BISENTIENT, page 16
“So have you traced the source of this event.” said Carver.
“Unfortunately, the detection of the disturbance represents many reflections and distortions of the original release of energy. The geological instruments are detecting indirect evidence of the distortion. The disturbance didn’t last long enough for precise location. We can only say it came from somewhere within an area of approximately three thousand square miles, most of which is thinly populated, mountainous or heavily forested.” said Straker.
“Wouldn't this sort of machine need a lot of power?” asked Carver.
“According to the theory more power than is generated for the entire continent of North America in a year.” said Straker.
“We need to get a closer look at the source.” said Cantrell. “James, do you have some people that could do that? If something were to go wrong, we need some deniability and I think your guys have particular expertise in this sort of thing.”
Cantrell was implying the ex-SAS men that were available to Carver, and had performed well in a previous mission, would be best to investigate the mysterious energy burst in the mountains. Carver also thought this but wanted to check with them himself before committing them.
“I’ll speak to my team, but the final decision must rest with them, from an operational standpoint.” he said. Cantrell nodded.
There was silence until Carver said:
“Is there anything to drink?”
The four walls of Zach's small, but comfortable room seemed closer together as he curled in a ball in his bed. They say knowledge is power but although he knew about the implant in his head Zach now felt powerless. Sure, he knew that his department was engaged in experiments on unwilling (and unwitting) human subjects. He knew the basis of the technology being used but what good had it done him? He and Meek had bumbled around gathering information but how long had they known? How long had Braberson been watching them?
The time edged past 3 a.m. although Zach was totally unaware. He just knew he had to get out. Get out of this claustrophobic atmosphere of Frankenstein experiments and secret comings and goings. Briefly the letter inviting staff to take part in this special project flashed before his eyes. He'd been interested in the money; he couldn't deny it. He should have smelt a rat. When did public servants earn that kind of wedge for a few weeks work? He'd give anything to wind back time and respectfully decline the chance to spend six weeks in the Suffolk countryside.
Each time he thought about the technical aspects of the implant he was dragged back to his situation. Why had he been implanted? What could Braberson hope to gain from involving him? Zach wasn't anything out of the ordinary, as he'd done the screening tests, like everyone working here had done. But he had only barely outscored Meek, and they had both been far behind one of the security guards, who exhibited quite unusual brain activity. Nothing they could use in the project, but it seemed to shatter the myth that security guards had very little going on in their heads. Zach hoped that Braberson intended the implant mainly as a tracker. Braberson obviously knew that Zach had been poking around, perhaps he just wanted to keep a tighter rein. But why one of the new chips then? One of the older, standard variety would have done. Meek was sure it was not a standard implant; they didn't react to his device at all.
It didn't make sense. If the implant had been a standard device Zach thought he'd actually have been relieved. Working on secret projects came with restrictions, he'd known that. Of course, it also came with interesting stuff to work on. He could almost understand Braberson wanting to keep him around for his technical skills but know he wasn't stepping over the line and compromising the security of the project. Having one of the new implants didn't fit with that and Braberson's motives were obscure. It was the not knowing about the full range of the implant's function that haunted Zach.
For the umpteenth time Zach came to the conclusion that his only course of action was to get out. He needed to get beyond the range of the transceiver and recover something of his privacy and freedom. He knew this was madness, to abscond from a secret scientific installation with little prospect of remaining at liberty in surveillance Britain for long. Somehow, as the night crept by in his lonely corner of Suffolk, the idea seemed less and less crazy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
GROBUS TOOK CRITICISM poorly. Perhaps a psychologist might have made something of his upbringing in trying to explain this. His father had been authoritarian, while his mother, a kinder, more spiritual soul, had been a mistreated casualty in her marriage. Oculus often reminded Grobus of his father in his utter disdain and constant harping criticisms, even when none might be warranted. Just because he had lost the man Plater in Suffolk, Oculus wanted punishment from the High Order. Hadn't he, Grobus, resumed watching Plater later when he returned to his house? This finding of fault angered him.
Oculus had made it seem some sort of privilege that Grobus be included in the astral confrontation planned at the direction of Aziel. To confront the man and by this means approach the woman creature. It was necessary to catch her off guard for she was more powerful. So it was that they hatched their plan to take the man Plater and force the woman creature to do their bidding.
Grobus was torn. He was pleased that he was included in this most important work of the Order. But he understood some of the dangers they faced. To confront a creature such as this on the astral plane and to attempt to restrain or destroy them was to risk everything.
The quiet of night was only broken by a distant police siren which quickly faded. Plater lay curled into Molly’s backside and both slept soundly. While Molly dreamt of nothing Plater wandered the streets of the city in the Realm becoming more familiar with its extraordinary blend of architectures and marveling at its virtual normality. Gail had explained that for most people he would meet in the Realm they were just dreaming and less than fifty percent were actually aware. Of that number, Gail thought fewer than half were people like her, living their lives in the Realm while their physical body remained all but inert in the physical world. The others were a strange mix of people whose quest for some meaning to life, of a spiritual kind, had led them through one means or another to unlock areas of their unconscious. It was hard to be sure, but Gail believed that these people did not perceive the Realm, its inhabitants and the events that took place there in the same way that others did. She thought that the spiritual or religious framework that they had used to gain entry had somehow overlaid their interactions in the Realm putting all events they experienced in the Realm in the context of their belief system. Gail thought this was an interference of the conscious mind over the unconscious, forcing a logical and acceptable interpretation of their experiences.
