Future Tense

by Frank Almond

  “How d’you work that one out?” said Jemmons.

  “We’ve got to keep her sweet. Now, Roger, be honest, do you have a problem with that?”

  “This is madness,” I said. “You can’t ask Roger to marry her—what if she fancies a post-nuptial snack in the night?”

  “Stephen!” said Emma. “That is so cruel!”

  “No, I can’t marry her,” said Jemmons, vigorously shaking his head.

  “Look, Rog,” said the Duck, “don’t think of her as a squid pretending to be a woman, think of her as a woman who just happens to be capable of turning into a squid—once in a blue moon.”

  “Once every full moon more like,” I said.

  “No, it’s not that,” said Jemmons, shaking his head.

  “All right, so she feels a bit slimy and tastes a bit salty—but give me one good reason why you won’t marry her,” said the Duck.

  Jemmons opened his mouth to answer.

  “I can give you eight,” I said. “And they’ve all got suckers on.”

  “This is species discrimination!” cried the Duck. “I will not tolerate this outrageous prejudice!”

  “You cannot expect a human being to mate with a—with a—”

  “Go on, say it,” said the Duck.

  “Slimy alien vampire,” I said.

  “That’s speciesist!” quacked the Duck. “So what if she looks a bit different from your usual bird, that’s no reason to reject her out of hand.”

  “Er, shouldn’t that be out of tentacle?”

  The Duck looked genuinely—not that this means anything in his case—shocked at my quip.

  “You disappoint me, Stephen, you really do,” he sighed, slumping down in his captain’s chair. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when a son of mine could utter such a—such a cruel, ignorant, racist remark. I would have been proud to see you married to this fine specimen of a—of a princess. I built you up. Princess, I said, Stephen is a baronet, that’s above a knight, but below a baron, a sort of baron-knight, but I promise you, Your Highness, there won’t be many of those where my son is concerned—I’ve seen to that, genetically speaking—you won’t find him wanting in that department, I said—”

  I interrupted him. “Save your speeches. I know where this is going—you know Jemmons won’t marry her, so you’re trying to make me feel guilty, so I offer to do it—well, it won’t wash, because I love Emma and I’m marrying Emma. Period.”

  “Well, how else are we going to get out of here?”

  “I know: why don’t you marry her?” I said.

  Before the Duck could open his mouth to protest, Jemmons spoke:

  “I never said I wouldn’t marry her,” he said, with a shy shrug.

  We all looked at him in astonishment.

  “But you said you couldn’t marry her,” I said.

  “Shut up—he’s marrying her,” said the Duck.

  “For heaven’s sake let him speak!” said Emma.

  “I can’t marry her, because she don’t love me,” said Jemmons.

  This remark left the Duck and me speechless. But Emma immediately went to give Jemmons a hug.

  “Oh, Roger, that is so sweet,” she said.

  “I would marry her if she’d have me—but I don’t reckon she’s too keen,” he said.

  “But you cannot be serious,” I said. “She’s a squid.”

  “Oh, I know she’s not every man’s idea of a catch.”

  “Only in a net,” I said.

  Emma shot me a scornful look.

  “Well, you can joke, Stevie, but I’ve been a single-hander all my life—no woman ever looked twice at me—so maybe it is time I found myself a shipmate. I reckon this here woman is as good as any I’d find if I searched the seven seas over. So, I’m willing, if she’s willing.”

  Emma smiled tearfully and gave him a little peck on the cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Roger,” I said. “You’re right—she’s quite a catch—woman.”

  The Duck patted Jemmons on the back and said, “It is a far better thing you do than—”

  “—You’ve ever done!” I said.

  “I’m not doing this for any of you. I’m doing it for me—if she’ll have me,” said Jemmons. “Now, I don’t know if it’s love I feel here in this lonely old heart of mine, but something’s all a-flutter in there, like a fledgling attempting his first clumsy flight to freedom, his first jump into the new domain of air—”

  “Yeah—all right, Rog, don’t milk it, mate,” I said.

