Well, this is the only effective way you had of making sure I didn't return to Derby today! Unless I really want to play with the dimension-shifting apparatus that was revealed at the end of Vancouver Irrealis when we left it :) I think, overall, we did a slightly better job with VI than we did with Mejaran in that there are fewer jumps between months, and we kept the cast-list smaller and shared the writing duties for them all more. Clearly we learned from the previous year! And we tidied up the loose ends better too, so much so that I'm not entirely sure how to write an epilogue of any kind, since Morgana pretty much did that already. I guess I'm going to have to do 'a few years later' revisit.
Vancouver Irrealis Tristam sat in a small room. There was a single narrow window with frosted glass in one wall, and an overstuffed couch was stuffed tightly between the end walls and against the back wall. He sat on that, leaning forward, unwilling to relax. Opposite him, less than two metres away, was a hard-backed chair on which was a clipboard. Blank papers were held on the clipboard (he'd checked when he came in). The door opened, bumping the couch, and a tall man with brown hair and tired-looking eyes came in. He sat down on the chair, not bothering to move the clipboard first. The papers crackled as he shifted, crossing his legs. "Tristam," he said. After thirty seconds Tristam opened his mouth, but before he could speak the man started again. "Tristam. I'm very sorry, but your counterpart in World 712 is dead." This wasn't the first time he'd heard this, though each time the world number was different. The first time it had been a shock, the second even more so. Now... it was practically expected. "Again?" It wasn't much of a eulogy. The man sighed. "Yes. Again. We've got some theories-" "You still think it was the transition that did it, don't you?" The man rubbed his forehead with a long-fingered hand. "Yes. Yes, that's the prevailing theory, and the mathematics is starting to catch up. It looks like when you passed through to our world from your own you created some kind of shock-wave that killed all other representations of you. You're probably unique now." "But it didn't happen to everyone?" The man finally pulled the clipboard out from underneath him, and set it on the floor under his chair. "You mean Nkare, or Karen, don't you?" "And Enkar, and Renka," said Tristam. "And they've all been as murderous as Nkare was, and they were all alive when we found them." "World 712 has an Arenka," said the man. "We've obtained a DNA sample and we're checking, but we expect a match." "So why could she travel and not trigger the shock-wave?" The man shrugged. "We don't know for certain that that's what happened," he said. "But the evidence is mounting that you're the only Tristam." "So what does that mean?" The man fell silent again, and Tristam waited him out. It took nearly ten minutes, and then the man looked embarrassed. "It means that you can travel into other worlds essentially undetected," he said. "We want you to work for us."
"No, not that. Necessarily." The man picked up the clipboard from beneath his chair and began writing on its paper. "Too many Worlds, not enough time for you to track all of her down."
"So... what, then?"
"There are... certain events taking place in the coming weeks and months in certain Worlds that, should they be... interfered with, could have catastrophic results for... well, all Worlds. We would like you to make sure those... disruptions do not occur."
"No thanks." Tristam stood up.
"No... what?" The man looked utterly caught off guard, the hand holding his pen now frozen in place, its tip hovering just above the paper. Tristam wondered what he'd been told - and by whom - to have resulted in such shock.
"No thanks, not interested," Tristam said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I have a family here and I intend to spend as much of my time with them as possible, not go teleporting from World to World on somebody else's behalf."
"Somebody else's behalf?" Now it was the man's turn to stand up. "Did you not hear the part about all Worlds suffering the consequences? Do you not understand that would include this World?"
"Then find someone else."
"Someone else?" The man laughed. It was a desperate, ugly thing. "You are by far the closest thing to a Unique that we have discovered, quite possibly the only one in existence. Who else can move between Worlds without setting off alarms of all sorts? Who else can move unseen, like a ghost, and do what is required without bringing vengeance down upon us? Who else can we trust with this mission? There is no one else."
"What were you writing down?" Tristam didn't like the sound of any of this but found himself being drawn in despite himself.
The man looked down and seemed surprised to find the clipboard in his hand. After a few moments he sat back down and commenced writing again. Tristam waited, the scratching of pen against paper the only sound in the cramped room. After filling up a page and a half with printed block letters, the man stood up and held out the clipboard to Tristam. Tristam raised an eyebrow and kept his hands at his sides. The man sighed.
"This is a list of all of the events which we are concerned about. Worlds, dates, locations. Suspects to monitor. Will you take it?"
