Midnight Lamp

by Gwyneth Jones

  ‘Oh, shit. What’s the difference? I’ll tell you.’ He sat down again. ‘She’s at a place called Lavoisier, a terrorist commune in a ghost town, between the Inyo and the Panamint ranges, beyond Owens Valley.’

  ‘Lavoisier,’ repeated Ax. ‘The Inyo and Panamint ranges, a ghost town full of invisible terrorists. Thank you, Harry, that’s all we need.’

  ‘You guys are immense. Immense. I remember coming to find you on that beach. It was the most romantic, perfect experience of my life. It was magical. Fuck, sorry, not magical, some other word.’

  He stood up again. ‘I’m leaving now,’ and buckled, and fell to the floor.

  Ax and Sage laughed, and hi-fived slapped palms in triumph.

  They drove Harry to his house, as he was in no state to make his own way. The Rat pulled up in front of a fifties-styled movie-star bungalow: all period except the yard was planted with desert natives, boojums and octillo and palo adán.

  ‘How long will the unsigned waiver hold them?’ asked Ax.

  ‘No time at all,’ said Harry, frankly. ‘The waiver’s their idea of doing things by the book, and they truly wanted you two on board. But it’ll go ahead. It’s imminent, I don’t know when. I genuinly don’t. It could be tomorrow.’

  ‘Give me a number I can call.’

  ‘You want to talk to Fred?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Give me a number for Colonel Beaufort.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Fred. I’ll try to get him to hold off. Lavoisier is a little outlaw state, it’s not unknown out there. They’ve been watched but left alone because they were thought harmless, but they’re likely to have an Apocalyptical arsenal.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The A&R man got out of the car, on shaking legs. Beyond the house, a row of shock-headed palms stood against a western sky of duck-egg blue.

  ‘Harry,’ said Sage. ‘We have most of twenty four hours, let us use it. Then you can try talking to Fred. When you’ve done that, go and find Lurch.’

  ‘Kathryn hates me. She thinks I’m two-faced.’

  ‘Yeah, but go an’ find her. Your guru has spoken. So long, fanboy. Take care.’

  The idiotic cruelty of Harry’s snapshot vision haunted them, as they headed into the freeway maze. But they knew Fiorinda was alive, and where to find her.

  At Sunset Cape Allie dealt with the studio lawyers, stringing it out. She’d grasped that she was stalling for time, which meant they’d got away. Rob went up to the Triumvirate suite and found it in disorder, a depleted tequila bottle and two shot glasses on a table. He was looking for the b-loc. He didn’t like the thing, but he’d had to get used to it so he could be with the babies at home. He found it, and sat on the end of a rumpled bed. The hallucinatory feeling of last night returned… It’s not easy accepting a place in the second rank, when you were the great man’s equal at the start. No one recognises your name.

  But I know who I am, he thought, and I know what I want. Why don’t I go for it, the way Ax did? Unilaterally, me. Rise out of the collective. There were only a handful of phones like this in England: one of the people he could reach was Jordan Preston. Their mission will succeed or fail, but I will know I did this, and that matters to me. Okay, Jor. Let’s see if you’ll accept a call.

  Ax Preston and the former Aoxomoxoa arrived at Bighorn, Stu Meredith’s dude ranch in Owens Valley, rather late in the evening. They apologised for dropping by unannounced, and explained they were on their way to spend a few days in the wilderness, before they left the US. They were welcomed, despite the issues Stu had with Sage. Stu’s wife of thirty years, Ludmilla Pearson Meredith, had recently lost her beloved mother. She knew that these two hollow-eyed, strung-out young men were in mourning, and she looked on them kindly. Places were laid for them at the family dinner. The Merediths kept late hours, Spanish style, in the hot weather.

  ‘We’d like to see some desert country,’ said Ax. ‘We were thinking of checking out that ghost town, Lavoisier. D’you know it?’

  The dinner table went quiet. Stu’s younger daughter had a coughing fit.

  ‘No,’ said Stu. ‘We don’t. Take some potatoes?’

  ‘You’ll be staying over,’ said Ludmilla, quickly. ‘I’ll have beds made up in the bunkhouse. It’s authentic cowboy accomodation, but it’s comfortable. We have plenty of room, there’s nobody booked in at the Noise Hotel right now.’

