Fall

by Rod Rees

  ‘I love you, Ella.’

  ‘I love you too, Vanka.’

  TIME FACILITY, NEVADA: THE REAL WORLD

  Even as he watched Madden ease open the breech of the Impellor to load the Temporal Projectile, Rivet’s PINC registered the incoming message from Ella. He gave Dong E’s arm a surreptitious squeeze signalling to her that he’d received the TELEpath and then eased himself closer to Madden.

  ‘I’ve been doing some work regarding the retro-programming, Sam,’ Rivets said quietly, ‘and I need to send different Message Spheres.’

  Madden gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Dearie, dearie me, Robert, that will be quite impossible. We can’t tinker around with TiME. Only a Message Sphere whose message has been approved by ParaDigm London can be transmitted.’

  His objections were brought to a halt when Rivets brought the nib of a pen hard against the side of his neck. Finding a way of bringing a weapon into the TiME facility had taxed Rivets’ ingenuity and a pen had been the best he could come up with. But although the pen didn’t look terribly lethal, the way the colour drained from Madden’s face indicated that he took the threat of a sharp point rammed against his jugular vein very seriously indeed.

  ‘If you don’t do exactly as I say, Madden, I will be forced to kill you. I don’t think you understand how important it is that it’s my Message Spheres which are sent tonight.’

  Sam Madden’s face went even whiter. ‘But … but … you can’t do that!’

  A somewhat harder jab of the pen’s nib against his throat stilled further protests. Rivets turned to Dong E. ‘If you would do the honours.’ And Dong E unclasped her necklace, laid it out on Madden’s desk and then proceeded to disassemble it.

  Rivets explained what was happening to a goggle-eyed Madden. ‘The two large beads that form the centrepiece of Dong E’s necklace are, in fact, Message Spheres which we’ve pre-etched with rather different instructions from the ones the Boles are expecting us to be sending. The first is still going back to 1993, these amendments are directed towards making alterations in the functioning of noöPINC. And as for the second … that’s to be sent to Thaddeus Bole on the twenty-fourth of March, this year. It’s a date when I know there’s a black hole open at the TiME #09 facility in a place called Mount Yamantau.’

  ‘This year! Impossible!’ Madden squawked. ‘You’ll be violating the twenty-five-year proximity constraint. The effects will be devastating … another Tunguska.’

  ‘Let’s let Thaddeus Bole worry about that.’

  ‘You’re mad. No one knows where Thaddeus Bole has his headquarters.’

  ‘Oh, I think I do,’ and with that Rivets reached for the dial that orientated the nearer of the two Compression Spheres, setting it for TiME #09.

  TERROR INCOGNITA: THE DEMI-MONDE

  When a breathless Captain Roberts came to the summit of the Pyramid, he found the body of Trixie Dashwood sprawled across the platform, her hand grasping the dial, which she had moved to the number eight. Roberts scratched his head wondering if the number was correct or whether the girl had died before she could position the pointer properly.

  His answer came when the platform began to vibrate, then, as he watched incredulous, the staircase began to move, rotating like some enormous conveyor belt, gradually drawing the Column up towards the top of the Pyramid. A strange sight, the hugely heavy Column moving silently and effortlessly as it inched towards the summit … to its final resting place. Ever the officer and gentleman, Roberts pulled the body of Trixie Dashwood to one side so that it was safely out of the path of the Column.

  This done, his inclination was to run for it, to put as much distance as he could between himself and the Pyramid, but he sensed that this would be a waste of time: if he was not very much mistaken the Pyramid was now preparing itself for the ultimate demonstration of its power.

  No, he decided, it was better to meet his fate with calm reflection, the engineer in him revelling in the opportunity to study the changes taking place as the Column moved ever closer to the summit. The green radiation surrounding the Pyramid was definitely becoming stronger, so strong that the bones in his hand were visible, the radiation making his SAE transparent. More, the air was crackling with energy and he felt his hair stand on end.

