Professor Kitteridge needed a gulp of tea. All of this made sense. It gave meaning where he had always felt that truth was out there but just too enormous and daunting to grasp. When he stared into the heavens he was convinced that they held some greater purpose; there had to be some way to make them accessible. It explained how great leaders and geniuses of the past provided such huge advances to human knowledge from so few individuals. These few had produced the bulk of all discoveries advancing human knowledge on Earth, seemingly without resources and time to develop the momentous scale of their thinking. And looking into the eyes of this apparent undergraduate, he took a moment to reflect down the years and he realised the extent of the loneliness of his scientific career to date and how much he had valued Doctor McGregor’s guidance without recognising its full import. “So do I understand that you will be helping me to carry out this work from now on?”
“If you can put up with the role reversal of taking supervision from a girl, Professor Kitteridge?” Charlotte twitched her nose; a disarming minx indeed.
He looked up with that quirky gaze through the thick glasses and Charlotte thought she could see an extra sparkle in his eyes.
TWENTY-ONE
It was a special day today for Joe. In life, particularly for men, Gayan or otherwise, it was a special treat to catch up again with treasured friends unseen for many years as if the intervening time had simply not existed. This could be a joyful experience with happy episodes remembered and time spent catching up with events in the meantime. In the Gayan way this absence and pleasure could be amplified by the passing of decades through to whole lifetimes. The opportunity to meet again in these circumstances would be a much anticipated and treasured event. Such was that day in May when Joe was to meet with Rafaello and Umberto for the first time in this current life, two decades on from their adventures in Braganza. He had not seen them since they had travelled together to planet Spargan his whole young lifetime ago.
So it was that he headed out of Queens’ College by the ancient gate and round the back of St Catherine’s College towards King’s Parade. St Catherine’s passage was narrow and dark, a high strip of blue sky traversed by streamers of white cloud. To his left side, a private garden at King’s College came into view, protected by iron railings. It was a fresh day, the breeze cooler still, channelled as it was down the narrow alley. Joe emerged from the passage onto the bright and busy thoroughfare of King’s Parade and crossed over to the Copper Kettle cafe with its views across the parade to the magnificent colonnade supporting the gatehouse leading to Front Court of King’s College, the grand college that graced a broad square footprint connecting King’s Parade at the front to the River Cam at the rear. Joe had chosen a time between breakfast and lunch to meet so that there was a good chance of finding a table at the busy cafe. His luck was in and a young waitress showed him to a table for four by the far wall with good views out to the street. He settled in ten minutes early and at the appointed time the two Cavallos of Dawn arrived and stood on the pavement outside, staring about in a manner they considered touristy.
The Cavallos were twenty-odd years older now, though it was hard to tell much difference with their shaved heads and sunglasses masking signs of their age. Maybe they seemed a little more barrel-shaped than previously, maybe a centimetre or so shorter and wider. Maybe it was a trick of the old window glass of the Copper Kettle flowing and rounding their appearance. These small details were nothing relative to them both sporting huge wrist watches and gold jewellery. Rafaello was wearing a blue suit and open-necked white shirt looking for all the world like Hollywood’s impression of a mafia boss; Umberto looked like a cross between a wrestler and rapper. Fortunately, it was hard to find a more cosmopolitan city than Cambridge on a summer’s day so the two Cavallos were treated only to the kind of attention from passers-by that was required to determine if they were some kind of celebrities. As they were not the tourists passed them by after cursory examination.
Joe stepped out of the cafe briefly and reintroduced himself. They looked just the same as he recalled, but Joe was completely changed in appearance. Huge hugs were exchanged “Joe, Joe, looking good!!” they exclaimed, remembering not to use his Gayan name, and Joe felt small and puny in their embrace despite having a couple of inches’ height advantage. Joe ushered them into the cafe and they both tried to shoehorn themselves into the antique dining chairs backed to the wall to give them the best view of the room, but there just was not sufficient space to cram them both in comfortably so they could securely get their backs to the wall. In short order they exchanged words and with a harrumph Umberto extricated himself, Joe replaced him and Umberto sat on the other side of the table so now the big men could just about fit round the small table. The waitress came over and Rafaello requested Earl Grey tea in his best British nobility voice, totally incongruous with his Mediterranean appearance. Umberto looked sideways at Rafaello’s affected accent then ordered an espresso and Joe had the same.
It was good to be with the two Cavallos again and Joe could hardly contain his wide grin. This pleasure infected the Cavallos too but they affected nonchalance as befitted serious men of their rank, limiting the outward expression of their joy to the corners of their lips twitching upwards only.
“I see you have grown out pretty much your normal type again, Joe, of course,” observed Umberto. “Same shape, size, good to see always fit, burning that body into shape. Something in your expression looks the same but I think I preferred you with dark hair.”
“Good to see you haven’t changed much, Umberto. I can rely on you to check me over. You are both looking good, I have to say, hardly changed at all.” Both Cavallos protested hard at that. Joe, apparently, could not understand the hard life of a Cavallo. All that physical training, technical updates to learn, long periods of waiting ground you down. How was a Cavallo to keep up his strength under all these pressures?
