Caught in a Moment (The Alex Trueman Chronicles Book 1)

by Martin Dukes

  “Rather more than that,” said Ganymede grimly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re thinking of this sector, this instant. I’m thinking of the whole planet. You don’t imagine this little bit of the planet can disappear without taking the rest of it with you, do you? We’re talking about rather more than ten million souls here.”

  Alex found that he had to sit down. Suddenly the consequences of his innocent tinkerings with Statica seemed almost too much to bear. Ganymede apparently found something of interest to stare at in the fireplace and drummed his fingers on his knee.

  “Yeah, well,” sighed the angel. “Let’s not despair too soon shall we? It may work out okay. The problem is, Glenda is going to be presiding over this meeting tomorrow and she’s one of Mike’s sidekicks. If she can find any excuse to close down the interstice she’ll do it. It all strengthens Mike’s case against Tony.”

  “Yes, but this is only one tiny sector in one tiny interstice,” said Alex. “There must be trillions of them in Intersticia. What difference can it make in the grand scheme of things?”

  “You don’t know how pear shaped things are going in the rest of Intersticia,” Malcolm told him. “Tony’s made some bad appointments.” He pointedly avoided Ganymede’s eye. “It’s all part of a bigger picture. And there’s a clear trend. This sector could be pivotal for Tony if he wants to hold onto his job. He’s got to be seen to be doing the right thing…”

  “And what, exactly is the right thing, Malcolm?” growled Ganymede. “In your humble view?”

  Malcolm took another pull at his nectar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It isn’t what I think that counts,” he said, diplomatically. “It’s all down to Glenda. If there’s any possibility of dumping you, Ganymede, they’ll have to be casting around for an alternative.” He turned to Alex. “And I’m looking at him right now.”

  Alex glanced awkwardly at Ganymede and shook his head. “Not me,” he said.

  “Don’t bank on it. They’ll be sizing you up. You’ve got all the right qualities. You’ve got exceptional cross-dimensional manipulation skills and you’re highly stable.”

  “Huh?” said Alex, frowning.

  “He means you aren’t going to fall back into Reality any time soon,” Ganymede told him. “The more stable you are in Intersticia the longer you’ll stay here. Maybe hundreds of years. I’ve presided over eleven hundred and twenty seven gatherings, would you believe.”

  “Ganymede has a stability reading of point eight four,” said Malcolm. “Yours is point eight nine. Chances are you’ll be here a long time. Your friend Paulo now, his is point three five. Chances are he’ll be dropping back into Reality real soon.”

  “What about Kelly?” asked Alex, looking from face to face and finding precious little comfort there.

  “She doesn’t have a reading at all,” Ganymede said softly. “She’ll be around only until Atropos tidies things up.”

  “I still don’t see how all this affects me,” Alex said, after a moment whilst this sunk in. “What’s going to happen in this meeting anyway?”

  Malcolm explained that Ganymede would be asked to account for his running of the sector. He and Alex would be required to give evidence. Various other angels would be called out to comment on Ganymede’s attitude and performance. It sounded like it could go on for days. Alex’s spirits sagged.

  “There’s three possible outcomes,” said Malcolm, counting on his fingers. “They could decide to fold the interstice; they could decide to keep things as they are, and they could opt for keeping the interstice but putting in a new sector head. And it all looks pretty finely balanced to me. Much depends on you, Alex. What you say and what you do.”

  “But I don’t want it,” said Alex, shaking his head. “I don’t want the lousy sector anyway.”

  Alex sat alone in the bandstand for a while when his interview with Ganymede and Malcolm was over. It wasn’t long before Malcolm joined him, arriving by traditional means this time, strolling across the lawn from Ganymede’s house, rather than materialising suddenly at his side.

  “Hey,” said Malcolm, raising a hand in greeting. Even his be-suited form had a vague glow to it when seen in the darkness of the ‘Stician night. Alex hoped there was no one else around to see.

  “What do you want?” asked Alex glumly.

  “Some people would think that was the wrong way to be speaking to an Angel,” observed Malcolm, leaning next to him on the balustrade, but managing to convey no serious criticism.

