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3773 lines
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO"
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OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
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OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO
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OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO"
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OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO'
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OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #100 |
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|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
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INTRODUCTION
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Welcome to TANJ #100!
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This issue has been a long while in the making, and includes stories written
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by several authors, new and old. A couple of the stories are installments, and
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will be completed in future issues.
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Any attempt at sorting these issues by author, or time of submission has been
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overlooked; as this is the first issue I ever had a "hard" release date for,
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when it came right down to it, I hadn't the time. Deal with it. <g>
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ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
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Red Wings
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by Metonymous Bosch
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...They were all pretty drunk, that bunch of biker wannabees that hung out in
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my bar. Between their obnoxious behavior and the lateness of the hour, all the
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other patrons had left. Their table was littered with beer pitchers,
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half-eaten sandwiches, cigarette butts, and less savory debris. But at least
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it gave me a chance to finish my own supper, between their calls for more
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beer. I chewed the last bite of a microwaved sausage-and-pepper hero as I
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delivered yet another pitcher to their table.
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"But only the *toughest* Hell's Angels earn their 'red wings'. You know what
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that means?" said Allen. He was the bigmouth, and alcohol just increased his
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bluster.
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"No, but you're gonna tell us anyway," said Dan. Dan was the drunkest of the
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bunch. "So tell us already."
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"Well, you gotta get one of the biker bitches who's on the rag. Then you go
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down on her until she comes. She's gotta really be bleedin', and she's gotta
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swear she didn't fake it or nothin' when she comes."
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"Aahh, that's not tough. Just go down on some bitch till she comes? Why do the
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Angels think this is so tough?" demanded Dan.
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"She's got the curse, see. She's on the rag. Bleedin'. It's really disgusting.
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Most guys puke when they try it."
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"Does it disqualify you if you puke?"
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"Nope. Just as long as you make her come. Then they take like Air Force wings
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and paint 'em red, and you wear 'em pinned on your colors. Shows all the other
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Angels how tough you are."
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"Well, it still don't sound so tough to me," said Dan, taking a swig of beer.
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"I bet I could do it. I bet I wouldn't even puke."
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"Oh, yeah? I'd like to see you prove it!" sneered Allen.
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"Well, you don't see any biker bitches hangin' with us, do ya?" said Dan. "But
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if we had some women here, I'd show ya!"
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Of *course* these losers had no women hanging out with them. No woman in her
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right mind would want any of them. I felt nothing but contempt for the whole
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bunch. But, as it happened, I was at that very moment menstruating. On a
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sudden, perverse whim, I stepped out from behind the bar and said, "You're on,
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Dan. Prove to the guys how tough you really are."
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"Suzie! Suzie the barmaid! You really on the rag, Suzie?" To answer them, I
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reached under my skirt and pulled out a blood-dripping tampon. I dropped it
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into Dan's half-empty beer glass as the group made rude noises. "Okay, Dan..."
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I pulled up my skirt and lay back on an empty table, my bleeding crotch near
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the edge. Dan knelt in front of me as I spread my legs wide. His face went
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pale as he got a whiff of the menstruous odor, and his buddies jeered. I
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smiled to myself; what a pathetic bunch of posers! In a jokey voice I said,
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"Go ahead...make me come."
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I didn't think Dan could make me come with three vibrators and a truckload of
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spare batteries. I felt nothing but contempt, verging on loathing, for this
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drunken lout. He'd never win his "red wings", but I could humiliate him as he
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tried.
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Hesitantly, Dan licked at my crotch. He gagged slightly, and his pals jeered
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him again. He steadied himself and started to establish a sort of rhythm,
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licking mainly at my clit. I was surprised to find myself actually beginning
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to feel aroused. Of course, his technique was terrible, but the notion of how
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I was degrading and humiliating him added to my excitement. Then, in a moment
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of bravery, he stuck his tongue right into my cunt. His buddies' cheers
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drowned out his faint retching noises.
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"Hey, Suzie, are you about to come?" yelled Allen. "Not even close!" I replied
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truthfully. I was beginning to enjoy the perverted situation, though. I had
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the power to make this man look stupid in front of his companions. And they
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didn't realize how stupid they ALL were in the first place.
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Dan licked me some more, concentrating mainly on my clit, which must have been
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a little less disgusting for him. It was a LOT more stimulating for me,
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though, and eventually even this crowd of louts noticed; I was sweating, my
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breathing was uneven, and I had begun to move my hips against the hardwood
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table. I lifted my head and called to Dan, "Stick your tongue in my cunt
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again. I want you to tongue-fuck me."
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Dan did his best to comply, but he started to gag and retch again. The guys
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laughed at him. He took a couple of deep breaths, and tried putting his tongue
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in me again. I writhed, not faking anything at all.
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"Finish her off, Dan!" shouted Allen. I thrust my pelvis into his face. He
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retched, harder this time, but stuck his tongue in as deep as it would go. I
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felt the sensations beginning inside my lower abdomen; as the muscles began to
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contract, the onions and peppers from my sandwich made their presence known in
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a huge, uncontrollable fart.
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That was more than Dan could take. With an agonized belching sound, he heaved
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and started to vomit. And that was more than *I* could take. As Dan
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regurgitated my own blood and mucus, mixed with used beer and pizza, all over
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my crotch and thighs and belly, I came. My spasms were synchronized with his
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heaves. Finally, he had nothing left to puke up, and he knelt there retching
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dryly. I regained my composure enough to look down at him. Nobody said
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anything for a few moments.
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"Uh, I guess Dan won his 'red wings'," said Allen.
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ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
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The Tattoo
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by Laura Lemay
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copyright (c) 1992 Laura Lemay
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(permission granted to TANJ to re-publish)
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Ellen was nearly finished with her third drink when she noticed the man in
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black. He was standing by the edge of the dance floor, watching the crowd with
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a bored expression. The crowd deserved his disdain; for an underground
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nightclub, there were certainly a lot of normal-looking people at Shades of
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Midnight tonight. Ellen had been on the prowl all night, and had been
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decidedly unimpressed with the variety of men she had seen. Until now. She put
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down her glass and turned to Tamara, prodding her on the shoulder to get her
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attention.
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"What do you think of that one?" she asked, leaning close so her voice could
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be heard over the blast of the music. She pointed through the crowd where the
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man was standing
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"Oooh, definitely do-able," Tamara replied, nodding. "And just your type,
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too."
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"Who's this?" Andrew, the third at their table, asked. "Who are we talking
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about?"
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"The longhair in the corner. Black jacket, black pants," Tamara replied,
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gesturing with her cigarette to the figure Ellen had just pointed out. "Ellen
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wants him."
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Ellen put on an mock expression of indignance. "I only pointed him out, I
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didn't say I wanted him."
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"Just your type," Andrew affirmed, as the man took a long drink from a bottle,
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completely oblivious to thier observations. "Long hair, black clothes,
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earrings. Yup. Ten bucks says you wants him."
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"Ah, but you don't know if he's tattooed," Tamara noted as Ellen opened her
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mouth to protest.
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"True," Andrew demurred. "Five bucks."
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"Sucker's bet," Tamara said, refusing Andrew's outstretched hand.
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"Cut that out," Ellen laughed. She had obviously spent far too many nights in
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nightclubs with these two; they knew her taste in men all too well. Although
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she had to admit her taste was all too predictable; to give Andrew credit, the
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mysterious man in black had most of the characteristics she looked for in
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fresh meat.
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"Well?" Tamara asked, nudging her with her arm. "If you don't get a move on,
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some other sweet young goth thing'll steal him away from you, and I'll have to
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listen to you bitch all the way home."
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"Wait, the song's ending," Ellen protested. "And besides, he sees me. I have
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time."
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Ellen took her time in approaching the man in black. For almost three songs
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she watched him as she had a fourth drink, watched him as he danced a little
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bit, danced with the showy air of someone who knows they are being watched. He
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had most definitely seen her in the corner, watching him; even though he was
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positioned on the dance floor at the opposite cornber of the room, he peered
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at her through the spaces in the crowd. Ellen felt herself flushing with drink
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and with the attention; she loved this game of tease and reply, of hide and
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seek.
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All the while Tamara and Andrew made fun of her for not getting up from her
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chair, but she shushed them. The crowning glory in Andrew's and Tamara's
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evening came when the man removed his jacket after dancing to a particularly
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hard and fast song, revelealing his bare chest underneath. Covering the front
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of his upper torso, and snaking over his shoulders and around his sides, was a
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single, huge, tattoo. Andrew and Tamara practically crowed with glee.
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"Ten bucks," Andrew reiterated his bet. Tamara merely gave him a sarcastic
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look.
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"What is it of?" Ellen asked, peering through the darkness as the man wove
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between the dancers in his own rhythm. "I can't see clearly from here."
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"Its some sort of monster, I think." Tamara said. "I can see claws,
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and....eyes."
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"Its beautiful work," Andrew commented. Of the three of them, Andrew was the
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resident tatoo expert and owner of five of his own. He was on a first name
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basis with most of the artists in the city. "I don't think I've seen so many
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gradations of purple blended like that before...."
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Tamara snorted. "Leave it to Andrew to provide a running commentary on the
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artistic qualities of punker tattoos."
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"Oh, its ok," Ellen said, relishing the chance for the teasing to turn to
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someone other than herself. "You know how Andrew gets sometimes --"
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"Holy shit." Andrew abruptly said, sitting upright in the chair. Tamara and
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Ellen turned to face him. "What?" Andrew's gaze was riveted upon the tattoo.
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"Thats a Mark Killock. I'd swear it, its his work." Andrew leaned even
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further foreward, trying to get a better view through the lights and the
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darkness. "Shit, I never thought I'd see one."
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"Who's Mark Killock?" Ellen asked.
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"A tattoo artist, obviously." Tamara replied. Andrew looked sharply back at
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the two of them. "Not just any tattoo artist. Mark Killock is one of the very
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best tatoo artists...his work is incredible. That tat is just his style, the
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colors, the blending, and the subject matter...."
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"Its delicious." Ellen commented, grinning, standing up and adjusting her
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short skirt over her thighs. "He's mine."
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"Don't look so worried," Tamara commented after a pause, reaching out a hand.
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"Ellen will be fine. You know her, she likes dangerous-looking longhaired
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boys."
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Andrew shook his head. "I was just thinking about that tattoo."
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"Is it that special?"
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"I've heard some really wild rumors about Mark Killock," Andrew replied,
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looking at Tamara mysteriously. Tamara laughed at him, taking his hands in
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hers as if to reassure him. "Ellen can take care of herself."
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Ellen was pleased with hwo the night was progressing. When she had started
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dancing the man had ignored her, but he had been watching her the whole time.
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When this song had started he had given her his undivided attention. One more
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song and she would be sure. The music pounded in her ears as she swayed back
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and forth, and the man in front of her mimicked her movements, watching her
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with black eyes that radiated lust and made her breathe faster even before he
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had even touched her. And here on the dance floor, with the lights, Ellen
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could get a better view of the tattoo.
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It was a shapeless monster of a tattoo that seemed to writhe as its owner
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moved. It appeared to have dozens of tenacles, tentacles that ended in claws,
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claws that were tinged with dark blood at the ends. It had no head, this
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monster, but it had eyes, thousands of them, greenish purple eyes over the
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exapanse of its gelatinous body that seemed to look straight at Ellen while
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she danced. Its mouth, in the center of its body, was ringed with teeth in
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rows, sharks' teeth. The creature was purple, varying shades of purple that
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reflected and glistened in the light, almost like scales. It was a repugnant
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picture, and Ellen could not fathom why anyone would want it painted
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permanently on thier skin. But at the same time she had to agree with Andrew
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that the work was fantastic. It was hard to believe that any single needle had
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crafted the lines and blended the inks so perfectly that you could not tell
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where one shade of purple ended and another one began. Reaching out playfully,
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Ellen ran a finger down the center of the man's chest, right over the
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creature's mouth. The man's shest was smooth and hairless, with nothing to
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break up the lines of the tattoo. Beautiful. "Do you like it?" the man
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mouthed to her as he danced.
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"Yes," she nodded admirably.
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"He likes you too," the man smiled at her, and Ellen smiled back. Bingo, she
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thought. She had made her conquest.
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Later on Ellen approached Tamara and Andrew, who had moved to the upstairs bar
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where the music was quieter. "So whats up? Progress?" Tamara said as Ellen
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approached thier table again.
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"Oh, yes," Ellen said, smiling. "We're leaving."
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"Have a good time," Andrew commented. It was ritual that made him say that;
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Ellen always had a good time.
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The man approached Ellen from behind, wearing the discarded leather jacket
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over his bare skin once again. He reached out and took the back of Ellen's
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neck in the other. Andrew looked uneasily from the hand to the man's face; he
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looked like he could close his fist and snap her neck with barely a thought.
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"Ready?" the man asked, as Ellen took her jacket and purse from the chair
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where Tamra had put them.
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"Yes," Ellen said, nodding politely to the pair, and turning to leave.
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"Excuse me," Andrew suddenly asked. Ellen and the man stopped and turned back
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to the table. Andrew motioned to the tattoo with his chin. "Is that a Mark
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Killock?"
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The man looked at Andrew, and his eyes pierced the darkness as if a light was
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shining behind them. "Yes," he replied. "It is."
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"Are the rumors true?" Andrew asked, his voice straining to remain causal.
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Tamara could feel the tension behind it in the air. "The rumors about the
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rituals...?"
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The man laughed, once, a short laugh that showed only in his mouth. "Of course
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not," he replied, taking Ellen by the shoulder and guiding her away from the
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table. Ellen waved back as she left, grinning.
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Tamara waited until the couple was out of sight before turning to face Andrew.
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"Rituals?" she demanded, eyebrows raised, "what rituals?"
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"Its just rumor." Andrew shrugged, watching at the doorway where the two of
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them had vanished. "I've heard a lot of rumors about Mark Killock's work..
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wierd satanic shit."
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Tamara waited several seconds for Andrew to continue and when he did not,
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asked, "what sort of satanic shit?"
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Andrew shrugged again, reluctant to continue. "Mark Killock tattoos demons."
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"I'll say," Tamara stated. "That creature was horrible --"
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"That not what I mean. I don't mean that he tattooes pictures of demons; he
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tattoos the demons themselves." He took a pause as Tamara absentmindedly let
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the ash fall from her cigarrette onto the floor. "Its just rumor," he finally
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continued, when he realized he had said too much to just let it drop. "I've
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heard that just finding Mark Killock is a test; you have to be really
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determined to want to find him. It's not like he tattoos in any shops. Then
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once you find him if you want to get tattooed by him you have to go through
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years of training, to prove yourself, before he lets you go through the
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rituals. And the rituals are the wierdest part. I've heard claims that during
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the ritual, black magic draws out demons from your soul. Usually the worst
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kinds of demons. The magic enslaves them and then Killock tattoos the demon
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itself into your skin."
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There was a long pause, and then Tamara took a long drag on her cigarrette and
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laughed. "Do you actually believe all that shit? Thats major twilight zone
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stuff...Personal demons, exorcised from the body and painted into the skin.
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Ooooh," she laughed, waving her hands about in the air in front of her.
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Andrew looked over at her almost angrily, grasping one of her hands in his.
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"Does it really matter if I believe it or not, or even if its true or not? The
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point is that if someone goes through the trouble to get tattooed by Mark
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Killock, he very probably believes it himself. Regardless of the validity of
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the rumors, Ellen has just gone home with a man who believes that he has
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enslaved his own personal demon under his skin. And thats what worries me."
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Ellen laughed as they walked to his apartment, feeling drunk and silly, and
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loving the feel of a new man in her arms. They weaved haphazardly down the
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sidewalk, occasionally taking breaks in the dark sections to grope each other.
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Inside the building, he stopped her abruptly in the hallway outside his door
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and shoved her up against the wall, one hand tangled in her hair, forcing her
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head back to kiss her, hard, and the bit at her neck. Ellen pushed her hands
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up under his jacket, gasping at the naked skin on his back. She gasped when he
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hurt her. Then as suddenly as he had grabbed her, he let her go, standing
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aside and reaching for the keys in his pocket. She had to press her hands up
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against the wall to keep her balance, t keep from collapsing in a heap on the
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floor. Lustfully she eyed him as he unlocked the door and gestured
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chivalrously into the apartment.
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She giggled when he locked the door behind her and pulled her directly to the
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wide futon in the middle of the small studio. He pushed her onto the bed, and
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took off his jacket in the dark, dropping it absentmindedly on a chair. "Get
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undressed," he commanded her, turning away from her and moving about in the
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room. Ellen did as she was told, watching him in the half light as he lit
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candles around the bed. In the flickering of the yellow light the tattoo on
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his chest moved with the muscles in his body as if it were alive. "Come to
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bed," she said, impatient.
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"In a bit." he said, ignoring her as he finished with the candles. It seemed
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like an hour before he finally put down the matches and climbed onto the bed
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next to her. She gasped as his body covered her, gasped as his teeth bit into
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her neck and her breasts. "Oh," she said, once, and he leaned over her, his
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hands on either side of her shoulders, the demon on his chest fully displayed
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by the light of the dozens of tiny flames around the room. "Oh," she said,
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again, finding herself drawn to stare at the work on the skin a few inches
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before her face. It was moving in the light. The clawed tentacles undulated
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towards her and the mouth appeared to open and close, dripping black saliva as
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it did. The demon's eyes looked down at her body in lust and hunger, and Ellen
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found she could not take her eyes away from them.
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"Oh," she said, a third and final time, as the man bent his arms and crushed
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her body beneath his.
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"She's not home," Andrew said, holding the receiver against his ear with one
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shoulder. "I'm telling you, she's not home."
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"Well then where the hell is she?" Tamara asked. "She never misses Fridays."
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"Maybe she has a new guy," Andrew shrugged as the phone rang over and over
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again in his ear. "Maybe she's out with him. You know her."
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"She would never miss a Friday at Shades," Tamara insisted. "Never."
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"When was the last time you talked to her?" Andrew asked, giving up and
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hanging up the phone.
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"Same time you did," she replied. "Wednesday, when she went home with that guy
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with the tattoo. He's probably murdered her, dismembered her body in the
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bathtub and poured acid over it to get rid of the evidence."
|
|
|
|
Andrew smiled, once. "And you claim that I have a vivid imagination." Then
|
|
looked worried. "I woulnd't put it past him. He does have a Mark Killock,
|
|
after all. The type of people who get Mark Killock's tattoos are hardly the
|
|
type who are into normalcy in any way shape or form. And I didn't like that
|
|
guy to start with."
|
|
|
|
Tamara suddenly leaned close and pointed. "We could ask him." she said, her
|
|
voice low. "Thats him over there."
|
|
|
|
He was standing by the bar, wearing the same battered leather jacket as
|
|
before, once again bare-chested underneath it. The creature on his chest
|
|
seemed much less frightening than when it was fully exposed. In the full
|
|
flourescent light of the upper bar, it looked almost like a regular tattoo.
|
|
Andrew and Tamara watched him for a while as he ordered a shot of something
|
|
dark and sludgy looking, and swallowed it effortlessly. "Go ask him," Andrew
|
|
said, nudging at her arm. He didn't admit that he was slightly afriad to ask
|
|
himself.
|
|
|
|
"OK, I will," Tamara took the challenge. Andrew watched as she pushed through
|
|
the people standing around in her path, watched as she walked boldly up to the
|
|
man and talked to him. Andrew could not hear thier conversation, but the man
|
|
looked puzzled when she asked. Tamara made motions that were obviously a
|
|
description; about this tall, longish hair. The man looked at her, and a slow
|
|
languid smile spread across his face. He leaned over towards her, and Tamara
|
|
seemed transfixed by her voice. The man's lips just touched her ear, and he
|
|
whispered something to her. Tamara blinked, once, and then turned pale. <p>
|
|
|
|
Andrew pushed himself away from the wall, ready to jump in if Tamara was being
|
|
threatened. What was going on? Tamara took a step back, blinking, and the man
|
|
leaned back and turned back to the bar, waving at the bartender with
|
|
authority, that smile still stuck on his face.
|
|
|
|
Tamara stood stock still for nearly a minute, and Andrew was just about to go
|
|
up to her to see if she was all right when she turned and bolted for the door,
|
|
one hand pressed up against her mouth. Andrew paused, debating whether to
|
|
confront the man, or run after Tamara. He chose to run after her, following
|
|
her outside. He called her name as she stumbled along the sidewalk, chasing
|
|
her, and finally caught up to her several doors down from the club.
|
|
|
|
"Tamara." He said, grasping her shoulders, turning her towards him as she
|
|
went weak against the wall. Her expression was panicked, her eyes wide and
|
|
full of frightened tears. "Tamara, what is it? What did he tell you?"
|
|
|
|
"She -- I--" Tamara started, and gulped for air, struggling for control. "He
|
|
has her. He has her trapped."
|
|
|
|
"Wait here," Andrew said, turning back towards the club. He pushed past the
|
|
door guy, pushed through the crowds to the bar where the man with the tattoo
|
|
was still standing, talking to the bartender and looking as if nothing had
|
|
happened.
|
|
|
|
"You," Andrew said, pulling on his shoulder, spinning him to face him. "What
|
|
have you done with Ellen?"
|
|
|
|
The man stumbled a bit as he was spun, but he caught his balance and looked
|
|
coolly at his attacker, a faint air of disdain in his glance. "Ah, its you,"
|
|
he said. "I just explained it to your friend, ask her." As if that was the end
|
|
of the conversation, the man turned back to the bar. Andrew took hold of his
|
|
shoulder again, grasped the front of his leather jacket in his fist and turned
|
|
him forcibly back around again.
|
|
|
|
"She told me already. She said you had kidnapped Ellen. I want to know what
|
|
the deal is, but if you've hurt her, I'll fucking kill you right here."
|
|
|
|
The man looked into Andrew's eyes for several seconds, and then laughed again
|
|
with that faint humorless laugh. "I haven't done anything with her."
|
|
|
|
"Well, you certainly gave Tamara that impression. Why is that?"
|
|
|
|
The man pulled back, ripping his jacket out of Andrew's grasp. There was a
|
|
long pause between them as thier eyes locked. "Perhaps because I showed her
|
|
this," the man said, and pulled aside his jacket, turning slightly into the
|
|
light.
|
|
|
|
The full glory of the tattoo was displayed in the flourescent light, and
|
|
Andrew found his eyes drawn once again to the fine detail in the work,
|
|
admiring it even as he was disgusted by its subject matter. The thousands of
|
|
eyes appeared to be staring at him, almost blinking. The tentacles writhed in
|
|
the light, and then as Andrew atched it, the creature actually was moving,
|
|
rolling about on the fabric of the man's skin. And in one of its tentacles,
|
|
viciously mauled, was Ellen. Andrew stepped back, unable to pull his eyes away
|
|
from the scene. Ellen's lower body had been entirely eaten away, the remainder
|
|
cut in slashes over every inch of her skin and her hair hung in her face,
|
|
caked in her eyes with blood and slime. Andrew watched in horror as Ellen's
|
|
body turned in the creature's claws, and saw with ever mounting panic that
|
|
Ellen was still alive, that she was fully aware of what was happening to her,
|
|
and that she was screaming at him, screaming mindlessly, trapped within the
|
|
tattoo.
