AN A-Z OFPOSSIBLE WORLDS

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This edition was first published by Roastbooks Ltd.

No.31, 93 Albert Embankment, London SE1 7TYwww.roastbooks.co.uk

Copyright A. C. Tillyer 2009

The right of A. C. Tillyer to be identified with this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

ISBN: 978-1-906894-06-1

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without permission in writing from Roastbooks Ltd.

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THE ORBITAL ROAD

Not every road has its own fan club but the Great Orbital deserves one.Built for practical reasons, it is nevertheless an object of astonishingbeauty; a coronet of high grade asphalt encircling the city. It has sevenbroad lanes in each direction, sliding like water through the gentlecountryside of the river basin. The sweeping bridges and plungingunderpasses, the glittering catseyes and the smooth, sound absorbentsurfacing make it a pleasure to use. At night, the plentiful sodium lampsthat loop above the carriageways, form a vortex of orange light and inlow visibility, fog detectors flood the lanes with a lambent blue glow.There are twelve tubular service stations, positioned around theperimeter like numbers on a clock face, glass towers of calm andcomfort with relaxation lounges, health centres and viewing galleries.

Fans of the road or ‘Spinners’, as they call themselves, are lessconcerned with the convenience and function of the Great Orbital,than with the pure bliss of driving on it. Their monthly magazine is fullof tips for the best times to travel and the ongoing debate over whichaffords the most pleasure – clockwise or anti-clockwise circuits.Regular complaints appear on the letters page from ‘Orbital Widows’,whose husbands prefer going for a spin to spending time with theirfamilies. Occasionally, a child grumbles that he or she has become an‘Orbital Orphan’ but such protests are rare. Most children enjoy takinga trip to a service station for a swim or a burger and many take part inthe drawing and writing competitions inspired by the road.

The Orbital Calendar is published in panoramic format. Eachmonth is illustrated by a photograph taken by a spinner, with a

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short eulogy in italics along the bottom. For instance, January lastyear shows a bright, frosty morning, the asphalt glimmering withdew, the lamps cooled to a pink flush. Below, the words say:

The lanes glide into the distance like promises. Concrete rainbowspass overhead and I am being carried through the hills on a glossyblack halo.

March’s picture is of a heavy downpour in early spring. Lightningilluminates a distant cloud and a couple shares an umbrella on afootbridge. The caption reads:

Rain beats on the roof but I am safe and warm, listening to thesteady breathing of my windscreen wiper.

April shows a busy road on a grubby evening with thephotographer’s words:

Rush hour. We travel together. Gently, the collective headache issmoothed away by silken miles of asphalt.

August’s photograph is of a heat haze shimmering in the distance.The spinner has written:

I wind down the window and the breeze washes over me, warmand leathery. The liquid road flows beneath the car and I amcruising on it, waiting for my junction like a ball on a roulettewheel.

December has an existential edge. There is an abstract impressionof night driving, a sodium dusk sparkling with the starbursts of taillights. The words say:

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Catseyes glitter like primal stars in the darkness. Everything isconnected and there is no god. I am spiralling off the face of the planetand into the void.

The Great Orbital had not always inspired such raptures. When theproposed route was first announced, it was vilified for being toolarge for the expected volume of traffic, too insensitive to thetopography of the area and too extravagant for the public purse.Indignant articles booed the first bulldozers, protesters prostratedthemselves before the vibrating rollers and the press photograph ofthe year was awarded to the shot of a campaigner being surgicallyremoved from a steaming slick of tar like a pelican on a pollutedbeach. It was all in vain. The Ministry of Transport forged aheadwith its project and eventually the city was collared by a smart newmotorway. Yet despite the growing popularity of the road, theministers, who could have been claiming credit for its success,were uncharacteristically silent.

Privately, they were worried. Without informing the public, theministry had already launched an inquiry into why, on a highwaydesigned to be the safest of its kind in the world, there had alreadybeen so many accidents. It didn’t make sense. The steadily curvinglanes maintained a free flow of traffic even at peak times, yet therewere frequent crashes all around the perimeter that involved nomore than one or two vehicles and often resulted in fatalities. Forno apparent reason, cars suddenly veered off the road like particlesbeing flung out of orbit, taking with them whatever had themisfortune to be in their path. Although the volume of traffic hadremained largely stable, the emergency services were reporting analarming increase in the number of such incidents.

In vain, the investigation team sought to identify black spots on theroad but the accidents followed no apparent pattern in location or

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time of day. The crashes contained all the symptoms of a driverfalling asleep at the wheel but as a complete circuit of the Orbitaltook around two hours, this was hardly an adequate explanation.Witnesses could only describe how they had seen a car suddenlyswerve off the road, not slowing down until it had smashed into thenearest obstacle. The drivers themselves were invariably killed.Those who survived were in no a fit state to answer questions, for todate, they had all fallen into a similar, vegetative state.

