Colony worlds, p.38
Colony Worlds, page 38
"Buy some of this."
Ralph leaned over to see what he pointed at. "What's crypto currency?"
"Decentralised money," Norman said the paper rustling in his hands.
"Whatever that means," said Ralph, throwing up his hands. "How can you know about that, but not remember your own name?"
Remember Inc.
Norman Ember and Ralph Bates became partners. After registering on several of the leading coin exchanges, Remember Inc. began trading in cryptocurrencies. What outraged Ralph was when Norman invested half his compensation payout in just one currency, Bitcoin.
"You're crackers. You're buying in after the peak. All my contacts say it about to dive. That blow to the head has scrambled your brain."
"It's a temporary decline," said Norman. "I'm with those who reckon it's the future of finance. It feels right."
"Smacked in the head, brain dead. I'm going need another beer, it's your shout."
In the end, Norman prevailed. It was, after all his money. They started with eighteen hundred Bitcoins at two hundred and fifty dollars each. Four years later, Ralph, unhappy that all their eggs were in one basket, convinced Norman to diversify. They sold a thousand Bitcoin ten million just after its second peak.
Norman found he had an uncanny knack of picking big winners, skyrocketing shares, Melbourne Cup winners, Football grand final winners so long as they were spectacular, unpredictable wins. Try as he might, he fared no better than average at playing the pokies or buying lottery tickets.
He and Ralph became part of the establishment, wealthy beyond Ralph's wildest dreams, but not Norman's.
Bandwagon speculators began waiting to see what Remember Inc. did before scrambling to follow. The traditional market got the jitters, accusations of insider trading, though unproven, prompted Norman to stop trading. It didn't matter anymore; he had realised his original vision of wealth.
Now that he could afford the luxury of pursuing his search for identity, he did so with gusto, on social media, radio, and television.
* * *
Helen, host of 'Celebrity Snaps' a long-running television talk show in her introduction said, "My guest this morning, Norman Ember, is the obverse of a missing person. He's a found person no one has missed. Before a piece of scaffolding struck him in the head, he was unknown. And I don't mean virtually unknown, I mean totally unknown - to everyone, including himself."
She then informed her audience of his phenomenal rise to prosperity and his uncanny accuracy in predicting newsworthy items. "He's now an Adelaide icon with unique rags-to-riches story, well not quite rags."
She turned to Norman, "I'm told the clothes you wore that day were very expensive."
"I've been told the same."
The audience twittered and she turned to them. "Now here's where your story gets strange. Nobody could identify any of your clothes." She looked down at a card in her hand and rattled off a series of brand names for his clothing. "Anyone know any of those Brand Names?"
When no one in the audience volunteered, Helen returned her attention to Norman.
"You have no memory of where or when you bought them."
"No. I have no memories at all prior to the ambulance attendant, asking me if I was alright."
After a glance into the darkened part of the studio, Helen said, "So, moving on, what's your secret for picking winners?"
Norman took his time replying. "First let me say I don't have crystal ball." That drew a few laughs from the studio audience. "And despite what you may have heard," he said, directing his words to the laughter, "I'm not a medium, a seer, or an alien using advanced technology."
More laughter and a couple of taunts, which drew a frown from Helen as he turned back to her. "But to answer your question I don't know. I simply trust my instincts. Some things feel right, some don't." He took a sip of water from the glass provided. The studio lights were hot and talking was thirsty work. He could do with an ice-cold beer.
"From your spectacular results, people are saying, and I'll quote the most repeated comment, 'as if he sees the future.' Can you talk us through, through the process?"
"I'll try, but if it's the future I'm seeing, then it's like looking through a dirty window into a dark room, where someone occasionally turns on a light. All my choices require a seed. Something I see or hear suddenly triggers a feeling that says, 'That's it, that's what I'm looking for'. Like with cryptocurrency, I was reading an article on it when I felt an urge to buy, when everyone else was selling. I have this theory, that given the same inputs, anyone could do it."
"How," Helen said into the suddenly hushed studio? "If we could, we would. Wouldn't we?" Helen asked.
"As I understand it," Norman continued, "our unconscious processes vast amounts of data into new information during sleep, but we either ignore it or can't access it when we wake. I think what I do differently is process the data while I'm awake and act on it. I'm sorry it isn't very scientific but then I'm not a scientist either."
"Have you ever tried this to help with your identity search?"
Norman wondered why he hadn't he thought of that himself. Could it be that simple?
"No. I can't say I have. As I have said before, it's a reactive process. I get a feeling of..." He stopped, searching for the right words. "The best way I can describe the feeling is - a 'rightness'. "
Helen smiled at camera, then turned to Norman. "Well, let me ask a question and we'll see what that 'triggers' as you call it."
"Fire away," said Norman, intrigued.
"What do you feel, for example, when I ask," she paused for dramatic effect. "Do you have a sister?"
A deathly silence crept over the studio while Norman thought about it.
"Nothing at all, I don't know."
"How about a brother?"
Abruptly alert, Norman knocked over the glass of water at his elbow. A feeling of rightness as strong as when he read about cryptocurrency consumed him.
