“But . . . the old thing was shut down.” She made the puppy face again. “This is a completely new thing. Isn’t it?”
Alison took a quick glance around for eavesdroppers, but only saw Shgshthx, who was now keeping the cardboard tray aloft by adopting the approximate shape of a half-melted coffee table. “Yes, of course. But some of the old systems take time to take apart, you understand?”
“But you’re here.” She pointed to Alison’s ID card. “You work here, and you escaped from the school too. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course I did! But . . . look, Jessica, can’t you go back to your parents, or something?”
“I tried that. They just told me to go back to the school.” She blinked. “Oh yeah, I needed to ask about that, as well. Do you know where Aaron is?”
A guilty tingle ran down Alison’s spine. “Your brother?” she stalled, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Yeah, Mum and Dad said he wasn’t taken back to the school. They don’t know where he is now. Have you heard from him?”
Alison looked over her shoulder, then took Jessica’s arm again. “Actually, it’s so good to see you. Why don’t we do a proper catch-up over lunch? I’ll buy. There’s a really nice place just six or seven blocks away.”
Shgshthx watched them go. He carefully placed the cups on a nearby bench, one by one, then digested the cardboard tray with a contented slurp.
22
“Obviously the new building doesn’t have precisely the same facilities as the bunker,” said Elizabeth, as the rickety maintenance elevator made its way down to the sub-subbasement. “Happily, we were able to improvise what we needed for certain specific purposes.”
Dr. Pavani was getting more and more twitchy and uncomfortable the deeper into the building they went. Her hands, previously clasped in a permanent gesture of slightly condescending appeasement, were now hugging her torso. “Does this really need to be in the basement? Many would say this isn’t a suitable work environment.”
“I’m afraid it does,” said Elizabeth. “If this is making you nervous, Doctor, I’m sure Mr. Anderson could manage this by himself.”
“She’s not nervous. Don’t give her the satisfaction, Nita,” said Anderson, standing unfazed with arms folded. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. This department is crazy, but it’s not murder-in-the-basement crazy.”
“Excuse me, Sean, I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak on my behalf,” said Pavani. Anderson rolled his eyes and took an interest in the maximum occupancy sign. “Ms. Lawrence, what exactly do you intend to show us?”
“First, a little background. Do you know where magic comes from?”
“I . . . was not aware that magic came from something specific,” admitted Pavani. “I heard it was just part of the atmosphere. Like nitrogen.”
“It comes from an alternative dimension parallel to our own, known as the Ethereal Realm,” said Elizabeth in the tone of a bored lecturer, facing the door with hands behind back. “It originates from vast intelligences known as Ancients, or Elder Gods. The fluidics, for example, are individual cells of an Ancient named Shgshthx that have broken away and formed distinct consciousnesses.”
“Aand I’m lost,” said Anderson, to fill Elizabeth’s pause for effect.
“A magically infused being comes about when one of the tiny magical particles that bleed through from the other realm bonds with the developing consciousness of a newborn being from this universe. This results in a human or animal whose natural abilities are enhanced by the magic particle’s capacity to impose upon the surrounding physical universe in accordance with its will. Do you follow?”
“Of course. What you mean is their abilities are an integral part of their identities from birth,” said Pavani. “How does this justify suppressing them, Ms. Lawrence?”
The elevator shuddered to a halt, and the heavy doors slid aside to reveal a concrete tunnel, lit by electric lamps similar to those that the bunker had used. “This way,” said Elizabeth.
Her walking stick made a particularly resonant sound in the dingy concrete atmosphere. Pavani followed, shivering with the slight draft, and Anderson brought up the rear, raising his feet sarcastically high with each step.
They rounded a corner into a large room that had once been part of the underground car park, but which had been sealed off with concrete and welded steel walls so that the maintenance elevator was the only way in or out. Additional slabs of steel had been placed along the lines of the former parking spaces to turn them into inescapable cells, each with a heavy plexiglass door that allowed a view inside.
