Checking Out- The Complete Trilogy

by T W M Ashford

  ‘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 un
til 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…’

  The group followed him out of the hall through another set of heavy double doors to our right. They closed with an old, sullen slam.

  ‘Now that’s what I call an alternative fact,’ snapped Pierre, stomping towards the door. ‘There you are getting annoyed that their history isn’t old enough, and it turns out their history isn’t even true! They’re making it up to suit them! Blessed by our Creator, my word. I happen to know that door was built by a very nice father-and-son company in Slough, actually.’

  ‘Okay, bigger problem. How are we getting to it when it’s protected behind a case of glass? There’s no way of opening it. No latch that I can see.’

  Pierre pulled his helmet off and dropped it onto the soft carpet. He scratched his head and studied the display, whilst I unbuckled each piece of cumbersome armour from my aching, pleading torso.

  ‘Keep looking for a lock or something,’ he said, stepping back from it. ‘I might have an idea.’

  I studied the case from every angle - front to back and top to bottom. There was no lock; there were no hinges. Hell, there didn’t even seem to be a point where one sheet of glass met the other. Whoever built the display sure hadn’t expected anyone to want to get the door back out.

  ‘Hey, Pierre?’ I called out. ‘I really don’t think we can… Jesus Christ!’

  I dived out of the way as Pierre came running towards the case, holding one of the spears from the museum out in front of him like a lance. I landed with a thud against the hard, cold wood of the floor at almost the exact same time as Pierre’s spear pierced the glass. Rather than deflect the spear away - as the British pessimist in me was sure it would - the glass shattered in an instant, showering the podium with a hundred thousand dazzling diamonds.

  ‘Why couldn’t you have warned me, at least?’ I cried out, picking myself up off the floor.

  ‘You might have tried to stop me,’ replied Pierre, giving me a sheepish shrug of his shoulders.

  An alarm began to wail throughout the building. Pierre dropped the spear to the floor and ran up the steps of the podium.

  ‘Get that door open, Pierre,’ I said skittishly, waiting for the set of double doors to burst open and a hundred angry guards to come rushing into the museum hall. I didn’t know what to do with myself. ‘Any time now would be great.’

  ‘Quiet, please,’ said Pierre, apparently concerned more about my few words than the ear-piercing siren blasting out of speakers left, right and centre. ‘I need to concentrate.’

  He placed the palm of his hand on the surface of the door, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

  There were footsteps coming. I was sure of it. A steady rumble that underpinned the alarm like a walking bass line. Any second now, the doors were going to open and a plasma bolt was going to take my head off. I looked to my battered helmet on the floor. Could I… Could I put it back on? Could I convince them that I was the first guard on the scene and that
Pierre was the only intruder?

  And live the rest of my meagre life never taking that helmet off again in fear of being found out?

  On second thought, probably not worth it.

  ‘Hurry up, Pierre!’

  He waved me away with his other hand. ‘I’m working on it. It’s not… It’s not easy. The wavelengths are small. So small they’re barely there anymore. Give me some time.’

  ‘The universe hasn’t got any time left! How on Earth do you expect me to find you some more of it? You said you could do this!’

  ‘I can do it…’

  ‘Then just open the bloody door!’

  Pierre snapped open his eyes and stepped away from the door. He stuck his hand into his pocket and fished out the gold key. Even in the dim light of the museum it shimmered and gleamed.

  ‘I can do this,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Just match the vibrations and then…’

  The doors behind us were bashed open. I jumped like a cat that’s just spotted its own tail. Pierre didn’t. He slipped the key into the keyhole of door 314 and took a deep breath.

  ‘…and then go back a bit.’

  He turned the key and the lock clicked free.

  ‘There they are!’ somebody yelled from the doorway. It was the same man who’d tried to shake hands with me in the hall outside. He was surrounded by guards with notably pointy spears. ‘I knew it wasn’t Narra-Doh! That monster must have killed him, and now they’re stealing the door!’

  ‘Neither of those things are true!’ I yelled back. ‘Technically,’ I mumbled as an afterthought.

  Pierre turned the handle and threw open the hotel door…