The Five of Cups reversed, gold on black.
He is in a car with her, and they are driving down the road. The top is down, the wind is in her hair - God, she looks beautiful today, eyes like black on gold. And they are laughing so hard, though he can’t say why. They laugh and laugh, as though this could never end. And then he looks at his hand, and sees a trickle of blood - why does it not hurt? He stops laughing, and so does she. They stare at the trickle of blood, confused, as it traces a red path down his arm. And then the car is out of control, and they go off the bridge. For a moment they are suspended in empty space but then they fall. And somewhere distant, a girl is crying.
The Six of Wands reversed, silver on black.
On an ocean, rocking back and forth with the gentle waves. It is night, and the moon is full, silver on black. It is so peaceful here, with the gentle rocking of the sea. But the sky grows darker, and one of the crew is not who he seems, he is an outsider, a traitor, but which one? Perhaps they should draw lots. But the lots are not fair and he draws the short straw - no! I am not the traitor! - but no one will listen to his cries, and they prepare to throw him from the boat before all is lost. “Pray to your God,” they say, “perhaps he will hear and save your life”. But he does not believe in God and so all hope is lost. For a moment he is suspended in empty space but then he falls forever.
The Fool.
How should this dream go? I shall toss a coin to decide, I cannot control a dream. Heads, we shall all go home and live beautiful lives, and the dream shall end happily ever after. Tails, we shall never go home, and the dream shall end in fear and pain. He tosses the coin, watches it spin, round and round. For a moment, it hangs there, forever revolving, but then it falls. He reaches out a bloodstained hand and catches it. Tails. Best of three, he thinks, and tosses the coin again and again - and every time it comes up tails.
The World reversed. Failure.
When consciousness returned, it was like a series of punches, and Josiah could only clutch his head and curl up protectively. He tried to pull his covers over himself and return to sleep, however disquieting his dreams might be, but the covers were not there. He pried an eye open, and found he was lying on the floor, with glaring daylight beating through the window. Where was he? With no small amount of effort, he opened his other eye. It must be the living room, he thought.
Then stabbing pains drove through his head like razors but his moan turned into a hacking cough as he inhaled dust. There was no use for it, he would have to get up and face the world, or at the very least go upstairs to bed. What was he doing on the floor, anyway?
As he rose unsteadily his foot clinked against something on the floor, and he had his answer. He had only meant to have a little, but on the floor was an empty bottle of cheap scotch. What had he been thinking? The answer was all too obvious. He hadn’t been.
His throat was dry. Clumsily, he staggered into the kitchen and poured himself something to drink. No, there was no point going back to bed. Did he have any aspirin? He went over to the medicine cabinet and opened it - there was nothing there. How strange.
Then he really looked around. Plates and glasses were lying all over the floor, amidst bits of bread and the odd potato. Most of the plates were unbroken, but here and there were chips and shards of china. Josiah shook his head in disbelief and retreated to the living room.
Here too he had no escape. Pictures had been removed from their hangings and seemingly flung across the room, books and papers covered the carpet like a thick layer of snow. What had he done?
Then he saw the picture lying on the floor, face down amidst the chaos. He fell to his knees and picked it up gingerly, willing it to be okay. But a large crack had appeared in the glass, cutting the picture in two. It fell from his unmoving hands, as tears began to form in his eyes.
That damn drink!
He rose to his feet with all the fury of a thunderstorm, grabbed the bottle and smashed it against the wall. With a satisfying crunch the glass gave way. He let the remains tumble to the floor.
His last picture of them was gone - if it hadn’t been for that drink…
As another shooting pain went from ear to ear, Josiah decided that what he really needed was a cup of coffee and that meant a trip down the road.
If he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn that the man on the other side of the street was laughing at him. Certainly he had tried to stifle a chuckle as Josiah went by. No, he was getting delusions of grandeur - he had no significance.
But there too, someone else was laughing - was she pointing him out to her friend? Surely not, he must be imagining it. But he didn’t like it. Too many quiet smirks and muffled laughs. He hurried his pace - he just wanted to buy a cup of coffee and go home again, so he could wallow in private misery. Why did the world conspire to make it so difficult?
He reached the café, opened the frosted glass doors and stepped inside. He winced at the harsh fluorescent lighting, and not for the first time he wished he owned some dark glasses. But then I’d look really stupid. Too late for that, I guess. Better just buy the damn coffee.
“What can I get you?” beamed a young girl, far too cheerfully.
“Coffee to go, please,” Josiah mumbled.
“Certainly sir,” she replied, “would that be the Cappuccino, the Mocha, the Mochacinno, the Macchiato au Lait, the Double Espresso Soufflé or the Americano with Whipped Cream and Flake, sir? Do you want Large, Extra Large or Supreme, sir? Brown Sugar or White Sugar, sir? No fat, half fat or full fat, sir? Fair trade or caffeine free, sir?”
“Look here, I have a bad hangover, and I just want a plain, simple black coffee and I would like it to go.”
