Future Tense

by Frank Almond

  “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  The Duck cringed at the sound of her deep voice. Emma took his hand and they set off. Jemmons and I slumped down with the Princess and rested with our backs against the wall. As I watched Emma slowly trudge around the corner with the Duck, I wondered if it would be the last time I would ever see them again. Tears came into my eyes and stayed there. I looked around me—and would this be the last place I would ever see? It was like the inside of the Museum of Modern Art—with rivets. I noticed a red line going into the door I was leaning against. Red is for bombs, I thought. I hauled myself up and opened the door—bombs stretched away from me on hundreds of racks, aisle after aisle of bombs. I looked over at Jemmons. His eyes were closed. I crawled in. I found a trolley—presumably for transporting bombs around—and climbed on, and then I pulled myself along the aisle, rather like a surfer paddling out to meet the waves. I didn’t have to go far before I found what I was looking for. It was a wooden crate—already opened and half empty—with the words: LAND MINES – TYPE: TIMER. I laughed ghoulishly to myself in my new horror movie voice, and lifted one out very carefully, placed it even more carefully down on the floor, and set the timer for fifteen minutes. Then I turned to haul myself back out on the trolley.

  Suddenly, something gripped my ankle!

  I turned my head in terror and saw what looked like a small robot—probably used to carry the bombs about. It looked a bit like a metal bulldog, with huge jaws.

  “Let go, you little sod!” I said.

  I attempted to shake him off. But his pneumatic mouth was firmly locked onto my leg. When I realized how heavy and strong the thing was, I panicked—I had visions of being trapped in the bomb store when my land mine blew up. Hoist by my own petard. Few before me could have used that metaphor more aptly. When all my efforts to kick my captor away with my other foot failed, I tried to reach it to turn the timer off. But the little metal munitions worker tugged me back each time. And then I saw that I could reach another bomb off the rack above us—a round one with the word BRIMSTONE printed on it in yellow paint.

  “Here, boy!” I said. “Fetch!”

  I threw the bomb and it clattered up the aisle and rolled along like a bowling ball. My captor immediately let me go and shuffled after it.

  I dragged myself away on the trolley and pulled myself through the door.

  Jemmons looked round just as I was bolting it behind me.

  “Quick—help me put her on,” I said.

  I rolled off and we lifted the Princess onto the trolley.

  “Come on,” I said. “It doesn’t look like they’re coming back.”

  Jemmons nodded and we made our way to the front of the trolley, took the towing bar, and started pulling it very ponderously along the passageway. We made slow progress—the bend in the big wide corridor seemed never-ending. Twice Jemmons stumbled and fell and I had to stop and struggle to pull him back up on his feet. The second time he told me to leave him and go on, but I wouldn’t, even though I wanted to leave them both and just save myself. All I could think about was getting off that vessel alive with Emma. That was all I cared about, but there was something else in me that wouldn’t let me desert Jemmons and the Princess. I don’t know what it was—a basic humanity, perhaps, or just the thought of what Emma would say when I tried to explain it to her.

  It had begun to get much darker and I could see our invisible artist filling in more and more straight red lines, and shading in the shadowy recesses in green. Also the throbbing had increased and there was now quite a powerful thrum throughout the ship. In fact, it had suddenly become very loud. I panicked because I thought maybe the temporal net had speeded up and we had actually run out of time. The throbbing noise became alarmingly loud. Jemmons and I looked at each other wide-eyed and shook our heads. I think we were trying to say goodbye to each other.

  At that moment, a huge snowmobile roared around the bend ahead and skidded to a halt, but with the powerful engine still left ticking over. The ski-suited, begoggled driver raised her goggles up and waved. It was Emma. She was alone.

  “Thank God!” I said, sounding uncannily like Tom Waits by now.

  She climbed down off the seat and came to give us a hand, in slow motion.

  “Where’s the Duck?” I intoned.

  “Don’t ask,” she responded, in a deep dark voice.

  We lifted the Princess off the trolley and carried her to the two-man snowmobile. There was enough room for me to share the driver’s seat and for Jemmons to sit on the passenger seat, holding the Princess in front of him. The only problem was Emma found the snowmobile was too long to turn in the corridor, so she had to drive us all the way back down to the foot of the stairs—where we had started from—and use it as a turning area.

  “So what happened with the Duck?”

  “He has the key,” she said.

  “He has the key?”

  “Didn’t you see him pick her pocket when he asked you who had the key?”

  “Damn. No, I didn’t. I should have known—the little—”

  “He said he would be back.”

  “Yeah. Right. I like your voice. You sound like Conan the Barbarian’s sister.”

