The Apocrypha of IMBJR

_____________________________________________
: 3.
A month had past since he had come to Point 2050. He had set the wheels of
his
plan in
motion. The others tried to stop him, of course, but he was adamant. "First
things first",
he had told them.
So it was that two men had been selected. The first had gone into the
past
where his
wife should have been completely defenceless. The second was sent as
insurance, to a
point after his death. Either one of them would do, but he had to make sure
that she
would be stopped - even if it meant that one possible permutation was that
he
went into
the future as a bachelor.
It was late at night. He sat up in his bed, the curtains of his room
opened
to the
splendour of the heartlessness of space. The shadow of the bunched curtains
rippled on
the nearby floor. The Nebula was not currently visible, but would come into
view to
wake him at the right time. He flicked pipe ash from his bedclothes and
waited
for
tiredness to set in.
He closed his eyes involuntarily so decided it was time. He placed his
pipe
on his
bedside table and lay down, dragging the sheets up to his chin. He smiled
briefly and
began to breathe deeply.
He now sleeps, at last, thought the shade that had been watching himself
smoke. From
under the window the shadow extended and rose up to human height. He had
chosen this
time to reintegrate because he knew that his sleeping self's actions, though
misguided,
foolish and evil, would actually bring them all together. Twice, even, he
chuckled.
The shade moved over to the sleeping man's head and began to enfold it,
growing in
black density. The sleeping man's snoring rose and then silenced as the
shade
entered
within.
The man jerked upright.
"Shit! What the fuck have I done?"
He jumped out of bed and, still naked, ran out of the bedroom, into his
office where the
intercom sat on his desk. He jabbed at the transmit button and rasped into
the
mike.
"Anyone down in the Portal Room?"
Silence and then a voice replied, "Yes, Sir, I'm on night watch here."
"Can you bring the Agents back?"
"Pardon, Sir? Why would we do that?"
"Because I said to."
More silence, the silence of someone extremely worried that they had just
fucked up
good.
"We can't."
"What do you mean 'We can't'?"
"Only until the Agents report back can we get a lock on them."
"When will that be ... oh, shit, never mind."
He realised that he had ordered the Agents to maintain "radio-silence".
He
was never
going to hear from them again.
"Thank you." He clicked off the intercom and brooded. He could not
believe
what he
had done. Kill my wife, indeed. This was something to chalk up to
experience.
Time
Control had to learn that you could not trust the motives of anyone who had
been
reanimated. Their minds were incomplete; the spirit had to come through too.
At least he
was fully reintegrated now, but it was perhaps too late.
He jabbed at the intercom again.
"Hello, anyone in the Records Room?"
"Yes Sir. What would you like?"
"Project developments and quick."
"Okay, Sir. I shall have them piped to your office."
The intercom went dead and a few minutes later, the office's terminal
woke
up. Text
filled its screen. The progress of the Agents was displayed.
He read the reports and sighed with great relief and happiness. He'd
already known the
outcome though; such was the nature of the jigsaw.
"First one failed," he murmured.
"And the second one brought us together again." He began to cry.
""Bob"? You okay?"
Connie stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Her night-gown fell about her
legs such
that their beauty could be plainly seen.
"Yes, my love. And you really forgive me?"
"Of course I do - it was not your fault. Now come back to bed. We have
plans to make
in the morning."
_____________________________________________
: 2.
The three points of pain were now just throbs when he awoke. He looked up
into
the face
of a creature he was unfamiliar with but had his suspicions about.
"Are you an Xist? I thought they were..." He coughed with the effort of
speaking.
"No, I am from Proxima Thule. Sorry to surprise you like that but we have
no human
reanimators on call at the moment. When I saw you stir, I decided you needed
pulling out
immediately."
"Thanks," he bleated.
"Now, I want you to rest some more, you have had a very long journey."
The
creature,
all limbs and eyes, waved a syringe at his patient who could do nothing but
comply. The
man fell back into the void where his subconscious should have been.
