The Thing Itself (27 page)

‘Isn’t that tautology? Aren’t aims and objectives the same?’

‘By no means!’ said Belwether. For the first time there was actual passion in her voice. But it passed quickly. ‘I tell you what, Charlie. I’ll give you a summary of what
we
think the Institute was up to, and how Curtius is involved. And you can tell me whether that chimes with your understanding.’

‘All right.’

‘Having said that, I’ll have to begin with something I’m not sure about. The Institute was set up to programme and develop superfast computers. At some point, apparently prompted by interactions of some undisclosed nature with Roy Curtius, they radically revised their ambitions – upwards, if you see what I mean. Developing AI, in itself a huge achievement, wasn’t enough. They decided that the very thing that had held back earlier advances in this field was the thing that could revolutionise almost every aspect of human existence. Computers had been programmed to one extent or another after the manner of human consciousness. Not surprising, when you come to think about it. Back in the last century, people thought robots would eventually be humanoid creatures with arms and legs, for no better reason than that
we
are such creatures. In fact, as we now know, robots are hinged and craned arms in car factories, or plate-sized vacuum cleaners, or whatever. As with robots, so with computers. Maybe mimicking human consciousness was not the way to make AI. Maybe you had to try something radically different.’

‘Kos told me they’d succeeded. Or thereabouts.’

‘In the early days Her Majesty’s officers of statecraft had little interest in their research. The world is full of small companies programming and developing computing stuff. Our interest came later. They approached us, in fact; or rather, they approached officialdom. They did this because they claimed that their research was going to lead to something rather extraordinary. Remote viewing; vastly more speedy travel, perhaps even instantaneous passage, circumventing the speed of light. Manipulating objects at a distance too. Professor Kostritsky even hinted at slowing down or speeding up time. And she was able to back up her claims, to the satisfaction of our experts.’

‘Pretty far-fetched,’ I said. ‘Are we sure it’s not some big con?’ The memory of Roy drawing the tendon from my leg returned to me. But then, maybe I was misremembering that? Maybe he had yanked it out with a pair of pliers, as Dr Giridharadas suspected, and afterwards hypnotised me, or otherwise messed with my head. Maybe my hallucinations in Antarctica has predisposed me in some way. Made me suggestible. ‘Small mercies, though,’ I added. ‘At least you’re not wanking on about Immanuel Kant.’

‘I was just coming to him.’

I sighed. ‘Of course you were.’

‘Professor Kostritsky was
very
clear about this. As I understand it, Kant had certain theories about the relationship between the human mind and the world around us. Specifically, he thought that space and time, as well as a number of qualities such as cause and effect and so on, were “in” the way our mind structured experience, rather than being actual features of the cosmos. This provided philosophers with pleasant matter to discuss for several centuries. But it was all abstract discussion because there was no way of testing it objectively.
That
there was no way of testing it objectively was a central part of the theory. Human consciousness is defined by reality, and reality is defined by human consciousness, both at the same time. Or at least
our
reality was defined that way. We couldn’t “step outside” our humanity and get, as it were, a third opinion. Until now.’

‘AI.’

‘Exactly. The Institute developed AI, or at least a programme close to that. It did it by not programming in imitation of the paradigm of human perceptions of time and space. And according to Professor Kostritsky, it meant that Kant’s theory could finally be triangulated – and proven right. She was very excited at the possibilities.’

‘I remember her telling me,’ I said. ‘Eradicating space and time was just the start of it.’

‘For myself,’ said Belwether, ‘I have to assume that the time thing is a non-starter, or we’d already know about it. Future time travellers would be everywhere, wandering around, taking photos of the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben. But they’re not. But the space thing is very – live. I spoke to my superiors, and they spoke to
their
superiors, that the Institute might be on the threshold of developing a remote viewer. It’s been a holy grail of espionage for a while. All the fancy cryptology in the world is no use to our enemies if we can just zoom in on their secrets before they even code them. If we can eavesdrop and spy on any terrorist training camp, without needing satellites or drones, just by turning on Prof. K.’s clever new computer.’

