First Person

by Eddie McGarrity

  After I scurry back to my seat, Horace pushes specs up his face and addresses the committee. “Thank you so much for seeing me. My name is Horace and I would like to propose a new transport system for the facility.”

  Bernard is studiously making notes. He looks up and says, “Jolly good, er, Horace is it? Would you like to demonstrate?”

  Jemima and I share a look. He doesn’t know who Horace is? This committee only sits for thirty days a year and Horace goes to about forty of them. Still, Horace is quite keen to get on. He goes over to his mass of equipment. Underneath the glass tube, which points at the ceiling, the main machinery has been assembled. He hunts around for a small crank. After turning it a few times, the machine catches and bursts into life.

  Over the huge noise it makes, Horace shouts, “It’s a mass transport system based on pneumatic messaging systems. Compressed air moving through the tube will move anything, or anyone, you put in it.”

  Jemima curls herself up on the chair and covers her ears. Bernard turns his hearing aid down. I just watch in amazement. Loud machinery is awesome. This is the most amazing thing Horace has ever brought. I’ve seen things like this before, for sending small messages in tubes. In fact, we’ve got one on site. I lost two VHS tapes in one the finance department uses. Horace finds the football he brought in earlier from behind his machine. With a big grin, he holds it up and drops it in the glass tube where it falls to the bottom. Horace then stamps on a big red button on the base of the machine. It suddenly gets louder before it makes an almighty boom. The glass tube shakes for ages before the machine builds up enough pressure. Inside, the football rattles about. Horace looks a bit worried. Something catches his attention. He bends over and pushes a small cable plug into the machine. Suddenly, the football is launched out of the tube. It is propelled towards the ceiling and punches a hole clean through it, taking a light fitting along. The machine stops working and goes quiet. We can hear the ball crashing about upstairs. Someone yells in fright up there while someone else begins to cry. A window breaks. Finally, we hear the ball bounce to a rest like it had been kicked by a small child.

  Horace is delighted. Grinning open mouthed, and standing next to his smoking invention, he asks, “What do you think?”

  We are still in a bit of shock. Bernard speaks for us all when he says, “I’m not sure where to go with this. Jemima?”

  Uncurling herself from the chair, Jemima is a bit more sure of what to say, “Yeah, I’m not getting in that.”

  Bernard hums some sort of response to her. “It does seem rather, er, enthusiastic. What do you think Elrood?”

  It’s hard to find something nice to say. I think Horace should have demonstrated it outdoors for starters. Perhaps it would be easier if we had three crosses on the front of our desk and we just buzzed Horace out the room. But actually, I can see an application for this device. If only I could get in it and Horace could fire me out of it. I can almost hear the quiet sound my body would make as I popped out the glass tube: thdoonk. It would then launch me away from the North Pole to land in a soft swish amongst deep snow where I could slide into the water and float off out to sea.

  “Aah, that sounds lovely,” someone says along with a big sigh. When Jemima looks at my funny, I realise it was me who said it. I turn my attention to an expectant Horace. “It’s a very interesting device. If you give us any written material you have, we’ll be in touch.”

  Horace is delighted with this response, one we have given him many times. His enthusiasm is adorable. Everyone loves someone who tries their best. Of course, I end up helping him dismantle his machine and cart it back to his workshop. But the good news is: it’s lunchtime.

  Lunch at our canteen is an experience in itself. Being served today are Blumenhest Burgers, Blumenhest being our chef. If you know anything about great cooking, it’s unlikely you’ve heard of this guy. He doesn’t even have his own TV show. Who knows what he puts in the burgers but they taste like walrus blubber boiled in vinegar. I like to tuck into lunch though. Working so hard does that to you.

  Jemima joins me, along with Frederick. They pop their trays on the table and bundle up against me. Unlike Jemima in her tartan skirts, Frederick dresses the same as me in lederhosen. The two of them are always together and I have no idea if they are brother and sister, best friends, or boyfriend and girlfriend. They come as a pair, always have, and it seems idiotic to ask now. I ask Frederick how his morning has been. He just shrugs and looks at Jemima. “If certain people weren’t dodging out of the real work to listen to crazy inventions I would get on fine.”

