The Door

by Tony Harmsworth

  Twenty-five minutes later we were in a sealed tank-like vehicle heading across the Martian desert. Towed behind us were two vortex buildings. One for time travel and another for matter transfer.

  ‘First, we will survey the flat area of the plain and ensure any dust build-up is gone, then both of these rooms will be set up. If you look behind us to the right you will see a construction squad are following us,’ explained Zmblist.

  We pressed our faces to the window and saw another half-dozen of these vehicles with trailers and powered digging vehicles moving on a parallel course behind us.

  ‘You organise things quickly. How did the vehicles arrive?’ asked Mike.

  ‘We have a separate large portal for vehicles. We’ll have to create one with a time-vortex to get them back to early Mars. I am now chief engineer and Nrgghnntitigzxt has appointed one of the scientists as senior counsellor, so things will happen really fast. We do not mess about when we are given authority. The world is still due to end during my lifetime. We think no sooner than thirty years, but we could be wrong. We must move swiftly if we are to save the population.’

  ‘I’m impressed. How will this be undertaken?’ asked Greg.

  ‘While we’re working, the construction squad will build a temporary dome to cover the initial area. Both the vortex buildings will be set up side by side with space for the larger one for vehicles and heavy equipment.

  ‘Two of my colleagues have the risky job of checking the temporal anchor point in 1900. Once they have returned with the all-clear, the components for the anchor point vortex will arrive through our matter-transfer vortex for onward transmission.’

  ‘What is the particular danger?’ I asked.

  ‘The logrol could arrive in the middle of a mountain which has been eroded away. Death would be pretty instantaneous if they followed it. Also, we have to allow a few metres of error so they will actually arrive above the surface and fall to the ground. If we misjudge that they could be seriously injured.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘That aside, within two months there will be an enormous dome on this site shipping components back to 1900 Mars.’

  ‘One thing bothers me,’ I said.

  ‘That is?’

  ‘Why is there no population living here today? Why is this flat plain not home to a huge sophisticated dome? If you build it in the past, it should be here in our time now.’

  ‘Well, not until we’ve started and we are taking precautions.’

  ‘What precautions?’ asked Mike.

  ‘We will ensure that once the civilisation is built on Mars, this plain will be completely cleared and returned to its natural state.’

  ‘The state it is in now?’ I said.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘But there will be other domes spread all over Mars, surely?’

  ‘When the entire population is transferred and this area returned to how it is now, it will be as we see it today. Standing here at this moment we have no idea whether or not we will succeed or fail and that is how it must be.’

  ‘But the other areas of Mars. They’ll be peppered with signs of ancient civilisation. You could hardly miss them. Where are they?’ I asked in puzzlement.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘But they aren’t there. You would know about it.’

  ‘Your logic is good, Henry, but false.’

  ‘I’m with Henry,’ said Mike.

  ‘Me too,’ said Greg.

  ‘Think about it,’ said Zmblist with a face-splitting grin. I realised that the time-scientist was now in his element and brimming with confidence. We thought we had common sense and better logic, but Zmblist knew otherwise.

  26 Incomprehensible Logic

  ‘I really don’t understand, Zmblist,’ I said. ‘If the Earth population is moved to Mars, the evidence must be found all over the planet.’

  ‘Yes, but we are not going to look for it,’ he replied.

  ‘But you’d know. Schletz told us Mars had been fully explored.’

  ‘Yes. It has.’

  ‘So, why’s there no evidence of the population being moved?’

  ‘It is only when we begin the project, that the signs that we have done so will appear on Mars in our time. It is you who made us realise that. Currently all research staff on Mars are being called back to Earth so that they will not see any changes.’

  ‘But if the project succeeds, we won’t be here and now.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘So, when you start the move, our reality will no longer exist.’

  ‘Almost correct.’ Another huge grin appeared on Zmblist’s face.

  ‘Come on, Zmblist. Stop messing about. Explain,’ said Greg.

  ‘Ha-ha. I surrender,’ he said and laughed.

  ‘From the moment the time-logrol is sent, the future will change. If we know the project has succeeded then there is no need for us to do any more than send the logrol, but that obviously would create a circular paradox and it could have worrying repercussions.

  ‘So, we must not know that we have succeeded.’

  ‘How can you prevent the discovery of that knowledge?’ I asked.

  ‘There has already been a directive on Earth that all observation of Mars must stop. That is in place. No one will observe the planet from this point on except from this one location.

  ‘On Mars itself, the moment we begin the transfer – in fact, from the moment we send the logrol, no movement will be allowed on Mars except between the base we set off from and via the matter transporters we install here.

  ‘In the past, we will ensure a directive to reinstate this area exactly as it is now and detailed images will be sent with the first party to travel to 1900 Mars. What we see around us, will not change – succeed or fail.’

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘All of your community will be transferring to early Mars on the second or third large-scale transfer.’

  ‘Not back to Earth?’ Greg asked.

  ‘No. We cannot allow you to return to Earth until after we have moved the entire population to early Mars.’

  ‘Okay, I see,’ I said, and I saw Mike and Greg nod.

