1 PAST
“How can I tell […] that the past isn’t a fiction designed to account for the discrepancy between my immediate physical sensation and my state of mind?” —The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
1 Past / When it all began
2 April 2004
The graduation ceremony of Quizon Science High School was set to begin in about an hour, yet there were still two students, a man and a woman in dark blue togas, leaning out of a window in the fourth floor of the school’s main building. The sun began its slow descent into the horizon, dyeing the scene before them orange, and the sanguine tinge on the two seniors’ faces as they looked over the open-air auditorium where their graduation ceremony would soon take place illuminated the composed smiles on their faces.
‘Four years,’ said the male student. ‘It’s finally over.’
‘Yes,’ said the female with a nod. ‘I can’t believe we all got through.’
‘Hey, you shouldn’t have doubted our batchmates,’ he said as he lowered his shoulders, causing the hem of his toga to touch the floor. ‘Sure, some of them might have needed a bit more prodding, but none of them are stupid.’
The young woman shrugged.
They were, respectively, the president and the vice-president of the graduating batch, as well as its best and second-best student. The young woman was, like most intellectuals, fiercely competitive, but she knew that there was no chance of beating the young man before her in anything school-related. She sighed to herself. Being second in the best high school in the country is better than being the best in a lesser school, I suppose.
As if he had read her thoughts, the man said, ‘The two hundred and forty of us were the best in our own little bubbles, and we would not have known how big the world truly is until we met each other.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ said the woman. ‘You were the best of us from start to finish.’
‘Did you think I had it easy? I always had the feeling that if I let up for just a semester, just a quiz, just an exam question even, you would have overtaken me.’
‘Well, it’s a bit of a relief to hear you say that I wasn’t such a pushover. In any case, it’s almost seven,’ she said as she straightened her toga. ‘Let’s head back.’
‘Wait,’ he said a bit too loudly, causing her to look at him in mild alarm. ‘I have something I need to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait?’
‘It can’t. It’s already waited for so long… I know we’re going to the same university, and we’ll still get to meet each other after this, but I have to tell you this now, before we go our separate ways.’ He took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly, as if weighing the moment, building up resolution within himself.
‘I love you, Theresa Santos. I’ve loved you for almost a year now. I thought that if I didn’t think about it, my feelings would disappear, but it didn’t. I still love you as strongly as when I first felt it. I’m sorry; I know what you’re going through, but I have to say it. I—’
Theresa stopped him with a raised hand. Her head was a little bowed, as if she was avoiding his eyes, but other than that no trace of emotion could be seen on her face.
‘I’m sorry, Peter,’ she said kindly, coldly, if that were possible, and Peter knew what was to follow. But he listened on, transfixed, as if he were an animal caught in the headlights of a speeding vehicle. ‘I know you’ve done a lot for me, but…I don’t feel the same way.’ She turned around and hurriedly walked away, leaving a stunned Peter behind her.
14 August 2004
‘We now bring you the weather report: Typhoon Elisa has finally left the country’s area of responsibility earlier this morning, and although rains will continue to fall intermittently throughout the metro due to a low-pressure area, there are no new storms approaching the country in the next few days.
‘And now for a public service announcement: Michelle Gatdula, aged 21, a coroner’s assistant at Jacinto General Hospital, has been reported missing since this Wednesday, the 12th of August. She has not been seen at her home in Quizon or at her workplace during this span of time. If anyone has seen this woman, or has any knowledge of her whereabouts, please contact our station via the hotline—’
The news reporter on the television continued to speak, unheeded by the only occupant of the opulent-seeming mansion at Number 16, Main Street, Dorian Gardens. Opulent-seeming, because despite the expansive lot, the well-tended garden with a meticulously manicured lawn on the front yard, and the detailed flourishes that seemed to indicate that no expense had been spared during the construction of this residence, inside it was barely and unevenly furnished. The living room and the study were almost normal: carpeted rooms with luxurious chairs for guests, well-stocked bookshelves and wine cases, as well as the antique wooden desk that dominated the study. But the bedroom had nothing in it save a simply-cushioned bed, and the dining room and kitchen were totally bare, with not even a table or plates in it. If one were to imagine that there was a purpose for each room’s state, and that they were not merely the product of the tastes of a deranged or absent-minded individual (as one would be more likely to assume in this case), one would be drawn to the conclusion that the resident preferred to be far more comfortable in work than in sleep, and that he did not know how to cook. And that brought to mind another strange thing—the resident employed no helpers, not a single maid, nor a cook, nor even a gardener. Despite that, the mansion and its garden remained pristine, as if they were maintained solely by the will of the house’s owner itself.
