Obviously, I’ll never know, unless the robot Steve appears beside my deathbed just before I pop my clogs, to let me know how the fullness of time will work out—or has worked out, given that the present we’re living in now could just as easily be the one after they changed the past as the one before. Then again, maybe my telling the story here and now will be the infinitesimal shift in the pattern, whose ripples will extend forever. Who can tell?
As I said, I don’t have any fancy theories—but I can’t help wondering whether AlAbAn itself is evidence that the changes the hyperbaryonic intelligences wanted to make are actually in the process of happening, day by day and week by week, in the twentieth century as well as every other point in the time-stream, and that what we do here, every second Thursday, as the memory-wipes fade away and we become free to speak at last, is part and parcel of the fulfillment of one of those high-flown promises the robot mentioned: the binding of all the intelligences that ever lived into an eternal ecstatic hypostatic hypertime.
Obviously, AlAbAn meetings aren’t at all ecstatic in themselves, any more than they’re eternal or located in some indefinable hypertime, but it’s just about possible—isn’t it?—or just about conceivable, at any rate, that they’re part and parcel of our particular link to eventual enlightenment, our particular location in the great story of Earthly life, Earthly intelligence, and Earthly endeavor.
If nothing else, I think, our stories serve to remind us that our own petty difficulties—by which I mean the imminent extinction of the species as well as our pathetic inability to organize our wretched love-lives with any semblance of art or decency—aren’t of much significance in the larger scheme of things. Life goes on regardless, in spite of the wrath of dark time, and the undeniable fact that shit happens.
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* * * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Searching for the Meaning
Afterwards, Janine and Alison came over to the settee where Steve and Milly were sitting, not holding hands.
“Could you possibly give us a lift home, Steve?” Janine said. “Walter has to stay late and doesn’t know when he’ll be able to get away. Apparently, he and Amelia have something they need to sort out with Neville.”
“Really?” Steve said. “Good for them. I hope it works out without any of them getting hurt.”
“Don’t be silly, Steve,” Milly said. “Nobody’s in danger of getting hurt. Yes, Janine, of course we’ll give you both a lift.”
Steve still wasn’t sure that Milly ought to be granting requests of that sort on his behalf—and he was glad to see that Janine frowned too—but he made no complaint. “Great story, by the way,” he said to Janine. “A nice sequel to mine.”
“I think what you meant to say,” Janine said, only a little frostily, “is that your story was a good introduction to mine.”
“I suppose it’s understandable that you might think that that was what I meant,” Steve conceded, unrobotically, as he led the way along the pavement to the place where he’d parked the Citroen. “Maybe I did—I’ve been a little confused of late about that sort of thing, and others. Shall we stop off for something to eat, in that Italian where the four of us all came together for the first time, as a celebration of old times? Arlequino, wasn’t it?”
“Steve’s very big on celebrations of old times,” Alison put in. “He gave me an ammonite for Christmas. Janine got a geode.”
“I got an electronic mini-planetarium, which can show you the disposition of the stars in the night sky on any date, past or future, from any geographical viewpoint,” Milly revealed. “It can also do the history of the universe from its beginning to its heat death—BB to OP, as Janine would probably put it—in fast forward, or in reverse. I told him that a diamond bracelet would have done the job much more effectively, but he couldn’t see it. His many girl-friends haven’t yet completed his education in such matters.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Steve said, and suddenly found himself the focal point of three quasi-medusal stares. “Well, it is,” he added, defensively.
“The old year is dead and gone,” Janine said. “If we’re all to move forward, we have to start afresh.”
“If only we mere mortals could turn back time.” Steve said, as he reached the car and unlocked it, “and remake the past as well as the future, as hyperbaryonic intelligences apparently think they can. Those who can avoid or administer the wrath of dark time don’t know how lucky they are.”
“Yes they do,” Janine told him, taking hold of the handle of the rear nearside door. “Anyway, mere mortals can’t even remake the future knowingly—they just have to hope they’ve stamped on the right butterflies.”
“We can do a little better that that, surely,” Alison put in, “The limits of possibility are sometimes a bit narrow, and the consequences of our actions are sometimes difficult to calculate, but we’re not helpless victims of fate.” She still had her hands in her pockets, and there seemed to be some unspoken compact between the four of them that no one else would open their door until she too reached for a handle.
“Even those of us who’ve been taken on trips in time, and have some extra knowledge of the future,” Milly said, “don’t really have the power to change it. Knowing that the human race is going to become extinct in the next century doesn’t help us to avoid that destiny.”
“Maybe, if everybody were able to believe it,” Steve said, “we could change it. Maybe, as more and more people do realize it, we are changing it.”
“I don’t think so,” Janine said. “The thing about our experiences is that we only learn the trivial things, never enough to make a difference. The robot wasn’t able to tell me anything that would enable me to change anything in my own future.”
