In Arcadia

Epilogue

"What a circus."

Bet Wilson agreed with her husband’s assessment of the scene outside, but her attention was for their eldest daughter, Kiri.

"I can’t believe we’re letting you do this."

"I can’t believe you’re not going with me!" Kiri said, shrugging on her backpack. "Psychics! Spaceships! Alien ruins!"

"But no elves," Steve said. "If only there’d been elves."

They laughed, for Steve did love fantasy far more than science fiction, but the joke didn’t change how hard it had been to watch Laura and Sue follow Cass to another planet. And then a year of fielding rumours and dealing with Kiri’s relentless campaign to be allowed to go to Muina before the slowly shifting gate between worlds ceased to appear. Bet and Steve had too many ties and commitments to walk away from, but it just hadn’t been possible to keep telling Kiri that being fifteen meant she couldn’t make a dream come true.

Determined not to miss the opening of the gate, Kiri picked up a package of treats they’d prepared for Sue, then dragged her parents outside to face a street packed with cars. At least a hundred people, Bet guessed, counting faces behind windscreens, along with those who loitered more openly, leaning against fences. Some of them had been there for days, camping in their cars. There was even a police presence, no doubt thanks to complaints from neighbours.

"Be interesting to see what they do if nothing happens," Steve muttered.

"Don’t say that," Bet said, managing not to glance toward the Caldwell family, waiting white-faced under the pergola Steve had built in the front yard.

"You’d be too busy coping with my epic meltdown to notice anyone else, Dad," Kiri added.

"A bunch of people are gonna rush the gate," said Bet’s second-eldest, Kit, poking his head around his father’s bulky frame. "I heard them talking."

Bet exchanged a glance with her husband, and he nodded and headed over to the specially-invited collection of large friends and relatives – most New Zealander expatriates like Steve. Bet checked her watch, and then went to make awkward conversation with the Caldwells, who had sent two of their children to another planet in the hopes of saving the life of their youngest, and had had to wait more than a year to know how to cry.

Doctor Jamandre had also waited, and now sat on the edge of the long front porch with two colleagues. Considering the woman’s tense, determined face, Bet thought that she, too, might rush the gate.

Tucked into the corner of the porch beside the doctors was the failed husband collection: Sam Dale and Mike Devlin, along with Mike’s remarkably impolite second wife. Bet cast a worried eye over Sam, but he’d managed to clean himself up very thoroughly, though the bloodshot eyes spoiled the impression of established sobriety. Bet doubted Nick would be at all fooled, but at least Sam had made the attempt.

The oldest of the three doctors, a small man with only eyebrows left of his hair, caught her eye and then shifted over to give her room. "You are tired. Sit."

Bet wavered, but the porch had a good view, and she needed to be distracted.

"Thank you, Doctor–?"

"Ehlin. But call me Eberhard."

"I’m Bet." She studied him thoughtfully. "I’m guessing you sit in the sceptic’s seat."

He laughed. "Well, I want to believe. But I am by nature suspicious of wild hope. If I hadn’t known Jayathri since her residency—for she is a Scully, not a Mulder—then I would have…" He stopped, and considered the occupants of the pergola. "I would have had an investigation launched into the welfare of Maddy Caldwell."

"And after today? Given the gate is only open for five minutes?"

"Well." He shrugged, in an almost embarrassed way, then touched his coat pocket, which crackled faintly. "I wrote them a letter. Put the sceptic aside for a while, and just…begged. Five minutes is more than enough time to send through information. All the next steps in medicine, the breakthroughs that perhaps we would reach eventually, but would make such a difference now. Even a few strong hints, a direction." He stopped, shaking his head. "I’m getting ahead of myself. First I need to see with my own eyes that those videos weren’t faked."

The videos had been inevitable, and impossible to suppress. This street, a year and a couple of spare months ago, with a much smaller crowd waiting. A front yard party in the middle of the week, except for the way so many tensely scanned the footpath. And then a shout, children pointing down the street at two thin poles with triangles of colour at the end, poking horizontally out of nothing.

Julian had run straight between them, without any hesitation at all, and vanished without even an accompanying blip. And the Caldwells, stumbling, holding on to a too-small child bundled against non-existent cold, had followed, and Bet had not had nearly enough time to say goodbye for real to her two sisters. Family—and a few friends—had recorded it all, from the appearance of the flags, to that last moment, when Nick’s father had pushed him and he’d fallen backward into nothing, with only his feet sticking out. The flags had dropped to the ground, Nick’s feet had pulled away, and then it was over, leaving the shorn tips of two poles with two green pennants attached to the end.

Bet still had one of them, in the bedroom closet. The other had vanished, and a few months later an analysis of it had been released, showing it was made of polymers available on Earth, and not futuristic at all.

Because of the Caldwells in particular, denial had been a strict policy, but inevitably someone had put up some of the recordings, and rumours had spread, been endlessly discussed on the internet, and a vast variety of people had shown up to ask questions, and receive as they would the family story that they’d just been filming an amateur movie.

But the timing of the next gate opening had been leaked.

People were out of their cars now, and the police had moved forward to keep the street clear. Bet—everyone—stood up, searching for triangles of green.

And then there was…an elf?

