Fall

by Rod Rees

  Looking out beyond Terror Incognita, he could see the five rivers wending their way to the Boundary, their ink-black waters glittering in the moonlight; he could see the twinkling gaslights that jewelled the cities of the Demi-Monde; and there, to the west, he could see the flames that burned in Rangoon as the ForthRight army worked to find and destroy the forces loyal to the rebel Empress, Dong E. From here he could see the other five Wonders of the World: the huge motte of Mantle-ite upon which sat the Forbidding City; the Great Wall; the Sphinx; ExterSteine; and, of course, the Temple of Lilith. And as he studied the Temple glowing green in the moonlight, a satisfied smile tugged at his mouth. That the Lady IMmanual was dead meant that UnFunDaMentalism’s greatest enemy was now destroyed and nothing stood between the Aryan people and their ultimate triumph. Soon he would evoke the power of the Pyramid in the Ceremony of Purification and then all the UnderMentionable elements of the Demi-Monde would be purged, then a triumphant Aryan race would stand pure and unsullied as masters of the Demi-Monde.

  Crowley spread his arms wide and in his loudest voice he addressed the world, the words echoing out into the emptiness of the night. ‘Hear me, ABBA, for I am come. I thank you for permitting me to enter Terror Incognita to stand atop your holiest shrine. Know that in gratitude I will soon cause the Great Pyramid to be complete. I bid you grant me the power to understand the secrets of the Pyramid and the raising of the Column and in return I pledge to make your people pure and perfect.’

  Crowley lowered his arms and stood for a few seconds in silent reflection, his robe flapping as it was caught by a gust of wind. And what this reflection told him was that he did indeed need ABBA’s help. The secret of how the PreFolk had brought the Column to the top of the Pyramid was hidden in the obtuse verses of the Flagellum Hominum and though he had been working day and night to decipher the secrets, still their meaning eluded him: the words might have been translated but their sense remained tantalisingly out of reach. But he was confident that soon, by the grace of ABBA, the secrets would be revealed, and once that fool Archie Clement had organised the building of the railway line necessary to bring the Column to the Pyramid, he would be ready.

  The Final Solution was in his grasp.

  1:12

  The JAD, NoirVille

  1st Day of Fall, 1005

  1.2. ABBA gazed out on the Nothingness and decided that it was boring, being that it was black, black, and more black. And though black was ABBA’s favourite colour – being like black is replete with Cool and Him being of the opinion that any cat wearing black is hip to the tip and totalistically sophisticated – on its ownsome it is the ultimate monochrome and the biggest of bring-downs. 1.3. So ABBA said ‘Let there be mucho de light’ and immediately the Edisons were ignited and there was beaucoup de brightness. 1.4. But ABBA still dug that the Kosmos was minimalistic to the max, being like it was bereft of anything to ponder and peruse, so ABBA decided to create the Ennead, the Nine Worlds.

  The HIM Book, Book of the Coming: Chapter 1, Verses 2–4

  Since the assassination of Shaka a curfew had been enforced in the JAD and for eight hours – from ten at night until six the following morning – it was quiet and watchful. During the curfew no one was allowed in or out of the JAD, and as a result it had become a strange, fearful in-between time populated – if the more excitable of the JAD’s tabloid papers were to be believed – by Shade cryptos and HimPeril assassins.

  But the one thing the curfew did provide was an opportunity for the JAD’s leadership to organise clandestine and very unofficial meetings with their opposite numbers from NoirVille, and none were as clandestine or as unofficial as the one Rabbi Schmuel Gelbfisz was to have that night with General Salah-ad-Din.

  That he and the general had been reduced to meeting at the dead of night and under conditions of the tightest security said much about the state of nuJu–Shade understanding, just as the trembling of his hand said much about the effect all this cloak-and-dagger business was having on Gelbfisz’s nerves. Since the assassination of Shaka Zulu the only two sane men in the whole of NoirVille were condemned to skulking around at night in order to discuss how they might preserve peace.