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
Fifth Floor
|
|
by Arifel
|
|
|
|
`Twenty-five whores in the room next door
|
|
Twenty-five floors and I need more...'
|
|
Sisters of Mercy, `Vision Thing'
|
|
|
|
|
|
Tara glanced up at the facade of the building, which was fairly nondescript
|
|
for something which had sprung up in the middle of the old `Daimaru' area.
|
|
When that particular enterprise had collapsed, dozens of smaller businesses
|
|
had moved in, like jackals to the body of a lion, claiming positions in the
|
|
centre of the city that they wouldn't have ordinarily been able to afford;
|
|
this enterprise, apparently, was one of them. It was unnamed and unmarked
|
|
apart from a curious symbol over the door; two circles, the innermost with a
|
|
thin vertical oval at its centre; the outer circle was broken by curved lines
|
|
at one point, making it look like a tube wrapped around the inner circle. A
|
|
white droplet depended from the edge of the oval.
|
|
|
|
She glanced about somewhat self-consciously, steeled her nerves and then
|
|
pushed through the pair of swinging doors. It was, as Peter had said, an
|
|
R-rated magazine store, at least on the ground floor. Looking past the racks
|
|
of plastic-sealed magazines, she saw a set of steps at the back of the shop,
|
|
leading upwards. She didn't feel confident enough to explore the second floor
|
|
just yet, so she waited, browsing through the displays, checking the videos to
|
|
see if they had a copy of `House of Dreams' (one of her favourites) until
|
|
Peter showed up.
|
|
|
|
She noticed a couple coming down the steps from the second floor. She, dressed
|
|
in faded denims and a plain T-shirt, he dressed similarly (excepting the
|
|
slogan on his T-shirt: `I Belong To Her', and an arrow pointing to his left).
|
|
He was carrying a brown-paper- wrapped, pillow-sized bundle in one arm, and
|
|
supporting his companion with the other. She had a glassy expression on her
|
|
face, and as they passed by, Tara heard him mutter:
|
|
|
|
`I told you to wait, I don't know /anyone/ who's ever been above the third
|
|
floor...' She raised an eyebrow at this.
|
|
|
|
She was examining a back-issue of `Penthouse' that had Pia Zadora on the cover
|
|
(draped in an American flag) when she saw Peter out of the corner of her
|
|
peripheral vision. A young man in his late twenties, dressed in what he
|
|
considered to be the height of Gothic style (i.e., faded black `Country Road'
|
|
wear, with motorcycle boots); he wove his way through the magazine racks and
|
|
embraced her.
|
|
|
|
`I'm glad you found it,' he whispered, `It isn't advertised anywhere, and
|
|
there's no name out front.' He took her hand and led her towards the steps.
|
|
`I heard about this place from Josephine, just before she took her entourage
|
|
to Vienna; they've got some seriously strange stuff upstairs.'
|
|
|
|
`Why are we whispering?' she replied. He smiled.
|
|
|
|
`Because this is a temple. A holy place.' she smiled back patronisingly. He
|
|
led her up to the first floor.
|
|
|
|
Examining the contents of the glass-fronted display cabinets, Tara wasn't
|
|
entirely convinced of the accuracy of Peter's appraisal.
|
|
|
|
`This looks fairly vanilla to me... you can see more extreme stuff in the back
|
|
room at Club X. Remember that set of stocks you were going to buy me for my
|
|
birthday-' Peter pointed to another set of steps, leading up to the third
|
|
floor. Tara smiled, gave a final, longing look at the sets of manacles,
|
|
weighted nipple-clamps, cattle-prods and leather undergarments, and followed
|
|
him upstairs.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The third floor resembled the second, racks of magazines and videos
|
|
interspersed with display cabinets. It was only until she took a closer look
|
|
at the items on display that Tara understood what Peter had meant. She found a
|
|
well-worn, black-leather-bound catalogue with the words `Extremes' embossed in
|
|
gold on the cover. She idly leafed through it... inside were advertisements
|
|
for elaborate torture racks crafted from heavy slabs of dark wood, edged and
|
|
finished in bright chromed metal; on one page was a photograph of a set of
|
|
unusual objects which she recognised as the gynaecological-surgical implements
|
|
from the Cronenberg film, `Dead Ringers'. She felt a chill course down her
|
|
spine as she viewed the cruel, clawed metal digits. She flicked past the rest
|
|
of the items, which seemed to be mostly full-head latex hoods (which had
|
|
always reminded her of ski masks, bank robbers and Ron Hitler-Barassi of `This
|
|
Is Serious Mum'...); on the last page was a striking photograph of a hairless
|
|
gentleman dressed in a full-length leather gown. He had a deathly blue-white
|
|
pallor and an array of nails embedded in his skull. He was holding a small
|
|
box, made of dark red wood with elaborate copper inlays. She recognised it,
|
|
and smiled.
|
|
|
|
There was a television screen set into the wall, showing excerpts from a
|
|
video. It looked like some sort of chat-show, until the guest stood and took
|
|
her clothes off to reveal an astounding array of piercings and tattoo work.
|
|
She slowly turned to show off the more impressive artwork on her back while
|
|
Tara watched, absorbed.
|
|
|
|
Peter was toying with something that looked like a Nintendo Gameboy console
|
|
with a cable protruding from the back that splayed into a dozen
|
|
copper-button-tipped contacts; Peter held one in his left hand, and handed
|
|
another to Tara. She held it and looked expectantly at Peter. He leaned over,
|
|
brushed his lips against hers; she felt a tingle as a tiny electric shock
|
|
passed between them. She giggled, until Peter pointed to the console; the
|
|
`intensity' dial was set at 2, and went all the way up to 100. With a dramatic
|
|
gesture, he led her over to the stairs that led upward.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The fourth floor was much more solemn; subdued, even somewhat spooky. The
|
|
piped Muzak that was playing on the first two floors had been replaced by one
|
|
of Brian Eno's Ambient pieces. The whole scene vaguely reminded her of the
|
|
crypt which featured at the start of the second `Hellraiser' film; the
|
|
lighting was all set at ankle level, diffusing upward. The display cabinets
|
|
were arranged in a grid, spaced about three metres apart, each containing a
|
|
single object. The cabinets towards the rear of the room were taller, to
|
|
accommodate full-size costumes. She approached the nearest of the smaller
|
|
displays.
|
|
|
|
It contained an egg, smooth reflective chrome finish, about twelve centimetres
|
|
along its longest diameter, sitting on a bed of crushed red velvet. She leaned
|
|
closer to examine her distorted reflection in its surface; when she was about
|
|
two feet away, the device suddenly shifted, orienting itself towards her. She
|
|
froze; the pointed end bulged out and a ridge swept back along its length,
|
|
like a ripple in liquid mercury. This was followed by a second ripple, and a
|
|
third; more ripples followed until she backed away, whereupon the egg resumed
|
|
its original shape. She turned to look at another cabinet, and didn't see the
|
|
dozen-or-so needle-sharp spikes, each about five centimetres long, suddenly
|
|
thrust out from the body of the egg, some of them slashing holes in the red
|
|
velvet. They quivered, and then retracted into the egg.
|
|
|
|
|
|
While Peter was using a computer terminal to examine a catalogue of erotica,
|
|
she browsed, wondering at the possible uses of some of the more abstruse
|
|
items. Many of them, such as the egg, seemed designed to stimulate areas of
|
|
the female anatomy; others had more obscure functions. One device completely
|
|
baffled her; it consisted of a series of nine metal rings, mounted on the back
|
|
of something like a telephone handset, the rings set about a centimetre apart.
|
|
They varied in diameter from six centimetres at one end, down to about four at
|
|
the other; the mounting seemed designed to permit the rings to move from side
|
|
to side. It looks, she thought, like an exercise bike for a python. Thinking
|
|
this, she suddenly perceived its use; the thought bringing a wry smile to her
|
|
lips.
|
|
|
|
Her attention was then drawn to the taller cabinets at the back of the room.
|
|
The first one that she came to featured a spare sort of wire frame supporting
|
|
a full-body suit made of gleaming black latex. Reading a tiny plaque mounted
|
|
on the side of the cabinet, she learned that the design had been borrowed from
|
|
the Fremen Stillsuits featured in the film version of `Dune'. It looked, if
|
|
anything, just smaller than would comfortably fit her; she stood there
|
|
admiring the form, the lines which looked as if the suit were designed to
|
|
concentrate pressure on the perineum and around the breasts, pushing them
|
|
upwards. As she gazed in rapture, a click sounded from near the floor, and the
|
|
glass front of the cabinet slid down smoothly. Startled, she took a step back.
|
|
The wire frame suddenly moved forward, as if it was presenting the suit to her
|
|
for approval. She noted that the insides had been liberally dusted with talcum
|
|
powder. She looked around... Peter was still chuckling over the electronic
|
|
catalogue, and no-one else was in the room... she reached out and took the
|
|
suit, lifting it from the frame by the inflated, lip-shaped collar. Her hand
|
|
almost recoiled from it; the slick black surface was as warm as flesh, and had
|
|
a similar resiliency. Taking the collar in both hands, she tugged, and was
|
|
surprised at how easily and how far it stretched. She unlatched the
|
|
matte-black plastic catch at the front of the collar and slowly drew the zip
|
|
down to where it ended just above the waist. She stepped out of her sneakers,
|
|
removed her socks; quickly unbuckled her jeans, undid the fly, kicked them
|
|
off; slipped her T-shirt over her head, transferring the suit to the other
|
|
hand as she did so. After a moment's hesitation, she slid her underpants down
|
|
to her ankles and stepped out of them. Trying to make as little sound as
|
|
possible, she shook the suit out, turned it around and placed one foot inside.
|
|
It slid down the leg-hole easily, the black material comfortably stretching to
|
|
allow passage of her foot. The leg terminated in a sort of soft rubber shoe
|
|
which fit her perfectly. She drew the rest of the suit up her leg, running her
|
|
hand over the smooth black surface with her hand, and then put her other foot
|
|
in.
|
|
|
|
She drew the rest of the suit up her thighs and pulled it up around her waist,
|
|
tugging from side to side and wiggling her hips in order to seat it on her
|
|
crotch snugly. She stood there for a moment, reveling in the sensation of
|
|
rubber closed over her; after her initial stretching to accommodate her form,
|
|
it seemed to be contracting with more resistance than she had felt before.
|
|
Grasping the suit by both sides of the collar, she tugged it up and over her
|
|
shoulders, but the suit now seemed about two sizes too small. She tugged
|
|
again, more firmly, and reluctantly, the suit stretched to the point where she
|
|
could slip the collar up over her shoulders and around her neck. She zipped
|
|
the suit up at the front and re-latched the collar, running her hands down her
|
|
front, over her breasts, smoothing the suit to her warm body. The costume
|
|
still seemed to be awkwardly placed; she wriggled around, trying to peer down
|
|
her back to see if she could spot what was amiss. She bent over forwards,
|
|
straightened the material around her calves, and in moving her right leg to
|
|
get at the suit, she suddenly felt the band that ran from each shoulder to her
|
|
crotch tighten; concealed folds within the costume slid along the divide of
|
|
her buttocks, under the perineum and into her at the front. She gasped and
|
|
straightened; this action caused the folds to flutter against her with an
|
|
unusually stimulating sensation. She merely stood there for a few moments,
|
|
enjoying the feeling; then, with a small smile, she slowly walked over to the
|
|
terminal where Peter was trying to do a global search on the word `velcro'
|
|
(and finding far too many references). With each step, the suit pressed
|
|
against her and relaxed, almost like a lover's tongue. It was becoming quite
|
|
warm, and in places, she could feel the slick sweat inside lubricating the
|
|
contact between her and the latex. I'll have to take it off soon, she thought,
|
|
otherwise I'll have a terrible sweat-rash tomorrow...
|
|
|
|
She approached the terminal, put a hand on Peter's shoulder and whispered,
|
|
|
|
`How does this look?' Peter turned and did a double-take.
|
|
|
|
`I'm impressed,' he said after recovering, `very impressed. Hey, I wonder what
|
|
/this/ button does...', reaching out to press a nipple-sized contact mounted
|
|
on the waistband.
|
|
|
|
`Hey -' she exclaimed as the suit twitched. `ohmighod, I think it's /alive/!'
|
|
She stood there apprehensively while tiny tremors and contractions ran up and
|
|
down the back of the suit, squeezing her hips and behind. The sensation was so
|
|
unexpected that she turned to see if someone was standing behind and had just
|
|
decided to goose her. The twitchings ceased momentarily, and her apprehension
|
|
grew... `Um. Maybe I should take it off...'
|
|
|
|
Just then, the material at the back of the thighs contracted slightly; the
|
|
rubber just above her waistband at the front did the same, forcing her into a
|
|
semi-crouch. In panic, her hand scrabbled at the zipper-catch, but it had
|
|
retreated behind a fold of rubber which seemed to have melded into the body of
|
|
the suit. The material contracted again, more insistently; this time, she was
|
|
forced to her knees. `Peter. I think I should get this suit off. /Now/.' He
|
|
kneeled next to her and felt along the line where the zipper had been; there
|
|
was nothing but a faint seam to mark its location. The suit contracted again,
|
|
around her hips, hugging her sensually; her eyes widened and her hands
|
|
drifted, involuntarily, to her crotch. Peter tugged at the collar; it
|
|
stretched easily, until he had pulled the edge almost twenty centimetres away
|
|
from her; but as soon as he let go, it smoothly contracted until it had
|
|
resumed its original shape, fitting snugly around her throat. It wasn't tight
|
|
enough to obstruct her breathing, but she still tugged at it uneasily. Peter
|
|
took the opposite sides of the collar in his hands, tugged outward and
|
|
downward, dragging it over her shoulders. The upper section of the suit peeled
|
|
away, and snapped tight around her midriff, trapping her arms at her sides.
|
|
She struggled in a sudden panic, but Peter kept tugging until he had managed
|
|
to get it down past her hips. The suit writhed and almost crawled down her
|
|
legs, to lie in a rumpled heap around her ankles. With a tiny grimace of
|
|
distaste, she stepped out of it, and scurried back to the cabinet to fetch her
|
|
clothing.
|
|
|
|
`Are you all right?' Peter asked, the now-limp suit in one hand, held away
|
|
from his body like a possibly dangerous snake. Tara finished doing up the
|
|
fly-buttons on her jeans and sank gratefully into his embrace.
|
|
|
|
`I'm okay... is that thing dead?' he held it up, poked at it with his free
|
|
hand.
|
|
|
|
`Hard to say... i'm not sure it was alive in the first place.' Tara shuddered.
|
|
|
|
`/I/ am. Come on, let's dump it and go.' Peter frowned.
|
|
|
|
`Can you wait a bit? That terminal's doing an involved search, and it should
|
|
be finished in a few minutes...' She scowled, but nodded. He smiled and
|
|
kissed her forehead, rather patronisingly, she thought.
|
|
|
|
She strolled off to look at some of the other cabinets at the front of the
|
|
room. It was then that she noticed, in the shadows behind the stairwell rail,
|
|
another set of stairs leading up to a fifth floor. Her eyes widened; she
|
|
turned and glanced back at Peter, who was still absorbed in his search. She
|
|
peeked up the stairs, but could see nothing except a faint blue-green glow
|
|
from above. She glanced back at Peter again; he looked up briefly as her foot
|
|
touched the first step leading up. He waved and, reassured, she continued.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The fifth floor was somehow much larger than the others; it seemed to extend
|
|
for at least three blocks in all directions. It was probably some subtle
|
|
effect of the lighting, which was all blue-green ripples, as if the slippery,
|
|
waxed floor was actually a subterranean lake. The roof was supported by bare
|
|
white columns, spaced about ten metres apart.
|
|
|
|
In the centre of the room stood something that looked like an elaborate
|
|
Egyptian sarcophagus, detailed in gold and chrome. The door-shells lay open
|
|
along two hinges that ran up the back, like a book. She got closer and saw
|
|
that the inside was lined with lush, thick black velvet. She ran her hand down
|
|
the inside of the case. It felt wonderful...
|
|
|
|
She looked about again; she was alone. Smiling, she stepped into the case, and
|
|
stood with her back to the hinges, feeling the inverted shells lined with
|
|
velvet on both sides. She closed her eyes and threw her head back; there
|
|
seemed to be an indentation placed to comfortably seat the back of her head,
|
|
and another, placed lower, that she could almost sit into. She lay back in the
|
|
soft, dark embrace of the sarcophagus and imagined that she'd been buried
|
|
under a mountain of dry stone blocks and golden sand, inside this elaborate
|
|
coffin. She practised being dead; eyes closed, she breathed out, hands crossed
|
|
over her breasts. After about twenty seconds of this, she giggled and resumed
|
|
breathing.
|
|
|
|
She stood inside the shell, running her hands along the insides for almost
|
|
five minutes, admiring the sensual feel of the velvet, which seemed faintly
|
|
warm to her touch. The more contact she had with it, the more she wanted to
|
|
feel it against her skin, and it was only a matter of moments before the
|
|
decision was made to to strip naked. She did so, tossing her clothes across
|
|
the floor, and was soon leaning back into the welcoming halves of the coffin.
|
|
She pushed her head back and spread her arms; her legs, behind and lower back
|
|
seemed to find their places in the warm, dark recesses; her body sank back of
|
|
its own accord. She sighed and closed her eyes.
|
|
|
|
The faint feeling of a breeze against her naked breasts caused her to open her
|
|
eyes, only to see the twin sides of the sarcophagus closing over her. She
|
|
shouted in panic; too late, as the doors shut and her protest was muffled in
|
|
folds of thick black material. She desperately pushed her hands out to try and
|
|
stop the two halves coming together completely; to no avail... the shells
|
|
closed slowly but insistently. Just as the vertical gap of blue-green light
|
|
narrowed to a strip, then to a crack, she cried out in terror; then she was
|
|
enclosed in soft darkness.
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
The search completed, Peter looked up from the terminal. Tara wasn't in the
|
|
room, so she must have decided to explore the fifth floor. He shrugged, turned
|
|
the terminal off and climbed the steps...
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
Sunday Morning Noise
|
|
by Dava
|
|
|
|
very early sunday morning (i.e. around eight a.m.). the room is lit by
|
|
sunlight creeping around the window-shade, a dark-purple square and some low,
|
|
guttering candles on the altar. three figures are sleeping entwined in the
|
|
black sheets on the bed, zebra-like intervals of pale skin, dark sheets, more
|
|
pale skin, dark hair. at the moment, it's impossible to discern their genders.
|
|
a jet passes over, engines making the windows buzz slightly. a candle flickers
|
|
and dies.
|
|
|
|
a car pulls up outside, muffler loose and rattling, automotive emphysema. a
|
|
door opens, slams shut again; a bonnet creaks up and then the radio starts
|
|
blaring out something too distorted to identify. it has the standard dance-mix
|
|
beat; occasional samples and synth notes pop out of the fuzz, putting it just
|
|
on the annoying edge of recognition. whatever it is, it's loud enough to wake
|
|
up one of the sleepers. she slithers out from the sheets, stands and
|
|
stretches, small breasts pointing at the Giger poster above the altar, rubs
|
|
dark makeup from her eyes, brushes back gel-stiffened strands of blue-black
|
|
hair. the music from outside grows slightly louder.
|
|
|
|
she steps over stray boots, socks and underwear, sorts amongst the junk on the
|
|
altar, eventually selecting something shaped like a cordless drill. she
|
|
presses a contact on one side, and a red LED blinks.
|
|
|
|
out in the hallway, Kiril ignores her lack of clothing and tosses her a piece
|
|
of fruit that he's grown out in the back yard. she catches it in her right
|
|
hand, smiles her gratitude and bites into it, white teeth behind dark purple
|
|
lips. it has the texture of a peach, a taste somewhere between an apple and a
|
|
pear, and is packed with euphoric chemicals. no seeds. glossy dark purple,
|
|
almost black skin. she pads up the hallway to the huge front door, enters six
|
|
digits on the keypad, opens it.
|
|
|
|
the front yard is overgrown with vines, ferns, an impenetrable mass of
|
|
greenery with a tunnel cut along the path to the outside world. she blinks at
|
|
the occasional shaft of sunlight which falls on her.
|
|
|
|
outside the front gate, she can see a huge, something - a Ford? A Datsun? she
|
|
has no idea; the rear tyres are much larger than the front ones, it's painted
|
|
bright red and has a fluourescent green fuzzy dice the size of a basketball
|
|
hanging from the rear-view mirror. the music is coming from two shoebox-sized
|
|
speakers set amidst the sheepskin that lines the rear window. the bonnet, as
|
|
she would have heard had she been awake at the time, is up and a pair of legs
|
|
in acid-wash jeans terminating in elastic-sided boots is protruding from the
|
|
left-hand side of the car. the legs wave about as if the body that they belong
|
|
to is trying to undo a bolt with its teeth.
|
|
|
|
she examines the device she found on the altar. there are two unmarked dials
|
|
on the back, both of which she sets to their half-way points; she then points
|
|
it at the car and presses the trigger. it buzzes three times, a green LED
|
|
flashing above the dials; she turns it to one side, frowning, then finds the
|
|
safety catch and unlatches it.
|
|
|
|
this time when she presses the trigger, it gives off a deep hum and a faint
|
|
disturbance - almost like a sheet of heat-haze wrapped into a pencil-sized
|
|
tube - reaches from the barrel of the weapon to the side of the car. twisting
|
|
the left-hand dial makes the tube expand to the width of a toilet-tube, and
|
|
she can see faint waves streaming along the beam to where it hits the side of
|
|
the car, scratching and screaming like a dentist's drill. the bonnet falls
|
|
down, and the person connected to the legs starts shouting.
|
|
|
|
the beam moves up towards the front of the car, blows in a side window and
|
|
hits something vital inside; the radio dies. she releases the trigger and
|
|
notes that a foot-thick layer of haze has surrounded the car, which is
|
|
beginning to crackle and smoulder. the legs have stopped moving.
|
|
|
|
she backs off and watches as the car heats up, the windshield popping out like
|
|
a set of false teeth being spat, the tyres bursting, the petrol tank rupturing
|
|
and spraying flame from the back with a breathy `fooosh' sound; the upholstery
|
|
burning, the frame sagging into the softened tar of the road. the blaze seems
|
|
to be confined to the car-shaped field.
|
|
|
|
she nods and goes back inside. her companions are still asleep; she adds a
|
|
fragment of amber to the single burning candle, to cover the smell of burning
|
|
rubber, places the weapon on the altar and climbs back into bed.
