Mission

by Patrick Tilley

His eyes fastened on mine. ‘But in spite of what you’ve said, you believe me.’

  I wriggled uncomfortably under his gaze. ‘Look, uh, I already told you. Religion’s never been a big thing with me. Especially my own.’

  ‘Religion is not what it’s about, Leo,’ he said. ‘That’s something you people dreamed up. What I’m concerned with is awareness.’

  I grimaced. ‘You may have trouble in putting that across. I hate to tell you this but, in the last twenty years, “awareness” has become one of the world’s great clichés. It’s been exploited by all the wrong kinds of people.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘The other side has been busy.’

  ‘The other side?’ I ventured cautiously.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you know there was a war going on?’

  I hesitated, unwilling to respond to his question, but I couldn’t think of a way out. ‘You mean all those stories about a ceaseless conflict between the Forces of Light and the Forces of Darkness are true?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  My brain began to back-pedal. ‘Sounds interesting,’ I said flatly. ‘But I’m not clear on where I fit into any of this. I mean, this is big league stuff. What can I do?’

  ‘That’s something we still have to work out,’ he said.

  My face must have been a picture.

  ‘Leo,’ he said. ‘This is one fight where you can’t stand on the sidelines. All of us are involved whether we like it or not. So you might as well get used to the idea.’

  Okay, I thought. But don’t expect me to volunteer for hazardous duty. I’m strictly a rear-echelon man.

  If he picked up my cowardly thoughts, he did not reveal it. The one thing I did not need was news of an imminent Armageddon. I decided to steer the conversation back to something more innocuous. ‘I imagine your people must be wondering where you are.’

  ‘Yes,’ he mused. ‘I wish there was some way I could make contact.’

  I must tell you, I found it odd that he couldn’t. I mean, from the way he’d been built up by the Roman Church, you’d have expected him to have a direct line. But I didn’t press the point. ‘Where were you when you made this last time-jump?’

  ‘In a village a few miles from Jerusalem,’ he said. ‘A place called Bethany. I was talking to my brother James and some of the Twelve – ’

  ‘The disciples?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘My mother was there too. I walked out of the house expecting to be beamed up to the longship and – ’ He snapped his fingers. ‘ – there I was, outside this place.’

  I nodded sympathetically but tried to hold back on the concern. ‘The Book does mention your sudden disappearances in that period after the Resurrection, but the writers are a little hazy about your movements. Which is understandable. They weren’t there when it happened.’

  ‘Have you read the New Testament?’ he asked.

  ‘Not from cover to cover,’ I admitted. ‘But I know the general outline. And I can tell you one thing for sure. Nobody mentioned you had a sense of humour.’

  He smiled. ‘There were times when that was the only thing that kept me going.’

  ‘Well, the laughs aren’t in the Book,’ I said. ‘But it’s still sold a lot of copies. From what you’ve already told me it’s clear they didn’t get anything like the whole story. But let’s face it, they’re only human. Now that you’re here, why don’t we use what time you’ve got to set the record straight? Let’s get as much down as we can, then you decide what you want to do with it.’

  ‘Okay,’ he nodded. ‘Good idea …’

  It had to be. I’d been watching the bottle of wine. I’d had two glasses. He’d had six. And it was still full …

  Chapter 3

  I left The Man in charge of the magic bottle and went and made myself a cup of coffee. At the back of my mind was a hazy memory of him doing something like this before, but I couldn’t remember whether it was with a cask of wine, a pitcher of water or a jar of oil. I phoned Miriam from the kitchen and asked her to bring me a copy of the O & NT. She told me she’d managed to talk her way off the Saturday night detail and would drive up in a borrowed car. She thought she would probably reach Sleepy Hollow around eleven and asked me what I was doing about food.

  I told her that I’d brought enough for the two of us and that I had the impression that our guest wasn’t too concerned about his calorie intake. It was, of course, the wrong thing to say.

  ‘He drinks, doesn’t he?’ she said severely. ‘What makes you think he doesn’t eat?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘If you want to play the Jewish mother, bring up a bag of bagels.’

  There was a withering silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Hullo,’ I said. ‘You still there?’

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said. And hung up on me.

  I carried my coffee back into the living-room and resumed my recorded conversation with The Man. ‘You mentioned coming from another universe. I know that’s one of our word-concepts but, according to the dictionary, “universe” means “the totality of things which exist” – “another universe” is a contradiction in terms. So what exactly are we talking about?’

  ‘A universe which lies beyond the boundaries of external reality – which you use as a yardstick to prove the “existence” of everything within it.’ He paused as he saw me frown. ‘Think of it this way – you’re familiar with the one you can see – ’

  ‘You mean the one which falls within the spectrum of visible light?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The optical universe. And your radio-astronomers are busy mapping others composed of X-ray and other high-energy sources that give you, for instance, a very different picture of the sun. It’s no longer just a yellow disc broken by the occasional solar flare. You accept this invisible aspect of the sun because scientific instruments have confirmed its existence. So it should be easy for you to accept the idea of a parallel universe which “exists” alongside your own but which you cannot see because it is on a different wavelength. Now, just as a host of short, medium and long wave radio programmes can pass through this room simultaneously, my world is superimposed upon the space-time continuum that you perceive as the physical universe. It inter-penetrates yours completely, and it is able to do this because, like the radio programmes, it does not take up any space. Even so, it is as “real” as your own yet your mind does not admit of its existence. Why? Because your brain – which is like a radio set capable of receiving broadcasts from all over the world – has become permanently tuned to one channel. The local station you know as external reality. The finite world. And the received data is fed into your brain through the five physical senses. But many more worlds lie beyond this one and – ’ He looked at me with just the hint of a smile. ‘ – something tells me that you are aware of this possibility.’

