The Legend of Dan

by Robert Wingfield

  Tom cried out, and awoke in a sweat. Suzanne sat up and looked anxiously at him. “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head. “Fine, fine. A weird dream, that’s all. Is it morning?”

  “The light outside has become a daintier shade of purple, so I suppose so. Do you fancy going for a jaunt into the hills? I mean, we were going to take a picnic, and make a day of it.”

  “Why not, as long as we can get some booze as well. Any sign of the others?”

  Suzanne checked her chronometer. “Nothing yet. I’m sure we have time. I’m not walking, so we can hire a buggy. It will be fun.”

  They tidied up the room by scattering blankets and furniture about, until it looked the same as when they had entered, and then wandered down to Reception.

  “I hope you had a comfortable night.” The receptionist spoke in a tone of voice that suggested the opposite.

  “Very nice,” replied Suzanne, in a tone of voice that suggested the receptionist should mind her own business. “Can we hire a buggy, and perhaps have a lunch to take with us?”

  The hostility with which the request was received surprised even Tom, who had grown used to the unpredictability of people he had crossed paths with. The receptionist would have continued raving, had Suzanne not taken a roll of banknotes from her pocket, and offered to pay for the room before they left. A few more of the notes produced a hamper of food, and several bottles of wine, and even more resulted in the keys to a vehicle. Finally, with the last one, a cheery goodbye was offered, and the receptionist was their best friend, forever.

  They left another message for their companions at the desk and went outside. The mist had now thinned sufficiently, to reveal the mountains surrounding the resort in their full splendour of purple and red hues. As they strolled, devouring croissants and baked beans from the hamper, Tom nudged Suzanne. “The place is still a mess.” He grinned and pointed at the damaged wing of the hotel. “At least we made a proper job of it.”

  A small red Jeeeep28 was sitting in the garage. It was surrounded by men in overalls, jostling each other for the honour of pointing out the various features of the vehicle. In fact, there were only two real controls: steering lever and accelerator—the brake operated when the accelerator was released, they were told. The instructions were basic, but news of ready cash travels fast in the catering business. Tom remarked that the tuition price seemed rather high, but the mechanics stood in front of the vehicle, until Suzanne’s wad of notes was further depleted.

  “Kara can afford it. I’ll get more when it runs out.”

  “I’ll drive.” Tom took the pilot’s seat, noting with pleasure that it was on the right-hand side. “See, even distant planets drive on the left, so it must be right. After all, we invented it in London.”

  “Considering the present UK is still connected to the Europa land mass, and the only ‘fondleslabs’ currently in use are made of stone, I might have to disagree with that one.” Suzanne grinned. “We are many years in your past at the moment.”

  “Fair enough,” said Tom. “I forget there is Time and Space out there. Which way?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Suzanne, stretched out in the passenger seat. “The Jeeeep has a homing device, so if we get lost, it will drive us back to the garage.”

  “What will they think of next?” said Tom.

  “Lunch, and perhaps a glass of wine?”

  “What, hungry already?”

  “Yes, hurry up, and find somewhere nice to stop.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  “Seriously? If you go any slower, we will be in reverse. Stop and let me have a go.”

  Tom released the accelerator, and the Jeeeep skidded to a halt.

  “Out now.” The girl squeezed him out of the seat. “Come on, hurry up.” Before Tom had time to strap himself in, the buggy leapt from stationary to extremely fast in the blink of a crow’s eye. The wind whistled through their hair, as the vehicle rushed at breakneck speed across the plain, and up into the mountain passes. Crows scattered in all directions. Deep canyons criss-crossed their route, and Suzanne turned in and out of these at random, heading the vehicle generally upwards.

  Tom held on grimly. “How do you know which way to go?”

  “Don’t,” she shouted back. “Guessing.”

  Suddenly they emerged on a large warm plateau. “I think we’re above the mist-line at last,” Suzanne said, slowing the vehicle slightly.

  “Can we stop now?”

  “Not yet.”

  The surface under the wheels was now carpeted with a purple velvety plant, the first vegetation Tom had seen, since the sad growths at the hotel. As they rushed, bouncing into potholes and over boulders, towards the mountains at the far side of the plateau, a single timeworn tree came into view.

  “That’s where we eat.” Suzanne laughed at the fixed expression on Tom’s face as he held on. She screeched the buggy to a halt beneath the boughs of the tree. “Nice and shady.”

  Tom rolled out of his seat on to the soft vegetation. And stretched. “Look at this.”

  A spring of crystal-clear water ran out from the rocks behind the tree, flowed a short way, and disappeared as it soaked into the turf.

  “I thought there might be some. That’s why the tree is still alive.” Suzanne leapt out lightly, and laughed at him. “Come on old man, shift your bones.”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing,” said Tom, “and why I’m so stiff.” He knocked her down, and pinned her to the ground, kissing her face and neck.

  Laughing, she slid out from underneath him, and heaved the hamper off the buggy. It still contained an adequate store of food, several bottles of wine, and a book labelled ‘Drogdan Poetry Vol 37’.

