54. Between the Sword and the Wall

Nigel lay in his bunk, and wasted his time staring at the dark ceiling.

One of the post office assemblers had called the new machine, still half-finished, ‘a colossus.’ It hadn’t stuck yet, but if it did, it would be very likely that it was the computer that Mateo had predicted. He’d sworn that he had made no attempt to nickname it and hadn’t allowed the word ‘colossus’ to cross his teeth since arriving, for fear of skewing the results of his little informal test. It was eerie now to think of how he’d casually mentioned this machine more than two years ago at 020, apparently under the impression that it already existed at the time.

Maybe it was the odd working hours and the uncertain times, but it shook him a little. Time itself, of all things, should be reliable. But then, Mateo’s unreliable passage through time, his staunch backing of Flowers, could still be a benefit to them. He seemed confident that the Colossus — Nigel was already calling it that in his head — would be fast and reliable and an absolute nemesis to ciphers.

Should he tell him about the arrow? His impulse had been to tell him immediately, just as he’d been as quick to scrawl down the exact time and the location as best he could on the note before reattaching it to the arrow. A few things argued against that, though. When it came to computing, Mateo simply thought a little differently, at an angle, to anyone alive, except maybe Turing and a few others — giants Mateo stood on the shoulders of. That orthogonal mode of thought, a few jumps ahead, made him a priceless source of inspiration and concepts for the giants who’d apparently inspired and invented the computers of his own time.

Flowers seemed to think so too, even if he didn’t know the why of it. He certainly spent a few lunches chatting about theory with Mateo. It might have just been boredom and sociability on Flowers’ part, but could Nigel risk that? Could he afford to casually pack off a future computer enthusiast, even if he hadn’t swooped in with one single golden solution other than backing valves (yet)? They needed whatever help they could get and if Mateo insisted on leaving, he could be technically locked up, but he could hardly be practically forced to continue in his current role.

Also, he’d had no chance to return to the field and check. It was hours and hours away by train, and since starting work on the new machine, he’d hardly had time to scratch. Would there be another note from this ... Avi, that was his name. Was the wormhole even able to open a third time?

Mateo had settled in, still very much foreign, but getting along well and as invested in the outcome of his efforts as anyone native to this time or country. He was no longer crushed by homesick exile now that he’d written off the possibility of return, even if he still clearly missed his native time and place at times.

Could he dangle such an unlikely hope in front of him and then snatch it away? That sounded impossibly cruel. What would that do to him? What would it do to the program?

There was no one who could give him orders, or even advice. Aside from Mateo, the only living souls in this time who knew the situation were Tineye, Short, and Goodacre. He felt a little amused unwilling fellow-feeling for the spies they broke — here he was miles away and wanting to unburden himself to anyone he could, just to avoid being alone with this decision. Maybe he could just go directly to Captain Short, he seemed like a reasonable man, and — no, no, that was how they got you.

Nigel finally dozed off, and dreamed of an arrow wrapped in yellow paper punching into the growing valve assembly of the new machine.

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