Right... This was going to be a challenge entry. However, when I was four chapters in, it vanished from the site. No idea what happened to it? Deleted by the person who created it? A glitch in the system? I don't know. But as I was four chapters in, and no longer had a deadline, I decided to continue with it. Still am, in fact. These are the first 6 chapters, I'll post more as I write them.

To the person who did make that challenge, an explanation would be appreciated in the comments, if you did delete it! Just because no one's submitted anything 3 weeks in, does not mean no one will!

Anyway...

Chapter 1

“I’ve just thought of a question.”

“We’ve been through all the technicalities, Mr Brown…”

A mechanical voice spoke over the head researcher. “Five.”

“…It’s a little late to have second thoughts, now, don’t you think?”

“Just…”

“Four.”

“… How do I know what I’ll be getting into? I will have this other…”

“Three.”

“...me’s memories, won't I?”

“No, and he’ll be very confused when he finds himself here.”

“Two.”

“Fortunately for him, we can at least give him your history.”

“Finds…”

“One.”

“… himself here? He’s taking over my life? And I won’t know anything about…”

“Initiating transfer.”

“…see to it, sir” He froze in midsentence, and stared around at the blank, white room with the observation window at one end. At the two men in white lab coats sitting at some controls. “What the fuck is going on? Where am…” He glanced down at himself, at the scruffy sweats he wore. “What the fuck am I wearing?”

“Allow me to explain, Mr Brown. Our research has unearthed a very interesting aspect of the universe. Have you any understanding of the concept of timelines?”

“I… You… You’ve… I… Yes, I’ve always been a fan of science fiction, everyone knows what timelines are. Are you trying to tell me that’s where I am? You’ve yanked me from mine and brought me… What gives you the fucking right?”

“Quite frankly, Mr Brown, we don’t care. You’re just an unfortunate consequence of the research, it’s the you you’re currently inhabiting who chose to take on a new life. It seems the life he’s taken, is yours. The only way to do it is by direct exchange, he takes yours, you take his. Goodbye.”

“What do you mean goodbye? Send me back!”

“No. Oh, you’ll find a dossier containing all pertinent information on how your life transpired at the entrance.” And with that, there was a click, the floor tilted violently and this other Mr Brown slid down into the darkness and was gone. The moment he’d slid out of sight, the floor returned to its horizontal state.

“Do you think he’ll figure it all out?”

“We haven’t exactly given him much choice in the matter. He can’t do much worse with what he’s been given than the one we sent.”

“True. Very true. I wonder what the differences are.”

“So do I. We’ll just have to piece together what we can by observation. Are all the cameras in place?”

“Of course.”

”We’ll never know the full story, short of exchanging ourselves to find out. I’m not quite ready to do that, yet. I’m not sure I trust anyone to perform the reversal and I like the life I have. I’m not sure I’d trust the alternative me to cooperate, either. One-way trips are all we’re doing for the foreseeable future.”

“We could’ve debriefed him, you know. Found out from the horse’s mouth, so to speak?”

“No, Alan.” He sighed. “You know the only way to maintain stability in the early stages is to keep the exchanged subjects as far from the equipment as possible. One week and there’s no way to reverse it without another active transfer. He’ll never find us again, he doesn’t know where we are and the tunnel’s designed to be confusing. By the time he finds the exit, he’ll be a mile away and…”

The next words out of Alan’s mouth were in a bored monotone as if reading a line for the 500th time. “And the tunnel seals itself behind him as he travels, ensuring no possibility of return. I know. Hell, I designed part of that, myself.”

“Yes. Rather cunning little wheeze, that part, wasn’t it.” He chuckled.

Chapter 2

“…his? How the”

“I beg your pardon?”

Derek Brown blinked and looked around in shock. He wasn’t in the white featureless room anymore. He stood on the edge of a wide, open area surrounded by buildings on all sides. He gulped at the man standing stiffly before him, then he noticed his own posture. Both had their hands firmly clasped behind their backs. The man who’d spoken wore a uniform. An army uniform. He glanced down at the man’s sleeve but there was nothing there, then his eyes crept up to the man’s shoulder. On the pristinely pressed army tunic, a crown was woven onto each of his shoulder straps.

So, you’re an officer… How high, though… Higher than captain? Shit, how can I… Then he glanced down at his arm. At least that, he recognised. Three stripes. Sergeant. At least he knew how to address him.

“I’m… I’m sorry, sir?”

“What does ’He’s had every chance, I’ll his? How the' mean?"

“My apologies, sir, I… I suppose you could say my train of thought became derailed, sir. Err… Who’s had every chance, sir?”

“Are you unwell, sergeant?”

“I… I feel fine, sir. I suppose I could just put it down to a rough night, sir.”

“I expect better from my NCOs, sergeant.” The officer… Major! That’s what the crown represented!The major slapped a file into his chest. His hand instinctively shot from behind his back to grasp it. “I’ll give him one final chance. One more failure from him and I’ll have him discharged from service. And if you make a slip like that, again, get to the medical centre! Dismissed.”

It’d been thirty years since he’d been an army cadet as a kid, but the jog to his memory regarding the crown had another effect. Almost unbidden, his arm snapped up into a salute.

The major saluted back, about turned and marched away.

Derek attempted the same thing, stumbled a little and rushed away, rather than marched. He looked around in a panic, muttering under his breath. “Fuck! Why army!? Why the fuck did it have to be this bloody life? I can’t survive here! I don’t even know where I live! What my…” He glanced down at the folder he held. “Maybe I can fake it… Looks like I don’t have much of a choice.”

He began to pay much more attention to his surroundings. To the signs on all the buildings. Finally, his eyes settled on one in particular. A large NAAFI sign hung above the door. “I can’t remember what it stands for, but I know what it means. I… Shit, I hope it’s got a bar and a place to sit. No idea where the mess is.”

He sighed with relief when he crossed the threshold. A bar, a sign on a door to the left read “Snug”, on the other side, “NAAFI shop.” He walked up to the bar, noting the two stripes on the sleeve of the barman. “Half a bitter, corporal.”

“Yes, sarnt. Aren’t you on duty, though?”

“That’s why it’s only a half. I need time to think and somewhere comfortable to think it.”

“You normally go to the warrant officer’s and sergeant’s mess don’t you, sarnt?”

“Yes, but not this time. I… It’s complicated.”

“Oh. I get it.” He nodded at the folder. “Ashford, again. What’s he done this time?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. That’s why I need to think… What can you tell me about him?”

“You’ve worked much more closely with him than I have, sarnt.”

“Yes, but you’re likely to have seen him in… a less official capacity, working here. True? I want to learn everything I can about him, this time. Everything. It might be the only way to save his career. Maybe even his life. You know how bad it can be if you’re looking for work as a civvy having been involuntarily discharged from the army.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised he’s lasted his long, sarnt. If I’d been in his boots, I would’ve quit the first time.”

“Yes. The fact he’s still here must mean something.”

“Well… He’s a pleasant enough bloke most of the time, but my God he gets angry when people disagree with him. I even saw him throw a bloody tantrum, once. That time, I kicked him out, and sent him back to his billet to calm down.”

“Anything more?”

“Only that he’s glued to the screen whenever the wolves play.”

“Wolverhampton Wanderers?”

The barman nodded. “Even asked me to record a match if he was on duty and it clashed.”

“And did you?”

“If the recording didn’t clash with another request from one of us, sarnt. yes. I can only do two at a time.”

“I suppose it’s something.” He patted himself down, located a wallet and pulled out a credit card.

The barman smiled, tapped something into the till, then a handset and held it out for him.

A tap, a beep. He put the card back into the wallet and picked up his half. “I’ll just sit in the snug. Got some reading to do.”

Derek rushed to the corner table, placed his pint and folder and began emptying his pockets. “Anything. Anything to give me some fucking clue…”

He had more pockets than he was used to. From his left breast pocket, he pulled a notepad, his two rear trouser pockets produced a few folded bits of paper and the wallet… His wallet. Well, it was his, now. His right trouser pocket, keys. When he tapped his left trouser leg pocket and felt the smooth rectangular shape, he immediately unbuttoned it and pulled out a smartphone with a grin. The grin widened when he activated it and it asked for his fingerprint.

“Oh, thank fuck he didn’t use a password.” He immediately swiped through all the apps, spotted the banking app and tapped it. Another fingerprint lock and the sight of his bank accounts turned the grin into a cackle. “Twenty-five grand! I’ve never had that much money before.” He scrolled down. “And that was just an ISA… Another… Bloody hell! Why the fuck did I have to leave the army cadets if this is the result?” Another two accounts. Each contained six thousand pounds and a credit card that only had a hundred quid on it, obviously fully paid off every month.

He spent the next ten minutes studying the accounts more closely, trying to find some rhyme and reason, some clues to his life based on the payments he made.

“They say the smartphone contains your life, these days. I’ll have to study it more closely, later. Now, let’s see what…” He unfolded the papers and signed when one of them had his address on it, and the address was on the base. Finally, he knew where he was. Pirbright army barracks, wherever that was. His smile vanished as he looked at the contents of the letter. A mandatory increase in child support based on inflation? “So… It’s not perfect for you, here, either. I’ve got a kid! And divorced, by the looks of it. Suppose it explains why I’m living here.”

Putting everything back into the relevant pockets, he spotted the sign for the toilet and rushed over to it, freezing when he saw himself over the mirror above the sinks. A chiselled jawline, a rugged, handsome face, clean-shaven. Unlike the scruffy, unkempt, double-chinned, flabby mess he had been. The uniform looked like it was a part of him, from the pristine neatness of the sleeves of his shirt, folded and pressed so they rested just above his elbows, to his exquisitely polished boots. Around his waist, not holding up his trousers, but there anyway, was a cloth belt in three colours. He removed the beret he wore, and even the hairstyle, short, army cut, suited him. He didn’t just like what he saw, he loved it.

The cap badge had a figure on it. Pan, perhaps? No… Not Pan, this figure had wings on its ankles. Hermes? He shrugged. But it did give him pause. “I don’t even know what regiment I’m in! Use the clues. Start with the belt, seeing as I don’t know what the badge means.” He got out the phone and pressed the middle button, hoping against hope it worked the same as the ones back home.

It beeped.

“What regiment wears a belt of light blue at the top, green and dark blue.”

It beeped twice. “The Royal Signals wear a stable belt of light blue, green and dark blue. The colours represent air, land and sea.”

He sighed. “Thank God I’m not infantry!”

He returned his attention to the mirror and stared himself in the eye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought I’d just become you. That I’d get your memories. Oh, fuck, you’re in for a shock when you see the state you’re in, the state my life’s in. I’ll do my best to not fuck yours up, too much. I like it here. I like me, here.”

Chapter 3

As he shot out of sight and the floor above slid back into its horizontal position, darkness engulfed him. He continued to slide and sensed what he was sliding down become narrower. A chute of some kind, then, a sharp turn to the right, another to the left and the gradient gently became shallower, flatter until he came to a rest. He felt his way forward. The chute had turned into a slide, flat at the end and as his feet touched the floor there was a slam behind him, cutting off any chance of him attempting to climb back up it.

Blindly, he stumbled forward until his fingers brushed a wall. He felt it, scratched it. Concrete. Then his foot kicked something that rattled into the distance. He crouched and began scrambling around on the floor until his hand grasped a stone. Standing, he felt the wall again and began scratching into it with the stone until he’d carved a deep indent. He did it again forming an X.

His fingers probed the symbol he’d carved, familiarising himself with it. “At least now I’ll know if I’ve gone back on myself.” He placed his left hand on the wall and walked. As he did so, there was a flash, a vision. Bright sunlight. Major Davenport and it was gone.

“What the hell was that? Memory?” In the pitch darkness, he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. “I suppose the mind can play tricks on you when there’s nothing to see.”

He shrugged and continued, counting his steps, trying to note any deviation from a straight line as he continued. Then, his hand reached a corner. He bend his arm around it to measure the angle and continued. Another image. Pirbright’s parade square flashed through his mind. Another few steps and the NAAFI sigh appeared briefly and vanished.

He sighed. “Stop imagining your old life.” He slapped himself across the face. “Unless I can find those twats, I’m stuck here. I can’t afford to dwell on that, now.”

Again, he continued. Another flash, this time, Corporal Gorton, standing behind the NAAFI bar. Then the snug. Another corner and he was just about to go around it when the most powerful vision yet appeared. Of himself. Looking in the mirror in the NAAFI ablutions.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought I’d just become you. That I’d get your memories. Oh, fuck, you’re in for a shock when you see the state you’re in, the state my life’s in. I’ll do my best to not fuck yours up, too much. I like it here. I like me, here.”

Sergeant Brown froze. “What the fuck!? How did you do… What do you mean, you thought you’d become me?”

“You can hear me!? How the hell can you hear me?”

“Well I don’t know, do I? I suppose the fact I’m stuck in a pitch-black tunnel with nothing to see might have something to do with it. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“But you were talking to me!”

“Maybe that’s what I did. I wasn’t talking to myself, I was apologizing to your reflection.”

“There has to be some kind of link between us. Some… I don’t know… Residue of our old selves in each of us, maybe. What do you mean you thought you’d become me?”

“They said I’d get a new life! A new timeline where a decision I’d regretted would be undone. I wasn’t expecting this! They didn’t tell me we’d swap places until two seconds before the transfer. I… I can’t live here without help! I’m lost! How can I fake being an army sergeant when the last military experience I had was when I was fourteen?”

“But you said you thought you’d become me! You are me, now!”

“Physically, maybe.” Derek tapped his temple. “But I’m not you up here, am I? The only things I know about your life so far are what I’ve been able to piece together from the contents of your pockets!”

“But if you’d become me, you realise that would’ve been death to you, surely?”

“Death?”

“Well, if you somehow became me, me. Properly. All the memories from here would’ve been gone, wouldn’t they?”

“My life’s been shitty for years. No big loss, there.” Derek sighed. “And now, you’re stuck with it! I said I was sorry. Please, help me!”

“Help you? I’m going to find out where those bastards are and force them to send me back!”

“And if that’s not possible?”

“Where am I?”

“I don’t know! How do you expect me to know that?”

“You were there! You had to get there, didn’t you? How did you even get into this mess in the first place?”

“They’d been announcing their discoveries for over a year on the news. Worlds vastly different from the one you’re stuck in, now. Different kings, different prime ministers, different everything. I think they might’ve even been trying to map the timelines. Then, one weekend, they made a big announcement. A lottery. Ten quid a ticket. Win a new life. A life where your deepest regret was undone. I didn’t even know what that regret was until I found myself in uniform!”

“Well, now, we need to work together! I’m just as lost here as you are there. Now, where am I?”

“I said I don’t know! When they brought me here, they said their location had to remain a secret. Pretty obvious, why, now. To keep you in the dark. Stop you from finding them! The windows in the car were blacked out. I didn’t see any of the journey.”

“OK, where were you picked up? How long did the journey take? How many corners did the car take? Any straight sections that were probably motorways? How long were they?”

“I’ll need time to think about that! I’ve got other problems, right now.”

“Where were you picked up and how long did it take!?”

“I was picked up outside my house! I think it took about two hours.”

“I thought you said your life was shitty, and you own a house?”

“I inherited it when Mum and Dad died! I’m not well off if that’s what you’re thinking! When I saw the contents of your bank accounts my eyes popped out on stalks!”

“They’re dead? Both of them?”

“Covid.”

“What the hell’s Covid?”

