Mindwarp

by James Follett

  “Two more? Three in one day?”

  Then another voice. “Damned Armageddonists. Won’t they ever give up? Just get them fit for their hearing and their walk, doctor. No more, no less.”

  Hands lifting him onto what might have been a stretcher; unfriendly faces; a jab in his arm; and then nothing.

  “Blessed are the Angels of Armageddon, for they are implementing the will of the Lord! Wake up, brother, for our time is near.”

  Ewen sat up. He went to rub his eyes and discovered that his palms were covered in spray-on nu-skin. The sleeves of his jacket were of an unfamiliar material. But it wasn’t a jacket; he was wearing a close-fitting bodysuit with curious loops of the same material stitched to the garment’s chest and thighs. At first he thought he was still dreaming but there was nothing dream-like about his surroundings. He was in a small cage consisting of a bed and table, both screwed to the floor. Three sides of his prison were close-set vertical bars. The fourth side was a wall with a barred window that looked out onto a bare, sunlit yard enclosed by high walls.

  “Ewen!”

  He turned his head. Jenine was in the adjoining cage, reaching out to him. Like his hands, her temple had been sprayed with nu-skin, and she was wearing a similar bodysuit with loops on her chest and legs. He seized her hands as best he could, and smothered her face with feverish kisses.

  “Where are we, Jenine? What is this place?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only just woken up. He was raving.”

  Ewen wheeled around. A small, bright-eyed man aged about 50 was regarding them solemnly from the next cage. He was sitting on his bed and was wearing a similar bodysuit.

  “Sing the praises of the Angels of Armageddon!” the man shouted. “For they are the will of the Lord on high! When the Lord decides that mankind should perish by the nova, who has the right to challenge his will? Damnation to the usurpers of the will of the Lord!”

  “He’s been going on like that for ten minutes,” Jenine whispered.

  “What unit, brothers?” asked the man in a suddenly moderate, almost friendly voice.

  “What?”

  “What unit?”

  Ewen looked at Jenine for enlightenment and turned back to the stranger. “Unit? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The man nodded. “Quite right. I could be a plant. You could be a plant. We could all be plants.” That seemed to amuse him for he threw his head back and laughed. “Those who seek to thwart the will of the Lord betray themselves by their use of the devil’s cunning!”

  An unseen door was flung open. A crash of boots. Five uniformed police appeared, their faces hidden by their visors. They could be the same men that had watched Ewen’s struggle on the beach without making any move to help him or Jenine. Their breast badges and shoulder marks were inscribed “Challenger Three Project Security” in yellow letters. They wore no other insignia. It was first time that Ewen and Jenine had ever seen figures of authority who did not bear the Guardian of Destiny symbol.

  “Time for your walk,” said the leader of the police squad to the little man.

  “Those that lay hands on the Angels of Armageddon shall face eternal damnation!” screamed the man as his cell was unlocked. “The coming nova is the will of the Lord!” He struggled ineffectually with the two men who had grabbed him by the loops. They dragged him unceremoniously from the cell.

  “Where are we!” Ewen demanded, pressing his face against the bars. “What is this place and who’s in charge?”

  The policemen ignored him. The little man’s cell door clanged shut.

  “Armageddon and the day of resurrection of the Lord’s servants is coming!” The little man screamed as he was marched away. “Those that persecute the Angels of Armageddon will be punished!”

  The unseen door opened and crashed shut. The little man’s shouted protests faded.

  For a few moments Ewen and Jenine stared white-faced at each other without speaking.

  “Ewen… What is this terrible place?”

  “Did you see their badges?”

  “Challenger Three Project Security… Challenger…” Jenine thought hard. “That was on the signs at that station at the recreation park.”

  “And that complex where the android attacked us was a deep nova shelter,” Ewen replied. “But what does it all mean?”

  “Did you get a chance to use the radio?”

  He shook his head. “I think I dropped it.”

