The Book of Josiah - Chapter 3 - JOS

The Book of Josiah, chapter 3, and this is where things get complicated. Remember that there are 3 parallel timelines, Josiah, Jos and Joe. Chapter 3 we meet Jos for the first time. To try to keep things clear, each chapter will be labelled with the name of the character in the heading, and will be given different colour and font wordles for images. Chapter one is here and chapter two is here.

    The dream sucked him in. He tried to fight it but could not - there was nothing to hold onto. Jos was pulled into it.

    When he next escaped the darkness, Jos stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. Semi-conscious, he contemplated the dream. He knew where it was going - he had dreamt it before, many times. He did not want to see the end of it, not again. When he returned to sleep, he would dream of something else. Something nice.
    Having resolved the issue to his satisfaction, Jos rolled over, fell asleep once more, and returned to the nightmare.

    Jos’ eyes snapped open, a cry of terror forming in his throat. Then he stopped himself. Just another stupid dream, he thought, another stupid dream. Pushing aside the unfamiliar sheets and rough blankets, he sat up and looked around. The room was very dark, with only a trickle of light from under the door and the glitter of distant stars beyond the porthole.  A sudden and violent cough seized him and shook his body. Was the water in here drinkable? No matter, he had to drink something, quell the scratching in his throat. Jos swung his legs out of the too-soft bed and started to stand. A noise to his right stopped him dead - a soft moaning, a small rustle of the sheets.
    Eyes half-closed and burning with exhaustion, he could barely see a thing. With a gentle thought command, Jos brought the lights on to low. And had to stifle a cry of surprise. There was someone else in his bed. A woman. And it was not his wife.
    Half out of bed, Jos stopped, his mind simply grinding to a halt on a single question - what had he done?
    The very question betrayed himself. He knew what had happened and yet resolutely refused to move his thoughts back to the night before. Still, the harder Jos fought not to remember, the more the details flooded into his mind. The smell of her perfume, exotic and tantalising, like nothing Ammi ever wore. Snake skin shoes, daringly unethical. Long fingers caressing a flute of champagne in the bar, as everyone had gathered to watch the news. Her lips, so red, so intoxicating. A glorious body, wrapped in strange cloth that shifted from brown to gold, a neckline so low it was almost indecent.
    All evening they had been making eye-contact, her green eyes coy and smiling; they promised everything yet gave little. He had been drinking like a man who arrives at a party and finds he doesn’t know anybody there - drinking to fill a hole in his life. From the moment she walked in he had been enthralled but tried to deny it, to pass it off as nothing. So why did he offer to buy her a drink? He was so cold and she had said yes. He had never dreamed she would want him, not with his muscle turning to fat, his hair receding, becoming grey. But she had said yes, smiled, laughed, played with her silken hair. When she invited him back to her room, was it just the alcohol that made him go?
    And after that he had no memory. Had they had sex? That was the crucial question. Since he was naked in bed and his clothes were lying around the room in small heaps, he could only assume the worst. Had he at least enjoyed it, this betrayal? Why couldn’t he remember? All that was left a growing sensation of guilt and shame. What had he done?
    The only thing he could do now was run.
    As quickly and as quietly as he could manage, Jos gathered up his things. The cough returned a couple of times, seizing his body with tremors. He held them in as much as he could but the noise seemed unbearably loud in his ears. Each time he glanced furtively at the woman - he didn’t even know her name - to see if she was stirring but she never moved. All he wanted to do was to get back to his room, have a drink of water, and go back to sleep.
    He was dressed in under a minute and quickly searched for his keys, all the time trying to avoid looking at the bed. Eventually he found them, lying underneath her blouse in the corner of the room. He moved to the door.
    “Jos?”
    Damn, she was awake. What should he do?
    “Yes?” he answered quietly.
    No response came.
    Jos hardly moved, straining to hear any kind of noise.
    A moment later, a soft snoring told him that she was asleep once more. He turned off the lights and fled.

    Back in his cabin,  Jos closed the door behind him and finally breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t passed a soul on the way. Everything would be alright.
    He took off his shoes, slipped off his jacket and wrapped himself in the complimentary dressing gown. It wasn’t particularly cold - his room had adaptive heating, but he needed to be wrapped up in something. Jos knew he should sleep, his eyes were tired but his brain was burning, alive with images and feelings he didn’t want.
