, catching her eyes. She was frowning, concentrating, her fingers on the keyboard even before she had sat down. He found it hard to speak. “I know.”
The Boeing VR facility turned out to be a chamber fitted with row upon row of open steel cages — perhaps a hundred of them, David speculated. Beyond glass walls, white-coated engineers moved among brightly lit banks of computer equipment.
The cages were gimbaled to move in three dimensions, and each of them contained a skeletal suit of rubber and steel, fitted with sensors and manipulators. David was strapped tightly into one of these, and he had to fight feelings of claustrophobia as his limbs were pinned in place. He waved away the genital attachment — which was absurdly huge, like a vacuum flask. “I don’t think I’ll be needing
A female tech held a helmet up before his head. It was a hollowed-out mass of electronics. Before it descended, he looked for Hiram. His father was in a cage at the other end of a row a few ranks ahead of him.
“You seem a long way away.”
Hiram raised a gloved hand, flexed his fingers. “It won’t make a difference once we’re immersed.” His voice echoed in the cavernous hall. “What do you think of the facility? Pretty impressive, huh?” He winked.
David thought of the Mind’sEye, Bobby’s simple headband apparatus — a few hundred grams of metal which, by interfacing directly to the central nervous system, could replace all this total- touch-enclosure Boeing gadgetry. Once more, it seemed, Hiram had a winner.
He let the tech drop the helmet over his head, and he was suspended in darkness…
…which cleared slowly, murkily. He saw Hiram’s face hovering before him. It was illuminated by a soft red light.
“First impressions,” Hiram snapped. He stepped back, revealing a landscape.
David glanced around. Water, a sloping gravelly ground, a red sky. When he moved his head too rapidly the image crumbled, winking into pixels, and he could feel the helmet’s heavy movement.
The horizon curved, quite sharply, as if he were viewing it from some great altitude. And on that horizon there were low, eroded, hills, whose shoulders reflected in the water.
The air seemed thin, and he felt cold.
He said, “First impressions? A beach at sunset… But that’s no sun I ever saw.”
The “sun” was a ball of red light, fading to a yellow orange at its centre. It was sitting on the sharp, mist-free horizon, and was flattened to a lens shape, presumably by refraction. But it was immense: much bigger than the sun of Earth, a red-glowing dome covering perhaps a tenth of the sky. Perhaps it was a giant, he mused, a bloated, ageing star.
The sky was deeper than a sunset sky, too: intense crimson overhead, scarlet around that hulking sun, black beyond. But even around the sun the stars shone — in fact, he realized, he could make out glimmering stars
Just to the right of the sun was a compact constellation that was hauntingly familiar: that W shape was surely Cassiopeia, one of the most easily recognizable star figures — but there was an extra star to the left of the pattern, turning the constellation into a crude zigzag.
He took a step forward. The gravel crunched convincingly, and he could feel sharp stones beneath his feet — though he wondered if the pressure points on his soles matched what he saw on the ground.
He walked the few paces to the water’s edge. Ice glinted on the rocks, and there were miniature floes extending out into the water a meter or so. The water was flat, almost still, heaving with a soft, languid slow motion. He bent and inspected a pebble. It was hard, black, heavily worn. Basalt? Underneath there was a glint of a crystalline deposit-salt, perhaps. Some bright star behind him brought out yellow-white highlights on the stone, even casting a shadow.
He straightened up and hurled the rock out over the water. It flew long but slow — low gravity? — eventually hitting the water with a feeble splash; fat ripples spread in languid circles around the impact point.
Hiram was standing beside him. He was wearing a simple engineer’s jumpsuit with the Boeing roundel on the back. “Figured out where you are yet?”
“It’s a scene from a science-fiction novel I once read. An end-of-the-world vision.”
