Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📕

about midnight. Why did he need to use minor roads? Perhaps he could be spotted more easily on a motorway, but it was not certain. It was just a probability.

Each year he gave a seminar to the psychology undergraduates at Oxford about fractals and chaos, a prelude to questions about machine intelligence. Each year, he would ask them: How long is the coastline of the British Isles? One or two would usually know the official figure. Aha, David, the Professor, would say, isn’t that a rough approximation? What about if you looked a little closer, a little deeper into the nooks and crannies of the rocks? Wouldn’t that increase the estimate of the coastline’s length? Well, yes, they would say. But it goes on, David would reply. More detail, more length. More detail, more shapes, different shapes. A vastly detailed shape. The coastline of Britain? Longer than the distance between the earth and the moon, or the earth and the sun, or the earth and the centre of the universe.

Perhaps he should get back to the motorway.

A voice from the back of his mind, like a prompter from the wings, whispered, Don’t think. Don’t make decisions. You’re in no state. Go with the flow, Joe.

“Stick with the plan, man,” he said aloud.

David began to sing. He sang old Beatles tunes. The Beatles, whose star was falling. Less and less talked about, less and less famous. Losing detail. Losing edge. Becoming smaller. A new generation with a new culture.

“Lovely Rita, meter maid, lovely Rita...”

It was 5:15 p.m. Saskia reached into the pocket behind the driver’s seat and found a blister sheet of travel sickness pills. Three seemed a good number. Four better. She slapped them into her mouth and crunched them to a bitter dust. Hannah was beside her. He gripped the handle above the door, unconcerned.

She felt the back tyres lock. The car skidded then regained its traction. Shops and people flowed by. It was dusk. The two police officers in the front of the car exchanged a glance. In the back, Hannah gave Saskia a wink. She smiled humourlessly. “I do not believe that I have often experienced cars with human drivers. It does not feel safe.”

Hannah rolled his eyes. “I’ve been driving for thirty years and I’m still alive.”

“That does not mean it is safe.”

“What about the flight over?” he asked through gritted teeth as the car banked. “That plane was flown by a human.”

“Yes, but he is a professional.”

The driver looked around. “Hey, I’m a professional too.”

Saskia pointed. “Bloedmann, the road is in front.”

The airport was about ten kilometres away. In the early evening traffic, it would take half an hour. The co-driver activated the siren intermittently. “Come on, Mike,” Hannah shouted, “you can do better than that.” The driver pulled out and drove down the middle of the road. “That’s the stuff,” Hannah muttered. Saskia blinked and bent the handle. It wasn’t the stuff at all.

Before she saw an airport sign, they turned right into a road that was marked ‘Airport Cargo Only’. It was empty. The car accelerated into the space.

When they reached the entrance, Hannah said, “Straight through, they’re expecting us.” The guard waved and lifted the barrier. They drove into a huge fenced enclosure. Planes were parked in rows. Saskia examined them carefully. They seemed flimsy. The car braked to a stop.

“This is where you get off,” said the driver. He reached

round to shake Hannah’s hand, but the DI had already left the car.

Saskia shook it on Hannah’s behalf. “Congratulations.”

Outside, the air was chilly and redolent of fuel. The airport was a constellation of itself. Lights marked the terminal building, the roads, the wire fences, and the multi-coloured patterns of the runway. As she watched, a jet landed. Its exhaust blurred the air. She felt the vibration in her teeth.

“Saskia, get a move on,” Hannah called, and she ran to catch up.

They climbed into a small four-seater aircraft. Hannah collapsed into the back and Saskia took her place next to the pilot. It was too dark to see his face. “Finally,” he said. He handed Saskia some headphones. “I’m Sam. Sam Langton.”

“Saskia Brandt,” she replied.

Hannah rasped, “Did we make it?”

“Your timing is impeccable,” Sam said. He gunned the engine. Through her headphones, she heard him say, “Control, this is Golf Tango Foxtrot Two-One-Two requesting clearance for take-off, over.” There was no reply. “Roger, Control, I’m taxiing to runway two, over.”

“We appreciate this,” Hannah said.

“No problem. I was flying back anyway.”

“Send the invoice to St Leonard’s.”

“Yep.”

Saskia settled. The darkness was reassuring. “There’s a blanket between your legs,” Sam said as they rolled forward. “Careful not to touch the control column.”

“Do you not have anything more nourishing?” Hannah asked.

“Take a look behind you.”

Saskia listened to Hannah’s exertions. She settled the blanket over her legs. “Latest weather report shows poor visibility over South-East England,” Sam said. “There’s a low pressure front moving north.” He switched on a red reading light near the door.

He held the column between his legs and noted the time in a small logbook. Saskia watched for traffic on his behalf.

“How long to Heathrow?” she asked.

Sam laughed. “We’re not going to Heathrow, love.”

“Oh?”

“I’d need to sell the plane just to afford the landing fee. No, we’re going to Farnborough.”

Hannah tapped her on the shoulder. “Sandwich?”

Saskia looked back. Obligingly, Hannah peeled back the skin of white bread and displayed the filling. Sliced sausages.

“English sausages?”

He nodded. Her stomach turned. “The best,” he continued. “Plenty of brown sauce.”

“What is brown sauce?”

Hannah shrugged. “Good question.”

“You don’t know?”

“Why should I?” He took a bite. “Must be one of the fun things about foreign travel. New foods.”

The pilot laughed. “How long have you two been married?”

“Too long,” she said. She read his log book. “Please tell me where Forborough is.”

“Farnborough,” the pilot said. “Three hundred miles to the south. In new money, that’s about five hundred kilometres. They expect us for 9 p.m.”

Saskia closed her eyes. She opened them again before they became airborne. She watched