“Well, I am certainly pleased you waited around here and it’s very good to see you,” Joe said. The Cavallos beamed under their efforts to maintain their expressionless masks, attempting to look normal. Joe warmed to his old friends all over again, suffering to control their emotions within their comically impassive appearances. Joe changed the subject, “It’s a short walk for me from Queens’ College. How did you both get here?” Joe was half expecting them to have their starship Maria buried under the grass of one of King’s College’s expansive lawned courts.
“We took the park and ride bus up from Trumpington,” replied Rafaello matter of factly. “It really is a very efficient service. This town has no practical space at all for spacecraft Maria or even their own local cars to park.”
Joe suddenly found this funny and very nearly exploded coffee across the table as his laughter erupted so unexpectedly he barely had simultaneous control of his oesophagus and trachea. He was imagining the two Cavallos seated together like extras from a mob movie on a shoppers’ bus for the three- or four-mile journey into town. The Cavallos both looked at him quizzically, not understanding there was any cause for mirth in their logical choice of transportation.
“You must tell us how Alron and Amily are getting along. It is very good to see you all grown up, safely back together,” said Rafaello.
“Amily is of course Charlotte now and we grew up together, then we met up with Alron here in Cambridge. Alron is Daniel now. All three of us have done well with these physical bodies. Amily is as fit and attractive as ever, Alron is black and beautiful; he seems to favour that style and it suits him. Things are generally going well. We are making good progress around our mission to introduce space drive technology and think this time we could make a big breakthrough. It’s still like herding cats though.” The Cavallos turned to look at each other in confusion. “I mean to say it’s slow and complicated work,” Joe explained. “Professor Kitteridge just came through in time when we lost Doctor McGregor to Zarnha murderers. We are making fast progress getting our messages o
ut in Professor Kitteridge’s published works. Charlotte has developed Professor Kitteridge so he knows all about us and we are in the integration phase to bind him together with us. Looks very successful now he is helping us directly. But we know we have Zarnha agents operating right here, both their normal type and also seemingly some new spying capabilities. They seem to have some equivalent to our solely-soul presences that can observe and communicate. That kind of spirit was against their religion in the past but they must have found some way to accommodate using non-physicals in their rules.”
“I suppose it’s only a question of making allowances,” observed Rafaello. “Truth is they could always have developed the capability but refused to acknowledge it as it didn’t fit the life-to-machine integration story they have to believe in. All it would take is Omeyn MuneMei finding an acceptable allowance for a spirit entity in Spargar and then it’s possible. I wouldn’t like to be a non-physical, non-machine-integrated Zarnha though. You wouldn’t get much appreciation in Spargar, or much thanks either!”
“Anyway we have to take on board they have that capability now. But they probably don’t know we know,” added Joe. “So that comes to the reason for this meeting, besides missing you both of course! It’s been a long time since Omeyn MuneMei caught us out in Braganza and we restarted our work back here on Earth. But I have not forgotten and Kyra is still imprisoned there. Plus we need to slow them down a bit here so that our plans have time to unfold. They are building up to something and that won’t be anything good for us once they understand the complete picture.”
“Well, we can help you tackle anything they are plotting against you, as always. We just need to agree our plan of action,” said Rafaello.
“I want you to find out when they organise Zarnha ground transports coming from Spargan,” said Joe. “They must operate near here. I have seen the UFO reports for years around the air force bases at Rendlesham and Lakenheath. I just need to know when and where they are coming,” Joe explained, but Rafaello and Umberto did look crestfallen at that. They relished the opportunity to break out from the humdrum and prided themselves on combat being their primary competence. Preparing intelligence was a part of that but was not where they made their mark. “Well, that can be arranged but don’t go off loose cannoning – you need our help if you are going to tackle them directly,” Rafaello warned, wanting to do more for Joe but understanding also the need for effective planning. One way or another he could see that he and Umberto would be back in action shortly and that was always a good thing.
“There is some good news for you too, Joe,” Rafaello announced. “We had word from Chamarel that Duncan is returning to Cambridge immediately, solely-soul. The decision is that he can help you with advice and guardianship in your immediate plans. You may need his local knowledge and history.”
“That is good news,” said Joe. “We need all the help we can get, time is short and the endgame is nearing. I guess I had better set a welcome tray for Duncan ready in my room!”
The three Travellers of Dawn chatted on until their tea and biscuits were finished and it was time to leave the Copper Kettle. Joe paid the bill to avoid the Cavallos looking askance at the notion of paying money for anything in local currency. Umberto stood and replaced his chair as if it were light as a matchstick. Rafaello noticed and rolled his eyes. He showed how Umberto should have acted; that the table and chair were weighty enough that he had to be respectful of their weight as he moved them out of the way. Of course he could have picked up the table with just one hand if he chose to.
