Showing posts with label vol. 01 - transient. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vol. 01 - transient. Show all posts

Thursday 1 September 2016

Kindred of the Gods

<< < Chapter Thirteen > >>

There was a sudden heavy groaning and screeching sound as the timeship span through the vortex, and the entire console room began to shudder violently.
  "What's going on?!" screamed Anise, gripping the edge of the console.
  "Oh, drat!" said the Duke stumbling as he twisted a dial on the console. As he did, the three occupants were thrown from their feet, and the ship landed with a great THUMP! and a scraping sound. The time rotor continued to groan and wheeze idly until the Duke got back to his feet and restored the ignition lever.
"I do apologize," said the Duke sheepishly, straightening his leather coat. "Left the handbrake on."
  “The handbrake?” said Edison getting to his feet. “Why would a spaceship have a handbrake?”
  “To avoid spatial drift after landing, of course,” said the Duke. “Our flight through the vortex was interrupted, so I applied the brake, but I forgot to deactivate it, so we span out of the vortex and crash-landed, I just need to find out where we are.”
  “We’re in the wrong place?” said Edison. A holographic representation of Earth appeared over the console as the Duke flipped a switch.
  “Ah . . . it would seem not. Right place, wrong time. We were on the right track, just derailed a little early,” said the Duke. “However, the sensors are still detecting naquadah. The wormhole generator must not have been moved for many years, it’s in the same place, just . . . now, that is interesting.”
  “What is it?” asked Anise.
  “The frequency is different. I’m not sure why . . . perhaps we should find out for ourselves.”
The Duke lead the way to the door and it opened automatically. He stepped into the Lift lobby and pressed the button to open the door, as he did, sand spilled in around his feet. “Drat . . .”
Anise and Edison walked past him to get outside, where it was late in the afternoon. They were on a beach, but the ship’s landing had carved a five metre long, one metre deep gouge along the sand.
  “Oh my goodness,” said Anise. “You really crashed it this time, didn’t you?”
  “The ship is fine,” said the Duke dismissively as he locked the doors. “It’ll need a sweep, but otherwise it’s all functional. I’ve landed worse than this before.”
  “You’ve landed worse?” said Anise, walking around the Lift.
  “Can we just locate the wormhole generator?” said the Duke, but he stopped still at the sight of the afternoon sky over the seascape blending into the horizon. “My word, that is marvellous to behold, isn’t it?”
  “Yeah, it’s pretty,” said Edison.
The Duke gazed at the water for a moment before snapping himself out of it.
  “Naquadah! Follow me, it’s this direction,” said the Duke, and he headed away from the shore, towards the treeline.
They found a dirt track through the trees and began to follow it, the Duke leading the way and occasionally checking his laser spanner for guidance.
  “So, this is the Bermuda triangle?” said Edison. “Does that mean we’re on Bermuda Island?”
  “No, we’re in the Caribbean,” said Anise. “Y’know, Hispaniola, Puerto Rico, Jamaica, that kind of thing.”
  “How do you know that?” asked Edison.
  “Because I looked at the map,” said Anise. “We’re in Northern Haiti, to be precise.”
  “But, I’m usually better at picking where we are than you. I don’t know this place, yet you do.”
  “Because you don’t have a Spanish mother. My mammy made me learn all about La Historia de España. Spain was one of many that tried to take Caribe for its own, but the slaves killed them and took over. This is a dangerous place.”
  “Because the slaves took over?” said Edison. “Sounds like a successful revolution to me.”
  “It’s not slaves that made it dangerous,” said Anise. “It’s the mess the whites left behind when they ran away.”
As they continued, the sound of drumming could be heard in the distance.
  “Now that sounds ominous,” said Edison. “I suggest we avoid the tribal war-drums.”
  “I advise that we don’t,” said the Duke, looking at the spanner in his hand. “The wormhole generator is over there. But don’t be afraid, Edison, those aren’t the drums of war.”
  “How can you tell?”
  “The rhythm is all wrong,” said the Duke, miming a drumbeat with the laser spanner. “Tap-a-dah dah-dada . . . could you imagine marching to that? You’d need five legs to step to that beat. That sounds like revelation, to me.”
