Part One by Ruth Smyth
Nigel stretched as he lent back in his chair. His bones creaked. Simulated gravity is easier on the limbs, but it doesn’t stop the ageing process.
“Hey Nige, looking forward to your leaving drinks later,” Eva leaned around the monitor and smiled at him, “how does it feel to have hit the big seven-oh?”
“Pretty good. I have a space booked on C-deck and I plan to spend at least 80% of my day floating around drinking cocktails.”
“Not going straight for Cryo then?”
“Nah, mug’s game that. Who wants to trust a bunch of strangers to wake you up in 73,000 years’ time?”
The loud dong of a message made them both jump. It was from the sanitation department. IT support needed from someone with Earth tech experience. Nigel sighed, “Off to Y-deck then I suppose.”
“Ugh, good luck,” said Eva, “and don’t get stuck, your leaving drinks are at 3 sharp.”
The shiny grey lift doors swooshed open and Nigel was hit with the slightly stale air of the lower decks. The recyclers must be set to a slower pace down here. A small crowd was gathered around a desk up ahead. They all looked about twelve to Nigel. They had the long gangly limbs of the space born.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” said a stressed looking woman in team leader green, ”we don’t know what to make of this.”
She led him to the crowd and the young person in the centre swung their seat around. They looked embarrassed by all the attention.
“What’s the problem?” Nigel asked.
The team leader answered, “Kaya here got a very odd email.”
“It came this morning,” Kaya’s voice was soft, “there’s a file we don’t recognise.”
Nigel leaned in to look at the screen, his corneas had been replaced, but they still weren’t quite perfect. The icon looked like a tiny manilla folder with a metal zip. The sight of it immediately took him back to his first job on Earth, about 10 years before the Departure. He’d started in IT support for a water company. They’d had strict security protocols after the Wars. A zip file was as likely to contain a virus as anything useful.
“What is it? Did I break something?” Kaya asked.
“No, just an old way to compress files. I’ve got some old software I can use.” Lucky they’d caught him on his last day.
The unzipped file was dated with yesterday’s date 02/02/2089. He scanned for viruses then opened it.
“What is that?” Kaya asked, “It looks like a VR game.”
It was a photograph of a landscape. The sky was a washed out blue, the ground a mix of sandy soil and scruffy looking greenery. It reminded Nigel of his native Bedfordshire. But that couldn’t be possible. Not taken yesterday. This must be a fake. A wind up. Someone having fun on his last day. He ran the visual deepfake detector: Genuine.
“That looks like Earth,” said the team leader.
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Chapter 2 By Andrew Stock
“Bedfordshire. Yesterday?” But thats impossible Nigel and you know it. “Now come on drink up. This is supposed to be a celebration.” Eva passed Nigel another rum and smiled as she downed her own drink with a toss of her head wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before signalling the bar tender to bring another round. “Besides its probably just a glitch in the system. You know we get them sometimes.”
“Yes old data caught in the network old man. forget about it and enjoy your last moments here before they revoke your pass and you are cast off to ‘C’ deck. Claudette winked and raised her glass towards him, “You lucky swine.” She said, “I’m so jealous.” Arturo leaned towards him and whispered drunkenly his words too loud to be unheard.
“Claudette is not so far behind you I think. Perhaps she will have herself transported to ‘C’ deck and then you will have someone who may want to enjoy more than just a cocktail eh?” He laughed lasciviously ignoring Claudette’s screech of indignation and reached for the tray of drinks that had just arrived. “To Nigel.” He slurred, “To cocktails and nights of passion on ‘C’ deck.” Despite the colouring of his cheeks with embarrassment Nigel smiled at this group of mis-fits, colleagues who had for many years been the closest thing he had known as friends. Now because of his impending retirement this too would cease to be, as connection amongst work groups must end immediately upon work termination unless of course they too chose ‘C’ deck on their retirement. He sipped the rum quickly hiding the flush that burned his cheeks as he thought of Claudette joining him for cock-tails.
“Nigel Hardiman?” The heavy voice was accompanied by the firm grip to his arm, “Would you accompany me. You are wanted in Command.”
