“There you have it my friends, we now have evidence implicating the MoDs at the highest level. There is no time to lose. Inwë, get a copy of the audio file onto our website and circulate it to our usual contacts. Lúthien, get the team together. I need them kitted up and prepped by 1800 hours. We’re shipping out.” Itaridlë turned to Professor Burke with a grim expression cast across her face.
“I know you had a ferry to catch but I would like you to stay with us for a little while longer Professor.” Professor Burke looked alarmed,
“But I need to get to St Kilda, I need to stop this madness from happening. There isn’t much time. Where do you mean to go?”
“I can’t tell you that at this stage Professor, but our business will not take us to the St Kilda just yet. We can take you as far as Ullapool, and there we will part company. Your knowledge of their activities might prove invaluable to our operation and you could brief me on everything you know during the journey.”
The Professor nodded soberly while cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief. Finally, he said,
“Yes, of course. I will travel with you, as long as I’m able to find a way to St Kilda.”
“We need to do something about your attire Professor and find you something more suitable for the North Atlantic climate,” said Itaridlë.
The Professor was escorted to Itaridlë’s makeshift office. He gasped at the sophistication of the Elves operation and noticed several Elves emptying weapons from a munitions room. He frowned,
“I wasn’t aware that your organisation was equipped with such military hardware. I knew your methods differ greatly from that of the Green Movement but violence will solve little and merely brings a backlash.” Itaridlë smiled at the Professor,
“How much change do you think is brought about by chaining yourself to an airport runway or scaling an oilrig? We originally tried seizing the moral high ground by protesting and showed our displeasure through acts of civil disobedience, but fun as they were, those tactics tended not to work. Unfortunately, greedy corporations, corrupt politicians and the compliant media are not concerned with civil acts of disobedience. The measures we now employ are in direct response to the rape of our planet, which we have taken a vow to protect at all costs. Nothing against our friends in the GM but we believe in a more immediate response before it is too late. They have their methods and we have ours.” The Professor looked bemused. He shuffled uncomfortably and then said,
“Sadly, I find your opinions slightly depressing and a bit misanthropic. I think we can bring about change, but not through armed struggle. You will merely alienate your group and be labelled a terrorist.” Itaridlë smiled again. She said,
“I think it’s a little late for that Professor. Some may feel comfortable being led like lambs to the slaughter, but a few of us are willing to fight back and punish those who have brought us to this point in history. I care little for the label they pin on us.”
“Who exactly will you punish? Scientists like me?”
“No Professor, I think you are a victim in this tale, misguided in my opinion perhaps, but not one of the transgressors of which there are many – oil companies, bankers, the church, certain journalists and politicians. The list goes on. The time for political pressure is over.”
“What about using the law to stop these acts of destruction?”
“I could ask the same question of you Professor Burke. Why did you seek our help and not the GM? We work outside the law. The law has always been designed to protect the property and businesses of a select few who have gained their hegemony over the rest of mankind by exploiting the weak as cheap labour, plundering the planets natural resources, polluting our environment and avoiding their tax responsibilities. In the beginning, back in California, some of our members engaged in non violent protests and some resorted to the use of pipe bombs to fight against a company that was manufacturing a defoliant called Agent Orange and a pesticide called Agent Blue, containing carcinogenetic dioxins and the toxic levels of arsenic. The U.S. Government were spraying both chemicals on the Vietnamese countryside, attempting to cause famine and desolation, all this in contravention to International Law. Our founding fathers damaged a building, killing or injuring no one, but they were all sentenced to long prison sentences regardless of their methods. Whereas, the U.S. Government claimed sovereign immunity for its actions which caused millions of birth defects and slow lingering deaths, not only to the Vietnamese people but its own military staff. That is how the law machine works Professor Burke.”
Itaridlë guided the Professor by a gymnasium and then into an office. It was mostly a bare place but one wall was adorned with maps and schematic drawings. On the desk there lay an old fashioned personal computer with a visual display unit perched on top. The Professor’s bemusement didn’t go unnoticed by Itaridlë.
