Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

The technician glanced at his watch again and became more animated. ‘Time presses on. The dispatches you are to carry have already arrived. Now then. There are two reasons why we have to use live couriers to communicate with the time-fleets, and why those couriers have to be expendable. In the early days we tried other means – fast launches and one-man boats. But the time-drive is too bulky and expensive for such an application, especially if it is to have sufficient speed. So we evolved the method that will propel you. A massive generator will build up tremendous potential; that energy will be used to catapult you through the strat at high speed – much faster even than a battleship can move – and will give you sufficient momentum to reach your destination.

‘At first this method was tried out on unmanned missiles and even men in strat suits, but they would not do. The missiles got lost without a hand to guide them through the strat’s turbulence. A strat suit falls down on several counts: it’s bulky and so raises the energy requirement, its batteries would be able to maintain an ortho field only over short journeys anyway, and in any case using a strat suit defeats the whole object of the exercise because a courier needs to see the strat with his own eyes. It might work if we could include a scan screen such as a timeship has, but the weight of that would be prohibitive.

‘You will have some equipment with you, which will help you steer yourself towards your target. But what all this means is that for a while you’re going not just to see but to live in nonsequential strat time: in four-dimensional and five-dimensional time. No one can tell you what that will be like. Nevertheless we have to train you as well as we can so you’ll be able to carry out your task.’

The diving-helmet was lifted over Aton’s head to rest on his shoulders on a harness of foam rubber. He was in darkness. The technician’s voice came to him again, tinnily through the tiny earphones.

‘The purpose of this apparatus is to familiarise you, however inadequately, with what you will see immediately on entering the strat. It’s a mock-up, of course, since we cannot reproduce the real thing. The important thing for you to learn is how to keep your direction. Remember that reaching your destination is the only way you can ever leave the strat, and therefore the only way you can ever die. This, I assure you, will become your most vital concern.’

Suddenly Aton was assailed by an explosion of sense impressions. So meaningless were they that they seemed to be pulling each of his eyes in separate direction. He closed his eyes for a few moments, but when he opened them again the barrage had increased in intensity. A steady bleeping sound was in his ears.

He felt as though he was swaying back and forth.

Eventually he began to glimpse recognisable shapes that emerged out of the welter of images and just as quickly vanished again. At this point the technician’s voice entered again and in persuasive tones provided a running commentary.

The ordeal continued for about half an hour. The technician taught him how to know when he had changed direction from his appointed course and how to correct it with the equipment he would be given. At last the helmet was lifted from his head and the restricting straps unfastened. Somewhat disoriented, Aton rose.

‘Well, you seem to have got the hang of it,’ the technician announced.

‘Half an hour’s training? You really think that is enough?’ Aton asked in a blurred voice.

‘Perfectly. Your mission is not too difficult. Merely harrowing.’

Aton was trying to form an idea that had just occurred to him. ‘Why … do we have to die?’

The other looked at him, puzzled. ‘You are condemned men.’

‘I know that. But why such an elaborate method? Oh, I know the practical reason for the hypnotic conditioning: men of the Time Service should not have to dirty their hands by executing condemned criminals. So the criminals have to do it themselves. But why are you so careful to ensure that the couriers should die after only one trip? Why not use them again? It seems to me that their usefulness is not finished.’

The technician looked thoughtful and withdrawn. ‘There is no doubt, a reason,’ he murmured. ‘Frankly, I do not know what it is. But everything has a reason. I never heard of anyone going into the strat twice.’

‘The fleet commanders have strict orders not to allow a courier to live after arrival, not even for a few hours. Why? What would be the harm?’

‘An act of mercy, perhaps.’ The technician glanced up at a winking light on the wall. ‘It’s time to fit you out.’