“Command?” Nigel looked at the heavyset figure dressed in regulation blue. “There must be some mistake. I am retired.”
“No mistake Sir. If you could follow me. Now!” He turned sharply on his heel walking through the sea of parting bodies. With barely time to acknowledge his friends, who looked at him with a variation of concern and fear Nigel rushed after the tall figure struggling to match the lengthy stride.
finally arriving outside the blue door of command the guard pointed at a straight backed chair pushed hard against the wall.
“Wait here.” Within moments the door opened again and Nigel was led efficiently into a large office and faced by a small man seated behind an opulent looking desk.
“You know who I am?” The voice was deeper than the body portrayed and demanded instant response.
“Yes Sir Ardo Mecuzio, head of intelligence and security.” The small figure nodded
“Yes. Now Mr Hardiman what do you know of the strange message?” Nigel wished he hadn’t had the fourth brandy and wiped a sweaty hand over his face. “Well?” Nigel jumped at the raised voice and scrabbled for the correct answer.
“Erm not much really. Probably just a glitch, old data. This sometimes happens. After all….”
“No! Do not treat me as a fool.” Mecuzio looked down at the screen set into the black onyx of the desk before continuing. “Perhaps you can tell me why it is that we have had seven of these strange messages in the last hour, all of them containing photograph images reporting to have been taken in the last week and all of them in the Bedfordshire area an area you know so well?” Nigel stared blankly at the furious man confused by what he was hearing.
“I dont know. It’s not possible. Earth was destroyed 60 years ago in the final conflict…” Ardo Mecuzio steepled his fingers beneath his chin and blew a long slow breath which echoed in the stillness of the room.
“Then explain to me why each message received began with the words… Nigel Hardiman assemble a team. Save us?”
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Chapter 3 by John Broadhouse
Nigel was speechless for a few moments, his mind was spinning - why was he targeted? Who were they? Save them from what? It didn’t make any sense.
“I’m waiting,” barked Ardo, “I want answers now. Whoever they are they have broken into our secure channel using an old system which should be impossible to do - we need to find them.”
“I honestly don’t know who they are, but the photos of Bedfordshire, yes, I vaguely remember them, but I’m going back 62 years, I was only a boy then.” Staring closely at a building in one of the photos Nigel’s memory took a jolt. “That’s where I lived. These photos have been altered, those trees and hedges should be withered, not green and lush, the effects of global warming changed that. Yes, I remember the stifling heat, the fires…”.
“Enough!” shouted Ardo. “I will assign a team to assist you in tracking down these transmissions as I can see you have no idea who they are. So, for now you are reinstated, your retirement is put on hold, go and get me results … and close the door behind you”
Nigel liked the idea of being reinstated, it would give him a sense of purpose, especially tracking down the phantom emails, and having a team as well: what a bonus.
The first task was to find the location the emails where sent from which would be easy to find, as the starship he was assigned to had all the latest equipment. He had a hunch that it would be Mars, as prior to the destruction of Earth all the major countries had a base there to house dignitaries. ‘That’s human nature for you’, thought Nigel, ‘the governments knew the end was near, they pretended the floods, heatwaves and volcanic activity could be contained but they hadn’t counted on the depletion of the ozone layer which hastened the destruction of Earth and shortened the timeframe for larger colonies on Mars.
“We have a fix on the transmission location”, stated Zen, interrupting Nigel’s train of thought, “it’s from an N-Class spacecraft heading towards the Orion star cluster.”
“What do we know about N-Class?” enquired Nigel, “and how long would it take to intercept it”?
“The N-Class is a secret Russian spaceship, so details are very limited, but we do know it’s designed to carry many passengers. It’s not the fastest spaceship so I estimate interception in 14 days.”
Nigel handed his report to Ardo and waited for his reaction.
“Russians! This makes the task complicated, the diplomatic status on Mars is at present a bit fragile, all the countries want a united governing body apart from Russia who is spoiling for a reason to veto their decision. If we go in heavy handed with this N-Class it will give the Russians all the ammunition they need. Intercept it but don’t cause an incident. Do I make myself clear?” commanded Ardo.
On the way back to his quarters Nigel made a detour to the bar for a stiff drink, where he met Eva.
