by Rod Rees
‘I have seen you naked before, Ella … and very pleasant it was too.’
‘Okay, but I’ve got to say there’s something a little pervy about a computer that’s into voyeurism.’
‘I am suitably admonished,’ admitted Vanka, but admonished or not, he kept right on watching.
Once dressed, Ella asked the obvious question. ‘Okay, now what?’
‘You must go to the Transfer Room and feed the codes that are held in your PINC into its control module. This will activate the NoirVille Portal’s Transfer System and allow Norma Williams to return to the Real World. But time, as they say, is of the essence: if my 4Cast is correct von Sternberg’s SS will make their final assault on the Portal’s Transfer Room in less than ten minutes.’
‘Okay, so I help Norma get back to the Real World. Then what?’
‘The aggravating thing is that Norma’s body isn’t stored here in Fort Jackson, it’s held in a ParaDigm facility just outside Los Angeles. You will have to travel there to rescue her.’
‘And how will I be able to do that?’
‘Oh, I have arranged for you to be afforded some assistance in this matter, assistance you will need: the place is guarded by Grigori.’
‘But to get to LA I’ll have to buy an airline ticket, and once I do that, Bole’s going to know what I’m up to.’
‘I think I’ll be able to help there. As you are officially “dead”, I have decided it is acceptable that you are treated as a non-person and therefore that it is unnecessary to alert the airlines’ computer systems of your presence aboard one of their aircraft.’ Vanka paused to polish his nails on the lapel of his jacket. ‘If I say so myself, I have a quite profound ability in the area of data management … or should I better say, data mismanagement? I would also recommend that whilst you are in the ParaDigm facility in Los Angeles you enquire regarding the research Bole has been sponsoring in the Heydrich Institute of Natural Sciences in the ForthRight … especially research concerning plague development.’
‘Can’t you just tell me?’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Ella, but divulging this is precluded by my programming, so all I can do is steer you in the direction of the answers. But more of that anon: the important thing at the moment is for you to get to the Transfer Room and enter the codes.’ Vanka smiled and gave a bow of his head. ‘With that, my dearest Ella, I bid you a reluctant adieu.’ The holographic image faded to nothing.
*
Ella allowed herself to be guided by PINC through the maze of deserted corridors that snaked through INTRADOC and after five minutes of dodging this way and that she finally came to a pair of swing doors labelled TRANSFER SUITE. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way inside. Immediately the automatic lights flickered on, revealing it to be the same room where, seven months before, she had begun her adventures in the Demi-Monde. This time, though, there was no Septimus Bole or Nurse Green in attendance: the room was as empty as rooms are apt to be at four o’clock in the morning. Prompted by PINC, Ella seated herself at a Polly terminal and immediately she settled, the Flexi-Plexi covering the wall burst into life.
IF YOU WOULD ENTER THE TRANSFER CODE, ELLA.
Ella typed in
THANK YOU, ELLA. TRANSFER OF NORMA WILLIAMS FROM THE DEMI-MONDE MAY BE INITIATED AT ANY TIME. DO YOU WISH TO CONVERSE WITH MISS WILLIAMS TO ADVISE HER OF THIS?
YES.
PLEASE STAND ON THE HOLOPAD IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM.
Ella did as she was asked and immediately the Transfer Room flickered and faded to be replaced by a similar, though smaller room where a dishevelled Norma Williams stood gawping at her.
‘Ella?’
‘Yeah, it’s me, or more precisely, a holo-me.’
‘But … but …’
‘I’m here to help you, Norma.’
The conversation was interrupted by an explosion from beyond the room’s door.
‘The SS are getting close, Norma, so if you want to return to the Real World then I can give you the transfer coordinates that will allow you to do just that.’
‘But you’re the Lady IMmanual … Lilith. You were trying to kill me.’
An understandable reaction, thought Ella, but this wasn’t either the time or the place for explanation. ‘That was then and this is now, Norma. People change and much as I’d love to stand here gossiping, give it another couple of minutes and the SS will be making a house call. If you want to escape, it’s now or never.’
‘How can I trust you?’
