Jos watched the chronometer slowly mark the passage of time. He had thought about sleeping but had given up. No matter how tired he was, he found sleep to be a coy mistress. He wanted to speak to Ammi, had wanted to ever since Jonah had been arrested - had that really happened? It all seemed so far away now, so unreal.
At 7:30 am CET, the starship entered its daytime cycle, and the world onboard seemed to wake from its slumber. Though he had made this journey many times before, Jos still found the lack of objective time somewhat disturbing - day or night, the world beyond the window was as dark as ever. He was finding these little adjustments harder and harder to make. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and could no longer shrug off the space-lag as if the time difference was nothing but a blink of an eye.
Ammi would probably be up by now but to be safe he waited another ten minutes. Was he afraid to call her? What should he say? It had all seemed so clear last night, so obvious what needed saying. Jos practised what he would say inside his head but was not satisfied with any formulation. At precisely 7:40 he gave up, resolved to just see what happened, and activated the computer. The display flickered into life, projecting the desktop directly into the air. Deftly, he manipulated the black keys before him, not even glancing down at the pad. This might have been a clumsy way of working but direct computer-mind interfacing was still in the embryonic stage. And anyway, the idea of such an interface, hacking a computer into your mind, was disgusting - he would use a keypad still.
Selecting off-ship communications and the address of Ammi, he sat back and waited for the computer to find the connection. Soon enough, an image of his wife appeared on the display - she had obviously just washed her hair, which looked dark and heavy. Her hazel eyes were warm and she smiled as she saw him.
“Jos! How nice to see you.” Ammi’s melodic voice filled the cabin. “I’m just going out the door. How’s the flight going?”
“Fine, fine. As good as could be expected.”
“That’s great. And you’ll be here in two days?”
“A bit less - we should arrive tomorrow night.”
“Great.”
“How are you?” he asked, but it wasn’t what he wanted to say - the words stuck fast in his throat and sat there smoldering.
“Fine. Nothing remarkable going on here. The usual bunch of patients - viruses, flu, ear infections - nothing in particular going on.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them.
“Well, I must be off,” Ammi said, “busy day at the surgery.”
“Yeah. See you soon, have a good day.”
“You too. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Ammi’s image blinked out. Jos shut down the computer.
Something inside him was missing. He felt a hole and did not know what to do about it. He should have told her how much he loved her, how much he cared for her - at least he should have told her about Jonah. But no. He said nothing. He always said nothing. Why could he not talk to her? There hadn't used to be silences in their conversations, had there? There was always tomorrow. Maybe when he saw her it would be easier.
Jos felt a headache looming at the back of his skull - too many sleepless nights. What he really needed was a good breakfast, put everything else out of his mind.
The walk to the restaurant was not long but Jos found himself thinking about last night, when he had taken a similar walk. Jonah loomed large inside his head. The whole encounter had been so strange. Why had he poured his heart out to someone he barely knew? And some of the things he had said. Nonsense yet seemingly true. He could not explain it.
Considering that it was still relatively early, the restaurant was quite busy. Jos joined the back of the brisk queue, trying to decide what would be the best cure for a looming headache.
“I wouldn’t have the eggs if I were you,” came a low, murmuring voice from next to his ear.
Jos turned sharply.
“Excuse me?” he said politely, though he had heard full well what the little man had said.
“The eggs - don’t eat them.” He whispered this conspiratorially as if afraid of being overheard.
He was a short, stocky man, hunched over slightly, with growing wrinkles on his crimson face. His eyes were dark and furtive, flicking quickly from the right to the left, never staying in one place for too long, and, rather disconcertingly, never looking directly at Jos while he spoke. Jos had the unsettling feeling that he had seen this man before but dismissed it - he would have remembered.
“Why not?” he replied, in a normal tone.
“I know where they get them from.”
Jos decided he was not going to ask the next question. He just wanted to get his breakfast, sit down quietly and enjoy it. His head hurt, he was tired - he didn’t need this. The furtive stranger seemed to have other ideas.
“You don’t see any chickens around here, do you? You don’t think these come from real birds, do you? I know what they keep down below, I know. I know too much, that’s why they’re after me.”
“Who?” asked Jos, more in the hope of getting him to shut up then to hear the response.
“I can’t tell you, you might work for them. Maybe that’s why you’re asking so many questions. Trying to get me to talk? I’m no fool, you can’t trick me.” He lapsed into silence and turned away, which Jos took as his cue to get some food.
As he turned away, he heard a final whisper before the man’s retreating footsteps, “…and don’t touch the milk either”.
