Loop (15 page)

DON'T YOU THINK THE WHOLE THING HAS GONE QUITE FAR ENOUGH? DO YOU WANT
TERRESTRIAL WELFARE
ON OUR BACKS? OR
ENVIRO-RESEARCH CONTROL
? I SUGGEST YOU RETURN HIM, BEFORE —

I WOULD LIKE TO. I REALLY WOULD. BUT THERE IS A … PROBLEM. ACTUALLY, IT IS THE REASON WHY THE SEQUENCE HAS BEEN SO EXTENDED.

WHICH IS?

PSI-L2. HE LIKES IT WHERE HE IS. WHEN WE MADE CONTACT, HE SAID HE WASN'T READY TO COME BACK. AS IF IT WERE AS SIMPLE AS —

BUT DOESN'T HE REALISE WHAT THAT MEANS? HE COULD WRECK EVERYTHING … FOR ALL OF US. YOU KNOW THE TROUBLE WE HAD GETTING APPROVAL FOR THE TRANSFER IN THE FIRST PLACE.

WHO KNOWS WHAT HE REALISES? I WARNED YOU HE WAS TOO UNSTABLE FOR A FIELD RESEARCH POSTING, BUT —

CONTROL OVERRULED ME. YOU KNOW THAT. L2 IS JUST FAR TOO WELL-CONNECTED. AND HE IS BRILLIANT, FOR ALL HIS INSTABILITY … DO YOU THINK IT WOULD DO ANY GOOD FOR ME TO CONTACT HIM PERSONALLY?

I THOUGHT OF THAT. BUT i'm AFRAID IT's TOO LATE. L2 HAS SEVERED ALL COMMUNICATION. AND HE HAS STOLEN THE SUBJECT'S BODY. UNLESS HE CHOOSES TO RE-ESTABLISH CONTACT, WE HAVE NO CHANCE OF FINDING HIM. THERE ARE BILLIONS OF INDIVIDUALS DOWN THERE, AND WE HAVE SO LITTLE TIME BEFORE —

SO, WHAT ARE THE ALTERNATIVES?

WHO KNOWS? NOTHING LIKE THIS HAS EVER HAPPENED BEFORE. WE HAVE TO KEEP THE SUBJECT IN CONSCIOUSNESS-STORAGE, AND REPEAT THE LOOP CONTINUOUSLY UNTIL —

HOW LONG CAN WE DO THAT?

YOU'RE ASKING ME? I ONLY PUSH THE BUTTONS AND MONITOR THE MACHINE. We've NEVER KEPT A SUBJECT OUT-OF-BODY FOR THIS LONG BEFORE. THERE IS NO WAY OF PREDICTING WHAT COULD HAPPEN. ALL I KNOW IS THAT THE MORE HE REMEMBERS, THE SHORTER THE LOOP IS BECOMING, AND THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO TO STOP IT. ONCE WE SET UP THE VIRTUAL ENVIRONMENT AND PLACE HIM IN THE LOOP, THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO TO BREAK THE CYCLE EXCEPT BY RETURNING HIM – WHICH L2 HAS REMOVED AS AN OPTION.

SO WE JUST WAIT?

AND HOPE …

‘We're doing everything we can, Mrs Gibson.' The policeman looks uncomfortable, perched awkwardly on a kitchen stool which seems too small to support his large frame. ‘Has Barry ever run away before?'

‘He's never done anything wrong before.' She pauses, before continuing uncertainly, ‘Until a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have believed …'

She trails off, and the policeman looks up from his notepad.

‘Would you say that his behaviour has changed in recent weeks?'

The woman looks at him without speaking, as if she is trying out words silently in her mind, searching for the exact phrases. Then she stands up and begins clearing the coffee cups from the kitchen table. She places them into the sink, then turns to face him, leaning back against the cold metal.

‘At first it was just little things … Stupid little things. He forgot my birthday, which hurt a bit, and when I reminded him he just looked at me blankly – like he was wondering what I was talking about. Then he just mumbled ‘Sorry' and walked off.' She pauses again, a puzzled look ghosting across her face. ‘Then I got the note from school …'

Another pause.

‘The note?'

‘I'm sorry. I must seem very vague. It's just that so much has happened in the last few weeks.' She looks as if she is about to cry, but with an effort of will she controls the impulse and goes on. ‘The school counsellor sent home a note asking if we minded Barry being tested. She said that he appeared to show signs of being ‘gifted'. Barry! He'd never been stupid, but after ten years of schooling they suddenly decide that he might be gifted?

‘When I phoned her, she said that sometimes gifted children hid their talents so that they wouldn't stand out.' She said his Maths teacher had found him working on … I forget what she called it, but it was something that would give nightmares to a uni graduate. Anyway, Barry refused to take the test, and he seemed to go into his shell – at least at school he did.

‘At home … I don't know. He would come up with the most amazing information one moment, then the next he'd forget the name of the dog we've had for fourteen years.'