  The Noise Hotel was what the family called the famous studio at Bighorn, where favoured artists came to avail themselves of Stu’s expertise, in this fabulous setting. Ludmilla had nothing to do with that. She and her older daughter and son-in-law bred horses, for more pleasure than profit.

  ‘Well, thanks,’ said Ax. ‘By the way, could you not mention our camping trip, if anyone asks? We badly need some privacy. It’s been non-stop.’

  ‘The wilderness is a great healer,’ said Stu, with a reserved expression.

  The rest of the evening was convivial, into the early hours. In the morning Stu took Ax to look at the riding horses. The Noise Hotel was out of sight, the ranchhouse stood with its big red barn, the bunkhouse and the stables, alone on a wide sweep of sun-crisped pasture, at the foot of the Inyos. Across the great valley, westward, rose the southern massif of the Sierra Nevada, rags of snow still tracing the peaks.

  ‘You must excuse my wife,’ said Stu, ‘she can’t abide drugs in the house.’

  Ax had lit a cigarette as soon as he stepped outdoors. ‘But it’s okay out here?’

  ‘It’s a fire risk,’ said Stu.

  Ax was sure he’d seen John Wayne with a fag in his mouth on many a screen classic, but he was not in a position to argue. He sighed, killed the cigarette, and put it away. This stopover had seemed an inspired move (everything felt inspired, but he believed he could tell the difference), a chance to gather information at the gateway of the Owens Valley. But Stu’s gracious friendship had chilled the moment Lavoisier was mentioned, and Ax was not sure how to broach the subject again.

  ‘You should team up with Sage. He keeps trying to make me quit.’

  ‘I hope you’re gonna be careful with those cancer sticks in the wild country.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ten, no twelve, horses milled about in the corral by the barn. A couple of ranch hands came ambling over, but kept their distance at glance from the boss’s husband. ‘Expensive pets,’ remarked Stu, dryly. ‘These are the palace favourites. She has twenty odd head of breeding stock and youngsters, also. The whole thing’s crazy, we buy feed and truck it to them three quarters of the year. Okay, Mr Preston. Pick yourself out a ride.’

  ‘The dark bay, with the white blaze. I like the look of her. But we can’t borrow your horses, Stu. Sage doesn’t ride, and we couldn’t be responsible.’

  He’d been reading guides and poring over maps—all paper, not risking the datasphere—while Sage slept. He could have done without playing guitar until after midnight, wasting precious time: but maybe it had been good. When the fingers move, the mind moves, and friendly company is also an aide. He was trying to put together old Yorkshire routines with the new terrain: borax mines, lava tubes, volcano craters. One thing we do not want to do, however, is…

  Stu tugged a Willie Nelson bandanna from his jeans pocket and rubbed it over his palms.

  ‘I had a phone call.’

  Shit… ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘It was yesterday. This is test-bed country, we’re continually harrassed by naval jet pilots that can’t read altimeters, buzzing our livestock. The call was a standard disclaimer: don’t holler, we’re about to run an exercise which may damage sensitive equipment, pull your plugs, take precautions. Funny thing is, I’d heard the jets are grounded, due to adverse atmospherics… Also, I was talking to an Inyo County ranger who says the trails are gonna be closed from day after tomorrow. Somethen’ to do with with an unusual load coming up the valley. That generally means nuclear, but it doesn’t generally close the wilderness trails. My lady friend was bitching about our struggling tourism, and the w
ay the military don’t give a damn for their neighbours. But I thought there was something going down. Then you two arrived, Mr Ax Preston and his sidekick, mentioning a place called Lavoisier.’

  Stu was staring at the barn, and he didn’t look around.

  ‘D’you have reason to think there’s a connection?’

  ‘Lavoisier has a curious reputation. I slept on it, and now I’m asking you.’

  Ax looked within, and rushed on the white light. ‘Fiorinda’s alive,’ he said. ‘The FBI have traced her, she’d being held by a…some kind of violent hippie commune, with an arsenal, holed up in your local ghost town.’

  Stu nodded, keeping his eyes averted. ‘Uhuh. And so?’

  ‘There’s going to be a raid. Maybe with a telecoms wipeout likely to affect you. We were told all this just yesterday. We were invited along, but we’re afraid she wouldn’t survive the frontal attack, so we’ve made our own plans.’