Fresh chemicals brought him back to the waking world. This time a bearded
man
welcomed him.
"Hi! What's for lunch." He winced at the bright lights that could just be
discerned to his
left.
"What would you like?"
"Actually, I think I could do with a pipe-full."
"Mmm, not yet. Psychotropics at this time would not help you."
"So what's the deal? Is this Jehovah-1's place?"
"I see you really swallowed that ... well, never mind. No, this is Point
2050, the first
fully functioning Time Control Reanimation Facility. And you are our first
success."
"Could I have that in plain and simple language please?"
"Okay," the man grinned. "You have been taken from your point of death in
the chrono
... err, history, I mean ... and brought here. We removed the bullets from
your chest,
cloned your heart and left lung, used them to replace the damaged parts,
reset
your
shattered ribs and brought you back to viable consciousness."
"Who runs Time Control?"
"You do, I suppose. As head of the old Foundation, you control it all.
Your
wife did for
a while, but..."
"My wife? What has she got to do with this?"
"She started the Time Control programme, but you..."
"I see. Tell me more about what happened after I had been shot."
The reanimator filled in the details. They were filled with his wife's
successes as a
businesswoman. The man did not like the sound of this. Something empty
within
him
was causing hatred to swell. This was not good, he thought. History should
have been
completely his, not partially left to that dumb-fuck-bitch wife of his. He
had
always
allowed her to build up her power on her own, but now it seemed like she had
leached
into his private stock and had been capitalising on his name.
His eyes were now adjusting to the light in the room, enough to realise
that the lights to
his left were a cluster of stars set in a deep blue swirl of gases. Point
2050
was obviously
not anywhere near Earth.
His reanimator noticed his interest.
"We are orbiting the Trinity Nebula. Time Control has of course given us
mastery over
space too."
"How far away are we from Earth?"
"About 2000 light years."
"Why the distance?"
"Earth is under control of the CON. They are too powerful to be close
to."
"Do they have our technology?"
"No. We really have the upper hand. Soon, we will be able to reaffirm
your
vision."
"Really? It was just a..."
"Not any more. We can make it flesh."
"When?"
"Once you have fully been debriefed. I dunno, you may want to change
other
things
first or perhaps you might have other plans."
Indeed he did. His wife had to be put in her place.
_____________________________________________
: 1.
Hawaii was a distant place in time and memory. A place never to be looked
upon
again.
However, it had made her safe, though she doubted that she had ever really
been in as
much danger as her husband.
Hawaii had also provided the keystone to her personal success. With her
husband still
around it had been difficult to make a mark. His energies had always burnt
the
brightest
and the period did not really admit women into the ranks of the extremely
wealthy.
Hawaii's general mental isolation from the rest of the heart of the CON
had
made it a
place where a person, a woman, could really build up her portfolio. She did
so
with
vengeance. Her husband's name was useful to be sure but now she was striking
out on
her own. The state was gradually turned over to her.
Hawaii was left five years after she first had set foot on it. She had so
fully made her
mark, and of course her money, there that she now felt she could return to
her
Texan
home with the knowledge that her future and fortune were set.
She thought back to what had started it all, what had really started it
all. That dream of
hers as a kid. She had known since her husband had shot his way into her
life
that it had
been him who had warned her to flee if he was ever to meet with his
followers.
Crossing over to the view of the city below, she pulled at a handle in
the
bureau and
looked within the drawer that contained the three talismans of her life.
One:
Her
husband's favourite pistol that had protected her on more than one occasion;
how he ever
got it back from the authorities after the first time they had met she had
never discovered.
Two: The cold-looking cylinder tipped with needles, now bunged to prevent
accidental
self-injection, that had been in the possession of the man who had first
tried
to kill her.
The Foundation had had it for many years and had finally returned it after
duplicating it
for use by the hierarchy - however no one had any idea who the originator of
this weapon
was. Three: The pistol that had been used to murder her husband with.
