by Martyn Ford
He decided it was best not to get spotted by too many people so, after break finished, he walked quickly straight across the empty playground and in through the tall swing doors. Then he waited in the hallway outside Dee’s tutor room.
‘Dee, it’s me,’ Tim said, blocking her path as she came out.
‘OK.’
‘Do … do you know who I am?’
‘No.’ Dee shook her head. ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Yes. We need to talk.’
‘We are talking.’
‘Somewhere private.’
‘Why?’
Tim looked over his shoulder. Right behind him was a stationery cupboard. He pulled the door open and guided Dee inside. She entered without protest, but was frowning the whole way.
‘Not sure I’m all right with whatever is about to happen,’ she said, as Tim clunked the door closed. ‘Bad vibes.’
‘Look, shut up a second,’ Tim said. ‘This is complicated. I am going to explain something now and it will sound insane. Here we go: we are best friends, in … in another … it’s a … well, it’s a parallel universe.’
‘Hmm … yeah, that does sound insane. Is this how you normally make friends?’
‘No, seriously. Right, just listen a sec. I know you. I know you well. Your name is Dee Eisenstone, all your clothes have polka dots, your mother is called Sarah, your grandfather is a scientist, a theoretical particle physicist – he’s called George. He has a watch with the letters PE carved on the back. It’s silver. You’ve lived in Glassbridge your whole life. You’re completely rational, almost like a robot. You never really worry about anything. You always tell me that all problems can either be ignored or solved. You haven’t got a favourite colour – you say they all have pros and cons. You sometimes kinda dance when you speak, like bob side to side a bit. You have a mole on your neck, behind your hair. You say you’d like to be a bit taller, but you admit you’re average height for your age. You have a scar on your left knee from falling down some stone stairs when you were small, but you can hardly remember it. I could go on …’
‘You’re a stalker,’ Dee said, holding up her hands. ‘Which is fine. I’ve never noticed you before and you seem mostly harmless, so who am I to tell you to stop? But I would ideally like to leave this cupboard immediately.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘Please, let me explain.’
‘You’re keeping me prisoner in the stationery cupboard?’
‘Of course not.’ Tim faked a laugh.
‘So I can leave?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘Noted, but will you stop me if I try?’
Tim nodded.
‘Then you should have answered yes to the prisoner question,’ Dee said. ‘It’s OK. I just want to know where we stand. Get the dynamic on the table, yeah? Hostage situation, got it.’
‘Right.’ Tim took a big breath. ‘Your granddad invented something called an imagination box and …’ He then explained everything that had happened over the last two years or so, right up to this moment. Dee, to her credit, quietly listened to the whole story. ‘… and then I ran straight here, grabbed you and pulled you into this cupboard.’
‘Is that … are you done?’
‘That’s the lot,’ Tim said.
‘OK, well, loads of that was crazy, the monkey thing is just … yeah … But one bit stuck out: Clarice Crowfield, the actual Prime Minister, kidnapped my granddad a couple of years ago?’
‘Yes,’ Tim said. Then he winced. ‘Well, no. I don’t really fully understand how it works yet, but basically, yes she did, but not in this universe. She isn’t the Prime Minister. Not really. I mean, she is now. But not properly. In the real world she isn’t. Does that make sense?’
Dee shook her head.
‘So … like … for you it never happened,’ Tim said, still piecing it together himself. ‘But for me it did. I guess … I guess you’re literally a new person. So you have a new body, a new mind, new memories too. Everyone does … God, that’s mad to think, isn’t it? That everyone has new memories as well. The physical structure of your brain has been changed. It’s the only way it’d work. Isn’t that mental?’
‘Most certainly. Doubly so because you still have your memories.’ Dee rolled her eyes.
‘That’s a sound point actually. Why not just create a universe where I can’t remember anything?’ Tim wondered. ‘Unless she’s punishing me for all that Crowfield House business? She wants me to see what’s happened, to see that she’s won. Oh, she is good. You’ve got to kind of respect that level of—’
‘Lovely, great,’ Dee said. ‘And yes, I believe you, we can be friends.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ Dee stepped past him. ‘I just have to get to class, so maybe call me later and we’ll go for a milkshake and— HELP!’ Dee yelled as she pulled open the door. ‘SOMEONE HELP ME!’
