Bold War 2020

by Redemption

  He sees a man looking in a mirror. Is it himself? He can't tell, there are too many reflections. Then the reflections clear, and in the mirror he sees a black dress, hanging in mid-air. A man's hand appears, catches the dress and shakes it vigorously, three times. As the picture fades, all he can see is a bright flash of light reflecting from a golden ring on a finger.

  Andrew is none the wiser from the last part of the film. Yes the mirror, the dress and the ring were part of Jam, and while his current time of reflection links to the mirror, he sees no meaning for the dress and the ring - yet.

  Then it floods into his mind. The book goes beyond the present!! He tries to stay calm and think through the situation. If he dinks further will it display the future? They are adept at displaying the past, but surely they haven't worked out how to see the future? And yet there does appear to be more of the book left, he hasn't quite reached the end. Are Cameron and Christiana still playing tricks on him? Will the rest of the book be blank, waiting for the passage of time to fill it in?

  ==

  About to dink again, his turbulent thoughts are interrupted by a slight noise from the corridor. It attracts his attention only temporarily, but enough for a Neme to slip into his mind. Late at night, darkness, alone, Callabrone bullets… No, stop it, he tells himself - that was years ago. As the corridor light reflects into the darkening room he reverts his thoughts to the overall picture. There seems to be a gap there - still. His thoughts grope around 10Q and 10R and the why and how of them, the 'essence' that had started his reflection. They suddenly gel on 'wisdom', but not the multi-meaning kind of 20C, not a wizened old man sitting in the corner contemplating his navel and pontificating occasionally - they can keep them. It comes from Rose's 'working wisdom', the tripod of knowledge, experience and the power of applying them. And the word? - WWisdom.

  His mind races on, up to speed and cruising creatively. He feels a connection with his earlier word LLife. LLife and WWisdom. He would love to be sketching on paper but has to make do with mental doodling. How about LAW? No, too confusable with law. LLaw? Maybe. LLaww? Yes! Right on! Leveraged Life Arising (from) Working Wisdom. It encapsulates the outcome and the means in a single, simple, unmistakable word. How about that, Christiana?

  And the connotations! LLaww-ful, -abiding, -maker, -court. A LLaww - of nature and - unto ourselves. Laying down the LLaww, and taking it into our own hands. Abiding LLaww-abiding. As against LLaww-less and -lessness. The LLaww has surgically trimmed the wagging 'tails' that Kent talked about, the hypnotic hydra on the bum of society.

  He descends, reluctantly, from his lofty, ethereal ruminations to the present. In retrospect all developments to date have been straightforward and achievable. 'Predictable in retrospect' as Mario once said about something. Now he is familiar with the process he sees, confirms and agrees with the logical development of society, in contrast to his bafflement at the unfolding story as Christiana and the film presented it.

  In fact, knowing the facts, it is something he (or even a perceptive and enterprising reader) could have initiated and carried through to a successful conclusion. If he knew then what he knows now, he could (would?) have grasped the chance, there would have been no need for resistance or procrastination. There was nothing insuperable there, no magic, no miracles. He has already thought of a few additions to Smiles, refinements to the AAA Institutes. If only he knew then what he knows now!

  He becomes carried away in his musing. Yes, if only… if . only… the words resonate from somewhere in the past. It was… yes!… in Kent's near-death experience, when he pleaded for another chance and was given it. And look what he made of his chance. If only I had the opportunity I could have initiated and led the Bold War. Been the White Knight to rescue a world in distress. I could have been as good as Kent, in a different way. Why does Kent always have to get the kudos?

  And now he's a martyr, although a martyr of convenience as I happen to know. I must see what I can do with McTrue - at least there are still avenues open to me - to build on Kent's triumphs. What the hell is Cam doing, or not doing, to get me on my feet? I can hardly wait till Monday to see what Christiana might have found out - and just to see her again.

  Back to the future again? he thinks. His head swims in his discoveries. But wait - the dress and the ring? Yes, I'll check out that other item first - was it 'Jazz'? He dinks the index, and there it is.