  “Like one of the old fantasy adventure games we used to play back home,” observed Tom, easing the cork out of a bottle. He watched with satisfaction as it whined across the landscape. “Same vintage as the other, I guess. What happens next? Drink wine, eat food, read book, make love?”

  “The food is tasty,” responded Suzanne, with her mouth full.

  “The wine is awful,” said Tom, likewise.

  “What about the water then?” said Suzanne, “We ought to try the water?”

  “Is it clean? Is it safe to drink?”

  “It’s probably the cleanest thing on this planet. Apart from me, that is,” she added, “after that go in Kara’s shower. I think I may have had it set too high. It took the top layer of skin off.”

  “Being that clean is no recommendation, after what you did with me last night.”

  “It’s delicious.” Suzanne had scooped some water in her hands. “It tastes infinitely better than the wine. Have some?”

  “Why not? If it’s infinitely better than the wine, it must be really average. Wow, it’s delicious. I’ll have some more of that. The wine can keep.”

  “This poetry is a bit profound.” Suzanne was thumbing through the book, as they lay back on the purple turf after the meal, “I mean, look at this one. It’s all about sitting under a tree, eating and drinking, and thinking about dying. What people in their right minds have time to do that sort of thing, these days?”

  “What, dying? I can’t imagine, but never mind that,” said Tom, yawning. “I feel drowsy. The air is so heavy; all I want to do is sleep.”

  “I’m supposed to say that,” said Suzanne with mock dismay, “but I’m exhausted too. Have a little nap, and then you can have me again.”

  Tom was already asleep, so she lay down beside him, put her head on his shoulder, and laid her arm across his chest. The book slipped from her hand as she fell asleep, but remained open at the poem she had been reading. One of the crows landed on a notice board nailed to the back of the tree, and sat watching them optimistically.

  The board said “Warning: Do not drink the Waters of Lethe.”

  The Periphery of Occasion

  The Universe ends.

  Tom goes to a party.

/>   T

  om shook his companion violently. “Suzy, wake up. What’s happening to us?”

  “Something bad I suppose, it usually is,” Suzanne mumbled. “Leave me alone, and let me sleep.”

  “No, this is important.”

  “It had better be worth disturbing me for. It seems hot.” Suzanne peered blearily about, and then screamed.

  They were being flung through a scorching atmosphere. The darkness was peppered with fiery blue lights, which turned red as they hammered past. The entire age of the universe seemed to pass them by, as the experience went on and on. Then, when time itself seemed about to end, the darkness faded to an orange glow, and the air temperature dropped. They were being dragged down a tunnel, through a thick, yellow atmosphere.

  “I think there’s something really weird going on,” said Tom unnecessarily, as he regained his breath. “I mean, what sort of place is this, where a chap and a chappess can go out on a picnic and end up being thrown Ford knows where? Suzy, are you okay.” He lifted her head, where it was fixed to his chest.

  “You can take me home now,” panted Suzanne, burying her head back into his shoulder.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” replied Tom facetiously. “Okay world, you can knock it off,” he shouted.

  They hit solid ground. “Wow,” Suzanne gasped, “that was quick. What a clever man you are.”

  “Can I look?”

  “I think you should.”

  Tom blinked upwards. A man, exactly like the Roman Centurion in his dream, was standing over them with his spear raised. “I kill them?”

  “Go ahead,” said what looked like an Ancient Greek, sitting on a horse behind them.

  Tom responded desperately. “Wait!” he shouted, “we’re friends of Alphonse’s brother. He’s coming later with the pizzas.”

  “What?” The Roman paused, looking confused.

  “Oh,” said the Greek, “they’ve come for the investiture.” He shrugged. “They’re probably not invaders after all. Let them go.”

  Tom breathed out. “No, we’re not invaders. Do we look like invaders?”

  “There have been some strange occurrences,” said the Roman, “aliens in crafty disguises, and the usual party crashers.”

  “No, Brianus,” said the Greek patiently. “Those last invaders really were ducks, resettled from their local pond, nothing worse, but that’s not important right now. We can only apologise, my lord and lady.”

  Rough hands helped Tom and Suzanne to their feet. “It is fortunate you mentioned Alphonse,” said the Greek. “We have already lost a few bone-fide guests to my friend’s spear.”

  “I can believe it,” said Tom.

  The Roman frowned. “You must go. There is plenty of time, but hurry, or you will be late.” He waved across the plain.

  “Excuse me?” said Suzanne.

  The Greek grinned. “You will soon understand. You can ride this steed to the Principal Bastion. Come over here. Let me assist.”

  He helped the bewildered pair up on to a ‘horse’. It felt strange, scaly. Tom looked a little closer, and realised that it was actually a large lizard, bedecked with brightly coloured armour. The fact it was not a horse had been obfuscated by the way it kept neighing, and blowing through its lips. The Greek sprang easily back into the saddle of his own lizard, and beckoned Tom and Suzanne to follow him.

  “Brianus, try to keep your mind on the job, eh? There are still more guests expected.” The Roman waved valete, and then stood to attention again, a fixed sentinel at the edge of the cliff.

