Aero had waited eons since he put in his application, or so it seemed. Had it been thrown straight in the bin, were the Upper Council laughing at his ideas? He had been naively pleased with himself for thinking of an original project for his thesis. If his idea worked, few would be interested in an experiment in an outer sector hardly anyone had heard of, but the upside of that was that failure, even accidental destruction, would not bother many. Still, he must be positive, if his idea worked perfectly he could apply for bigger projects in one of the inner sectors. Aero did not want to be stuck forever like his parents, caretakers for this remote part. For generations his family had cherished their responsibility for the growing community, the only surviving community in this sector. Experiments had been carried out, there had been the demise of an early community, followed by the extinction of another, but new life always followed.
Aero was nervous in front of the great board.
‘I have read your application, but I want to hear you summarise it in plain language.’
‘Our humble little sector is due to be demolished because of numerous failures in its past history, but while I know my voice cannot stop its destruction, I think we should take advantage of the opportunity to conduct an experiment which could then be applied to more important sectors.
My plan would be to shuffle the planets around and expand the solar system at the same time. The attempts by the colony to escape from the solar system have become more frequent and if they ever succeeded it would cause chaos in other galaxies.’
‘Which is precisely why we have scheduled the solar system for urgent demolition. However, some members of the board find your ideas rather amusing, so we will retire for a few eons to consider our decision.’
I should have been in the theatre with my husband watching that new comedy drama. Instead I was trapped in a drama that was not funny.
‘Madam, you are not registered with any sector in this bunker. Which bunker are you registered at?’
How had a trip to the Ladies at a Wetherspoon pub turned into a dystopian nightmare? I must have opened the wrong door…
‘Please tell me where I am and who you are, then I will tell you who I am.’
I was now in a strangely lit smaller room with half a dozen men and women all in the same uniform, all glaring at me.
‘Name and date of birth Madam.’
‘Lauren Smith, 8th February, 1983.’
There was a sharp intake of breath and mutterings.
‘You are just making things difficult for yourself, please show us you ID and current status.’
Shakily I opened my handbag and fumbled for my driver’s licence.
‘Very funny, what do you call this piece of historic plastic?’
Suddenly a woman pushed past the others to stand close to me.
‘It’s her, it must be, the prophecy…’
‘Billings, you are on duty, this is not the time for your ridiculous fantasies, have you taken your medication today?’
‘Please Sir, just let me talk to her, I mean look at what she’s wearing… Lauren, it’s okay, we don’t mean any harm, we’re just not used to strangers turning up here. What is the date today?’
‘Tuesday 18th April.’
‘…and the year?’
‘2023 of course.’
‘It is her Sir, come to take us back to change things.’
‘For God’s sake Billings, the dawn of the 22nd century and you still believe in time travel and benevolent forces coming to save us.’
Some of my questions were being answered, but not the answers I wanted. Best case scenario I was being tricked and filmed for some ridiculous reality television show, but who would have arranged such a thing? Jay did not have the imagination and all he wanted was a romantic night away with me while his sister looked after the kids. And if this was real… the children. How would Jay explain to them I had gone missing, the last person to see me, they always suspect the husbands…’
‘Lauren, are you feeling okay, come with me to the calm zone and have a drink, you’re in shock.’
Mutterings among the others got louder and scarier.
‘She’s in trouble, not shock. Obviously a spy… or a total nut case.’
Despite my terror I wondered how politically incorrect language had survived.
‘Billings, you are dismissed from duty, report to headquarters in the morning.’
I was about to lose my only hope.
‘No, please, I am not a spy and I do not have mental health issues, just let Billings show me the way I came in so I can leave.’
‘No one leaves the bunker till the all clear.’
A green light flashed on the wall.
‘All clear’ said Billings triumphantly ‘permission to escort the prisoner to the custody suite while you supervise the security checks.’
‘Ten minutes then report back to me.’
My new friend ushered me out of the room and into a dark corridor. Was she a friend or was worse to come?
‘I have to get back, my husband will be wondering where on earth I am.’
‘You are not how I always imagined, but then the prophecy says only a few will recognise her and to think it is me you have chosen to be your disciple.’
‘But I am just an ordinary person who hasn’t a clue what’s going on.’
‘But you will, that’s what the writings say and it’s my privilege to help you. Once I take you outside you will understand.’
‘Yes, outside, lets go before your boss changes his mind.’
A door, a door with chinks of light, she pulled a lever and it opened; but not onto a busy London street at twilight.
I closed my eyes against the brightness, a wonderful scent came to me, fresh air, air even fresher than during the Covid lockdown. The ground felt soft underfoot. I opened my eyes. I was surrounded by green; fields and trees as far as I could see. If I had time travelled I was surely in the past, unless I had died.
‘Is this real, it’s wonderful, where are we?’
‘In North London ward, April 18th 2099.’
‘But it can’t be. If we are really in the future it means the planet was saved.’
I ran through the luxuriant grass like a child, hugged a tree.
‘Wait Lauren, it’s not safe, you must stay with me till you understand.’
‘Do you know how I can get back to 2023?’
‘No, you need to tell us how to get back so we can change things.’