What had happened to the body? She had nearly strangled Ivan when she got
back. He
was flustered and came up some lame excuse about showmanship. Well that just
did not
wash. That's perhaps how it had started, but then - well it had become real
serious. The
authorities were always ready to pounce when it came to her husband. They
had
a field
day after the devival, nearly shutting down the Foundation for good. As for
the gunman,
he'd been detained for a while but with no body to go on, they very
reluctantly let him
go. The Foundation distanced themselves from him. They may have loved to cut
his
throat, but that would have really buried them. It had taken her personal
intervention to
prevent it all going sour. Interests had to be protected.
Well that was the past. It was time to look ahead. The Foundation was
soon
to change
its face once again. Finally, the dream of time control was becoming real.
The
Foundation's scientists, spoilt silly with her personal money, had tapped
into
the
continuum and were busy shooting particles up and down it. Models of time
were
being
formulated and most of the old worries concerning paradoxes were finally
dispelled. It
was a crazy jigsaw; you could change a piece and still the thing held
together. However,
the Class A paradoxes were a different matter. All Hell could be untapped if
they were
engineered. The perfect weapon to blackmail the CON with.
Soon, she thought, it had to be soon when a temporal visitor would come
to
them. All
this poking around in the chronosphere had to attract someone's attention.
Whatever form
the authorities of time took, they surely could not ignore what the
Foundation
was doing.
They were in the supreme vantage point, looking down into the past. They
could
very
easily stop her.
"Come on then, show yourselves," she spoke into the glass of the windows
shielding
her from the smog that forming over the city.
"Mrs. Dobbs?"
She turned around in fright, reaching for her holstered pistol.
"No, Mrs. Dobbs, not this time."
The man was not familiar, but what he wore and held was. He stood at the
dead centre
of the room, flashing his needle-gun at her.
"So you are from the CON?"
"No. I am here to stop you though. Orders from your husband."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Since he crossed over, he's gotten quite jealous of you. He's a
different
man now. If
you are lucky, you'll see."
She pulled out her pistol and took aim at the intruder's head.
"You're not giving me that bullshit." She pulled the trigger but there
was
no issue. She
pulled again, but nothing was forthcoming. She broke into a run, looking for
the envelope
knife she knew to be on the oak table that stood against the window glass.
The
man
watched her make her move, but he was in no hurry to stop her. He'd already
ensured
that all her options had been previously removed.
"Time Control, Mrs. Dobbs. That's why you are trapped here."
She reached the table and sent all its papers flying as she scoured for
the
knife.
"Here," called the man. He held up the knife with its antler handle
upwards. She saw it
and stopped dead. What else could she use? A cane from the elephant's foot?
"By the way, I've stowed the canes away somewhere safe."
"Fuck you!"
"Now, now, consider this as fate."
The man had now finished playing, he re-established his aim and fired.
_____________________________________________
: 0.
impressive noise of humans clamouring for their man the speaker stoking them
up no
doubt the waiting the hype the journey here was long his wife had made other
plans off to
Hawaii on business my love she had said I can't possibly attend they want to
see you not
me so be it perhaps might get some action from some of these groupies though
he had
heard that they were mostly male still that had not stopped him in the past
the noise rising
again why don't they just let me get on stage my fault I suppose I taught
'em
all about
presentation no wonder the duration you gotta get the punters minds right
for
the big sale
not that that was really necessary they were the choir preaching to them was
easy mmm
first time with my followers why didn't I do this years ago too busy
building
the
Foundation I suppose Ivan has done a wonderful job he's followed the basic
business
plan to the letter must get him sorted the membership money had done him
well
I didn't
want it but of course the Foundation needed its wheels oiling so I let him
take a cut I've
got other pots yielding bigger returns still I wonder if I shoulda no he's
welcome to it it's
not as if the membership is in its millions maybe when it is I'll take my
cut
hope he
doesn't feel that I am screwing him I bet he half expects me to diddle him
though I've
done it to so many others and he knows most of the scams I've pulled bloody
CON their
money is just too damn necessary it strains the Foundation fucking hell will
they ever
stop building me up let me on I gotta see these people they gotta hear it
from
me 1998 is
not too far away now my new contact will obviously lak-to-shit he if could
see
this
though I suppose he already can oh the lies never mind its true in essence
just not now
true its hot its dark and its loud come on come on ack! what are you people
on
hehehehe
you'd not be like this if you were smokin' real 'frop where's my here it is
ah
that's better
I suppose the resin is all they can afford pity I can't get my stuff on the
streets cheaper
but shipping from Malaysia is not cheap and the government is watching those
routes day
and night the fools oh come on don't you go on listen to them shriek musta
thought it was
me oh I see musical interlude
"Soon "Bob""
"When? This is taking too long."