  They think this is hilarious. I do not. Jemima says, “It’s only for another couple of days. Elrood will help us pick up your lack of progress when we get back.”

  I roll my eyes, having no intention of getting involved in their workload. If I can dodge that one, then I certainly will. Frederick nudges me in the ribs. “So, when are you going to enter your invention, Elrood?”

  My mouth gives a big non-committal shrug. “When it’s ready of course.”

  Jemima is intrigued. “Have you got an invention you’re not telling us about?”

  I tap the side of my nose. “That’s for me to know.”

  The two of them give me a big fancy “Oooh!” which makes me laugh. I really do have an invention but it’s still at the drawing board stage. It’s a range of toys called Captain Elrood and the Soldiers of the North. What I need are quality drawings to plan it all out. I make a mental note to contact a friend in Australia who can help me.

  After some more joshing around, at my expense as usual, Jemima and I return to the committee. We settle into our chairs. Bernard is all business like so I try and pretend I’m not suffering from Blumenhest Burgeritis. Jemima gives me a quick smile when Bernard says, “How was lunch at the canteen? I went home and my wife had made sandwiches.” He always goes home for lunch, always has sandwiches his wife made, and he always seems so pleased about it.

  “Did you bring any leftovers back?” I ask him, but really, I said it for Jemima’s amusement. She chuckles to herself.

  Bernard ignores me. We call in our next presentation and it’s Horace again, this time carrying a single small box. Bernard consults his notes. “Good afternoon, er, Horace is it?”

  Unflappable, Horace just grins. “Sure is. And I’ve got a cracker this time.” He holds the box up and his delighted shoulders follow.

  I say, “Is it a box, Horace?”

  Taking the bait, Horace laughs. “Aha, it is! But inside is something which will revolutionise production round here.”

  I steal a look at Jemima. In truth, we’re very entertained by Horace. He’s unbeatable and has an idea for everything. If you were both stuck on a desert island with only a broken up airplane and no means of escape, Horace would build you a recording studio and a spice rack. Jemima says, “Ready when you are Horace.”

  With that cue, Horace reaches into the box and grabs hold of what’s inside. As the box drops away, Horace is left holding his invention. He gives us a wink to show us how proud he is. As one, the committee lean forward to have a closer look. We can’t believe our eyes. Horace lifts it up and puts it on his head. He flips a switch and it’s activated. We lean back in our chairs. The TRED committee can’t believe our eyes. On the other side of the table, in the middle of the lecture theatre, and under a freshly holed ceiling, Horace is wearing his invention.

  Bernard is the first to speak. “I say, Horace, is it? This is your most recognisable entry yet.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Horace taps the side of his head with two closed fingers by way of a salute.

  Jemima has her chin pulled in. “Is it a hard hat?”

  “Sure is,” says Horace, rapping knuckles on the invention placed on his head. Sure enough, he has brought along a silver hard hat and placed it on his head. It even has a lamp fitted at the front. When he flicked a switch to active the lamp, it came on. This is his latest invention.

  I lean forward and place a pencil I was th
e side. Even though I’ve got some questions for him, I doubt the committee will need notes of his replies. “Horace, have you invented a miner’s helmet? You know, a hard hat with a lamp fitted to it.”

  Horace shrivels a bit and seems quite hurt. “No, it’s a safety helmet with added luminous functionality.”

  “You mean the lamp,” I say.

  Even I realise that sounds like I’m on my high horse, but it doesn’t faze Horace. He says, “Yes, but look at this feature.”

  He makes a big show of holding his head still and moving his eyes from side to side. The lamp swivels along. He looks left, the lamp moves left. He looks right, the lamp moves right. He looks up, you get the idea. Jemima says, “This is awesome actually. I quite like that.”

  “Really?” says Bernard. “I’m not sure what we would do with such a thing.”

  Realising Horace is still demonstrating his invention, I say, “Thanks Horace. You can take a rest now.”