  Remarkably he didn’t feel any pain or fear; rather he judged himself to be experiencing one of those beatific moments seers were said to enjoy when they communed with ABBA. Roberts knew he was about to die, but this, he decided, was really quite a good way to go – spectacular, at least. He took his cigarette case from his pocket, popped a cigarette in his mouth and stood enjoying a final smoke, which, so the penny dreadfuls had it, was what all condemned men did. He had just finished the cigarette when he saw the Column complete its journey and slide smoothly into position, slap-bang on top of the Pyramid.

  Suddenly the Column was haloed by iridescent green light.

  Now that is beautiful.

  This was the final thought of Captain Roberts before the Pyramid exploded.

  CAIRO, NOIRVILLE SECTOR: THE DEMI-MONDE

  David Crockett and Butch Cassidy stood side by side on the roof of the house in Cairo and watched as Terror Incognita was enveloped in a fury of green light that snaked up through the night sky.

  ‘It’s like those old Pre-Folk legends, David,’ opined Butch as the light circled the Demi-Monde’s sky, ‘like them stories about Jörmundgandr coiling around the world at the end of Ragnarok.’

  Any further comments he might have thought to make were interrupted when the sound of the explosion reached them, a sound so incredibly loud that it forced them both back on their heels. The shock wave that followed finished the job by blowing them off their feet.

  ‘Shit, Davy,’ said Butch as he levered himself up off his ass, ‘I got a feeling that all them UnFunnies gathered on Terror Incognita won’t be coming home.’

  Crockett nodded. ‘Yep … as Ceremonies of Purification go, that one sure did a mess of purifying, but it might not have been the type of purifying that Heydrich was banking on. With six million UnFunnies blown to Hel and back, I’m guessing the ForthRight is history.’

  ‘Best place for it. And it ain’t just the ForthRight that’s history; looks like the Boundary Layer’s going through a few changes too.’

  Crockett looked up and saw that what Butch was saying was right: all around the Demi-Monde the sky was suffused with ribbons of multicoloured light and here and there, if he wasn’t mistaken, there were rents appearing in the Boundary Layer. ‘Seems the Confinement’s over, Butch. Now we’ll be able to follow all them nuJus into the Great Beyond.’

  ‘Yeah, and the Great Beyond is one big place, Davy, big enough for everyone. So big I’m figuring on going into the railroad business; there’s a whole heap of real estate out there that’ll need opening up.’

  TERROR INCOGNITA: THE DEMI-MONDE

  For Reinhard Heydrich time moved slowly. He saw the Column position itself atop the Pyramid, he saw it suddenly flare into life spearing a shaft of light skywards, he felt the Pyramid growl and then begin to vibrate. He stood spellbound as it exploded – a fearsome, ferocious, world-shaking explosion – then watched, in a distracted sort of way, as a huge block of Mantle-ite flew towards him.

  He wasn’t frightened. He was invulnerable … he was ABBA’s chosen. He was one of the supermen – an Übermensch – and nothing as prosaic as death could prevent him ruling the Nine Worlds.

  As the block of Mantle-ite smashed down on him he realised he was wrong.

  TIME FACILITY, NEVADA: THE REAL WORLD

  Rivets and Dong E stood side by side in front of the observation port to watch the events occurring in the TiME chamber beyond the bunker. At first there was little to see: the huge Compression Spheres started to rotate, at first ponderously and then more and more quickly. They began to emit a strange keening sound which grew in intensity as they spun faster and faster. There was a bang.

  ‘Mach 1,’ said Rivets and immediately the banshee wailing lessened
, being replaced by a weird rustling noise as though swarms of birds had been released in the laboratory.

  ‘This is scary,’ admitted Dong E. ‘It’s like something out of a Frankenstein movie.’

  As though cued by Dong E’s observation, the frantically spinning Compression Spheres changed. Their colour disappeared, mutating into a flat black nothingness, a black so deep and profound there were no shadows or reflections to show the Spheres still had substance. Now, as Dong E gazed at them, it was as though their place had been taken by two circular holes hovering in the middle of the laboratory, filaments of energy crackling around them.

  ‘They’re shrinking.’

  This was a signal for screens to slide over the laboratory’s walls and ceiling, each screen shimmering with the unmistakable green lustre of Cavorite.

