spare Julian, and three thousand others, their lives.
‘Maddy?’
She looked up at Becks, standing beside her. ‘Uh? Hey, Becks.’
‘I have finished.’
Maddy had given her the task of checking on the growth tubes in the back. There were six foetuses hanging in that awful murky, smelly growth solution, being fed a mix of nutrients that kept them in stasis. None of them would grow any larger until they activated the growth mode and cut the mix with steroids. As long as they had power feeding the tubes, the foetuses – future Bobs and Becks – took care of themselves. Although, occasionally, the filters needed to be pulled out, cleared of gunk and put back in. A quite horrible job. Even worse, Maddy mused, than pulling rotting hair and skin and whatever else was in there from a blocked plughole. Even worse, if it was possible, than emptying their chemical toilet.
‘All of the growth tubes are performing optimally,’ she said drily. ‘All the in-vitro clone candidates are fine.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you wish me to make you some coffee?’
Maddy could still smell that gunk on Becks’s hands. ‘Uhh … no, that’s OK.’ She picked up a remote control and switched one of the monitors to show a cable channel. The Simpsons was on. She recognized it as an old episode she’d seen too many times over the years. But, of course, here in 2001, for every kid just coming in from school and watching it now, it was a brand-new episode.
And one of those kids … is – was – me.
She had to be out there, right now: a nine-year-old Madelaine Carter, sitting in the kitchen having an after-school bowl of Nugget Crunch, most probably watching the very same episode. And Mom, sitting at the kitchen table beside her, asking her about her day and Maddy grunting answers back.
What she’d give to just grab her coat, her wallet, walk out of the arch and get the first flight from JFK to Boston. What she’d give to walk up the front yard, on to the porch and ring the doorbell. To say, ‘Hi, Mom,’ when she opened the front door. ‘I’m your little girl all grown up. How’s tricks?’
Most of all, what she’d give to step in past her mom, cross the hall into the kitchen, hunker down in front of that little girl, with her frizzy hair tied in a ponytail, her hands dirty, her jeans scuffed from playing soccer with the boys.
‘Hey there, Maddy, wanna know who I am?’
Becks sat down beside her. Silent, studying her face intently, before she cocked her head curiously. ‘Maddy Carter. Why are you crying?’
‘Uh?’ She shook her head, her mind once again back in the archway, her eyes once more on the screen watching Homer trashing Ned Flanders’s lawnmower.
‘Dirt,’ she mumbled. ‘Dirt in my eye.’ She rubbed them dry under her glasses. ‘Becks?’
‘Yes, Maddy?’
‘You recall our last conversation with Foster?’
‘When we went to Central Park?’
‘That’s right.’
That’s where she could find him same time, same day. For him, a moment that passed once; for her, looping back in their forty-eight-hour bubble, it could be a repeated encounter out there in the park, beside the duck pond.
‘I recall your conversation with Foster.’
‘You remember we asked you when you could unlock that data … the decoded message in the Grail.’
‘Yes, Maddy, I remember that.’
‘You replied –’
‘The data would be unlocked when it is the end.’
‘Yes … “the end”. What did you mean by that?’
Becks cocked her head on one side. ‘It is the only answer the protocol permits me to offer.’
‘But what do you think it means? What is it referring to? The end of what ?’
Becks shrugged. ‘I have no data on that.’
‘The end of … me? You? The agency? The world?’
The support unit’s grey eyes locked on hers. ‘I repeat, I have no data to interpret that message.’
‘Is there no way we could dig that hard drive out of your head and access that locked part of the drive? Scan it
‘Maddy?’
She looked up at Becks, standing beside her. ‘Uh? Hey, Becks.’
‘I have finished.’
Maddy had given her the task of checking on the growth tubes in the back. There were six foetuses hanging in that awful murky, smelly growth solution, being fed a mix of nutrients that kept them in stasis. None of them would grow any larger until they activated the growth mode and cut the mix with steroids. As long as they had power feeding the tubes, the foetuses – future Bobs and Becks – took care of themselves. Although, occasionally, the filters needed to be pulled out, cleared of gunk and put back in. A quite horrible job. Even worse, Maddy mused, than pulling rotting hair and skin and whatever else was in there from a blocked plughole. Even worse, if it was possible, than emptying their chemical toilet.
‘All of the growth tubes are performing optimally,’ she said drily. ‘All the in-vitro clone candidates are fine.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you wish me to make you some coffee?’
Maddy could still smell that gunk on Becks’s hands. ‘Uhh … no, that’s OK.’ She picked up a remote control and switched one of the monitors to show a cable channel. The Simpsons was on. She recognized it as an old episode she’d seen too many times over the years. But, of course, here in 2001, for every kid just coming in from school and watching it now, it was a brand-new episode.
And one of those kids … is – was – me.
She had to be out there, right now: a nine-year-old Madelaine Carter, sitting in the kitchen having an after-school bowl of Nugget Crunch, most probably watching the very same episode. And Mom, sitting at the kitchen table beside her, asking her about her day and Maddy grunting answers back.
What she’d give to just grab her coat, her wallet, walk out of the arch and get the first flight from JFK to Boston. What she’d give to walk up the front yard, on to the porch and ring the doorbell. To say, ‘Hi, Mom,’ when she opened the front door. ‘I’m your little girl all grown up. How’s tricks?’
Most of all, what she’d give to step in past her mom, cross the hall into the kitchen, hunker down in front of that little girl, with her frizzy hair tied in a ponytail, her hands dirty, her jeans scuffed from playing soccer with the boys.
‘Hey there, Maddy, wanna know who I am?’
Becks sat down beside her. Silent, studying her face intently, before she cocked her head curiously. ‘Maddy Carter. Why are you crying?’
‘Uh?’ She shook her head, her mind once again back in the archway, her eyes once more on the screen watching Homer trashing Ned Flanders’s lawnmower.
‘Dirt,’ she mumbled. ‘Dirt in my eye.’ She rubbed them dry under her glasses. ‘Becks?’
‘Yes, Maddy?’
‘You recall our last conversation with Foster?’
‘When we went to Central Park?’
‘That’s right.’
That’s where she could find him same time, same day. For him, a moment that passed once; for her, looping back in their forty-eight-hour bubble, it could be a repeated encounter out there in the park, beside the duck pond.
‘I recall your conversation with Foster.’
‘You remember we asked you when you could unlock that data … the decoded message in the Grail.’
‘Yes, Maddy, I remember that.’
‘You replied –’
‘The data would be unlocked when it is the end.’
‘Yes … “the end”. What did you mean by that?’
Becks cocked her head on one side. ‘It is the only answer the protocol permits me to offer.’
‘But what do you think it means? What is it referring to? The end of what ?’
Becks shrugged. ‘I have no data on that.’
‘The end of … me? You? The agency? The world?’
The support unit’s grey eyes locked on hers. ‘I repeat, I have no data to interpret that message.’
‘Is there no way we could dig that hard drive out of your head and access that locked part of the drive? Scan it
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