The Legacy ~ Part 3 & Last

The Legacy ~ Part 3 & Last

By Len Morgan

Part 1:     Part 2:   

On the morning I received my last phone call from the solicitors informing me that the grounds, house, and contents were officially mine I was barricaded inside; a virtual prisoner.   Every hour or so one or other group of undesirables was at my door, offering incredible sums for the use of my facilities.   At first, I refused, and then I simply disconnected the doorbell.   There were a number of vehicles parked outside my gates.   The gates were now chained and padlocked.  The word was out, that I had something pretty unusual inside.   My police acquaintance who had investigated the break-in had been more than delighted with the tip-off, about Laura's friend Fitz.   So, I called him and asked him how I could contact a government agency.

"It would depend on the nature of your enquiry, which office you will need to reach," He explained.  I told him it was a confidential matter for the highest echelons of security.  He said he would make enquiries and get back to me.

I had thought a lot about the box over the last week.   It was definitely not a refrigerator.    Nothing living could survive inside it, hence the milk and food didn't go off, the germs and bacteria that cause decay were killed off the instant the door was closed.   I had seen a mouse enter whilst the door was ajar, I thought I would capture it and put it outside.  But, in my haste, I managed to shut the door, only for a fraction of a second, when I opened it the mouse was warm and physically unharmed but dead.   I experimented with a goldfish in a glass bowl, closed and opened the door.  So, living creatures are not duplicated.   Of course, I wound up with two globes filled with water, one with a dead fish inside, one without.   But, when I placed the dead fish in the box I got a duplicate.   From then on, the more I thought about it the more certain I became that the box was created by an alien race.   It may have been hundreds, thousands or even millions of years ago.   It had, I knew, always been kept a closely guarded secret by its guardians.   Realising its significance early on they hid it away from the rest of mankind.   Now I had committed the cardinal sin of allowing greedy unscrupulous and selfish people to learn of its existence.   My only hope was to involve the authorities, to talk to people with more than a passing knowledge of such things.   I would seek out people prepared to study it, for the benefit of mankind, without greed or self interest in their hearts.   That was alright for me but, I had made a lot of money out of the box by using it for my own ends.   Suddenly I realised why Perry had been the kind of person he was.   Reviewing my life following his death, I could see that I'd become just like him, and I didn't like that one bit.   My mind was made up--.   The phone rang…

.-…-.

Within hours, the place was sealed off tight.   The grounds and walls reinforced with razor wire, all comings and goings were monitored by Special Forces.   My first contact was Captain Alastair Sneider of the U51SF (Unit 51 Special Force) assigned to the case, his staff consisted of engineers, bomb disposal, artillery, chemical biological and nuclear specialists, and counterintelligence operatives.   He introduced me to Doctor Emillio Lanning, who had been assigned project leader on the investigation team.

   Doctor Lanning was the epitome of a career scientist.   He walked up to the box and placed his lunch pack inside.   I fully explained everything that had happened; it was as if he couldn't hear me or, I was speaking a foreign language.   He spent an hour trying to identify the metal it was made of, without success.   He insisted on repeating every action himself.   He even acted surprised at finding two lunch packs inside.   Despite having drunk tea brewed from tea, milk and sugar from the box; he refused to eat his lunch.  Instead, he sent it to his lab for testing.   He was quite happy to smoke cigarettes he had duplicated in the interests of science and took a childish delight in duplicating his Arsenal season ticket, which he could have done on any photocopier.   
Without warning, he stepped inside.
"NO!" I shrieked as he closed the door. 

"Bloody fool!" I yelled, "He's committed suicide."   I couldn't believe his stupidity…

I went to bed leaving them to it. 

When I awoke, a team of so-called professionals were busy duplicating the contents of their pockets.

"Who is in charge here now?" I asked.

"Doctor Edmund Davis" somebody replied, "He’s currently speaking with the PM, in the next room.

