Checking Out- The Complete Trilogy

by T W M Ashford

  …and a brilliant, perfect wall of white greeted us from the other side.

  ‘I did it!’ laughed Pierre, an ecstatic grin plastered across his face. ‘I actually did-’

  One of those notably pointy spears rocketed past our faces and plunged into the timeless, spaceless void that was our destination. The void rippled like jelly after a stone’s been thrown through it.

  ‘Best we hurry,’ said a much more subdued Pierre, gesturing to the open door. ‘After you.’

  I glanced back at the charging, armoured throng of blue men and women, their spears pulled back at the ready, their eyes black and blood-hungry, their teeth bared and mouths full of screams, as they made short work of the carpet that divided us, and decided that eternity in a prison outside of space and time suddenly didn’t seem all that bad a gamble.

  I shut my eyes, held my breath, and took a step into the infinite white.

  Pierre followed and shut the door behind us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Space Between Worlds didn’t seem so bad. Very white and very empty, but not so bad. A lot better than whatever I experienced in that cosmic crack, that’s for sure. Given how hectic my last few days had been, it didn’t feel so much like a prison to me as it did a solitary retreat.

  I spun around when I heard the door slam behind me, and relaxed a little when I saw it was only Pierre that had followed me through. He rested his back against the door and dropped the key back into his pocket.

  The door on our side looked different. Of course it did. Though we’d passed through a door stolen from Le Petit Monde, the one through which we’d emerged had been brought to the Space Between Worlds by the Council of Keys ahead of their fateful meeting. This door was hard and black and cold.

  ‘Do you think the Torri-Tau will follow us here?’ I asked.

  That made Pierre stand up straight. ‘I wouldn’t think so. Can’t imagine any of them would want to come back to this place. Probably best to make sure they can’t, all the same.’

  Pierre pulled open the door and left it there. I peeked through the gap. There was nothing but more endless whiteness on the other side.

  ‘There we go,’ said Pierre, puffing out his chest. ‘Even if they try to follow us, it doesn’t matter. You can’t open an open door. Hmm. There’s probably a lesson to be learned in that.’

  I looked in every direction - first only to my left and right, and and then up and down, once I realised that I wasn’t actually standing on anything and that the angle of my person had no real bearing on any concept of “above” or “below”. I’m sure there were a fair few directions and dimensions I was missing, but everywhere I looked there was only nothing.

  ‘Where are we supposed to go?’ I asked. The sound in the Space Between Worlds was so dry that as soon as I stopped talking I was unsure if I’d ever spoken at all. ‘Did we arrive too early?’

  ‘No, I think we’re right on time.’ Pierre pondered towards the far distance. ‘If we were too early or too late then the door wouldn’t be here. We’re exactly where we ought to be. Well, when we ought to be at least.’

  He returned to the door and stood with his back perfectly parallel to its frame. Then he stuck his hand out dead-straight in front of himself.

  ‘In an infinite, empty space, why bother with a winding path? If we go this way I reckon we’ll get there soon enough.’

  I shrugged. ‘Suits me.’

  We walked in a pleasant but apprehensive silence for what could have been a few minutes or a few centuries. It felt like the former, but I remembered from Pierre’s story that time in the Space Between Worlds didn’t so much flow as spill, or freeze, or simply turn into a gas and float away. But after what I can only describe as a brief and palatable experience of the fourth dimension, something appeared on what I had loosely designated my horizon.

  It looked like the shell of a tortoise.

  Pierre squinted and held his hand above his eyes, which was utterly pointless as there was no source of light from which to shield them. He broke into a run.

  ‘That’s it,’ he shouted, as I raced to catch up with him. ‘That’s got to be it!’

  As we ran (though with no resistance beneath my feet, I suppose it was more like paddling) the tortoise shell grew steadily larger. Once a tiny speck, it began to resemble what it did in fact turn out to be: a grand, domed building, not unlike the Royal Albert Hall in shape and scale, alone in a blank ocean. Great marble pillars lined its circular circumference, holding its sweeping, stone, gold-trimmed roof over an inner chamber made of oak. We came to a stop in front of the thirteen steps leading up to a dark and doorless entrance.