  He stops and staggers a little from being dizzy. None of us help him. One final thing Horace shows us is a magnetic panel on the side of the hard hat. He balances a small spanner above his ear. We make the usual noises about being in touch and let him go. He is grateful for our time and leaves with a smile. I’m just glad there’s nothing for me to carry. Horace was able to leave with his invention safely back in its box. And that’s the end of the working day. The committee says its goodnights. We meet tomorrow to go over the applications so far, but for today that’s it.

  After a quick stop to delete the emails I’ve received today, I head off home. Up on the surface, I leave the igloo with the other workers and make my way back to Mum ‘n’ Dad’s. Passing a tall tree reminds me of something that happened a few years ago. The Boss was doing his usual run to deliver the parcels but he had forgotten one for Daniel, who is one of our customers. He flew the sleigh back to fetch it but, to save him landing, I climbed that tree and held it out for the Boss to catch. It was some climb up that tree and it was terrifying watching the reindeer fly at you with the Boss laughing his head off. But he caught it and Daniel found his parcel under the tree the next morning. What got me thinking though, was I could have done with Horace’s cannon. Instead of my climbing that tree, we could have used his transport system to bounce up the parcel. I’ll remember that for tomorrow.

  When I get home, I go round the back of the chalet. Dad is inside the shed in our yard. He likes pottering about and we often work on stuff together after work. It’s my turn to make the dinner so I’ll only help out for a short time. I find him fixing mum’s bike. He’s got it stripped down and the frame sits on the workbench under the shed’s window.

  He puts a pencil behind his ear and smiles when he sees me. “Hiya son. How was life at the TREDmill?”

  “Brilliant,” I lie, while Dad laughs at his own joke. “Amazing stuff being invented, Dad. Amazing.”

  “Give me a hand with this will you,” says Dad and he turns back to the bike. As he does so, he bangs his head on the shed’s sloping roof. “Ooyah,” he says, rubbing his head. “Do you know what I need? A hard-hat.”

  Something gets my brain going. I look around the shed. It’s all quite well laid out with tools and stuff but it’s a bit gloomy. I say to him, “You could do with a lamp in here.”

  Dad chortles. “I sure could.” He pats himself down before finding his pencil, tucked in behind an ear. “Have you seen the bike spanner? I’ve put it down somewhere and I can’t find it.”

  The penny drops for me. Dad bumps his head, needs a lamp, finds a pencil at his ear useful, and loses the spanner. What he needs is Horace’s invention, the hard-hat with the swivelling lamp and magnet above the ear. I say to him, “Dad, there’s a guy who always brings us demented inventions and we always say no.”

  “Is it Horace?” asks Dad, almost laughing.

  “I guess Horace is well known,” I say. Dad’s laugh says it all. “Would you test out one of his inventions? It’s not much, but we need to encourage guys like him.”

  Dad looks at me. He picks up a rag and cleans his oily hands on it. He makes a decision. “Sure. I’ll test his invention. You fix this bike before you make the dinner.”

  We shake on it. “I’ll give Horace a call tonight and get him to bring it over.”

  Dad turns his head to the side. “Or take your mum’s bike and fetch it yourself.”

  I agree, reluctantly. When I’m done, it’ll be time for cocoa and I’ll need a sleep.

  First Person

  “YOU’RE THE LAST to arrive.”

  It sounds to me more like Jane is giving me a rebuke rather than information. I said to her, “The other six are already here?”

  Walking quickly, Jane said, “They got here yesterday, as per the schedule.” She was cross with me, but what could I do? The roads were choked as everyone fled north on both sides of the motorway. In contrast, this dry little part of Kent was quite deserted. I tried to keep up.

  “We had to find an alternative route,” I tried to explain. “And we had to hide overnight-.”

  She stopped, and I just about walked into her. She held up a hand. “I’m just stressed,” Jane said, after trying to find the words. She looked it. Her glasses were a bit grubby and her hair was in an unconvincing pony tail. The overall she was wearing needed changing.

