MILO MOON


by Derek Haines


PUBLISHED BY:
Derek Haines on Createspace

Milo Moon
Copyright © 2010 by Derek Haines


Chapters

Wednesday 6
One Way Please 16
Welcome to Reality 23
Seemingly Home Again 28
Identity Crisis 34
Claire And The Cat 48
Keeping Secrets 52
We’re In Deep 65
Two To Tango 76
Digging A Hole In The Sky 80
Day Break 91
Cold Turkey 100
Colours 108
Secret Secrets 116
Unpleasant Truths 125
Battle Stations 133
My Enemy’s Enemy 148
A Foot In The Door 160
Money And Drugs 165
Lost In Time 173
Never Seen 179
No Secrets 185
The Art Of The Achievable 189
Moving Day 199
A New Day 210
The Evening News 219
Same Problems Different Depth 224
A Life To Live 236
What Will Be 252
Erasure 257
Things To Forget 268
To The Moon 271


“The very word 'secrecy' is repugnant in a free and open society; and we are as a people inherently and historically opposed to secret societies, to secret oaths, and to secret proceedings.”

 John Fitzgerald Kennedy
Wednesday

Of course it had to happen on a Wednesday.

Milo was always wary of Wednesdays. It was the one day of the week that always arrived without warning and then tended to have a bad feeling about it after it had crept up on him. Nothing good ever happened on Wednesdays for Milo Moon. The other days of the week were not a great deal better, as they also had a habit of not bringing anything good with them, but it was Wednesdays in particular that he found the easiest to dislike.

Being a nobody was Milo’s speciality. If he had been average it would have made him happier. But this wasn’t to be. His hair was receding, thinning and had a nondescript type of mousey grey colour about it that tended to be ignored by most people as they concentrated on his unfashionable tortoiseshell horned rimmed glasses. His optician told him that they made him look intelligent. Milo chose them because they were the cheapest.

He wasn’t entirely sure he needed glasses, but he had noticed that he bumped into things less, and his level of clumsiness had reduced somewhat since wearing them. A matching pair of prescription sunglasses came with the deal, but as he never went out in the sun they tended to be reserved for just trying to look cool when he was not indoors.

At five foot three, he made no impression whatsoever, and was well accustomed to being overlooked. Since he got his glasses though, his eyes now looked close to something like normal. Without his glasses they were beady and too far away from the bridge of his nose. A weird mixture of grey, green and insipid lime would probably be the best one could say about the colour of his eyes.

However, Milo always tried the best he could to look good. His clothes were always clean, but he hadn’t quite managed to master the skill of ironing. If he had had an iron it would have helped in this regard. The best he could do was keep his entire wardrobe of clothes under his mattress and pray for some degree of flatness. His favourite colour was brown. All shades of brown in fact, and this gave him an air of a total lack of dress sense. It didn’t matter though as no one ever noticed Milo anyway. If anyone had taken the time they would have discovered a very polite, honest and boring young man with a somewhat childish disposition who rarely smiled as there was no reason to in his mind.

He had hoped to marry. Even if just to have someone experienced in ironing clothes. Or perhaps for company and intelligent conversation in the evenings. For one reason or another, this miracle hadn’t happened. His job was mundane. Putting nuts on bolts, and then counting to ten, and sealing them in little plastic bags. He did get to work with different sized nuts and bolts, so that helped in relieving the boredom. The big ones were the most fun in Milo’s mind, but the smaller ones took more skill.

However, today was not going to be a big nuts and blots fun day. He rose from his bed finally after he had hit the snooze button five times, at eight-fifteen and looked at his ‘Joe Your Friendly Neighbourhood Butcher’ calendar that was nailed to his bedroom door. Not only was it Wednesday, but it was also Milo’s birthday. Hardly a good day to be told that you really don’t exist.

Milo dug around under his mattress and located the flattest pair of brown corduroy trousers and less than matching fawnish-brown shirt. After brushing his teeth, he discovered that he wasn’t motivated enough to have a shower, so he just sprayed deodorant around his body until he felt the stale sweat smell had been covered sufficiently. He had been promising himself that he would have the motivation for a shower today, but as had happened for five days now, he broke his promise to himself again. He reassured himself with the knowledge that his last shower had been in fact quite a long one, so it wasn’t so bad. Anyway, it was time for breakfast. He was already running late, so a bit later hardly seemed to matter now.

No name instant coffee powder was a favourite of Milo’s. He was fascinated by the colour when he added water to it. Always seemed to match what he was wearing. It also gave his stale bread a touch of colour as he dipped it in his coffee and waited for it to be soft enough to eat.