The trio followed the path further where a small trail lead them away from the main path up to a strange building that was full of the sound of drumming, singing, people and light. The building was a ruin, the grey stone remnants of an ancient structure burdened by time and nature. But the building had been repurposed, a new, straw roof had been built and sheltered the remaining walls, and pieces of wood and corrugated iron were used to patch the larger gaps in the walls. But there was a stone archway welcoming them inside, so the three of them made their way in.
Inside the place they saw several locals dancing. Some of them were seated around the edges, but in the middle there were two women, dressed in black and red, dancing wildly around a central pole which held up the new straw roof.
One of the women was holding a lit candle in one hand, and a bottle of liquor in the other.
  “Some kind of dance?” Edison said, confused.
  “No,” said the Duke solemnly, “this is a church.” He nodded to the far end of the room, where there was some kind of shelf set up, one metre tall, and on top of it was placed candles, a bowl of water, a skull wearing a top-hat, cigars, candy, a pair of round sunglasses, a metal box, a bowl of coins, white gloves, and several other items of clothing, and on the wall behind it was beautifully painted in black a large detailed symbol on a white cloth.
  “So, where is the portal thing?” asked Anise.
  “I’m detecting naquadah from that shrine over there,” said the Duke.
  “Do you want to head over?” asked Edison.
  “No, we should watch and wait,” said the Duke. “Last time I interrupted a church service, they made me their pope.”
The three of them found some spare seats by the doorway and sat down, Edison electing to sit on the floor. The dancing continued, till one woman took a swig from her bottle of liquor, swallowed half the mouthful, then spat the rest at the torch, with a sudden fireball that made many of the dancers stop.
  “Papi Legba, open the gate; Papi Legba, your chil’ren await,” she commanded. She repeated, and the other patrons joined her chant, “Papi Legba, open the gate; Papi Legba, your children await.
They spoke the rhyme a third time, but as they did, the woman closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and arched her back, rolling her shoulders as though dancing in slow motion. As the chant stopped, she stood up straight and opened her eyes, and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot. As the others saw her, they stopped dancing and drumming, leaving pure silence.
  “Goddamn,” said the woman, in a hoarse airy voice, she blew out the small candle, dropping it by the sand as she leant on the centre pole. “Can someone, fetch me my cane, please?”
The other woman in red and black went to the shrine, and took a bamboo cane that was resting beside it.
  “Now that’s not right,” muttered the Duke, as he saw the woman blink, her eyes almost seeming to glow crimson.
  “Thank you, sugar,” said the red-eyed woman as she took the cane and leant forward, supporting herself on the walking stick. She looked at her other hand, with the bottle of liquor, shook her head and placed it on the ground. “Could I get a cup of coffee?”
One of the patrons went to the shrine, and he took a thermos from the top, unscrewed it and poured black coffee into the lid, as he did the woman limped over and took the steaming cup from him.
  “Is this normal?” asked Edison, leaning back to the Duke and Anise. “This isn’t like church when I was a kid.”
  “This is voodoo,” said Anise. “They pray to many gods, that come down and ‘ride’ believers, to heal and do magic.”
  “This isn’t normal,” said the Duke. “Gods don’t exist.”
  “It’s just mumbo-jumbo, Duke. It’s not real,” said Anise.
  “That’s what I mean. Religion is just a means to satiate the spiritual needs of the people. Just smoke and mirrors, but this . . .” he nodded at the red-eyed woman who was drinking coffee. “This isn’t fake, that’s a remote psychical projection. That woman is possessed.”
The others waited patiently as she sipped and sighed with relief.
  “That is good. My children, you have suffered for good coffee,” she seemed to become wistful as she stared into the middle distance, staring up at the symbol behind the shrine. “I had to wait millennia, travel between stars, to even touch a cup . . . and all of you have bled, bred generations of slaves picking the fruits, roasting morning seed for the white man. And fought, rising up, to earn the right to a cup of coffee. You make me proud, my children, praise be to Bond’ye.”
  “Amen,” said the man holding the thermos, and the others followed suit. The woman finished the cup and handed it back.
  “Thank you, my son,” she said, and she took a corncob pipe from the shrine, as well as tobacco and a box of matches, and she lit the match, in silence. As she did, the other woman approached her.
