Alien Tongues (2 page)

On the train journey to Leeds that Sunday, Séamus realized it was the first occasion he was allowing himself to replay the Friday afternoon meeting.  From the moment of leaving the meeting, he had been focused on two things:  the practical preparation needed to spend up to a year away from home, and dealing with Sheryl.  Maybe he had not dared revisit his decision until he was already away from both home and Sheryl.  It was a bit like committing yourself to buying a house you know you cannot afford.  Better to wait long enough that you can stand back and analyze the crazy fool who got you into the mess.

Despite his efforts, little had gone well with Sheryl.  He had made the mistake earlier in his job of describing Barbara Coates' personality to her, and his girlfriend had ended up hating his boss.  Her comments over the last two days had just been an extreme version of a growing opinion expressed since his hiring.

"Can't you see she's using you?" Sheryl had begun quietly over dinner. "She chose you because she knew you'd accept without knowing what you were getting yourself into.  That kind of woman will just chew you up and spit you out."

During the better moments yesterday, Sheryl had reminded him why she had fallen in love with him.  He was caring, thoughtful, a wonderful listener who could always feed back helpful thoughts.  She really appreciated his unique views on everything, and the fact he never pushed any beliefs or opinions but just set them out in a fresh and amusing way.  If only he would stand his ground when challenged by the Barbara Coates' of this world, rather than trying to fit in with them.  He really could go amazing places if he just added a little spine to his sensitive, creative mind.

During the worst moments, she had cried and talked about her plans for marriage, and that she couldn't possibly explain them to her parents until he knew what he was doing with his life (though he thought he had explained it many times.)  Now he was adding another year to her life while at the same time putting all her expectations back.  She would almost have completed her residency by then and would be looking to settle down in a practice somewhere.  She wanted to give up their crummy flat life in Bayswater and get a nice house not too far away from her home village.  M&D would make great babysitters and she could see her girlfriends much more easily.  Everything could be so
perfect
, it was all within reach, if only he would give up his fantasy about being James Bond.  The real people in his line of work were alcoholics who could tell their family and friends nothing about their jobs except that they were government and classified.  Was it really worth being a social bore the rest of his life? It was not as if he made up for it by reading mainstream literature, being an accomplished musician or playing a good hand at bridge.

As always, Séamus endured the ritual castration without complaint, perhaps because he accepted large parts of it as true.  He had tried once explaining to Sheryl that it was all something to do with wanting to be exceptional, and that it was irrelevant to him whether most people knew he was exceptional or not.  In fact, being classified as a social bore was a sort of comfort, as it absolved him from trying to live up to any reputation.  But Saturday would have been a bad time to pursue that line of talk.  It would have emerged that the one opinion that
did
matter was Barbara Coates', and Sheryl would have duly exploded.

Last night, well after they had fallen silent with each other, he had sat in bed with his smartphone while secretly staring at her getting ready in their tiny bathroom.  She stood naked in front of the mirror, drying from the shower, while doing something to her flawless face that was incomprehensible to him.  It was an amazing figure, really.  The full flower of young womanhood, curves defying gravity, powered by evolution to attract the fittest males' competition for the right of reproduction.  And during his stay up North, that competition would doubtlessly start over again, and he was bound to lose it.

When was the last time they had made love?  How could he stare at and covet such erotic, white flesh, yet not feel aroused enough to act upon it?  For certain because any such action would be met by her indifference, and the ever-available excuse that she needed to get an early start the next day.  Knowing this gave him a combined sense of failure and relief. Like an old man he could pruriently enjoy the vision, even get close enough to smell it, yet never have to worry about his performance.  That was something women would never understand, Séamus mused.  Men liked porn sites not so much because they were indiscriminate beasts, but because two-dimensional lovers never hinted at disappointment.

