T is for Time
by
Paul Vayro
Smashwords Edition
*****
Published by: Paul Vayro on Smashwords
T is for Time
Copyright 2011 Paul Vayro
Smashwords Edition Licence Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For Nora, Sheila and John; and for everyone who knows the moon isn’t made
of cheese, but likes to think it is because it makes life that little bit more
interesting.
Chapter One
Brick rolled over in his sleep and proceeded to drown. Being such an unlikely sequence of events the subconscious doubled checked all the senses before reacting, it didn’t wish to repeat the motorway fiasco of last summer. With the peril confirmed, the relevant muscles were tensed to lift Brick’s spluttering body clear of immediate danger. The commotion was enough to stir the conscious mind in to resuming control. It wondered what all the fuss was about. As far as it was concerned they were on the way to the bar amidst a thoroughly enjoyable night out.
It wasn’t the first time the mid twenties misfit had awoken amidst such confusion, and he knew exactly how to deal with it: he kept his eyes firmly closed and denied it was happening. As far as he was concerned he’d made it home to bed after being the entertaining life and soul of the evening; nobody had been offended by his antics and there would be no official charges being brought; however the evidence against such an outcome was difficult to ignore.
The sound of running water occupied his left ear, the right contended with the ambience of many people walking in sullen silence. Brick’s stubborn-ness saw it as further evidence for being in bed. Whatever the truth he accepted the night out was over, but had no idea how, why, or where it had ended. This wasn’t good, inappropriate behaviour followed Brick’s memory lapses like a sequel follows a box office hit.
Brick was a man of principle and routine, and always gave his mind and body ample opportunity to doze back off after waking. The decision would be influenced by the severity of the hangover he often faced. For now the familiar sense of nausea and empty agony stood back and waited. It could see he had enough to deal with without its hindrance.
Time passed, but Brick’s eyes remained firmly shut. Despite clearly being waist deep in water he was convinced he may still nod off. It was only when his arms went numb, and the shivering threatened to rupture several internal organs, did he relent and lift one eyelid. The sight that met him had both open immediately.
The plan for the evening had been simple: drink, dance, speak to women in a mature manner, get food, walk home, pass out on the sofa, and crawl to bed riddled with regret. At no point did anyone discuss sleeping in a fountain!
With a large dose of confusion Brick scrambled from the overly ornate water feature, not a gracefully accomplished feat with numb arms. Greeting the morning commuters as they wandered past, they could only offer an overwhelming sense of not wanting to be there in return. It was an aura they combined with an expression that yearned for an extra hour in bed. Most didn’t even offer this social pittance and completely ignored him. They were either scared of becoming involved in whatever predicament he was in or just plain disbelieving of what they saw. Brick tutted his disappointment at the reaction, straightened his clothes and stood proudly. Wiggling the top of his T-shirt, as though it were missing a tie, he began the short stroll to the bus stop, delving back into his memory for any clues as to how he’d come to rest in the centre of Puddleton.
Puddleton was a moderately sized town that acted like a city in the hope everyone would believe it was one. Brick Wall was a resident and regular visitor to its many alcohol serving premises. He would almost always be accompanied by his similarly aged and long standing friend and housemate, Spiritwind. Thrown together by circumstance, a common love of sitting and throwaway philosophy had maintained their bond. Brick believed their unusual names brought them closer, Spiritwind couldn’t be bothered to argue.
Spiritwind’s parents had despised their surname, Jones, and its dull nature. When their first son arrived they were determined to counter such normality and saddled him with the moniker Spiritwind Capernicus Jones. Brick’s parents had a misplaced sense of humour, and when Mr and Mrs Wall had a child they couldn’t resist the temptation to name him Brick. The joy they had anticipated it bringing never surfaced, replaced instead by cynicism and a sense of injustice in the world.
Brick continued on his journey to the bus stop, all the time perusing the blank space where the memories of the previous night should have been. The occasional moment flashed by, teasing him with answers he didn’t ask for and would rather not have known. The more useful recollections flitted past, assigning concentration merely weakening their clarity. Experience had taught Brick that focusing on drunken memories only scares them away, often never to return; however a casual glance from the corner of the inner eye could catch them unaware and leave them open to observation.
Brick eyes roamed his face as he walked, watching his thoughts with feigned ambivalence as the previous night continued to appear in short, non sequential bursts: the flashing lights of a club, sitting on a kerb, on the floor looking up at a statue, a disappointed looking girl, stood on top of a statue, strangers faces, chips being spilt….The show reel paused as Brick’s focus turned to the bus stop he’d arrived at. The bus stop’s focus equally found a new source of intrigue.
Those already in the queue for public transport shuffled nervously, ignorance of the dripping mess their only defence. Brick could see a gap, on the bench that was incorporated into the shelter, and assessed his size in relation to it. He was generally accepted as tall. His build edged past lanky but not in to big. He’d once been described as long, and although he didn’t know entirely what it meant it seemed to fit him well. His defining feature was his hair; it had an un-nerving ability to look good without any effort or styling, a comforting quirk for a man who never intended on doing either. Brick felt confident his slender frame would fit and filled the space left on the seat, much to the disappointment of the people sitting down. They ignored him with extra determination as social punishment, refusing to either acknowledge or reciprocate his attempt at an appeasing smile. Brick sneered as though everyone else was the odd one out.
After a few awkward minutes Brick attempted to break the tension and opened his mouth, only to close it as he remembered he may have some money left. Standing, to see how reliable the information was, he dipped into his right pocket, retrieving a ball of something paper based from within. It was either the remnants of last night’s float or the note he’d written to remind him not to get too drunk. As the corner peeled back it revealed a judgemental eye beneath a crown. Brick had never been so pleased to face royal scorn.
