Waiting for the Machines to Fall Asleep Read online

  Waiting for the Machines to Fall Asleep

  26 short stories from the new wave of Swedish speculative fiction writers

  Edited by Peter Öberg

  Cover illustration by Andreas Raninger

  © The authors

  Affront Publishing, 2015

  ISBN: 978-91-87585-34-0

  www.affront.se

  "Melody of the Yellow Bard" – Hans Olsson

  The man approached me when I was on my way home from the university. There was something clearly different about him. He had a strange look in his eyes, a certain calmness, like he knew some big secret. He appeared young, not much older than me, but he had a confident, powerful way of walking. That, and the fact that he almost toppled me, caught my attention.

  "Rasmus? Are you Rasmus Ekblad?"

  "Yes?" I said. He was now standing disturbingly close to me. I could see that, along with his bright smile, he wore a tailored suit with a blue tie. His eyes were even more unsettling this close, almost like he could see something within me that I tried to hide.

  "My name is Clayton and I'm a representative for a big company that is very interested in new scientific discoveries and ideas. We came across your thesis about controllable wormholes and found it fascinating, especially the design you made of a model of a machine that could support such activities. Where did you get the idea?"

  Some people I've met call me obnoxious or ignorant. The truth is they may be right, but at the same time they are equally wrong. I'm not ignorant, I just don't understand what they are saying. Fashion, for example. I cannot comprehend why I have to wear this year's model of a jacket when it's just another autumn. The one I had last year is just as warm. Does not compute.

  I think that's why I came up with my idea in the first place, because I'm usually not hindered by conventional thinking. Because I don't understand it. All my idea needed was a component lacking in other theories: the sound component. I thought that sound waves could alter a theoretical wormhole, given the assumption that vibrating strings rule microcosmos. It also made technical sense, at least to me. It took me a moment to recall that paper. The night before I got the idea I had a few beers with friends. Probably two or three too many. Anyway, ever since I took the class for quantum physics, those thoughts must have been circling around in my head. The idea of a controllable wormhole was born somewhere between the beers, when I thought about how the mind processes changes from clear, to cloudy, to deep-mist-murky, and back to clear again. It could stay at a clear peak for a brief moment, and it was a delicate balance to keep it there, but it was possible. Granted you balanced beer intake with other factors. Somewhere around there reality snuck into my thoughts and I started to apply these terms to the idea of a wormhole.

  "It just came to me," I shrugged.

  Clayton smiled. "If you say so. Well, Shervi, the multinational company I work for would like to meet you for an interview. It's a great chance for you to get a foot into the business grind of the real world. I also understand that you have a talent for engineering and machines?"

  I thought about that for a second. His choice of words intrigued me. The grind; it sounded like something I could imagine. To be grinded, hardened, against the cogwheels of competent people. This could give me a huge boost in preparation for the job market. I also vaguely recognized the name of the company as one of the inventive ones. Maybe I'd read about it somewhere. And he wasn't wrong about the mechanical part. I've always had a talent for engineering. Perhaps that's why I drew such a detailed prototype of a machine capable of altering the fabric of space. It was all theoretical of course, a joke at best. Why would this Clayton character be interested in that?

  "That's right. I know a few things about engines and stuff," I said. "When is the interview?"

  "Our facilities are located on a small island in the Baltic Sea. I will give you a ticket to a boat transport, which will depart tomorrow at 11 a.m. We require you to stay for two days for interviews, some basic tests and evaluation. We realize that you will miss two days of study time, but we will compensate you economically. How does that sound?"

  I didn't need to think about that, but I pretended for the sake of it.

  "Sounds good. How much compensation are we talking about?"

  "1100 euros," he said without hesitation. "That's about 10 000 Swedish kronor," he added.

  Just the right amount to get me hooked. Had he offered me more, I probably would have dismissed him.

  "Great."

  "Good. Don't miss the boat. Here's directions of how to get there, and here's your ticket."

  He reached into a pocket in his suit and took out two pieces of paper. The first one was indeed some sort of directions. I could see a time table for the bus and a map of what looked like a harbor. The other paper was blank.

  "This is your ticket which, if you use the transports suggested, will take you all the way. All expenses are included. Just show this to the bus driver and he will know who you are."

  I stared at the blank paper, and began to think that all this might be a fraud, but I was absorbed by the situation and knew I would give it a chance. The blank paper also had a certain touch to it, with a crude surface that felt ... real; real in a way that gave credibility to his mysterious offer.

  "Thank you very much for your time, Rasmus. I promise you that we are interested and impressed by your thesis. You will not be disappointed with what we can offer you. I'll meet you on the boat tomorrow."

  Then he turned and walked away, leaving me with a puzzled grin on my face. He knew he had me.

  The next day I had packed a few things and went on my way to the bus station. The description stated "Line 727" which I didn't recognize, but when I arrived at the station there was a bus waiting for me. A big blue one. The driver insisted on seeing my blank piece of paper, and when I showed it to him he scanned it with some device. I was the only passenger, and we took off immediately.