    Something drew him to the porthole, and he gazed out at the stars. The depths of space looked back at him, cold, distant, unwelcoming, but with a certain noble beauty. Out here, beyond the orange city lights, beyond the clouds, beyond the atmosphere, the stars could be seen as they truly were. They were challenging the human race, daring someone to bring them within reach. Perhaps some day soon, humanity would approach those distant suns. With technology expanding exponentially it could only be a matter of time. As a child he had designed spaceships and space stations, filled them with gadgets and little explanations of what each part did. Jos had dreamt of inventing the first interstellar spacecraft. Of course, that was now a distant dream, long ago supplanted by his time project.
    Lost for a moment in childhood fantasies, only a strong shiver, which he could not account for, snapped him back to reality. Finally, he poured himself a glass of water. At this stage of the journey it must have been recycled several times but it didn’t taste too bad. He wondered idly why he didn’t have a hangover but couldn’t think of a reason. It was just after 4 am CET, so he couldn’t have been in bed for long. Was he still drunk? He certainly felt sober enough to fancy a drink. What had he done?
    He turned away from the window and back to his small cabin. Mock daylight lit up the room but it wasn’t much to speak of. Then again, it had been Jos’ choice to travel economy. The cream ceiling was only just above his head, and Jos was not a particularly tall man. The bed was narrow, designed to fold away into the wall if required, and dressed in blankets of the worst kind of brown. Who had chosen such a colour? Why did these ships insist on using blankets anyway? The only other two items of furniture was a small table and a grey, plastic chair. His computer sat on the table humming quietly to itself, as if trying to be inconspicuous. Beside it was a pad of white paper and a chewed pencil. It was something of a relic these days but Jos had always been more comfortable writing with a pencil than typing on a keyboard. He liked to think that these small eccentricities made him a more interesting person.
    Not that he was a New Luddite, not at all. He appreciated modern living, the little things that made life easier. You didn’t have to embrace every new piece of technology but neither should you throw them all away for an idealised past. The past was not some kind of utopia, nor was the future. The New Luddites were too simplistic in their outlook and blamed their own failings on the machines. The truth was more complicated, and Jos knew more than most that you cannot uncreate, nor undo the past. The question hit him again. What had he done?
    Jos sat down in the chair, which creaked alarmingly. The paper stared at him, daring him to solve the energy problem he had run into. It had struck about five years ago now - or was it six - and since then he had made no progress. He had hit dead-end after dead-end. Each time he thought he had found the solution, his equations betrayed him, and the whole structure collapsed. He had begun to wonder why he bothered, but then he knew why. It ought to work. His every instinct told him so. He had to prove that a time machine was more than just a scientific possibility, and it had to be him that proved it. Jos would not let some other scientist get there first, let another university get the credit, or even worse, one of the Companies. He held the pencil and willed himself to solve the problem but his mind would not co-operate, returning over again to last night. He put the pencil down again and sat on the corner of the bed.
    He ought to call his wife.
    The thought came unbidden to Jos’ mind and he tried to rid himself of it. Still, the words went round and round his head, accompanied by images of red lips and snakeskin shoes.
    A quick check of the chronometer told him that she would still be asleep and gave him the excuse he needed to forget about it. He splashed his face with water, combed his hair and got dressed once more. A walk would do him some good.
    With a thought, the door slid open and Jos stepped out into the corridor, blinking furiously against the harsh white light. The door sealed itself behind him. When he could see again, Jos turned right and began walking. He had no definite goal except to escape himself. Her room was to the left but he tried not to think about that. What had happened had happened - you couldn’t change the past.
    The thin, tiled carpet felt like stubble beneath his bared feet as he walked along the endless corridor, following the ascending numbers. Every door was very similar, every light was the same - walking down here was like walking in circles, and the repetition had a certain calming quality. Jos picked up speed and watched the numbers fly past. How much power was required to run this ship for the whole journey, he wondered. How many of the rooms were occupied? How long could the artificial gravity be maintained in the event of…
    Jos turned a corner abruptly and instantly collided with someone. Both of them stopped, startled, but it was apparent that little damage had been done.
    “Sorry,” Jos mumbled.
    “No matter, no matter,” came the reply.