  ‘We need to talk about our roles in introducing you to Earth from Mars,’ said Greg.

  ‘With Schletz, I’ll be coming to your community dome to explain everything. It will happen the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘I think we’d like to know now, Zmblist.’

  ‘I’d prefer not, Greg. It will be clearer if it is done in one dome meeting in our opinion.’

  - o O o -

  The meeting room was full to overflowing. All two hundred and twenty-six twenty-first century residents plus four future-people scientists – Schletz, Zmblist, and two others we didn’t know.

  Greg opened the meeting. ‘I’m delighted to have four of the future-people’s scientists attend this meeting to explain how our return to our own time is to be achieved. I’ll hand over to their chief scientist and time expert, Zmblist, to explain the plan.’

  ‘Thank you, Greg, and thank you, everyone else for being so patient. We apologise for having kept you in the future, but, as your leaders have explained, we had no choice if we were going to avoid the most dreadful time paradoxes.

  ‘We have already set up cities on Mars in your time and are populating them by moving the population in phases. They are being transported at the rate of almost a million people per day and are arriving there at one million each two months. So, the million who go today will arrive, say January 1910, tomorrow’s million will arrive March 1910. This gives time for preparations and building to keep pace with the immigrating population. This is a simplification, of course, the rate of arrival in the twentieth century will be slow at first and increase as the century progresses, but you get the principle, I hope.’

  ‘When do we get back to our time on Earth?’ shouted a voice from the audience.

  ‘That is somewhat more problematical,’ said Schletz. ‘We cannot just send you back to your own time or
paradoxes will still occur and affect us now, nor can we hold you here or it will cause your community to be affected by a different paradox. We do have a solution, though.’

  Zmblist continued, ‘Tomorrow, we will begin sending you to Mars and back through the time portal to 2018 Mars. From there, we will return you to a point just prior to our capturing you originally. However, this will not prevent a serious paradox here and now. To avoid that, we have been trying out a new procedure of mind control using our mental abilities. We will wipe your minds so that you will not remember what has occurred to you while you have been in the future. Your experience will not have happened.’

  Greg whispered in Zmblist’s ear and an agitated conversation took place out of range of the microphone. The crowd began mumbling and grumbling amongst each other.

  ‘Calm down, everyone,’ said Greg.

  ‘But no one said anything about wiping our memories,’ shouted John from the front row of seats.

  ‘Definitely not,’ I called, and heard many others, particularly from our inner-circle shouting similar protests.

  ‘We have no choice. Our people are sacrificing their association with friends and relations throughout our time, by participating in building the Mars colony. We cannot have that jeopardised by allowing someone to trigger off the paradox.’

  ‘Then send us back from Mars when you arrive to speak to the twenty-first century leaders about the grand plan to send interstellar ships to the stars,’ said John.

  ‘We want to cause as little disruption to your own lives as possible,’ said Schletz.

  ‘Then let those who wish to retain their memories, do so,’ said Greg.

  ‘Yes. I don’t want to forget everything I’ve experienced during my time here,’ I called out.

  ‘You will not lose your memories permanently. When we come to see your leaders in 2018, we will contact each of you to come to a meeting where we will reinstate your memories,’ Zmblist said.

  This seemed to settle the audience.

  ‘Okay, Greg, John, Jennifer, Mike, and Henry, you come with us now and we’ll discuss the detail,’ said Zmblist.

  - o O o -

  Our meeting took place and the following day we ‘ancients’ found ourselves standing on Mars in a magnificent city which had been constructed during the previous hundred years. It was a bustling metropolis. We’d been given freedom of the city and everyone knew who we were and came to talk to us if they saw us in the streets, shops, or parks. What a turnaround.

  On the day we arrived, Earth was at its nearest approach and, after dark, through strong binoculars, we could see its beautiful blue and white marbling. It made Hazel and me feel even more homesick and we were looking forward to our return to our home world in a few weeks’ time.

  On one particular day, we arranged for a trip out into the Martian desert and actually stood in spacesuits to have our pictures taken with the domed city in the background.

  Later we arrived at the edge of Valles Marineris, a canyon which dwarfed the Grand Canyon of Earth. More photographs of us standing a safe distance from the crumbling edge. It was an amazing five miles deep at this point and stretched off to the horizon in both directions.

  We had agreed to our memories being temporarily erased, from the time we were captured, but Zmblist and Schletz promised everyone would have their memories returned once contact between the future people and Earth governments had been established.

  On our last day before our return I packed a small box of possessions which included photographs taken on future Earth, many on the Mars of today, and the pebble I’d collected from the surface of Mars during our first visit. I gave the container to Schletz for safekeeping until our memories were returned.

  We realised that we were taking a huge leap of faith in the integrity of the future people. They could wipe our memories and we’d never remember our great adventure to save humanity. We hoped our trust wasn’t misplaced.

  27 The Door

  I realised I was in a rut with Addy as we walked the last stretch of our evening promenade.

  Quarter of a mile back to home. We’d passed the last farm entrance on the lane and came alongside the stone wall to some ancient convent.

