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A short and eerie piece - a woman ponders her options in an arctic tin can...
Jesus and the All-Stars
Episode 1: Massive Squid Attack!
Far away, in a South of England school hockey changing rooms...
‘…So then I stabbed the yeti in the eye, pulled his pants down, and said “How do you like that, furball?’
The clustered girls burst out laughing, all beautiful smiles and glossy hair.
‘Oh Jesus,’ said one young brunette, ‘you’re so brave.’
‘And handsome!’
‘Oh behave ladies. More champagne? You know, this reminds me of the time I arm-wrestled a particularly rude polar bear—’
Somewhere a device went beep beep beep.
The girls all looked around at each other, but Jesus just sighed. He examined a chrome bracelet on his left wrist, flashing red lights at him.
‘Sorry ladies, I must depart,’ he said wistfully. The gathered beauties all sighed sadly.
‘Really?’
‘Do you have to?’
‘I’m afraid I must. It’s this whole “saving-the-world” thing. They won’t start without me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Fear not, I’ll be back before you can say “Son of God saves the day”.’ He gave them a rakish wink. ‘Do help yourselves to champagne.’
‘Oh Jesus,’ pleaded a young girl, tugging on his white robe, ‘please stay safe, we love you—’
But he, and his robe, were gone.
Far away, in a San Francisco computer gaming lounge…
‘Goblin archers to the right! Scylarr watch that Minotaur!’
‘Where the hell is Dvorkin? We need a wizard on this!’
Buddha munched his fries with mayo, punching at the control pad as his wizard climbed the rock face on the computer screen. The secret cave was up here somewhere…
‘Hey man, you can’t eat stuff in here.’ The gaming lounge assistant towered over him, a lanky Italian-American teenager. He was glaring back and forth from Buddha to the greasy wrappers on the desk.
‘Dvorkin? Are you even here?’
‘I bet he’s looking for treasure again.’
‘Or getting another takeaway.’
‘Oh, um, really?’ said Buddha nervously. ‘I didn’t see any signs—’
‘It’s the second time this week man,’ the assistant snapped, folding his arms. ‘I’ve seen you getting grease all over the control pads, on the keyboards, bits of food under the keys…’
‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m hit! I’m hit bad! Catapults!’
‘Look I’m in the middle of something,’ puffed Buddha, eyes flicking back to the screen. ‘It won’t happen again—’
‘Too right it won’t. You’re clearing that up right now.’
‘Now look here,’ said Buddha in a voice tougher than he felt, ‘I, I pay to come in here, and—’
‘You pay to play video games,’ snapped the assistant, ‘you don’t pay me to clean up your mess.’
Beep beep beep.
Uh-oh.
‘Now either you’re going to throw all that in the trash, or I’m going to ban you from here, period. What’s it going to be?’
But the headset fell to the chair, and he was gone.
Far away, at a Tokyo technology conference…
‘Greetings, representatives of assorted technology companies,’ Vishnu intoned. He sat cross-legged in a huge white leather chair, all 4 arms relaxed, loose golden robes draped over his blue skin. A pair of silver wraparound shades flashed different colours when he spoke. ‘Vishnu is pleased to have you here. Vishnu is pleased to present global premiere of new product from VS Industries.’
A translator in a grey suit relayed his words in Japanese to the gaggle of grey-suited men and women.
‘Vishnu gives you the VS100R.’
The gathered representatives gasped as the device was unveiled: a small rounded pyramid, entirely chrome, floating a few inches above the cream plinth. Blue lights from above flashed like shards of diamond as it spun gently.
The representatives examined their specification charts on clipboards. One spoke to the translator, who turned to Vishnu.
‘He say, this device very impressive …’
‘Hai, hai,’ all the reporters nodded vigorously.
‘…but what does it do?’
There was a pause.
‘VS100R does everything. VS100R is navigational tool for life. VS100R revolutionises networking. VS100R has wi-fi.’
There was muttering amongst the assembled representatives as the translator spoke. He nervously turned back to Vishnu’s seated form. ‘They require more explanation. Please explain more details.’
Vishnu’s shades flashed angry shades of red. ‘Vishnu does not need to explain VS Industries’ latest innovation! Does Van Gogh explain his sunflowers? Does that tramp Tracey Emin explain her “art”?’
Beep beep beep.
Vishnu raised a blue arm to see the flashing chrome bracelet.