‘And then today … I went in this morning, to wake him for school and his bed hadn't been slept in. And all his favourite clothes were gone.'

The first heavy drops are slapping the windscreen, as he pulls the truck to the side of the highway and leans across to open the nearside door. The boy's wind-tousled hair appears above the level of the seat, followed by the rest of his body. He can't be any more than sixteen.

‘You picked a great day to go hitching, kid.' He reaches out a huge hand. ‘I'm Richie. Richie Cantrell.'

The boy looks down at the huge hand and an expression of confusion clouds his face. Then something like recognition dawns and he reaches out his own to shake.

‘Barry Gibson. Are you going as far as Melbourne?'

‘And beyond. I'm due in Perth by Wednesday. You got family in Melbourne?'

The boy looks up at him, his face expressionless.

‘No. No family. They were killed in a car smash. I'm all there is.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't …'

‘Don't worry about it. I'm pretty independent. I'm used to looking after myself.'

Something in the boy's tone disturbs him and he looks away. The boy is staring at him, almost through him. And behind those eyes is a strange emptiness.

As Richie Cantrell slips the gear shift into first and eases out the clutch, he wonders vaguely why he has stopped the truck out here on the highway, where there is nothing.

He checks his mirrors, and pulls out onto the hard surface of the highway, unaware of the passenger who shares his cabin. A passenger who leans back in his seat, his eyes closed, and smiling contentedly.

Not again, damn it!

This time, I really thought it was over. It was all so clear. I remembered everything. I was in control. I'd even convinced Bernie that I wasn't just another looney-tune. Why now, damn it? Why can't I just
…

What's the use? I'm only kidding myself if I think I can control it. How many times has it been? Twenty five? Thirty? Who the hell cares?

This time, it didn't even last a day. It seems to be getting shorter every time. If it carries on, I'll reach the stage where I start ‘falling' before I even arrive. What happens then?

Who the hell knows?

There must be some way to stop it happening. Something I'm overlooking.

God, I hate the Dark …

it's happening, the memories are beginning to feed BACK. he's REACHING OVERLOAD.

isn't there anything we can do?

NOTHING. WITHOUT A BODY TO REVERT TO, I Don't KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN. THERE's NO PRECEDENT.

WE HAVE TO DO
SOMETHING.
WE Can't JUST LEAVE HIM IN THERE.

THERE IS NOTHING ANYONE CAN DO. IT'S OVER …

Such a primitive planet. They are so easy to fool. To control
…

The shell that is no longer Barry Gibson stands beneath the roadside awning and watches the rear lights of the semi disappearing into the night.

I'm Richie Cantrell,
he said, and reached out with that strange gesture of … friendship.

An odd concept. Friendship.

He will arrive in Perth on Wednesday afternoon and he will remember nothing. Which is how it has to be.

The rain is easing finally.

Turning the body, he looks through its eyes at the reflection staring back at him from the dirty glass of the toyshop window. And he practises a smile.

Such a strange expression. It uses so many muscles for such a small effect.

Soon, a few years of preparation, careful planning, influence in the right quarters, and he will control the whole place.

And the simpletons in
Terrestrial Welfare
will never even know. They might suspect, but they will never be able to prove a thing.

The food place across the road is open.

Fuel the body. No good dying of starvation before the fun starts.

As he steps into the road, he feels in the back pocket of his jeans for the wallet that the truck driver will not miss until he stops for breakfast somewhere near the border.

The poster at the bottom of the bed swims into focus
…

… and then he is falling again.

The radio bursts into life. He opens his sleep-

glued eyes
…

… and he is falling again.

That sound
…

… and he is falling again.

The darkness disappears
…

And Time freezes.

…
while inside his tortured mind the scream begins to swell, rising in intensity until it fills his whole being. At the centre of the frozen universe, Barry Gibson and that silent scream become one, as the loop disintegrates and all thought ceases.

Governments, the stock-markets, even the military, all linked by those incredibly primitive computers. Just a few years, less even, if everything works out, and
…

He is halfway across the street when the scream hits him.

It crashes across his thought-stream like an avalanche, a solid wave of pain that stops him in midstride and carries his mind along with it …

She accelerates around the corner, racing the amber, and too late she catches sight of the young boy standing motionless in her path. She screams and stamps hard on the brakes, but the road is still wet from the rain and the car begins to skid. She closes her eyes, still screaming.

Later, when the police arrive and she is calm enough to speak, she will try to explain.

‘I didn't stand a chance. He was just standing there, frozen. He didn't even look up when the tyres squealed. There was nothing anyone could have done … Nothing.'

First published 2006 by University of Queensland Press
PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

www.uqp.com.au

© Brian Caswell 2006

This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any foram or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

Typeset by Peripheral Vision

Cataloguing in Publication Data
National Library of Australia

Caswell, Brian
Loop

For upper primary and secondary school students.

I. Title.

A823.3

ISBN 9780702235894 (pbk)
ISBN 9780702241482 (pdf)
ISBN 9780702241512 (epub)
ISBN 9780702241499 (kindle)