by Rod Rees
But had she really been a victim?
Shelley might have been trying to subvert her, to lead her down the path of total unrighteousness, to introduce her to the most dissolute of philosophies but she had been a very willing victim. And in retrospect, her time in the Demi-Monde had remade her into something beyond her imagining. She had grown up in the Demi-Monde.
Shelley brought her out of her reverie. ‘And again, in my defence, Norma, once I came to understand Cwowley’s duplicity I warned Mata Hawi you were in danger. I would have come to your wescue myself but I was held by that devil Cwowley. I only escaped by the skin of my teeth and by then it was too late to save you. But Cwowley knew that I had twied to pwotect you, which is why I have been a fugitive for these long months. He is a vengeful man.’
This was new to Norma. She hadn’t realised that Percy had tried to come to her aid, and it was a comforting feeling to know the man she loved had been willing to risk everything to save her.
Shelley nodded across to Burlesque, who sat chatting to Odette in the far corner of the room. ‘You have forgiven Burlesque Bandstand for his perfidy, is it too much to ask you to forgive mine?’
She leant forward and kissed Shelley. ‘I forgive you, Percy. Without your betrayal I would have returned to the Real World and if I’d done that I would never have found the strength inside myself to create the Normalist movement.’
‘You are very kind, Norma, and I will never give you any weason to wepent your forgiveness. And as for Normalism, for that I applaud you. You have become a beacon in the darkness that has beset our world. By teaching us that we should love all HumanKind you have given us hope that we will come through these evil times.’
‘You know, Percy, that you had a lot to do with the creation of Normalism. I took my inspiration from your remark that if all the effort that had been expended on the construction of engines of agony and death, on the raising of armies, and on the promotion of vile propagandas was employed to improve the welfare and education of HumanKind, the world would be a much happier place.’
‘I am pleased I have been of some little service in this gweat endeavour of yours, Norma. You are wise not to advocate violence, Norma. Histowy has taught us that wevolutionary mobs do not in the end bwing liberty, but civil war followed by some new form of tywanny. It has taken all of my biliously futile life to come to this understanding.’
‘Your life has hardly been futile, Percy. You were … you are a great poet.’
‘And what is a poet? Just a lonely nightingale who sits in the darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude. No, Norma, mine has been a wasted talent and it is only now that I wake to perceive my many ewwors and to wegret that this knowledge has come to me only when death is so near.’
‘Death?’
‘Only you will escape from the JAD, Norma. For me, oblivion beckons. Moynahan tells me that since the Zealots’ attack on the hotel, the NoirVillian army has begun massing to invade the JAD. Blinded by hatwed, they intend to destwoy the JAD and evewyone inside it.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, Percy,’ Norma scolded. ‘Burlesque and Odette are experts at getting out of tight corners. Just stay close to them and they’ll keep you safe.’ She smiled, desperately trying to hide the concerns she had. The thought of Percy being killed really wrenched at her heartstrings. ‘You’ve got to stay safe, Percy. When I’m gone, the Normalists will need your genius to guide them. This is your time, Percy.’
But not, Norma realised, our time. She had found Shelley again, found the man she loved, and he had admitted to loving her, but now they would be separated for ever. Unlike Maria and Burlesque and Odette, there was no Real World twin of Percy Shelley. He was just a mirage … a beautiful, intoxicating mirage.
*
Moynahan was confused. He should, he guessed, be happy that he was returning to the Real World, but he wasn’t. Unlike all the other guys in the platoon, he had actually enjoyed his time in the Demi-Monde. He liked the hustle and bustle of the place and he liked that it was so low-tech.
And then there was Maria.
Never having been much of a romantic, the feelings that Maria had kindled in him had come as something of a shock. He had never met a girl like her and his feelings weren’t just a consequence of her being tall and beautiful and moving like Jell-O on springs … no, he liked that she was smart and tough and had an opinion of her own. When he was with her he felt complete.
He had fallen for the girl and the devil of it was she knew how he felt about her, his aura would have seen to that. She probably knew how broken up he was about leaving her too. Auralism was the ultimate form of surveillance and like all surveillance it was always one-way.