  “”Yeah, well you’re not the average Angel, I guess” said Alex. “And you’re part of a setup that might shortly be pulling the plug on my world.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “Nothing personal. You know that.”

  “There’s a big part of me that wishes I’d never come here, that wishes I could just close my eyes and be back in Reality.”

  “’Could well happen,” said Malcolm softly. “’Could well happen.”

  “But there’s another big part of me that wants to stay here and save Kelly. She’s kind of.. special…to me…you know…There, I’ve said it. I guess I’ve got a bit of thing for Kelly.”

  He had, too. Various strands of unformed thoughts and feelings had finally coalesced into recognisable form. He felt a sudden physical weakness that seemed particularly to affect his knees and caused his heart to flutter in his breast. Malcolm made no comment, only looking at him in a wondering sort of way, as though he thought Alex might go on to elaborate upon this. Alex cleared his throat, feeling awkward about this last disclosure.

  “How is it I seemed to be able to get in and out of ‘Sticia whenever I wanted to; at least to begin with?” he asked to move things on a bit.

  “Well, you’ve a pretty special talent for disassociation” said Malcolm, turning to face Alex.

  “Yes, I saw that word in Ganymede’s register,” said Alex. “I guessed it meant daydreaming. That’s what I was doing each time I got into ‘Sticia.”

  “You were right,” said Malcolm. “But you only got into the upper part of ‘Sticia; the part we call VISTA, Vestibular Intersticial Space Time Area. You can think of it as like a sort of entrance hall to ‘Sticia proper. Each time you came in you came in a little deeper. The last time you broke through into BISTO.”

  “BISTO? Go on…”

  “Basal Interstician Space Time Order. This is deep ‘Sticia. The molecular order is much more stable here and it’s much, much harder to drop out of it, particularly with your kind of attributes. Like I said, you’re particularly stable down here. You could be here for centuries, not that you’d ever be aware of it. As you’ll have gathered, time operates a little differently down here.”

  “That’s right. It does. Why doesn’t it seem possible to keep track of it?”

  “That’ll be because we have time on a thirty day loop,” said Malcolm with a wry smile. “And we do a PMW on you guys so you never realise it.”

  “Let me guess, a..er.. Permanent..er..Mind…. uh ..No. I give up.”

  “A Progressive Memory Wipe,” supplied Malcolm, with a wave of his hand like a magic wand.

  “Right,” nodded Alex. “It sounds like you’ve got an acronym for everything around here.”

  Malcolm looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he grinned. “Well, one of the performance indicators I get assessed on is my first alert reaction time. I never saw an acronym used for that.”

  “Yeah. Go figure,” said Alex with a chuckle. “And I guess a PMW means you gradually forget what’s been going on.”

  “Exactly so. That’s why nobody here knows how long they’ve been here. No one’s memories reach back longer than three weeks or so.”

  “Hmm. It all makes sense now,” said Alex, nodding slowly. “But where do you fit into all this – Angels I mean?”

  “Like Tony said. Some of us get to look after Reality. Some get to work with ‘Sticia. It’s just a job, you know.” he shrugged

  “But what’s in it for you?” presse
d Alex. “I mean do you get paid for it or anything? What sort of money do angels use?”

  “Whoa!” Malcolm raised a hand. “Too many questions, and I’m thinking I’ve already spilled a few too many beans. Better call it a day for now, eh? And you wouldn’t believe how many forms I’ve got to fill in. Bureaucracy see, the one common thread that runs through the whole of existence.”

  And with that he was gone.

  Alex didn’t go straight home. He needed to think, and he wasn’t going to be able to do that in the company of Paulo, Kelly, Tanya and Will. He dropped by to visit his mum, having neglected her in recent days, and spent a long time sitting at the kerbside on the ring road, glumly contemplating the fateful blood stain in the gutter. Fragments of Kelly came into his mind: her visits to him in the House of Correction, her help with his skip of water, the way she smiled, the smell of her hair, the delightful litheness of her waist. There must be something he could do. He couldn’t let Cactus Jack take her. In his mind’s eye he saw her kicking and fighting as Jack took her in his cold embrace, the pressure of his hand on the back of her neck. So matter of fact, like breaking a chicken’s neck . He had seen a farmer’s wife do it on television once, carelessly despatching the chicken, whilst continuing to conduct a conversation about her daughter’s wedding. But what could he do?

