Mission by Patrick Tilley Page B

instruments have confirmed its existence. So it should be easy for you to accept the idea of a parallel universe which “exists” alongside your own but which you cannot see because it is on a different wavelength. Now, just as a host of short, medium and long wave radio programmes can pass through this room simultaneously, my world is superimposed upon the space-time continuum that you perceive as the physical universe. It inter-penetrates yours completely, and it is able to do this because, like the radio programmes, it does not take up any space. Even so, it is as “real” as your own yet your mind does not admit of its existence. Why? Because your brain – which is like a radio set capable of receiving broadcasts from all over the world – has become permanently tuned to one channel. The local station you know as external reality. The finite world. And the received data is fed into your brain through the five physical senses. But many more worlds lie beyond this one and – ’ He looked at me with just the hint of a smile. ‘ – something tells me that you are aware of this possibility.’
    â€˜Well, I’m not a complete dummy,’ I replied. ‘I’ve read a couple of books by Carlos Castaneda and dipped into a third. I believe we have a sixth sense and like to think that we actually
do
possess that legendary third eye. I can accept the idea of alternative realities just as I can accept the idea that we once knew more than we do now. My problem is that I find it impossible to envisage what form those alternative realities might take, or how I could exist within them or – and which is more to the point – what relevance they have to the one I’m part of.’
    The Man smiled again. ‘Take it from me, Leo, you don’t belong exclusively to this world. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.’
    I headed for shallower water. ‘Let’s go back to when you first arrived here. Before you entered Joshua’s body. Did you come in a starship, longship, or whatever, like the one that I presume is still hovering somewhere above first-century Jerusalem?’
    â€˜No, something smaller.’
    I waited expectantly but he did not elaborate. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I won’t ask to see the blueprints, but can you tell me who builds these things?’
    â€˜Nobody.’ He smiled as he saw my frown. ‘They’re brought into being by The Power of The Presence. Just think of them as thought–projections.’
    â€˜You mean like the castles and landscapes that were conjured up by the power rings worn by the characters in Michael Moorcock’s trilogy,
Dancers at the End of Time?’
    He shrugged. ‘Yes, something like that. I’m not trying to evade your questions. There are no words to describe the workings of our world or how it came to be. Just accept that it is so.’
    I nodded. ‘Okay, I understand. But it’s still very frustrating. Never mind. Let’s move on. You said that there were three of you on board.’
    â€˜Yes. Two Envoys and myself.’
    â€˜And I assume that you were mission commander.’
    â€˜Yes. In Earth-terms the Envoys were subordinate to me but they were both time-wise. I had never been through the Time Gate before.’
    â€˜How did it feel?’ I asked.
    He chewed over his answer. ‘It was quite an experience … It’s only fair to tell you that a lot of our people become ‘star-struck’ on their first trip through the Gate. And some of them never recover.’
    Who were they? I wondered. And what happened to them? Did they become wandering spirits on the run from God’s army? Or did they go over to the enemy? I pressed on with my original line of questioning. ‘Okay, so there are three of you inside this spacecraft, or whatever. What do you look like?’
    I could see that was another one of the hard ones. He rubbed his chin and