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
- Life With Dava -
|
|
by Arifel
|
|
|
|
foursday morning. that means the home shopping delivery! food! i went over to
|
|
the wall, checked the flag - which was flashing green - and pulled open the
|
|
drawer. this time, the second and third drawers opened as well, making a bin
|
|
set into the side of our apartment about one and a half metres deep. i started
|
|
lifting out plastic bags and dumping them on the kitchen table, selecting by
|
|
feel the ones that had been refrigerated and putting them under the conical
|
|
stasis-field in the corner.
|
|
|
|
that still left a large assortment of... things. i picked up one, examined it;
|
|
a blank white waxed cardboard tetrahedron about the size of a softball, faint
|
|
raised edges spelling out alien pictograms that i could see by holding the
|
|
container up to the light, turning it from side to side, catching the shallow
|
|
shadows. i shook it; whatever was inside shifted around like a liquid. i
|
|
shrugged, took it over to the sink and punched a hole in one side with a fork,
|
|
a scratch and three small punctures leaking a thick saffron fluid which
|
|
smelled like blood. my nose wrinkled involuntarily and it went into the waste
|
|
recycler. if any of the others wanted to try them, there were five more.
|
|
|
|
there was a box which i knew had a passable copy of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese,
|
|
the blobby, oddly-shaped script on the side of the box remeniscent of Moridani
|
|
Phandric. this box and two others like it went on the shelf.
|
|
|
|
there were things like a book of raffle-tickets, five centimetres along the
|
|
spine by thirty centimetres, the leaves pale green, pulpy and edible, faint
|
|
taste of cinnamon. on the shelf.
|
|
|
|
a hexagonal-closest-packed stack of ball bearings wrapped in blue- tinted
|
|
clingfilm. that went over in the `don't know' corner with the knotted
|
|
finger-thick tubes filled with glowing white liquid, the incomprehensibly
|
|
twisted spanner set, the tin cans with non-human script and pictures of
|
|
spitted and dressed people on the labels, the package of two-dimensional
|
|
biscuits that we couldn't pick up once we'd unwrapped them, the music disks
|
|
with unreadable or incomprehensible data and pictures of six-legged animals on
|
|
their labels.
|
|
|
|
four clear plastic pencils filled with dark grey powder. i hid these in my
|
|
jacket pocket.
|
|
|
|
most of the other stuff that they'd sent us was standard, generic
|
|
non-interesting food, things we'd identified before and had been game enough
|
|
to taste; short, wide jars filled with rich, yeasty-smelling black paste,
|
|
bright orange grapes, spherical sponge-cakes, dodecahedrons filled with
|
|
slightly salty water; amidst all of this, a startlingly human-looking jar of
|
|
Nescafe Blend 43 instant coffee (the label saying that it was `MADE ON
|
|
SYNDAINE', wherever that was).
|
|
|
|
i held the jar up and shouted, `hey, everyone! COFFEE!' Peter passed by,
|
|
looked in, sniffed, grabbed some grapes and continued on down the hall. Dava
|
|
came in behind him, took the jar, unscrewed the lid and broke the seal with
|
|
her thumbnail; she inhaled and shuddered. `lovely! is there any sugar left?'
|
|
i indicated the crystalline block on the shelf with spoon-marks on one side;
|
|
she leaped at me and hugged me.
|
|
|
|
after disengaging, she sorted through the few things left on the table that i
|
|
hadn't moved into the `don't know' corner. she picked up a mirror-surfaced
|
|
forearm-sized cylinder, examined it, looked at me; i shrugged. she took it
|
|
over to the sink and gently tapped it against the edge of the waste-recycler's
|
|
mouth. there was a brief fingernails-on-blackboard screech, the mirror-surface
|
|
vanished and she was holding a roll of soft black cloth, carpet-thick. a reel
|
|
of thread had been attached to the end; it fell into the sink and she caught
|
|
it before it rolled down the waste-recycler.
|
|
|
|
for almost a minute she just stood there, rubbing a fold of the cloth between
|
|
her fingers, eyes closed, cooing. `come here and feel this.' tentatively, i
|
|
stroked it with an index finger. it felt... well, strange; very slippery,
|
|
almost frictionless in fact; warm, furry, elastic. she held up the edge and
|
|
let the rest drop, a jet-black strip half a metre wide and almost two metres
|
|
long. very black. no shadows; i'd even go as far as to say light-absorbent.
|
|
she laid it out on the table and fetched her sewing kit.
|
|
|
|
while i sat on the bench, pulling off chunks of sponge and chewing them, she
|
|
took off her jeans - faded black denim that fit her slim hips like a tight
|
|
glove - and laid them next to the strip of alien cloth. they looked dusty in
|
|
comparison.
|
|
|
|
dava turned them inside-out and took a pair of scissors to them, cutting out a
|
|
wide pinnate section starting at the base of the zip, under and between the
|
|
legs, up the back. she held them up for my examination.
|
|
|
|
`crotchless jeans. nice,' i said around a mouthful of sponge. she picked up
|
|
the alien cloth and cut out a broad hastate strip just larger than the section
|
|
she'd cut out of the denim. it took her only ten minutes to hand-sew it into
|
|
the crotch of her jeans. she took off her underpants before trying them on,
|
|
wriggling her hips as she settled into the familiar shape.
|
|
|
|
`what does it feel like?' i asked. she stood facing me, hips moving in
|
|
tentative circles, her eyes closed. she ran her hand down her behind, shivered
|
|
and then murmured,
|
|
|
|
`excuse me.' she left the room, walking slowly, the crease of alien material
|
|
riding up between her buttocks. i shook my head and made some coffee.
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
- Wurlitzer Love -
|
|
by Dava
|
|
|
|
A bar that bears a suspicious resemblance to the one in `Akira'; night-time.
|
|
The numbers are divided, unevenly, between Goths (few) and members of a social
|
|
sub-group known (in australia) as Bogans (many).
|
|
|
|
A word about Bogans to those unfamiliar with them: citified, urban red-necks,
|
|
they wear tight blue jeans; tartan flannel over t-shirts advertising beer;
|
|
moccasins. They will have a packet of cigarettes tucked into the rolled-up
|
|
t-shirt sleeve. Their musical tastes encompass such innovative and
|
|
ground-breaking acts as Cold Chisel, AC-DC, the whole Guns 'n' Jovi thing.
|
|
They drive overpowered Holdens and Fnords and have no intellectual pursuits
|
|
beyond ridiculing Goths.
|
|
|
|
The place is quiet except for the drunken hoots of the Bogans. A gaggle of
|
|
them stagger over to the juke-box. It's one of those modern computer-based
|
|
things, a rounded column about the width of those old Esso petrol-pumps,
|
|
smooth unmarked plastic the colour of old bronze. A list of available songs
|
|
scrolls past at chest height, yellow text on blue.
|
|
|
|
The Bogans jabber excitedly, pointing out tracks by Jimmy Barnes, The Angels,
|
|
Rose Tattoo; their voices die down slowly as their spare processing capability
|
|
is taken up with the task of figuring out how to work the juke-box. There
|
|
aren't any coin slots, no swipe-card recess; no buttons, dials, switches,
|
|
contact-pads, not even a grill for a voice-recognition system.
|
|
|
|
Half the group grow more excited at the list of songs and the other half grow
|
|
more exasperated at their inability to get the thing to play any of them. One
|
|
particularly drunken specimen kicks the machine; the glowing screen flickers
|
|
and fades. They give a ragged cheer and go back to the bar for more beer.
|
|
|
|
A young Goth girl - floor-length black dress, lace panel over her cleavage,
|
|
black lipstick, white face, kohl-darkened eyes with eyeliner curlicues,
|
|
burgundy ribbons in her white hair - goes over to the juke-box and, before the
|
|
astounded gaze of the Bogans, gives it an unashamedly affectionate hug. The
|
|
screen comes back on, this time with blood-red Fraktur text on a black screen,
|
|
listing songs by Big Electric Cat, Rosetta Stone, Southern Death Cult, Skinny
|
|
Puppy. She gives the machine a secret smile and whispers to it; seconds later,
|
|
`Heresy' by Nine Inch Nails is screaming out of the sound system. While the
|
|
Bogans scratch their fleas, the Goth girl sweeps off to dance with herself.
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
- Ethnic Cleansing -
|
|
by Arifel
|
|
|
|
if anyone had ever tried to classify such things, i suppose this would have
|
|
been suburban nightmare number twenty-three.
|
|
|
|
it was sunday night, moving on into monday morning. we'd been out to
|
|
Apocalypse on saturday night and had kept going thoughout sunday, finally
|
|
running out of steam around eight o'clock in the evening. seven of us had
|
|
started, but only three of us had made it through the gauntlet of the goth
|
|
nightclub, the early-morning drinking session and the sunday market trauma. it
|
|
was a shame that when we finally collapsed into my king-size bed, Jeri and i
|
|
were too tired to do anything with Michael; we were good friends, not so close
|
|
that we felt we had to do anything apart from sleep whenever we ended up in
|
|
bed together.
|
|
|
|
anyway. as i said, it was monday morning when the front door was kicked in and
|
|
the house was invaded by a squad of heavily-armed men, their faces hidden
|
|
behind reflective-plastic gas-masks. they'd cut off the power before making
|
|
their dramatic entrance, and the place was underlit by their very bright
|
|
torches. we were too stunned to ask what they were doing; they just surrounded
|
|
the bed, pointing their blunt-nosed rifles at us.
|
|
|
|
Jeri - always a quick thinker in these situations - sat up in the bed and let
|
|
the black sheets drop from around her shoulders, exposing one pale-nippled
|
|
breast. i could see the line of some of the rifles waver in response, but they
|
|
weren't about to be swayed from whatever they'd come to do. someone up the
|
|
back shouldered their way through the armed men and held up a plastic bag with
|
|
a sheet of paper inside. i couldn't see much due to the uncertain nature of
|
|
the light but i did see the word `cleansing' in bold type near the top of the
|
|
page. that was all it took to start that Pop Will Eat Itself song cycling
|
|
through my mind; as they bundled us out of the house - still undressed - and
|
|
into the back of their black van, i imagined their thumping, booted feet
|
|
keeping time with the riff in my head, over and over... `Ich bin ein
|
|
Auslander...'
|
|
|
|
there were about a dozen others in the back of the van, in similar stages of
|
|
undress. nobody i knew. we were too numb to speak; Jeri and i huddled together
|
|
for solace while the van lurched around the streets, making two more pickups -
|
|
five more people - before stopping at a long building in the middle of a
|
|
concrete compound, surrounded by cyclone-wire fences. there were guard-towers
|
|
at the corners with spotlights and, behind them, just visible against the sky,
|
|
the long barrels of automatic weapons.
|
|
|
|
we were herded, shivering, through the double doors at the end of the
|
|
building, down a long corridor and into a low-ceilinged room with that kind of
|
|
painted concrete floor you sometimes saw in institutional communal showers.
|
|
the doors slammed shut behind us and there was an ominous silence. i was the
|
|
only one who spoke:
|
|
|
|
`i guess Jello Biafra was right all along.' Jeri laughed, despite herself.
|
|
|
|
a clanking sound came from overhead - oh, goddess, this was it - and suddenly
|
|
sprays of warm water shot out of concealed spigots in the ceiling. again, we
|
|
were too shocked to say anything; we stood or kneeled in a bunch at the centre
|
|
of the room while the hot water beat down on us. it was quite relaxing, after
|
|
a while; i'd just started massaging Jeri's shoulders when the water shut off
|
|
and the guards entered with large, white towels. we were forcibly dried off
|
|
and returned to our homes, but they still haven't been back to fix the front
|
|
door.
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
- Company's Coming -
|
|
by Tal Meta
|
|
|
|
|
|
Commander Derek Quan was the sort of curious halfbreed the Earthani Militia
|
|
sought out. Born of a Chinese mother and a black SolBelt father, what skin he
|
|
had left was the color of creamed coffee. He favored burgundy mirrorchrome for
|
|
his prosthetics, except for the eyes, which shined like two backlit emeralds.
|
|
He had doctorates in both mathematics and history, and masters degrees in a
|
|
half-dozen more subjects.
|
|
|
|
Never a "people-person", Derek had pulled all the strings he could to get his
|
|
current position as Chief Watch Officer aboard the EMW_Cape_May. CWO wasn't a
|
|
command position; it didn't have to be. The Cape_May only had life support for
|
|
four, and most of that was for emergencies. No, Derek was quite alone.
|
|
|
|
Except for the voices of the stars.
|
|
|
|
Sitting naked and alone in the 'tower, Derek would often have the onboard
|
|
computer tune into a hundred or more frequencies at once, and just let them
|
|
hiss and crackle in dissonant harmony. Every once in awhile, some signal would
|
|
manage to rise above the noise of the stars, and then Derek's life would be
|
|
hectic for awhile... isolating its direction, amplitude, probable age...
|
|
|
|
Humanity knew seven races by contact, and had heard rumors of perhaps a dozen
|
|
more. Most of the rumored ones lay at the far ends of their known races'
|
|
trading sectors, but the geography of space often meant that what was a fringe
|
|
area to one race was right next door to the next. Earthani economic & military
|
|
strategists were guessing that one such race, known as the Ifshnaire, a Vorsk
|
|
client-race, were actually situated within few hundred light years of the
|
|
Human worlds. Since direct contact with the Ifshnaire would cut out the Vorsk
|
|
as a middleman in mutual trade, and there was also the chance of putting
|
|
Humanity into contact with other races as yet undiscovered, Humanity had
|
|
started the WatchTower Project, of which the Cape_May was a part.
|
|
|
|
The Cape_May was shaped vaguely like a dumbbell. One end contained the
|
|
sophisticated radio and gravimetric sensors, the other contained a powerful
|
|
hyperpulse transmitter. Life support, Derek's meager living quarters, the
|
|
fusion reactor, and a few weapons occupied the 10km long "shaft" of the
|
|
platform. Cape_May held a wide orbit around a white dwarf star, well beyond
|
|
the star's wispy solar wind and the noise of her remaining gas giant's
|
|
magnetic storms. On a really good day, Derek could filter enough static out to
|
|
get really, really crummy reception of radio and TV broadcasts from Earth made
|
|
450 years before, and then ONLY because he knew what frequency ranges to look
|
|
in, and what type of transmissions to look at. Usually not worth the trouble,
|
|
as it was all still in black & white.
|
|
|
|
For the last week, Derek had been receiving intermittent signals in binary.
|
|
The messages had a strange, blue-shifted quality to them, as if the source
|
|
were approaching him at relativistic speeds. The messages he'd tried sending
|
|
at the source of the transmissions wouldn't reach them, even with the closing
|
|
velocity, for another six months or more. Derek was very hopeful that he'd
|
|
have the chance at a "first contact". Company'd be nice out here, so long as
|
|
it wasn't _Human_ company....
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
When the EMS_Camille jumped in-system eight months later to resupply the
|
|
Cape_May, only her half-blasted shell remained. No trace of Cmdr. Quan
|
|
was ever found.
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
Eli always liked to watch transition... something about the way the starfields
|
|
would shift and dance about in the few seconds it took for his aging ScoutJS
|
|
to make the jump across the void appealed to the romance in his soul.
|
|
|
|
On the far side of the control center, a proximity alarm began its shrill
|
|
bleating. Eli ignored it for the moment, as he swung the ship's nose towards
|
|
the star he'd recently arrived at. Setting the sail mechanism on automatic, he
|
|
motioned towards a small, monkey-like being that had been curled up one of the
|
|
spare acceleration couches. "C'mere Jingo, watch the dials. Call me if it goes
|
|
into the red."
|
|
|
|
Jingo clambered up over the top of the couch he'd been sleeping in and
|
|
gracefully leapt the intervening distance, an easy feat in the zero-gravity of
|
|
the ship. As the biostruct settled himself atop the sailmaster's position,
|
|
Eli's aged, wrinkled body made a similar leap to the helmsman's position. Zero
|
|
gravity gave even his old body grace.
|
|
|
|
Eli quickly silenced the proximity alert, and began adjusting the Doppler
|
|
radar set to resolve the shape of the object that had set off the alarm. He
|
|
half expected to find a cluster of asteroids, or some other similar body, as
|
|
such debris often was found at jump-points. But the object the radar reported
|
|
was too diffuse to be rock, and the spectrometer was reporting some kind of
|
|
metal alloy.
|
|
|
|
"A ship? Didn't think even pirates would be out this far; no shipping lanes
|
|
within a hundred light-years." Eli mused to himself as he brought more of the
|
|
ships instruments online. Spectrometer showed traces of titanium, cobalt, and
|
|
ceramics, with a dusting of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and helium ice coating the
|
|
outside. Magnetometer was off the scale; whatever it was had a strong magnetic
|
|
field inside somewhere. Gravitometer was going wild, swinging between 1.2 &
|
|
1.5 gees in an erratic pattern.
|
|
|
|
Massometer showed the entire ship, less the varying gravitational field,
|
|
weighed in at about 100,000 metric tons. Optics showed it to be roughly
|
|
egg-shaped. Eli was still musing over the readings when the door to the bridge
|
|
slid open and Cecilia glided towards his position.
|
|
|
|
Cecilia was another biostruct... only in her case, the only telltale sign of
|
|
it were the birthmarks on her forehead and left buttock. Designed as a rich
|
|
man's sexual plaything, Eli'd bought her at an auction for a tenth of her
|
|
original selling price. Lossend biomerchants were notorious for their shoddy
|
|
business practices, and in Cecilia's case they'd skimped on a few controls in
|
|
her personality. For instance, while they'd designed her to be a loving,
|
|
sexually enthusiastic companion for her millionaire owner, they'd neglected to
|
|
inhibit her cravings to JUST her master. When her owner came home early one
|
|
day to find her straddling the gardener, he came very close to killing her out
|
|
of hand. He settled for having the merchant's home burned to the ground.
|
|
|
|
But the laws governing the ownership of biostructs, _especially_ humanoid
|
|
ones, carried stiff penalties for damaging them. In disgust, he sold her to an
|
|
auctioneer, and Eli bought her for a song. Besides, aboard the HJS_Lansing,
|
|
there were no other men for her to be unfaithful with. Intelligence was
|
|
another area they'd skimped on, but neither the millionaire or Eli cared much
|
|
about that. She had a chipware socket, after all.
|
|
|
|
Eli had his own strange tastes... scout pilots often went for years at a time
|
|
in the unexplored reaches beyond mankind's settled stars. If he hadn't had a
|
|
grav deck installed aboard ship, he'd probably have made her cut off all her
|
|
hair. Instead he let her grow it long, and it billowed out behind her as she
|
|
drifted across the bridge to his position. Even though he himself seldom
|
|
bothered with clothing more complex than underwear, he always made Cecilia
|
|
dress in a patent leather black corset, with garters and black circuit pattern
|
|
hose. Even though Eli didn't know it, her genetic pattern was based on the one
|
|
time UN President Vera Wells, a woman almost as famous for her beauty as for
|
|
her chilling slaughter of a quarter million rebels aboard a habitat in the
|
|
Harmony system when she'd been a captain in the EMS.
|
|
|
|
She settled into his lap almost purring with desire. "What's so int'sting,
|
|
Eli, that its keeping you up here so long? 'celia's getting impatient for her
|
|
man. Besides, dinner is almost ready!" Eli liked his women to be a bit on the
|
|
teasing side, so he'd bought a custom skillsoft to give her the personality he
|
|
wanted. Cooking was another thing he needed, so he'd bought an American
|
|
cuisine chip as well. The third chipslot was usually empty; Eli'd plug in a
|
|
Kama Sutra chip when he began to grow jaded in his appreciation of Cecilia's
|
|
charms.
|
|
|
|
"Found a ship, sweetheart. Real odd one, too. I think I'm going to have to
|
|
investigate it firsthand, as its got too strong of a magnetic field to use a
|
|
WAD in. If its a derelict, I'll have salvage rights to it. Doesn't match to
|
|
anything in the Federation's database, so that means its from a new alien
|
|
species."
|
|
|
|
'Why'd it be a der'lit, Eli? How you know?" her hand was snaking down towards
|
|
Eli's crotch, spoiling any illusion that she was actually interested in his
|
|
discovery. "Because, darling, its got a variable gravimetric field, like one
|
|
of those Saathik ships. Only it looks like this one's gone haywire, and maybe
|
|
killed everyone aboard. Traces of atmospheric gasses icing up the hull, so she
|
|
may have lost pressure. Why, the man who brings back even a broken gravity
|
|
generator could well write his own ticket, back home. Saathik ships'd just
|
|
explode and fuse all the components if tampered with... these folks might not
|
|
be so paranoid."
|
|
|
|
While Eli was explaining the possibilities of salvage to his concubine,
|
|
another of the small monkey-like beings appeared in the doorway Cecilia had
|
|
entered from, ringing a small bell. Monks were a biostruct often sold as pets,
|
|
even though they were almost as intelligent as an eight year old human child.
|
|
While incapable of human speech, they could read, and had an attention span
|
|
any eight year old's parents would die for. "Jango says dinner's ready, Eli.
|
|
Please come and eat. You can go 'splore your der'lit after dinner." Cecilia
|
|
half pulled, half pushed Eli from the helm, pulling him along behind her.
|
|
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile, aboard the 'derelict', carefully shielded sensors slowly,
|
|
cautiously came on line. Detecting only electromagnetic and primitive
|
|
gravimetric sensors being used to probe itself, it brought its own, more
|
|
sophisticated equipment online. Carefully, it extruded an antenna on the far
|
|
side of its hull, and broadcast a tight meson beam to a point deep in the
|
|
inner system's asteroid belt: "CONTACT. 4 BIOSENTIENT, 2 PROTO-SENTIENT.
|
|
TECHLEVEL 10ñ1. ACQUIRE Y/N?"....
|
|
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
After dinner and 'dessert', Eli clambered through the airlock separating his
|
|
shuttle from the main ship. Jango followed along, carrying a small container
|
|
of water and Eli's gyrojet pistol. After a brief preflight, Eli disconnected
|
|
the shuttle and began a cautious approach of the derelict. While the autopilot
|
|
made course corrections to bring the shuttle within 100 meters of the alien
|
|
vessel, Eli struggled into a much stained flightsuit, followed by a pressure
|
|
suit that was almost 30% patches. As the ship began its final braking
|
|
maneuvers, Eli strapped his gyrojet pistol to his hip, and motioned Jango into
|
|
a emergency pressure ball.
|
|
|
|
Once his shuttle had reached its destination, he dragged Jango's pBall into
|
|
the airlock and leapt across the distance separating the two ships. About 10
|
|
meters from the derelict's hull, he fired an EVA stick at full throttle,
|
|
hoping to cushion the impact with the ship's g-field.
|
|
|
|
Even still, he hit hard enough to rattle teeth. A 10 minute search finally
|
|
revealed what could only be a hatch on the surface of the ship. Ice, probably
|
|
oxygen or CO2, made it difficult to get the hatch open, and Eli eventually had
|
|
to resort to chipping it away with the butt of his pistol.
|
|
|
|
Once inside the alien craft, the monitors on Eli's suit reported a thin, cold,
|
|
but breathable mixture of gasses. What the monitors didn't report on was the
|
|
smell. "I pity you your sense of smell, Jango. After this trip you'll probably
|
|
be mis-seasoning dinner for a week!" Eli's nose couldn't wrinkle quite as
|
|
effectively as the monk's, but the stench of what he guessed was rotten meat
|
|
was pretty stiff. The corridor leading away from the airlock was at best dimly
|
|
lit, filthy, and showed signs of a battle having been fought in and around it
|
|
sometime in the distant past. No bodies were in evidence, but the perfectly
|
|
cylindrical shape of the corridor was reminiscent of a Drallim ship, except
|
|
for their size. "Big blokes, to need hallways this big around..." Eli mused to
|
|
himself, as he and Jingo began to look for signs of the ship's crew.
|
|
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
...2 BIOSENTIENT ABOARD, 1 PROTO-SENTIENT WITHIN 12 KAMEII. BEGINNING
|
|
COLLECTION PROCEDURE...
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
The corridors seemed to snake around in no discernable pattern; whoever they
|
|
were, straight lines and flat surfaces weren't high on their list of design
|
|
parameters. After awhile, Eli began to realize that perhaps the corridors were
|
|
the size they were to permit their gravity technology to make every surface
|
|
'down', without causing vertigo. Chambers located off the corridors were
|
|
spherical, and usually filled with equipment Eli couldn't even imagine the
|
|
uses of. Some had surfaces that seemed to glimmer, or that had a sort of
|
|
twisting, escher-like effect to them. Controls? Readouts? Eli's portable
|
|
techscanner couldn't tell.
|
|
|
|
After a half hour of wandering aimlessly, Eli began to follow his nose. After
|
|
another 15 minutes, his search was finally rewarded... sort of.
|
|
|
|
His best guess was that it had been an arm. A loose grouping of fingers(?) at
|
|
one end still curled tightly around what he guessed was a weapon. When Eli
|
|
tried prying them away, they broke, sending out a faint spray of dust as they
|
|
did so. What looked like the 'trigger' was protected behind a guard too small
|
|
to get his own fingers through, so he dropped it into the empty pBall tucked
|
|
under his gunbelt.
|
|
|
|
Taking the nearest exit led Eli into the first spherical chamber he'd
|
|
encountered that did not have any gravity. Here the dim lights gave way to a
|
|
billion or more brilliant pinpricks spread out in a large spiral; a model of
|
|
the Milky Way. One point in particular drew Eli's attention by simply being
|
|
hard to look at, and the more he concentrated, the more clear it became.
|
|
|
|
Suddenly, instead of the whorl of the galaxy, he floated suspended amidst the
|
|
stars of system he was currently in. He could see the derelict, as well as his
|
|
own ship... but he was beginning to get a massive headache. He tried changing
|
|
his point of view, remembering the night sky of L-6, his home system...
