by Paul Rice
“Regular little canine ‘Egon Ronay’ isn’t he, Mike?” Jane ducked when Ken made as if to throw one of the stiffening creatures at her.
“Bloody woman, if she had her way they’d be living off chocolates and caviar!” The banter continued whilst they prepared the dog’s food and followed on as they washed their hands before returning the kitchen.
Once back inside and having kicked off his boots, Mike made his way over to the laptop device and gently touched the screen on the strange device. A single green bar flashed across it and a small icon appeared in the top left corner of the screen. After bending to read it for a while, he straightened and then reported on the results: “No bugs or cameras in this place. The only devices in the house are your wireless network hub and two others within a three mile radius. It reports that your landline has not been tampered with and that there are a total of five mobile telephones within the confines of the house.” He touched the screen once and it darkened. Picking it up, Mike then proceeded to carry the machine into the sitting room where he placed it onto the coffee table, before returning to the kitchen again.
“That little machine can tell us all that can it, that’s pretty smart?” Jane said, as she reached for the glass tumblers, and then pulled a cold bottle of Coke from the fridge as she spoke. Passing them to Ken, she said, “Come on then, let’s get by the fire, have a couple of these and get back to the plot, I can’t wait!” She showed the men the bottle and without protest, they followed her into the sitting room. Mike sat in the cream couch whilst Jane and Ken sat on the rug facing him with their backs to the fire. They looked up at Mike. “Ready when you are, Teach…” Jane said light heartedly.
Looking down at them, Mike said, “OK, well, here goes then. I’ll explain some of it, but,” he activated the screen once more, “This will show you some of the other stuff, if that’s OK?” He swivelled the device to one side, so the screen was visible to all of them, and then began. “The leaders, or Council, George’s bosses if you like, cannot change the past and those who are dead will remain so. However, they can influence the future, particularly in regards to the important souls such as we’ve mentioned before?” He paused and looked across to make sure they were with him. Seeing their nodded agreement, he said, “The ones whom, given the opportunity could make a big difference to our development as a race. With our help their chances will be much improved?” He caressed the machine and its glowing screen displayed a set of pictures that flashed across its liquid surface.
It reminded Ken of the slide shows that he had seen before, these were the same but quicker and less detailed. “An outline, just enough to get the picture?” he guessed, and that theory suited him fine because he felt as though his brain was starting to shrink once more. Pushing the sensation away, he turned and watched the show.
The pictures were not in any particular order, they seemed to be just a stream of random scenes depicting various people, some appeared to be scientists or similar, their white coated forms working happily in laboratories and research centres, the computers, data printouts and sterile workplaces, indicating as much. Others seemed to be researchers, steam rising from their hooded faces as they gathered around holes that had been dug into the surface of some frozen wasteland or other. Long cylindrical ‘lollipops’ of ice lay stacked in neat piles as the machine next to them carried on boring onto the ice for yet more samples. Two warmly clad people were feeding the lollipops into a large silver device. As the ice was pulled into its circular mouth, there was a flashing of green light within the case that was accompanied by a thin tendril of flame from the other end. The flame was so pure in its combustion that it was almost see through. A third person squatted upon the ice next to the fire breathing machine and feverishly tapped away at their clumsily held keypad. As each ignition took place, the group cheered – the man at the back couldn’t help himself and kept pumping the air with a clenched fist. They all appeared to be ecstatic. Then there were the lecturers, standing in their suits before huge audiences and pointing to diagrams and models, the light in their eyes could be seen shining excitedly as they explained the various technicalities of that particular invention, or idea. The seated crowd turned to each other with much nodding of heads and note taking. The room seemingly filled with an electric atmosphere as the orator held them captivated within their verbal palms. There were doctors, surgeons, politicians and teachers, all were there happily engaged in their passion. They shared two things: firstly they were all smiling, obviously happy and excited with the love of their subjects. It shone from them with an almost visible aura.
