Phase Shift (19 page)

Reyes arrived at his Prefecture chambers to a
summoning. Three summonings, actually, each one direr than the one
previous. Goren insisted on seeing him. In his chambers. Time was
of the essence. Reyes frowned. Goren had always been insufferable,
but he'd been more so as of late. Especially since Molly McBride's
arrival on Gaia.

As he listened to Goren's voice grow more
and more agitated with each summoning stored in his Geo-link
inventory, another came in.
Time to incubate the egg and see
what hatches
, Reyes supposed.

Goren Prefect was bellowing into his handset
when Reyes arrived. He abruptly ended the transmission when he
noticed Reyes standing in the doorway to his chambers. "At last,"
Goren said. The men looked at each other for a moment. Reyes stood
his ground, gauging the situation. Goren had summoned him, of this
much he was sure. Whether or not he was, in truth, welcome was a
squid with a different colour ink. "Well, come in," Goren said,
planting himself behind his work table. "And close the door behind
you."

Reyes complied. Reluctantly, he seated
himself in one of the chairs opposite Goren across the table.
Nardus-scent hung thick in the air and he breathed deeply of
it.

"You gave her the handset?"

Reyes nodded in reply, without emotion. He
took umbrage at being summoned like this, forced to answer to this
man who took his position of power to heart and was unafraid to
exact said power with the precision of a surgeon.

"You still protest the implantation of the
tracking device."

"Molly McBride Prefect is our guest, our
ally. You do not spy on your allies, Goren. It is unethical."

"Listen to you, Reyes, unilaterally
bestowing upon her our highest honour (Molly McBride Prefect,
indeed). It is you who is unethical."

Reyes stared at the man. "It is a term
denoting respect of which she is due," he defended.

Goren leaned his elbows on the work table
and steepled his fingers. "You indulge her, Reyes," he said softly,
less of an accusation than the statement prior, more like fatherly
advice. "It will be your undoing."

"I am simply extending a hand to a friend,
Goren," Reyes told him. "A friend to all of us."

"She is not our friend, Reyes." Goren marked
the word ‘not’ by percussing his work table with an open hand. "Her
very presence here threatens our way of life."

"She is a friend of Dr. Prescott Prefect.
This makes her our friend, as well."

"Prescott was a thief and a liar. He took
the phase modulator and he swore—swore!—he would destroy it upon
his return. He did not do that, now did he? Her very presence here
threatens the sanctity of The Pact. If the populous knew she were
here—"

"If the populous knew she were here they
would respect her appearance as a learning experience—"

"The greater body of prefects does know she
is here and they are not all quickening at the idea.

"You give that woman free reign of the
mass—bestowing her with a Geo-link handset, showing her how to use
civ vehicles, dropping her at The Antiquary—"

"Molly McBride Prefect is—"

"You are not in a position to bestow such an
honour on that woman as ‘Prefect’," Goren warned. "She is an
outsider!"

"She is a scholar of humanity," Reyes said
proudly, "which is a noble discipline."

"Do not confuse affinity with honour.
You—above all else—understand the need to maintain the sanctity of
The Pact. The integrity of The Pact must be maintained at all
costs. This...McBride. She poses a threat to all we hold dear in
this world."

"Do not lecture me on the sanctity of The
Pact," Reyes said, much angrier than before. He took a deep breath
before continuing on a calmer tact. "My father was instrumental in
the drafting of The Pact."

