BISENTIENT, page 33
‘And you thought I was a hawk!’ it read.
“I would propose that we adjourn unless anyone has any alternative ideas at this point.” said Cantrell. “We will form small teams to work on each aspect, disruption, sabotage and elimination. I recommend we reconvene in 72 hours.”
All delegates nodded their approval and windows began to go black as they disconnected. Carver stayed staring at the huge black monitor wondering what they were about to set in motion.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
IT IS NOT uncommon for new Presidents to announce their intentions in office with some early, eye-catching executive orders. Rev. Ethan Daniels was no exception. With moving vans still coming and going, depositing equipment and belongings into the White House Daniels was already executing the first part of his grand plan. The very first executive order signed by Rev. Daniels on his third day in office imposed a punitive tax on all income to the previously exempt TV evangelist churches. He had made an impassioned speech, broadcast on national television. In it he decried the greed of the televangelists and promised to investigate their institutions with a view to criminal charges on tax evasion and money laundering with likely imprisonment for the most egregious offenders.
Happy with his day’s work, Daniels was asleep soon after midnight. His dreams were becoming more vivid. He was a great leader and his people loved him. However, he knew that there was an evil he must confront. He preached about the evils facing his congregation and the need to face this threat and to defeat it. He spoke before huge crowds that cheered and cried out encouragements. He recalled that they seemed to be dressed strangely but he was focused on the words and the expressions of love and faith that emanated from the assembled masses.
As he woke the next morning, he felt slightly less alert than normal. He needed a coffee to feel ready for the day’s busy schedule. It was as if his vivid dreams were taking some of his energy. But that would be ridiculous. He was just tired with the heavy responsibilities he now enjoyed. Having drunk his coffee Rev. Daniels felt ready to take on the world once more.
“That guy was one of the spies you told me about before?” asked Zach.
“Yes, and he seemed quite specific.” said Bartholomew. “A large army.”
“It’s been a long time.” said Gail. “I hoped we would not see this again.”
“Could you explain a bit.” said Plater. “What army?”
The old sailing ship was rolling gently, with an occasional sound of a wave knocking on the wooden hull. The gathering in the captain’s cabin had been mostly cordial and lighthearted until Bartholomew had arrived bringing news from the city.
“As you know there has been unusual activity in the Valley for some time.” began Bartholomew. “According to Malik, the man who returned last night, they have assembled a huge army. It seems they plan to march on the city.”
“Can they do that?” asked Zach. “Do you have defences?”
“Of course.” said Bartholomew. “We have guards and even an army but from what we know now we may need to reinforce them. Malik reported that the Valley have gathered behind a new leader, a messianic figure, a giant of a man, that has them eager for war.”
“A war? In the Realm?” said Plater.
“There have been many before.” said Gail. “There are books written in the library. From the earliest times. They won’t rest until we’re gone.”
“Okay, so how do we win?” asked Zach. “I haven’t seen much military equipment around.”
“The Realm is simpler in some ways.” said Bartholomew. “We don’t have modern military equipment. Although a lucky few can exert special power here.” he glanced at Gail. “Most of us fight with more traditional personal weapons.” he walked to the side of the cabin and took down a cutlass from the wall. He dropped it noisily onto the table.
“You have to be kidding.” said Zach. “Swords?”
“Spears, bows and arrows, cavalry.” said Bartholomew. “For reasons we don’t understand we cannot seem to develop modern weapons here. But a sword will kill you just as well as a bullet.”
“How does that work?” asked Zach. “So we’re fighting here with those…people from the Valley…what if I get killed?”
There was a pause and Zach looked from Bartholomew to Plater to Gail.
“Injuries sustained in the Realm do not translate directly to the real world.” began Bartholomew. “But…”
“Why is there always a ‘but’.” said Zach.
“But if you suffer traumatic injuries then it can affect your physical self.” said Bartholomew.
“I could die?” said Zach.
“In extreme circumstances, yes.” said Bartholomew. “But it is very rare. Most of the people in the city are not really aware of where they are. They are just living, literally, in their ‘dream world’. For those people we believe that they will not suffer serious issues when they suffer injuries or even death in the Realm. They probably just experience a bad dream or nightmare. But for those of us that are sentient in the realm the rules appear to be different.”
“We think it has to do with the fact that different parts of our brain must be active for us to be sentient here.” said Gail. “This means that traumatic damage here translates to traumatic damage in the real world, but of a psychological or mental nature. We think this can also affect physical processes, like the natural biorhythms of the body and the autonomic systems like breathing and heart rate.”
“There have been cases where people just don’t wake up.” said Bartholomew.
Zach looked at each of them again, but no words came.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
THE LONDON CABBIE had barely understood the lanky American when he had settled into his cab at Heathrow. On the third attempt, he registered the address and with a practised flick set the meter running.
Clayton tipped the cab driver, checked in to his hotel, showered and changed before ordering his rental car to be delivered to his hotel. As he waited, he scrolled through some details on his phone; locations, addresses and telephone numbers.
