An unintended life: part 1

We return to the beginning

The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real

Interlude

Previously: While we wait to see what happens next to the SDC crew, we’re taking a trip back to the very beginning, to the moment the portals first opened. You might want to remind yourself of what happened in the prologue before reading this one.

New Spring Gardens, London.
1772.

The trees strained against their roots and the grass undulated like waves on the ocean as the black void sucked in all around it. The ground itself was torn apart, pulled into contorted shapes. With a terrified scream the young man from earlier, who had pursued her to the park, lost his grip in the dirt and was dragged, feet-first, into the darkness.

Sally shut her eyes against the dust and assorted debris, until the howling gale eventually quietened. The park returned almost to normality, save for the black, indescribable shape looming over Lambeth marsh. It was enormous, the size of a building, and shaped as a half-circle, embedded into the shredded turf. She could hear shouts and cries from elsewhere as people began to collect themselves. The bandstand had lost two of its pillars and was teetering on its supports.

She struggled to her feet and staggered a few steps towards the black shape. It lacked any definition or texture, stark against the hazy, mid-afternoon London sun. That’s when she noticed the objects scattered on the grass, items she didn’t recognise, made of materials for which she had no names and purposes she couldn’t guess at. The black shape had, at least, stopped its previously inexorable growth, resting at perhaps 80 feet in diameter.

The grey London skies and another day of selling herself along the banks of the Thames, of lingering at the Dog & Duck to spy the easiest and drunkest customers, held little appeal. Damp lodgings and the mud of Lambeth gave her no pause to remain. She hiked up the front of her dress and made for the blackness.

Standing before it, there was a tingling hum; not something that she could hear, but it was there, on her skin. Behind her was London and everything she’d ever known. The orphanage, the streets, the gangs and the rackets and the violence. Men that would work her to an early grave. She’d survived to twenty without catching anything, but her luck would run out sooner rather than later.

Taking a deep breath, holding her nose and screwing her eyes tightly shut, she stepped forwards into the dark—

—her stomach lurched, as if she’d tumbled from a window, but her feet were still on solid ground. Opening her eyes, she first saw clear, blue skies, then noticed the towers reaching up to the heavens, row upon row of gleaming towers. Strange creatures flew in the far distance, lines of them zipping in all directions, high above, birds without wings. The immediate area around her was similarly disturbed to the park, the ground torn up. Instead of a park she seemed to be on a street, surrounded by long, tall buildings made entirely of glass. The street itself was black and smooth, save for where she stood by the dark shape. One of the buildings was half-destroyed, its sides still crumbling, sparks and flames starting to spread from where a dangling rope of some sort was slapping against a large cupboard.

In front of where Sally stood was the man from earlier, from the Dog & Duck, the one whom she’d relieved of his wallet. He was down on the ground, on all fours, retching into the gutter. Further off to the left were the picnicking couple, their blanket and baked good cast about them where they sat, dazed, staring at their surroundings with the same confusion and awe that Sally felt.

A soft buzzing sound announced the arrival of more flying animals, smaller than the ones high in the sky. Not animals, she realised, but machines: the size of a pram, flitting about the street like a teacher in a classroom of unruly children. Two of the machines hovered by the fire, one spraying it with a foamy substance while the other retrieved the rope and tied it up and away from the cupboard. Alarms blared somewhere nearby.

Another flying machine appeared over the rooftops, descending to the street and landing gently, kicking up only a small plume of dust. The side of the machine opened and, to Sally’s surprise, five people emerged. It must have been a flying carriage of some sort.

One of them, a man dressed in peculiar clothes, approached. “Are you alright?” His accent was strange, almost to the point of being difficult to understand. Sally noted that his companions were wearing similarly strange clothes, especially the two women.

She wondered if she had slipped into a dream while asleep. Perhaps she was resting back in New Springs Gardens behind a hedge, or was back in her shared room and the day had not yet begun.

The man put a hand on her shoulder, startling her. “Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to make you jump. We need to move you all away from whatever this is.” He glanced up at the black shape, Sally unable to tell if he was afraid or merely concerned.

There were more vehicles arriving, as well as people on foot. Some of the vehicles had flashing lights on their roofs. It was enormously exciting.

“Come on,” the man said again, his companions helping the others up from the ground. “We don’t know if this thing is dangerous. It could start growing again at any moment.” He took a closer look at Sally, then at the picnicking couple and her pursuer. “You lot been to a party? Roleplaying?”

Movement at the far end of the street caught Sally’s eye. Another figure was running, closing the distance at a remarkable rate, their stride longer than could possibly be natural. It was a man, tall and beautiful and ageless. His eyes pierced into her and something awakened in her chest that had been dormant her entire life.

“Officer Davey,” the man said. “Can I be of assistance?”

“We’ve got the situation on the street under control, thanks, Justin” said Officer Davey, leading Sally towards the vehicle. He waved at the black shape that loomed behind them. “You could start by telling me what the hell that is.”

The beautiful man, Justin, stared unblinkingly at the shape. “There has never been anything like it,” he said. “Our best hypothesis is a wormhole of some designation.” He shifted his attention to Sally, then to the others. “Did you find these four here?”

“Yeah,” Davey said. “They were lucky to be alive, given what happened to the buildings where that thing appeared. A wormhole, you say?”

