‘Aren’t we… erm… a little short to be Torri-Tau?’ I asked.
‘Do you stop and notice every short person you walk past?’
‘Good point.’
The trees started to grow thin and the grass grew drier. We were much closer to the city now. I could hear the hum of their shuttles and the rattling of construction as chrome girders were winched up the sides of skyscrapers. The nearer we got, the more silent the wildlife became. We crouched down behind a fruit-bearing bush and considered our approach.
‘The city’s a hell of a lot smaller up close,’ said Pierre, using his hand to shield his eyes from the midday sun. ‘They’ve definitely concentrated on growing it upwards rather than outwards. It’s hardly any bigger than a city block. That should make things a little easier.’
‘How so?’
‘The door was here before any of the buildings were built, so it should be on the ground floor somewhere. We’ve just got to find out whether it’s on display in the middle of the town square, or if it’s in one of these buildings.’
‘Yeah, we “just” have to do that.’ I lifted my helmet up so I could see better. ‘There don’t seem to be many guards around, at least. Just one or two dotted about.’
There wasn’t a great deal in the way of anyone, thinking about it. Down on streets that went no further than the modest boundaries of the city, men and women frequented the single grocery store, all of them with skin the same azure blue, all of them wearing fine outfits a far cry from the robes and rags Pierre had described before. Children ran and laughed in the playground of the city’s only school. Through the windows of the building closest to us, I could make out the shapes and shadows of people working at desks. But it all reminded me of a model village. Nine out of ten buildings looked empty. It was like they were trying to recapture what they once had, but were going about it all too quickly. Faking it before they could make it.
‘Guards are probably out securing the local area,’ whispered Pierre. ‘Or off in those battleships, colonising other worlds and universes. God, they must be spread thin. I doubt they see much point in guarding a city when there aren’t any real threats to speak of yet.’
‘Aside from our ship crashing through the sky, you mean?’ I looked over my shoulder at the distant plume of smoke. ‘I imagine they’re still out looking for survivors. Wait. What’s going on down there?’
A shuttle came gliding down from the battleship and parked on the edge of town, spraying the pavement with the white steam of its descending thrusters. The door on the side slid open and a well-dressed member of the Torri-Tau species strolled out, holding a clipboard. A crowd of assorted aliens wandered out after him, gossiping and staring around in excitement.
‘I don’t know…’ said Pierre, squinting. ‘Is that some sort of political delegation? Or a tour group, or something?’
I tried and failed to scratch my nose. ‘Seems like the Torri-Tau really want the new multiverse to know they’re Top Dog. I guess I can see why this would be a popular tourist destination. “Come see where your New World Order began.” It has a sort of macabre appeal.’
‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘For once, I think I actually am.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ announced the guide, shooting everyone his friendliest grin. ‘If you’d like to follow me, your all-access tour is about to begin. I hope you’re looking forward to exploring New Norwich - the birthplace of civilisation!’
He craned his blue neck and the brow above his black eyes grew furrowed.
‘It appears we have a couple of servicemen joining us today,’ he said. Everyone in the group turned around. ‘I wasn’t informed of any extra attendees. Everything’s alright, isn’t it?’
One of the armoured guards raised his hand… before quickly stuffing it back into his pocket.
‘Oh, good,’ sighed the guide. ‘The more the merrier, eh? On with the tour!’
‘Christ, that was close,’ Pierre whispered to me. ‘Whatever you do, don’t say a word to anyone. Except me, of course. Their voices are the flashy grand pianos to our out-of-tune violins. We’d give the game away in a second.’
‘I can’t believe nobody’s worked it out already. Your bloody sleeve is hanging off.’
We were escorted around the corner and along what was supposed to be the city’s Main Street. There were lamp posts of Victorian design, only with blue orbs on their end instead of the more traditional lanterns. The streets and pavements looked like they’d been lifted straight from 1950s Americana. Every other store had either a wooden sandwich board out the front or an awning stretching over our heads. I mostly kept my head down in case I made eye contact with anyone, but through the visor of my helmet I noticed happy shopkeepers waving at our group as we walked past their windows. Often there weren’t any actual customers inside their stores.
