D-Zero Meson Oscillation, 1/10

Part I, in which she just shows up at the British Embassy in Paris...

Opinion was divided on what to do about Katrina. Granted, most people, it is true, did not believe that she was what she said she was, that’s to say a girl from a parallel world. But this did not bother Katrina in the slightest. She understood humanity all too well. She knew it would be so in a world in which everything dissonant had been safely confined to the safer realms of fiction.

“Your world is cold and spiritually dead,” she said in one interview, “imprisoned by the limitations of rational thought. Of course I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“Not the same in your world then?” the interviewer replied, not even trying to disguise the smirk he hoped might empathically win the audience to his side in a groupthink kind of way.

It didn’t work. Katrina just looked him straight in the eyes, shook her head ever so slightly. “No. It’s not the same. My world is a utopia. Yours is a post-truth dystopia.”

But the important point for her was that at the very least, she got everyone talking about it. That was, after all, partly her intention.

But there remained undeniable facets to this enigmatic jewel of a girl that defied rational explanation. GCHQ couldn’t trace her origins for a start. And all the psychologists could only shake their heads and marvel at the lack of internal inconsistency in the sheer detail of her fantasy and admit her uncanny absence of delusional aspect.

But human beings are evolutionarily programmed to turn fearfully away from cognitive dissonance. So they kept her an eccentric, in the classic English tradition, and for their feelings towards her they chose fond affections, and satisfied themselves with that.

When I say most people, of course, I mean the general population. For there were certain, hidden, figures amongst you who believed every word she said.

And they carefully contrived a strategy for what to do about Katrina…

#

She just turned up one crisp and bright November morning at the British Embassy in Paris. The sixteenth, if I remember correctly. A Tuesday, I believe. In your year 2021. 11.26 precisely.

She took her little ticket and sat down in reception waiting for her number to come up.

The receptionist couldn’t claim she didn’t notice the girl. Converse trainers, black jeans, black rollneck. Little silver Ankh necklace. She figured maybe seventeen, eighteen perhaps. Bible-black hair framing her fine cheekbones and deep marble-brown eyes. Clear, youthful skin and perfectly proportioned features to make a less irritable receptionist than her jealous. She could’ve stepped straight out of Hollywood’s Golden Age. A sweet, innocent look about her, fragile and delicate in a way. Vulnerable. Yet some other sense of her suggested she was anything but innocent and fragile. What was it? A world-weary thoughtfulness to her expression? An age beyond her years? Some fleeting intuition there one second, gone the next. Too fragile itself to be captured and held.

Katrina’s cue finally came.

She approached the desk. Raised slightly higher than the floor so she had to look up a little.

“How may I help?”

“I’d like to speak with the resident MI5 liaison officer, please.” Her voice is southern English, soft and crisp, but with an icicle sharpness and faint Irish tinge when she’s angry.

Katrina knew perfectly well from past experience the receptionist would have pretty much zero security clearance. She would probably know who the MI5 officers were, of course, maybe even one or two of the more furtive MI6 brigade, but that would be the extent of it.

Katrina also guessed she would be averse to cognitive dissonance. Her usual daily work consisting of drunken English tourists with missing passports. Katrina could help her in that respect, as it happened.

“Please don’t be alarmed, however,” she continued. “This is a matter of national security but not an urgent one. I have no information about any imminent threat, put it that way.”

“What kind of national security?” the receptionist couldn’t help being curious. Any forbidden snippet would brighten up her day.

“I can’t tell you that, except that I’ll need diplomatic protection.”

Clearly sceptical, but willing to go along for the ride. Switching to professional mode, standard flowchart of questions. “Hmm. Perhaps if I could take some personal details and I’ll see what I can do. Do you have a passport?”

“I’m afraid not. Technically I guess I’m stateless, although I am a British citizen.”

This was the kind of thing she knew how to deal with. “Can I take your name and date of birth then, please?”

“Katrina Anna Meyer. 10 December 1972.”

Now the receptionist stared at her and sighed irritably. This girl was either a mental case or playing mischief. She leaned back, crossed her arms and gazed sternly down at Katrina like a schoolmistress.

“1972?”

Katrina continued to look deadpan and serious. “Yes.”

“That would make you, what, forty-eight years old?”

“That’s correct. I must’ve de-aged or something when I transitioned.”

“Transitioned? Are you saying you’re transgender?”

“Not in this life, no. I’ve been transgender in a previous incarnation, and it was an extremely unpleasant experience. No one chooses to be trans. But I’m cis in this life, thank the Goddess. I’m from a parallel world where I used to work for the KGB.”

