by N. J. Mercer
“I’m on my way, Johnny baby!” it said from no particular direction or visible source, eerily filling the small bathroom.
“Baccharus! Long time no see!” Johnny replied to the familiar voice. As he stood rinsing his razor before the bathroom mirror, he saw in its reflection a small blurred shape slowly materialising in the air over his right shoulder. The tingling sensation and the atmospheric charge reached a crescendo, and Johnny felt as if he was submerged in an electrified pool of water. Not for the first time he wondered what it must feel like to be ‘normal’, non-psychic, and oblivious to such a great disturbance in the environment as this. Suddenly it all stopped. The air around Johnny was still once again and his skin tingled no more. The gate had closed and there was another presence in the bathroom, the vague blur over his right shoulder had completely materialised into a living entity. Where there had previously been nothing was now the oddest of creatures, the hovering form of a twelve-month infant with coffee coloured skin, black hair (in short bouncy curls) and brilliant white angel wings. The wings were small, far too small for flight, and yet they flapped slowly upwards and downwards, and the little being managed to stay suspended in the air. There was something distinctly male about this cherub, if not in appearance then certainly in manner. He was clothed in nothing more than a voluminous diaper-like loincloth that clung to his body and, like its wearer, also seemed to defy gravity. His face was chubby and the dark eyes mischievous. The strange being at Johnny’s side was his familiar, Baccharus, fabricated for him in a distant galaxy, an eternal companion, a link between its keeper and the worlds and dimensions that constituted reality. Baccharus was also gifted with psychic ability, although his was rather more modest when compared with that of Johnny.
“Yo, Johnny! How are you doing, amigo?” Baccharus greeted his keeper enthusiastically, his voice no longer sounding so strange and distant. If his wings did not mark him out as being something other than human, his speech certainly would have; despite his infant larynx, Baccharus was as articulate as any adult.
“Did you miss me?” asked the cherub, his wings continuing to flap lazily.
Johnny paused mid-stroke with the razor held gently against his cheek; he had a quick think, “No, not really. I was quite enjoying the peace and quiet actually.” He continued shaving.
“Awww, you’re hurting my feelings, Johnny. Well, I would have missed you, if I only had the time – that’s what being your personal assistant for eternity is like, I’m afraid, please have some sympathy.” Baccharus was grinning cheekily.
Johnny smiled as he washed shaving foam from his face; the water ran off his elbows and soaked the floor. He didn’t doubt that his familiar had been busy. Baccharus had been summoned by the Agency two days ago to be briefed on a new assignment; now that he was back, it was time to find out what the plan was. “So what have you got for us?” Johnny asked, prompting Baccharus to disgorge the information he had brought with him.
“There’s quite a tricky case to present to you, my friend. We have a lot of work to do. I have been back and forth to the Agency several times now, gathering and receiving information. To be honest, I’m getting quite fed up of inter-dimensional travel; I wish they would open a branch office or something nearer to this galaxy. It’s an ego thing you know, setting yourself up at the centre of the universe! Anyway, are you ready for the briefing?”
Johnny did not relish the prospect of a ‘tricky case’. “Well … let me have my shower first, then tell me all about it over a cigar and coffee,” he suggested.
“Sounds good,” replied the cherub, never one to turn down either indulgence.
As he showered, Johnny considered what mission Baccharus might have returned with from the Agency. A possible answer occurred to him, and the more he thought about it the more he anticipated that the days ahead were not going to be restful ones. After towelling himself dry, Johnny paused to look critically at his body in the mirror; he had been trying to pump up and was unhappy at the lack of progress. He made a promise to redouble his efforts as soon as he got the chance. He was twenty-five years old, probably at his physical peak, with a lot still to learn about his psychic ability. Clad in a bathrobe, he made his way to the sitting area of his studio apartment where Baccharus was flicking through endless home shopping channels.
“Smoke?” enquired Johnny, holding out the tin of cigarillos he had just retrieved from a drawer.