“What you have to understand is that magic is the essence of consciousness,” continued Elizabeth as she led her two visitors along rows of empty cells. “A magical infusion means having a second, more primitive consciousness inside your mind. One with a direct connection to an Ancient, which will gradually work to overpower the original consciousness and seize control of the body. This is the condition commonly referred to as ‘demonic possession.’ ”
She stopped at a cell guarded by a single low-ranking agent with an assault rifle, who gave her a respectful nod and her two companions a suspicious glare. Elizabeth turned to them and held out a hand towards the plexiglass door of the cell, like a theater usher politely indicating a seat.
Pavani and Anderson peered in like zoo patrons. At the far end of the cell, facing the wall, stood a young man. He was dressed in an orange boiler suit with the upper half knotted untidily around his waist, exposing his chest. His pale skin was marred with green blotches and lumps that started at the small of his back, climbed to his left shoulder, and ended at the side of his head, leaving a large green crater in his thick black hair.
“His name is, or was, Aaron Weatherby,” said Elizabeth. “He escaped from the school during a pivotal moment in his education. He was demonically possessed as a result of not having the appropriate guidance and discipline.”
Sensing that he was under scrutiny, Aaron turned, tottered, then walked straight at his visitors at full speed, slapping face first into the solid plexiglass. The cluster of fat tentacles bursting from the left side of his face cushioned the impact and writhed against the transparent wall in every direction.
Anderson reflexively hopped back, holding the back of his hand to his mouth. “Oh my god.”
Pavani started but remained where she was, not blinking.
“As you can see, a certain amount of physical mutation has taken place,” said Elizabeth, fearlessly running her hand along the plexiglass like a weather reporter. “As I said, the magic particle has a limited ability to exert its will upon physical reality, and since it still believes itself to be a component of the Ancient, the physical change is a result of the identity crisis.”
The Aaron creature opened its mouth, and from its throat came what sounded like two voices speaking in unison. “Release us.”
“All right, all right, you’ve made your point,” said Anderson, backing away further. He had turned very white. “Keep doing whatever the hell the school does. Let’s go.”
“Wait!” spat Pavani, flashing him a brief glance of utter fury before taking a deep, shaky breath and turning back to Elizabeth. “You still haven’t explained why you have locked them up in this cell.”
Elizabeth’s confident air gave way to bafflement. “He . . . he’s possessed by an Ancient.”
“And when will they be released?”
“When Aaron has learned to suppress the other side of himself.” Elizabeth looked him up and down distastefully. “We can help him along with rituals and medicine, but he has to meet us halfway. He has to want to be cured.”
“We do not want,” intoned Aaron.
Pavani drew herself up haughtily. “Many would consider this a fundamental violation of rights and denial of personal agency,” she said, breathing heavily. “You said Ancients are intelligent?”
“I said they are vast intelligences.”
“And that people with magical infusions can prevent being transfor
med like this if they choose to?”
Elizabeth and the Aaron creature exchanged a confused glance. “Yes. If they are taught how.”
“Therefore they can also permit it to happen, should they choose to.” Pavani folded her arms. “What you’re showing me is a private agreement between two sentients, both perfectly capable of making their own decisions. It should be treated like a business interest. Or a civil partnership. Not locked away until they are forced to change themselves to be in line with someone else’s unchallenged moral dictation.”
Elizabeth did the weather-reporter wave again, rapidly up and down, as she sought the words. “Doctor . . . the boy has tentacles growing out of his face.”
“I find it rather disturbing that you believe in judging people by their appearance.”
Elizabeth had had enough. She raised her head and shoulders and gripped her walking stick tightly, grinding the end into the floor. When she spoke, her five-foot frame seemed to fill the room. “The Ancients are a race of unthinkable monstrosities,” she announced, her words echoing through the concrete and sending vibrations through the steel. “They must not be allowed to pervert the minds of human beings and exert their agenda upon our world.”