“We don’t use computers like notepads or e-pens. They use technology which can be detected and interpreted by the Prophylaxis Trident spy satellite. I take it you know what I am talking about?”
The Professor nodded in agreement.
“I like old fashioned,” replied the Professor. Itaridlë looked the Professor up and down then said,
“So I can see. This computer may be slow and old fashioned but paradoxically, with all the billions of dollars they have spent on cybernetics technology, the MoDs find it hard to detect activity on antiquated communication systems such as this.”
“The scientific community invented the internet and we have retained methods of contact without being open to hacking. It’s a tried and tested method of contacting each other without the security services knowing? If I can contact my mole, he may be able to provide some updates. Obviously, I won’t say anything about my whereabouts, or involve your organisation in any way.” Itaridlë shrugged her shoulders and said,
“I’d advise you to encrypt your message, just to buy yourself a little time, but don’t worry about us. Our plans are already in motion and this place will be torched as soon as we leave. That time is soon approaching Professor, so I advise you to work fast.”
Itaridlë left the Professor working until the Elf contingent were ready. When she returned, he was applying a silicon seal to a micro chip. “It’s time Professor,” said Itaridlë, “what are you doing?” Professor Burke looked up and smiled, “every system has its weak spot and this is Silent Wave’s Achilles heel.”
Itaridlë grimaced, “We need to leave now.”
When the Professor followed her, he noticed that the building was deserted of personnel and equipment. Every pillar they passed had an incendiary device strapped to it.
Chapter 17: Leaving
2036. Five months earlier
Bull walked into the galley of the narrowboat. He opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of beer. The first thing he noticed was the temperature of the bottle in his hand. He cursed out loud; he hated warm beer. The second thing he noticed was the odour coming from the fridge. When he looked inside, he recoiled from the sight of a piece of meat, so rotted and covered in maggots, its type of cut or original species was unidentifiable. From memory, he was almost certain it was pork. It was at this point he realised that the electricity to the boat was out. He went up to the deck to check the wind turbine. The blades on were spinning, but on closer inspection he found the power cable flapping around on the deck like a freshly landed eel on a fishing boat. Another job for tomorrow, he thought.
Bull returned to the galley. It was the middle of the day, not his normal time for drinking, nonetheless, he poured himself a glass of 10 year old Talisker and sipped it. He heard a scuttling sound in the corner. There, on the galley worktop, was his new best friend, a mouse on his daily visit to the bread bin, helping itself to the green moulded ciabatta. Once he had finished munching on the bread he would normally move on to the rotting vegetables, and today was no exception. It was important, thought Bull, that his new friend had a balanced diet. His only gripe was that his presence on the vegetable rack disturbed the fruit f
lies. He didn't know why he presumed he was a male mouse, the only way to be sure was to pick him up, turn him over and have a look at his genitalia, but this, he decided, was an act much too early in their relationship to consider appropriate behaviour.
Bull's train of thought was derailed when his shackle vibrated. Aisha’s face appeared on the display panel and she invited herself round for dinner. Bull opened the fridge to see what he had in the way of ingredients for dinner. The internet outage made his normal method of ordering groceries impossible so Bull prepared for a rare trip to a local shop. He struggled against the wind and pummelling rain, but more than this, he was unnerved by how unusually dark it was for that time of day. He passed an elderly homeless man and his dog, sheltering in a bus stop. He stopped to chat and transfer a few credits to the man’s Shackle. When he arrived at Maryhill Road, most of the shops that weren't already vacant, were shut. The street was deserted. The only vehicles he saw belonged to the emergency services, speeding past with their sirens barely audible above the sound of the storm.