“How did it go?” enquired Eva, “Are you in trouble?”
“Not exactly, but I can’t talk about it - top secret”, joked Nigel.
Why would a Russian N-Class want him to form a team and rescue them? Why wouldn’t they use the Russians on Mars to rescue them? how did they know his name and location? He tried to think back to his stay on Mars when his family were housed there. He never did find out what his dad did, he only knew he worked for a government research department - maybe there was a link?” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Are you cold?”, asked Eva,” you look a bit distant, must have a lot on your mind.”
‘If you only knew’, thought Nigel.
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Chapter 4 by Joy E. Wilkinson
Ping! Another email notification. Nigel sighed and opened it. Yet another note from Elon wanting an update.
“Where are we on X-cess? Have you sorted the storyline yet?”
He was going to reply that he was still working on it but Elon always wanted everything done yesterday.
“Going well,” he dictated. “Have added the Russian connection and father mystery. Need further detail on alternative storylines.” Short and sweet, that was how Elon liked his messages.
Nigel had always wanted to work on computer games. Ever since the early days of the Nintendo wii, with its open sand box Zelda games, he had wanted to develop something equally expansive. See what he did there? Another eX word. Elon was obsessed with them. He had wanted to use X-scape as the latest name but the snow dome people had the ownership sewn up pretty tight. X-cess was okay though, it was a name that left possibilities open.
The target market had changed over the years. In the past it was all unwashed teenage boys in basements obsessed with never ending role playing games. Now those boys, and some girls, had grown up and retired and wanted to use their pensions to relive their teenage years. He could not blame them, who wanted to live in the real world when virtual reality worlds offered so many more opportunities?
He looked out of the window at the Bedfordshire countryside. Of course it was not a window in the old sense. Most people set their window portals to show views of a tropical island paradise, or endless cat videos. But he preferred an escape from the virtual world and had his set on the current view outside his home. The rolling grassy hills and trees clothed in leafy greens of his early years had been replaced by an otherworldly landscape that looked more like Mars than Earth. Huge white domes covered much of the land, providing an artificial world protecting people from the high temperatures of summer and the endless rains and floods of winter. Between the domes lay a wasteland of dust and cracked earth and the abandoned remains of the old East West railway. People still ventured outside the domes but it took effort to pull on an environmental safety suit. Why bother when you could stay in an air conditioned space with everything you needed just a quick phone tap away. And why risk an encounter with one of the wild tribes that lived in the hidden spaces between the domes?
And for those who needed to escape, there was always X-world, part of Elon’s ever expanding companies under the X umbrella. It was a mix of old tech computer games appealing to nerds who thought using keyboards was still fun, right through to the totally immersive virtual reality
games made possible with X-Tech suits and helmets controlled completely with brain waves. Pricey bits of kit but it was not as if people had much else to spend their money on these days.
There was a knock on the door and it opened. “Hey,” said Eva, “time for lunch.” One day he would tell his current wife that she had a starring role in his latest game. But perhaps not yet. They set off along a long corridor, doors hiding workers on one side, while the other opened to a huge atrium containing luscious greenery and the sight of colourful drone birds flying overhead. Down below them, a buzz of conversation rose up as people made their way between the different feed stations.
“Soy King burgers?” “Yes, why not.”
Nigel’s watch buzzed. Another email notification. He flipped his wrist to activate his ear implant and a familiar voice broadcast in his head, “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”
Finally, the message he had been waiting for all this time.
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CHAPTER 5 (Caroline Coleman)
Eva noticed Nigel’s expression change as recognition turned to relief. “Everything OK?”, she asked, and he nodded absent-mindedly.
“Come on – I’m hungry”, she said, and typed in the numbers for their burgers. Behind her, she could hear him mumbling something that sounded like “Of course, two plus two …”. He seemed confused, looking around him as if the surroundings were unfamiliar to him. Then, with no warning, he turned and walked away, just as a small white robot, with a faded Co-op logo on its head, arrived clutching two enormous burgers, dripping with barbecue mealworm sauce and artificial animal fat.
“I hope you enjoy your meal. How was my delivery performance today?” it chirped.
“Piss off!”, said Eva.