Tim slammed it shut. ‘Relax, all right! I’m telling the truth.’
‘Look, buddy, listen to yourself. Would you believe such a story?’
Tim thought for a moment. ‘Probably not,’ he admitted. ‘Not without some evidence.’
‘That’s the thing with outlandish claims, I’m afraid. Gotta be able to back ’em up.’
‘I can.’
‘Go on then, one ticket to proof town please. I’m a-waiting,’ Dee said, bobbing her head. ‘And a-one, and a-two, and a-three.’ She put one foot forwards and lifted an arm for Tim to begin. He was frowning. ‘Any time now, for the old proof. Proof-a-licious. Proofy McProoferson. Sir Proofalot, slayer of nonsen—’
‘It’s hard, because everything is different. But, then again, lots of things are the same. You’re still here.’
‘That I am,’ Dee said.
‘And your granddad is still a professor, right?’
‘That he is.’
‘Maybe he’s … maybe he still has the prototype.’ Tim was talking to himself now, and pacing as he did so. ‘He dismantled it in the original universe because he was moving abroad, because the Crowfields were after him. That’s why he was hiding out at the Dawn Star. But, here, none of that happened. He’s never met me. As far as he knows, the machine doesn’t work. And … and it’d use the old-style reader. I could still operate the box, even with the chip … I could … Yeah, that would prove it.’
‘I … no way.’ Dee was shaking her head, faster and faster.
‘Yes.’ Tim stood perfectly still now. ‘We need to go and see your granddad.’
Chapter 6
‘I am so, so sorry,’ Dee said as they stepped through Eisenstone’s front door, wiping their feet on the mat. ‘Honestly, this is not a good thing.’
The professor was wearing his scruffy lab coat – which had rips and a couple of frayed, burnt patches on the sleeves – and he had a pair of safety goggles perched on the top of his head. He checked his watch. ‘Indeed, you, you surely have almost an hour left of school?’
‘That wasn’t even what I was apologising for …’ Dee said, then she sighed. ‘Granddad, this is Tim, Tim this is … well, you seem to know who he is …’
Like Elisa and Dee, Tim knew Eisenstone well enough – the professor really didn’t recognise the young boy looking up at him. ‘We have met, but you can’t remember, because it happened in an alternate universe.’
‘Ha.’ Eisenstone smiled. ‘I can certainly, certainly see why you and Dee are friends. Eccentric little child, aren’t you?’
Inside, Eisenstone stepped into the kitchen, whereas Dee and Tim waited in the living room. They sat silently – Tim on the sofa, Dee on the chair. The professor’s fluffy ginger cat walked in and purred as it rubbed itself against Tim’s leg.
‘This cat is called Jingles,’ he said.
‘We’ve covered this,’ Dee whispered. ‘Being a stalker isn’t proof.’
‘You kids want a drink or, or, or any food?’ Eisenstone called from the kitchen. ‘I have biscuits.’
&n
bsp; ‘No, we’re fine,’ Dee yelled back.
‘Good,’ the professor said, returning to the living room. ‘Because I don’t have biscuits. You look like there’s something on your mind.’
Dee lifted an arm to Tim, inviting him to speak.
‘Right, Professor Eisenstone.’ Tim turned on the sofa to face him. ‘You are a theoretical particle physicist.’
The professor smiled at Dee. ‘Yes, yes, yes. My reputation precedes me.’
‘You are an expert in the fields of nanotechnology and quantum mechanics,’ Tim went on. ‘Years of research has led you to build, I really hope, a machine called an imagination box.’
Eisenstone was frowning. He shook his head. ‘I … No … No, I don’t believe …’
‘Of course, sorry, it’s not called that. I named it.’
‘You named what now?’
‘The thought-directed atomic construction device,’ Tim said. ‘TDACD for short. It’s a stupid name.’
The professor’s eyes bulged wide behind his glasses. ‘I … I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh,’ Dee said, standing. ‘Well, what a therapeutic exercise this has been. Sorry, Granddad, we’ll leave now.’