‘May I join thee, Dean?’
Moynahan looked up to find Maria standing beside him. He felt his heart skip; she was that beautiful.
‘Yeah, sure. Would you like some coffee?’ And without waiting for a reply he poured her a cup. Anything to stop himself drowning in those wonderful eyes.
‘You are most considerate,’ Maria said as she took the seat next to his, then shuffled closer to him.
‘Good Dean, give me thine ear. I beseech you hear me, though what I must relate gives me scarce any joy. Know thou that the captain’s aura when he did address the assembly was much discolourèd by cruel and murderous intentions. To fulfil some secret purpose he doth intend to murder Norma.’
Moynahan gawped and then squawked out, ‘What?’
Maria pressed a finger to his lips and gave him a stern look. ‘Soft. Guard thy tongue or we may all be undone: who knows what base accomplices the dark captain may have in his employ?’ She looked around to check they weren’t being overheard. ‘I prithee, mark my counsel. The captain’s aura is beset by foul afflictions, and hence his evil purpose is all betrayèd. When he speaks of taking sweet Norma back to the Real World his breath is tingèd with hues that announce full well his most evil intent.’
‘But why would Simmons want to kill her?’
‘I know not. But I know, full right and true, that Simmons is a villain who wishes Norma naught but ill. I fear he means to take the life of this, the rarest of all women, who is our most belovèd Messiah. We must move quickly to thwart his wicked designs.’
*
‘Who’s the Dupe Moynahan’s getting so snug with, Corp?’ asked Holder as he watched Moynahan pour coffee for the tall and very beautiful girl who had come to the Portal with Norma Williams.
Massie looked across the room and gave a shrug. ‘Her name’s Sister Maria. She’s the Dupe who helped Moynahan track down Norma Williams and bring her back to the Portal. Nice-looking piece, ain’t she, Holder? Kinda makes you wonder what it’d be like to mix and mingle with a Dupe.’
Holder was aghast that his corporal could suggest such a thing. ‘That would be unnatural, Corporal, and things unnatural are hateful to God. The seventh nuCommandment says: you shall shun sexual gratification and pleasures of the flesh, for this is the Sin of Lust driven by the Daemon Asmodeus.’
Massie gave Holder a funny look, just like he always did when Holder tried to lead him back to the Path of Righteousness. The corporal wasn’t a religious man, but Holder hoped to be able to save his soul and bring him safe to Jesus.
‘Well, unnatural or not, she’s sure sweet-looking.’ Massie took a slurp of his coffee. ‘Yeah, that honey can jump my bones any time she wants. But she’ll know that already: word is she’s a Visual Virgin … she can see our auras.’
‘You should not let a sorceress live,’ whispered Holder.
‘What’s that, Holder?’
‘Nothing, Corporal, I was just wondering why a Dupe would want to help Norma Williams.’
‘According to Moynahan, that Maria item thinks that Norma Williams is some kind of Messiah.’
‘A Messiah?’ Holder squeaked. This was blasphemy and, as he always did when he felt Satan close by, he began to finger the crucifix that hung from a chain around his neck.
‘Yeah. Norma Williams started some kinda
political movement while she’s been in the Demi-Monde and the Dupes have gotten the idea that she’s gonna be the one to save them from the evil of UnFunDaMentalism.’ Massie gave a laugh. ‘I guess she takes after her daddy, the President, having a taste for politics and all.’
‘Her father is a no-good atheist who is intent on leading the people of America to apostasy. He wishes to remake America as a godless society. Sam Williams is in league with the devil.’
‘No kidding? I never got the taste for voting but from what I hear Sam Williams is a stand-up kinda guy.’ He laughed. ‘Maybe his daughter is the Messiah. With an ass like hers there’s a lot of guys who’d follow her just about anywhere.’
Holder felt his face go red and hot as it always did when he was angry. ‘That is sacrilegious,’ he complained, his voice louder than he’d intended. ‘There is only one Messiah and that is Jesus Christ!’
‘Hey, Holder, you wanna calm down. No point in getting bent outta shape about it. Shit, who gives a fuck what the Dupes think anyways? We’re gonna be back in the Real World soon.’