The man to Brick’s left had been successfully blanking the human puddle, and the endless streams he’d created. The morning commuter wanted desperately to bury his head in his newspaper so he could ignore the situation in a socially acceptable manner, but Brick had inadvertently sat on it. The man’s heart sank further as Brick spoke.
“Could I possibly trouble you for a lighter?” Brick had a plan to make his tender more acceptable.
“Of course.” The man placed all annoyance to one side in order to maintain the sense of politeness he believed society needed to function. Struggling to retrieve the lighter from his pocket panic took hold. He wanted the encounter over with before Brick could engage him in further conversation. It popped loose, along with several pence in change. “Here it is. It’s here. I’ve found it.” The sense of relief expressed itself as words.
“Alright it’s only a lighter.” Brick took the lighter and somehow the moral high ground with it. How the man on his way to work had ended up as the social misfit was never fully explained to him. Silence fell on the bus stop once more as Brick began the drying process.
After five minutes the people at the bus stop had begun sharing looks of disapproval. Brick was oblivious as he dozed where he sat, the flame still flickering across his bus fare home. As the strip of metal on the lighter increased in temperature so did Brick’s thumb, until the pain startled him back to consciousness with a yelp. The other passengers returned to oblivious ignorance as Brick instinctively inspected the cash. Aside from a slightly singed brow the Queen was still in tact. Rubbing the smouldering tender he was pleased to see his bus arrive, a pleasure shared by the those sharing the shelter. As he stood, the newspaper still at one with his pants, Brick suddenly realised the driver may not be as pleased with his offer of payment.
The doors slid open to reveal a beaming face in charge of the bus, clearly a morning person. Brick knew instantly they had nothing in common.
“Is it raining outside?” The driver waited for Brick to join in the joke. The soaked one could only look around bemused. Glancing down at the note he thought of a way to pass it off unquestioned.
“You’re surrounded by windows. It’s practically impossible for you to be unaware of the world beyond this bus and yet you need to ask me what the weather’s like.” An open mouth was the only response, allowing Brick to continue. “The door is a foot behind me and wide open. You can clearly see it is not raining.”
“It’s a joke ‘innit. Because you’re wet and that.” Where was the mutual laughter the driver had been counting on?
“So because I’m wet it’s alright to mock me? Do you not think its hard enough walking through the centre of town, confused as to why you’re here and soaking wet, without people pointing and making feeble jokes about your predicament?”
“I didn’t really think about it like that. I just thought it’d be a funny thing to say.” The driver took off his smile and replaced it with thoughtful concern.
“Liar. You didn’t think at all.”
“Don’t be like that about it.”
“Life is hard enough Mr Bus driver without the cruel taunts of our fellow man. Just take my money and offer me the pleasure of a seat.” Brick threw the note into the tray and stared down, dropping his shoulders along with his face. The driver looked at the note. Brick offered a sigh and an extra shrug as he could see the beginnings of a challenge. The driver reconsidered and handed over the relevant change. Brick squelched his way upstairs with a sense of satisfaction to accompany the short journey home.
**********
“Is it raining upstairs?” The bus driver tried his joke for a second time as Brick prepared to leave the vehicle.
“You really have no concept of humour do you?”
“I have an admirable sense of humour. My wife told me. And I’ve read about it. Repetition is a major source of humour. All the good comedians use it.”
“I agree, but we’ve already established that your ‘humour’ was actually an insult. So all you’ve done is insult me twice.” Brick didn’t add any physical dramatics to his words this time. He could see his house through the window and yearned for the bed he knew sat inside.
“Insults are funny too. There was an ‘ole chapter on ‘em.”
“Only when both parties are comfortable with each other and are aware there’s no intent behind it. Otherwise it’s just cruel.” Brick stepped off the bus, watching as the driver ran thoughts across his face whilst pulling away. The departure of the vehicle revealed his house in all its glory.
The outside was of no interest to anyone, but inside were all the accessories Brick needed to achieve comfort beyond expression. He crossed the road hoping Spiritwind was still asleep. He could gladly go without his friend’s mockery on top of the morning he was having.
Brick pushed the front door open quietly. The tortoise shell glass that made up the top half had revealed the hallway to be empty. If he could make it to the stairs and to his room he could pretend he’d been in bed all night. The plan collapsed almost instantly, as his friend appeared.
“Howdo.” Spiritwind used the hallway in its going to the kitchen capacity.
“I’m fine me mate. No problems here whatsoever.” Brick tried to rush for the stairs. Perhaps he could pretend he’d just got back from a morning jog.
“You slept in the fountain then?” The sound of ongoing cooking intermingled with Spiritwind’s words.
“Needed a run you see…..Hold on. How do you know where I slept? I only found out half an hour ago.” Brick abandoned the stairs and proceeded to the kitchen.
“So you did sleep in the fountain?” Spiritwind peered round the kitchen door with a spatula in hand. His movements suggested the hobs had completed their duties and were being extinguished.
“I never actually admitted where I slept.” Maybe it could be salvaged.
“But it was the fountain.” Brick stood in the doorway as Spiritwind filled several bowls with the various components of a full English breakfast.
Spiritwind ate. It could be considered his hobby. Not that his body reflected the fact. Spiritwind fell in to the average category for every physical measure of description. Unfortunately for him the average height of a man is smaller than many people realise, leaving him often described as short. His only other distinguishable feature was his bald head. Something he claimed to control with the power of his mind to save money on haircuts.