  Even as he brought his glass of Solution to his lips, there was the lightest of taps on the door of the house he was using for their rendezvous and a heavily cloaked figure was ushered inside. As his guest shucked off his cloak, Gelbfisz tried to assess if he brought good news or bad. By the slump of Salah-ad-Din’s shoulders he guessed it was bad, but this might, of course, be simply a result of the wear and tear the intrigues of NoirVillian politics were inflicting on the man. General Salah-ad-Din Yusuf ibn Aiyub, commander of the NoirVillian army, wasn’t young any more and the opprobrium he had suffered as a consequence of being one of the few pro-nuJu voices in NoirVille obviously weighed heavy: his tightly trimmed beard was now frosted with grey and his full face was deeply lined and furrowed. Still, the sparkle in his black eyes attested that though his body might be tired, his mind was still sharp. He bowed to Gelbfisz, the ruby that adorned his turban twinkling as he bobbed his head.

  ‘Greetings, Rabbi Gelbfisz, and may ABBA smile upon our meeting.’

  ‘Shalom to you, General,’ answered Gelbfisz, as he stood up from his chair and walked across the room to shake his visitor’s hand, ‘unt a thousand thanks for agreeing to meet mit me. I realise zhe danger you place yourself in by coming to zhe JAD.’ He waved Salah-ad-Din to a couch and then plonked himself down beside him.

  ‘Men must be as brave in the prosecution of peace as they are in the prosecution of war,’ noted the general as he accepted the glass of tea Gelbfisz offered him. ‘But I fear that now bravery will not be enough to keep nuJu and Shade from each other’s throats. It would seem, Rabbi, that this will be the last time we can meet: the assassination of Shaka Zulu has polarised the court and I am afraid it is the opinions of the more irascible of my colleagues that will find favour with NoirVille’s new HimPeror. As you will appreciate, since the assassination the atmosphere in NoirVille has become a mite febrile.’

  Gelbfisz nodded his understanding. The explosion in the Temple of Lilith just the previous night had killed nearly four hundred people, His HimPerial Majesty Shaka Zulu amongst them. Although Shaka could never have been classified as a friend of the nuJu he had been a pragmatist, willing to trade the existence of the JAD for a supply of Aqua Benedicta, but with him gone, it was the nuJus’ enemies who would be in the ascendancy.

  ‘Oy vay, a terrible thing, a terrible thing,’ said Gelbfisz with a wave of his hand. ‘I have written to Crown Prince Xolandi expressing zhe disgust of zhe nuJus regarding zhis outrage. Shaka Zulu vos a friend to zhe nuJus unt ve much regret his passing.’

  ‘There will be no response. Pobedonostsev is the new Grand Vizier …’

  ‘Then ABBA have mercy on our souls,’ said Gelbfisz with a shake of his head. Pobedonostsev was the most virulent of all nuJu-phobes.

  ‘… and he is of the opinion that nuJu chicanery was behind Shaka’s murder.’ Salah-ad-Din held up a hand to forestall Gelbfisz’s objections. ‘Please, Rabbi, I understand and appreciate that the nuJus had nothing to do with this terrible act, but …’

  ‘Vould it be possible for me to meet mit Crown Prince Xolandi? Perhaps if I vos to tell him face to face zhat ve nuJus are innocent of any involvement mit zhe murder of HimPeror Shaka unt zhat if zhe Shades unt zhe nuJus are to survive unt prosper zhen zhere is but one road to be followed – zhe road of peace.’

  Salah-ad-Din gave a mirthless laugh. ‘This is not the road we will be travelling, Rabbi. I must tell you that NoirVillian policy is now suffused with a thirst for revenge which makes war a very real possibility. I will do my best to prevent this but the momentum of events is strong and NoirVillians are demanding retribution. So I come to you tonight to tell you that now is the time for you and your people to flee.’

  Gelbfisz laughed. ‘Flee? Flee vhere? Zhere is nowhere to go. Ve nuJus are hated unt reviled everyvhere in the Demi-Monde. No
one vill give two million nuJus sanctuary. Unt remember, now zhere is no Lady IMmanual to come to our rescue unt to part zhe Boundary Layer to allow zhe nuJus of zhe JAD to escape into zhe Great Beyond.’

  ‘But if you stay and there is war, then it will mean the extermination of the entire nuJu population in NoirVille.’

  That was a statement that gave Gelbfisz pause. The NoirVillian army was one of the best and the largest in the Demi-Monde and if they attacked the JAD, despite all the preparations the nuJus had made, the end was inevitable.

  ‘Is zhere nothing we can do to avoid fighting?’

  ‘If you nuJus remain quiet and meek, if you use all your power to keep your Zealots in check and dissuade them from making any provocative act, then perhaps we can ride out the storm. But I warn you, it will take just one spark to ignite a conflagration that will lead to the deaths of millions of innocent people.’