  A video monitor in the center of the bus caught my attention. There was no sound, but the images were clear enough that I could make out the content without too much effort. There was a bearded man, with big bushy hair, who looked nothing like the scientist he, in his white coat, was supposed to be. But he had steel in his eyes; steel, fire and determination. I saw an island with lots of small buildings scattered about. A lab was then shown containing numerous strange devices I had never seen before. Some looked like modified microscopes; others like big ovens; and yet more like bizarre engines, stacked in various locations of the room. The details held my attention for the whole fifteen minutes of the film, before it started over again. I watched it three times and each time I discovered more surprising things, like the oily fluid flowing not through the pipes of the engines, but sort of around it. Or the faint glow that pulsated like a vicious radioactive heart in the background. Outside the bus the landscape had changed from pine trees to a rocky coastline.

  The bus stopped and as I stepped out I could smell sea water. The boat was there, but there was no harbor. We had just stopped at a seemingly random location along a cemented dock. The directions in my pocket seemed pointless. It was a small vessel, more like a military scouting vehicle than anything else. Clayton was on it and he raised his hand and smiled.

  "Good to see you again," he said as I approached and got onboard. "We're moving out immediately and will be there in thirty minutes. You might want to wear these," he added with a grin and handed me a pair of what looked like swimming goggles.

  "It's fast?"

  "Yes. Built with the very
latest technology. So new, in fact, it's not officially on the market yet, and so advanced that it probably never will be. Intrigued?" He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Please, have a seat here," he gestured at some small seats in the front of the boat. "I like to sit outside as long as it's not too cold. And the weather today is alright. Inside or outside?"

  I didn't want to look weak in front of him, so outside it was.

  It was a bloody fast boat. Once the engine started I could feel the power from it through the hull, like a hungry beast roaring. The advanced vessel then detached from the dock and began to rapidly accelerate. I'm not sure if we flew or sailed, but I loved the goggles. The wind was so furious that it was hard to breathe, but I had no problems seeing. Clayton did thumbs-up and I tried to smile, but it was a challenge to even manage that. The thirty minutes literally flew past before the boat slowed down and took aim toward an island off ahead. Gray cliffs rose from the sea, and there was a small lighthouse. When we got closer I could see barbed wire surrounding the entire island, and guards patrolling. Was it military?

  We arrived beneath the lighthouse and Clayton jumped ashore just as the boat stopped. I followed, slightly unsteady after the ride. A yellow SUV waited for us and Clayton motioned me to take a seat.

  "Welcome to Nebu Island," he said when the driver started. "I bet you have questions stockpiling up, but please wait with them. You will understand our need for discretion shortly. Meanwhile, allow me to tell you a little bit more about the company I work for. It's not your ordinary multinational organization."

  "Oo...kay." I started to feel a bit unsure of what was going on as the SUV drove us past several gray buildings, bringing us toward a vast hangar complex ahead.

  "The company is called Shervi, which is a subsidiary of another bigger company in the cooperative. We headhunt people from all over the world, who could support our organization in one way or another. We mainly perform research, but also engage in extensive field testing. The problem is, the 'fields' we have here can't really support nor justify our testing needs. So we have developed other methods to ... let's say simulate, certain circumstances that would otherwise be impossible."

  "Mhm. Impossible on this island?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Where then? What kind of simulation are you talking about?"

  "You'll see shortly," Clayton said with another smile. He went silent for a moment. "I wasn't totally honest with you."

  "Really?" I said, almost with a snarl. I was starting to dislike the whole situation more and more.

  "There will be few questions, none actually, regarding your potential employment here. You can almost consider yourself hired right away. There is just one small thing I want you to look at first and give me your opinion on. Isn't that good news?"

  "Maybe."

  Clayton's demeanour turned serious. "Very few people will ever get the chance to experience what you are about to. I want you to keep that in mind."

  "So what is this place? Do you work for the military?" The whole thought of the military running some secret operations on this island almost made me laugh in disbelief. What secrets could they possibly have that would be interesting to me, and make me interesting to them?

  "As soon as you put up fences around a place there are people bound to challenge them. It works to keep the majority out, but some people will try. Hence, we are not military per se, but we do need protection. Both from outside sources and inside ... events."

  "What?"

  "Just keep in mind that you are privileged, Mr. Ekblad." Clayton ended the conversation and I was left more puzzled than ever.

  The SUV drove around the big complex and stopped outside a gray steel door. Two armed guards stood outside, nodded over at Clayton as he jumped out of the car and gave me a quick, uninterested glance. They resumed their staring into nothingness. Two silent statues guarding ... what?

  "Come now," said Clayton and opened the door. The interior of the hangar was expansive; almost empty. Over in a corner on the other side I noticed three outdated looking helicopters. Clayton went left and stopped by the wall after some twenty meters.

  "Here we are," he said, smiling again.

  "Yeah ..."