  ‘An actual meeting of the Council of Keys,’ said Pierre. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking up at the building in awe. ‘Are you ready to witness some real history, George?’

  ‘It’ll sure beat witnessing all this white space,’ I sighed. ‘I’ve got to say, sneaking into a council chamber does sound like a nice change of pace. This is the first time in a while when nobody’s been trying to kill us.’

  Yeah, but don’t get too comfortable, Georgie-boy, came a voice from the back of my head. This is the end, remember. This sense of quiet… it might just be the calm before the storm.

  We climbed the thirteen steps.

  Chapter Sixteen

  So this was the beginning, where it all began… not just the beginning, but the end.

  It turned out that the beginning was quite poorly lit, like an Elizabethan castle after dark. The entrance to the inner chamber was drenched in shadow and our path became only a little better illuminated once we were inside. Flaming torches lined the oak walls, one every ten metres, held aloft by iron grips. Their fires did not dance. They burned without the need for air, and so they burned eternal.

  Now I know that the Space Between Worlds had no temperature to speak of, but even with all those torches lining our way I swear I felt the not-air drop by a few degrees. My arms broke out in goosebumps.

  Neither of us spoke, and each step we took with care. We couldn’t afford to let anyone know we were coming.

  Before long the light of the torches fell behind us, only to be replaced by a new light - a colder light, one which dazzled and shined. We had reached the assembly, and with this new light came a plethora of voices. Pierre put his finger to his lips and we hurried behind one of the hall’s many marble pillars.

  ‘This is it,’ he whispered, his words rushed and barely audible. ‘This is the hall from which the Torri-Tau escaped! Or will escape, I guess. I wonder if they chose the Space Between Worlds because it was neutral ground over which no species could claim dominion, or if the Council already knew they were going to banish them here…’

  I peeked around our hiding place as far as I dared. The chamber was just how Pierre had described. The walls were curved and panelled with the same oak that lined the corridor. Columns, like the one we were hiding behind, reached up towards a domed ceiling decorated with intricate sculpturing and gold leaf. And from that ceiling hung a grand chandelier even greater than that which had hung in the lobby of Le Petit Monde. Unlike when Pierre had visited before, every one of its thousand diamond, teardrop candles twinkled with glorious bombast.

  But that wasn’t what really caught my attention.

  Ringed around the chamber - in the shape, as Pierre had said, of a horseshoe - were four rows of wooden benches, and on those benches sat every manner of species I could have ever imagined. Humanoids, from little green men to towering giants. Reptilian spacefarers. Mammoths dressed in rags and robes. Balls of gas, glowing different shades. Aquatic beings who kept themselves hydrated with body suits sloshing with water. There was even, sitting at the back and so bored by proceedings that he was picking at his bony skull of a face, a member of the Skrellik species.

  In the very centre of the chamber was a circle of thirteen chairs, each made of solid, velveted gold. And on those chairs sat the thirteen members of the Council. Everyone, whether they were as weary as
the Skrellik or as enraptured as the small echidnas sitting at the very foot of the benches, was watching and listening to them.

  The one closest to me looked like a six-foot, sentient dandelion, its roots tapping at the marble floor for water and the red petals of its head naturally arching towards the light of the chandelier. Coiled up on the next seat along was an anaconda, only it wore a mech-suit with six fully-dextrous arms. It was tapping one of its many fingers against the side of the chair. Then there was an obese, gelatinous creature that warbled and sagged and thus perfectly fit his role as a politician. It was unfortunate perhaps that the creature that followed him was so delicate and graceful. Tall and thin and with a bulb of a head atop a neck the length of a giraffe’s, she looked as if she’d blow away in a strong wind. After her came a fluffy, floating orb, just like the one I’d seen behind the brothel window back in Port Iridium. Then there was, well… a goat. A talking goat. In the seventh seat sat what could have been a human, if there was ever a human who had beetles that scurried in and out of holes in their flesh. Beside that man sat a female Na’riim, who I swear could have been a younger and more civilised Ty-Ren Yoop. Perhaps it was her great-great-grandmother. There was an aquatic being of the same species as the one I’d seen in the audience, only this one required a larger helmet to support its enormous fish-head. Next along was a shelled insect the size of a buffalo; every now and then its wings would vibrate fast enough to emit a low humming noise. Then there was a two-headed mammal with leathery skin, and beside them sat a large ogre made of stunning crystal. And finally, in the thirteenth chair, sat someone that I recognised.