“Don’t mind if I do,” came the reply. Stubby fingers reached out and took one of the miniature cigars. Baccharus placed it between his lips, and a few seconds later it lit spontaneously. He had performed a similar psychic manipulation to the one Johnny had used earlier when lighting the candles, a simple matter of using the will to excite Presarium particles within the substance of the tobacco until it lit. Even though it had been over ten years since Baccharus first appeared on the scene, Johnny still couldn’t help watching the small creature with wonder; here was a hovering infant, smoking. It all seemed rather novel even to this day.
“Nice smoke,” complimented the cherub, closely scrutinising the cigarillo like a connoisseur.
“What kept you so long, Bach?” asked Johnny, exhaling.
“Bad news chief, bad news,” Baccharus replied, looking grave.
Johnny tested his hunch. “It’s to do with all that aberrant psychic energy emanating from somewhere up in the north, isn’t it? I’ve been sensing it on and off for a few months now; it has been fluctuating a lot recently. Is that what this is about?”
“You’re good, Johnny; very good. I knew that energy disturbance wouldn’t pass you by unnoticed,” Baccharus said, genuinely impressed. “That’s why the Agency has chosen you as its main man in these parts!”
Johnny laughed sardonically. “I’m the main man!? No wonder the planet is always in so much bloody trouble.”
“Johnny, I’ve met other agents, some of them may be older and more experienced, but you, Johnny, you’ve got potential. The agency has high hopes for you, pal; high hopes, that’s what they’re always telling me.”
As his familiar, Baccharus would never hear Johnny talked down, even by Johnny himself. Such was the nature of the familiar. Baccharus blew three consecutive smoke rings which Johnny dispersed with a jab of psychokinetic energy.
“Well, maybe I should go to the centre of the universe, knock on the door of the Agency and meet the mighty Council of Seven myself some time,” Johnny suggested audaciously.
“Oh, they’d love that, Johnny; they really would.”
“Well, not just yet. Anyway, what do they want us to do, then?”
Baccharus recounted the information he’d received concerning their next assignment. “I was briefed by a high-ranking familiar directly affiliated to the Council of Seven, which indicates the importance of what I am about to pass on. As you correctly pointed out, Johnny, there is fluctuating, aberrant psychic energy somewhere north of here – lots of it. What we have are powerful Presarium particle waves; their seemingly random nature means that their exact source has been impossible to pinpoint. All we know regarding their origin is that it’s somewhere towards the north and not too far from here. If an agent was to head in that direction and investigate further then he might be able to discover where the heck it was all coming from. Oh, and if there is a problem there then he can sort it out too. You, my friend, are the closest agent to the hypothetical source.”
Johnny, who was listening carefully, had a question. “I have been sensing this disturbance on and off now for some time, Baccharus. Why has it taken so long for the Agency to assign somebody the task of investigating it?”
“Well, that question also occurred to me so I asked the familiar. It was a miniature unicorn type thing, by the way; very cute. The unicorn explained that there were disturbances like this all the time in the universe. It’s the type of thing agents scattered throughout various galaxies have to constantly deal with. It’s difficult sometimes to discriminate between freak background psychic activity and genuine mat
ters of concern. Ninety-nine per cent of the time these disturbances amount to nothing.”
“So what made the Council of Seven decide this was a ‘genuine matter of concern’?” Johnny asked, sensing there was more to come.
“Well, some of the fluctuations from this aberrant psychic energy have had enormous peaks recently, real gazongas, massive spikes lasting for only a few milliseconds; not very long, although long enough for the Council to detect them when everyone else missed them altogether. These are energy fluxes beyond the ability of normal rogue psychics who, as you know, are the main problem agents are called in to deal with. More importantly, the frequency and shape of these waves has the signature of Disorder all over it.”
Disorder … the word hung heavily in the room. Johnny looked concerned now. Resisting the Disciples of Disorder was one of the reasons the organisation he worked for existed. As one of its agents, it was his duty to confront any threat from this old enemy.
