by L. T. Hewitt
Chapter 38
Arthur Cardigan had done it again. With a visit to Gaul, he changed the country. All it took was an argument. He could get used to this, if all it took was conversation to change bad to good.
“What next? That was well done, Quack.”
“Well,” said Quack, pausing momentarily to take pleasure in the thought that, had Arthur punctuated his last line differently, it would appear as though he were complimenting Him.
“Quack! Do You still need me, or should I just do my own thing?”
“Have you ever ridden a Speedvan?” asked Quack.
“What? No.”
“A Spaceboat?”
“No.”
“A Dorhar-Max?”
“No. What’s Your point?”
“They can all travel into space. Have you ever been into space?”
“No. But then again I’m not a car. At least, I wasn’t last time I had my M.O.T.”
“Neither is the Spaceboat. The clue’s in the title. You know, on some planets, it takes billions of years to get into space? Short scale usually, but still.”
“Oh, I know You too well, Quack. You talk about something as though it’s the best idea in the world, then You send me over there, off on another task. You’re not really going to send me into space?”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.”
“Oh?”
“I am really going to send you into space. There’s a bit of exploring to be done, and I’ve never had a human up there—”
“Did You experiment on other animals to begin with?”
“I would never test on animals. Though I did send a Duck up there.”
“A Duck?”
“Job, to be specific.”
“What did You need him to be specific about?”
“I didn’t, I needed him to fly. That’s why I put him in a spaceship.”
“He has four wings.”
“What’s your point?”
“Why couldn’t he just fly around in space?”
“Oh, Arthur. Don’t you know there’s no air to fly through in space?”
“Could you cut down on the question marks?” asked Margery.
“Slightly hypocritical, given you asked that as a question.”
“Fine, then; I shall rephrase it. Cut down on question marks. Imperatives are so terribly rude.”
“Don’t use them, then.”
“Go to Tartarus!”
“Could we return to our original conversation, grammar freaks?”
“Linguistic socialists!”
“Quack,” said Arthur Cardigan, “Your point about space having no air is moot when considering that Your planet is surrounded by Light Space.”
“I tried placing the Space Chicken in Light Space.”
“What happened?”
“Like the stubborn festival-fool he is, he just fell down to Glix.”
“Right,” said Arthur Cardigan. “So, how am I going to get into space?”
“I think you can use a Dorhar Max.”
“What about the other two? A Spaceboat sounds cool.”
“I’m already using one of those for something. I don’t like to have more than one of the same vehicle in My command; it gets confusing.” Quack paused. “Well, I don’t really have anything to do with Oprah. And she’s not travelling now, but when My Glix’ns are out of orbit, I kept track of them, and when they’re time-travelling, it makes them stand out like a minor, regularly pain-reminding bruise.”
“We’re running low on commas here,” said Margery.
“So I’m stuck with the Dorhar,” Arthur said.
“Dorhar Max,” Quack enthusiastically corrected.
“I’m stuck with the Dorhar Max.”
“Oh, don’t say it like that. There are plenty of things you can do in a Dorhar, I’m sure. It’s a finely designed—”
“A Dorhar Max,” Arthur corrected.
“I was referring to the brand.”
“So was I earlier. That didn’t stop You correcting me a Centihaca ago.”
“...You were wrong,” Quack concluded after careful analysis. “There are plenty of things you can do in a Dorhar Max, provided you’re a good driver.”
“I haven’t got a driving licence.”
“What is it with Glix’ns and not being able to drive?”
“Walking’s better for the environment. Your environment.”
“Yes, I know. Well, today’s your lucky day. I’m offering you the chance to fly.”
“I haven’t got a driving licence.”
“You don’t need one.”
“Then why did you ask if I had one?”
“I didn’t. You answered, but I hadn’t asked. I’ve rarely asked questions when people answer them.”
“Okay. What if I refuse Your offer?”
“You see, there’s where I made a mistake – it wasn’t an offer, it was a command. It wasn’t ‘I’m offering you the chance to fly’, it was ‘fly’.”
“They’re two very different things.”
“They’re both imperatives,” said Quack.
“Actually, ‘I’m offering you the chance to fly’ is a declarative.”
“Shut up, Margery, you never help anything. So, Arthur, today’s your lucky day. You’re going into space.”
Chapter 39
Arthur Cardigan was a strange man. However, as he believed should be typical of everybody, in terms of data he was nondescript. His real name couldn’t be revealed. His identity needed to be hidden. His religion varied depending upon how much Quack was annoying him at the time. Even his current location was not applicable. As Arthur Cardigan drifted through space, he pondered upon the absence of all categorisation, and wondered whether this would be a positive or a negative change to the world.
In the end, it all boiled down to beauty. Space was beautiful. It made no attempt to conform to set criteria, which served only to make it more beautiful. It was truly spectacular. The swirling dust, the vibrant galaxies, the colours and shapes which oozed and dripped directly into the mind, surpassing all human understanding.
It was all ecstasy. He could drift and float through it for hours in bliss. Then Arthur spotted something.