  As the journey began, the difference between the lizard and a real horse became immediately obvious. The lizard glided smoothly along, swaying gently from side to side, making them feel decidedly sick.

  “Where are we going,” whispered Suzanne in Tom’s ear, as she leaned back into his arms.

  “I’ve no idea, but I thought it best not to argue.”

  “So who’s Alphonse?”

  “He’s a mate of Big Three-Fingered Luigi,” said Tom with his face buried in her hair. “It’s a ruse I use to gate-crash parties back on Earth. No one in his right mind invites me normally. I can’t think why, but they are all respectful of Big Three-Fingered Luigi.”

  “Some ruse, when our lives are at stake. What do you think they’ll do to us when they find out the truth?”

  “I don’t like to think, but it’s worked before, er when I didn’t get arrested, beaten up, or thrown out on my head that is.”

  Suzanne grimaced.

  As they travelled, spacecraft became visible in the yellow starry void to their left, motionless and hanging.

  “All those ships?” Tom pointed, drawing up alongside the guide. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Do you not know where you are?”

  “Um, well you see, Alphonse’s brother only gave us rough directions. He didn’t say where the party actually was. There was this tree and…”

  The Greek glared suspiciously at him, but then shrugged. “Perhaps I should explain, seeing as we have forever and no time at all; it will help the journey to pass.”

  “Yes please.”

  “Do you know anything about physics?”

  Tom nodded. “The doctor used to give me bottles of it for various ailments–it didn’t work.”

  “Perhaps not, then,” said the Greek. “In fact, I may not be able to explain it all myself, but it goes something like this, if I remember my lessons correctly.” He took a deep breath. “Space is curved. This is a proven scientific law.”

  “So it is said. The space I had in my company carpark certainly was.”

  “Time is also curved,” he continued, hesitantly, “and varies for locations and individuals... as you may have realised by the number of reminders you get for your dental appointments. Space and time are thus related in a complex equation, which, if you plot the four dimensional concept in three dimensions, forms a shape not unlike a condom filled with water and suspended by its neck.” He paused. “Does that make sense?”

  “Condom?” said Suzanne. “What’s that?”

  “I’ll explain later,” said Tom. “I understand so far.”

  “The neck of the condom,” continued the Greek, “is where Space and Time become the same thing, and cancel each other out. This edge you see here is that nothing.” He took another deep breath. “There is not only one of these ‘universes’ as they are quaintly called, there are many, and the necks of all come together at the same void, this one. The result is that anybody who learns the secret of travelling through the Void can pass relatively easily from one universe to the next. This also means that any species capable of doing so, is more advanced than any other that is not... or very lucky.”

  Tom nodded. “So these craft are from different universes?”

  “What you can see here all belong to travellers who have mastered that art of Void travel, and by definition are potentially lethal to your Universe and others. We Warriors were the first ones who discovered the Void, and have done since the infinity of time we are now riding through, but rather than conquer, or at least go on sightseeing tours and plunder inter-galactic tat, we poured our resources into the development of a time barrier.”

  “This edge?”

  “We channelled Time and Space into a form where it slows down, and then stops altogether at the edge of the Void. The beings in those ships are not harmed. They are convinced that they are still moving through space at the necessary speeds to actually go places. It gives them the impression that their universe is infinite. In reality, however, they are trapped in Time. We probe the ships, and then having analysed their databanks, can duplicate their technology if we wish. We only destroy them if absolutely necessary, or if Brianus gets lance-happy. Otherwise, we make minor alterations to their navigation systems, turn them round and send them back whence they came. This gives them the other idea that their universe folds back on itself, so they stop looking for a way out, and don�
��t bother us. This lot,” he waved expansively at the trapped vessels, “that you see here, are all being scanned, ready for future action. We have, in our library, the sum total of the knowledge of many universes. Not bad for an old Trojan on a lizard, eh?” He winked smugly at Suzanne.

  Suzanne smiled sweetly at him. “You don’t look that old. What, about twenty-five?”

  “A bit more than that.” He raised himself up proudly in his stirrups. “My age is something in the region of thirteen billion of your years, or three and a half weeks in ours–we measure time differently here.”

  There was a silence while they digested his words. “You did say you were a Trojan? I think I understand the ‘Space-Time-Condom’ theory, but thirteen billion years seems a bit on the long side.”

  “Yes, from the city of Troy on our dear planet, Earth. I was known there as Hector.”

  “What, the real Hector, you mean? You were real?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wow. Did you ever meet the beautiful Helen of Troy?”

  “Strictly speaking, Helen, the ‘Slapper of Sparta’, the ‘Greek Gobbler’, the ‘Trojan Tart’.”

  “Er, I guess so.”

  “Never heard of her. Probably that Homer Simpson fellow made it all up, when he wrote those poems. Suffice it to say, I only escaped the debacle of the Wooden Rabbit of Troy because I was thirsty and drank from a stream from under a strange tree in the desert. When I woke up, I was here, apparently transported down a time corridor...”

  “Do you know, something exactly like that happened to us...” Tom dried up as Suzanne pinched his arm.

  “Stop talking,” she hissed. “That doesn’t fit in with the party idea.”