Added£0.99Add to basket(A short story of 2814 words)
Extra Dimensions
Fantasy - Sci-fi Fantasy Fantasy - Speculative
by Gill James
What do you do when you can't find a mutually convenient date? Wouldn't it be good if you could time travel just a little? Unless it got out of hand of course...
“Well, it would be pretty impossible to get everybody to agree on a date,” said Katie. “There’s over forty of us now. Not even those of us here can agree.”
Clive looked up at the twelve of them sitting round the four tables of the King’s Arms. The beer was going flat. A waste of real ale but it had only been bought as an excuse to sit at the tables for over an hour. He took a sip of the amber liquid. It tasted good but it was tepid now. Even getting the committee to agree on a date for the annual meal out was proving extremely tricky.
“Yes, but how many people have got iP 759s?” said Jake. “Most people now, right?”
“Yeah, but,” said Dawson. “They creep most folk out.”
Jake laughed. “Well they just need to get over that. It’s not really a big deal at all. Look. It’s just like saying you’re going to the pub on Monday night. So, you leave the house at 7.30 Monday but get to the pub Tuesday evening. When you leave, you go back home late Monday evening. You’ve aged no more than normal. You might even look a bit young to the Tuesday night crowd. The pub is no longer just on the corner of Butly New Road and Donald Street. It’s now also 26 January 2143.”
“It’s not natural, though,” said Dawson.
“Neither is farming, email or even the basic mobi-com device,” said Jake. “But could you imagine life without any of those?”
Several of the people round the tables mumbled…
“Well, it would be pretty impossible to get everybody to agree on a date,” said Katie. “There’s over forty of us now. Not even those of us here can agree.”
Clive looked up at the twelve of them sitting round the four tables of the King’s Arms. The beer was going flat. A waste of real ale but it had only been bought as an excuse to sit at the tables for over an hour. He took a sip of the amber liquid. It tasted good but it was tepid now. Even getting the committee to agree on a date for the annual meal out was proving extremely tricky.
“Yes, but how many people have got iP 759s?” said Jake. “Most people now, right?”
“Yeah, but,” said Dawson. “They creep most folk out.”
Jake laughed. “Well they just need to get over that. It’s not really a big deal at all. Look. It’s just like saying you’re going to the pub on Monday night. So, you leave the house at 7.30 Monday but get to the pub Tuesday evening. When you leave, you go back home late Monday evening. You’ve aged no more than normal. You might even look a bit young to the Tuesday night crowd. The pub is no longer just on the corner of Butly New Road and Donald Street. It’s now also 26 January 2143.”
“It’s not natural, though,” said Dawson.
“Neither is farming, email or even the basic mobi-com device,” said Jake. “But could you imagine life without any of those?”
Several of the people round the tables mumbled…