“Quack.” Whether he blasphemed or called hardly mattered. “I have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Arthur Cardigan stared vacantly at the mindless abyss before him in the chunk of celestial orbit. “But I want to call it a honeydew.”
Chapter 40
The Fez, as it turns out, was both a very flamboyant object and a buoyant one. There had, as of 94th Quinquomber 2042, been no tests to see whether or not it was flammable, but it hardly mattered to anyone other than the tyees of rhetoric. The resulting force (of water resistance, not of eccentricity) was that, upon plunging into the European sea, the Fez bobbed back up again, and Clint and Clein were at no harm. There was a crushing sound, however, as the Speedvan smashed against the rocks, and shards went splintering off and smashed against each other, the jagged protrusion from the cliff face and the sharp waves.
Clint and Clein clambered up the sides of the Fez and found a spot where they could sit that was much higher than they had ever been before. They looked Luc and saw the Nekken corner of Glix. They looked Shins and saw the other Nekken corner. The Nekken-Luc one was closer. Besides, they didn’t want to end up in Wales again.
The twins moved to the side farthest away from their desired direction and pressed as many buttons as possible. The Fez rode with more flourish but still even travel on water. The sea is just an older land of motion. Occasionally, the twins climbed higher and higher on the Fez. Within a few Haca, they had reached the next side of the British cliff.
“Clint,” said Clein, “do you think we will be the ones to open the Fez?” He climbed higher and higher up the Fez.
“We’ll have to be, won’t we?” Clein replied, as he also ventured up the buoy. “No-one else is here, we have all the buttons to pr
ess and a large supply of food.”
“What about water?”
“We’re floating in it; we have an endless supply to drink.”
“So we should have everything.”
“What about company?”
“We have each other.” Clein heaved himself up another metre. They were nearly at the top of the Fez.
“Does that count?” Clint pulled himself onto the Fez’s roof. Clein joined him. A grey-haired man was standing there, holding a walking stick.
“Are you Old Man Tales?” they asked.
“No,” the elderly gentleman replied. “I am David Gratton II.”
Chapter 41
“So…” said the Space Chicken, as he stared down into the abyss that was the sea, at his attempt to preserve the Speedvan displayed before him in splintering shards, and he sighed and trailed off with more confused regret than three reluctantly joined dots could say. “When’s the universe going to implode?”
‘I suspect something has gone differently to your suppositions.’
“What do you mean?”
‘The paradox you suggested has not occurred. Consulting Quack is the only way forward.’
The Space Chicken rang Quack up to ask.
“Well,” Quack said, “I realised that the destruction of the Speedvan would not only cause a paradox, but also prevent one.”
“How?”
“Supposing we didn’t destroy the Speedvan, what happens then?”
“We give it back to Oprah. Back when she was in Wales.”
“And Oprah then hands it back to you.”
“But it’s a different us. A past us.”
“A past you, who upon meeting Oprah at the Fez on the 85th, hands it to Oprah.”
The Space Chicken was unwillingly dawned upon with the realisation that his running had been in vain. “...And then she travels back in time and hands the Speedvan back to us.”
“It’s stuck in an infinite loop.” This was Michael Rowland Daffodil.
“Exactly. Now, at some point, the Speedvan is likely to be hit by a piece of dust. Am I right in thinking this?”
“Absolutely.”
“And that piece of dust will damage the Speedvan. It will do very little damage’ probably not enough to shift an atom, but it will do damage nonetheless. Now, a small amount of damage, performed an infinite number of times, is an infinite amount of damage. The Speedvan would be damaged an infinite amount—”
“To a point where it no longer exists.”
“—To a point where it no longer exists. And, if the Speedvan doesn’t exist, then it isn’t there to be destroyed, so it exists again. A huge paradox, right there.”
“Okay. But, by crashing the Speedvan here, You are creating the paradox of origin. How did You solve that?”
“Simple. I bought another Speedvan.”
“So there are two Speedvans?”
“No, just one. But it has a beginning and an end. It begins in Gary’s Vehicles in Gord and ends on the rocks below. And that’s all I can try to keep track of as a god. Anyway, what are you doing wandering around and questioning the nature of the universe? You’re a prophet. Shouldn’t you be telling people how to think?”
“I’m not a prophet of organised religion. I’m a prophet of morals. I thought we’d established that.”
“I know, but I’m as big a wind-up as Sally the Troll.”
“Were You asking a question? I blocked out the idiocy and I was just left with static.”
“I asked you what you were doing. Wandering around aimlessly, by the looks of it.”
“I was going to return the Speedvan to Oprah, but since You’ve told me I’m worthless, I might just walk Michael Rowland Daffodil home.”
“Thanks,” he said, maladroitly blending sarcasm and gratitude.
“Could you do something else for Me, instead?”
“No,” said the Eternal Space Chicken of the Sacred Quack. “I’ve got other things on my mind. I need to take care of Michael Rowland Daffodil.”
“Okay. After that, would you mind doing Me a favour?”
“What it is?”
“I need You to be there when the Acorn is merged with the jam sandwich.”
Chapter 42
“Please tell all,” Clein asked of the man. “Are you the son of this David Gratton?”