Irritated, Jos returned to his breakfast. When he had collected it (milk but no eggs), he took his tray and sat at an empty table. There would always be other times to talk to Ammi, wouldn’t there? And anyway, he was seeing her tomorrow.
“Do you mind if I join you?” asked a polite, warm voice.
Jos looked up from his meal to see a young lady, not altogether unpretty, who smiled in a friendly way. Still, Jos didn’t like interruptions, and he found himself almost painfully reminded of snakeskin shoes and red lips.
“By all means,” he said, hoping she would keep to herself.
“Have you done this trip before? It’s my first time, myself. I mean, not my first time in space obviously, but my first time on this particular trip but it’s so long though, how do they cope with it? The crew, I mean. They must get bored out of their minds doing this trip so often. So is this your first time?” she paused in her monologue just long enough for Jos to say that it wasn’t.
“What do they do, I wonder? If they keep having to go forwards and backwards the whole time. I’ve not been here for long and already I’m fed up with the endless space outside the portholes. I mean, it’s enough to get anyone down, I imagine. Just endless empty space stretching out further than the eye can see. Having said that though, the stars are alright, if you like that kind of thing. Myself I prefer something more…”
And so she continued, leaving brief pauses in which Jos was expected to say “yes”, “no” or shrug his shoulders. As the words floated around his ears, he studied the woman sitting opposite him.
Her eyes were not quite brown and not quite red and seemed always be just on the verge of tears. Her lips were thin, wide and red, giving the impression of a large Venus fly-trap, opening and closing with her words. Her dyed-blonde hair was somewhere between bedraggled and stylishly unkempt, Jos was unable to decide which. Then he noticed that, although she used hand gestures to accompany everything she said, she never moved her left hand off the table. Stranger still, it was hidden by a long white glove, that reached up the sleeve of her clothes, and, for all Jos knew, could have covered her whole arm. Just as he was about to ask why she only wore one glove, a vast man plumped himself down next to him.
“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” enquired the man, in a voice like an elephant stampeding.
“No, not at all,” replied Jos, in a tone that was supposed to convey the exact opposite.
“Oh good, I’d hate to be intruding.”
Obviously, the man could not take a hint. He was a mountain of a man, flesh billowing out on all sides. His face was round and pale, his eyes were small and dark.
The woman continued unabated, “as I was saying, what is one supposed to do on such long journeys, with no one to talk to and nothing, really, to do at all but…”
“Why!” cried the man, “you can read, can’t you! I always say that there is nothing better than a good novel to break up a long journey. Best place to catch up on my reading. I’ve been in worse places many times. At least this place is clean and tidy!”
“Funny you should say that,” interjected the Venus fly-trap, “when I found my room I thought it was in a terrible state, I mean, they hadn’t even folded the towels properly, just sort of…”
“Not folded the towels!?” bellowed the elephantine voice, “that’s a disgrace! I myself have been forced to dust my room five times since arriving two days ago. And I’ve had to wash out the sink twice. At least my towels were folded.”
“I was just wondering…” tried Jos, but he didn’t get very far.
“Is this seat taken?” asked a grey man, with a long dark overcoat wrapped tightly around his bony frame.
“Not as far as I know,” said Jos, resigned, sitting back in his chair and sighing softly. There was nothing he could do at this stage. He just hoped they would soon go away and leave him in peace. At least they were interesting characters. The newcomer was small and thin, he moved like an insect, watching the world through his too large eyes.
“I do get so lonely with no one to talk to,” continued the dyed-blonde, “I was just saying how nice it is to meet so many nice people, so many people these days are so rude, it is quite unbelievable, the other day I…”
“Tell me about it!” roared the man-mountain, “why, only yesterday, I called for some room service to complain about the atrocious state of the shower, and do you know what he said to me? He… Don’t do that!”
This last statement was addressed to the grey insect, whose well-creased face was frozen in a state of utter shock. He looked like a rabbit, fixed under the glow of approaching headlights.
“Don’t do that!” repeated the elephant, a bit quieter but not by much.
“But… I was just… I was just…”
From where Jos was sitting he couldn’t tell exactly what it was he had just been about to do. It looked like he had been putting a jug of water inside his coat. The large man pointed a stubby finger at him, as if accusing him of a heinous crime.
“You’ll get it dirty! Put it back on the table!”
Shaking slightly, the grey man did as he was told. The shock of all this was even enough to stop the Venus fly-trap for a few moments, though no one else in the room seemed to have noticed.