"Now that's what I call a reaction," said Helen.
The studio audience tittered. The camera zoomed in for close-up. There were tears in Norman's eyes as he whispered. "I have a brother. I'm not alone."
* * *
The 'Celebrity Snaps' interview changed the approach of those claiming a relationship to the mystery man. Older females still claimed to be his mother and younger females his daughters. Females his age still claimed to be his wife, but none now claimed to be his sister and almost all males now declared themselves his brother.
Ralph used his contacts to put together a team to filter out the more obvious frauds. The easier way to make most of them disappear was to ask them to submit to a DNA swab. Some persisted, on the chance of being related,
For Norman, the blatant loonies were the worst, forming competing messianic cults around him, calling him the 'man who fell from god'. It was all insultingly disproportionate to the facts and did not enhance Norman's view of his fellow humans. He grimaced at his own equally outrageous thought. Perhaps I am an alien, after all.
"I think it time I took another approach," Norman said when Ralph visited his city flat and found him replaying the tape of the interview with Helen.
"5 years, and no advance. I sick of this flat."
"Get a bigger one, you can afford it," Ralph said from the kitchenet, where sound of boil kettle came from, "or better yet, buy a house. Tea or Coffee."
"Coffee."
Ralph returned to the living room with two steaming cups. "Why are you watching that again?"
"I'm analysing the mild reaction I had to Helen's quote, 'as if he sees the future'. It makes no sense to me. I'm interested in the past, not the Future. I want to find who I am, my childhood, my parents."
"You need a time machine," Ralph joked.
* * *
The whole of the next year Norman read all the material he could find on time travel and quickly found that while it was an idea beloved of Science Fiction, science, except for the fringe dwellers, almost unanimously rejected the concept.
Norman clung to the 'almost.' He would give everything he had for the slimmest chance to go back before his fateful encounter with a rolling a length of pipe.
When he floated the idea of establishing a grants fund for research into the space-time continuum, Ralph attempted to dissuade him. "I would've had thought you'd have seen enough of crackpots?"
"Restrict it to qualified physicists then."
"That could be worse. They're used to coming up with convincing proposals for large budgets which always get spent and rarely produce."
"Then find those who believe it impossible to debunk the crackpot theories. And they must work in our lab."
"What lab?" Ralph asked, scratching his thinning hair.
"The one we are going to build."
"It's a waste of money."
"It's my money."
Norman rose from his chair, looked over the balcony into the street at the site of his earliest memory. "Who knows, they might find something useful along the way."
At the same time as Remember Inc. built its lab, Norman bought and renovated an old mansion on large acres, near to it so he could monitor progress.
Life
Norman now lived in the manner he had envisaged eighteen years ago, before he and Ralph bought their original crypto-coins. Time proved his insight correct. A series of unrelated by-products, generated by the research, paid back his outlay, and continued to fund the ongoing running costs.
When the facility's annual reports showed no substantial progress, Norman's enthusiasm waned. Ralph, despite his wealth remained frugal and urged him to close the project.
"Why?" asked Norman, running a hand over his greying hair. "Its self-funded and provides work for graduates with wild ideas that push the boundaries. I remain hopeful, just not excited anymore."
Ralph shook his head in despair and filed the report. "I am sorry to keep harping on it, but you should give up on the search. "
"I'll think about it," he said, the suggestion coming from Ralph, who known him his entire life and knew how much it meant to him, hurt more than he liked to admit.
Despite it, Norman persisted, but his hope of finding his brother faded, and he came to believe his sibling must have died young, before his earliest memory. With the demise of that hope and the continued negative reports on time travel, his passion for the past dwindled.
Norman was best man at Ralph's wedding to Lucy. The couple named their first child Norma and over the next decade Norman became godfather to all the Bates children. He soon realised Ralph's family filled a hole in life, often felt but never acknowledged. Norma's birth had struck a deeper chord in him. He knew, as surely as he knew he had a brother, he also had a niece. It felt right, as if he'd been down this path before. Whenever he visited, Norma would squeal with delight and ran to him. Norma bates was Uncle Norm's favourite.
On his estimated fiftieth birthday, the twenty-eighth anniversary of 'The Day,' Ralph and Lucy threw an open house party for him. Hundreds of people turned up. The number of those Norman could honestly call friends overwhelmed him. He had come a long way since his metaphorical birth, yet was no closer. His search was less frantic, more sorrowful now. In his obsessive pursuit of the past, he had let slide several opportunities to marry. He regretted that now, envying Ralph's his family.
Remember Inc. continued to attract top scientist from around the world. Ralph ran the business side only giving Norman the interesting reports. The partnership purchased the Criterion hotel, had the balcony enclosed, air-conditioned, and carpeted as the partner's private preserve.
Ralph hooked his cane over the back of his chair and then sat opposite Norman in their usual balcony spot, holding a report in shaking hands.
Norman, looking at his friend, thought, he looks as old as I feel. "What is it, Ralph?"
"One of Sharpe's more radical students thinks he's done it," he said his voice no longer firm.