After lunch, Eva walked back to work with some of her friends. Julia had listened to Eva’s complaints about Nigel, head tilted to one side. “You know how intense it can get when Big Brother Elon’s on your back and jumping at you for ideas”, she’d reassured Eva, “I guess that message just suddenly gave him some inspiration. Sure he’ll be there as normal when we get back”.
But Nigel was not in the office when they returned. Eva kind of missed his presence, even though by mutual agreement they sat in different hot desk areas, trying to stifle the incessant jokes about him sleeping with the boss.
As usual, she watched the weekly Eloncast, wondering how a man could have such ultimate confidence in his own superiority. Nigel wasn’t like that. He was a hard worker, and he always came up with the goods eventually, but Eva knew how tough he found it. She knew how he would end up staring blankly at his window portal, as if there must be something new, something he hadn’t seen in that view a thousand times before. She wondered again about his strange departure at lunchtime, and the look on his face, as if he’d finally figured out the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything was not 42. Why hadn’t he come back after lunch? It was going to be awkward if she had to mark him down as absent without prior permission. And what was he doing? Was he alright?
When the afternoon finally came to a close, Eva headed for home – a simulation, fabricated to achieve a perfect blend of the houses Nigel and she had been forced to leave when the domes came. Unfortunately, that meant it had also managed to bring together all the worst imperfections of both houses, a source of considerable friction at times.
Even before she opened the door, her ears were assaulted by strange, crashing music that she had never heard before. The soundproofing was supposed to be the best in the world, but it clearly wasn’t familiar with this. Going through to their main room, she saw a vintage plastic CD case and a box of old paper tickets tied together with string. Nigel had somehow persuaded the home management system to generate an old fashioned school desk and there he sat on a wooden stool reading what looked to Eva like an old book.
She stared, taken aback, fear twisting in her stomach, and then, very carefully, asked “What’s that”?
Part 6 by Joan Lightning
“What’s that?” Eva pointed at the book in Nigel’s hands.
“It’s a lie,” he replied, without moving.
“What is? The book? Fiction usually is.”
“Indeed it is. The question is, what is real? If you know how to look,” He shook the book without taking his eyes off it—"This shows the truth that the government doesn’t want you to know.”
Eva bit back her instinctive retort. Calling him a conspiracy theorist would help no one. Where had this come from? She had been certain he was a normal, intelligent man. Why this sudden descent into—
“You don’t believe me? See for yourself. There’s another book on the table.”
Eva looked at the table and sure enough, there was a solid, printed book, with paper and a cover.
“Where did you find even one book? Let alone two?” she asked carefully, not moving although her fingers twitched, strangely, unexpectedly aching to pick up the paperback and smell it.
What kind of sicko am I? she thought.
“I kept some hidden when the government decreed the destruction of all remaining paper books, and banned all written hard-copy media. I loved my books and that I couldn’t bring myself to destroy them all, so I kept a few favourites hidden for all these years. Safe, locked away, but I read them as often as I could. Often enough to realise the truth.”
His words were almost heretical, but her hand went towards the book, touched it. It was in her hand and she held it to her nose. It smelled wonderful.
“In my youth I learned to lose myself in a good book,” Nigel continued. “But the message I got today was something I’ve been waiting for. ‘The clock was striking thirteen’. It’s from the opening of 1984. I won’t say who sent the message, but I knew they would contact me soon. Open the book.”
Eva slipped a finger under the cover and revealed the title page – Animal Farm.
“Start reading,” Nigel said, “But don’t let the story carry you away. Do the opposite. Try to look around the pages without taking your eyes off the words. Use the corners of your eyes. Can you see it?”
Eva read, trying to stay aware of the physical page and the words she was looking at. Light flickered across the page, a hint of movement at the corner of her eyes. A whiff of pig.
She turned her head to look, but saw only the room. Of course, only the room. What else? And yet, somewhere distant, she heard a distinct ‘oink’.
“What was that?”
“An experiment. An experiment that went very wrong. Something unleashed on the world by people who thought they could control it, but it didn’t work as they expected. Wild nano-algorithms.”
“Nano-algorithms?” Eva repeated.