‘Vishnu will take momentary break. Vishnu hopes politely that upon his return you are more inclined to buy his products.’
The translator opened his mouth to speak, but Vishnu was gone.
Far away, on a deserted Australian beach…
‘Like, dude.’
‘Dude.’
Two bronzed young men lay with surfboards under a cluster of palm trees, each puffing on a roll-up. A tiny breeze blew their smoke down the beach.
‘That was totally a giant turtle we saw out there.’
‘Yeah man.’
A big wave rolled in, crashing down the sloping sand in front of them.
‘Like, I love this man. Being at one with like … nature.’
‘Yeah man.’
‘Yeah.’
Beep beep beep.
Blinking, David looked at the red flashing bracelet with flecks of the same colour in his eyes.
‘Dude, what’s up?’
‘Shit dude, I got work.’
The Australian dragged himself up, his face a picture of utter confusion under his blonde dreadlocks.
‘Dude, you have like … a job?’
But there was no-one there.
Far away, at a Tunisian market stall…
‘So are these eggs any good?’
‘The best! High quality Corsican eggs!’
‘No wait, you said you got them from Palermo for eight cents each.’
‘No,’ said the stranger, ‘I buy them from Corsica at four and a half cents each, and sell them under an assumed name in Cairo for eight cents each.’
The trader scratched his head under the shade of the awning, children running past and tourists haggling at the next stall. It was another hot dry day, and this stranger was trying his patience.
‘So what happens in Palermo?’
‘They’re sent by train from Albania to get cleaned for 1 cent apiece.’
‘And then…?’
‘Like I said, then I sell them in Marrakesh for six cents each, and buy them back at seven cents apiece.’
‘So how do you make a profit then?’
Mohammed sighed in frustration. ‘Look, it’s quite simple. I buy eggs in Palermo for three cents each and fly them to the Khartoum markets to sell them at four cents each, before buying them back in Damascus at five and a half cents and shipping them to Carcassonne for cleaning for a cent and a half, and buying them under an assumed name in Tripoli for seven cents so I can sell them to you for 6 and a quarter. Now do you want these eggs or not?’
Beep beep beep.
Mohammed stared at the chrome bracelet. ‘Oh no…’
The old trader stroked his coarse beard thoughtfully. ‘To be honest mister, I don’t think your economics stacks up.’
But he was gone.
‘What is it this time?’ said Buddha, a frown on his chubby little face. The All-Stars sat round the central table on their spaceship Gaia’s galley. ‘I’ve got 600,000 gold, I’m a level 37 mage, I’ve nearly unlocked the secret of Mishkronia and I get pulled up here.’
‘Vishnu was in middle of big technology conference,’ monotoned Vishnu, his wraparound shades flashing angrily. ‘Vishnu keen to make sale to Asian markets.’
‘My apologies gentlemen,’ cooed the ship’s computer Vivian. ‘You know I have no control over when peril strikes the world of men.’
‘Yeah guys,’ said David, puffing on his marijuana joint. ‘Just, like, chill out. Like.’
‘Chill out?’ snapped Mohammed. ‘Chill out? I’m in the middle of a key business deal that could revolutionise the whole of the African continent…’
‘Huh, could,’ mumbled Buddha.
‘...and I get called out for something that could probably be left to Interpol!’
‘Ha, those monkeys,’ chuckled Jesus.
‘Hey man, they’re good guys, like, give them a break.’
‘A giant squid is attacking New York city,’ said Vivian.
There was a brief silence. Buddha’s rolls of eyebrow-fat creased back into a frown.
‘A giant squid?’
‘I’ve seen giant squid. They’re like, 40 feet long.’
‘Yeah and they can’t even walk on land.’
‘Dude, like, use the metric system,’ protested David quietly.
‘David, the metric system’s great, but now’s not the time,’ said Jesus. ‘Vivian, how can a giant squid attack a city?’
‘My apologies gentlemen,’ cooed Vivian, ‘my vocabulary circuits are never perfect. This is by human terms, a giant squid. It’s 300 metres tall.’
A longer silence came down.
‘Now that’s the metric system.’
‘300 metres?’
‘What does she mean “tall”? Since when are squid “tall”?’
Video monitors flashed into life all around them, depicting a giant pink-white fleshy mass amongst the skyscrapers of New York.