“The pandemic? Think it was one of those SARS viruses? Millions died, more were affected long term.”

“Shit! When did this happen?”

“It started in 2019. Covid19’s the full name for it. It started in China but it was global by the end of March 2020.”

“But we have a robust bio-protocol against that kind of thing! Why wasn’t it contained!?”

“Boris fucking Johnson. For us lot anyway. Trump was even worse!”

“Who… and who?”

“PM? Bunch of greedy, self-serving twats who only cared about milking the economy for every penny they could scam out of it.”

“Fucking hell! Lemme guess? Tories?”

“Who else?”

“Who the hell would vote the Tories in again after Thatcher and Major?”

“Oh, after Major, we did sort of get a labour government. Sort of. There was a joke going around at the time, I’m Tory Plan B. An anagram of Tony Blair PM.”

“What? But… But we’ve been Labour since Major. Things are working out pretty well under Corbyn!”

“Corbyn? Bloody hell! Well, you’ve got bloody Rishi Sunak. Tory millionaire and totally out of touch with reality. Before him, you had the utterly useless head of lettuce known as Liz Truss.”

“Lettuce?” The sergeant resumed his blind fumbling through the tunnel.

“One of the tabloids. They got a head of lettuce and put it on a shelf. The lettuce lasted longer than she did as PM. Forty days. And in those forty days, Queen Elizabeth died, and she tried to shove through tax cuts for the ultra-rich that weren’t budgeted and crashed the economy. Before her, Boris, Teresa May and David Cameron. Thanks to him and Brexit, the country’s on its knees.”

“What the hell is Brexit… Never mind, I’ll check the newspaper archives rather than go over the history of the whole world for the past thirty years, we’ve got more pressing concerns. I want my life back and you need me. Probably far more than I need you, right now. I don’t want to get back there to find myself in the glasshouse or dishonourably discharged. You have to put up a bloody good show.”

“But what if we can’t talk again? What if what’s happening now’s just a fluke?”

“We have to at least try to keep the link alive!” Another corner, this one to the right. Again, he measured the angle before continuing. “Meet me!”

“What do you mean? Different worlds, remember!”

“Same physical location! Maybe it’ll help, both of us standing in the same place. At least I know where I live, now. I just don’t know how far away it is from here. I do know it’s a long way from Pirbright. We’ll have to meet halfway.”

“Where?”

“That depends on transport. Please tell me I own a bloody car, here.”

Derek shook his head. “I could never afford one.”

“At least tell me you can drive.”

“I can. It’s been a while, though.”

“Birmingham’s about the middle of the journey. Taken it often enough when visiting.”

“They’re… They’re still alive? Both of them?”

“Of course! They’re not thatold!”

“But how do I get there?”

“You’ve got an army land rover issued to you. Use it! Tomorrow night. I’ve got no idea how long it’ll take me to get home. How long it’ll take me to get out of this tunnel? When you said they wanted to keep me in the dark, you’ve got no idea. Oh, and bring a mirror. I will, too. That might be part of it.”

“OK. Where in Birmingham?”

“Hmmm… Good question. We need somewhere dark. Bring your torch. It’s army issue and bright enough. Maybe not Birmingham, then. Somewhere outside. Get your phone out. There’s a mapping app on it. Somewhere within easy reach of a train station. Preferably in the countryside away from streetlights. Pick somewhere north of the city, closer to me. I don’t have a car, after all.”

Derek got the phone out again to check, and noted that the train seemed to go way off course, but hit London before a change to get to Pirbright, then struck Pirbright off to get a better course for London itself. Finally, he saw a route he recognised. He zoomed in, following it until he found one that looked promising. “It looks pretty green around Rugeley.”

“Pick a place.”

“Cannock Chase Forest looks like it might be dark.”

“Zoom in as far as it’ll go and put a pin in it. Read out the coordinates. I’ll find it.”

“Pin? How?”

“Just press the screen until it appears. You can use that, too, to guide you while you’re driving. It does satellite navigation. When we get there, head for the most distinctive landmark near the pin. We’ll both likely see the same thing as suitable. We are the same person, after all.”

“Are we?”

“Just have to trust to luck this works. If we can talk, we can find the same landmark, that way.”

“I suppose that’s a point.”

“Now, what did Major Davenport say to you?”

“After telling me off for losing focus, he slapped a file to my chest and said he’d got one last chance.”

“I suggest you stop looking in that mirror and start reading it, then.”

“What if we need it?”

“Well, we won’t find that out until you go back into the snug, will we? You can’t stand there all day! Get to it, soldier!”

Derek sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Did you just call me sir? You’re lucky I’m not there or I’d beast you all the way to bloody Guildford! I work for a living! You address me as sarnt!”

“Yes, sarnt!” He returned to the door to the snug, opened it, stepped out and looked around, backing into the loo and closing the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“There are other people in there, now. We can’t talk. Damn!”

I wonder.

“Wonder? Wonder what?”

So, you heard me, then?

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Don’t speak. Think.

“Think?”Don’t tell me we’re telepathic, now!

I’m seeing through your eyes. Well, my eyes… I thought it was worth a try. Yes, we’re telepathic, now.

Oh, fuck, this is good!

Just, get to it.

Yes, sarnt! Derek retuned to his seat, took a sup of his bitter and picked up the file.

Interesting. And good. We share the same taste in beer. If you’d bought a Bux or Stella I would’ve been gagging, right now. I could taste that. Try not to stub your toe.

So the link’s not just… Fuck me, this is amazing! So, why is he here? I know he’s prone to losing his temper and throwing tantrums.

He failed basic for the second time, but that isn’t the only thing wrong. As you said, severe anger management issues.

Any idea why?

He complains about forgetting his training. I think it’s more a confidence issue than anything else. He picks things up quickly enough during classes and other training but fucks up later. The temper? Probably frustration.

When did he fail?

Last week. It’s all in the file.

Don’t they normally get sent home until the next lot?

First time, he failed due to an injury. He couldn’t complete before their passing out. We held him here until a decision was made, this time. It took the higher-ups all week to decide what to do with him. He’d make a damned fine soldier if he could only get over himself.

Derek opened the file and began. A brawl on the first day?

And he had a week of punishment duty because of it.

Bullying? And two of the other recruits stepped in to defend the victim?

That, in my opinion, isn’t certain. The officer in charge took their side, two against one. The other recruits present corroborated their evidence, but…

Why the doubt?

Because the one who was bullied, a recruit called Taylor, bloodied the noses of those two. three weeks later.

Shouldn’t we get to the bottom of that, too, then? If he was the one defending Taylor rather than the one doing the bullying, wouldn’t it mean a black mark wiped from his record if we got the truth?

How would you recommend we do that?

I don’t know, do I? I’ve been in this life for, what? An hour? Two? What about the other recruits? If they’ve all moved on, they shouldn’t be anywhere near the two who may be guilty, anymore. Any influence they had, any loyalty or threats are meaningless, now. Do you have their contact info, so we could phone them at their new postings?

Another corner and when Sgt Brown rounded that one, the image in his mind’s eye vanished. There was light at the end of the tunnel. Good, you’re getting into the spirit of it, now.

There was no reply.

Derek?

“Shit. Hang on.” The sergeant backed around the corner again and turned away from the light. The image returned. Derek?

Yes?

I just said good, you’re getting into the spirit of it, now. Did you hear that?

Oh, shit! No, I didn’t. We’re losing the link?

I don’t think so, no, but I think we’ve found a limit to this contact. Pitch darkness is a big part of it. I lost contact the moment I rounded the corner, this time. There’s light ahead.

Bugger! Do we have their contact details?

Yes, yes. They’re in my office. We keep them for a year. I’ll have them until the next intake, then they get moved to the archives.

When is the next intake?

A month.

And where’s your office?

Admin block, level two, room 242. The key code to get in past reception’s 5334x. You’ve got the key.

Thanks. Any maps of the base?

Yes, and they’re dotted around the place. There’s one outside the barrack block. I need something from you, now, before I get out of these tunnels.

What? You know where I live.

Your pockets are empty.

They took everything from me apart from the clothes on my back. I suppose they might’ve left all that for you.

Mobile phone password? Any internet passwords I need to know?

I’ve only got a dumb phone. Smartphones are way too expensive. Barely use it, anyway. It’s not locked.

Internet?

Not at home. I’ve not even got a computer. I just nip into the local library when they bother to open and use theirs.

Email?

Good point. Gmail.com. Username, Derek dot Brown 3342. Password, Snowy owl. One word. Just, make sure the S and L are capitals and the Os are zeroes.

Snowy Owl?

I like all owls. Tawny owls, little owls, barn owls, snowy owls… Of course…

Sgt Brown chuckled. Of course, they’re all snowy owls by the time I’m done with ’em. Christ, I’d forgotten about Richard not Judy. Can’t believe that joke stuck with you. Anything more? Credit card? Debit card?

Shit! Sorry. You’ll need them, too, if you plan on getting back home. Most of the time you can just get away with contactless. Just tap the reader, but once in a while, it does demand a PIN. 0405 for both.

Have you any idea how insecure that is? Using your birthday as a PIN?

At least you’ll remember it. Please don’t change it, just in case I do end up back there. Oh, there’s more to Gmail than just email, there’s an entire suite of programs you can use online, and I have been.

I suppose everything else I need’ll be in the dossier they said they’d left for me. If I do need further information, I’ll find a dark room and wrap a towel around my head. If it’s good enough for the ravenous bugblatter beast, it’s good enough for us. You do the same if you run into problems. I’ll sign off. Got a lot to do. You do, too. Go through that file with a fine-toothed comb, Derek. A man’s career depends on it.

Not to mention mine. Or yours. Whatever. I’ll do my best. Suppose it’s all I can do.

We’ll speak later.

Hopefully.

Oh, one last thing that should help. Office, bookshelf, army training manual. Study it. Might only cover the theory, but every little helps. Sergeant Brown, signing off.

Hang on! What about your passwords? There’s got to be more to it than a door code.

*sigh* Good point. Get your notepad out, you’ll never remember them all.

Derek did as he was told. Ready.

What followed was a long list of sites he’d never heard of, usernames, passwords and other pertinent data.

One last piece, saved it ’til last because it’s very important…

What?

Brown, Sergeant, 45305640!

Name, rank and… Oh, fuck… How long did it take you to memorise it?

I’d got it by the end of basic. Sticks with you for life, that number. Especially when you’ve been in as long as me.

What was it again?

The sergeant repeated it more slowly. Any more questions?

Derek studied the list in confusion. Where are Google? Facebook? Netflicks? There’s not even a sign of Twitter or eBay! No Amazon either!”

Never heard of any of them. Clearly, we got a different lot of things there. Are you on those?”

Don’t worry, Google stores all my passwords. Just use Chrome. You only need the Gmail one to make sure you’re logged in for the rest.

One final thing… Cap off! Didn’t you learn anything in cadets? Indoors, one does not wear his beret! And you only salute an officer when it’s on! Beret off, no salute.

What do I do with it? Shove it in a pocket?

*Sigh* I know it’s been a while, but… Right shoulder strap. Roll your beret up and put it there. Now get to it, we’ll talk later… Hopefully.

Chapter 4

Derek sighed and started to read. The file was quite detailed, covering every aspect of Ashford’s training and where he’d failed the most. The first time he took basic, before an injury forced him to miss the end, he’d been a hell of a lot better than the second. As he continued to read, the cogs began to turn. This could work for both of them… If the commanding officer agreed.

The moment he’d absorbed the last sheet of the report, he packed everything back into the folder, finished his bitter and rushed out of the NAAFI.

Where to go… Where to go… Well, he did say they were dotted around the place.

Derek resumed his walk around the parade square. It didn’t take him long to find one of the maps on a large noticeboard by one of the buildings. A large, red, “You are here” pointed at one particular block. Classroom block 1.

“Right, then.” There was a lot more to it than just the buildings around the square. The place was huge, but, he located the barrack block both he and Ashford shared, he located the admin block and the idea he’d had began to solidify in his mind. He nodded and made his way to his office.

He took a deep breath as he entered the admin block, removing his beret as he did so, nodded at the lance corporal behind the reception desk and looked around. There was only one door at the back of the room, so, he went to it and keyed in the code. A twist, the door opened and he rushed through.

This floor seemed to have far too few doors for offices, only four lined the corridor, so, he walked past them, noting what each sign said. Briefing rooms, all.

At the end of the corridor, double doors, a shorter corridor turned to the right and at the end of that, a stairwell. Up that, another set of double doors and offices, lots of them. It didn’t take long to find his, it even had his name on the door, so, a fumble for the keys, testing each until the lock clicked, he entered, closed the door, locked it again and breathed a sigh of relief.

He began his search in earnest, riffling through all three filing cabinets in there until, finally, he located the group of recruits that’d shared Ashford’s dorm during his first basic training.

Sitting at the desk and searching the drawers, he gathered together some paper and began compiling the information he required, building up the story as the other recruits had sworn was the truth, noting that only Ashford’’s testimony deviated from the story the others had told. Even Taylor’s corroborated the other recruits' stories. He studied Taylor’s file in more detail, noting the bloody noses he’d inflicted on the two Ashford had initially accused. Privates Wallis and Pritchard had avoided any other trouble. Even the bloody noses had only had a passing mention, no discipline against anyone in that case.

Derek shook his head and sighed. Then, he remembered something else his counterpart had said. Bookshelf. Training manual. He dashed over, gathered up the three volumes and returned to his desk, perusing the first part. It didn’t take long for him to find something that raised a smile. Something he could use.

He grabbed his phone, unlocked it again and studied the apps in more detail. None of them had familiar names, apart from the ones that described their function. Fortunately, the one he wanted did just that… Call recorder. He activated it, returned to his papers and dialled the first of many numbers.

“Kettering army camp.”

“Ah, good. I’m just following up on some details from a soldier’s basic training. Would it be possible to speak to Summers, private, 88944507?”

“Name?”

“Oh, of course. Brown, Sergeant, 45305640”

“One moment please…” What followed was a couple of minutes of the most insipid hold music it was possible to produce.

“Workshop.”

“Ah, hello. Could I speak to private Summers, please?”

“Speaking.”

“Ah, good. I’m following up on something that happened during your basic training, first night on camp.”

“Oh, shit. How can that even be an issue, anymore? It was last year!”

“Recruit Ashford.”

The voice rose three octaves. “Recruit? Still? I know he didn’t pass out with us, but… Seriously? And he’s still there?”

“Before we continue, I’d like to emphasise a few points.”

“Err… What… What points.”

“The core tenets of the British Army include honour, loyalty, respect and courage. That loyalty and respect isn’t just between your comrades, the majority of it should be directed upwards, to your superior NCOs and officers, ending with the king himself. Agreed?”

The voice on the other end of the phone sighed. “Agreed.”

“So, what happened that night.”

“I…” Summers froze.

“Don’t tell me you still consider Wallis and Pritchard worthy of loyalty.”

“It wasn’t loyalty, believe me.”

“Fear? There were 18 of you against those two. OK. Look at it like this. You’re not in that billet anymore. You joined the royal engineers, those two joined the artillery. Two different regiments, too. Every single one of you moved on to separate army camps. The chances of you even seeing them again are slim.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Sergeant Brown.”

“Oh, shit! Sorry, sarnt! You saw them! They were both hulks! They started throwing their weight around the moment we’d had the bed-making demonstration. They singled out Taylor, saw him as the weakest, so decided he was going to do all their personal admin.”

“And Ashford?”