“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”

The sound of his doorbell so early in the morning rather startled Milo, and nearly led to his bread being over soaked and tumbling to the bottom of his coffee cup. Luckily, it hadn’t sunk and he managed to get it to his mouth after scooping it out of his coffee with his fingers.

“Whbhoo isst?” Milo mumbled and then realised he was still sucking the coffee soaked bread from his fingers, so he tried again.

“Who is it?” he yelled in a clear and audible voice this time.
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng,” was the reply.
“The lock doesn’t work, so you may as well just barge in and have breakfast with me!” Milo yelled again in response to the annoying sound of the doorbell.
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng,”
“Are you deaf or what?” Milo was now getting annoyed. He grumpily got up from his small kitchen table for one and stamped his feet all the way to the door some five steps away. Then opened it.
“Who are you then?” Milo asked with an early morning impolite intonation reserved for door to door salesmen and telephone marketers.
“Good morning. I’m here to collect you,” the man said.
“Why are you sort of semi-transparent?” Milo asked surprisingly nonchalantly when confronted by an eighty-five percent visible man wearing an odd looking blue suit. Milo didn’t like blue at all. But the fact that the suit seemed to be made from a seaweed type of substance was what really concerned him. His skin seemed to have a bit of a mauve tinge as well, which didn’t help matters. He was just a little shorter than Milo. So that helped offset some of the negatives.
“Oh, I am sorry. Does it disturb you?”
“Well, yes it does a bit.”
“Right. Hold on. I was in a bit of a rush this morning. Sorry,” the semi-transparent man on Milo’s doorstep replied, and then raised his ring finger on his left hand and pointed it towards his mouth. “Sorry control. Could you just check my beam. Seem to have upset a client here with a bit of transparency.”
Milo looked at the man, with his mouth held open, indicating a small amount of astonishment. A voice emanating from the right palm of the semi-transparent man replied.
“Sorry about that Victor Romeo. You know what it’s like here at the start of a shift. You should be on full power in about ten seconds.”

“Sorry about that. Is that better?” the man asked as he now became fully un-transparent.
“Er. Yes, I suppose so,” Milo replied not knowing what else to say really.
“Look, sorry for being so early, but I have a busy day ahead of me so thought I’d make an early start,” the man said as he started to fumble with a very tatty old green file that seemed to be full of liquid. “Now, here we are. Milo Moon 35WBTR.”
“Sorry?” Milo asked.
“Your name sir. It’s Milo Moon 35WBTR isn’t it?”
“Well, the first bit yes. But not the password at the end,” Milo said rather indignantly. “Anyway, what’s your name? Victor Romeo?”
“Oh no. My name is George. George Smithe. With an ‘E’. Everybody gets it wrong. My father’s fault. Victor Romeo is just the call sign when I’m out of the office. Initials for virtual reality.”
“Virtual Reality George Smithe. With an’E’?” Milo asked in complete astonishment at what was occurring on his doorstep. And so early in the day. Then remembering it was Wednesday, so why should he be surprised.
“No, just George,” George answered with no aspect of humour in his tone.
“Oh, I see,” was all Milo could think to say until he stumbled upon some degree of politeness. “Would you care for a cup of coffee George?”
“That’s very kind of you Milo,” George said as Milo indicated the direction to his table for one.
“I recall you mentioned something about you being here to collect me.”
“Yes, that’s right Milo. But let’s get to that after a coffee. I’m really very thirsty. You know what being beamed is like. Dehydrates you like hell.”
“I’ll put the kettle on then,” Milo said quietly and suddenly felt that his mouth was wide open. He closed it, and got on with making coffee for his strange guest.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any sugar, and only powdered whitener.”
“Oh, that’s fine Milo. I take my coffee black. Well, dark brown in this case,” George said when he saw the coffee and Milo missed the sarcasm completely.
“Why did you call me Milo Moon 35WBTR?” Milo asked wanting to try and eliminate one mystery at a time.
“Oh sorry. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Your file name.”
“What file name George?” Milo asked. Now clearly lost, but a little intrigued.
“You did get your BTR notification last week, didn’t you Milo?” George asked.
“No. And how would I know what a BTR notification looked like?”
“They are yellow. With BTR stamped in red capital letters on the front of the envelope along with Very Important also in bright red. Inside the envelope there is a large plastic file with your name and BTR date and details,” George explained very carefully.
“Yellow, with big red letters and plastic details, right?” Milo asked
“That’s the one Milo. So you received it then?”
“No.”