The three Gayans stepped carefully round the small tables shoehorned into the tight space of the cafe. The Cavallos were really too broad for the route round the tables and were obliged to move crabwise to avoid colliding with the other customers. Joe followed with his customary athletic stalk. At least he could navigate his way round a cafe in a normal way. They exited the cafe concealed in plain sight by the wide variety of tourist nationalities milling about in both directions on the broad pavement.
Christopher had seen Joe going in to the Copper Kettle cafe. He had not exactly followed him, just seen him leave Queens’ College by the Dokett gate onto Queens’ Lane and he was going in the same direction. Something in Joe’s demeanour stayed Christopher from catching up to say ‘hello’. Something told him Joe did not want company. When Joe crossed King’s Parade and went in to the Copper Kettle on his own Christopher felt something was amiss as Joe would hardly be visiting a tourist venue on his own. Christopher dawdled on the far pavement, not exactly spying; he told himself he was watching over Joe who may have a problem and that he, Christopher, could at last be of some assistance. His worries were confirmed when two bulky Italian men arrived and Joe came out to meet them. Christopher could not imagine how or when Joe would have come across such men. Then it was clear that the three knew each other very well and their body language said that they were thrilled to see each other. They exchanged bear hugs that were not in Joe’s character, but in keeping with the continental aspect of the two strangers.
Christopher waited while the three talked, ordered, finished their drinks and exited again, saying goodbyes with warm handshakes. Joe set off back to Queens’ and the two Italians set off in the other direction. Christopher stood awhile processing his thoughts. Too many strange things were going on with his closest friends, but what should he do about it?
TWENTY-TWO
Joe had prepared a makeshift welcome tray for the return of Doctor McGregor in his Gayan form as the young man Duncan. It was little more than the plastic tray that usually sat under his potted yucca plant in the corner of his lounge filled with water and floating rose petals he had borrowed from one of the college gardens. Charlotte thought it much less elaborate than you would expect from a Worder welcome up on Planet Chamarel but agreed that it would meet requirements and at least give Duncan something to aim for solely-soul on his dramatic return journey from the heavens. Arriving solely-soul was much less complicated than arriving to join the physical form of a newborn infant as was normally the case. When Keeran had arrived to become Joe he had spent sixteen years in the jejeune phase immersed in Gayan soul bonding and growing with his earthly body through adolescence before regaining his entire Gayan knowledge. Arriving solely-soul, Duncan would retain his youthful Gayan appearance and knowledge but would manifest in spirit form only. He would be able to communicate and help other Gayans on Earth but any aid he gave to local humans would be done without them knowing, except for the very few humans with the ability to see and communicate directly with souls.
Charlotte and Joe were taking coffee together in Joe’s room on the appointed day. The welcoming ceremony was celebrated by Gayans as a joyful event for the successful passing through one life into the next. In the case of Travellers of Dawn they often did not see their colleagues and friends for entire lifetimes if their missions required it. So the swift return of Duncan to Cambridge straight after passing through his life as Doctor McGregor was a great pleasure for Charlotte and Joe. They had arranged three wine glasses and purchased an expensive claret to welcome Duncan back. When everything was arranged as best could be done on their student’s budget there was a knock on Joe’s outer door despite Joe having signed himself ‘OUT’ on the IN/OUT slider board at the foot of the stairs. Joe thought about leaving the door unanswered, but decided to check it to avoid suspicion. “Er, hello,” he called through the door.
“Hi, Joe.” It was Christopher replying through the door. “Are you decent? I have a message from Professor Kitteridge.”
Joe thought it would only take a moment. He opened the door.
As the door opened partly ajar Christopher was taken aback to see Charlotte sitting next to the tatty coffee table. “Oh, hi Charlotte! Hope I am not disturbing you?” Christopher stepped past Joe who was still half reluctantly holding the door open.
Charlotte returned his greeting mildly. “Hello, Chris. We were just having a cup of c
offee.”
Christopher took in the strange sight of his friends having a coffee while there were three glasses surrounding an expensive bottle of wine that was already open for breathing. “Were you expecting me?” he asked jokingly.
“Just letting the wine breathe, Chris,” said Joe. “We can do a coffee if you like though?” It was clear Joe was not going to offer Christopher a glass of the expensive wine.
“That would be spot on,” said Christopher dropping himself into a spare chair. He was in a chatty mood. Professor Kitteridge was giving him a lot of attention and saw him as the key person in the group of undergraduates he had taken into his team since Doctor McGregor had passed on so unexpectedly. He was the one that Professor Kitteridge came to when he wanted to pass messages to the other Queens’ College people. Joe meanwhile had turned to the electric kettle sitting next to the hearth by the fireplace so that he could make Christopher’s coffee.
“Don’t you think it’s cool, a famous guy like Professor Kitteridge takes such an interest in us?” Christopher asked brightly.
Charlotte answered more mildly, “Well, he needs people like us to do the grunt work, Chris. I doubt he is doing it to make us feel good.”
Star Matters Page 30