"Just one more hymn and a bit more stoking - then they are yours"
where's he gone I hadn't finished with him perhaps a word with Ivan but I
don't see him
out there or back here seems they are making this the big one perhaps I
should
just appear
that would show them o settle down man they are only making sure its the
best
that music
seems to be going nowhere just like me can't say I approve of what they
think
of as
approved music but it's a generational thing give me jazz any day today in
fact mmm it's
stopped and the whooping's resumed excellent an actual introduction here we
go
hot very
light they got a big head of me look at that pipe who's he what the fuck
does
he think he
is doing shit AARRGGHH AARRGGHH AARRGGHH fuck I can hardly see myself on
the floor too much stage smoke mingling with that fucker's gun-smoke where
am
I going
wait I wanna see what they will do some people are man-handling my body off
the stage
who are they they don't look familiar oh yes now I can sense beyond this
immediate
moment they are taking my body forwards I wonder if they realise my mind or
is
this my
spirit is still here well this changes everything look's like I have gained
far more than I
could have expected from this let's see I think I will need to warn Connie
looks like that
without a soul I am gonna make a whole load of fool decisions in my new role
well I can
stop that soon but I still think I can give Connie a visit let her know mmm
not now
though in the past she'll get the joke a real kick from the idea of her
husband visiting her
from this vantage point here we go I doubt I will be able to choose the
right
time hey I'm
new here
_____________________________________________
: -1.
The Agent had spent the night close to hypothermia. It was early winter and
the trees he
strode by were hoary with still water. He was dressed for the time, if not
for
the season.
Due to the smallness of the destination it had been deemed too imprudent
to
arrive in
the town itself - his controllers did not want witnesses filling the records
with dangerous
clues. After much deliberation, they had set him down in one of the many
nearby forests
that provided the townsfolk with their main employment.
He rubbed his chest again and hoped he was not bleeding too much. The
controllers had
had a hard time finding accurate enough contemporary maps of the landscape
and
had set
him down painfully pressed against a tree. Roosting birds took flight when
he
swore
volubly upon realising how close he had come to being integrated with the
forest.
From his chest to his pockets went his hands. Rechecking his instruments,
he felt more
relieved that they had not come out of the experience more broken than he
felt. He felt
especially satisfied that his most important tool was still safely intact.
Eventually the town blinked into view; a pool of blackness that was
studded
by the
stellar impressions that marked out its roads and taller buildings. He kept
away from the
one highway that led to the town, not yet confident to appear as a
contemporary. He
wondered if he should spend the rest of the night in one of the many timber
depots he
came across, but decided that it was just too cold for that. He needed
warmth
and could
not afford to look too much like a tramp once he finally appeared to others.
Proximity to the town forced him on to the highway. Some trucks passed
by,
but did
not bother him. Finally he passed the town's name and population statistics.
One less, he
thought. The town's lights revealed him and he made for the nearest hotel.
With minimum fuss he checked-in with his provided identity. In his room
he
took a hot
bath and then went downstairs into the communal lounge. He ate well and
spent
the rest
of the night marvelling at the broadcasts on the hotel's television. He knew
he should
have slept and only did so for an hour as the sun rose.