George went back to his left ring finger and asked about Milo’s BTR file. “He says he never received it,” George waited for a response from his right palm. Checking that his fingernails were clean while he waited.
“He is probably right Victor Romeo. Just checked. There is a back log on BTR deliveries. He should get it next week. Probably on Wednesday,” came the reply from George’s palm.
“Thanks control,” George said and put his palm and digit back into a relatively normal position.
“Told you,” Milo said. “Will this take long? I’m running late for work.”
“You’re already excused from work today Milo.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it is noted in your file here Milo. Milo Moon 35WBTR,” George replied.
“Can we go back a bit? What does Milo Moon 35WBTR mean?” Milo asked.
“Milo Moon. That’s you. Thirty-five years old today. W is for Wednesday. And BTR. Back to reality,” Simple really.”
“Can I ask you something else George?”
“Sure Milo. What is it?”
“Can I have the chair please?”

George and Milo paused for a while as each seemed to be filing each others confusion and misunderstandings before trying to proceed with such a difficult conversation so early in the morning.

Milo decided that he now had enough courage to try and venture forward. “From the fact that you were transparent when we first met leads me to think that I probably don’t understand everything I should here. Am I right?
“Oh, I’m sorry Milo. That was rather rude of me not to check first.”
“Check what?”
“That I was fully beamed.”
“Oh,” Milo said and decided to start all over again. “Why are you here George?”
“Sorry Milo. Thought it was clear. I’m hear to take you back to reality.”
“But I am real. You are the one who was transparent remember.”
“It’s the other way around I’m afraid Milo.”
“What? You’re real and I’m not?”
“That’s right Milo. Now you understand, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Could I have some more coffee Milo? I think we might be here for a while.”

Milo thought this was a good idea too, and went happily to make more coffee. As he did, George tried to explain as best he could that he had been sent to collect Milo to take him back to reality as there was now a place available. He also did his best to explain to Milo that he had been held here, in a state of imagined reality for thirty-five years and apologised profusely for the delay as well as for the mix up with the BTR notification. Milo apologised for the coffee.

“George. Are you trying to tell me that I’m just a figment of my own imagination?”
“That’s a pretty good analogy Milo.”
“So you aren’t real either?”
“Oh, yes I am Milo. Just not here. I have been beamed into your imagined reality.”
“And you spell Smithe with an ‘E’ just to add to the confusion?”
“No Milo. Like I said, that was my father’s fault. He was a bit of a snob really.”
“George?”
“Yes Milo.”
“Would you mind leaving so I can go back to bed and start this Wednesday all over again. I think I really should have a shower this time around.”
“Sorry Milo. No time. There’s a longer waiting list for a place in imagined reality, so I have to get you back to reality asap as someone will be taking your place here within the hour.”
“I am sure this question will have an answer I don’t understand. But I’ll try. Where will this, eh, replacement come from?”
“The Life Force Bank of course. Where else would you imagine they come from!” George said in a rather astonished tone.
“I knew I’d be sorry.”

“Would you like me to run through the details of your BTR program?” George asked Milo.
“Do I have a choice?”
George opened Milo’s file and a strange gooey semi-liquid dribbled onto the table and then formed itself into a very neat glowing green pyramid with strange flashing symbols.
“Would you prefer to read it yourself?” George asked politely as Milo answered simply with a silent and open mouth.
“Probably best I read it for you then Milo,” George said before continuing. “You’ll be beamed back with me to Alpha Reality Control. We call it ARC for short. There you’ll be given a full reality check to make sure you are ready for your return,” George said as Milo interrupted.
“You keep saying returned as if I have been there before.”
“Oh, you have Milo. But you’ve had your memory wiped each time. That’s normal.”
“Why do you say that’s normal George?”
“Saves on confusion. We’ve had a few who fell under our guard and didn’t get a full wipe. But we’re improving our quality control.”
“So am I going to reincarnate or something like that George?”
“Oh Milo, nothing of the sort. We don’t like all that mumbo jumbo.”
“Mumbo jumbo!” Milo almost shouted. “Mumbo jumbo! You come here at an ungodly hour of the morning. Turn up only half prepared and half visible and tell me you’re going to take me to reality! You must think I’m crazy. Look, let me buy one of your magazines or newspapers or make a donation. Whatever it is you’re selling I’ll buy one and then you can leave me to my miserable Wednesday in peace.”
“Finished Milo.”
“Yes!”
“Good, let’s move on then. Put this in your right nostril,” George said as he handed Milo something that looked remarkably similar to a pink foam ear plug.
“They normally go in your ears,” Milo said.
“No Milo. Don’t be silly. It’s a mind mapper. They don’t go in your ears. It wouldn’t work. Look, let me help you.”
“I think I can manage myself,” Milo said and then wondered why in hell’s name he was putting this strange object in his nose. As he placed it near the entrance to his right nostril, an odd force managed to snatch it from his fingers and suck it up into his nostril. Within a second the semi-liquid pyramid started flashing and turning a rather boring brown colour.
“What’s it doing?” Milo asked in a very blocked nose type of voice.
“A back up.”
“George?”
“Yes Milo.”
“Can I go back to bed?”

