Boneland. Part 8

'You,' said Colin. 'I may spill it. I shake when I'm upset.'

'I had noticed.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Oh, do belt up, darling,' said Meg. She poured the tea.

'Thanks.'

'How was the scan?'

'The noise was amazing,' said Colin. 'It was all around me. It sounded as though I was in a flock of birds: cranes, Grus grus, would you believe it? And the sky was a spinning tunnel, with stars; five-pointed; red. Oh, and I heard her voice. She told me she was here.'

'Did she, forsooth? And you weren't bothered?'

'I know she's here now. She's close. She's staying.'

'The results came through yesterday,' said Meg. 'Where's your computer? It's not driven by elastic, or water-powered, is it?'

'Help yourself,' said Colin. 'But please keep it clear of the tea.'

'I shall. I shall, bossy boots; never you fret.'

Meg took a memory stick out of her pocket and plugged it in. 'I want you to look at this.' Colin moved a chair to sit beside her. The screen showed an array of images.

'So that's me,' said Colin. 'All that I am.'

'Perhaps,' said Meg. 'They've gone through your brain in slices.'

'And?'

'Everything's fine.' She selected a consecutive sequence and made it one whole. 'Except for this.'

'I can't read it,' said Colin. 'You'll have to talk me through.'

'It's the area here,' said Meg. 'In the right ventral frontal cortex and white matter, including the uncinate fasciculus.'

'I'm lost,' said Colin.

Meg zoomed in. 'Well, to put it simply, this shouldn't look like that.'

'How do you mean?'

'There's trauma. Quite severe trauma. Have you ever had a head injury?'

'Not that I know of.'

'A bad car accident, or anything similar?'

'Never.'

'A fall from a height, or something fall on you?'

'No.'

'Hmm.' Meg lodged her chin in her hand and scrolled between the images. 'Hmm.' The skull and brain bobbed. 'Hmm. Colin. Have you ever been struck by lightning?'

Colin knocked the computer into Meg's lap and turned his face to the log wall.

'I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!'

'Well, have you?'

'I didn't mean it! Promise I didn't!'

She put her arm round his shoulder. 'It's all right, love. It's all right.'

'How can you tell? You weren't there! Why don't you go away? Leave me alone!'

She went outside.

'Meg, I'm-'

'Don't say "sorry".'

'But I am.'

'Oh, Colin. Cheer up. I tell you what. Show us your telescope. Come on. Just for Meg. Eh?'

'Now?'

'Why not? You'll need something to keep the wind out; and there's a helmet in the pannier. Hold the grip behind you. Come on, our kid.'

'I've got to change my trousers.'

'I'll wait for you on the track,' said Meg. She started the engine and walked astride the bike to help it over the ground. Colin caught up with her, lodged on the pillion seat and they set off down Artists Lane.

'Aren't you going a bit fast?' he shouted in her ear.

'Maybe.'

'Watch for the bend at Brynlow. This is a rat run and the road narrows there.'

'Roger.'

They reached the Cross.

'I'm taking the main road.'

'Do you know the way?' said Colin.

'Yep. Hold tight.'

Meg twisted the throttle and they moved out of riding and became a part of the road's life, leaning into the bends past The Eagle and Child and pursuing the straights, overtaking the cars with dark windows, curving round the high trucks. The wind thrummed.

'Why so fast?' His hands locked on the steel bar.

'Relaxation. Concentrates the mind. Enjoy!'

The traffic lights were in their favour at Monks' Heath. The loneliness of Sodger's Hump with its ring of pines zipped by; Capesthorne and the double bend dark with rhododendron, out onto the clear ridge with the length of Redesmere on the left, the glittering water and the scudding bright sheets of the sailing club's yachts.

'Who-whoop! Wo-whoop! Wo-o-o-o! Cowabunga!'

Then to Siddington, to the salt road; wood and valley and stream swept by, field and hedge and lane; by Windyharbour, Welltrough, Withington.

'Meg! Slow down! I don't like it! Please!'

'That's because you're not the one in control!'

The telescope sprang up and dominated the land. Meg eased the throttle. The hedges became bushes and fencing again, with trees. The telescope grew. Meg crossed the road to the staff entrance. Colin unlocked the gate.

'Switch off your phone,' he said. 'We're in the radio silence zone now.'

'Never use it,' said Meg. 'Can't be a.r.s.ed.'

Colin locked the gate and they went on to the main complex. He punched in the door code and led the way to the control room.

'h.e.l.lo, Owen.'

'Hi, Colin.'

'I've a visitor, a friend. Is it all right to come in?'

'Be my guests.'

Beyond the round table the window framed the telescope. On either side were monitor screens and the clocks of other time.

'Meg, this is Owen. He drives the telescope and looks after all this lot.'

'Hi, Owen.'

'Hi, Meg.'

Meg looked about her. 'Wow. How do you live with it?'

'Oh, she's only a sc.r.a.p-metal rustbucket and a bit of old wire,' said Owen. 'And there's never much on the telly.'

'Mm,' said Meg.

'What's today?' said Colin.

'Ethel,' said Owen.

'Mind if we look around? Is it OK to go downstairs?'

'Feel free. There may be a few postdocs to trip over.'

'And is Gwen still here?'

'No. You'll be all right. t.i.tselina b.u.msquirt went home as soon as she shut the shop.'

'Thanks, Owen,' said Colin.

'Yes. Thank you very much,' said Meg. 'It's a privilege to see this.'

'You're welcome,' said Owen.

They left the control room down a flight of stairs.

'Ethel?' said Meg.

'When you work here you have to make it family, or you wouldn't cope,' said Colin. 'Ethel's a quasar so far away that the signal started out before our galaxy was fully formed.'

'Do you always use female names? Owen called the telescope "she".'

'I suppose we do. I hadn't noticed.'

'Like anything else you can't handle. Think about it.'

They came to a room that was a clutter of cables, looped, coiled, held with plastic ties and lengths of string; lights twinkling; the chatter of printers.

'What's this gubbins here?' said Meg.

'The main control for all the telescopes linked to us on the network,' said Colin.

'But some of it looks like it's made of bits of Meccano. Why aren't you more high-tech?'

'There isn't always the equipment,' said Colin. 'We codge as we go along. It works. Which is all that matters.'

'Great. This is what I call science. This is real.'

'Come and see this, then.' He led her to a printer. Pens were moving up and down, tracing lines on graph paper. 'Behold our Ethel. The energy that's moving those pens has been travelling at two hundred and ninety-nine thousand seven hundred and ninety-one point eight one nine zero zero eight kilometres a second, approximately, for over twelve billion years, and the antenna of the telescope has picked it up and fed it down when we happen to arrive together from our separate existences and our origins in other stars to observe it here.'

'The impossibility of "now". Discuss,' said Meg.

'Follow me,' said Colin.

They went on, to a bare concrete corridor fitted with bulkhead lights, the floor wet red mud, cement stalact.i.tes hanging from the gaps in the roof slabs, up more steps, and were out in the open, among girders.