    Jos smoothed down his clothes and took a proper look at the man before him. The first thing that stuck him was the man’s hair. Like a forest fire, it curled and twisted up from his scalp, always in motion. It was almost alive. And the colour was a red so vibrant, Jos had never seen its like. The second thing he noticed was his eyes - icy blue, the colour of sapphires, fading to white around the pupil, before dropping away to black holes.
    “My name is Jonah,” the man said, bowing ever so slightly.
    “Josiah, but my friends call me Jos.”
    “And what may I call you?” Jonah asked, a small smile growing in the corner of his mouth.
    “Jos, I hope,” he answered, finding himself smiling as well, though he tried to avoid looking into Jonah’s sharp eyes. “Come,” he continued, “may I buy you a drink to apologise? The bar is just down a few levels.”
    “Yes,” replied Jonah, smile still lurking about his lips, “yes, I believe you may.”
    Jos smiled more broadly and headed off.

*  *  *

    He was unsurprised and rather pleased to find the bar almost empty - it was, after all still very early in the morning. A few figures were scattered around the room, either alone or in pairs. The lights were kept low, allowing the patrons to fully appreciate the stars, glittering beyond the portholes. The news display, that had been running constantly for the last three days, had been turned down low. A few still watched the never-ending pictures from London, dead bodies still being removed from the rubble, the first funerals, but most ignored it. Jos had seen it all before. By now they would find no more survivors.
    The quiet in the bar could have been awkward but Jos found it relaxing. He didn’t recognise anyone from last night and hoped no one remembered him leaving with the snake-skin woman. Even the barman had changed. As he headed over to the counter to order drinks, he heard Jonah’s small but resonant voice behind him:
    “I’ll meet you in that corner.”
    He saw where Jonah indicated and nodded his agreement.
    The barman was slouching at the other end of the bar and showed no signs of being interested in serving anyone. He might have been asleep. Jos coughed quietly, trying to attract his attention without being rude. No effect.
    “Excuse me?”
    The barman stared into the middle distance. Nothing would shake him from his contemplation. So Jos had to march around the counter until he stood directly in the man’s line of sight. He blinked twice, and looked up with irritation and feigned surprise. His skin gave the impression of being smothered in grease, his hair, of having been cut with an axe. “Yeah?” he asked, uninterested.
    “I’d like two coffees, please.”
    The barman looked like he didn’t understand why anyone would ask him for a drink, nor why anyone would want to drink coffee. Jos repeated his request. The barman grunted and turned to the back of the bar.
    Terrible service, Jos thought, must remember to complain about it. But then with recent events in London, everyone had a lot on their minds.
    Five or six seconds later two small steaming cups appeared, each with a plastic-wrapped biscuit. Jos picked up the drinks and began to walk away before he realised that he had not paid for them. He turned back and gave his room number. The barman wasn’t even looking at him - he was staring over his shoulder, into the corner of the room where Jonah sat.
    Terrible customer service, he thought again, and brought the drinks over to the table. He collapsed into the brown, syn-leather armchair, and found that it was not as comfortable as it looked. Pressing a small panel in the centre of the black gloss table, a section slid back to reveal a tray of creams and sweeteners. Jos took what he always had, one no-fat cream and two brown lo-sugars. Jonah did not touch the tray.
    “No sugar?”
    “Not this morning,” Jonah answered, “this morning I need something pure.”
    A strange response. Everything Jonah said took on a depth of meaning as if he were perpetually hinting at some greater, ineffable truth. Was he really hinting at something or was it just an illusion of rhetoric?
    “So, what keeps you awake at such ungodly hours?” Jos asked smiling, not sure what else he could say.
    “Oh, the usual,” answered Jonah, smiling back, “bad dreams. And you?”
    “Bad dreams are usual?” he asked, surprised.
    “Well, I suppose it depends on who you are, where you have been, and where you are going. I cannot escape the dreams. And neither can you. Am I right?” His grey eyes flashed and seemed almost dangerous.
    “Yes, I guess you are. I’ve been having lots of nightmares recently. How did you know?”
    “Not just recently, but for many long years. The ripples of consequence drift both forwards and backwards, diminishing in all directions but never disappearing.”