Holder kept his peace. Ever since Norma Williams had arrived at the Portal the voices in his head had become ever more insistent, telling him to be wary of this girl, this spawn of Satan, telling him that she must not be allowed to return to the Real World. The ghost of the Last Prophet, Frank Kenton, was telling him that he was the Sword of God and that it would be he who brought God’s wrath down on those who would defile His name.
*
Just five hours after she’d first stepped into the Portal, Norma found herself being ushered into the Transfer Room en route for home. A poignant moment: she desperately wanted to go home but at the same time she didn’t want to leave her friends.
Burlesque must have felt her dilemma. ‘You don’t wanna worry abart us, Miss Norma,’ he said as he kissed her on the cheek. ‘Me an’ Odette will be right as ninepence. You just go back to where yous belong.’
‘Oui, my dear Norma,’ said Odette as she crushed Norma in a bear hug, ‘although we will miss you of the utmost terribleness, it is mostly correct that you should go ’ome to your own people.’
After shaking hands with Maria and giving Shelley an awkward kiss, Norma took a deep breath and stepped through the door of the Transfer Room, the all-enveloping burqa she was wearing swishing around her legs as she went. The room had a futuristic aspect, swathed as it was in cold stainless steel and festooned with cables. There were two large leather chairs – similar to the ones Norma had occupied during her visits to the dentist – set in the centre, Captain Simmons indicating that she should take the one to the right. Norma gave a final wave to her friends and then the captain shut the heavy steel door, sealing them off from the Demi-Monde.
‘The Transfer Procedure is quite straightforward, Miss Williams,’ the captain explained. ‘If you would just place this over your head?’ He handed Norma a dome-shaped mesh of wires and electrodes, these connected to a small black box set on a table. Once she had the cowl in place and she was settled into her chair, the captain eased himself into the one facing hers.
‘All I have to do is press this button’ – here he indicated a large red button set in the arm of his chair – ‘and then the Transfer Procedure will be initiated.’
Norma nodded her understanding, but she was a little surprised that rather than pressing the button, the captain undid the holster he had on his hip and drew out the Colt automatic inside. He raised the gun and shot her square in the chest.
1:21
INDOCTRANS Headquarters, Fort Jackson
The Real World: 7 February 2019
1.11. Hearing Adam, ABBA dug that he was a cat riffing on the real and needed a mate. So ABBA spat down onto the head of a Serpent and created woeMan, who was to be the opposite of Man and hence make the Demi-Monde the Coolest place in the Whole Known. 1.12. And the woeMan introduced herself saying, ‘Yo, I moniker as Lilith and I gotta say that you, Adam honey, look hung, slung and ready for fun.’ And Adam thought that Lilith was one real gone hepkitten and hotter than a furiously fucked ferret frolicking in a fiery furnace. 1.13. But it’s a fact that woeMan weren’t, like, one of ABBA’s better ideas. Whereas Adam was noble and honourable, though not overendowed with the smarts, Lilith was none of these things. She was, like, sneaky and underhand and used her sexual allures to confuse and beguile Adam, all the while giving him mucho de verbals about what a shitheap the Demi-Monde was, with there being nowhere to get her hair done and no decent dress shops and such like, and how they weren’t allowed to eat the fruit of Yggdrasil.
The HIM Book, Book of the Coming: Chapter 1, Verses 11–13
‘Professor Bole,’ crooned ABBA, ‘you have an eyeVid message from Captain Simmons.’
Instinctively Bole looked around his office, checking that he was alone. A ridiculous thing to do: his office was one of the most surveillance-secure places on earth, and anyway, he had given ABBA clear instructions that all communications with the JAD Portal were to be routed through him and only through him. And ABBA-encrypted communications were impossible to hack.
But perhaps he was right to be cautious. No one knew that he was in contact with the Portal – as far as the US military was concerned, communication had been lost when the neoFights had been supposedly taken by Shaka – so it was important that General Zieliéski continued believing that piece of fiction. Bole had only told them that the JAD Portal was still working to give them hope of extricating the lost neoFights, otherwise they would simply have closed the Demi-Monde down.