  “She’s coming round!” said Emma. “Princess?”

  The Princess’ body glowed and throbbed with a fluorescent green light. Her eyelids fluttered. Strange gurgling noises emanated from deep within her, slowly turning into a blood-curdling scream!

  We all—including her would-be suitor—ran for our lives. Emma and I took the emergency stairs. The Duck and Jemmons bolted for the chute. As we clattered down the metal stairs, we could hear ferocious shouts and crashes behind us—it sounded like the Princess was trashing the control room.

  “Which way?” cried Emma, as we came to the foot of the stairs.

  “I don’t know—um—this door!” I grabbed her hand and dragged her inside. It was dark and cramped, but it felt safe.

  “What’s that smell?” whispered Emma.

  I felt around the wall for a light switch, but there wasn’t one.

  “I don’t know.”

  “If I’m going to die,” said Emma, “I am not doing it in a smelly hole like this.”

  I moved to open the door and hit my head on a chain. I pulled it and a light came on. Emma screamed. I looked around. I screamed. We were in a store cupboard and the shelving looked like those pigeon holes you find in hotel receptions—only instead of room keys and letters, there was a decapitated head in each. But even worse—we recognised one of them! Emma buried her face in my chest.

  “Oh, Steve—it’s Jody.”

  “It must be the spare parts for the androids,” I said. I peered more closely at Jody’s head. The eyes were wide and staring. “Dear, dear, Jody,” I said softly. “I knew her, Emma—I mean, I really knew her.”

  “Hi, Steve—Hi, Em!” said Jody. “How’s it hanging, guys?”

  Emma and I decided not to reply, but opted instead to vacate the cupboard as soon as possible. I know we were cowards, but you have to remember we were being chased by a fifty-foot squid, so our nerves were a little jangled.

  Emma was first out the door—I couldn’t stop her—but I turned back—to switch off the light and close the door with a kind of quiet respect.

  Emma was gone—around the corner, I assumed.

  “Emma?” I called.

  “Steve?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Here!”

  I spun round. Emma was standing just a few yards away.

  “There you are—look, I’ve been thinking—what about those snowmobiles we saw on the lower deck. Think you could drive one?”

  “No problem,” she smiled.

  “Steve?” said a voice, directly behind me. “Oh, my God!”

  I turned round and did a double take—it was another Emma! I looked back at the other one. They were identical. I stood side on to them so that I could keep them both in the corners of my eyes and only had to turn my head slightly to face either of them.

  “Steve?” said the first one, the one on my left. “It’s me.”

  “I’m Emma, Steve,” said the one on my right. “Don’t listen to her—it’s the Princess.”

  Chapter 20

  I stared at her, looking for something Emmaesque to leap out at me. I was waiting for that sixth sense to kick in and give me the aura, that quintessence of the real Emma. I looked round at the other one. There was just no way of telling them apart.

  “Ah!” I said. “I know which one’s Emma.”

  “Me!” said the two Emmas.

  I smiled. “You know it’s kinda nice having two of you. I don’t suppose we could come to some pe
rmanent arrangement—”

  “No!” chorused the two Emmas, folding their arms.

  “Oh, well, it was worth a try. Now, the real Emma will have the key. So show me the key,” I said.

  “I hid it,” said the one on my right.

  I looked to the one on my left. She was staring levelly at the other one.

  “All right—where did I hide it then?” she said.

  I turned back to the other one for the response.

  “For heaven’s sake, Steve—I’m not going to tell you—that’s what she wants—she’s reading our minds—she’s waiting for me to think of the place I hid it,” she said.

  “Um—I know! What were you drinking in the cellar?”

  “Bollie!” they both shouted.

  “Erm.”

  “I told you, dipstick, she’s reading my mind!” they chorused.

  “Oh, yeah.” I thought for a moment. “Got it! I think I could tell if I kissed you both.”