“Ahem!” the elephant coughed loudly, “where were we. Ah yes, reading! I do love reading a good novel - something with some excitement. Aren’t you reading something?” His last remark he asked pointedly, and Jos was not quite sure who he was talking to.
“Well, I mean, I’ve read the magazine they give us, and I do think it’s a bit short really, I mean, if it is supposed to last us the entire trip, which now I mention it does seem to be a little unlikely, but anyway, I read it cover to cover several times before…”
But Jos wasn’t listening to her. He was watching the large man beside him, who at this moment had his nose a couple of centimetres from the table top and was busy scrutinising it.
“As I thought!” he declared, proud and victorious, holding up his hand for all to see. “Dust!” He said this as if it were a poison he’d inadvertently swallowed. “If they think I’ll stand for this they have another think coming, I can tell you.” Carefully selecting a corner of his long sleeve, he wiped down the whole table as carefully as he could.
While his attentions were thus diverted, the man with the large eyes was sneaking the jug of water inside his coat again, watching the larger man like a gazelle would watch a prowling cheetah. When it became clear that the other man was busy, he quickly opened his coat and poured a stream of water into the inside pocket. Jos just caught sight of what looked like a small, pink flower before the man closed his coat as tightly as before and carefully replaced the jug on the table. Meanwhile, the woman was still talking about the in-flight magazine, the state of the world since the Docklands bombing and the wristwatches worn by various celebrities.
All he had wanted was a quiet breakfast.
The woman’s gloved hand caught Jos’ attention once more, and, while the others on the table seemed to be occupied, he managed to say more than two words.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help wondering why you wear a glove only on your left hand.”
She stopped talking. Her eyes grew larger, her lips smaller; she went as white as the glove. “I just do, okay? Is that alright with you? I can wear one glove if I want to!”
And with that, the woman stormed off and out of the restaurant. Perplexed, Jos watched her go. Then he looked around. He had been expecting all eyes to be fixed on him or the departing woman, she had certainly shouted loudly enough, but no one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention. It was all so odd.
“I think that will have to do for the time being,” declared the large man, with no small amount of perspiration appearing on his face. Apprehensively he reached up one hand to touch his forehead and took it back with disgust. “Now I need to shower again.” Saying that, the man got up and left, never looking back.
Jos was left alone with the grey man, who seemed to be moving his chair very slowly towards the door, his wide eyes fixed on Jos’ movements. He clutched his coat tightly, protectively, though whether to protect himself or the flower in his pocket, Jos wasn’t sure.
When Jos looked away for a moment, to try and eat some breakfast, he heard the man run out. Jos shook his head, in what was something like confusion or disbelief. No one else in the room seemed to have noticed anything at all amiss. They were chatting and eating normally, the waiters still running around with drinks and food. He was too old for this. Why did he always attract oddballs and lunatics?
* * *
Jos returned to his room after eating and spent the next hour staring at a blank piece of paper. The solution had to be simple, what had he not considered? Electricity was impractical to generate such large amounts of power. Nuclear fission was not realistic and nuclear fusion was even less. What had he overlooked?
As he stared at the blank paper, willing some fresh approach to come to him, Jos’ mind began to wander. He thought of his home in London, the university where he worked; he thought about what all the lecturers would be doing at that moment. Of course, when he had become a lecturer he had been one of many but now there were just a handful. In those days, nearly everyone with a doctorate became a professor or a teacher, passing on what they knew, researching what they didn’t. Jos remembered when the university had had a full complement of teaching staff - that dated him somewhat. The world-wide shortage grew every year.
It was the fault of the big industries, in the end, they had baited their traps well - offering scholarships, large pay-packets and good job prospects. All the scientists had to do was keep company secrets within the company. Thoughts were a valuable commodity and those that could think them could expect high wages. But all thoughts had to be kept within the company, or the scientist would end up blacklisted, unable to get a job, ignored by the world.
Already the ripples of this were spreading throughout the scientific community; Jos felt them and they unsettled him. Discussions among scientists were breaking down, shared thoughts and ideas had become things of the past. It was a worrying trend.
Then of course, there were the New Luddites, as they liked to call themselves, little more than Neanderthals dressed up as freedom-fighters. You simply cannot turn back the clock. What has been invented cannot be uninvented, what has been discovered cannot be undiscovered. But this fact did not bother the New Luddites
They were gaining supporters too, ignorant people who believed that technology was an evil in itself - that machines were things to be feared rather than appreciated, and destroyed rather than used. After all, they said, the machines have taken jobs away from normal people. They conveniently forget that technology provides them with the luxuries they depend on. And after their success in the Docklands, they would only get bolder.