“You know I really don’t have time for pranks, Miss Meyer.”

“This is not a prank, I can assure you. Now pick up that phone and call someone, or I’ll walk away with my information and you’ll be in Little China.”

She sighed again, then spoke seriously. “Do you mind if I call security for a secondary inspection?”

“Not at all. But I got through those security checks fine on arrival so you know I’m not armed and I don’t have any explosive devices or such like. I am, as it happens, aware of your so-called terrorist threat so I can understand if I’m making you feel a little jittery. Likewise, if those burly security guards over there go too far then I reserve the right to use lethal force to defend myself.”

“Right. Wait there.”

She waved one of the security men over. A forcefully built guy just over six feet in height, a head taller than Katrina. She could tell he was one of those typical very capable ex-military types they employed in British embassies. He gave her the onceover.

“This is Miss Meyer. She says she was born in 1972 and wants to speak to one of our MI5 liaison officers. She’s agreed to a secondary inspection.”

He smirked. “I see. I’ll take care of it. If you’d like to come this way, please, Miss.”

He waved one of his colleagues over then led the way through a side door, his second taking up the rear. They’re either not as well trained as they should be, Katrina thought, or they don’t really think I’m much of a threat. She had, after all, effectively distracted two out of the six security officers on duty in the reception area. They of course had no idea she was adept at the martial arts and a fully trained spy in the other world who, despite their superior size, could have incapacitated both of them within a matter of seconds if necessary. And without the slightest twinge to her conscience or making too much noise about it, either.

The side-room she was led into was fairly sparsely furnished, intended for little more than basic interviews. Several not uncomfortable chairs and a coffee table. Acquiring a perfect image of her surroundings into her head as quickly as possible was part of TC101 and had become a habit. But she was also intelligent enough to know she should put them at their ease or she’d have no chance of meeting the liaison officer, so she immediately went to the centre of the room and extended her arms in readiness for a body-search.

She was not surprised at all when, being men, they took their time over it. She has a perfect size twelve figure, after all. If they went any further than that, however, she decided she’d do something about it.

Fortunately for them, they didn’t. Security man number one beckoned her to sit down.

“So what is it you have to say that requires an MI5 liaison officer?”

Katrina leaned back in her chair and just told the truth. “I am from a parallel world. In that world I was a spy and the only way I can prove that is by telling your liaison officer a few bits of classified historical information. But I can assure you I’m not a threat. So please don’t be scared of me.”

They both laughed. In the other world Katrina had been something of an expert at the double bluff. She formulated it as a truism that the beauty of the ultimate secret is that you can tell it to anyone and no one would ever believe it.

These security men clearly didn’t.

Now it was Katrina’s turn to sigh.

“Obviously you don’t believe me. That’s fine. But do you understand how unprofessional you’ve just been? You’ve allowed me, about whom you know nothing, to distract you into this room. Now there are only four security officers in that waiting room. I’m sure you’re not bad at unarmed combat by the looks of you but believe me, I could kill both of you in ten seconds if I wanted. Supposing I had two colleagues in that room just as capable as me?”

That wiped the smile off their faces.

Katrina continued. “Having incapacitated you we’d then appropriate your weapons and your communication devices, allow the rest of our little cell through security and there you go, we’ve effectively gained entrance to this Embassy.”

Security man number two hurriedly ran out the room to check the situation outside. Obviously there was nothing to worry about, but that wasn’t the point she was making.

“One reason I understand all this, by the way,” Katrina went on, “is because I was in the Russian Embassy in London in 2003 when a terrorist cell gained entrance in a not dissimilar way. They murdered over twenty Embassy staff, including my husband. So when I say I’m serious, I mean it.”

He could tell that she did. And she wasn’t speaking like a teenager, that’s for sure. Security man number two returned a little short of puff at that point and shook his head. “No trouble there,” he managed to report.

Security man number one said, “What exactly do you want to talk to our liaison officer about?”

“I need a new passport and official diplomatic protection,” Katrina said, “in exchange for which I’m prepared to provide full details of every piece of intelligence material I know about KGB penetration of British intelligence.”

“How do you know about KGB penetration?”

“Because I was one myself.”

“In a parallel world?”

“In a parallel world. Your world, as far as I can tell, isn’t much different, so I’m willing to wager that a lot of the information I have will ring true. It may be historical and out of date, but your MI5 officer should be able to confirm it.”

He sighed, then decided to humour her. Aside from anything else, he thought, it would certainly be amusing. So he told her to wait there while he made the appropriate call.

She refused to speak while she waited. Just closed her eyes and saw herself swimming…

##

Click here for Part II