The second item of commonality, which they unknowingly shared, was displayed within the small digital box flickering underneath each person as the screen showed them to Mike and his audience. As the subject appeared on the screen, the box below them was filled with a line of words, rather like the ‘ticker tape’ at the bottom of a news programme on the television.
The middle-aged scientist turned and used his laser pointer to underline some important point to his gathered pupils. The technical drawings held them riveted, their heads looking from the screen to their books and then back again, three or four of them raised their hands. Questions and answers, he knew them all.
‘Breaking news’ Bad news… The eerie words flashed beneath him:
“Ethan Martin Williams. Professor – Deceased, aged twenty one years – cause: Heroin overdose.”
A tall brown haired woman bounded girlishly down the spiral stairs that led from the observatory. Her blue shoes flying down the shiny steel steps as she spoke into her mobile telephone. She smiled and looked up at the sky as she spoke. Her fate flashed beneath her in Mike’s little box.
‘Breaking news’ Bad news… The warning was invisible to her, but it was there nonetheless.
“Mary-Ann Blake. Astro Physicist – Deceased, aged nineteen years – cause: Murdered whilst engaged in prostituting herself.”
A handsome Asian stood upon the steps in front of some huge courthouse, the gathered throngs of press and TV reporters jostled for position as he spoke into their lenses. Flashlight bulbs fired their luminescence bursts, each one showing his smiling face in perfect clarity.
‘Breaking news’ Bad news…
“Sher Agha Khan. International Lawyer – Deceased, aged fourteen years – cause: Killed in a traffic accident. Perpetrators untraced.”
Behind him a waved banner shouted out the words: “Go Sher, GO! Rock the HydrO!” The white sheet with the green writing reminded Ken of the ‘MJW’ scribbling he had seen on the Church wall in Kandahar… The two women who held the banner jumped up and down as Sher smiled and waved at them.
A short overweight young man, with an awful pink jumper stretched over his midriff, peered owlishly at the strange machine lying before him that looked like the silver cigarette case Ken and Mike had seen in some other place, only bigger. There were several of the devices in various stages of construction laid upon the work surfaces, which lay before the man.
‘Breaking news’ Bad news…
“Kristopher Stephan Merkel. Hydro Cell Engineer – Deceased, aged six years – cause: Murdered by Kidnappers.”
The man looked up briefly, the workshop lights glinted off the surface of his rimless spectacles and his face contorted into a ruddy-cheeked smile. Turning back to the machine, he puffed his cheeks out and whistled whilst he worked. He certainly appeared to be happy with his lot.
The list rolled on, always the same thing, the little screen below bringing the unknown, bad news for the particular person on display. Their lives seemingly never destined to see the place, which they had very obviously reached on the screen. People from every nation and culture were shown to them, countless beings hell bent on their particular subject. All of them shared the ominous box that flickered below their briefly illuminated moment in George’s spotlight. ‘Breaking news’ Bad news…
“None of these people will live to see their fulfilment if we don’t take on this task.” Mike’s
voice broke the scene as he stopped the show. “This is but a small example of the type of thing we are talking about?”
“How many people do we have to help?” Ken’s question was in many ways a pre-emptive acceptance of the ‘Gift’ George had laid before them.
Mike thought for a while before he spoke. “Umm, well it depends really, depends on who George decides is within our sector?” Looking at them he said, “We’re not the…”
Jane finished the sentence for him. “Not the only ones involved… there are others doing this!” Her voice mirrored the surprise Ken felt.
“Shit! You’re joking aren’t you, Mike, you mean that this is already going on whilst we speak?” He suddenly felt the enormity of the task roll over him again.
Mike laughed. “Well, yeah mate! You didn’t think we were gonna save the entire world on our own did you?” He shook his head and looked down in mock pity at his best friend.
Ken looked back at him, he felt pretty stupid. “No but, well I mean… Ahh bollocks, I’ve made a prick of myself again, haven’t I?” Turning to Jane he shrugged his shoulders and said: “It must be this hole in the back of my head I guess, hun!” His humour helped to take some of the pressure off the moment.