  VV

  D: Jazz (Journey Actualising Zest and Zeal) (1):

  This is a Journey taken by Andrew Buchanan (how can this be??) that actualises his zest [agreeable excitement and keen enjoyment of the mind accompanying exercise - mental or physical] and his zeal [earnestness or fervour in advancing cause or rendering service, hearty persistent endeavour].

  Andrew Buchanan is on a mission………

  ==

  He notices a movement at the doorway, out of the corner of one eye, and, in a nervous reaction, dinks the screen before closing them both. Slowly, he opens them a small crack, enough to make out a figure silhouetted against the light, head framed by a golden halo. Wearing a mini-skirt, it wouldn't be Christiana or one of the nurses. He hadn't seen any of them in anything other than slacks, and the current fashion is to wear their hair up.

  Quietly the figure moves into the room and carefully closes the door, leaving it little more than an uneasy shadow from the night-light at his bed. As it moves silently towards the bed a pang of fear grips him. Can the Calabrone still be on the path of McTrue after all these years? He recalls the words Kent (who knew so much more than he on the subject) used '… don't underestimate them… dangerous, formidable… be on guard'. What had happened to the Calabrone? Chrisriana hadn't told him and he hadn't asked. Why hadn't he? Were they quiescent, lying low, ready like a coiled snake to strike?

  Had they tracked Charles Hendon? Had they got to Cameron, delayed my complete recovery, kept me pinned to the spot, helpless, so they can eliminate me when it suits them, make it look like an accident?

  He recalls reading somewhere about androgynous assassins. Stealthily the figure is getting closer. If he shouts the nurses won't hear him through the closed door and she / it will strike immediately. He is mentally leaping out of the bed to grapple with the insidious invader, but in reality is glued to the bed, as he has been for the last six, eternal, days. How utterly useless, powerless he is, so close to a new and wonderful world - and about to be snuffed out.

  She has something in her hand, he can't make out what it is. Oh God, is it a knife? The shadowy arm raises in his direction. He decides, finally and abruptly, his only defence is to shout as loudly as he can. Which he does. Except no sound emits. His vocal chords are frozen, as if they had decided to re-join the lower part of his body.

  The arm continues to move and in painfully-slow motion he experiences what must be the drawn-out sensations of a victim the instant before obliteration from earth. He is resigned to death, as prey is mesmerised by a lion,… the end of his 2050 adventure, when… the bedside lamp is switched on. The adrenaline of fear implodes, with draining relief, to a gutted vacuum. With a tumbling avalanche of excitement that replaces it he sees, as if the Gods are using him as a plaything, Christiana!

  BOLD WAR 2020

  Part V

  ENDGAME

  CHAPTER 31 Climax

  Christiana had walked differently. As his shaking mind re-orients from shock to relief to working order he reminds himself it is the first time he has seen her in high heels. Her dress is black and short with a revealing scooped neckline, a necklace of pearls that tugs at his memory.

  "Sorry, Andy, I thought you had gone to sleep over your homework."

  "That's alright,… I… I didn't recognise you in those clothes,' he says. "You look… beautiful."

  "Well, thank you for not recognising me because I look beautiful," she responds, pretending to pout before leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "I've just come from the opera; I couldn't wait till Monday. I have striking news from my investigations. But
you must promise not to tell Dr Dench."

  "Of course," he agrees eagerly, warm from the hint of… intrigue?… and the sight of her hitherto unrevealed cleavage. "Were you at the opera or were you investigating?"

  "Both. I detoured via the doctor's office and did a spot of hacking into his computer."

  He thrills at anticipated revelations, and again when she reaches to hold his hand, even though he can't feel it.

  "Are you ready for exciting news and stimulating action?"

  "Yes, yes. Get on with it."

  "OK. You already know how the primitive part of your body and brain system kept you alive during your coma, but has been the only active part since your resuscitation. You have been led to believe it is as if the primitive relishes the power and control it has, and doesn't want to relinquish it to your advanced brain which is normally in the ascendancy."

