Shift

by Chris Dolley

  "You are incredible."

  And by Louise's tone, not in a nice way. Not that Nick cared. He knew he was right. Planting a suggestion in John's head wouldn't be difficult. Not if it was done subtly. A few whispered accentless words projected his way. Wrong room. Try the one next door. He'd be in such a quandary wondering where his body was he'd jump on any lead and put it down to inspiration.

  "And how the hell are we going to move his body?" asked Louise.

  "Connect, of course. If the alien can do it so can I."

  "But . . . " Louise was speechless.

  "You fly ahead and check the other rooms. I'll walk John as far as I can, hide him, then fly back here."

  "No! Isn't it dangerous? What if you can't disconnect or John's body rejects you? Don't you have to be tissue-mapped or something?"

  "We'll soon find out."

  He focussed on a point a few inches above the centre of John's forehead and flowed towards it. This'll work, he told himself. It has to.

  "No!" shouted Louise. "You can't."

  He tuned her protests out. He was in position, lined up. Concentrate, you've connected before. This'll be the same. Think yourself inside and . . .

  He was falling, tumbling down a long dark tube, the world swimming in senseless waves, he was up, down, stretched and . . .

  The room sharpened into focus. The ceiling, light fittings, wallpaper, paintings. He rolled over, pushed up with his arms, swung his legs off the bed. And almost fell over. He felt light-headed and heavy-limbed. He steadied himself, sitting upright on the edge of the bed, gripping the bedspread with both hands. Better. He massaged his thighs, stretched, flexed his shoulders. Everything felt half-asleep.

  He pushed away from the bed, lurching forward, stumbling.

  "Can you hear me, Louise?" He projected his question towards the ceiling. No answer. And no time. John or the alien could arrive at any second. He had to leave.

  He hurried towards the door, using his hands to steady his uncertain gait.

  The room's empty. Louise's voice. Quiet, no louder than a whisper but at least he could hear her, even if she couldn't hear him.

  He grabbed the door handle, turned and pulled. Another large empty room. How far could he get? How far did he need to get? Into the next room, the corridor, further? And if he met someone could he make them believe he was John?

  He tried speaking. Not too loud. Just the one word. "Hello." It sounded strange—deeper than his normal voice but still recognisably his. He'd have a hard time convincing anyone he was John.

  There are three people in the next room and a guard in the corridor.

  Louise again. He raised his thumb to let her know he'd heard. He'd have to hide John here. His eyes swung around the room. He could sit him in the corner over there or . . . there were two doors in the far wall, where did the second one lead?

  He pointed to the nearest of the two doors and hurried towards it, hoping Louise was watching. "Where does this one lead?" he asked silently. "The room next door or a cupboard."

  It's a toilet.

  He opened the door and slipped inside. Perfect. A small rectangular room, WC and wash basin. Easy to overlook from the higher dimensions. He closed the door, grabbed hold of the wash basin for support and eased himself down onto the blue-tiled floor. His legs felt so cramped they didn't want to bend. He stretched them out again as soon as he could—sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, the cold from the tiles pressing through the thin material of his trousers.

  Almost finished. He checked for stability, he didn't want John toppling over when he left and banging his head.

  Perfect. He let his head slump forward. Deep breaths and relax. This'll be easy too. You got in so you can get out. Seconds passed. Are you okay? That was Louise. He tuned her out. He tuned everything out. The room, the situation, everything. He was floating on a gently undulating midnight sea, weightless and carefree and . . .

  Out. He rose from the blurry bathroom floor; John Bruce's body shimmered below. A worried Louise sparkled near the ceiling.

  "Don't you ever do that again!"

  "You don't fancy having a go yourself then?" he asked, already blurring through the toilet door. "Think about it, Lou. We could ditch John and take over his body. Ever fancied being President?"

  Louise snorted. "If we ever get out of this . . . "

  Louise was still seething when they returned to the bedroom. When was he going to learn not to take risks? The last time he'd dived into someone else's head it had taken a week to get back. It could easily have happened again. The alien could have been faking a coma, waiting—just like Pendennis—for the first idiot to get too close.