  “Papa, we wish to speak to the-”
  “Be quiet, girl!” barked the woman without turning around, stamping the sand with the cane to make her silent. “I know why you summon me. I merely ask for patience, I’m an old man, it can take me time . . . please, child, gift me with your patience.”
The woman, a little shaken, nodded and stepped back as the red-eyed woman lit the pipe and grabbed several peanuts from a bowl on the shrine, then turned to the crowd. She took three long puffs, limping towards the centre pole and exhaled heavily. “Alright . . . my children, how can I serve you this day?”
  “Papa,” said the woman in black and red, “we beg your protection. Politics, it’s made everybody crazy. Leaders planning coups, people rioting and then the Macoute, they’re still hunting around, killing and raping.”
  “These, I know,” said the possessed woman, she dropped a peanut shell and popped the nut in her mouth. “I can’t stop the free will of them boys; politics is politics, pray to Bond’ye for mercy. Do you need the future, sugar? Do you need to see the path of Ayiti?”
  “No, Papa Legba,” said the other woman, “We need strength, we need protection. The Macoute terrify us. They are hurting our women, killing our men.”
The possessed woman’s red eyes seemed genuinely sad as she nodded. She husked another peanut and popped it in her mouth.
  “You need Erzulie . . . she will heal your girls, and protect them. But do you want to fight the Gunnysack boys?  You need to get good mojo, protection, get your mind clear; but if you want to be safe, that’s a fight you must battle with both hands. Do you understand?”
  “Yes, Papa.”
  “Then bring ‘em down . . . To fight criminals, you will need a criminal . . . Amen.”
  “Amen,” said the woman, and the possessed woman closed her eyes.  “Bring ‘em down.”
The drums began to beat again, and the patrons started to dance once more. As they did, the woman opened her eyes, but the red was gone, she looked a little confused as she dropped the bamboo cane, coughed and took the pipe from her mouth.
  “What’s going on, Duke?” said Anise, sounding worried.
  “Remain here,” said the Duke, getting to his feet. “I’m going to have a look behind the curtain.”
The Duke pushed past patrons who danced with their hands on their hips and approached the dazed woman. Despite being a head taller and wearing black leather on a Caribbean beach, the other patrons seemed too concerned with their dancing to pay him any notice. Taking the laser spanner from his coat, the Duke subtly scanned her with the red laser.
  “Are you alright?” the Duke asked. “How do you feel?”
  “I am good, my child,” said the woman. “Praise be to the spirits.”
  “You were possessed by an alien entity,” said the Duke. “Do you remember what happened?”
  “Like a dream,” she said, and the Duke placed a hand on her cheek. “Did he come?”
  “He certainly did . . .” said the Duke. “You don’t seem hurt. He said he was going to ‘bring them down’. What does that mean?”
  “Legba opens the gate, for the loa to come down,” she says. “Do you believe, brother? If you do, they may come to you.”
  “No, but I respect . . . ” muttered the Duke idly, but then he looked at the shrine covered in clothes and offerings, and quickly knelt down, lifting up the edge of the white cloth to reveal brown metal underneath. “Where did you get this support from?”
The Duke rapped it with his knuckles, then placed his hand against the surface. The woman had no time to respond as the Duke jumped up to his feet and marched swiftly for the doorway.
  “Duke, can-?” started Anise.
  “-wait here,” interrupted the Duke, heading right past them.
  “Where the hell is he going?” said Edison.
  “Chess, do you remember Olivia?” asked Anise, turning to the Inspector.
  “Olivia? Was she at the party?”
  “No, Livia, that girl who kept coming back to life.”
  “Yeah . . .” said Edison, frowning.
  “And that ape-man with the French accent, who had red eyes?”
  “Red eyes . . .” said Edison, his jaw dropping as it dawned on him. “And the Duke said it was a ‘powerful psychic force’!”
  “Yes. Livia said she was into voodoo too. This must be related.”
As they spoke, one of the dancing women began moaning and shaking violently as she danced, lolling her head around her neck as though on drugs.
  “So, that ‘psychic force’ was her being controlled by a voodoo god?”