That owner, and the aforementioned solitary occupant of the mansion, was in his study, pacing nervously before the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked part of the lawn; a cell phone was pressed to his ear.
‘I know I’ve already asked you this,’ he said to the phone, ‘but are you sure you saw no one there other than Alex Garcia? Someone might have been hiding nearby, and your sudden appearance might have spooked him. He could have run away without your noticing.’ There followed a pause, as the person on the other end of the line responded; whether he or she uttered a word of protest or apology was soon made apparent. ‘Yes, I know you had no choice—you couldn’t have let your friend die, after all. But… leaving him uncaught could be more dangerous for him in the long run.’ Another pause, and a wry smile formed on his lips. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I know I’m venting at you. But Richard’s been back in the country for more than a day already, and I dare not show my face to him, at least not until I know for sure that the danger to his son’s been dealt with.’ Yet another pause, and this time, the tension on his face eased noticeably.
‘Yes, I know you’re doing your best. I’ll do my part, too. I’ll try not to nag you too much. Well, then, see you tomorrow.’ He thumbed a button on his phone, ending the call, and placed the phone on the wooden desk behind him before resuming his pacing before the moonlight shining through his windows.
The man’s name was Victor Agcaoili, a physicist. He was also a governor, one of the caretakers of the nigh-innumerable worlds that make up the universe. As such, he has been granted a prodigious degree of control over the space-time of his domain. He could, for instance, bend local space to travel without taking a step, and he could even stop time in a small area for a short while. He could also see into, and even travel between, the other worlds that populated the universe. In exchange for his powers he enforced the rules on the world he governed. He regulated the strengths of the powers, humans who have been born with the ability to manipulate a facet of nature (so far as he knew, none of the chosen, the avatars of the fundamental laws of nature, lived in his world.) He also had to take care of the aftermath of various world-crossing incidents that occasionally occurred. One of these was currently foremost in the governor’s mind.
Dr Agcaoili had not, of course, been always like this, for governors were not born but made—some of their numbers would probably think that they have been cursed, but few would say it out loud. In Dr Agcaoili’s case, an accident had been the trigger that had awakened his governor’s powers. He was a twenty-five-year-old doctorate student in a prestigious European university, and was on the verge of completing his dissertation on the possibility of superluminal travel, when the neutrinos he had been trying to accelerate to faster-than-light speed in Helvetia University’s most powerful particle accelerator had broken through the wall between worlds. What should have been a catastrophic disaster was averted, but Agcaoili’s body was dragged between worlds. He was found, eventually, unconscious inside the airless accelerator chamber, very much alive, a fact that baffled his colleagues, but not his dissertation advisor. He approached the confused doctorate student and revealed to him that he was, in fact, a governor of this world. This governor explained to him what had happened to him, what would happen to him, and what he needed to do. After a few years of mentoring and training, his advisor disappeared, putting Dr Agcaoili in charge of the world he left behind.
A strong feeling of constriction roused the governor from his reverie. He stopped pacing and turned his head towards a darkened corner of his study.
‘You didn’t even bother knocking,’ he said with his customary hint of snobbishness. ‘Haven’t you been taught proper manners as a child?’
‘Hey, I’m about to do worse things than this,’ said a voice from the darkened corner the physicist had addressed. ‘I’m sure my trespassing will be the least of your concerns.’
‘I suppose you have a point there,’ said the physicist evenly after some consideration. ‘But I do so wish we could go back to the time when even people who are about to duel to the death call each other “sir”.’
‘Heh,’ smirked a young man as he stepped out of the darkness and approached the physicist. He stopped about a metre from the imposing wooden table that stood between them. ‘So you know what I came here to do.’