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
COLLECTION PROCESS COMPLETE. POINT OF ORIGIN ESTABLISHED. PROCEEDING TO
|
|
COORDINATES 1143.12 x 11874.23 x 13.565. ETA 14,234,492,992,110 CYCLES.
|
|
COLLECTION OF PROTO-SENTIENTS AND REMAINING BIOSENTIENTS OF SECONDARY
|
|
IMPORTANCE. COLLECT AT LEISURE.
|
|
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
Klaxons began ringing anew aboard the HJS_Lansing when the egg-shaped derelict
|
|
shimmered, then shot out of sight at almost 98% of lightspeed. Cecilia had
|
|
grown restless on the grav deck, and had eventually wandered up to the bridge
|
|
to watch the pretty dials and lights flicker. Jingo quickly clambered to the
|
|
top of the acceleration couch he'd been napping in, futilely looking to
|
|
Cecilia for instruction on what he should do. Cecilia, her hair forming itself
|
|
into a tangled mask as she shook her startled head to and fro, quickly found
|
|
the switch that would silence the proximity alarm.
|
|
|
|
In the back of her mind, she tried very hard to remember what Eli had told her
|
|
a thousand times before, about what to do if... if something BAD ever happened
|
|
to him. Something about... a chip? Yes... the pretty blue one he'd never let
|
|
her try before. She gracefully leapt across the bridge towards the door to the
|
|
rest of their quarters.
|
|
|
|
Once in their private quarters, she had a new dilemma. Eli kept the chips in
|
|
the ship's locker, behind a small combination lock. She felt sick, deep in the
|
|
pit of her stomach. Numbers and writing were very difficult for her, as her
|
|
designers hadn't optimized her for anything but being a concubine. Oh, she had
|
|
manners, and could be the belle of any party; her wit and grammar were
|
|
impeccable, when she needed them to be. But when faced with a simple math
|
|
problem that any born-human could solve in moments, she had to resort to
|
|
carefully counting on her fingers and toes. What had Eli said? "You're the key
|
|
to everything on this ship, my dear. I couldn't even start these engines
|
|
without you."
|
|
|
|
But that was silly. Eli almost never allowed her on the bridge, and he'd
|
|
spanked her HARD the only time she'd ever gone down to the engine room. How
|
|
could she be the key?
|
|
|
|
Jingo was clambering around her ankles, making it hard to think. When she
|
|
picked him up to swat his bottom, she noticed that the tattoo on his derriere
|
|
contained a short string of... numbers! She knew the tattoo on her forehead
|
|
was just a maker's mark, but...? Sure enough, as soon as she found her hand
|
|
mirror, she tried angling it to show the tattoo on her left cheek. The numbers
|
|
looked all funny, but she dutifully tapped them into the comb- lock. Nothing.
|
|
The other way? To her elation, the door to the locker gave a gentle click, and
|
|
swung open.
|
|
|
|
Her hands were shaking so badly now that she dropped the chip twice before she
|
|
managed to get it oriented on the socket at the nape of her neck. When she
|
|
finally got it seated correctly, her mind exploded.
|
|
|
|
Perhaps expanded would be the better term, she thought to herself. As the chip
|
|
fed its database of knowledge and mannerisms into her brain, she felt the cold
|
|
chill of her fear leave her. But she almost fainted as the full impact of the
|
|
chip hit her...
|
|
|
|
There was a voice in her head! A man's voice.... Eli's voice! Almost without
|
|
realizing it, she'd returned to the bridge, and was reviewing the sensor logs
|
|
of the alien spacecraft's vanishing act. All the numbers and readouts were
|
|
still mostly gibberish to her, but it seemed to make sense to the
|
|
Eli-in-her-head. Her hands flew across the controls now, and she could feel
|
|
the hum of the ship's fusion generator come to full life. The ship shuddered
|
|
as her hands worked a dozen controls, this one reeling in the solar sail, that
|
|
one channeling energy from the fusion reactor directly to the drive coils.
|
|
|
|
{Eli, what are we doing?} she thought to the presence in her mind, as he moved
|
|
from one control station to the next, obviously preparing the ship for a quick
|
|
jump out of the system. {The Eli you knew my sweet is likely dead by now. I'm
|
|
the "original" Eli; the one you knew was a... not a clone, or biostruct, but a
|
|
special kind of copy. He wore the same body we were both were born with, and
|
|
we had alot in common, personality wise. But 40 years ago the Militia began
|
|
losing ships and listening posts in this region of space to a new species... a
|
|
race of machines... a race of weapons. We started calling them the Neumanns,
|
|
because they have no name for themselves.}
|
|
|
|
{Are we at war with them?} Cecilia wondered, half to herself, half to Eli.
|
|
{Yes and no. We surmise they were created by some long dead race as a kind of
|
|
"final weapon" of destruction. Even though it is likely that both their
|
|
creators and the race they were designed to fight are both now dead, the
|
|
Neumanns continue on, following orders that were given while men still lived
|
|
in trees. Their travels through the universe finally brought them to the edges
|
|
of our civilization, and now we must either fight them or die.}
|
|
|
|
{Why do we call them New Mens if they aren't human?} Cecilia asked. {Not _New
|
|
Men_, Neumanns, after Dr. Von Neumann, a 20th century theorist. He envisioned
|
|
self-replicating machines designed for exploration. They'd travel from system
|
|
to system, and when they found materials suitable for building others like
|
|
themselves, they'd do so, expanding Humanity's reach and knowledge
|
|
exponentially. These creatures are much the same, except instead of
|
|
exploration, they engage in genocide. So far, we've lost every battle we've
|
|
fought against them, which is why I volunteered for this mission.}
|
|
|
|
"What kind of mission, Eli?" she whispered aloud. {I agreed to undergo a
|
|
process that completely wiped my memory and experience from my body. An edited
|
|
copy of that gestalt of knowledge was fed back into my meat-brain, while the
|
|
rest was encoded into this chip. The Eli you knew has no memory of ever
|
|
serving in the EMS, and doesn't even properly remember our childhood on Earth.
|
|
_He_ believed he was raised on a planet circling L-6, a star in the military
|
|
corridor. The Neumann's don't have hyperdrive, so it'll be several decades
|
|
before that ship reaches there. What little we've learned about the Neumann's
|
|
these past few years, aside from their lack of a jumpdrive, is that they
|
|
operate in swarms; each Neumann imparts the sum total of its knowledge and
|
|
tactics to its descendants.}
|
|
|
|
{They also have some kind of psionic technology that they can use to pick the
|
|
brains of races that they meet. Which is why Eli had to be as ignorant as
|
|
possible of his true origins and function.... the Neumann'd spot any
|
|
falsehoods he tried to plant. Also, as they "age", they add to themselves and
|
|
change their mission profiles. The one that Eli just left here in is called a
|
|
Trapper, about as old as Humanity's Industrial Age, 600 some odd years. It was
|
|
designed to lure a sentient aboard, and then use its psionic instruments to
|
|
locate its point of origin. Its "parent" is probably still here in this
|
|
system, and already on its way to collect or exterminate -us-, which is why we
|
|
have to hurry.}
|
|
|
|
Almost on cue, the ship's proximity alarm began ringing anew, and a quick
|
|
glance at the Doppler radar showed nearly a billion metric tons of mass
|
|
rushing at the HJS_Lansing. "Thirty seconds to outjump, thirty-four seconds to
|
|
intercept. Jingo, secure yourself and prepare for jump." Cecilia's voice held
|
|
the commanding tones of a seasoned commander as she spoke. {How long before
|
|
the Neumann reaches L-6?} {About 144 years. .98c seems to be the best speed
|
|
they can make, and the big ones can't even make it over .91c. Plenty of time
|
|
for us to prepare a proper welcoming party. Eli's going to have one hell of a
|
|
funeral pyre...}
|
|
|
|
|
|
...
|
|
|
|
|
|
Eli awoke naked in zero-g, in a bare chamber that seemed to radiate light from
|
|
its very walls. Everything he'd brought aboard was gone, and the light seemed
|
|
to reinforce his body's frailty. He couldn't smell the decay anymore; either
|
|
it was gone, or he'd grown too used to it to notice anymore. His only company
|
|
seemed to be a silver sphere about a meter in diameter and about 4 meters
|
|
away. The very air seemed to thrum with power, as if the derelict's engines
|
|
had come alive while he slept.
|
|
|
|
As the sphere began to move towards him, he could see that it had been
|
|
eclipsing the still, mutilated form of Jango. When the sphere began to unfold
|
|
to reveal what looked very much like surgical instruments, Eli didn't even
|
|
have the will to scream....
|
|
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
- A Date With Siaoubo -
|
|
by Arifel
|
|
|
|
The concert is due to start at eleven, but the main feature (Einstuerzende
|
|
Neubauten) aren't due to come on until some time after midnight. i want to see
|
|
what kind of goons would front for E.N, so i get to her place at quarter to
|
|
ten. she's only just woken up, is still drunk, so i help her get dressed and
|
|
drag her out to the car. she realises she's left her bag inside, rushed back
|
|
to get it and emerges with one of those hessian bags, you know the ones, about
|
|
the same size as a large TV screen.
|
|
|
|
as we drive to the old greek theatre, she's going through the bag, doing an
|
|
inventory. by the time we get to the main road, i feel like grabbing the bag
|
|
and throwing it as far as i can - there are enough illicit pharmaceuticals in
|
|
there to put us both away for several life-times. she keeps sampling them. i
|
|
feel like Oscar Acosta, trying to keep up with Hunter S Thompson. i think at
|
|
least one of us should be straight, so i settle on munching on some chewy,
|
|
earthy- tasting brown stuff while she eats several varieties of capsules and
|
|
tablets, washing them down with bourbon (yuck!).
|
|
|
|
`are you trying to kill yourself with all that stuff?'
|
|
|
|
`all what stuff? all this? this is -nothing-, my love.'
|
|
|
|
`oy vey.'
|
|
|
|
|
|
she keeps asking me to pull over, 'cause its hard to inject speed when i'm
|
|
bumping over the tram-tracks in Bridge Road. i find a parking-spot around the
|
|
back of that hopsital just down the road from the venue, and she crouches on
|
|
the back seat with a spoon and a cigarette lighter and a length of shoe-lace,
|
|
trying to co-ordinate her actions. i have half a coke-bottle full of water
|
|
under my seat (left over from when i drove a car with a radiator) and so to
|
|
avoid the distressing sight of my lady friend boiling up speed with bourbon, i
|
|
offer it to her. i even hold the spoon for her.
|
|
|
|
`you should try this stuff, it's great.'
|
|
|
|
`uh-huh.'
|
|
|
|
`no, really, you can shoot it into the veins along the side of your dick.'
|
|
|
|
`yeah, right! did you read about that guy in the states who did that with
|
|
cocaine? he developed blood clots in his legs and had to have them amputated,
|
|
along with his balls, his dick and most of his fingers.'
|
|
|
|
`well, that's -cocaine-, isn't it? that stuff's mostly baby powder anyway.
|
|
-this- is pure, Gowron [real name changed to protect the guilty - ed] makes it
|
|
himself.'
|
|
|
|
`and what does he cut it with?' she snarls at me.
|
|
|
|
`he wouldn't -dare-.'
|
|
|
|
|
|
we walk down Bridge Road to the old greek theatre. there's a huge queue full
|
|
of goths (up 'til now, i didn't know melbourne had this many goths) and we're
|
|
right at the end of it. she's twitching like someone's jammed a power cable up
|
|
her ass and they're turning it on and off in time to music only she can hear.
|
|
despite the large number of alternative type people in the queue, people are
|
|
still nervous when they see her. i just hope she doesn't start noticing that
|
|
they're noticing her...
|
|
|
|
we get inside, with approximately half of the audience still behind us, which
|
|
means we get a fairly good seat. i chose seats up in the balcony in the hope
|
|
that she wouldn't try to get up on stage and participate (as she had done in
|
|
the past), but it occurs to me now that she might try some impromptu flying
|
|
lessons. it seems she can't go more than sixty seconds without glaring at
|
|
someone and asking them `what the f*** are you staring at, asshole?' i hang
|
|
back and signal over her shoulder to whoever she addresses that she's off her
|
|
face and should be ignored. i dread to think what she'd do if she turned
|
|
around and caught me making that twirling-the-finger-next-to-the-head gesture.
|
|
i don't think she brought that gun with her. i hope she didn't.
|
|
|
|
there's some guy playing a variety of native australian instruments. he has a
|
|
huge dirty grey beard and looks a lot like a wandering street person. his
|
|
music isn't amplified and before she can focus her irritation on him, i try to
|
|
engage her in a conversation about a story i'm writing, during the course of
|
|
which i discover that she did bring the gun but didn't bring any bullets.
|
|
|
|
what seems like years later, the street person has vanished and the stage crew
|
|
are setting up E.N's stuff. desperate to sidetrack her from noticing her
|
|
boredom - because she is most dangerous when bored - i ask her if she has
|
|
anything `interesting' in her bag. a sly look crosses her asiatic features and
|
|
she produces something like a ping-pong ball made of crumpled dark-brown
|
|
paper. it smells like compressed dust-bunnies. she's looking at me like `go
|
|
on, i dare you!'... i draw the moment out as long as i can, slowly take it
|
|
from her, sniff it cautiously and then swallow it whole, hoping that it isn't
|
|
fatally poisonous and that i can drive while under the influence of whatever
|
|
it is.
|
|
|
|
at that point, the band starts, Blixa Bargeld doing the speech which is the
|
|
introduction to the song `Prolog', from `Haus Der Luege':
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Meint ihr nicht:
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wir koennten unterschrieben
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auf dass uns ein biz zwei prozent
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gehoeren
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und tausende uns hoerig sind
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i'm relieved that she waits until they start singing `Feurio!' before joining
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in.
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it's almost near the end of the show before she starts coughing badly. i drag
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her outside where she starts vomiting, really projectile, like a fire-hose.
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where is all this spew coming from? she's throwing up into the gutter and
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we're slowly moving up the street, and there's a police car on the other side
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of the road, and they're watching us... oh god. she finally runs out of chunks
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and faints, so i grab her in an awkward fireman's carry and stumble back to
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the car. just another fun night out.
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i'm driving her home when i realise the buzzing in my head, which i thought
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was from the loud music, hasn't gone away, and i remember the brown-paper
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ping-pong ball. uh oh.
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ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
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- INSPIRATION & RUBBER LOVE: 2 Songs -
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by Slack Mammoth
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Congratulations Leo Fender,
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and to the guy who thought of Body suits
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I do appreciate your contribution.
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but most of all, Jack Daniels, I thank you.
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Thank you, Jack Daniels for the life you saved me from;
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a wife to feed, a job to keep, a place to call my own.
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Thank you, jack daniles, for everything that you done...
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but most of all, Jack Daniels, you helped me write this song.
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Cold nights on the trail from colorado,
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I think about the girls that I once knew.
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But all I have around me is my horses,
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so Once again, Jack Daniels, I thank you.
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Thank you, Jack Daniels, for the guy you let me be;
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my social charm, My Tattoed arm, my yearning to be free.
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Well, thank you, Jack Daniels, for everything that you done...
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but most of all, Jack Daniels, you helped me.... yeah ya helped me...
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you helped me write this song.
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[End]
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Verse 1
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I'm just crazy 'bout the fact that my baby doesnt breath.
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- E - | -A- | -E- | -A- | -E- | -A- | -E- | A- |
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turns me on, the way that I turn on her batteries.
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-E- | -A- | -E- | -A- | -E- | -A- | -E- | -A- |
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Chorus
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oh, oh oh, rubber love \___ x2
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-B- | -B- |-A- | -A- | -E- | -A- | -E- | -A- | /
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Where | -A- | is a bar of A, straight eights.
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Verse 2.
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I don't mind that my baby don't help around the house.
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it's hard to pay the bills, but when it come to thrills, I never do without.
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Chorus
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Verse 3.
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when she meets my friends, they don't understand what I see in her
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Thats ok, I don't like them anyway, I'd rather be with her.
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chorus.
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[End2]
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ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
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- Images of ShadowWatch Keep -
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by The Awakening
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An angry red eye,
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Dying, dying,
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As it sinks,
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And winks,
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Out,
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The Stars peer cautiously,
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Glittering,
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O'er the moon-tossed land,
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As the shadows rise,
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Shades of black,
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And black,
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Dark wings,
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On a moody Night,
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Dark eyes,
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Watching,
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Brooding,
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As a slender moon-pale hand,
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Reaches out,
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And points,
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Towards a moon-pale castle,
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Between shaggy darksome forest,
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And cairn-dotted plain,
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It's ivory minarets tower,
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Above ebon courts,
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And dusky gardens,
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Where a silver-dappled rose,
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Grows,
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Nurtured by the pearly glow,
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Cool and close,
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Floating eternally full,
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Faintly smiling,
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Seductively beckoning,
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Calling,
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Through twilit halls,
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And gloomy chambers,
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Down inky stairwells,
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And lightless corridors,
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Deeper, deeper,
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To the nether reaches,
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Of a restless soul,
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To a door,
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Shut,
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Locked and fastened,
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Barred and bolted,
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A questing moonbeam,
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Slips in,
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Quiet and unobtrusive,
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Unnoticed,
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Gliding behind a chair,
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Silently,
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An alabaster maiden sits,
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Raven-tressed and sloe-eyed,
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Hushed,
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Before an icy cold hearth,
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Dark and empty,
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Waiting,
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Waiting,
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The silver-cool finger,
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Of Light,
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Quietly curls around her ankles,
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Tingling,
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Around her calves,
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Gleaming, shivering,
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Between her thighs,
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Glowing,
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Around her waist,
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Shining,
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Over her breasts,
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Sparkling,
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Around her neck,
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Pulsating,
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Over her eyes,
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Glittering,
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Radiant madness,
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Calling,
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Pulling,
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Tugging her up,
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Out,
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Through the door,
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Barred and bolted,
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Locked and fastened,
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Shut,
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Through lightless corridors,
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A moonlit maiden races,
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Up inky stairwells,
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Through gloomy chambers,
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And twilit halls,
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A moonlit maiden races,
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Across Stygian courts,
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Into a dusky garden,
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A moonlit maiden,
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Stops,
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Before a silver-dappled rose,
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And smiles,
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As she leans close,
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And gently kisses it,
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A lover's kiss,
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Before she rises,
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And looks into the Night,
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|
Silver-chased,
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Beneath an argent Moon,
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|
Seductively beckoning,
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Faintly smiling,
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Over a moon-struck land,
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|
Where dark eyes of jet,
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Watch,
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And brood,
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While a moon-struck maiden,
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Runs
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ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
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- High Flight -
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by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
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Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth,
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|
And danced the sky on laughter-silvered wings;
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|
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
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Of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things
|
|
You have not dreamed of -- wheeled, and soared, and swung,
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|
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
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|
I've chased the laughing winds along, and flung
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My eager craft through footless halls of air.
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|
Up, up the long, delirious, burning, blue,
|
|
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace,
|
|
Where never lark, nor even eagle, flew,
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And while, with silent, lifting, heart I've trod
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|
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
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|
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
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ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
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|
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- Dark White -
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- 04: Touchdown -
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by IronHorse
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|
|
Gliding lowly over the tops of the buildings in the downtown Detroit area the
|
|
nearly transparent Great White sailed in search of a host. His desires were to
|
|
find some low-life criminal type who had escaped the system and had no right
|
|
to an afterlife, even if it was to be burning in the depths of hell.
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|
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However, unknown to Great White, another telepathic individual was standing in
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|
the crowded streets beneath his flight path, and was picking up on Great
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|
White's probes.
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'Great. One of those do-gooder types,' thought Randal Smith as he slid his
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|
Colt .45 back into it's holster. 'I suppose the President would like me to go
|
|
see what he's up to...' With that, the telepathic detective turned to the
|
|
building behind him and mounted the stairs, again missing out on the fanfare
|
|
that was a Presidential parade.
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|
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"Shut up!" Eddie yelled at Lisa as he smashed her across the face, "I've got
|
|
things to do!"
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"Yes Eddie, I'm sorry Eddie..." Lisa blubbered as blood ran down her cheek
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which already began to swell.
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"You know, I've just about had it with you," Eddie screamed.
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Lisa turned away from him, flinching from the blow she knew was inevitable and
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|
giving Eddie the perfect target to strike her in the back of the head, and
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|
knock her unconscious.
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"Bitch," Eddie said as she slumped to the floor.
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With his girlfriend out of the way, Eddie turned back mounting the tripod she
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|
was questioning him about on the window. She was correct, it was a
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photographer's tripod, but now Eddie was mounting on a special bracket he
|
|
bought for just this one purpose. Killing the president. After a final
|
|
adjustment he slid his rifle home. A look through the scope and he was quite
|
|
satisfied.
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'A parade? How am I supposed to find one sent of prevailing evil thoughts in a
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parade of thousands of people?' Great White asked himself. And just as his
|
|
hopes were beginning to diminish, he caught the fish he was looking for. 'Take
|
|
this Mister President,' echoed in the hero's head in the words of Edward
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Lynch, accompanied by that man's imaginary image of a bullet striking between
|
|
the eyes of the President. Great White soared towards his prey.
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|
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'Take this? Well I'll be damned,' thought Randal Smith as he stalked up the
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|
apartment building in which Edward Lynch was stationed. 'Seems Mister
|
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Goody-goody has relayed some information to the proper authorities for once,
|
|
instead of knocking the whole damn city down by trying to take care of it
|
|
himself. I am surprised.'
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|
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Lynch was getting edgy, he could hear the sirens of the lead motorcycles in
|
|
the motorcade coming down the road, he wasn't sure if the eleventh floor was
|
|
such a good idea to be shooting from, but he knew it would give him the best
|
|
chance of getting away. As he waited, he looked back on Lisa lying unconscious
|
|
on the floor, and thought back onto why he was so set on killing this man.
|
|
Eight years ago Lynch was in 'The Vipers', a rather dirt-bag little gang in
|
|
the northern end of the Bronx. They didn't command much respect among the
|
|
other gangs, quite possibly because the other gangs knew even their weakest
|
|
members could kick the snot out of the Vipers entire gang. However, they did
|
|
have themselves set aside in a small neighborhood and were doing pretty good,
|
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as gangs go. The police near bothered with the Vipers either, they too having
|
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bigger and better things to concern them. So the Vipers had a rather easy
|
|
life. Eddie found himself a girl, and soon he was the second in command of the
|
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thirty-odd member group. He was rather proud of himself for once, actually
|
|
doing something with his life after failing and dropping out of high school.
|
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|
|
However, President - then Mayor of NYC - McCartile ruined all that. In what
|
|
was to be his first step towards the Presidency, McCartile declared a war on
|
|
all the gangs in NYC. Employing the National Guard and some super-powered
|
|
special forces when necessary, he would not stop until every gang was wiped
|
|
out. As a sample of his abilities, he decided to start small.
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|
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The Vipers didn't stand a chance. Three hundred men in battle armor swooped
|
|
down upon their neighborhood and before lunch time everyone associated with
|
|
the gang was either dead or captive. Everyone except Lynch. Lynch got lucky
|
|
because he was at the other end of town speaking with the larger gang in this
|
|
area, paying the Viper's respects. When he returned later that evening, it was
|
|
all gone. His girl, his friends, his possessions, his livelihood. All gone. He
|
|
tried to return to the other gang, but by nightfall all the gangs in the Bronx
|
|
joined the Vipers in defeat.
