As Above, So Below

by Richard Lawther

  Remove dreamer.

  The young man departed to continue his drug-twisted dream. I was so glad to be rid of this one.

  Finding a sleeper in the hospital turned out to be considerably more difficult than I’d expected. However, after a lengthy search, I had managed to intercept an adolescent on his way to surgery. He was out cold, his mind held in ice by powerful anaesthesia. Despite this, the youth’s narrow and weak aura still provided an adequate passage to his dreams.

  But his dreams were different.

  The colourful, paranoid and prop-laden worlds to which I had become accustomed were nowhere to be seen. All around me was grey, endless billowing clouds of it. And there was no sound. Was I alone in this featureless mindscape? No. As always, the dreamer, if this guy truly could be called a dreamer, turned out to be close at hand. He drifted with me, through cumulus, showing all the animation of a dead stone. I appeared to have no control over this ‘dream’ – I couldn’t even call up the laptop.

  I felt a sensation of descent, as though the dreamer and I were falling into deeper and deeper states of unconsciousness. The clouds became darker, and thicker, and I sensed their suffocating embrace upon my own struggling consciousness.

  A vague form appeared below, little more than a darker region of grey within the bland uniformity. It reminded me of the cliffs of Lingmell as they had emerged from the mists after I’d hurled myself off the summit. As though taking that idea as a cue, I found myself free of the clouds and plummeting towards a rocky landscape below.

  We both landed with a thud at the Lingmell col and the dreamer briefly opened his eyes, an act that finally allowed me to re-established control. I wasted no time in severing our link.

  Alone, I commenced the short climb up Lingmell only to encounter that enervating treacle once again. I wondered if this effect had something to do with the proximity of South House and approaching the end of the “grid” as Cube had called it, but there were never any problems on the actual summit. It was probably just the physical exertion of climbing, or rather, the need for the dream software to simulate physical exertion. ‘Real’ dreams frequently tended to get this wrong: sometimes you could run like a gazelle, other times you were ground to a standstill like this. Thank god for Cube’s tip. I turned around and continued on in reverse, stumbling and cursing as I went.

  On nearing the summit I turned to face forwards and gaped at the scene ahead. The mountaintop buzzed with military activity: tanks, helicopters, rocket launchers and heavy artillery lay scattered all about, higgledy-piggledy, like they’d just been dumped there by a distracted child.

  I hesitated at the sight of this bizarre defence expo, but there seemed little point in turning back, and besides, I’d been spotted; a couple of soldiers broke off from the main group and ran towards me, brandishing guns. I stuck my hands in the air and waited; they approached and silently ushered me towards the main aggregation of battle-tanks.

  We passed close to the castle and I noticed the extensive scaffolding now affixed to its grey, igneous walls. On the various wooden platforms, large numbers of man-sized beetles worked with blowtorches and pneumatic drills; I realized that all of these manifestations were simply yet more aspects of the ‘Species-Wide Immune System: Human.’ A palpable sense of impending strike hung in the air; South House lay under siege and the immune system, after a prolonged and frustrating struggle, felt poised on the verge of final victory.

  The commanding officer – like the troopers, human in form – eyed me suspiciously as I arrived; judging by his uniform he assumed the rank of two-star general.

  ‘Sir!’ barked one of my escorts.

  ‘Thank you, corporal, good work,’ said the general.

  ‘Sir!’ barked both escorts as they returned to their positions.

  Would I be able to bullshit my way through this one?

  ‘Good day, general, how are the–’

  ‘Never mind the “good day, general”, mister! Just who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing here!? Don’t you know this is a restricted combat zone?’ The general had an American accent but he said the words “good day general” in what he assumed was realistic limey. Dick Van Dyke could have done better.

  ‘Where are your SWISH papers?’ he challenged. Now I was in trouble! I considered running for it but before I had time to put this suicidal plan into motion, my laptop bleeped. Nothing to lose, I handed the computer over to the general without even looking at the screen.

  The general read the laptop’s words and then thrust the thing back into my hands.

  ‘Goddamnit!! What the hell do we need a “Senior Negotiator” for!?’

  I felt an increase in confidence. ‘That’s not really your concern, general; my orders are clear, and they’re all outlined here.’ I brandished my laptop. ‘Now, I must gain entry to the castle. Will you assist – or continue to obstruct?’ I had a gift for this.

  The general looked ready to explode, but he quickly calmed down.

  ‘Wait there,’ he ordered. ‘Private!!’

  A trooper came running over; he turned his back to reveal a portable field radio. The general took the handset and clicked it a couple of times.

  ‘I’m going to check your orders with HQ,’ the general said, waving the radio handset close to my face.

  Could South deal with this?

  From the radio there emerged a sudden burst of static followed by a female American voice.

  ‘CSHH Go ahead.’

  ‘X-ray delta zero one: this is command one, get me the governor’s office immediately.’

  ‘Standby,’ said the husky voice at the other end. Then after several seconds: ‘Command one: The governor is unattainable at this time.’

  The general was not pleased: ‘Unattainable!! Don’t you people know we got us a major situation here! Now listen up! I need a security check – and I need it NOW!’

  The general gave me an incredulous look. I returned my standard “civil servants, what are they like?” expression.

  There was a five-second delay before the radio operator came back: ‘Command one. Affirmative. Please provide the details of the check, over.’

  The general looked fed up; he turned to me: ‘Here, give me that damned thing.’ He snatched the laptop from my hand and began reading from the screen:

  SUBJECT: CHRISTIE + GEOFFREY + T ++ VISCOUNT.

  PRESENTATION: HUMAN : LIVE.