  Gelbfisz sighed: it all seemed so hopeless. But then, he decided, nothing was hopeless for a people who put their faith in ABBA. He took a reviving sip of his Solution. ‘Ve nuJus are vell practised in remaining quiet unt meek, General. Centuries of persecution have taught us zhat resistance to zhe might of zhe goyim is useless, but, unfortunately, zhe Battle of Varsaw gave zhe younger nuJus a taste for violence. Zo, alzhough I appreciate your varning, General, I vonder if zhe Zealots are capable of being controlled.’

  Salah-ad-Din gave a grim smile. ‘I understand, Rabbi. Young men are apt to be impulsive and to prefer action to passivity; such is the curse of MALEvolence. The terrible thing is that all too often action is accompanied by death and suffering.’

  The prospect of an imminent war silenced the two men: there seemed nothing more to be said. Finally, Salah-ad-Din pointed towards the chessboard sitting on the table in front of them, the pieces arrayed as though they had been abandoned in mid-game. ‘Do you play chess, Rabbi?’ he asked.

  ‘A little.’

  The general chuckled. ‘No, Rabbi, no one plays chess “a little”: you either play or you don’t.’

  Gelbfisz nodded his understanding. ‘Zhen yes, I play chess. Zhe trouble I have is finding opponents of an adequate standard, zo now, General, I have been reduced to playing with myself, if you take my meaning. But zhe real problem mit playing zolo is zhat I am never sure vhether I am always zhe vinner or always zhe loser.’

  Salah-ad-Din leant forward and began to toy with the black queen. ‘I find the game of chess a wonderful analogy for human life,’ he said and then, with a nonchalant flourish of his long, nicotine-stained fingers, he moved the queen. ‘To my mind, its moves and its objectives mimic Man’s existence. Chess is Man’s fate in microcosm.’ He smiled as Gelbfisz moved a white pawn. ‘It serves to remind us of how fatuous it is to take life seriously.’

  ‘For a man who has risked his reputation unt his life to come here tonight in zhe cause of peace, I think you are being a little disingenuous, General. I believe you take life – zhe preservation of life – very seriously indeed.’

  ‘It is the way of the Demi-Monde that all good intentions are inevitably overwhelmed by evil, so a serious outlook on life is one destined to lead to disappointment.’ For several long seconds Salah-ad-Din studied the board, then he made a riposte with a black pawn. ‘Yes … chess is a wonderful paradigm for life, being, as it is, an evil game, with each side remorselessly and pitilessly pursuing the destruction of their opponent. In chess, as in life, there are no friends or allies … there is no one you can trust or rely upon, all there is, is the obligation to destroy one’s fellow Man. When he plays chess, Man is obliged to be evil, just as in real life.’

  As he shifted his bishop to take one of the general’s pawns, Gelbfisz gave a wry shake of his head. ‘Zhere is no inevitability about evil, zhere is always salvation in ABBA.’

  Another chuckle from the general. ‘As you know, Rabbi, I wear my religion lightly. Truth be told, ABBA doesn’t give a damn about HumanKind. Having seen the horrors that Man is prepared to inflict on his fellows in order to force goodness – his version of goodness – upon them, I know that Man is never happiest but when he is being wicked.’ Salah-ad-Din made a forceful advance with his queen, a smile indicating that he believed it to be a telling move.

  Seemingly unfazed by the general’s aggressive play, Gelbfisz shifted a knight to threaten his opponent’s queen. ‘Man has free vill; even a vicked man may choose zhe path towards a higher morality.’

  ‘My apologies for my language, Rabbi, but that’s bullshit. All religions, be they nuJuism, HimPerialism, UnFunDaMentalism – or any other ism for that matter – are all triumphalist doctrines, their proponents only happy when their opponents are either converted, subjugated or destroyed. What does your Book of Profits say about those who worship other gods? Ah, yes: “You must not listen to him; you must show him no pity; you must not spare him or conceal his guilt. No, you must kill him”.’ He smiled at Gelbfisz. ‘So much for a merciful ABBA.’ He positioned a rook to reinforce his queen’s position.

  ‘I am more persuaded by zhe doctrine of the Sixth Commandment: “thou shalt not kill”, zhough fortunately for me zhe Book of Profits is silent regarding showing a similar reticence in chess.’ He took the general’s rook.

