The beginning of the end.

 

“You’re mad.” George said it half as a matter of fact, half as a statement of opinion and half jokingly. Which gave Allen cause for concern, coming as it did from a fully fledged professor of mathematics.

 

He had known George for most of his life. They had grown up together. All the way through school, then sixth form college, university as well as various government training and indoctrination seminars.  They were a team. Forged on the anvil of academia, beaten into shape by the hours, months, years of sweating over dust-ridden books in dank little rooms, lit only by reading lamps because that was all the light that was needed. That was all that ever took place there. Reading and sleeping, lights were not necessary for sleeping.

 

A relationship tempered by dating girls together, choosing wives, raising children and growing old in each other’s company. Working as one on the problems that beset mankind, an altogether unique partnership of the best minds in the business. The business being answering the questions of life, the universe and the meaning of it all.

 

That was why Allen had shared his secret, his discovery, with his life long colleague, collaborator and confidante.

 

The last thing he had expected was to have it dismissed as the rantings of a madman.

 

But there the man sat, looking at him over the rim of his totally unnecessary spectacles, from under those bushy white eyebrows. The ones that had become such a trademark that they were more of an affectation than a facial feature.

 

A smile infiltrated Allen’s face. A frequent visitor, although looking somehow out of place and unwelcome. Adding even more lines to a visage already scarred and wrinkled by the passing of time. “That made the old bugger sit up and take notice”, he thought. And it had. George now thought that his old friend had finally and irrevocably “fallen out of his tree”.

 

“Diva, the whole thing is utterly insane”. His concern showed not only in the tone of his voice, but also in the use of his personal nickname for his friend. Something he very rarely did and only then out of love and sorrow when it seemed his life long companion Dr David Ivor Allen had over stepped the mark.

 

The misnomer stemmed from their college days and one particular flight of Allen’s diverse and meandering fancy. They were running short of money for books as well as everyday living expenses. Sitting in their room, trying to come up with ideas that would enable them to eat for the rest of the term, but keep them out of prison so as to enable them to attend lectures.

 

“I know”, said David, with a great explosion of enthusiasm. Something that accompanied all his brainwaves, good or bad.

 

“Why don’t we sample an operatic aria , a reasonably well known one, and set it to a dance beat?” David went on, ignoring George’s look of distaste.

 

“It won’t work”, mumbled George, wondering again at their difference of musical preference and their ability to get along in spite of it.

 

“It will work, David continued, “once it’s sampled we can feed the digital information into the computer alongside our chosen time signature, set a correlation program, press the button and wait.”

 

It did work. It worked so well that some of you may have heard the results for yourselves. Even though it was only a passing craze in the early nineties. The “press the button and wait,” was a little more involved than that. The “Correlation program,” didn’t exist but this minor obstacle was, as usual, glossed over by David. The sweat and headaches were, as usual, provided by George when it came to the actual writing of it.  As was the artiste’s and later nickname. Coined, by George, using David’s initials and a lot of poetic license. David could not sing, although he refused to believe the fact. George was often heard to say that his friend “could not carry a tune if you put it in a bucket.”

 

“O.K. David, you’ve convinced me, I believe that what you’re saying could be true.” George Fredrickson looked around at the ream upon ream of computer printout that littered the desk, piled up on the floor and stacked on the chair, sitting like a belligerent child, so sure of itself. So positive that no-one, nothing could disprove its undeniable logic. So sure of its facts. After all, logic can only come from facts. The data is undeniable, therefore the logical conclusion must be also.

“I could show you more figures if you want George,” David said. The same smile making a reappearance as if performing an encore. “We haven’t even touched those yet.” With a slight nod of his head he indicated the thirty pounds or so of spewed out confirmation that crouched on the top of the bookcase as if ready to pounce.

 

“Save it for the government boys, they’ll want to see every scrap of evidence you can produce.” George wearily rubbed his eyes over the top of his glasses with his index finger which succeeded in pushing them further down his nose than he normally wore them. Then with both hands he massaged the blood running through his temples, forcing it on it’s way to his tired brain and at the same time restoring the equilibrium to the two circles of plain glass held in a wire frame, that he felt in turn restored the balance to his face. He had, several years ago, undergone the, even by then routine surgery that had been necessary to correct his failing vision. Somehow it just hadn’t seemed right, he didn’t recognise himself in the mirror without them, he quite simply did not feel comfortable without this piece of facial furniture.

 

So, soon after he had left a puzzled but slightly richer optician wondering if he had just served an actor, he may have at one time seen on the screen, with a much needed prop.

 

George had worn them ever since.

 

“Alright David, you’ve proved that the universe is slowing down. Or more precisely that the rate of expansion is decreasing.” He quickly put in before his friend had time to correct him. “And, at an ever increasing rate. If that is the right phrase to use?” George said.

 

The smile took another bow on David’s face. “Semantics was never my strong point George, that’s why I keep you around.” He said. “In any case, the government boys, as you call them, are not going to see them. At least not right away.”

 

“That is the first sensible thing you have said in the last five hours.” A relieved George muttered.

 

“Oh, they’ll see them alright, they just won’t be the first.” David added the last remark whilst apparently studying cracks in the ceiling plaster with sublime indifference.

 

George knew that look, it had worried him before. “And what exactly do you mean by that? Who is going to see them first?”

 

“The press George, the press.” David was about to drop his bombshell, George could tell.  Although he knew he was falling into the trap, he couldn’t help it, he just had to ask the stupid question.

“And what, pray tell, makes you think that the ladies and gentlemen of the press will be in the slightest bit interested that the stars are moving away from us, at an infinitesimally slower speed than they were a hundred years ago?” He said in a mocking tone, a little like the stage comedian’s ‘I say, I say, I saying.’ But only in an effort to lessen the shock of what he knew must be coming.  And he knew something was coming.

 

“Because, dear George, in another fifty years or so they will come to a complete standstill.”

 

George held his breath.

 

“And then start to fall backwards upon themselves, destroying everything in their path until they reach the site of the original explosion, thereby destroying themselves.”

 

BANG. David scored a direct hit.

 

“But that would take with it all the matter in the universe? The whole thing just wiped out?” George was in a state of shock. The last part of his response had come out as a sort of pleading whine. A kind of, tell me it’s not so David. Make the bogey man go away David.

 

Well the bogey man would go away soon. We all would, thought the doctor to himself.

 

There was that smile again.

 

 

THE END