If the problem was not with the road, it must be with the motorists.The Transport Minister commissioned an urgent survey of thedriving habits of those using the Great Orbital. Their responses todetailed enquiries about visibility, signposting and surface treadyielded nothing but praise. It was the initial, routine question,‘what is the purpose of your journey?’ that elicited the mostunsettling replies. As expected, most people were going to work,delivering goods or on a leisure outing but a significant minoritysaid they were, ‘just driving round’. A few admitted that theysimply could not resist an extra lap before turning off. In the middleof the afternoon, some of them had still not made it to work. Othersclaimed they had ‘just missed’ their junction, for the second orthird time and one man, questioned in the early hours of themorning, confessed that he had finished work at five but had been‘lapping’ ever since. Police traffic patrols were instructed to lookout for anything unusual in the conduct of motorists on the GreatOrbital and the ministry commissioned a second, more detailed,questionnaire.

This time, psychologists were sent out with the investigation teamsto ask more pertinent questions and try to ascertain if there was aclinical explanation for such compulsive behaviour. Severaldrivers were identified as suffering from what was privatelydubbed ‘Orbital Syndrome’. The following extracts from their

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interviews were presented to the Ministry of Transport at their nextmeeting:

Male, forties, Marketing Manager:‘I like to drive round twice on my way home. It relaxes me andhelps keep the car running smoothly.’

Female, thirties, PR Consultant:‘It sounds silly, but I have this idea that if I don’t drive a couple oflaps each day, the road will go all lumpy and potholed like theother ones round here. As I pass under the gantries, I check that myspeed is exactly sixty and if it isn’t, I must drive another lap as a sortof punishment. I have to keep it steady otherwise the car will breakdown and the whole road will melt back into the fields.’

Male, twenties, Investment Banker:‘The trouble is I just keep missing my turning. And then I’m in thedoghouse at home. My girlfriend thinks I’m having an affair butreally, I get on the road and I want to carry on driving forever. Itempties my mind; makes me feel safe.’

Female, thirties, Probation Officer:‘Well, the world’s round, isn’t it? And the sun, the moon, flowers,wheels, faces. One way or another, everything’s circular. Evenseasons and tides and blood are circulating. So when I’m drivinground this road it’s like there are invisible ribbons connecting all thevehicles to the clock tower in the centre of town and we’re justspinning round and around, like we’re doing a pagan dance(giggles). You think I’m off my head, don’t you?’

Male, thirties, Van Driver:‘There’s something about this road that makes me feel proud, if youknow what I mean. Proud to be human, to drive a car that’s faster

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than the fastest creature in the world, on a road that’s smootherthan ice. I mean, when I’m on the Orbital, no one can tell me whatto do. I own this car. I own the road. I own the whole universe,dammit. That’s how it feels, anyway.’

Male, thirties, Proofreader:‘To be honest, it’s my life. I mean, it’s the best road in the world,isn’t it? I’m lucky to live in the country that built it. My taxes paidfor this. I’ve moved nearer so that I can drive on it every day, eventhough I don’t actually need to. It makes me feel at peace, notafraid of death or anything. It worries me that they might buildanother one somewhere else. Then I’d be really torn. But for now,there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I spent my holiday here last year.’

Female, fifties, Chemistry Teacher:‘I have the sense that I’m going somewhere and nobody can stopme. I know I’m not really, but I could be and it could be anywhere.On the Great Orbital (laughs), I call it the Great Possible actually, Ifeel as if I’m touching infinity.’

The Ministry avoided making a public statement, because they hadno idea what to say. Traffic continued to pour round the GreatOrbital, oblivious to the growing number of police cordons andemergency vehicles on the hard shoulder. The craze for drivinground and round for no reason was escalating.

While the experts were evaluating the responses from the secondsurvey, an incident occurred that provided the police with theirfirst direct witness. A couple in their thirties had been on their wayto visit friends one Saturday afternoon. There had been lightshowers in the morning but then the sky had cleared. It was justafter two o’clock when, without any perceptible lapse in speed,their car catapulted across two lanes of traffic, crossed the hard

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shoulder, plunged down an embankment, turned over once andcrashed into a telegraph pole. Despite severe injuries to her legsand pelvis, the female passenger had managed to clamber out ofthe vehicle just before it burst into flames. The fact that she wasunable to walk and had been crawling on the ground at the time ofthe explosion had protected her from the worst of the blaze but herboyfriend was cremated at the wheel.

As soon as she regained consciousness, the police interviewed her.Although she was in a state of shock and heavily sedated, heraccount was clear and detailed. As they listened to her recordedstatement, the investigation team had the ominous feeling that shewas telling them something they already knew.