"Damned stupid of him PM, he was always impetuous, seldom listened to others, he always knew better.   My regards to your charming wife sir…   Goodbye."   
He turned to face me, a smile etched on his wrinkled face, He offered his hand, “just call me Ed everyone does.   I'm not about to repeat the mistakes of my predecessor, as far as I'm concerned you're the expert in this situation Mr Perry.   After all, you've had three months in which to observe this phenomenon first hand and come up with an educated guess as to what we are dealing with."

"Call me Clive," I said.

"Very well Clive, what is your assessment?" he said putting me on the spot.

"The refrigerator, which is what we have always assumed it was, has been here as long as I can remember.  I inherited the property from my grandfather, and according to his journal this house was actually built around the refrigerator, and has been rebuilt several times.  The house was actually destroyed by fire in 1744, but the box, my preferred description, and its contents were unscathed.   Whatever you put inside is duplicated, the moment the door is closed, but only once, as if to encourage you to put new things inside.   It would seem good sense to put valuable and expensive things inside.   If you've looked you will realise there are innumerable pairs of things inside.   As your colleague has learned nothing living survives when the door is closed, nor will it be copied unless it is first removed and put in as an inanimate object."

"How did you first discover its purpose?" he asked.   
I described briefly the sequence of events that led to my calling on him and his team.

"But, you are almost sure you know what it is.   When were you convinced?" he asked.

I awoke early this morning with a conviction; it is a machine for matter transportation and or duplication.   I believe whoever, or whatever, brought it to Earth, let's call them the visitors, intentionally left it for us to find.   They probably seeded many worlds, with the potential to sustain life, with similar devices.   The box always duplicates what is put inside it, and since the handle has to be manipulated that suggests a minimal level of intelligence would be required to open it.   If a signal were sent back to the visitor's homeworld when the door was first opened they now know there is intelligent life here on earth.   It's possible the first person or creature to enter could have done so by accident, a lucky coincidence." I explained.

“So it would require a repeated entry to prove sentience," he added enthusiastically, "do go on."

"The box always duplicates what is put inside.   Primitive creatures seek out safe hiding places where they can store things.   If they also learned they could double their wealth by placing it in the box they would put their most valued possessions inside."

"Thus allowing the visitors to gauge their current level of development," he said.

"Also indicating the speed of their development.   No doubt we learned early that to close the door on a living creature resulted in its death, suggesting reasoning creatures.   It could have been used as a means of execution if we were a bloodthirsty lot.   The first time, it would have happened by accident.  Only stupid or bloodthirsty creatures would repeat that mistake."

"Why do you suppose it happens?" he asked.

"What would be our greatest fear if we were to visit another inhabited world?" I asked.

"Being followed back or bringing back an unknown disease.   I remember reading that thousands of North American Indians died in measles and chickenpox epidemics, after contact with the first Europeans who landed; they had no immunity you see."

"Did you ever read 'War of the Worlds'?"  I asked.   "That is why food does not go bad inside the box, all the bacteria are killed when the door is closed."

"So they are able to keep track of our progress, and we receive duplicates of whatever we place inside, as a reward."

I nodded, "both sides gain from this transaction and if they like what we produce they can replicate it thousands or millions of times for their own consumption but, the transfer seems almost instantaneous--"

"Nothing happens instantly, there is always a small time delay," Ed interrupted my flow.  "It may as you have suggested be a simple duplicator."   

"Simple?"   I said with incredulity.

"Or it may simply be an elaborate hoax," he added.

I smiled and said nothing.

"No, I don't think you would commit murder to preserve a hoax," he grinned.

I shrugged my shoulders and waited.   He was obviously going to make a point.

"It may be a simple duplicator, to those who left it here, but it is designed to be an early warning system.   When our technology reaches a certain level--" he said.
"That's exactly what my predecessors thought. We would potentially be ripe for exploitation or advanced enough to pose a threat to their civilisation," I said.

"Mmm," He showed concern.  "It's vitally important that we know what you've sent them thus far."

I quickly recited the items I had placed in the box, "mostly low tech and antique items.   But, what about your people, they have been here for two days." my voice trailed off as I remembered the items they were stuffing in when I arrived.

"My people?” he said, a surprised look on his face.

