Кейт Форсит - Relics, Wrecks and Ruins - Anthology of Speculative Fiction Short Works

Jensen visibly ground his teeth.

“It’s dark. It’s night. They’re approaching an old ruined castle, though there’s a light coming from one of the windows. Percival is eating a chicken leg and it’s pissing the other two off, ’cause he keeps wiping his hands on their mounts’ butts. Bors has gotten really narked and threatened to stick his mace right up Percival’s culet, whatever that is…”

“Too descriptive!” Jensen snapped at the glass, though it was obvious Edith couldn’t hear him.

“How does this set up work, then?” Murphy tried again.

“The computer… it’s a quantum computer. It can calculate infinite possibilities. See?”

Murphy didn’t see.

“Well,” Jenson continued, “they say that, if you think you understand quantum physics, you don’t understand quantum physics. So it’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“OK. Eh… We can use the computer to break down all matter into its basic components and study their trajectories.” The scientist traced the imaginary fragments with his fingers, looking a bit like the world’s palest rapper. “How they move, you know? Where they go. And… once you know how something moves and where it goes, you can tell where it once… was. Our quantum computer does that, yes.”

“Quite a feat.”

“It’s a big computer.” Jensen was still watching Edith, who had begun speaking again.

“Percival is bursting for the toilet but it takes forever to unfasten all those straps. And Bors is still in a monumental huff, so Galahad is going in alone. I’m following him. There’s a strong smell of sulfur. He’s entering a little room and there’s a really old bloke there, sitting by a fire. He looks a bit like Sean Connery and, for some reason, he’s surrounded by old-fashioned goblets. A couple of them seem to be solid gold and some are crusted with jewels.”

The woman pulled a wad of gum from her mouth and stuck it under the console. She suddenly sounded a lot clearer.

“He’s asking Galahad to pick which relic he thinks is the Holy Grail. Holy shit! Says if he gets it wrong he’ll die. That’s a hell of a risk just to get a cuppa.”

“This is an awful lot like the plot of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” Murphy said suspiciously.

“She watches a lot of TV.” Jensen raised his bony shoulders in resignation. “What can you do?”

“Then, why are you using her?” Murphy picked at a smear on the pane, a motion made more difficult by his metal cuffs.

“Ah. That’s the tricky part.” Jenson stroked his chin. “As I said, the quantum computer analyzes the trajectories of every bit of material in the world and then projects backwards. And so… we can chart exactly where each particle was located at any given moment… right back to the dawn of time, if you like.”

“That’s amazing.” Murphy gave a low whistle. “The possibilities must be endless.”

“Actually we haven’t found a useful application for it at all,” Jensen admitted. “We can’t even make a bomb. Ce’st la vie, I suppose. Scientists are a bit like explorers. Some find America. Some discover Lapland.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Who discovered Lapland?”

“Beats me.” The scientist glanced sideways at Murphy, probably to gauge if his interest was genuine. “If you really want to know, we can find out.”

He pointed into the booth.

“See, that’s what Sonja there does. Builds up a complete map of the past. She can see history.”

“Sonja does all that?” Murphy looked at the woman with new admiration. “So, why does her badge say Edith?”

“Sonja’s the name of the computer,” Jensen replied scathingly. “Edith is a religious nutter. But… if she can discover something valuable, like the final resting place of the Grail or… a bit of the True Cross? Well… that would give us the money to keep running for years.”

Edith began speaking again. “Galahad is having a good look at all the different cups. He’s hovering over the fancy ones. Not surprising, really. They must be worth a fortune.”

“This is our real stumbling block,” Jensen whispered, so as not to drown out the woman’s commentary. “In order to properly monitor history, our Witnesses, as we call them, need to hook themselves directly into the quantum computer. They have a symbiotic relationship, you might call it. They link together. Yes. Fuse.”

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Murphy looked at the wires protruding from Edith’s head and gave a shudder.

“That’s why we use people like her.”

“You don’t like women much, do you?”

“I love women,” Jensen snapped. “I just don’t like Edith.”

“Still… this is fantastic.” Murphy wasn’t about to get in the middle of a personality clash. “You could learn so much about… Everything.”

“That was the idea, yes,” Jensen agreed. “But like every new project, it has a few… em… glitches.”

“The wrinkly dude is reminding him that the Grail was used by Our Lord at the Last Supper.” Edith carried on, oblivious at being the focus of attention. Murphy assumed the window only worked one way.

“Hey, you old fucker! Stop helping him out. No cheating!” She snapped her fingers indignantly. “Now Galahad’s studying the plain wooden ones. That seems a better bet, but I’m still not sure it’s right.”

“See, it’s like she’s actually there,” Jensen hissed behind his hand.

“Glitches?” Murphy asked.

“Sort of.” Jensen grimaced. “According to Edith, when Judas kissed Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, Christ punched him in the mouth.” He rolled his eyes. “How do you think a revelation like that would go down with the Christian community?”

“No shit!” Murphy gave a gasp. “That really happened?”

“But Galahad’s no dummy.” Edith chuckled. “He’s put the wooden goblet down and is still considering. That’s it. Left a bit. Warmer. Warmer. Red hot!” She gave a smug smile and punched the air. “Yes! He’s gone for the ceramic mug with ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ written on it.”

Her face took on a faraway expression. “Isn’t that funny? I’ve got one just like it at home.”

“Who knows?” Jensen scowled at the woman. “That’s problem number two. The Witness becomes… eh… part of any given scene they observe. Their emotional state and desires influence their… interpretation, if you like.”

He gave a stoic shrug. “Now we have to employ a team of psychologists to separate what really happened from what the Witness wants to happen. It’s costing us a fortune.”

“So, where do I come in?” Murphy had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“You kidding?” Jensen opened the clipboard and began to read the contents. “Billy Wayne Murphy. Life imprisonment for the murder of two eleven-year-old girls. Psychologists say you’ve never shown remorse. Have no emotional involvement with what you’ve done. In any capacity, whatsoever.”

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I can’t imagine how that must feel. Which is the whole point, really.”

“It doesn’t feel like anything at all,” Murphy said coldly.

“Of course. Of course.” The scientist shut the clipboard with a snap. “Of course, of course, of course.”

“Because I’m innocent, you idiot,” Murphy fumed. “I was framed.”

“A man without emotions.” Jensen was still lost in his own musings. “Absolutely perfect. You’ll be able to trawl through history in an objective manner. Aha. See things exactly as they are. You’re just what we need to save the project.”

“I am not a psychopath,” Murphy repeated. “I was fixing my toilet at the time.”

Then an incredible thought struck him.