  And what was Nick going to do next? He said he was going to hide in the wall and observe but she didn't trust him any more. Sitting back and observing was not his style. Leaping out and risking everything on a whim was.

  "We're only going to observe, right?" she reiterated.

  "Absolutely," he said. "If we blend into the wall no one'll be able to pick us out from the higher dimensions. You take the near wall, I'll take the bathroom wall. If it's the alien we back out quick. Forget about flying in formation, just get the hell out, send the pictogram to the Colonists and we'll meet up as soon as we can on the roof."

  "And if it's John you're going to plant a suggestion in his head."

  "Exactly. Room next door. Toilet."

  "And you're not going to say you're God or anything whimsical like that?"

  "You think I should?"

  She almost responded. He was winding her up, wasn't he? Wasn't he?

  "Shhh," said Nick. "I think it best we keep quiet from now on. Think yourself invisible and silent.

  She withdrew deeper into the speckled grey of the wall, leaving a small bubble of room visible. Around her she threw up walls—thick, transparent and thought-proof. No one would hear her.

  Time passed. How long would he be? Didn't he have a speech to give at twelve-thirty? Shouldn't he be back in his body getting ready?

  And how was he going to connect? If it was the alien—which she was sure it was—how could he fit inside John's head? The only Colonist she'd seen was enormous. Did it fold itself up? Did it sink a portion of itself into John's head and let the rest coil and flop around his body?

  She shivered. Any second now that thing was going to fly into the room. It might even fill the room. Maybe she should fire off the pictogram now? After all, how long would it take to reach the Colonists? And if her hunch about the alien was right they wouldn't have to worry about confusing the Colonists with two John Bruces.

  But what if she was wrong?

  Indecision and foreboding. Whatever choice she made it was certain to be wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The light changed. Something had rippled into the room. Something indistinct that warped the room like a heat haze. The alien? John?

  Louise edged forward, expanding the bubble of light to get a better view. Was it her eyes or were those gelatinous fronds—hundreds of them, translucent to the point of near transparency?

  A low rumbling roar reverberated inside her head. A scream of anguish. The room pulsed, changing colour as though someone had placed a red filter over her porthole of light. Time to leave, she thought, backing away.

  "Who's there?" A crazed half-human voice screamed inside her head. "Who are you? What have you done with my body?"

  Louise froze. Could it see her? Was it sensing her movement, her thoughts? She threw up more walls, blended herself into the speckled grey concrete and plaster.

  Something knocked against her, something solid. It was in the wall with her, searching and probing. A searing pain shot through her head. Migraine flashes. She tried to move but couldn't. She screamed.

  Nick watched from his hiding place in the far wall. The alien must have found Louise. She was screaming. The air and the room were warped and writhing by the corner she was hiding. He had to do something. Now!

  He thought him
self solid. He thought steel, he thought fast, he thought ram. Aimed at the gelatinous head and launched himself at it like a bullet.

  He hit it hard. Pain shuddered through him. He was momentarily disorientated and spinning. Had he bounced off? Injured it? Injured himself? A roar exploded in Nick's head. Something brushed against him. He pulled away, twisting and turning. Thinking left, right, up, down, a axis, b, throwing himself into every plane he could think of. Away, he had to get away!

  And bring the alien with him. He had to lure it away from Louise.

  He blurred through the ceiling, shouting: "I've got him. I've got John."

  He shot through the roof and into the sky, casting his sight behind him watching for the roof tiles to warp and flicker. Hoping he'd be able to see the alien. Hoping he'd follow.

  He was still looking when a voice rasped inside his head. "Where is it?" cried the alien. The air around Nick began to distort and bend—the cityscape below, the blue sky above. The alien was almost upon him. Dive! One thought. Down, he plunged, twisting and turning. The distortion followed.