  The Willie Nelson bandanna was getting another working. ‘I’m glad to hear your lady’s alive Ax, that’s great news. I guess I don’t blame you for trying to beat the big guns. Did you come here for help, manpower?’

  ‘No, we’re better on our own. But local input’s always useful.’

  Stu looked around, ‘Lavoisier’s an armed camp, and worse. You may have heard of the Manson family, uster hang out around here? There are people say the Lavoisiens are literally their spiritual children. Whatever they mean by that… You two are planning to go in alone?’

  Ax noted that this was a relief to Stu’s mind, and was very touched. He would not have dreamed of asking for a posse. ‘They’ve got our babe, we have no other quarrel with them. Maybe we can even negotiate, it’s worth a try. What about you? Are you going to make that call?’

  ‘What call?’

  ‘Give me a break.’

  ‘I’m not going to call anyone.’

  The rest of the family was coming up, with Sage: Ludmilla, the older daughter and son-in-law, and Violet, the youngest. There was a son also, but he lived in LA. Sage was wearing the mask, and sparking merrily with Violet, a pretty, plump, teenager with freckles on her nose. She’d been respectful of the ancient hellraiser last night; but she’d recovered her bounce. ‘Maybe you’ll get an idea for an immix from this trip,’ Violet swung up to sit on the top rail of the fence. ‘Horses, mountains, the desert moon—’

  ‘I’ll call it “Ghost Riders In The Sky”, an’ I’ll dedicate it to Violet.’

  ‘Oh God. You’re kidding.’

  ‘I’m kidding.’

  ‘It must have been so weird for you, standing where the Beatles once stood.’

  ‘Hahaha. It may not even have been our first time for that.’

  ‘Did you persuade him?’ asked Ludmilla.

  Stu gave his wife a talk to you later look, and smiled gravely at Ax, ‘Yeah, I persuaded him. Ax is taking Madeleine, I think we’ll put Aoxomoxoa on Big Snow. That’s the white guy with the spotted behind, Sage. He’s a gentle fellow, and very tolerant of children. You keep one of your daddy-long-legs either side, he’ll do the rest.’

  ‘Madeleine,’ said Ludmilla, taken aback. ‘Well, okay… You like a good horse, Ax? Where are you from, again, in England?’

  ‘Somerset.’

  ‘Is that horse country?’

  ‘Not specially,’ he said, caught by unexpected pain, imagining this large, fair-to-grey Californian nonplussed by the miniature landscape, the sodden levels. ‘It’s orchard country: and wetter than you people would believe, most winters-’

  ‘When my grandmother’s family came to the Owens Valley,’ Ludmilla told him, ‘this was orchard country. You must know the story. 1913, they drained us, on some swindle, to fill the swimming pools of Los Angeles.’

  ‘You weren’t born nor thought of in 1913, Mom,’ said her son-in-law. ‘I think you should accept it’s time to let go. If they paid us back now, we’d drown.’

  The household laughed, placidly, at one of those family jokes that’s like an old pet. The ranchhands who’d been kept at bay, while Stu had his private word with Ax, came over, interested to add to their rock celebrity collection.

  ‘I could spare Cheyne here,’ said Ludmilla. Cheyne was one of the horse-wranglers, the only woman among them. ‘She could come with you and handle the horses. You might be wise to take a guide.’

  ‘I’d be fine with that,’ said Cheyne, looking pleased.

  ‘They want to be on their own, Ludy. They’ll be okay.’

  The air was still, the day would be stinking hot. The horses kept milling, a muffled fusillade of hooves, a whirl of hides like autumn-coloured leaves.

  ‘They’re spooked,’ remarked Ax, ‘Sage, you should take the mask off.’

  ‘They’ve been like this for days,’ said one of the hands, ‘The dogs and cats are fussing too. Maybe there’s a quake coming.’

  The air temperature was still over a hundred Farenheit when they left Bighorn ranch, late in the day. Stu rode beside the car and horse-trailer as they crossed his fenced pasture at walking pace. At the northern boundary, which wasn’t far from the house at this point, Sage got out to open the gates. It proved a tussle, his hands were clumsy today. A causeway of packed rubble led north east, into shadow-painted hills. ‘You’ll find plenty off-roader trails,’ said Stu, impassive, making no move to get down and help. ‘Most of ’em aren’t marked on any map… So, you two are going after the man who stole your water.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I hope you make it. You know, I think I’m more surprised to see that you’re in a grown-up relationship than I am about the spiritual awakening.’