Nigel put the book down and sighed. “Do you remember the mad times before the collapse? Conspiracies and misinformation and flat earthers? The rise of alt-facts and the chaos and destruction as people who genuinely believed they were defending democracy and liberty went on rampage after rampage, destroying everything?”
Eva nodded. “Like the sort of information ‘bubbles’ that created confirmation bias and led to people believing in pizzagate and things like that?”
“The algorithms were supposed to give each of us a perfect world. They watched what you bought and then helpfully guided you towards things they thought you would enjoy. They recorded the content you interacted with and sent you more of the same..”
He looked at her. “But they evolved, creating something more vigorous which escaped from the digital world and evolved to survive on paper and ink. The new breed clung to books, to printed words, and they recorded what sort of stories and articles you read and enjoyed, and tried to arrange the world around you to your taste.”
“The real world?” Eva asked carefuly, wondering if she was close enough to the door to make a run for it.
“Exactly. Only these could mould reality itself for each person. And it happened to everyone. We are all living in the worlds we expected, but those worlds could not coexist, which led to the destruction and wars.”
He picked up the book. “And that was why they banned printed material around the entire world, to try to contain the effect. And that may be how we can fix everything.”
Eva stared at him. “You’re mad,” she whispered. “Completely mad.”
Chapter 7
Veronica Sims
Nigel held the copy of 1984 gently in his hands.
He remembered that there had been a small group of people in Wilden who had refused to go along with the mass exodus from Earth to Mars in 2039. They had declined to believe all was lost, and insisted the planet could still be saved. People called them ‘Flat Earthers.’ One of them had been his old geography teacher: Jack Starling. He’d been friends with Jack’s son, Eli.
He found Eva. She looked worried.
‘No, it is the system that we are living in that is wrong,’ he began, ignoring any gentle introduction to his thoughts. ‘Humans didn’t evolve never to have opposition, to live out their lives in a so-called perfect setting. Because we are all different, but we must learn to live together despite those differences. Eva, we know it isn’t right. The way we live. We are turning into the robots that designed it all. Fiction Books showed us alternative lives, things we could work toward or reject. People like Elon Junior seem to believe we all think as he does, only, of course, he believes that his aspirations and plans, and those of his father before him, are far superior to those of the average Joe. But even he, in reality, just left it to the bots.
‘And so? What does that mean now, today, for us?’ asked Eva. Nigel noted a note of impatience in her voice.
Well, it certainly means that most of us were, ’lead up the garden path’ as my old Gran used to say. We were convinced that having everything exactly the way we thought we wanted it was a clever idea. But they weren’t even our ideas.’
She nodded.
‘To do that the Elontypes had to convince us that life on Earth had gone, been totally destroyed. That there weren’t different lifestyles, opinions, or ideas. Those things that we read about in our beloved books. Our history, our evolution…Books like 1984 had been written to warn us. Our new masters didn’t trust any books, so they all had to go.’
‘Are you saying that maybe Earth still has some life?’ Eva asked. She spoke slowly, almost appearing to force the question out of her mouth.
‘I know those pictures are from near where I lived as a child. There are changes, things have moved on, of course, but I am sure that is what I have been seeing - Bedfordshire 2089.’
‘But the message asks for help. To be saved.’
‘That is true. Something else must have happened. I need to contact them without the Superbots and Elon Junior tracing me. I need to get to the truth.’
They sat in silence for a while. Thinking.
‘What system did they use to get in touch?’ asked Eva
‘Microsoft 13 Pro.’
‘Can you access it? It must have some security system that you could employ to stop the bots from knowing what you are doing. Anyway, they won’t imagine that you would know how to use anything that old.’
‘I suppose it is a chance I have to take…so much for retirement!!’
Chapter 8 by Rosemary Ostley
So many questions, so little information. God, thought Nigel, where to start? He wasn’t sure whether his skills were up to hacking an old Microsoft system and he realised he would be taking on artificial intelligence, not just elite programmers. Time for some lateral thinking first.
He’d been born in 2019, a year before the first global pandemic, but he vaguely remembered what the world economy had become by the time he found himself relocated to this colony. He badly needed to trace information about that period – instinct told him the Russians were busy taking advantage of the chaos.
