Work of Fiction
Considerably better than the last one I posted (which was a hurried, late-night, Susanna Clarke-inspired thingummy) this is something that could be turned into a full-length humour/scifi story if I ever come up with a plot for it.
There was a bright light.
Phillip Strauss had never been a believer in bright lights, tunnels, heaven, hell or anything of the kind. He rather expected that death was more or less the end, and a peaceful oblivion was all anybody had to look forward to. Whether or not was right is neither here nor there, because as he was soon to discover Phillip Strauss was not dead.
Phillip sat up. He was on a long soft white table and surrounded by bright white light. He could see no walls, no anything in fact. Just whiteness all around. Phillip had a good look at his hands and then at his lap, because that’s where he’d been keeping his hands since sitting up. Then he examined his knees, and finally his feet. Phillip Strauss was naked. Phillip coughed. He was not unwell, but wanted to attract attention. In a fairly discreet way, as you do when you don’t have any clothes on.
“Hello?” Phillip asked the room. The room, not feeling particularly cordial, declined to respond.
Phillip stood up and took a slow turn around the table. He tried to ignore the fact that his feet appeared to be resting on light alone.
“So... this is the afterlife,” reasoned Phillip.
“I’m afraid not,” came the response. Phillip realised with a start that the room was feeling more chatty now. The voice had been crisp, English and well-educated. Rather like Phillip’s erstwhile English teacher, Mr Jones.
“Just a moment, we’re recalibrating for your perception.”
Something very strange happened. Phillip’s surroundings seemed to fold themselves together to form a room-shape around him. Firstly walls and a ceiling appeared, then a floor congealed into existence beneath his feet. Details started to appear, first wood and paintwork, then shelves. A rich carpeted floor. Lamps. An armchair. Several armchairs. Books, tables, and more besides and before Phillip knew what was going on, he was in a library.
“Something...” thought Phillip, “...very strange is going on here.”
“You don’t say.” said Mr Jones.
Philip blinked. Brown v-neck jumper over an open-collared shirt and horn-rimmed spectacles. It was definitely Mr Jones. He had the voice and everything.
“I am not of course your English teacher. We took his form from your memory. We needed somebody you liked, and to whom you might listen. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
Phillip blinked again. Mr Jones took this to mean “Milk and two sugars please.” and went promptly to work with the tea set on the table.
“You have questions, naturally.”
“I’m not dead?”
“No. Well, only officially.”
“What?”
“We spirited you away, moments before impact. We need you Mr Strauss. We need you very badly. To that end we saved your life and brought you here.”
It would be unkind not to enlighten the reader now that prior to waking up to the light, Phillip Strauss had been aboard a Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet coming home from a week-long holiday in Greece. It had been a very pleasant holiday, and it had been a pleasant journey home up until one of the engines exploded, ripping the right wing off. This is not generally something that happens to even poorly-maintained Boeing 747 Jumbo Jets - if it was then nobody would get on them. Unfortunately an over-enthusiastic group of young men - under the guidance of an over-enthusiastic group of older men who really ought to know better - had arranged things so that this would happen, reasoning that blowing up aeroplanes was a good way to talk people around to your point of view. But that’s by the by.
“Sorry?”
“You were about to die Mr Strauss.”
“Yes.”
“And we saved you.”
“Well... apparently.”
“And now we’d like you to work for us.”
“But I already have a job!”
“Not here you don’t Mr Strauss. You don’t have a job here, partly because you’re in orbit around Saturn and partly because when your company heard about the plane crash they assumed you were dead and took you off their books, but mostly because that happened four thousand years ago.”
Mr Jones finished pouring out the tea and held it out to Phillip. Phillip looked at it.
“Oh yes, and I expect you’d like some clothes.”
......
The dynamics of time travel are very interesting. In order to understand time travel one must first learn to think of the past and the future as directions, such as ‘up’ or ‘west’. And like all directions, they only make sense in reference to your current position. London is south of Edinburgh, but it is not south of Cairo. Equally March 15th is in the future of March 12th, but not in the future of April 2nd. That established, our second lesson is that while the past is fixed, the future is uncertain. On April 2nd, the events of March 15th are fixed. But go back to March 12th, and suddenly March 15th is looking a lot less sure of itself. Confused? You will be.
Unless of course you go back and read that all again. In which case, you might be.
Nevertheless, the upshot of all this is that by and large one cannot change anything in past without changing the point at which one left, thereby messing up the timeline and generally causing chaos. Therefore the past cannot usually be altered. However, supposing a man died, and that his body was never recovered. Hypothetically, if you could dive into the past and snatch away that man moments before his death, and if there were no witnesses, and if you were really, really lucky... then you could bring that man back with you to moments after you left, and the time-line would be perfectly intact. For you anyway.