It was late morning when he stopped in front of King George Place, an imposing block of mansion flats, built around the start of the twentieth century. Stylistically Victorian but with a reduction in size and grandeur more in keeping with the new century. Clayton checked the address again with the one in his phone. Satisfied, he loitered close to the entrance until a man in a black anorak mounted the steps, with his small dog in tow, and opened the door with his key. Clayton quickly approached.
“Thank you.” he said, in as neutral an accent as he could manage. The dog walker barely gave him a second look and disappeared into a ground floor flat.
Clayton took the stairs to the third floor and found 317. The door lock was a fairly ordinary five pin Yale lock and Clayton had picked it within two minutes. Molly’s flat was her pride and joy. She had got a small inheritance from an aunt she had barely known and it had just enabled her to sell her studio flat in Battersea that she’d had since college and get this two-bedroom mansion flat. She’d hardly spent any time in it since that fateful day when Mason Plater had asked to see her and explained about his weird experiences at Lievesham. Indeed, there was some food in the refrigerator that would not warrant close inspection, having been in there well beyond its useful life.
Clayton saw no reason to hide his presence, so cast drawers aside once he’d opened and rifled them. He was methodical in his approach and moved around the living room first before choosing the obvious master bedroom. He pulled clothes from the hanging rail in the wardrobe and dropped them to the floor. A small desk in the bedroom had a laptop on it. Clayton flipped it open and powered it on. He only knew two ways to break into computers but fortunately one of them worked on the old Windows laptop. Within a few minutes he had addresses and contact details downloaded to his phone along with email conversations that he could read and digest later.
He checked out the kitchen and did make the mistake of opening the refrigerator but quickly closed it again as the smell of ancient food made him nauseous. Before he left, he sat on the sofa in the living room and composed quite a long text to Rev. Daniels. He was moving on from the girl to her known associates.
Plater was relieved. Despite the talk of some sort of war in the Realm, Molly had seemed eager for normality and an Italian restaurant seemed a good bet. It was the first time he had seen Molly laugh since they’d returned from America. He hadn’t thought his remark that funny, but he was extraordinarily pleased that Molly had.
“So.” said Plater. “Dessert?”
Molly snatched up the menu.
“Of course.” she said.
A tiramisu of truly epic proportions duly arrived in front of Molly. She began to attack it with enthusiasm. Plater’s espresso arrived and he took a small sip from the accompanying glass of water.
“What did the doctor say about your hands?” asked Plater.
Molly grimaced.
“The nails’ll grow back in time, but it’ll hurt when they do.” she replied.
Plater took another sip from his espresso and Molly sank her spoon into the tiramisu then stopped. She’d glanced out of the restaurant window into the street. Her expression changed and fear filled her eyes.
“What is it?” said Plater. “What’s wrong?” he reached across the table and laid his hand over Molly’s, at the same time trying to follow her gaze into the street outside.
“It was him!” said Molly, dropping her spoon and sitting back in her chair. “He’s here.”
Plater looked out of the window but saw only people passing both ways as they went about their daily lives.
“Who?” he asked.
“Clayton!”
Plater stiffened and looked again out of the window, but he didn’t know what he was looking for.
“You sure?” he asked.
“It was him.” said Molly. “I’d know that face…”
Plater waved for the bill.
“We need to get home.” he said. “We need to check with the others, we need to make sure you’re safe.”
Plater didn’t know what to do. How had this Clayton found them back in England? They thought they had left the Church of the Reclamation and all its evil back in America. Molly could have imagined seeing this man. Plater wasn’t about to suggest this, but it could be true. She had been under a lot of pressure in the past few weeks. The mind can play tricks when under stress. Molly certainly looked worried and that was enough to worry Plater. As they walked back to his house Plater kept a careful watch to be sure nobody was following them.
The private ambulance had collected Gail to transport her to the laboratory in the Suffolk countryside. A doctor and nurse were present to ensure all the equipment was properly set up and that Gail was fit enough for the short journey. Angie and CJ had slight misgivings about releasing Gail to Braberson’s people, but Zach reassured them that the facilities were as good as any hospital. He also suggested that Gail was too important for Braberson to let anything happen to her. She would certainly be better protected than they could hope to manage on their own.
They agreed to return to London. CJ had a new client but insisted that Angie and Zach stay with her at least until the whole situation with the device and this ‘war’, or whatever was sorted out. She pointed out that she was best able to manage the stimulation of Zach’s implant and to handle any issues if it misbehaved. Zach was quite happy with the arrangement as the net connection from CJ’s ramshackle warehouse was truly impressive.
