‘Whatever, Lorna. Look, can I get you anything?’
Lorna shook her head. ‘I’m going to my room,’ she said. ‘Suzie, I’m tired and I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For everything,’ said Lorna, and closed her eyes.
* * *
Lorna had no problem with the concept of God. Although she’d doubted his existence, she had always conceded in his possibility; a being so far removed from human experience or recognition to be meaningless from a living perspective on Earth. By separating concept from belief, Lorna had in time reconciled her early upbringing: if God existed, then he would be ruler of a very different kind of place. But now, opposite her on a straight-back chair and thoughtfully chewing another sandwich, was another version of God. A God who was palpably flesh and blood, who wasn’t even a general, and whose kingdom only encompassed a broken-down spaceship. This wasn’t a God to inspire terror or devotion, leading his people out of Egypt or smiting the Philistines. This was a God who wore strings of beads and, despite Heaven’s advanced technology, didn’t appear to own a beard trimmer.
A God, therefore, who wasn’t her God, because the idea was absurd, except that Irene had said he was.
‘To our surprise,’ God continued, stroking his beard, ‘we found your planet to be in close proximity. Naturally, we were all very excited, because it’s not every day you come across a planet with life on it. Oh, yes, Lorna, life does exist elsewhere in the universe. Mostly pretty primitive, I grant you, but life nevertheless.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Planet Earth isn’t unique, Lorna, and I’ve always found it odd that your people believe it is. Nevertheless,’ God said in a more commanding voice, ‘the life forms we found on Earth were amazing because they very closely resembled those on our planet. It would seem that the same coincidences of galactic positioning had manifested themselves on Earth. We had, in a very real sense, found a mirror-image of our own planet on the other side of the universe.’
Lorna said nothing, having nothing to say.
‘At the time, we believed that rescue would happen pretty quickly. We therefore set about conducting as much science as we could on this new-found planet, in the certainty that another spacecraft would soon reach us. We catalogued as much flora and fauna as we could. Earth, truly, was a source of scientific treasures, a glimpse back in time to a point where evolution was happening at a whirlwind pace. A hugely exciting time, Lorna! Many of Heaven’s crew are scientists, you see. For them it was like finding a living, breathing laboratory. But, as the years passed, the certainty of rescue diminished. Then, as the years became decades and then centuries, we had to come to terms with the reality that Heaven was our new home and would be forever.’
Out of everything she had been told, Lorna latched onto one fact. ‘You were able to travel to Earth?’
‘Heaven is what you would call a mothership, Lorna. We do carry other space vehicles able to travel short distances. From here, Earth is approximately half a light year away. In space, that isn’t very far.’
From being speechless, Lorna now found that her brain was able to phrase questions and transport them to her mouth. ‘So why didn’t you just move to Earth?’
God smiled, again revealing His perfect teeth. ‘We may appear the same as you, Lorna, but we are psychologically very different. You see, we have had the benefit of thousands of years of additional evolution. Our bodies haven’t changed, but our intellectual perceptions have. In Heaven we have eternal life; on Earth we would live and die like anything else.’
Irene was still brooding by the fire, her legs propped on the coffee table, and now she spoke. ‘Everyone in Heaven carries an isotope that is activated by the regeneration process. On arrival, Lorna, that same isotope was inserted into your system. It was another fail-safe mechanism, just in case of long-term emergency in deep space. Our High Command felt that, if we were marooned for a lengthy period, the least they could do was make sure we returned home at the same age we left. Good for morale, Lorna, if anything went wrong. Which it did,’ she added, looking pointedly at God.
God shuffled in his seat, again casting an irritated glance. ‘It meant we had a choice, Lorna. To stay here and live forever, or colonise Earth and choose mortality. We chose life,’ he said, spreading his arms wide.
‘Can I choose mortality?’ asked Lorna.
‘Mortality was chosen for you,’ said God, eyeing another beef sandwich. ‘Your parents made that choice when they chose to have you. Mortality, I regret, has one final price, young Lorna.’