‘This is weird,’ I whispered to Pierre, as our guide described the promenade. ‘This whole town feels like a piece of immersive theatre. It’s like they’re trying to reassemble the picture of their old lives before they were trapped in the Space Between Worlds, regardless of whether the pieces still fit together anymore. Or is this really just some elaborate show designed to convince everyone else in the multiverse of how great they are?’
One of the tourists in front swivelled their eye-stalk around to glare at me, then grumbled something that was universally recognisable as meaning “shut up”. Pierre slapped me on the arm.
‘You forget how good the hearing of some of these guests might be,’ hissed Pierre. ‘I don’t care how weird things look or feel - from now until we get through that door you keep your thoughts to yourself. The Torri-Tau empire is great, all hail the Torri-Tau. Keep to that sort of thing, alright?’
A pair of guards raised their hands in greeting as they walked down the opposite side of the street to us. In their other hands they held spears. We nodded solemnly and they continued on their way.
‘I do wish I had a weapon though,’ he added. ‘At least we had a grenade that time in Viola’s factory.’
‘Oh, yes. That really helped move our situation along, didn’t it? Thank you so much for that experience.’
‘And to your right, esteemed guests,’ said the tour guide, coming to an abrupt stop, ‘you’ll find the local picture house. Here the good people of New Norwich can unwind with the latest piece of Torritian cinema. Don’t worry - we’ll be bringing all the new releases to your worlds soon enough!’
Everyone nattered excitedly as the tour continued onwards. I glanced up at the marquee.
‘Coming Soon. For crying out loud. They’re building cinemas before they’ve even invented the film industry!’
‘What did I say about keeping quiet?’ Pierre whisked me along. ‘Stay alert. That building up ahead looks promising.’
It did. As Pierre had pointed out, the “city” of New Norwich was little more than a New York block in size, and much of that was occupied by the wide (and for the most part, desolate) Main Street down which we’d walked. But there were a dozen skyscrapers that circled the community - great triumphs of shimmering blue architecture - and a thirteenth which stood at the very end of Main Street, more concrete and serious than the rest. Flags fluttered outside its doors like the entrance to an embassy, but the flags outside this building were all the same deep blue.
‘Now this, ladies and gentlemen and asexual gastropods,’ said our grinning guide, ‘is the United Torri-Tau Nations consulate for the city of New Norwich! It’s from this very building that society itself was formed, and so it’s only fitting that our consuls here are responsible for delivering that message of peace and culture to every corner of the multiverse!’
Pierre nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. I nodded.
‘So who wants to take a look inside?’ said the guide. ‘Follow me.’
We climbed the steps up to the big, brass double doors, always a few steps behind the rest of the crowd. The guide entered first and held the door open
so everyone else could pass through.
‘Oh, are you coming in as well?’ he asked as we reached the entrance, doing a double-take. ‘Okay then.’
The tour group gathered by a wide reception desk in the centre of the consulate’s grand hall. Its marble floors and pillars were so shiny I could see my reflection in them. There was an old fashioned elevator at the back of the hall that reminded me of the one I’d used to get to my room back in Le Petit Monde - Art Deco in design and with a metal gate that had to be manually pulled across the doors. There were stairs winding upwards to the side of it; their railings were made of sparkling copper and bronze. I looked up and saw no ceiling, but rather an endless sequence of square balconies - one for every floor. Blue men in suits hurried from one room to another. An enormous clock hung above the elevator but did not tell the time. Instead, it was counting years.
‘Twenty-Four AA,’ said the guide, rushing back to join the crowd. ‘That’s twenty-four years After Arrival. Hard to believe all that’s happened since, isn’t it? Feels like a lot longer. And of course, for some worlds it has been a lot longer. Time is no obstacle to progress!’