Finally, he managed to find a mini-market with a light on. The shopkeeper mouthed through the grilled window that he was closed, but eventually taking pity on him, he let Bull come inside to buy two lab-free chicken breasts, a bunch of basil, a lemon and a bottle of Chinese wine. The shopkeeper pointed to the sky. He said,
“There’s no such thing as bad weather son, only unsuitable clothing right? Bollocks to that!” He laughed and then pulled down the shutters to his shop window. As Bull walked the street he became aware of a strong vibration and then the lights from a hovering drone shone down upon him. There was a public address system attached to the underside of the craft stated that he was in breach of the curfew order and was to return home immediately.
Bull started back up the hill, trampling over fallen masonry and broken glass. He held his hands out in front of him to prevent the stinging needles of rain blinding his line of sight. He barely recognised the streets in the dark and for a brief moment he wondered if he was lost. Cars lining the street convulsed in the storm, the sound of their car alarms adding to the discordant caterwaul of the wind. At the entrance to Maryhill Locks, an uprooted tree had crashed through the bus stop where the homeless man and his dog had earlier taken shelter. There was no sign of them. Bull circumvented the tree, fighting to maintain his balance.
Finally, Bull reached the narrowboat and closing the hatch behind him, he felt a surge of relief. He dried himself down with a towel and changed his sodden clothes. After dumping the rotting food from the galley fridge, the moulded ciabatta from the bread bin, the empty beer bottles from the living room and all the scrunched disposable handkerchiefs around both sides of his bed, into a plastic bag, he looked out some of Saffron’s scented candles and placed them on the coffee table. He put on some ambient music and then prepared the dinner. Bull’s body swayed in time with the rocking boat. He was making the marinade for the chicken with crushed garlic, lemon juice and chopped basil, when he heard a knock at the door. When he opened the hatch, Aisha stood wearing an ankle length oilskin, raindrops clinging to her face.
“Do you fancy a bit of Alfresco?” she said, smiling. Bull grimaced,
“Alfresco? It’s a bit windy.”
“Ach, come on ya big Jessie, lets sit out on the deck and watch Mother Nature reap her havoc.”
“Well, maybe for a little bit.”
“I brought you a bottle of Vodka. Real vodka, not moonshine. Have you got a towel and a bowl of bilein water?”
“Bilein?” Aisha affected Received Pronunciation and said tartly, “Sorry, Faerrleah, do you have a bowl of boiling water.”
“Why are we going to deliver a baby?”
“Is this the famous sense of humour Saffron warned me about?”
Walking into the Galley, they found a steaming frying pan lying upturned on the floor. Bull crouched down and tried to scoop the chicken back into the pan, burning his fingers in the process. Aisha said,
“Never mind, I’m a vegetarian anyway. Sorry, I should have said. Vodka, out on the roof, watching the forces of nature it is then?”
“Are you sure you’re not hungry? I could make something else,” pleaded Bull pitifully, still on his knees.
“You could get on fixing that hot water so we can make a cocktail?”
“I’ll need to do it the slow way on the gas hob. The storm damaged the turbine, so the electrics are off, hence all the candles.” Aisha sniffed the sandalwood scented air and said,
“And there’s me thinking you were trying to impress me.” Bull almost blushed and averted his eyes from Aisha’s gaze. He filled a steel kettle with water and walked towards the cooker.
“The stove was one of Saffron’s ideas. It uses bio-methane linked to the chemical toilet. Who would have thought that you could help save the planet by just taking a…” Aisha’s top lip curled. She held up her hand and drew him a look of disgust. She walked out and up onto the deck.
In the galley, Bull waited for the water to boil. Through the porthole, he watched Aisha sitting cross legged on the deck, her hair blowing in the wind. In some ways she reminded him of Saffron. She was of comparable build, he thought and the dreadlocks no doubt added to the similarity, but she lacked Saffron's beguiling eyes and playful smirk. Bull was overcome with a pang of awkwardness. Something felt wrong about inviting a woman into the home he shared with Saffron. He poured the boiled water from the kettle into a glass bowl, fetched a towel, a bottle of warm beer and went out on to the upper deck. He found a place to sit by Aisha.
