by L. T. Hewitt
you said it
Are we alive???!!!!!!???
I s-u-p-p-o-s-e i-n a s-e-n-s-e w-e m-u-s-t be-.
Why do you say that?
W-e-l-l-, w-e-’-r-e c-o-n-s-c-i-o-u-s-, a-r-e-n-’-t w-e-?
The dead are conscious.
Ugh. You don’t honestly believe that nonsense, do you?
i do
You’re wrong.
Why not?
D-o-n-’-t l-e-t-’-s g-e-t i-n-t-o t-h-i-s-; i-t i-s a d-e-b-a-t-e w-h-i-c-h d-i-e-d y-e-a-r-s a-g-o-, w-h-e-n n-o n-e-w e-v-i-d-e-n-c-e c-a-m-e a-l-o-n-g-.
What’s wrong with getting into it?
It’s pointless and petty. Unless you can shed some new light on theology, give up talking about it.
Weliveinaworldwithagod,Quack.
Is that not something to talk about?
there are more important things to do
Like destroying Two.
David Gratton II. What a pointless being.
H-e-’-l-l b-e d-i-s-p-o-s-e-d o-f s-o-o-n e-n-o-u-g-h-.
i look forward to the end
Chapter 54
There was a harbour in Garfford. There were boats in it, which always served to make it more useful. More importantly, there were boats away from the harbour, which served a greater purpose than those docked.
Arthur Cardigan had a bilberry.
“Could you explain to me how this works, exactly?” Arthur asked Quack.
“Well,” said Quack, “you need to bury this bilberry.”
“Why?”
“It needs time to mature. Listen to it.”
The bilberry spoke” ‘Ewwo, mate! Is you gunsa be pushing me unda that um brown flour?’
“Soil, do you mean?”
‘Doesant ring a bell. Brown flour, dat’s wot dat stuff be.’
“Quack,” said Arthur, “non-standard Glix’n speech doesn’t mean you’re immature.”
“It’s not about speech. He doesn’t know anything. This is to be one of the greatest thinkers of all time. Don’t ask me how it works, but it says so in my notes. In the future I’m sure I’ll understand.”
“And how is burying the bilberry going to help?”
“Because it will be in the natural glix. The closer one is to nature, the more one develops as a thinker.”
Arthur Cardigan looked around. There was a statue of a thin-lipped man wearing a crown, who was standing on top of a man who appeared to be wearing a potato sack. Underneath the statue there was a sad-looking poppy in a soft patch of compost. Arthur pushed a hole in this ground and placed the berry there. When it needed to be pulled out, it would be a plant.
“I think I understand now,” said Arthur. “I’ve just stuck a philosopher in the floor. Great.”
Chapter 55
Dave had always had a broadly limited knowledge of boats. On his home planet, he prided himself on excelling at not knowing about boats. He was more skilled than anyone else who’d ever seen the sea in the field of not knowing what boats did, how to control them or who pays for them. It was really quite a gift.
All he really knew about boats was that they were made of wood (which they usually weren’t), that they were controlled by pirates (who had in fact created their own form of democracy whereby they staunchly opposed the suggestion that any of their conduct could be considered polite and/or sophisticated enough to merit the word ‘controlled’), and that they were flown into the sky every week so they could dry off and prevent their hulls getting pruny. This last fact had been told to him when he was younger. Deep down, Dave suspected it might not be true, but Dave gave all boating such spectacularly little thought he had never had the opportunity to realise his own naïve stupidity.
As an alien visitor to a planet, Dave thought it polite to take an interest in things he had never cared about before, in the same manner that people visiting a foreign country think it polite to skim-read a guide book and regurgitate unconnected quasi-verbal linguistic abuse. When in Rome, thought Dave, bon appetit!
“So, what do boats actually do?”
“Didn’t they have them on your planet?”
“They did, but I didn’t ask questions. Are they to go out fishing?”
“‘Fishing’? What’s that?”
“It’s where people kill fish for food.”