  ‘Well, I’m not a complete dummy,’ I replied. ‘I’ve read a couple of books by Carlos Castaneda and dipped into a third. I believe we have a sixth sense and like to think that we actually do possess that legendary third eye. I can accept the idea of alternative realities just as I can accept the idea that we once knew more than we do now. My problem is that I find it impossible to envisage what form those alternative realities might take, or how I could exist within them or – and which is more to the point – what relevance they have to the one I’m part of.’

  The Man smiled again. ‘Take it from me, Leo, you don’t belong exclusively to this world. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.’

  I headed for shallower water. ‘Let’s go back to when you first arrived here. Before you entered Joshua’s body. Did you come in a starship, longship, or whatever, like the one that I presume is still hovering somewhere above first-century Jerusalem?’

  ‘No, something smaller.’

  I waited expectantly but he did not elaborate. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I won’t ask to see the blueprints, but can you tell me who builds these things?’

  ‘Nobody.’ He smiled as he s
aw my frown. ‘They’re brought into being by The Power of The Presence. Just think of them as thought–projections.’

  ‘You mean like the castles and landscapes that were conjured up by the power rings worn by the characters in Michael Moorcock’s trilogy, Dancers at the End of Time?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yes, something like that. I’m not trying to evade your questions. There are no words to describe the workings of our world or how it came to be. Just accept that it is so.’

  I nodded. ‘Okay, I understand. But it’s still very frustrating. Never mind. Let’s move on. You said that there were three of you on board.’

  ‘Yes. Two Envoys and myself.’

  ‘And I assume that you were mission commander.’

  ‘Yes. In Earth-terms the Envoys were subordinate to me but they were both time-wise. I had never been through the Time Gate before.’

  ‘How did it feel?’ I asked.

  He chewed over his answer. ‘It was quite an experience … It’s only fair to tell you that a lot of our people become ‘star-struck’ on their first trip through the Gate. And some of them never recover.’

  Who were they? I wondered. And what happened to them? Did they become wandering spirits on the run from God’s army? Or did they go over to the enemy? I pressed on with my original line of questioning. ‘Okay, so there are three of you inside this spacecraft, or whatever. What do you look like?’

  I could see that was another one of the hard ones. He rubbed his chin and gave me a long look. ‘What are you asking me to describe – my temporal, or non-temporal aspect?’

  ‘Both,’ I replied.

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t. It’s like trying to describe a rose to a man who’s been blind from birth. Words are useless to describe its colour and form. The only way he can receive an impression of the rose is through his other senses. By touching its petals and inhaling its fragrance. You can only understand what we are like in the same way. Not by touch or smell, but by reaching a higher level of awareness. Or if you don’t like that word, let’s say by enhancing your degree of perception.’

  ‘That’s cheating,’ I said. ‘Are you trying to tell me that if I’d been there when you stepped out of the landing module I wouldn’t have seen you? The shepherds who were watching their flocks saw something. Or so the story goes. Are you really sure you can’t tell me what it was?’

  He shook his head again. ‘You’re the one that’s trying to cheat, Leo. You want the answers but you’re not prepared to make the effort to understand. Remember the story about the man who threw seed on to stony ground? The trick is to ask the right questions. When you do, you’ll find that you already know the answers.’

  ‘You mean – “Knock and the door shall be opened”? ’

  He smiled. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I insisted. ‘Just give me a little hint. If I did have this higher level of awareness, what would the three of you have looked like? In your spacesuits, or whatever.’

  He sighed. ‘You’re a hard man, Leo.’ He drank some wine and toyed with his glass for a moment. ‘The only way to describe us would be as – luminous beings. Our exact shape would depend on the condition of the observer. The received image is influenced by cultural and racial imprinting, as well as the degree of perception. In other words, you might see us as Persian angels – anatomical absurdities with seventy-two pairs of wings covered with eight thousand eyes – or something like the board of General Motors but with haloes and white suits.’

  ‘Okay, I get the message,’ I said. ‘What kind of shape are you in on the other side of the Time Gate?’

  The Man gave me a really odd look. As if I’d asked him something near the knuckle. ‘I am that I am,’ he replied.

  Some answer.

  I sat back and finished off my coffee. ‘These two Envoys that you mentioned as having already been through the Time Gate. Had they visited us before?’

  ‘Several times,’ he said. ‘They’re enshrined in Earth mythology under many names. The Persians knew them as Beshtar and Sorush. Your people know them as Michael and Gabriel. Mi – ’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ I interjected. ‘Michael stayed in the command module while you and Gabriel went for the landing. It’s in the Book,’ I explained. ‘Gabriel’s the one that broke the good news to your mother.’