“Yes. Or a portal. A space bridge. A time vortex, perhaps. Most of the names are drawn from fiction.” Justin addressed her directly. “Excuse me, I have a most important question to ask of you. Your answer will likely dictate the events of the next two hundred years.”

Sally swallowed and nodded. “I’ll help if I can, sir.”

“Tell me, please. Were you here when the black shape appeared, or did you arrive with it?”

“I wasn’t here, sir,” she said, trying to order her thoughts. “I was in London, in New Spring Gardens. It appeared, and I stepped through, and here I am.”

Justin smiled. “Fascinating. London, you say?” He exchanged glances with Officer Davey, who raised his eyebrows. “Two more questions, if you will. Do you happen to know who the Prime Minister of Great Britain is?”

Her heartbeat quickened; she wasn’t learned, and such questions made her nervous, like she’d be found out for being a fool. This one, fortunately, she knew. “It’s Lord Frederick North, sir, I think. That’s the name I’ve heard.”

Turning to Davey, Justin spoke more quietly. “I’ve notified the relevant authorities to set up a quarantine perimeter. These four will likely need immediate vaccinations. I believe we’re dealing with a portal. Think of it as a doorway. A secure border will be needed here and at the other site.”

Davey cursed. “Can’t believe there’s two of these things.”

“Indeed!” Justin sounded far more cheerful. “An infinity of time with no portals, and then two show up at once.”

They were stood next to one of the vehicles. Sally could see the man whose wallet she had stolen glaring at her from one of the seats. Justin gripped both of her arms. “Listen to me, young lady. You are very important indeed. I have some work I need to do here. You will be taken to a nearby hospital where you’ll receive very good care. I will catch up soon. I have many more questions for you, but just one for now.” He smiled. “What is your name?”

She felt his hands on her arms, just below her shoulders, the grip strong but gentle. He seemed to have only good intentions, which was a new experience for her. Overhead and all around, the unfamiliar city roared.

Wherever she was, it was better than Lambeth marsh. “My name is Sally. Nice to meet you.”

---

Thanks for reading.

That was fun, to go back to the very beginning and pick up on a dangling thread that was never resolved. Odd to think that today’s chapter is a follow-up to something I published in September 2021, which feels like an absolute age ago.

I find it entirely remarkable that there are people reading Triverse today who were there at the time — as well as everyone who has jumped on board along the way. Thank you, again.

On Monday I sent out a newsletter about AI that you might have seen. It’s not really about AI, but about humans’ insatiable need to be creative. It seems to have struck a chord:

As usual with articles that really connected with readers, this was mostly unplanned. I can’t remember what prompted me to write it, other than a realisation-in-the-shower that AI probably wasn’t going to go the way the execs expect. I was nervous about sending it, worrying that it was a bit too personal, or too idealistic, or that it could annoy people who like AI gen stuff.

It’s always the articles I’m worried about that do well, while the ones I’m really pleased with pass by quietly.

Also, can we all take a moment to acknowledge that amazing image I made showing AI jumping the shark?

Talking of sharks, I recently discovered the existence of It’s Jeff!, a Marvel comedy series by

Kelly Thompson

about a very cute little landshark. Yes, I know, we’re very late to the party. The paperback seems to be out of print in the UK, so I may need to subscribe to some kind of digital comics service so that my son (and me) can read more. Can’t get enough of Jeff. We’re slightly obsessed.

Author notes

When plot meets structure (and some other bits, like character and theme) you end up with story. I’ve had the core plot nailed down for a while for these chapters of Triverse, but the specific structure has been rather elusive.

I knew how the ‘Assault on Stamford & Coin’ storyline was going to wrap up, with the SDC detectives rescued by Justin and on their way to Ethiopia and Max-Earth. There’s the unresolved thread of what’s happened to Lola, plus the big beat coming up next.

Getting from A to B isn’t always simple.

I’d intended to go immediately from the SDC crew’s escapades to Palinor, to find out what happened on Lola’s end. However, that felt a bit rote to me, a bit too obvious and linear. Plot for plot’s sake. And I was enjoying the tension of the reader not knowing.

I wasn’t quite ready to dive straight into what happens next for Clarke and the others, though. There’s a reason I wanted a gap between ‘Assault on Stamford & Coin’ and what comes next, which will be apparent when we get to it. I could theoretically have taken a break from publishing chapters for a few weeks, but that always makes me nervous: having built up a solid writing habit, I’m always fearful of accidentally breaking it.

Which is how we ended up with ‘An unintended life’, the first of a series of short one-shots (or, in this case, a 2-parter), exploring some of the weirder and more niche corners of the Triverse mythology. This week it’s all about Sally, who guest starred way back in the prologue to the entire series.

Writing an online serial (or any kind of serial, really) has a built-in element of time that isn’t present in a traditional book. If Triverse were simply a book, you might have read the prologue a few days or weeks ago. Instead, if you were here from the start, you would have read the prologue in September 2021. That’s how damned long this thing has been going for. The pacing of a serial is so, so different to a novel, which is something I find endlessly fascinating: the way a serial story intersects with the reader’s real-time experience of living.

You’re probably in a different place today, personally, in June 2024, than you were in September 2021, right? Things have changed, just as events in Triverse have changed.

When it works, it creates resonance around the story that is great than its component parts. There’s something inherently exciting about picking up a minor thread from three years ago and exploring it in more detail.

Next week we can really get into the weird stuff.