“On your planet, they just eat anything, don’t they?”
“They don’t eat pets.”
“What are they?”
“They’re animals you keep in your household.”
“So, if you had a cow on your premises, you wouldn’t eat it?”
“No, we still would.”
“Oh,” said the Space Chicken. “Well we don’t have fishing or petting or cowing here, so please don’t introduce them. There are enough problems as it is.”
“so, what do you have boats for?”
“Just for fun. People sail and row them around. Also, it’s a great way to get around. You just let the wind take you and control the air, without having to poison the sky.”
“I thought you were against all that stuff,” said Dave. “Fuel’s just fuel. Petrol’s just petrol. You got pretty angry at Border City when that guy suggested we walk to the Fex instead of driving there.”
“If you recall, that was you.”
“But you agreed with me, didn’t you?”
“I’m not saying fuel-based vehicles don’t have a purpose,” said the Space Chicken, “but there are ways of getting around without creating deadly fumes. Besides, where we need to go now is offshore. The Speedvan could have got us there, but that’s in the sea somewhere else and will never again be in working order. We’ll just hire a little boat and sail out Luc and Nekken.”
The alien and the prophet had casually walked up to the harbour. The shipman said, “What is this, some kind of joke?”
“No, sir,” said the Space Chicken. “We’d like to rent a boat please.”
“What kind?”
Dave let his nervous mind overtake him again. He spoke. “One that floats.”
The Space Chicken wasn’t any better. “A big, medium, sailing yacht.”
“Okay,” said the shipman. “We have the Bold Garf Bong.”
“We’ll take it.”
“I wasn’t giving you an option.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Bless you.”
The Space Chicken, Dave and the jam set off in the Bold Garf Bong. As the jam had no body and the Space Chicken no arms, Dave had to steer and power the boat. As Dave had no knowledge of boats and the Space Chicken no care, the jam had to guide them. As they were all incompetent, they had no hope.
Chapter 56
“Two,” Clein said, “how old are you?”
They were sitting in a tent on the Fez. It was cold outside as they drifted along the Luc coast of Britain, but the tent was warm.
“Quite old,” said Two. “Why do you ask?”
“Are you ancient? Lots of people are these days. Old Man Tales and the Space Chicken are.”
“55, I think,” said Two. “Although I’m not sure if I counted a year twice. Worse still, I’m not sure if I was meant to.”
“How long have you been 55?” Clein asked mysteriously.
“Don’t know. It happened at some point in the future.”
It would be another lazy day. All their activity centred around kicking buttons as they swung their legs off the Fez.
“I’m 17,” said Clein. “Although, between us,” he added, gesturing to Clint and himself, “we’ve lived it twice.”
There was a knock at the tent door.
There was an awkward pause.
Clint was the first to speak. “Were you expecting anyone?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so.”
There was another knock.
“You don’t knock on a tent, anyway. How can you knock on that? If anything, you should knock on the Fez.”
There was
a knock on the floor.
“All right, all right, I’ll get it,” said Clint.
Clint opened the door and found an elderly gentleman standing there.
“No, thank you, we already have one.”
He zipped the door back up again.
“Who was it?” asked Clein.
“Just Old Man Tales.”
“Are you going to let him in?”
Clint paused. “Why, do you think I should?”
“Maybe.”
Clint allowed the elderly gentleman to join them, and the flowing beard brought with it a greater sense of mystery.
“Hello,” said Old Man Tales. “I just thought I’d join you and guide you forth.”
“Uh… How did you get here?”
“I knocked on the door then the floor and you chose to open the door.”
“I meant how did you get up here?”
“I climbed, the same as you. You didn’t think you were the only passionate people, did you?”
“If you’re trying to open the Fez, you can forget about it, because we’re going to press every button.”
“I’m up here to witness a great event. I see the Acorn has already been planted.”
David Gratton II spotted him. “Hello, there.”
“Hello again.”
“Have you two met before?” Clein asked.