‘Vishnu estimates 300 metres is approximately 0.6 Empire State Buildings tall.’
‘Thanks for that, Robo-god.’
‘Vivian!’ announced Buddha, jabbing a pudgy arm in the air. ‘Get us to New York! And step on it!’
Vivian pulled the ship Gaia to a sharp halt just off Manhattan Island, leaving Jesus splayed against the cockpit window.
‘Dude, that’s like, what seatbelts are for.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ gurgled Jesus, lips suckered against the glass.
‘Vishnu suggests there is nothing cool about not wearing a seatbelt.’
‘Yeah man,’ agreed Buddha, ‘even Mohammed wears his seatbelt, and he’s the most uptight guy ever.’
‘Yes!’ declared Mohammed. ‘I dislike your derogatory remarks and I may behead you later, but your support for seatbelts is to be commended!’
Buddha laughed heartily. ‘Oh Mohammed, I love it when you get angry. You know I just like to wind you up.’
Vishnu’s shades flashed. ‘Vishnu believes a large piece of—’
A crash rocked the ship, sending the All-Stars flying against the wall.
‘Gentlemen, can I please remind you of the colossal squid hurling pieces of skyscraper around?’
‘Like, dude, colossal squid is a species too.’
‘So how big is 300 metres anyway?’
They looked at Jesus. He shrugged. ‘Let’s get a proper look at this thing.’
David peered over the handrail at the crashing, flailing behemoth not-so-far below, thrashing against the skyscrapers. It let out a stomach-churning roar.
‘Man that thing is big!’ exclaimed Mohammed. ‘I haven’t seen something that big since Biblical times.’
‘What? There was nothing that big 2000 years ago,’ said Buddha, hovering back by the balcony’s doorway. ‘I was there!’
‘You didn’t live in Biblical times, Buddha,’ mused Jesus, looking down through a pair of huge binoculars. ‘They were heady days. Just because you’ve been around for 2500 years doesn’t mean you lived in Biblical times.’
Buddha looked over to David, open-mouthed in protest, but David just nodded.
‘He’s right.’ David’s eyes glazed over, as he stared into the distance. ‘You didn’t see what we saw, man. No-one saw what we saw.’
‘Where do you think it came from?’ pondered Jesus.
‘Dude, seriously?’ puffed David. ‘Like, the sea?’
‘Can I go back inside now?’ They looked to see Buddha sweating nervously, one foot inside the doorway. ‘You all know I don’t like heights.’
‘Buddha, is this a team effort or a go-home-and-cry effort?’
‘Vishnu suggests you fear not, friend Buddha,’ intoned Vishnu. ‘Gaia’s viewing platform was reinforced to take any weight, even yours.’ The others giggled.
Mohammed grinned. ‘However the hell we like! By which I mean, lasers.’
The heroes all turned excitedly.
‘Yes I’m using the laser. And please, no cheesy jokes about calamari.’
‘Oh come on,’ protested Buddha. ‘How many jokes about squids and lasers are there that don’t involve calamari?’
‘Vishnu suggests first one to the laser gets to fire it.’
‘You’re on!’
‘Okay I’ve got a lock…’ mumbled Jesus, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen.
‘Vishnu suggests you stop hunching like that to prevent bad posture.’
‘Hush you.’
‘Vishnu suggests even the supposed son of god is not immune from back problems in later life.’
‘I am 2000 years old and you are not my mum.’
‘Fire the laser dude!’ urged David excitedly. The crosshairs blinked invitingly over the monster.
‘Okay, fire!’ yelled Jesus, possibly a little too loudly.
A vast beam of blue light shot from the spaceship and hit the beast, turning parts of its flesh blue and forming huge ice crystals.
‘What was that?’ cried Mohammed. ‘You fired the freeze ray!’
‘Oh not again,’ muttered David.
Jesus blinked. ‘I thought the laser was control plus L?’
‘Noooo, it’s control shift L.’
‘Here let me do it.’
‘You? I’m way better than all of you with the laser.’
‘Guys, guys!’ shouted Jesus, batting them away from the controls. ‘It’s a big squid. We can take it in turns like mature adults. Right?’
They mumbled agreement.
‘Right then. Fire! Zzzzzzap! Kazam! In your face, squid!’
This time a bright red beam shone instead, burning the air and bringing a loud, painful roar from the squid.