‘No,’ Tim said, holding a hand up to her and staring into Eisenstone’s eyes. Tim could read him like a book. He was lying. ‘You know perfectly well what the TDACD is – you’ve been working on it. I bet that’s what you were doing before we arrived.’ Tim pointed to the goggles on the professor’s head. ‘Let me guess, it’s all theory? You’ve never successfully used it? Am I right?’
‘Young boy, you have a very vivid imagination, but I, I, I—’
‘Eisenstone,’ Tim whispered, not blinking, not moving even an inch. ‘I. Can. Make. It. Work.’
There was a long pause in which the mood shifted. The professor removed his glasses and rubbed his temples. Tim looked to Dee – she was waiting patiently, her head tilted in expectation. Her distrust seemed to be aimed now at her grandfather.
Eventually Eisenstone put his specs back on. ‘No one, and I mean no one, knows about the TDACD,’ he said. ‘Indeed, I’ve not even committed notes to a computer.’
Dee seemed bewildered. ‘You really made that machine? It’s not … Granddad, just on scientific grounds, in your wildest dreams, is an alternate universe, as Tim has described, even possible?’
The professor stared into space for a while, shaking his head, but then said, ‘Yes. It is possible.’
‘Yeah, la, la, la, faster.’ Tim did a few circles in the air with his slack hand. ‘We’re beyond that. It’s possible. It’s happened.’
Dee regarded Tim out of the corner of her eye. ‘Having Granddad say it’s theoretically possible that you’re not mental is not proof of anything.’
‘I know, of course it isn’t. Eisenstone, go and get the prototype. The TDACD.’
The professor was still flabbergasted but, after a minute or so, he disappeared and returned with the machine.
There it was. The original imagination box, sitting on the table in front of Tim. It was so reassuringly familiar. It was the first thing in this universe that looked perfect, just like he remembered it. All the little exposed transistors were there, like shiny sweets, with the flashing blue light and the round green button. Oh, and the reader, the silly reader with its ridiculously messy bundle of wires. Tim must have had a huge grin because his cheeks began to ache.
‘You do look like you’ve seen it before,’ Eisenstone said and, instead of doubt, there was hope in his voice.
‘Moment of truth,’ Dee added.
‘In preliminary tests, I’ve been trying to picture the atomic structures of hydrogen or helium.’ The professor stepped towards the table. ‘Indeed, the simpler elements. Now, now, you need to place this part on, on your head – this bit is called a reader.’
‘I know what it all is,’ Tim said. ‘Reader on noggin, think of what I want, press button, fizz, bang, jiggle, done.’
Confident and excited, Tim pulled the device along the coffee table right up to his knees. He put the reader on his head, closed his eyes and pictured exactly what he wanted. It was crucial he got this creation right, so he spent a moment imagining the finer details. Tim reached out with his index finger and, with a deep breath, pressed the button.
When the gadget beeped and the blue light flashed, signalling that it had received and downloaded the image, he pulled the reader from his head and slouched back on the sofa, sighing with relief.
The contraption was vibrating around on the table now, with all its mad clunks and shuffles, like an old printer that’s on its way out. But for Tim it was music to his ears. It sounded beautiful, a perfect chorus in a perfect song – truly a work of art. And that smell, that lovely lick of steam that curls up out of the back vent. He leant forwards and sniffed – warm electric and plastic and success.
Eisenstone was already standing, thrilled just at seeing the prototype working. He hadn’t even seen what Tim had created and already it seemed as though he believed every word he’d heard.
‘It … indeed … it must have been a viable reading. Now … now what were you thinking about when you pressed the button?’ The professor was turning pages over in his notebook, getting ready to document this moment. His hands were trembling.
‘Oh, this and that,’ Tim said. Dee leant over, pulled open the lock and the hatch flung up.
There was a pause, a horrible moment of silence and doubt. But then:
Phil leapt out and on to the box, spreading his tiny arms to greet them. ‘Hello!’ the finger monkey sang – his voice was perfect, exactly as Tim imagined.
‘Mainly that,’ Tim added.
Eisenstone dropped his pen. It clattered on the table, then rolled off and on to the carpet.