  He was almost home, wending his way amongst the Statical traffic on Greenfield Avenue, when he came upon Mad Annie, sitting on top of a Volkswagen Beetle. There was a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and she was gazing at the moon, crooning softly to herself. Normally, Alex would have strode rapidly past, before she fastened her unpredictable attentions upon him, but tonight he was in no hurry.

  “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Annie?” he asked.

  She appeared not to notice his presence, continuing to sing in her cracked old voice, swaying gently to and fro. Her funny Victorian looking shoes stuck out from beneath the hem of her old-fashioned skirt. He shrugged and turned to move on, but Annie called him back.

  “Fine moon tonight,” she said, fixing her mad, staring eyes upon him.

  “Yeah. It’s a good one,” agreed Alex, thinking it was exactly the same as the one last night and the one before that, except maybe a little blurrier around the edges. Could she have noticed that? This was one of the minor frustrations of 'Sticia; everything looking exactly the same. After a while the accumulation of minor frustrations became a major one. Alex had never realised how much he had appreciated the subtle variations of the skies, the soft dawns, the pyrotechnics of sunset, lying on his back in the warm grass on a Sunday afternoon, making out ephemeral whales and ships and castles in the shifting clouds.

  Annie talked to Alex, as she always did, although Alex got the feeling she didn’t really need an audience. Talking to herself was just fine by her, having Alex there an unlooked for bonus. Her conversation was as randomly disconnected as ever, leaving Alex grasping for strands to pick up and respond to.

  “’Course, the moon was nicer in my time,” Annie said. “Bigger, it was. Aye, bigger. Bigger than a hen’s eye. Cooler than a blue shirt.”

  “I bet it was,” said Alex, nodding slowly. “Well. Look after yourself. Be good now. I’m off to bed.”

  Something troubled Alex about Annie, something he turned over in his mind as he turned into Cobden Road. He was at the end of Gladstone Street before he realised what it was. When he did so, he slapped his head and span round. After a moment’s hesitation he broke into a run, retracing his route to Greenfield Avenue. There was something that Annie had said that had sparked a series of connections in his brain. She was gone though, when Alex emerged into Greenfield Avenue. Panting, he glanced about urgently into the shadows. Was that movement amongst the play equipment in the little park by the primary school? Alex darted after it. He caught up with Annie as she was wandering down the little passage that led to the Red Lion.

  “Annie,” he gasped, as her silhouette turned the corner at the end of the passage and disappeared.

  After a moment, her shape re-emerged.

  “Yes, dearie?”

  Alex hurried after her, trying to control his breathing.

  “Annie,” he said. “What did you mean in my time?”

  “What do you think I mean?” she retorted, looking sidelong at him. “Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s time, God Bless Her. What else would I mean? Everyone today is always asking daft questions. I said to Mrs Runciman only yest….”

  “Whoa!” Alex held up his hands, palms outwards. “Hang on a mo’. How did you get here? This is the twenty first century. Queen Victoria’s been dead for more than a hundred years.”

  Suddenly Annie’s twitching face became still, and she smoothed her wild hair absently with one gnarled hand.

  “Snarks fixed it for me din’t they.” She suddenly scowled. “I told you that before. Folks never listen. If you can’t attend the first time I ain’t gonna tell you again.” She turned and shuffled off, cursing him over her shoulder.

  “Annie, wait!” Alex shouted after her, but to no avail. He stood in the gloom of the passage and wracked his brains for recollections of Annie’s conversations with him; if you could call them conversations. Alex usually switched his brain off and let her ramblings wash over him. But there was one phrase that she had uttered that came unbidden to his mind now. Rode one once, she had said, when they were talking about dugongs and manatees. Could that have been it? It sounded bizarre enough, but then of course there was much that was bizarre in 'Sticia.

  Alex smiled grimly in the darkness. One thing was for sure. Malcolm had been wrong. Mortals could travel in time. But what had snarks to do with it? Alex didn’t even know for sure that they could speak, let alone organise time travel. He would need to speak with Ganymede tomorrow. Ganymede knew about snarks.