  A movement outside caught Jenine’s eye. They both turned to their respective windows and gazed down at the yard where two of the policemen had appeared wheeling a long box mounted on a trolley. The box’s hinged lid was open. The little man appeared between two more policemen. He was kicking and struggling. His cries carried faintly through the thick glass of their windows.

  There was no ritual or ceremony attached to the execution of the little man to lend even a modicum of dignity to his dispatch. He was simply thrown to the ground and his head dissolved by two blasts from a PD weapon. Two policemen picked him up by the loops on his chest and thighs - their grisly purpose and convenience now apparent to the two horror-struck watchers - and dumped the lifeless body in the box. The lid was slammed shut, and the trolley trundled away. The entire business had taken less than a minute.

  Jenine sat on her bed and clasped her hands tightly together to prevent them trembling, not so much because of the peremptory death of the little man, but because she had, for the first time in her life, been exposed to violence. “What is this terrible place?” She shuddered when her fingers strayed to the loops sewn to the legs on her body suit. “Why do they behave like this? What have we done that’s so wrong?”

  The door crashed open again. Ewen thrust his face against the bars when the five policemen appeared.

  “What are we supposed to have done?” he demanded. “We’re citizens of Arama. You’ve no right to-” He was forced to jump back when his cell door was thrown open. Two policemen stepped forward and grabbed him by the chest loops. Jenine received similar treatment. Her protests were cut short by a hard slap across the mouth. Infuriated, Ewen fought and kicked but to no avail; the couple were dragged from their cells and along a narrow corridor. They were hustled into a large, featureless room lit by one window, and thrust into hard chairs facing a desk on a raised dais. A fat man in a tight suit that looked as if it had been inflated such was his bulk, sat at the desk regarding them disinterestedly. Before him on the desk were their clothes and Ewen’s radio capsule. Confused and shocked by their rough handling, the couple stared at the man. They had never encountered obesity; it was something they didn’t even know existed. To them the only human characteristics of the thing confronting them were its eyes, mouth and nose and mouth, set into pallid rolls of flesh.

  The cold eyes stared at Ewen and Jenine in turn before turning to one of the policemen who was standing beside them. “A hot air balloon, Mr Roand?” The folds around his mouth separated to accommodate a smile. His whole body quivered. “What will they think of next?”

  Ewen’s protest was silenced by a hard cuff across the mouth.

  The fat man frowned and glanced down at a datapad. “Your escapade has given us hope. Until now you Armageddonists have been clever and resourceful. Miniature submarines, light aircraft, even tunnelling. But never hot air balloons. It gives us hope - your numbers are dwindling, and those that are left are incompetent.” His bulk permitted him to lean forward a little, but with difficulty. “Do you imagine that we don’t have radar?”

  It was a rhetorical question because the couple were threatened with more blows across the face when they opened their mouths to speak.

  “Three in one day,” the fat man muttered. “Remarkable. Remarkable. Any details, Mr Roand?”

  “They claim to be from Arama, sir. They even completed the three paces above the water line test.”

  The information seemed to cause the fat man some amusement. “So the Armageddonists have found out about Arama? It was inevitable
, I suppose. Well, their clothes have been obtained from Arama.” He picked up the radio capsule. “But not this. They tried to hide it, Mr Roand?”

  “We found it concealed under a floor panel in the truck, sir.”

  “It must’ve rolled there!” Ewen suddenly shouted. “I tell you, we’re from-”

  This time the blow across his face sent him sprawling on the floor. Jenine gave a cry and jumped up but was dragged back into her chair.

  The fat man gestured at the garments before him. “Have details been sent to HQ?”

  “Everything was holo-faxed through three hours ago, sir.”

  “No reply?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well, Mr Roand,‘the fat man commented disinterestedly. “I see no point in keeping them, therefore they might as well take their walk right away.”

  Ewen and Jenine struggled so desperately that their short trip to the yard could hardly be described as a walk. Once in the sunlight, they were thrown to the ground. Two policemen drew their PD weapons but the double execution was delayed on a technicality.

