Fall

by Rod Rees

  ‘And the result?’

  Lee swallowed: his mouth had gone very dry. ‘Ninety per cent of the respondents described Aaliz Heydrich as “a Normalist” or as “an opponent of UnFunDaMentalism”.’

  For the first time the Great Leader demonstrated emotion. He slumped back in his chair and blew a long stream of tobacco smoke ceilingwards. ‘Marvellous! So much for the efforts of von Sternberg and his Checkya to keep the lid on this particular news story.’ He gave Lee a grim smile. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘The next question we asked was “Do you approve of the message voiced by Aaliz Heydrich?” And here, Comrade Leader, I must regretfully report that over seventy per cent of those interviewed responded in the affirmative.’

  ‘Seventy per cent? Are you sure of these results?’

  ‘Of course, Comrade Leader, all surveys of this kind are subject to sampling errors, but we have a ninety-five per cent confidence level that our results are accurate.’

  Heydrich drew a hand through his mane of blond hair. A trembling hand, this, presumably a consequence of the toll taken by the ‘Aaliz situation’. But then, Lee supposed, it must be a tragedy for a father to be betrayed by his own daughter, especially one who had previously been so loyal and dutiful. After taking a long gulp from his glass of Solution, Heydrich waved Lee to continue.

  ‘The third question we asked was “Do you consider yourself to be an UnFunDaMentalist?” Less than fifty per cent agreed that this description could be applied to themselves, with women being much less ready to accept such an appellation.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ spluttered Heydrich as he began to finger the heavy lead-crystal ashtray sitting on his desk. ‘UnFunDaMentalism is the bedrock of the ForthRight. Surely one speech by a delusional girl isn’t enough to turn things on their head?’

  Lee prepared to duck. The word was that in moments of high tension the Leader was inclined to shay things at the head of the poor sod delivering bad news. As tells went, fingering eminently throwable glass ashtrays was one that even the most obtuse of psychologists couldn’t fail to recognise.

  Using his most mellifluous tone of voice, Lee answered in a manner he hoped would avoid death by ashtray. ‘It appears from our research that your daughter’s speech simply crystallised a growing disenchantment with the Party’s policies concerning the need for war, and the ever-increasing food and coal shortages. Coming so close on the heels of the Troubles, the difficulties encountered in the subjugation of Warsaw, the failure to take Venice, and the unfortunate incident with the Awful Tower—’

  The withering look he got from Heydrich persuaded him to truncate his cataloguing of the disasters that had befallen the ForthRight in recent months. ‘Suffice it to say that circumstances have conspired to put the people in a very receptive frame of mind regarding alternative political ideas.’

  There was a movement in the shadowed corner of the room. ‘There will be no “alternative political ideas”,’ said Septimus Bole quietly, so quietly that Lee had to lean forward to better catch what the man was saying. It was the first time that Bole had spoken and the soft implacability of his voice sent shivers tracing up and down Lee’s spine. This was a dangerous man. ‘UnFunDaMentalism gives the people of the ForthRight the belief that life is not meaningless and random, that there is purpose to human existence. It is not a belief system that is ready for the political knacker’s yard.’

  ‘I understand that, sir, but—’

  ‘There can be no buts, Mr Lee. The ForthRight is unable to tolerate opinions at odds with those enshrined in the catechisms of UnFunDaMentalism.’

  ‘But our findings show that the people are sick of war.’

  Bole chuckled. His was a particularly unpleasant laugh that made Lee’s skin goosepimple. ‘Any religion or political creed that claims to be blessed by ABBA yet condemns war is little more than a friendly society. War is the apotheosis of belief, as it is only through struggle and pain that the people come to know ABBA. You must communicate to the people of the ForthRight that UnFunDaMentalism is beset by external and internal enemies in league with Loki who are constantly at work subverting the sanguinity of the ForthRight and of the Demi-Monde. These enemies must be fought and destroyed.’

  ‘I must advise you, sir, that the message promulgated by Aaliz Heydrich has given the people an appetite for something other than war.’

  ‘Aaliz Heydrich is a victim of Loki’s duplicity and cunning. You must use all your skill, Mr Lee, to convince the masses that by following her teachings they will be standing like sheep ready for the slaughter when Loki comes to call.’