Milo watched as the pyramid turned from fawn to light brown to ochre and towards a nuggety gold brown colour. Suddenly it returned to a vile green and the pink earplug looking mind mapper dropped from his right nostril with a plop sound that foam makes when it hits something at speed. Like a table. It then seemed to be magnetically drawn across the table, and around coffee mugs, and disappeared into the semi-liquid pyramid.

“George?”
“Yes Milo”
“I really hate Wednesdays.”
One Way Please

George was very busy with the pyramid. Holding his left hand above it and wiggling his left ring finger in an odd jerky circular motion.
“You’re an alien, aren’t you George?”
“Sorry no Milo,” George said without losing his concentration. “I’m the same as you were and are going to be again. A formyon,” and continued to concentrate on his pyramid.
“A what?”
“A formyon Milo. A bodily form that can accommodate a life force.”
“So what am I right now George?”
“ A chimeryon. A life force without a formyon. If you weren’t a chimeryon, you’d be an encephalon and held in the Mind Bank,” George looked up as he seemed to have finished doing things to the pyramid with his left ring finger. At the same moment, the pyramid returned to a gooey liquid state and dribbled itself back into the tatty green file. George closed the file then continued. “Anymore questions before we move on Milo?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Are you sure I can’t just go back to bed and start again. I feel rather tired and confused all of a sudden.”
“Oh don’t worry Milo. That’s just the effect of the mind mapper. Disorients some chimeryons. You’ll feel much better soon,” George said dismissively. “Are you ready then?”
“For what?”
“To get going. We can’t hang around here all day. An encephalon will be arriving in less than forty minutes to take on your chimeryon status,” George said as if his patience was starting to thin just a little.
“Should I pack? Feed my cat? Put out the garbage? Make my bed?”
“No, no need. The new encephalon will look after all of that for you.”
“How kind,” was all Milo could say as he wondered what the hell was happening to him. He was really waiting for his alarm to ring and discover he had been dreaming all this nonsense. He closed his eyes and waited and hoped.

“Milo! Wake up now,” George said after watching Milo’s pathetic attempt at sleeping while standing up and leaning against the refrigerator. “Would you like to sit down?” George asked in a kind tone as he stood up, and Milo accepted.

“What’s that?” Milo asked with his eyes wide open as George produced what looked like a small glowing amber viper from his pocket. It leapt from George’s palm and affixed itself to Milo’s left wrist by circling his wrist and then snapping its mouth shut on its own tail. Milo tried to touch it, but his finger went straight through the glow and all he could feel was his own skin.
“I have one too Milo,” George said as he pulled up his coat sleeve. “It’ll make sure we don’t get lost.”
“Lost? Why would we get lost?”
“Because we are going to be beamed over a distance of twenty-two light years to ARC. Don’t want you arriving in microscopic pieces now do we?” George joked but failed to get even a smile from Milo.
“So I am leaving Sootere then?” Milo asked.
“No Milo. There’s no such thing. That must be just something in your chimeryon imagination.”
“Oh George. I’m sure I won’t like this, but, if I’m not on Sootere. Where am I?”
“Coma Sentarus. It’s a black hole inside the Ludicratious Nebula. It’s one of four chimeryon holding areas ARC controls.”
“Alpha Reality Control?”
“Well done Milo. I knew you would understand,” George said with a smile. “Right, let’s have a couple of glasses of water so we don’t get to dehydrated.”
“Should I go to the toilet?”
“Oh, please don’t be silly Milo.”
“Sorry,” Milo said in between gulps of water.

George rinsed the glasses and put them neatly on the side of the sink. Then he stood next to Milo. His wrist band connected with Milo’s with a small lime green flash. Milo looked down in surprise.
“I suppose that’s it then?”
“Probably,” George replied.
“What about my friends?” Milo asked.
“Do you have any?”
“No.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Sorry I asked,” Milo replied with a hint of disappointment.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” George asked.
“No.”
“An over friendly cleaning lady?”
“No.”
“Sexy magazines?”
“Definitely not!” Milo said indignantly.
“So what are you worried about?” George asked.
“You think I’m boring, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think Milo.”
“So what happens now George?”
“Just relax Milo and enjoy the trip.”

There was a greenish bordering on a yellowish kind of flash in Milo’s kitchen. Milo felt his body, which he had now been partially convinced was not all that real, elevate above the refrigerator and head towards the ceiling. George’s reassuring, smiling face was beside him. Locked at the wrist by glowing vipers. Within a few seconds he found himself seated in what seemed strangely like a seat in an elevator. George seated, apparently comfortably, beside him.