“If it was the fountain, and I’m in no way confirming it was, how would you suspect I ended up there?” Brick continued to query as Spiritwind downed a sausage while filling the final dish. Placing all six bowls on a tray he headed back to the living room. Spiritwind couldn’t help but smile as he walked past his friend, who stood in an increasingly large puddle. Brick followed whilst negotiating. “I realise this is a great opportunity to wind me up, and given the same opportunity I couldn’t promise not to take advantage, but I’m cold, wet, and very confused, and I just wish to shower with some answers.”
Spiritwind accepted Brick’s plea and offered him a sausage. Brick took any heat he could get and awaited the reveal. He remained standing in the corner of the living room, juggling the pork based snack that was too hot to hold.
“You told everyone you were off to sleep in a fountain because that was the only truly manly method of rest. You proceeded to call each of us very soft and very girly for going home to our comfortable existences. You started going on about it being a demonstration of everything that’s wrong with society or something. I was gone before you finished the sentence.”
“Oh. Why do you think I decided to sleep in a fountain?” Brick continued chasing the meat cylinder from hand to hand.
“No idea. I asked you twice if you were sure.”
“What did I say?”
“You said you were a man of principle and the lines had been drawn. I had to choose my place in the world: fountain or bed.” Spiritwind popped the last sausage in his mouth.
“You made the right choice. Fountains are nothing like water beds.” Brick turned to leave the room.
“I knew that was a flawed theory.” Spiritwind allowed Brick to take a step into the hallway before teasing him further details. “I think you may have been doing it to impress the girls we met.”
“We met girls?” Brick turned back round as his voice lost all sense of pitch. It settled on deepness for the next part of his question. “Did we impress them?”
“They didn’t hang around long enough for me to ask.” Spiritwind felt his breakfast was missing something.
“Ah well. Another fish slips through the net of life. Poor fish I say. Right I’m off for a shower and a change of clothes.”
“I’ll wait before commencing any further cooking then.” Spiritwind relaxed the muscles that were preparing to stand up.
“Probably best.” Brick disappeared and headed upstairs.
A curious chain of events had emerged from Brick’s past shower experiences: whenever he came to clean the lower half of his left leg the temperature would invariably plummet from summer meadow to Arctic winter. Believing it to be a simple timing issue Brick changed the order he cleaned his body, all to no avail. Any attempt to clean the lower left leg still resulted in a shocking burst of cold water. Choosing to ignore the problem had left Brick with no coping strategy, which meant every time it happened was as surprising as the first. This led to him jumping backwards in horror, ripping the shower curtain down on the way, and flapping around on the floor struggling to break free from the figure hugging material that now imprisoned him. Knowing exactly what was going on would amuse Spiritwind no end, once nearly choking him on a particularly tasty sausage roll. Hence whenever Brick takes a shower, Spiritwind is aware to avoid food.
Chapter Two
Zarg lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was pondering the new life that lay ahead of him on Earth. He’d seen the planet on numerous films back home but this would be the first time he’d visited one. It would also be the first time his race, the Jefferians, had attempted to take one over.
Zarg’s mother, Doreen, had always held the Earth in her affections. She had long been a fan of its 1950’s science fiction movies. She found the accuracy of their portrayal of aliens as three foot high green creatures with antennae, pot bellies, and horn like noses, unnerving. A school girl crush she held for one particular character had left her in no doubt as to the name of her first born: Zarg. The decision had left her son facing a number of name related problems as life unfolded.
The teasing at school he expected. If it hadn’t been for his name it would have been something else. The real issue that plagued him, and some would say added an element of bitterness to his personality, was the fact the alphabet is so often used as a supposedly fair means of distribution. He’d spent half his life waiting for the Adam’s and Agatha’s of the world to choose what they wanted before he even got a look in, but things were different now; he was fourteen and practically a man. No more would people tell him what to do and when. It was time the universe realised he was more than a name, and his rightful place was at the front of the queue! It was exactly this attitude that had got him sent to his room.
Bored of the ceiling, Zarg flicked through his notes on the history of the Earth. He’d read them numerous times. His mother’s passion for the planet had rubbed off. Not that he’d ever admit to having anything in common with someone who clearly hated him so much and wished to ruin his life. He read on slightly annoyed, but not entirely sure why.
The original Earth had been a humble planet in an up and coming area of the universe. Known only for its extensive swimming facilities, and glorious golf courses, it remained a grade two planet and thus exempt from universal law; grade two being any world that realises life must be out there but not yet in meaningful contact with it. This left the quiet planet exempt from the ongoing debate over language.
Aware that communication is the key to harmony, the great minds of the wider ethos had asked if having several languages per planet was such a good idea. How can any global society hope to flourish when one nation is unable to ask another to pass the salt? Taking the question to the highest courts in the universe the discussions continued, mainly over extortionately priced lunches that were entirely tax deductible, and a new law was eventually passed. It declared that any world that came under universal jurisdiction, that being grade three and above, would be limited to only one language.
The lawyers, whose responsibility it had been to implement the law, were exhausted once the job was done; and as reward they booked an all inclusive golfing holiday on Earth. Pitching and putting their way across Europe and into China, they were horrified as they stumbled across language after language, each mocking their efforts more than the last. Unsure how to even begin sorting such a mess, three languages had been the previous maximum encountered on one planet, the lawyers returned to their superiors with a tale to tell. After several high level lunches, and an emergency dinner, a sub section to the language law was passed: It declared the Earth off limits to any outside attempts at communication, even on its birthday. Were it ever to achieve grade three status i.e. any planet in meaningful contact with at least one other, it would come under the universe’s jurisdiction and be forced to use only one language. The admin required for such a task would need a planet to house it, and the cost of lawyers overtime would bankrupt several galaxies. The story however did not end there.