  ‘With all due respect, sir, this is the message we have been promulgating, but with little effect.’

  ‘Then amend your message to say that by attending the Ceremony of Purification to be held on the last day of Fall, the citizens of the ForthRight will usher in an era of peace unparalleled in Demi-Mondian history.’

  ‘In view of the numerous wars the ForthRight has been engaged in of late, this is a message that the citizens might have difficulty believing.’

  Now that shut Bole up for a moment and when he resumed the conversation he was a mite less bombastic. ‘So tell me, Lee, what must we do to bring the good folk of the ForthRight back into the loving embrace of UnFunDaMentalism?’

  Lee didn’t hesitate. The answer to this question given by the interviewees had been unequivocal. ‘Have Aaliz Heydrich publicly recant Normalism and urge them to attend the Ceremony of Purification.’

  *

  Only when Lee had left Heydrich’s office did Bole feel it safe to move out of the shadows. He was not a well man, but then every journey he was required to make to the Demi-Monde left him feeling weak and dyspeptic, this being the reason why he tried to confine his interfacing with Dupes to an absolute minimum. Unfortunately for the tranquillity of his digestive system he had had to make an increasing number of such visits of late, being unable to stand aloof as incompetents like Heydrich destroyed the fruits of so many years of careful planning.

  He oiled silently across the room and took the seat that Lee had vacated. ‘It is ironic, is it not, Heydrich, that before this stunt of Norma Williams everything was going precisely to plan. We must not allow our ambitions to be derailed by this girl.’

  ‘But how can we have her recant?’

  ‘We are fortunate that the abiding virtue of the Kosmos is one of duality and, therefore, that there is more than one Aaliz Heydrich. Your daughter – the real Aaliz – is safe and well in the Real World and I would propose that she return here to the Demi-Monde and proselytize in favour of UnFunDaMentalism and urge attendance at the Ceremony of Purification.’ Bole took a sip of the warm honeyed water he had been served by a steward. ‘Yes, that is what we must do: we must have her announce that her speech at the Crystal Palace was merely a ruse to flush out anti-UnFunDaMentalist agitators. I am sure that Ivy Lee can concoct a suitably convincing piece of propaganda to explain the girl’s volte-face.’

  ‘Surely to recall Aaliz back from the Real World will have a damaging impact on your work there?’

  Bole gave a careless shrug of his bony shoulders. ‘Inconvenient rather than damaging. Much of Aaliz’s work in the Real World is complete. The Fun/Funs go from strength to strength, and even as we speak, emissaries are at work preparing the doppelgängers of the citizens of the ForthRight for their attendance at the Gathering. There is only one remaining task that requires her physical presence, the giving of her final address to the Gathering. In the interim I am confident that a suitable replacement can be found … a suitable virtual replacement.’ Bole gave an unpleasant laugh. ‘There is something rather drôle here, is there not?: the use of a Dupe of Aaliz in order to dupe the Fun/Funs into communing with their own Dupes.’

  Heydrich wasn’t amused. ‘But isn’t this dangerous? Won’t returning Aaliz to the Demi-Monde leave Norma Williams’ body vacant in the Real World? What if the real Norma Williams were to reclaim it?’

  Bole gave a disdainful shake
of his head. ‘There is no chance of that. The one remaining Portal in the JAD is controlled by my agents, and anyway, the transfer process requires assistance from ABBA, which Norma Williams does not have. No … it is better to have Aaliz active here in the Demi-Monde encouraging participation in the Ceremony of Purification. For the ceremony to be successful we must have those citizens of the ForthRight whose doppelgängers will be attending the Gathering in the Real World assemble on Terror Incognita so that their dormant talents may be resuscitated and then transferred. Remember, Heydrich, in less than ninety days, on the last day of Fall, we will remake HumanKind … we will make the Aryan PreFolk rise again. That is the prize for which we are striving and we must not let a nothing such as Norma Williams deny us this triumph.’

  1:15

  Istanbul, NoirVille

  The Demi-Monde: 5th Day of Fall, 1005

  1.5. Yeah, ABBA was bored big time so He took his dick in His hand and had a tug, and His semen spurted out hot and heavy. It was from this that the Nine Worlds were made and everything else in the Whole Known. And ABBA thought this was Cool to the utmost and He called it the Big Wang.