  I placed a hand on Jane’s arm. “We’re all together now. You can rest soon.”

  She softened, and I saw a glimpse of the old Jane from our undergraduate days. “For a hundred years?”

  “Hundred and ten,” I said. “If you fancy a lie in.”

  “Come on.” Jane made a fist and bumped the side on my chest.

  We were off again, and I followed her through the facility. We were far underground now, having left the British Army’s Royal Engineers on the surface to guard us and tend to us while we slept. Technically, we were part of that regiment now, though out of uniform. Arriving at the conference room, I saw that five chairs were already filled by my companions on this journey. No-one smiled. Jane and I took our places in the two empty chairs.

  Two days later, we were ready. Feeling exposed in my skinsuit, I lay back in the tube. Jane, equally attired underneath her overall, helped me get ready. I attached the electrodes myself, for the systems to monitor me during hibernation. We were in the hab module. Five identical tubes, filled with our colleagues, fanned out from the central hub. We had monitored them for the initial twenty-four hours of their cycle. No problems meant I was next, with Jane to follow tomorrow.

  “You all set?” she asked me.

  “Nope.” I managed a nervous laugh. “What do you think is happening up there right now?”

  Jane sat on the small cushioned edge my tube, fitted there for that purpose. She looked up at the ceiling, as if seeing the surface. “What I don’t get, is why the soldiers are doing it.”

  She meant the Engineers, living out their lives and having families while we slept away the time in deep cold hibernation. Despite their access to a safe place, in a community free from the virus, I too could not imagine doing what they were doing. How would they maintain discipline? Their children would need convincing to keep everything going, and it would be a lot of work over a long period of time. I said, “I mean further out, in the rest of the country. What if they find a cure but forget about us here?”

  Jane smiled at that, disappearing in on herself. “That might be quite nice. To sleep until the end of time.”

  I suddenly wanted to express how I felt about Jane, about our shared career since university, our lives even. For us to find ourselves here, ready to step into the unknown, was quite overwhelming. We told each other we were like time travellers, stepping from now into the future, a hundred years from now. All our families were gone anyway, swallowed in the chaos of the virus. If they weren’t gone, they were out of reach. However, in that moment, when I lay back in my cryo-tube and Jane sat on the edge looking inwards, I could not find the words. Instead, I asked her something we and our group of seven alr
eady had orders for. “Jane, when we awake, what if the people up there need our help?”

  She knew I meant that we would be resurrected from hibernation, perhaps to find the Engineers’ numbers depleted through disease or hunger. Morose, she swivelled her eyes towards me. “That’s not our mission, Peter. They have their mission and we have ours.”

  “Of course,” I said, not wishing to press her further. I settled back in my tube. “See you in the morning.”

  The corners of Jane’s mouth moved, briefly amused. Her shoulders lifted slightly. Thinking of her next twenty-four hours awake and monitoring the team, she said. “The day after tomorrow for me.”

  She keyed in the hibernation sequence on a keypad at the top of the tube. Its lid slid over and I felt panicked at being closed in. The temperature dropped.

  It’s not like floating really. Floating in space while you orbit the earth is actually falling. I’m not falling.

  Floating in water feels like sinking and trying not to. And I’m not sinking. I’m free.

  Others will surely follow, but not today, and perhaps not soon. It wasn’t far, from there to here, but a terrible distance to return, perhaps not possible at all.

  I’m not running. Rooted to the spot, I cannot move at all. I have to reach forward and grab the earth to pull myself forward. Before I can progress I must bring the world to me.

  A massive breath in. As if I had been underwater, that breath felt like life itself. The air itself was very cold. I was sitting up. As I tried to steady my breathing, I looked around. Recognising the hab module straight away, it’s in darkness. Strip lighting was out. The only light was from a small fluorescent panel in my open tube. I’ve woken up, I realised. Of course I am, I thought, mentally kicking myself, of course I’m awake. I needed to calm myself and think of my training. Knowing I would be weak, but able to move my arms, I pressed them on the sides of the tube. However, I couldn’t get my legs to budge.