  As we drove, I noticed that the speedometer was up around the 60 clicks mark, but we were only moving at something a little faster than walking pace. I remembered my bomb, but was too embarrassed to mention it. It was a pretty stupid thing to do.

  “Can’t this thing go any faster?” I said.

  “We’re doing sixty,” said Emma.

  “Sixty what—zimmer frames an hour?”

  And then we were entering the loading bay. The hatch was open and the ramp engaged.

  “Hold on, everybody!” said Emma.

  Jemmons grunted. Emma swung the big machine around and nosed it out—and then we were on the ramp and sailing through the freezing air, with the ice below us and the starry night above. But we were still being pulled by the temporal gravity from the ship. Suddenly we shot forward in a violent surge, as we escaped the force field, and then we were free—sailing off the end of the ramp and gliding, with the engine roaring and the skis squishing pleasantly over the ice.

  “We did it!” exclaimed Emma, taking one hand off the steering wheel to punch the air.

  “Brilliant, Em!” I cried. “Now put that other hand back.”

  Our voices were back to normal.

  She braked in a wide arc and we looked back at the stricken ship, glowing and pulsing in the distance.

  “So, what exactly did my wonderful father say before he deserted us?” I said.

  Emma left the motor running as she spoke—I think she was enjoying dominating the big powerful beast. Or, maybe that was just me fantasizing.

  “He said he would find the Princess’ ship.”

  “I bet he did. And then what?”

  “He said he was going to—” Emma’s voice slowed down. But this time she was doing it herself. “And—come back to rescue us.”

  “A likely story.”

  The ship suddenly exploded into a billion pieces, lighting up the ice sheet for miles and miles around. Bits and pieces of debris spewed out high over our heads and the shock wave actually slid us back several yards and singed the tiny hairs on our faces. The whole explosion was assuming the shape of a giant jellyfish, expanding and spreading its orange tendrils in a perfect dome all around itself.

  Emma opened the throttle and we were off, gliding ahead of the bouncing shrapnel and burning debris, which we could already see hitting the ice and hurtling towards us. And then hot shards from the ship’s superstructure began flying by and skimming across the ice ahead of us, hissing as they came to rest, forming hot puddles, that steamed and glowed. It was an uncomfortable feeling, waiting for something hot and jagged to hit us, but miraculously nothing did, and we were soon beyond the last of the spitting puddles, running on clean ice. Emma was heading for the far side of the island, which was still a smoking volcano of snow. I cast my eyes to
the left and watched it pass as Emma circled round. There were some figures on the lower slopes, and others straggling down from what was left of the wall.

  “I hope your father wasn’t in there,” said Emma.

  “Dad?” I swallowed hard and stared back at the roaring inferno.

  “What do you think happened?” said Emma.

  “Dunno,” I said. “Er, meltdown?”

  Suddenly another snowmobile zoomed out from a sheltered cove and headed towards us. There was a bespectacled character astride it.

  “It’s Dad!” I cried. “He’s alive! It’s my dad, Em! Dad! Dad!” I waved my arms about. I guess I must have been worried about him, subconsciously.

  “Easy, junior,” said Emma.

  Jemmons, who must have been half asleep, stirred.

  “Are you all right, Princess?”

  “Yes. Yes, I think I am, Roger,” she said drowsily.

  We slowed down and the Duck pulled in alongside. There was a spliff in the corner of his mouth. Emma stopped and switched off the ignition. The Duck did the same and relit his spliff.

  “Thank God, you’re okay—we thought you might have been onboard,” I said.

  “What the heck happened?” he said, through a cloud of marijuana smoke.

  “It just went,” I said. “Didn’t it, Em?”

  “Yeah,” she said. She made an explosive gesture with her hands. “It just went—boom.”

  The Duck looked sceptical.

  “I could have been on there,” he said.

  “But you weren’t, were you?” I said.

  “That’s not the point,” he said. “I was going to come back and help, but I thought I’d give you a bit more time.”

  “A bit more time to do what—die?”

  “I had a bit of trouble with me starting motor. I see you brought her,” he said, doing one of his lopsided smiles. “What d’you bring her for?”

  “Did you find her ship?” I said.

  “Ship. There wasn’t any bleeding ship,” he said, in disgust.

  “No ship?” I said. “But there must be.”

  “He means there is no actual vessel,” said the Princess. “I used the term ‘ship’ loosely.”

  “So what did you mean?” I said.

  “She means it’s just a time portal back to her planet—I’ve been led right up the garden path—hers!” said the Duck.

  “You’ve been there?” I said.

  “Well, I had a quick look. There’s nothing much to see—just a load of islands and lagoons.”

