Déjà Vu

Chapter Seven

David rushed into the image of the ocean and shore, which blurred away as though he had been accelerated to the speed of sound. He flew over lakes and trees, through mountain passes never seen, across waterfalls, into grasslands and desert, over ice floes and volcanic islands. Night fell in seconds. He slowed, felt vertiginous, and landed in a tropical glade. The mimetic cloud of fines rendered the springy crunch of the undergrowth perfectly. Experience told him not to imagine his real body. He made a mental effort to place himself here, now, walking in the woods: its strange blue fronds; its dampness; its predators. Onogoro had no moon, but he could adjust the brightness using the command console. Doing so, he walked on through this alien world. Its plants were blue, not green, and typically angular. Through breaks in the canopy, he saw a snow-smudged mountain. The peak was bright with dawnlight. Was he being watched?

If a race of intelligent beings had evolved in this universe, and developed science, their physicists would discover that matter is continuous, not discrete. Their astronomers would find that their planet is the only planet, their star the only star. They would correctly place themselves at the centre of the universe. Should they build a computing machine, it would never outrun the computer that ran their universe: and what, indeed, would they hypothesize the limiting factor to be? God?

The ground inclined. Ahead, David saw a cabin that had been modelled on an Alaskan hunting lodge from a hiking magazine and, by dint of Word, conjured. It overlooked the lower forest. David turned to the vista. The valley throat opened at the east and he could see the mist of a waterfall and a double rainbow in the opening eye of sunrise.

It began to rain.

‘Quite a view,’ called a man.

Bruce Shimoda, whose rat-smothered body was lying only metres from David in the abandoned laboratory, stepped from the cabin. He wore a haphazard patchwork of fronds and looked like a survivalist. The computer had used the instructions in his DNA to forge this body anew in zeroes and ones, so he was twenty years old once more and bearded. Yet there was a greater, unplaceable difference.

David said, ‘I didn’t know about the fancy dress code.’

Bruce smiled. ‘That’s rich, coming from a giant, sparkling bogey.’

The difference: His eyes were clear and steady. Bruce Shimoda, blind in the outside world, could now see.

Bruce stirred the fireplace. His feet rested on the rump of a grizzly bear rug, a photographer’s idea of a lodge accessoire. The kitschery continued with tasselled lamps, a mahogany bar, shotguns, and mounted animal heads.

David moved towards the fire. He felt the fines mimic its temperature. He was reminded of McWhirter. ‘I’ve got about half an hour, Bruce. Can we talk?’

‘I jinxed the room. It’s encrypted.’

‘For you, maybe. McWhirter could be listening at the door to my immersion chamber.’

‘Jesus, is he still alive?’

‘And kicking, you bet.’

Bruce sighed. ‘How much do you know, David?’

‘Not much. Our mutual friend, whoever she is, told me to accept the summons to Scotland, which I did. She told me my house would go up in smoke, and it has. I know I have a job to do.’

Bruce leaned on his hand. He coughed with a scraping sound that David associated with the pneumonia cases of his junior doctoring days. When the fit passed, Bruce looked up. There were red flecks on his teeth.

‘I’m infected, mate. On Onogoro, we’ve got all kinds of animal—analogues of them, anyway—from birds and fish to viruses. I wasn’t born in this world. I have no history of exposure. My immune system hasn’t been toughed up. Vaccinated.’

‘The program I wrote should have compensated, but it was never tested.’

‘Me. The test pilot. The dog in orbit.’

David’s tired eyes dropped to the floor.

‘Dave?’ said Bruce.

‘What?’

‘I’m dying. But.’

‘But what?’

‘I haven’t seen hills and trees for forty years.’

‘Was it worth the wait?’

‘Every second.’

The estranged friends watched each other.

‘Bruce, talk to me.’

‘I’m already dead. Unplug me, I die. Shut down the computer, I die. The computer has me by the balls.’

David drifted to the edge of the room. Rain sizzled at the pane. He ran his hand along the sill. He withdrew it quickly and looked at the palm. A droplet of blood grew from the hair-line wound. He made a fist and looked again at the edges. They did not precisely align. The exposed planes were infinitely sharp.

‘What does this have to do with our mutual friend? The woman who summoned me here?’

‘I won’t know until you’ve done the deed.’

‘The deed?’ David sighed. ‘How did it get it to be twenty years, Bruce?’

‘Time gets what it wants.’

‘Meaning what?’

There was a distant boom.

‘Did you hear that?’ asked David. He looked into the rain.

‘Nope.’

‘If you didn’t, it must be McWhirter’s men. They’ve blasted through. Who is she, Bruce?’

‘All will be well.’

David heard breaking glass, but the cabin window remained intact. It was the immersion chamber smashing. Abruptly, the scene shifted. Somebody was trying to remove the mask from his face.

‘Bruce,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. For the time.’

Bruce pointed at his eyes and then at David.

‘See you later, alligator.’