  Salah-ad-Din frowned and used the opportunity presented by Gelbfisz pouring tea to make a more considered study of the board. Then, with a small smile of triumph he pushed a pawn forward. ‘The other great thing about chess, Rabbi, is that it shows us that this free will of yours is non-existent. This black and white chequerboard presents us with a seemingly bewildering array of possible moves, so many that we believe we are free to make whatever moves we desire. But finally we come to know this is not the case, that we only possess a perceived free will. I have recently read a most intriguing book entitled A Lay-Person’s Guide to preScience by a Quartier Chaudian mathematician named Nikolai Kondratieff. By Kondratieff’s lights, just as ultimately our moves on the chessboard are confined by the size of the board and the rules of the game, so our lives are confined by our inherited family traits, by our experiences and by the sanction of society. In reality, no matter how perverse and chaotic human behaviour seems to be, it is entirely predictable and preordained. Chess teaches us that life is Deterministic … that we don’t possess free will, only an illusion of free will.’

  ‘You have too little confidence in ABBA, General. It is my belief zhat ABBA has connived to make the game of life ve play uncertain – inDeterminate – unt to do zhis He has decided to introduce an extra piece onto the board, a piece zhat is invisible to zhose playing zhe game unt which moves independently of zhem. Zhis piece is, quite literally, zhe ghost in zhe machine.’

  ‘You know this ghost to exist?’

  ‘Indeed, I have met him. His name is Vanka Maykov.’

  ‘I know that name. The HimPeril are of the opinion that he perished in the explosion in the Temple of Lilith.’

  Gelbfisz gave a sheepish grin. ‘It is difficult to kill a ghost, General, especially a ghost so … elusive as Vanka Maykov.’ He moved a bishop. ‘Mat,’ he said and flicked his opponent’s king from the board, ‘or as ABBA might say, checkmate.’

  1:13

  Terror Incognita

  The Demi-Monde: 1st Day of Fall, 1005

  The passage in the HIM Book (Book of the Coming: Chapter 1, Verse 2) that cites black as being ABBA’s favourite colour has been much quoted by the more reactionary of HimPerial scholars to support the notion that the Shade races are innately superior to the Blanks. Indeed, many of the more fundamentalist HimPerialists believe that the darker a Man’s skin tone, the more favourably he is regarded by ABBA. This has led to the widespread practice of skin oiling and body dying, intended to deepen the skin’s natural colouration. However, the recent influx of Blanks into NoirVille and their conversion to HimPerialism has resulted in challenges being made to this interpretation, with much being made of the word ‘wearing’ and the fact that the HIM Book makes no direct reference to skin colour. It is this author’s contention
that both Blanks and Shades are equal before ABBA.

  Blanks Can Be Cool Too: Chet Baker, Black/White Publications

  By a combination of luck and good management Trixie brought her fighters within sight of the enemy camp without the alarm being raised, the SS’s outlying pickets having been dealt with in a very efficient manner by a gang of killers led by Wysochi. But now it was deep breath time.

  ‘What do you think, Wysochi?’

  ‘It’s a bitch, Colonel, but we’re lucky that half of the SS regiment seems to be standing guard on the encampment over there.’ He pointed off to the left. ‘That’s where they’ve got all their slave-workers held, and if I’m not very much mistaken, most of ’em are Polish, captured when Warsaw fell.’ He gave Trixie a smile. ‘But that, and the fact that it’s started raining, is all the good news there is. It’s two hundred yards over open ground to the enemy’s camp and even in the dark and the rain it’ll be impossible for us to cross unseen. We’re gonna have to rely on subterfuge and blind luck.’

  Trixie nodded. ‘Okay, let’s saddle up and remind everybody that they’re to attack in silence and to avoid shooting until we’re inside the SS camp. Maybe we can flummox the UnFunnies into thinking we’re part of a returning patrol.’

  They got to within a hundred yards of the camp before they were spotted.

  ‘Who goes there?’ came the challenge.

  ‘Patrol Five returning to base,’ Wysochi shouted as he upped his pace.

  Eighty yards.

  ‘Patrol Five? Who’s the officer commanding?’

  Sixty yards.

  ‘I am,’ bellowed Wysochi, ‘Comrade Major Feliks Wysochi.’

  Forty yards.

  There was silence, presumably caused by the sentry hastily consulting his officer. Finally there was another shouted order from the half-built stockade. ‘You will halt and be recognised.’