‘OK, I’ve got it.’
The face reappeared. ‘Good. This is not how we normally make one of these, but the parts have been designed to be readily available at one of your specialist electronics shops.’
‘I’ll get onto it tomorrow’. I was feeling ridiculously calm, almost detached. I realised belatedly that I was probably holding mankind’s first conversation with a member of an alien race. The thought crossed my mind that somehow the topic should have been less mundane than instructions on assembling a radio.
‘One thing you should be aware of; this house is bugged.’
I felt hysteria surfacing again at the incongruous colloquialism and suppressed it with difficulty.
‘There is a small camera and microphone in each room. Fortunately, the one in this room is facing towards you, not the television screen.’
‘Right.’
‘Goodbye for now.’
‘Goodbye.’
The phone went dead and the screen blanked. I shifted my perceptions into the electronics mode I had learned on the warship, and scanned. I instantly located the bug, high up in the corner of the room masquerading as an IR security sensor, and traced the links through the house. The phone handset was clean. I mentally reviewed my side of the conversation and decided that, while any observers might be puzzled and curious, there was nothing there to alarm them, but I spent a couple of minutes inventing a story to account for the call, should I be asked to.
The next morning I told Freya that I enjoyed playing with electronics as a hobby, and would appreciate it if she could obtain some materials for me. I gave her a list of the components, plus a compact battery and some tools I would need: a small soldering iron, pliers and a screwdriver.
A courier presented me with a package that afternoon. Freya had left to visit the UN. I went up to my room, carefully sat with my back to the spy camera, and got to work. The story I told Freya hadn’t been entirely false – my interest in science had at one time involved fiddling with electronics – so it didn’t take me too long to assemble the headnet. Some of the components had come in a resealable plastic bag, so I slipped the headnet into this and then into a pocket in my jacket, as I simultaneously turned that side away from the camera.
I walked downstairs and strolled out into the grounds, conscious of the CCTV security camera tracking me. I ambled towards a large tree growing to one side of the house and sat with my back it, on the side away from the camera. Then I took the headnet out of the bag, fitted it over my head, took a deep breath and switched it on.
‘Anyone there?’ I thought, feeling rather foolish.
‘Here!’ Came the instant response. That word does not do justice to what I experienced. The response was far more than just mental speech; it was enveloped by an intense emotional field, similar in kind to the one I could detect in other people, but immeasurably richer and clearer. I was momentarily overwhelmed by the flood of emotions, by the warmth of the greetings which flowed over me. If ordinary speech could be likened to hearing a one-finger piano tune, and my enhanced sensitivity to people to a string quartet, then this was a full-blown orchestra, complete with chorus. And it was two-way. I instantly realised that there was no possibility of misunderstanding or duplicity; communication was complete to a degree I had never dreamed of, and lightning-fast. My account of our conversations can therefore give only the barest outline of what passed between us.
‘I see what you mean about telephones being cumbersome and limited,’ I managed, once I had recovered enough to respond.
Amusement tinged with satisfaction.
‘What do I call you?’
A mental signature was returned, a concise emotional summary of my contact, instantly recognisable. Still, I felt more comfortable with names, however crude they may be, so I decided to call him Primo, as he was my first contact. After a while, I became aware of two others in the background; simultaneously, I realised that Primo had made me aware of them. I called them Secundo (a more mature and serious type) and Tertia – unmistakably female, with a softer, more subtle and perceptive signature. Primo explained that there were three of them to ensure that one would always be “on duty”, ready to communicate with me at any time.
Primo addressed me again, not by name this time but by an emotional signature that I recognised as myself in a way which cannot be explained in words. ‘We owe you many explanations for what has happened to you since, as you will have surmised, it is all our fault,’ he said apologetically. Then he conveyed to me, in an intense flood of information, what had happened and why. I will recount it here as best I can, in the form of a conventional conversation.
‘You will be aware of the parallel worlds hypothesis?’ Primo commenced.
‘You mean that there is an infinite number of universes existing in parallel with our own?
‘Exactly so. That hypothesis is largely correct. There are many worlds which are connected by branching points where events might have occurred differently had random chance fallen one way rather than another.’
‘Are you telling me that you live in a parallel Earth to mine?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me more!’
‘We have identified several levels of parallel worlds. Most basic are those in which the random elements can be traced back to the earliest days of the universe, when the most infinitesimal variation in the behaviour of the elementary particles could produce major long-term differences. Among other things these could affect the formation of stars and planets, and the likelihood of life developing on a planet. We call these “Stage 1” variations. Where life did develop, random chance at critical points could affect which species types flourished and which did not; most significantly, it could also determine whether the conditions existed to encourage the development of intelligence. These are “Stage 2” variations. The development of intelligent consciousness has more recently introduced a plethora of different possibilities, as there is nothing quite as random and unpredictable as an intelligent being, starting with the gene-shuffling which occurs when each individual is conceived.’ Primo’s mental smile reflected his gently ironic sense of humour. ‘Almost all such random events have a negligible effect on their universes as they affect only those directly concerned or, at most, their circle of acquaintances, but every now and then something happens which switches the history of the intelligent species off onto a different track. We call these “Stage 3” variations. These may result from a particularly significant piece of gene-shuffling which, in conjunction with environmental conditions, may produce (or not) a great leader or thinker. More subtly, they could be caused by a scientific discovery which happens to occur to a person in one country rather than another, or a change in the finely-balanced decision of a military leader or national ruler. Least predictable of all are the emotional rather than logical issues; for a variety of reasons, a previously conventional individual may unexpectedly become enthused with religious beliefs which may, in a tiny fraction of cases, lead to major changes in religious organisations with all that can follow from that.’
I mulled over that for a moment. ‘Let me guess – on your world, the dinosaurs didn’t disappear?’