    What was he talking about? Jos’ critical mind told him it was new-age nonsense. Yet at the same time, he felt the power of Jonah’s words, the excitement of truth.
    “The consequences of what?”
    “That is the question,” Jonah responded, a boyish grin on his face, “but even if I could tell you, where would be the fun in that? Your destiny is approaching faster than you know.”
    They sat in silence for a few moments. Jos studied the lines etched into Jonah’s skin, lines of age, of worry - Jos had many of his own. Jonah looked only at the table and his cup of coffee.
    When the silence broke, it was Jonah that broke it.
    “May I tell you of my dreams, Jos? Most people cannot bear to hear the dreams of others, I sometimes think that they feel reminded of their own limitations. But I need to share them with someone - they are weighing me down.”
    “Of course.” He had never really listened to someone else’s dreams before - Ammi never mentioned her’s; he wondered if she ever dreamed at all.
    “I dreamt I was sailing on a ship, an ancient ship, with mammoth steam engines. We were ploughing through the churning waters, green and sparkling like emeralds. All was well until we reached the storm that struck like an avenging angel, golden sword unsheathed. Huge waves crashed down upon the ship, breaking over her sides again and again, lashing the sailors, tearing the rigging.
    “The air was like stone with the strength of the water, and I could hear nothing but the furious thunder, the crash of waves, and the screams of the dying. The storm was not unexpected, you understand, we had seen it coming, seen it a mile away, yet there was nothing we could do to avoid it.
    “The sky turned dark as hatred, the moon turned the colour of blood - red on black. Lightning thundered over the waters, illuminating our ship, tossed on the waves like a toy.” Jonah’s voice grew heavy with grief, tears began to form in his eyes. “The captain said the gods were against us, that someone must have angered them so greatly that they were willing to destroy all of us to kill just one. He said we should draw lots. Whoever it fell upon, that would be the guilty man, the one responsible for everything. I knew the lot would fall to me - it was all my fault, my responsibility. I should have been asleep, of course, but I cannot sleep, even in dreams. I turned to flee, to try to outrun my fate. I ran into the bowels of the ship.”
    Abruptly, Jonah stopped. Blinked away the tears and smiled.
    Jos, who had been entranced, and terrified despite himself, felt like he was on the edge of a waterfall and had been left to plummet over the ridge.
    “And then?” he asked, hardly daring to breathe.
    “And then? I woke up, of course,” finished Jonah.
    Jos collapsed back into his chair, feeling emotionally drained. Yet somehow he felt more alive now than he had since… he could not remember when.
    “And you, Josiah, what are your dreams?”
    Jos did not know how to begin. He felt nervous, as if about to give a lecture in front of a vast audience. How to open up? He took a deep breath, and sighed.
    “Sometimes I dream that my teeth are falling out,” he whispered. “I can feel them, crumbling out of my gums. Then I wake up, to find that my dream was true, only to realise that, in fact, I’m still dreaming. I wake up again, feel for my teeth again, and touch only bleeding gums, only to wake up, again and again.” Jos shivered, remembering the feelings, seeing the blood on his finger. “But the dreams I find strangest of all are those in which you can control what’s going on. I’ve often wondered how you can consciously control a dream.”
    He was steering the conversation into more abstract waters, away from anything too personal, and he knew it. That knowledge made Jos feel vaguely ashamed, yet he couldn’t help himself.
    Jonah leaned forward. “Let me tell you something,” he whispered conspiratorially, “you aren’t actually in control - you cannot control a dream.”
    Another moment of silence.
    “So, what brings you out here?” Jonah asked, blue-grey eyes fixed on Jos’ own.
    “I’m going to see Ammi, my wife. She works out here.”
    “I was married once, a very long time ago. Ruchamah, her name was. She could turn my mind to water with just a look from her brown eyes.”
    “What happened?”
    “She died. A car accident.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Jos weakly, not knowing what else to say.
    “No, you’re not really sorry, not yet. Please, just try to remember how lucky you are, remember while there’s still time.” Jonah paused. “Speaking of which…” he reached into a deep pocket, concealed in his robes, and pulled out a small a silver pocket watch. He flicked it open and checked the time. “Good,” he said, “we still have a few minutes.”
    “Before what?”
    “It doesn’t matter. So, you’re going to meet Ammi? Tell me about her.”