  “Body boxes!” yelled Roand. “Where’s the boxes?”

  A policeman appeared wheeling a long box on a trolley. The fresh blood stains that splattered its sides suggested that it was the same box that had been used for the little man.

  “Two boxes, idiot!” Roand yelled. “Can’t you count?”

  “This is the only one available,” the policeman explained.

  Roand eyed the couple. “Well I daresay we can squeeze them both in.”

  Ewen jumped to his feet, grabbed Jenine, and rushed to the high wall. He threw himself at it, his bandaged fingers clawing futilely for a purchase. Their actions pleased Roand.

  “Ah! Runners. A little sport, men! Me first.” He pulled his PD weapon from its holster and aimed it at Jenine. Ewen threw himself in front of her - an action that caused universal amusement. Roand was about to fire when a voice rang out:

  “STOP!”

  Roand turned and regarded the fat man who was out of breath and sweating profusely despite the short distance from the hearing room. “A problem, sir?”

  “There will be if you pull that trigger!” the fat man snapped, waving a piece of paper. “HQ want them for interrogation.”

  2.

  The change in the treatment of Ewen and Jenine was dramatic and immediate although there were no apologies. They were taken to a comfortable, windowless suite complete with a bathroom and separate living-room, and were served with a delicious but strange meal. The only dish they could identify was the first course which was similar to the vegetable soup that Jenine had inadvertently prepared in the nova shelter. They were waited on by two smiling, very polite girls in smart, grey uniforms who provided them with a complete change of clothes, a toiletry kit each, but little in the way of information.

  “We’re still prisoners,” said Ewen, trying the door when they were alone. He returned to the table and sat opposite Jenine. He took her hands and kissed them. She was still in shock from her treatment and had said little during the meal. “We’re going to get out of this,” he said confidentially.

  She looked at him. Her wonderful jade-green eyes had lost their lustre. “It’s just a delay, Ewen. They’re going to kill us. We’ve rejected the GoD.”

  “There’re no GoD symbols here, Jenine. We’ve not seen one since we left Arama.”

  “What does that prove? Nothing. These people may be spiritually more advanced than us. Maybe they don’t have to surround themselves with symbols to remind them of their faith and their duty to the GoD.”

  He was about to remonstrate with her when the door opened and a tall, gangling, loose-framed man entered the apartment flanked by two policemen. He was about ten years older than Ewen, and was wearing a striking red suit with elastic cuffs and ankles. His hair was dark and swept straight back. There was something familiar about his boyish, rubbery features and mournful expression that struck a chord with Ewen. It was a face he knew he had seen before.

  “Wait outside please,” the stranger told the policemen.

  “But, crewman-” one of them began respectfully.

  The lugubrious expression hardened. “These are escapers - not Armageddonists - I’m sure they won’t hurt me. Now please…”

  The policemen exchanged doubtful glances, but did as they were told and withdrew.

  The stranger looked sadly at Ewen and Jenine. He came forward, seeming to bounce on his toes. He offered his right hand. “I must apologise for what has happened,” he said sorrowfully. “An unfortunate misunderstanding. You used a hot air balloon. Unheard of for escapers. Totally unexpected therefore security rightly thought you were Armageddonist saboteurs.”

  It seemed churlish not to accept the outstretched hand so Ewen shook it in a perfunctory manner. The stranger turned to Jenine but she ignored the offered palm. Her behaviour seemed to pain him.

  “Now then. Your names are Ewen and Jenine? Yes?”

  “At last someone is interested in who we are,” said Jenine icily. “Is this part of the interrogation?” She waved her hand at the remnants of the meal, her silken gown, and at the apartment. “And all this?”

  The mournful face looked momentarily embarrassed. “On behalf of everyone involved in the project, I must congratulate you on a most remarkable escape. A hot air balloon! Amazing. Truly amazing. No-one thought it possible, but I’ve since had a chance to look at the wreckage…” He smiled sheepishly at them in turn. The mobility of his features was remarkable. “You’re at a disadvantage. I know who you are, but you don’t know who I am. I’m-”

  “Wrong,” Ewen broke in. “I do know who you are.”