“I didn’t expect to be sitting down.”
“Well, it’s a long trip Milo. Do you think I would take you cattle class?”
“What’s cattle class then?
“Economy.”
“Should I say thank you?”
“Don’t thank me. You must have friends somewhere in ARC Milo. I was sent to you last night standing in cattle class.”
“Oh, I’m very sorry George.”
“Not your fault Milo.”
“How long is the trip then George?”
“A bit under four hours.”
“Oh,” Milo said without knowing what the hell was happening to him.

“Magazine gentlemen?”
“No thanks,” George and Milo answered in unison.
“You said beam George. Nothing about waitress service.”
“Sorry if I mislead you Milo.”
“No, it’s okay George.”

Both sat silently. Milo thinking about the life he seemed to have left behind. And his cat. Its name was Cindy. He called it that one day at the vet. It was a cat that loved to jump on things. So he had always said ‘down’ to it. Then he thought it would be natural to add syndrome to down as he had heard this expression a lot, but never knew what it meant. So he called his cat Down Syndrome. Then when he had to take his cat to the vet for its shots and told the vet his cat’s name, he discovered that it was not a popular name. The vet said it was not a nice name at all to call a cat. In fact the vet was most upset and threatened to report Milo for cruelty. So Milo abbreviated the name to Cindy.

George was thinking if his wife would still be speaking to him when he got back. He just recalled that it was their wedding anniversary the day before yesterday. He hoped her memory was as bad as his. But doubted it.

“Can I ask you something George?”
“Sure Milo.”
“Am I real?”
“Oh, really sorry Milo. That is something that is planted in your chimeryon imagination. To keep you happy.”
“So what does a formyon look like?”
“Well Milo. Sort of like you, but with more eyes and a few other improvements.”
“Improvements? Sorry?”
“Relax Milo. Enjoy the trip.”
“Did I get around to telling you that I think Wednesdays are really not nice days at all.”
“Can’t recall you did Milo.”
“Well, from my experience they are George,” Milo said with conviction.

Milo noticed that from time to time both he and George drifted into almost transparent states. Then drifted back into into fully opaque forms. He was going to ask, but realised that after all that had happened in the last sixty minutes it would be quite silly to ask. He looked at his left wrist and was surprisingly reassured to see the glowing viper still firmly gripping its own tail with its teeth. Had it been two hours ago, he wouldn’t have found it so reassuring.

“So how long have you been in this line of work,” Milo asked in a manner that sounded cool, but smelled of desperation and mild panic.
“Over thirty years Milo. Due for a desk job soon I hope.”
“Pension?”
“Of course.”
“Right,” Milo said and silence returned for some minutes.

“Don’t worry Milo. I’ve done this trip a thousand times. You’ll be fine. Just a few minor adjustments and you’ll be right as rain. I promise.”
“How many more eyes George?”
“Oh, only one. No big deal.”
“Where?”
“Oh Milo. You are full of questions. In the back of your head. Where else would you expect?”
“Sorry George.”

Milo thought about asking more questions, but sensed George was getting quite fed up. He started to think about his cat instead. He hoped his encephalon come chimeryon replacement knew how to care for cats. He also hoped he could iron.

“Good year ladies and gentlemen. If I could ask you to prepare for re-materialisation,” an announcement announced from seemingly nowhere. “Please be ready to block your ears with your thumbs and your nostrils with your little fingers very soon.”
“What happens if I don’t?” Milo asked George.
“Your head explodes into micro dust.”
“Think I get the idea. Thanks.”

Milo noticed that he and George and everything in their elevator looking cabin was starting to go very transparent again. He had the feeling something was going to happen soon. He could see that George had his thumbs in his ears and his little fingers firmly up his nostrils. He thought he should probably do the same.

“Please assume your dematerialisation position ladies and gentlemen,” the kind and somewhat sexy sounding female announcement announced. “We must inform you that your failure to assume the dematerialisation position could lead to serious heath risks including reduction to cosmic dust.”

“Sounds serious,” Milo tried to joke with a voice that replicated someone with a serious head cold. His thumbs and little fingers firmly lodged in his ears and nostrils.
“It is,” George answered in the same head cold sound just before a rather large thud and grating noise indicated that their arrival was probably underway.

There was a minute or so of almost complete transparence that really freaked Milo out, but then all returned to a comfortable normal opaqueness and he felt a lot better. He looked at his watch. A little difficult with his current finger and thumb position, but he managed. Eleven-thirty-five am. And still Wednesday. That really explained everything.

“Please wait until the materialisation light is illuminated before resuming full resumption of existence,” the same kind of somewhat sexy sounding female announcement announced. Milo felt a little reassured.