  “I guess,” said Anise, staring intently at the violently dancing woman. “But, they’re loa, not gods. They’re god-like, but only powerful spirits, kinda like angels.”
With a sudden gasp, the woman seemed to snap out of her gyrations and stood up straight. All of the dancing stopped and people watched patiently and reverently as the new loa revealed itself. She opened her eyes to reveal deep, bloodshot red as she brought both hands up to her head to feel her hair. Now that she was standing still, people could see that she was a beautiful girl, with full lips and womanly curves. She clicked her tongue softly as she ran her hands through her hair, then down her chest, feeling the curves and sighed deeply.
She turned and swaggered towards the table of offerings, dipped two fingers in a bowl of white chalk and then wiped them across both of her cheeks in a slashing pattern, then she turned around, smiling devilishly, as blood trickled from the corners of her mouth.
  “This is way different from the church I know . . .” Edison whispered nervously to Anise.

The Duke walked around the repurposed ruins, striding swiftly but carefully through the long grass. There were several trees off to the side, a small cemetery and the sun was beginning to set, leaving a quiet ominence to the Haitian shore, but the as the Duke rounded the ruins and saw the back wall, he smiled.
  “That explains it,” said the Duke, stopping to stroke his beard. The rear of the ruins were open and crumbled away, but the sheet with the symbol had been raised up to cover the gap in the wall. The “table” they were using to support the offerings for their shrine, was the flat top of the support structure to an ancient stargate. From this side, the Duke could see the ramp which would otherwise lead up into the wormhole, jutting out the back. “But, where is the ring . . . ?”
The ruins were too short for the six-metre tall ring to fit inside, and there was no sign of it on the outside either, it had been removed from the mechanism. The Duke steps up onto the ramp, and looks at his spanner as he scanned around with the red laser.
  “If I could just search for another source . . . and the naquadah here is interfering with the probing laser,” the Duke said, annoyed. He put the laser spanner back in his pocket. “If I were a wormhole generator, which had been removed from my support mechanism, where would I be?”
  “What are you doin’ up zere, boy?” called a voice. The Duke glanced over to see a black man in a worn-out, old top hat standing by the small, crooked gate of the cemetery, leaning on a rusty shovel. The man had white powder rubbed on his weathered cheeks, nose and forehead; long, salt-and-pepper coloured dreadlocks around his shoulders and spoke with a French accent, and heavy alveolar trill.
  “I’m looking for something in particular,” said the Duke. “Large ring, covered in symbols?”
  “Mon ami, I see all kinds in ‘ere, eh? Silver teeth, weddin’ rings, lip piercings - and I ne pas mean ze ones in your mouth, eh.” said Top Hat with a smirk, glancing at the gravestones behind him. “Zey try to take zem all . . . I understand, we ‘ave fallen on ‘ard times; but, as ze warden of zis cour, I’m afraid I can’t let you disturb ze patrons restin’ ‘ere.”
  “I am not a graverobber,” said the Duke, approaching the churchyard. “It’s not jewellery, this ring is taller than me, with thirty-six sigils and lights around it. Very powerful.”
  “What would you want with a ring like zat?” asked Top Hat.
  “It’s the active component of this machine,” said the Duke. “If you have enough power, you can travel galaxies with such a device.”
  “If you do not know where it is, zen how do you know what it does?”
The Duke approached the man in the graveyard, glancing at him with intrigue.
  “I have seen it before,” said the Duke, “or, I should say, after. But you do not seem surprised, confused or even dismissive of such a technology. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that you seem to know more about it than I do.”
The Duke looked the old man in the eye, and saw that his eyes were bloodshot.
“What’s your name, gravedigger?” asked the Duke.
  “Baron Cimetiere, ‘umbly at your service” said Top Hat, with a tip of the ratty old brim atop his head, and a broad grin revealing yellow teeth.
  “Are you the Baron?” asked the Duke. As he spoke, he took a step back and instinctively placed his hand on his hip for the gun that was no longer there.
  “Non, zat fils de pute ‘as soiled ze name ‘Baron’,” said Cimetiere, spitting at the ground with disgust. “It is my title, but mon frère ze Crook, he takes zat name and poisoned it. I prefer Monsieur Graveyard.”
