Eradani slipped indifferently into her bed. As Dr. Richter had suspected, the official notification from the university had been waiting for her when she’d returned. There was now no doubt about it: her university career was over. Her education had met an abrupt finale and her future was now in the hands of fate. Or luck, depending on your point of view. She sighed, lay back and stared at the ceiling. Sadly, this was the last night she’d be spending in this bed. Not a great bed, admittedly. It was unsupportive and sproingy and bits of the mattress dug into her, but it was hers, it was where she hid away from the world and all its pressures, and she’d miss it.
Aside from the bed, however, she didn’t feel all that bad about having to leave. Whether this was because she was fed up with education in general or whether it was because it hadn’t all sunk in yet wasn’t clear. It was true that after sixteen or so years of schooling she was getting a bit fed up of homework and exams and blackboards and all the other paraphernalia that were associated with studying, but never had she imagined she would be leaving with anything less than a BSc. So why was she not more concerned?
Deciding not to fret about it, she grabbed the pillow and stuffed it up against the wall (the halls of residence couldn’t stretch to providing headboards) so she could sit comfortably upright. Leaning over to the little bedside table that had been such a reliable old friend for the past two years, she grasped a small hardback book she’d borrowed from the university library a couple of days earlier and peeled it open.
It was a biography of a famous author. Eradani had read all of his books and was delighted to have the opportunity to delve further into the story of their creation. The author himself was renowned far and wide, regularly appeared on TV panel shows and had earned millions through selling the film rights to his novels. He was a genuine superstar and a household name the world over. Yet despite being such a legendary character with a deeply documented life and history, and despite his hordes of fans and the endless conventions held in his name that had thoroughly probed his past, the biography promised to reveal a dark and shocking secret that would challenge everything everybody thought they knew about him. Eradani initially found this difficult to believe - she was a huge fan of this man and, although not a die-hard obsessive, could certainly keep pace with any conversation about him and could readily quote from any part of his literary canon. So she didn’t really expect much to come from reading it.
But she rapidly changed her mind once she had read the first few chapters. It certainly lived up to its bold claims and then some. The fundamental premise behind it all was that the author in question had not in fact written his most famous, breakthrough novel (The Half Empty Cupboard) at all. This claim alone would be shattering - the novel was so well known that even a quarter of a century after it was published it was being quoted in everyday chatter. It was more than a novel, it was a part of the cultural fabric of the era. So if it hadn’t been written by the man everybody thought had written it, who had it been written by?
Here the story took a turn towards sheer fantasy. The claim, bold as day, clear as print, was this: nobody had written it. The Half Empty Cupboard did not exist. It had never existed, had never been printed and certainly had never been sold in any shops. And yet it was regularly voted one of the top ten novels of the past hundred years. It was surely ludicrous to even suggest such a thing, let alone try to prove it. But that is exactly what the biography did.
Its logic went as follows: the author was well-known for being late - he had never, to anybody’s knowledge, ever met a deadline in his entire life. This fact, then, was in no doubt. The biography presented numerous examples of the author’s tardiness and inability to get things done on time. It then went one further and posited the following hypothesis: what if his most extreme failure to meet a deadline was with his debut novel, his biggest success? What if, in fact, he had never finished writing it at all? It was possible that he had bits and pieces of it completed, enough for segments to be printed in daily newspapers for instance. Enough for marketing purposes and advertising slogans and chat show appearances. Enough, in short, for the publishing company to feed to the outside world to make them believe that the book had been finished when in actual fact it had barely been started.
What we had here, claimed the biography, was the greatest marketing scam of all time. A non-existent novel, publicised and marketed to such extreme levels that people actually thought they knew the story, that they had read the book, that they at least knew other people who had read the book.
But it was all a sham. The publishers had never had a book to publish, so they did the best they could and marketed the idea of the book. And the biography’s evidence for this was simple and damning: ‘Think carefully - have you ever honestly read The Half Empty Cupboard?’ it asked. And Eradani realised she hadn’t. She’d seen the film. She’d read sequels to it. She could even quote lines from it. But she’d never actually read it. And upon investigation, it turned out that neither had any of her friends. A quick trip to a handful of local bookstores had then confirmed that it was not on sale anywhere.
So Eradani concluded that it must be true - the novel she regularly identified as her all-time favourite simply did not exist, and had never existed.
She found this all quite disturbing, and was desperately hoping to finish the biography off that night before she had to return it to the library the next day. She opened the book to the page marked by her ‘Flange World’ bookmark.
At that moment, the door flung open with such force that the handle knocked a huge chunk of plaster from the wall. Jo raced in and screeched to a halt beside Eradani.
