A Town Called Discovery

by R. R. Haywood

  She seems to understand the statement, the meaning of it, the intent of his words and she stops to stare down into his eyes in the grey gloom of the room, searching for something and finding it there, seeing it within him and she blinks with sudden fear and worry.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

  ‘Nothing,’ she says quickly. ‘You’re better than fighting.’

  He seems to understand her statement, the meaning of it and the intent within her words and so they move and they kiss, and so they couple as one in the creation of a thing humanity has ever longed to describe but which will never be given justice save for the experience of knowing it.

  She orgasms with him inside. Building up from a deep, spreading heat that grows and blooms as she wraps her arms and legs round him, holding him close and closer but never close enough and so she spasms in a flow of ecstasy that tighten her muscles around his shaft making him come with powerful surges that lift her from the bed still on his lap.

  They rest and kiss, but they do not speak. They stroke gently with fingertips dancing over skin that prickles from the sensation

  They rest and the sweat on their bodies grows cooler to dry but still they kiss, gently, slowly, sharing and giving.

  The heat rises and the kisses become passionate once more and so the night passes until they slump sore and exhausted with minds and hearts willing but bodies unable to give or take any more, and so they curl into each other, pressed tight, clasped and enclosed.

  ‘Thank you, my handsome little stallion,’ she whispers, hearing his breathing deepen as sleep calls his mind. ‘They can’t know this happened…’

  ‘Kay,’ he whispers.

  She blinks slowly, staring at the window and feeling the second when he passes from awake to asleep and she snuggles deeper into him while a troubled look shows. ‘I need you to believe in me.’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘You crafty shit. I thought you were asleep.’

  ‘I was. Why does everyone hate you?’

  ‘Cos.’

  ‘Cos why?’

  ‘Just cos. Be on my side...’

  ‘You want to swap sides?’

  ‘Twat. I meant…’

  ‘I know what you meant.’

  ‘Not now. When the time comes. When I need you. Be there and stand for me.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘Just swear it.’

  ‘I swear it.’

  ‘No matter what they say.’

  ‘I swear it.’

  ‘Just know I’m not bad.’

  ‘Nothing you say makes any sense to me, Roshi.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to yet…go to sleep my little tiger…’

  He drifts off and she moves closer into him, feeling his body wrapped around hers and in the darkness of the night, she brings his fingers to her mouth to kiss and blinks as the tear rolls down her cheek.

  11

  ‘Damn,’ Thomas says slowly, ‘this is giving me déjà vu.’

  ‘I keep on getting it,’ Zara says. ‘Are we in the right place?’

  ‘It said training centre on the door,’ Bear says,

  ‘This is a high school gym is what this is dude,’ Thomas says.

  Basketball hoops at both ends and tiered bleachers on one side with concertinaed runners fitted to the ceiling for climbing ropes and hooped rings to be pulled out and their boots squeak underfoot as they walk across the shiny wooden floor full of coloured lines denoting the courts, lines and markings.

  Roshi was gone when Bear woke to the sound of the phone ringing and a curt male voice telling him to report at the training centre in forty-five minutes in blue coveralls and boots. Zara called a few minutes after arranging to meet so they could walk down together. He washed, dressed, worshiped at the altar of tea and felt a dull ache in his testicles while grinning stupidly to himself and inhaling deeply to smell the lingering trace of cherry blossom.

  He then got lost in the labyrinth of lanes and paths until finally running over to meet Zara and Thomas before setting off to find James also wandering lost but completely unbothered.

  ‘Guess we wait huh?’ Thomas says, looking to Zara for confirmation.

  ‘Guess so,’ she says. ‘How was your night?’

  ‘Sucked,’ Thomas replies dully. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Same,’ she says. ‘Bear?’

  ‘Er yeah, you know.’

  ‘What?’ Thomas asks.

  ‘Just er…quiet really.’

  ‘Are those scratches?’ Zara asks, leaning in to tug his collar down and wince at the red welts on his skin. ‘Ooh, looks painful.’

  ‘Fingernails?’ Thomas asks.

  ‘Um…got itchy.’

  ‘Itchy?’ Thomas asks.

  ‘Stress, maybe,’ Zara says.