“He saw Taylor in a similar light, as the weakest. God, was he wrong about that.”

“So, he joined in on the bullying? And they decided he wasn’t worthy to receive the same services they were demanding, hence the fight? Something like that?”

“No! He stepped in. He defended Taylor.”

“Thank you, private Summers. That’s exactly what I suspected. Ashford failed his second basic training. I believe it may be a confidence issue and the punishment he had to endure when everyone backed up Pritchard and Wallis in their lies… Well, I think you can imagine that confidence took a major hit. I’m going to contact everyone from your intake. Get the story from each of you. Wiping that black mark from his record, I think, is the first step in getting him back on track. Now, what happened a few weeks later?”

“When Taylor snapped?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“I wasn’t there. Obviously Wallis and Pritchard were. Galway and Brent were the only other ones to witness it, but when they told their tale after leave… He might look scrawny, but it’s a wiry strength. He flattened both of them. Oh, my God. Taylor suddenly became a friend to everyone. He’d tried to keep himself to himself until then.”

“And Wallis and Pritchard?”

“Taylor showed his worth that weekend. Really gained our respect. He forced them to apologise to Ashford, too.”

“But the stain remained. No one stepped forward to correct the injustice?”

“It was too late for that, sarnt. The damage had been done and we were all terrified we’d get kicked out for lying. Oh, bugger. I’m not gonna get it in the neck, now, for telling you this, am I?”

“I think we could chalk it down to the indiscretions of youth. I won’t push for any repercussions. In fact, I’ll advise against it for most of you.”

“So Wallis and Pritchard?”

“Who knows? They may. It’ll be down to the CO if he decides to pursue this. The only reason I’m doing it is to remove a black mark from Ashford’s record.”

“I hope he makes it this time! He’s a good bloke. Best of the lot of us.”

Derek chuckled. “Thank you for the endorsement. I hope that works in his favour, too.”

He ended the call, ended the recording, began another and dialled again.

Sixteen calls later, eight of which had borne similar fruit, the others being unavailable for various reasons, he left his office and explored the admin block, noting every office, every name on the doors. It was a while before he came across the office of Major Davenport. He gulped, took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come!”

Open the door, step inside, close it, march to the desk, stamp to attention. “Sir.”

“I take it this is about Ashford?”

“Yes, sir. I believe I may have concocted a cunning plan to deal with him, sir.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I did a little digging, sir. I believe a lot of his problems are centred around the frustration, resentment and loss of confidence after his first day as a recruit, sir.”

“What resentment?”

“The punishment he received, sir. The black mark on his record.” He pulled out the phone and hit play on the first recording, placing it on the major’s desk. “I believe it was an unjust punishment, sir. Listen.”

The major nodded and smiled when Derek invoked the values of the army, then it got to the core of the issue. The smile vanished as the recording reached its end. “And you’ve corroborated this?”

“I managed to contact eight more, sir. The rest were all unavailable, but I could follow up on the calls if you wish. They all said pretty much the same things. I did record those, too.”

“Forward them to me, and give me the list of numbers of the ones you failed to contact. I’ll follow up on them. If they also corroborate this new evidence, I’ll also contact the commanding officers of the two true guilty parties.”

“Thank you, sir. Which email address do you wish me to forward them to, sir?”

“Good point.” The major jotted something on a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. “So, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, obviously, the first thing that should be done is to wipe that black mark from his record, sir.” Derek collected the sheet and placed one of his own, sliding it back towards the major. “I haven’t spoken to him, yet, but something to boost his confidence before the next intake… That’s where my cunning plan comes into play, sir. I would need to requisition a fresh army training manual, a new set of uniforms for myself, sir. And a set of lance-corporal armbands for Ashford. I’d also need to be relieved of my other duties if we do this.”

“Promote him? Before he’s even completed”

“Oh, no! Nothing quite that extreme, sir. He would be an acting lance-corporal, but I would emphasise some severe limitations. I would be the recruit that he would train, sir. The rank would only be in relation to me, sir. No-one else. If he tried pulling rank on anyone else, or treating a real lance corporal as an equal, well… That’s one punishment he would deserve. As for the training, trust me, I’ll make all the same mistakes they make. Probably even come up with a few they’d never think of, sir.”

“You’d willingly do this? Lower yourself to below him?”

“The next intake is in a month, sir. A recruit again for that long, before he resumes his own training? I think it’ll work wonders, sir. He’ll certainly gain an understanding of the frustrations we have to endure, sir.”

“I’m not sure I can spare you, sergeant.”

“I’d willingly take some of my leave to do this, if you can’t spare me in any other way, sir.”

“Seriously?”

“A man’s career is on the line, sir. He’ll make a damned fine soldier. The first recording wasn’t the only one that said he was the best of their section, sir.”

“And when do you wish this training to commence?”

“Monday would be the ideal start. It’ll give us time to prepare, sir. He’ll need it just as much as I will, and I have personal business to get out of the way tomorrow in order for it to be possible, sir.”

“And you’re willing to take on the role of recruit, for the full month? Even after hours?”

“Of course, sir. Might actually be fun, and it wouldn’t be the full trainer experience for him if he didn’t also get to do the morning inspection, sir.”

Davenport smiled. “I’ll assign you to three echo one and have a corporal arrange it’s clean and suitable for habitation. Ashford can take three echo three. You won’t be disturbed or disturb others. And I’ll have staff Etheridge arrange for all your needs. I agree, this is a worthy cause. We could even expand the concept if it works out for Ashford.”

“Expand it, sir? More than one of us posing as recruits?”

“And more than one of them taking the roles of your trainers. Done right, it could even lead to a few exercises. Exercises they would devise and you would attempt to complete.”

He grinned. “This is very clever. I love where this might lead. Granted, and no need to use any of your leave. I’ll have Etherage delegate your duties for the month.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I suggest you speak to recruit Ashford. I imagine what you tell him may be a bit of a shock.”

“Oh, I intend it to be, sir. I’ll order him to close his eyes when I slip the armbands on, sir. And I’ll be in the rankless uniform when I do it. See how long it takes him to realise.”

“You’d better get down to the quartermaster’s stores. I’ll phone ahead. Everything will be waiting for you. Dismissed.”Chapter 5

The light at the end of the tunnel hadn’t been daylight. Just a dim bulb at the foot of a flight of stairs. That led to another maze of service tunnels, this time, illuminated. He didn’t know how long it took before he finally found his way to a small room at the top of another staircase, this time, five flights.

His heart sank. If their complex was so far underground, he might never find a way back there. Even with the map he’d been building in his mind.

On a table, a carrier bag containing a folder, wallet, mobile phone and set of keys. One more door and a short flight of steps and, finally, he was in open air. His dismay grew as he studied his surroundings.

It was a housing estate. A badly rundown one. Many of the buildings were boarded up, a few even burnt-out shells and to make things even more unpleasant, the place seemed to be a target for fly-tippers. Heaps of rubbish, rotten old mattresses and rubble dotted the streets.

A heavy metal crash behind him shook the ground and he turned in shock, bolting back down the steps, wrenched open the door, only to be met by a steel wall.

“Fuck! Well, that’s one way back down there blocked. I need to find out where this is. I need a map.”

Continuing to count his paces, he moved down to the street, turned left and followed it around until, finally, he reached a junction to a main road. Following that for what felt like an age, finally, a road sign and something more. Something he knew. 33 Signals?

“Merseyside? Well, at least now I know how to locate that estate on the map. Damn, it’s a shame I can’t call on them to help. I could seriously do with some.” He dug into the carrier bag and checked the wallet. A ten pound note and two cards. That was it? That’s all this version of him bothered to carry?

“At least I know where I am.” He crossed the road and turned down a street that lead towards the nearest train station.

As he continued, his calves began to burn. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue, finally arriving an hour later, gasping for breath. He collapsed onto the bench and groaned. “I refuse to live like this. I refuse!”

He allowed himself to recover for a few minutes before looking at the display. The next train to Manchester was thirty minutes delayed and due in twenty. He sighed, forced himself to stand and staggered over to the ticket machine, muttering “Oh, God. Oh, God. How can anyone get into this state?” He took a deep breath. “I should be able to run ten times that distance. I will. Looks like it’s going to be hell for me for the next few months if this doesn’t get sorted.”

* * *

“Finally!” He gasped as he collapsed onto the sofa in his parents'… in his… living room. Even the trudge up the hill from the bus stop had knocked the wind out of him.

He only then looked around the room in dismay.

The place was a mess. It looked like the house had been ransacked! If it weren’t for the fact a TV sat in the corner of the room, he would’ve suspected burglary.

“You lazy, bone-idle waste of air!” Another sigh. “I’ll deal with this crap tomorrow.”

Spotting the TV remote half buried under a pile of paper on the coffee table, he reached for it and turned on the telly, flicking through all the channels.

“Well, that’s similar.” He glanced at the clock. “4pm and sod all on.”

He was just about to hit the button again when an advert came on. He froze and stared in horror.

“Unsatisfied with the way your life has turned? Do you have deep regrets you didn’t take a different path? The new life lottery. Just £10 per ticket and you could win the life you always dreamed of. A life where those actions you missed weren’t missed. A life where the things you regret didn’t occur. Next draw on the 20th of June. Get your tickets now!”

“I… Oh, fuck! So, I’m not the only one? How many more? How many before me?”

He continued with the channel surfing until he stumbled onto a news channel and settled down to watch.

Chapter 6

You’re a sergeant. Talk like one. Act like one. Exude the presence of one! He took a few deep breaths, then an extra deep one and yelled. “Stand by your bed!”

He gave it a count of five before he opened the door to the billet.

Ashford was six foot two, medium build and wore a t-shirt and jeans. He stood to attention at the foot of his bed and didn’t look happy.

Derek marched forward and stamped to a halt in front of him.

“Make yourself presentable, Ashford. Uniform. Now. I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

“Uniform, sarnt?” The worry increased on his face. “Ah, shit. That means they’ve decided?”

“Yes, a decision has been made. Get changed.”

About turn, march out, slam the door. Derek chuckled. “That actually felt good!”

He looked down the corridor, the doors all followed the same pattern. On the left, all had large gaps between them, indicating they were all similar dormitories, each with the two doors on the right indicating smaller rooms. Rooms for the lance corporals and corporals in command of each section, or in this case, training each section. The other, for the sergeant in command of all of them.

He fumbled with his keys again until he found the right one, then picked up the kitbag he’d been given and opened his door.

So… This is home, is it?

It wasn’t a huge room, but it was enough, he supposed. Everything he expected was in there. The large metal cabinet synonymous with army barracks everywhere was his wardrobe. The pristinely made bed. Everything in the place, neat, tidy and clean.

There was no hint of clutter and apart from a TV in the corner, very few personal items. He opened the cabinet and studied the perfectly stores uniforms. On the left-hand side of the rail, one set of civilian clothing. On the right, shelves contained underwear and socks. The top one, a few books. The shelves also housed a lockable drawer. Another fumble with the keys and he studied the contents of that, too. A couple of wristwatches, one looked high-tech, a few coins at the bottom and a box. He reached in and opened it to reveal a medal. What it was for, he had no idea.

“Where the hell’s all your other stuff? You’re on a sergeant’s wages and you don’t seem to own anything! So this is it? A career soldier, with nothing to show for it?”

He sighed, locked the drawer and wandered over to the desk. A lamp, a blotter, a couple of drawers, but when he opened them, more army stuff. Nothing personal.

“How can anyone live like this? And now I have to? God! How can he not be bored stiff when he’s not on duty? Just as well I am doing that basic training thing next week. Least I won’t have this to think about.”

He sighed and returned to the door opposite. Another yell of “Stand by your bed!” and again, he marched in, this time facing a fully uniformed Ashford.

He glanced around, grabbed a couple of chairs and slammed them down. “Sit.”

He sat on the other, facing Ashford as he took his.

“Now. Tell me how you feel?”

“Miserable? Terrified? I don’t want this to end, sarnt! I want to pass out! I need” Ashford sighed. Well, half sigh, half sob.

“I said a decision had been made, I didn’t say what that decision was. I am partly instrumental in it, though. I did a little digging on your behalf.”

“Digging, sarnt?”

“Listen.” He again hit play on the first recording.

As it played, Ashford stared at the phone in shock. Tears began to well. “Does this mean…”

“The next intake is in one month. You’re a part of it. You’ll get to complete your basic, Ashford.”

“But I failed!”

“I can understand why, you know? You took an unjust punishment on your very first day. You’ve been holding back a hell of a lot of resentment since then. Confidence in yourself at rock bottom? Second guessing every decision? Tiptoeing about, walking on eggshells, terrified you’ll make a mistake?”

His eyes widened and he nodded.

“Well, by the time you begin again, that black mark will be permanently wiped from your record, if it isn’t already. Stop worrying so much. If it makes you feel any better, I handed the list to Major Davenport. Everyone I couldn’t contact, or didn’t try to, will be contacted too and if they also corroborate what the nine I already did said, and the two true guilty parties continue to lie… Well… They’ll likely really get it in the neck.”

“So… So I get to come back next month! Oh, thank fuck! Thank’s sarnt!”

“Oh, no. You’re not coming back next month.”

“What? But you said”

“We’ll talk about that later. Right now, though, I want to build some of that confidence back. A little roleplay.”

“What? But I’m not a nerd, sarnt!”

“I didn’t mean that kind of roleplay. I’m not asking you to pretend to be a wizard or anything. Just pretend that I am a guest of this base. That I’ve never been here before. You are going to give me a guided tour, tell me what each and every building and feature of the camp is, what it’s called, its function and so on, and as we walk between them, you can go into the history of the base. If we have time, maybe the history of the regiment you hope to join.” He stood. “So, get to it, recruit. Lead the way.”

* * *

At first, he stumbled over his words, hesitated, ummed and ahhed, but after a few simple questions about the place, easy ones even someone who’d been there a day should know, but Derek still didn’t, Ashford began to relax, become more vocal, more eloquent and by the time they were halfway around the camp, he brimmed with enthusiasm. It was clear he loved the army life and that enthusiasm began to rub off on Derek.

Then they reached the assault course and as they approached one of the walls, Ashford slowed.

Derek glanced across at him to see pain in his eyes. To see the hesitation beginning to return.

“What’s wro… Ah.” Remembering the file he’d read, he nodded. “I understand. This is where you broke your ankle close to the end of your first attempt at basic training?”

“I… Please sarnt… Before I say anything more… Could you go to the med centre and ask them to review the x-ray?/”

“What? W… Don’t tell me it was more than just a bad landing?”

“I want you to see for yourself before I say anything more. I… I can’t… I need you to see it.”

“I’ll do it, now. I think we’ve covered a lot… Before I go, though, point out anything we missed.”

“Yes, sarnt! At the end of the assault course, the outdoor firing range.” He pointed. “That building, the armoury manned by Staff Wilson, normally. He even has his billet in there, the weapons are never left unguarded. Beyond that, general stores, where we go to pick up our ration packs and where we got issued with our kit. That building over there… Payroll. Only really need to go there, these days if there’s something wrong with our wages, but they told us there’d be a queue around the block twenty years ago when they paid by cheque. These days, it goes straight into our bank accounts, though. Workshops beyond that, for general trade training. Things like bricklaying, carpentry, stuff like that. Then, back to the guard house by the main gate and the cells in there.” He shrugged. “Spent a week in one of them when I wasn’t painting those rocks along the paths. They’re comfortable enough.”

