Chapter 1 - The Arrows of Time
TIME ticked differently for Ralph Ridley.
His curse defied the laws of the universe. To explain it, he often
pointed people to his book, Frozen in Time. But with every passing year,
the more it became clear, everything he thought, everything he solved,
continued to turn out to be nothing more than mere stepping stones
upon the murky, churning river of reality.
‘We’re on in five...’
From atop the pile of pillows, Ralph squinted under the studio lights
blaring into his sensitive, undeveloped eyes.
‘... four ...’
On one side of the airconditioned room, staff with clipboards, camera
operators, and his sister, Stephanie, stood in the shadows. On the other,
sat Ralph, the news anchor, and a cheap plastic table he was sure looked
great on TV.
‘... three ...’
The makeup artist fussing over the news anchor performed one last
teeth check, one last shoulder dust, then hurried away.
‘... two ...’
The room fell silent. The teleprompter scrolled to the next line of
dialogue. The cameras blinked red. A finger pointed to the anchor as the
news jingle played.
‘Welcome back,’ the anchor said, offering one of those perfect
television smiles. ‘From Earth’s evacuation and the looming ice age, we
now turn our attention to Ralph Ridley, the Boy Who Never Grows.’
Ralph waved a pudgy, uncoordinated hand, realising any movement
could result in him falling from his pillow perch.
‘Thank you for joining us,’ the anchor said.
‘My pleasure,’ he said, his babbling, high-pitched voice struggling to
mesh with the mature authority of hers.
As she studied him in his oversized shirt and trousers, her eyes
contained warmth and curiosity. It was as though she could think of
nothing more than tucking him in for a nap-nap.
Breaking from her gaze, she gestured to his book upright on the table.
‘The equation you speak about in Chapter 8, could you tell us more
about it, Mister – uh – Ridley?’
Ralph suppressed a sigh. He hated talking about unfinished equations.
There was a reason he’d only mentioned it once in his book. Adding in
the hesitation with her use of mister, and he felt like calling for his sister.
‘Well,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘for every year I’m alive, my body
ages according to a formula consisting of my Earth years, the golden ratio
cubed, and the number 21.6.’
He finished the rehearsed line with an internal grimace, hating how
his R’s and L’s always sounded like W’s.
A nearby screen transitioned to display the formula in large, bold text.
BIOLOGICAL AGE = EARTH AGE x 1.6183 / 21.6
‘How in the world did you come to this conclusion?’ the anchor asked.
He thought back to the hundreds of frustrating nights he’d spent solving each component. He thought back to all the guessing, all the research, all the books he’d read on maths, science, war, art, the lost civilisations of Earth. He thought back to all the nights he went to bed crying...
‘Simple,’ he said. ‘Played around with some geometric series and algebra. Did some calculations in reverse. Before I knew it, Bob’s your uncle.’
The anchor nodded, eyes narrowing in journalistic mode. ‘So, what do you say to those who associate 21.6 with Revelation 21:6, where it is written, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End”?’
Ralph smiled, unsurprised by the same question he was always asked. ‘I say the same thing to those who think 21.6 is related to the sacred number of nine: If that means you have an answer to my curse, I’m all ears.’
She chuckled, eyes relaxing, shining with something similar to how his mum used to look at him. ‘Could you give us an example of your equation in action?’
He tried sitting up straighter, but the movement, combined with the squishy pillows, sent him toppling. Cheeks warm, gasps coming from the shadows, Stephanie hurried to help him.
‘I’m fine,’ he muttered.
‘I know, Ralphie,’ she said, tilting him upright, fixing his collar. ‘I know.’
Once his sister had tiptoed out of shot, ignoring the empathetic gazes, he continued....