Aisha decanted most of the vodka into the bowl of hot water. She took out a small bottle which she said was Ylang-Ylang and added it to the water. Putting the towel over her head, she breathed deeply and inhaled the hot vapours.
“Oh I needed that. It clears the sinuses and slows down the heart-rate.” Bull gave her a perplexing look.
“If it’s all the same, I’ll give it a miss. I’m fine with my warm beer.”
Aisha pleaded with Bull to try the nasal cocktail.
“Come on, everybody has to try this some time in their life, and a dinae want to dae it on my own. You like to sniff things don't you? Saffron told me about yer wee habit. You even sniffed me when we met before. I noticed but I dinae let on. What's that all about.” Bull grimaced and said,
“You can tell a lot by someone's odour.”
“That's kind of weird.”
“Its not like that, its more about science and pheromones released by the body; they have their own signature. You can pick up on peoples feelings and changes in behaviour.”
“So I could read your mind by sniffing your odour?”
“You have to train yourself, so you can recognise different strains, like aggression, sexual arousal, bonds like empathy or trust, but you can't read minds, no.”
“So what do you get from me Faerrleah?”
“You're a strange one, I can't really detect much from you. It must be your perfume or deodorant.” Aisha laughed,
“I'm a strange one! That's rich coming from you. Anyway, come on, what do you say, will you try my cocktail?”
“I’m old fashioned. I like to drink my beverages, not sniff them.”
“You only inhale it until the cocktail goes cold, ya big fud,” pleaded Aisha, “and then you drink it.”
“Is that after everyone has secreted their mucous into it?” Aisha ignored the taunts and slipped her head under the towel once more. Bull looked on with a look of bewilderment. She inhaled and exhaled under her flapping vapour tent as Bull drunk the rest of the bottle of vodka.
When the subject got round to Saffron, Aisha listened attentively until she was taken by the sedative influence of her vapour cocktail. To Bull’s annoyance, she talked of her own grief when her own relationship ended and how she had spent a small fortune removing the tattoos devoted to Frankie. Bull attempted to steer the conversation back to his own plight. Aisha laughed when he mentioned Maurice’s name as a figure of Saffron’s desire. Bull was up
set at her candidness and wondered if her cruel cackling was on account of the nasal cocktail.
The storm continued to rage, and Bull suggested that they go inside to finish the last of their drinks. They descended the steps and staggered into the living area. Bull was glad to be back indoors and retrieved another towel from his bedroom to dry them off. Aisha sat on the sofa. He put the towel around her neck and pulled Aisha towards him, simultaneously stooping to receive the anticipated kiss. Bull closed his eyes but instead of a kiss he felt a fist in his chest.
“Whit ur ye doin ya big creepy bastard. You’ve hud way tae much tae drink, Faerrleah,” exclaimed Aisha in a sobering voice.
“Sorry Aisha, I must have misread…” Bull’s protests were cut off.
“Misread? Ye must be fuckin dyslexic. Thought yae loved Saffron?”
“I do but she’s with someone else now.”
“Who is she wae? Please, enlighten me or are you just lookin for someone else tae blame rather than yursel?”
“Maurice.” Aisha laughed again.
“Maurice? A hardly think so. Maurice isny interested in Saffron ya daft fud. No like that anyway.”
“Why do folk up here persist in calling me a big daft fud?”
“Because that’s what ye are, Faerrleah.” Aisha picked up her coat up and headed to the hatch door. Turning to Bull she said,
“A canae understand for the life of me why Saffron left you. I’m at a total loss, a really am.”
“What about the storm? Let me walk you home or call you a taxi?”
“I’ll be fine, you needn’t bother. And not that it would’ve made a difference, but Frankie’s wiznae a man, you just presumed she was.” The door opened, a gust of wind and then Aisha was gone.
We Float Upon a Painted Sea Page 18