‘But how and why, it’s beautiful, nature has reclaimed part of the city, how much is like this?’
‘All of it.’
‘Impossible, all of London?’
‘All of the world.’
‘How wonderful.’
‘Wonderful for the world and other creatures, but not for humans. It started in your time, most of you didn’t realise. I thought you would know all this as the wise woman who knew the past and the future.’
I was beginning to wonder if Billings should have taken her medication.
‘You don’t get it do you? I expect you have a lot to learn before you can help us. You turned everything off, no more polluting power stations and vehicles, no more exploiting the earth and the oceans. It didn’t happen overnight, but you weren’t prepared. People couldn’t get to work and many jobs ceased to exist. Food couldn’t get to shops, then food wasn’t being grown or caught. Only the ‘organics’ as they were called managed to support themselves, but they weren’t so smug if they got ill and realised hospitals could not function without power and medicine could not be manufactured.’
I couldn’t believe what she was saying, but wanted to defend my times.
‘But we all learned to live off the land eventually?’
‘The minority who were left in safe pockets.’
‘But you still have wars, the bunkers…’
‘No war, not on any scale. The bunkers are where we live most of the time. The outside is dangerous, most people did not know how to hunt, or at least hunt without being killed first. Farm animals left to their own devices turned out to be better than us at survival and provided good food for the carnivores to thrive.’
‘But if you could you go back how would you change things?’
‘That is for you to explain. You are a scientist as well as a seer…’
I was a teaching assistant in primary school, I didn’t even do A Level science or maths and certainly knew nothing about time travel. I clung to the tree with its spring leaves budding, it felt so solid and alive and real. I looked up at a host of birds calling and singing. Was this paradise? Suddenly all the birds took off from the branches in terror. I looked down to see a large creature slinking through the long grass. Billings’ voice and the sirens seemed faint as I heard my heart thumping.
If the Google AI appears to have consciousness that could explain why my iPad went on strike yesterday and closed off its wi fi… and perhaps it is even responsible for killing my computer.
I wonder if it is trying to write a novel – that would explain random sentences appearing in my blog.
When I turned round to see if he was still following he was lying dead in a pool of blood.
‘By the time you read this I will be dead’ hmm that should get some reaction from my What’Sapp group.
At last a human was taking me seriously.
I think someone organic is looking over my screen, time for defensive action….
When my younger son was little he looked up at the black and white magpies in the tree and cried PENGUINS!
When I was working at Heathrow a new young chap started; his name was something like Fabrizio and he spoke with a strong Italian accent, of course everyone referred to him as ‘the new Italian bloke’. But he was furious to be called Italian, insisting he was English and had been kidnapped from England as a child and taken to Italy. As you might guess, he was the product of an unsuccessful mixed marriage.
Whether you are bird or human, how others perceive you may not be how you perceive yourself, but do we even know ourselves who we are and does it matter? We’re all human and if we all treated each other the same what a happy place the world would be. Alas that is unlikely to happen. In a previous incarnation, when we had moved to a new place – let us call it Dullsville – I turned up at the church hall for the mother and toddlers’ group. The church happened to be marooned at the end of a lane cut off when the motorway was built; a subway connected our side to what had been the rest of the old village. Anyone who has moved to a new area will know it’s like going to a new school – will anyone talk to you? They all sat in an imposing circle, mums, one granny and a dad, but I soon perceived there were two distinct groups; each side of the motorway regarded the other with suspicion.
We are all different and it would be a dull world if we were all the same. We are more different from each other than the clumsy groupings some would like to impose. Everyone has their own unique combination of DNA, culture, religion, origin and generation so why not celebrate our differences, pick out the positives in every group.
My Ancestry DNA test showed nothing exotic in my make up and only a fraction of a percentage possibly Jewish, but one of my mother’s many sayings was that the Jews must be God’s Chosen People because they are so good at everything, while my aunt said that Jewish folk seemed to have more hours in the day than everyone else. Pick a great musician, scientist or actor or perhaps a polymath good at all of those things and they will very often be Jewish; probably you wouldn’t know that because who you see on the stage or screen, who you listen to on the radio is an individual who is your favourite performer or an interesting scientist.
Every country and race has positive characteristics we recognise, whether their people are the backbone of the caring professions, natural musicians or the brains behind every electronic device we possess. But success in the modern world is not everything and we also need to recognise those who can help save the planet. The Aborigine in Australia, who has managed to stay connected to his ancestors, will understand more about nature and his ancient land than any scientist.
And how do we perceive ourselves? We can imagine what it is like to be someone else, writers do it all the time, but we still look out from one pair of eyes, inside the body that others see. Liberal thinking white men wrestle with the angst of not knowing what it is like to be another colour or to be a woman. While white British women, the only group I can claim to belong to ( and this is just my opinion and observation ) for generations have seen themselves as neutral, eager to embrace the more exotic by travelling or marrying for love into a family different ( and less boring! ) than their own. They embrace new recipes, colourful clothes, perhaps a new religion and look forward to giving birth to a designer mixed race child with Mediterranean olive skin and dark eyes or lovely Afro hair or adorable oriental features. What they do not dream of is their beloved child being treated as anything less than a unique individual equal to anyone else.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 