  “But you’re one of them?”
  “Oui, I am Loa,” said Cimetiere.
  “I’ve been warned about you.”
  “Warned?  Dare I ask, by who?”
  “A demon.”
  “Yet you trust ‘im?”
  “I don’t know who to trust. The last time I met one of you, he was experimenting on an innocent girl, as punishment for some immaterial slight. They tortured and killed her.”
  “And ‘is name was ze Baron?”
  “Yes,” said the Duke coldly.
  “Well, zat would be Kriminel. Baron Kriminel is a cruel loa, And for as long as I ‘ave known him, he seeks power greater zan ‘e owns. In my ‘umble opinion, a disgrace to ze name Baron.”
  “A disgrace, yet you called him your brother?”
  “Oui, I and my three brez’rin, we are Lwa D’Morte, Loa of ze Dead.”
  “Four loa of the dead? Why four?”
  “Because zere are so many sides to it. Ze Loa of Deadlines, watches you travel to your life’s end. I am Loa of Dying, I watch as zey pass from one side to ze hereafter. Loa of Death, he walks alongside ze spirits. But Kriminel, he is Loa of Decay, lauds over corruption, rot and murder.”
  “If he is so evil, and you think him a disgrace, then why do you tolerate him?”
  “We must,” said Cimetiere, “It is ze will of god, Bon’dieu. But Kriminel is not evil. Cruel? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. But a loyal, faithful man ‘e is. I hate him, but I respect his couilles.
  “I think I understand,” said the Duke. “So, do you know where the wormhole generator is?”
  “Oui,” said Cimetiere.
  “Where is it?” said the Duke.
  “Somewhere safe,” said Cimetiere.
The Duke glanced behind the man into the graveyard.
  “May I see it?”
  “You don’t need it,” said Cimetiere, “You made it zis far, you can leave ze way you came.”
  “I need to ensure that it is safe,” said the Duke.
  “Do you not trust, mon ami?” said Cimetiere with another wicked smile.
  “It is not that I don’t trust you,” said the Duke sincerely, “But I do trust time, and I know that in a time to come - many decades from now - it will be taken by a dangerous organization known as the Eighty-Eight.”
  “Zis is my cour,” said Cimetiere sounding almost insulted, “I control all zat steps foot on my sacred ground, none can take ze portail from my grasp.”
  “You have a machine that can send someone through space,” said the Duke. “But I have a machine that can send someone through time. I have been to the future, I have stood within it, and in that future this wormhole generator will be in the hands of the Eighty-Eight.”
  “Have you come to stop zem?” asked Cimetiere.
  “Perhaps . . . if I have to,” said the Duke.
  “I promise you, nul can walk amongst my ‘eadstones, unless I allow it. If it is in ze future, zen it is fate. As La Croix would say, ‘zat is ze path we choose to walk’. But perhaps, when zese . . . “Huit-et-Huit” come, zen you will see.”
  “If it’s alright by you, I probably will . . .” said the Duke. “But I have one question.”
  “Oui, mon ami?”
  “You are hiding the wormhole generator. But you clearly didn’t expect me to come looking for it. Who are you hiding it from? The humans?”
  “Imbécile . . .” said Cimetiere, “Humanité is free to use zis portail, I am not ‘iding anyzing! It does not belong to ze Loa; but zis portail is antique, ze oldest I ‘ave seen in ze universe, and it ‘as no télécommande.” The old gravedigger looked up at the star-studded sky above, and spoke as he gazed off. “ I dial ze co-ordinates for any terrien zat wish to step beyond l’monde, and watch all zat pass, come or go. But if you want to use humanité’s gate, first get zeir permission.”
  “Perhaps I will,” said the Duke turning toward the church, “thank you.”
  “Il ñ'y a pas de quoi,” said Cimetiere quietly, as he leant down to dig, “. . . Duc d’Rathea.”

The Duke walked around to the entrance of the church, but as he did, Inspector Edison grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side.
  “Duke, we need to go,” said Edison, under his breath, leading him to a quiet corner where Anise was huddled..
  “What do you mean?” asked the Duke.
  “You didn’t see that last possessed girl. Duke, she was spitting blood and grabbing at people, burning marks on them,” said Edison.