A good question. ‘Like I say, Norma, with the SS knocking you’ve got nothing to lose by trusting me.’
A convincing argument. ‘Okay … let’s go.’
‘I’ve loaded the transfer codes, Norma, so all you have to do is initiate the transfer from your end. Your body’s stored at a ParaDigm facility in LA: I’ll do my best to get to you as fast as I can.’ Ella took a quick look at her watch. Time was running and that was just what she should be doing. ‘Good luck, Norma’ – and with a jolt she found herself back in Fort Jackson. Immediately a message flicked up on the Flexi-Plexi.
THANK YOU, ELLA. PLEASE FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS PROVIDED BY YOUR PINC. HAVE A NICE DAY.
2:05
Bole Institute for the Advancement of History, Los Angeles
The Real World: 25 March 2019
The Primary Objective of the Bole Institute for the Advancement of History is to manage all Temporal Modulations in order that ParaDigm becomes and remains the world’s supreme industrial, commercial and financial services organisation. By achieving this ambition, the Bole family will be able to protect and to preserve the Grigori and to fulfil their long-cherished dream of gaining hegemony over the Fragiles and all of the other lesser species of the world. To secure this end, NO Temporal Modulation shall be undertaken that has not first been modelled by the Bole Institute for the Advancement of History. A Modulation awarded a less than ninety per cent probability of attaining the desired Temporal Outcome will NOT be executed.
Precepts of Temporal Modulation: memorandum written by Beowulf Bole, 14 December 1933
It was a somewhat subdued and travel-worn Ella Thomas who walked out of the arrivals hall at Los Angeles’ Kenton International Airport eight hours after she had left Fort Jackson. She had tried to sleep during the flight, but the confusion of emotions she was struggling with meant that sleep had eluded her. She felt herself to be a misfit, not quite knowing who – or even what – she was any more. As the last of the Lilithi, she was burdened by the collective memories of all the Lilithi who had gone before her, memories that threatened at any moment to inundate her, to turn her into something she didn’t want to be. She could feel Lilith inside her struggling to be free. This she countered by continually reminding herself that her task was to help Norma Williams to defeat Bole and the Grigori. By doing that she would – hopefully – free herself of the guilt of Lilith. There was no place for Lilith in the Real World.
But then was there any place here for Ella Thomas, the girl who had fallen in love with the digital-chimera that was Vanka Maykov? The realisation that the man she loved was simply a product of ABBA’s digital imagination didn’t make losing him any easier. She had found the man for her, had lost him and now faced the prospect of there never being a man – a real man – capable of replacing him. She had been touched by the divine, and now mere mortals would always be a disappointment.
As she wandered through the airport the abiding sensation she was beset with was one of being adrift between worlds and between identities, destined to be for ever tormented by what had been and by what could never be.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost walked past the sign bearing her name, the sign carried by Burlesque Bandstand. It took a moment for her to recognise him – the trademark bowler had been replaced by an even more beaten-up porkpie hat and the stained frock-coat by a sweatshirt – but it was Burlesque all right.
‘Burlesque?’
The tubby man blinked and looked down
at the name scrawled on the piece of cardboard he was holding. ‘You this Ella Thomas item?’
‘Of course I am, Burlesque.’ Ella made to kiss Burlesque on the cheek, but when he flinched back in surprise she was persuaded to thrust out a hand instead. Burlesque gave it a cautious shake. ‘Don’t you recognise me, Burlesque?’
‘Nah, never met yous in me life. And me name ain’t Burlesque neither; it’s Burl. That’s me: Burl Standing at your service.’ He glanced to the rather large and powerful girl standing next to him. ‘And this is me friend, Oddie Aroca.’
‘Hi, Oddie,’ said Ella as she rather nervously allowed the girl to shake her hand: Oddie Aroca looked like a trucker in drag, ‘and thanks for coming to meet me. And believe it or not, Burl, we have met before, in fact, we were comrades in arms and I’ve a feeling that we will be again. I’ll explain while we drive. We need to get to the Bole Institute for the Advancement of History in Beverly Hills pronto.’