‘You died, remember?’ said Irene, who had extracted two more clinking glasses from the hole-in-the-wall drinks cabinet and handed one glass to Lorna without smiling. ‘The ultimate process governing the cessation of life cannot be undone. Once you die, you’re dead.’
Lorna stared at the table, traced a whorl in the wood with one finger. Like everything else, the table seemed made from plastic. ‘But are you the real God?’
‘There’s only me,’ said God, smiling sadly. ‘I wish it were otherwise, but it’s not, I’m afraid.’ He laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a fatherly squeeze. ‘However, in your hour of need, I didn’t ignore you, Lorna.’
‘But are you my God?’ Her voice had risen, white wine giving her the courage to demand an answer.
‘I made you in my likeness,’ said God simply, his hand still on her shoulder. ‘So, yes, I suppose I am your God.’ He looked at her kindly for a moment. Once more, she absolutely knew she’d seen him somewhere before. ‘I do admit, however, that you are rather better looking than I am.’
Again, a blankness; she didn’t know what to ask, or whether she wanted to hear any more answers.
‘Tomorrow, Lorna, we will speak some more. For now, it’s better if you rest. Regeneration, as Irene will have told you, takes time. You are also in a new place, with much to learn. One day at a time, Lorna. Save some questions until tomorrow, OK?’
Lorna nodded. A nagging headache had emerged from behind her temples.
‘If you like, I could also show you the flight deck. Only if you want to, of course. Show off our little fleet of space vehicles. If you wish, I could tell you how they fly.’
Despite herself, Lorna had to smile. God, it appeared, wasn’t that much different from any other man she’d known, always keen to show off their new computer, car, or spaceship.
‘I’d like that,’ she said.
* * *
She didn’t immediately go to bed having no means of knowing whether it was late morning, afternoon, or night and whether, therefore, she should go to bed. All she’d done was get up, had breakfast, been for a walk, and had a chat with God. Had that taken a whole day? She was used to time’s tick-tock: alarm calls, deadlines for dissertations, the mundane shift of a clock’s dial. But time had collapsed inwards, rendering it meaningless. Did anyone here wear a watch? Or was time simply an unnecessary encumbrance that superior technology had rendered obsolete, like her father? On closer inspection, the grandmother clock in the bedroom was only a dial with painted hands: its only function was to tick. She sat on her bed for a while, wondering if God or Irene saw the clock any differently from her. To Lorna, it was a thing of charm. Her grandmother had one just like it so, she supposed, she was biased towards it. But did it have the form and functionality necessary for Heaven’s approved list? Lorna doubted it. Most things in Heaven were either white or off-white. The only part of Heaven with colour and clutter was her bedroom and living area, and neither room was real. She walked around her small quarters. The fake bookshelves framed a view of the stars that was both mesmerising and completely incongruous. She stopped beside the portion of wall from which Irene had plucked two glasses of wine and soda. She knocked her knuckles against the wall but it sounded solid and she couldn’t see any buttons. Lorna stood back and looked intently at the wood panelling.
If you want something, you just have to ask.
Lorna nearly jumped out of her skin. A woman’s voice, soft and sensual, speaking ou
t of nowhere.
Lorna looked around wildly. But the voice seemed to come from the walls themselves, without a visible source.
Is there something I can get for you?
Lorna regained some composure. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.
My name is Trinity. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lorna.
Trinity? ‘Then who are you?’
I am responsible for the smooth running of this space facility and, of course, for all the requirements of the ship’s crew.
‘You’re a computer?’
This time a short silence before Trinity replied, her voice still lisping and sensual. I hardly think that is a fair judgement, Lorna. Please don’t underestimate my intellectual capabilities, as I certainly won’t underestimate yours.
Oh God, she thought: a computer with attitude.
Would you like another white wine and soda?
‘God says I should rest.’ Now she was answering back to the bloody thing.
God is often right, said Trinity, although not always.
To Irene’s disrespect could now be added Trinity’s. ‘In which case,’ said Lorna, ‘that would be very nice, thank you. But only if it’s not too much trouble,’ she added, feeling she might inadvertently have insulted Trinity, whoever Trinity was.