  He aimed for the nearest building, bursting through the roof tiles. He needed camouflage and cover. He veered away, tumbling through the pipes and vents, swinging through the fabric of walls and ceilings, cloaking his thoughts as best he could, trying to merge with his surroundings, to disappear, evaporate.

  The alien followed. Nick could sense its pursuit; its cries, its rage—waves of raw emotion reverberating through the building. Anger, frustration, pain.

  The innards of the building blurred into one streaky mass; rooms and concrete, people and furnishings. Nick carved a random path; accelerating, slowing, ducking and diving.

  Light hit him. He'd burst through an external wall. He veered across the road, entered the building opposite, turned. A wall of rage followed.

  Louise broke free the moment the alien released its grip. She fell backwards, throwing herself into the adjoining room, ducking down through the floor and blurring herself towards the ground. She was going to put as much concrete between herself and the alien as she could.

  Then she thought of Nick and the Colonists. He'd put his own life in danger to save hers. He'd deliberately called to the alien. She'd heard him. Now it was her turn. She had to save him and she had to send the pictogram to the Colonists.

  She turned at once, aiming for the roof, thinking of the sky and pulling it towards her. Her world exploded in a wash of blue. She stopped, composed herself, summoned the image of the pictogram and held it, fed it, filled it with as much energy as she could muster and willed it to the stars. She turned and repeated the process, again and again, aiming at every point she could imagine, holding the image until it hurt. Wherever the Colonists were they had to see it. They had to!

  She sent a prayer with the last pictogram. Wherever you are, hurry.

  Then her thoughts turned to Nick. How long could he evade the alien? The Colonist that had pursued her had been relentless.

  Nick swung through yet another office block wall and immediately turned right – flying through the skin of the wall itself, trying everything he could to throw his pursuer off. Concrete and metal reinforcing came and went, blurring into a soup of dirty grey. How could the alien follow through all this confusion? They were in a solid wall for Christ's sake! You couldn't see more than a molecule in any direction!

  Unless the alien had other methods to track him? Maybe he could see through walls? Maybe he was following Nick's thoughts?

  He thought silent, he thought air, he thought blend. He stopped running and willed himself into the cavities between matter, the interstitial gaps between atoms and reality. He spread himself, stretching, merging his essence with the fabric of the building.

  Somewhere far away he could hear the alien raging, words muffled by distance and garbled by anger. The sounds came and went as the alien circled and searched. He had to know Nick was close but couldn't see where.

  Nick stayed silent, covering his thoughts with layers of down. He was part of the wall, a grain of sand, a spinning electron. He was . . .

  "I see you." The words burst inside Nick's head. And he could feel something else too. A wave of elation. No anger at all.

  A bluff. It had to be.

  "I can reach you, even in there."

  The words resonated through the concrete, vibrated through Nick's elongated consciousness, brushed against his mind.

  And there was something else. A fizzing, effervescing sound as though . . . acid? He felt a burning sensation. The wall was bubbling, being eaten away. Him with it. He was sure of it. He could feel the wall moving, swaying beneath him.

  Out! He had to get out, escape! He drew himself back together, burst out from the wall, zigzagging wildly. Behind him, a section of wall the size of a billboard crumbled and fell like sand to the street below. No stopping to look, he buried himself in another building and another. In and out, twist and turn.

  The alien followed, calling to him as the two wheeled and pitched through buildings and then up across the sky in a higher dimensional dogfight. Nick was running out of options; he'd hid, he'd run, what was left? The void? The ocean? The sun?

  A pictogram image flashed across Nick's mind. Had the alien implanted it? The image disappeared. Louise? Had she sent the pictogram to the Colonists? Were they on their way?

  Another thought; he had to keep the alien in Orlando, close to the pictogram's source. He had to keep the alien there until help came.

  But how? The alien was gaining on him, he seemed to know every turn Nick would make before he made them.

  An idea; Nick thought left and turned right. The pursuing distortion shot wide. Nick doubled back towards the centre of Orlando, feinting turns with his thoughts, layering his mind – one for show, one for go.