2 comments:
Well, this is the only effective way you had of making sure I didn't return to Derby today! Unless I really want to play with the dimension-shifting apparatus that was revealed at the end of Vancouver Irrealis when we left it :) I think, overall, we did a slightly better job with VI than we did with Mejaran in that there are fewer jumps between months, and we kept the cast-list smaller and shared the writing duties for them all more. Clearly we learned from the previous year!
And we tidied up the loose ends better too, so much so that I'm not entirely sure how to write an epilogue of any kind, since Morgana pretty much did that already. I guess I'm going to have to do 'a few years later' revisit.
Vancouver Irrealis
Tristam sat in a small room. There was a single narrow window with frosted glass in one wall, and an overstuffed couch was stuffed tightly between the end walls and against the back wall. He sat on that, leaning forward, unwilling to relax. Opposite him, less than two metres away, was a hard-backed chair on which was a clipboard. Blank papers were held on the clipboard (he'd checked when he came in).
The door opened, bumping the couch, and a tall man with brown hair and tired-looking eyes came in. He sat down on the chair, not bothering to move the clipboard first. The papers crackled as he shifted, crossing his legs.
"Tristam," he said.
After thirty seconds Tristam opened his mouth, but before he could speak the man started again. "Tristam. I'm very sorry, but your counterpart in World 712 is dead."
This wasn't the first time he'd heard this, though each time the world number was different. The first time it had been a shock, the second even more so. Now... it was practically expected.
"Again?" It wasn't much of a eulogy.
The man sighed. "Yes. Again. We've got some theories-"
"You still think it was the transition that did it, don't you?"
The man rubbed his forehead with a long-fingered hand. "Yes. Yes, that's the prevailing theory, and the mathematics is starting to catch up. It looks like when you passed through to our world from your own you created some kind of shock-wave that killed all other representations of you. You're probably unique now."
"But it didn't happen to everyone?"
The man finally pulled the clipboard out from underneath him, and set it on the floor under his chair. "You mean Nkare, or Karen, don't you?"
"And Enkar, and Renka," said Tristam. "And they've all been as murderous as Nkare was, and they were all alive when we found them."
"World 712 has an Arenka," said the man. "We've obtained a DNA sample and we're checking, but we expect a match."
"So why could she travel and not trigger the shock-wave?"
The man shrugged. "We don't know for certain that that's what happened," he said. "But the evidence is mounting that you're the only Tristam."
"So what does that mean?"
The man fell silent again, and Tristam waited him out. It took nearly ten minutes, and then the man looked embarrassed. "It means that you can travel into other worlds essentially undetected," he said. "We want you to work for us."
"Work for you? To do what, be a Nkare hunter?"
"No, not that. Necessarily." The man picked up the clipboard from beneath his chair and began writing on its paper. "Too many Worlds, not enough time for you to track all of her down."
"So... what, then?"
"There are... certain events taking place in the coming weeks and months in certain Worlds that, should they be... interfered with, could have catastrophic results for... well, all Worlds. We would like you to make sure those... disruptions do not occur."
"No thanks." Tristam stood up.
"No... what?" The man looked utterly caught off guard, the hand holding his pen now frozen in place, its tip hovering just above the paper. Tristam wondered what he'd been told - and by whom - to have resulted in such shock.
"No thanks, not interested," Tristam said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I have a family here and I intend to spend as much of my time with them as possible, not go teleporting from World to World on somebody else's behalf."
"Somebody else's behalf?" Now it was the man's turn to stand up. "Did you not hear the part about all Worlds suffering the consequences? Do you not understand that would include this World?"
"Then find someone else."
"Someone else?" The man laughed. It was a desperate, ugly thing. "You are by far the closest thing to a Unique that we have discovered, quite possibly the only one in existence. Who else can move between Worlds without setting off alarms of all sorts? Who else can move unseen, like a ghost, and do what is required without bringing vengeance down upon us? Who else can we trust with this mission? There is no one else."
"What were you writing down?" Tristam didn't like the sound of any of this but found himself being drawn in despite himself.
The man looked down and seemed surprised to find the clipboard in his hand. After a few moments he sat back down and commenced writing again. Tristam waited, the scratching of pen against paper the only sound in the cramped room. After filling up a page and a half with printed block letters, the man stood up and held out the clipboard to Tristam. Tristam raised an eyebrow and kept his hands at his sides. The man sighed.
"This is a list of all of the events which we are concerned about. Worlds, dates, locations. Suspects to monitor. Will you take it?"
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