   “She was castin’ hoodoo over the women, and dancin’ crazy-like.”
  “Hoodoo?” said the Duke. “Do you mean supernatural powers? You’re talking about magic, Anise. Illusionism, and sleight of hand. I assure you, there’s no such thing as magic.”
There was a cry out from behind the Duke as a dancing man suddenly flailed his arms around, his arms shuddered from a sudden flexing of muscles, then he began breathing heavily, his eyes wide open. The man was tall with short, curly black hair and he wore a striped polo shirt and jeans, but bare feet with toes curled from pain as he was possessed, and everyone else stopped dancing and stepped back. As the man clenched his teeth, the whites of his eyes grew red from the veins swelling with bright blood. With a painful groan he suddenly relaxed, exhaled calmly and smiled, standing up straight.
  “Now, he we are . . .” said the man, speaking in a Cajun accent. He glanced around for a moment before his smile dropped. “I want my hat. Where’s my foutu hat?”
At the sound of the voice, the Duke slowly and coldly turned around.
Some people closest to the shrine grabbed at the top hat, and the first young boy to get it quickly brought it over, holding it out towards him within arm’s reach. The man slowly and carefully pinched the hat between two fingers. As the boy let go, the man’s hand snapped forward and grabbed the boy’s wrist. He squealed, terrified.
“Did you forget something?” said the man as the boy whimpered. “ . . . gloves?”
A scared looking woman snatched a pair of gloves and a handful of chalk from the shrine and ran over holding them an inch from his face, the handful of chalk, and the thin, black cotton gloves with green and yellow lines around the wrist. He let go of the boy and grabbed the chalk with his left hand, and smeared it on the left side of his face, leaving it dusted white. Then he took the gloves with his other hand, and the woman grabbed the boy cooing to him as a mother, walking away as the man donned the gloves.
  “The Baron,” said the Duke, spitting out the name as though it was sour.
  “So, you want war?” said Baron Kriminel, looking around “Dem Tonton Macoute are my blood, you talkin’ war and fightin’ back. You gonna fight dirty, you wanna stop ‘em boys.”
  “Baron, they are killing us,” said the leading mambo woman, walking up to him.
  “You want fair trade?” said the Baron, he stepped forward and grabbed her backside, pressing his crotch to her side and grinding with a vulgar moan, then whispered in her ear, but his voice rattled deep and husky and from the silent crowd everyone heard him say. “I want a prayer from you. But, you want death, bring me death . . . a sacrifice. Three this time.”
  “Yes, Baron,” she said. He smiled crookedly and let go of her.
  “That’s what I wanna hear . . . yes, yes, YES!” he said, clapping his hands. “Come on, this is a good night, rejoice! Now, get me someone gettin’ me a drink!”
People started to dance, although some of them looked nervous. As the woman moved through a back passage to head outside, the Baron turned to the shrine of offerings. There, someone was pouring him a glass of wine. He  walked over, smacking the glass so it spilled on the sand, and grabbed the bottle. He took a swig and grunted with a smirk. “Good red,” he said.
The Duke’s hands were shaking with anger and he started to move towards the Baron, but Edison grabbed his shoulder.
  “Stop,” he said, his voice hushed “Do you remember last time? He’s much too powerful.”
  “That’s what these people all think,” said the Duke, growling at Edison, staring him dead in the eye. “They’re too scared because he’s so powerful, so they do everything he says. That’s not power, that’s an abuse of power.”
  “You think I don’t know that?” said Edison. “But you’ll make things worse by pissing him off.”
The Duke looked at Edison coldly, and he stood up straight. No longer looking him in the eye, at his full height he was three inches taller, and he looked down at Edison.
  “You underestimate how dangerous I can be when I’m ‘pissed off’,” said the Duke.
The two of them turned when they heard the sound of fluttering and clucking, and they saw the mambo woman return, holding two black chickens, each upside down and held by the legs. The second woman wearing black and red followed holding a third. Each was let go and they flapped down to land awkwardly near the centre poll of the building, and they scratched around, squawked and one even ran around trying to go back out the door where it had come, but the other patrons herded it back to join the others.