Nothing is too much trouble. Ice?
‘Yes, please, Trinity.’
Hardly had she finished speaking than the bookshelf opened and Lorna was presented with a filled crystal glass. Beside the glass was a packet of Marlboro Lights and a lighter. Lorna hesitated before picking them up, now remembering that she’d been meaning to give up smoking for years.
Irene thought that you might want them, said Trinity.
* * *
She sat in the same chair as she had earlier and ate a beef and horseradish sandwich. As he’d promised, they were rather good, so she ate another. She still had no idea of the time and supposed she could ask Trinity, but in the etiquette of Heaven asking a computer for the time might seem undignified, for both of them.
The view, spectacular and spellbinding, no longer held the terrors it had the night before. The day before, she had been alive and in a curious hospital; then she was dead and beyond retrieval. Now she was in Heaven, except she wasn’t. The only real fact she could cling to was that she’d died in a road accident, the car driven by a look-alike British spy who did what he could to make her comfortable. I didn’t kill myself deliberately, she told herself, whatever Irene thinks.
Without consciously deciding, Lorna tore open the packet, removed a cigarette, and lit it. She expected her lungs to burn, her head to burst with white light, or to double up coughing. Instead, she drew the smoke down and exhaled with a satisfied sigh. Then, after she’d finished her drink and stubbed out her cigarette, she washed, brushed her teeth, and lay down on her bed. She didn’t bother to draw the curtains. The night sky, if it was night, was dark and offered reassurance; it could almost have been the same sky she’d looked at from her bedroom window in North Berwick or from her bunk on the Norfolk riverboat. But that’s all so long so, she told herself firmly. Now I’m dead, it’s time to grow up.
Machines
As soon as Lorna closed her eyes she had a nightmare. She dreamed that she was alone and in darkness. She felt sick and there was a pain in her arm – and the pain could mean that more pain would follow, pain over which she might have no control. She tried to move her arm, but nothing was connected. Her brain didn’t know where her arm was. She tried to concentrate, forcing neurons and synapses to talk to one another. And then her screen flickered. At first, all she could see were shadows. Then she realised that one of the larger shadows was coming towards her. The shadow seemed to be carrying a large stick. She watched as he materialised out of smoke. Behind him was a village of broken mud houses. Smoke was billowing from a window. A woman in black Arabic robes was holding a child. She was wheeling around, crying hysterically. The child was also crying, but softly, as if it didn’t want to be heard. The man continued to walk towards her, his boots throwing up puffs of sand. He was wearing a khaki uniform. On his arm was emblazoned the Stars and Stripes. A steel helmet sat lopsided on his head; his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. He was chewing gum and his face was expressionless. He was cradling an automatic rifle and pointing it at Lorna. She was able to look down the sightless barrel of his gun.
* * *
One minute Lorna was asleep, the next she was wide awake, the same cascade of stars beyond her window. Once more she had no way of knowing if she had been asleep for minutes or hours. She lay on her back and stared out at the stars, remembering her dream, the fear of it, and the desperate cries of the mother. She didn’t know what it meant, or if it meant anything: a random dream seeping in from another dimension about which she could recollect virtually nothing. Regeneration. Memory integration. She could remember bits about North Berwick, her parents, Suzie, Joe. She could remember having been a law student, and swimming in the North Sea and, chilled but exultant, jumping from the harbour wall. She could remember marching down Princes Street in support of whales and that she had a part-time job in a grocery-cum-everything-else shop. But most of her memory was blank. It was discomfiting only to know bits but not all the bits: to have only an incomplete jigsaw. She would have to relearn who she was and discover what she’d become.
In the living room, all trace of sandwiches and used ashtray had been removed and in their place had been set a pot of hot coffee and chocolate croissants. She poured herself coffee, not hungry, then relented and nibbled on a croissant.