“So, we’re here then?” Milo asked George.
“You could say that,” George said, as Milo noticed George had changed a little.
“You’ve got scales!” Milo half screeched.
“Welcome to reality Milo.”

Welcome to Reality

“Wake up Milo. We’ve got to disembark,” George said as he gently slapped Milo’s face.
“What happened?”
“You feinted.”
“You’ve still got scales!” Milo said, but this time with a little less panic in his voice.
“I know Milo. So have you.”
Milo looked at the back of his hands and immediately noticed that his skin was now composed of very small light blue scales. More like fish than snake or lizard he thought just before he feinted again. George started all over again in trying to wake Milo up, and wondered why he continued in this job.

“Ladies and gentlemen. This is your automated cabin supervisor speaking. Please leave the beam transporter by your side exit door immediately. Dematerialisation will begin in four minutes. We remind you that we take no responsibility for lost hand luggage, bodies or body parts after the red dematerialisation warning light is illuminated. Thank you for your understanding.”

George man-handled Milo to his feet and managed to get Milo’s semi-conscious body near the exit door. He pushed the button and waited for it to open.
“Right, come on Milo. Let’s get moving,” George said as he walked Milo through the door.
“George?”
“Yes, Milo?”
“I can see where I’ve been,” Milo said as he suddenly realised he could see the Welcome to ARC sign in front of him at the end of a white hall, and at the same time, the door closing behind him.
“So you’re awake then Milo?”
“Almost,” Milo said with no sense of surety whatsoever.
“Good. Now let’s get through the EVR procedure and we can be on our way.”
“Silly question I know George. But what is an EVR procedure?”
“Exit Virtual Reality.”
“So by that you mean we are not in real reality just yet then?”
“That’s right Milo.”
“So. Eh, that means? What exactly?”
“You’ll be de-scaled soon.”
“Did I tell you that I don’t like Wednesdays George?”

For something that sounded very complex, returning to reality was really a very simple process. George and Milo walked the length of the white entry hall. Six doors were located at the end of the hall with signs above each door.

RE-ENTER HERE

Each door shimmered slightly, and had a silvery, almost watery translucent look to them. They were numbered from one to six, but in a jumbled order.
“Why are the doors numbered five, three, two, one, four, six George?”
“It’s the date today Milo.”
“Am I asking too many questions?”
“Yes.”
George ushered Milo into door three and George went though door six. Milo had never been in a front loading washing machine, but imagined the sensation he was feeling after entering the door must be very similar. He was floating in a gassy liquid and turning head over heel, spinning and twisting, but never touching the sides of whatever he was in. He couldn’t see any walls, edges, floors or anything that resembled firmness. At first everything was a very pale green. Then a pale blue and now turning to a vague off-white sort of colour. He could only think that these colour changes indicated a change in cycle. Wash, rinse, soften.

Milo tried to look at his watch, but the face was blurred. He thought he had been spinning for a few minutes now, and was rather hoping it would stop soon, as he was starting to feel a little nauseas. Luckily, before his nausea could manifest itself, he noticed that he was now almost upright, and starting to be lowered. He wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling of being lowered. Difficult to know exactly when you have no concept of up, down or sideways. There was a green light flashing just above his head just as an announcement was made.

“Please move forward, and watch your step. Welcome to ARC. We wish you a pleasant return to reality.”

Milo carefully put out his left leg in an attempt to start walking, and was surprised to find some solidity below his foot. His right foot made the same conclusion. As did the left again immediately after that. He noticed that the gassy liquid was dissolving away and very soon found himself standing next to George again.

“Alright Milo.”
“Um. Yes. I think so.”
“Good.”
“George?”
“Yes?”
“Where have your scales gone?”
“They protect your matter when you are in beam travel.”
“So, I’m not a fish then?”
“No Milo. You’re not a fish.”
“But I can still see behind me.”
“Yes Milo.”