“So it seems the forces of Disorder are trying to make a breakthrough on Earth again, and it’s up to me to find out how? I suppose I have to stop them while I’m at it! Do we have any idea at all as to what they intend doing, Bach?”
“I’m afraid not. There is something obscuring the exact nature of this psychic activity at its very source. There is no clarity in the picture we have so far, the Disciples of Disorder have gone to great lengths to cover their tracks. What we can tell is that the frequency and energy behind the aberrant Presarium waves has not been seen on Earth for many thousands of years, since the times of … ummm, I don’t know, say, ancient Egypt … or the Druids … those cats. Basically, a frigging long time ago.”
Baccharus was prone to use profanity, he couldn’t help it. Every familiar was unique, designed to fit whatever keeper it was created for, a life-form fabricated by the Council of Seven. The knowledge for creating a familiar was known only to a few advanced alien races. Whatever Baccharus was, from his bizarre appearance to his colourful use of language, it all had a purpose, and that was to be the ideal companion for Johnny; he was crafted to possess the physical form, language and manner to which Johnny would be most receptive, consciously and subconsciously. He was an ideal companion for Johnny by design, engendering healthy levels of trust and mistrust, love and hate, amusement and anger, and myriad more emotional responses, both negative and positive. Observing Baccharus told you more about Johnny than Johnny could tell you about himself. The Council of Seven had even used strands of Johnny’s own DNA in the familiar’s construction.
Baccharus flicked his cigar butt out of the skylight, which dismayed Johnny; his landlord was always irate about smoking on the premises. Trying to ignore this infraction, he paced up and down the apartment in deep thought, deciding upon a plan of action; Baccharus flew in reverse a few feet ahead of him.
“There must be some more in the way of guidance from the Council,” insisted Johnny without a break in his stride.
“I’m afraid not, Johnny. At the moment they don’t seem to know a great deal themselves. They just want you to go there, investigate, and then sort this mess out.”
Johnny laughed in disbelief. “There is a manipulation of psychic energy so great that it hasn’t been experienced on Earth for thousands of years, and they want me to sort it out? I take it they don’t plan on sending any help?”
“I’m not finished yet, Johnny. I don’t quite know how to tell you this …” Baccharus paused to draw a deep breath, “… we have about forty-eight hours before it’s too late.”
Johnny thought he was hearing incorrectly. “Sorry, Bach, how long have we got?” he asked.
“Forty-eight hours,” said Baccharus again, rather sheepishly.
“Why forty-eight hours?” asked Johnny, incredulous.
“Okay, listen carefully, you’re going to love this, it’s what the unicorn told me. The aberrant Presarium waves converge at a point in time which is forty-eight hours from now, which in turn corresponds to the night when Jupiter, Venus, Mars and Earth are in alignment; which, as you may or may not know, are the four main psychocentric planets of this solar system. The alignment will amplify certain forms of psychic energy; probably something the Disciples of Disorder will try to take advantage of. So the upshot of all this is that we know when we have to sort things out by, and because of the attempts to obscure the signal, nobody seems to know exactly where we need to be to do this.”
“And if we’re late?”
Baccharus shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know; nobody knows exactly. Whenever the Disciples of Disorder make a power move, things get pretty nasty. I know of a planet that was almost destroyed when—”
“Okay, Baccharus, I get the message!” interrupted Johnny. “Enough talk; let’s start preparing before it’s too late.”
The time for action had come; it was what Baccharus lived for. “Yeah! Let’s do it!” yelled the floating infant with enthusiasm that was not in any way shared by Johnny. “So where are we going, J-man?”
“Well, let’s just head north for now I suppose … I have a strange feeling that it’s not only the Council of Seven who wants me out there.”
“What do you mean, Johnny?”
“I think there is a voice out there, Bach, calling to me psychically,” said Johnny, frowning, recollecting the recent dreams that had been invading his mind.
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it, pal. Go and tell Sascha to get ready, I’ll pack a few things here. We leave in an hour.”