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|
|
Eddie endured many long nights at his mother's house waiting for there to be
|
|
decision on what was to happen with all the captured gangers. Eddie wasn't the
|
|
only one to be surprised and outraged to hear the verdict of 'all members
|
|
guilty by association, with a minimum sentence of ten years.' The straw that
|
|
finally broke the camel's back was when Eddie's girl got killed in jail over a
|
|
fight for her 'favors'. She was only sixteen, there was no reason for her to
|
|
be in prison, let alone dead. For that alone, Edward Lynch vowed McCartile
|
|
would pay.
|
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|
|
As Great White bolted towards the source of the evil he sensed, Randal Smith
|
|
was just reaching the first door on the eleventh floor. He knew he had to move
|
|
quickly because the President was soon to be in range. The first and second
|
|
rooms being a bust, Smith was beginning to get worried...
|
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|
|
Great White found his lock and began to prepare himself for the excruciating
|
|
pain that usually follows a transfer like this. He was also hoping to begin
|
|
his life anew as a hero with another heroic deed, saving the President from
|
|
what was destined to be an assassination attempt.
|
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|
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Lynch was psyched now, already the beginnings of the motorcade have passed and
|
|
he could make out the Presidents limo drawing near. He squatted into position
|
|
and peered through his scope...
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|
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Smith was still two doors away. 'Damn goody-goody. Don't get involved in
|
|
this,' he thought to himself about Great White.
|
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|
|
The President slowly rolled into Lynch's cross hairs...
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|
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Lynch tensed on the trigger...
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|
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Great White got closer...
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|
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Smith tried the room next door...
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|
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Lynch began to track the President with the scope, preparing to lead his
|
|
shot...
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|
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Smith banged on Lynch's door...
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|
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As Lynch pulled the trigger on the rifle there was a flash of sunlight in his
|
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scope and he hoped he didn't miss...
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|
|
Smith smashed his way through the door at the sound of the gunshot.
|
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|
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"FREEZE!" He yelled at Lynch.
|
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|
|
Lynch's body seemed to jerk and he twisted about, ripping the rifle up along
|
|
with the tripod, turning towards Smith.
|
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|
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Smith fired quickly like the marksman he was, and as Lynch's cerebrum hit the
|
|
wall behind his body Smith thought he heard someone scream 'No!' He dismissed
|
|
it and checked on the President's condition.
|
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|
|
The President was not hurt, yet there still seemed to be some commotion...
|
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|
|
... To be continued...
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|
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|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
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|
|
A CHILD'S NIGHTMARE SKETCH
|
|
by Doomlord
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER ONE
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
Anton Farrar sipped his bourbon and looked over to where Marty sat with his
|
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pick-up for the night. The girl looked young, too young to be allowed in a
|
|
place like this. She was gorgeous, with wide, brilliant green eyes which shone
|
|
with innocence, even in the gloom of the club. Marty had introduced her as
|
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Sasha, and then quickly whisked her off to an adjacent, but privately separate
|
|
table.
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|
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Sasha wore a simple black skirt and halter-top which showed off her
|
|
figure perfectly. Anton admired her from a distance, secretly envying Marty
|
|
for his lack of scruples. Give the handsome young man, with his long blond
|
|
hair and sparkling personality, ten minutes away from his steady girlfriend
|
|
and he would be with some other girl. It was not so easy for Anton: if Sharon
|
|
found out he'd cheated on her there'd be no forgiveness.
|
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|
|
Shortly, an older girl walked up behind Sasha and whispered something
|
|
into her ear, glancing over to where Anton sat. This other female, like her
|
|
friend, was not familiar to Anton, and therefore obviously no local of the
|
|
club. He had observed her from afar that night, and wondered at her air of
|
|
boredom, her quiet mystery and sullen beauty. So it was that he experienced an
|
|
excited, nervy thrill when Marty leaned over and told him that the girls had
|
|
invited them both to their place for a few drinks and maybe some speed.
|
|
|
|
The four stepped out of the noise and heavy atmosphere of the club into
|
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the cool sea-breeze. As they walked towards the car-park, Anton noticed that
|
|
Marty had his hand comfortably resting on Sasha's curvaceous, black-clad arse.
|
|
He tapped his friend on the shoulder and said: "Hey - aren't you going to
|
|
introduce me?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, yeah, Anton, meet Nicolette. Nicky, meet Anton."
|
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|
|
"Hello," said Nicolette, smiling at Anton. She was beautiful, he
|
|
realised - all dark hair and impressive curves - and he was sure if he played
|
|
his cards right, she could be his that night. All thoughts of Sharon had fled
|
|
his mind. Suddenly he realised that he was fairly drunk and if he didn't
|
|
concentrate on his speech, he'd slur his words. He began to fumble in his
|
|
pocket for a pack of cigarettes just as they arrived outside a small
|
|
convertible jeep.
|
|
|
|
Nicky drove with Sasha next to her and they chatted, oblivious to the two in
|
|
the back. Whatever they were talking about was obliterated by loud dance music
|
|
on the stereo. The car sped along the coastal road, with houses to one side
|
|
and the endless expanse of the ocean on the other. Anton turned to his friend
|
|
and shouted in his ear: "Are they sober?"
|
|
|
|
Marty shook his head vigorously and grinned. Without warning the car
|
|
bumped over a gutter, swerved and jolted everyone about. "Shit!" shouted
|
|
Sasha. "Keep your eyes on the road, Nicky."
|
|
|
|
Marty laughed drunkenly, insanely. Anton looked nervously up at the bar
|
|
supporting the plastic sheeting which served as a roof for the convertible,
|
|
and began to feel paranoid. He was aware that, were this thing to roll, the
|
|
back-seat passengers would have little chance of survival. He leaned forward,
|
|
his eyes on the road in front of the car, and shouted at Sasha to turn off the
|
|
music.
|
|
|
|
"Are you okay to drive, Nicky?" he asked, concern obvious in his voice.
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, sure. Hey, I'm sorry about that."
|
|
|
|
"Do you want me to drive, Nicky?" asked Sasha.
|
|
|
|
"No, no. Look I'm fine."
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, fer fuck's sake, Anton, stay cool," Marty said to Anton,
|
|
playfully punching him on the shoulder. "Don't be so damn on edge all the
|
|
time." He handed Anton a bottle of Wild Turkey Sasha had passed back to them,
|
|
and Anton took a deep swig.
|
|
|
|
The car sped onwards.
|
|
|
|
"Where do you two live, by-the-way," asked Anton.
|
|
|
|
"Oh, Subiaco," said Nicky.
|
|
|
|
Anton saw the turn-off sign for Subiaco flash by. "Dammit," exclaimed
|
|
Anton. "I think you just missed the turn-off."
|
|
|
|
Nicolette took her eyes from her driving and turned back to where the
|
|
boys were seated. She grinned and said: "Yeah, I'm taking a different route
|
|
for a change!" For a second Anton saw something in her eyes. Was it a flicker
|
|
of malevolence? No, just my paranoia, he rebuked himself.
|
|
|
|
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" asked Sasha.
|
|
|
|
"Of course! It's a surprise tour." Both girls giggled.
|
|
|
|
Nicky turned off somewhere - seemingly to Anton, at random - and began
|
|
driving through suburban streets which where obviously completely alien to
|
|
her. Anton turned to Marty and gave him an exasperated look which was
|
|
completely wasted on him, because his eyes were glazed idiotically; Marty was
|
|
hopelessly drunk.
|
|
|
|
Anton turned away from Marty, annoyed. They didn't even know who these
|
|
crazy bitches were. They were both obviously very drunk - or were they? There
|
|
was something in the girls voices which made him think that this was in some
|
|
way pre-planned, that he was being taken for a ride, that they were out to
|
|
purposely scare him. Of course, Anton had every reason to doubt his intuition:
|
|
it had failed him many times before. He considered himself more of a
|
|
level-headed logical type, an introvert, than one who possessed a finely tuned
|
|
sixth-sense. Once again he chastised himself for being uncomfortable and
|
|
paranoid.
|
|
|
|
He leaned forward and gave the driver some quick directions so that she
|
|
could get back onto the coastal road. They didn't have a chance of making it
|
|
to their destination while they drove in erratic circles through suburban
|
|
streets. They would have to go back and find the turn-off they had missed.
|
|
|
|
Nicolette complied and soon they had found their turn-off. Anton found
|
|
his sense of uneasiness pass away and his spirit of adventure return. He
|
|
slumped back, grinned to himself and took another sip of the strong bourbon
|
|
whisky, feeling it run like fire down his throat. Sasha put the dance music
|
|
back on and turned it up loud.
|
|
|
|
The car came to a halt on the driveway of a two-story townhouse, which
|
|
Anton summed up as quite a valuable property. The engine and the music cut out
|
|
abruptly, leaving silence. "You renting this place?" he asked, as he helped a
|
|
very intoxicated Marty out into the night air.
|
|
|
|
"Yep," said Sasha. "We just moved here. From up north. So yeah, sorry we
|
|
don't have much furniture. Just one couch. We don't even have a T.V. We
|
|
haven't been able to afford transporting all our stuff from back home."
|
|
|
|
The small group made its way to the front door. While Nicolette fumbled
|
|
through her handbag for the keys, Marty and Sasha groped each other wildly and
|
|
kissed, the girl giggling all the while. In the months that followed the image
|
|
of her flashing green eyes and cackling laugh, her blond head thrown back in
|
|
laughter, would be a constant image imprinted on Anton's mind. At that moment,
|
|
however, his eyes were firmly fixed on Nicky's curves.
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
The floorboards were clean and polished and slippery in the shadowed interior
|
|
of the house. If the place was bare, it was not obvious at that moment. They'd
|
|
all stepped inside without the interior lights being turned on.
|
|
|
|
"Hey," said Marty as his arm snaked around Sasha's waist. "Do we have
|
|
lights? I mean, its..."
|
|
|
|
"We've got candles!" called Nicky from the kitchen.
|
|
|
|
"The power hasn't been turned on yet," said Sasha. She kissed Marty
|
|
quickly on the lips. He drunkenly pulled her close to him, and they both fell
|
|
against the wall, laughing and embracing deeply, their lips locked together.
|
|
Anton gave them a brief sidelong glance and shook his head. He felt far to
|
|
sobre for this.
|
|
|
|
"That's right - we're too poor to afford the start-up cost," came
|
|
Nicky's voice from the kitchen. There were some clattering sounds and then the
|
|
flare of a match as she lit a single thick red candle. She slinked up to Anton
|
|
and, holding the candle in one hand, put the other around his shoulders,
|
|
pressed her warm body against his and kissed him. Anton was aware that his
|
|
mouth was bitter- tasting after too many cigarettes and too many drinks, but
|
|
this lusty kiss washed all of that away in sweetness.
|
|
|
|
He pulled away, overly self-conscious. "Sorry, my mouth must taste like
|
|
an old sock or something..."
|
|
|
|
"Don't be silly," said Nicolette, and she kissed him again. "Come on."
|
|
She led the way, bearing the only source of light in the gloomy place, past
|
|
were the two other rolled as if wrestling on the floorboards.
|
|
|
|
The short passage ended in a door, which Nicolette opened. "Don't think
|
|
this too weird," she said, stepping into a large open area which appeared to
|
|
be the living room. "But we're into Wicca - you know, Mother Goddess
|
|
religion."
|
|
|
|
"Yeah? That's cool," said Anton, a little cautiously. He had a few
|
|
friends who were pagans - practitioners of alternate religions, new-agers,
|
|
herbalists, and so on.
|
|
|
|
None of their practices could have prepared him for the growing wonder
|
|
he felt as Nicolette's candle danced deftly from candle to candle in the room,
|
|
causing each in turn to ignite. A tableau was slowly revealed. Possibly more
|
|
than a hundred thick candles were placed around a central area where a complex
|
|
metal stand held a large many-angled crystal.
|
|
|
|
Just then, as Anton tried to come to grips with the array of weird,
|
|
alien artefacts scattered around the room, Marty and Sasha tumbled into the
|
|
room. Marty swore and exclaimed, "what the fuck is all this shit?! Are you
|
|
some kind of Satanists or something?" Surprised, but more amused than anything
|
|
else, when Anton turned back to him, Marty gave him an expression which just
|
|
said 'typical -
|
|
crazy bitches!'
|
|
|
|
"Not Satanists," corrected Anton, his head still turned to Marty, his
|
|
eyes rolled in exasperation. "Wiccans."
|
|
|
|
"Ah, yes," said Marty, slurring his words slightly, but more coherent
|
|
than before. "Praise be to Shakti, or Dani or whoever it is you worship."
|
|
|
|
"Well, yeah, so lets..." Anton stopped speaking when he realised
|
|
Nicolette was saying something. At least, her lips were moving - no sound was
|
|
emerging. "Talk louder, I can't hear you," he said, knowing full well that she
|
|
was saying some sort of prayer or something. How easily young people got
|
|
sucked into crackpot religions these days. It was enough to make him sick.
|
|
|
|
The dark-haired older girl was serious as she spoke her prayer. Behind
|
|
Anton there was a grunt. A wet, gurgling sound made him turn around. Marty had
|
|
spat out half a litre of dark blood over the front of his white t-shirt. His
|
|
eyes were surprised, but he could make no noise. Something long and thin
|
|
protruded from his throat. He toppled forward, writhing. Sasha stepped out
|
|
from behind her dying partner, the blade spraying Marty's lifeblood everywhere
|
|
in the many- flickering lights. It weaved, that red-stained blade, practiced
|
|
patterns before its wielder.
|
|
|
|
Anton gave a choked, startled cry and ran. The other woman - what was
|
|
her name? - she was screaming incomprehensibly. It was an unholy sound, an
|
|
alien sound, a horrible rending sound.
|
|
|
|
Anton ran, and everything blurred by. He crashed through candles and
|
|
candle holders. And then both women were screaming, and things were moving in
|
|
the dark. Things were moving in his head. Shapes shifted, and he was aware of
|
|
his feet propelling him, but all the time there was Marty's twisted,
|
|
surprised, gurgling face before his mind's eye.
|
|
|
|
And the horrible beast behind him with the sharp thing that would cause
|
|
him pain. Would end him.
|
|
|
|
Glass broke about him. The world exploded for a second, little pieces of
|
|
pain ripping into his nerves. Then he was outside and running for his life.
|
|
|
|
III
|
|
|
|
As Nicollete sang the Rending of the Veil the air in the candle-filled room
|
|
had become warmer and dryer with each passing moment, and as she intoned the
|
|
final verses, it became almost furnace-like in its intensity, or so it seemed
|
|
to Sasha. Both of them had started to sweat soon after the ritual had begun,
|
|
and as Sasha watched Nicollette sing to the crystal (her face tilted back, her
|
|
eyes closed in ecstacy) she allowed her eyes to feast on the glistening body
|
|
of her partner. Globes of moisture ran in quick streaks from the forehead,
|
|
down shoulders and arms, between the breasts, and criss-crossed the belly.
|
|
|
|
The corpse lay naked before the crystal, surrounded by glowing orbs of
|
|
candle-light. His flesh had become a canvas for Nicolette's practiced
|
|
blade-work, his back, face and chest carved with intersecting angular patterns
|
|
and all of his major arteries opened. Marty's life- fluid, pooled thick and
|
|
viscous, had formed many tiny rivers which, wriggling, were drawn towards the
|
|
legs of the crystal-stand. Each wrought-iron leg carried a canal, through
|
|
which travelled a stream of blood, which, having seemingly taken on a life of
|
|
its own, fled inexorably towards the bright and many-faceted focus.
|
|
|
|
It was a display Sasha found both enticing and disturbing. Nicolette had told
|
|
her about the the thrill she would feel when confronted by the confounding of
|
|
mundane reality. It was like a drug-rush, she'd said, but more profound.
|
|
Something bit deep into Sasha's being when she watched those rivers of blood
|
|
run their course.
|
|
|
|
Having reached it's goal, the blood ran patterns over the crystal's
|
|
face: with each fresh vein emptied a new line grew along a facet's edge.
|
|
|
|
Without warning, Sasha's skin began to tingle. She could feel her muscles jerk
|
|
of their own accord - little tics controrted her face - and she could see the
|
|
same thing was happening to Nicky. The feeling was not entirely unpleasant so
|
|
long as she bore in mind her partner's instruction to surrender to the
|
|
bizzarity, and to embrace rather than fear. In any case, it was over in
|
|
seconds, and Nicky had stopped singing. She knew it was her turn to act. She
|
|
had been told that she would feel something strange, a sign that the Rending
|
|
of the Veil was almost complete. For a second she hesitated, recalling all
|
|
they had rehearsed, and then she stepped towards the crystal, over lines of
|
|
oily black between candelabra.
|
|
|
|
"Lord of the the Dead Plane we implore you to come to us," she said, reaching
|
|
out her arms towards the crystal (its surface now pulsating with slick red
|
|
made transclucent by the crystal's glow). "We offer ourselves for your
|
|
pleasure. Cross the barriers between the worlds. Clothe yourself in flesh and
|
|
appear."
|
|
|
|
These words were only a formality, Nicolette had said, to draw the entity into
|
|
the ritual area. Once said, Sasha could step back out and she would be safe.
|
|
She turned on her heel dramatically, preparing to leave, but when she did so,
|
|
she found her ankle gripped by something so firmly, it hurt. Still holding
|
|
Sasha's ankle, the corpse hauled itself to its feet.
|
|
|
|
"Nicolette!" she implored her partner, her voice approaching a scream,
|
|
"is this supposed to happen?"
|
|
|
|
The scene would have been comical if it were not horrific. Marty's
|
|
shredded remains held her right ankle as she tried pathetically to keep her
|
|
balance and pull it away. Then the creature simply ripped her in towards it
|
|
and she landed backwards into its arms. Her scream was cut off abruptly as it
|
|
clamped a lacerated hand over her mouth.
|
|
|
|
When it spoke, or breathed, blood bubble up between its lips. "Well, pretty
|
|
little girl," it said. "Not quite prepared to fulfill your side of the
|
|
bargain?"
|
|
|
|
From where Nicolette stood, she could see Sasha's tortured eyes
|
|
straining to look towards her for aid. She had expected something like this.
|
|
Sasha had served her well, both as lover and partner in this venture, but the
|
|
summonation would need flesh (had been promised pleasure). In any case it was
|
|
too late now.
|
|
|
|
The corpse had forced Sasha to the floorboards face-first, one hand
|
|
still clamped tightly over her mouth. It mounted her then and there, and
|
|
Nicolette had to turn her head to avoid the disgusting picture. She was not a
|
|
squeemish woman - her previous experience had proved that - but this was
|
|
something she did not want to see. Just hearing the corpse's gurgling, liquid
|
|
grunts was foul enough so that she knew those noises would stay in her mind
|
|
(and come back to haunt her during quiet times alone) for the rest of her
|
|
life.
|
|
|
|
After a few minutes it was over and she saw fit to turn her eyes back towards
|
|
the two figures which lay, one on top of the other and completely still,
|
|
before the now clear, mundane crystal. The corpse had removed its hand from
|
|
its victim's mouth: presumably she had passed out and gone limp some time
|
|
during the proceedings. A few more seconds went by before it began to
|
|
dissolve. Pieces of flesh began to part from one another, wriggling like
|
|
worms, first across the slashed symbols and then in the spaces between them,
|
|
dividing in millimitre thick ribbons. Nicolette almost turned away again, but
|
|
found herself held by a perverse fascination, when she saw the strips (which
|
|
had taken on the colour of minced meat) writhe down upon Sasha's unconcious
|
|
form. The girl awoke then, but found she could not scream, for the meat-stuff
|
|
had squirmed into her mouth just as it was forcing its way into all of her
|
|
bodily orifices. The entity was raping her again, but this time in a more
|
|
penetrating fashion.
|
|
|
|
Within moments, the formless mass had covered its prey and taken it unto
|
|
itself. What remained hauled itself to its feet, drawing ribbons of raw flesh
|
|
and moisture away from clean-picked white bone. The creature which stood
|
|
before Nicolette had a humanoid form: arms, legs, fingers, head; but the
|
|
ribbons continued to move, winding and diving, over and under each other, as
|
|
if they were fighting for dominance.
|
|
|
|
When it spoke, no mouth opened in the lump of writing flesh which made up its
|
|
jaw. The words simply came, hollow and grinding, from somewhere in the
|
|
creature's vicinity.
|
|
|
|
"You called and I came. Now step into here with me and give me what you
|
|
offered. Like your tasty friend."
|
|
|
|
Nicolette was annoyed that this creature expected something of her.
|
|
Another deal would have to be struck. "What should I call you?" she asked.
|
|
|
|
"As I see it, that is no concern of yours. Now just step in here and
|
|
we'll see what we can do."
|
|
|
|
"His name is Ska'kt-qu-a-diz," came a voice from the hallway,
|
|
immediately followed by its owner. "It means Meat Given Form in the Dead Plane
|
|
tongue."
|
|
|
|
"Who the fuck are you?" said Nicolette, the anger in her voice plain.
|
|
This new arrival was something completely unexpected, a random element which
|
|
could easily upset the whole equation.
|
|
|
|
The man ignored the question. "Now that you have him here what makes you
|
|
think you can control him?" Saying this, he nodded over to where the creature
|
|
stood at the perimeter of its prison, its gaze alternating between Nicolette
|
|
the newcomer, seemingly trying to judge who first to invite into its lair.
|
|
|
|
Nicolette took a few moments to evaluate the man who stood before her, trying
|
|
to determine what sort of threat he could pose from the bare physical clues
|
|
his appearance provided her. He was tall and dark-skinned, with facial
|
|
features which suggested African heritage. But there was something else (in
|
|
his eyes, the noble lines of his nose, mouth and cheekbones): she found
|
|
herself likening him to drawings she had seen of the kings of Ancient Egypt.
|
|
There was that, and then a definately modern affectation (out of character for
|
|
a Ramses or Tutmoses) in the way he styled his hair: in dreadlocks tied back
|
|
into a tail which hung almost to his waist. She found his age difficult to
|
|
determine, but decided he could be in his thirties.
|
|
|
|
These details faded into the background when he reached into his
|
|
overcoat, drew out a handgun and held it casually at his side. The was no
|
|
overt threat in this action - had he pointed it at her head, she might have
|
|
felt different - but there was no doubt that he had used the weapon before in
|
|
situations more difficult than this, and that he was prepared to do so again
|
|
without a thought. The nonchalance with which he glanced at the
|
|
flesh-creature, almost ignoring it, suggested a familiarity with such things
|
|
which Nicolette found a little unnerving.
|
|
|
|
"Step away from the candles, please," said the stranger. The arm with the gun
|
|
on the end of it was relaxed and pointed at the floorboards.
|
|
|
|
Nicolette stepped backwards. "You have no business here," she said.
|
|
|
|
"You don't know what you're fucking with here, girl. Now, I said,
|
|
move..." His voice had suddenly become very threatening.
|
|
|
|
"No," she said. "I don't think so." She spun, her arm reaching out
|
|
towards the candles. The gun was lifting now, sweeping up almost unnoticed.
|
|
|
|
"No!" he shouted, and fired. The bullet punched through Nicolette's
|
|
shoulder. There was a spray of blood as she whirled, her arms flayling and her
|
|
body tumbling. Wrought iron candelabra collapsed in a cacophony of sound
|
|
almost blotted out by a frantic scream of pain.
|
|
|
|
The beast, now unbound, swatted any ritual paraphernalia in its path to
|
|
the ground and moved hungrily towards its prey. Nicolette, dizzy and
|
|
disorientated, scrambled away clutching her shoulder.