‘Twenty-four years,’ I hissed. ‘You still think you can read that door’s wavelengths, Pierre?’
‘If nobody has used it to go anywhere else since, then yes. Have a little faith, won’t you?’
The tour guide wandered over to the reception desk. A blue woman with pearl earrings was sat behind it, tapping away at an old typewriter that almost certainly hadn’t been invented yet.
‘Hello, dear. Tour group again, is it?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He detached a sheet of paper from his clipboard and passed it over the desk. ‘Names and home-worlds on the left. Oh, and a couple of guards are tagging along. Apparently.’
The receptionist peered over the tour guide’s shoulder.
‘You two,’ she said, beckoning us over with her finger. ‘Over here.’
I glanced at Pierre and he glanced at me. There wasn’t much else we could do except wander over in as least a clumsy manner as possible. Sweat trickled down the back of my helmet. I feared my hammering heart would burst right through my breastplate.
‘You’re here to replace those two fools from the eighth floor, I assume,’ she said, before turning her head to address the tour guide again. ‘Rushed off to help when they heard about that meteorite crash a few hills over,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘If Makka-Soj were here he’d have their heads. Running off at the first sign of excitement, I don’t know. Anyway. You two. Head up there and make sure those archives aren’t left unattended any longer. And sort out your uniforms, will you? Your sleeve practically looks like it’s hanging off.’
We nodded and strolled towards the elevator, keeping an eye on the tour group as it was led out of the hall and down a corridor to the right. I don’t know about Pierre, but I fought hard to suppress the urge to run after them.
‘Don’t take that one,’ sighed the receptionist, not even looking up from her typewriter. ‘The lift round the back drops you off right outside the door to the archives. No need to wander through Accounting on your way there. You’ll only put them off their work.’
We nodded again - not that she would have noticed - and hurried through the nearest door.
‘We’ve got to catch up to that tour group,’ whispered Pierre, as soon as we were out of earshot. ‘They’re definitely being taken to see the door, I’m sure of it.’
‘Yes, well…’
My words fizzled out as we slowly turned our heads to look at the wall of the corridor in which we found ourselves. Or rather, the window of the corridor. A window behind which a dozen or so Torri-Tau men in suits were sitting at desks with chunky headphones over their ears, listening to reels of tape through cassette players and scribbling down notes on lined paper pads. A few of them were throwing curious expressions in our direction. We hurried out the other end of the corridor.
‘Yes, well they went in this direction… or thereabouts,’ I continued, as we marched through another large and thankfully empty hall. There were paintings of regal-looking Torri-Tau hanging on all the walls. ‘If we keep going I’m sure we’ll bump into them soon enough.’
Pierre stopped and looked around at all the hall’s exits. ‘They could have gone anywhere though. Goddammit.’
I waddled over to the nearest door. My metal greaves were digging into my shins. ‘There are signs,’ I whispered. ‘Most of them I can’t read, but here: English. Why do they even have it listed?’
‘Universal language, isn’t it?’ said Pierre, shrugging. ‘Didn’t you notice the tour guide speaking it? Oh God. Sales. We don’t want to go that way.’
‘Let’s try the next door along then.’
We walked the fifteen or so metres to the next door and studied the white plaque to its right. I ran my finger down its length until I found something familiar.
‘Acquisitions. Something tells me it’s not businesses the Torri-Tau are acquiring.’
‘A whole governmental department dedicated to finding worlds and universes to rewrite.’ Pierre shook his head. ‘Why does that not surprise me? Next.’
‘How about that one?’
We should have known then, really. Unlike the others, this last set of double doors was framed by its own marble pillars which grew out from the wall around it. An aura of history and prestige radiated from its dark, varnished wood.