Breakfast was eaten in a hurry. At the reception desk, the cashier took
her
time
examining the money that the Agent had handed her for his board. She
commented
that
she had rarely seen such mint-condition cash. He left the hotel, having
spent
very little
time actually in his paid-for room.
Perhaps too early, he thought. However, the cashier had made him nervous,
he had to
get out. A local store was opening and it carried the town's local paper. He
picked up a
copy and browsed as he sat on a nearby bench. Nothing seemed to happen in
the
town
that did not involve timber, but there were the odd federal reports of no
consequence.
Interestingly, though, her school was mentioned. Something about an
up-coming
Prom
caught his eye.
He recalled his briefing on the period. His instructors seemed to dwell
on
the American
"heterosexual hegemony" that was typified by such things as Proms and Weenie
Roasts.
America's political threats of the period were merely sublimated forms of
the
anti-
omnisexualism that was swilling around the minds of the glorps who would
thankfully
vanish into the folds of time.
Commercial and industrial traffic was picking up. Soon too, domestic
activity would
start. That was his time to act.
He got up and walked to his position, partly in anticipation, partly to
dispel the chill
that was reminding him of last night. Sure enough, the school bus appeared.
It
was
empty, but starting its daily weekday rounds. Soon middle-class transports
were dropping
off their children right by his standpoint. The school bus reappeared, and a
load of
elementary school children filed out. A young woman met up with them and
took
them
the short walk to their classes.
Finally, in this standard series of events, the high school students
began
to arrive. They
parked their shiny metallic steeds sloppily in diagonal parking slots
provided
by the
school. The Agent was now all eyes.
There it was: a blue convertible, with its cream-coloured canvas up,
engines still ticking
with heat. It was definitely her car, a gift from her parents. He had missed
his first
opportunity. The idea of entering the school in search of her was quickly
dismissed as
insane. How would that look on the records!
Annoyed with himself he walked off in search of a bar. There he spent the
morning, not
even bothering to see if she would make an appearance during morning recess.
He felt
that midday would be the crux of his task.
Time dragged on. The Agent drank a number of beers, much to the barely
concealed
disgust of the guy behind the bar. What's his problem, if this place is
open,
then why
shouldn't I drink, he thought.
At last, it was time. He moved with purpose to a spot on the sidewalk
that
was adjacent
to the blue convertible. Yup, there go the bells, he thought. School
children
began to flow
past him to a nearby soda fountain.
He felt flushed when he finally saw her. In some respects he could not
believe he was
about to do what he had been asked - nay, ordered - to do.
"Miss Marsh?" he swallowed hard, the taste of hops still with him.
The young woman, who was fiddling with the canvas of her car, looked up.
"Yes?"
"You are Constance Marsh?"
"Er, yes - is this about tomorrow? I am already set..."
"No, Miss Marsh. This is about you". Fuck, why was he delaying? Get on
with
it!, man.
He fumbled into the folds of his jacket and pulled out a long silvery
cylinder. The
weapon fit well in his hand due to its custom grip. Its most prominent
feature, though,
was the array of needles that sprouted out from its supposed muzzle.
"Hey, Mister, what the Hell is that?"
The young woman backed away from her car, nearly onto the road and
on-coming
traffic. Her startled reaction attracted the attention of some college boys
who were
passing by.
The Agent aimed the needle-gun at her chest and began to apply pressure
on
the grip's
trigger. However, his first shot merely sparked against the curb next to her
feet,
ricocheting in to a rear tire of a passing timber truck. There was a squeal
of
brakes as the
driver realised that he had lost a wheel.
It seemed that some fool had grabbed the Agent's out-stretched arm. He
found himself
in a tussle with two hefty college jocks. One had his arm bent back and was
trying to
remove the needle-gun from his grip an impossible task as the gun was
designed
not to
leave the owner's hand unless so desired. The other was attempting a
headlock
with some
success. With his free hand, the Agent punched himself urgently in his own
solar plexus.