  Makka-Soj, the delegate for the Torri-Tau.

  Each member of the Council of Keys wore resplendent clothing appropriate to his, her or its species. The only thing that matched them to one another was the gold chain that hung around each member’s neck. And what dangled from that chain? A single golden key.

  Pierre yanked me back into cover.

  ‘What was that for?’ I asked. ‘This place is so crowded, we could probably go sit on one of the benches and nobody would notice us.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ he replied. ‘This might seem like a mishmash menagerie of species but a pair of dishevelled humans would stick out like, well… like rodents in a restaurant. Trust me. Anyway, quiet. I want to hear what the Council are saying.’

  I peered back out from cover a little more cautiously than before. The alien who looked like a ram was clearing his throat.

  ‘So we are in agreement that, following the unfortunate incident at Proxi-Nero One, we must bring to a halt the Untangled Octowürm outbreak?’ he asked. Everyone sitting in the circle nodded. ‘Good. They’ve bred too quickly since their escape. Will you take care of this, Rando Llo?’

  The insect buzzed its wings and clicked its mandibles.

  ‘Perhaps they could be brought back into our service,’ suggested Makka-Soj. ‘We still have some use for them, yes? Or maybe we should consider some form of isolated sterilisation to bring their numbers down. A full eradication should only be a last resort.’

  The gelatinous blob snorted. ‘Rando Llo will be the one to decide what happens to them, Soj.’ He spat the name like an insult.

  Makka-Soj kept his face frozen in a grin. ‘Of course. And I’m sure he’ll make the right choice. Was that the last item on the agenda?’

  A few of the council members turned to look at one another. The rest shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  ‘Well, that brings us to the last matter we must discuss tonight,’ sneered the goat. ‘I wish to table an additional motion, as agreed to by my honourable fellow councilpersons. Do you all still wish to continue?’

  Everyone other than Makka-Soj nodded, their faces as cold as stone. Only the man with beetles scuttling through his person had the decency to look hesitant, though he ended up nodding all the same.

  ‘What do you mean, an additional motion?’ Makka-Soj asked, gripping the arms of his chair and glaring around at the group. ‘And why were you discussing matters without me? What’s going on?’

  Pierre nudged me in the ribs. ‘Oh boy. This must be it! The Council are going to try the Torri-Tau for their crimes.’

  The goat leant forwards in his chair. ‘Don’t play the fool with us, Makka-Soj. You must be aware of the problem. We’ve tried accommodating your kind, but it’s been long enough. When we first brought the Torri-Tau into our fold we weren’t fully aware of the… ramifications. We believe we made a mistake.’

  Everyone around the circle nodded. So did quite a few of those sitting on the benches behind.

  ‘Oh, you’ve been accommodating us, have you?’ Makka-Soj laughed in disbelief. ‘The absolute cheek of you, of all of you. We’ve a right to make the most of the multiverse, just like anyone else. Our “unique” footprint isn’t ideal, I’ll grant you that. But neither is the fact that the Ilicic disperse spores that leave Ratheroid Bambertots in a catatonic state, or that his species,’ he added, nodding to the blob opposite him, ‘mined their way through six solar systems before anyone thought it was worth telling them to stop. And did anyone bat an eyelid over that robot refugee crisis? Nothing is ideal. We have to make the best of it, that’s all.’

  The alien who looked like a giant, red-petalled sunflower rearranged itself in its chair. The fat blob grunted.