  “Sounds marvellous,” said Emma.

  “My world is rather like your Pacific Ocean, Emma.”

  “Yeah,” said the Duck. “Only the water’s petroleum green and the sky’s tangerine with yellow bleeding clouds. I thought I was on acid.”

  “Oh, don’t, Sir Julian,” sighed the Princess. “You’re making me homesick.”

  “Yeah, and you’re welcome to it,” said the Duck. He reached inside his biggles and pulled out the cranberry glass key. “Here. That was the crappiest planet I’ve ever been on.”

  The Princess took it and kissed it. “My key, my key,” she said, breathlessly. “If only you knew what this means to me. The planet Mormagleea is my precious home planet, but it is only one of a thousand homes I own all over the galaxy. And this key opens them all.”

  “So how do we get home?” I said.

  “Good bleeding question.”

  The Princess climbed off the snowmobile. Jemmons helped her down.

  “Oh, poor, Sir Julian,” she said. “He is such a little boy—he expected a fantastic time machine, with lots of new gadgets—all bells and whistles—something he could drive and show off to his friends on dull Sunday mornings. And all he got was a door into another world.” She laughed and laughed.

  “This is the thanks we get for saving her bleeding life—she’s all right—she’s got a home to go to—she’s going to leave us here and swan off to her psychedelic fish tank,” said the Duck.

  “Oh, how divine it will be to immerse myself once more in the warm, perfumed waters of Mormagleea, and stretch my frozen tentacles to their full extent. Oh.”

  “Oh, I so want to bath,” said Emma.

  “And so you shall, dear Emma,” said the Princess. “Do you really think I would abandon you here in this dreadful place after all you have done for me?” She turned to the Duck. “You see, Sir Julian, what you failed to discover was my key’s secret properties. Like me, you see, it can transform!”

  She held the key up and it changed into a remote handheld control, poxed with multicoloured buttons.

  “Neat!” exclaimed the Duck.

  “Now, take me to that beacon out there and I will show you just what my little box of tricks can do. Where would you like to go today—or tomorrow or yesterday?”

  The Duck grinned and quacked, “I always knew you’d come up trumps, Your Highness. I knew you were class and that’s why I wanted you to marry my son.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the Princess. She gazed up at Jemmons.

  “But I think now I shall go with my original choice—if the gentleman is as willing as I think he is. What do you say, Roger?”

  Jemmons hesitated bashfully. Emma nudged him.

  Jemmons dropped down on one knee. “Your Highness, will you marry me?” he blurted.

  “Arise, my Prince!” cried the Princess. She pulled Jemmons up into her arms and kissed him.

  We all applauded.

  “Er, Your Highness,” said my father, as we were all climbing back onto our snowmobiles. “Does our agreement still stand? After all I did introduce you to your intended. I did broker the union, so to speak.”

  The Princess smiled mischievously. “I’ll give you the plans and mathematical formula, Sir Julian—and let you work it out for yourself.”

  “It’s a deal,” said the Duck. “I think I’m up for a bit of reverse engineering. Now, we’ve got to go to Bristol first to fetch Emily and then go and drag her old man out of that twenty-ninth century PLEASURE-Dome. Oh, and can you drop me off in 1740—there’s some frost-damaged furniture going cheap.”

  “Oh, Sir Julian,” said the Princess. “You make me sound like a taxi service.”

  “Wait!” I said. “I have something very important to say.”

  Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked round at me.

  I dropped down on one knee.

  “Emma, will you marry me?” I said.

  “Marry you?” said Emma.

  There was a long embarrassing pause.

  “Love, I don’t want to rush you, but I’m getting a stiff knee down here.”

  “Only if Sir Julian agrees to marry Emily and the Princess dear Roger—in a triple wedding at Duckworth Hall,” said Emma.

  I looked to the others for their answers.

  “I’m game,” grinned Jemmons.

  “Oh, you dear, sweet, sentimental, young romantic you!” exclaimed the Princess, embracing Emma. “Of course, I agree—it’s a most excellent idea.”

  “Sir Julian?” prompted Emma.

  We all looked to the Duck.

  “No bloody way!” he blurted. We all lurched towards him threateningly. He held up his hands and quacked with delight. “You should have seen your faces!”

  We remounted our snowmobiles and vroomed off towards the twinkling violet-blue light on the horizon.

  But the Duck’s wouldn’t start.

  “Hey! Wait for me!” We heard him shouting. “It’s conked out! Wait—it won’t start! Come back!”

  “We’d better go back for him,” said Jemmons.

  “Who?” I said.

  And we all roared away with laughter.

  END

 

 

 
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