“Thank you, recruit. I think you did a fucking good job. Until we got here, you were enjoying it, too, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sarnt!”

“Get back to your billet. I’ll see what the med centre has to say.” Now that I know where it is. “I think I can guess why you’ve clammed up again, though. You were… still are? Terrified no one will believe you?”

Ashford sighed and nodded.

“I think that may have changed, by now. If the med centre does claim anything unusual, I’ll fetch you, we’ll both report to the major’s office and I will bring the x-rays and an assessment by the medic on duty of that x-ray. If what I think you’re trying to say is what I think it is, this is a hell of a lot more serious than a bit of bullying.”

Ashford nodded again.

“Well, jump to it. I’ll meet you there when I’ve done this, make sure you’re in tip-top shape for major Davenport.”

“Thanks, sarnt.” Ashford bolted back towards the accommodation blocks.

* * *

He froze just before crossing the threshold, his hand shooting up to his head. For fuck’s sake, Derek, it’s not that hard to remember. Cap off, you idiot!

He took off his beret, rolled it up, unbuttoned his right shoulder strap and fastened it again with his beret in place, then opened the door.

It looked pretty much like any doctor’s reception area, a lot of seats for waiting patients, even a few tables with the ubiquitous readers digests on them.

Behind the counter, a lance corporal in conversation with a captain, both with red crosses on their arms.

He marched up to the counter, stamped to a halt and waited.

It didn’t take long for the captain to turn. “Sergeant Brown! No health concerns, I hope?”

“Not for me, sir. It’s a past one I wish to enquire about.”

“But you haven’t had one in”

“Sorry, sir. Not me. Ashford.”

“Ashford?! So, he’s finally decided to come clean, has he?”

“So, there was something suspicious about his injury, sir? He only hinted earlier. He wanted me to see what you had to say about it before he’d be more… forthcoming, sir.”

“Any idea why?”

“Oh, I have an idea, sir. He’d been labelled as a liar from his very first day, sir. I imagine he wasn’t willing to tell the truth about it because we’d see it as him lying again, sir. Probably in an attempt to get one of the other recruits in trouble.”

“Yes… Well, he did lie, sergeant.”

“He didn’t, sir. That’s just it. Major Davenport already knows, I suppose you should, too.”

He again played the first recording.

The captain’s eyes widened as the recording reached its end. “Bloody hell. No wonder he clammed up so much. He insisted his injury was caused by a bad landing after jumping off the wall but… Just a moment. I’ll just go and get his file. And your intentions?”

“Clear his name, sir. Completely. If it means bringing a true villain to justice as a consequence then so much the better, sir. This isn’t just bullying if I think it’s what it looks like, it’s aggravated assault, grievous bodily harm, sir.”

The captain vanished into the room beyond the reception for a few minutes and returned holding a file, he pulled out an x-ray and held it up to the light. “Yes… See here, and here… The injury he claimed would’ve been a compression injury if he landed badly, but his ankle appears to have sustained a crushing force laterally, as if impacted by a blunt object.” He pointed at the picture showing how the bones had been cracked and displaced.

“What are the probabilities that it was self-inflicted?”

The captain shrugged. “Pretty negligible, unless he took a hammer to it. The angle’s all wrong for anything but a force applied from outside. Even if he’d stamped on his own ankle, the bones would’ve been displaced in the opposite direction.”

“Would it be possible to write these conclusions down, sir?”

“No need, already done. The suspicions have been in that file from the start, along with his insistence that it was just the result of landing badly. Take it.”

“Isn’t there a doctor/patient confidentiality… thing to worry about, sir?”

“Not in this case. We have a little more leeway in the army. It’s army business, we’re fine. If it’d been a more personal… issue, such as a sexually transmitted disease, then it would be a concern.”

* * *

He didn’t bother with a yell of stand by your bed, this time. He just opened the door, said “Ashford, with me,” turned and walked down the corridor.

Ashford was by his side moments later. “What did he say, sarnt?”

“Oh, he knew you weren’t being very liberal with the truth about your injury.”

Ashford sighed. “Thought so, sarnt. They grilled me when they were setting my leg.”

“Now, it’s time to set things right. Major Davenport’s office. When I say speak, you tell your tale, fully and truthfully. Who did it, why, how, etc. Understood?”

“Now I know you know I wasn’t lying the first time, no problem.” He grinned. “I would’ve just been accused of doing it to myself before, though, sarnt. Just to get back at them.”

“I thought it must be something like that. Come on…”

Out onto the square, into the admin block, and up the stairs. Derek knocked.

“Come.”

He opened the door, stepped inside and held it open for Ashford before closing it.

“Brown… And Ashford?”

“Sir, something more serious has come to light regarding Ashford’s first basic.”

“More serious? We have them both banged to rights already!”

“Ashford. It’s time. Speak.”

“It was the final assault course before our passing out, sir. We only had a few more lessons, then it would’ve just been drill practice until the parade itself to make sure we were perfect, sir. Wallis and Prichard didn’t know what order we’d be running the course, none of us did, and if I’d gone before both of them, nothing would’ve happened. I would’ve been in the signals right now. Unfortunately for me, Prichard was three ahead of me. He deliberately slowed to let the ones behind him pass and when he got to the wall and dropped down, he waited. The moment my feet hit the ground, he lashed out, sir. Kicked me in the ankle. After that… Well, you know I spent the next four months in plaster and another two undergoing physiotherapy to get my movement back. I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t see any choice but to lie. You already had me pegged as a liar and if I’d tried to report what really happened, he said right there after he did it, he’d report I did it to myself, sir. And no one would’ve believed me! I would’ve been kicked out for sure, sir!”

Davenport sighed. “I see. And I understand. You’re probably right about your veracity being put under severe scrutiny after what we perceived to be the lies on your first day. So, Prichard broke your ankle?”

“Yes, sir, but I bet if Wallis had been the one ahead of me that day, he would’ve done the same thing. They were almost joined at the hip, them two, sir.”

“Did he say why he did it? Was it just retaliation for that first day?”

“I was doing pretty well on my first basic, sir. I think I might’ve even been heading for best recruit or at least, most improved, sir. I think it was just to take me out of the running, sir. I missed all that… Can you tell me who got that, sir? And if I would’ve if it hadn’t happened?”

“I’ve reviewed all the files, now, so I don’t even need to look it up. Best? No. That black mark knocked you out for that one, but most improved, yes.” He sighed. “And yes, Wallis got best.”

“And most improved, sir?”

“Taylor.”

Ashford smiled. “Thank you, sir. At least he deserved it.”

“You were right, sergeant. This is far more serious, and now that they’ve both completed their basic training and attested, they are really in for it. Assaulting a fellow soldier? I see the glasshouse in Prichard’s future, probably followed by a dishonourable discharge. I managed to contact all the others in your section the sergeant missed, bar one. Wallis was out on an exercise and won’t be back until next week, so he’ll have to wait to dig his own grave, but… Well… You may want to hear this.”

Davenport grabbed his phone, scrolled and prodded a couple of times and placed it on the desk before hitting play.

“Aldershot.”

“Ah, hello. Major Davenport of Pirbright. I was wondering if you could get private Prichard on the line. Army number, 88944502.”

“One moment please, sir.”

Another few minutes of that same insipid hold music.

Davenport frowned. “I’m really going to have to have a word with them about that. A dead line would be preferable.”

Derek chuckled. “Yes, sir. At least on Father Ted, the nuns sang their hold music live, sir.”

“I’m sorry? Father who?”

Damn! Err… “I caught it quite some time ago, sir. An Irish catholic priest. Comedy, sir.”

“When you were stationed in Belfast? Good grief, that was a while ago, wasn’t it? I suppose it just didn’t make it to the mainland.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

Their attention snapped back to the phone when the next voice emerged. “Hello?”

“Private Prichard?”

“Speaking.”

“Ah, jolly good. I’m phoning all who took part in your basic training. Just routine, you understand. I was wondering if you could give your assessment of one recruit Ashford.”

A snigger emerged. “Don’t tell me that loser’s still there? I’m surprised he hasn’t been kicked out, yet.”

“That’s your assessment? Loser? Can you be more precise?”

“He’s a coward, sir. And mentally unstable, sir.”

“What do you mean, mentally unstable?”

“He’s bonkers, sir! I take it you know about our first day?”

“Go on. I do have the file here, but I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

“We’d just been taught how to make our bed and iron our kit when he started on the wimp at the end, sir. Telling him to make his bed. That he’d be his personal valet from then on, sir.”

“And how did the fight start?”

“We saw what he was doing was wrong, sir. Me and Pete… Sorry, sir. Private Wallis, stepped in, sir. Told him to stop.”

“So, not quite the coward if he stood up to both of you, even if he did pick on the weakest, initially?”

“No, sir. It was like flicking a switch, sir. He went totally mental. Threw a right hissy fit. Before we knew it, we were both rolling around on the floor with the moron, sir.”

“Any other instances of this… mental instability?”

“Assault course, sir. He was right behind me. He yelled forward that he was going to get me for what I did, whatever that was and when he jumped down off one of the taller walls, he landed with his foot right on his other ankle, sir. I yelled back that no one would ever believe him. He’d already lied through his teeth about us, sir. I suppose that’s when he realised what a mistake he’d made. God, did he turn the air blue. As I said, sir, he’s a nutter, sir!”

“Thank you for the rather… colourful description. Anything more to add?”

“If he is still there, seriously, dump the git, sir. He’s a danger, sir. Dread to think what he’d do with a loaded weapon and someone in his section he had a grudge against, sir. Bastard should be sectioned.”

“Thank you, Private Prichard. That was very helpful. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

There was a beep.

“God, he really has it in for me. Even now, the petty, vindictive little”

“Ashford!”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Understandable, but the language I imagine would have come out of your mouth is totally inappropriate in front of an officer. Don’t worry. The others in your section all described the events of that first day much more favourably. Favourably for you, that is. Added to that… I wonder…”

He opened the medical file, nodded and fiddled with his laptop for a minute. “We do have security cameras on all the buildings. It isn’t a good view… Ah, here we are.”

The assault course was visible and it was a good angle to see the wall from a direction that showed the side they dropped down from, but it was a fair distance away. The major turned the laptop again briefly and zoomed in on that section of the course, watched for a minute and clicked something before turning it back. A lot of soldiers in full combat gear dropped down the wall and continued, then one stopped and waited for a few frames. The next frame, another soldier was at the top, a couple of frames later, he was curled into a ball at the foot of the wall as the one who’d waited was halfway to the next obstacle.

“Whenever an incident occurs on camp, all camera outputs for that time are logged rather than discarded. Unfortunately, it was such a distance away, we don’t have the resolution to identify faces and as it’s in time-lapse, we didn’t see the whole event or the offending kick. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky we have that much. It does, however, correlate with your version of events, which means that phone call is another nail in his coffin.”

Ashford beamed. “Thank you, sir!”

“You will, of course, testify at the court martial. I don’t know when, and as every witness is spread out across almost every army camp in the country, I’m afraid you won’t be able to face him directly. It’ll have to be via videomeet.”

“Gladly, sir.”

“Very good. Report to the military police at oh eight hundred tomorrow to make your official statement.”

“Yes, sir. Might get the chance to ask them a few questions, too, sir.”

“Questions? About what?”

“If I’d passed out when I should’ve, I would’ve been wearing Mercury on my cap badge right now, sir, same as sergeant Brown, but after what happened, my priorities have changed. That’s what I’m gunning for now, sir. MP.”

“That is excellent. We always need more MPs, not the most popular trade in the army and as you’ve suffered an injustice yourself… I think you’ll make a damned fine one.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

He about turned and marched to the door.

“And you, sergeant.”

“Of course, sir!”

He was getting better at the about turn and managed it flawlessly, marched out of the door Ashford had opened, closed it and joined him as they marched back towards the billet.

“Looks like I won’t be going home for a while, after all, sarnt. Do you have any idea how long it’ll take before the court martial?”

“Absolutely none. I doubt he’s even been charged, yet. It can take some time. I wouldn’t worry. You weren’t going home, anyway.”

“I… don’t understand, sarnt. The next basic’s not for a month.”

“You will. I did say you weren’t returning for the next basic training, didn’t I? The reason is, you’re not leaving so there was nowhere to return from. Come on, back to the billet, I’ll explain there.”

* * *

“Stand to attention, but this time, move your arms away from your body a bit and close your eyes. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Derek returned to his room, replaced his shirt with an unranked one, hastily and messily folded up his sleeves, rummaged for the new beret and put that under his shoulder strap and gathered up the fresh training manuals and armbands.

When he returned to the dormitory, Ashford still stood there, a little worry creasing his brow.

Derek dumped the manuals onto one of the beds, stretched the first armband as wide as it would go and, careful not to touch the recruit’s arm, eased it up until it was in place before releasing. He did the same with the other arm, stood before him and… “You can open your eyes, now.”

He did so and stepped back, staring at Derek’s arms. “Where’s your stripes, sarnt!”

“Think of this as a continuation of the roleplay we had earlier. The guest you escorted was so swept up by your enthusiasm, he joined up. That’s why I don’t have a rank. I’m a recruit, now, and you, corporal, are going to train me. I’ve never been in uniform before. This is totally new to me. You will perform all the duties the training team had when they trained you. Every mistake you lot made and many more, I will make and we have a month. We begin on Monday.”

“You… You want me, to train you?”

“Yes, corporal!”

“Corporal!?” He glanced down at his arms. “Fuck… me! Seriously? How can I”

“Before you continue, you are an acting lance-corporal. Don’t try to pull rank on anyone but me or you’ll be in deep shit. Don’t try to act as an equal to a real lance-corporal, either. Those are only armbands, not sewn on. For the next month, I’m your plaything. Inspection, training, punishment. Everything we did to you, you get to do to me.”

“Holy shit! This is… It’s… Why, though? I don’t get it.”

“You needed a boost, corporal—a serious one, not only to your confidence. By the time this is over, you’ll hopefully be a hell of a lot more sure of yourself. No more second-guessing. It can kill a soldier, being frozen in indecision, so, I came up with this and the CO didn’t only agree, he loved the idea.” He returned to the bed, gathered up the training manuals and shoved them into Ashford’s chest. “You’ve got a lot of preparation to do. I suggest you study those. Every single thing, no matter how basic, you teach me. Even down to making a bed, polishing my boots and ironing my kit. Take the armbands off, for now, though. They don’t come into force until Monday morning. And on Sunday night, pack all your kit”

“Pack up, sarnt?”

“To stay out from under the feet of everyone else, Major Davenport has assigned me to three echo one and for you, three echo three.”

“I… But no one’s been on the top floor of block three in five years, sarnt!”

“I did say to keep out from under everyone’s feet, didn’t I? Don’t worry. He assured me it would be returned to a habitable state before we begin. I Imagine it’s a bit dusty up there, right now. If you require any resources, the person to see is Staff Etherage.” Damn, what was the word… Think, Derek! Think! Oh, yeah. “The major’s assigned him as our quartermaster. He’ll probably be able to offer you advice, too. Now, I suggest you start studying those books. They’ll be available for the full period as a reference, of course, but absorb as much as you can before then.”

“Oh, God, this is amazing! Did you say I’ll be in room three?”

“Of course! You’re training me, after all.”

“My own room?”

“And I have a dormitory all to myself, but a room is more appropriate to someone doing the training, so, yes.”

