CHAPTER 32
The brass plaque on the red door in Peckender Street glittered as it reflected the yellow light of a street lamp. It glared for a moment as it reflected the violent flashing light of a passing police car sweeping by.
It dimmed slightly as a pale, pale wraith slipped silently through it. It glimmered as it dimmed, because the wraith was trembling with such terrible agitation.
In the dark hallway the ghost of Gordon Way paused. He needed something to lean on for support, and of course there was nothing. He tried to get a grip on himself, but there was nothing to get a grip on.
He retched at the horror of what he had seen, but there was, of course, nothing in his stomach. He half stumbled, half swam up the stairs, like a drowning man trying to grapple for a grip on the water.
He staggered through the wall, through the desk, through the door, and tried to compose and settle himself in front of the desk in Dirk's office.
If anyone had happened into the office a few minutes later - a night cleaner perhaps, if Dirk Gently had ever employed one, which he didn't on the grounds that they wished to be paid and he did not wish to pay them, or a burglar, perhaps, if there had been anything in the office worth burgling, which there wasn't - they would have seen the following sight and been amazed by it.
The receiver of the large red telephone on the desk suddenly rocked and tumbled off its rest on to the desk top.
A dialling tone started to burr. Then, one by one, seven of the large, easily pushed buttons depressed themselves, and after the very long pause which the British telephone system allows you within which to gather your thoughts and forget who it is you're phoning, the sound of a phone ringing at the other end of the line could be heard.
After a couple of rings there was a click, a whirr, and a sound as of a machine drawing breath. Then a voice started to say, 'Hello, this is Susan. I can't come to the phone right at the moment because I'm trying to get an E flat right, but if you'd like to leave your name…'
'So then, on the say so of an - I can hardly bring myself to utter the words - Electric Monk,' said Dirk in a voice ringing with derision, 'you attempt to launch the ship and to your utter astonishment it explodes. Since when -?'
'Since when,' said the ghost, abjectly, 'I have been alone on this planet. Alone with the knowledge of what I had done to my fellows on the ship. All, all alone…'
'Yes, skip that, I said,' snapped Dirk angrily. 'What about the main ship? That presumably went on and continued its search for -'
'No.'
'Then what happened to it?'
'Nothing. It's still there.'
'Still /there/?'
Dirk leapt to his feet and whirled off to pace the room, his brow furiously furrowed.
'Yes.' Michael's head drooped a little, but he looked up pitieously at Reg and at Richard. 'All of us were aboard the landing craft. At first I felt myself to be haunted by the ghosts of the rest, but it was only in my imagination. For millions of years, and then billions, I stalked the mud utterly alone. It is impossible for you to conceive of even the tiniest part of the torment of such eternity. Then,' he added, 'just recently life arose on the planet. Life. Vegetation, things in the sea, then, at last, you. Intelligent life. I turn to you to release me from the torment I have endured.'
Michael's head sank abjectly on to his chest for some few seconds.
Then slowly, wobblingly, it rose and stared at them again, with yet darker fires in his eyes.
'Take me back,' he said, 'I beg you, take me back to the landing craft. Let me undo what was done. A word from me, and it can be undone, the repairs properly made, the landing craft can then return to the main ship, we can be on our way, my torment will be extinguished, and I will cease to be a burden to you. I beg you.'
There was a short silence while his plea hung in the air.
'But that can't work, can it?' said Richard. 'If we do that, then this won't have happened. Don't we generate all sorts of paradoxes?'
Reg stirred himself from thought. 'No worse than many that exist already,' he said. 'If the Universe came to an end every time there was some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would never have got beyond the first picosecond. And many of course don't. It's like a human body, you see. A few cuts and bruises here and there don't hurt it. Not even major surgery if it's done properly. Paradoxes are just the scar tissue. Time and space heal themselves up around them and people simply remember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make.
'That isn't to say that if you get involved in a paradox a few things won't strike you as being very odd, but if you've got through life without that already happening to you, then I don't know which Universe you've been living in, but it isn't this one.'
'Well, if that's the case,' said Richard, 'why were you so fierce about not doing anything to save the dodo?'
Reg sighed. 'You don't understand at all. The dodo wouldn't have died if I hadn't worked so hard to save the coelacanth.'
'The coelacanth? The prehistoric fish? But how could one possibly affect the other?'
'Ah. Now there you're asking. The complexities of cause and effect defy analysis. Not only is the continuum like a human body, it is also very like a piece of badly put up wallpaper. Push down a bubble somewhere, another one pops up somewhere else. There are no more dodos because of my interference. In the end I imposed the rule on myself because I simply couldn't bear it any more. The only thing that really gets hurt when you try and change time is yourself.' He smiled bleakly, and looked away.
Then he added, after a long moment's reflection, 'No, it can be done. I'm just cynical because it's gone wrong so many times. This poor fellow's story is a very pathetic one, and it can do no harm to put an end to his misery. It happened so very, very long ago on a dead planet.
If we do this we will each remember whatever it is that has happened to us individually. Too bad if the rest of the world doesn't quite agree.
It will hardly be the first time.'
Michael's head bowed.
'You're very silent, Dirk,' said Richard.
Dirk glared angrily at him. 'I want to see this ship,' he demanded.
In the darkness, the red telephone receiver slipped and slid fitfully back across the desk. If anybody had been there to see it they might just have discerned a shape that moved it.
It shone only very faintly, less than would the hands of a luminous watch. It seemed more as if the darkness around it was just that much darker and the ghostly shape sat within it like thickened scar tissue beneath the surface of the night.
Gordon grappled one last time with the recalcitrant receiver. At length he got a final grip and slipped it up on to the top of the instrument.
From there it fell back on to its rest and disconnected the call. At the same moment the ghost of Gordon Way, his last call finally completed, fell back to his own rest and vanished.
CHAPTER 33