|
|
|
|
Michael Kaylish shouted at the creature to move away, but didn't expect it to
|
|
listen. The way it moved bespoke a single-minded hunger for flesh which he'd
|
|
seen in these things on too many previous encounters. It had made the jump
|
|
from the Dead Plane by divesting itself of its body, and now it needed to
|
|
clothe itself once again.
|
|
|
|
Weapon held in both hands, feet planted firmly apart, Kaylish put three holes
|
|
in the crawling mass which was the beast's back. It staggered to one side
|
|
briefly, the bullets spraying meat and blood where they exited on the other
|
|
side. If anything, now he had its attention. Ponderously, it turned and
|
|
directed its eyeless gaze towards this new annoyance.
|
|
|
|
The wounds were invisible, or had already sealed. It had obviously been too
|
|
much to expect physical force to harm it. Kaylish took a step backwards and
|
|
reached inside himself to where he knew the darkness lay tightly coiled and
|
|
sleeping. He slipped the useless Beretta into a pocket of his overcoat and
|
|
cupped his hands in front of him. Inky tendrils squirted out of gaps between
|
|
his fingers as he felt the ball of shadow-stuff take form.
|
|
|
|
"Ahh," breathed the creature. "We have a Wielder here."
|
|
|
|
It took one more step towards him and then he let the projectile loose.
|
|
The creature's head was completely engulfed. Liquid black oozed over raw worms
|
|
of flesh, running in complicated patterns between them. It gave an anguished
|
|
scream and collapsed, bits of it already fleeing from the whole as it was
|
|
unmade.
|
|
|
|
Kaylish realised that his body was shaking from the effort of what he'd just
|
|
accomplished. He overcame a wave of nausea and looked over his shoulder to see
|
|
Nicolette flee through the hallway. The pieces of flesh on the floor were
|
|
struggling to reunite into a whole as the black cancer clung to it, consuming
|
|
with a appetite of its own. He knew it would only be a matter of minutes
|
|
before the beast pulled itself free and separated itself from that which
|
|
sought to contaminate. As he'd anticipated, he'd have to burn what was left.
|
|
He left the room and followed the sounds of a struggle outside.
|
|
|
|
When he arrived at the front door, Vince was just coming through, carrying a
|
|
kicking, clawing and biting Nicolette with him. "Where do you want her?" he
|
|
asked.
|
|
|
|
Kaylish removed the gun from his pocket and handed it to the man. "Put
|
|
her in the kitchen. Shoot her if she tries to escape." Saying this, he ran to
|
|
the car outside and returned soon after with a jerry- can. In the living room,
|
|
the remnants of the summonation was spreading itself over a wide area so as to
|
|
minimize the damage caused by its tormentor. Kaylish noted the chaos of
|
|
toppled candelabra, as well as the presense of candles which remained upright
|
|
and alight. It would be a tricky operation to doust the whole heaving mass
|
|
with petrol without a premature ignition. He was about to start pouring when
|
|
the night's second uninvited guest made herself known.
|
|
|
|
She was perched on the window-ledge over which Anton had leapt in his escape.
|
|
"Kaylish," she said. "Why do you always insist on interfering in the affairs
|
|
of others?"
|
|
|
|
She'd been human once, and beautiful. That was when her face had been covered
|
|
with skin (smooth, pale and clear) and tissue. He had known that it would be
|
|
only a matter of time before the Dead Plane wrought its signiature of decay
|
|
upon her body. The lords of that realm needed servants who were loyal and only
|
|
those of their own kind could be trusted. When no such servitor was available
|
|
on this side of the Veil, they compromised and remade a human to suit their
|
|
own aesthetic tastes. The first thing they took was that thing which the
|
|
applicant held dearest, that aspect of their physical form which the
|
|
individual felt most defined their personality. In Teresa's case, it had been
|
|
her face. Her beautiful face, which of all those things which had made up the
|
|
woman Kaylin had once loved, had been the greatest expression of her soul.
|
|
|
|
Her head was now a cage of bones, meeting at the centre with a thick central
|
|
ridge which ran diagonally down her face. Her body, once possessing a woman's
|
|
graceful curves, was now extremely emaciated. The arms (now bony and elongated
|
|
far beyond their natural length) ended in fantastically long, thin, tapering
|
|
fingers.
|
|
|
|
Kaylin found himself too shocked to say or do anything. His guts churned,
|
|
seeing this vision of the familiar perverted into the Enemy.
|
|
|
|
"Drop the can, Kaylin," she said. Casually, using one arm, she reached
|
|
down and pulled a limp shape from somewhere outside the window. She draped the
|
|
unconcious body of the young man over the sill next to her and gripped his
|
|
head with a hand. The fingers easily wrapped around the shape, enfolding it
|
|
like a dead spider's legs. "Or I'll crush his little head like a grape."
|
|
|
|
Kaylin set the jerry-can down slowly and carefully. He realised for the first
|
|
time that he was sweating, and that the air in the room was like a continuous
|
|
blast of desert wind: scorchingly hot and devoid of all moisture.
|
|
|
|
"So you have become a lacky for the Deathly Ones," he said. With some
|
|
effort he managed to keep his voice smooth and unemotional. It was always
|
|
fatal to show any signs of weakness toward the Enemy. "You have changed,
|
|
Teresa. I never imagined- "
|
|
|
|
"I've never valued your opinions, Kaylin. Why should I now?" Was that a
|
|
hint of pain in her voice? There would be bitterness, he mused, for the price
|
|
had been terrible. Who would willingly serve a master who did this to his
|
|
servants? Only a madwoman.
|
|
|
|
There was a shuffling of feet at the hallway's threshold. Vince had one
|
|
arm around Nicolette's neck, pulling her to his chest tightly. The gun was
|
|
firmly against her temple. Then he saw the thing on the window sill. "What the
|
|
- ?" he whispered. He redirected the weapon towards Teresa and then -
|
|
realising the futility of bullets against a creature wrought of bone - pressed
|
|
it back against his captives head.
|
|
|
|
"Hello Vince," said the Bone-Cage. "Get the fuck outa here would ya?
|
|
Both of you - go!"
|
|
|
|
Kaylin nodded to Vince to release Nicolette. He pushed her away from
|
|
him. She staggered, spun around and hissed at him like a cat.
|
|
|
|
"What is it you plan to do with this - all of this?" asked Kaylin,
|
|
backing away. Vince had already left the house.
|
|
|
|
"Well, what does it look like to you, Mike? We're having a fucking
|
|
party! Now go -" her grip tightened on the head "- or the boy dies."
|
|
Delivering spiteful wit had never been her forte when she was human; becoming
|
|
a monster hadn't altered that in the least.
|
|
|
|
Vince left via the front door.
|
|
|
|
Teresa let Anton fall to the ground outside the window and turned her head to
|
|
look at the meat creature. "I see the ritual was successful. You follow
|
|
instructions well. I'm sorry that Kaylin turned up and caused this trouble. No
|
|
harm done, though."
|
|
|
|
Most of shredded flesh had separated itself from the ball of
|
|
shadow-stuff. It reformed itself into humanoid shape, but the battle had taken
|
|
its toll and removed half its mass, reducing Ska'kt-qu-a-diz to the size of a
|
|
child. "I will need more flesh," it said.
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
Outside the house, underneath the ledge, Anton staggered to his feet and broke
|
|
into a bent-over run. He found himself crashing through bushes heedless, given
|
|
strength by fear. He reached the road, collapsed and vomited into a gutter. A
|
|
van pulled up alongside him, the side door opened and Kaylin hopped out. He
|
|
dragged the young man into the back and slammed the door shut.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER TWO
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
He was walking through a park when he realised he was dreaming. The world
|
|
around him suddenly became more focused - sharper - than reality. Gravel
|
|
crunched under his feet. The chill morning air stung his skin and frosted his
|
|
breath. The familiar tang of foliage and earth was ambient. He could feel his
|
|
heart beating steadily in his chest.
|
|
|
|
Lucid dreams came to him more frequently than they did to others, yet they
|
|
were still infrequent and he didn't hesitate at the opportunity to play God
|
|
(if only in his head).
|
|
|
|
He leaped from the path and soared upwards, rapidly gaining momentum. Vast
|
|
wings sprouted from his shoulders, unfolding and holding the winds. Below him,
|
|
the lush gardens became an island surrounded by stark concrete buildings which
|
|
stretched away to meet the horizon in every direction. The city seemed to be a
|
|
world, the world, a city. This place had existed before stone dwellings had
|
|
been imagined, and would exist after the last had fallen into rubble.
|
|
|
|
He went in search of its inhabitants (it appeared to be deserted). Swooping
|
|
low over a six-story office block, he headed towards the vast side of a
|
|
skyscraper. On a sudden violent impulse (he felt careless and free) he flew
|
|
faster and faster towards the plate-glass windows. Bursting through on the
|
|
eighth floor amidst a cacophony of fragmenting glass, he found himself in an
|
|
small office.
|
|
|
|
She was waiting for him there. Bathed in her white glow, he approached, and
|
|
then realised she was bound, her arms and legs circled by ebony rings.
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|
|
|
"We have to talk," she said.
|
|
|
|
"About what?" he asked, shifting his wings nervously in the cramped space.
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|
|
|
"I need your help."
|
|
|
|
He stepped forward, misinterpreting this as a request for liberation. His
|
|
hands went to her shackles, found them to be cold and hard. When she was free
|
|
(this shining angel) the dream could become very interesting.
|
|
|
|
"No. I'm not part of your dream."
|
|
|
|
He willed her free, willed her to have solid form, willed her... But
|
|
nothing happened. He stepped away from her. "Does this have something to do
|
|
with last night?" he growled. The tone of his voice was accusing.
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"This has nothing to do with me. Get the fuck out of my dream!" he
|
|
screamed. He spun around and willed himself to be awake. He could hear her
|
|
behind him, imploring, begging, as light exploded into his eyes.
|
|
|
|
II
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|
|
|
His eyes had been weary and partially gummed shut with tears. Something had
|
|
seemed to be strangling his mind, pressing consciousness out of him, and yet
|
|
he had fought to keep his senses. His body useless, his spirit rapidly dying,
|
|
he had viewed the meeting through a cage of bone fingers, clamped down over
|
|
his head and threatening to burst his skull. What he had seen had not made
|
|
much sense to him in his condition.
|
|
|
|
Nicolette was being half-carried out of the room by a man Anton didn't
|
|
recognise. She had been naked and angry, with a gun at her temple to subdue
|
|
her.
|
|
|
|
Had those been Marty's shredded remnants being smothered by darkness on the
|
|
floor? And then his captor - the child's nightmare sketch - had demanded
|
|
something of someone, another unrecognised player in the little tableau, and
|
|
in his terrible delirium he had only vaguely comprehended that it was his life
|
|
being bargained for. Even so, at that moment, he didn't have the will to care
|
|
and told himself: If I'm to die at the hands of this abomination, this
|
|
ridiculous situation, then so be it.
|
|
|
|
Later, after another frantic attempt at flight and another loss of
|
|
consciousness, he awoke on a mattress in a featureless room. At first he
|
|
thought he couldn't move. Every muscle in his body was heated with pain. His
|
|
brain ached, but somehow he found his thoughts clear. Shortly, a door opened
|
|
and a man stepped through tentatively. There was a flood of memories and
|
|
detail (candles, Marty coughing up blood, the bone monster, shredded flesh on
|
|
the wooden floorboards) and then he remembered that his host was the one who
|
|
he'd first seen restraining Nicolette.
|
|
|
|
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
|
|
|
|
Anton lay still for a while, almost angry. Then he said: "What the fuck
|
|
happened last night?" He found his immobility to be imaginary and hauled
|
|
himself into sitting position.
|
|
|
|
The man smiled sadly. "You... stumbled... onto something that maybe you
|
|
shouldn't have."
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, fucking great. I can hardly remember any of it."
|
|
|
|
"Maybe its better that way."
|
|
|
|
He remembered far too much of the night before: far too much to simply
|
|
forget. "Okay," he said. "Firstly, who are you?"
|
|
|
|
"I'm Vince. I'm surprised you have any memory of last night at all. Exactly
|
|
what did you see?"
|
|
|
|
This question brought up too much horror in Anton's mind. There were
|
|
feelings and images which he forced down like the rising bile in his throat.
|
|
He attempted good humour: "Hey! I'd rather not recall, okay?" Vince smiled in
|
|
a way that very nearly put Anton at ease.
|
|
|
|
"Can you stand?"
|
|
|
|
"Yeah sure." Anton managed to drag himself up to his feet. He staggered,
|
|
stumbled, almost fell, but Vince was there, with an arm around his shoulder,
|
|
steadying him. "Thanks," he muttered.
|
|
|
|
The lounge looked liked it had been filled with furnishings picked straight
|
|
from the page of a junk-mail catalogue. A leather sofa set was arranged around
|
|
a television, VCR and stereo. A small bookshelf held a few tatty old books.
|
|
The walls were bare. In one corner of the room was a heavy pine dining table.
|
|
By this sat the man who had talked to the monster as if they were old
|
|
acquaintances, had bargained it: the man it had called Kaylin.
|
|
|
|
His head was bowed over a book when they entered, his whole lean body
|
|
seemingly focused on its yellowed pages. The lines of concentration eased from
|
|
his face as he looked up at Anton, and were replaced by something like a
|
|
smile. As Vince helped Anton to the table, Kaylin reached for a pack of
|
|
cigarettes. He was seated, offered a cigarette (which he accepted), and then
|
|
Kaylin spoke.
|
|
|
|
"How much of last night do you remember?" he asked.
|
|
|
|
"Too much. I don't know," Anton said. He was tired, his arms resting on the
|
|
table's polished surface, his body hunched over. "Maybe you could tell me.
|
|
What was going on?"
|
|
|
|
"We don't have to talk about this now, you know," said Kaylin.
|
|
|
|
"You should rest. Think about it all. See what you can remember."
|
|
|
|
Vince was standing somewhere in the background. "Would you like a cup of
|
|
coffee or something?" he asked.
|
|
|
|
Anton ignored him and stared at the dark-skinned man. "Now's as good a time
|
|
as any. I want an explanation, and then I'm outa here. That's all."
|
|
|
|
"Okay. There's so much to tell. You're very lucky to be alive. The women
|
|
you met were looking for human sacrifices."
|
|
|
|
"Yeah," said Anton. "Marty. They killed Marty, I think."
|
|
|
|
Kaylin's expression suddenly registered what Anton took to be genuine
|
|
concern. He was silent for a while. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said.
|
|
"These people have no respect for life. They do whatever's necessary."
|
|
|
|
"Necessary? Necessary for what? Who are they?"
|
|
|
|
"This is not really the time for the whole story. You're not well. You
|
|
need..."
|
|
|
|
"I'm fucking fine. Now just tell me," said Anton. They were avoiding giving
|
|
him any information. It was as if they hoped he hadn't remembered what he saw,
|
|
or that he would just forget what he had seen. But it was all in his mind, and
|
|
it was becoming clearer by the minute: every pungent, gritty, piercing moment
|
|
of it.
|
|
|
|
"There are other places, Anton. Places where..."
|
|
|
|
"How do you know my name?" Anton interjected.
|
|
|
|
"You were talking in your sleep when we drove you over here. It was more
|
|
like raving really."
|
|
|
|
"Jesus. I don't remember that. Now, you were saying: other places?"
|
|
|
|
"The ancient people named the places where they believed the soul goes when
|
|
the body dies. The Greeks had their Underworld - Hades -
|
|
ruled by its own King, and from where the dead were sent to the Elysian
|
|
Fields, to paradise, or to Tartarus, to face eternal torment. Heaven and Hell.
|
|
The Egyptians had their Underworld, overseen by their God of Death, Osiris.
|
|
And, long before that, the Sumerians, too, had their place for the dead - Kur
|
|
- with its gatekeeper, Nedu. Most cultures believed, and still believe, in an
|
|
afterlife. Life seems so brief and meaningless without anything more."
|
|
|
|
"All stories and teachings have their root in some kind of truth. The
|
|
ancients saw the sun rise every morning, as we do, and set every night. They
|
|
observed nature and Her seasons, and since the sun appears in the sky above
|
|
the Earth, the sun became the fertilising, the masculine principle, while the
|
|
Earth - its soil, its water, its trees, everything - was seen as a kind of
|
|
mother. Today, through science, we know that no life would exist on this
|
|
planet without the rays of the sun. You can see how there is truth in the
|
|
observations of the ancients there, can't you?"
|
|
|
|
Anton, his head almost resting on his folded arms, nodded. "I've read a
|
|
little ancient mythology. It's one of my interests. But what does that have to
|
|
do with everything that went down last night? Are you saying those - those
|
|
whatever the fuck they were - monsters - were creatures from some kind of
|
|
Hell? That..."
|
|
|
|
"Yes. In a way. But not exactly. The ancients could only try to explain
|
|
what they observed, and there was a lot of confusion. Today people scoff at
|
|
their attempts to explain the universe. There were truths in their
|
|
explanations, though. There's a place where only death is to be found. Souls
|
|
don't go there when they die. There's no judgement of good or evil. Only death
|
|
and a malignant yearning to extinguish all life."
|
|
|
|
"The Dead Plane," said Anton. "Isn't that what you called it last night? Is
|
|
that where the bone-bitch... Teresa...?"
|
|
|
|
Kaylin suddenly looked like he'd been physically struck by the name. The
|
|
momentary furrowing of his brow, the twitch of his mouth, the painful look in
|
|
his eyes - these things didn't go unnoticed to Anton.
|
|
|
|
"Yes. How she's changed. Only a few months ago... But she serves them now.
|
|
And as much as it hurts me to say it, she's our enemy. She's the one who's
|
|
responsible for Marty's death."
|
|
|
|
Anton could feel things closing in on him. He wasn't going to be able to
|
|
escape it. The world was not as simple - nor as safe - as he'd taken for
|
|
granted. The fears which plague a child, but which are later discarded and
|
|
laughed at upon the attainment of adulthood - they came back in a flood of
|
|
charcoal scrawlings upon his mind: clacking mandibles and things which
|
|
squatted, waiting behind hard materiality; all things grotesque and
|
|
half-realised.
|
|
|
|
"Who does she serve?" he demanded, once he had found his voice again.
|
|
|
|
"The embodiment of stagnation and sterility. Things that come from the Dead
|
|
Plane. And most of all, her own obsessions, a hunger for knowledge - for
|
|
power. Who knows?"
|
|
|
|
Anton was quickly piecing together the story from the meagre offerings he'd
|
|
been given. It was all obvious to him, no matter how unlikely it sounded. "You
|
|
had something going with this woman once, didn't you?" he said.
|
|
|
|
"We were once friends. Lovers. I suppose you could say we were looking for
|
|
something beneath it all. The truth beneath all the old insights. Together we
|
|
found it, and we found the Dead Plane. With Vince's help."
|
|
|
|
It was almost a que for Vince to join their discussion. Previously, he'd
|
|
been standing in the background behind Anton; now, when Kaylin glanced up at
|
|
him, he seated himself at the table. Anton wondered how this man - so calm and
|
|
amiable in aع�º…±Øppearance now after his confident gun-wielding the night
|
|
before - could fit into all of this. There was something in his appearance
|
|
which reminded of someone he'd seen once. His thick blond hair, his beard, his
|
|
moustache and his intelligent blue eyes - Who?
|
|
|
|
"My real name is Vince O'Brien. You may have heard of me..."
|
|
|
|
"You write occult books. Big sellers."
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, well, Michael and Teresa came to me for information. I was supposed
|
|
to be an authority on all that stuff. It was an obsession of mine. They were
|
|
looking for a certain rare book, which, as it happened, was in my possession."
|
|
|
|
"Look," said Anton, his gaze momentarily falling on his hands (dirt on his
|
|
palms, grit under his nails). "I had a dream last night." In the blur of
|
|
reality he was experiencing, the situation couldn't become any more
|
|
ridiculous. If creatures of nightmare could take form and walk on the Earth,
|
|
then didn't the inner events of the dream-world have a new relevance for the
|
|
situation? "In it, a woman - a bright, shining woman - was trapped, captured,
|
|
bound. She asked to be freed, but I couldn't do it. I got angry. I got scared.
|
|
I woke up."
|
|
|
|
Looking over at Kaylin, Anton saw that his words had meant something to
|
|
him. Kaylin looked at the table. His hands went down to the book which lay
|
|
before him and he flipped its pages shut. "The Shining Lady who guards the Way
|
|
Between," he said.
|
|
|
|
"I just thought you should know about that," said Anton. "That's all. Now
|
|
I'll be going."
|
|
|
|
"Stay a while: listen to what I have to say."
|
|
|
|
"No thanks. I'm going to try and forget all this shit."
|
|
|
|
"You think you can just walk away?" Something in the way he said that made
|
|
Anton stop and reconsider.
|
|
|
|
"You think they'll let you live now that you know about them?"
|
|
|
|
"What would they want with me? I'm no threat..." His voice was full of
|
|
doubts, almost pleading, as if Kaylin was the enemy.
|
|
|
|
"Even if they leave you alone, how will you live knowing what you know?"
|
|
|
|
"I don't know. I'm going to try," said Anton. He walked to the front door,
|
|
opened it and took one step outside.
|
|
|
|
"Wait. I can't keep you here. Go try and continue as if nothing happened.
|
|
Take this, though." He offered a card, which Anton accepted. There was a
|
|
single string of digits scribbled across it. A mobile phone number.
|
|
|
|
"Okay, thanks. Don't think I'll be needing it, though." Saying this, he
|
|
slipped the card into his pocket and walked into the sunlit suburban streets.
|
|
|
|
III
|
|
|
|
Upon arriving at the flat, Anton was presented with a scene which brought his
|
|
thoughts back to several important questions. Marty's possessions were
|
|
scattered amongst the mess of the lounge: they had spent two hours drinking
|
|
before going out and this was the refuse. Anton stepped wearily over to the
|
|
door of his flatmate's room and pushed it open. Marty had not been a tidy or
|
|
organised person: he had lived amongst the trash of his existence - dirty
|
|
laundry, fast food packaging, beer cans and drained whisky bottles. Standing
|
|
there, a flood of memories - all the touching moments of friendship which are
|
|
never dwelt upon when they occur - came down on Anton like a deluge.
|
|
|
|
Struggling to hold back the tears, he sat down on a grubby, torn sofa in
|
|
the lounge. A quarter bottle of Jim Beam was lying on its side at his feet. He
|
|
found what passed for a clean glass, poured himself a generous hit, and drank
|
|
it down in a single gulp. His stomach, empty of anything solid and still
|
|
tender from the pervious night's excesses, rebelled. His hand went reflexively
|
|
up to his mouth to halt the flow of bile, but it spilled between his fingers
|
|
and spattered his legs, the table, the carpet. Shakily, he stood up.
|
|
|
|
While he showered he wondered how he would cope with the questions Marty's
|
|
disappearance was sure to raise. He was vaguely aware of the phone ringing,
|
|
somewhere in the background to the splashing water. Half an hour later, free
|
|
of grime, he unplugged the telephone and went to bed. Lying awake, he came to
|
|
a decision. Although he needed Sharon now as someone to unburden his fears
|
|
upon - why drag her into this? Better, he reasoned, to cut himself off from
|
|
everything and give himself time to think and readjust. Eventually, he fell
|
|
asleep.