News of the Earth’s abundance of languages soon spread across the universe, attracting interest from all quarters. Although everybody was ultimately driven by curiosity, the scientists wishing to name a law or principle after themselves claimed theirs to be more worthy and pushed to the front of the queue. Once there they measured, observed and pondered every angle, searching for the infamy their great discovery would bring; however when it did come it wasn’t from the mind of the dedicated brains that yearned for it so desperately.
‘The Unexpected Law of Language Distribution’ was the brainwave of Samuel Unexpected, a maths teacher from a neighbouring galaxy. It states that the Earth not only contains every form of communication in the universe, but that it does so in their exact proportion. Furthermore the relationship is dynamic and reflects the universe’s language distribution at all times e.g. should a French speaking planet conquer an Italian, a group of Italians on Earth will take up a French speaking class.
The man behind the theory, Samuel Unexpected, had never intended to create a law; much to the displeasure of the serious scientists who had dedicated their lives to the problem. Scientists as a group were growing increasingly tired of all the great discoveries being made by amateurs and had been wondering if violence wasn’t an intelligent solution after all. Samuel had had no desire to steal anyone’s thunder. The only reason he even mentioned the idea was to break the ice with a highly attractive physicist. He thought it would be a good joke and starting point for a general chat. Failing to see the humour she took his comment seriously and went straight home to work on the relevant sums. He was as amazed as her when she turned up the next day to tell him his theory was correct. The attractive physicist fell instantly in love with Samuel’s brilliant mind, and they married two days later. After three weeks he found her lack of humour to be something of an issue, fortunately she’d realised there was no brilliant mind after eight hours and had already left.
With the Earth confirmed as a dynamic, linguistic map of the universe its popularity soared, replacing Eric Wazinski and his singing table on the front page of ‘Things to See as Soon as You Get Chance’. Within months it became the number one holiday destination as crowds flocked to hover above its surface and observe the multi lingual folk below. The marketing men quickly followed as everyone clambered to cash in the oddity.
Over time, as with all planets, the life that had flourished slowly dwindled, until the Earth evolved back into a lifeless rock floating through space. With so much money left to be made from the Earth brand, it wasn’t long before one enterprising soul saw a way to keep the cash rolling in. Buying the rights to the Earth franchise he offered to re-run the entire cycle of its life on any suitably sized rock a designated distance from a sun. The owner would gain an idyllic home, with an inbuilt revenue from tourism, and the universe regained one of its most iconic attractions, only now in infinitely more locations.
Zarg and his fellow Jefferians didn’t own a suitably sized rock a designated distance from a sun, but they knew of an Earth franchise that appeared ripe for taking over. Why pay an obscene amount of money for something that can be taken for free, with a little ingenuity. Zarg cackled to himself mischievously as he came to the end of his notes. Rubbing his hands together for added effect he realised he was alone and there was no need to express his internal thoughts to the outside world. He decided to lie on his bed and sulk until the universe became a fairer place.
Chapter Three
Brick entered the living room, dry and ready for rest. A sleepy haze had descended across his body, craving the comfort and safety of familiarity. He’d dressed for the occasion, wearing all his favourite lounging clothes: everything was bigger than necessary, from his best curling up jumper to his oversized socks. He shuffled into the room, focusing firmly on the armchair he considered a close friend. He’d been imagining its welcoming embrace since the first shiver in the fountain that morning.
He waited an extra moment to ensure he fully appreciated what was about to come; then stepped majestically across the arm into a fully upright position. Allowing his knees to bend he controlled his falling weight, folding his limbs beneath him as they planted themselves in various waiting indentations. Brick released a sigh of immeasurable pleasure in response to finally being settled.
Spiritwind had been observing the entire charade from the sofa, timing his next comment to inflict optimum annoyance on his friend.
“Pass us that glass.” Brick ignored the request. His comfort had reached a level that would be criminal to disturb.
“I will continue to ask until I receive a response.” Spiritwind popped a nugget of something deep fried and meat based into his mouth.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you. I was far too comfy.” Brick remained still except for his lips.
“I asked if you’d pass me that glass at the foot of your chair.”
“I feel I must refer you to the rules on states of ultimate comfort: You know fine well it’s illegal to disturb such a position.” Brick quoted from the pairs self made bible.
“Okay then.” Spiritwind continued to dip his fried delicacy and stare at the television. Brick’s expected comfort eluded him as his mind wondered about Spiritwind’s intentions for the glass.
“Do you not want the glass then?” Brick tilted his head. The knock on effect saw his arm shift and his hips shuffle in an attempt to compensate.
“What makes you think I wanted the glass?”
“The fact you asked me for it.” The logic was watertight.
“I wanted to disturb you. How I did that was irrelevant.” Spiritwind scraped his dip bowl with smugness.
“That’s a bit harsh.” Brick had no choice but to lift his body onto its elbow. He continued to wrestle to restore his previous comfort.
“But funny. Don’t forget funny.”
“Not from where I’m sitting. Which I must stress is now decidedly less comfortable.” Brick continued to twist and turn. It was no good the comfort had gone, chasing it only pushed it further away. He abandoned his foetal position and started again, sitting in a textbook chair posture and folding his arms in a huff. Maybe he could entice it back with nonchalance. Spiritwind verbally poked his friend further.
“If you’re no longer in a state of ultimate comfort do you think you could pass me that glass?” Spiritwind hid his smirk behind his dip bowl.