*
Norma woke to find herself cocooned in a layer of what felt like warm toffee.
Odd.
So odd that it took a moment for her brain to get into gear … her brains to get into gear. She had a PINC, which was strange because PINCs were illegal in the US.
PINC gave her the answer: she – or rather Aaliz Heydrich – had received the implant when she – or rather Aaliz Heydrich – had first entered the Real World. And having been equipped with one of the damned things – and ‘damned’ was a very apposite description according to Believers’ Broadcasting – Norma came to understand that having instant access to so much knowledge was intoxicating. Her mind reeled as her thoughts tumbled through oceans of understanding and soared through skies of unimagined perception. How, she wondered, could anyone resist this wonderment? Now she was more than human … now she was H+.
Thanks to PINC she was able to take all the confusion of memories she had brought back with her from the Demi-Monde and straighten them out, dividing her real self from her Aaliz self. But the strange thing was that this separation wasn’t as easy as she thought it might have been. It seemed there were aspects of Aaliz – her drive, determination and, most notably, her ambition – that Norma shared with the girl: the confidence she had gained in her own worth and abilities during her time in the Demi-Monde were replicated in Aaliz.
And Aaliz had been a very busy girl. PINC advised her she was now the leader of a religious movement called the Fun/Funs – her father must have gone apeshit! – and was scheduled to host a Gathering of millions of her followers in Las Vegas – thankfully PINC was there to tell her where that nothing of a town was – in just thirty-eight days’ time. In six short months ‘Norma Williams’ had gone from tabloid fodder to political heavyweight. The more she delved into the details of the Fun/Funs, the more amazed and shocked she was at the power that being the leader of such an organisation gave her.
Power …
Power to bring Normalism to the Real World.
These rather intriguing thoughts were interrupted by her toffee coating coming to the decision that it was time to vamoose, and once she was clear of its cloying presence she began the disgusting job of removing the tubes that had made their home in her body. This done, she took a look around the shadow-bedecked room. There wasn’t much to see: the room was dark, the drapes tightly drawn, the only illumination coming from a nightlight burning on a side table. From what she could make out by its fragile light, she was lying in an overwide four-poster bed in a large bedroom which had a distinctly musty smell about it. ‘Musty’ was an accurate description for the decor too: with all the sombre furniture and drab colours it seemed as though she had arrived back in the Real World slap-bang in the middle of a film set of a Victorian melodrama. A pornographic Victorian melodrama, judging by the fact that she was naked with every hair on her body having been shaved off. This, she decided, was borderline pervy.
She checked with PINC: she was in a bedroom inside the Bole Institute for the Advancement of History in Beverly Hills … an odd coincidence, as this was the place where all her adventures in the Demi-Monde had begun. The remembrance that the Institute was where Septimus Bole had his office in the USA persuaded her that now was the time to get up, get dressed and get busy. She was just pulling the last tube out of her nose when the door of her room opened and she saw standing in the entrance, silhouetted by the light of the landing beyond, a disturbingly peculiar woman staring back at her.
Make that a vampiric pornographic Victorian melodrama.
Yeah, that’s what the woman was: a vampire. Unmistakably a vampire … she’d had a run-in with the girl’s brothers when she’d escaped the Bastille with Vanka. This girl was one of the Grigori.
Instinctively Norma looked around for something to defend herself with, but the woman’s smile – compromised a little by the way her strange eyes glinted in the half-light – and the intoned ‘Welcome, Miss Aaliz’ persuaded her that she wasn’t in any immediate danger. The Grigori thought she was Aaliz!
The Grigori loped deeper into the room, her long, lean body swathed in a tight outfit made from slick black spandex. Norma swallowed: there was something almost pantheresque about her, an impression confirmed when she flicked on the room’s lights and allowed Norma to get a better look at her. Now she could see that it wasn’t just her size and her feline grace that announced she was not as other girls: just like her brothers, she had cat’s eyes, yellow with a slit of an iris. They were eyes designed to see in the dark.