“We left the house just after ten,” she began, her words slightlyslurred, her voice flat and mechanical. “We’d already had a bit ofan argument. My boyfriend was waiting in the car, revving theengine. That really annoyed me because we had loads of time.Anyway, when I got in the car, he drove off at top speed in a huff,slamming the gears and over braking at the lights. We joined theGreat Orbital at junction seven but instead of heading south forjunction five, he took the northbound carriageway and begandriving the wrong way without saying anything. At first, I wasfurious because he’d rushed me just to sit in a car but he said it wasa lovely day for a drive and told me to stop nagging. I was prettyupset. I mean, we get on all right, usually. I’m not a nag and he’snever accused me of that before. So I shut up and decided not to saya word unless he did, even though I was dying to point out that itwasn’t a nice day at all. It was miserable and overcast, drizzling. ButI didn’t want an atmosphere all day so I kept quiet and actuallybegan to enjoy the drive. We sat in silence but the silence grewfriendlier, if you know what I mean. What I’m trying to say is that hewasn’t angry or upset or anything when, you know, it happened.”

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Here, the tape was turned off to allow the witness time to composeherself before she could resume her statement.

“Thank you, I’ll be all right. It must have been around noon whenwe reached junction five. I had cheered up by then, humming,looking out of the window and crunching sweets really loudly. Westill weren’t talking much. Not at all, in fact, but as I said, he wasn’tannoyed anymore. As we approached our junction, I checked mywatch to see if we’d be late. That’s how I know what the time was. Itwas nearly twelve so he’d been going some, I know, but you canget away with it on that road. I was fine and he was fine but then,without saying anything, he just whizzed right past junction five.‘That’s our turning,’ I said. I think I tried to make a joke of it, like,‘whoops, there she goes. Now we’ll have to drive all the way roundagain!’ I expected him to laugh or curse. I wanted to say, ‘What’sgoing on? Get off the road, you silly arse, I’ve got better things to dothan sit in a car all day’ but I didn’t want to upset him. I thought,perhaps he’s pretending it doesn’t matter. He’s irritated becausehe’s missed the junction. You know what men can be like aboutdirections. When he didn’t slow down at junction six, either, Ithought he was sulking and was going straight home. In that mood,I wouldn’t put it past him. I decided I could drop him off and driveback in the car myself. They’re my friends, you see. He doesn’treally get on with them.”

“But then we sailed right past junction seven as well and this waswhen I started to worry. He seemed kind of tense, crouching overthe wheel and staring into the distance like a zombie. He didn’tblink or anything. I tried to reassure myself that he was having ajoke with me, driving twice round the Orbital because I didn’twant to go round even once. Not a very funny joke but anyway. Ilooked at the time and saw we’d be about two hours late, which,unfortunately, isn’t that unusual for us. So I deliberately made a big

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thing about settling back and pretending I was having a great timeto show that I couldn’t care less but if he noticed, he didn’t let on.”

“So we drove for another whole circuit. I think he even sloweddown a bit, just to annoy me. We were probably still breaking thespeed limit but not by much. It took us about two hours and in allthis time, he didn’t move or speak, just stared ahead. It was ten totwo when we approached junction five again and by now, I waspretty anxious; frightened, to be honest. I was quite scared of him.All I can say is, he was right out of character. It wasn’t like him at allbut I suppose everyone says that, don’t they?”

“You can guess what happened next. We stormed right pastjunction five again. I totally flipped. I started yelling that I wantedto get out of the car. I waved my hand in front of his eyes but hedidn’t react. Not a flutter. It was like he’d gone into a coma. And thenext thing I knew, he drove straight off the road like he wanted tokill me.”

At these words, the witness broke down and sobbed. An off-micvoice could be heard trying to comfort her. Only a few morephrases were audible, as if she had her hands over her face.

“He wanted to kill me! He must’ve hated me! It wasn’t him driving.It was like somebody else.” With an effort, the witness succeededin composing herself enough to blurt out the last few sentencesand it was these that chilled the investigators the most. “He wasn’teven that badly hurt,” she whimpered. “He was sitting upright inhis seat when the car exploded. His eyes were still open. If I’d haveknown he needed help, do you think I would have left him there? Iwould never get out of a car if I thought he was too hurt to walk. Ididn’t want him to die. I love him! What am I going to do withouthim? He wasn’t injured in the crash. When the car overturned, he

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didn’t even bang his head like I did because he was sitting so rigid,I don’t think he even came off his seat. I didn’t know the car wasgoing to explode.”

Another voice cuts in from behind the speaker. “That’s enoughnow, please,” it says and the tape ends.