She stood directly before the garden gate, sheathed in a gossamer breath of blue dress with a deeply cut décolletage, her hair a fine and shimmering gold streaming about her like a cloak.

And it was glowing. So was the dress, glimmering with silver motes in the afternoon shadows. But the face, though young and endowed with improbable eyelashes, was familiar.

"Sue?!"

"Starsha," the vision corrected, then gave her Sue’s grin. "Couldn’t resist starting this out with a touch of space princess. But business now." She turned, lifted her hands to her mouth to amplify, and shouted: "Make room! Make room! Diplomatic delegation coming through! Thirty people in uniform on their way, entirely peaceful!"

But it wasn’t anyone in uniform who stepped through the gate while Sue was making her announcement. Laura heard Nina Caldwell give a strangled gulp, and then a sturdy, curly-haired girl yelled.

"Mum! They’re letting me come home! They’re letting me come home!"

Matters became confusing as the spectators surged forward, the family brawn formed a wall, the police contingent started to take the whole sideshow much more seriously, and a stream of uniformed people began to emerge from the nothing that led to a different planet.

"Bet!"

"Laura! My god, you look…look…"

"Yes, I’m still not used to it. But there’s no time. Steve, Bet, this is Tsaile Nimion, who is in charge of the delegation, and this is Tsa Anar, who is the Triplanetary’s official envoy to Earth. Steve, can you start channelling the delegation into the house? Interplanetary relations could do without the mob scene."

Steve laughed, then said: "Can’t argue with that. Just tell me, Admiral, is there anything we should know?"

"The shield is down, it’s safe to proceed," Laura said, handing him an object that resembled a mobile phone. "Definitely end of the world as we know it territory, though. Here: English-Muinan translator, although most of the delegation are pretty much at conversational level already."

Turning away, Laura searched the crowd. "Doctor Jamandre?" she called, and then led a man in a grey uniform to the cluster of medicos. "This is Islen Peran. He’s in charge of the science outreach."

"I think those are Setari, Mum," Kit said, popping up at Bet’s elbow to point at a cluster of people in black.

"Tenth Squad," Sue confirmed, emerging from the whirl. "Dual-purpose security and, well, public relations. Real-life psychic superheroes. Come on, we’ve got a whole minute or so for family business, and we may as well do it somewhere less noisy."

The collection of black-suited Setari had formed a ring around the invisible gate, and were all facing outward. There were more on the other side of the gate, and a sloping hill, and several fantastical flyers. Most of all, there was one man in a blue uniform that Laura particularly wanted Bet to meet.

"This is Gidds," Laura said. "We’re getting married tomorrow. I wanted to wait until you could meet him."

Bet knew she did not acquit herself well meeting the striking, self-contained man that Laura—Laura!—had decided to marry. There wasn’t time for any proper explanations, but Laura pressed a thick envelope into her hand, saying: "Here’s all the family news and some pictures. You wait until you see who Sue’s dating. Gosh! Now, where’s Kiri? Cass did a projection so we know she’s coming along."

Kiri was still on the far side of the gate, looking like she was debating dashing past the Setari, and Bet found herself suddenly in tears. Flinging her arms around her daughter, she smoothed her curling brown hair, kissed her cheek, and then let Laura take her through.

Sue whirled up, an ethereal dervish. "Time to white rabbit. Sorry to drop this in your lap, but I’m sure it’ll be fun, and probably not a rerun of Childhood’s End. Here’s the last bit, the official start. Press the button, put it on the ground in front of a bunch of cameras, and transmit the result to the world. I hope we all get to see you again sooner rather than later."

It was a good half hour after Sue had dashed back through the gate before matters had calmed down enough for the official start. Then Bet and Steve led a select portion of the delegation out to the edge of the hastily-erected police roadblock, and faced the shouting of the press. In response, she pushed a button, put a small grey dome on the ground, and stood back.

Cass. A hologram of a fit young woman with brown hair worn in a ponytail, with one eye a different colour to the shade she’d grown up with, and a smile that was all Laura’s. And then the world changed.

Hello, people of Earth! Sorry, I couldn’t think of a less clichéd opening.

My name is Cass Ruuel Devlin, and a few years ago I walked through a dimensional portal to a planet called Muina. A lot of stuff happened, and I ended up helping the people here save, well, either a few planets, a large chunk of the galaxy, or the entire universe, depending on what theory you like.

In return, the people of the planets Muina, Tare and Kolar want to open diplomatic relations with Earth, something that’s seriously hampered by the gate to Muina only opening once a year for a few minutes. So, as a first step, they…

[Large intake of breath, pause.]

As a first step they’re giving you their technology. All the things they know about medicine and physics—and psychics—and nanites and all of that. Because their planets would have been lost by now, if that gate to Earth hadn’t opened.

They’re sending a delegation to assist in explaining all the information they’re giving us…you…Earth. They think a more reliable route to Earth will be found within the next couple of years. And…and, well, there’ll be a longer explanation transmitted along with this, so I’ll just wish everyone good luck.

Oh!, and if there are any ice skating instructors who want to move to another planet next time the gate opens, and don’t mind the possibility of not being able to get back for a while, there’s about a billion people here who want to sign up for lessons. And if David Attenborough wants to make some BBC documentaries here, my son would be super happy.

END