  Tanya had gone to bed by the time Alex arrived back at Gladstone Street. Will was still up. He probably wished he wasn’t, since Paulo had been making him arm wrestle with him, and demonstrating karate techniques on him. Kelly was looking on in amusement, shushing the other two whenever their grunts and gasps seemed likely to wake Tanya in the room next door.

  “Hey,” said Paulo, looking up as Alex came in. “It’s the Master of the Universe. Ganymede’s main man, the mighty Alex Trueman.” He grinned his insolent grin and raised his fists. “Come on Master,” he said in what he might have thought to have been an oriental accent. “School me in the arts of angelic combat.”

  Alex found himself having to fend off a succession of playful but robust blows.

  “Get off!” grunted Alex, reeling backwards as he tried to parry these assaults. Alex’s wrists and forearms ached. The blows had been heavier than Paulo had made them appear, and one had caught him under the ribs, partly winding him.

  “Hey!” laughed Paulo, turning to Kelly. “Did you see that? Broccoli outstanding. I have much to learn.”

  “Cut it out you daft pillock,” Kelly told him with a chuckle.

  Alex didn’t stay up much longer. Paulo was on top form, laughing and joking in a way that even Alex had to concede had a certain rough charm. There was a good deal of boasting too, and scurrilous accounts of Paulo’s many brushes with the law. When Paulo got on to bragging to Will about his driving exploits, Alex felt he had to retire to bed. He could hear Paulo through the door, talking about cars he had stolen. He stood for a while, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists, whilst the attractive notion of thumping Paulo crossed and re-crossed his mind. His eyes gradually refocused, and growing used to the darkness in what he now thought of as his bed room settled upon Malcolm, seated nonchalantly on the edge of the bed. The angel put his finger to his lips.

  “I know it’s late,” he said, apologetically. “I wouldn’t bother you again tonight, only I’ve got someone who wants a word with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Glenda,” mouthed Malcolm, glancing furtively about him as though he feared being overheard.

  “Oh.”

  “You okay with that?�
�

  “Go on then,” said Alex resignedly. He walked up to Malcolm in a way that was becoming second nature to him and Malcolm moved his hands in the air.

  They materialised in what proved to be a large and well-appointed office. A middle aged woman sat behind a large and well-appointed desk, toying with a fountain pen. Her considerable bulk was crammed into a tight grey suit, her hair swept back into a severe bun. The severity of her hair was matched by that of her black rimmed glasses and her small, red painted mouth, a feature which seemed likely to be a stranger to smiles.

  “Good day, Mr Trueman,” she said, with the briefest nod of acknowledgment to Malcolm. “You will be wondering why I have invited you here.”

  Well, Alex was, but nevertheless vaguely resented being told he was. He nodded.

  “I make no apology for appearing to you in my true likeness. Unlike Tony I do not favour traditional angelic manifestations except when it is necessary to overawe the ignorant or gullible. I detect neither quality in you, young man.”

  “Oh good,” muttered Alex, shuffling his feet nervously and wishing she’d get to the point.

  “I won’t beat about the bush,” declared Glenda. “We are seeking an alternative to your friend Ganymede, should he be deposed from his present position. I think Malcolm has already intimated as much. The case for dismissing Ganymede will be enormously strengthened should a suitable replacement be to hand.” She tapped the pen briskly on the glossy red fingernails of her left hand. “Would you be interested in taking on the sector Mr Trueman?”

  “Uh…no,” said Alex, after a moment, this brief hesitation brought on only by the fear of upsetting this formidable woman. “No thanks. If it’s all the same to you.”

  “You disappoint me,” said Glenda, a frown creasing her smooth white forehead. “And I see much potential in you. You are young, of course, which some may regard as a problem, but you are uniquely gifted in this interstice, and your youth will take care of itself in due course. You are highly stable in Intersticia, and if I read you correctly, very willing to learn. You could go far, young man, further than you could possibly imagine. If the sector goes well under your care, you could become Elect. Do you understand me, Mr Trueman? Become an Angel yourself.” She paused for a moment to let the significance of this interesting prospect settle in. “Many of us began as sector heads in Intersticia.”