  "Go on. Go on!"

  "Well, that isn't the case. It appears Dr Dench could have brought you out of the coma years ago."

  She pauses for effect as Andrew becomes very agitated, before continuing with carefully measured words. "Apparently it suited his ends to hold you in limbo so he could secure and maintain lucrative research contracts. In the early days he convinced a research committee he had made an exciting discovery in being able to keep you alive and physically healthy for a long period - several years, unlike any previous coma. They were only too happy to provide large grants to undertake scientific studies of your condition, and he strung it out for many more years by arranging minor but significant progress from time to time.

  'When the research committee tired and were on the point of not renewing the grant he made a 'remarkable breakthrough' and brought you out of the coma - but not to the stage of full recovery. With the attendant publicity they were mightily impressed and he has just secured a further contract, a large one, for research into the final stage to full recovery. The submission says it may take up to six months."

  "Six bloody months!" Andrew explodes. "He's using me as a milch cow! As a guinea pig." Andrew is furious. "A guinea pig! The rotten swine. He used to be my best friend. Tell me… "

  "Let me finish." she interrupts. "I have found out how he will complete your resurrection and what is needed - when he gets around to doing it, that is, at a time that suits him. Apparently it should only require one or perhaps a series of jolts to your primitive domain - either by surprise, or shock, or sexual stimulation, or perhaps a combination of these. But he notes that a degree of caution will be necessary in this final stage."

  "A degree of damn caution?" exclaims Andrew. "Here's me stuck in a coma for thirty damn years and he talks about a degree of caution? I've got urgent things to do. And I'm not going to be tied to Dench's whim. Christiana, can you help me? Can you help me?"

  "Would you like to expedite the next step if it can be arranged?"

  "Of course I bloody-well would! Can you arrange it?"

  She looks at him silently for a few moments as if gathering her thoughts.

  "Andrew, you're slipping down the bed again. I don't know how you manage to do that when the only part of you that moves is your head. Let me help you up."

  As she kicks off her shoes and puts a bare knee on the bed he protests. "The nurses - it needs two people."

  "I've told them we need to do some serious talking and not to disturb us," is her retort as she swings the other knee over him.

  Taken aback at her action and closeness he is mute. With surprising quickness and ease she has her hands under his armpits, leans forward and eases his inert body to a more comfortable position. Her cheek is beside his and her perfume invades his mind.

  When she leaned forward his eyes had widened as they saw down the front of her dress. The close look disclosed she is not wearing a brassiere. He knows Randy will be rampant. Then he senses movement in the lower part of her body and knows, with surprise and shock and exhilaration, that she has no panties either and he, somehow, is inside her. (How had she managed to move the sheet out of the way?)

  Of all the unreal situations of the past week, this would cap them all. Unreality is multiplying on unreality. This beautiful girl, his ancient (but young-looking) (but inert) body. In this most improbable (heaven-on-a-stick) situation. But comparison, measurement, and any mere thinking process, shrivel and become sublimated under the charge of feelings and emotions.

  Straightening up she gazes intently into his eyes. "Surprised? I don't think we can… or should… rely on the staff or the doctor at this stage. This is my contribution to your recovery. You have helped society in one experiment; I am helping you in another," as her pelvis starts to move slowly and rhythmically.

  Andrew is not able to move his body in response, only to accept her offering. He is helpless to resist - and doesn't want to.

  "Your 'forty-year-old-body looks impressive and feels even better," she whispers. "Firm in every way." She leans forward again and kisses him fully and deeply. At the same time she massages his neck and shoulders.

  Inevitably, in a few short ecstatic moments, the pent-up feelings and frustration and suppressed urges of thirty years well within him, and primitively, automatically his body responds. He knows, with only the slightest of physical sensation in his nether region, that he has ejaculated.