  The HIM Book, Book of the Coming: Chapter 1, Verse 5

  The considered opinion of Konstantin Pobedonostsev was that when Lilith had connived in the Fall of the Pre-Folk she had done this by imbuing the Blank races of the Demi-Monde with the pernicious and corrosive trait of impatience. Impatience resulted in a problem not being properly considered and this led, in turn, to the making of rash decisions.

  Mindful of this, Pobedonostsev had become a very patient man and it was this aptitude for the logical and unhurried solving of problems that he had applied to the achieving of his most cherished goal, the eradication of the UnderMentionable races from the face of the Demi-Monde. Such an extermination of the Shades and the nuJus was vital, he believed, if the Blank races were to be purified and the Demi-Monde was once again to bask in the grace of ABBA.

  For ten long years he had laboured as tutor to that mindless oaf Xolandi, wheedling his way into the boy’s trust, nurturing his dependence on him, insinuating himself as a friend and loyal subject. And Pobedonostsev had done this to ensure that when the Crown Prince finally took the throne, he would be appointed to the position of Grand Vizier. And now he had attained this prize – thanks, in no small part, to his conniving in the assassination of Shaka Zulu – it would be a simple matter to persuade Xolandi to hurl his HimPis against the JAD. Then the Shades and the nuJus would destroy each other in an orgy of self-destruction.

  But …

  Before this could happen, the Grand Council would need to be convinced of the need to attack the JAD – even the HimPeror needed their support before NoirVille could go to war – and the main obstacle to achieving that was General Salah-ad-Din, a soldier who harboured the ridiculous belief that a prosperous peace was preferable to a wasteful war.

  Pobedonostsev pondered for a moment as to whether it might be simpler and more efficient to have Salah-ad-Din poisoned, but two assassinations in as many days might panic Xolandi into doing something precipitous, like recant on his promise to appoint him Grand Vizier. Anyway, Salah-ad-Din was a canny individual who employed a veritable army of food tasters.

  No, now was time for a little subtlety with regard to promoting war against the nuJus.

  Pobedonostsev gave a self-satisfied little smile, rose from his armchair, strolled over to the bookcase standing at the end of his study and unlocked a drawer set into the bottommost shelf. From there he extracted a manuscript, which he set down on his leather-topped desk. This document – The Protocols of the Sages of nuJuism and of the Most Ancient and All-Seeing Order of Kohanim – would, if promoted properly, finally persuade the Grand Council to destroy the nuJus, being, as it was, the most inflammatory document ever written … which was hardly surprising given that it had been Pobedonostsev who had written it.

  The Protocols were a labour of love – or more accurately, a labour of hate – written by Pobedonostsev over a period of almost two years, each venomous word carefully crafted to defame the nuJus. The Protocols were a perfectly weighted amalgam of fact, fabrication and downright incendiary nonsense which would intrigue the intellectual, inflame the passionate, offend the religious and supplant the common reasoning of the hoi polloi. They would become the final reference document for those who sought to defile the Yid.

  Pobedonostsev had crafted the Protocols in such a way that the nuJus would be vilified by the words supposedly written by their own Elders as they plotted the downfall of the gentile Sectors, the eradication of all religions other than nuJuism, the undermining of public morality by the propagation of pawnography, and the seizing of control of the Demi-Monde’s finances. But what he was most proud of was the way he had interlaced fictions that would provoke the most profound of emotional reactions in the Shade population. The mentioning of the nuJus’ intention to destroy the Sphinx – HimPerialism’s holiest shrine – he judged to be masterful, and the continual reference to NoirVille being the historical homeland – the so-called Promised Land – of the nuJus would be enough to sow the seeds of doubt in the mind of even the most nuJu-philic of Shades.

  The Protocols were, in short, the most persuasively toxic tract in the history of the written word and the stupid, ignorant Shades would swallow them hook, line and sinker. Even the great Salah-ad-Din would find it difficult to refute the poisonous claims made by the Protocols.

  Pobedonostsev smiled. Once things were written down they transcended hearsay and became fact … no matter how ridiculous they were. These gleeful thoughts were interrupted by a servant informing him that the HimPeror was ready to meet with his Grand Council.