  ‘Stress,’ Bear says quickly, wishing he’d looked in the mirror before he left.

  ‘You don’t look stressed,’ Thomas says.

  ‘Brave face?’ Bear suggests. ‘Er…James, how was your night, mate?’

  ‘I ate all my food.’

  ‘What?’ Zara snaps. ‘All of it?’

  He nods, amiable and unfussed. ‘I was hungry but then the lady came over to tell me how the shower works and…’

  ‘What lady?’ Zara asks.

  ‘You had a lady come over?’ Thomas asks. ‘Jesus dude…I didn’t have a lady come over…’

  ‘She was nice,’ James says.

  ‘Did you have a lady come over?’ Thomas asks Bear.

  ‘No,’ he says in a voice too high then coughs to clear his throat, ‘I mean no, of course not…so, a gym eh?’

  ‘Bear,’ Zara says slowly, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms. ‘What’s going on? You’ve gone bright red.’

  A bang at the end as the doors slam open from an older man with dark greying hair dressed in black coveralls walking in with a wince. ‘Excuse me, I did not mean this dramatic entrance.’

  ‘Pete!’ Zara says.

  ‘Bonjour mademoiselle,’ he grins holding his arms out as he strides over to hug her. ‘It is good to see you, Zara…ah Monsieur Thomas, yes?’ he pumps Thomas’s hand while giving a self-effacing grin. ‘And you must be James. You are very big no?’

  ‘Hello,’ James says, dwarfing the guy as they shake hands.

  ‘And you,’ Pete says, turning to Bear. ‘Monsieur Bear. Roshi’s, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bear says.

  ‘Sit, sit,’ Pete says after shaking Bear’s hand. ‘All of you sit, we will talk.’

  ‘Bloody French always get in first,’ a voice calls out.

  ‘Jacob!’ Thomas exclaims as another man walks in dressed in the same black coveralls as Pete and looking the same age with receding hair flecked with grey and a heavily lined face.

  ‘Thomas, how are you, old chap?’ he shakes hands, smiling warmly. ‘Zara, very nice to meet you, and you, James…I’m afraid Larry isn’t here but he’ll catch up when he can. You must be Bear? Roshi’s, if I’m not mistaken?’ distaste shows on his features as he says her name. His voice cultured and as strong as his handshake.

  ‘Sit, sit,’ Pete says again, waving at the bleachers. ‘Do not panic or worry at what you see,’ he adds, holding his hands out to capture and hold their attention with a comical expression. ‘We shall show you wonders you never think is possible,’ he trails off into a dramatic whisper.

  ‘I say old chap,’ Jacob says, giving Pete a rehearsed look. ‘What say we have a pot of tea before we bedazzle their minds.’

  ‘Tea?’ Pete says with a mock scowl. ‘I am French, Monsieur. I favour coffee s’il vous plait.’

  ‘Coffee is for heathens,’ Jacob says pompously, clapping his hands once. The blink of an eye. The beat of a heart and the world around them changes, making the four seated newbies lurch to their feet in shock at the new surroundings.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Thomas gasps.

  ‘Tea is for civilised folk,’ Jacob says with a flourish, spinning round with his arm outstretched to show the
m the sumptuous surroundings.

  A grand restaurant of round tables laid with white lace cloths and covered in silver platters filled with delicate pastries, cakes and cucumber sandwiches. Men and women dressed in formal suits and dresses and the ambience holds a muted yet elegant air with the tea served by immaculate waiters into small china cups balanced on small china saucers.

  Bear smiles. James stares at the food. Thomas and Zara blink, swallow and reel in stunned shock.

  ‘No, no, this is too formal,’ Pete says in dismay. The blink of an eye, the beat of a heart and the world around them becomes a loud, rumbustious Parisian street café complete with bustling waiters shouting at each other and customers talking in loud, animated tones. The air thick with cigarette smoke that mingles with the aroma of coffee and freshly baked breads. ‘Yes?’ Pete asks, grinning at the four in blue coveralls. ‘This is much better no?’

  ‘I feel sick,’ Zara says, bracing her hands on her knees.

  ‘Good god, no,’ Jacob says, aghast at the sight. ‘A man needs peace and quiet to enjoy his tea.’ A clap of his hands, a blink of an eye and they’re back in the posh tea rooms as Thomas reaches out to lean on Zara, both of them blowing air through cheeks. Bear feels it too but nowhere as strong as before.