"Your father was instrumental in
orchestrating the need for The Pact"

Reyes was incensed. How dare this man sully
the reputation of his father in such a manner? Once a man expires,
all that is left is his reputation. "You above all else are aware
these random shifts in phase are a natural phenomenon," Reyes said.
"My father, a sage who was respected in this world and will be in
the next, knew the only way to prevent the phenomenon was to find
out what precipitated its occurrence. He knew if he could induce
the occurrence of the phenomenon at will it would provide the key
as to how to prevent future occurrences. And make no mistake—these
random shifts affect both worlds. Molly McBride Prefect—"

Goren grumbled something indistinguishable;
Reyes continued. "Molly McBride is respected on her world. And she
has stated a desire to help us—"

"She is the harbinger," Goren exclaimed,
pointing toward the door leading from his chambers to the corridor.
"She will bring about the end to all we hold dear on this world.
She cannot help us." Goren stood and began quickly pacing the room,
pausing only to spit accusations. "She is from a world where they
mar the earth to excavate precious minerals which fuel their
vehicles and poison the very air they breathe. Science is used to
construct materials which do not occur in nature and which cannot
be consumed by the earth. Whole areas of cities must be designated
as dumping grounds, used to store materials in perpetuity as a
result. On her world, environmental altruism waxes and wanes
according to the currency value with which it has been tagged.

"She cannot help her own world, what makes
you think she can help ours?" When he was done, Goren loomed over
Reyes, challenging.

Reyes accepted the provocation. "You are a
fool if you believe this phenomenon to be unique to our world," he
said, shooting out of his seat. "These shifts in phase are
inextricably linked to Molly McBride's world. Every account, every,
has described the same or similar circumstances. My father sought
to find the cause of the shifts. While he understood the theory of
how they worked and he was able to enact the phenomenon at will, he
failed in the one area that really mattered. The key to preventing
any further occurrence is to be found in learning what precipitates
a natural occurrence."

"Maybe," Goren said, thoughtfully, but then
he shook his head. "It is yet to be proven if her corners are
square." His voice had softened measurably since he had last
spoken. Goren seemed to ponder his own last comment for a moment.
At last he began to nod his head. "Your task then is to monitor
McBride's data port access through her handset tracking device. Let
her actions determine her morality." Goren settled back behind his
work table. "I expect detailed reports on the half hour.
Discoveries of import should be reported the moment they occur and
not a moment later."

Reyes nodded. He had bought Molly McBride's
freedom on the planet, at least for the time being.

"That is all," Goren said in lieu of
dismissal.

The interior of the Antiquary is comprised of
interminable, labyrinthine, wainscoted corridors strategically
spot-lit so as to illuminate closeted dioramas hidden in recesses
and corners. The exception is where the corridors intersect. In
these places, narrow, dark passageways open onto brightly lit halls
with a smattering of glass display cases and recessed dioramas
around a theme. Which theme exactly, is anyone's guess, as none of
the displays or dioramas have signage of any kind. There's neither
plaque, nor placard, nor label anywhere to be seen in any of the
exhibits I visit. That inconvenience aside, The Antiquary is an
amazing way to spend an afternoon. Half of the fun is in the
intrigue of exploration and the thrill of discovery. With this
floor plan, patrons are taken by surprise whenever they happen upon
an exhibit.

Take this room for example. In front of me
is a timeline of human evolution. It looks pretty much the same as
ours on Earth, composed of the usual specimens: Australopithecus,
Homo erectus and Neanderthals, followed by Cro-Magnon and modern
Homo sapiens. I studied physical anthropology and the theory of
evolution during my undergrad—I had a crush on the professor
teaching the course and so was motivated to pay attention—and I
remember quite a few of the finds and what they look like by rote,
like "Lucy", for instance, still hailed as the most complete
Australopithecus afarensis skeleton to date; "Beijing Man", the
Homo erectus skull from Zhoukoudian near Beijing, China; or the
juvenile Taung child skull, the object of much debate and
mud-slinging in the early part of the last century. But that's on
Earth. Studying the examples on the Gaian timeline, I'm able to
identify most specimens based on exterior landmarks of the skeletal
remains, but the actual finds are different, which kind of makes
sense. On a different planet with different people digging in
different locations, it stands to reason investigations would yield
different specimens.

"Have you a Geo-link handset?" a young man
of about twenty or so asks me. He is tall and solidly built with
blonde hair framing a chiseled face highlighting eyes so blue they
border on violet.

"I'm sorry?" He’s taken me by surprise and I
can't think of another way to respond.