A medical advisor to the investigation team was adamant that, ifthe woman’s account was accurate, the symptoms she describedwere nothing like epilepsy or heart failure. When pushed, headmitted that the victim might have suffered a narcoleptic fit, butstressed that this was extremely unlikely in one who had neverdisplayed any previous tendencies and was not on any drugs ormedication. Unfortunately, the body was so badly damaged thatthe post-mortem could throw no further light on the case. Thecoroner agreed that, in this instance, a verdict of accidental deathshould be recorded. There were no reasonable alternatives.Nobody wanted unpleasant rumours to leak into the publicdomain before they knew what they were talking about. Much asthey would have liked to dismiss the crash as a freak accident, thepeople at the ministry knew in their hearts, that it was part of awider pattern and the statistics were inexorably rising.

The alerted traffic patrols were reporting frequent sightings ofmotorists hunched over their wheels, tense and unblinking,apparently in a stupor similar to the trance that the crash survivor haddescribed. If they tailed them, they invariably drove for several lapsround the Orbital Road before turning off or stopping at a garage torefuel. But since they were not breaking any rules, the police couldn’tfollow every suspect vehicle indefinitely. They did, however, begin tocompile a list of the registration numbers of ‘at risk’ cars and within amonth, or a week, sometimes that very day, a disturbing proportion ofthem were involved in an accident. Since membership of the

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Spinners Club was still accelerating, The Ministry of Transportrealised that it would be immoral to avoid warning the public aboutevents on the new motorway any longer. If the crash survivor hadknown about Orbital Syndrome, she might have been able to takesome kind of preventative action. They issued the followingstatement:

‘In the interests of safety, we would like to advise motorists againstdriving for multiple laps around the Great Orbital Road. Suchbehaviour is irresponsible and potentially dangerous. Recently,there has been a spate of accidents caused by tiredness resultingfrom this trend. If you feel yourself compelled to drive more oftenthan is necessary or know of anyone suffering from such acondition, please consult your doctor or contact the helplinenumber below. Help us to help you to keep your roads safe.’

The press accused the ministry who had made the announcementof scaremongering and vagueness. Furious, the Spinners protestedthat their harmless hobby was being treated as an illness andjammed the helpline with complaints about the infringement oftheir human rights.

It was not until an article from a medical journal found its way intothe national press, that people began to take the situation seriously.Particularly disconcerting was the tone of the author, who referredto a condition, called Orbital Syndrome, as if it was a wellestablished disorder that the professional subscribers to the journalwere already familiar with.

Sufferers were all survivors of crashes on the Great Orbital Road,who had sunk into a similar, cataleptic state. Neither awake norasleep, they sat all day, faintly rocking, their right feet at a forty-fivedegree angle from the floor, their arms stretched out rigidly before

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them, their hands clamped to an invisible hoop. If their clenchedteeth, profuse sweating and occasional moans were anything to goby, they were in severe physical discomfort. The specialist who hadwritten the article described how he had succeeded in relieving hispatients from some of their pain by seating them in softly vibratingchairs. He also advised using a strobing orange light during thehours of darkness. Although the author admitted that, throughoutthis treatment, his patients had made no progress towardsregaining consciousness and seemed to endure intense crampswhen the chair was turned off, he had discovered a temporaryalleviation from their immediate distress. His charges remainedincapable of speech, sleep and rational thought but for as long astheir chairs vibrated gently under them, they seemed to becomfortable, even at peace, with their condition.

The report spread deep concern throughout the populace. TheMinistry of Transport lost control of the public mood and could nolonger protect its precious motorway. People began to worry abouta strange virus that was infecting them, or a pollutant that wascontaminating their drinking water. Many motorists developed anirrational phobia of the Orbital Road, as if its graceful curves hadthe power to erase their minds and entice them to their deaths. Butthe Spinners scoffed at the news and continued to enjoy thegradually emptying road with gusto.

Almost nobody ever uses the Great Orbital for its intended purposeanymore. Terrified motorists are unable to drive on it without beingspooked by visions of flaming cars, smashed windscreens,scorched bodies draped across crumpled bonnets, slow motioncrash test dummies of real flesh and blood and row upon row ofblank faced casualties, nodding to themselves in their speciallyvibrating chairs. Instead, they are taking long and circuitous routesto avoid the jinxed motorway at night or alone or altogether. The

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traffic that should be flowing freely in and out of a clean andprosperous metropolis is congesting the suburban roads soseverely that access to the city has become even more difficultthan it was before the road was built. But the Great Orbital is stillfull. It has become a destination in its own right, somewhere to gofor people who have nowhere to go. A steady stream of cars cruiseround and around it, their drivers looking neither left nor right,intent on the distant horizon while within its circumference, theonce great city languishes and fades. Slowly, its blood supply isbeing cut off by an implacable asphalt tourniquet.

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