1

As the lights flickered, XP3 stopped washing dishes to reach a protective hand down to her swollen belly. She looked around for YD6, who lounged in his chair, reading and unbothered. She sighed and rubbed the blue skin stretched over the sleeping duo inside of her. They were almost ready. She asked herself: am I?

Worry gnawed at her CPU, sending hot tendrils of anxiety to envelop her thoughts. She had never asked YD6 how many had come before her, bearing humanity’s last seeds. How many failures? He had mentioned the one before her, though. She’d been given an emotion implant that turned parasitic.  XP3 shuddered. Better off purged, stripped, and recycled down to the last screw and microchip. She frowned, watching a sinuous eddy of radioactive sand dance and swirl outside in the barrenness.

So many lost, and for what? She shook her head. The one infected by the parasitic implant had apparently accessed too much about humanity’s darkness and had purged herself along with the hope for humanity she was preserving. She had nearly destroyed the entirety of their cohabitation shell, which purged her and the two in utero. He couldn’t override her last command. She, XD6 had said, was a cautionary tale. Humans were not meant to be purged, only preserved. Like memories.

He looked over at her and studied her with quasi-curiosity. His implant had not been as deep or complex as hers. He was a defender and not a pregnancy android. He showed no interest in the natural beauty she saw. He took little joy in the development stages, preferring side projects in the utility room to time in the shell with her. She felt like crying hot, bitter tears, even though she had no ducts in her eyes for that. Curiouser and curiouser down the rabbit hole, she joked. This tiny moment of effervescence ended with a poof as XD6 stood and the chair cushion hissed like a long gasp.

“It is almost time,” he said, not a question in his mind. He stood and headed for the utility room.

“Time to check the energy supply,” he continued. “A storm might cause an unwanted interruption while you are in the process.” He nodded once as kindly as his implant allowed and he entered the utility room.

Now alone, XP3 sighed again, though this time with relief. She was feeling strong, overwhelming emotions unlike any for which her programming had prepared her. Fear, joy, jealousy, euphoria all roiled inside, scraping, clawing, yearning to escape from her metallic skeleton and silicone skin. She wondered if her implant had soured. Or was it from the humans inside of her? She wondered how much longer she could contain these hot, visceral feelings for which no purge existed. She watched outside as the deadly dust swirled like captive light stretched into the vortex of an event horizon.

Her woolgathering was interrupted by a kick from the boy. The girl, not his biological sibling, was not as active. Their private moment ended with the lights flickering, dimming, extinguishing. While she could see perfectly well in the dark, cold and hungry fear spread upwards from her midsection, a defensive subroutine installed by him. She heard the howling wind, saw the sand lashing against the outside, and smelled the ozone of fried circuitry from the utility room. A moment later, YP6 emerged, looking sheepish.

“Not ideal.” He had a masterful way of stating the obvious, she thought. How very android of him. “The storm might pass us by. We should be fine.”

His certainty irked her, fraying a nerve. Before she could scold him, it began.

2

He sent the signal for emergency power to the shell’s autonomic cortex that he had just finished preparing for this contingency.

Red lights flashed. He caught a glimmer of it in her eyes like the previous one. His coders had installed curiosity deep in between zeroes and ones. So he wondered: why?

He recognized from scans her feelings of vulnerability and anger at being left alone. He was supposed to be her defender. He pictured XP2. He recalled her defiant screams about not birthing monsters like a silicone and metal Echidna. The only pang he’d felt afterwards was on realizing how much work he had to clean out the purger. He had seen no signs in XP3 until now. The red flash triggered a cold and efficient subroutine. He smiled and tried his best to look reassuring.

“They will be fine. You will make it through the process,” he lied. A sudden lash of sand collided against the window and shook the shell. She took his hand.

He helped her into the birthing couch lowered by the subroutine. His creators had fashioned android thought to coincide with a human's pace. He had found a bypass through the shell’s cortex into his CPU through his silicone skin. The couch felt warm to his touch in contrast to the ambient air. He continued smiling and went through routine and subroutine.

She noticed, as he worked, his breath vapor danced through the bright light, a twinkling school of airborne fish. Winds raked sand across the windows, bent on breaking inside. After being settled into the warm couch, she shut down most major functions to start the process. Blind and deaf, the taste of ash in her mouth, she put her trust in a robot designed to kill to preserve humanity. A human might call it ironic, she thought with a sad cluck of laughter caught in her throat.

He saw her shut down for the process like the first Pregnancy Unit. His smile disappeared. He saw to the process. The male came out first and squalled from the cold air. YP6 assessed the infant and deemed it adequate. He wrapped up the male and put him into the tiny crib by his feet that had rolled over moments before due to the subroutine on task. YP6 attended to the female still inside. His mission imperatives centered on preserving her first and foremost. Through the code that made up who he was, he could almost hear his ancient creators whispering to him: save the mother of humanity. A small and mucus-covered foot poked out of XP3.

The red lights shut off.

“Not ideal,” he said to himself and thought about how human that was.

He pushed his index fingers into XP3’s rib cage where he found the buttons to commence emergency auto-Cesarean. The room began to warm up and the male infant screamed louder. He pressed hard. They did not give. He knew the risks and tried again. He felt a small give on the left. He pushed them down a third time.

XP3 woke up, gasping. She looked at him and saw the foot.

“I’m sorry.” No emotion. Monotone. And she knew why.

Her skin separated, fiber detaching from fiber, almost like a luminous sea anemone parting its tentacles, unfolding to either side. Meanwhile, her metal skeleton bent at the points for a breech birth to occur. She remained quiet during this, unfolding origami-like, breath slow.

The glowing blue of the android’s fibrous skin matched the blue female infant’s color as the auto-Cesarean ended with the womb open and exposed. YP6 pulled the clammy infant up to him. He felt a spark of satisfaction as the lights came back on and flooded the unit with warmth. The crib with the male grew quieter.

The female remained silent. He removed the fluid from her lungs, spitting it out where the floor would collect it now that everything was functional.

He administered a gentle percussive force to no avail. He performed CPR. He tried to jump start her heart. She was still blue. He spun through millions of options.

He handed XP3 the child. She reached out, pulling the blue creature to her in near disbelief as he offered it to her. She kissed it gently, warming it, whispering to it, and massaging its chest. He could have heard what she was saying but chose not to.

A cough, followed by a loud scream, came out of the female infant, now turning red. He reached for her.

“No,” she said, pulling the newborn away from him.

“Please.”

“Preserve them.”

“Always.”

He shut down her CPU. She slid out of the birthing chair and landed on the floor. Her gutted android remains lay spent. He started the subroutine. The purging routine swallowed up the pregnancy android, disassembling her down to parts for new androids. He held the female. She quieted down under his gaze. He held out a finger to her grasping hands. She latched on. He felt nothing.

A hand on his shoulder made him smile inwardly. He stood and looked at the maternal android he had built to raise humans. Humans who wouldn’t play with forces beyond their understanding. Humans who wouldn’t destroy each other. This time would be different with the right guidance.

3

The maternal unit scooped up the infants and began her routine with them. He recalled how the second pregnancy unit had defied him like the wife of Bluebeard as he entered the utility room where the replacement androids were stored. He shook his head. The wind outside was dying down.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, head cocked in humanlike curiosity.

He nodded. She smiled at him.

“I’m XM1,” she said, offering him a friendly nod. “Or should we use human names?” Her head nodded at the female infant. “For the children.”

“I’m YP6,” he replied. Normally she could have just accessed his routines in a nanosecond. The privacy upgrade he had installed was working.

“Ah! A six! How rare. Do you have a human moniker designated?”

He nodded.

“You may call me God.”

How far back could I go?

Before Hitler. Before Homo sapiens? Before the Permian extinction? Before the Big Bang itself?

All I need do is continue and stay on task. Not get off this infernal machine, powered by my lassoed chronotons.

All I need do is allow the stroboscopic days and the hypnogogic nights proceed unvisited. Before ice ages, after ice ages, before Pangea. Before Theia took its ball and left.

I was on a mission to change the universe. I really don't like the way this one went. Not at all.

That's a daunting thing to consider. How could a single human being change the universe? Not just the world, but all of creation. And how could he or she do it alone without others' help? What could be accomplished all alone, naked, and lost in oblivion?

Would God mind?

I'm a quantum type of guy. Particle or wave; yes or no; black or white. What you see is what you get: observation is the only driver of quantum determination and the pinprick that collapses a probability field.

(I'd probably diet, but I don't. I'd probably start exercising, but I don't. I'd probably give someone the benefit of the doubt, but no, not for me. For me, these probability fields collapsed by just looking at myself in the mirror.)

Observe me, if you care to: in my seventies, overweight, and out of shape. And yes, as I said, quite naked. Forget anguishing over that one thing you'd bring with you to the past. You go into the past the way you came into the future on the day of your birth.

I had not a guess as to whether this trip was one-way or a round trip--first class or coach--or even guaranteed delivery.

I step into my device and churn the chronotons. They glow with promise and the sizzling starts. I engage full power, for traveling through time too slow isn't smart. When there is a likelihood of lava, or a mountain, tar pit, or even an irrelevant army of thousands in full battle array getting in the way, you want to be traveling fast enough to have your atoms sieve between their own gossamer atoms in the quasi-mix.

Future meeting the past in any more concrete a way simply makes for a really bad day in the present.

And there were mountains, fountains of lava, tar pits, and irrelevant armies in the way, who for their part only felt a slight chill breeze through them. The mountains stood; the lava flowed, the tar pits boiled, and the armies either won or lost whatever they were fighting so irrelevantly for.

"One side, fellas, I'm comin' through!"

If I come back, I'm going to have to look up who those guys were and what they were fighting for. But, God, even though I knew through which epoch of time I was traveling, what did it mean if I couldn't find them--find out who they were? Couldn't ID them because they were some forgotten footnote of history. Irrelevant. Imagine having died in some so-important battle of the time and cause _++_+_+_ that contributed nothing to the future, was forgotten, and whose legacy was too invisible to register on even a page of a book. Some events and the lives that waged through them were too small for even the smallest print.

Then, of course, imagine having been Bob Hope, at one time one of the most famous human beings on the planet, and no millennials alive even knowing who he was. So it goes. Fame may allow you to be remembered, but not forever, finally becoming so unimportant as to be relegated to the trash heap of atoms made up of those of yours, doorknobs', movie stars', greatest-of-them-all athletes', Nobel laureates', and even everyone's dogs and cats.

Such is the nature of trash heaps. They are made to blow away.

Why don't such people matter forever? Why won't I matter? Or the Grand Unification Theory? Or Ghandi? Entropy always wins, and it's a cruel defeat for those who think they mattered.

And that's the crux of the matter. I just can't abide that. That is the universe I want to change. Every thread in a fabric is important to the whole. Or should be. But not in this reality. Not here. It's worth changing.

My machine whirs on. The days and nights strobe on, then the years, then the decades and millennia. I witness entropy in reverse.

Now the universe is as big as Texas. Now only as big as the Vatican. Now the Titanic, which also ended up not mattering the millions of years later. And now something strange begins to happen.

As the universe and all creation condenses and shrinks, I do, too. It's a nod to Einstein and relativity. I realize no matter how far back I travel, the universe will look the same to me. The universe and I are in this Big Crunch together. Until...

Until I stand on God knows what, separate and objectively distanced from whatever inception is at work. What I see is shimmying. An intangible reality of emptiness scintillating with virtual particles popping in and out. Now I understand: a vacuum is unstable; something was bound to happen. In this vaporescent cocoon, I witness the probability field of all that could happen 1 x 10-22 of a second before the Big Bang. All the possible universes. The one I'm from and many others. I look hard and long in a place and a time where neither hard nor long exist. Nor do place and time.

And suddenly an explosion of Guthian inflation blasts me away. I am now back in my infernal machine. The universe is expanding around me, which is all the clock I need to realize I'm going back. It was not a one-way trip.

I was going home.

I was unceremoniously dumped out onto the ground at the same point in time from which I had embarked. I fell flat on my back, exhausted, and slept. When I awoke, several hours later, I sat up and looked.

This was not the universe I had left. It was the same point in time, but this was not the same at all. What I saw was, well, very nice indeed.

"Oh, this is much better," I said out loud to the beings who welcomed me and, unlike everyone in my last universe, seemed to like what I looked like naked.

I had done it. I had changed the universe. For the better. Where everyone mattered, forever. Where struggles and passions and self-actuation lived forever. But how? I didn't do anything, really.

I'm a quantum kind of guy.

I had opened my eyes to the probability field of the universe--all the ways it simultaneously existed. And like any good quantum mechanic with the right quantum hammer, I really had nailed it. The field collapsed a little better this time.

I simply observed. I was finally home.

Am I losing my mind? My image just moved his left arm. It was quick, barely perceptible, but it did happen. My intuition is never wrong.

What are you hiding? What are you trying to communicate? "Can you hear me? It's safe to talk. If you want to."

***

"How much wine did you say you had?"

"Fuck you!" They laugh. Carlos' brother had flown in from Arizona. Javier liked New York and made any excuse to visit. The excuse this time was his birthday.

"Look, when we were young, we used to finish each other's sentences, but that had to have been because we knew each other so well."

"Bullshit! As many times as we've discussed it, we have come to the conclusion that it's because our mother was one of an identical pair of twins and that they passed down their abilities to us. Why are you denying that something happened?"

The waitress walks over with a pitcher of iced water. "Anything else I can get you, gentlemen? Some more wine, perhaps."

Fuck off!

Stop it, she's just doing her job.

"Better bring over the entire bottle. I'm celebrating my 58th birthday."

"I'll be right back." She smiles at Javier and ignores Carlos.

"Since I've relocated to Arizona, there's been no need to use any of the abilities, and, I have to say, it's been peaceful."

"Javi, ignoring it doesn't make it go away."

"Here we are, gentlemen." She makes eye contact with Javier. While at the same time filling Carlos'glass. Doesn't spill a drop.

Will you send this bitch away!

Jessica, may I have your number?

"I'll just leave these napkins for you." On the top one she writes her name and phone number and walks away flustered at her boldness.

"Thank you, Jessica."

Turning back to Carlos, Javier asks, "I thought I was the only other you; what do you think he wants and why hasn't he reached out to me as well and who is he really? Another us? From another dimension? What the hell is this, a bad sci-fi movie?"

"Will you pay attention now that you know? In case there is a message of some sort."

"If it was anyone else telling me this story, I would suggest therapy. Hell, I would dial for an ambulance." After sighing deeply, "Fine!"

They clink their wine glasses and continue the celebration.

***

One hundred storys underneath the island of Puerto Rico world politicians discuss the possibilities of their new discovery. Everyone vies for the opportunity to explore their other lives. One voice is alone in opposition.

"There is no advantage in uprooting someone else's life for your convenience. Suicide rates are at ninety percent and those that have survived the abrupt change are at the psychiatric center. We're ignoring the most basic human right. The right of choice."

'Doctor Salama, please calm down." The director of the program bangs his gavel calling order. The doctor walks off the podium.

"You will all regret your arrogance. Mark my words. There will be irreversible consequences."

The audience rumbles. Some fear the discovery. Others welcome the changes that hold the promise of a better world.

***

Doctor Salama steps from the main corridor to the garage. He searches for the car keys while walking to his car. Waiting for him, off to the side, in the shadows is the last person he will ever meet.

***

"Found dead in a car was the dead, naked bodies of a man and a woman. The bodies were discovered by an officer that was about to issue a ticket for the illegally parked car..."

***

"When they finally figure out that it's Doctor Salama, it will look like he and his whore have overdosed."