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
The dream had been a routine mess of imagery, so that when he gained control,
|
|
it came unexpectedly and left him floundering amongst pieces of his past.
|
|
|
|
He'd been walking through a small village set high atop a mountain so tall
|
|
its tip reached above the clouds, piercing them and setting them below as a
|
|
shifting white ocean. The place had seemed uninhabited, as he walked its main
|
|
strip, until his mother had stepped from a doorway and opened her arms to him.
|
|
|
|
He wanted to go to her, but, somehow, he could not, and continued walking.
|
|
He began to cry as he walked, and soon his t-shirt became wet with tears.
|
|
Unable to reach up and dry the flow, or to stop walking, he soon reached what
|
|
appeared to be the village square. His father was waiting there for him with a
|
|
gift-wrapped box, but he turned away and hid his face in embarrassment as the
|
|
tears continued to fall.
|
|
|
|
"You fucking baby," said his father. As he turned back towards him, his
|
|
senses sharpened, and the dream-world around him took on an awesome clarity.
|
|
Suddenly it was all so perfect, so clear, and so still, that it was almost
|
|
painful.
|
|
|
|
Anton willed his father away and he vanished instantaneously. The package
|
|
went with him: that revelation would have to wait for another dream. Once
|
|
again, Anton was in control. He strode across the square and down the main
|
|
street, looking for his mother. He saw her in the distance, but as he drew
|
|
closer he realised it was not his mother. It was the Shining Lady.
|
|
|
|
As before, she was bound by rings of shadow, her expression sorrowful, and
|
|
(his heart shocked) so beautiful.
|
|
|
|
"Who are you?" he asked.
|
|
|
|
"I am... I used to be Melinda Terrence. That was until the Guardians of the
|
|
Between passed their guardianship onto me. I became something else..."
|
|
|
|
"When? When did this happen?"
|
|
|
|
"It was..." Concentration creased her features (angelic, shining features,
|
|
he thought) as she struggled to recall. "The year eighteen hundred and thirty
|
|
two. I was so young then, and naive, and the responsibility was too much for
|
|
me."
|
|
|
|
"Why did they do it to you then?"
|
|
|
|
"They became weary. Bored with their lot. I stumbled on them at the wrong
|
|
time. But it no longer matters really, because now I am more. I don't fully
|
|
understand it, but I've become more than I was."
|
|
|
|
"You seem fairly human to me," he said, watching her glowing outline.
|
|
|
|
She smiled. "Yes. What you're seeing... what you're dreaming... is coming
|
|
partly from you. It is your dream after all."
|
|
|
|
"So," he said. "What does this have to do with me?"
|
|
|
|
"The Ever-Dead - the lords of the Dead Plane - have captured me. I tried to
|
|
resist. But... Now they'll have their way with the world."
|
|
|
|
This was too much for Anton to take in. "Look, if you think I'm going to be
|
|
dragged into this little Jihad of yours or whatever it is, like Vince and
|
|
Kaylin, then you're sadly mistaken."
|
|
|
|
V
|
|
|
|
He awoke with a foul taste in his mouth and a hot lance of sunlight across his
|
|
face. Looking over at the bedside clock, he realised he had slept through the
|
|
rest of the previous day and most of present. With a shudder brought on partly
|
|
by protesting muscles and partly due to the chill outside the warmth of the
|
|
blankets, he arose and went to the bathroom.
|
|
|
|
He turned on a tap and doused his face in the numbing flow. This was when
|
|
he remembered the dream. It returned in all of its intensity, with all of its
|
|
weighted meanings, filling him with its strange images.
|
|
|
|
He considered the implications over a cup of coffee and a cigarette, his
|
|
eyes straying to the litter in the lounge. Was it possible that his
|
|
subconscious was creating all of this after the shock of the meeting? Or was
|
|
the diabolic already conspiring against him, descending upon him to make him
|
|
one of its own? He was being compelled, somehow, to become a player in this
|
|
farce. Vince had hinted that what he had witnessed had changed him, and that
|
|
he was part of the drama now, no matter how he wished it were otherwise.
|
|
|
|
The Shining Lady. Melinda. The Woman of his Dreams was imprisoned somewhere
|
|
on the Dead Plane, for what crime he couldn't guess. From the meagre
|
|
information with which he had been provided, he could only conjecture.
|
|
|
|
There was a knock at the door. Sharon, thought Anton, can't you be without
|
|
me for the briefest time? Did she have to be there, haranguing him every hour
|
|
of the day? He tried to ignore the persistent tapping, but it became more
|
|
insistent, more annoying, until she spoke: "Are you there Anton?"
|
|
|
|
He didn't answer. He put his coffee cup gently onto the table. The door was
|
|
thin and insubstantial. Someone on the landing outside would be able to hear
|
|
every movement inside.
|
|
|
|
"I know you're in there," she said, hammering the door as if to punctuate
|
|
the statement.
|
|
|
|
They'd been in love - or at least what Anton had once believed to be love.
|
|
Now their relationship seemed to him to be insignificant - a diversion -
|
|
before all that had been revealed.
|
|
|
|
"Open this fucking door, Anton. Tell me what's wrong." He was suddenly very
|
|
annoyed by her ranting, whining voice. It faded into the background as he
|
|
closed his eyes and slouched back into the sofa. ("Marty! You there? Marty -
|
|
open the door will you?") If only he could tell her he needed time alone. It
|
|
should have been enough, but he knew it wouldn't be. There'd be prying
|
|
questions. Was it her fault, she'd ask. No? Then what? Was he seeing someone
|
|
else? And where was Marty, by the way, because his girlfriend was looking for
|
|
him as well. What could he reply? She always saw through his lies, just as she
|
|
knew he was behind the door and trying to ignore her.
|
|
|
|
Eventually she gave up, leaving after a string of expletives and threats.
|
|
|
|
He put a Clapton CD in the player and slouched back down into the couch.
|
|
Soon he was lost in the mournful blues melody and, as he began to collect his
|
|
thoughts, he realised sleep was claiming him again. His head began to nod, his
|
|
eyelids became heavy.
|
|
|
|
He stood up again, feeling the Lady's call deep in his gut and intending to
|
|
quell it with another cup of coffee, but then he hesitated. Why resist it?
|
|
She'd have her say eventually, whether he like it or not. So then, why not
|
|
now? With leaden limbs, Anton gave in, headed back to bed, and to sleep.
|
|
|
|
VI
|
|
|
|
This time there was no superfluous metaphor. He felt himself enter the
|
|
dream-state almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.
|
|
|
|
He was standing in a stone cell without exits, lit only by the luminescent
|
|
shape of the Lady. She was bound to the wall in front of him, and her features
|
|
expressed a mournful desperation which pierced him to his soul.
|
|
|
|
She was about to say something: "Anton you must..." But he cut her off.
|
|
|
|
"I've given this some thought," he said. "What do you want me to do?"
|
|
|
|
She seemed to relax, and the hopeless look was replaced by a smile. "You
|
|
must call Kaylin. Offer you help. Explain all of this to him."
|
|
|
|
"Why couldn't you just go to him in is dreams?"
|
|
|
|
"He's closed himself to all Dead Plane contact. Nothing can touch him. He's
|
|
trying to protect himself."
|
|
|
|
"Why not Vince, then?" he said, his voice raising in anger. She was hiding
|
|
something from him. She was fucking him around.
|
|
|
|
"I can't explain it now...
|
|
|
|
The dream began to blur into light. He was screaming demands at her while
|
|
she continued talking, and reality was taking its gritty hold of him again.
|
|
Somehow, he knew she would leave his dreams after this.
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER THREE
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
She had tried to kill herself a few times, half-heartedly, but in each case
|
|
there had been some malignant glimmer of hope parading behind her depression
|
|
which had rendered her efforts less than certain, and thus ultimately
|
|
ineffective. Now Winter had come to the city again and with it, that familiar
|
|
chill which - no matter how many garments she layered onto herself - would
|
|
persist in reminding her of her mortality. The ache pierced her body as she
|
|
walked to the station in the morning; it breathed on fingers loosely cradling
|
|
the novel which failed to hold her attention as she waited for the train to
|
|
reach its destination; and most notably, it became a dull throb into her head
|
|
as she tried to concentrate on her lectures.
|
|
|
|
The city was not to blame. It was the only place in the world she could
|
|
truly say she almost belonged. She had tried living in other places, but these
|
|
had only made the way she felt unbearable. This city seemed to welcome those
|
|
who hated their existence, enfolding them in its streets like so many unhappy
|
|
children.
|
|
|
|
Of course, the city constantly showed itself to be a traitor to Catherine,
|
|
but this was more a fault of those (they deserved no place here, she told
|
|
herself) who hid dissatisfaction behind a fake smile, anger behind a forced
|
|
laugh. The truth was that everyone lied to themselves: they knew they were
|
|
dying and yet they denied it.
|
|
|
|
The cold of the city throttled all attempts at resistance; the only way to
|
|
survive it was to embrace it. Catherine tried to apply the same reasoning to
|
|
her fears of death. She would make a friend of the approaching endless night
|
|
and, in turn, would find that it was no longer a threat.
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
On that winter, in her second year at the university, Catherine's melancholia
|
|
first revealed itself to the world. Her wardrobe lost its colour, becoming a
|
|
uniform black which she thought properly mirrored the stifled flame (when she
|
|
was a little girl it had been so bright, she remembered) which was burning
|
|
itself out inside her.
|
|
|
|
At first she was unaware that she had taken upon herself the badge of a new
|
|
tribe, but what soon became apparant was that there were others like her. She
|
|
had barely noticed them before, she realised, but they had been there all
|
|
along, shadowy blotches even in sharp sunshine. Two of them had been seated on
|
|
a bench in the university's park, the girl cradled protectively in her lover's
|
|
arms, and she had approached them and introduced herself. At first they had
|
|
been unresponsive, wanting only to be left alone and harbouring suspicions as
|
|
to the true nature of the newcomer. This had made Catherine all the more
|
|
certain that she had found her true kin: weren't they all bound by a longing
|
|
for withdrawal which verged on contempt?
|
|
|
|
Caitlin, the first to accept her, was a paragon of fragile, pale- skinned
|
|
and dark-haired beauty. Her first smile had communicated both understand and
|
|
friendship to Catherine and made her feel bonded in a so many ways previously
|
|
unknown.
|
|
|
|
After that the three of them met frequently. The weeks blurred by, and soon
|
|
she lost track of the times she had watched Caitlin dance between headstones
|
|
in the cemetary: a twisting, rolling start-stop, back and forth to the sounds
|
|
of the night. Black hair splayed in riotous cascades, down her back, into the
|
|
air, as her slim, black-clad body moved. Violence and eroticism, loving and
|
|
killing, pummeling and caressing, in an endless, undulating, wave-like vision.
|
|
Sometimes, without knowing why, she would find herself drawn into the
|
|
whirlwind ballet and then all her inhibitions would slip away as she lost
|
|
herself to the moment. And then David would be watching them both, entranced
|
|
and grim before the revelations.
|
|
|
|
|
|
III
|
|
|
|
David was not disturbed by the growing intimacy he witnessed between the
|
|
girls; to the contrary, he seemed to delight in the unusual situation which
|
|
would inevitably develop. He was out one night, visiting contacts through
|
|
which he hoped to procure drugs. The apartment had long since dissolved in a
|
|
haze of alcohol and hashish for Catherine. From time to time she became aware
|
|
that Caitlin was likewise enebriated. If there was a world outside and apart
|
|
from the two of them on that night, Catherine was not aware of it.
|
|
|
|
They had been laughing at something one or the other had said and then
|
|
Caitlin's face had become almost grave and she had whispered: "You're so
|
|
beautiful when you laugh." Catherine had put an arm around her friend's
|
|
shoulder and, as a wave of dizzyness had almost overcome her, she realised
|
|
they were kissing. The wine tasted so sweet, and the warmth of another body so
|
|
inviting; they drew closer to each other and the embrace became deeper and
|
|
more passionate. At first feelings of elation and fear shook her body, but
|
|
these soon passed and they simply took comfort being close.
|
|
|
|
|
|
IV
|
|
|
|
"We are Exiles, all of us," David had said. And to Catherine, this had been
|
|
the first hint of something more, for in the inflexions of these words came
|
|
the suggestion that the three of them were not alone.
|
|
|
|
The talk and intimacy they shared, the way they viewed the world (it was a
|
|
place of violence, unhappiness, sorrow) - these things had allowed to her to
|
|
experience life anew. They were more than just a group of friends. But
|
|
sometimes it seemed they knew no-one else, that they were an island of
|
|
themselves, and these doubts scared her. Although she had found so much
|
|
already, she wanted to belong to a greater whole. All connexions became stale
|
|
eventually, even one as profound as theirs.
|
|
|
|
She had the feeling they were watching her, almost interviewing her,
|
|
becoming acquainted with her deepest innermost workings. She didn't mind: they
|
|
showed no signs of rejecting her.
|
|
|
|
A week after that tantalising inference, they revealed all to her. Caitlin
|
|
had said: "We choose to set ourselves apart - to make up a race of ourselves.
|
|
David, and I, and others like us. There is a place we have made apart from the
|
|
world, Catherine. A place where misery's load is lightened briefly, while it
|
|
lasts. We're sorry we couldn't tell you about this before. We had to be sure,
|
|
and we're sure now. You're one of us. We see that now."
|
|
|
|
"Will you come with us? Be one of us?" David had asked.
|
|
|
|
"Oh, yes..."
|
|
|
|
After that they talked about the tribe's meeting place for many hours. It
|
|
had once been an old factory in what was now the most desolate part of the
|
|
city, on Lennor Street. Now, they said, it was their secret, and they had kept
|
|
it well, free from pretenders and those who didn't understand. It was the only
|
|
place they had.
|
|
|
|
|
|
V
|
|
|
|
Days after they let her into their confidence, David and Caitlin disappeared.
|
|
There was no answer to Catherine's phone calls, no answer to her knocking on
|
|
their apartment's door. Nothing for Catherine. Only an emptyness, which
|
|
threatened to destroy her.
|
|
|
|
Catherine stood on Lennor Street, in an alcove between tatty store fronts.
|
|
With her arms folded across her chest - trying in vain to keep what warmth her
|
|
mutiple layers of skirts provided her - she watched two figures stroll, almost
|
|
invisible against the shadowed streets, towards where she suspected her
|
|
destination lay. As they passed her she drew the hood of her cloak over her
|
|
face and retreated against a glass door. In spite of that, they both saw her,
|
|
and turned their faces to look at her (two young men with perfect pale skin
|
|
and sad eyes) as they walked. One of them put his hand to the other's shoulder
|
|
and they both stopped. They stared at her for a while, saying nothing. Then
|
|
they turned to leave.
|
|
|
|
"Wait," she said, surprising herself with her sudden courage. She pulled
|
|
the hood from her face. "I'll walk with you."
|
|
|
|
As they walked, one of the men spoke to her. His eyes burned feverishly
|
|
bright, reading every expression of her face even in the few times their
|
|
glances met. He was tall and deathly thin. She spied ribs beneath his
|
|
partially open shirtfront (didn't he feel the cold? more evidence that these
|
|
had made allies of the cruel elements).
|
|
|
|
His friend was good-looking, Catherine decided; but more correctly he was
|
|
pretty, like a young boy who had not yet reached puberty and whose sex - boy
|
|
or girl - had not yet made itself plain. He wore black leather over a black
|
|
t-shirt which matched the messy black of his hair. An onyx Ank (barely visible
|
|
against the dark cloth) hung on a chain from his neck. He remained silent.
|
|
|
|
Catherine could see the dimly-lit mouth of the Club and as they approached
|
|
the two Exiles who accompanied her said not a word, but she knew there must be
|
|
anticipation and excitement behind their sullen visages. If there had been any
|
|
doubt as to whether she'd come to right place, it had evaporated after their
|
|
casual acceptance of her as one of their own kind.
|
|
|
|
As they descended the several steep flights of stairs lit (she thought it a
|
|
nice touch) by torches in sconces on the passage walls she noticed her
|
|
companions expressions suddenly relax. They had come home to where they knew
|
|
they were safe.
|
|
|
|
Inside, the place may have seemed dismal to an outsider, but for Catherine:
|
|
it cleared her mind and then set it ablaze. It was as if they had made a piece
|
|
of the mundane world their own and refashioned it to suit their own inner
|
|
fantasy. A small part of her, protesting, knew it for what it was - just the
|
|
living out of a fantasy, but the greater whole didn't care. She was part of
|
|
this now.
|
|
|
|
The first room was uninhabited, but hung - as the whole Club was - with
|
|
black and purple drapes. The effect of the drapes, hanging featureless at
|
|
chaotic angles, was to distort and soften the space. Deep colours undulated as
|
|
the drapes shifted in the breeze, providing nothing to settle the eye.
|
|
|
|
The atmosphere changed once again as they entered what Catherine felt must
|
|
be the main room. The drapery obscured everything here, confounding here sense
|
|
of direction and offering many (changing, shifting, altering, indistinct)
|
|
paths. passages. She looked over to her guides to see which way they would
|
|
choose, but they had departed, leaving only the billowing of purple cloth in
|
|
their wake to mark their passing.
|
|
|
|
Now she realised that she'd always imagined a place like this. The few
|
|
clues Caitlin and David had provided as to its geography and atmosphere
|
|
(hinted, but never completely described) had fleshed out a gathering place
|
|
whose shadowed dimensions - its very indistinctness - allowed it to fit
|
|
anyones preconceptions of what such a place should be.
|
|
|
|
She stood alone and became aware of soft music from somewhere near. What
|
|
else did she have to follow? With a growing sense of dislocation, unnaturally
|
|
married with calm acceptance, she made her way through the curtained walkways.
|
|
Periodically, a gap between two dark sheets would allow her a glimpse - for no
|
|
more than a second as she strode onwards -of a group of melancholy figures,
|
|
dressed as if for their own funeral. She went unnoticed. Then, without
|
|
warning, draperies gave way to a raised floor before a stage on which a band
|
|
played. Upon this floor, swaying like so many soft black trees were many
|
|
Exiles, the women surrounded by the swish of their many skirts, the men
|
|
seeming to Catherine like so many sombre undertakers.
|
|
|
|
She looked around for anyone else unmoving. She felt too vague to dance,
|
|
for she realised that (although it would be bliss to enter that undulating
|
|
swathe at that moment and lose herself) she would forget why she had come. She
|
|
was about to head back through the corridors when she noticed a figure resting
|
|
on a sofa in an alcove opposite her. Some strange fancy had her wishing it was
|
|
David, but as she approached she saw that it was some other. She sat down next
|
|
to him.
|
|
|
|
Needing a source of information, but unwilling to mark herself as a
|
|
newcomer, she tried to gauge his attitude. No, there was something about him
|
|
which told her he didn't quite fit. She read feelings of discomfort and
|
|
heightened awareness in the way he altered his pose: first slouching backwards
|
|
into his seat, then bolt upright, and then hunched forward. Perhaps he was on
|
|
something. A trip could do that to you; or even marijuana. Had she disturbed
|
|
him from his reverent audience? She thought this must be how her dances with
|
|
Caitlin seemed to David. It was fascinating and something else - was that a
|
|
flutter of elation in her chest, or just nerves? She told herself to relax:
|
|
after all, this was her home ground.
|
|
|
|
She saw her feelings mirrored in his face. The display seemed to defy the
|
|
flesh and bone mortality of it participants. They had become once again the
|
|
creatures of shadow - the forms which went ignored or unnoticed - but seen
|
|
here in this place, they were somehow tangible.
|
|
|
|
"There is something disturbing about this dance, but I find I can't tear my
|
|
eyes away from it," he said. It seemed to be something he had been burning to
|
|
tell someone for so long. "Look at the expression on that guy's face. I wonder
|
|
what's going through his mind. I mean..."
|
|
|
|
He paused, looking for words which fit his wonder. (Cath realised he was
|
|
acutely concious of the length of this break in the sentence, for he said
|
|
nothing and held his head cocked to the side for quite a while.) "...I don't
|
|
know what I mean, really," he seemed to finish.
|
|
|
|
And then, on an almost irrelevant tangent he continued : "I've seen strange
|
|
things. Such things. You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Why was he
|
|
pouring his feelings out to her without an introduction? Could it be he was
|
|
unknown here - a stranger like her -
|
|
and he felt he had found something mundane to hang onto? If it was a guide he
|
|
sought, he was looking to the wrong person.
|
|
|
|
"Maybe I would believe," she said. "My life has not been all that...
|
|
normal, lately."
|
|
|
|
"No. It's too terrible." Suddenly he looked like he might be ready to cry
|
|
and, not wanting to bear witness to any such display which might unnerve her
|
|
any more, she prepared to leave.
|
|
He caught her intention and said: "Don't go. Are you new here?"