"When I arrived they were copying everything in sight mini-disc players, mobile phones, pocket computers, laptops…" I stopped as he rushed past me into what had been my kitchen.

"It's stopped working sir," said one of the technicians.

Ed opened the box, it was empty.   "What was the last thing you put in here?" There was silence.   "Do I need to repeat myself?" he asked.

"A semiautomatic ceramic H&K machine pistol and a thousand rounds of armour piercing ammunition," said one of the security personnel, shuffling his feet.

I shook my head, "I called you clowns in, because this needs handling with finesse, and because it was beyond my experience.  Your like kids in a sweet factory!   You may well have settled the fate of the human race with your stupidity."

There were some angry looks on the faces around me, they may well have taken issue with me but, it was forestalled.

"He's right!   The doomsday clock is already counting down.  This machine has sent a signal home, warning its creators of a potentially dangerous life form in this part of the Galaxy.   It is now just a matter of time before they act.   Our first contact with a new life form could be our last," he said.

I went over and opened the box, it was empty.    I smiled ruefully. "A really intelligent species might have gained so much more from this exchange."
"So true," said Ed.

"They now know everything they need to know about us," I said.

"And we know nothing whatsoever about them," he said. As he spoke a red light started flashing inside the box.

"We have to destroy it before they can send us something lethal," said captain Sneider hyperventilating.   

"Well, that's a damned good idea captain.   So far we have not shown them an act of aggression just a weapon we could use in our own defence.   We have not displayed any form of explosive device, conventional or otherwise. 

"Don't forget the pistol & rounds," I said.

He went on,  "We already know that biological attack would be useless, I've no doubt they will have an answer to chemical, and any other form of attack you might choose to throw at them."

"So, what do you suggest we do sir?" said Sneider.

"We wait!   They are testing our nerve.   Did you notice the red light begin to flash while we were watching?   I believe the door will now be locked."

I checked and nodded to confirm it.

"Right," said Sneider, his voice now several tones higher.   "Listen up; I want the grounds and buildings vacated immediately."   Half an hour later they began an abortive attempt to move the box.   To this end, the kitchen was demolished and heavy lifting equipment brought in.   When this failed, they tried to remove the ground from under it, to cause it to topple, but it confounded them by remaining in mid-air, two inches above the ground, demonstrating that the laws of gravity did not apply to it.   The door remained firmly shut!

"Shit Shit Shit!" Sneider yelled, displaying signs of panic.

Next came the cutting gear, diamond bits, thermal lances, and laser cannon nothing even marked it, and heat dissipated instantly.

  After several failed attempts to dent the box, Sneider totally lost his rag and packed several pounds of Semtex beneath it.   All the windows in my house and the eyebrows of anybody watching above ground disappeared.   But, in a thermal suit watching through tinted glass, I bear witness, the box did not budge.

"Seems as though the physical world is unable to affect it," said Ed loud enough for Sneider to hear.  

The man glowered with silent malevolence.   An hour later, the earth shook with heavy vibrations.

"I've ordered up an SPG," he said.

"A what?"   I said.

"Self Propelled Gun," he snarled as if talking to an idiot.

"But, if Semtex won't tarnish it what use is a gun," Ed asked.

"Everybody fall back!   It's as well your house is isolated," he said to me.

"What house," I replied, "you've demolished most of it."

He grinned and spoke to the gun crew, then handed out ear protectors.

Half a mile away the box seemed small; you couldn't even see it was floating above the rubble.

"I hope you're insured for this!" I said.   I had tried reasoning with Sneider, but he was on another planet in a state of bliss.

"Do something!”  I yelled hysterically as the fourth round scored a direct hit and exploded against the distant target, peppering my pile of rubble with shrapnel.   Ed spoke urgently into his cell phone.   Moments later, in a lull between salvos, the ancient field radio burbled into life.

There followed a short, clipped, one-sided conversation, punctuated by static.  

Sneider yelled "Cease fire!  Stand down men, well done."  He favoured us with an angry glare.

"Thank god," I said.

"Despite his ego, I am still in charge of this project," said Ed in a calm quiet voice, triumph registering in his eyes. 