“I can’t say any more. Your friend, the Space Chicken, has set out to capture David Gratton.”
“He always was a nutter.”
“He’s tracking the man down, something that has to be done.”
“He’s tracking someone else down at the moment,” Clein pointed out. “Taken him hostage, the Space Chicken has.”
“He will soon learn the error of his ways,” David Gratton II said.
“But who are you?”
“And why does the Space Chicken’s tracking down of David Gratton ‘need to be done’?” asked Clint.
“I am David Gratton II. The Space Chicken will find his target soon enough.”
Clint and Clein’s eyes widened. “Are you the David Gratton? Are you using a false name? Is the Space Chicken coming here?”
“I am David Gratton II. That is all I am, and all I am is here, now and then.”
“Do we have to call you ‘David Gratton II’?” Clint moaned.
“It’s rather long and tiresome,” said Clein.
“Why can’t we just give you a nickname?”
“Like ‘Two’?”
“Or David Gratton?”
“Or Dave?”
David Gratton II closed his eyes and took a moment to prepare his words. Waves crashed, then gently embraced the box below them. The Fez rocked slowly back and forth. “These are people who already exist. I am not David Gratton. I am not your friend Dave.”
“Oh, Dave’s gone. He got the wrong button.”
“Evidently,” said Clein, “as we have the Fez with us now, complete and unopened.”
“Is Dave gone?” asked David Gratton II, opening one eye. “Or is he on his way to see you now?”
“I don’t care. I’m calling you Two.”
Clint and Clein took the bags off their backs and placed them on the flat, smooth top of the Fez.
“Are you bad?” Clein asked.
“Or were you wrongly accused?” asked Clint.
“I am under no suspicions,” David Gratton II replied. “I am a lost young man—”
“You don’t look that young.”
“Comparatively young.”
“Isn’t all age comparative?”
“I am young in comparison to all of time,” David Gratton II said.
“Isn’t everyone?” Clint asked.
“Not Old Man Tales,” Clein pointed out. “He’s been around from the Dawn of Glix to its End, and longer.”
“Yes, but Glix isn’t there for all of time.”
“Why are you arguing with yourself?” David Gratton II asked.
“I’m not, I’m arguing with Clint.”
“That’s the same thing.” He resumed: “As I was saying, I am a lost young man—”
“You don’t look that young.”
“—who has become an unnecessary attachment to David Gratton’s life. I have set myself a duty: I shall protect the Great Oak Tree and support its growth.”
There was a rustling as the twins rifled through their bags. “This story’s boring me,” Clint said. He retrieved a sandwich from his bag. An Acorn fell out onto the top of the Fez in the process.
“What is that?”
“It’s a jam sandwich.”
“No, not the sandwich, the acorn. Is it an Acorn?”
“Of course it’s an acorn.”
“That’s not what I asked.” David walked over to look at the seed, but saw it had turning into a shoot. “It’s germinating.”
Chapter 43
Two. That’s what they call you. ‘Two’.
What’s the matter with that?
Two. You’re a replacement. A substitute.
&n
bsp; There’s nothing wrong in that.
Face it, Two, you’re pathetic. David Gratton – the real David Gratton – has his place in history. You’re the leftover remains of a personality.
Clint and Clein mean to do no harm, I’m sure.
what makes you so certain of that
They’re good company. They provide me with someone to talk to.
you need someone to talk to not that itll do any good
You’re useless and insane whatever.
I’m David Gratton II and I’m proud of that fact.
youre the second
The second. The offshoot of a meaningful life.
people remember david gratton i but you will only exist
People remember David Gratton I negatively.
Ooh, italics. You become me.
You!!! are a leftover!!!!!
I thought you were on my side.
I am on the side of no-one but the truth!!!!!!!
face it two you will never amount to anything but a statistic
The phase between One and Three. Two is insignificant.
An accidental silver medal!!!!
Shut up! I don’t have to listen to you.
oh but you do
We’re in your mind!!!
We are your mind.
You’re just a series of reactions to my circumstances.
Of course. Let’s see what we have to respond to next.
Chapter 44
Dave Gray had had just about enough of libraries. He didn’t think this was possible, and the many days he’d spent in total didn’t compare to the confusion of many days on the trot.
He loved books, he adored books, but many days of relative solitude drove him crazier. He was beginning to question whether or not the jam could actually talk. There was nothing to back Dave up and even he didn’t believe it. There had been a moment when Dave mentioned to a colleague that the jam was talking to him. The colleague said Dave sounded crazy and Dave agreed.
Then it hit him. As Dave had been alphabetising a copy of Judy Palmder’s The Star Fish – a revolutionary merger of sci-fi and folklore – he heard a shout from the jam.
“What is it?”
‘The Great Oak Tree has been planted.’
“That’s great!”
‘I’ve been waiting -50 years for this.’
Dave pulled a strange expression.
The jam explained, ‘I’ve been waiting since the future.’
“So we need to stop what we’re doing right now and head straight to the Great Oak?”
‘Yes. As soon as possible, really.’