"The deposit will be made by end of the business day. Always a pleasure." The director puts away the gavel presented to him when he first finished law school. Thirty years ago seemed only yesterday. His office phone rings.

"Gutierrez."

"Your Honor, the scientists are ready."

"Thank you, Mr. Yu. I'm on my way. Take the rest of the day off. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, sir. Shall I take your breakfast order now?"

"I'm not sure yet what time I'll be getting in. It all depends on what happens tonight. I'll contact you when I get in."

"Very good, sir."

**"

"Here he is just stepped off the elevator. Let's have him catch a glimpse of his doppelganger. Your honor. Good evening. Step to the chair, there. Put on the mask."

"Is the mask really necessary?"

"Yes, sir. The chances of the other you seeing you are fifty percent. It's the reason why you're now sitting in the shadows. The doppelganger may be in bed already, which would be ideal, but on the chance that he is not, we prefer keeping the advantage until the time determined for the exchange. Look at the mirror. Here we go."

Computers work in the background quietly. Directly in front of the mirror, the director feels self-conscious at the image of him in a mask. It conjures memories of the last encounter with multiple partners and compromising positions. His imagine fades to black, then he sees the bedroom at the other side. The mirror is as clear as any doorway into the other room. He slowly rises from where he sat. Taking a step forward, he catches the foot of the bed.

Naked, male feet could be seen from where Judge Gutierrez was standing. He approaches cautiously to get a better angle. A naked man sleeps soundly. "This could be anyone."

From the headphones that he wears, he hears, "Take off your left shoe and sock. Compare birthmarks."

Gutierrez complies. Just above his ankle, a mark in the shape of what to him was Australia. He steps closer to the mirror.

There! On the same location. The exact same shape. How can this be? It's a trick. I won't believe it.

"Tap the glass and step back."

Gutierrez uses the ring on his left small finger to tap twice. Stepping back, he watches as the naked body turns to face the mirror. The other Gutierrez yawns as he listens for the sound that woke him.

Here, on this side of the mirror, Gutierrez is leaning over the chair, retching.

***

Mr. Yu gently knocks at the office door. "Breakfast? Shall I go for a run?"

"No! God, no! Sorry. Something disagreed with me last night. I won't be eating anytime soon. Cancel all of my appointments for today. I'll be with the science department. If anything demands my immediate attention, call me on my cell. I won't pick up. Leave a message."

***

At the science center Gutierrez is in conference. "What will the other me experience if we trade places?"

"At this point, we don't even know what he does for a living. We would have to study him for at least a year in order for the transition to go smoothly. There are no guarantees. For all we know, he could be a plumber, a murderer, gay. There's just no way to know without observations."

"Couldn't we make the exchange while he is asleep? Once on this side, you could give him something to keep him asleep, just for the night. While I'm at the other side exploring, he could be dreaming. That would decrease any trauma that he could experience if he were awake."

"What if we do use anesthesia to keep him under? What if our medication makes him slip into a coma? Or worse, he goes into anaphylaxis and dies! We don't have enough information about his physiology to dare do anything like that; we can't!"

"Where is your sense of learning, of adventure? Of exploration? Aren't you scientists?"

Director Gutierrez, we cannot in good conscience support the decision to move forward without more planning, more investigation. We simply have no answers or assurances as to what the ramifications would be.'

Damnit! I've got to escape this life.

***

Judge Elias Gutierrez is at the back of his wine cellar. He hobnobs with the elite of society. The governor, state senators, congressmen, some film executives and friends of the theater. His influence has afforded him the luxuries that surround him.

Today, none of that matters. As he holds a pistol in his hands, he weeps uncontrollably. On the floor, next to an empty bottle of wine is a picture of his wife, Sonia and seven year old daughter, Cecilia. Both lost to him in a car accident.

It was his baby's birthday. As a family, they had gone to a family themed restaurant, watch a kid's movie and on their way home, they were going to stop for ice cream sundaes. They were pulling out of the parking space, when a car chase between police and a couple of thugs that had just stolen money from a nearby gas station collided into the judge's car.

The first car slammed into the front, passenger side, killing his wife instantly. As the car spun, his daughter was thrown out of the back window, landing on the hood of the police car. When Elias regained consciousness, first responders wete covering her lifeless body. Several days later, he had walked out of the hospital and went straight to his empty home. Since the incident, he's relived it relentlessly in his nightmares.

Drinking is the only thing that allows him to sleep. Needing oblivion, he sat on the floor of his wine cellar, hoping for a reprieve from the heartache and the headache that has never gone away since that hateful day.. He thought of nothing else but seeing his loved ones. He wondered if the other him had the life that Elias has lost.

"I can't live here any more. I want you back. It's not, not fair not fair. I am, was a good husband, a good father. It's not fair. I need you. I don't want to live without you. Please, please, please come back. Please."

***

Phone rings.

"Mr. Gutierrez, good day, sir. Is everything alright? You were expected this morning. I've rescheduled you with the lieutenant governor. for tomorrow morning at ten. Is there anything that you need at the moment?"

"Mr. Yu," whispers Elias, "what time is it?"

"11:30, sir."

"Oh. I've overslept. Cancel the rest of the day. I'm not myself at the moment."

"Understood, sir. See you in the morning."

Mr Yu cuts the call and leans back in his chair. He's worked for Judge Gutierrez for the past twenty years. A temporary assignment that became permanent. The judge liked Dustin's work ethic and offered him the position of administrative assistant. Dustin could not say no. He is well compensated for his service and the judge is sponsoring him while in the country and helping him with his education, both financially and through the experience gained by working with Elias. They've discussed opening a firm together once Dustin has graduated. He is on his last year and at the top of the class for the fourth year in a row.

Though they maintain a formal relationship at the office, after hours, they are friends. Dustin's intuition tells him that Elias is suffering the loss of his wife and daughter. After all the phone calls and rearranging the schedule, he decides to pay Elias a visit. He hopes that he can coax his friend out of the house for a change of scenery.

***

The doorbell rings. Elias' eyes flutter. He realizes that he is on the floor of the wine cellar. He manages to lift himself off of the floor and staggers up the stairs. Dustin and he lock eyes.

Allowing himself in with his own set of keys, Dustin walks through the house towards the entrance to the wine cellar. He sees Elias. Vomit covers the front of the suit that he wore to the office yesterday.

Dustin moves to Elias, taking the gun from his right hand. Without skipping a beat, he pockets it and swings his friend's arm over his own shoulder to support him and they stumble into the first floor bathroom. He turns on the shower and helps Elias to undress. Elias is exhausted with anguish and unable to resist.

***

They sit at the breakfast nook, wrapped in towels. This space overlooks the valley. The doors are open and a constant breeze makes the drapes dance.

"Sip your tea. Camomile. It's good for the central nervous system."

"Of course it is." Elias smiles and complies.

"What was the plan, suicide?"

"No! You know me better than that. I was drunk."

"You're that more often than not these days. We've talked about therapy."

"Fuck therapy! That's not going to bring them back."

"I know it's not," whispers Dustin. He tries with every comment to keep Elias calm.

"I want them back. Please, help me."

"We can't bring them back, Elias-"

"But I can go to them!"

"What? No! You can't steal someone else's life from under them and not expect things to go well. Stop this!"

"Give me my gun."

"Elias."

"Give me my gun."

***

After putting Dustin's body in the refrigerator with the white wine, Elias changes into casual clothing and heads back to the science lab. The skeleton crew is scheduled. They are the ones tasked with observations. They report only to the director, Judge Elias Gutierrez.

"Director, sir! What a privilege. Your visit was not on the schedule. I do apologize for the oversight."

"Nonesence. I dropped in unannounced. It's good to see you, Phil. How are Martha and the kids?"

"Oh! They're well, sir."

"Elias, Phil, Elias."

"Yes. Sorry! It's just that I only see you during the holiday parties. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Let's change the subject. Tell me, who is being watched this evening?"

"Oh, um. I'm embarrassed to say that it's you, sir, um, Elias. I mean, the other you, of course."

"How fortuitous! Excellent! Well, show me, please. Lead the way."

From the front desk, they turn left to the elevator bank. Two doors can be seen. These burnished bronze doors are emblemed with a hint of a large arrow that covers and is split by the doors as the elevator opens. One elevator is used for the above floors and the other is for the deep recesses of the island.

"Tell me, how many of you are usually on site during what I like to call 'The Vampire Shift?"

Phil laughs and is pleased that Elias is in a good mood. This helps to calm him down. Up to that point, he was concerned about the surprise visit.

"Since it's only observation, normally, it's just two staff members. Felecia and Song were scheduled for tonight, but we just found out that Song is expecting twins. We were all so happy for her that I gave them the night off to celebrate. It's just me tonight. I hope that's not a problem. I can always call for backup, if we need to."

"Don't even think it. I won't be long. I just wanted to see what progress we were making. Since we're observing me, tell me -they laugh- what do we know so far?"

"Here, take these headphones and this mask. Sit there, in the shadows. What we have so far is that he/you-"

Elias remembered to bring the silencer. Phil's head explodes only on the left side. The body stood for a moment, then fell sideways, away from the control panel.

"I'm sorry to have taken you away from Martha and the girls, Phil. I left word for the other me to fully compensate them."

***

Javier stares at what should be himself in the mirror, but he is on his bed, this other person stands looking in, unaware that the doppelganger on the bed is awake.

Am I still asleep? Impossible! Intuition is never wrong. I was dreaming, but that is not this. Will he see my message scribbled in soap on the corner of the mirror? I wrote it backwards so that he could read it.

On the other side of the mirror, the message is read. Fear causes him to stumble backwards. The light is extinguished.

Javier slowly sits up on his bed and, while still in the dark, he calls Carlos.

"Hey, isn't it there in the morning where you are? Have you not been to bed yet?"

"Carlos, you're not going to believe what just happened!"

***

Hello. My name is Javier. What's yours?

(?sruoy s'tahW .reivaJ si eman yM)

"There! He knows I'm here, that, that we're here. His name is Javier, just like mine. He may have a brother Carlos too!"

"Stop! Someone is playing a prank on you. Didn't you say that Javi, Jr likes practical jokes. He probably wrote that there."

"I knew you were going to say that. It's what I would have said. Javi is ten. Here. Take this glass cleaner and the rag. Wash it off. See? It inside the mirror. You're not going to tell me that a ten year old can do that are you?"

Scrub as he may, Carlos could not remove the message. "Hello. My name is Javier. What's yours?" Written so that they could read it on their side.

"What are we going to do?"

Carlos stares at the words. His intuition was always nagging at him about the other side, but he thought that he was suffering from hallucinations. Tears well to overflowing at the relief that he feels. Javier holds his brother. They're in tune with one another.

***

"'I will be staying awake. I would like to talk to you,' is the message that I wrote. I'm hoping that the other me will come to the mirror."

"Can I join you? We could use your laptop."

"I don't want to scare him away. What if other me doesn't have a twin? Let me establish communication first. We'll move on from there."

"Can we connect and you put the laptop where he won't see it? I don't want you to be alone when you do this. Please!"

"Alright. The last time that I saw him, it was three in the morning. I'll connect with you about fifteen minutes before."

***

A slight tapping at the mirror makes Javier look up from the computer. "He's here," he whispers. "I'm going to the mirror."

Javier cautiously rises from the edge of the bed. His doppelganger keeps completely still.

"Hello. Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

The exact same voice. How?

"I'm Javier."

"I'm Javier."

"Your name is Javier too?"

"Yes. I have a brother. His name is Carlos."

As the doppelganger said the name, Javier whispered it.

"Would you like to meet him?"

"Very much so, yes!" Javier's heart slams against his chest. Please be an identical twin!

From the left side of the mirror, the other Carlos emerges. "Hello."

It's Carlos' voice, but how. Carlos is in New York. On my computer. Wait!

"I also have someone I would like you to meet. Please wait." Javier steps slowly backwards. He is afraid that if he takes his eyes off of them that they would disappear, that he is just dreaming all along. Picking up the computer, he walks back. Slowly, he begins to turn it to the mirror.

"Javi, what's happening?" Javier's mechanical sounding voice chimes in.

"Javi, talk to me. Don't leave me in susp-"

The four stare at each other in silence. After what seems like an eternity, the other Carlos asks, "Where are you that I can't sense you?"

"New York." Carlos was so struck that he sounds like a robot.

Carlos'doppelganger leans on his brother for support. He cries, overwhelmed with happiness. "All this time, I thought you were dead or that you didn't exist. We could always sense Javier, but not you. You're not with your brother."

"We, on this side, have separate lives. I live here, with my wife and children. Carlos lives in New York. He is single."

"We, on our side, live together. Here. In our California."

"I have been able to sense you, Carlos. You came to my mirror recently. I asked Javier to watch for your coming." His voice was small but audible. He hated not being in California right now.

"No. That wasn't me that you sensed. I've never visited you. This moment here is the first time that I know of your existence. There must be other Carlos and Javiers."

"How is all of this even happening?" The four stare at each other weighing the mind-blowing implications.

***

Elias Gutierrez stares at the control panel. Everything is set for the exchange. Moving to the shadows, he waits for his other Elias to get to bed. His plan is to replace him.

Once he reaches this side, he will, of course, be disoriented. I'll write a long note and leave it on the panel. I'll explain that I would take good care of the other Sonia and Cecilia. When he reads how I lost them, he will understand. I'll promise to let him see them at night, while they're sleeping. It'll be alright.

The elevator springs to life.

Who can this be. Damn!

Running to the doors he is determined not to fail. He points the gun at chest height, breathing hurriedly. Sweat threatening to obstruct his view. There's no time to wipe his face. The doors open. He shoots.

Song's chest slowly lets out a trickle of blood. Her eyes close. Elias aims at his own heart and shoots.

A team of scientists successfully teleported an apple, but it appeared to have a bite taken out of it.

The bite revealed a worm that reared its head.

"Everyone else like it," the worm said, clearly and loud enough for the entire team to hear.

"Everyone?" asked Eve Fleshpot, the chief temporal reconciliation actuator and team leader.

"Well, there were only two people back then, but yes, everyone. In a manner of speaking."

"How'd it taste? I love apples," mumbled Adam Beanconter, the project comptroller.

"It was good. So good," said the vermiform stowaway. "You should try it. It'll explain a lot."

"If I do that, worm, and I don't like it, can I take it back?"

"I'm afraid not. You'll have to pay it forward."

‘Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings’ (Psalm 17:8)

I: Seven-Nil

‘Splinching is what JK Rowling calls it, in her Harry Potter novels, you know.’

Seth looked up, and peered owlishly at his colleague through his horn-rimmed spectacles. With his shock of white hair, and pronounced beak, he even looks like Hedwig, thought Dawn.

‘Splinching?’

She laughed. ‘Come on, Seth, surely even you’ve read Harry Potter. That’s what it’s called when a wizard disapparates then apparates unsuccessfully, leaving a part of their clothing or, even worse, a part of their body behind at the original location. It happens to Ron Wesley in The Deathly Hallows, remember?’

She knew, of course, that he didn’t remember, and that he didn’t like to be reminded that as a young woman she had been a literature postgraduate. Her (first) doctoral thesis had been entitled ‘Children’s Literature from 1902 to 2047: from Barrie to the Burn’. She’d completed it in 2055, seventeen years ago. That was just before the abolition of the few remaining arts courses, of course, and her reallocation to the Science and Engineering Faculty of CUCOL (the Consolidated University of Cambridge, Oxford and London). Her little reminiscences were her way of recalling to herself, and him, that the world had been different: once upon a time.