  ‘I don’t know whether she saw it like that at the time,’ he said. ‘I remember at one point, life became rather complicated.’

  I waved him down. ‘One thing at a time. Let’s get back to the spacecraft.’

  ‘Leo,’ he said. ‘Let me give you some advice. Don’t get hung up on the hardware. The longships, the star-sail boats, the transit shells that we’re obliged to wear are not really what we’re about. It’s just a means of getting here. There was a time, in the First and Second Age, when we could move freely between our world and yours. We had no need to shelter behind the Time Gate. But in the Third Age, the Age of Darkness, all that changed. The physical universe is now a very dangerous place.’ He paused, searching for the words. ‘Perhaps it will give you some idea of what I mean if I tell you that deep space is not the airless void you imagine it to be. To us, the cosmos is like a vast ocean, the galaxies island – continents separated by the deeps – inter-galactic space. The plane of rotation of each galaxy – inter-stellar space – are regarded as seas, encompassing the star-islands. Such as your sun with its necklace of nine planets. The space contained by each star-island and its circling archipelago is called ‘the Shallows’. And so on. Michael and Gabriel know much more about this than I do. The point is, before the Age of Darkness, the Deeps, the Seas and the Shallows were crystal clear but now, to an unprotected Celestial, it’s like swimming through Iranian crude. And the atmosphere on this planet which, despite all the pollution, you find quite breathable is absolutely unbearable to us. To be trapped in it without the protection of our transit shells or a host body is like drowning in a mixture of boiling tar and sulphuric acid. Except, of course, we do not breathe, and cannot die. But it would be like choking to death – for ever.’

  I nodded to show that I’d got the picture. ‘Nasty. So is that what you call yourselves – Celestials?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘But that’s the nearest we can get using your language.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So, this place you come from – on the other side of the Time Gate?’

  ‘Think of that as the Celestial Empire,’ he said. ‘But don’t be misled by the stereotyped images conjured up by Star Wars. The Empire is boundless and timeless. It encompasses all of creation and all of eternity. It interpenetrates the smallest particle of the physical universe but is itself impregnable. It is here, in this room, within your grasp. Yet it is as far beyond the reach of your mind as Earth is from the most distant galaxy still to be discovered by your astronomers. Many of your most brilliant philosophers have dismissed it as an illusion but it is, in fact, the ultimate reality.’

  ‘It also sounds like the ultimate paradox,’ I said. ‘Let me check that I’ve got this straight. There are two universes …’

  He shook his head. ‘No. The Celestial Empire contains nine universes. Seven of them lie beyond the Time Gate through which I came. Collectively, they are known as The World Above. The other two space-time universes are known as The World Below. The Cosmos, the physical universe which you inhabit, and the Netherworld – ’

  I cut in to gain some breathing space. ‘The Netherworld …?’

  The Man nodded. ‘Yes. A mirror-image of the Cosmos, but fashioned from anti-matter. We also refer to it as the First Universe. It can only be entered through what your Earth astronomers call the Black Holes.’

  The concept of a mirror-universe composed of anti-matter was not unfamiliar. The idea had been kicked around by physicists for several decades. It was only the name that was new. Even so, I could not accept the fact of its existence with the same ease with which The Man had dispensed the information. Those of us who gave any thou
ght to the matter were still trying to grapple with the logistical problems involved in the creation of our own apparently limitless universe. Yet here I was, confronted with eight more of the goddamn things. It was too much to handle.

  The Man eyed me and smiled. ‘You look worried.’

  ‘Not really,’ I replied. ‘I think what my system needs is another shot of caffein.’ I went into the kitchen, turned on the percolator then spoke to him through the open doorway. ‘Let me recap that last bit to help me picture it in my mind. The space occupied by this planet, the solar system, the stars and the galaxies beyond is only the second of nine separate universes …?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘But don’t waste time trying to construct a four-dimensional model of it in your mind. This is something that the conceptual processes of the human brain is not equipped to handle.’

  ‘You mean, because the seven universes beyond the Time Gate are non-dimensional and non-temporal,’ I replied. Trying to work out in my logic-bound mind how, if there were no dimensions, you could tell where one universe ended and the next began. The answer is, of course, we can’t – but Celestials can. It was, as he had warned, a conceptual problem that could not be resolved by the conscious part of my brain whose sole function was to deal with external reality. But this was something I did not fully understand until much later. At that moment, my brain hurt and it showed.

  He eyed me sympathetically. ‘If you need to give this thing form, just think of it as a symbolic, multi-level pyramid with the First Universe at the bottom and the Ninth at the top.’

  I nodded gratefully and returned to the percolator as the boiling water started to bubble through the ground coffee. ‘Which one do you come from?’ I asked, as I returned to my seat facing him.

  ‘The Ninth,’ he said, with disarming simplicity.

  I’m sure there was a lot more he could have told me about the set-up in the World Above but you’ll just have to accept, as I had to, that knowledge of the Empire’s internal organisation is not necessary in order for you to be able to understand the rest of this story.