It was the clarity with which Plater separated his time in the Realm with his time in the physical world that was so unique. For him the blurring of the two was no more than everyone has experienced when waking from a vivid dream and being unsure of one’s surroundings for perhaps a minute or two, until full wakefulness is achieved. Then to be able to recall in detail the events from the Realm and place them in context in the physical world was very special indeed.
Plater's musings were interrupted when he saw Bartholomew.
“Mason.” said Bartholomew. “There's something I must show you.”
“I wanted to talk to Gail, do you know where I can find her?” said Plater.
“Later.” said Bartholomew, taking Plater's arm. “Please come with me.”
Bartholomew steered Plater around several corners, winding deep into what resembled an Italian town, with cobbled streets and many small alleyways beside shuttered windows.
“What's this about?” asked Plater.
“Come, we have little time.” said Bartholomew, finally stopping by a faded wooden door. He knocked twice and then glanced both ways. The door opened and Bartholomew bundled Plater through it.
“Steady on...” began Plater as he lurched forwards under Bartholomew's urgings.
Before he could regain his balance he was struck by something hard to the side of his head and the room spun into blackness.
As he opened his eyes Plater immediately felt pressure on his body. He was not lying down but rather leaning backwards at a slight angle. From the gloom in front of him he could see four figures standing in a huddle talking. Then he made out more, perhaps ten in all. Each was dressed oddly. One had the regalia of an American Indian Chief while another looked like an Egyptian Pharoah. Others appeared as soldiers and priests. Plater closed his eyes again but opening them revealed the same strange tableau.
One of the figures noticed Plater was awake and soon they all formed rough semi-circle around him but keeping at a distance of several yards. Plater realised he was fixed to some sort of board and looking down he saw straps, chains and ropes coiling around his outstretched limbs and held to the board with what seemed to be large iron nails.
“What the hell is going on?” said Plater “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
He looked at Bartholomew but then noticed that it didn’t seem to be Bartholomew at all. Before his eyes the face of Bartholomew faded to one of harder, more angular features. One of the number, a male figure dressed as an ancient Egyptian stepped forward and shouted:
“Be silent!”
Plater's surprise at the vehemence of the command was shortlived.
“Get me off here! Don't you know who I am?” said Plater.
“Yes, we know who you are.” said the Egyptian, his blue eyes burning through the slits in his ornate headdress. “You are the servant of the woman creature Memoth, you will be the means of her destruction!”
At this the others in the group shouted and waved their arms, gesturing towards Plater.
“You're off your trolley, I have no idea who this 'Memoth' is but I'm nobody's servant, now cut me loose.”
“You will be silent.” said the Egyptian. “The vessel!”
A smaller figure, dressed as a monk, emerged from the group holding a golden cup, encrusted with brightly coloured stones. He presented it to the Egyptian and withdrew, head bowed. The Egyptian approached Plater and then with a flourish drew a long, slender knife.
“What the fuck?” said Plater.
The Egyptian carefully drew the razor-sharp blade down Plater's right forearm, which was held aloft by his bindings. A stream of blood soon ran down his arm and dripped from his elbow. The Egyptian caught the run off in the cup and after a moment or two held it aloft to more shouts from the others.
“Jesus!” shouted Plater. “You're fucking mad”
“It is time.” announced the Egyptian and the room became brighter as flaming torches on the walls sprang to life. What Plater could now see only added to his confusion. He was fixed to a round wooden slab but on the floor was drawn an intricate design of concentric circles, triangles and other geometric shapes Plater had long since forgotten the names of. As he watched the group joined hands, solemnly, in a circle around the Egyptian and began to mumble words he couldn't make out. Periodically they would raise their joined hands as one and the Egyptian would hold up the cup containing Plater's blood.
With the weirdness of the scene Plater couldn't help but wish he could wake up and be back at home in bed with Molly. Gail's warning popped back into his head. She and Bartholomew had both insisted that he must never wake up to get out of a difficult situation, one where he felt threatened. It was something about hardwired defence mechanisms in the brain and that if he were to wake out of danger he could suffer serious mental loss in the real world. It didn't sound like something Plater wanted to risk. Instead, he tried to bring a picture of Gail Hartston into his mind, perhaps he could communicate with her and get help.
There was a crashing sound behind Plater and the group looked towards the source of the noise. Their faces showed fear and their circle broke up. The Egyptian shouted:
“No! Hold your places! We are almost there...”
His words had no effect and Plater noticed from behind him a sudden piercing sound that seemed to get louder and louder until he couldn't hear anything, just a profound silence. His captors were all kneeling, heads in hands and contorted expressions on their faces. Even the Egyptian had sunk to the ground, the golden cup cast aside and its contents running onto the stone floor.
