The Unpretenders - Chapter 5

There was a moment of confusion as we approached an impressive Georgian manor, at the end of a long driveway. Certainly it wasn't the kind of home that one would normally associate with someone on a teacher's salary. "It must have been converted into flats," said Isobel, which seemed like a reasonable explanation. Nevertheless, I double-checked with the driver, just in case he'd made a mistake.

"This is the address you gave me," he said, pulling up outside.

Not appearing to care, one way or the other, Isobel excitedly opened the car door and leapt out onto the gravel. "Incredible," she exclaimed, staring up at four massive columns. I postponed my own wonderment, however, until our luggage had been retrieved, and the driver paid. Only then did I take a moment to stand back and appreciate the true majesty of the house, which would certainly have graced the front cover of any property magazine.  

"What are you looking for, Izzy?" I asked, as she poked around near the front door.

"The intercom thingy."

"Maybe it's in the foyer."

"Yeah, but the door's locked."

"So ring the bell."

"There isn't one."

Our predicament didn't last long, however. Just moments later, in fact, the main door creaked open, releasing Julian's wolfhound. "Baxter!" he yelled, as the huge dog shot passed Isobel and came bounding towards me. "Don't worry, Sophie, he just wants to lick you."

I really didn't mind dogs, generally speaking. However, Baxter was almost as tall as I was, and could easily have knocked me flying. Mercifully, that didn't happen, on this occasion, and he actually seemed more interested in the luggage than in me. "What can you smell, eh?" I asked him, wondering if Izzy had packed some culinary delights - perhaps with the intention of trading them with extraterrestrials.

Julian, meanwhile, was busy reacquainting himself with his former pupil. "It's really nice to see you again; I wasn't sure that I ever would."

"Hello sir," said Isobel, with surprising solemnity. She then extended her palm, perhaps recalling the trouble that she'd gotten him into by acting on his suggestion to quit school. After politely shaking her hand, Julian proceeded to kiss the back of it, in true gentlemanly fashion. Interesting, I thought to myself. Perhaps he actually admired her balls, so to speak. It didn't seem that he would have any reason to kiss my own hand, unfortunately; and certainly not now that Baxter had gotten there first.

Of course, it wasn't long before Julian noticed our suitcases. "Planning for an all-nighter?" he asked, striding over to fetch them.

I chuckled, nervously, and mumbled something about terms and conditions.

Isobel and Baxter were waiting for us inside. "Wow, just look at this place, Sophie," she said, twirling around on the marble floor. Her voice almost echoed in the cavernous space, which was dominated by two magnificent staircases. There was no reception desk, however, or mailboxes, or anything else that one might associate with an apartment complex.

Julian then explained that he'd inherited the house from his family; although this tended to raise more questions than it answered. In fact, we both started questioning him at this point. "Refreshments?" he said, changing the subject. Isobel promptly asked for an alcoholic drink, so I followed suit. "If that's really what you want," he said, tentatively.

"Actually, I'm fine with lemonade," I told him.

"Same here," said Isobel, "with a splash of vodka."

Julian smiled and walked away, leaving us to choose a spot for ourselves within the vast living room. Isobel seemed almost lost. "The last time I was in a room like this," she admitted, "people were being channeled through it between ribbon barriers."

"Look, but don't touch."

"Exactly," she replied, reaching up for a book. 

"What have you found, Izzy?"

"I don't know. It's not in English."

Just then, Julian appeared with the drinks, startling both of us and causing Isobel to drop the book. "Sorry," she said, immediately. He didn't seem concerned, however; in fact, he encouraged us to poke around and investigate to our hearts' content.

"Questions too?" she queried. "I mean, can we poke around in that sense as well?"

Julian laughed. "What is it that you want to know?"

Isobel then joined us on one of the plush sofas and graciously accepted her drink. "Well, do you live here alone, for starters?" she asked him.

"Yes, at the moment."

"No family or partner?"

"No, just me."

"This place looks like a lot of work for one person."

"Well, I do have gardeners, and cleaners, but they don't live here."

"So clearly you're not into teaching for the money then, as you obviously don't need it."

Julian leant forward and began to whisper: "I'll let you into a little secret: I'm not actually a teacher."

Isobel took little sips from her glass, whilst apparently digesting this latest revelation. Her eyes didn't wander, however; her intense gaze remained firmly fixed upon Julian the whole time, as if he might otherwise escape her clutches. "What are you, then?" she asked, apprehensively.

Julian sat back and replied calmly and succinctly: "An unteacher."

Isobel frowned. "What the heck is an unteacher?"

"Somebody who can divest others of what they've been taught, or conditioned to believe; of whatever it is they think they know; of whatever is not original and authentic to themselves."

"But the whole point of school is to learn stuff, isn't it?"

"And you actually believe that, do you?"

Isobel grinned. "I guess you helped me to see through the charade, huh?"

"Of course, there is practical knowledge, relatively speaking. But schooling merely exists to perpetuate the status-quo. There really is nothing to learn, as such. There is, however, a great deal to unlearn."

The conversation then turned to the subject of Julian's origins, and I knew that I couldn't postpone the announcement any longer. "There's no delicate way of saying this," I began, "so I'll just come right out with it."

"Okay," said Julian, bracing himself.

"The fact of the matter is, we came here today on something of a pretext; because, actually, we are here to request asylum. Hence the luggage."

Julian looked perplexed. "Asylum?" he questioned.

"Yes, from the government of your planet. You see, we feel that we're being tyrannised and persecuted by other human beings. And, under galactic law, that means that we have the right to request asylum from a non-involved civilization."

"Galactic law?"

"You're familiar with it, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"In any case, you yourself said that you came here to help people leave - remember?"

Julian sat forward and gently held my hands. "Sophie, I wasn't referring to a physical departure," he explained. "I don't own a spaceship. I merely help people to leave the world behind, in terms of their attachment to it, and their imagined role within it. I help people to stop pretending, that's all."

"Unpretenders," said Isobel, suddenly. "That's what we are."

"Potentially," said Julian, returning to his drink.

"But wait," I protested, "why can't we potentially move to another planet?"

"Face it, Sophie," said Isobel, "you're nuts!"

"No, I'm not. There are protocols for this sort of thing. CE-5, for example."

Julian almost choked on his drink, and promptly sat up. "How do you know about that?" he asked.

"Internet research," I told him.

"Whoa!" said Isobel. "What the heck are CE-5 protocols?"

Neither of us said a word.

"Come on guys," she persisted, "you're creeping me out."

Julian then answered her, at least partially: "CE-5 is a method through which human beings can make contact with extraterrestrials."

"And..." I whined, urging him to continue.

"And vector in their craft," he revealed.

"Vector in their craft!" she repeated. "So Sophie isn't nuts, after all?"

"Not entirely, no," he replied.

Buoyed by his unexpected admission, I went in for the kill: "The question is, Julian, how do you even know about CE-5, and have you been using it to contact your people? Or, more to the point, do they have craft capable of transporting human beings off the planet? And, if so, are they obliged to respond to formal requests for asylum, such as the one I've just made?"

Isobel, it seemed, was now as curious about such things as I was, and keen to hear his response. "Well...?" she probed, impatiently.