‘Museum,’ read Pierre. ‘Museum! That’s got to be it, right? Where else would they…’
We quickly hushed as a group of Torri-Tau men walked through the doors marked Acquisitions, and stood up straight for appearance’s sake. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to stop us from being noticed.
‘Narra-Doh?’ One of the suited men had called out to us and was diverting from his group. ‘Narra-Doh, is that you? Oh, man. It’s been months! Where’ve you been?’
From inside my heavy helmet I shot a look at Pierre, but all I could make out were his own panicked eyes. How on Earth was I supposed to respond without giving the game away?
‘I’d recognise that breastplate anywhere.’ He was halfway across the hall to us now. ‘Still got that groove across the ribs, I see. Added a few more from the looks of it. You remember me, don’t you? Sojja-Ni, from Acquisitions. My niece used to babysit your daughter before she went off-world.’
I nodded. I didn’t know what else to do.
The man known as Sojja-Ni stuck out his hand. As much as every fibre of my person was screaming at me not to, I felt myself compelled to shake it. British manners. My own hand was halfway out of my pocket before I knew it.
Somebody from his group whistled. ‘What are you doing, Sojja? They’ll start the meeting without you, and you know what the boss does to those who turn up late.’
Sojja-Ni rolled his eyes and dropped his hand. ‘We’ll catch up later,’ he called out as he jogged back towards his colleagues. ‘Boy, are the guys back home gonna be buzzed to hear about this. We all thought you were dead!’
I let out a sigh of relief so big I’m surprised my legs didn’t buckle from under me. My shirt was drenched in sweat and to make matters worse, my armour was squashing its soggy cloth against my chest. Pierre patted me on the shoulder and pushed open the door to the museum.
The hall beyond carried a dimmer, more artificial light - not surprising, given the way that sunlight can damage what is old and valuable. The floor was wooden, as were the panels on the walls and the beams and rafters running overhead. There was a long, blue carpet leading from the doorway all the way to the opposite side of the hall, and at its end…
…was the door, surrounded by a familiar crowd of tourists.
‘Wait!’ I said, holding my arm in front of Pierre as he went to dart forwards. ‘What was all that about keeping in character earlier? We’re supposed to be upstairs, guarding the archives. Have a little patience. They’ll move on before long.’
‘You’re right,’ Pierre sighed. ‘But let’s get a little closer anyway.
I want to hear what that guide is saying…’
A row of glass cases and stone plinths flanked each side of the blue carpet. We scampered past the first few and hunkered down behind a particularly large diorama of a battleship - hunkered down as much as our armour would allow, at least.
‘Look at all this,’ I laughed, shaking my head. ‘As if an empire of twenty-four years has any history to speak of. I mean, take that book over there. It’s in mint condition. Hardly the Magna Carta, is it?’
‘Shh!’
‘And the spears on that rack. They’ve never been used!’
‘Quiet!’
I peered out from behind the diorama. The tour guide was addressing his group from in front of a large glass case that itself stood on an elevated, carpeted platform. Inside was a door that I recognised all too well as belonging to Le Petit Monde. Surrounded by a delicate, wooden frame, it had all the familiar markings; a royal redness to its otherwise earthy colour, a polished gold handle, a keyhole where most other hotels would have adopted a contactless keycard reader, and, most importantly, a room number.
314.
I could feel Pierre seething beside me.
‘It is through this very door,’ said the tour guide, ‘that the great men and women of the Torri-Tau first entered the multiverse…’
‘- no it bloody wasn’t -’
‘…and that’s why we carry the burden of helping lift up all other species - because we’re the only ones to have been blessed by our Creator with seeing the other side. Nobody knows how this door came to be…’
‘- yes they bloody do, I signed the invoice for it -’
‘…only that through it came not just the Torri-Tau people, but a unique and proper understanding of art and culture as well. Marvellous, is it not? Okay, time’s up for photos. Yes, that includes sketches I’m afraid. If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll take you through to the gift shop and then, a spot of lunch…’
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