  ‘All that might be true,’ continued the goat, ‘but we simply cannot tolerate the consequences of your condition, your… unique footprint, as you call it… any longer. Do you understand the damage you’re doing? Do you? Sari belongs to an empire dating back over three thousand years. One of your people travelled back to its very foundations and tried setting up a kebab stand. That idiot erased everything. It took all of our resources to put things right again and we’re still seeing the effects today. No other species could have done that, Makka-Soj. No. Other.’

  Sari, the thin, giraffe-necked, bulb-headed alien, crossed her arms and glared. ‘Many of our holy sites are ruined,’ she snapped. ‘Some will never be restored.’

  ‘And it was my species that invented the kebab, goddammit,’ sneered the leathery, two-headed beast. ‘Us and the Hst-Tuu clan, may their souls rest peacefully. Your kind can’t just go back and claim they did it first. That’s our culture we’re talking about.’

  ‘Sod your culture,’ hissed the snake with mechanical arms. ‘We’ve always had a system of trade between our universes. When one of my brethren finds a fortune in the desert, they share it with a version of themselves who found nothing but salt and sand. But what happens when one of the Torri-Tau pays us a visit, eh? I’ll tell you what: the other versions of us cease to exist! That’s not just bad business. That’s murder!’

  The goat raised a hoof before the assembly could descend into chaos. ‘You’ll be hard pressed to find anyone in this hall who doesn’t have their own tale of woe. Something drastic must be done before any more harm befalls us.’

  I ducked back behind cover to check on Pierre. He was being uncharacteristically quiet.

  ‘This isn’t how I thought things were going to go,’ he whispered, staring at an empty spot on the floor about three feet away. ‘After everything the Council told us, the stories that were passed down from generation to generation and species to species, and after all we’ve seen the Torri-Tau do since they escaped prison… this all seems a little… unfair. No wonder they went so mental when they got out. All they ever wanted was the same freedom as everyone else.’

  ‘Something drastic?’ yelled Makka-Soj, standing up from his chair. ‘What in the multiverse are you talking about?’

  ‘We’re talking about solving a problem, Soj,’ replied the blob. ‘We’re correcting a mistake. Putting things right.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting what I think you are.’ Makka-Soj took a step backwards and collapsed into his chair. His eyes were wide, his forehead sweating. ‘No, you can’t be. You introduced us to the multiverse. This isn’t our fault. You can’t wipe us out like… like… like you’re goi
ng to wipe out the octowürms. We’re people, for crying out loud. We have rights!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Makka-Soj,’ bleated the goat. ‘But it’s for the greater good. Deep down, I’m sure you appreciate our position.’

  ‘No, no. No. There has to be another way. My people will understand if we have to change. I’ll make sure they understand, I swear.’

  ‘The committee will vote on the exact nature of the solution after a brief recess,’ sighed the goat. ‘I’m sorry, Makka-Soj. I truly am. Guards, please make sure the Torri-Tau delegate does not leave this room.’

  Two black-clad guards with featureless masks over their faces marched forward. They crossed their electrically-charged pikes in front of Makka-Soj’s chair. He stared at them in blank shock.

  ‘You can’t do this!’ he screamed as the members of the Council rose from their seats and the rest of the crowd turned to talk to one another. ‘You bastards! You hypocrites! Inter-universal travel is a gift to be given to all, not kept hidden for use only by those few you deem worthy. You cannot punish me for being what I am!’

  ‘I don’t know about you, George, but I am seriously starting to question where we go from here.’

  Pierre was pacing back and forth in our little secluded area of the chamber. All the aliens were chatting amongst themselves so the risk of us being noticed was pretty slim, but his pacing was making me anxious all the same.

  ‘I mean, it was all so much simpler when the Torri-Tau were just the Gatecrashers, the cosmic boogeyman spreading from planet to planet and consuming everything,’ he continued, running a hand through his hair. ‘They were a virus before, now they’re an empire, we’ve got to get rid of them - that was what I was going to say before. I was going to argue that the Council should show them less compassion. But now… it seems as if everything the Council ever told us…’

  ‘Was a load of bollocks?’ I said, wishing Pierre would at least have his crisis in the cover of our pillar. ‘Yeah, sure seems that way. Not the nicest crowd, if I’m honest.’