One

It was the same dream. Always the same dream that would stalk the nocturnal hours of my slumber. But then again, 'stalk' isn't the right word. Neither is 'haunt' but both seem appropriate. Or at least did. Now? Now I'm not so sure. But that's with the immense and redoubtable power of retrospect. 'Hindsight,' they say, 'is twenty-twenty' and I'm likely to agree.

Looking back on the events of that time, it's difficult to say whether or not I would have acted differently had I been permitted access to what I know now, to what is oft-referred to as the nebulous mists of the indefinable future. Okay, those are my words but a little prosaic paraphrasing, now and again, can be forgiven. Can't it? One can only hope. And that, after all is said and done -- when the battle's lost and won -- sorry -- is all that anyone can do. I certainly did. I daresay most literary heroes, not that I'm presuming to call myself a 'hero' -- I don't consider myself to have any of the qualities that would typically typify the 'hero-type' -- not that you can really define what a hero is in any neatly encapsulated form -- especially since the term 'heroic' is inevitably subjective -- not... STOP!!!!

For this I must apologise. As is apparent and what will invariably become a fairly frequent occurrence, I have the rather unfortunate -- some might say even reprehensible -- I know I certainly feel that way -- habit of digressing, even at the most inopportune moments, into points that just strike me as I'm speaking... communicating... whatever you want to call it. I would ask that you bear with me, throughout these commentaries. Who knows? You might even find them vaguely interesting and informative. I'll try my best. Anyway, back to what I was endeavouring to say.

Oh and that's another point: Verbosity. Digression is not my only fault, vice or what you will. No, I'm not going to divert off into a discussion on Shakespeare nor is it January 6^th. At least not here, it isn't. Sorry, if those references are somewhat mystifying; it's yet another bad habit of mine: Obscurity. By the way, you wouldn't believe how difficult is for me to refrain from launching into an adaptation of a famous Monty Python sketch here. Answers on a postcard please :)!

Digression. Verbosity. Obscurity (of references). My sincerest apologies. They're things my friends, what few there are, have had to put up with for unspecified time periods now. They've coped; I daresay you all will too. Rats! That sounds rather condescending, doesn't it? Confound it! Again, my apologies. I'm truly sorry. That's an additional factor you may find irritating -- a habitual tendency to apologise, even it isn't my fault. Consider it a general regret for the ills of the world, of which there are many. Far too many to go into and most beyond the limited confines of this text. Sorry.

Now... where was I? Oh yes, heroes.

As I was saying, before I so rudely interrupted myself, I wonder whether or not those figures generally seen as heroes would have done things the way they did, had they known or guessed at the potential outcome. I say potential since the future seems to be a fluid material to be shaped by the actions of the here-and-now with a liberal dash of historic perspective for flavouring. Or at least that's what I thought. I was never overly fond of the predestination theories, despite their rather enticing notions of culpable deniability on the grounds of 'it was going to happen' or 'Fate decreed it to be so'. But this is a discussion and a topic for later, for a more relevant time.

To cite examples, for an argument is not complete lest it be replete with evidence to provide that air of credibility so required, would Paul Atreides have pursued his claims so vigorously in the name of honour had he known the reality of the jihad his actions would lead to? Is it likely that Othello would have dissociated himself from the devilish Iago had he any inclination that the soldier would be the catalyst for his own downfall?

Of course, all of this is mere wordplay and conjecture. We can only speculate as to the other outcomes, had they done this or had they gone down a different path. Or would different paths inevitably lead to the same conclusion? Perhaps they could have avoided what we know to have befallen them if only. And therein lies the crux. If only. If only we had done B and not A. If only we had said C and not D. Made mistake Z not Y. And then the ultimate 'if only'. If only I had never been born, never been that twinkle in my mother's eye, never existed. At least in this quantum reality. But more of that later.

Not that any of this is new or original, despite the rather unique viewpoint that is derived from any individual's perspective of a matter or situation. It is asserted by some schools of thought that the mere act of observation changes that which is being watched. If so, then any event takes on any number of new variables and parameters just by someone or something being there. Makes the mind boggle, doesn't it? Makes you wonder if we can actually cope or handle what we encounter in our 'lives'. Well, maybe not you per se but it's something to muse on. I certainly have. No conclusions as yet; I'll let you make your own minds up. I'm not here to pass judgement or force the issue on anything other than my own actions. Whether or not I was 'right' or 'wrong', as arbitrarily defined by whatever notions participate to form 'morality', will be up to everyone else to deliberate and deliver sentence on. I'm just here to provide a basis for discussion. Read on and all will become clear. At least I hope it will. It may not and then I will have failed in my task. Again. Rats! I'm confusing myself now.