"Done what?" Norman asked still staring absently out the window at the intersection where forty-odd years ago his life had begun. Overall, it hadn't been an awful life once started. He was well off with a large circle of friends. He even had a surrogate family. Ralph was as close as any brother could be and although there was no blood relationship, Norma's children called him granddad. Ralph, they called pop.
"You're not listening," Ralph prodded. "Sharpe thinks one of his team has achieved what you want."
Norman emerged from his reverie, a skerrick of his friend's agitation piercing his reserve. "What I want?"
"Send you back." Ralph said clearly frustrated as he dumped the report on the table.
Norman faced him, a flutter in his abdomen. He suppressed it. Too many promising leads had led nowhere. His store of hope was bankrupt.
Ralph coughed and sipped his beer. "One of them thinks he's done it." Shuffling to his feet, he joined Norman at the window and pointed down into the busy street. "Early days, of course," said Ralph, "but they think they're close. There's a chance you can go back."
"When?" Norman asked.
"He'll call me when they can prove it works."
Time
Another three years drifted away before Professor Peter Sharpe; current head of Remember Inc.'s research facility called Ralph to say they were ready for a demonstration. Norman had his chauffer drive them to the facility in his new Tesla. He had not been to the Lab since opening it. Mature trees, pin oaks, and claret ash lined the driveway and surrounded the lab. The twenty-acre ex-farm was now a well-manicured park.
"Hard to believe we bought this as a bare paddock," Ralph said, reaching for his cane as they drew up in front of a nondescript brick building built onto the side of a large hanger.
I should have paid more attention, Norman thought, I've missed so much.
Cool conditioned air greeted them as they entered. A plate glass bay window between the two structures afforded a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view inside the hangar. The vast machine at its centre bristled with lights and cables and hummed with power. A sloping console ran the length of the bay window. At a desk about three feet in front of the console, two men argued.
The taller tapped a sheet of paper on the desk with a forefinger. "... you don't deny the field will link to the past," he mumbled.
"No," replied the younger man, his gestures flexing the hourglass tattoo on his upper arm. "But with no physical manifestation inside the field, the traveller won't receive any sensory input and will remain unaware of any change."
"Little point travelling at all."
Ralph coughed to make their presence known. The argument ceased. The taller man removed his glasses to focus on the interlopers. "What is it Mr. Bates?" The impatience in his tone drew a quick frown from his younger companion.
Ralph was unperturbed. "Allow me to introduce Norman Ember, the man who built and funds this facility. Norman, this is Professor Sharpe, head of the project."
Norman shook the thin, gnarled hand.
The younger man jumped forward. "I'm Harry, I recognised you straight away, Norm. Your story got me interested in this field. Good to meet you finally." He had a firm grip and shook Norman's hand vigorously. He looked about thirty-five.
"My story was old news before you were born."
"Old but not forgotten, Mr. Ember," Sharpe put in. "Anyone who shows the slightest interest in space-time is told about us. We are at the forefront of research."
"Harris Leyland," said Ralph, "the field's discoverer."
"He'll get the Noble for Physics when he writes it up," Sharpe added.
Harry winked at him.
Norman quickly assessed them with a sharpness borne of years of practice. "Who should I ask why there is little point travelling?" He glanced between them, watching their differing reactions, surprise for the older, delight from the younger. "Something about sensory input," he prompted.
"Ah that." Harry said. "I was pointing out to Prof, the temporal field we can generate might be useless to you. It may be impenetrable. Someone inside the field may find themselves unable to interact with the surrounding environment. We don't even know if light and sound will penetrate. You could end up deaf, mute, and blind to the era, assuming you get there. And leaving the field might kill you, we don't know yet. We've only sent inanimate objects so far - we think."
The thrust of his argument was clear to Norman. If he couldn't leave the field or interact with the past, the discovery was useless to him.
"Today's demonstration will help clear this up," Sharpe said. "It seems perfectly logical to me. We can see in. The cat should see out."
"Intend to send back?" Norman asked.
"Well spotted," Harry answered. "We are currently on the receiving end of next month's experiment. Now is the 'when' to which we will send our cat."
The puzzlement on Norman's face must have been obvious. Harry offered them both chairs. Norman sat down gratefully. Ralph set aside his walking cane, sat and patted Norman's arm reassuringly. Out in the hanger, white-coated student engineers were busy making last-minute adjustments. Sharpe flicked a switch on the console.
"Are we ready Abdul?"
"Yeah, Harry." The reply came from a console speaker. A young man in a turban waved at them through the glass.
"Right then," said Harry, and checked the large wall clock. "You have ten minutes." He turned back from the console.
"Let me see if I can make it clearer for you Norm," Harry said. "We have scheduled an experiment for three o'clock on October the Fourth. Twenty-eight days from today. We will attempt to send a cat backwards in time, to here. If we launch on schedule, the cat should appear in the cage at precisely three o'clock today."
"Isn't that back to front, shouldn't you be..."
"Wait and see Norm," whispered Ralph. "It's all much easier to explain after it's happened because then you have some idea what the future holds. The first experiment they did, they hadn't decided what to send until a vase appeared and settled the matter."