Milo turned and tried out his new eye but found turning in circles made him dizzy, so he tried nodding his head up and down instead. Like anyone with a new toy, there was a certain novelty in having rear view, and Milo found it fascinating to he able to bend his head down and look at the floor and at the same time see the light fitting in the ceiling. Then he turned with his back to George and was astounded at the clarity of his new found third eye. George clearly needed a shave. He was about to think why his new eye didn’t need glasses when he made another remarkable observation.
“George?”
“Yes Milo,” George responded in a tone of voice that was exhibiting the early signs of being totally fed up with being continually asked silly questions.
“I’m wearing blue jeans, a black t-shirt and grey blazer.”
“You’re also a little taller and you’re wearing different glasses Milo. Anymore questions?”
“Yes George. Just one,” Milo said. “Is it lunch time? I’m quite hungry.”
“I’m sure there’ll be something in your refrigerator.”
“Eh. Sorry George?”
“Come on Milo. I’ll help you find a taxi.”
“You’re not coming with me George?”
“No Milo. I have another two collections to make today.”
“So what will I do?” Milo asked as they walked towards the front of the taxi line.
“Get on with life Milo. Get on with life!”
“But how will I know what to do?”
“You’ll be fine Milo. The jump from chimeryon to formyon will take you a couple of days to get used to. But don’t worry. You’ll be fine. It’s not your first time you know.”
“What? I’ve done this before?” Milo asked somewhat surprised.
“Milo, you have been from encephalon to chimeryon to formyon countless times.”
“So why can’t I remember doing this before George?”
“I told you before. You get wiped each time.”
“So I am going to be wiped again soon huh?”
“Now I think you understand Milo. Look, here’s a taxi. Jump in,” George said as Milo less than confidently got into the taxi. “Twenty-two Brown Street thanks driver.”
“But that’s my old address at home!” Milo yelled at George from the taxi.
“Have a nice day. Oh and life Milo. See you again someday maybe,” George said just before the taxi pulled away. Milo didn’t need to turn his head to see George going back into the ARC Welcome Centre. Presumably to set off on another collection.
“Been great weather the last few days,” the driver said. “But it’s gonna be dark tomorrow I heard.”
“Thanks,” Milo said and noted that taxi drivers are all the same. No matter what the state of reality.
Seemingly Home Again

Milo thanked the driver, and after the events of the day so far, he was not surprised to be standing in front of his flat that he had seemingly left some hours before. Entering the front door of the building he checked his mail. Nothing as usual, and then he climbed the two flights of stairs to his flat. The door wasn’t locked, as usual. He opened the door with a little less nonchalance than he normally would have done had it not been for George and the events of the day. Everything seemed to be the same. The two glasses George had rinsed were sitting proudly on the side of the sink.

Milo looked around carefully and everything looked in order. Except there were two chairs now populating his small kitchen table. Odd. The door to his bedroom looked the same. He went in. He checked his calendar. His ‘Joe Your Friendly Neighbourhood Butcher’ calendar had been replaced with an ‘Uphealth Chemist’ calendar with pictures of vitamin pills. There was a wardrobe. He didn’t recall having one before. When he opened the door, he was shocked to see a neat row of perfectly ironed shirts and trousers plus a few jackets and blazers. Different colours. Blue, black, white, cream, grey but no brown. In a small drawer he found neatly ironed and folded underwear and socks.

“Who in their right mind would iron socks?” Milo mumbled to himself in shock.

He immediately checked under his mattress. Nothing! This was a sure sign that someone had been in his flat while he was materialising, de-materialising, re-materialising and feinting this morning. Milo went then to the bathroom. What he caught sight of in the mirror gave him quite a fright. He stared at what was clearly Milo in the mirror, but not the Milo that Milo remembered seeing in Milo’s mirror this morning.

“You can’t be me, can you?” Milo asked his reflection. Noticing instantly that the reflection's mouth moved in unison with his so this was probably not an optical illusion. His hair was darker. Still a bit on the grey side, but definitely darker. He was sure he had less hair this morning. Then the sudden realisation came to him. What was most disturbing about his reflection. His glasses. They were now fashionably rimless in an extremely fine titanium frame. They were so rimless, that had missed them altogether at first. There was something else different, but after the initial shocks it was hard for Milo to put his finger on it. Then it dawned on him. His face was new! It was younger, more handsome and far less boring. His eyes were blue. It was just then that he realised he was in a totally new and younger body. He checked his watch. He didn’t know why, but he did. Three-fifteen pm. His watch hadn’t changed.

He ran his hand through his darker and thicker hair. When his hand ran down the back of his head, he felt a very small lump. Not even a lump. Just a tiny little bump the size of an overgrown pimple. When he did it again, he realised what it was because he couldn’t see behind himself anymore. He took his hand away and he could see a towel hanging on the door behind him. He also felt taller.

Milo went back to his bedroom and again studied his calendar. “Why would anyone want to change my calendar,” he though to himself. Although his day had been a little bit weird, most of it seemed to have been reasonably explained by George. But the calendar was a mystery. He looked closely. Today was Wednesday. The fifth of the third. Two thousand one hundred and forty-six. His birthday.

Milo sat down slowly on the side of his bed. His face long and sad. It was late afternoon already, and no one at all had wished him happy birthday. Milo thought about the prospect of being wiped as George had explained. It couldn’t be worse than this he thought. Maybe the change from a chimeryon to a formyon would be a good move. Maybe he could get out more, socialise more and maybe make some friends.

