‘I do not. I have deliberately purged all knowledge of your actions from my memory. You have to act of your own free will.’
‘You know about Su, though.’
‘Su’s choice is a forgone conclusion. What is there for her here? Her family are back there.’
‘It’s a tough one, isn’t it?’ he said, but he already knew what he wanted.
The transference hall had been packed with people earlier. Now it was empty — emptier than Rico had ever known. The thirty or forty levels — Rico could never remember the exact number — were silent. No one was entering or leaving the Home Time; no technicians were working on the chambers. His footsteps rang on the metal grid beneath him.
‘It’s almost over,’ said Jontan. His services had been retained for just a while longer — he could symb, Rico still couldn’t — and he was tuned to a news channel inside his head. Even he had picked up on the significance of what was going on. ‘This is amazing. They’re actually counting down to the end of an era.’
‘Uh huh,’ Rico said. The back of his neck still tingled with the recent injection of the symb seeds that were now regrowing their network inside his head.
They came to a chamber, standing with its doors open, and Jontan peered inside with interest. He had only seen one of these twice in his life, and not recently.
‘You remember it as bigger and older?’ Rico said.
Jontan smiled. ‘Just bigger.’ Then his smile faded. ‘This is it. They’ve reached ten.’
He stepped back slightly and looked around to take in as much of the hall as he could.
‘… Seven, six, five…’
He stopped speaking out loud but mouthed the words silently. And then he reached one.
Something stopped. Rico frowned and looked around. Something had been there, like the quiet, unnoticed hum of air conditioning at night, or a vibration through the soles of his feet, filtered out by the brain… and when it had stopped it had made just as much an impact as a sudden bang.
‘It’s over,’ Jontan said quietly, and Rico realized what it was. He reached out and put his hand gently against the side of the chamber. It was still, cold steel. No hum, no energy. Every chamber in the transference hall was dead. Deep beneath the College, Morbern’s singularity had collapsed into nothing and the Home Time was no more.
‘Now what?’ he said, wishing those symb seeds would grow back more quickly. Jontan’s eyes were unfocused as he followed the images inside his head.
‘A lot of meaningless chatter from the commentators — right — here it comes. Another countdown. They’re about to trigger the new singularity. Um, nine, eight…’
Again, at five he started counting silently, and at one…
The noise didn’t just come back like that. It piled up over a couple of seconds, like being inside a vast machine that had just started up. But it was back, in a matter of seconds, to the familiar subliminal rumble Rico had always known.
Jontan’s face was one huge, delighted smile. ‘It worked!’ he said. ‘Down in Control, it’s a carnival. They’re shouting, dancing, whooping…’ His eyes fixed on something behind Rico and his expression turned more thoughtful.
Rico looked round and saw Su and Sarai were coming towards them. Jontan stepped forward to intercept his wife and together they hung back slightly, so Su and Rico met up again on their own.
‘Well…’ Su said. She was smiling bravely but it didn’t quite work. ‘The Register told me.’
‘No hard feelings?’ They hugged.
‘I understand. There’s nothing for you back there.’
Rico hugged her more tightly. ‘There’s you, Su.’
‘Oh, stop it,’ Su mumbled into his shoulder. ‘I’d never forgive you if you blew this opportunity and you know it.’
‘And I’d never forgive you if you stayed just for me.’
‘Oh, yeah, right, Garron. Don’t flatter yourself.’
They stood close together without speaking for a moment longer.
‘The co-ordinates are set,’ said a familiar voice. The Register’s eidolon had appeared next to the chamber. No, not the Register’s eidolon, Rico reminded himself: the eidolon of the new Register, outwardly identical to the old but with important differences in what it could now do. ‘Are you ready, Op Zo?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Su said. She pushed herself gently away from Rico, then reached out once more to touch him. She smiled again, turned and walked into the chamber. The doors began to swing shut.
‘Good luck,’ she called.
‘I’ll manage.’ Rico knew his own smile was twisted.
‘Give Asaldra a hard time.’
‘Why do you think I’m staying?’
‘I’ll miss you,’ Su called, and then the doors finally closed.
Rico stepped back and looked at the transference chamber. He felt a sudden surge of irritation at its smug, shiny, spherical complacency. The chambers just sat there while Field Ops came and went and technicians tended to their every need. They swallowed people up and, in their own good time, returned them. It was as if Su was held in one of them, and all it had to do was open its doors…
‘Mr Garron?’ said Sarai behind him. He turned round. She and Jontan were still standing a discreet distance away, arms around each other’s waists. And more people were approaching, borne by a carryfield.
‘We called some people, once we learned you were staying…’ Jontan said, but Rico had already twigged. The banner saying ‘Welcome Rico’ was one clue. And the faces.
Tong, Su’s husband — hair shorter and greyer than it had been. A man and woman in their thirties, with a couple of toddlers — grief, that must be Su’s descendants — and, at the forefront…
They stood face to face as, for Rico, they had just been doing, each savouring the sight of the other, drinking it in. Then:
‘Those twenty-seven years have been good to you,’ he said.
‘Hello, Rico,’ she said, and for the second time in a couple of minutes and twenty-seven years, Su Zo walked into his arms.
Author’s Note
The Marconi Monument does exist, exactly as described in Chapter 11, and Daiho is entirely correct about its significance in human affairs. There is also a hotel at the location depicted in the book, and I leave its identity as an exercise for readers with an interest in telecommunications, the directions given in Chapter 11 and a handy guide to the Lizard peninsula. However, the real-life hotel and its staff bear no resemblance at all to their fictional counterparts.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to everyone who helped, criticized, gave advice, just plain suffered or any combination of the above: Chris Amies; Tina Anghelatos; Paul Beardsley; Molly Brown; David Fickling; Liz Holliday; Andy Lane; Ben Sharpe; Gus Smith; Jonathan Tweed. The drowned kitten lives again.