“Not yet.”
“Ah.”
“We’ll meet at some point in the future.”
“What do you know of the future? Do you know about David Gratton?”
“Clein, I know a lot about the future, but I can’t tell you.”
“How did you know I was Clein?”
“You’re a good man, Clein. If I told you what happens next, you’d try to prevent it.”
“Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” Clein tried to explain. “You can tell me what’s going to happen.”
“Clein, you’re a very lovely man, but you wouldn’t understand.”
He got angry. “Old Man Tales, I’m not the stupid little boy you think I am.”
“Clein, I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Yes, you do. All you old people are the same. You all think youths are stupid and bad. Well, I’m not.”
Old Man Tales sat down beside Clein. “Okay, Clein. I can tell you. You may have heard of David Gratton.”
Clein looked up at him. “That’s the guy who’s plotting something bad, isn’t it? He likes to terrorise.”
“Have you heard about the prospect of there being a new country?”
“Yes. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I can talk to you about this, because it’s just us two here.”
“What about Clint and David Gratton II?”
They had slipped out a few moments earlier. “Oh, yes. I forgot about them. Where are they?”
“They’re sitting on the edge of the Fez, pressing buttons so we propel this direction.”
“Okay. Is the new country going to be a good thing or a bad thing? Is there going to be a new country? Is the rumour true?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Good or bad? Is it something that needs to be prevented or promoted? Or do we need to prevent it being promoted or promote it being prevented? Or even prevent it being prevented or promote it being promoted?”
Old Man Tales laughed heartily. “You’re very inquisitive. I like that. It’s the sign of a smart person.”
“I thought if you were smart you wouldn’t need to ask questions.”
“When we stop asking questions, it means we’ve given up with gaining knowledge and succomed to an inferior intellect.”
“You still haven’t answered any of my questions,” said Clein.
Old Man Tales sighed. “Suppose I said the new country were a bad thing. Then you would undoubtedly try to change the course of history. And, as I’m sure you know, if you changed that aspect of history, I wouldn’t be here to talk to you about it. And so, you couldn’t try to prevent it happening.” He chuckled. “A standard paradox.”
“But what if that’s a good thing?” said Clein. “What if you tell me there’s nothing wrong with the new country?”
“That would be just as bad. Then you would undoubtedly try to stop people who object to the new country arriving. And there are lots of people attempting to stop David Gratton. If you told them it were all in vain, they’d stop their futile quests. There’s a man called Richard Dakin who, in addition to opposing Quack, has made it his duty to prevent David Gratton from opening the Fez. He won’t get anywhere, but will inadvertently found the Dakin Daycare for abandoned cats. It’s a foolish title, as the animals are cared for day and night – which rejects one meaning of the word ‘day’ – for up to thirty years – which disproves the other. Even so, your telling him he would achieve nothing would guarantee he really did achieve nothing. And surely that would be a bad thing. You don’t want cats to go homeless, do you? I hope not. So, you see, whether we reveal the truth to dreamers (regardless of whether it’s a definite truth or subject to the mood of the space-time continuum) we are preventing dreams and stifling advancement.”
“What if I just tell him he needs to found the cat centre?”
“He doesn’t intend to found it. These things happen by accident.”
Clint looked upset.
“What’s the matter?” asked Old Man Tales.
“So you’re saying we have no choice in what happens?”
“I’m not saying you can’t make history. You will. But with reference to the new country, we shouldn’t be fearful. We don’t yet know how it will turn out.”
“So the new country will happen?”
“I can’t say whether it will or it won’t, but it’s best just to assume that it will and accept that there’s nothing else to be done about it until this all blows over.”
“But the Space Chicken had been trying to stop the new country from happening.”
“Yes, but that’s known about. It’s part of the prophecy,” Old Man Tales said. “Don’t you see awful this is? We’ve condemned ourselves to creative confinement. Many people know about what is allegedly going to happen. And so any attempt to change this would conflict with the ideas they hold. Don’t you think it’s best not to know what will happen next, so you can make what happens next in your mind come true. If I could tell you when you’re going to die, would you like to know?”