Phillip Strauss’ body was never recovered.
There was a bright light.
Phillip Strauss had never been a believer in bright lights, tunnels, heaven, hell or anything of the kind. He rather expected that death was more or less the end, and a peaceful oblivion was all anybody had to look forward to. Whether or not was right is neither here nor there, because as he was soon to discover Phillip Strauss was not dead.
Phillip sat up. He was on a long soft white table and surrounded by bright white light. He could see no walls, no anything in fact. Just whiteness all around. Phillip had a good look at his hands and then at his lap, because that’s where he’d been keeping his hands since sitting up. Then he examined his knees, and finally his feet. Phillip Strauss was naked. Phillip coughed. He was not unwell, but wanted to attract attention. In a fairly discreet way, as you do when you don’t have any clothes on.
“Hello?” Phillip asked the room. The room, not feeling particularly cordial, declined to respond.
Phillip stood up and took a slow turn around the table. He tried to ignore the fact that his feet appeared to be resting on light alone.
“So... this is the afterlife,” reasoned Phillip.
“I’m afraid not,” came the response. Phillip realised with a start that the room was feeling more chatty now. The voice had been crisp, English and well-educated. Rather like Phillip’s erstwhile English teacher, Mr Jones.
“Just a moment, we’re recalibrating for your perception.”
Something very strange happened. Phillip’s surroundings seemed to fold themselves together to form a room-shape around him. Firstly walls and a ceiling appeared, then a floor congealed into existence beneath his feet. Details started to appear, first wood and paintwork, then shelves. A rich carpeted floor. Lamps. An armchair. Several armchairs. Books, tables, and more besides and before Phillip knew what was going on, he was in a library.
“Something...” thought Phillip, “...very strange is going on here.”
“You don’t say.” said Mr Jones.
Philip blinked. Brown v-neck jumper over an open-collared shirt and horn-rimmed spectacles. It was definitely Mr Jones. He had the voice and everything.
“I am not of course your English teacher. We took his form from your memory. We needed somebody you liked, and to whom you might listen. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
Phillip blinked again. Mr Jones took this to mean “Milk and two sugars please.” and went promptly to work with the tea set on the table.
“You have questions, naturally.”
“I’m not dead?”
“No. Well, only officially.”
“What?”
“We spirited you away, moments before impact. We need you Mr Strauss. We need you very badly. To that end we saved your life and brought you here.”
It would be unkind not to enlighten the reader now that prior to waking up to the light, Phillip Strauss had been aboard a Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet coming home from a week-long holiday in Greece. It had been a very pleasant holiday, and it had been a pleasant journey home up until one of the engines exploded, ripping the right wing off. This is not generally something that happens to even poorly-maintained Boeing 747 Jumbo Jets - if it was then nobody would get on them. Unfortunately an over-enthusiastic group of young men - under the guidance of an over-enthusiastic group of older men who really ought to know better - had arranged things so that this would happen, reasoning that blowing up aeroplanes was a good way to talk people around to your point of view. But that’s by the by.
“Sorry?”
“You were about to die Mr Strauss.”
“Yes.”
“And we saved you.”
“Well... apparently.”
“And now we’d like you to work for us.”
“But I already have a job!”
“Not here you don’t Mr Strauss. You don’t have a job here, partly because you’re in orbit around Saturn and partly because when your company heard about the plane crash they assumed you were dead and took you off their books, but mostly because that happened four thousand years ago.”
Mr Jones finished pouring out the tea and held it out to Phillip. Phillip looked at it.
“Oh yes, and I expect you’d like some clothes.”
......
The dynamics of time travel are very interesting. In order to understand time travel one must first learn to think of the past and the future as directions, such as ‘up’ or ‘west’. And like all directions, they only make sense in reference to your current position. London is south of Edinburgh, but it is not south of Cairo. Equally March 15th is in the future of March 12th, but not in the future of April 2nd. That established, our second lesson is that while the past is fixed, the future is uncertain. On April 2nd, the events of March 15th are fixed. But go back to March 12th, and suddenly March 15th is looking a lot less sure of itself. Confused? You will be.
Unless of course you go back and read that all again. In which case, you might be.
Nevertheless, the upshot of all this is that by and large one cannot change anything in past without changing the point at which one left, thereby messing up the timeline and generally causing chaos. Therefore the past cannot usually be altered. However, supposing a man died, and that his body was never recovered. Hypothetically, if you could dive into the past and snatch away that man moments before his death, and if there were no witnesses, and if you were really, really lucky... then you could bring that man back with you to moments after you left, and the time-line would be perfectly intact. For you anyway.
Phillip Strauss’ body was never recovered.