On the train seat opposite him, a boy of around ten years-old appeared to be traveling by himself.  Next to him was a woman of about his own age, reading a magazine, to whom the boy would give furtive glances.  Their age difference was perhaps similar to that between himself and his boss.  Did he have some sort of crush on Mrs Coates?  He could not even imagine what she looked like undressed, though she seemed in good shape. But it felt like the shape of her body was irrelevant.  Did he want those ice-cold eyes staring back at him with desire?

"Tickets, please."

The young woman handed hers to the conductor.  The boy was holding his out obediently, as if on his best behavior.  Séamus saw himself in the boy.  He caught the boy's glance and gave him a hidden wink.  Then he held out his own arm to the conductor, still smiling at the boy.

"Sir, you're offering me your bus pass."

The boy giggled.  Séamus drew a long face at him, as if to admit his stupidity. He pulled back his arm to briefly look at his hand, then immediately offered it again.

"How on earth did you do that, Sir?" the conductor said in astonishment.  The young woman looked up from her magazine.  The boy's mouth dropped.

The conductor took Séamus's offered ticket.  "First time in twenty years I've seen that trick.  Magician, are you?"

"Wasted youth, that's all."

"Could you teach me how to do that?" asked the boy.

Séamus smiled nicely at him.  "Son, I could show you the moves but that's almost irrelevant.  It's all about timing.  For example, I could show you the arm movement to smash a skyer at Wimbledon, but that's about one percent of the solution.  Ninety-nine percent is split-second timing.  And that's just practice, practice, practice."

"Can
you
smash a skyer at Wimbledon, too?" the young woman asked.  Ah, Séamus thought, there was a time in my youth when I would have seized on this pretty girl's spark of interest and chatted her up for the rest of the journey.

"No, but I've sometimes hit a
skier
when skiing," Séamus replied, giving the boy a big stage wink.  Delighted, the boy burst out laughing.  The woman gave an indulgent smile at the young boy and the overgrown boy, then returned to her magazine.

Séamus closed his eyes in pretense of sleep, but instead ran through the Friday meeting in as much detail as he could remember.  He tried to recall tones, pauses, fleeting expressions.  In one sense, Sheryl was right – they were definitely playing with him.  Yet it was so obvious that they had to know that he knew, and were effectively asking him to accept the necessity of the strange game.  He had to trust that it was better that he not know the ultimate reason for the assignment, at least for the time-being.

He recalled his boss's precise expression, 'Maybe this is the biggest job of all time for the Agency.'  Could that possibly be true?  Maybe this language experiment was part of a much larger project which was critical to Britain's security.  Some sort of code-breaking for a terrorist plot involving WMDs? But what could four Asian girls work out that the world's super-computers could not?  No matter how gifted they were, they could not match the sheer number-crunching power.  Even chess champions were beaten by machines, and code-breaking followed a much more computer-friendly process than chess.  At least, that's what he thought he remembered from his training…

The four girls.  'But any of our female agents would be wrong for this one, let me assure you.'  Was it because these Asian girls were from male-dominated societies, so they would be more likely to accept him as their supervisor?  That seemed too simple-minded, especially for the types of girls described to him, who seemed less inclined to blindly accept authority in the first place.  Maybe as a Western male, he would be just alien enough not to create any competitive reaction.  But who knew?  Maybe the available female agents had better plans for the next year and had diplomatically declined the assignment without damaging their careers.

Yet the thought that his selection may not have been based upon any perceived special abilities was not making him feel any less relieved about getting the job.  The euphoria of Friday afternoon may have gone, but only because the human brain cannot retain such emotional highs and continue to operate effectively day to day.  He still felt the deep satisfaction that his job had been saved, that he had been given not only another chance but a big one and – pathetic though it might sound if he expressed it to anyone else – his boss had shown enough faith in him to praise his potential in front of others.  If he succeeded with this minder role, and it was at least a fraction of the importance his boss suggested, then his career at the Agency was set.  He could then focus on being the best possible agent without fearing that the career would be cut short.