"You've been studying the exhibits. Forgive
me, but I've been watching you for a while now, and not once have
you initiated a data link. You're really missing quite a bit of
information without the data link."

Of course. The missing signage is accessed
via data link, initiated with the Geo-link handset. How in God's
name I was supposed to do that was beyond me.

"I'm Samkin Tailor," the man offers, filling
the silence which threatens to become quite awkward. "People call
me 'Sam'. I come here often to study. I'm a candidate. For the
Prefecture." He pauses for a moment, barely enough time for me to
respond to anything he's said, not that I'd know how to respond,
even if I had anything to say. Suddenly, Samkin holds up a hand
forming a 'stop' gesture. "I know what you're thinking: grand
ambitions for a tailor's son, right? My father was the tailor.
Nothing wrong breaking with tradition come the next generation, now
is there?" He looks at me for a moment before he asks my name. I
tell him.

"Forgive me, but what exactly is a
McBride?"

It takes me a moment to realize what he's
asking me. I really don't know what a McBride is, or what one might
do. I tell Sam this and then add, "I'm kind of a prefect."

"So you do have a Geo-link handset,
then."

I fish the handset out of my pocket and hand
it to Sam who begins selecting icons on the handset's display
screen.

"Forgive me, Sam, but you don't sound like
any of the prefects I've met so far."

"My speech. I know. I speak a lower version
of Verse. It's something my Lead Prefect has told me I must work on
to survive candidacy." He selects a few more icons and then gives
it back to me. Like most cell phones, there is an infrared sensor
at one end of the handset. Sam shows me how to point it at the
infrared port on the museum diorama and which icon to press and the
diorama comes to life.

Prior to meeting Sam, the display was
lifeless, a series of plaster casts of various skeletal remains
sitting dully on a number of podiums, arranged in chronological
order according to the era of each animal's evolution. Now, one by
one, each piece of bone is animated in turn. I watch as the first
skull grows holographic muscle and skin and then rotates a full
three hundred and sixty degrees on its podium. Following that, the
hologram grows a body, a three-dimensional representation of what
Gaians believe the animal to have looked like when alive. The
three-D body comes away from the skull on the podium and it, too,
rotates full circle. Lastly, for its magnum opus, the hominid looks
me square in the eye and takes a series of steps toward me, leaving
the diorama behind. Once more it rotates a full three hundred and
sixty degrees before vanishing into thin air. It takes almost a
full five minutes for each specimen on the Gaian human evolutionary
line to cycle through its trip down the runway.

When the last specimen has finished, the
gallery is once more still. Sam takes the handset from me and
instructs me how to find and scroll through a series of files the
data link has downloaded into its memory. There are at least a half
dozen hypertext files, similar to web pages, complete with full
colour photos. "If you see something you like, you can capture the
image here." He shows me which icons to press and where I can find
the lens. "You try," he says, and he passes me the handset.

"Say cheese," I say, and take a picture of
him.

Sam cocks his head to one side and opens his
mouth to, I surmise, ask about the expression.

"Never mind," I say, and proceed to stammer
through my thanks to Sam and my acclamations for the artisan of the
light show I've just witnessed and the technology that allowed it
to happen. Sam seems non-phased by the experience, like it's as
commonplace for him as the telephone and television are for me.

Regarding the Gaian evolutionary timeline,
and according to the files recently beamed to my handset, someone
other than a Leakey discovered hominid footprints, though elsewhere
in Africa than Laetoli. Lucy had yet to be discovered, though
several of her siblings had, in and around Hadar, Ethiopia. Because
there was no Darwin on Gaia, and the caste system was not based on
wealth, or the colour of one's skin, there was no such thing as
Social Darwinism, and therefore no need for something like Piltdown
to ever have existed on this planet.

When at last I look up from my handset, Sam
is gone. I continue wandering through the corridors of The
Antiquary alone.

At the next intersection of passageways is
what looks to be the gallery of ancient Egypt.