  ‘No, Monsieur! A man cannot smoke here, he cannot talk or express himself.’ Pete claps his hands, taking them instantly back to the Parisian street café, making Zara and James gag and gasp for air while Jacob’s wide-eyed shocked expression magnifies.

  ‘Good lord, are you deranged?’ Jacob booms in disgust. ‘I am not drinking a foul coffee from a mug washed in the gutter served by the filthy cigarette stained hands of a drunkard!’ Back to the posh tea rooms and Zara stands up straight, glares round then vomits on a table, spewing over a platter of pastries while the refined man and woman continue drinking tea in their stony silence.

  ‘Zara,’ Pete groans, shaking his head while pulling a wallet from his back pocket and plucking a Bank of Discovery note out that he hands to a grinning Jacob.

  ‘Shit,’ Thomas heaves, gags then copies Zara a second later by emptying his stomach on the legs of a man drinking tea alone at a table. The man doesn’t flinch or show reaction.

  ‘It was the same time!’ Pete says, trying to snatch his money back.

  ‘Certainly was not,’ Jacob exclaims. ‘Zara vomited first by a mile old chap,’ he folds the money to tuck neatly into his top pocket. ‘James? Do you feel sick at all? Perhaps if you wish to vomit you could do it here before we move on.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Jacob,’ James says politely before bending double to puke between his legs.

  ‘Bear?’ Pete asks, giving him a studied look.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Bear says. ‘Seriously…’ he adds at seeing the two men watching him closely.

  ‘Roshi,’ Jacob mutters.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Zara says weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Please let me…’ she grabs a napkin and starts smearing her puke across the tablecloth. ‘I’m so embarrassed…maybe you could move tables or…’

  ‘Sir, I’ve vomited on your leg…’ Thomas tells the man he puked on who carries on drinking his tea as stiffly as before. ‘Sir…’

  ‘Good lord, old chap,’ Jacob says, staring in horror at the pile of spew between James’s legs. ‘How much have you eaten? I rather think we should move on now, Pete.’

  A clap and the world changes to a place that makes Bear smile. A lush green meadow bordering a pebble shore next to the glittering surface of the lake.

  Zara yelps, tumbling forward at losing her balance from still leaning over the table to suddenly having nothing to support her.

  ‘Somewhat dizzying,’ Jacob says mildly. ‘Take a moment now chaps, breathe the air and get settled before we move on.’

  ‘You have seen this place before, no?’ Pete asks, inclining his head at Bear.

  He nods in reply, looking round and remembering yesterday being on his back with Roshi sitting on his chest.

  ‘Bloody woman,’ Jacob says under his breath.

  ‘She is a spirit,’ Pete replies.

  ‘She’s something.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Zara asks, inhaling deeply.

  ‘The more you do the easier it gets,’ Jacob says. ‘You’ll always feel a change or a conscious reset…’ he claps his hands taking them back into the High School gym. ‘Feel it,’ he says calmly. ‘Inside,’ he claps again, taking them back to the posh tea rooms now devoid of puke. ‘The more you do the easier it becomes,’ another clap and back to Paris and Bear feels it like Jacob said. A thing inside. Like a lurch of his guts but somehow the expectation of the change minimises the nauseous reaction.

  ‘Stop,’ Zara says, gasping to breathe. A clap, back to the lake. ‘Please,’ Zara pleads, holding her stomach as Thomas stares down at the ground.

  ‘The more we do,’ Pete says, clapping his hands.

  James pukes, resting his hands on his knees. Thomas follows a second later while Zara turns away.

  Pete move closer to Bear, resting a hand on his shoulder, ‘close your eyes, Monsieur…we go fast now yes?’ Bear closes his eyes. Hearing the clap and feeling the change. ‘I place my hands on your ears,’ Pete says softly. Bears feels the hands press lightly at first then harder, reducing his capacity to hear. Sight and hearing now gone. He hears the faint clap and feels the change. Then a change without the clap. The lurch inside. Again. Again, and again and each time he feels it while Pete holds his head between his hands.