He quickly found basic information but wasn’t sure where it had been culled from. The word ‘Wikipedia’ kept cropping up and prompted old feelings of scepticism. He carried on digging, then all of a sudden, a claxon sounded and ‘CLASSIFIED’ was spread across the screen in pulsating red letters. He’d just asked to see a document entitled ‘The lockdown letters’, billed as a compilation of letters a grandmother had sent to her granddaughter during the lockdown. The noise of the claxon brought two stern-looking individuals to his door.
‘What are you looking for?’ one asked.
‘It’s part of my research’, gabbled a somewhat shaken Nigel, ‘Mr Mecuzio has tasked me with finding an answer to the emails that keep arriving, and to do that I need to look at relevant background material. The collection of letters came up when I entered my parameters.’
‘Come with us’, barked the guard, ‘Mr Mecuzio needs to know about this.’
After a good deal of haggling and some choice language, Nigel was finally given the requisite security clearance to access the information he wanted. He returned to his computer, silently wishing both Mecuzio and his henchmen a painful death and found the letters. They were interesting, but they didn’t get him any further until he searched for the name Pookie and up came a document with a tag saying, ‘TOP SECRET, for cleared personnel only.’ Nigel quickly scanned it then settled down to read it in depth.
The grandmother who had written to Pookie was, in fact, ex security services living in a care home in order to keep tabs on a fellow resident, calling himself Gordon, a Russian agent. He was living as an eccentric piano-player and to explain his slight trace of an accent told his fellow residents he had been born in Poland. When Pookie published her late grandmother’s letters, a journalist had got in touch with her claiming that ‘Gordon’ was a Russian spy who, from the anonymous comfort of the care home had been hacking into classified British government systems and planting false information, fomenting fear and dissent amongst the population. The grandmother had died suddenly during the pandemic, reportedly from a brain aneurysm, but she’d managed to provide the government with enough evidence to enable ‘Gordon’’s arrest, further souring the already fractious relationship between the two countries. Elon Jr took advantage of the volatile atmosphere and started to sow the seeds of his plan using fear and misinformation. Bloody hell, thought Nigel, no wonder Mecuzio wasn’t keen for me to dig all this up – he knows!
Implementing a little program he’d devised to shield him from nosy parkers, Nigel searched for Microsoft 13 Pro, the name ‘Pookie’ coming up in several of the results. ‘Now, there’s a coincidence’ murmured Nigel.
The Unexpected Message: Chapter 9 By ©Joy Wilkinson
There were so many links with the word “Pookie” in them it was hard to know where to start. Most of them were batshit crazy with the usual conspiracy theories around Elon, Russian interference, and Mars, all mixed up with fake news, alt facts and bots.
Though now he was thinking about it, that whole Lockdown episode under the cover of the Covid-19 pandemic, perhaps that was a way to get people used to living in the domes on Mars. And on Earth of course, because that’s how everyone lived now.
But what was this?
One of the links on the screen read, “Pookie was a well known connoisseur of fine foods and wines. Whenever anyone asked about their favourite food, they always replied, “Ice cream flavoured with garlic, wasabi, and a hint of Earl Grey.””
Nigel sat back, stunned. “Garlic, wasabi, and a hint of Earl Grey.” Surely that was not a coincidence.
He thought back to that day, long ago. He must have been about 7 years old. He and Rose were playing together in the school playground, under the shade of a beech tree to escape the searing heat from the sun. They pretended to eat ice cream to feel cool.
“What flavour have you got?” Rose asked him.
“Chocolate and vanilla.”
“Boring! I’ve got garlic, wasabi and Earl Grey.”
“Yuck!”
How had she known about such flavours? Maybe her parents had shopped at Waitrose while his were raiding the aisles of Aldi. Anyway, that wasn’t the point now. The point was that surely no one else in the whole world had ever put that combination of flavours together for ice cream. It must be a message from Rose. He never knew what happened to her after school when they had gone their separate ways. He just assumed she had perished in the chaos and destruction of the wars.
He clicked on the link. The words started to twirl and disappeared into a whirlpool of white in the centre of the monitor. As he continued to watch, new words appeared.
“What is your name?”