By the end of her statement, Pavani and Anderson were both leaning back like trees in a gale. After a pregnant pause, it was Anderson who spoke first, leaning back in and blinking rapidly. “So . . . what is their agenda?”
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to him, her expression fixed. “What?”
“Simple-enough question, you seem to be in the know about these things. What do they want?”
Her eyes glazed for a second, lingering on memories, before refocusing on him. “They have designs on our universe,” she said.
“Yes, all right, that’s pretty evident,” said Anderson, nodding to Aaron. “But what, exactly, do they want?”
“Yes, what do you mean by designs?” pressed Pavani, recovering rapidly. “Any refugee or legal immigrant could be said to have designs. Do they mean actual harm? Do they mean to oppress anyone?”
“In my . . . experience,” said Elizabeth, her voice breaking into a slight, barely detectable quaver with the word, “it is not an agenda that means us well.”
“And how much experience is that?” asked Pavani. “The Ancients are all individuals, aren’t they? How many individual hostile Ancients with harmful agendas do you know of? Know for absolute certainty, I mean.”
Elizabeth sighed with irritation, partly at the ignorance before her, partly because she knew precisely how they would react to the answer she was about to give. “At least one.”
“Just one?” said Anderson.
“At least one.”
Pavani pointed into the cell. “This one?”
“. . . No.”
Pavani addressed the Aaron thing directly, swallowing back a delicate little gag. “Excuse me. To whom am I speaking?”
“We are Aaron Weatherby,” said Aaron Weatherby. “And we are Byhagthn. We two are as one.”
“Well, could I possibly ask you to go back to being two for a moment so I can talk to Barg-thun by himself? Or herself? Please tell me your preferred pronouns.”
Aaron’s one visible eye vibrated madly in confusion. “We two . . . are as one.”
“You’ll get no sense out of them,” said Elizabeth. “It’s the nature of the corruption.”
“Ex-cuse me,” barked Pavani, flashing Elizabeth the evil eye, before returning to Aaron-Byhagthn. “I do apologize, I am going to request that you educate me on how you prefer to identify. Can I ask what it is that you want?”
The tentacles pressed even further against the glass, with a little squeak of escaping air. “We want to be free.”
“I’m sorry, I should have been clearer. What do you intend to do with your lives when you are free?”
Aaron-Byhagthn’s roving eye was the only movement in the room. Pavani held her clasped hands in front of her. Anderson leaned forward interestedly. Elizabeth stood frozen with her arms folded.
“We . . .” croaked the creature in the cell. “We will see the new Interstellar Bum Pirates.”
23
Alison reentered the lobby of the Department of Extradimensional Affairs building, absent-mindedly flashed her ID card as she went past the security desk, then punched the elevator call button, resting her forehead on the wall above the panel. Lunch had taken rather longer than she had anticipated.
“Sowwy I ate the coffee tway,” said Shgshthx.
Alison turned to look at him, grinding her head against the wall to do so, then at the nearby bench on which the four cups had been arranged equidistantly with reverent care. “Oh god, I forgot. I was supposed to be bringing those to Ms. Lawrence.”
“Will Mish Lawwence still want them?”
On cue, Elizabeth Lawrence herself emerged from a nearby door labeled Authorized Personnel Only, allowing it to fly open and hit the wall with a thunderous crash. The violent stabbing of her walking stick into the ground added a prosthetic echo to the initial noise.
“Something tells me we’re past coffee,” muttered Alison, watching her.
Elizabeth glanced up, met Alison’s gaze, and made a beeline for her. The clacking of the walking stick was like the rhythmic sound of a steam engine bearing inexorably down. “Alison,” she said, in stern, hushed tones. “Have you and Diablerie made any headway into finding Weatherby’s sister?”