‘I am Metztil,’ the Grigori said, her voice accented and strangely sibilant. ‘I was charged by the Professor with guarding your body whilst you were in the Demi-Monde. You have returned to us unannounced, Miss Aaliz. I trust all is well.’
‘Water,’ Norma gasped, trying to gain a little thinking time.
As the Grigori oozed over to a side table to pour her a glass of water from the jug standing there, Norma decided that her best chance was to play along and act the part of Aaliz Heydrich. And as she was drinking the water, she realised that PINC would give her all the information she needed to make her masquerade convincing.
‘Unfortunately, Miss Aaliz, I am unable to inform Professor Bole that you have returned to the Real World as he is currently in the Demi-Monde dealing with urgent developments there.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Metztil,’ Norma answered as she handed the empty glass back, ‘the Professor and I met up in NoirVille, so he knows about my return. When do you expect him back?’
‘We are not sure. I am hopeful it will be soon. The situation regarding Ella Thomas is pressing.’
‘Ella Thomas?’ she answered, trying to mimic surprise. She had only been talking to the girl an instant ago. ‘I thought she was dead,’ or more accurately, Aaliz Heydrich thought she was dead.
‘That’s what we believed too, but it appears that somehow she survived the explosion in the Temple of Lilith. We are advised by INTRADOC that she has managed to exit the Demi-Monde and reclaim her body, so we must deal with her here in the Real World.’
Norma levered herself off the bed: she’d think better if she didn’t have to do it au naturel. She wandered across to the chest of drawers where Aaliz Heydrich kept her underwear.
‘May I ask why you have returned from the Demi-Monde, Miss Aaliz? Our information is that your presence there is vital if the UnFunDaMentalists are to be persuaded to gather in Terror Incognita for the Ceremony of Purification.’
Happier now that she had a pair of pants on, Norma began to explore the closets. Quite what Aaliz had been doing with her wardrobe whilst she had been in the Real World, Norma had no idea, everything seemed much too fluffy and feminine. Aaliz, it seemed, didn’t do black and didn’t do goth so in the end Norma had to opt for a very short dress in a rather bilious shade of green. As she pulled the dress over her head, she answered Metztil’s question. ‘My father – my real father, Reinhard Heydrich – has brought the situation in the ForthRight back under control, so the feeling was that having “Norma Williams” back
here in the Real World is a more productive use of my time.’
‘Of course. It was just that I had not realised the Professor had initiated the Transfer Sequence.’
‘That’s the Professor for you,’ said Norma as she strapped on a pair of quite ridiculous shoes. Aaliz Heydrich, she decided, had absolutely no dress sense.
‘I will have lunch served here in ten minutes, Miss Aaliz, and then I suggest you rest. The Professor advises that it takes at least twenty-four hours to recover from the rigours of transit.’ With that Metztil exited the bedroom.
*
‘Sounds like a load of old bollocks to me,’ admitted Burl as he brought the hired Ford to a halt outside the walled enclave that was the Bole Institute. ‘I mean, virtual worlds populated by duplicates of real people and the Norma Williams who’s bin puffing the Fun/Funs not bin the real Norma Williams …’ He gave a dismissive shake of his head. ‘Nah, it don’t make sense. You’re just pulling my plonker.’
Only when she had tried to explain to Burl and Oddie what had been going down in the Demi-Monde had Ella realised how improbable it all sounded, but somehow she had to persuade them that what she was saying was fact and not fantasy. She needed their help to save Norma Williams.
‘Whether it makes sense or not, Burl, it’s the truth. It wasn’t Norma Williams who formed the Fun/Funs but her doppelgänger, a truly wicked bitch called Aaliz Heydrich. And that’s what we’ve got to do tonight: unhijack Norma’s body from where it’s being held in the Institute.’
Burl shrugged. ‘’S’all too deep for me. What d’you fink, Oddie?’
Oddie Aroca pushed a hand through her thick mane of brown hair and made a moue. ‘What Ella has told us is very strange, I grant you, Burl, but it’s consistent with the rumours that have been circulating on the Polly that Norma Williams has changed … that the girl running the Fun/Funs isn’t her but some impostor.’