‘I expect that does happen to some extent, yes. But I think that most viewers probably watch because they can vicariously enjoy the crises and dramas from within the security of their own relationships.’
‘It is very hard for us to put ourselves in your minds and understand human actions. We have a similar problem with the saurians in our alternate worlds, who have rejected mind-linking, but at least we think in similar ways about most things – we have shared cultural norms. I don’t wish to cause offence but, for us, watching you is like it might be for you, if you were watching a community of blind people who have found clever ways of dealing with their lack of sight but are forever colliding into each other and lashing out.’
‘Sometimes it looks pretty much the same from our viewpoint as well.’
The ship called at a couple of places in the Newfoundland area, then went on to Nuuk in Greenland. I looked out of the lifeboat’s porthole with interest as the ship entered the fjord. The great ice cap was visible in the distance, but I didn’t need the tannoy commentary to tell me about the speed with which it was losing ice as the melting glaciers accelerated their flows down to the sea, lubricated by their own melt-water.
Ten days after sailing, the ship arrived in Reykjavik. By then, my plan was set and agreed with the saurians and with Freya. She had put a wireless internet link into her computer and was communicating with the saurians – and thereby indirectly with me – via email. Her home was out of range of the nearest wireless internet node so the transmissions were completely secure.
In Reykjavik the ship was scheduled to dock early in the morning so I slipped overboard before anyone was about, and thoroughly enjoyed the swim across the harbour, not caring about the cold rain falling from an overcast sky or the chop blown up by the stiff breeze. Freya was sitting in her car waiting for me by the skeletal steel sculpture of a Viking longship on the sea front. I slipped into the back of her Toyota Landcruiser – fitted with the almost obligatory oversized tyres in bulging wheel arches – and lay on the floor, covered by a blanket, as she drove through the city, south-west towards Keflavik. We talked on the way, Freya giving me a running commentary on where we were, interspersed with chat about what she had been doing. I could sense her nervousness and tension only too clearly.
Before reaching the airport, Freya turned left onto the Grindavik road. Traffic was light and I was able to raise my head up to see where we were going. The land became very rugged and barren, the gnarled remnants of old lava flows. Soon the landscape would be white, but the first snow was yet to fall. After a while, Freya turned off the road and onto a rough track which wound its way among the rocks. She eventually stopped on the edge of a depression about two hundred metres across, surrounded by high rocks. The scenery was so desolate it could have been the surface of a moon, were it not for the constantly falling rain. There was no sign of humanity – indeed, of life – except for the barely discernable track winding through the depression. I scanned to the ultimate and confirmed to Primo that no-one was within range.
A few moments later, there was a brilliant flash on the track a hundred metres ahead, and the shattering blast of the explosion rocked the big Toyota a fraction of a second later. There was no fire – there was nothing to burn – and Freya put the car into gear and drove towards the focus of the blast. Lying on the track was a silvery ovoid, hand-sized. I got out of the car and picked it up – I was surprised that it wasn’t hot – and Freya turned the car and returned to the road.
As we approached Grindavik, a small port on the south coast, I dived back under the blanket. Freya turned left off the road before it reached the centre of the town, and headed east along the coast. The road rapidly became unpaved and shortly afterwards the car turned again onto an even rougher track. It bounced along for a while, the surface giving the suspension a good workout, and I put my head up again. The track led down to the sea, and ended at a single house, with a red, corrugated metal roof, perched on the rocks above a small bay. There was no beach, just bare, twisted rock being constantly pounded by breakers.
‘This is it, it’s all ours for the next week,’ Freya said. ‘A bit primitive, but all the privacy we could hope for – much better than my apartment.’
We got out of the car and Freya produced some keys and unlocked the door of the house. We carried boxes of provisions from her car, then sat at the kitchen table to eat a quick meal while the house warmed up.
We looked at each other and I said, ‘are you really certain? This is an irrevocable step. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you changed your mind, you know.’
Freya was still nervous, but underneath I could sense a grim determination.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I wish I didn’t have to, but knowing what I do now, I don’t really have any choice. I’ve had plenty of time to think it through, and know that this is what I have to do.’ She took a deep breath and said, ‘no point in delaying’. She took off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless blouse. I took out the silvery ovoid and, following Primo’s instruction via the mind-link, held it in a certain way. It sampled and recognised my DNA and opened. At the top was a large flexible patch. I took it out and held it up. Freya took the patch from me, her eyes narrowed and her mouth firm with determination. Her face was pale under her outdoor tan. She peeled off the protective backing and pressed the thin white patch against her upper arm. We watched in fascination as the patch began to change colour to match her skin, becoming less distinct and gradually thinning out until it was all gone. Freya put her jacket back on with a shrug. Now we just had to wait.
Apart from scanning Freya from time to time to check that she was all right, there was nothing for me to do, and even less for Freya. She spent much of her time walking in the harsh surrounding countryside, getting familiar with the terrain. It would have been unsafe for me to stray far from the house in case I was spotted, so I spent most of the days linked to whichever of the saurians was on duty, reviewing and refining our plans and otherwise engaged in mutual education sessions.
We knew that we would be found, sooner or later. I was in no doubt that there was an intensive search going on for me, and once my enemies had concluded that I was no longer in the USA they would start looking elsewhere, and would check on Freya. Not finding her at her home, they would start to hunt for her, and that would not take long; she had had to use her true ID in renting the house.
At night, I went swimming. The late-autumn sea was cold and wild, pounding the shore, and I found it easiest to get into the water by taking a running dive from the rocks just as a wave began to recede. Once away from the turbulent breakers, the depth and power of the North Atlantic Ocean reached out to me. It sang with life, the Icelanders having sensibly protected their seas from the overfishing which had crippled the industries on both sides of the ocean. I spent as much time as possible underwater, slowing my pulse and moving gently to extend the duration, while my mind absorbed the mental orchestra of the sea; the bright tinkling of the fish and the grander notes of the whales, all against the background of the deep, slow rhythm of the ocean itself. I reluctantly surfaced at regular intervals to scan a wide area around, in case we had been discovered and an attack was being prepared.
After three days I sensed changes beginning in Freya’s mind. She had become irritable, complaining of sudden headaches. In the mornings she described strange dreams, jagged and surreal. On the evening of the fifth day, we were in the kitchen clearing up after our – or to be precise, Freya’s – meal, when she suddenly stopped and said ‘Oh!’ At the same instant, I felt her mind opening up and linked with her.