The effect was instant.
The two assailants dropped to the sidewalk and rolled about in great
pain,
gasping. The
Agent they would be dead soon, the anti-personnel matrix he wore was lethal
to
anyone
but the wearer when it was activated.
After briefly satisfying himself that he was not hurt, he resumed his
previous course.
Looking up, he took aim again.
However, he was now confronted with an unexpected complication. The young
woman
he was intent on killing was now obscured by someone who perhaps was five or
more
years her senior. This man smiled unsettlingly and took aim with a pistol.
Everyone flinched at the report of the gun. The Agent had been flung
backwards, his
weapon clattering to the ground. The young woman's gunman walked over to
where
a
pool of blood was forming, pocketing his own gun and then that of the dead
man. The
man turned to the still-shocked woman and said, "Hi, my name's John."
_____________________________________________
: -2.
The blue-dark sky was barely visible through the drawn curtains that
depicted
toys at
play. Cicadas chirped, but all else in the physical world was still.
A shade's appearance caused the night-light to dim briefly. He was new to
this form of
travel and had decided that her early years were a good destination for his
new skills.
Perhaps her adolescence would have been a better bet against the eroding
nature of
human memory, but he was impatient and could not quite settle on the
co-ordinates he
had hoped for.
Physicality was ruled out. He could not concentrate that hard; too
distracted by his new
form for sure. Instead, he waited for the right moment. The contact would
not
be perfect
in such an environment, but at least the gist would be conveyed.
The girl began to show signs of the opportunity he anticipated. Her
closed
eyelids
twitched. The shade briefly coalesced around her sleeping head and then
winked
out.
The repeating theme of school was the stage. She was sat near the back of
the class,
head pressed against the ink-stained wood of her desk. The smell of graphite
was strong,
perhaps too strong.
She could hear her classmates laugh, probably because of why she was
head-down.
Shuffling was heard and then silence.
"Please rejoin us and look at the blackboard."
She lifted her head and glanced at the front of the class. The board was
blank except for
the middle panel. Two circles joined by a bridging arrow pointing leftwards,
the left
circle held an angular 'E'; the right circle was completely filled in with
chalk. Must be a
science lesson, she thought.
To the left of the diagram stood the teacher. She did not recognise him
though. Her
school ran a system of subject-specialists who moved from class to class as
the bell
marked out the school day. She was familiar with all her teachers, but this
man was not
one of them.
He smiled, perhaps a generous smile, but with a predator's edge. His eyes
glistened
with delight. His well-groomed hair sat immaculately on his crown and
temples.
He was
well attired in his tweed jacket and slacks. A stalk of something wooden
poked
out of his
breast pocket.
The substitute teacher, for that is what the girl decided he was,
gestured
towards the
diagram he had apparently just finished applying to the blackboard. The
chalk
in his
hands held like a cigarette.
"Our friends," mouthed the teacher. She did not hear him speak, but fully
understood
what he was communicating.
"We will meet soon, my girl. Something I did will bring us together, you
will be safe at
that moment. We will marry and go on to have many children. We will enjoy
the
respect
of many. We will be powerful and rich. You will be powerful and rich.
"However, I will go before you. The first time I meet with my followers I
will be taken
away. Please make sure you are not with me then, for it will upset you to
see
it - and I
doubt you will be safe.
"Do not worry, though you will join me," he waved at the symbol again.
Fear suddenly griped her. This man's pronouncements settled upon her like
murderous
birds. Blackness dripped into the classroom and began choking everyone
there,
except for
the man. The girl awoke with a start and yelled out.
The bedroom door quickly swept inward and a heavily set woman in a
nightgown
stepped in.
"Constance, was that you?"

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Original file name: The Apocrypha of IMBJR - converted on Thursday, 20 December 2001, 03:28