“One day my friend my life anger will boil over. The resulting actions will be spoken of in hushed voices to ears that cannot believe such ferocity exists. I tell you this because I expect you to be standing very nearby when it happens.”
“Is that day today?”
“No. I’m too tired to be angry.” Brick gave up on nonchalance and faced the problem. Running a number of back up positions through his mind he settled on the good old slouch. Anchoring his feet on the floor he prepared to slide towards them. His efforts were interrupted by a thump from next door followed by a bold sounding apology. “What are those two up to now?”
“No idea. They were in the garden earlier jumping around a frame they’d built out of old drainpipes. I offered them a bacon baguette each. Said they deserved something tasty for all that early morning effort. They said something about calories and the smell of humanities security being reward enough. To be honest I’ve never smelt humanities security but if it’s better than bacon I want it on a butty.”
“There’s definitely something wrong with them. No ability to sit still, a much under valued quality.” Brick demonstrated the art of stillness to perfection as he settled into his new position. “Never trust a man who can’t sit still, especially when he hangs around with someone else of a similar mental hindrance.” Brick tested how much comfier life was with his eyes closed. The answer was difficult to quantify without sounding like an over-exaggeration.
There was indeed something curious about Brick and Spiritwind’s neighbours, Rick and Biritvind. The pair trained without explanation or purpose for eighteen hours a day: fighting styles, gymnastics, electronics, gadget building, weapon construction and numerous other activities that defied sense or labelling. Perhaps the only thing more curious than their behaviour was the explanation behind it.
Rick and Biritvind were an essential part of the Earth franchise program: an inbuilt defence system devised by the designers to protect the planet from anyone wishing to seize control. Studies had shown armies to be ineffective when thwarting alien invasions, and so the Earth franchise company offered something different: two men trained for any situation that reared its head. Once activated the duo were programmed to search out other strays and survivors and form a small, cohesive group of bickering personalities, preferably with a fiery female one of the duo could slowly fall in love with. Such a unit stood an infinitely greater chance of victory than thousands of heavily armed men attacking each other.
Their existence was unbeknown to anybody outside of the company, Rick and Biritvind included. All they knew was something inside drove them to train for a time that may never come, a time that would right all that is wrong. Brick and Spiritwind lacked such an inner drive, leaving conversation between the houses limited to pleasantries and bold statements of virtue and defiance.
Brick had no sooner finished his sentence than he began the deepest of sleeps. Involuntary twitches became his only message to the watching world. Spiritwind responded with restlessness. He’d flicked through every channel on the television numerous times, and all he’d achieved was a sore thumb and slight rise in frustration. He’d often been told he was easily amused, yet as he sat looking around the room he failed to see the truth in such a statement.
A full ten minutes passed without even a hint of amusement for Spiritwind. Curiosity had reared its head only to be satisfied swiftly, leaving pondering to take over. It focused on the fundamental differences between pondering and curiosity. It decided curiosity was the more motivated of the two. It had a sense of drive behind it to find out the answer. Pondering was merely happy to be out and about doing something. Spiritwind decided he preferred the stress free nature of pondering and chose to continue; only now he couldn’t remember what he’d been pondering. Curiosity seized its chance and began probing for answers about what he’d been thinking. Spiritwind side stepped the whole issue and decided waking his open mouthed housemate would be the easiest and greatest source of amusement to hand, and he knew the perfect way to do it: an impromptu game of Yoghurt Bucket.
Chapter Four
Fate sat in the café he regularly frequented, gazing through the window at Puddleton and its people. He’d often sit and allow his mind to ponder humanity and its curious ways, usually whilst nibbling something that contravened several health regulations and sipping a hot beverage. He’d been living on the Earth for countless generations, yet he never tired of the subtleties and complexities of human routine and communication, especially those that surrounded eating. Today however wasn’t about his usual musings, today he had to ensure the Earth’s inbuilt defence system was activated; thus saving the planet from an alien attack and keeping his job safe. Unfortunately he would have to do it with a hangover and an injury to his forehead.
The bandage that adorned Fate’s head was excessive. Everyone knew it, including the nurse that applied it. She’d had a long shift with little thanks and didn’t fancy the twenty metre amble to retrieve the scissors; hence she used the entire roll. The fact it made Fate look ridiculous was a small bonus to cheer her up on the walk home. As Fate thought back on the previous night’s events, the stray end of the bandage impinged on his peripheral vision once more. Again he misperceived it to be a fly and flinched in an effort to protect his bagel. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. He couldn’t stand bagels and their smug disposition. He’d asked for a bacon barm but the waitress had either misheard or didn’t care. Either way Fate didn’t like to make a fuss when it came to food. He’d seen enough of the world to know a wrong order was better than the right dish with added fluids.
He stared down at the bagel that had been un-lovingly smeared with cream cheese. It looked back with a patronising shimmer. It was a poor substitute for what he’d ordered. He knew it wasn’t going to fill him up, and it cost twice the price. He shook his head, setting off a twinge that shot up his neck and became a pain in the middle of his forehead. The bandage drifted back towards his vision causing another badly timed and agonising flinch. The twitching man at the window was beginning to attract attention from the other customers.
Luckily Fate was not a memorable man. You could spend weeks drawing a portrait and still be unable to find the words to describe him, but when your job is to control the destiny of every conscious being on the planet it’s helpful to be able to slip in to the background. Even his age appeared ambiguous, looking anywhere between early twenties and late thirties. His bland appearance was equally useful for deflecting the social attention his absent mind and clumsiness would often entice. In demonstration the customers, whose curiosity had been raised by the man in the window, quickly returned their focus to their plates of unapologetically flavoured fat, unable to remember why they’d glanced towards Fate in the first place.
