Quantum Poppers (22 page)

‘What did you
do with him?’

‘We had to hold
him here, until it was safe.’

‘He was kept
downstairs for over a year without contact or an explanation,’ said Brian.

‘He was held
prisoner?’

‘We couldn’t
tell him, and we certainly couldn’t let him out. As far as his family knew,
nothing had happened. They went on living, interacting with what they believed
was John, and as I say, it kind of was.’

‘You held a
man, in fear, in the basement for a year?’

This fact
appeared to strike Bartley at the heart. He glanced at the floor in shame.
‘Don’t make me feel guilty about this. The whole universe is at stake. You’ll
understand one day. Not all of our decisions are easy.’

The strangest
emotion swept over Tony. It was acceptance at what they were all thinking. If
they, the Quantum Poppers, had done nothing, then would this have happened?
Bartley had already admitted that most people jumped back anyway once they hit
the point of initial extraction. But could they sit back and not do a thing?
What else could they have done? Despite overly dramatic statements of universes
being at stake: it was true. No one was hurt except a man of which there were
now two. Perhaps he simply didn’t count.

‘What are you
going to do with him?’ To Tony’s surprise Bartley laughed and shook his head.

‘In a weak
moment on my part, he escaped.’

‘The universe
is at stake and you have a weak moment?’

‘There’s a
difference between holding a replicated grown man in a basement - and for the
record despite no contact or explanation, he was treated well, never in any
danger - and opening fire on crowds of people to bring him back. We never wanted
him to escape, but there was a backup plan. We had two men we needed to keep apart;
we always knew where the other one was.’

Tony let this
statement hang in the air and allowed its connotations to drift. For the first
time he hesitated in his acceptance in this new job. The severity was strong,
but now a potential danger dwelt as well. He wished Emma was around to talk to;
all their conversations they had had before her death had just been empty
words. He now had something to really discuss with someone he could confide in.

At that moment
a woman entered the office, another person he would be subjected to in
discussing his freakish tendencies to seeing shadows and how he was a great
help to these people. He felt himself already drifting away from them, that
they were and always would be other people. A group to which he would never
belong, all because he was different.

‘John will be
fine now,’ said Brian and sat back at his monitor.

‘You know where
he is?’ asked Tony.

‘Of course,’
said Bartley. ‘We know the actual John has returned home, and we’ll let him
live a life the best he can. If he needs answers, he knows where to come.’

‘Mario! You
really are a little shit!’

‘Hey, don’t
diss the master in this house.’

‘Diss the
master? He’s a bunch of pixels, not fucking Yoda.’

‘And he’s just
a bunch of latex with a guys hand up his arse.’

Simon continued
to play. His entire body swayed from left to right, rising from his chair in
time with each jump, and accentuating each fall into a chasm with audible
groans - often accompanied by language Tony hoped the young kid next door
couldn’t hear. He loved his flat, but sound proofed walls were not one of its
selling points.

He rested back
into the sofa, a cold beer chilling his hands. He could relax at the end of his
first workday, one which had started in the past in a pub and ended with tales
of replicated paradox triggers. He doubted whether actual contracts could ever
be signed for his new line of work. He imagined secret codes, handshakes, reams
of documents blank of logos and names. It was like being a spy. Working for a
company that didn’t exist, carrying out duties of which no one could know. But
there was still that one nagging doubt. The visions he had been seeing now had
an explanation and best of all a purpose. Perhaps his skill wouldn’t directly
be incorporated into the procedure, but it was fact that it made his new
position meant to be. If anyone was right for the part, it was him. What held
him back though was this growing presence of a dark side. The kidnap of an
innocent individual, held without explanation, which to Tony seemed just as bad
as the physical capture and isolation. Also, the fact that consequences could
result in paradox and a word Bartley had used far too often: annihilation. It
was as if he had been ramming it home to Tony like a stake through the heart.
He must listen and remember this one word, the consequences truly were
catastrophic. Yet a quantum popper's presence needed to be maintained to at
least try and prevent such a disaster. He started to question whether these
poppers truly were the good guys. Partly due to the kidnapping, but partly due
to the secrecy. Would the world really fall into disarray if told? He supposed
it was another potential terrorist risk more than anything, to a certain extent
this was the ultimate weapon. The concept should be shared, made public in
Tony’s limited view. But secrecy was key. It wasn't every day the world
discovered time travel, let alone the potential for each and every living
organism on the planet being wiped out because of it.