‘Remind me to get this thing updated,’ said Jesus. ‘Multi-billion dollar spaceship and we’ve still got the interface of a ZX Spectrum.’
‘Huh, something else that’s from Biblical times,’ muttered Buddha sourly.
‘Why is it always New York?’ wondered Jesus loudly, swapping the seat with Buddha. ‘Always. All the time. New York.’
‘Good point man,’ mused David. ‘You remember the giant robot? And those aliens, jeeeez.’
‘Fire! Shazam!’ yelled Buddha excitedly, bringing another bellow from the squid.
‘Vishnu agrees. There are plenty more significant urban centres those aliens could have attacked, yet somehow they chose Lower Manhattan. It does not make sense.’
‘Okay my turn, my turn!’ snapped Mohammed, ejecting Buddha from the chair.
‘I have detected a non-biological artefact on the mega-giant-huge-massive squid,’ buzzed Vivian through the ship’s speakers.
‘Hey she’s right!’ called Jesus, pointing wildly at another large screen. ‘It’s got a massive metal plate on it.’
‘Aw come on,’ snapped Mohammed. ‘Do I get a go or not?’
The view did indeed show a shiny chrome plate behind the creature’s eye, stamped into its vast mantle. A big red light flashed on and off.
‘This squid is no ordinary squid,’ mused Vishnu.
David stared at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘Dude, like, were you there for the whole giant-colossal conversation?’
‘It’s a remote-controlled squid!’ squeaked Buddha.
‘So,’ said Mohammed, enjoying the swivel action of the control chair, ‘all we need to do is pulverise that metal plate, and shoo the thing back into the sea? Right?’
‘Vishnu agrees, but suggests you hand over the laser to him. This requires someone who can actually shoot.’
‘Oh whatever,’ grinned Mohammed, zooming in on the screen. The crosshairs came to rest on the squid’s giant implant. ‘Kazam!’
The red beam blasted upon the squid, charring and melting the metal; the huge bulb shattered, dropping glass to the street far below.
The squid paused in mid-flail, blinking its vast eyes slowly. Its tentacles withdrew, dropping the various bits of concrete and detritus, and it let out a low mournful mooooaaan.
Then it drew itself together, and dragged its bulk back through the streets to the harbour, and vanished into the dark waters with a large splash.
‘Congratulations gentlemen,’ cooed Vivian, ‘the squid appears to have been vanquished. You have saved New York City.’
‘Yet again.’
‘So that’s it then?’
‘Well, there is as always the small matter of reconstruction in the post-disaster zone…’ mumbled Vivian sulkily, ignored as usual.
‘Man, this adventure was really easy.’
‘Yeah that’s one of the quickest ones yet.’
‘We’ve been doing this for years, and yet somehow this has felt like … an introduction.’
‘For who? About what?’
‘Vishnu has the strange feeling we will see this squid again.’
‘Whatever,’ said Buddha dismissively, ‘I’ve got a MMORPG to get back to.’
‘Geek.’
‘And proud,’ he beamed. ‘Come on, let’s go. Who’s going to sign out?’
There was a pause.
‘Not me.’
‘I did it last time.’
‘Vishnu finds it awkward and cheesy.’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll say it,’ said Jesus. ‘But only because someone has to. See you all next time … on JESUS AND THE ALL-STARS!’
The young couple snaked their way through the stalls, peering at faded books and would-be antiques and paint-chipped furniture. At one particular stall, a maze of racks under a bright red and white awning, a large hairy man stood behind a desk.
‘Sorry mate,’ he continued on his phone, ‘but I’m afraid it ain’t gonna happen, I only deal with the major suppliers. Yes, yes … no … look, sorry but plain fact is you’re the fifth new prophet in India who’s called me this week. I’m impressed by the output of you guys but I just don’t deal in that market. Okay. Okay, yeah. No worries, bye.’ He snapped the phone shut and dropped it in his jeans pocket. He turned to the young couple standing in front of him. ‘Sorry about that. Can I help you guys?’
‘Yes please,’ smiled the young woman, blushing. ‘We’re getting married in a few weeks, so…’
‘So you need to get a religion sorted out?’
‘That’s right, do it properly,’ nodded the man, looking more serious.
‘Well you’ve come to the right place!’ The trader smacked his lips and rubbed his hands joyfully. ‘Got high-quality religions to suit every customer. What kind of thing are you after?’