The woman looked affronted, and her glow visibly diminished. That was a blessing at least. If there was one thing Josiah did not need it was cheerfulness. He put a hand to his head and massaged his forehead in a vain attempt to smooth away the pain.
He stood by the counter for a several minutes, rubbing his head.
Where was the damn coffee? He didn’t want to stand here all day.
Then he caught sight of a couple of young men in the back room, wearing the requisite green aprons and square hats. One of them was definitely pointing at him and whispering to the other. What were they saying? He couldn’t tell. Then they both erupted into laughter, side-splitting, stomach-aching laughter. And they were definitely laughing at him.
“That’ll be two pounds eighty please, sir.”
Josiah fumbled for change, keeping one eye fixed on the young men still killing themselves laughing. If she calls me sir one more time I might hit her, even if she is a woman.
“Thank you sir, here’s your coffee sir, please come again sir,” she said emptily, almost dropping the coffee on the counter.
Josiah considered giving a cutting insult but his head hurt too much, so he settled for an angry look and hobbled out of the café, clutching his coffee tightly.
As he stepped outside, he sipped at the coffee through the ridiculous plastic cap. It burnt his tongue so he stopped. Why do they have to serve it so hot?
He turned to go home. He did not feel like going down to the park, not today. He’d just go home, drink his coffee and then decide what to do.
And then he passed a newsagent, and caught sight of one of the papers on display outside.
‘DRUNKARD CRIES WOLF OVER LUNA-CITY’
What?
He went closer, and recognised a picture of himself on the front cover - he looked like an idiot, in dirty clothes, and a worn coat. He squinted at the article.
‘How could such a man be responsible for building paradise?’ the subtitle declared. The words ‘drunk’ and ‘Luddite’ screamed out at him from every paragraph. And there were several quotes, taken out of context, that made him sound like a mad old fool. Where had they got this stuff from? Surely Eli had not gone to the press?
And then bits of conversation drifted back to him in snatches. A nice man from the papers, he remembered thinking. He would listen and the whole world will believe me. Then they’ll have to stop the building.
What had he done? How could he have been so stupid? Now his credibility lay in tatters around his feet. He should never have let himself lose control. It was so stupid!
* * *
This was possibly the stupidest thing he had ever done, but what choice did he have? The door slid open noiselessly, and Josiah was presented with the ship’s bridge, a circular room with lots of steel panels and black screens. Red lights flashed in several places. Five heads turned to look at him.
“Alright,” he declared, brandishing a gun, “everybody out, and don’t even think of calling security.”
“Look here,” one of the men said, getting up from his seat and looking officious, “you cannot simply barge in here and expect to…”
Josiah squeezed the trigger. The man fell to the floor convulsing and became violently sick.
“That was the lowest setting,” Josiah declared, thinking how much he sounded like a cheap villain from a film. “Now, move!”
The others didn’t need to be asked twice. Scurrying like rats they ran out the door, picking up their fallen colleague along the way.
“Well, that was messy.”
Jonah’s voice from behind him.
Josiah went over to the door controls and started furiously pressing buttons. Jonah was already inside when the doors slid shut, with a strange grinding sound.
“You still here?” Josiah asked, as he studied the consoles.
“I thought you could do with the company. And frankly,” Jonah said with a laugh, “I haven’t got anything better to do.”
“Just don’t get in my way.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I mean it Jonah,” Josiah said, turning to face him, “I intend to save us all, without your help if I have to. I don’t know what’s come over you but I won’t let you interfere.”
“Josiah, I am not here to interfere,” Jonah answered, becoming serious, “I am here to watch and to talk. Everything will play out as it is supposed to.”
Jonah took a seat in a corner, trying to be unobtrusive. Josiah looked at him, still angry at his betrayal - how could Jonah lead him so far only to back down? Was it cowardice? He didn’t think so - it was that fit that Jonah had had. Maybe he really was crazy after all.
But none of that mattered, somehow he had to vent the plasma into the starboard thrusters. That should create a force big enough to turn the ship around, but he didn’t have much time. If only he had a Plasma Inducer.
A what? What the hell was a Plasma Inducer? There was no such thing. He didn’t even know what one would do. How strange that he should be making things up at a time like this.
Desperately he searched the consoles, looking for something familiar, something that would show him what he had to do to save the world. But it all looked so strange. He had never seen so many switches, so many buttons. Which was the right one? How could he choose between them?
“Um, hi Jos.”
What was that? It sounded like Ammi. Was he hearing things now? He could even picture her smiling face, tired but happy.
“I’ve been trying to get through to you all morning,” she was obviously nervous but excited. “I didn’t want to leave you a message like this, but I can’t seem to get through and I just couldn’t wait any more - I have to tell someone.”
He had to find the right console, there wasn’t much time. Security would be here soon.
“I’m pregnant, Jos. I thought it was too late for us but, well, it obviously wasn’t. I know you’ll be as happy as I am. Well, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
And then he knew what he had to do. He did not know how but he had no doubts, no doubts at all.
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