Mike looked at them and then reached over and topped his drink up with a little splash of Coke, the ice clinked as he swirled it around with a slow rotating motion of his hand. “Anyone else fancy a refill?” He asked, raising the drink to his lips.
They declined, Ken felt as though he was approaching his threshold anyway. Any further consumption would see him start to get drunk, and that was the last thing he wanted right at this moment.
Jane stretched out lazily. “No thanks, sweetheart. I’m just about done for the night, any more and I’ll be nodding off!” Her statement was amazing, here they were learning about something truly shocking, frightening really, and she was starting to think about some kip.
Seeing the horrified look on her face, Ken grinned at her and said. “I know, it’s weird, just bloody weird is what this is!” Jane just nodded. There wasn’t a lot else she could do.
Mike spoke again. “Anyway,” he said, “There are others involved in this, no one except the Council knows who they are, and we will never be privy to that information, either. I guess it’s for the best really. I mean, can you imagine it – you know, meeting up and asking how things were going in their sector...” It was a fair point they supposed, after all it was hard enough trying to get their heads around the small part it looked as though they were going to play? Mike now spoke to them in a very business like manner. “No, the way it works is like this: We get the call from George, if we accept the initial offer then we will receive the full briefing. After studying the details we’ll then do a reconnaissance, and if we still think it’s a goer then we’ll carry out some rehearsals if needed. After that, we receive a final briefing from George, get the equipment, and then do the job?” His tone had become serious now.
“How do we get to meet George, I can’t wait!” Jane’s green eyes lit up with a smile.
Mike had bad news for her. “Ahh, now for the nasty part, Jane, you’ll need an implant, which is no big deal in itself, but it’ll make you feel like shit for a while?” He grimaced as he looked her.
“Urrghh, an implant, what implant? I don’t bloody like the sound of that at all.” She looked at Ken for reassurance. He pointed to the scar on his cheek and raised his eyes towards the back of his head in an indication to the hidden plate, which lay there.
“Show her yours, Mike? Wait ‘til you see this for a scar!” Ken looked at Mike.
“Mate, I don’t think that’s such a good idea?” Mike shook his head. Ken winked at him behind Jane’s back.
“It’s only a little one, go on show her the transplant scar, go on Mike… don’t be shy!”
Mike grinned. “Well, if you insist.” He started to unbutton his shirt. Their teasing then backfired on them, somewhat.
“Excuse my French… lads, but you can all fuck straight off if you think I’m having anything as horrible as any one of those!” She pointed at Ken’s head with her slender forefinger. It was very rare for Jane to swear, but when she did then Ken knew he was approaching the edge. “No bloody thanks, count me out. Yuk!” She crinkled her face and then stuck her tongue out at the two men, who by now were now laughing out loud. Mike fastened the two loose buttons on his shirt, and leaning across, touched the screen. A tiny device flipped up onto it for them to observe. It looked like a miniature metal Ladybird bug – one without any limbs or antennae.
It reminded Ken of a minute teardrop. “A mercury teardrop…” The thought trotted through his mind as he heard Mike speak to Jane again.
“You won’t be getting anything like the one’s we have, they just used our injuries as a place to insert our transplants, plus there’s the fact that now they have embarked upon this plan, the implants have been massively refined.” He pointed at the screen. “That particular one is no larger than the head of a pin and will be inserted into your inner ear – it takes ten seconds to insert, and about two days to get used to?”
Jane sat and looked at him, she remained silent, breathed out and then asked: “Does it hurt, and what does ‘get used to’ mean, exactly?” She leant towards Ken for some reassurance.
Mike strove to set her mind at rest. “It doesn’t hurt at all, not in the slightest, and getting used to it means, well… it means just that. You might feel a bit dizzy at times, like you most probably felt in the pub tonight, and you’ll have some amazing dreams, too!”
“Except they’re not dreams are they? No, not at all, they’re when you travel, ‘Jump’ to other places, see George and probably go and look at the next job, I’d be right in that assumption wouldn’t I?” Ken said, as he sat with one arm still draped around his wife’s shoulder.