  *

  Pobedonostsev rose to his feet and called the meeting to order. He bowed towards the newly-crowned Xolandi, who was perched rather self-consciously on the throne so recently vacated by Shaka Zulu, the HimPeror’s face still swollen from the cheek scars that announced his recent embracing of ManHood. ‘Your Majesty,’ he began, ‘and revered members of the Grand Council, there is only one item on today’s agenda, this being the examination of NoirVille’s policy regarding the JAD and the nuJus who reside there.’

  Ashoka Maurya, Caliph of Delhi, looked up from studying the agenda. ‘I wasn’t aware that our policy was in need of review, Grand Vizier. Surely the MANdate signed by His HimPerial Majesty, Shaka Zulu, is still in force?’

  Pobedonostsev wasn’t surprised by Ashoka’s protest. In his view, the man was too devout by half, rumour having it that he had secretly adopted the non-violent philosophy of Normalism. But young and unworldly though Ashoka was, he was a man of great influence in NoirVille and one of Pobedonostsev’s most intractable opponents on the Council. Fortunately, Pobedonostsev was not without allies.

  There was a bad-tempered snort from NoirVille’s newly appointed religious leader, His HimPerial Reverence the Grand Mufti Mohammed Amin Husseini, the man who had replaced Mohammed al-Mahdi as NoirVille’s senior cleric when al-Mahdi had got himself blown to bits in the Temple of Lilith. The Grand Mufti flicked his fly whisk around in an irritated manner and gnawed at his lower lip as he was apt to do when he was displeased, but then the Grand Mufti was always displeased. ‘Would that the MANdate had never been signed,’ he grumbled. ‘It was a dark day for NoirVille when we climbed into bed with those bastard nuJus.’

  Stupid, unbalanced and vain though the Mufti was, he did have certain redeeming features, the greatest of these being his detestation of the nuJus. As such he was a powerful confederate in Pobedonostsev’s plans to destroy the JAD.

  ‘What is the MANdate?’ asked Xolandi, confirming to Pobedonostsev that the HimPeror possessed all the intellectual capacity of a gourd.

  ‘It is an agreement, Your Majesty,’ Pobedonostsev explained, ‘signed by his late and much lamented HimPerial Majesty Shaka Zulu and that arch-schemer Rabbi Gelbfisz, which permitted the establishment of the JAD in NoirVille.’

  ‘And by signing that Loki-inspired documen
t, Shaka Zulu betrayed the people of NoirVille,’ grumbled the Grand Mufti.

  ‘Have a care, Your Reverence,’ warned Dingiswayo, the Caliph of ZuluLand and the man who had been Shaka’s most loyal lieutenant, ‘such criticism profanes the memory of His HimPerial Majesty.’

  ‘Not so, Caliph Dingiswayo,’ spluttered the Mufti, ‘rather I criticise the previous Grand Vizier, Selim the Grim, may ABBA have mercy on his Soul. It was his bad counsel that persuaded His HimPerial Majesty Shaka Zulu to sign the MANdate and to reject the entreaties made by the Ulana – which I have the honour to lead – that a jihad be declared against the nuJus.’ The Mufti gave a doleful shake of his head, presumably to indicate how unconscionable it was for any to ignore the advice of the Ulana, the supreme religious body in NoirVille.

  ‘All this is moot,’ Ashoka answered quietly. ‘The reality is that the MANdate has been signed and is in force. Machismo demands that we honour the treaty.’

  ‘And to considerations of Machismo must be added considerations of money,’ added Salah-ad-Din. ‘Surely to renege on the MANdate would be fiscally … unfortunate? If my memory of the Sector’s budget for this year does not serve me false, the income from the trade of blood, which is facilitated by the Aqua Benedicta supplied by the nuJus, accounts for almost three-quarters of the earnings of NoirVille. Without the nuJus we would be reduced to penury.’

  ‘There is more to the governing of a Sector than consideration of pecuniary matters, General Salah-ad-Din,’ sneered the Mufti. ‘There are matters of religion and of Machismo, matters which transcend Mammon.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Your Reverence, religion and Machismo cannot be baked or fried,’ observed Salah-ad-Din, ‘and it is my experience that a people’s love of their HimPeror is directly proportional to how full their bellies are.’