‘The civil liberty implications are not comfortable,’ I pointed out. ‘Speaking as a citizen.’

‘Ah, but, Mr Gardner. As noted earlier, you’re
not
a citizen. You’re a subject of Her Majesty the Queen.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Our advantage would, clearly, be lost if the existence of such a device became widely known. That was why it couldn’t be announced publicly. It was why there was so much secrecy associated with the Institute.’

‘That’s why the news hasn’t covered the – murder at the Institute. Murders?’ Belwether nodded solemnly. ‘Murders. Christ.’ I screwed up my face. Was Belwether lying to me about Irma? Was her body lying in a mortuary somewhere, cold as outer space? Then again: she could be lying about everything. Maybe Curtius hadn’t gone anywhere near the Institute. ‘You’re reminding me about the Official Secrets Act in order to keep me, I don’t know – what?’

‘High stakes, you understand. High stakes.’

‘Kos was talking in terms of remote astronomy. Finding habitable planets. Hell, even travelling to them. I’d say those stakes are rather higher than, uh, petty espionage.’ It wasn’t very stinging, but it was the best I could do.

‘As far as that goes,’ said Belwether. ‘In time, who knows? The glorious interstellar future for humanity. Sure. As my daughter likes to say,
whatever
. It’s a long game. But there are pressing reasons, here and now, why this needs to be kept under wraps. National security. Indeed, it doesn’t overstate things to say: international security.’

‘Hence your visit?’

‘You’re almost well enough to be discharged. According to your doctor. You asked for the police to be called, pursuant to the assault upon your person by a certain Roy Curtius, an individual we are also seeking. I am not the police. I am better than the police. I am asking you to assist us in apprehending Curtius.’

I sniffed the air. ‘Are you arresting me?’

‘I am not a policewoman,’ said Belwether.

‘That is not an answer.’

‘I’ve been very open with you, Charlie. Open and, I think, friendly. I’ll be even
more
open and say that my department certainly possesses powers of detention. But I’m perfectly genuine when I say I hope we can be friends. Allies.’

‘So,’ I said. ‘When I check out, and help you with your inquiries, I’d be staying – where?’

‘Go back to your flat, if you like. Or go stay in a hotel: we’ll cover reasonable expenses. That doesn’t matter. We will be keeping an eye on you, just to make sure you don’t make any sudden blurts.’ She sniggered, as if she had said something funny. ‘Online. Letters to newspapers. Chatting down the pub. Anything like that. Mum’s the word. And I
am
a mum. As such I’m hoping we can trust you.’

‘And how am I supposed to help?’

‘Let’s begin with—’

‘And what’s in it for me?’

She was used to people trying to wrongfoot her, I think, and my interruption didn’t ruffle her in the least. She smiled. ‘After what Curtius did to you, not once but twice, surely you have an interest in apprehending him? Wouldn’t that be a valuable thing for you, just having him behind bars?’

‘Bars won’t hold him, I think.’

‘We’ll figure something out, as far as that’s concerned. But never mind that. Instead, why don’t you tell me what you two talked about, when you visited him at Broadmoor?’

My leg was aching and itching at the same time. ‘Jesus, I don’t know. I can barely remember. What did we talk about? Nothing very much. It was Kos who wanted me to go. She went to quite extraordinary lengths to
get
me to go in fact.’

‘This,’ said Belwether, ‘is exactly why we are so keen to find out what happened when you
did
go.’

I looked at her. As if seeing her for the first time, I clocked her dark blue trouser suit, her frizzy black hair, medium length, framing a narrow face. Her nose was small, but her cheekbones and chin long, which gave a strange disproportion to features that would otherwise have been pretty.

‘Kos said,’ I told her, ‘that Roy would only speak to me. Because of what we shared. So I went to speak. We chatted, awkwardly, he and I. About trivia.’

‘Did he tell you,’ she asked, ‘at what point the Institute first contacted him?’

‘Didn’t come up.’