“Okay, Johnny. I do want to know more about that psychic call for help though.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you later; just get Sascha ready.”
“Right away! Oh! And how about that coffee?”
“No chance! And before you disappear, make sure you tell Sascha everything you told me, he needs to know all the details of this assignment.”
Nodding in agreement, Baccharus dematerialised from Johnny’s apartment. Sascha was Johnny’s oldest companion, and the little cherub knew his house very well; such familiarity with a location was essential for cross-dimensional travel. Sure beats walking there, thought Baccharus as he faded from view. Hell! It even beats flying.
Alone once again, Johnny looked pensively out of the skylight. He had an ominous feeling about this mission; there seemed to be some desperation about it. The Council of Seven were amongst the most powerful psychic entities in the universe, and for them to be forced into such a tight deadline, only forty-eight hours, was a bad sign, very bad indeed.
Johnny swung the skylight open to its widest, and a cool wind blew over him. He took a deep breath; it felt good. The dampness from his shower and the tobacco smoke had made the air indoors stale and heavy. From his vantage point, he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind into the world around him and sensed it in ways few other people could. His consciousness had now stretched beyond the five senses and the three dimensions of space. Now he was aware of the psychic energy innate in all matter, particularly living organisms. Johnny’s eyes may have been closed; his perception, however, was wide open. He felt as if he was submerged in a mysterious sensual sea in which he could feel ripples and currents everywhere. Only after careful guidance, experience and supreme concentration could a psychic come to make sense of these strange feelings. He recognised a sensation that streamed over his body, slowly and regularly, as having originated from the garden outside with its assorted plant and insect life. A subtle vibration swept through his face and scalp which corresponded to a flock of pigeons that had landed on the roof. Some of the vibrations surrounding his body varied widely in their frequency and intensity, and Johnny knew they were from the other tenants in the apartments below; with his years of practice Johnny could name the person from whom each vibration originated, how they were feeling, and even a little of what they were thinking. All over his body, there were thousands more of these ripples and oscillations, all occurring at once, each a function of the world around him; he was a radar receiving multiple microscopic signals. O
ver the past few months there had been a new feeling in the air; it was the result of disordered psychic energy originating from many miles to the north. Even now, Johnny could sense its aberrant vibration: destructive, untamed and quite repulsive. It had been there, in the background, for a few weeks now, stronger at times and weaker at others. He wondered what it was. He had definitely chosen a bad week to try to give up smoking.
Chapter 2
In the Scottish Highlands, almost five hundred miles away from Johnny’s apartment in London, Martin Butler stealthily skirted around the outside of a substantial brick perimeter wall. The daunting structure approached ten feet in height and encircled a vast plot of land at the centre of which, hidden from view, stood a magnificent country mansion. It was inside these grounds, beyond this very wall, two months ago, that he had seen the beast walking with the man in the coat. Seeing them that night had set his life on its present, dangerous course.
Martin moved furtively, doing his utmost to remain unseen, concealing himself amongst the surrounding woodland whenever possible; there was purpose etched on his face. It was dusk, the temperature had dropped; he found the cold air bracing. The damp leafy ground felt springy underfoot, and the moisture from it seeped through his black trainers, soaking his feet.
He picked his way quickly through the trees and shrubs, always remaining close to the high brick wall, his shoulder sometimes brushing against its moss and lichen-covered surface. To camouflage himself, he had intentionally chosen dull, earthy colours for the cotton army trousers and tightly zipped sailing jacket that he wore.
Martin was trespassing on land that belonged to an important and influential man, a man with whom he had fallen out of favour, a man who would not hesitate to do everything in his considerable power to eradicate him if he ever discovered that he was so close to his property. Martin did not expose himself to such danger lightly; he had a message to convey, a warning for the girl, Rachel, who lived here in the mansion house. The man whose attention he was trying to avoid was her foster father. In his attempts to reach Rachel alone, he had returned to the property time and time again; finding her had proven more difficult than he had anticipated when first setting out on this most desperate of missions.