Figures appeared from behind Plater, too many to count, and the kneeling kidnappers were dragged away. Faintly he thought he heard a voice, then a face appeared close to his. It was Gail. A look of concern was quickly replaced by a smile. Plater saw her lips move but still heard nothing. As he spoke to say he couldn't hear she pressed a finger to his lips. Suddenly Plater felt a wave of exhaustion and could not stop his eyes from closing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
AS THE FIRST faint traces of the new day reached up over the trees, Zach had all but completed his plan. Despite all they had risked together he felt he couldn't involve Meek in what he had decided to do. After all it was he not Meek that had been detected snooping on the databases, he not Meek that had apparently sneaked into room 7G, and carelessly left evidence behind. For all Zach knew Meek was not even on the security services radar except for being an obvious 'known associate'. No, he couldn't let Meek risk getting deeper into trouble. The same Meek who had panicked on receiving a letter from HMRC about a tax error in the princely sum of £119 that ended up having been a mistake by his HM Government paymasters anyway. Meek liked to follow rules, he never questioned figures of authority, even privately most of the time. Zach knew that if he tried to involve his friend Meek might suffer real mental anguish, to go against a lifetime of conformity. Instead, he left a note, disguised within some notes he and Meek had been working with for the circuit board design. Zach hoped Meek would find it, in fact he was banking on the fact that Meek would retreat into work to cope with the sudden disappearance of his friend.
The reality of disappearing now occupied Zach. He assumed that his implant was being constantly monitored, for position if nothing else. He couldn't simply interfere with it somehow or attempt to shield the transmissions without alerting the watchers. So, he had to be patient. It was still far too early to start moving around the labs, Zach and Meek were known to be night-birds but definitely not early-birds, so that would also arouse too much interest. So, Zach fired up his laptop and employed his stealth bridge to the internet and entered the World of Warcraft. He had things to do that could only be done in the online world of wizards and warriors.
Hours pass quickly in the vast online gaming universe and so it was that Zach noticed it was now a reasonable time to venture to the kitchen for breakfast. Meek, he assumed, rightly, was still asleep, having worked until well past midnight. The kitchen was empty. Zach fried two eggs and three rashers of bacon and made a pot of colombian coffee strong enough to raise the dead. He was sure there would be someone paying attention to the monitors today, perhaps even someone tasked only with watching him. He tried very hard not to turn and smile at the security camera or offer the universal modern American hand gesture.
The bacon and eggs tasted good, and the caffeine soon coursed around his body fortifying the alertness he already had from his predicament. Dishes and pans dumped in the sink as usual he stopped back at his room briefly to brush his teeth, the normal routine, before heading to his lab. The one thing different this morning was that he took his rucksack with him.
It proved very hard to concentrate on his tasks or even to perform a passable impression of working normally for the camera. He was constantly replaying his plan and looking for the hole, the little wrinkle that could derail the whole thing. Meek assumed his level of concentration and general moroseness was just normal behaviour when working an especially tricky problem. Unusually perceptive for Meek.
“So.” began Meek, talking in a low voice as Zach tried to ignore him. “What are you going to do about...you know.”
Zach continued studying his screen.
“Not much I can do right now.” he said. “Next move could be down to them.”
“I heard there's another visitor due today.” said Meek.
This caused Zach to stop and look up.
“Who? What time?” he said.
“Dunno.” said Meek.
“Think.” snapped Zach. “It's important.”
“Easy.” said Meek. “I'm not the enemy here.”
“Yeah.” said Zach. “Bit jumpy. Sorry. But who's coming?”
“Sounded like the same sort of visit as when you were out of it. I heard one of the security drones mention it as I was walking here this morning.”
“Time...did they mention a time?” asked Zach.
“Don't think...no, it must be around three, because one of them said he'd probably miss some stupid program on TV, some game show I think.”
Zach was quiet, his mind was busy. As the silence lengthened Meek realised the conversation was over and wandered back up the corridor to run more tests.
Finally, the wall clock reached 10:45 and Zach calmly, he hoped, got up and made his way to the kitchen. Neddleton was making his normal coffee. You could set your watch by most of Neddleton's habits. A mid-fifties hardware engineer with long, now mostly grey, hair in a ponytail. Zach moved past the door hoping Neddleton wouldn't see him, the last thing he wanted was to discuss the finer points of component placement within integrated circuits and minimizing the power curve. Zach speeded up as he realised Neddleton hadn't seen him. He reached the workshop where Neddleton lived and found his jacket. Neddleton loved military-style clothing and his jacket was typical. Zach's heart was beating noticeably faster as he fumbled each pocket for what he was after. A metallic click told him he'd found it. He slipped the keys into his pocket and tried to arrange the combat jacket as he'd found it before scurrying back to his lab. The cameras in Neddleton's workshop, oddly, had not been working for about a week. It seemed that the lab had a rodent problem and the little beggars had chewed through the cables. Odd they'd only chewed the camera cables or at least it would have been odd if someone hadn't been placing food in the only cavity reachable by humans. The one used to perform maintenance on the camera systems and the central wiring junction. Neddleton didn't much like being watched either. Zach and Meek had just been impressed by the simplicity of Neddleton's solution.