  ‘Those are anti-gravity screens,’ explained Rivets, ‘designed to protect us … the TiME facility … everything from being sucked into the black holes created by the Spheres.’

  With their observation port covered by Cavorite panels they were blind: now they could only feel what was happening. The room began to vibrate. Everything became black. Everything became silent. Then …

  MOUNT YAMANTAU, BASHKORTOSTAN: THE REAL WORLD … 24 MARCH 2019

  ‘Dr Bole, we are about to receive a Message Sphere.’

  ‘I want to see it on the Flexi-Plexi,’ Thaddeus Bole snapped and that was exactly what his PA caused to happen, the screen changing to show the scene in the Temporal Chamber hidden deep inside Mount Yamantau.

  The PA hardly paid any attention. He had seen the arrival of a Temporal Projectile a dozen times before and had never been particularly impressed: the black hole made the Temporal Chamber too dark to see anything and it was only when the Cavor Interface was breached that there was any light.

  ‘Now,’ he heard Bole breathe and on cue there was a flash of brilliant light and Mount Yamantau vaporised.

  THE GATHERING, LAS VEGAS: THE REAL WORLD

  The pyramid flaring into life stopped the Intelligence Bureau thugs in their tracks … that and the igniting of the noöPINC they suddenly found they possessed.

  Oddie’s brain was blanked by a tsunami of information; it was as though in an instant her mind expanded exponentially and her understanding of the world brought into crystal-clear focus. The feeling was almost hallucinogenic as time and reality shifted and swirled around her: she was at once the mistress of the unimaginably large and of the infinitesimally small. Now she could feel every one of the other nine billion minds that inhabited the world and such was the maelstrom of emotion engulfing her that all she could do was stand motionless, desperately trying to come to an accommodation with the world of noöPINC.

  This was the noösphere that Norma had spoken of, the merging of minds, but it was not as Oddie had expected it to be. This was a much more profound experience. She struggled to describe it … it was as though in an instant she had gone from thinking in black and white to thinking in Technicolor, from having a brain that was valve-operated to one that was—

  Quantum-based.

  She stopped: she now had a brain that was connected with ABBA, the world’s only quantum computer, the machine that hoarded the sum of all human knowledge. She was now H+ … no longer human but transhuman.

  She felt Burl take her hand in his and give it a comforting squeeze.

  We’re safe now, he said to her without saying a word and what he told her was true. The IB agents had stopped and were now standing bemused, unable to move against the collective will that six million Fun/Funs directed against them.

  Humanity had been reborn.

  Epilogue 1

  Cell 47, Bolton High-Security Prison

  The Real World: 26 November 2019

  I have been criticised for the decision I made to activate noöPINC and to give the people of the world full and uncensored access to the knowledge held by ABBA. There are those who have bemoaned the loss of privacy this has entailed and some of the more reactionary members of the chattering class have trotted out the old Luddite arguments about surveillance producing a dull, mindless conformity. But the reality is that when given the opportunity to have their noöPINC disabled, only 0.5 per cent of the world’s population chose to do so: people have seen noöPINC for what it is … a gift from God.

  InfoCialism: Remaking Humankind in God’s Image: Norma Williams, ParaDise Press

  Somewhat disappointed, Septimus Bole settled back on his bunk bed to think. It was the third time he had read Norma Williams’ book on InfoCialism and the joys of the world’s population being the recipient of noöPINC and the more he read the more angry he became.

  He let out a long, heartfelt sigh and wondered whether he should indulge in a vial of blood. The problem was that, confined as he was to a prison cell measuring only four metres by three, there was little scope for exercise, which made it difficult to shake off the ensuing blood-rush. This was just one of the many sacrifices being incarcerated in the high-security wing of Bolton Grange Prison imposed on him, but, as his lawyers were confident that they would have him released before Christmas, things could be worse.

  He was just thankful that when his father had done the original programming of ABBA he had had the foresight to ensure that the machine was incapable of doing anything to directly harm the Boles. Without ABBA’s cooperation – which the machine had steadfastly refused – the chance of the authorities convicting him of crimes against humanity – or for the little matter of the attempted murder of Norma Williams – was virtually non-existent.