  Minutes pass. Maybe more and they go through dozens with Bear learning the sensation until Pete suddenly lets go and steps away.

  ‘Open your eyes now.’

  Back in the gym with James sitting on the floor with his head between his knees but the other two are upright and alert if somewhat wan looking but clearly coping better than before.

  ‘This is a good start,’ Pete says. ‘The more you do.’

  ‘The easier it becomes,’ Jacob adds. ‘James, are you okay?’

  ‘Feel sick,’ James mumbles.

  Bear spots the look between Pete and Jacob. A message passed between two people that know each other very well with intent and meaning loaded into a split second of shared eye contact.

  ‘Pete,’ Zara says, drawing a deep breath. ‘You said we’d be told what this is.’

  ‘We will, yes, yes,’ Pete says easily.

  ‘You done this before huh?’ Thomas asks, looking over at Bear.

  ‘Er…my mentor, I think she did things a bit differently…’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Pete says, getting their attention. ‘Allie told you this is a computer-generated world, yes? Everything you see is part of that world, a programme, software, binary code.’ the world shifts again back to the posh tea rooms. ‘This is a training room…BONJOUR!’ he shouts sudden and loud, making the four in blue coveralls jump but no one else does. No one else even glances over.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Jacob says, gently laying his hand on the arm of a passing waiter. ‘What time is lunch served?’ The waiter stays immobile, not answering or even looking at Jacob but Bear has seen that lack of expression before. In the men who attacked him in the seven-sided room and the cops and others that came into the bomb warehouse.

  ‘The quality is perfect, no?’ Pete says, walking over to a table. ‘Please, move around,’ he urges the others, waving his hands while pulling a chair out to sit down. James gets to his feet and for the first time since meeting him Bear notices his affable expression is now gone, replaced with one of abject misery. He moves to a chair, grabbing it to pull out and plonks down heavily while Zara and Thomas look to each other for reassurance then to Bear.

  ‘We can match anywhere we want,’ Jacob explains as the three start moving about the room.

  ‘Match?’ Zara asks, bending over to wave her hand in front of a woman eating a cake who pays no heed but munches on.

  ‘Well, yes,’ Jacob replies. ‘This is a real place, or at least it exist
ed in the real world. We simply copied it, and when I say we copied it, I mean we said we wanted it copied and…well, it was done. The people are not real. They look real, they smell and feel real too…go ahead, touch them…they’re not people.’

  Thomas and Bear watch Zara reach out slowly, gently brushing her hand on the woman’s arm and gaining no reaction. She leans closer, inspecting the woman’s features and watching intently as she chews, swallows and lifts the pastry to her mouth to bite into. She watches the flakes fall and the way the woman diligently pats her mouth with a napkin to rid any crumbs. ‘She’s breathing,’ Zara says, taking the woman’s wrist. ‘Pulse too…she’s real.’

  ‘No,’ Pete says from his table, reaching out to take a pastry from the platter near him.

  Zara places her hand over the woman’s eyes and holds for a few seconds before drawing it away to study the pupil retraction. ‘She’s real,’ she insists.

  ‘There are degrees of realness,’ Jacob says, walking over to join Zara. ‘She has a heart, she has a nervous system and the same organs we have. She is entirely human,’ he plucks the pastry from the woman’s hand and flicks it at her face. She simply pats the spot with a napkin but stays otherwise still. ‘But she is not human,’ he takes her hat off, ruffles her hair and puts the hat back on. ‘She cannot feel, she does not have free will or the capacity to think. She is programmed to react in certain ways for the purposes of this training scenario. This woman existed, yes. We copied her from real-life, but this woman is not human.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Thomas says.

  ‘She is not Jesus either,’ Pete says with a mouthful of food.

  ‘There are many things we do not know,’ Jacob continues. ‘How it works, why it works, how it can be done…the Old Lady you see, remarkable woman, a remarkable person but she is not one to offer explanation.’

  ‘Okay,’ Zara says, stepping back. ‘This is a training room. Training for what?’

  ‘I told you, Jacob,’ Pete says, grinning at his friend.

  ‘You did, Peter,’ Jacob says, turning to Zara. ‘Pete said you are very er…inquisitive.’

  ‘I said nosy.’

  ‘I was trying to be polite.’