‘How did you …’ Dee began, sitting back down and leaning in close, fascinated by the creature. ‘How on earth …’
‘How’s it going, Phil?’ Tim said.
‘Yes, quite all right.’ The monkey sat on the edge of the imagination box, his tiny feet dangling.
‘So, you’ve just been recreated,’ Tim explained. ‘We’re sort of in a different universe now.’
‘Oh, jolly good. I must say though, I am parched. I fancy blended bananas with ice cream – this universe has bananas and ice cream, I trust? For the love of all things proper, it had better.’
Tim had pictured the precise details of Phil’s fur, those large cautious eyes, tiny hands, the memories and, somehow, all those words he didn’t even know. But, still, he was half-surprised and fully relieved to see that Phil was as he remembered him, a neat copy from their previous universe.
‘I think I saw a banana earlier,’ Tim said.
Dee and Eisenstone were frozen rigid in astonishment. After all, they’d been thrown in at the deep end here. Only a minute ago the professor didn’t even know his prototype worked at all, now talking finger monkeys were coming out of it.
‘Timothy, I invite you to observe my tail,’ the monkey said, pulling it round and on to his lap.
‘Yeah, I’ve seen it, congrats.’
‘No, look, the stripes – they are odd.’
Sure enough, Tim saw that the fur was kind of zigzagged in pattern – brown and sand-coloured hair splodged messily, instead of being neatly striped. ‘Hmm,’ Tim said. ‘Sorry, I did my best to make you exactly as before.’
‘Worry not. I think I prefer it this way anyhow. Hang on, a new universe you say?’ Phil asked, his finger on his chin, his eyes wandering around the room. ‘At a glance it seems to boast sufficient verisimilitude. Any anomalies? Pertinent differences?’
‘Loads,’ Tim said. ‘You didn’t exist until a minute ago.’
‘Of course.’
‘And I woke up at Glassbridge Orphanage.’
‘No.’
‘Yeah, ran straight home. Elisa didn’t recognise me. Bedroom is different, all redecorated, just like a normal hotel room.’
‘Get out.’
>
‘I promise.’
‘My drawer?’
‘Gone, empty. There’s no trace that we ever lived there.’
‘This is outrageous,’ Phil added. ‘But it does sound uncannily familiar too. Am I right in presuming our mutual acquaintance Rick Harris was – how can we put this politely – being somewhat liberal with his dispensation of honesty?’
‘Yeah, I’m guessing he built the imagination station after all.’
‘The dastardly rascal.’
‘And I think Clarice Crowfield, of all people, somehow got hold of it,’ Tim said. ‘Get this: she’s the Prime Minister now.’
‘Goodness. I would submit surprise,’ Phil said. ‘But also, although wary of coming across vainglorious, I draw your attention to my recommendation of caution, clearly articulated at this machine’s speculative conception. I hate to say I told you so, however, I did tell you so.’
‘I agreed if you remember.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Anyway, you guys believe me now?’ Tim said, looking back up at Eisenstone and Dee, either side of the coffee table. All eyes were still locked silently on the mini monkey. However, the professor slowly nodded.
Turning full circle on top of the box, Phil addressed them all. ‘Oh, but this cloud does have a most wondrous lining of silver: the team is back together again. Just look at us.’ He stopped and spoke to Tim directly, his little fists balled up with excitement. ‘What is the plan then, Timothy? Dare I say, some sort of adventure? Oh, Jaffa cakes and whisky – will there be explosions? Tell me there will be explosions.’
‘I dunno.’ Tim shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Phil straightened his face, then frowned. ‘“Maybe” doth butter no bacon, Timothy, I need specifics,’ he said. ‘Run me through the scheme.’
‘Well, it’s obvious isn’t it,’ Tim said, glancing at everyone. ‘We’re going to have to steal the imagination station from Clarice and fix all of this.’
‘Heavens,’ the monkey said, with a maniac smile. ‘Where does one start?’
Chapter 7
‘This looks like the place,’ Eisenstone said, pulling in and driving between two huge, chain-link gates which slid and rattled open on little wheels. A security guard stepped from a small outbuilding and waved them in – he pointed towards a car park and then said something into the radio clipped on his chest.