‘Show it,’ Bole ordered.
The Flexi-Plexi on the far wall of his office flared into life to show the unpleasant face of Captain Simmons. The captain looked worried, but then the captain always looked worried.
‘Professor Bole? This is Captain Simmons at the JAD Portal.’ The man seemed breathless with excitement. ‘I have some good news, Professor. Norma Williams is dead.’
With some difficulty, Bole stifled a smile. After all the effort he had put into finding and neutralising Norma Williams, she had presented herself at the Portal as a goose ready for slaughter. ‘You are confident she is dead, Captain?’
‘Yes, Professor, I shot her in the chest. There can be no mistake. She’s slumped on the floor of the Transfer Room in front of me.’
‘Excellent,’ murmured Bole, and it was excellent.
Corrupting Simmons had been a masterstroke. Thanks to Simmons he had been able to delude the US military into believing that the platoon had been captured by Shaka’s Blood Brothers and that communication with the Portal had been lost. And, of course, Simmons’ help had been vital in convincing the neoFights held in the JAD Portal that nothing was amiss, and that their mission was to continue to search for Norma Williams and to return her to the Real World. Simmons had been masterful in pretending to send their eyeMails back to the Real World and distributing the fake replies ABBA concocted.
At a promised cost of ten million dollars, Simmons had made a cheap quisling.
‘I need to return to the Real World, Professor. Once the rest of the other guys find out what I’ve done …’
Now this was an unexpected development, one that presented Bole with something of a dilemma. He had never intended for any of the neoFights trapped in the Demi-Monde to be returned to the Real World, but then, he supposed, there was returning and there was returning.
‘Very well, Captain. But you will need to have a background story relating to your sudden reappearance in the Real World. Let us say that nine months ago you encountered a malfunction with the Transfer Room which has taken the intervening period to repair. Not having had an opportunity to test these repairs and not wishing to risk the lives of any of your men, you volunteered to make the first transfer yourself. The Portal was destroyed in the process, permanently marooning the rest of your platoon in the Demi-Monde.’ Bole gave Simmons his best imitation of a smile. ‘I am initiating transfer now.’
*
Elated though he was by the news of Norma
Williams’ demise, Septimus Bole did his best to maintain his usual icy and self-possessed demeanour. The displaying of emotion was a very Fragile weakness so he stood silent and aloof alongside Dr David Andrews in the biPsych Storage Facility, concentrating his formidable intellect on the study of the dials that monitored the TIS-swathed bodies held there. The silence obviously unsettled Dr Andrews. He glanced nervously towards Bole.
‘ABBA has notified us that one of our biPsychs is attempting to return from the Demi-Monde, Professor, so I thought you’d want to be present for his revival.’
‘You thought correctly, Dr Andrews.’ A redundant observation, admittedly, but enough to satisfy Fragile social protocol.
Encouraged by Bole’s unusually lengthy reply, the doctor amplified his observation. ‘The biPsych in question is the one to the very right of the back row, the one belonging to Captain Charlie Simmons, the officer commanding the JAD platoon. He must have escaped from Shaka.’
The capacity of Fragiles for self-delusion never failed to amaze Bole, they were such a gullible specie. ‘Indeed,’ he answered in an attempt to imitate interest, when all he was really interested in was checking the readings relating to Simmons’ vital signs. By his estimation, these should be going flat about … now.
On cue a klaxon sounded and a somewhat panic-stricken Dr Andrews turned to the cameraBot hovering at his shoulder. ‘Simmons is flatlining. Emergency Revival Team to biPsych Storage Facility immediately. We have a near-death situation.’
That assessment, Bole mused, depended upon how liberal you were in your interpretation of what constituted death. Charlie Simmons’ brain would, by now, have been reduced to porridge, so classifying the man as near-dead was enormously generous. By his recalibration of the transfer coordinates, he had ensured that Simmons had arrived back in the Real World with a randomly rewired brain. By reducing the man to the status of a living cadaver, Bole had just saved ParaDigm ten million dollars, as brain-dead – or in Captain Simmons’ case, brain-deader – he would not be in a position to claim his fee for services rendered.