  DESIGNATION: SENIOR SYSTEM NEGOTIATOR.

  CLEARANCE:X-RAY GOLF ONE ZERO OBLIQUE ONE WHISKEY ROMEO.

  CHARGE: RETRIEVAL OF HIGH VALUE COLLATERAL FROM ANOMALY.

  The general interrupted his transmission and turned to me:

  ‘I guess that must be the antenna, huh?’

  I nodded, pleased to see that he was lightening up.

  CLASSIFICATION: TRIPLE ALPHA.

  ‘Please verify. How copy?’

  The female radio operator came straight back: ‘Copydall. Standby.’

  We waited.

  ‘We’re just doing this by the numbers, Viscount. It won’t take long.’ It sounded as though the general now regarded me as legit’.

  ‘ CSHH Command one: Viscount Christie checks out. You are requested to provide full cooperation. During negotiations with Anomaly, Christie is empowered to call for a two-hour ceasefire. How copy?’

  ‘eerrRRoger that, copydall. Command one, out.’ The general replaced the handset but instructed the private to stay close.

  ‘Okay, Viscount, you’re cleared. Now, do you want to conduct negotiations out here, or–’ the general paused ‘–in there?’

  ‘Talks are at a delicate stage, general, and the potential rewards are high, I must meet the anomaly inside.’ I started to walk to the castle.

  ‘Roger that, but don’t just mosey on in there, Viscount, you’ll as likely get your balls bitten off by the dog.’ The general was back on the radio. He fiddled with the bands and clicked the handset.

  ‘CSHH Sergeant Equez,’ came the clear voice on the ra
dio.

  ‘Yeah, Sergeant, break off, we’re going to attempt some parley.’

  I watched as the beetles working on the scaffolding put down their heavy equipment. Some lay on their backs, others climbed down from the scaffolding and performed some simple stretching exercises. One of the nearest bugs marched up towards us.

  ‘Here comes Equez.’

  The cockroach stopped, saluted the general, and then began drinking from a bottle of mineral water, its antennae waving about in my general direction.

  ‘Sergeant Equez, do we have any breaches yet?’

  ‘That’s an A-ffirmative, sir, the rear section now contains several man-sized breach-units, however, forced entry is not advised at this time.’ Equez wiped his head on a dirty rag. ‘It would be suicidal for one man to try: that damned Labrador..,’ the bug looked at me, ‘he’s deadly, sir, and always in several places at once.’

  ‘Roger that, sergeant,’ said the general. ‘Well, you heard him, Viscount, I recommend you attempt communication with the anomaly from this vantage – it’s channel five. Private!’

  ‘Thank you, general.’ I took the radio handset, selected channel five, opened my mouth and wondered what the hell was going to come out:

  ‘Lingmell anomaly, Lingmell anomaly this is Viscount Christie, Senior System Negotiator. Do you copy?’

  South’s seductive and mocking voice came over the radio: ‘Hello, Viscount, nice to hear from you again.’

  ‘Nice to hear from you, anomaly. I am cleared to commence the final round of negotiations and request face-to-face parley.’

  ‘What is the point of further negotiation?’ came the sultry radio-voice. Why was she making this unnecessarily difficult? Was everything just a game to this woman?

  ‘We are interested in retrieving some, or all, of the antenna hardware.’

  ‘Why should I let you have it?’

  My mind went blank. ‘Well, we’ll have to talk about that. I request entry to your castle fortress.’

  There was a short delay...

  ‘I will grant you safe conduct – but on one strict condition: the general and his goons will stop their attack on my house.’

  I turned to the general. He held up two fingers to remind me that I had two hours. They’d lay off the castle for that long at least.

  ‘Lingmell anomaly, I am empowered to instruct the general and his staff to refrain from further attacks on your house for two hours, repeat, two hours.’

  ‘Very well, approach the front door, and instruct the bugs to retreat. If the general reneges on this agreement, I’ll feed you to my dog.’

  That caused a ripple of disquiet among the troops. Obviously they saw a different side to Brock.

  ‘Don’t worry, Viscount, our instructions are clear, we won’t renege,’ stated the general.

  ‘I’m sure you won’t, general.’ I firmly shook his hand, the playacting starting to get the better of me. I also offered a hand to Equez; like the general, he emphatically grasped it.

  ‘Here, take this handset, Viscount, and remember, channel five, and you only have two hours.’ I considered giving him a salute, but the Preston-student salute would only aggravate a genuine military man. I just nodded and walked towards the castle.

  On my way, I met the assorted insect life as they pulled back from the castle walls; some of the larger beetles still wore visors over their eyes. All the bugs treated me with great respect, and several even wished me good luck. One huge ladybird stopped me with an outstretched front leg: ‘I hope this antenna is worth it, sir.’

  ‘So do I, son.’ It was the first honest thing I’d said all evening.

  On entering South House I was met by an enthusiastic Brock.

  ‘Woof.’

  He then proceeded up one of the spiral staircases and indicated that I should follow. We reached a darkened corridor on the ‘first floor’, and that in turn led to another, which brought us to the foot of another staircase, which ascended to another corridor, at the end of which was another staircase, which deposited us into a dark and dusty garret from which a steep flight of steps led, finally, to the castle’s cupola roof.

  ‘Ah, the Viscount has arrived! Here to commence some “face-to-face” with the anomaly?’

  I blushed.

  ‘Now, now, let’s not be bashful, you handled yourself well out there.’

  I dismissed the compliment with a modest shrug. ‘How is our friend in the North?’ I asked, hoping to hear good news.

  South maintained her cheerful demeanour: ‘He can’t find Dai; I think he is losing interest in the quest.’

  ‘Oh.’

  18