  The stranger was taken back. He looked so utterly downcast that Ewen was tempted to laugh. “Oh well… And to think I thought I was rather good.” He swept an invisible hat from his head and gave a low, jerky bow. “I am the clown of the amusement park, honoured visitors!” He spoke in a thin, squeaky voice. “I am the host to all our honoured visitors. Ask and you shall be informed.” He straightened, replaced his invisible hat, and regarded the couple, his eyes twinkling in amusement. They stared back at him, dumfounded.

  “You!” Jenine exclaimed. “You were the clown!”

  “I am the clown of the amusement park,” the stranger repeated, and went through the exaggerated bow again. This time his movements had lost their jerkiness, as though mechanisms that had remained immobile for years had regained a natural fluidity. Even without his makeup and costume, the stranger’s performance was so convincing that his amazed audience of two saw before them a clown in full regalia wearing a fluffy button suit, conical hat, and an absurd bright red nose. “I am your most honoured host, kind sirs. This is the amusement park.”

  Jenine was so surprised that she forgot their present predicament and clapped her hands in delight. It was impossible to be angry with this strange man for long. “What’s the park for?”

  Her reaction did little to cheer him up. “It’s for the edification of travellers and the enjoyment of children through the long years, kind sir. And their children. And their children’s children, to the ends of the universe and the end of time. All rides guaranteed to thrill but not to harm. The Tower of Dreams and Delight and Discovery is recommended for those with faint hearts who need time to adjust to our thrills and spills, honorable sir.”

  “You told us the way to the outdoors,” said Ewen, his voice dangerously quiet. “Why?”

  “The Tower of Dreams and Delight and Discovery is recommended for those with faint hearts who need time to adjust to our thrills and spills, honorable sir,” piped the clown, his expression hang dog as though he expected Ewen to attack him.

  “WHY?”

  The man shifted his stance. Quite suddenly the clown was gone. For a moment he gave the impression of real steel beneath his mournful facade. He smiled affably, not seeming to mind Ewen’s aggressiveness. “The director has a policy of providing escapers with tiny hints when warranted. Nothing overt,
you understand - that would ruin the project. But a little nudge now and then when deemed necessary.”

  “So your little “nudge” was to send us to that tower?” Ewen snapped.

  “Well, yes. Was it dreadful?”

  “And we ended up nearly dying on a cliff face!”

  The rubbery features became sympathetic. “I’m so sorry, but all the escape routes are dangerous. That’s the whole point.”

  His attitude enraged Ewen. After the treatment they had received that day, he needed to lash out at someone. This inanely smiling fool became the focus of his anger and frustration. Unable to contain himself, he lunged forward. The visitor dodged the sudden rush, not by jumping aside, but by performing a neat backward flip from the standing position. One foot connected with Ewen’s chest as he landed lightly and sent his would-be attacker staggering backwards.

  “Ewen!” Jenine exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

  “I’m okay,” said Ewen, recovering his balance. He looked at the man with renewed respect. The blow on his chest had been light; he suspected that it could have been much harder had the stranger so wished.

  “Well,” said the man, his eyes darting worriedly between Ewen and Jenine. “At least you didn’t see through my clown little act after all. I used to amuse my friends with it.”

  “Yes, it fooled me,” said Ewen looking hard at the stranger and making him cringe. “But I do know who you are.”

  The stranger managed to look nonplussed and sorrowful at the same time. He ran his hand through his swept-back hair. “Really, kind sir? Then who am I?”

  “I met your mother when I checked up on your disappearance.”

  The puzzled expression was replaced by a fleeting sadness that they sensed was genuine. His shoulders sagged. “Arama is another world, Ewen. It has to be forgotten. This is the real world. But how is she?”