Free Seeking the Mythical Future by Trevor Hoyle Page B

her head gleamed like silver in the sunlight. Before their marriage she had worked at MyTT as a collator in the Archives under Professor Castel; he had few close friends, even among his colleagues, yet Oria had come to like him, and now and then he was invited to dinner. Queghan thought him a cold fish, humourless and rather wearing, but had to admit that in his job he was outstandingly efficient, keeping an eagle eye on the one-and-a-half-million newstapes, audiovisual reels and reference works in the Institute Archives.
    Now, watching her, Queghan knew she would resent any attempt on his part at bland consolation: it wasn’t only the baby she was worried about.
    Oria opened her eyes and looked at him along the length of her body. She said, ‘If it was just the baby …’
    â€˜I know,’ Queghan said. ‘I know.’
    â€˜There’s also the fucking Project.’
    â€˜The Project isn’t that important that we have—’
    Oria interrupted him. ‘If you’re chosen you’ll have no alternative but to accept.’
    â€˜I can refuse.’
    â€˜But you won’t.’
    â€˜I can always say no,’ Queghan insisted patiently.
    â€˜We both know that you won’t, Chris.’ She sat up, her body large and tanned in the direct sunlight. ‘We both understand very well that if you’re selected you will have to go. There’s no alternative.’
    Queghan pressed his forehead to the soles of her feet. They were smooth and cool. Her anxiety was because she knew that the odds of the injectee returning were no better than fifty-fifty. This was not an arbitrary computation. It had been calculated with exactitude and certainty. There were conflicting ideas as to why this precise heads-or-tails situation should be: some explained it as a consequence of the Geometrodynamic Law while others thought it more likely to be due to the Theory of Synchronicity * . Queghan felt on a purely intuitive basis that it derived in natural progression from the Lorentz Transformations; in any event the actual cause was irrelevant – it was an inescapable and irreducible mathematical fact, bound up in some way with the physical laws of the Metagalaxy.
    The most mysterious aspect was that the odds would never change, neither increase or decrease, no matter how many missions were undertaken. Each mission would be decided on the knife-edge uncertainty of the spin of a coin, irrespective of whether it was the first attempt or the fiftieth or the trillionth. Thus it was pointless to wait until the technology of Temporal Flux injection had exceeded a certain level of sophistication, for this would have zero qualitative effect on the success or failure of any one mission. The phrase ‘no time like the present’ took on a new aptness, as Johann Karve had been the first to point out.
    The sun had fallen below the ragged outline of the trees, throwing long spiky shadows across the lawn. Some of them crept surreptitiously on to the striped lounger, and Queghan felta shiver of premonition. He got to his feet and stooped to lift Oria into his arms, cradling the swell of her belly against his own. As he did this he was aware that he might never see the child she carried. He had seen it in silhouette, encased in its fluid mucous envelope, and listened to its heartbeat, but perhaps that was all he would ever see or hear or know.
    Oria spoke softly, as if there was an eavesdropper nearby – the trees or the creeping shadows. ‘There is no alternative, Chris. It isn’t technical expertise or knowledge Karve is looking for. The Vehicle is self-programmed, she doesn’t require an engineer or a scientist.’
    â€˜Brenton – wants to go very badly. He’s married to the machine. The thought of someone else using her is like seeing his wife being raped.’
    â€˜Brenton won’t be selected,’ Oria said. Her head lay against his shoulder as he