The excess movements did nothing for Fate’s fragile stomach. Gripping the table he calmed his body to perfect stillness, using the various condiments stable nature to focus his own. As the latest wave of hangover induced nausea passed, the danger of vomiting cleared. Fate celebrated by raising his head, in slow stages, and staring back out of the window in his well practised, all knowing manner. He believed this expression had helped him secure the position of Fate, that and some fortunate guesses at a series of frighteningly difficult maths problems.
The task of controlling every conscious being on a planet sounds daunting, so daunting most people prefer to believe it’s down to one omnipotent being or another; however due to the social nature of humanity it’s a relatively simple task. The domino effect of one action can be so far reaching that simply hiding a shoe in Swansea for ten seconds can bring down the government in Botswana. The skill is being able to see the consequence of an action, and this is where the dribbling man sitting in the window of an unassuming cafe is unrivalled.
Employed by the company that supplies and maintains Earths, it is Fate’s job along with a host of other concepts, including his brother Coincidence and girlfriend Karma, to ensure the planets original history is played out. Each concept dictates their own methods of achieving the aims set by the Earth Company. Fate places most emphasis on planning and observation.
Each year Fate received a schedule of what had to occur. By following the chain reaction of consequence backwards he would invariably find one event that could initiate everything with a little nudge from him. It was far easier than spending every day tweaking and interfering with humanity. It also left him plenty of time for socialising and his hobby of cloud spotting.
Today cloud spotting would have to wait, for it was a day when his practical interference was required. Informed that aliens were about to freeze time on Earth, in an effort to seize control, it was imperative that the only two humans left unfrozen were the planets in built heroes: Rick and Biritvind.
Having thoroughly investigated the pair, and their lifestyle, he’d devised a plan that would ensure the duo remained mobile and ready to act. It had been a relatively simple operation. Unfortunately for Fate it had been misguided. A fax machine running low on ink, combined with his brother’s dedication to creating coincidences, had seen him target the hero’s next door neighbours: Brick and Spiritwind, by mistake. Rather than a highly trained pair of moral warriors, he was about to activate two men who deemed the term hapless misfits a compliment.
The error was entirely innocent. Fate loved his job and the Earth. Neither he nor any of the other concepts wished to risk new owners firing them and forcing them to return to their home planet of Grinflint.
Grinflint had been an insignificant rock with no natural resources. Made entirely from marble it had sat as a perfect sphere without undulation, crevice or pebble to interrupt its surface. And had it not floated in the vicinity of Medlock, a planet of such wealth their smallest unit of currency could buy a reasonably priced solar system, it would have remained that way for all time.
The unremarkable planet had long been ignored by the Medlockians, until the fashion world decided minimalism was the new everything. At which point they claimed the unoccupied oddity as their own. The people of Medlock quickly instructed their staff to load up their luxury crafts, and within hours the quintillionaires had been chauffeured to the previously pointless ball in space. With little to do but gloat they spent several days showing off the sheer abundance of nothingness to the rest of the universe, before growing restless and deciding minimalism would be far more fun with stuff.
In line with Medlockian culture they decided spending money was the only answer, and began importing entertainment and a few home comforts. Along with their vast array of goods they also imported the social need to outdo each other, and competitiveness soon took hold. When one family grew tired of the flat horizon they installed mountains in the distance. Not to be beaten an ocean sprung up in next doors recently imported field, quickly followed by the unveiling of an entire forest at number thirty’s regular Sunday brunch. The competition continued and the planet blossomed; however achieving such a thing had meant hiring countless staff to deal with orders and installation.
Over time the hired help settled on Grinflint, importing their own workers villages to live in, and began raising families. Unfortunately the career options for their offspring were limited to either admin work or table testing: for a species of admin staff the perfect sit was essential. Fortunately for the people of Grinflint the Earth franchise company formed. They required people who excelled in organisational ability, to work as concepts. Hearing of the admin race they headed to Grinflint. The residents were thrilled to be given a third career choice, and Fate had dreamt of little else since being a boy.
Fate’s phone flashed on the table in front of him. It was Irony, one of his fellow concepts, ringing for the umpteenth time. He didn’t need to answer. He knew she was only calling to gloat.
The two had never got on. Irony had originally applied to do the job of fate, and she held him personally responsible for her failure to get it. All Fate knew was that he could never do or say anything right. Given the choice he would simply avoid social contact, but Irony was best friends with his girlfriend Karma. Fate continued to watch the phone as the call was diverted to his message service. He wouldn’t be listening to it.
Her incessant ringing had awoken him only a few hours ago. He’d answered out of instinct. It could have been Karma, and her wrath was not worth risking. Once Irony had stopped laughing she unleashed her smug mockery: “The all knowing Fate, unable to see a lamp post coming.” Irony insisted it fell under her jurisdiction. Somebody must have explained it to her. Irony only got the job because she didn’t understand irony. The owners liked the joke more than the chance to have an effective concept.
Fate pushed the phone to the edge of the table. He held his head and wondered why he drank so much last night? Why did he drink so much that morning was perhaps a better question. Waking at Fut’s house, another fellow concept, he’d been served a breakfast cocktail. Eggs and bacon went surprisingly well with brandy and cointreau.