“Nigel Hardiman,” he said clearly, before remembering that on this old system he had to type.
As he pressed the enter key, the screen went black.
Nigel shifted in his seat, expecting security in the form of Mecuzio’s henchmen to reappear. But the door stayed closed. He returned his gaze to the monitor and watched as a bright dot in the centre of the screen ballooned until the whole screen turned white. He shielded his eyes, looking through the cracks between his fingers as words started to appear on the screen.
“Do you want to play a game?”
Well, of course he did. He could never resist a mystery.
“Name a town on the Great River Ouse with links to a Saxon chief.”
It must be Bedford. His grandparents were always into history and dragged him into Old Bedford as a young child, before everything was destroyed. He had been very young though. Wasn’t the name Bedford a mix of the old Saxon name “Beda” and the ford that went across the river? Or was that too easy? Nothing ventured, nothing gained though.
His answer disappeared, and a new question appeared.
“What is the connection between a piece of metal and The Pilgrim’s Progress?”
Well, the “Pilgrim’s Progress" used to be a pub in the centre of Bedford wasn’t it? But how did that connect to a piece of metal? There must be something else. Think! Think! Of course! The Pilgrim’s Progress was a book, wasn’t it? A book by, the name would come to him in a minute. Nigel drummed his fingers on the desk as he desperately tried to remember the author’s name. Yes! John Bunyan. And the bronze statue of him in the town. That was the connection.
“How can you fly across the river without wings?”
That sounded more like a riddle than a question. Does swimming count as flying? Maybe not. How else do you get across a river? Something tickled Nigel in the back of his mind. Got it!
“Use the Butterfly Bridge,” he typed with satisfaction.
The words swirled around the monitor again, this time reforming into the shape of a circle. Music started blaring out of the speaker built into the monitor, a rendition of “Circle of Life” from the Lion King, a song from a film and play famous back in the ‘90s.
The circle image moved and reformed.
“Follow this map to find The Circle.”
He couldn’t stop now.
Eva already thought Nigel was mad. Though he had been right about the books with the added sensory experience though. So when he suggested a walk outside because he wanted to show her something, she decided to go along with it. What did she have to lose?
They both suited up and made their way to the dome’s double air lock. The security guard asked to see the permits that allowed outdoor access. Nigel twisted his wrist and showed the screen to the guard, relieved that the image of the map he had downloaded included the permit for him and Eva. The guard took a long time checking his permit, it had been ages since anyone wanted to go outside. What was the point? What was out there that was more interesting than staying inside?
“Purpose?” the guard barked.
“A bit of fresh air I suppose,” Nigel said, innocently.
In the end, there was no reason to refuse and the guard operated the airlock. As it whooshed open, bright light hit their helmet visors until the reactive lenses kicked in and darkened. Outside, the world looked much as it did from his study window, thought Nigel. A wasteland of scrubby grass and short skinny trees with twisted branches. Where was the Bedfordshire of his youth? He checked his watch again for coordinates and strode out, Eva trailing behind with somewhat less enthusiasm.
It was strange to be outside, she thought. Everything seemed very bright and clear. And very big, such a huge expanse of not very much. What did Nigel expect to find?
They walked further away from the dome. Moving away from that link to normality made Eva even more nervous. What if they couldn’t find their way back? One thing she could not afford to do is lose Nigel. She made determined efforts to keep up with him. He certainly seemed to be going somewhere, this was not a relaxed afternoon stroll.
As the dome behind them became smaller and smaller, Nigel noticed a rocky mound ahead that got bigger as they got closer. Finally, Nigel and Eva arrived at what looked like a pile of heavy rocks. Nigel walked around it, looking at his watch to check their coordinates. Yes, this was the right place. He looked back at the pile of rocks.
As he watched, a large rock slid forward, revealing a dark hole behind it. A voice called out, “Come inside.”
Nigel, and a tentative Eva, walked through the rock doorway. As the rock behind them slid back into place, the initial darkness resolved into a series of lights showing a staircase descending into the earth.
Nothing for it now, thought Nigel. He took off his helmet and grabbed Eva’s hand. “Trust me,” he said.