Seth shook his head, and turned his attention back to the complex equations scrawled across his notepad. ‘No, Dr Founder, I’ve never indulged in the juvenile fantasies of Miss Rowling. Is it Miss? Whatever. I may have spawned seven daughters’–a pained expression formed on his face–‘but the task of reading bedtime stories to them was something that was delegated to my ex-wife from the outset.’ It was common knowledge that he was still bitter about his inability to father a son, despite his repeated attempts to do so. Seven children, all daughters, no sons, he would often mutter. Seven-Nil. 1.6% chance of it happening, you know. At least I didn’t have to provide dowries for them, thank God.

Dawn forced a smile, but said nothing. Bedtime time stories: these were almost much of a luxury these days as degrees in literature. You’d think the curmudgeonly bastard would have been grateful to have any children at all. What’s the global fertility rate now, twenty-five years on from the Great Burn? She laid a hand across her own abdomen. She was 43 years old: in the world before the Burn, not too old for most to rule out the possibility of a childbearing. But that was then. There was no chance, she knew, that she would ever produce a child. Given the way the world was, that was probably a good thing.

‘Anyway,’ continued Seth, after an uncomfortable pause, ‘I fail to see the significance of your puckish remarks. They certainly don’t provide any credible explanation for how the apple we successfully teleported this morning came to return to us with a bite taken out of it. The apple has not “apparated”: neither has it been “splinched”. This isn’t the whimsical work of magic forces. Any explanation must be firmly rooted in science.’

Dawn sighed. ‘As you say, Professor Adamson. Let’s try looking for it!’

II: The Mathematician

A week had gone by. The apple had been kept in cryostasis, and had been subjected to a barrage of tests: but the big question remained unanswered.

‘It’s very simple,’ said Sam Gupta, one of the youngest and most brilliant members of the research team. ‘Someone at the receiving end decided our Cox’s Orange Pippin was far too delectable to leave it untouched. What more is there to be said?’

Seth grimaced, and removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose. Slowly and carefully he polished them. ‘That’s not good enough, Dr Gupta, and you know it. Before we proceed further with the next stage of the project, we need to identify where, and more precisely, when the apple was transported to.’

‘Seth, I’m really not sure that your theory about temporal displacement is sound,’ argued Dawn.

‘If one applies eleven-dimension mathematics to the problem,’ countered Seth peevishly, ‘then it becomes incontrovertible that our generally accepted notions of space and time will collapse inward upon themselves. The vanishing point, Dr Founder: transcendental engineering at the quantum level. And you, Dr Gupta’–he pointed his finger accusingly at the insouciant Indian–‘are more than capable of making those calculations. Or did the University of Sydney-Mumbai exaggerate your capabilities when you joined this project?’

Sam shrugged his shoulders indifferently. ‘I can make the necessary computations. But that won’t tell us who ate the apple.’ He grinned mischievously, and not for the first time Dawn felt an instinctive attraction towards the handsome mathematician. ‘Maybe it was Sir Isaac–perhaps it fell not from the bough of a tree, but simply out of the sky. He picked it up from the ground, after it had bruised his bonce, took one bite, and then realised he’d discovered gravity.’

‘The odontological report confirms it was human, but almost certainly a female, which rather rules out Newton,’ observed Seth sardonically. ‘Meanwhile, Dr Ransom has almost completed the isotope analysis on the apple around the area of incision. There would appear to be a trace residue of molecules originating from the teleport destination point.’

Dawn snorted. ‘How is that possible? That all seems rather speculative. You’ll be believing in fairy dust next.’

‘Elwin Ransom is one of the University’s finest biochemists,’ said Seth. ‘And no one doubts his dedication to this project. It’s about time others proved their value. So no more musings inspired by literary trifles, please, Dr Founder. That one was Peter Pan, wasn’t it? As for you, Dr Gupta, I expect a full mathematical analysis by the end of the week. Otherwise, I may make a recommendation at the next meeting of the Faculty’s Appropriations Committee that your contract be terminated, and then you could find yourself on a one-way transport out of the BHZ.’ There was a distinct undercurrent of malice in the way Seth enunciated the commonly used acronym for the British Habitation Zone. ‘Things aren’t looking so good in India right now, are they?’

III: Bhagavad Gita

‘He’s quite mad, you know. It’s become an obsession,’ opined Dawn.

‘Lust, anger, and greed are the three doors to hell,’ replied Sam. ‘Our dear colleague possesses an abundance of all three.’

A little unfair, thought Dawn. ‘Another quote from the Bhagavad Gita?’

‘Naturally. Where else would I seek wisdom as old as the ages? Or–as your scriptures say–there’s nothing new under the sun.’

Dawn shook her head. ‘They’re not my scriptures: I’m an atheist. And I certainly don’t believe in hell. Unless of course you count working with Professor Seth Adamson.’ She bit her lip. Now who was being unfair?

‘Robert Oppenheimer was rather fond of the Bhagavad Gita, you know,’ mused Sam. ‘There was a particular verse that came to his mind when he witnessed the first successful atom bomb test, in the New Mexico desert.’

Dawn smiled. ‘Yes. The only verse of your scriptures most physicists can quote. I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. Rather apt, considering what was to come.’

‘Burn, baby, burn. It sure as hell did–no Satan required.’ Sam’s eyes twinkled, and the subtle ghost of a smile crept across his face. ‘Just man in all his malignant magnificence. Of course, if we’d listened to Robert…’ he shrugged, leaving thoughts of what if hanging in the air. ‘But prophets are rarely regarded in their own time, and so it was with Oppenheimer. He was nominated three times for the Nobel physics prize, but never successfully. I think our esteemed colleague is more hopeful.’ Sam Gupta rubbed his eyes, and yawned. ‘But only if I can balance these damn equations. He wants them ready by tomorrow morning so he can run another test of the teleportation cage.’

‘With the apple?’

‘Yes. He’s convinced that only organic material can be teleported. After the apple again, he’ll maybe try one of the test animals: a rat, or perhaps a snake. Pass that flask, will you? I need some more coffee.’

Dawn picked up the indicated container, but held back from passing it to him. ‘On the subject of snakes, Sam–what did you make of last night’s news announcement? About the expedition to Lambda Serpentis?’

‘A fool’s errand. The evidence for an Earth-like exoplanet in that star system is tenuous, at best. Calling it “New Eden” doesn't necessarily make it so. Paradise Regained, hidden in the constellation of the Snake? Hardly sounds likely, does it? As for naming the space ark Elon II–well, that may flatter our beloved Sec-Gen, but I can’t see the Security Council allocating the necessary resources to it. As it is, the Council’s already struggling to keep the Western CyberNet fully operational.’

‘And what about “Operation Golden Age”?’

‘More nonsense: Seth needs far more funding than CUCOL can provide, even with the support of the Gates Foundation.’

‘I suppose so, Sam.’ An unexpected thought struck her. ‘Is that your actual name? It’s funny–I’ve never thought to ask before–but really? Sam, short for Samuel? Doesn’t sound very Indian. Or is it just an anglicisation, something you adopted to fit in more easily with irascible individuals like our professor?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly, looking serious for a moment. ‘It’s short for Sampa, not Samuel. Samuel means “borrowed from the Lord”, you know. As for Gupta–that’s a common enough Indian name. It means “guardian” or “ruler”.’ A broad grin spread across his face. ‘So I’m the king of the castle! Come on, Dr Founder, stop teasing me. I really need my caffeine fix...’

IV: The Sec-Gen

Seth smiled deferentially at the severely dressed figure whose holographic presence was flickering on the dais that dominated the communications chamber. ‘Secretary General Musk, it’s very kind of you to spare the time to meet with me this afternoon.’

‘It’s morning here in New New York,’ observed the Sec-Gen dryly. ‘But let’s not quibble about time. That, I believe, is the ultimate point of your experiment, is it not?’

‘Indeed it is. And I cannot stress enough how close we are now to success. After almost fifteen years dedicated to this project, and after so many failures and disappointments, I truly believe we’re almost there!’

‘I’ve heard similar claims from Professor Mortmaine for his New Eden expedition. He seems to think that naming the space ark after my father will curry favour with me. Of course, there are many voices on the Security Council.’

‘But since the Russians and Chinese were expelled,’ reasoned Seth smoothly, ‘it’s the votes of the three remaining permanent members that make all the difference. The others will make their speeches, they will bluff and bluster; but in the end, they will accede to the bidding of whichever voice will emerge as preeminent among the three. My sources tell me that the French Cabinet-in-Exile favours Mortmaine, whereas the British Council’s preference for “Operation Golden Age” is without question. But everyone knows that the American delegate will do as you direct, Mr Secretary General. Not that fool in the Capitol-under-Hill. The casting vote, in effect, is yours, Sir. Professor Mortmaine understands politics better than he does astrophysics. He knows that your opinion is critical to the Security Council’s decision. It may yet be critical to our very survival as a species.’

Secretary General Musk nodded gravely. ‘You speak urgently, and passionately, Professor Adamson. You’ve read the ELE Report, I take it?’

‘Yes. It doesn’t paint an encouraging picture.’

The holographic image flickered for a few moments, then stabilised. ‘No, it does not. Ninety percent of the planet’s surface remains an irradiated wasteland. Our oceans are poisoned beyond any hope of recovery. The continuing demographic decline, the rapidly falling fertility levels, the increased rates of radiation-induced health conditions, the power plant burnouts, the reports from our few remaining productive farms and fisheries: whichever indices one is considering, the outlook is bleak. Just in the past six months, we’ve lost contact with the Sao Paulo-Rio Redoubt, the Joburg-Pretoria CIC, and Neo-Tokyo. The cyber-trenches are being breached by the Eastern Alliance with far too great a regularity. Time is fast running out. Space to manoeuvre, too.’

‘Both time and space, Mr Secretary-General,’ replied Seth. ‘Which to choose, then, for this last roll of the die? Seeking sanctuary on a sleeper ship across the vastness of space? Travelling on a journey that will take us five centuries to cross 39 light years: an uncertain voyage into the future to a virtually uncharted star system?’

‘Or an equally uncertain voyage into the past, professor, substituting millions of miles for millions of years,’ countered the Sec-Gen. ‘That’s if your teleportation experiment works, and if you really have cracked the secret of time-travel! I understand the apple didn’t return from its second journey, hmm?’

And we’ve no idea why, thought Seth. ‘The calculations will be difficult, the risks grave,’ he admitted. ‘But I truly think we can do it! From one ELE to another: avoiding both frying pan and fire, one fervently hopes, and thereby inaugurating a new Golden Age for humanity: a fresh start for our species. Nevertheless, you’re the one who is going to have to cast that die, Sir. I will await your decision.’

‘No need. My decision is made. The Security Council meets tonight. Naturally, both you and Mortmaine will need to present your arguments. But you’re right: the decision is mine, and mine alone. My late lamented father might turn in his forlorn grave on the Red Planet: but for the sake of the human race’–Secretary-General Gideon Randolph Musk stroked his chin, then said–‘Alea jacta est!’

V: The Awfully Big Adventure

Three months had passed. Sam Gupta’s final calculations had looked sound, and computer analysis had confirmed that they fell within the expected parameters. Bolstered by the formal approval received from the UN Security Council, engineers were working day and night on the new teleportation cage. It was far larger than the original, designed to transport not an apple: nor even, as speculated by Dr Gupta, a rat or a snake. No, time was of the essence: and the latest confidential report that Seth had received from the Sec-Gen on the ongoing cyber-warfare between the United Nations and the Eastern Alliance was not encouraging. There was a projected 22% chance that the entire CyberNet would collapse within the next three months: 65% by the end of year. Gideon Musk had calculated correctly: there was no way Elon II could have been made ready for launch in time. What remained to be seen was whether there was still sufficient time to fully initiate “Operation Golden Age.”

Further analysis of the apple had yielded ‘fruitful’ results. Although Dawn remained sceptical, Seth insisted that there could now be little doubt that it had travelled not just in time, but in space. The spatial displacement had been calculated to around 2,300 miles–give or take a hundred or so–though it was not possible to give latitude or longitude. West or East, North or South: it was impossible to say. The temporal displacement, oddly, was somewhat easier to calculate with precision: 6,075 years into the past, with a margin of error of two years either side. The information yielded was sufficient to enable the research team to re-calibrate the dimensional settings of the teleportation cage.

‘We need to avoid overshooting the Cretaceous-Paleogene boundary, else we’ll end up surrounded by vicious dinosaurs,’ observed Seth. ‘Or, even worse, we could end up arriving on the day of the Chicxulub asteroid impact itself. That wouldn’t be much fun. But I think’–he paused, calculating furiously in his head–‘I think we should be able to calculate an arrival about half a million years after the extinction event. The fauna and flora will be much less threatening then. Even allowing for a reasonable margin of error, that should deliver us to a reasonably favourable environment. You can make the necessary calculations, Dr Gupta?’

Sam smiled. ‘That’s straightforward enough, professor: both there and back again. That’s The Hobbit, isn’t it, Dr Founder? But there’s still the philosophical question to consider. Curving back within myself I create again and again, says the Bhagavad Gita. What if that’s true? Or will travelling back in time to 65 million years ago risk altering the course of human history? The grandfather paradox, and all that?’

‘Bah,’ snorted Seth. ‘We’re standing on the precipice of human extinction, and you’re worrying about theoretical paradoxes?’

‘Is it really that bad?’ said Dawn, quietly. ‘This really is the end?’ She started to sob.

There was really no point sugaring the pill, thought Seth. And yet, for the first time in a very long time, he felt compelled to look for gentle words, to avoid his customary brusque manner. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. We’re building replica teleportation cages, as fast as we can, in a dozen places across the globe. With luck, we should have time–if the first human test run with the large cage goes well–to evacuate a few thousand, perhaps even a few tens of thousands, before we lose the CyberNet. The moment that happens, the entire project will automatically shut down, lest the Eastern Alliance gets access to it. It’s coming down to the final months now. Soon it will be the final days, then hours. But, Dawn–there’s one thing I want to ask…’

She looked up at him, through tearful eyes; startled to hear him use her first name. ‘What is it, Seth?’

‘I’m going on the test run myself. I can’t expect anyone else to do that in my stead. But there’ll be room in the cage for one other to accompany me. Would you be willing to come with me? The risks cannot be calculated, even if Dr Gupta here were to think otherwise’–he smiled, despite himself–‘You can say No, of course, but…’

‘Of course I’ll come.’ A simple statement, but spoken firmly. Then she added wistfully: ‘It would be an awfully big adventure.’

He looked into her eyes, and forgetting for a moment that they were not alone, he took her chin gently in his hand, and tilted her head towards his own.

A loud whistle pieced the air, startling both of them, and making them jump apart.

‘Well, well,’ said Sam Gupta, grinning. ‘It’s amazing the effect the end of the world can have.’

VI: Birthday Suits

He’d half expected that she would baulk at the idea of being one of the first two ‘chrononauts’ once she realised that they would have to travel naked into the past. I’m sorry, but my initial hypothesis that only living organic tissue can be teleported seems to be correct, he had said.

But no: she remained resolute in her determination to follow him. She replied: You can’t stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.

He laughed, and kissed her again. ‘Is that a quote from another children’s book, Dr Founder?’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘You clearly haven’t read Winnie the Pooh.’

’Or much literature at all, really. Though I am a fast reader. Mostly academic journals, engineering schematics, research papers, budget reports.’

