“Hm,” I said, scratching my head with the gun barrel and noticing for the first time just what a lot of head there was to scratch.
“A dead woman called Mother Demdike explained that to me. This is a tricky situation.”
“I can’t see any way out of it for either of us,” said Mr Penrose.
I stared at him and I scratched at my head once more. “I think I can,” I said.
“Oh yes? And what do you have in mind?”
“Well,” I said, “you consider yourself to be a great sporting man, yes?”
Mr Penrose nodded.
“Well, what if you and I had some sport? One on one and winner takes all?”
“I am intrigued,” said Mr Penrose. “Speak to me of this sport.”
And so I spoke to him.
29
And that is the end of my tale.
“What?” I hear you cry. “What? What kind of cop-out ending is this? You can’t end your tale here. You just can’t.”
But I can.
I really can.
I could drag it out a bit longer. Because, in all truth, it hasn’t truly ended yet. But then, it can’t end. Because it doesn’t have an ending. There is no end after you die. There is only for ever. A blissful for ever, with all the universe to explore. Not that I’ve started my exploring yet.
But I will.
I will, very soon.
Just as soon as I win the game.
I told Mr Penrose what I had in mind for us both.
It was simple and it was sporting. And he does seem to have a big thing about sportsmanship, that Mr Penrose. He’s firm, but he’s fair. I suggested that he give me a sporting chance, and considering all that I’d been put through, and being the sporting man that he was, I knew he’d take me up on it. He wouldn’t be able to resist. And I felt certain that I would win, because I’d be calling my own shots this time. I would be in control of the situation. And I felt absolutely sure that ultimately I would triumph.
In essence this was my suggestion. He and I would both play the game. Against each other, and winner takes all. We had to work out a lot of rules that we both could agree on and this did take a lot of time. But we had time a-plenty, and when we had worked out the rules, and agreed that they were sporting and that any cheating would disqualify the player caught at it, we were both ready to play.
The game would be played in this fashion. Each of us would beam our thoughts into a living person of our choice. But it had to be an ordinary person of no particular consequence. No one rich and powerful. We would choose whoever we fancied, beam in and take control of that person. And it would be our secret. Neither of us would know who the other one was possessing, if you follow me. Then we’d go looking for each other and each would try to kill the other.
We both agreed that, as in the Lazlo Woodbine thrillers, it should end in a final rooftop showdown, with the loser getting blasted by the winner and taking the big fall into oblivion.
And, as I say, it would be winner takes all.
If I won, then Mr Penrose would be obliged, on his word of honour, to quit the game, taking all his created dead-alien characters with him, and for ever leave the world and its people alone.
And if he won, I would be obliged to leave Mr Penrose alone to go on playing his games and I would be obliged to remain on Earth in a body of his choosing, which I suspected would not be a particularly appealing one.
So, having gone through all the rules to ensure that we both knew exactly how things were to be done and the game was to be played, and – here comes the clever bit – having persuaded him that he should remove all the other players (the dead aliens he had created that were mucking about with people’s brains) temporarily, until we had completed our game, we chose our hosts and beamed our thoughts down.
And it was game on.
Now, for the afterlife of me, I didn’t know how he caught me that first time. I’d beamed myself into the head of this young black guy in Tooting. He was into martial arts and weapons and in my opinion was a natural-born assassin. But he got run down by a woman shopper on the top of a multi-storey car park. Which I wasn’t expecting.
“A woman shopper!” I said to Mr Penrose. “What kind of body was that for you to choose?”
“It worked, didn’t it? You weren’t expecting it. And it was on a rooftop.”
“But how did you know it was me?”
“Aha!” said Mr Penrose, and he tapped his nose.
“That was unsporting,” I said. “You forfeit the game.”
“No, I don’t. I stuck to the rules. It’s just that I neglected to mention that you can tell who’s who.”
“How?”
Mr Penrose whispered – not that there was anyone around to hear – how.
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, I suppose that’s obvious. All right, let’s make it best of three.”
“But you lost.”
“You cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat. I just neglected to mention an important detail.”
“That’s the same as cheating. That should have been written into the rules.”
“All right,” said Mr Penrose, “we’ll write it in.”
“And there’s nothing else that you haven’t mentioned?”
“Nothing,” said Mr Penrose.
But there were one or two other things.
So we made it “best of three”.
And then “best of five”.
I’ve kind of lost count now. I think we’re going for best of thirty-three million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three.
Between us, we’re keeping down the population to a reasonably stable level, which is sound ecology, so I can’t see anything particularly wrong with that.
I’ve had him a few times – a few thousand times, in fact. And I feel absolutely certain that ultimately I’m going to win.
I’m going to have another go at him tomorrow. But as it’s New Year’s Eve, we’ve both agreed to take time out from the game to party for the next couple of days. I’m looking forward to seeing in this New Year. I think 3012 will be a lucky year for me.
And this evening promises to be interesting too. I’m currently inside the head of a quite remarkable-looking young woman. She’s a window-dresser in a posh store here in New Brentford. It used to be called Rio de Janeiro, before the New British Empire changed it. The New British Empire runs all of the planet now and maintains world peace. Which is nice. Mr Boothy still runs the Ministry of Serendipity. I pop in to see him whenever I’m in England. He’s holding up pretty well, what with all those advances in medical science and everything. He’s the last zombie there is now. He had all the rest humanely despatched to foreverness. Including my Sandra, but it was right that he did. I like to surprise Mr Boothy when I see him. He always gets a kick out of seeing what body I’m currently in. I’m sure he’d like this one. She’s not rich or famous or anything – Mr Penrose and I still stick with the rules – but she really is a beauty and I know, just know, she’s going to get laid later by that handsome waiter who keeps giving her the eye.
I figure that it’s worth experiencing life from every perspective, and over the last thousand years or so I certainly have. I’d like to say that there’s nothing that a human being can experience that I haven’t experienced. But it wouldn’t be true. And thankfully so. There’s always something new and that something new is always wonderful.
And I really am optimistic about the year that lies ahead. And I’m really sure that, OK, perhaps I won’t win the game this year, because I still have a lot of catching up to do.
But if not this year, then next year, or the year after that.
Because I have no shortage of time.
Time is on my side.
I have all the time in the world.
In this world.
Because ultimately. And marvellously.
It’s never, ever,