  She holds him closely, saying nothing. In her warm embrace he feels tingling sensations in arms and shoulders. Slowly, tentatively, he finds he is able to move his arms. Gratefully, and with physical and emotional feeling, he hugs her in return.

  "It's working," she whispers in his ear, before raising her head to look at him. "What about your legs?"

  "Nothing," he says, trying to move them, disappointed.

  "Only partially successful," she says thoughtfully. "And I can feel Randy's still rather rigid." They both laugh.

  "Hard luck."

  "For you or me?"

  "Both of us?" and they laugh again.

  "Well… the doctor's notes say the recovery process by sexual means may be sudden and / or erratic. Completion will be indicated when the sexual member subsides. We have a way to go yet. In the interests of science… "

  She crosses her arms and grasps the shoulders of her dress. Slowly she starts to draw it upwards. He sees her beautiful body revealed inch by inch, as if in slow motion. Her hips and navel - fascinating. Her breasts - perfectly formed. Her tanned shoulders. Tanned all over her body, right down to… another Twilight Triangle, this one ever so erotic. The compleat woman, 2050 model, performing for him. (Still one up on me, he thinks, but - who cares, wow!, it's fantastic.)

  She gently starts thrusting again, but this time his sexual response is delayed. Something niggles in his mind. The pearls. They are familiar.

  She takes his hands and firmly puts them on her breasts. He fondles with extreme pleasure - as one who has been deprived for a generation - the beautiful body, the new-found dexterity of his hands, and stored-up memories of long ago.

  Then he remembers. The pearls. Sylvia! He had given her a string just like that. The large central pearl had a small imperfection on one side. Releasing a hand he rotates the pearl. There on the other side - and the revelation sends a jolt from his brain to his spine - is the imperfection!

  He closes his eyes and an image of Sylvia fills his mind, in an almost identical situation years ago, as if repeated, replayed, relayed from a digital storage bank. She even reminds me of Sylvia at times, he thinks. And that edge in her voice? He raises his eyes to hers. She looks steadily at him without offering any response except to continue her movements.

  And then the shocking possibility floods his mind. She is about the right age. Could it be? She leans forward again and starts thrusting more purposefully. He senses she knows what he is going to ask her.

  "Christiana. Before you were married,… what was your maiden name?"

  The response is continued thrusting. He feels a rising sense of anticipation as her cheek presses against his. She gently kisses his ear and whispers "Buchanan."

&nb
sp; Shock reverberates through his body and he feels himself, at the cusp of the Triangle, erupt inside her, stronger than before. Physical and emotional discharge at high-voltage. Then, as he holds her marvellous body tightly to him he feels the tingling sensation extend to his legs. Lying in ecstasy on a plateau of excitement he eagerly stretches his awakening legs, wiggles his aching toes. Journeying from his personal Twilight Age to his Naissance.

  "Christiana, that was more wonderful than I can express." He pauses, searching for the right words. "But I feel guilty, thinking of Sylvia while we're doing this. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed that so much, but… well we are related aren't we?"

  "Maybe we are, but in this present age you have done nothing wrong. We are doing this in a good cause - your return to full health. I enjoyed the experience too. I have seen how you are devoted to the memory of Sylvia and were devastated by the situation between you and her and Kent. You are sincere and have been of service to people of this present age, and I know you will want to be of service in the future. But not in your debilitated state. You must be released to do the things that are waiting to be done. Cometh the time…? Cometh you?"

  Warm and warming sentiments, he thinks, but she doesn't appear too emotionally evolved. Hasn't even raised a sweat.

  "I've got feeling back in the lower part of my body - and my legs, but… "

  "And I've got a feeling I know what you're going to say," she says, laughing. "Randy is still restive? My, what strength your primitive has. Well Randy will have to wait. It's late and we're both tired. We'll think about our next move tomorrow." She starts to raise her body from his.

  But her movement is checked. He hears a voice from afar, 'Do whatever you need to do.' With his new-found strength he holds her. There is something about her, slightly aloof, a touch superior, not fully involved, and his feelings towards her are further aroused.