“Twenty minutes. They think they’ve got a fix on Grey. They’re wondering how to suppress that part of your personality map. Things have gone quiet out there. DIANA doesn’t seem to be doing anything at the moment.”
“They won’t have given up. They’ll be planning something.” Jay ran her hand across one of the twisted metal trunks that rose from floor to ceiling. She looked at the plaited strands and thought: Twists around twists. Plots inside plots.
Constantine was looking at Marion. She really believed what she was saying.
“Blue?” said Constantine.
– Oh, yes. She believes it’s true. Red?
– I agree. Have we been fighting for the wrong side?
“I don’t know. Jay. What do you think? Do you think the Watcher is fighting to make the world a better place?”
Jay looked back at him. “Constantine, I don’t care. I just want to live.”
“So do I. Marion. How much longer until they suppress Grey?”
Marion listened to her console again.
“Eighteen minutes. They’re going to move us on again, soon. It’s too quiet out there.”
“Fine,” said Constantine.
They passed the intervening time in silence. It was too quiet; the lack of activity made them nervous. They kept turning around to look behind themselves. They examined the metal of the trunks minutely, looking out for pixellation. Nothing. It was a relief when Marion’s console sounded again.
She listened for a moment. “This way.”
They all walked around a metal trunk she indicated to find a doorway that had formed in the air. It led back out to the cornfield in midafternoon. The sun could be seen high above in the brilliant blue sky, its brightness pouring down into the shadowy space of the Stonebreak foundations.
“You first, Constantine,” Marion said.
“Okay.”
He stepped forward. Jay grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
“No! That’s not right.”
Constantine stared at her. She was gazing through the doorway, her face screwed up in concentration.
“What’s up, Jay?”
“It can’t be right. Time has been running consistently in the simulation, no matter where we have been. It should still be early morning. It’s afternoon out there.”
She looked frantically around. Her eyes alighted on Marion.
“Marion. Your console. That’s not your console!”
Marion gazed at it, bright in the light that streamed through the doorway. She turned it over in her hands.
“You’re right. This isn’t my console…”
“Get away from the door. Run!”
It was too late. The doorway twisted, expanded, reached out and gulped Marion up. Jay and Constantine turned and ran without hesitation, dodging through metal trunks, bright light at their heels, running for the shadows.
Constantine heard his own console pinging. He ignored it. Jay seized his arm and dragged him toward a door that had suddenly formed in the air.
“This way!” she called, pulling him out into brightness.
“No!” he said. It was too late; they tumbled over each other, tumbled out through a doorway in the air, back into the cornfield.
It was early morning again. A pale blue sky, slowly deepening in color. Fresh air in their lungs and the rough feel of stubble beneath their hands and knees.
Constantine slowly pushed himself to his feet. Jay was already standing, looking around her.
“We’re safe, I think,” she said. “I’m sure we are. We’re still on 113 Berliner Sibelius time. I saw the door in the air and it looked right.”
“What happened back there?”
“DIANA almost tricked us, I think. Got a Trojan in here on the back of that last attack. Used it to replace Marion’s console. They were leading us straight toward them. We almost stepped into the jaws of the beast.”
“Marion did.” They were silent for a moment.
Jay spoke hesitantly. “Berliner Sibelius can resurrect her, maybe?”
“If we get out of here alive. I wonder if what she said about suppressing Grey was true?”
The corn nearby waved and formed a pattern, twisted itself into letters that spelled out words for them.
It’s true. Ten more minutes.
“Ten minutes,” said Constantine. He reached out and took Jay’s hand. She looked up at him and gave a little smile. She held out her other hand. He took it and squeezed it.
“They put you in here because you knew where the Watcher came from.”
“I don’t. That was just the theory circulating on the space station.”
“They seem to think it’s the right one.” He looked thoughtful. “The Watcher. So it’s a seed from another world that has taken root in our computers…”
Jay squeezed his hand again. “Nine minutes now,” she said. “Are you going to tell them what they want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe what poor Mary said about the Watcher?”
Constantine shook his head. “A powerful force shaping humanity toward some bright new future? It’s a nice idea. I want it to be true. But I can’t help thinking there’s more to it than that. Things are never so pat.”
“I know,” she said.
Eight minutes, said the corn.
They moved closer together. A gentle breeze blew, stirring the heads of corn surrounding the clearing in which they found themselves. It all seemed so peaceful. It was hard to believe that one of the most powerful corporations on the planet was actively seeking their destruction.
Seven minutes.
Constantine began to wonder if they would make it.
There was a click and the sky was the brilliant blue of midafternoon for a moment, then it went black.
Constantine looked up at the tiny lights of the stars, high above. The heat of the momentary day was vanishing, billowing up into the sudden night. Bizarrely, the meadow still appeared bathed in daylight.
“What’s happening?”
A console signaled. Jay’s. She looked hesitantly at Constantine, then answered it.
“Yes?”
The message was set for her ears only. Her face crumpled.
“What’s happened?” Constantine said anxiously.
She looked at him and her eyes were wide with uncertainty. “DIANA got a handle on this system. They’ve succeeded in taking a snapshot of you. Constantine, we haven’t got much time left. DIANA’s lawyers now have the proof that you’re in here. They will be seeking an injunction to have you wiped. They will win that injunction. Tell 113 Berliner Sibelius what they want to know. Where is the VNM that you took from Mars? What are you going to do with it?”
Constantine shook his head. “I told you. I can’t say anything. Grey is blocking me.”
Somewhere inside his head he heard laughter.
Jay was shouting into the console in frustration. “Six minutes! Can’t you stall the injunction for six minutes?”
“I don’t know what to do…” Constantine muttered to himself. He appealed to the other voices in his head. “Red, Blue, any ideas?”
– I’m thinking, I’m thinking, Red said frantically.
– Do we really want to help them? asked Blue.
– We’re losing resolution, said White.
“Look! Over there!” Jay seemed very excited. Yet another door had opened in the air. Yellow dawn sunshine poured out of it, a patch of hope on the cold ground beneath the starlit sky. She pulled Constantine through and the door slammed shut.
They were standing in the cornfield again. Damp corn hemmed them in on all sides, shining golden in the light of the new day. They looked at each other. Jay’s hair was tangled with fragments of vegetable matter.
“What now?” Constantine asked.
“I don’t know. We have to maintain ‘radio silence’. 113 BS have us locked up in a bubble of memory. They’re time-slicing it through the processors at irregular intervals in an attempt to avoid detection.”
“Fair enough. Well, let’s get out of this field.”
“No…”