The thought vanished in a puff of depression as he realised that he must already be a formyon. The hair, the glasses, the clothes, the calendar, the extra eye. He laid his head down on the pillow and gazed at the ceiling. And his pillow too. All in all, this had not been a great day, nor a great birthday. A sudden wave of depressive loneliness enveloped him, and his spirits began to nosedive. He wished he could pull some brown clothes out from under his mattress. He wished he had his ‘Joe Your Friendly Neighbourhood Butcher’ calendar back. He was already missing Joe’s smile and blue and white apron.

Milo woke up. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but had. He looked at his watch. Five forty-five pm. Hungry, was the only thought in his mind. Apart from his one and only mouthful of coffee soaked bread, he had had nothing to eat all day. As he got up and headed to the kitchen he wondered if he could be as lucky with the refrigerator as he had been with his new wardrobe. Almost. Six plastic tubes of high protein paste. A packet of dehydrated liver. Two sachets of ‘Carbs in an Instant’ and a tube of milk paste. He closed the door with a complete lack of excitement. It was then that he noticed the pizza sitting on his kitchen table. It was hot!

Milo thought about thinking about how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table, but then thought it better to start thinking about eating it. He didn’t think about that for very long. He was seriously hungry. He decided he would start thinking about how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table when he arrived at his third slice. The pizza was so good, he forgot to think when he was on his third slice and it wasn’t until he started on the last slice that he wondered again how the pizza may have made its way onto his kitchen table. Before he could think, or finish the last slice, his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound.

“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“Bad luck. I’ve eaten it all!” Milo shouted.
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“The lock is broken. You may as well just barge in.”
“Drrrinnggggg, ddrrriinng.”
“Oh heavens to Betsy!” Milo mumbled and went to the door with the remains of his last slice of pizza still in hand. “Who are you?” he said grumpily as he found a woman standing on his door step. He presumed she was a woman because she had longish hair and breasts. The rest just looked officious so it was hard to be gender specific when it came to officiousness.
“Mr. Moon?” she said gruffly.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m here to take you for your re-identification.”
“My what?
“Re-identification. Mr. Smithe explained this to you I’m sure.”
“So you’re a friend of George’s then?”
“A colleague Mr. Moon. A colleague yes.”
“I don’t recall George mentioning anything about, eh, what was it again. Re something?” Milo said with some sincerity.
“Re-identification Mr. Moon,” the woman said rather snappily.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I missed your name,” Milo said sweetly.
“Oh I am sorry Mr. Moon. Most impolite of me not to have introduced myself. Hilda Harpinger. I am an officer for Alpha Reality Control.”
“ARC?” Milo said
“Yes.”
“Would you like some coffee Ms Harpinger.
“Oh it’s Miss, and thank you, I would love a cuppa! It’s been a long day,” she said in a complete change of tone and a cheeky little smile.
“Well, please come in,” Milo said and then wondered if he might have made a mistake. He then wondered where his cat was.

“You look a little pale Mr. Moon,” Hilda said
“I think my cat has been abducted.”
“Oh don’t be silly Mr. Moon. Cats always come and go as they please. I’m sure your cat will return when it’s good and ready.”
“He was here this morning. His name is Cindy,” Milo said sadly.
“Your male cat is called Cindy?”
“Sorry, long story. Black or white?”
“Cat?”
“No, coffee.”
“Oh, sorry Mr. Moon. Black please.”

Milo finished preparing the coffee in silence while he ate the remnants of his last slice of pizza and thought about his cat. He put the two mugs on the table, and then realised how convenient having two chairs was. It helped take his mind off Cindy for a second.
“You mentioned something about re-identification,” Miss Harpinger.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. George must have told you. It was supposed to have been done earlier today, but there was a mix up with your file.”
“Well, the only thing I can recall George saying was something about being wiped. I don’t remember that it happened, but then again today hasn’t been all that clear to me in any form really,” Milo explained.
“Oh wiped. Well, that’s George for you. He is one for a little slang from time to time,” Hilda said.
“Slang?”
“Yes slang. Re-identification is the process of having your chimeryon memory erased and having your new formyon identity installed. George likes to call it wiped. He is not one for big long words.”
“Right,” Milo said slowly as if some of the information from Miss Harpinger was making a little sense.
“So now that’s all clear,” Hilda said in a matter of fact, that’s all clear, now let’s move on sort of way.
“Nobody has wished me happy birthday today you know,” Milo said rather distantly.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday Mr. Moon. Happy birthday to you!” Hilda sang and Milo wondered how bad his day could really get now.

Just as he was about to leave with Miss Harpinger, Milo heard a sound at the door. He went to the door and opened it. There was Cindy scratching at the door. He picked him up and cuddled him fondly.
“Can I feed Cindy before we go?”
“Certainly Mr. Moon. Certainly,” Hilda said in a very sensitive and kind tone.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.11.2010

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