‘Yes?’ said Eradani casually.
‘It’s Dr. Richter,’ said Jo breathlessly.
‘What about him?’ asked Eradani, her nose buried deep in her book. Jo reached forwards and snatched the book right out of her roommate’s hands.
‘Listen to me, this is important.’
Eradani could see she was serious. ‘What is it?’
‘You’ve got to go and see Dr. Richter now. He’s got something to tell you. Don’t worry, it’s good news. Very good.’
Eradani couldn’t quite understand what was going on. ‘How do you know?’ she asked.
‘I’ve just been in his office.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s too complicated.’
‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ said Eradani.
‘No you haven’t,’ said Jo. ‘Go. Now.’
‘But...’ She was cut short when Jo pulled the bedclothes back and yanked her out of the bed by her arm. ‘What are you doing?’ she screamed, pulling her arm back from Jo’s grip.
‘I’m trying to get you to go and see Dr. Richter,’ said Jo. ‘Something has happened that will change your life. He’s got you both a job. Now for God’s sake go and see him.’ She threw Eradani’s coat at her and pushed her out of the room, locking the door shut behind her. Then she crossed the room and sat on her bed, waiting for Eradani to stop banging on the door and go and see Dr. Richter.
After a couple of minutes, Eradani got fed up of banging and screaming and wandered off down the corridor towards the stairs, wearing a thick woolen coat over her thin white pyjamas.
Jo lay back on her bed. She turned Eradani’s bedside light off and lay in the darkness. A thin sliver of moonlight found its way through a crack in the curtains and made its way merrily across the room just above Jo’s body. She reached behind her neck and unfastened a thin gold chain. On the end of it there was a small pendant. She held this up into the light and stared at it. As it swung to and fro, reflecting the pale white light into her eyes, she could just make out a word etched onto the surface. It read: ASSIGNED.
<=> <=> <=>
Eradani made her way down the road. It was a long way to Dr. Richter’s office, especially on a cold, dark night like this (actually, it was exactly the same distance as it always was, it just felt longer - a very unscientific mode of thought for a physicist). She wrapped her arms around her and huddled up inside her coat. She thanked God that she had gone to bed wearing her fluffy bunny slippers, otherwise she would never have made it over the coarse, cracked tarmac surfaces that had recently been repaired and were thus twenty times more uneven than before.
It occurred to her that she was behaving strangely. She couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone bundling down the road in the middle of the night in their pyjamas, although this may have had more to do with the fact that she wouldn’t have been around to see them if they had. Sleep was quite high on her list of life’s priorities.
A drop of rain splashed onto her nose. It was quickly followed by another. And then a hundred thousand or so more.
Summoning her remaining willpower, she broke into a half-hearted jog.
<=> <=> <=>
Dr. Richter was rocking forwards and backwards in his gas-cylinder chair. It wasn’t designed to rock, but a bit of tinkering with a screwdriver had soon fixed that. He studied the man sitting at the other side of the desk; the man in green who had, just moments before, made a quite startling proposal. He seemed to be genuine enough. Pleasant smile, neat hair, slightly odd taste in fashion, but nevertheless as honest a face as you could hope to find. It was just that he was so unexpected; so out of the blue, or, more correctly, out of the green.
‘But you realise,’ said Dr. Richter eventually, ‘that it probably won’t work. Cofomaristics is... of dubious plausibility to say the least. We only have one piece of experimental evidence and that hasn’t been reproduced or ratified in any way.’
Mr. Tompkins smiled at him. ‘Doctor, I understand your hesitancy, but I strongly urge you to push your worries aside. I’m offering financial security for life, no strings atttached. And, if I understand correctly, you are presently to find yourself out of a job...’
Dr. Richter took a deep breath. ‘True,’ he said, putting his hands behind his head and his tongue in his cheek. ‘Very true. It just seems so incredibly sudden, that’s all. I mean, technically, I’m still employed here for another eight hours. And you want me to start work for you immediately? I just don’t know.’
‘Your concern is misplaced, Doctor. I cannot stress enough how rewarding and exhilarating this role will be. There will never be an opportunity like this again - it is a one-time only offer. You simply must accept.’
Richter drummed his hands on his chair and thought hard about the situation. The man certainly had a point. In, what, just a few hours, he’d be unemployed. On the dole. Searching the streets looking for employment. Not good. And here he was, having a good, steady job practically rammed down his throat. He’d be a fool not to accept.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But we’ll have to ask Eradani first, though. I’ll only accept if she does. I’m not jumping blindly into this wishy-washy scheme of yours on my own.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,’ said Tompkins.