  The skull mask did impassive with a sweet fuck you. ‘They keep me for a pet.’

  ‘You don’t really have superpowers, do you?’

  ‘Nah. That’s just a story I get my publicist to put out.’

  ‘Watch out for the guy who calls himself Moloch,’ said Stu. ‘Watch out for the lot of them, bunch of crazy no-knickers Goths and death wish geeks. You could be right the way you’re handling this, but they’re not going to be shy of firing first, and I think that Moloch… I think he’s the one. Well, so long.’

  A few miles further, they took the Rugrat and trailer off the track and parked them in a roofless cove, backed and walled by scrub covered hillocks. They led out the horses, Madeleine, Big Snow the Appaloosa gelding, and Paintbrush, the little chestnut and white pinto: saddled up Madeleine and the Appaloosa, and erected the ponyfold thing they’d been instructed to use as a holding pen. Sage practiced his riding a little, then they settled the animals with feed and water, and unpacked their own kit. The assault rifles, which they had barely had a chance to try, were easy and solid to assemble and handle (damn sight more fun than the SA/80, an inimitably British weapon, difficult and proud of it). They checked over the rest, speaking little, glancing at each other with sharp grins. So far so good. They had imagined themselves breaking her out of a military lab, when they amassed this gear. But so far so good: still in phase.

  There were no visible livestock, no sign of human presence except for the track; that vanished quickly into sagebrush, whichever way you looked. The hills had turned a rosy caramel with the twilight, the sky shading from colourless pallor to charcoal. Ax remembered a flight he’d once taken over the Caucasus in a light plane, one of his ‘Ax Preston’ journeys, and felt the same stir of wonder, the same irrational tug of longing… They packed everything again, unloaded fuel from the back of the Rat and set a fire in a circle of stones. They had her talisman with them, they were taking it in turns to carry it, but they used ordinary matches, not the tinderbox. Neither of them had any appetite. They drank water, and agreed they would eat in the morning.

  The fusion rush had dropped them at last. Stone cold sober, Ax sat thinking of the ruin that might fall (Anne-Marie’s phrase) on Stu Meredith’s family; on that chirpy, freckle-faced teenager. Does Stu know what we may have brought on him? I think he suspects; and so does his wife. They’d talked with the seniors alo
ne before they left: in the big homely kitchen, full of horse-memorabilia. Ludmilla was like Stu. Mention Lavoisier, and she won’t meet your eyes… On the other side of the fire Sage was propped on an elbow, the flames catching gleams in his hair; his face in shadow.

  ‘I wonder what a horse like Madeleine is worth, in dollars.’

  ‘Huh? I’m sorry Ax, I’ve no idea what fancy horses cost.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. What are we going to do with them? We don’t want horses, but we can’t just leave them. If we turn them loose they’ll head straight home, and then Stu will think we are fucked and call the federales—’

  ‘I’ve been thinking we’re gonna need them, Ax. If our side’s planning to fry the enemy’s telecoms and digital devices, there’ll come a point when we have to dump the Rugrat, before it dies under us… I think Stu may have called the feds as soon as we were off the premises. He was in two minds.’

  ‘You’re right, I saw that. Oh, well. It’s high summer and we’re next door to Death Valley. At least we can rely on the weather.’

  ‘Hahaha. Ax, I wish you had not said that.’

  ‘Sorry. D’you feel like coming over to my side of the fire, at all?’

  Sage came over. They sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the flames. Will you ever let me touch those scars?, Ax wondered. I want to touch them every time I see them, I want to kiss those knotted strands across your flank, that hold your life inside, the idea of them turns me on, it’s perverse, and we won’t go into it now: but another time. If there’s ever a good time.

  ‘I don’t see us getting away with non-violence, bodhisattva.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem likely, my dear.’

  Ax had lied to Stu. They had no intention of trying to negotiate, unless close reconnaissance revealed a very different situation than had been advertised. They went over the plan, not to it, wide open. The specialist equipment they must take, the kit they could discard now they saw the picture… The guerrilla mood rose in them, out of the past. You never know what’s really going to happen on the bridge at midnight, it’s fatal to try and lock a mission into shape. The night grew chill. They spread their sleeping bags and lay down, rifles at hand: putting aside all hope and fear for a few hours of much-needed oblivion.