“Almost spot on I would say, my friend – almost spot on!” Mike smiled at him. “Anyone would think you’ve had previous experience at this game?”
Ken grinned at the pointed sarcasm and rose to his feet. “The one thing the implant will do, if I remember rightly, is to make you feel bloody tired. I didn’t even know I’d been given one, but I do remember feeling knackered a lot.” he said. “I’m gonna make a brew, coffee or chocolate, who wants what?” He left the other two in the warm sitting room whilst he headed for the kitchen to knock up three hot chocolates. Ken heard their soft tones float through the adjoining door as he locked the house up and then filled the kettle. He knew Jane was in safe hands and that Mike would set her mind to rest, he didn’t want to be involved as he guessed that Jane would just do it for his sake anyway. Ken wanted to be sure she would make up her own mind without any help from him.
As he placed the hot drinks onto the old tea tray, the faded Flamenco dancer swirled her hems at him from its well worn tin surface, Ken mentally apologised as he covered her shapely legs in a pile of biscuits, and then taking the tray he headed back to the sitting room. “Brews are up, folks!” He said as he carried their midnight feast back into the sitting room and placed the tray on the coffee table next to Mike’s machine that now lay darkened, its awesome, inner secrets well hidden by its innocuous outward appearance.
The three of them sat, sipped their drinks and dunked biscuits whilst they watched the fading embers glowing in the hearth. “Well, I don’t know about you,” Mike said. “But I’m bushed! I reckon we should finish off tomorrow, if that’s OK?” He yawned and made a failed attempt to cover his mouth as he did so. They were all in agreement, and as Mike headed for the downstairs room where his belongings had been dumped previously, Jane and Ken padded up the stairs.
Within ten minutes the old building was in silence and almost total darkness. Almost total darkness, except for the dim green lights the device sitting on the coffee table began to flash with. Even at this late hour, George was still busy – the data he sent causing the machine to glow softly as its inner mechanism began to decipher the stream of information it received from h
is ship. Of all the secrets the old Lodge held, these new ones must have been amongst the most bizarre.
Chapter 10 - Monkey See – Monkey Do
The child’s father was large, an enormous tree of a man that stood towering over the boy who cowered before him. The child himself was a huge specimen in his own right, and that was half the problem, well, almost the entire problem, if the truth is really to be told. His father had never forgiven the boy for being the perceived cause of his wife’s premature death. Yes indeed, if he hadn’t been unfortunate enough to inherit most of his fathers oversized genes, well, then his wife wouldn’t have dies during childbirth would she – yes, if it wasn’t for the boy’s fault, for being so damned large, “Then yore Momma would still be alive, woodent she now?” This little ditty always pre-empted the usual lecture on: “How Goddamned difficult thangs are tryin’ to raise a boy o’ yore size on my own.” The man always followed the lecture by dragging the boy around by the ear, or hair, and giving him a guided tour of the empty cupboards. The trip would usually end with him shoving the child’s large head towards the few slices of stale bread, which lay moulding in the cracked earthenware container. “I ain’t gonna buy no more bread ‘til yoo finish what we already have, now eat it boy, eat it!” The musty taste of mould stayed in the child’s mouth for hours afterwards. The boy didn’t mind listening to the lecture; he would have quite happily stayed a thousand times and listened to it over, and over again. He would much rather the lecture than have to endure another of the far more regular beatings that his father dished out. They weren’t really beatings as such – it was more like a fight with a giant bully. A beating would have been a damned site better, at least it would be over quickly: Bang-bang, one-two and down you go. No, his father’s method was much worse than any old beating. It consisted of nipple twisting and hair pulling, all done with a tear-filled sneer upon the beer-sodden face, which looked unmercifully down at him. Ball crushing blows to his groin, solid, leg-deadening punches to his thighs and calves. Skin-wrinkling ‘Chinese burns’ that seared to the bone, and then, worst of all, the dreaded arm lock. It always ended in the arm lock, always.