‘Morning, sweetie.’ Irene had waltzed in unannounced and poured herself a cup of coffee, helping herself to one of Lorna’s cigarettes. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Bad dreams?’ Irene settled into a chair and crossed one immaculate leg over the other.
Lorna was by the observation window, her breath forming and dissolving in condensation on the glass. ‘Nothing seems normal,’ was all she could muster.
Irene cast one arm around the room. ‘Does anything here strike you as normal?’ she asked, a flintiness to her voice. ‘The fact that you’re dead, for example? The fact that you’re on a deep-space research facility? Where’s the normal in that, Lorna?’ She paused to tap ash into an ashtray. ‘I see you’ve started smoking again.’
‘No thanks to you.’
Irene held up one hand, nails perfectly painted in lustrous red. ‘I merely suggested to Trinity that you might be in need of them. Smoking can be such a comfort in times of stress and, I suppose, this must be a stressful time for you.’
‘Trinity told me the cigarettes were your idea. Actually, I think I may have offended her.’
Irene dragged deeply and sighed out smoke. ‘I’m sure you didn’t, sweetie. Trinity doesn’t easily take offence, so I wouldn’t worry about it. She exists for our well-being, and her pleasure is to satisfy our every whim.’ Lorna waited for Irene to continue, dabbing croissant crumbs from her plate with a wetted finger.
‘A spaceship needs only to perform three things,’ said Irene. ‘One, to keep its crew safe and healthy. That involves a raft of things from artificial gravity to making sure the toilets flush properly. Two, propulsion. OK, we don’t have any, but we did. God will maybe explain how our propulsion systems used to work. He’s a career pilot, by the way, or was. Started out on the Oberon system, ferrying miners about the place. Usually, although I simply can’t believe it, to the right place. That was before some stupid fucking selection panel promoted him to God, of course. Believe me, you won’t be any the wiser if he does try to explain anything scientific. Absolutely bloody hopeless! Three, telemetry and navigation: the ability to plot a course through hyperspace which, without propulsion, we also don’t need.’ Irene dragged again on her cigarette.
‘Put those three things together in a space facility the size and complexity of Heaven and you have an absolute requirement for a bit of intelligent help about the place.’ Irene leaned conspiratorial
ly across the table, ‘God may think he runs things around here but it’s actually Trinity.’
The three things to run a spaceship. Trinity. It made a kind of sense.
‘You can ask her for anything,’ Irene continued, ‘even if it’s just to ask the time.’ How the hell did she know that? thought Lorna. ‘More importantly, sweetie, Trinity may be only a collection of bits and bytes but she is, in every sense, a sentient being. Don’t forget that, and the two of you will get along just fine. OK?’
‘OK, Irene.’
‘That’s the spirit!’
* * *
Somebody else had said that to her, but not here. She could remember a beach and water. It had bubbled with fluorescence, each like tiny stars trapped between her fingers. The water was warm, the same temperature as the air; insects burped from surrounding trees. A hidden cruise liner or cargo ship must have passed unseen; suddenly, larger waves had fallen on the shore. She’d been sitting in the water’s margins, her chin resting on her knees. The force of water had toppled her over, making her shriek with laughter.
Then she was diving into the sea, the water closing over her head. Under the water there was silence; she remembered being happy. From the corner of her eye she could see a lithe man with long hair. He was laughing, chasing her. She couldn’t immediately recognise who he was. That’s the spirit, he had said, she was sure of it. He wasn’t Joe, she knew that. Joe had shorter hair and wasn’t so tall. Her brother? But the beach didn’t look like North Berwick and the only other place she could remember going as a family was Norfolk. The sea seemed different, the sky too big, the water too warm.
Irene was looking at her quizzically, having announced that God was waiting for them on the flight deck. They were walking along a featureless corridor, Lorna quickening her pace to keep up.
‘Sorry, I was just thinking about something,’ said Lorna. ‘A place I once visited ... or at least I think I did. It’s not far, is it?’ she asked, remembering their mammoth trek the day before, before ending back where they’d started. At the back of her mind was shifting water and sand moving under her feet.
The Things We Learn When We're Dead Page 8