“Of course. Then I can prolong my life as long as possible. That is, assuming I die an unnatural death.”
“Would you really want to know? What would it achieve? It would mean you spend your life hiding from mortality. You would limit yourself to a set lifespan. You wouldn’t live. You’d plan for the end.”
Clein reflected upon this.
Old Man Tales continued. “I know when you die. I have it down to the precise date. Do you want to know?”
“No,” Clein replied quickly. “Knowledge of my death is equal to death itself.”
Chapter 57
I’m here now, guys.
oh goody
Hello there.
You took your time.
How is everything?
A-l-l r-i-g-h-t-. W-e-’-r-e b-u-s-y r-u-i-n-i-n-g D-a-v-i-d G-r-a-t-t-o-n I-I-’-s l-i-f-e a-t t-h-e m-o-m-e-n-t-.
Is he the one everyone keeps calling ‘Two’?
Y-e-a-h-.
Ah. I like to be up-to-date on these sorts of things.
the two refers to the end of his name david gratton ii
Yeah, I got that, thanks a lot, Vaeme 2.
youre welcome
It was sarcasm.
Why does e get to be Vaeme 2?
Yeah!!!!!?!!!!!
E was here second, wasn’t e?
I was here first. I’m always first. I’m Vaeme 1.
i am vaeme 2
I think!!!!??? I was third!!!! Number three!!!!!! I’m the bronze medal!!!!!!
AndIappeartobeVaeme4.
I am third!!!!!
That’s pathetic. No-one cares about the bronze medal.
yeah
I care!!!!!
silver is good too
Silveristhehighestformoflosing.
Bronze is good!!!!!!
Bronzeisjusttheworstmedal.
At least I got a medal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ooh
Oh, you got told.
I a-m t-h-e f-i-f-t-h o-f t-h-e V-a-e-m-e-i-.
are we still doing that
Which makes me Vaeme 6.
And me Vaeme 7.
That’s that, then!!!!
Of course that’s that. What else could it be?
yeah
Are there more to come?
Certainly. We wouldn’t want Two to get lonely in his own head, now, would we?
Yeah!!!!
There are always more voices.
Remember this, Two: no matter how bad you think things are, they can always get worse.
things are never as jolly as they appear and never appear jolly until youve seen the darkest sights of misery
And when you’ve given up being depressed!!!!! then we can always increase the intensity!!!!!!!!!
Andthefrequency.
A-n-d w-e c-a-n g-e-t i-n-t-o y-o-u-r m-i-n-d a-n-d c-o-n-j-u-r-e t-h-e w-o-r-s-t t-h-o-u-g-h-t-s a-n-d f-e-a-r-s-.
We are your mind.
We are your worst thoughts and fears. But things can always get worse. Never give up the hope that oblivion is on the horizon forever.
Chapter 58
In space, there was a deep, unnerving silence. In space, there is always silence. Unless, of course, it was light space, which is filled with jelly and potential. But it wasn’t.
This silence would not be particularly significant were it not for the fact that there was a huge object floating around in it. It was a very noisy object, but as there were no media to transport sound and only one person, this wasn’t really an issue. If it were a place with the potential for sound, it would have gone like this:
Weeikrumpentedooztschftrunketcloun!
But it wasn’t a place for sound.
A small, solitary creature headed up towards the noisy silence. The creature had no gender, no face and legs. The only way to refer to such a spivak was neutrally, something e very much approved of. There was no air, so e couldn’t breathe. This hardly mattered, as the creature had spent eir entire life so far in places with air, and e hadn’t been too impressed. E didn’t mind. E didn’t breathe.
The small creature was on a big mission. Nobody knew if the mission would be a success or not, so ordinarily someone would say to em, “Don’t hold your breath,” but under the circumstances (eir idleness and lack of respirational abilities), nobody did.