  The two Emmas walked towards me and leant against the wall, directly opposite me, with their arms folded and the same sick sceptical expression on their faces.

  “It was just an idea,” I said.

  “Go ahead,” they both said. They looked at each other and sighed impatiently.

  I puckered my lips. “Okay, let’s do it,” I said. “Who’s first?”

  “After you,” they both said.

  “I know, I’ll dip out,” I said. “Eeny-meany-micker-acker-ear-eye-domin-acker-domin-acker-lolli-poppa-om-pom-push!”

  I pointed to the left hand Emma. She smiled and stepped forward. I took her in my arms and we kissed. I opened my eyes and looked over her shoulder at the other one. It was a real turn on—twins! It felt good—and I was just beginning to get the distinct feeling that I was picking up the right Emma vibes—when I was suddenly wearing a full set of wrap-around tentacles.

  “You idiot!” said the real Emma, backing away.

  “Give me the key—or I will crush him,” said the Princess, slowly changing back into her real self, right in front of my face. There was much slurping and erupting of flesh and I got splashes of slime all over me. I closed my eyes. She spun me around and held me in a stranglehold.

  “Sorry, Em,” I said, spitting some slime off my lips.

  “It’s in there,” said Emma, pointing to the cupboard.

  “Well, don’t just stand there—go and get it,” snapped the Princess. I don’t think she cared much for Emma.

  Emma gave me another disapproving look and disappeared into the storeroom.

  A few moments later, the smiling head of Jody peeped round the door.

  “Hello,” she said. “Emma’s fainted and says you must come and help her.”

  Emma stepped out, holding the head. She looked at it.

  “Nice try, Jody, but I think you just gave it away.”

  “Oh, did I? Sorry, Em.”

  “You just needed more rehearsal, Jody,” I said.

  “Oh, hi, Steve—how’s it hanging, baby?”

  “Put that pathetic droid head back and give me the key,” said the Princess.

  Emma went back into the cupboard. As she came back out and closed the door, she placed her hand on it and paused.

  “What’s that?” she said. “Can you feel it?”

  The Princess pushed me aside and laid her hand flat on the wall. I did the same.

  “It’s vibrating,” I said. “Are we moving?”

  “No,” said the Princess. “There was no upthrust.”

  Suddenly, we all noticed a slight change in the light—it got dimmer.

  “I know what it is!” I said.

  “What?” said the Princess.

  “It’s a net—they’ve locked onto the coordinates of the ship and they’re going to transport us through time to another place.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “How d’you think they brought me and Emma here in the first place? You watch—all the walls will turn black and everything’ll go into red and blue outline—with bits of green in the shadows.”

  “Give me the key,” said the Princess, rushing to Emma, to take it off her. Emma handed it over.

  “You won’t be able to get off,” I said. “There’s a force field or something.”

  “Temporal gravity,” said the Princess. “I must hurry.”

  She began running up the corridor, but was soon slowed down to a walking pace by the force.

  Faint hints of green started appearing in the shadows of the ship’s superstructure. The throbbing increased, but it was still faint compared to the pounding pulse Emma and I had experienced in the latter stages of the transfer, when we were caught on the barge. The event was just beginning.

  I reached Emma and took her hand. She slowly turned her head to look at me.

  The light began to flicker a little. We watched the Princess’ progress up the passageway and set off after her. Suddenly, the Princess fell and lumps started to swell up in her back.

  “She’s in trouble,” I said.

  The Princess rolled over slowly onto her back and beckoned us.

  “What’s wrong with her?” said Emma, trying to go faster, but we were really having to strain to pick up our feet. It was like trying to run directly into a very strong wind—only our clothes and hair were not being blown.

  “I don’t know—it must be the force.” My voice was beginning to deepen. “It’s much stronger than last time.”

  “Bigger ship,” intoned Emma, in a kind of slow sexy drawl.

  I gave her a slow glance. Our eyes met. She slowly covered her mouth and slowly looked embarrassed. I slowly grinned.