‘Well we’re not sure,’ started the woman nervously. ‘Do you have any suggestions?’
‘What about Christianity? Good old body-and-blood-of-Christ. We get regular shipments of genuine bits of Christ, very high quality, grown ’specially in Utah.’ He handed her a copy of a dusty bible, and a suspicious-looking jar to the fiancé. It contained some grey flesh in alcohol.
The couple looked at each other awkwardly. ‘Well,’ said the woman, ‘we thought Christianity was on its way out really. It’s not very, you know, “in” these days.’
‘Oh you’d be surprised, Christianity’s making a strong comeback at the moment,’ enthused the trader. ‘Of course it’s largely down to the expanding package-market in America. People want their religious views to come with opinions on abortion, gays, death penalty, whatever. You name it, I can get you a good deal.’
‘Oh no, no thanks,’ frowned the young woman softly. ‘We don’t want anything as abrasive as that.’
‘Bloody Americans eh?’ joked the young man with a clumsy smile.
‘How about Islam?’ The trader unrolled an ornate scroll with elegant Arabic script. ‘Good solid religion, Islam. Lots of high-quality proverbs.’
‘Doesn’t Islam have a negative attitude towards women?’ asked the man sceptically, squeezing his fiancée’s arm.
The trader bit his lip. ‘Well, y’see, it’s complicated. There’s lots of different interpretations of Islam. Like I said, we do lots of tailored packages. Our Turkish clients, for instance—’
‘I heard Islam makes women wear a veil and men wear beards,’ remarked the young woman. ‘And there’s all that fighting and people blowing themselves up. Doesn’t sound a very safe option for children.’
‘Islam doesn’t seem to be very modern,’ added the young man.
‘No, it doesn’t, does it,’ mumbled the trader, giving them a cynical look. ‘Well what about Judaism? A very family-friendly choice is Judaism.’
‘Oh we’ve heard lots of good things about Jews,’ she nodded enthusiastically. ‘They have lots of money and career opportunities, right?’
‘But honey, you know I don’t like wearing hats…’ the man whispered.
‘Sure, sure, they’ve got careers, money, government jobs, the lot,’ the trader nodded, smiling under his beard. He handed them some stone artefacts carved with Hebrew. ‘There are a few risks of course, but-’
‘Risks? Like what?’
‘Well, you may feel a vague awkwardness over your spiritual home,’ admitted the trader, holding his hands up. ‘But it’s a very, very popular option, and with just a small genetic transfusion you get all these benefi-’
‘Excuse me?’
‘There’s surgery involved?’ The couple had mild outrage written across their faces. ‘I don’t think we want to muck around with any of that.’
‘Well look I’m really trying here, right?’ The trader looked rather flustered. ‘I mean, what do you want, some sort of airy-fairy one-world religion that encompasses the best bits of all the major faiths?’
‘Ooo, what about that sweetie? A “best of” would be quite nice wouldn’t it?’
‘No I think he was joking, darling.’
‘Too right I was,’ the trader muttered.
‘Have you just got something more in my size?’ she said, biting her lip a little nervously. ‘Something a bit more lightweight?’
‘Huh, well you can go and see Bertie if you’re after some kind of misty spiritualism,’ the trader replied in a gruff dismissive voice. ‘I’ve got no truck with that. I only work with the good stuff, the real deal. That said, he does some good work with Druidism, I’ll give him that. Four stalls down, next to the fruit and veg.’
‘What about Buddhism?’ the young woman persisted.
‘Buddhism? Don’t make me laugh,’ sneered the trader in a loud voice. ‘That’s not a religion. If you want a lifestyle, go get yourselves a personal trainer.’
‘Actually we’ve already got—’
‘I told you, I only deal in proper products,’ snapped the trader in frustration, rubbing his fingers together like a chef. ‘Real solid religion, with hierarchy, authority. Beliefs with backbone! The stuff I deal in has been telling people how to live for thousands of years.’
‘Sure, and telling people what they can’t have and what they can’t do, eh?’ retorted the young man.
‘Hey, don’t look at me pal,’ the trader replied loudly. People near them around the market began to look. ‘People have wanted organised religion for tens of thousands of years. Fills the hole in their lives. Sure, we’ve had to diversify into the pagan New Age market recently, but you can’t blame honest traders like me for giving people the structured spirituality they demand.’