Fate glanced down at his watch. Once the dizziness had passed he deciphered he had ample time to make it to the supermarket and delay Ms Herbert’s shop. It was this delay that would set off a chain of events allowing Brick and Spiritwind to remain free from the effects of time being frozen. Fate caught the eye of the waitress and signalled a request for another coffee. It had taken him a while to perfect the execution of the subtleties of human communication he so loved, but it had been worth the time and effort, and the numerous police fines he’d incurred for inappropriate advances.
Fate considered exactly how he was going to delay Ms Herbert. Between the hangover, throbbing forehead, irritation caused by Irony’s smug gloating, and disappointment at his own weak will, he couldn’t focus. Looking down at his bagel didn’t help.
The previous evening was supposed to be a civil affair. He’d gone to his friend’s house, Fut, to relax and iron out the final points of today’s plan. Fut works as the planets spreader of cool and calm, and his house and aura are a welcoming place to be. Fut had offered to show Fate his latest cocktails, and as a man with lackadaisical tendencies Fate embraced the idea and put all thoughts of work to one side. He considered promising to change his ways if he could just get through this task successfully, but he couldn’t lie to himself.
Fate made a decision: he would leave the café and head to the supermarket in fifteen minutes. He would work on his plan to delay Ms Herbert on the way. Pleased he had a firm schedule in place he relaxed, knowing he had a quarter of an hour without the need to think.
“Maybe I should get some cake to go with my coffee?” He thought.
The Earth’s odds of survival continued to diminish.
Chapter Five
Zarg stood up, before sitting back down for the third time. Neither state satisfied an urge he couldn’t place. Restlessness was a common problem upon spacecraft. It had been the biggest obstacle facing anyone with an interest in galactic travel for many a century, but whilst the major corporations threw money at the problem, a humble man from the planet Antelope Three stumbled upon a solution while looking after his son.
The people of Antelope Three had mastered the art of weather prediction, much to the displeasure of the chaotic system. The weather prided itself on its mysterious nature and ability to surprise, and so in response it began rotating on an hourly basis. After several weeks of sixty minute storms, heat waves, and ice showers, talks were called to resolve the issue. As a compromise the weather agreed to give the good people of Antelope Three the same number of sunny, windy and rainy days it would in any other year; however the seasons would no longer exist. Instead the weather would see how it felt each morning and create the climate accordingly.
After a string of rainy days, in the midst of what used to be summer, Deodorant Malone noticed his son’s unrest at being stuck inside. He felt the only solution would be to open the front door and allow his son limitless access to the outside world, should he so choose. His son, Bookcase Malone, went into the front garden and played in the rain for a full hour and a half. On his return he found all restlessness gone, and his watch, but that was due to carelessness, a different department entirely. Bookcase didn’t ask to go outside again until the sun returned, and crucially felt no unrest as he waited. Deodorant realised the key to his son’s harmony lay in the belief he could venture out whenever he wished. After sharing his handy parenting tip it spread, and Deodorant was soon invited on to all the top chat shows to discuss it further. He was also approached by numerous publishers to write a book on the subject, but chose to write a pamphlet instead and sell it for twice the price.
News of the tip reached the ears of scientists at Powerflex Corp, who quickly applied it to the problem of space travel and restlessness. They came up with the ‘restlessness expulsion device’, which in essence was a door with an exit sign above it. Upon opening the wooden divide you stepped into a small holding area, where a poster thanked you for using a Powerflex product and hoped your restlessness had been relieved. In truth the device usually signalled the final straw for many an ailing mind, which would pack in there and then and fall into a deep coma. In response Powerflex invented intense stimulation rooms to bring sufferers back round.
With 87% of long distance space travellers falling into comas it was only a matter of time before somebody asked why Powerflex didn’t simply remove the doors, thus eliminating the problem before their stimulation rooms were ever needed. A number of reasons were cited in court as to why removing the doors wouldn’t help, but placing a small sign next to the portals, warning of the potential dangers, would fix the dilemma instantly. The court agreed with Powerflex and the company offered to fit the signs for a very reasonable price.
The restlessness expulsion device on board Zarg’s ship had long since been abandoned. Even if he wanted to use it he couldn’t. It had become the cleaner’s cupboard. Instead the teenage alien opted for a brisk walk around the ship, a decision which meant leaving his room and negotiating the family area.
Entering the open plan room, containing a kitchen and seating area, Zarg was faced with a scene of domestic bliss. His father, Ted, sat at the table reading a paper, his mother, Doreen, flitted around the room keeping busy with tasks only she saw need for. His little brother, Edwin, sat in his high chair throwing various toys onto the floor and staring at them in innocent wonder. Zarg gave a few sighs and poked a chair before his mother finally engaged him in conversation.
“Are you okay dear?” She walked into the kitchen area, conversing on the move.
“Why do you always want to know what I’m doing? Can’t I get any privacy?”
He continued to poke the chair without conviction for his rant.
“Just checking that you’re alright dear. No prying intended.” She toddled past, back towards the living area, with a spray of some sort. Her tone remained calm and distracted. She had chores to do and none of them involved an argument.
“Well I’m going to go round the ship for a bit. I need to get out of here.” He could sense nobody was interested in starting a fight. He stormed out anyway.
“Make sure you’re back for tea dear.” His mother called out as she headed back to the kitchen for a different spray. Zarg didn’t have chance to reply, the door had already closed. He cursed his mother’s understanding nature and set off down the long, silver corridors.
Zarg’s attitude towards his parents plagued him. He thought on the topic as he strolled aimlessly. He wished to tell them that he cherished their love and support for him more than any other object the universe could offer, but his teenage mind translated his affection into shrugs and strops. The mere thought of their selfless attitude boiled his walk into a moody stomp.