The empty sheet of paper began to look accusatory. Jos had nothing to write, nothing he had not written down and crossed out a hundred times before. Maybe it really was time to quit.
He was shaken out of his reverie by an announcement over the intercom.
“Attention all passengers, this is Major Cassandra, Chief of Security.”
Jos turned to the display and the hard face that filled it - this sounded serious.
“A potential security hazard is at large on the ship. He is dangerous and is on no account to be approached. He is tall, thin, with bright red hair and pale blue eyes, wearing an ash grey cloak,” while she spoke, the major’s stony face was replaced by an image of Jonah. “If you see this person, do not attempt to apprehend him. Call security and leave the area immediately. We apologise for the inconvenience.”
Jos didn’t know what to make of it - Jonah was loose again. Half of him was pleased, the other half uneasy.
A quick knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Then the door slid open, though Jos was certain he had locked it. Jonah stumbled into the room, his breathing fast and haggard. He ducked behind the closing door as soon as he could, not even looking into the room. Jos stood up.
“Jonah! What are you doing here?”
Jonah smiled devilishly. “Well, I was in the area and thought I’d drop in.”
“How did you know which room I was in?” Jos asked, after selecting one of a dozen possible questions.
“That’s easy,” answered Jonah, “I heard you tell the barman last night. Try something harder.”
Jos paused for a moment. There was really only one question to ask, if he could bring himself to ask it.
“Did you really kill someone?” he said hesitantly.
“Oh yes, several people,” Jonah responded, his smile now seemed chilling, reflecting the ice in his eyes.
“Are you being serious?”
“Quite serious” he answered, and stopped smiling. He seemed suddenly sad, weighed down by a hundred sorrows. “But you would not miss them. Very few were sorry to see them go. Did you call your wife?” He fixed Jos with his penetrating stare.
“Well, yes. But…” His voice trailed away. He could not finish the sentence and admit his failure.
“But did not manage to say what needed saying,” Jonah finished. “Remember what I said, Josiah, sometimes it can be too late. I fear that that time is fast approaching. Already they are beginning to put their plans into action.”
“Who?”
“I cannot explain now. I have so little time. Think it over. Soon, you must make a choice, accept responsibility or fly from it forever.”
“Jonah…” Jos began but Jonah cut him off.
“No, I’m sorry. I must leave now, the guards will be here soon. Think about it. Please.”
Jonah turned to go but stopped, as if struck by a thought. “Here, this is for you. Just a little reminder that all of this is real.”
Jonah tossed something on the floor. It was a jagged piece of glass, the length of Jos’ hand. The edges were sharp, like shark’s teeth, and were coated in a thick layer of congealing blood and crimson fingerprints. Shocked, Jos could only stare at it as it lay on the floor, glistening under the pale lights, blood forming pools on the tiled carpet - red on blue.
When Jos could look up once more, Jonah had gone.
He called security, as he had been told to do, without really thinking. Minutes later, several dark figures came to take the glass for evidence. They carefully removed it and placed it in a stasis field. People took samples of the blood and put them in tiny plastic vials. He might be called upon later, said the guards, if the major wanted to talk to him. Jos merely nodded his head. Then they left and he was alone once more.
He slumped down on his bed and closed his eyes, unsure of what to think. His thoughts strayed back to his project, the time machine he had been working on for most of his life. Without a power source it was useless. These thoughts at least were something familiar and Jos managed to drift off to sleep moments later, finally giving in to the exhaustion that lapped at his soul. He sank into sleep but a dream was waiting for him.
He stood on a boat, bobbing up and down with the softly rolling waves, feeling the wind rush through his hair and the salty spray on his face. He turned around to face his crew, and announced that they would all draw lots - it had to be random because Jos could not be in control, after all, this was a dream.
Then he saw the man whose hair was fire – living flames that coruscated and flared – dark smoke curled from his nostrils and his eyes flashed with lightning.
“I will no longer accept your house,” he intoned, voice as deep as the churning sea, “nor will I pardon you. You are not My people and I will not be your God. You have not obeyed Me, I remember your iniquity and I will punish your sins.“
The sky turned black as pitch, the moon turned red as blood.
“You have turned justice into poison weed and the fruit of righteousness to wormwood. On you I shall pour out My wrath like water.”
A sapphire wave, larger than the main mast, reared out of the ocean like a great sea-serpent, roaring its fury, it rose higher and higher, until it eclipsed the stars. For a moment, all was still.
“You are not forgiven, you are not My people.”
Then the wave crashed down towards the tiny ship and towards Jos, alone on the deck.
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