“N-no,” said Alison, telling herself that it wasn’t technically a lie; she and Diablerie, as a single entity, had not made any headway into bringing in Jessica.
“Prioritize it higher. The girl may be in imminent danger.”
“From what?”
On cue, again, the door opened a second time, more gently. Sean Anderson held it open as Nita Pavani passed through, talking animatedly.
“Obviously there’ll need to be some kind of hearing,” said Pavani, eyes sparkling. “We need to ensure that the Aaron personality still has a presence within the hybrid consciousness and consents to the arrangement, but I think the Interstellar Bum Pirates reference already confirms that.”
“Uh-huh,” said Anderson queasily. His face had not yet returned to its usual complexion.
“Education, that’s what’s most important.” Pavani’s hands were unconsciously rattling on an invisible keyboard. “I’ll have to work out a whole new curriculum for the school. Obviously we can’t let interdimensional sentients hybridize anyone under the age of consent; we just need to teach these kids enough that they can make an informed choice . . .”
“As to whether they want to be possessed by demons?” clarified Anderson.
Pavani blinked at him as she mentally switched from automatic back to manual. “Excuse me, Sean, but I would prefer it if you used an appropriate term. Dual consciousness or hybrid consciousness. Many would consider demonic possession offensive.”
“Many don’t even know it’s a slur yet,” said Anderson irritably. “It’s only been one for five minutes.”
“Every slur was once five minutes old. It didn’t make them any less damaging.” Her eyes glazed over again. “We need to get Aaron and Byhagthn on camera. Newsnight interview. No! Saturday morning show. Something youth oriented. Can you imagine how many persons of dual consciousness will have the confidence to come forward?”
Anderson pinched his eyes. By now the two of them had drifted over to the elevator where Alison and Elizabeth were waiting, and he directed his voice at Alison for want of an impartial audience. “Do you want to hear something funny? I brought her here because I thought she could bring some sanity to this department. One meeting later, it seems we’re jumping off two lunatic fringes at once.”
“Sean!” said Pavani, with a matronly scold. “I’ve told you before about that word—”
“going now,” declared Anderson, clamping his hands over his ears and striding towards the exit. He paused halfway and turned, very nearly concussing a passing civil servant with his extruding elbows. “Nita! You wor
k here now. Sort this out between you. As long as the government comes out of this looking good, then I couldn’t give a hybrid-consciousness shit.”
As the minor tremors from his footfalls faded away, Pavani gave Elizabeth and Alison an apologetic smile. “He places so much importance on having the last word. It’s rather childish, really, isn’t it?”
Elizabeth stared at her, keeping her expression neutral, like a Soviet nation closing its borders as it begins a top-secret weapons program. “Alison,” she said. “It seems Dr. Pavani will be taking an advisory role within the Department. Please ensure she has a suitable workspace.” With that, she turned smartly on her heel and jabbed the elevator call button.
“Hello, nice to meet you, Alison, I’m Nita Pavani, please call me Nita,” said Pavani, in a single, well-rehearsed blast.
“Hello, n-nice to meet you, I’m Alison,” returned Alison, tottering slightly.
“Sorry you had to be around for Sean’s little tantrum,” said Pavani, leaning close like an affectionate older sister. She gave a little adrenaline-fueled puff. “Whew. I think we’re all rather heated from what we discovered today.”
“Oh, right,” said Alison. She rocked on her heels as the elevator slowly descended, searching for something else to add. “It threw me, too. Why would anyone do that to a fluidic?”
There was a soft bump, as Elizabeth’s forehead gently collided with the wall above the elevator panel, adding to the little stain that Alison herself had left.
Pavani fluttered her eyelashes and smiled hollowly. “I’m sorry, what?”
24
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Is it really so controversial to say that it’s confusing how every single fluidic is named “Shgshthx”?
This comment has 276 dislikes.
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Wow
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Racist much?
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God damn I don’t even know you anymore man
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FUCK YOU
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