Alien Tongues Page 2

  "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 ea
ch 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."

  The fridge-freezers and cupboards were stocked with food from their local countries. It was known that each of the girls was proficient at cooking, and so they were expected to prepare their own meals alone. Séamus wondered how they would bear up under this form of isolation. If they already had some emotional problems, what would this turn them into? If they cracked under the strain, would he get the blame? He looked out of the barred window. To an Asian girl, did the English countryside look like wilderness from which there was no escape?

  Alice took him down to the lab. A square, windowless room was divided into four cubicles, glass walls separating them from floor to ceiling. A girl would sit in each cubicle at her desk and, while the glass was transparent, would be able to see the other three girls. But each cubicle was completely soundproof, giving the girls two ways to communicate with one another. First, they could use physical gestures. Second, they could type on a pad in front of them and see typed responses from the other girls on a screen. A major limitation was, however, that the keypad only had numbers on it, 0 through 9. Moreover, at certain times the glass partitions could turn opaque, preventing communication through physical gesture. On each desk sat a helmet, designed to read brain function. Séamus tried it on. It felt comfortable enough.

  Finally, Alice showed him the cafeteria area and also the gym. He was relieved at how well-equipped the gym was. Clearly someone had kept in mind long-stay agents when fitting out the place.

  He returned to his room alone and exchanged a few messages with Sheryl. She sounded distant, but that was hardly surprising. He would just have to keep his own tone thoughtful and caring and see how she got used to the situation. She was lucky enough to have her career set and nicely on track; finally she might appreciate how important such a goal was to him. There was one good way to look at the impact of this assignment – if she really did love him, then they would survive it.

  And if they couldn't survive this challenge, what would a lifetime with her have in store? He accepted that either of them could go astray over the lonely months ahead. The big question was whether or not their natural compatibility drew then back together. Séamus took some pride in not being the possessive type. If Sheryl could experience all the charms of another man and yet find them wanting, he would view that as reassuring. He believed that people who married inexperienced partners were liable to have to deal with that partner's romantic curiosity in later life.

  Alice came by again at six and they left the facility, taking her car. "I hope you don't mind if I stop briefly at home and change," she told him as she sped with familiarity down the now-dark, winding lanes. "My mum will be there, but just ignore her if you like. I really won't be a minute."

  They entered a small village and Alice pulled up in front of a cottage sitting close to the road. Séamus followed her inside to a low-ceilinged and cozily furnished living room. "Mum, I'm off to the White Hart with a new colleague," she told the woman sitting in an armchair, and made a brief introduction. "Give Séamus a cup of tea while I change, will you?" She then left the room. The woman smiled at him and went through to the kitchen, returning soon with a cup and saucer. Séamus perched himself on the sofa opposite her, stirring in one of the sugar cubes provided. The lady politely asked where he had come from, and he told her he had arrived from London that day.

  "Irish, are you, Séamus?" She asked. Well, Séamus FitzGerald was that kind of a name.

  "Yes, Mrs Turner," he replied, receiving the expected correction to call her Ellen. "But my family moved here when I was ten." No need to explain it was just his mother and him.

  "Alice's dad and I loved our holidays in Ireland," she said. "Kerry and Waterford. So beautiful."

  "Yes." Actually he preferred the Yorkshire Dales and Moors, but then he was the type who saw more beauty in what he was least familiar with, and that didn't carry emotional baggage. Maybe Ellen was the same.

  "You know, after he left me, it was a godsend that Alice got the job at the Labs here. I think I would have gone to pieces if she hadn't returned from Cambridge."

  At this sudden wave of intimacy, Séamus could only nod as if she had recalled last week's weather. Was this woman so desperately lonely, or slightly unhinged, or cannily relaying Alice's sense of duty and obvious sacrifice? How had her husband "left"? A sip of tea in a stranger's home and a world of pain became scarily visible.

  "So what work brings you here, Séamus?" Had she been trying to lower his guard?

  "Auditing," he told her. "Just routine stuff. You know government budgets these day."

  "Ah. When Alice was so good with numbers at school, I thought, she can have a nice, safe job as an accountant. Then she goes and gets herself a Ph.D. in Maths from Cambridge. I ask you!"

  Séamus automatically glanced towards the doorway through which Alice had disappeared. This young woman he had assumed to be a lab assistant was brilliant beyond his comprehension. And she was taking more than a minute to get ready.