‘If you came to this world to make trouble, which I can see you did, sooner or later you’d run up against me. So the best course of action for a troublemaker like you would be to pre-empt that confrontation.’ He heaved a sigh, one of relief. ‘This actually saves me a lot of time and trouble, you know. After we’re done here I can finally go see Richard.’
‘So you believe in the afterlife?’ said the young man with a grin. ‘Interesting stance for a governor. Anyway, even if there is an afterlife, I won’t be sending him after you. True, I have a score to settle with his son, but that’s no reason for me to include friends and family. Well,’ he said with an affected pose of pondering, ‘I do have plans for one of his friends…’
After his voice trailed off, a freezing silence descended on the study. The two continued to stare quietly at each other until Dr Agcaoili resumed speaking.
‘Such disgusting confidence… I’ve heard rumours of you, Peter Garcia: the story goes, one of the powers somehow became a governor, and it got a lot of my colleagues wondering just how strong he could be. For someone to have powers over both a facet of nature and the fabric of the universe, I can imagine the fuss. I guess that’s where your confidence comes from.’ Then there was a slight change in his facial features, a subtle shift in the tone of his voice, and the effect would have sobered anyone else into realising the gravity of the situation. ‘But you’re in my territory, so the very space-time you occupy is subordinate to me. Do you really believe you could go up against all that, one of the powers though you may be?’
‘Who knows,’ said Peter with a shrug, unaffected by Dr Agcaoili’s subtle show of force. ‘Anyway, I didn’t come here to pick a fight just because I believe I’m stronger than you. That would be plain bullying. I hate bullies, you know.’
‘That’s news to me,’ said Dr Agcaoili, his voice returning to its normal condescending tones. ‘I thought that the only thing you knew was how to stir up trouble. Didn’t you use professional terrorists to set up the mall bombing in all the other worlds where Patrick and Theresa lived? In one stroke, you came very close to making them extinct. And then you ask your brother, goodness knows how, seeing that you pretended to be dead—or did you kill your version in this world?—and you persuaded him to carry out the mall bombing in this world. I don’t know what’s so different about this world, though, that would merit the special treatment. Why didn’t you just hire terrorists again? I wouldn’t have found you out otherwise.’
Peter gritted his teeth as he listened to the physicist speak, the first true sign of anger in this debate between two people who put on apathetic airs, between the frivolous and the haughty. But it was a fleeting display, for he soon regained his easy-going grin. ‘I suppose that’s what I get for operating in another person’s territory,’ he said. ‘But hey, that’s quite a lot of information to reveal at this stage. The new volume’s barely begun, you know.’
‘Ah, I’m merely tying up loose ends from the last few days,’ said Dr Agcaoili dismissively. ‘I might not get the chance to do so again, after all. This reminds me—I can’t believe Theresa still hasn’t asked me about that detail: who was responsible for the bombing in her world. Unless she believes it’s also Alex Garcia who did that… To think that she’s been coming here for the past three days, and yet… I suppose being in love can really mess with people’s minds, even those as formidable as hers.’
‘Tell me,’ said Peter, and this time his voice lost its light-heartedness, although it was still within normal conversational tones. ‘Have you ever been in love?’
Dr Agcaoili laughed out loud, one of mirth tinged with bitterness. ‘You can say that I have. Although it had no chance from the very beginning…’
‘Haha, it looks like you gave up on yours too easily. So I don’t think you’d understand the lengths one would go to for love.’
The physicist laughed again. ‘I might have a passing idea of that. Hm, but to think that you would act for that reason…’ He sighed. ‘Governors and unrequited love don’t mix well, it seems.’
This time it was Peter’s turn to laugh out loud, one with no trace of humour, lowering the room’s temperature considerably. ‘But my love is not unrequited,’ he said, and his manic attempt to maintain a smile made his visage look more ferocious than if he had been snarling in rage. ‘She just needs some time to know what she truly wants.’
‘Ah, denial,’ said the physicist plaintively. ‘One of the easiest ways to fall off a cliff is to deny that it exists.’