He glanced at
the TV and in one swipe all these doubts fell away, destroyed by Simon and
Andy’s debate over Super Mario’s attributes as a human being. It reminded him
of a similar outburst he had once had, and accepted the reasoning of what he
was doing - trying to talk himself into all this poppers nonsense one minute
and then talk himself out of it the next was for one reason: it took his mind
away, however briefly, from Emma. He wouldn’t let his mind fall into a state of
silence anymore. He was either contemplating all that Bartley had told him, or
when at rest, he reflected on Emma. What made things worse was that the only
person he could have truly talked to about this was Emma. There were surely
rules about confiding what he had recently discovered, but at least he would
have had someone to share his musings, doubts, and exhilarations at being
integrated into their world. It certainly wasn’t the two guys in front of him
now.

‘That’s more
like it,’ said Simon, motioning to the TV. ‘So, gonna tell us where you’ve been
today?’ He swigged from his beer can whilst simultaneously biting into his
slice of takeout pizza. At least there was no spitting today. The initial plan
to have met at The Cheeky Half fell through due to Tony returning late from
Bressingham. It was a Thursday and Bartley had assured him that all would
officially start the next morning. Quite what this meant Tony didn’t know but
that’s when it would all begin: his new career.

It was decided
that the three of them would meet up round his house. It had been too long
since they had got together in an environment not that of the interior of a
pub. Tony would have preferred an evening alone but now they were here it
almost seemed fitting that they should share this commencement of a new chapter
to his life.

‘I can’t really
say.’ Tony regretted this almost as soon as he said it. He might just as well
have told them everything right then.

‘What’s that
supposed to mean,’ said Simon, his eyes still on the TV.

‘It means, I’ll
tell you certain things when I know what I can tell.’

‘What are you
talking about? You clearly want to spit it out. Stop pussy footing around and
spill.’

‘Well...I have
a job.’

‘Nah,’ said
Simon.

‘No?’ asked
Andy.

‘It’s true; I’m
now an official member of society.’

‘Tell us then.’

‘That’s the
problem. I can’t right now.’

‘You can’t tell
us.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?'
asked Andy.

‘It’s
complicated, technical even. I’ll find out the company’s official line for you
on Monday and spill what I can then.’

‘The man of
mystery,’ said Andy.

‘Don’t be
ridiculous, he ain’t got a job. No one declares they have a job just to say
they can’t tell you what it is.’

‘Why would I
lie?’

‘I don’t know.
I know you’ve been through some rough shit lately but...’

‘Don’t. She
wasn’t rough shit.’

‘I wasn’t
calling her...’

‘I know, I
know,’ said Tony attempting to remain calm. From anyone else Tony’s reaction
would have been a lot worse. Describing the death of his best friend as rough
shit was, if anything, fairly tame and considerate by Simon’s standards. ‘I
will explain, believe me.’

‘Ok, ok.
Talking of rough shits,’ said Simon, who paused the game and scoffed down the
remainder of the pizza that had sat in his lap for the past ten minutes.
‘Excuse me,’ he part-said part-belched, and left the lounge. Tony stared at the
paused image, feeling himself relax with each step away that Simon took.

‘Tony,’ said
Andy. His voice sounded distant, as though it were coming from another world,
perhaps even another plain. ‘He’s not the most sensitive guy around.’

‘It’s fine. In
his own way he probably is. At least I have to tell myself that’s a
possibility.’

‘Seriously
though, how have you been? We’ve not seen you much since, well, you know.’

