Milo Moon: It Never Happened (3 page)

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.

‘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 rather 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 and 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 health risks, including reduction to cosmic dust.’

‘Sounds serious,’ Milo tried to joke, with a voice that replicated someone with a serious head cold, with his thumbs and little fingers firmly lodged in his ears and nostrils.

‘It is,’ George replied, 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 a.m. 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?’ he asked.

‘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.’

Chapter 3 - 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. 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 him 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 the 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 manhandled Milo to his feet and managed to get his 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?’

‘I can see where I’ve been,’ he 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?’

‘Almost,’ he 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.’

‘So, eh, that means what exactly?’

‘You’ll be de-scaled soon.’

‘Did I tell you that I don’t like Wednesdays?’

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?’

‘Because they are.’

‘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, and then a pale blue and now turning into a vague off-white sort of colour. He could only think that these colour changes indicated a change in cycle. Wash, rinse, and 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 nausea. 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.

‘All right 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, you’re not a fish.’

‘But I can still see behind me.’

‘Yes.’

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 be able to bend his head down and look at the floor, and at the same time see the light fitting up on 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. Anymore questions?’

‘Yes, just one. Is it lunchtime? I’m quite hungry.’

‘I’m sure there’ll be something in your refrigerator.’

‘Eh. Sorry?’

‘Come on. I’ll help you find a taxi.’

‘You’re not coming with me?’

‘No. 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. 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?’

‘I told you before. You get wiped each time.’

‘So I’m going to be wiped again soon huh?’

‘Now I think you understand. 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.

Chapter 4 - 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, also 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 that there were two chairs, instead of just one, 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 and 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. He went then to the bathroom. What he caught sight of in the mirror gave him quite a fright. He stared at what was supposed to be Milo in the mirror, but it wasn’t 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 own, so this was probably not an optical illusion. His hair was darker. 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 really 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.

He went back to his bedroom and studied his calendar again. ‘Why would anyone want to change my calendar,’ he thought 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 and four. 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. He 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.