Part 3: Spirit Channel
Diotitus, clad in his brass and linen appointments, and Brangot, wearing a heavily woven bark uniform, trotted down the Channel Access Road towards the recently constructed Spirit Channel Station. Diotitus carried a small iron shield and a royal baton. Brangot’s upper arms were devoted to carrying a long cylindrical weapon used primarily for ceremonial display, while his two lower arms swung at his side. As they neared the station, they could see a crowd of people meandering aimlessly in the street.
Diotitus came to a halt and cursed. “New arrivals mobbing the station. What, they think they can get into some heaven?”
Brangot prodded Diotitus forward. “New souls now arrive from the channel instead of bulk freight delivery. Change of policy from a few months ago.”
“They need to get organized,” Diotitus snapped.
The two wove through the dazed crowd, ignoring the plethora of routine questions asked by new arrivals. They found themselves boxed in by a party of space explorers as they approached the channel and the crowd thickened.
One of the explorers raised a probe towards Brangot, and said, “We are explorers from the planet …”
Brangot gently pushed through the explorers without remark.
Diotitus was less kind. He stopped by the explorer with the probe and chided, “You’re dead and you’re stuck here for eternity. Go to the relocation center to get your flat assignment.” Without waiting for a response, he pushed through the explorers and followed Brangot.
Diotitus and Brangot walked through the entrance of the Spirit Channel Station, which was an open-air platform beside an ethereal river. The boarding line was short and the agent processed travelers at a brisk pace.
“Destination,” the agent asked.
“Conservatory,” Brangot answered.
The agent held up a scanner and waved it across Diotitus’ chest, and then Brangot’s trunk. “Are either of you carrying any spirit batteries?”
Both shook their heads.
The agent nodded and said, “So you’re aware, we’re checking those now.” The agent stowed the scanner and then rapid-fired a series of questions. “Are either of you agents of the Trans-Dimensional Nexus? Are either of you carrying artifacts or souvenirs from In-Life or Pre-Life brought to this world by someone other than yourselves? Have you ever been damned for a period equal to or longer than an eternity, and if so, when did you qualify for release?”
Both answered no.
“Have you arranged for accommodations at the Conservatory?”
Again, they shook their heads.
“The entirety of the Universe, including all known and unknown dimensions, is currently in a paradox recovery cycle. The Spirit Channel will travel out of Oblivion and through afterworld one to reach afterworld sixteen, the Conservatory, and you will be arriving fourteen hours in the past.” The agent handed them their boarding passes. “Since you will be traveling to a non-observation level of an afterworld, you will experience strong perceptions of color.” The agent pointed towards his eyes. “You may need to give yourself a few minutes to adjust when you arrive. Have a nice ride.”
Brangot and Diotitus walked briskly towards a car marked clearly for the Generally Unsaved, and boarded. They found two uncomfortable and cramped seats near the back and stowed their ceremonial appointments in an overhead storage vat.
Once seated, Brangot hunched forward so his head branches weren’t touching the overhead vat. “I hope this is a short ride,” he muttered.
“Okay, we’re arriving fourteen hours ago?” Diotitus asked. “It took me long enough to wrap my head around time not being linear, and segment repetition to resolve disputes. But this is the first I’ve heard of this paradox recovery nonsense.”
Brangot nodded then shrugged. “I gather when some idiot fusses with time and wipes out a part of the In-Life universe, they go into recovery mode. Or, maybe they’re replaying past events until time starts moving forward again. You do know In-Life time has not advanced in a number of years, right?” Brangot looked out the window and down into the ethereal river, momentarily wondering why a train would travel on a river. He mused, “I’ve forgotten when time was not in some sort of cycle and was moving forward.” He tried to look ahead in the direction the Spirit Channel would take them, saying, “It will be nice to see real color again.”
Diotitus sat back in his seat. “I’m in color,” he declared and looked down at the glossy orange and gold tones of his ceremonial dress. “And you’re in color,” he pointed at Brangot’s woven garment. “A muted flat green, I think.”
“But nothing else is in color,” Brangot said. “You know what I mean.”
Diotitus rapped Brangot’s lower left shoulder, producing a muted knocking sound, and laughed. “I think you’re guessing about the recovery cycle.” He then shrugged. “I can never keep track of what is happening in the In-Life Universe. They keep replaying parts of it, or in this case, recycling it. They call it a paradox, but you know it’s all about the gods acquiring as many worshippers as possible.”
Brangot shifted in his seat in a futile attempt to maintain a passable comfort level, then looked at Diotitus and raised a leafy eyebrow. “Tell me again why you’re in the unsaved car and not traveling god-class?”
Diotitus muttered under his breath and held his knees against the back of the seat in front of him so his feet dangled above the ground. “I suppose if we’re arriving in the past this won’t take too long.”
Brangot laughed, “Not as long as the first time, I hope.”
Diotitus looked at him quizzically. “And how long was that? Did this contraption break down?”
“The channel wasn’t calibrated for traveling between time zones the first time it crossed between two afterworlds, and it didn’t show up for a couple years.” Brangot pushed a few leafy fingers at the window. “The station went unused for several years while the channel was lost in time. If you bothered to walk two blocks from our building you would have noticed.”
Diotitus shrugged. “I suppose whoever wants to meet with us will make sure that sort of thing doesn’t happen. But,” he added thoughtfully, “If this is so important, they could have sprung for better seats.”
Some minutes later, Diotitus mused aloud, “So, is it a train or a channel?” though Brangot offered no response.
Both men remained quiet and rode in silence as the Spirit Channel whisked them along the ethereal river. Periodically, the Channel swept out of Oblivion for a fraction of a second, and bands of bright star- and sky-wept colors flashed against the window. The Channel never left Oblivion or the empty, muted plains of afterworld one for more than a brief moment, though passengers were able to board and depart at the appropriate destination.
Brangot reached across Diotitus with one arm when the colorful bands struck the window and pressed his leafy fingers flat against the glass. He breathed in slowly, filling his mouth and throat with what he thought of as the air touched by the real and after worlds.
“Look,” He whispered into Diotitus’ ear and Diotitus stirred in his light slumber. “Color,” Brangot said, and Diotitus opened his eyes.
Diotitus imagined he could feel a playful caress of color splashing against his face. “How long has it been?” he asked, not looking away from the window.
“I don’t remember,” Brangot said in a tone encompassing awe and remorse. “I think I dreamed of my native indigo sky a few decades ago.”
Diotitus was on the cusp of asking Brangot more about his home world, a topic Brangot was particularly mysterious about. However, the Sprit Channel appeared to slow down, the world went white, and they were alone.