Where am I? Oh yes... I didn't mean to lose track of where I was going. Sorry. It just happened. Like a lot of things. Like this tale that I may eventually get around to telling... narrating... whatever. You decide. Turn to paragraph 42, if you agree. Heh heh. Sorry -- slight slip there. This is not a 'decide-your-own-path' kind of story. In fact, your decisions have no consequence whatsoever on the outcome. Sorry if that sounds a tad harsh but it's true. Heck, I'm still unsure as to whether my decisions had any bearing on the outcome. That is what you have to decide -- in contravention of my previous-but-few statement, I know -- but let's leave that aside for the moment. Decisions, decisions.

A decision; the moment of choice. Life, or at least whatever happens to pass for life until metaphysics gets a move on and comes up with a satisfactory definition of why, where and what, is full of choices, a selection of options that will open or close -- Close every door to me -- Sorry -- the paths into the future.

I don't, and I'm sure that you don't, want this to become a metaphysical treatise on the nature of mankind and the world, so please accept my apologies if that's what it seems like at times. I'd ask that you bear with me through these hard, Dickensian, times. Treat them, if that is your wont, as the sections on historical military discourse on cause and causality that are scattered at intervals throughout Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace -- not that I wish to draw comparisons in any way with that most critically acclaimed book for good or ill, I'd just like to clarify. It's a good piece of literature, if you get the chance to read it. I'd recommend it. A little hefty but worth the effort, I think you'll find. But then again, it won't be to everybody's tastes. As someone famous said, although I can't quite remember who at this time, 'You can't please all of the people, all of the time'. Whether or not that should be a maxim for our times especially, who am I to say? I think that it may be appropriate. Pardon the rather liberal use of qualifiers; it all goes along with my wish to be offensive to as few people as possible. That's why I don't use profanities in my speech -- although it could be said that any word, however mild and innocent, if used as an expletive with the intention, benign or otherwise, of that as a 'swear word', becomes tainted with brush of 'profanity' and thus is inexcusable in that ludicrous notion, as one friend of mine puts it, of 'polite society'.

Phew. Sorry. It's just the way I've been brought up. Blame cultural stereotypes and societal values, if you wish. Or else, you could take the easy way out and find a scapegoat in my parents. After all, they're the ones who raised me, instilled these values in me. But that would be too easy. Why blame external factors? Self-denigration and self-deprecation is far more fun. In my humble opinion, at any rate.

Where was I? Oh yes, choice. Actually, the above isn't too irrelevant after all. The decision there is whether or not you want to blame others for your situation, to certify, as I like to put it, 'that madness had a scapegoat on the outside'. Or whether you can face up to 'life' and put the blame, if that's the appropriate word, squarely on the shoulders of yourself. "You've no-one but yourself to blame". How often have we all heard that phrase? And on most levels it is probably true. Responsibility is, ultimately, a quality of individuality and not, as many would say or hope, of collectivity. Rats! I've gone off track again, haven't I?

I never was any good at précis, the art of the summary. As you will find, I'm never one for being concise. Actually, 'never' is probably too strong and too inaccurate a term to use. Strike 'never' and replace with 'rarely'. There. Much more satisfactory, if I do say so myself.

You still have no idea as to what I'm wittering on about, do you? Sorry. Entirely my fault. Blame this useless, trackless mind of mine. Honestly, I've spent far too long stuffing it full of errant trivia, that no-one's likely to find interesting, to be of much use to anyone, let alone my own cogitative concentration. That's no way for a scientist to behave. And that's what led me to this. My hubris, if you will. The arrogance that I could overcome this deficiency of mind, long enough to concentrate on my studies. But more of that later. I keep saying that, don't I? Rats! And that. Blast. If I don't stop this now, we could be here forever, like that definition I once saw in a Computer Studies textbook -- Endless Loop: See Loop, Endless; Loop, Endless: See Endless Loop. Sorry. Old 'joke'. You probably heard it before. I've never been any good at humour either. Yet another failing of mine. Don't worry, there are more to come. Stay tuned for further details.