‘You understand, Charlie, that this is important. The Institute’s on-off relationship with Curtius goes back a long while. It was them leaning on us to talk to the relevant authorities that kept him in Broadmoor rather than in maximum security.’

‘A bad idea, it seems.’

‘Oh I’m not sure a secure prison would have been able to hold Curtius any better than Broadmoor, once he set his mind on leaving.’

I looked around, as if he might teleport into my room at any moment. ‘Why did it take him so long? He was there
decades
. If he could just slip away when he chose, why didn’t he do that earlier?’

‘That’s a very good question. Your most perceptive yet. My answer: I don’t know. Perhaps he
couldn’t
slip away until very recently. Perhaps he could, but chose not to. Behind all this is: assuming it’s possible to approach the Kantian “thing”, whatever that is – possible to manipulate it, using some kind of tool to, let’s say, step past the structuring limitation of space, as ordinary people understand that. Let’s say that’s possible and Roy was able to step
out
of Broadmoor and step back
in
at – a location in Wiltshire, let’s say. Posit Curtius doing this thing. What my superiors are most interested in at the moment is: does doing so have negative consequences for the teleporter? Does approaching, as it were, closer to the thing itself
drive you mad
?’

‘Roy was bonkers before he ever dabbled with this stuff,’ I said, at once. ‘Though I daresay it certainly hasn’t done his mental health any favours. And for myself …’ I stopped, because, absurdly, I felt as if I were about to burst into tears. I continued, speaking more slowly. ‘For myself – where Antarctica is concerned. To me, I mean. If I … look I’ve got into the habit of believing that what I saw, down there, was a hallucination. It’s self-defence, is what it is. Psychological self-defence. I’m trying to adjust to the idea that what happened to me was, in some sense, real …’

‘If Kant is right,’ said Belwether, ‘then we’re talking real in a literal sense. More real than this room, more real than you and me chatting.’

‘So. Well, all I know is: experiencing it, that, whatever it was – it messed me up. It was a trauma, and I’m not sure you could say I’ve ever really recovered from it. I had really good prospects, you know. Then my life went to shit, and I drank a red sea of booze, and … well, here I am.’

Belwether nodded, perhaps aiming at sympathy. But it only made her look more predatory. ‘You understand why this needs to be kept secret, for now? I mean the
whole
project – all of it – remote viewing, teleportation, action at a distance. The notion that it might all be predicated upon something so psychologically
toxic
that humanity could never take advantage of it. And …’

Her mobile phone rang. For the first time since we met, she looked startled. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. She fished out her BlackBerry, and stared at it.

‘Go ahead and answer it,’ I advised her. ‘Don’t mind me.’

‘It’s not ringing,’ she said, in a strange voice. And put it back in her pocket. The ringing sound continued.

‘My tinnitus seems to be playing up,’ I observed.

Slowly, as if she were handling a vial of nitroglycerine, she pulled out a second mobile phone, from her other inside jacket pocket. This was a different model: a slim, black rectangle. The same type Kos had given to me, at the Institute, the day I left to visit Roy. As it emerged from behind its veil of jacket cloth, the trilliping ringtone it was emitting came clearer.

Belwether looked at me. There was a kind of panic in her eyes. I had only met her half an hour before, but something about the expression told me it was not her usual look.

‘That’s the one,’ I prompted. ‘Answer it, why don’t you.’

‘It’s not a phone,’ she said.

‘Well it sounds like one and it
looks
like one, so, as the adage goes …’ But something wasn’t right. My stomach was curling, inwardly. ‘Wait a minute. If it’s not a phone, then what is it?’

‘It’s a terminal.’

‘Like – a computer terminal?’ Something was very wrong, though I couldn’t have told you what. ‘Well, all right then. I guess you set an alarm on your computer. Is it time to take your pills or something?’

‘It’s not mine.’

Realisation had been creeping up behind me, and now it goosed me on the arse. ‘It’s from the Institute. What, you found it there? In Kos’s office, probably. Yeah, they gave me one too. I assumed it was a phone. Like an idiot, I never checked.’ It continued its ringing. ‘I guess you should answer it though.’