‘You really know how to piss someone off, don’t you?’ said Peter, all pretence of cordiality gone.
‘If anyone here has a right to take offence, it should be me,’ said Dr Agcaoili, retaining his supercilious tone. ‘You barge into my territory for a trifling reason, wreaking havoc as you go along, and you even had the temerity to threaten to harm the son of my friend. Furthermore, you enter my house uninvited and unannounced, the same way you invaded the world entrusted to my care, spouting your bilge before me. Be grateful that I still remember my manners; otherwise I would have kicked you out of here before you can say a word.’
‘Your sense of fair play makes me laugh,’ said Peter, but no trace of amusement could be discerned from his face or his voice. ‘Had you attacked me first instead of chatting with me, you might have had a chance.’ A black aura, the shadow of eldritch worlds, surrounded his right hand, distorting the space around it.
‘I care not for my own safety,’ said Dr Agcaoili. Those words and a slightly raised eyebrow were all the reaction he spared for the young man’s unvoiced threat. ‘I’m tired of this job, anyway. And you won’t stand a chance against my successor, one of the powers though you may be.’
‘Your successor? Theresa, you mean?’ At this statement from Peter Dr Agcaoili started, staring at the young man with an aghast expression and a slackened jaw. The disappearance of the usual serene expression on the physicist’s face added the weight of years usually not apparent there, and Peter relished the astonishment he saw in the usually unperturbable governor. ‘Actually, I’m a supporter of your plan; it’s one of the reasons for my “special treatment” of this world, as you put it. But, hey, you’re putting too much faith in her. Sure, even I would admit that she’s special; otherwise, she wouldn’t have caught my eyes. But there’s still this one little thing—she’s not one of the chosen, not even one of the powers. What chance would she have against me?’
Dr Agcaoili recovered from his earlier display of dismay, especially during Peter’s boastful proclamation. ‘You think only the laws elect their voice?’ he said. ‘Who, then, speaks for the people?’
For the second time in this conversation, Peter ground his teeth in anger, seeing the renewed look of condescension on the physicist’s face. If there’s one thing I hate, he said, it’s people who look down on me. ‘You think you’re holding all the cards, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Spouting nonsense like that…’ Then, without warning, he swung his right arm down in front of him. Dr Agcaoili stepped out of the path of the incoming blow not a moment too soon. The middle portion of the wooden desk disappeared, and the two ends, bereft of support, crashed loudly to the floor. There was also a deep fracture on the floor between Peter and where Dr Agcaoili had been. It was as if all matter that had stood before Peter’s attack had ceased to exist.
‘So you dodged my surprise attack, huh?’ said Peter. ‘Then you probably saw the future. And you know how this fight ends.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Dr Agcaoili. ‘Even I, who am governor of this world, cannot see that far into the future.’ He sighed. ‘It seems that you’re too delusional for your own good.’
Peter replied with another swing of his right arm, and once more Dr Agcaoili stepped out of the way just before the wave of black struck him. The unfortunate victim this time was a bookshelf, which tumbled to the ground, scattering the books that it contained.
‘Alas, the young are too hot-blooded,’ said Dr Agcaoili, and from the tone of his voice one would not imagine that an attack that defied all known laws of nature had been directed at him. ‘I guess that would explain the total lack of respect… Therefore, it’s my mission as your senior to pound respect into you.’ The physicist then raised his right hand, and the light of infinite worlds shone upon it.
‘Bring it on, old man,’ said Peter. ‘It’s about time for you to retire, anyway.’ He then grinned madly as he dashed towards the old governor.
If I have one regret, thought Dr Agcaoili as he watched Peter approach him with murder in his eyes, it’s that I didn’t have the courage to tell him how I feel. A beam of light extended from his right hand, forming a blade that glowed with purest white. I should have gone and seen him yesterday.
Darkness and light, youth and old age, tempestuousness and calm. Two viceroys of space and time clashed in that mansion on Number 16, Main Street, Dorian Gardens, and no mortal bore witness to it. But, in any case, no mortal would have survived in their proximity, as the very framework of the world shuddered and groaned at their battle.
Own Worlds 