Tony turned to
Andy. He sat on the floor against the single seater recliner that faced away
from the TV. There simply hadn’t been room for all sofas to face the TV,
probably the one reason he liked that chair so much. Andy sat huddled with his
legs clasped up to his chest and a beer can wedged between his feet. At Tony's
gaze he appeared to make himself as small as possible, like a timid animal
under threat from a predator, or just a mate, unsure of his friend’s reaction
to questions he maybe shouldn’t have asked. How was he? If only he knew.

‘No one’s asked
me that,’ said Tony. He returned his gaze to the TV, as if his game held some
mystical answer. ‘I’ve had so much going on recently with this job - which I do
have - that I haven't even spent much time with the folks and have hardly asked
myself that question. I’m gonna go with: I think I’ll be ok. Her death has been
given some sort of context, which might not sound too appealing, but it’s
enough to get me through the days.’ He downed the rest of his drink and looked
at Andy. He appeared to relax, glad Tony hadn’t snapped. ‘You want to know the
worst thing about all this though? I’ll never know what the last thing she said
to me was. I think I rambled something about inviting her in for a cuppa, or
complaining about her music, but then - I was getting out of the car, the
vehicle she died in, the window closed and she said something to me, but I
couldn’t hear it. All I can remember is the shape of her mouth as she said
something, and I’ll never know what it was. I know it’s not important, it’s
meaningless, but I feel that I need to know. That it holds some sort of answer
or conclusion to the mess I’m left in.’

‘It must be
awful. Despite what me and Simon have ever said, we know you were great
friends. It must be hard.’

‘Impossible.’

‘And Simon
doesn’t mean any disrespect or anything. It’s just that he’s a...’

‘Bit of dick?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He certainly
is. I’ll drink to that.’ Tony tipped his can to his waiting lips but only a
solitary drop landed on his tongue.

‘Who’s a what
now?’ Simon’s voice coupled by his booming foot falls re-entered the room and
sent the calm off to where it belonged.

‘Nothing,’ said
Andy.

‘Just saying
you’re a bit of a dick,’ said Tony who suddenly welcomed the boisterous
distraction known as Simon. He was a dick, but he and Andy wouldn’t want him
any other way.

‘Fair enough,’
said Simon. He picked up the controller, collapsed on to the floor like a
weighted balloon, and resumed play. The jingle jangle of processed music
restarted, shaking Tony from his thoughts of Emma and the unheard words.

‘Anyone for
another drink?’ asked Tony getting to his feet.

‘No thanks,'
said Andy who picked up his remaining can.

‘Beer me,’ said
Simon.

‘With
pleasure.’

Tony’s kitchen
was straining under the weight of recyclable containers from the readymade
meals and beer and coke cans he had welcomed into the place. This student-esque
way of living did have one high point, a complete lack of washing up to do. The
containers could be dumped and the cycle of carton-packed ready meals could
continue. He opened the fridge which gaped vacantly at him. It looked like a
well-lit glacial cave containing three cans of beer, a pack of ham, and a half
eaten tin of beans. He grabbed one of the beers and leant with his back against
the closed fridge door. He thought back to that last meeting with Emma. The
thought that he had literally shut her into her vehicle of death had begun to
dawn on him, but now that he had mentioned the final words to Andy, it brought
everything home with a physical weight. It was true, he had sent her to her
death. Whilst he knew there was nothing he could have done and that he was in
no way responsible, it was almost as if everything would be ok if he could just
recall the words she had said to him. He could visualise the bright wide eyes
and the shape of her mouth as she formed the words which were now forever
silenced. There’d be nothing profound in them, no wise final statements about
the fragility of life or its ultimate finality. It was most probably a comment
on her victory to play whatever music she liked in the car. In fact, the more
pathetic and insignificant the final words to him were, the more he wanted to
hear them. Tony almost reopened the fridge to grab himself a beer but thought
better of it; an evening with his mates, sober, before work tomorrow morning -
that's what was called for. Perhaps her death was part of this whole
coincidental aspect Bartley had mentioned, and if her death had somehow
cemented a quantum realignment then he owed his each and every move within the
realm of quantum popping to honour her name. This had to all be for her.