On the way down to London Zach felt the phone Braberson had given him in his pocket. He was less concerned than before about being tracked but nevertheless it went against his natural instincts to be constantly monitored. He knew CJ would always be suspicious about Braberson’s motives in all this and deep down Zach was too. He wasn’t stupid and he knew that Braberson’s loyalties were to King and country well before Zach Hamilton. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at it in his palm. Then he unzipped his rucksack, fished around in it and drew out what looked like something wrapped in carpet tape. It was a homemade Faraday pouch made with layers of tin foil and wire mesh covered in black carpet tape. It didn’t look great but was effective. He slipped the phone inside and folded the flaps carefully to seal it completely. He felt quite safe at CJ’s and he knew where the phone was if he needed it. As he settled back into the back seat of CJ’s car his mind returned to the prospect of fighting battles with swords in his dreams. Angie and CJ had both been silent when he’d told them. He wondered sometimes how much about the Realm they actually believed. If he was in their place he wondered how much he’d believe. As it was he certainly believed what he had experienced. If anything, he had felt more alive in the Realm than in the real world. Whenever he was there it was as if he could feel all the parts of his body at once. Bartholomew had suggested he speak to a man called Silas next time he was in the city. Silas had been there a long time and was an expert in the weapons they would need to use if it came down to fighting. Zach wasn’t convinced he’d make much of a fighter. He certainly wasn’t one in the real world. He was pretty handy in World of Warcraft, but he doubted that those skills would be much help against an alien entity bent on destroying humanity.
Once back to the warehouse it was getting late but Zach fired up his laptop and sent a message to Meek. He guessed it would be okay to contact him again now that he was back ‘on-side’ with Braberson. Angie turned in almost as soon as they were back. CJ checked her emails and after making a large pot of coffee settled in for a long session combing through technical details for her new project. Zach watched CJ work for a while. She seemed pretty cool, he had to admit. After the long drive she’d changed into some frayed denim cut-offs and a baggy vest with ‘Deny Everything’ printed in red on the front. Zach was tired and decided to turn in. As he glanced up at CJ to say goodnight he caught a tantalising glimpse of her body under the loose vest. He couldn’t really let those thoughts in right now. There was too much else going on.
“I should probably check-in, you know.” said Zach.
CJ looked up.
“Right, yes, of course.” she said and reached for the laptop that controlled the signal generator which could activate Zach’s implant. “Dream on.”
“Goodnight.” said Zach, CJ smiled and then returned to reading the screen. Zach looked again at the fascinating contours of CJ’s vest. As the frequency began sleep enveloped him quickly and he decided to find Silas.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
GROBUS STOOD FOR some time in front of the cracked mirror on the back of his front door. The new robe was much more luxurious than his old one, with more intricate embroidery of the subtle magical symbols around the cuffs and down one side at the front. This was what he, Grobus, deserved. His hard work had finally been recognised. Regardless of the fact that it had taken the mysterious death of Oculus for Nefer-Ra to invite him to join the High Order he felt that it had been inevitable. His chin began to rise almost imperceptibly as he stared at himself. He gradually assumed a more assured and powerful stance as the realisation that he was to be invited to learn the secrets of the Order crept over him.
But he needed to study, perhaps even more now than before. He slipped out of the robe and settled at his cramped desk. The old desk light weakly illuminated the ancient book he was now reading. Given to him by Nefer-Ra, this single volume contained the details of the high rituals but also other secrets of the higher realms of the astral plane. Grobus felt nothing as he avidly turned the pages, knowing that this very copy had belonged to Oculus. A section of the book told of a great war on the astral plane. There were illustrations showing great armies of light and dark doing battle. Between the rearing horses and swirling lances and swords, strange creatures could be seen. While he recognised some, he needed to refer to his manuals of demonology to identify them all. One image, taken from an engraving in a satanic temple from the thirteenth century showed a big man, perhaps a giant. This man wore armour that was covered in symbols of power and protection. Grobus assumed that this was The Great One, reputed to have been the founder of their Order and the greatest astral warrior ever to take up arms for the Dark Lord. As he studied the picture Grobus traced his fingers lightly over the body and face of the figure. Surely just a coincidence, but the features seemed very similar. No, it couldn’t be, he thought. He pulled out his phone and searched online. There it was. There really was no doubt. Grobus lifted his hand to his mouth and could feel his heart begin to beat faster. He felt that he was now witnessing something he had not dared to dream of. He slowly placed his phone down next to the picture from the grimoire. The faces were identical in features and expression. Even the pose of the figures was similar. A commanding stance, observed from a slightly lower angle, adding to the stature of the figure. Grobus needed to tell the others in the High Order if they were not already aware. This changed everything. The Great One addressing his army before the great astral war and the new President of the United States addressing a crowd of supporters after declaring victory in the election.
“I just never saw you as a fighter.” said Angie as she retrieved a coke from the fridge.
Zach was only briefly knocked by the gentle dig.
“No, it’s just that over there I’m not like I am here.” said Zach. “I was with this guy, Silas, who trains people to use swords and I just felt, I don’t know, stronger.”
“Go on.” said Angie settling next to Zach on the sofa.
“So, like I said, they don’t have modern weapons over there, so we have to learn how to use what they do have. Honestly it was just like WoW. Just like you see on the movies. But I just seem to be stronger over there. I was using a katana and it felt as light as a feather.”