After thirty metres of angry walking Zarg stopped and considered his actions. What was wrong with him? His behaviour was completely over the top. Struck by a moment of clarity, his hormones relented as he turned to the wall to face his reflection, ponderous of his own identity and place in existence. A vague, green, alien shaped blob shimmered back at him. For all the reflective quality the walls promised they delivered little. Zarg’s curiosity quickly turned to frustration at the inability to distinguish his ear from his leg. He set off around the ship once more, his hormones returning to huff and puff, their displeasure.
The corridors stretched on for miles, offering little variation amongst the thirty floors they provided access to. It made walking along them challenging to the senses that yearned stimulation; fortunately entering a room more than made up for the famine.
When the time came for the Jefferians to build a craft to explore the universe, they had little to draw on other than what they had seen in 1950’s science fiction movies from Earth. Drafting in a team of master designers they explained their idea of a ship: a giant silver saucer with matching interior, except for a pleasantly carpeted control room. Slightly irritated by such a simple request, a task well below their talent, the designers set about the corridors and did as asked. Unhappy their good name would be attached to work so dull and lifeless they requested a meeting with the Jefferian king, explaining that a ship doesn’t have to stick to such strict boundaries and can look anyway you wish. The king was always willing to learn, and in response gave the designers complete freedom over the rest of the interior, at which point raw extravagance took over.
Their creativity, subdued by working on the corridors, had built to the point of eruption, and with permission to do as they please it spilled over into every available nook and cranny. By the time they were finished the entire Jefferian fleet was a cacophony of surprises just waiting to be opened, the replica Trevi fountain that served as a sink in the toilets on level six being a particular highlight.
Zarg had been walking for around ten minutes when the solution to his boredom struck: food; more specifically, Dovwar pie. The meat of the Dovwar has been compared to party sausages wrapped in bacon, only in large, dense slabs of many layers, separated by melted cheese. His mouth motioned a bite as his pace quickened, the imaginary pastry cracking effortlessly beneath his teeth. He reached the canteen with eyes half closed, lost in imagined flavour.
Wiping his drool with the back of his arm, Zarg pushed the ample door to the canteen open. It swung gently on its hinges, bathing the little alien in light and sound. Stepping inside he had no interest in the designer’s vision of a fully operational fairground doubling up as a cafeteria. All Zarg wanted was the finest slice of Dovwar pie in the room, and he knew exactly where to find it.
Although predominantly a fairground, the centre of the room held the essence of a canteen. A multitude of tables, each incorporating a minimum of six comfortable seats, were grouped together. This nucleus was surrounded by an increasing density of stalls and tents, all of which supplied food. You could choose to be served freely, or play the game they offered in return for sustenance. The bigger rides sat on the outskirts and offered snacks to those who were eating casually between meals.
Zarg let his mind wander as he headed towards his favourite stall at the far end of the cavernous room. He always played the game it offered, partly to boost his inconsistent ego, but mainly to show off to Jennifer: the stall holder and object of Zarg’s crush. Being such a logical young chap he knew she was unattainable and was merely a test run for the emotions he would one day need to partake in a relationship, but logic didn’t stop him blushing whenever she smiled at him.
The stall was hidden away from the more popular areas meaning it was usually quiet. Zarg left the walking process to his subconscious. A few adjustments here and there were enough to avoid any major embarrassments. It had travelled the path enough times to know exactly where they were heading. He allowed his thoughts to wander freely. They settled on watching a young soldier test his strength; apparently he was strong to the point of eighty. This pleased the soldier greatly as he turned to his friends in a victory stance: legs spread and both arms fully extended above his head. Zarg wondered what his own strength would be, before remembering he didn’t care about that kind of thing, he was more cerebral. A smirk of superiority flashed across his face, distracting his subconscious for a moment. The ensuing stumble saw his grin disappear as the soldier and his friends mocked him from afar. Lowering his gaze Zarg picked up the pace.
Reaching his destination, Zarg smiled to see Jennifer behind the counter. A warm glow fluttered through his intestines. Some would call it love, Zarg called it hunger. It wasn’t just Jennifer’s understated prettiness that Zarg liked, she understood him in a way those his own age didn’t. He felt they shared a level of maturity, mentally if not physically.
“Greetings, Zarg.” Jennifer offered the little alien the usual friendly welcome. He felt instantly at ease, and a little dizzy with pleasure.
“Greetings in return. I have come for the greatest pie the ship can offer.” Zarg felt confident flirting with Jennifer as he knew it couldn’t lead anywhere, although her occasional reciprocation left him floundering.
“With compliments like that you’re always welcome here. How are things?” Jennifer set the game up as she spoke.
The game was simple: each player was given a hand held cannon and three missiles. A circle sat eighteen feet away with a hole at the centre. This led to a clear tube that reached down to the floor. The aim was to fire the missile into the centre of the circle, without touching the sides of the pipe that created the hole. Any contact would result in the missile being fired instantly back in your direction. Success allowed the dart to fall into the tube and to the ground. Those bullets would then be weighed and the equivalent amount of Dovwar pie handed over.
“You mean aside from the constant battle with my parents?” Zarg looked to the sky with disappointment, at the same time taking the cannon Jennifer offered.
“Do they still not understand?”
“If they did they’d stop punishing me just for being alive. It was their choice to create me. I’m just a consequence of their selfish desire to be loved.” Zarg listened to the words he was saying as he lined up his first shot. He wanted to compliment them on doing such a fine job of raising him, but the harder he tried to be nice the more vehement his abuse became.
“Do you need reminding of the rules?” Jennifer chose to side step his comments and changed the subject.
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