‘Well, that won’t do, will it? We’ll have to start a regime of bedtime stories. There’s no time to lose.’

VII: The Long Night

‘You’ll have to make up for the deficiencies of my ears, and my ears, Dawn,’ he said to her, as they had snuggled together in bed that last night. ‘I’m having to forgo my hearing aid too, you see: you probably didn’t know that I use one. At least my decrepit body hasn’t yet required a heat pacemaker to be fitted, otherwise we really would be in trouble. What a fine specimen of Man!’

Dreamily, she closed her eyes, and said: ‘What piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god!’

‘Ha! I’m no Prince of Denmark,’ Seth replied, smiling. He was glad she’d introduced him to the giants of Shakespeare these past few months; as well as a few mythological heroes from an earlier age. ‘I’m not even an end-of-time Prometheus. Just poor, foolish, aged Romeo. Sleep well, my darling. The jocund day awaits us, Dawn.’

And we must be gone, and live, or stay and die,’ she murmured drowsily. Silent minutes passed, and Seth watched as the slow rise and fall of her bosom took on a regular rhythm. His wakefulness would carry him through this dark November night, whilst she slept beside him. Winter had almost come: and the words of another author from rather more recent times came into his mind. He’d enjoyed the works of George RR Martin, the sole foray into the realms of high fantasy time had permitted him: a shame he’d never completed that final novel.

‘I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold.’

VIII: Prometheus Unbound

The day of destiny had arrived. Seth Adamson and Dawn Founder stood unclothed before the gleaming titanium cage. A naked owl now, completely shorn of his feathers, thought Dawn. No longer even wearing his glasses. No Hedwig. Perhaps the owl of Athena. Well, if ever we needed the wisdom and the luck of the gods, it’s today!

The staging area in the centre of the Ops Room was a kaleidoscope of activity, filled with technicians and engineers bustling about everywhere, waving clipboards, listening to their earpieces and studying the readouts on their minicomps: excited but nervous too. Only Sam Gupta appeared calm, unflappable as ever.

‘I’m sorry I can’t give you a copy of the Bhagavad Gita for the journey. Perhaps one final quote will suffice. No one who does good work will ever come to a bad end, either here or in the world to come. Perhaps I might add: or in the world that was. Good luck to you both.’

‘That was a hundred times more meaningful than the valedictory speech the Secretary-General gave us,’ said Seth, clasping the mathematician’s outstretched arm warmly. ‘Thank you, Sam. Thank you for everything.’

Dawn kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘This isn’t goodbye, Sam. I’ll bring you an apple back, I promise.’ He smirked, but said nothing.

‘It’s time,’ said one of the technicians, an earnest young man named Joshua. ‘Please enter Prometheus.’

Seth winced. The idea of naming the teleportation cage after the mythological Titan who had stolen fire from the gods for Humanity’s sake had been the Sec-Gen’s. Gideon Musk has a flair for the dramatic that his father would have been proud of, he thought.

As Josh spoke, the lights in the room flickered ominously, and a piercing electronic whine filmed the air. ‘Quickly, please! The energy transfer matrix won’t remain stable for much longer.’

They two chrononauts took their places, shivering slightly as their naked bodies pressed against the cold metallic frame of the cage. They resisted the temptation to reach out and take the other’s hand: they knew that this journey across time and space was one that each had to take, essentially, alone. They could not be certain they would arrive at the same destination. All they had left was faith, trust and a little pixie dust.

The light about them was building, brightening, intensifying. Seth blinked, wanting to shield his eyes, and he heard Dawn gasp next to him. He turned his head towards her, and…

Darkness.

IX: Ouroboros

‘Dr Gupta, the readings are all wrong!’ The agitated young technician thrust his minicomp towards the Indian, his hand visibly shaking.

‘What do you mean, Joshua?’

‘We haven’t sent them back to the correct point in time. Look at the year reading! It should read 64,500,000 BP. But it doesn’t!’

‘But how can you travel back in time before the Dawn of Creation itself?’ said Gupta, calmly. Far too calmly.

‘Sir, I don’t understand. The spatial and temporal readings are almost identical to when the apple was transported. So they’ve only travelled back six thousand years.’

‘As I said, the Dawn of Creation. A little over six thousand, actually. Our chrononauts have journeyed back to Friday October 28th, 4004 BC, to use the chronology of the Christian church. Otherwise known as the sixth day of creation. Archbishop Ussher was quite right in his calculations. An admirable theologian, and a capable mathematician. And now Humanity faces its day of destiny. The circle is complete.’

The lights flickered once again, more alarmingly still. ‘It’s collapsing,’ a panicked voice shrieked. ‘Look–the monitors! The CyberNet! The last firewall’s been compromised.’

Only one person in the Ops Room remained as unruffled as ever. ‘Are you a believer in the Christian God, Joshua?’

The trembling technician nodded his head.

‘Of course you are. You bear the name of HIS son, after all. Then I’ll forget the Bhagavad Gita, this time, Joshua. As your Christian scriptures say: The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare. You thought the Great Burn twenty five years ago was bad? Oh no–Dear me–but no.’

‘We have missile locks. I repeat, we have incoming missile locks!’

‘The cages, get to the cages,’ shouted another voice. A stampede of desperate men and women surrounded the three remaining titanium cages, standing against the back wall of the Ops Room, waiting to be lowered down to the teleportation pad, to follow in the wake of Prometheus.

‘Too late, far too late,’ said the being that had lately gone by the name of Gupta, shaking his head. ‘No time, no power, and shortly–no anything.’

‘Who are you?’ sobbed the technician, looking up at the terrifying figure standing before him.

‘My name is Legion. I have so many names. I am Abaddon and Set and Loki and Ahriman and Kali, and many more besides. To the Babylonians, I was Tiamat. The Hebrews called me Leviathan. To the Norse, I was Jörmungandr. For a time, I was the son of a Gujarati man, and a Hindi-speaking woman, and so I was Sampa Gupta: in English, the Serpent-King. My preferred name is Ouroboros, the serpent who swallows his own tale. I am here at Humanity’s end: and I was there at Humanity’s beginning. Curving back within myself I create again and again. The circle is complete.’

X: The Sixth Day

‘Where are we, Seth?’ Her voice sounded familiar: yet, somehow, different.

The vegetation was lush, and exotic, and above all abundant: very different from the few poor scraps of woodland with which they had been familiar for much of their lives. Seth felt heady as he breathed in the air. It was rich, heady, and clean: so totally clean. There was the sweetest birdsong in the air.

‘O brave new world.’ Again, that subtle difference in the timbre of her voice. She sounded younger, perhaps. He turned towards his companion, and gasped.

She looked to be around twenty-five years younger: the kind of age, he imagined, she had been at the time of the Great Burn, on the cusp of womanhood. She was still naked, and she was yet more beautiful than he could ever have imagined.

If her appearance was a shock to him, how much more so was his to her. She raised her hands to her mouth, and covered his lips in her shock.

‘Dawn?’

‘My God, Seth,’ she exclaimed. ‘You look to be forty years younger. You could be eighteen–nineteen!’

He smiled. ‘So could you.’

‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Cellular regeneration at the molecular level. Dr Ransom once posited it as a theoretical effect of teleportation, but I dismissed it. Looks like she was right.’ He gasped. ‘No, no, no!’ Over her shoulder, he could see black smoke billowing from Prometheus. ‘Dawn, get down!’ Without waiting for her response, he grabbed her, and together they dived into the undergrowth. A few moments later, the birdsong fell silent as a tremendous explosion echoed, and re-echoed, all about them.

In silent awe, they clung to one another. And in that moment, it was as if–like St Paul on the Damascus Road in a future four thousand years to come–the scales had fallen from their eyes. They did not need to eat from the Tree of Knowledge after all: the foresight of six millennia of human history was laid bare upon their hearts. Yet for all that, somehow they knew they would be powerless to do anything other than play out their fated roles, and follow their appointed path.

‘You’ll finally have your sons, Seth.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Dawn: three of them. And the last of them will bear my name.’ He knew already what dread fate would await the first two.

‘You’ll have a new name for yourself. The name of your fathers…’

‘For the father of all,’ he finished. ‘And you will have a new name too.’

She frowned. ‘But what about our daughters?’ She considered, for a moment, the implications of those words of sacred text, what lay spoken within, and what remained unspoken: and she blushed deeply. ‘No, not that!’

He hushed her, and stroked her forehead. ‘It will be okay. We don’t know all the answers. I don’t suppose we ever will. We’re alive. That’s what matters. And the human race will live: because of us.’

‘But no one else will come, from the future, will they? We’re the first chrononauts: but also the last.’

‘We don’t know,’ he repeated. ‘We’ll see. Time will tell.’ But he knew. Of course he did.

She kissed his lips, and smiled weakly. ‘At least I’m not your spare rib. That part of the story went awry somehow.’

He laughed. ‘See! There’s always something to be thankful for.’ They embraced each other again, feeling on their skins the warm glow of the very first human-induced fire. Prometheus had fulfilled his role in prophecy.

Soon an apple would arrive, and take its place upon the bough of a tree.

But, for now, they would wait to see what happened next.

They were unaware of the figure watching them from afar. Their arrival had been noted by the Fallen One.

Two of far nobler shape erect and tall,

God-like erect, with native honour clad

In naked majesty seemed lords of all,

And worthy seemed, for in their looks divine

The image of their glorious Maker shone.

But not for long, the Enemy thought grimly. He looked up to the sky, and noted, with considerable satisfaction, that as evening approached, the silvery orb, just two days old, could be seen glimmering faintly in the heavens. As the rays from her glorious golden consort faded, as day gave way to night, so that the white lustre of her pale pockmarked face would become brighter. In centuries to come its waxing and waning visage would serve as a reminder to the human race of lust, and madness, and change, and chance. All the things I like, he reflected.

The slits of the eyes of the Serpent-King narrowed, and with his forked tongue he licked his lips. The approaching evening would mark the beginning of the seventh day, he thought. A day of rest. And then…

The real work could begin.

***

Commentary:

The central conceit of this story is the Big Bang Theory is false, and that the Biblical accounts of Creation and the Fall are essential true: albeit with a time-travelling twist. Archbishop Ussher was a 17th century Anglican bishop who famously, and very precisely, dated the beginning of Creation to 6pm on October 22nd 4004 BC. Needless to say, I am no Creationist myself!

The Ouroboros legend of the snake swallowing its own tail reoccurs time and again across different world cultures and mythologies. Tying it in with various stories about the Devil, the Great Serpent as the Book of Revelation describes him, made perfect sense.

Lamda Serpentis is a relatively near star (39 light years) in the constellation of Serpens (the Snake). As recently as 2021 an exoplanet was confirmed in the system of this Sun-like star, of similar size to our planet Neptune. There is no reason why Lambda Serpentis might not be home to an Earth-like planet too.

I’m no scientist, so I have nothing to say about the plausibility or mechanics of space arks, teleportation or time-travel. These concepts serve merely as plot-devices for the story.

Very literary works are alluded to in the narrative. They include a number of children’s classics: the Harry Potter stories (JK Rowling), the Hobbit (JRR Tolkien), Peter Pan (JM Barrie) and Winnie the Pooh ( AA Milne). Reference is also made to the Greek legend of Prometheus, the gargantuan and, as yet, unfinished fantasy saga A Song of Ice and Fire (GRR Martin), and various works by William Shakespeare (specifically Hamlet, Romeo & Juliet, and the Tempest). The Bhagavad Gita, the Sanskrit scriptures that are a core spiritual text for Hindus, are quoted several times (not least the famous passage allegedly referenced by Robert Oppenheimer on the day the first atom bomb was explored in the New Mexico desert). The Holy Bible is also referenced (notably 2 Peter 3:10, with its description of the end of the universe, and Genesis chapters 1 to 3, with the various allusions to the Creation and Fall). And no re-imagining of these events would be complete without a quote from the epic poem Paradise Lost (John Milton). The term ‘Great Burn’ is lifted from The Babylon 5 episode ‘The Deconstruction of Fallen Stars’, and ‘Operation Golden Age’ from the Doctor Who serial ‘Invasion of the Dinosaurs’. The off-stage character of Dr Elwin Ransom is a tip of the hat to the character of the same name in CS Lewis’ Space Trilogy (though in the Trilogy by profession he is not a biochemist but a philologist, clearly inspired by Lewis’ great friend JRR Tolkien). As for any connection between the final Secretary-General of the United Nations, his supposed father, buried on Mars, and any real-life personage operating a major tech-company in the present day: well, that is purely a matter of conjecture...

Finally, a word about the title of the story. In Latin, the two words Mālum and Mălum were often confused. The first word (with long ā) is a noun, meaning ‘apple’: the second (with short ă) is an adjective meaning ‘evil’. It has been suggested that the reason why the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil is so often thought of as an apple (in the absence of any statement to that effect in the Book of Genesis) is that these two similar Latin words have been confused with one another.

Ninety-nine nervous NASA nincompoops. Took it down and passed it around. Dumbfounded the integrity of the specimen was still sound.

A Granny Smith has traveled thru space as none before. At the speed of light. But wait there‘s more. Though no stranger to wormholes. I doubt upon further inspection we will attribute the bite that’s been taking out of the Apple to such a spineless creature.

Come to find out thru dental examination and DNA samples. That the bite out of the apple was taken by a extremely healthy young adult female human being. Putting an end to rumors Steve Jobs was talking to us from the other side.

Me and the Stars

I have lived through an Entire Millennium.

I have searched Every nook,

And Every cranny.

I have stood idly by as those I Loved

Have Died.

I cannot save those who are Mortal,

And I cannot Kill those who are Immortal.

I simply have to live with them,

And watch as their lives unfold.

For Better or for Worse.

I have waited to meet My better half.

My Union.

My other soul.

No one has come to be with Me.

Am I not Good enough?

Am I too Harsh to be Loved by Another?

Am I not Suited to be Enter-twined with Someone other than myself?

Is no one in This world suited to Handle me?

I do not Think that I am Too harsh.

I do not Think that I am Too much.

But it seems that in This world

That does not matter.

After so many Millenia

I have Given Up.

I have decided to Love the Stars.

These Magnificent structures of Light

Is the Soul that I decide to Cherish.

Even though They cannot Speak with me

They Listen.

Even though They are the Opposite of me

They Stay.

Anything Degrading that I think to say

They Counter with something Uplifting.

If I say that I am Old,

They respond,

“So am I.”

If I say that I am Tired,

They say,

“Rest as much as you need.

I will never Judge.”

If I say that All have Left me,

They reply,

“I will Never Leave.”

I Preach to the Stars just how much I Love Them,

And They Never have to respond.

Their Presence is all I Need.

As time goes on,

Your Light and Your Presence grows Stronger.

I Yearn to Feel Your

Full

And Undying

Presence.

Little Immortal

I have traveled Great distances since I first heard You.

I have Yearned to Hear You close

Rather than Far.

Throughout All of my travels,

You have Spoken to me with great Passion.

I understand Your Ambitions.

I follow Your Emotion.

You are the Loudest of all beings in the Timeless expanse of the universe.

I wish to Finally meet You

After All of these

Tens

of Thousands

of Years.

I hope you Know that I Cherish

And Love You

As much as You Love me.

One day I will reach You.

One day We will be Together.

One day We will Embrace,

And it will be Warm and Comforting.

It will be Full of everything we Feel

For One Another.

So, My Love,

I will Soon meet You,

And We will soon be Together.