The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(49)
“But they have only ten years left . . . ,” muttered Angier.
Kramer raised his arms suddenly, like an odalisque sprinkling rose petals.
“These are rough calculations, gentlemen, although there is little margin for error,” he said. “We have ten years, possibly a bit longer, to find a way of preventing the epidemic ravaging this world. If we fail, an apocalypse of devastating proportions will be unleashed. And we on the Other Side, like a drowning man whose fingers slip fatally from the flotsam to which he is clinging, will plunge forever into eternal darkness and oblivion.”
They all remained silent and cast their eyes around the room. The Albemarle Club, founded in 1874, was one of the most prestigious and popular clubs in London. At that time of day, however, there were only a few clusters of armchairs dotted about, forming small islands, and a handful of gentlemen smoking their solitary pipes, absentmindedly cupping a brandy glass, or reading a newspaper with an air of boredom, content to have escaped from their suffocating homes for a few hours.
“Look at them . . . ,” muttered Melford, with a sudden flash of animosity. “They haven’t the slightest idea how sick their world is, or that it is nearing its end. On the contrary: they think they are in the middle of something. They think they are different from everything before and everything after. They think they are speeding toward some destination on one of their swift trains. They study, contemplate, marvel at one another. And yet they see nothing. They don’t see that the end is coming, nor do they suspect that all possible trains will soon collide into a morass of eternal darkness, nothingness, chaos.”
“But how could they, Melford!” Doctor Ramsey said, almost reprovingly. “They are so far from the Supreme Knowledge! At times I feel ashamed of having made my name as a scientist in this world, where all I can offer is baubles . . . but other times I can’t help laughing at their monumental ignorance . . .” He gave a hollow laugh and took a sip of brandy to steady himself. “Although it is true that among them there are some whose intelligence shines out above the rest, and whose company can be a pleasant balm to us poor, lonely exiles . . .” Ramsey noticed his companions’ stern looks and nodded, trying to sound cheerier. “Naturally, I am referring to a companionship that is productive and advances our sacred mission. As you know, thanks to my prestige as a scientist and my friendship with Mr. Crookes, I have been able to infiltrate spiritualist circles and to carry out various studies of countless apparitions that have been well received on the Other Side. Some mediums’ ectoplasmic materializations offer plenty of answers! I assume you have read my latest report, where I elaborated an interesting table comparing the—”
“We are aware of your research into spiritualism, Ramsey. We also know about your friendship with that Crookes fellow, which placed us in such danger when you almost gave our mission away,” Kramer scolded him severely.
“I never endangered our mission!” Ramsey protested fiercely.
“Settle down, my friend,” Kramer warned with icy calm.
“It was only a moment of weakness . . . ,” the doctor went on, instantly lowering his tone. “But in the end I did my duty. Crookes knows nothing, and he never will, I can assure you . . . And so it should to be. None of the inhabitants of this world should know the truth: they would never understand our mission. They would see us as menacing invaders. They would fear us as one fears the unknown. They would turn us into the stuff of nightmares and try to destroy us. We cannot trust them. Or feelings such as love or friendship that cloud our minds,” he insisted. “I haven’t forgotten that, gentlemen. Like Armand de Bompard, I never forget the wonderful world from which I come.”
“Our world, oh, our wonderful world . . . ,” Melford chipped in, with a nostalgia that wasn’t entirely devoid of irony. “As we speak, on the Other Side, our miraculous civilization is cowering around the last remaining black holes. Our bodies, skillfully modified to survive the cold, dead ocean of darkness, will soon cease to function. And our minds will be capable of only the most sluggish connections, frozen in a long, dark nirvana. Until in the end we are converted into a lifeless cloud of dead particles. So it is written in the second law. A law we arrogantly believed we could escape. But the second law is inevitable. Chaos is inevitable!”
“Chaos is inevitable!” his companions intoned as one, taking out their fob watches, opening them to reveal the engraving inside: a star containing a tiny circle with eight arrows pointing outward and piercing a second, concentric circle. A star I am sure you are familiar with.
“Chaos is inevitable!” repeated Kramer. “You are quite right, Melford, and we mustn’t forget that. But there is still a glimmer of hope. Do you recall not so long ago when we managed to open the tunnel to this side? For one glorious instant we thought we had succeeded.” They all nodded, smiling weakly, a flicker of that distant hope in their eyes. “Wasn’t it wonderful? The news spread like wildfire among our scientists. A stable tunnel had been opened! We had the chance of starting afresh in another world! A young world, full of light and heat. A universe where stars were still being born. A new, warm planet where we would inject the seed of our doomed civilization. Where we would be reborn, far from our inhospitable, dying home—”
“But that world was sick!” Angier thumped the table with his clenched fist, making the brandy glasses shake and a couple of members look up disgruntled from their newspapers. “I also remember the day we discovered it was ravaged by a strange epidemic of apocalyptic proportions, and that its end might even be nearer than our own. Yes, I also remember that. And how, in spite of everything, we kept our faith: we believed we could find a cure in time for the Great Exodus. But no one is certain we will succeed now, are they, Kramer?” he asked, each word loaded with anguish. “It’s been a long time and we still haven’t obtained any results. We don’t know how the virus got here, or when the disease started. We don’t know who was infected first. We have no idea how to cure it. And we still haven’t produced a vaccine. After all this time, we continue to know nothing about it, Kramer. Nothing. As you said, there is hope, but it is rapidly diminishing . . .”