He changed trains at Leeds to a local line where a stop-and-go journey took him to the small, countryside station that was closest to his destination.  He went to the information booth and picked up the keys to the car that the professor had promised him.  In the car was a map to the facility which he followed without difficulty.  He drove down narrow country roads with steep hedgerows either side. When the occasional large vehicle approached in the opposite direction, it was sometimes necessary to back up to a brief widening of the road so that they could pass each other.  Occasionally the road sank up to two feet below the surrounding fields.  At the tops of hills he was able to view the sparse beauty of the Yorkshire Dales. 

Finally, he looked down from one hill to see the government facility sprawling below, a collection of one- or two-storey buildings linked by covered walkways.  A guard checked his ID at the gate and he parked by the reception office.  After registering there, he sat in a steel-and-plastic waiting area until a young woman in a lab coat approached him.

"Mr FitzGerald, I'm Alice Turner.  Glad you made it early."  She spoke with a local Yorkshire accent.  "First, let me show you to your room." 

She took him down a series of corridors then up a short flight of stairs.  She opened a door with an electronic device and ushered him in.  It was a good-sized studio apartment, with a bed at one end and kitchenette at the other.  Surprisingly it had a homely feel to it, and the view of fields and woods from the large window was spectacular.  The sun was setting almost twenty minutes earlier than in London, casting streaks of gold and long shadows over the rolling hills.  Séamus had a love-hate relationship with the English countryside, and he felt sure that both emotions were going to intensify over the coming months.

"Nice, isn't it?" Alice said encouragingly.  Séamus agreed.  She handed him the electronic device and a small booklet.  "This is your key to everything." 

She walked to the kitchenette and opened a large fridge-freezer, showing it was full.  "They restock it every week."  She then opened cupboard doors to reveal rows of tins, bottles and boxes.  "Likewise this. You'll never go hungry."  She picked up a tin and read the label, frowning.  "Of course, faced with their choice, you may never feel hungry."

Séamus laughed.  "Don't worry about me, I have retarded taste buds.  I eat anything.  So I bought myself a self-catering vacation here?"

"Oh no, there's a reasonable cafeteria here, open during normal office hours.  This is all for breakfast, weekends and in case you like to eat late."  She paused.  "Also, the pubs in this area are not bad for lunch and dinner."

"You mean, I will be allowed out?"

Alice gave him a chiding look. "Now don't exaggerate your confinement here.  It's only the girls whose movements are restricted, and we have plenty of technology which allows you to monitor them from a distance."  She paused and looked at her watch.  "I finish around six tonight.  What say I show you one of the local pubs?  May as well enjoy an offsite meal before they arrive tomorrow."

Up until this moment Séamus had simply seen a scientist in a white coat.  While carefully avoiding any apparent staring, he now took a closer look at Alice.  She wore no make-up and her reddish hair was pulled back.  Her eyebrows were too thick – as if she paid no attention to them – and her nose was on the long side, but she otherwise had a pretty face.  The lab coat seemed to suggest a strong body frame, without being overweight.  All irrelevant to him, of course, but he just couldn't help notice this time; an irritating by-product of evolution.  He accepted the invitation, and she seemed pleased.

"Drop your stuff here – everything is very secure.  Let me show you the girls' rooms."

The girls' rooms were just down the corridor.  Each had a reinforced door and an elaborate lock.  Alice showed him inside one and it was very similar to his own, except the window that could open had bars across it, tastefully done with wrought iron. 

"Well, it's partly for their sense of security too," Alice explained, "But I know it feels a bit prison-like.  It's really not to lock them up, though.  That would be pointless - after all, they can refuse to cooperate at any time.  The purpose of controlling their movements is to stop them talking with each other outside of the lab.  The lab is the only place they are allowed to see each other and to communicate.  At first I'm sure they won't care about this restriction.  Later in the experiment, however, we believe they will be strongly tempted to break this rule.  It's critical that our facility, and your minding, prevents such contact until the experiment is completed."