  Downtown Orlando gleamed in the winter sun. And something else. Something hovered above the city like a minor sun. A star in daylight?

  The star was directly in his path. It hovered above the skyscrapers, a brilliant ball of light so small, so intense. The Colonists? Had they arrived so soon?

  Buoyed by hope, he flew straight for it, leading his pursuer towards the light.

  "John Bruce!"

  The words reverberated inside Nick's head like a cathedral organ with all the stops pulled out. It wasn't the alien's voice. It was . . . higher and multi-layered, more like a choir than a single person.

  And was it coming from that star? The one directly in his path? The one he should be veering away from but wasn't?

  He tried to turn but the light was blinding, he couldn't focus on anything else. It was sucking him in. "Turn!" he screamed, "Turn now!"

  The light flashed by to his side. Somehow he'd managed to miss it. And what the hell was it? He could have sworn it had wings.

  "John Bruce!" the radiance boomed again.

  The alien stopped, stunned by the beauty of the shining presence that called his name, captivated by its incandescence. It had to be an angel. It had wings, it shone. It looked just like the old paintings. And that voice. The harmonics. It was like the sweetest choir he'd ever heard.

  It spoke again, "I bring thee tidings of great joy."

  He struggled to compose himself, to find a means of reply. If he'd had a physical form he would have thrown himself to the ground and shielded his eyes.

  "Art . . . art thou an Angel?" he stuttered.

  "I am the Angel of the Lord, John Bruce."

  He knew it! And it had come for him just like he knew it always would. He was special. He'd been right all along. God had chosen him. The powers he'd been given had been a test, just like he'd guessed, a test to see if he was worthy to implement God's plan on Earth. To unite the world under His dominion. One world, one faith, one God. Paradise.

  "Thy time has come, John Bruce," sung the angel. "The Lord thy God commands thee to await him here, whereupon thy destiny shall be revealed unto thee."

  John was ecstatic. He'd known since the SHIFT flight he wasn't like other men. He
could project his soul. He could fly. He could hear the demons that invaded other men's minds. And he could smite them when they moved against him. But he'd still had doubts. God's plan hadn't been easy to discern. There were clues everywhere. Everyone knew that. But some appeared contradictory. And the Devil was everywhere, laying false paths. But now all that would change. God was on his way. God would show him the true path.

  "Thank you. Thank you," he said, bowing as best he could in his celestial form. Maybe God would show him how to unite the world without war? He was sure there was another way but all the clues appeared to indicate that war was inevitable. He'd read Revelations so many times his head hurt. But whatever God decided, he was ready. He'd kill, he'd martyr himself, he'd die on a cross if necessary. Anything to serve Him.

  "Thank you," he said for a third time.

  The Angel flickered for one last time then disappeared in a blur of wings.

  Nick was waiting on the hotel roof, spread out along the roof tiles, his senses turned upwards. Where was she? This is where they'd agreed to meet. Had she been killed by the alien? He'd checked Bruce's suite, she wasn't there. Had she got lost?

  Minutes ticked by. Had she been taken by the Colonists, that ball of light? And where was the alien? Had the ball of light taken him too?

  "Nick?"

  He heard her before he saw her, a faint whisper in his head and then there she was, dropping out of the sky, a hazy cloud of sparkling lights.

  "Louise!" He burst out of the roof. "Where've you been? How'd you get away? Are you okay?" There was so much to say, so many questions, so much news to recount.

  "I'm fine," she said. "But we haven't got much time. I don't know how long I can hold him there."

  "Hold who, where?"

  "The alien. You flew right past me. Didn't you see?"

  "The ball of light?"

  "Is that what I looked like? I thought angel, I thought shining, I though brilliant white. Didn't I look like an angel? The alien thought I was."

  He couldn't believe it. "That was you? I saw the wings but . . . you were so bright. It was like a minor sun out there. How did you . . . "