‘It’s too late to ask her now, though. I’ll talk to her about it first thing in the morning.’
‘No, we don’t have that much time,’ said Tompkins sternly. ‘If we are going to do this, we must do it right away.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s how it is.’
Dr. Richter looked out of his window. All he could see were his and Tompkins’ reflections. He swivelled his chair round and grabbed the telephone.
‘Oh, you won’t need that,’ said Tompkins.
‘I’m going to contact Eradani,’ said Dr. Richter, confused. ‘Isn’t that what you want?’
Tompkins said nothing. He looked a little uncomfortable, and kept checking his watch. Dr. Richter put the telephone back down. He was about to tell Tompkins that he wasn’t going to stand for being messed about like that when there came a knock at the door. Dr. Richter looked at Tompkins. Tompkins looked back.
‘Well, answer it, then,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes of course,’ said Dr. Richter, slightly startled. He stood up and crossed to the door. Tompkins had, in order to prevent anybody walking in during their discussions, insisted on it being locked from the inside, so it came as something of a surprise that he now expected it to be answered. Strange individual, thought Richter, very strange indeed. Extremely rich, though, which compensated somewhat.
He unbolted the door and eased it open. There, standing in front of him, was the last thing on the planet he’d expected to see: a freezing cold, fairly damp undergraduate student in her pyjamas. She was drying her bedraggled hair with a thick woolen coat. She stopped when she saw her lecturer, removed the coat from her head and held it out to him. ‘Look at this,’ she said. ‘You’ve ruined my coat.’ She barged past the startled physicist and sat down heavily in one of the red plastic chairs.
Dr. Richter quietly closed the door and walked over to her. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked gently.
‘You asked me to come,’ she said. ‘Look at me, I’m a mess! And if a mysterious but friendly man hadn’t lent me this umbrella en route I’d have been even more drenched than I am.’
Dr. Richter said nothing for a moment. He just stared at her coat, neatly draped across his computer monitor. Eventually, he stood up and grabbed a small electric heater he kept under his desk and put it by Eradani. ‘This’ll warm you up a bit,’ he said as he plugged it into the wall.
‘Thanks,’ said Eradani. ‘Now, tell me why I’m here.’
Dr. Richter hesitated, scratched his ear a couple of times, started to say something, then stopped saying something, then calmly walked over to his gas powered chair and sat down. He looked at Eradani. He looked at Tompkins. He looked at Eradani again. ‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually.
‘What do you mean?’ said Eradani, moving her lips, but keeping her teeth clenched tightly together.
Dr. Richter put his hands on the table. Slowly, he started tapping his fingers on the wood. ‘I have to admit,’ he said slowly, ‘that I am... totally bewildered. I don’t understand why you are here,’ pointing at Tompkins, ‘or why you are here,’ pointing at Eradani. ‘I don’t know why I am here. I should be in bed. But I keep getting crazy people walking into my office and confusing me.’ He was starting to get agitated. ‘Will you please explain to me precisely what I am supposed to make of all this!?’
‘Dr. Richter,’ said Tompkins. ‘Please, calm down. I assure you, you have nothing to be concerned about. The three of us are here for reasons that will become clear shortly.’
‘Who is this?’ asked Eradani.
‘This is Mr. Tompkins. He is a very rich man, and he wants to give us some money. I won’t bother introducing you to him, because he already seems to know who you are.’
‘That is very much the case,’ said Tompkins. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Eradani.’
‘Yeah, same here,’ said Eradani uncertainly. ‘But, my roommate, Jo, said she’d been here and that Dr. Richter wanted to see me. I don’t understand why he doesn’t know anything about it.’
‘Your roommate?’ asked Richter. ‘I wouldn’t let her in here if she paid me.’
‘Please, please,’ said Tompkins, trying to restore order before things got out of hand. ‘Let us not worry about how or why Eradani is here, let’s just accept that she is and that we have business to discuss. Now, Miss Eradani, I have a proposal for you. How would like to be rich, famous and successful?’
Eradani had no idea what to say to this. How ever do you respond to such a question? ‘Well, I suppose I, er, would...’ she spluttered
‘How would you like to have a vast income, a home of your own, a luxury car, all you could ever wish for? Guaranteed for at least two years. Plus expenses.’
Eradani began to grow suspicious. What did this eccentric, green-suited man want her to do? ‘Carry on,’ she said curiously.
‘I want you, and Dr. Richter, to work with me on a project of such importance that it will for all eternity be regarded as one of mankind’s greatest achievements.’