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER FOUR
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
The requirements for the communication had partially been provided for by the
|
|
incident a week previous. According to the word, which Nicolette had gathered
|
|
discreetly amongst the Exiles, the young man had been particularly drunk or
|
|
high on that night. He'd been wandering in a daze, lead around by his
|
|
girlfriend, completely out of touch with reality. He'd stumbled upon the door
|
|
which was forbidden to them in this place, and she followed soon after,
|
|
calling for him, begging him to come to his senses. If he was aware of her
|
|
pleadings, they hadn't mattered to him. They'd come up the staircase and into
|
|
the hall, and in his stupor (and her attempts to take him away) had entered
|
|
the room where Ska'kt-qu-a-diz was waiting. Slaughter had followed, and Teresa
|
|
had feared their screams would be heard by the others. If they had, they said
|
|
nothing of it.
|
|
|
|
The ribcages and bones, stripped clean of meat, were arranged before Teresa
|
|
into two tripods, each surmounted by a skull. These she drenched with
|
|
gasoline, and set to burn. Then, seated before the twin pyres, she sought the
|
|
attendance of the Dead.
|
|
|
|
"Kag'nit'lil," they said. Their voice was without inflexion. "You have kept
|
|
us waiting for too long now. Are your preparations finally complete?"
|
|
|
|
"There are artifacts I need. Paths yet to be followed. Preparations to be
|
|
made. It's been difficult. I don't have much to work on."
|
|
|
|
"We have given you so much already. Still, you fail to deliver as promised.
|
|
You waste our time dallying with hybrids."
|
|
|
|
She'd been stupid to think they wouldn't notice the summonation. It was
|
|
loathsome to them, she knew. It was a thing from the border between Life and
|
|
Death, and as such, it was impure, instagnant.
|
|
|
|
"It's a servant," she stammered. "...nothing more. It will be of use in
|
|
what I have to do." They would know. She couldn't hide anything from them. She
|
|
belonged to them.
|
|
|
|
"And, Tel'ik'in. You promised him to us," they said. Somehow, their
|
|
insinuations lead into this abrupt change of topic.
|
|
|
|
Tel'ik'in. The name they'd given to her son, Thomas. They're not going to
|
|
back down from their claim on my baby, she thought. Teresa had avoided this as
|
|
much as she could, and tried to stray them from their resolve, but the more
|
|
she tried, the more insistent they seemed to become.
|
|
|
|
"Of course," she said. "In time. I need some time with him first. I know
|
|
that's difficult for you to understand..."
|
|
|
|
"Remember who you serve, Kag'nit'lil. We expect your offering soon. We
|
|
give you more now. To show we care."
|
|
|
|
'Care'?, she thought. And then the pain. It rushed through her limbs,
|
|
causing her to convulse and scream. It detonated inside her skull. Through the
|
|
agony, she could feel the pulp being sucked from beneath her skin and she was
|
|
desparately holding onto her life, her humanity, as that, too, was sucked
|
|
away.
|
|
|
|
"Go. Do what you're bound to do."
|
|
|
|
In the torrent of vertigo and confusion, she tried to stand up. In a
|
|
reflexive, a most human, movement, her hands went up to her face, but found
|
|
only smooth strips of bone.
|
|
|
|
Then: the familar feeling of emptyness. No more pain, because that was
|
|
reserved for the living.
|
|
|
|
On her feet again, she found that her body had become still more wasted
|
|
away, more elongated. Once again, it would be hours before she familiarised
|
|
with this slightly altered shape.
|
|
|
|
As if in sympathy with his mother's distress, the baby began to cry.
|
|
Through the void, she could hear his wailing call. She no longer knew which
|
|
part of her responded (her womb had long ago ceased to be), but she staggered
|
|
down the hall towards his bedroom, the need to comfort him foremost in her
|
|
mind.
|
|
|
|
Through the daze and the blur of the world she managed to find his cot.
|
|
Thomas rarely made a sound. He is the perfect child, she thought ironically, a
|
|
first-prize showcase baby who was being nurtured in a monstrous household, by
|
|
his monstrous mother. She swathed him in blankets and rocked him in her arms.
|
|
The voice she used to comfort him sounded empty and rasping to her: a demon
|
|
babbling in baby-talk.
|
|
|
|
He quietened, and as she lay him back into his cot, there was a noise
|
|
outside the door.
|
|
|
|
"Come in, Nicolette," she said. Her annoyance was plain. As much as she
|
|
needed the woman's influence in the world of light outside, she found her
|
|
presense galling. She was too ardent, too sly. There was jealousy, too, she
|
|
grdgingly admitted to herself, for Nicolette was still whole and human and
|
|
untouched. A beautiful girl, but so eager to be defiled, to have her womb -
|
|
her womanhood - ripped out of her. Eager to become a monster. If only she
|
|
knew.
|
|
|
|
Nicolette was wearing a long black dress. Her makeup, her ivory cheekbones,
|
|
her black hair piled messily atop her head: all as befitted a true Exile.
|
|
|
|
"The boy's downstairs, with a newcomer," she said.
|
|
|
|
"Who?"
|
|
|
|
"Anton. Anton Farrar. Kaylin's boy."
|
|
|
|
"Ask him if he'd like to come up here, then, would you? Bring this newcomer
|
|
too, if she'll come. She may be part of this."
|
|
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
The raised platform before the stage was empty, its crop of dark trees having
|
|
uprooted and fled all at once with the sudden halt of the music. The band,
|
|
too, had departed, taking with them their assortment of strange mediaeval
|
|
instruments. Anton and Catherine were left alone. Nearby, perceptable to both
|
|
but better ignored, rose a wall of fathomless colours eternally warping, which
|
|
obscured the greater Sanctum. It enfolded invisible regions filled with a
|
|
blending of slick whispers.
|
|
|
|
"I'm looking for some friends of mine," said Catherine. "I don't know
|
|
anyone here I could ask..." When she spoke to him, her voice was lowered, her
|
|
mouth was so close to his ear that - a perverse impulse! - she imagined biting
|
|
it. She felt acutely the absense of any living, breathing thing, apart from
|
|
Anton on the couch next to her: the whispering background, somehow, didn't
|
|
seem to come from anything human.
|
|
|
|
She turned her head to receive his reply, and she could feel his warm
|
|
breath making the hairs raise on the skin of her neck. The strange notion
|
|
returned to her, and she almost anticipated his teeth in the tender flesh of
|
|
her earlobe. But it never came. Instead: "Who did you come with?"
|
|
|
|
"Nobody. I met these two guys outside. We came in here and then they were
|
|
gone." Again, the turning of the head and the breath.
|
|
|
|
"I can't help you find your friends. I don't know anyone here either." It
|
|
was a small lie, almost truth.
|
|
|
|
"Maybe we should look around?"
|
|
|
|
"I don't know if that's a good idea. They seem to value their privacy
|
|
here."
|
|
|
|
"I know what you mean. The place has this feel to it: its almost... like a
|
|
temple." She saw that he wasn't listening. His attention was focused over her
|
|
shoulder, at something behind her.
|
|
|
|
"What is it?" she asked.
|
|
|
|
"I think... oh, god..."
|
|
|
|
She turned. Anton stood up. A face; dead white and surrounded by the dead
|
|
colours of the cloth wall. What had startled him?
|
|
|
|
The woman approached and, looking only at Anton, she said: "So... what do
|
|
you think of our little place here?" She is beautiful, thought Catherine. What
|
|
threat could she pose?
|
|
|
|
Anton made no reply, but shifted uneasily behind Catherine.
|
|
|
|
"Anton, I'm sorry. It had to be done... It..." An apology. "There's someone
|
|
who'd like to have a word with you. Nothing else... Just a word. Upstairs."
|
|
|
|
Anton moved past Catherine and away from the stranger. "I'm going," he
|
|
said. His voice was small, his words choked. "Are you coming?"
|
|
|
|
"Me?" said Catherine. She went to say more, but he'd already passed into
|
|
the dividing wall, was already hurrying through its passages to the outside.
|
|
He hadn't looked back.
|
|
|
|
"All she wants is to talk with you," called the stranger, her voice dying
|
|
down as she realised it was futile. "What's the big deal? Come back, dammit!"
|
|
|
|
Catherine was on the edge of her seat, ready to stand and follow. She was
|
|
alone with the woman now. A tumult of thoughts hit her then: small
|
|
realizations turned to deductions, which became suspicions, which, in turn,
|
|
gave birth to fear. She glanced up at the stranger.
|
|
|
|
"What's his..." But the woman had turned without even acknowledging her,
|
|
and pressed through other folds in the wall.
|
|
|
|
Doubts assailed her. She was truly alone here now. Surely David and Caitlin
|
|
would have tried to contact her by now, if they were present. At least,
|
|
Caitlin would have been part of the dance. She made a quick decision: she
|
|
would follow Anton.
|
|
|
|
Again: the twisting indistinct corridors; but this time she was amongst the
|
|
whispers. Then the pre-entrance room, the stairs, and finally: the streets.
|
|
The night air was cold but bracing and it served to clear her thoughts. Anton
|
|
was further down Lennor Street, in the distance and outlined by the light of
|
|
street-lamps. He was pacing back and forth, obviously wracked by indecision or
|
|
inner turmoil. Perhaps he was waiting for her?
|
|
|
|
She went to him, attempted to talk to him, but he was too caught up in the
|
|
struggle and paid her no more than a glance. He seemed to come to a decision
|
|
and strode up the street away from the Sanctum. Catherine followed close
|
|
behind him, walking fast to keep up.
|
|
|
|
"You should have talked to her," she said. Her breath condensed into pale
|
|
streams with each word. He didn't reply.
|
|
|
|
"What's wrong? We should go back there!"
|
|
|
|
"I'm not going back there. Not ever. I advise you to do the same. Those
|
|
people are murderers."
|
|
|
|
"Murderers? Why do you say that?" she demanded. Around them the streets
|
|
were empty. Anton was looking up at the architecture which seemed out of place
|
|
above the gaudy store-fronts, and his attention drew Catherine's eyes upwards.
|
|
He turned down an alley, his pace quickening.
|
|
|
|
She stopped. "Where are you going?" she called after him. He began to run,
|
|
his head tilted upwards: up, up, to the blank and staring windows.
|
|
|
|
"Get the fuck out of here!" he shouted. At first she could see nothing
|
|
above, but then she noticed it: something moved. A dark blotch up there
|
|
crossed the face of a building. She stepped backwards.
|
|
|
|
He was mid-way down the alley when the shape detached itself from the
|
|
building and seemed to leap, to the stonework on the opposite side of the
|
|
street, all the time descending. Like a spider, she thought, as it landing in
|
|
front of him. She could only make out Anton's frantic halt: the black shape
|
|
was indistinct. Shocked at her own sudden bravery, she gathered her skirts and
|
|
began to run down the alley towards the encounter.
|
|
|
|
As she approached, she could hear they were talking.
|
|
|
|
"I just wanted a word," it said.
|
|
|
|
Anton was backing away. "Leave me alone. You fucking bitch!"
|
|
|
|
Then this thing (it seemed devoid of limbs, of any form whatsoever, in the
|
|
shapeless, hooded cape it wore) was female. Her voice sounded hollow and
|
|
nasty.
|
|
|
|
"Just a word."
|
|
|
|
Anton continued to back away. Catherine came to a halt just behind him.
|
|
|
|
"Tell Kaylin I want a word with him," the shapeless thing said. "I need to
|
|
talk. Its important. Very important. Do you understand?" Raising her voice so
|
|
that it was clear: "Tell him to meet me in the old cemetary tomorrow night."
|
|
|
|
Catherine saw Anton nod, then he turned to her and said: "Come." Together
|
|
they walked back to Lennor Street. When they reached it, she looked back down
|
|
the alley, saw that it was deserted again.
|
|
|
|
"Were can we find a phone around here?" asked Anton.
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER FIVE
|
|
"The Fallen Man"
|
|
|
|
I
|
|
|
|
"Hello, Lisa? This is Michael Kaylin."
|
|
|
|
There was a long pause as the woman on the other end of the line gathered
|
|
her thoughts. "Mike? What can I do for you?" The response was abrupt, but not
|
|
unexpected.
|
|
|
|
"I need some advise, Lisa. Do you mind if I drop round?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes. Of course," she said. It was obvious in her voice: old wounds were
|
|
being re-opened. "I'm just finishing up here. We could meet at the Crow, if
|
|
you like?"
|
|
|
|
"That sounds fine. At ten?"
|
|
|
|
"Okay, see you there."
|
|
|
|
As he was born along by the busy Friday-night traffic, he wondered at her
|
|
quick acceptance of his suggested meeting. Again he was surprised at the kind
|
|
of fatalism with which their little clique of nihilists bowed before the lure.
|
|
Avoidance or squabbling are not an option, he mused, when there are so few of
|
|
us. We've been drawn together and bonded by our hubris. And, underneath it
|
|
all, isn't it just an urge for self-annihilation? Yes, our boredom with
|
|
reality and willingness to be unmade has set us apart from the herd. It has
|
|
driven us past all demarcations.
|
|
|
|
It had always been with him, a source of both pain and wonder which drove
|
|
him. As a child he would walk through the scenery of suburbia and be unable to
|
|
see benath it. The solid objects would become nothing more than colour and
|
|
shape on his retina: they were meaningless, but nevertheless brutally
|
|
tangible. Surely there was something more. He became determined to discover
|
|
other worlds.
|
|
|
|
He read voraciously, deftly picking the subtexts from the dreaming of
|
|
poets, the shadows of truth behind the musings and debate of existentialist
|
|
philosophers, means of altering conciousness and utilising previously
|
|
unrealised potentials in the teachings of the Old Religions. Buried amongst
|
|
the rubble, there were truths - or, at least, ways of apprehending the truth.
|
|
He discovered that there had been others who followed the path which lay
|
|
before him, with varying degrees of success. Their writings were scattered
|
|
amongst a handful of unique handwritten diaries and unpublished manuscripts:
|
|
these he sought with the fervor of an obsessive.
|
|
|
|
There seemed to be agreement amongst the two main paths. Primative
|
|
religions, in their modern-day revival, with their "return to the soil" and
|
|
dreaming existence; the esoterics and ceremonial magicians with their Kaballah
|
|
and their complex inter-relationships on the Tree of Life: the essential part
|
|
of the process was to make contact with otherworld intelligences. It had
|
|
surprised them when they succeeded where so many before had failed. Now he
|
|
understood why.
|
|
|
|
When Kaylin arrived at the Silver Crow, Lisa was still on her way. He
|
|
ordered a beer at the bar and selected a table which offered relative privacy,
|
|
where they would not be bothered by passing patrons. The place was the same as
|
|
ever, never overcrowded despite the management's attempts (they were obvious
|
|
in the pretentious decor) to move upmarket.
|
|
|
|
She arrived soon after and went straight to his table. She smiled as as she
|
|
seated herself and it struck him how little she'd been changed by everything.
|
|
Perhaps it was the way she had of remaining apart from the most damaging
|
|
evidence. She'd always been more of an interested bystander, or, more
|
|
properly, the guiding mentor: always willing to offer advice, but careful not
|
|
to become too involved. He hoped she'd not cut herself off entirely from the
|
|
group.
|
|
|
|
"You look worn out, Michael," she said.
|
|
|
|
He nodded, feeling the truth of her statement.
|
|
|
|
She waited a while for him to say something, to offer some information.
|
|
When nothing was forthcoming, she said: "So you're still on the trail. I
|
|
thought you'd quit, after Teresa-"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, well. I don't really have a choice now. We started this..."
|
|
|
|
The look on her face when he used the word 'we' - as if he'd spat on her.
|
|
She was trying to work out if he meant just Teresa and him, or if he was
|
|
trying to implicate her. Lisa, he thought: always aloof, impersonal,
|
|
blameless.
|
|
|
|
"Tell me," she said. "What's happened?"
|
|
|
|
"Teresa has a human woman working for her now. They performed a Rending of
|
|
the Veil and brought something over from the in-between. To do this, they
|
|
needed a sacrifice. They had found two, but one - Anton Farrar - escaped and
|
|
he's with us now." He paused. She was grinning.
|
|
|
|
"Quite a little army you're getting together there," she said. But beneath
|
|
the irony, an accusation: You've lost it Kaylin, you're dragging innocents
|
|
into your world of screw-ups; this will damn you.
|
|
|
|
He ignored it and continued: "Anton says the Shining Lady contacted him
|
|
through his dreams. She told him she's in the hands of the Ever-Dead."
|
|
|
|
Again, she sniggered, but this time he could see fear behind the facade.
|
|
She'd assessed the possibilities, though - he could see that - and it had made
|
|
some kind of sense to her, as it had to him. Not that she'd admit it.
|
|
|
|
"The Shining Lady? God, Michael, the Lady is a symbol, the representation
|
|
of an archtypal pattern. She's a metaphor for mankind's inability to reach the
|
|
beyond. You know that."
|
|
|
|
"That's right. She's the block and blind which has prevented mortals from
|
|
percieving the other place. And, somehow, now, they have her."
|
|
|
|
"That's ridiculous." Lisa pushed her glasses up on her nose and then ran
|
|
her hands through her hair, her eyes staring at the table. A combination of
|
|
nervous which he knew well. "Well, what do you you want me to do about?" she
|
|
asked, deadpan.
|
|
|
|
"Do you still stay in touch with Carl?"
|
|
|
|
"He's come low. He refused to believe me when I told him what you'd
|
|
accomplished. He's become a drunk, a drug-addict, completely deranged."
|
|
|
|
"So where is he?"
|
|
|
|
"I don't know. Squatting somewhere. Look around the streets, in every trash
|
|
can: you're bound to find him. If he's still alive."
|
|
|
|
|
|
II
|
|
|
|
Leaving his car parked in the inner city, he took to the streets on foot. He
|
|
began his questioning immediately, approaching those who showed signs of the
|
|
City's neglect: that beaten, hollow look which suggested nights spent in dark,
|
|
cold places amongst the garbage and rats. He found it easy to approach these
|
|
people. He had the look of an outcast, a man who refused to conform. The dark
|
|
skin and the long, unwashed dreadlocks, the shabby black overcoat draped over
|
|
a lean frame, and the look about him which suggested a vague cynicism, regret
|
|
and self-imposed exile.
|
|
|
|
On the tram which carried him to the region of the lost, he approached a
|
|
group of youths wearing leather and cheap jewelry. They were half-drunk,
|
|
friendly enough and left a litter of beer-cans on the floor as they left. They
|
|
weren't street denizens, though: just middle-class from the suburbs, slumming.
|
|
|
|
On a wide street - a run of bars and open cafes, thronged with
|
|
thrill-seekers, partyers, drinkers, fashion victims and derelicts - he came
|
|
close to finding what he was looking for. A small church loomed next to the
|
|
side walk, its overgrown lawn dotted with benches. Two grubby girls, twelve or
|
|
thirteen years old, sat nervous and cold, perhaps waiting for someone. A
|
|
middle-aged man, inebriated and staggering slightly approached them. Swaying
|
|
before them, he must have made some kind of lewd suggestion, because they beat
|
|
him to the ground and sent him back down the street, slurring obscenities at
|
|
them.
|
|
|
|
"You got any picks?" one of them asked Kaylin.
|
|
|
|
He stopped and seemed to consider it for a moment. "You should try the
|
|
Needle Exchange."
|
|
|
|
"Yeah. Thanks a fuckin' lot," she muttered. Her friend was looking away,
|
|
staring at the trees, the side of a building, at the cars passing on the road.
|
|
|
|
He told them he was looking for a friend of his. They didn't know him, they
|
|
said, but suggested he try a place "under the bridge", where the City's lost
|
|
sometimes congregated.
|
|
|
|
He found them beside the river and beneath the vaulted supports of the
|
|
bridge. They were a group of widely varying ages and races which would
|
|
otherwise have been hostile towards each other. They were spread apart in
|
|
groups of three or four, leaning against the vast concrete pillars or
|
|
crouching against the walls before a small fire. They shared bags of cheap
|
|
wine and smoked cigarettes rolled from a communal tobacco pouch. One of them,
|
|
a young man of around sixteen, told Kaylin he'd seen Carl getting drunk
|
|
earlier that day, and that he was probably spending the night in the Gardens
|
|
again.
|
|
|
|
The Gardens were a short walk from the river and the bridge. It was
|
|
approaching midnight. Nobody cared for the park's charms that night: not the
|
|
couples who lie entwined upon the lawn near its flower- beds, nor revellers
|
|
who walk in scattered groups along its paths. The lovers would only have been
|
|
dissappointed, for clouds obscured the moon; the revellers would have been
|
|
soaked in the steady drizzle, which fell constantly now, like a fine mist.
|
|
|
|
Kaylin walked briskly, his eyes looking for secret places in the dynamic
|
|
landscaping: stands of trees rising above from almost verticle, wall-like
|
|
inclines; beds of bedraggled flowers amongst the well-kept lawns of short,
|
|
hard grass; the thick bushes which surrounded the rain-fed ornamental pools
|
|
with their statues (water- nymphs and other creatures of myth).
|
|
|
|
He found it profoundly peaceful, island-like, in spite of the traffic
|
|
passing just beyond the vegitation. Car-horns occasionally blaring. Sirens
|
|
calling from some far-away emergency. The drizzle coated him with a fine sheen
|
|
of moisture. His face soon became wet, and dribbled droplets, like sweat. The
|
|
damp discomfort he felt served to heighten his senses. He realised that
|
|
suddenly he felt more alive than he'd felt for months. He wondered at this
|
|
feeling, and that phrase (it was one which had come unbidden to him, once, and
|
|
then stayed with him ever since): none of us ever felt truly alive until we
|
|
discovered the ultimate place of death.
|
|
|
|
He searched the most unlikely places and then, there, lying amongst the
|
|
bushes, the leaves and the bark: a shape swaddled in a shit-stained greatcoat.
|
|
He gave it a prod with his boot. It moved.
|
|
|
|
Carl's hair was matted, the mass of it more foliage than strand. He turned
|
|
over, unfolding his arms and legs. Lying there, his eyes half-open on a grubby
|
|
face, it seemed almost a pose of supplication. Come on, it said. I'm a piece
|
|
of shit. Kick me.
|
|
|
|
Kaylin crouched down beside the supplicant. "Carl..." he said.
|
|
|
|
The eyes opened a little wider, but there was no recognition, only a
|
|
throaty mumbling.
|
|
|
|
"I'm going to get the car. Wait here."
|
|
|
|
As he jogged back through the park, Kaylin wondered what use this man would
|
|
be to them. If he ever returned to his senses - and how long would that take?
|
|
- would he even be willing to help?
|
|
|
|
It was over a quarter of an hour before he reached the parking lot and
|
|
double that time when he returned to the park and the place where Carl lay. In
|
|
that time he'd curled up again and seemed to be sleeping peacefully, a babe of
|
|
nature on an island in a sea of concrete.
|
|
|
|
Kaylin attempted to rouse him again, but this time there was no reaction.
|
|
He gathered the man, and with considerable difficulty, carried him, bundled up
|
|
in his arms, to the car.
|
|
|
|
|
|
III
|
|
|
|
Kaylin had been expecting Anton's return for several hours. The phone call
|
|
came shortly before dawn. The first realisation, seconds before answering, was
|
|
that something had gone wrong. Anton knew the risks: he was to go alone, via
|
|
public transport, and to return alone.
|
|
|
|
"Problem," said Anton. That his voice was quivering was obvious even
|
|
through the interference on the mobile.
|
|
|
|
"Teresa?"
|
|
|
|
"Yeah. We're at the corner of Dutch and Lennor. Can you give us a ride?"
|
|
|
|
As he drove to Lennor Street, Kaylin reprimanded himself for being so
|
|
foolish in allowing Anton his attempt to infiltrate the Exiles. This had been
|
|
the weakest link in his planning for the coming encounters. How could they
|
|
have hoped that, somehow, he wouldn't be noticed there? Judging by the fear in
|
|
his voice, there'd obviously been a confrontation. He'd previously accepted
|
|
that such a confrontation would have probably resulted in Anton's death. But
|
|
Teresa had let him live. Why?
|
|
|
|
Pulling up the street-corner where the pair waited, Kaylin marvelled at the
|
|
young man's ingenuity: he'd managed to make friends with one of the Exiles.
|
|
Perhaps the subterfuge had not been a complete failure after all.
|
|
|
|
Catherine was silent as Anton related the night's events. Finally, as they
|
|
climbed the stairs to the apartment, he relayed Teresa's message. Kaylin's
|
|
reaction was, at first, confused disbelief.
|
|
|
|
"This changes everything," was all he said. In truth, he wasn't sure of
|
|
exactly what it changed, but that the mere fact of it suggested a reversal of
|
|
some kind.
|
|
|
|
... to be continued...
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
Individual authors may be reached at the following addresses:
|
|
Metonymous Bosch : metonymous.bosch@pms.metronj.org
|
|
Laura Lemay: lemay@netcom.com
|
|
Arifel: arifel.tanj@pms.metronj.org
|
|
Dava: dava.tanj@pms.metronj.org
|
|
Slack Mammoth: slack.mammoth.tanj@pms.metronj.org
|
|
The Awakening ??
|
|
John Gillespie Magee, Jr. ??
|
|
Ironhorse: ironhorse@pms.metronj.org
|
|
Doomlord: doomlord.tanj@pms.metronj.org
|
|
|
|
ù ù ù ì ì ì é ì ì ì ù ù ù
|
|
|
|
ú ùþ ú ú þù ú
|
|
ÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜ ú ù ú ú ù ú ÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛ
|
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±±²²²²ÛÛßßÛßÝÛÛÛÛÛÝÜúþ þúÜÝÛÛÛÛÛÝßÛßßÛÛ²²²²±±
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²²²²²Ûß þúßÞþßþþÜùþ þùÜþþßþÞßúþ ßÛ²²²²²
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²²²²Ûß ú ù ù ú ßÛ²²²²
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²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²²
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²²²ÛÜ ÜÛ²²²
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±²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²²±
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±±²²²ÛÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÛ²²²±±
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±±±²²²²²²ÛÜ Phoenix Modernz Systems: 908/830-TANJ ÜÛ²²²²²²±±±
|
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ÛÛ±±±±±±²²²Û VapourWare BBS: 61/3-429-8510 Û²²²±±±±±±ÛÛ
|
|
ÛÛ±±±±±±²²²Û Yellow Submarine: 404/552-5336 Û²²²±±±±±±ÛÛ
|
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±±±²²²²²²ÛÜ RipCo ][: 312/528-5020 ÜÛ²²²²²²±±±
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±±²²²ÛÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÛ²²²±±
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±²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²²±
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²²²ÛÜ ÜÛ²²²
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²²²ÛÝ ÕÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ͸ ÝÛ²²²
|
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²²²²Ûß ú ù ³ TANJ Mailing Address ³ ù ú ßÛ²²²²
|
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²²²²²Ûß þúßÞþßþþÜùþ ³ PO Box 174 ³ þùÜþþßþÞßúþ ßÛ²²²²²
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