If you want to, of course. I'm not going to make you. Not that I can make you. You being there -- wherever, whenever -- and me being here. Sat here -- not as in the abbreviation that today is Saturday -- not yet I don't think, at any rate -- but as in the past tense of 'to sit' -- is there a tense mix-up here? -- Aaaaghh! Blast this stream of consciousness technique. I thought it might help. Perhaps it will if I explain what I'm trying to achieve.

Right, here goes. Calm...

Things happen. Things always happen but never happen, if you catch my drift. At least not to me. A storm-tossed individual on the trackless seas of Time, that's me. Well in my perception at any -- this isn't helping is it? Rats. Let me start again.

They say that 'life', with all the aforementioned strictures and digressions, is full of beginnings. No, that's not right either. Damnation! All one hundred and one of them! Sorry, another obscure reference there. Hope this doesn't constitute plagiarism. Oh well. Sorry.

"Thanks kindly."

Perhaps this cup of coffee will help. Right. Back in a mo -- defining a mo as the length of time it takes me to prepare a mug of this addictive caffeinated beverage and not as the physical unit of electrical conductance -- which of course it isn't since that's spelt 'mho' anyway. Lame joke. I told you I was no good at this humour lark. Apologies.

I return -- with a bloodstream full of mischievous errant caffeine molecules and a splitting headache. Painkillers; that's what I need but not going to get.

Not that that previous paragraph was entirely necessary. I just thought that it provides an insight into the tortured soul of an aspiring writer. Too melodramatic? Sorry. Delusions of grandeur, I'm afraid. I do get ahead of myself sometimes. Ambition doesn't sit well with me, I've been told. Forever doomed to the ranks of the servile and subservient, subordinated and a whole host of other sub-words; a non-entity.

But back to the task at hand. Hopefully.

This is a chronicle of those events that happened to me some time ago. It's taken a while for me to get around to doing this, partially because I'm still not entirely certain of what happened. And for other reasons which will become clearer later.

It was all rather strange. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect fantasy to become reality. Never for those hidden thoughts, that flashed across whatever neurones and logic networks compose memory and imagination, to become manifest. Never to actually participate in anything momentous. Or do I really mean 'momentary'? Whilst it may appear to have taken time to achieve, nothing actually seems to have happened. At least, in this reality. Who knows what dire consequences may have arisen in other quantum realities, in parallel universes that we know nothing about and can only imagine. To me, and those scant few others that I can contact, it all took place in that moment. A wondrous moment. A moment that for me, at least, will last a lifetime. I daresay it will have to. I can't imagine that anything like it will happen to me again. The odds of that would have to be... quite coincidental.

Bear with me, I implore you, if the tenses in what is to follow jump around a bit. Time is a very mutable substance, I have come to realise. The narrative will inevitably be interspersed with fragments from the here-and-now amongst the thoughts and actions of the there-and-then. I warn you, this tale is convoluted. Maybe not the twists and turns that you have come to expect from science-fiction or whatever. All that I can describe is what happened, from my perspective. I don't, couldn't, wouldn't want to try to speak from anyone else's. Infer what you will.

'Commander, ETA on arrival at the Active Narrative Field?'
'ANF in nine, sir.'
'Ensign, prepare to suspend Narrative Disbelief, on my mark.'
'Aye sir, preparing to suspend Narrative Disbelief.'

This happened. I cannot refute it. I will not refute it. You may not believe it. I'm not sure I do entirely. They don't, that's for sure. But it happened. Incontrovertibly. No matter what they say. To me and a few others. Whether they decide to reveal their sides of the story is totally up to them. In the face of a lack of what could be described as concrete evidence, you may dismiss these words as those of a madman. That, of course, is your prerogative.

I hope that has cleared some things up.

Sometimes we have no choices and there's only one road to be taken. The road to ruination, the road to safety or perhaps the most dangerous of all, the road to the known unknown -- if you'll pardon the tautology.

'Mark.'
'Aye sir. Engaging NDS relays... narrative disbelief suspended, sir.'

And so it begins, as do most things, with a cliché...

I came to a fork in the road...