  "I can see that you are unimpressed, but please keep an open mind."

  Clayton reached for the wall and pressed some tiles that looked dirty and oily. Suddenly a rumble emerged across the hangar, like giant chains being dragged over boulders. A part of the floor beside us sank, revealing a staircase down to another door. We descended and Clayton entered a code on a small electrical panel. I counted twelve digits.

  "Point of no return," he said jokingly, and he pushed the door open and dragged me in before I could say otherwise. "Welcome to Alpha Harbor."

  Inside were a large group of people in an office-looking area. Not exactly what I'd been expecting to see. Clayton smirked in response to my confused look. Some of the people raised their heads as we entered, but most just hurried along, busy with whatever they were doing. He took me through a white corridor. On the walls were paintings with abstract motives and mosaic post-it art of action heroes or villains from video games. I recognized Richter Belmont, with his whip in hand in one picture. That made me smile. Computes.

  I caught a few words from a conversation and heard two women talk about electromagnetism and quarks. The people here had a certain grace about them; their posture, gestures and the way they looked at each other. I recognized it from the university, among the professors. They were discussing important things, no doubt, but at another level than I was used to. The whole atmosphere had a remarkable touch of respect and knowledge.

  We walked down a set of stairs, into another corridor with rooms off to the sides, almost like a hospital. Soon I was lost due to all the turns, but Clayton led me on. Eventually he gestured me into a room, from which an electric humming emanated.

  We stepped in and stood in some sort of control room, with panels and computer screens set beneath a big glass window. In a corner I could see pipes disappearing through the wall into another room just behind it.

  "Look here," Clayton said, pointing through the glass. "Tell me what you see, please. What can you tell me about this apparatus?"

  I stepped forward and, peering closely through the window, saw some weird machine, with metallic strings on the hull, and small parabolic antennas, similar to sea shells, attached all over. At first they seemed random, but the more I looked the more sense they made.

  "It's ... I think it's wrong." I couldn't explain it. I just knew it wasn't right.

  "What makes you say that?" Clayton wanted to know, genuinely interested.

  "I ... It's like some of the components have been distorted, shifted slightly out of place. Like someone has dented it. Machinal internal bleeding," I tried to explain.

  "That's exactly what has happened here. I am impressed and this is why I wanted your opinion. You can consider yourself hired. Let me introduce you to someone else who will explain what this machine does, and many more things."

  With that we left the room and continued to navigate the corridors. After many turns we entered a smaller room with a man behind a big marble desk. I recognized him from the video on the bus. He had a white trimmed beard, thick glasses and big hands that looked like they could crush stones, should he want to. He was writing something in a journal, but paused when he saw us.

  "Ah, good to see you, Clayton. This is Rasmus, I suppose?"

  "Yes," I said hesitantly.

  "Did you show him the machine?" the man asked.

  "Yes," Clayton said and nodded. "He immediately saw it was 'dented' or suffered from 'machinal internal bleeding'. I offered him employment on the spot."

  The man laughed. "Perfect. I'm Erling Stumferd and I'm the senior CEO."

  "Oh," I responded, still processing this was the man from the video.

  "Do you want employment, Rasmus?"

  "Maybe," I said vaguely.

  "I'm sure you will when I've shown you some inte
resting things. Did Clayton tell you anything about what we do here?"

  "Not really, no. Simulations?"

  "In a way, yes. But that's all very good. I wouldn't want to have your surprise spoiled. Anyway, you have to see to believe. Do you like science fiction movies, Rasmus?"

  "Sure, I watch them ..."

  "What if I told you that all the movies you know are bogus and out of date. What if I told you that we have discovered technology far superior to anything known to the outside world. What if I told you that you are about to witness the future, not here on Earth, but other planets. Would you believe me?"

  I laughed. What a nut.

  "I was promised some money," I said instead, trying to divert his attention to real matters. But he just gave me a soft smile that I didn't like one bit. It was like when you carefully explain to a child that Santa isn't real, and when the child protests you give them that kind of smile: You will understand in due time. Oh yes, in due time.

  "The ticket Clayton gave you, have you considered how the bus driver knew that you were the right passenger?"

  "Not really." I hesitated. The movie on the bus had distracted me so much I had completely forgotten about that.

  "I see," Erling said softly. "It's encrypted with quantum technology. Had you brought a similar paper instead of the ticket, the scanning device would've shown nothing and you would still be in school, playing with the other kids. This, my friend, is the new order of things. Come, let me show you."

  We left the room and headed further into the corridor maze. Shortly we stopped outside a big vault door with a handle that Erling turned. The door opened and for the first time that day I was utterly and completely speechless. Inside was a machine park of some kind, but not with machines I'd ever seen. I tried to look for familiar shapes and found something that looked like an airplane, but only because it had wings. One pair of

  translucent, fly-like wings, shimmering in the light from computer screens, spread across the room. The rest of the plane was spherical, with something that looked like rails attached in a semicircle around the upper part of the sphere.