  "What did you study at college, Séamus?"

  "Oh, literature…"

  "Mum, stop quizzing him!" came a loud but not unfriendly admonition from the next room. "Sorry about this, Séamus. She's really terrible that way. But I won't be a minute now, I promise."

  "It's fine, I'm flattered," he called back. "But my answers are not too impressive, Dr Turner."

  "Ha, ha! I don't recall that title ever getting me a date. In this part of the world they now suspect I pee standing up."

  "Alice!" her mother rebuked her. "Excuse my daughter's foul tongue, Séamus. And she was raised so carefully…"

  "Which included sending me to the local high school here, Mum? That's like carefully placing your child in a shark tank."

  Alice emerged in a tight-fitting black dress where the neck and hem lines were just a little short of provocative. Her face was now made up with lipstick and eye-shadow. She did look like she was on a date, but then Séamus knew nothing about the local pub culture. "How do I look, Ma?" She turned round. "My bum isn't showing like last time, is it?"

  Her mother rolled her eyes in Séamus's direction. "Yes, it is showing in every curve and cranny but no, I can't see its actual bare flesh provided you do not incline your body at the waist."

  "Perfect. OK, Séamus, let's go. Mum, don't wait up, do you hear?"

  It took about ten minutes of what to Séamus was hair-raising driving, accompanied by loud rock music, before they arrived at the White Hart. It appeared a genuine 17th Century establishment, with thick, twisted, black beams which clearly served a structural function. A group of older locals sat or hovered close to the bar. Two of them gave Alice a muted greeting and stared curiously at Séamus. Alice replied breezily and took him next to the fire on the other side of the room. It was an enormous hearth, large logs giving off powerful heat. Despite the chill outside, they both stripped off their jackets. Alice recommended the local bitter ale and Séamus insisted on getting the first round. Alice ordered a pint along with his. On receiving it, she took a significant quaff and looked at the liquid with critical appreciation.

  "Yes, I know, more Tomboy behavior. Lucky I have the female curves to combat the rumors."

  "A doctorate in maths is hardly Tomboy," Séamus countered, "though it may scare some insecure males. If I understood right, you took a job at the facility just to be able to live with your Mum?"

  Alice nodded and sighed. "There could be no other possible reason for returning to my home village. Having said that, the job's wonderful." She glanced over her shoulder at the locals, as if to make sure they were out of earshot, then leaned towards him and lowered her voice. "And this project is the coolest thing ever, believe me. Wait till you learn more about it. You're going to be part of history, Mr FitzGerald."
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br />   "In a very small and trivial way," he replied. "It's people like you who are the brains, and I'm the babysitter."

  Alice took another long drink. Her glass was already a third empty, while he had only sipped his. She grinned and moved her shoulders in time to the pop music that had just started on the bar jukebox. "Noooo, you're our James Bond!"

  "Alice, I am a rather junior civil servant. I don't even have a license to be a killjoy."

  She looked at him over the top of her glass. "Hmm. I was thinking more of looks, actually."

  "Thanks for the compliment, but I don't think I look anything like this new actor."

  "Oh, no. I was thinking the original. He was a Séamus too, wasn't he? Was he Irish?"

  "You mean Sean Connery? He was a Scotsman. Pierce Brosnan's Irish, though."

  "Ah, well, maybe that's the one I was thinking of. Anyway, you have that sort of air about you. Here you are up from London, to mind these four amazing girls we have coming tomorrow. They wouldn't tell me who you are or what your normal job is. All very mysterious but sort of cool, too. Don't worry, I'm not going to pry."

  Séamus looked over to the locals at the bar, now engaged in their own animated discussion. "Tell me what you know about these girls."

  "Incredible language abilities, to begin with. Then they're unbelievably good at mental arithmetic. None has had much of an education, and they're all pretty tough ladies, so I understand."

  "I was told they've all been convicted of theft."

  Alice pulled a face. "Yes, but please don't judge them by that. They're not like you would imagine. In each case it was to raise money for their families' medical needs. Who's to say we wouldn't have done the same in their shoes?"

  Séamus held up his glass. "I'll drink to that wise and thoughtful sentiment." They clinked glasses and Alice downed several more mouthfuls.

  "So you're a literature guy, eh?" she said. "What sort?"