‘Come on honey, let’s look somewhere else,’ said the man shepherding her away with an arm, giving the trader a dirty look. ‘I’m sure we can find some quality products from a more reputable dealer.’
‘Ha! You’re all the same you lot,’ the trader said, shaking his head as the young couple walked away. ‘Never go to church in your life, but when a wedding or a baby comes along, you want a fancy church event and the “respect” that only established religion can offer. I’ve got friends who’re atheists. At least they’ve got the balls to say where they stand.’
He puffed out and tried to relax. Then his mobile phone rang again.
‘Hallo Steve? Yeah what’s up. You’re kidding? Crap. Okay cheers.’ He dropped the phone back in his pocket and yelled back into the racks. ‘Sally! It’s Steve from the States – says the Scientologists are switching to digital distribution.’ He rubbed a chubby, hairy chin. ‘Better get started on that downloads website.’
Sir Ralph Beef Wellington and the Incredible Loophole
‘You’re insane Ralph,’ Charlie told him. ‘It’ll never work.’
Two years later and he was half right. Standing on the churning deck in the pouring rain of the South Pacific, Charlie knew the man was bonkers. Crazy. Mad as a lamppost.
But his calculations were correct, apparently…
‘There it is!’ Ralph yelled above the roar of the sea, clinging to a rope. ‘It’s real! I told you!’
Out through the lashing rain and over twenty-foot waves was … a lighthouse.
You know the type – the big, red-and-white-striped things.
‘Ralph!’ he yelled. ‘Ralph, why is there a lighthouse?’
‘So people can see it, Charlie! That’s what they’re for!’ He gave Charlie one of his eccentric, upper-class grins.
‘No Ralph, what I mean is, why would they bother putting a lighthouse here?’ Ralph had mentioned distortions in the space-time continuum, and Charlie had dreamed of crackling blue lightning and, well, stuff. A jolly lighthouse didn’t quite fit the bill.
‘Beats me Charlie!’
Thunder rumbled across the ocean. They dropped the sea anchor and started lowering the dinghy.
‘Tell me what we’re doing here again Ralph?’ Charlie shouted. Rain had seeped into his waterproofs long ago.
‘We’re using the dinghy cos the boat’s too big!’ Ralph called back. The chain clanked away, then stopped as it hit the water. ‘It’d take us more than a day to get round!’
‘No, what I meant was,’ Charlie said, climbing down the slippery ladder, ‘this chrono-thing is fascinating, but what use is it?’
‘What use is it?!’ Ralph dropped into the little boat, his trilby hat completely soaked but still somehow on his head. Charlie slipped rather awkwardly and nearly fell overboard. ‘Charlie, we’re going to make millions! I’ll be a scientific hero in the end of course, but for now-’ he leaned in and grabbed Charlie’s shoulder, ‘-it’s our little secret, and our chance to make our fortune!’
Charlie was glad he kept saying “our”, although his ears kept hearing the word “my”.
‘Now row!’ Ralph declared, pointing to the horizon beyond the lighthouse. ‘Row! Heave! Heave!’
‘Yes thanks Ralph I know how to row.’
‘Just getting into the spirit of things.’
It was daunting. Charlie had stamina, but the waves were big. Really big. Ralph seemed completely unaware, fiddling about with the laptop.
‘Ralph, you sure that thing’s waterproof?’ Charlie puffed, heaving against the water.
He nodded vigorously. ‘One hundred and ten percent! And the satellite phone.’ He tapped the grey block that looked like one of those huge mobile phones from the eighties. ‘Paid a lot of money for the pair of them. If they’re not waterproof, I’ll be damn cross!’
Charlie wondered who’d be scared of Ralph being “damn cross”.
Slowly, minute by minute, they began to pass the lighthouse…
‘You see Charlie,’ Ralph said, ‘as I’ve explained before, our watches are no good for this – not even your phone, which I told you would have no signal in the South Pacific…’
‘Worth a try,’ Charlie mumbled.
‘…because they use their own internal clock, you see? But with this wonderful device,’ he patted the sleek white laptop, ‘we are connected to the world-wide-interweb! So as we cross over the dateline, I can prove it exists!’ His face glowed, almost deflecting the cold wet elements all around. ‘Chronocavia, the legend itself! The great gap in time! The incredible loophole!’
He tapped away at the laptop. The 80s phone bleeped away.