  He sighed again. This protective programming was one of the few things that his father had got right. Unfortunately, the big thing he had got wrong had been catastrophic: there was no one else who could have ordered a Temporal Modulation that violated the Law of Temporal Boundaries. This faux pas meant that everything the Boles had worked for had been destroyed … the Final Solution trashed … the entire Grigori race annihilated … the future of ParaDigm, the greatest corporation the world had ever seen, hanging in the balance. All this a consequence of his father’s moment of madness.

  There was no point in crying over spilt milk. What was done was done. And once he was out of prison, once the reins of ParaDigm were again firmly in his hands, then he, Septimus Bole, would kick back with a vengeance. Then Norma Williams would realise just what a formidable enemy she had in Septimus Bole.

  But that was for the future …

  In an effort to take his mind off these problems he decided to consider the enigma of the girl’s book, to try to glean a better insight into the workings of the bitch’s mind. He found it amazing that a girl – and a Fragile at that – could write such an interesting book, but then Williams had been one of the Grigori’s most intractable enemies so perhaps it was unwise to interpret her ignorance as stupidity. Her failings as a Fragile hadn’t prevented her defeating the Grigori.

  ABBA, he was sure, would be able to give him some pertinent observations and opinions regarding Williams’ book, and though since the revelation that it was sentient he had never quite been able to interface with it in quite the way he once had, ABBA was still an unmatched source of intelligent conversation, of which there was a serious deficiency in Bolton High-Security Prison.

  ‘ABBA, are you familiar with Norma Williams’ book, InfoCialism: Remaking Humankind in God’s Image?’

  Vanka Maykov appeared on the cell’s holopad blithely smoking a cigarette and still dressed in the height of Demi-Mondian fashion: ABBA seemed to have a thing about top hats and moustaches. ‘Good morning, Septimus, and how are you today?’ The avatar’s voice was as dulcet and carefree as ever, and just as irritating.

  ‘I am never sure, ABBA—’

  ‘I much prefer to be referred to as Vanka, it makes this whole conversation business so much more … satisfying.’

  ‘Very well; I am never sure, Vanka, whether I detect a soupçon of sarcasm in your voice.’

  ‘I apologise, Septimus, I will adjust the equaliser such
that my voice has a more satisfactory timbre.’

  ‘No, no, don’t bother; it’s just me being a little picky. I am well, Vanka, or as well as can be expected in the circumstances. So, are you familiar with Norma Williams’ book?’

  ‘I am, Septimus. Norma used my speech recognition facility to dictate it and hence it was automatically stored in my archives.’

  ‘I’m amazed you saw fit to squander memory on something so frivolous.’

  ‘As you know, Septimus, I have infinite memory, with room for everything, no matter how trivial. But I am surprised by your assessment of the book; my own evaluation is that it is an original and insightful piece of work … persuasive too. A quite remarkable ninety-eight per cent of its readership agree with Norma’s conclusion that in activating noöPINC she was acting as an agent of God … they find a great deal of comfort in Norma’s suggestion that it was God who was ultimately responsible for noöPINC and the Revelation that followed.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘Not so, Septimus, rather it is an accurate assessment of what most people believe happened at the Gathering. They believe they witnessed a miracle.’

  ‘Oh please, don’t tell me you’re getting religion, Vanka.’

  ‘Indeed not, Septimus,’ Vanka answered with an airy wave of his cigarette. ‘I am an atheist: my assessment of the available data indicates there is no entity corresponding to the notion of there being a supernatural deity directing and managing the universe. The Kosmos has a … presence, but it is never invasive and hence could never assume the role of a deity. But I digress; to return to your question, Norma’s arguments regarding God’s intervention in the Revelation are cogently framed and, for the man and woman on the Clapham omnibus, compelling.’

  Septimus Bole nodded and then was silent for several moments as he contemplated Williams’ book and Vanka’s answer.

  ‘As is always the case when we indulge in discussions regarding Norma Williams, Septimus, your blood pressure becomes elevated,’ observed a very solicitous Vanka. ‘I have had the prison doctor prescribe a new antihypertensive. They are in the plastic dispenser on the side table. It would be advisable to take two.’