‘By the way, we called her Eve!’ I interjected.
Ignoring me, she went on to relate how eleven years ago she and Eve had received that extraordinary first summons from Kosti and had congregated at his lab, where to their astonishment they received their first dispatches from Eva and Iris. She described their disbelief on discovering that in another now – ours – Wall Street and the same clueless oligarchy remained in full control. Saddened and perplexed, they corresponded with their counterparts until, one day in November 2025, Kosti informed them that the wormhole had suddenly expanded and that the Other Costa had made a surprise visit.
‘As soon as I heard, I dropped everything I was doing to go to Costa’s – or rather Kosti’s – lab to admire this so-called wormtunnel with my own eyes. Who should I find there but Eva – or Eve, if you insist – who had also been summoned. I should have guessed something else was afoot because Mari and Cleo were there too. While I was admiring the wormtunnel’s pitch-black beauty, this Costa,’ she said pointing to my friend, ‘appears through it, scaring the living daylights out of me. Moments later, it’s Eva’s turn to be stunned as her strange-looking clone walks out of the wormtunnel, holding on to a young man – Thomas, I presumed. While the two Evas, Thomas, Cleo and Mari went next door to talk about goodness knows what, I was left in the lab with my two Costas. That’s when this one,’ pointing again at Costa, ‘dropped the bomb that he had only crossed over as a ruse – apparently to get your Eva and her Thomas to follow him – and that he was going straight back to destroy his lab. True to his word, after coolly saying goodbye to my Costa, he looked at me, grinned and walked calmly into the void. Without thinking,’ she concluded, ‘I just followed him. When moments later I appeared unannounced in his lab, he looked cross but said nothing. After inspecting his instruments for a few minutes, he looked at me again to say that we had just made it – the wormhole had vanished.’
‘But why? Why on earth would you do that?’ I asked her.
‘Surely if there is one thing you know about me, Yango,’ she replied cheerfully, ‘it is that I am a dissident. There was nothing for me on the other side to dissent from except their political correctness and smugness at having created the perfect society. All it took was one look at this man,’ she said, pointing at my dishevelled friend, ‘and I knew what I had to do – that I was more useful here.’
‘Do you regret crossing over?’ I asked.
‘Hell no!’ she replied with a tinge of American accent. ‘This Now, my dear Yango, your abhorrent Technofeudalism, is my natural habitat – it’s so bloody awful that I feel alive and usefully dangerous. Having experienced the OC rebellion and seen the institutions it created, I am more confident over here than anyone I know when lambasting the stupidity of the ruling class and its system. It is far easier to subvert them here, let me tell you!’
As she was telling her story, Costa had quietly excused himself to go to the ‘restroom’. Through the window, I now caught sight of him outside the teashop, putting his helmet on, preparing for yet another disappearing act on his motorbike. She was not surprised. ‘That’s Costa for you,’ she said. ‘Drifting is now his way of being, a dreadful fact we must learn to respect.’
I nodded and in the brief silence that ensued took a good look at her. For the first time, I felt able to focus on her face without panicking about my mental equilibrium.
‘Better than in many, many years, Iris,’ I replied.
I was looking forward to the start of a brilliant old friendship.
Yango Varo, a few minutes before midnight
Saturday 28 July 2036