The conference room on the 144th floor of the ‘Ministry for Temporal Stability’ smelled of ozone, stale coffee and sheer desperation. Dr Aris Thorne, a man whose hairline was receding faster than the polar ice caps in the 22nd century, stared at the hologram before him. It displayed a flickering graph that was plummeting steeply down into the depths of reason.

‘The problem isn’t the technology, Aris,’ said Under-Secretary Vane. He ran his hand over his bespoke nanosilk suit, which changed colour depending on how corrupt the current political climate was. At the moment, it was a deep grey with a hint of blood red.

“The problem is that people have stopped believing in Tuesday.” Aris rubbed his temples.

“Vane, we’ve got hyperspace drives. We’ve got AIs that write poems in binary that bring a tear to your eye. And now a million people in the ‘Zone of Eternal Rest’ are telling me there’s no ‘tomorrow’? That the future is an invention of industry?”

“The Flat-Timers, Aris. That’s what they call themselves now,” Vane corrected, biting into a synthetic doughnut that emitted soft sighing sounds as he chewed.

“They claim the Gregorian calendar is a sophisticated subscription model devised by the watch mafia. They refuse to install the update for their time chip. For them, today is 23 March 2026 all over again. For the 400th time in a row.”

Outside, beyond the bulletproof glass façade, everyday life raged on. Swarms of drones were engaged in minor skirmishes over air corridors, whilst ‘alien sightings’ above the megacities were once again reaching record levels. The fact that these were merely out-of-control advertising satellites projecting holographic tentacles into the night sky to promote toothpaste no longer bothered anyone. People needed their aliens. It was easier to believe in invaders from space than in the next tax rise. Aris sighed and reached for his briefcase.

“I’m off to the Zone. I’m going to prove to these people, using pure quantum mechanics, that entropy is a one-way street.”

“Good luck,” said Vane, looking back down at his tablet.

“And Aris? When you’re there, ask them if they pay taxes. If there’s no tomorrow, theoretically there are no more deadlines either. That makes the Treasury nervous.”

The “Zone of Eternal Rest” was a neighbourhood where the clocks had literally stopped. Here, people wore flared trousers and analogue wristwatches whose hands they’d soldered in place. It was an oasis of retro chic in the midst of a high-tech nightmare. Aris entered the Flat-Timers’ headquarters, a former cinema now called the ‘Temple of the Present’.

A huge poster hung on the wall: TOMORROW IS A LIE SPREAD BY THE CALENDAR LOBBY! He was greeted by a woman called Luna. She was wearing a gown made of genuine linen – an unimaginable luxury in a world of polyester composites – and smiled at him so pityingly, as if he were a child who still believed in the Easter Bunny.

“Dr Thorne,” she cooed.

“Have you come to tell us about the ‘future’? That mysterious place where everything gets better, but which, strangely enough, is never actually reached?”

“It’s not a place, Luna. It’s a dimension!” cried Aris, frantically setting up his quantum projector.

“Look at this photon entanglement. When I flick this lever, the particle is put into the state it will be in exactly five seconds’ time. That IS the future!”

Luna laughed. It was a soft, almost motherly laugh.

“Oh, Aris. That’s just a special effect. A cheap trick by the industry to get us to buy new batteries. Why should I believe in five seconds’ time when I can be here right now? You scientists are so addicted to the future that you’ve completely forgotten the present.”

“But tomorrow is Tuesday!” Aris almost shouted. A few Flat-Timers in the background turned round in outrage.

“We’ve got supply chains! We’ve got deadlines! If nobody believes in tomorrow, the stock market will crash!” “The stock market,” Luna repeated, shaking her head.

“Yet another fairy-tale castle. Tell me, Doctor: if it’s this morning, why does it feel exactly like yesterday? The same wars on the news, the same corrupt politicians, the same polluted air. The world out there is going round in circles, but you want us to believe there’s progress. We’re simply the only ones who’ve stopped running along with the crowd.”

Aris stared at his calculations. He tried to explain to her the curvature of space-time, the thermal asymmetry, the inevitability of ageing.

“If there’s no future,” he began,

“why are you getting older?” “That,” said Luna, brushing a grey strand of hair from her face,

“is merely a software glitch in the Matrix you’re trying to pass off as reality. We’re working on patching the ageing process through positive thinking and ignoring ad breaks.” At that moment, a young man burst into the room. He looked as though he’d come straight from a TikTok live stream. He held his smartphone up in front of him as if it were a sacred relic.

“Guys!” he shouted. “The aliens! They’ve landed! Live on stream above the government district!” Aris and Luna looked out of the window. A huge, glowing green ship was hovering above the skyscrapers. It looked menacing, until a massive neon sign unfurled along its side: “BUY QUANTUM CHIPS – NOW AVAILABLE FOR ETERNITY!” Aris let his head sink onto the table. “It’s just a drone from the tech conglomerates.”

“See?” said Luna gently.

“Even your aliens are just marketing. Why should we trust your ‘future’ when everything in it is a fake? Why don’t you stay with us, Aris. Today is a lovely day. And the best thing about it is: it will never end.”

Back at the Ministry, Aris was sitting opposite Vane again. The Under-Secretary looked exhausted. His suit was now pitch black. “Well?” asked Vane. “Did you convince her? Is tomorrow Tuesday?”

Aris looked at his mechanical wristwatch, which he’d bought in the Zone for a few credits. He’d removed the second hand.

“You know what, Vane?” said Aris slowly. “I’ve checked the data. The quantum fluctuations are clear.”

“And?”

Aris leaned back and smiled for the first time in years. “Tomorrow is a conspiracy. I haven’t scheduled anything for Tuesday. In fact, I’ve decided that today is my last day at work. For good.”

Vane stared at him, his mouth agape. Aris stood up, left his high-tech briefcase behind and headed for the exit.

“Thorne! Where are you going? We’ve got a crisis!” Vane called after him.

“Don’t worry, Vane,” Aris called over his shoulder. “See you yesterday!” Outside, an alien advertising probe exploded in the sky in a blaze of colour. No one looked up. Everyone was staring at their screens, waiting for the next video to explain why what they were currently seeing wasn’t actually happening. Aris took a deep breath of the ozone-rich air. He didn’t know what the future held – and for the first time in his life, he didn’t care in the slightest.