    Jos was still curious about what was going to happen in a few minutes but decided not to press the issue. There was an earnestness about Jonah’s question, that raised it above the feigned interest of most people - he really seemed to want to know.
    “I haven’t seen her for nearly six weeks. Things have been…” he struggled to find the right word. He had never expressed these thoughts before, not to anyone, “…difficult between us recently.” Even such a bland description of their relationship tasted bitter.
    “How so?” Jonah asked, leaning further forwards.
    “Well, I guess it’s my fault really,” Jos began, hardly believing that he was saying this, giving voice to feelings he had barely recognised in himself. And to a stranger! but there was something compelling about Jonah. “I’ve always been wrapped up in my work, obsessed with my time machine. I’m just so close now. But then I’ve been this close for six years and I don’t seem to be getting any closer,” Jos sighed, “nor any younger. I’ve spent the best years of my life working on this machine, trying to achieve what everyone said was impossible, believing I could succeed where everyone else had failed. But I’m now I’m starting to think that it really is impossible, and that I’ve wasted my life, neglecting the person closest to me, hurting her more than anyone has a right to. And Ammi too has been busy. She moved out here five years ago, and during that time we’ve only seen each other every couple of months. I should move out here, really, shouldn’t I? But if I give up my work, I’m leaving the great discovery to be made by someone else - my life will have been wasted. But if I don’t then I will probably only succeed in alienating and losing her - the last person I would dream of hurting.” Jos took a deep breath and checked himself. He had never said anything like that before - not to anyone. And yet he felt the pain as he spoke the last few words, and could not say anything more.
    “Thank you Jos.”
    “For what?”
    “For being here tonight. We haven’t long now.”
    “Before what?”
    “Please, just listen. I have lived a long life in this world, seen things you would not believe, and if there is one thing I have learned, it is this: sometimes, it can be too late to change things. Remember that, while you still have time. There is a great shadow at the heart of this ship, a worm, a cancer. The time is coming when you will have to make a choice. You must change or everyone will die.”
    Jos was stunned. He couldn’t say anything. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering just who Jonah was. His words made Jos believe - believe in himself, believe in Jonah, believe that things could change. He was about to ask a question when Jonah interrupted.
    “Thanks for the coffee and the company. I’ve enjoyed talking with you immensely. I would love to stay longer but I’m afraid you must excuse me - I’m about to be arrested.”
    “Excuse me?” asked Jos, unsure if he had heard correctly.
    At that precise moment, the door to the bar slid open. Silhouetted against the harsh lights of the corridor were six large men with guns, wearing black-steel uniforms and dark visors that hid their faces - Ship Security. Surprised, Jos could only watch as they marched into the bar, controlled, precise. Their leader looked over to the barman, who pointed to the corner where Jonah sat. Like a well-oiled machine, the guards fanned out and surrounded them, pointing their black guns at Jonah.
    “Get up,” ordered the leader, voice altered by his helmet. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
    Jonah rose from the chair slowly, his grey clothes flowing like smouldering ash on the wind. There was something dangerous about him, something about the way he moved - like a wildcat stalking its prey. Jos could sense it, so could the guards. It made no difference that Jonah was outnumbered and unarmed. He stared at each of the guards in turn, as if daring them to try to arrest him. For a moment, no one moved.
    Then the leader, almost visibly, pulled himself together, grabbed Jonah’s arm and clasped his wrists in steel binders. Jonah did not say a word, did not attempt to struggle. He was led away, two guards following with guns pointed at his back. The leader approached Jos, still sitting at the table.
    “Are you unharmed?” he asked.
    “We were just talking. Why did you do that to him?” Jonah asked, finding his voice, and his outrage.
    “Don’t you know who he is? He is a convicted murderer, extremely dangerous. We are holding him in custody en route. He got out somehow but it won’t happen again. Enjoy your coffee.” The guard marched out of the room.
    A murderer? Jos would not believe it. There had been genuine care and concern in his eyes. But then there was something strange about Jonah, something fiery, dangerous even. But a murderer? No, there must have been some mistake.
    But the look on Jonah’s face as the guards bound him, a fierce anger somehow tempered with acceptance. Jos could not get his mind around it all.
    He looked about the room. The bar was deserted - he was alone. He looked down at the table - he was alone with two untouched cups of coffee.