A small victory, I thought.

The postman cycled down the street, unperturbed by the ensemble of uniforms lined up behind the six-foot wall.

"You can't come here!"  A sergeant said stepping forward to bar his way.

"Are you impeding the lawful delivery of her majesties mail?" the postman asked.

The sergeant stepped back, and several letters were pushed into a box set in the wall.

"I didn't know that was there," I said.

"It's locked, but you should have at least one key,” the postman smiled.

I pulled out the bunch of keys all that remained of my legacy.

"That’s the one," he said, pointing to a small brass key.   "This reminds me of the Blitz,” he said mounting his trusty steed and pedalling off down the street.

I had not received a single letter in three months now I understood why.   When I opened the post box a deluge of mail fell out.   There were divorce papers from Elain's solicitor, deeds for the property, a demand from HM Inspector of Taxes, a pile of bills and circulars plus a letter from Grandpa Perry, judging by the ink it was not recent:

"Well Clive, it seems I have been dead for at least three months and you are now the custodian of our ancestral home.   I trust you have grasped the significance of our little secret.   It is not, as you may think, a legacy but a guardianship.   Its purpose was identified many centuries ago by a very astute ancestor.   The guardianship has been passed on through the generations, from father to son.   The instructions for its protection were, of course, passed to you by my solicitor, when you accepted the trust…

I re-read it, a blank look on my face, and then I saw a more recent envelope.   There was a letter in the same hand, but much shakier:

  I chose you as guardian many years ago, when you displayed the qualities required to carry out the duties of the office.   All you are required to do is continue feeding the box with simple meaningless objects, on a regular basis.   Nothing you understand, that would make men out to be a threat to their society.   No weapons, no recent technology.   They must be lulled into thinking we are a simple peaceful backwater society.  

  On no account should you ever allow the authorities to become aware of its existence.  It was decided early on, that they would see it as a threat to the status quo.  They would make indiscriminate use of it then finally try to destroy it.  That course of action would be fatal for us all, as I am sure you will realise.

   It is not an object that can be destroyed.   We have been unable to mark it with acids, tools or any other earthly means.   It is immovably fixed in the same spot it has occupied for thousands, possibly millions, of years we will never know.   It is not of this world, nor of this solar system, but here it will stay until the end of time.   Our only course of action was to build around it, a succession of huts and houses.   Thank you for taking on this burden for the good of humanity.

You’re estranged but loving grandfather:

Charles Augustus Perry

.-…-.

I squeezed my eyes tight shut, in an unsuccessful attempt to stem the flow of tears.   I looked at what had become of his legacy.  Remembering all the ancestors who had passed on stewardship, from generation to generation, without wavering.   What would they think?   What had I allowed to happen?  I wiped my eyes and shook my head.   Ed came over, and I handed him the note.

 "Thank you, gentlemen," he said.   "This exercise is over, and you have acquitted yourselves well.   All the terrorists are dead.   Major Sneider, I want that box covered and hidden from public scrutiny,” he whispered.   “This whole episode is covered by the official secrets act, anyone divulging so much as - what they had for breakfast today - will find themselves in solitary for the rest of their natural, do I make myself clear?"  

 He gestured for me to come closer, and made a brief phone call, “Yes sir he’s here.   You want to speak to him?   It’s the PM,” he said handing me the phone.   

 The voice at the other end was immediately recognisable "Let me first say how much we regret the events of the past 24 hrs.   You have my assurances that the house will be rebuilt, if we survive the day, you will receive full compensation for your losses.   The house and grounds will become a listed building, and government property.   You understand we cannot simply walk away from this Mr Perry.   Since its original discovery, your family has grasped its significance and, acted admirably as its unofficial guardians.   We would like you to continue in the role of custodian and remain in residence in perpetuity.   The whole episode will be passed off, officially, as a hoax.   But, I or my successor would expect to be informed immediately of any future developments.”

“So how will I contact you?” I asked.

“You have that phone, keep it charged up, and ring in from time to time…”

Part 2:

                                                                                                        Copyright Len Morgan