  The wall stood solidly, ten or twelve feet high with the individual stones visible occasionally where the scabby mortar cladding had fallen off over the years. I guessed the wall must have stood there at least a hundred and fifty years, maybe longer.

  In places, ivy had taken a hold providing a mottled natural look. Set into the wall, the arched door’s green paint was peeling and in need of a new coat.

  We were eight to ten feet past the door when I stopped dead in my tracks. Addy came to a halt at the furthest extent of her lead. The Jack Russell was surprised at my sudden halt and looked around.

  ‘What door?’ I asked myself, turning and walking back to the ivy clad section of wall I had just passed.

  How strange.

  I had never noticed a door in this wall. Surely, I would have remembered it, passing it at least a couple of times each week. It was very distinctive. A wonderful curved stone doorway, ivy clad. Paint was peeling off the door, but that seemed to add character to it. On the left side I saw a black, round door handle and circular lock escutcheon. Central at the top were rust-stained marks in the paint where some long-since-gone sign was once attached. What a strange aberration? The mind can truly play tricks. I honestly couldn’t remember ever having seen it before.

  I reached forward and turned the handle. The catch made a clunking noise as it rotated and, cautiously, I pushed the door open.

  Inside was a flat area of stone slabs with weeds and grass growing up between them. An orchard showed similar neglect and the pathway towards a looming stone building was almost completely overgrown, although many of the weeds seemed to have been trampled down.

  I was intruding.

  I carefully shut the door, ensuring the clasp had engaged then we headed towards home.

  I looked at my watch. Six fifty-five. Hazel would be almost home. I gave a wee tug on the lead and we set off at a faster pace, turned left along Abbess Road, then right into The Sisters.

  Addy and I stopped at the seventh house on the left. Number fifteen – there was no thirteen in this street. Hazel’s Lexus stood outside. She was already home. I fiddled around for my keys and opened the door.

  ‘Hi, darling. It’s me.’

  ‘In the living room,’ came the reply.

  I let Addy off the lead and she scooted along the polished wood floor and tried to turn sharp left into the lounge. I sniggered as her back legs slid beyond her owing to the speed of her racing turn. She always did that if Hazel was home, letting out an excited ‘found you’ bark.

  I hung the lead on a hook on the old-fashioned settle and coat stand in the hall, slipped my tweed jacket onto a hanger and put my shoes on the rack. Now in some comfy slippers, I joined my wife in the lounge.

  She was leaning forward petting Addy. I bent over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Have a good day?’

  ‘Yes. Interesting divorce case this afternoon which made up for a boring morning’s conveyancing.’

  ‘Ha-ha. Someone playing away?’

  ‘Yes, a serial lecher! It’s going to cost him.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ve a chicken in the slow cooker. Ready soon. Some wine?’

  ‘Please. I looked at dinner. Smells lovely.’

  I walked through the hallway towards the rear of the house with Addy trotting after me. I checked the chicken. It was almost ready.

  We sat down to eat chicken, parsnips, carrots, sweet potatoes, and sugar snap peas on our lap trays, while we watched a recorded episode of Happy Valley. Scary!

  I cleared away the dishes and took them through to the dishwasher when there was a call from the lounge.

  ‘Henry, quick! Get through here!’

  I ran along the hall thinking something had fallen over or Hazel had hurt herself, but no, she had Sky News on freeze frame.

 
‘What’s up?’

  ‘You won’t believe this. Sit down.’

  I plumped down on the sofa beside her, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  She picked up the Sky control and ran the news back to the beginning. It was only a minute or so into the programme.

  She pressed play.

  ‘This is the news at nine o’clock,’ said the newsreader.

  ‘Aliens appear to have landed,’ she announced and the cameras outside Number Ten, Downing Street showed a strange metal cylinder like a tin can, standing in the road. About twenty feet in diameter and fifteen feet high, it sat motionless.

  ‘It’s not April first, is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Shut up. Watch.’

  The newsreader continued, ‘This cylinder arrived in Downing Street at five minutes to nine. It appeared out of nowhere. One second it wasn’t there, the next it was.’

  The video kept repeating the sequence over and over, as they do when nothing is happening during a news story.

  ‘Our political editor, James Cawte is at the scene.’

  The screen closed to a shot of the well-known journalist. Strangely, he was standing obliquely to the camera, looking off at about forty degrees and his hand was holding a tablet at a strange angle, yet he wasn’t moving.

  ‘Good evening, Anna. Firstly, I must apologise for being unable to face the camera or put my tablet down. My limbs are frozen.

  ‘The moment the cylinder arrived, everyone in the street became stuck in some kind of force field which holds you like quicksand, but lets you breathe and talk normally.’

  The camera changed to another which showed the whole of Downing Street from somewhere beyond Number Eleven.

  James continued, ‘As you can see, from this aspect, there are the usual armed police and other individuals fixed in the motions they were undertaking when the cylinder arrived. Everyone was frozen in position and the effect stretches about fifty yards in each direction.’

  The camera zoomed in to a policeman standing mid-stride in an impossible position. No living person could remain balanced with all their weight on the toes of one foot in such a manner. Bizarre.