“Your robot did give you one hint about your future destiny, though, didn’t he, Janine?” Steve said. Before he went on to the next sentence Alison took her right hand out of her pocket and opened the rear off-side door. Reflexively mirroring her action, Steve opened his own door as he went on: “He told you to call him Steve, because he knew that the name would have some significance in time to come. He called himself after me. You don’t need me to tell you how significant that is, and would be, even if you’d just been dreaming, and hadn’t met a time-traveling robot from the far future at all—which, of course, you had been and didn’t.”
“That’s breaking the rules, Steve,” Milly told him, as she got into the front passenger seat and reached for her seat-belt. “It’s undiplomatic, impolite and bang out of order. Anyway, you’ve got it backwards. If Janine was just dreaming, she must have called the robot Steve because she sees you as something of a robot. The whole thing must be symbolic.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Steve admitted. He paused, as he fastened his own seat-belt, turned the key in the ignition, put the car into gear and let off the handbrake; then he continued: “I’m not a robot, though. I’ve always been fully conscious of what I’ve done, and I take full responsibility. I know that I don’t deserve either one of you, and neither of you deserves to be stuck with a shit like me. That all goes without saying. The wrath of dark time has been churning in my soul for weeks, if not forever, and I’m probably due for imminent annihilation in the shape of some year eleven houri who’ll persuade me to throw caution to the winds and commit career suicide—but won’t it be better to have lived and loved than never to have lived at all? Even if I could turn back time, I suppose I wouldn’t want to be rid of either one of you—but please don’t cook me and carve me up just yet. At least wait until I’ve driven poor Alison home. She’s not really a part of this, you know.
“Yes she is,” Milly said, as she put her seat-belt on.
“I’m doing my level best to be,” Alison said, doing likewise.
“I suppose we could get a pizza,” Janine said, in her turn.
“I suppose we could,” Milly agreed, “but it wouldn’t be like old times.”
“Who cares?” Alison said.
“It’s just food.”
“The trouble with you, Steve,” Janine opined, “is that you have all the wrong phobias. You focus all your anxiety on silly things so you can avoid being frightened of the things that really ought to frighten you—and you’ll never get over your petty terrors until you realize that, and put yourself in order.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Steve said, as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine didn’t start.
“You’re probably right, Jan,” Milly said. “I used to be anxious myself, about the silliest things, but I think I’m all right now.”
“I’m a little better balanced myself than I used to be,” Janine admitted. “There aren’t any easy answers, but it’s remarkable what you can accomplish, sometimes, with a keen eye, a steady hand, and a lot of patience.”
“And a little goodwill,” Milly put in.
“And a little goodwill,” Janine agreed.
The car started at the second attempt, and moved off.
“You see, Steve,” Alison put in. “It’s always been a double act, with me as a spare part: two queens and a court jester. Ever since we were kids, it’s been Janine and Milly, plus poor Alison. They’ve cut you up and shared you between them, like slices of a pizza, and made a great song and dance about it all. Now they’re going to let you choose between them, or make you choose, because that’s the way they play the game.”
“Don’t mind Ali,” Milly said. “She’s just jealous.”
“It hurts because it’s the truth,” Alison said. “Although I am just jealous.”
“What happened to that little goodwill you mentioned just now?” Steve asked, fully expecting to be told to shut up by at least two voices in chorus—but no such command was forthcoming. Even the wrath of dark time seemed to have let up in its churning within the secret spaces of his soul, at least for the moment.” Things are going to work out, he told himself. One way or another, things are going to work out. The Citroen was already moving out of the clustered lights of East Grimstead into the ribbon of darkness that separated the village from its larger companion.
“You mustn’t mind any of us, Steve,” Janine told him, after a suitable pause. “It’s the way things are when we’re all together. We snipe at one another constantly. It’s all in fun, although it sometimes doesn’t seem that way to people who get caught in the rapid crossfire. Just think of us as the three witches from Macbeth, cackling on the blasted heath—it’s all hubble bubble, with no real substance. Is it going to be your turn next, Ali? Are you going to tell a story to the group?”
“No,” Alison said. “That’s one game I’m not going to play. I’m a bit too down-to-earth for all that.”
“It’s not a game, Ali,” Milly said. “I’ve always tried to tell you that, but you won’t believe it. Janine understands now, though. It’s only a matter of time before you get involved too—you’ll get hooked, just like the rest of us.”
“Oh, I’m hooked,” Alison said. “Well and truly—no doubt about it. Hooked and landed, lying breathless on the bank, waiting to see if I’ll be thrown back or have my head bashed in. I don’t see myself as a witch, though. I’ve always thought on more extravagant lines—you two are more like goddesses, although I’m not sure that I can fit into that particular metaphor, and Steve is a poor substitute for Paris in any case. However we fantasize it, though, I can’t wait to see how it all comes out—and the fate of the universe too, of course.”