‘And now, with a few more rows, I can show that – yes – wait – yes! Yes!’ He jumped with joy, rocking the boat badly. ‘We’ve done it Charlie! It’s Wednesday!’
‘But it was Wednesday five minutes ago Ralph!’
‘That’s exactly what I mean!’
‘I don’t get it Ralph!’
‘We’ve crossed the International Dateline! Backwards! It should be Thursday, but it’s still Wednesday!’
‘Oh right.’ Charlie thought about this, still rowing. ‘That’s quite clever I guess. No wait, hang on, I don’t quite get it-’
‘All we have to do now,’ he proclaimed in a large, dramatic voice, ‘is cross back over the dateline outside the Chronocavia – on the other side of the lighthouse – and it will be Tuesday!’
There was silence for a bit as Charlie continued on rowing. Ralph stayed standing up, hands on hips.
‘But I only made those sandwiches this morning.’
‘Charlie, the sandwiches travel with us.’
‘Ah. They won’t disappear then?’
‘Should damn well hope not.’
They rowed on, or rather, Charlie rowed and Ralph stood looking rugged and rather daring. Wednesday was turning out to be just as wet here as Wednesday back behind them.
‘What are you going to do with your riches Ralph?’
‘Oh I don’t know,’ Ralph mused, ‘maybe buy a mansion with gay flamingos serving drinks, you know the thing, the usual. Yourself?’
‘I quite fancy buying a charity.’
‘Buying a – what?’
‘You know. So when they cure cancer, they’d all say I did it.’
‘I don’t think that’s how it works Charlie.’
‘It worked with that Branson bloke and ebola.’
‘I’m really not sure you’re in Branson’s league, Charlie.’
‘Hmm. Well we’ll see who gets their face printed on those ’flu jab syringes first. Then who’ll be laughing, eh?’
‘Certainly not the flu patients.’
‘Exactly!’
‘Well anyway,’ Ralph declared, checking the computer and looking out across the bare sea, ‘we’re about to cross the dateline again Charlie. This is it! Heave! Heave!’
‘No need to shout, I’m right here!’
‘Are you ready for Tuesday?’
‘I’m ready for anything!’
The satellite phone went beeeeeep; the laptop went ping.
‘We’ve done it Charlie! It’s four o’clock on Tuesday! Let’s get back to the-’ He scoured the waves. ‘Charlie, the boat’s gone!
‘What?!’
‘Someone’s pinched it! Look, it’s not there any more!’
‘But how can that – ah, hang on. Ralph, I think-’
‘We only left it five minutes!’
‘Ralph, it’s yesterday. The boat wasn’t here yesterday.’
Ralph opened his mouth, then shut it again, much like a goldfish.
‘So…’ He counted on his fingers, without actually counting. ‘So we can’t get to it because…’
‘Because we left the boat in Wednesday, Ralph,’ Charlie added helpfully.
‘Hmm.’ He thought some more, and suddenly lit up. ‘I’ve got it! We just have to wait here for a day, then bam – the boat will turn up with us in it!’
Charlie looked mortified. ‘A whole day?! I’m cold!’
‘Well we can’t row all the back to Wednesday. It’ll be Friday by the time we get to Thursday.’
‘So what you’re saying is we … we steal the boat back from ourselves?’ It was Charlie’s turn to think. ‘So if we went back round the lighthouse, we might catch ourselves nicking the boat from us?’
‘Charlie, I don’t want to get bogged down in the whys and wherefores of time and space,’ Ralph said with a tired look. ‘I just want to use the Chronocavia to make millions of Pounds Sterling (and other assorted currencies), and be declared “An Heroic Hero And Magician” across the globality of the globe. And possibly live out my dream of being Doctor Who as well.’
Charlie muttered something about being his glamorous assistant.
‘Ahh, time travel,’ declared Ralph, standing over the churning waves as if on a pleasant stroll in Spring. ‘Doesn’t it excite you Charlie? Doesn’t it give you a thrill?’
Charlie said nothing.
‘Charlie?’
Ralph turned round to see Charlie had stopped rowing and was staring, white as a sheet, out into the water.
A long, neck towered out of the water, ending in a bullet-shaped reptilian head. In the gloom, its tiny black eyes looked at them.
It looked distinctly like a dinosaur.