  It seemed to take half an hour—though it must have been much less than that—to reach the Princess. There was still no sign of the blue and red outlining—the sort of X-ray effect the “netting” causes—presumably because, as Emma said, the hovercraft was a much bigger vessel than the barge and would, therefore, take more power to timeport, so I was hoping there was still a chance of us getting off—if we could only find a quick way out.

  “Take her legs,” I said.

  Emma stooped down and seemed to take an age to lift the Princess’ legs. I reached under her arms and lifted.

  “We’re going to get you off,” said Emma.

  I looked at her and did a double take—she sounded like a man!

  “My God—you sound like Margaret Thatcher!”

  “The force is getting stronger,” said Emma.

  “They must be putting too much testosterone in the mix,” I said.

  “She’s heavy,” said Emma. “Princess? Can you help us?”

  The Princess was unable to respond. I assumed she had tried to change into her giant squid form to bust out of the ship, but the metamorphosis had been interrupted by the temporal gravity net. And now she was stuck in mid-transformation. It was not a pretty sight. Half her face was sort of melted away, revealing a peculiar white-textured skin beneath. And her fingers had developed a few small suckers. There was also quite a bit of slime. For all I knew the process could have been still going on in her body, but it was so slowed down, it was hard to detect.

  We carried her with great effort to an open area, where I remembered there being an iron staircase, leading down to the loading bay and the snowmobile pool, somewhere nearby. If the vessel had the same layout as the one that had picked me and Emma up off the barge, the large hatchway we had been brought aboard through would be in the same place. That’s what I was hoping anyway.

  As we turned to go down the stairs, we saw the Duck and Jemmons struggling along an adjacent passageway. We met on the sort of landing area, where all the corridors converged on the emergency stairs. Jemmons waved. The Duck just concentrated on pushing himself along. Emma and I stopped so that they could catch up and give us a hand.

  Now I began to see the beginnings of the strange red lines, sketching in the geometry of the ship’s architecture. It really was just like a very finicky artist drawing an outline of the i
nterior with fluorescent pens of red, blue, and green light.

  The Duck and Jemmons had just about reached us.

  “This is temporal netting,” I intoned. By now my voice was beginning to sound rather like it was being played on vinyl at the wrong rpm, making it much more bassy and slower than normal.

  The Duck ignored me and tried to get ahead.

  “What’s wrong with her?” said Jemmons.

  He sounded like he could sing “Ol’ Man River.”

  “She got stuck in mid-change—gruesome, isn’t it?” I said. “I wonder what her menopause looks like. Give us a hand with her.”

  The Duck still ignored me and tried to walk past and head down the stairs. I grabbed the sleeve of his biggles and pulled.

  “Help us,” I said. “Take a leg.”

  “I’m not helping her—she would have left us to die,” he said, in his normal voice.

  “Your voice hasn’t changed,” I said.

  “I had to have a bioelectronic voice box fitted when my voice never broke.”

  “That explains a lot. Take her foot—or I’ll smack you,” I said.

  “Who’s got the key?”

  “She has.”

  He kept pulling against me, so I let him go and he fell down the stairs in slow motion. The rest of us picked up the Princess and started down slowly, like climbers returning from the summit, picking our steps carefully and checking with each other before making any deviation from the path. When we tried to skirt round the fallen figure of the Duck, who was finding it difficult to get back up, we had to co-ordinate our feet, because the Duck actually used the Princess’ body to pull himself up, as we went by. I was just about to let go of my shoulder and reach out to hit him, when he took one of the Princess’ feet from Emma and joined in.

  “Good boy,” I said.

  By the time we got to the bottom of the stairs, we were all exhausted, but still had half the ship to walk, and carry the Princess. We could see the corridor curving away from us, but none of us had the spirit to be the first to tell the others to crack on.

  “This is no good,” said the Duck. “Wait here—I’ll go.”

  I was too tired to argue. Jemmons looked in an even worse state than me. Emma looked fairly fresh.