“That’s pretty cut and dried,” Janine said. “The robot told me everything I needed to know.”
“He only told you the decision that had to be made,” Alison reminded her. “He didn’t tell you what his makers decided.”
“No,” Janine admitted, “but it was pretty obvious. They agreed. What alternative did they have?”
“You know,” Milly said, “on reflection, I think that my abduction experience helped to cure me of my eating disorder. It helped me to be more content with who I am, to stop trying to change myself into something I wasn’t. I’m still reaping the benefits of that. If you’re lucky, Steve, your own experience might help you come to terms with your phobias. If you can keep revisiting it in your head, you might find that you can get past the panic once and for all.”
“That would be good,” Steve said, “but I’m not holding my breath.” The Citroen had passed through West Grimstead now, and was on another dark stretch of road that would last until Alderbury. He kept his eyes peeled for deer, although he’d never seen one hereabouts before. He knew that foxes could cause problems too, if a driver weren’t sufficiently alert to the possibility of their unexpected appearance.
“And that’s why it’s not a game, Ali” Milly said. “Tell her, Steve—she might believe it if she hears it from you.”
“It’s not a game, Alison,” Steve said. “Not from my point of view.”
“Nor mine,” Janine put in.
“I guess I’m outvoted, then,” Alison replied, agreeably. “I shouldn’t have suggested otherwise, should I? Not supportive enough—against the rules of the game.”
“She’s always been like that,” Milly said. “She always has an answer for everything.”
“And it’s always the same one,” Alison said. “Remember, thou art mortal. That’s AlAbAn’s answer too, isn’t it? All men are mortal, and so is humankind itself—but we mustn’t despair. The court still has its jester, and the Red Death isn’t scheduled to spoil the feast until midnight. The jester is me, by the way, if anyone was having difficulty following the metaphor. The Red Death is methane.”
“I thought I was the thane,” Steve said. “Oh, sorry, no—in your metaphor, we’re in Arcadia, not Scotland, and I’m a poor substitute for Paris, because I hand out ammonites, geodes and planetaria instead of golden apples. At least you got one each.”
Milly laughed, dutifully but infectiously. Janine and Steve joined in.
“This is a bit like old times,” Janine conceded. “All friends again, able to laugh.”
“You know what I think?” Alison said, as Steve turned the corner and steered northwest. “I think we ought to get those pizzas to go, and carry all the boxes back to somebody’s flat—preferably someone who has some booze in—where we can all sit down, and Steve can tell us what it all means: the secret of time travel; the mythical future; the key to success. You can tell us all that, can’t you, Steve? What the future holds, what so much ado on the brink of our extinction is really all about, and where we fit in?”
“I could,” Steve said, “but you wouldn’t want to listen.”
“That’s fine by me,” Janine said, responding to the first part of Alison’s suggestion. “Milly’s the one who ought to decide, though. If you’ve made plans, Mil, you mustn’t let us disrupt them.”
“That’s all right,” Milly said. “I’m cool with it—just so long as the car is legally parked, wherever we end up.”
“May I suggest my place?” Steve said. “It’s a bit ungallant, I know, but if we get something to drink with the pizza, I won’t be able to drive afterwards. I really could do with a drink, and I’ve got a few bottles of red in my rack. You can all share a cab to your various homes afterwards.”
“All?” Milly queried.
“All those who decide to go home, I mean,” Steve said. “Is that okay?”
“Fine by me,” Alison said.
“Okay,” Janine said.”
“Agreed,” said Milly.
“My place it is,” Steve said, confidently enough.
* * * *
It didn’t take long to get the pizzas made up and baked, and it only required a further few minutes to drive to Steve’s flat. Milly linked arms with Janine and drew her to the settee, while Alison took the armchair. Steve didn’t bother to grab a dining-chair; once he’d fished out a couple of bottles and taken the corkscrew from his desk drawer he sat on the rug in front of the gas fire, positioning himself discreetly to one side so that he didn’t block the radiant heat. The boxes were opened.
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��Okay, Steve,” Milly said. “You can do the schoolteacher thing if you really must, and tell us how Jan’s experience fits into your theory. We’ll try not to behave the way we used to back in school, when we wasted our opportunities for worldly progress in order to pretend that we were above all that. We understand, now that we’re all on various career ladders, how unwise it was not to listen to our teachers, pass our exams and learn to live well. Should we observe strict AlAbAn rules?”
“That’s not necessary,” Steve told them. “I’m supposed to be a scientist, of sorts. I’m supposed to be able to accept challenges and welcome skeptical criticism, and to modify my hypotheses accordingly.”
Alien Abduction - The Wiltshire Revelations Page 40