‘Dunno about time travel Ralph,’ said Charlie, ‘but that thing scares the hell out of me.’
Being the only woman here was a stupid idea, and I’m still blaming the captain.
I’m watching both suns set out through the window. Not long now.
The base is like a submarine. Or a hot air balloon. Trust me on this. Okay, I’ve never actually been in a hot air balloon, but it’s the nearest thing I can think of. Only on land.
The red sun wobbles and melts as it touches the horizon first.
I light up a cigarette, and shiver as the extraction system swirls air around me. I hug the greasy patches on my arms. We’re not washing the clothes much now. Supplies are low – we’re relying on the recyc transformer more and more.
It’s been ages since a true night, a long one. The suns run on different times (and our standard day doesn’t fit either of them), so there’s always some light around. But it messes you up. And a true night, well...
The white sun turns pink, and disappears.
Before the light completely fades I see shapes out in the twilight.
We’re scouting for signs of the enemy up here on the Slopes. Okay, scouting isn’t the right term ... we’re cooped up in a tin can, bolted onto a rocky hillside. It’s too cold for any human to last more than half an hour outside, but that doesn’t matter, as the air’s too thin anyway. There’s a suit, but the few times the guys have been out in it, well … there’s nothing to go out for. We scout not on the frozen rocks, but on the electromagnetic spectrum, on the radar, on our screens, on our headsets.
We’re supposed to be here for the wildlife. I don’t think anyone on our side would believe that, never mind the enemy – there’s no fucking animals for a start. Maybe we’re supposed to be geologists or something. I forget.
The captain wanders in. I know it’s him without looking. (Living in close quarters with four other people, you just get to know these things. Sometimes I can tell who it is before they open the door.) He sits down and leans against the metal table, and lights up like me. Now I look at him, with his dirty brow and lined, unshaven face. He eyes me slowly, and we both turn away. He was hardly a pretty boy when we got sent out here – when he demanded that I came with him – but he’s lost something, something in his eyes.
No-one’s laughed in weeks.
‘How’re Brookes and Scott?’ I break the silence. My voice is pretty low these days. Must be the cigarettes and the recycled air.
The captain barely flinches. ‘Downstairs playing cards. Gambling Rick’s locker. Again.’
Scott and Brookes are the other guys, pretty typical macho men. All smiles and backslapping when we came out. It’s been about six, maybe seven months now. Needless to say they calmed down a bit, even before Rick lost it and went crazy.
The captain blows smoke slowly. He’s a big guy too, but older, more together than the others. He thinks things through.
‘They found some more love letters to you,’ he says, holding them up grinning. He tosses them on the table at me. Aye, sometimes he puts a lot of thought into saying thoughtless things.
‘Thanks, I’ll read them later.’ Tired. The captain leaves it at that.
Rick took the suit about 4 or 5 weeks ago. He’d been on edge for a while, we could all see it, but no-one thought … no-one realised. Brookes just fell asleep on watch, and he’d gone. We tried radioing him for days. Gave up. The frequency was blocked at first. After 6 days we only got static.
The darkness outside the window is absolute, proper pitch black. We’ve got a large curved window, and I know what the view looks like like the back of my hand ... but with the yellow light inside, there’s nothing outside, just the shifting black gloom.
I’d been wondering why the captain did it. Leaving his door open like that. I mean it looked so innocent, accidental, like he just forgot or something. But he’s too sharp for that. He knew the others were busy. He wanted me to find it.
‘How long has it been since we had contact?’ I say. My throat’s dry. ‘From HQ?’
He stays fixed still. He wanted me to find the dead instruments, the empty logs.
‘A couple of weeks. Bit less.’
I blew out smoke. He’d probably hoped it was a glitch. I certainly do. But two weeks ... fuck.
I’d feel a lot happier if I knew there was some top secret reason for this arctic tin can, if one of the others was a, a special forces agent or something. At least then, like, HQ would’ve kept this place secret, kept it from getting into enemy hands. But there isn’t. I’m here to scan airwaves. Someone should know I’m here.
The war’s been going a year and a bit now. Last thing I heard it was still stalemate. Last thing the captain said anyway.
The recyc transformer should sustain us indefinitely. But I’m in a base with three men, and no exits. I’m going to have to start making decisions.
‘You’re insane Ralph,’ Charlie told him. ‘It’ll never work.’
I’m watching both suns set out through the window. Not long now.