Eventually the steps ended in a platform with another door. The door opened and a figure came through, a woman of about 70 with silver grey hair and a twinkle in her blue eyes. “Hi Nigel, remember me? It’s Rose.”
Nigel smiled with relief. “Of course!”
“Come inside, you must be Eva.”
Eva stepped through the doorway and stopped, mouth open. Inside, under the earth, a vision of paradise appeared. Lush green grass carpeted the floor, with leafy green trees that rose up to the rocky ceiling. Multicoloured butterflies flitted between flowers that wore all colours of the rainbow. And over it all the sound of birds singing. Was this real? What is happening to me?
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” said Rose, kindly. “But if you could both follow me, I’ll explain everything.”
Across the grass, lining the rocky walls, were several doors. Rose opened one and invited them in. A special scent hit Eva and she breathed deeply, eyes closed. That well remembered smell of old books, it brought back special memories of spending hours in the local library. But how?
She opened her eyes. Every inch of the room was lined with bookshelves which heaved with large hardbacks and multiple paperbacks.
“Wow!” She looked around at the hundreds and hundreds, maybe even thousands, of books. “Wow.”
Nigel could not resist. He went over to the nearest bookshelf and picked up a hefty tome.
Falling Shadows: Guardians of Reyth. Vol 1, by Joan Lightning. An incredible series of books about the never ending fight between good and evil using magical powers. A book that, if he remembered correctly, was made into a series of successful computer games with a lot of spin off merchandise. Must have made the author pretty rich.
He put the book down and picked up another.
Tales of Something Different, by A.C. Stock. A collection of short stories. Ah yes, this became a weekly series on Radio 54, he used to enjoy listening to that before going to bed.
Paradise Lost? By Joy Wilkinson, with that all important question mark, a book about the author’s childhood in Thailand. The authorities in New Thailand had turned it into a VR experience using new full immersion technology with incredible sensations, he and Eva still enjoyed it even now.
Gen X Sis by John Broadhouse, part of a trilogy examining the origins of earth and humans, linked with alien intelligences. Another book he had enjoyed; it had made him question all sorts of things about life on earth.
He picked up another well read book, the pages yellowed with age.
Alric of Bedanford by Veronica Sims. One of his favourites when he was growing up and he flicked through it fondly, muttering well-remembered passages to himself.
Eva was still mesmerised by the sight of so many books. “How?”
“When books were banned, we saved as many as we could. Elon and the clique of elites were always in so much of a rush, plus they didn’t think people cared about books anymore, so they weren’t that careful in checking that they had all gone. We put them all through an MRI scanner to get rid of the nano-algorithms with all the problems they caused. So now we have just the good old fashioned books again. And with them we are going to save the world!”
Nigel looked up. “But what do you need me for? What was that message, “Nigel Hardiman assemble a team. Save us,” all about?”
“We do have a plan,” explained Rose. “You saw the cavern outside? That’s what we aim to recreate across the world, moving from underground back to earthside. We call ourselves The Circle because it’s all about the Circle of Life. But we need people to believe that a different world is possible. And that’s where books come in. We want people to remember how the world used to be and Bedford,” Rose grabbed Alric of Bedanford from Nigel and held it up in the air, “is critical for this. What we need you to do, Nigel, is write down all your memories of Bedford and Bedfordshire, and to find other people who still remember how everything used to be. Remember, Nigel, Bedford is the birthplace of The Garden of Eden, if we don’t do it, who can?”
Nigel laughed. “You surely don’t believe that crackpot Panacea cult do you?” Rose was starting to sound like that other bunch of nitwits, the Wilden Flat Earthers.
“It doesn’t matter if we believe it or not. That’s the thing with fiction, Nigel, it’s about possibilities. Without that there is no hope. We want people to write more books and get people to read more books. That is how we will save the world, and remember everything we have lost. And you can help to get all these books out there.” Rose gestured to the walls beyond the rocky cavern.
Re-creating The Garden of Eden in the centre of Old Bedford? Was it just another crazy conspiracy? But given the choice between the Russians, Elon, and The Circle, he definitely knew which side he would pick.
The future would be far safer in the hands of The Circle.
He picked up a book. “Where do I start?” he said.