Baron took a few steps towards the three, took a swig of wine, and spat it out at the chickens in a spray. The chickens were wetted, but not much agitated.
  “Magnifique,” he said, chuckling. “Now, where is it? Pétrole? I want holocaust!”
  Someone with a metal jerry can came forward and doused it over the chickens. Each flapped and scrawked, upset, as they were covered and the room filled with the smell of vaporized petrol.
  “What the hell?” said Anise, as someone brought over a candle and placed it to the chicken’s sodden feathers. The bird suddenly burst into flame and began flapping wildly, jumping and shrieking. The Baron smiled cruelly and laughed as the bird jumped and cried out.
The Duke charged forth and skidded to a stop, digging his foot in the sand to send it spraying at the chicken, Then kicking up the sand with his other foot, he doused the flames, then stared daggers at Baron Kriminel.
  “Que diable? You merde chatte! What in god’s name do you think you’re doin’?!”
  “Rescuing an innocent creature from a monster,” said the Duke, looking at the bird. All of its feathers were charred and covered in sand, and it looked distressed, but it was not hurt. “You enjoy watching harmless creatures burn?”
  “Yes,” said the Baron. “How dare you stop my sacrifice?!”
  “I dare because I have empathy for innocent lives! I don’t care how powerful you are, nothing has the right to molest morality and good sense this way!”
The Baron stared at the Duke, and everyone watched in stunned silence, only the clucking of the chickens could be heard. Then, the Baron smiled.
  “You must be swingin’ coconuts to stand there like that, but it has been a long time since I’ve needed to throw my weight around . . . I’m the Baron of Decay, I watch rot and bleeding and slow, insidious death.” The Baron took two careful steps towards the Duke, till he was a few inches away from his face. “I relish the chance to rip you a new urètre.”
  “I’m not scared of you,” said the Duke.
“I’m not really here, sot naïf,” said the Baron. “And I already know how to hurt you . . .”
The Baron smiled, and slowly removed the glove from his left hand, showing the still-chalky fingers. Baring his teeth, he stuck his thumb in his mouth, then bit down with a sickening crack, blood squirting out, making some people faint and others groan or scream in horror. The Duke’s face went from anger to horror. The Baron held up the bleeding stump of his thumb and spat the digit at the Duke, so it bounced off his chest.
  “You don’t like me hurtin’ innocents? I will break every bone in this building!”
  “You’d hurt your own people?”
  “I do whatever the fout’ I want to, nègre!” said the Baron, “But would you? Would you hurt me? This man has a family, a mammy and a pappy who love him so so much.”
The Baron suddenly grabbed the Duke by the throat with his right hand, and Anise squealed.
  “Duke, no!” she called out, and the Baron started laughing.
  “I got you by the throat, boy!” said the Baron. “and I don’t even mean your collet.”
The Baron let go of the Duke and pointed his hand, bleeding all over the floor, towards Anise.
  “You a friend o’ his? His squeeze? Bet he wants to baise your honeypot, non?” said the Baron as he walked towards Anise and Edison.
  “Leave her alone!” said the Duke, and the Baron turned to face him.
  “Will you walk?” he said, sternly and seriously. “You beg forgiveness, get out of my lakou and respect my name? Respect the Baron?”
The Duke sneered, disgusted.
“No, don’t you dare, boy! Once chance, I give you . . . one . . . merde. To hell with you.” The Baron’s eyes glowed like red lightbulbs as he turned to Anise. He slammed the flat of the palm of his bleeding hand into her chest, but she wasn’t knocked back. There was a sudden flush of wind, that disappeared as quick as it came, then the Baron slowly drew his hand away from Anise muttering to himself, and with it a red, ghostly image, transparent but shaped exactly like Anise, was pulled from her body. As the ghost was removed from her, Anise’s body fell, Edison caught her and tried to help her up, but the phantom-image still seemed to struggle.
  “NO!” screamed the Duke.
  “YES!” snarked the Baron. “I’m taking your woman, nègre. You want her back, you’ll give your respect to me! Your soul for hers . . . fair trade.”
The red spectre floated up and out through the ceiling, and simultaneously the man seemed to stumble, dazed. There was silence before the man suddenly screamed in agony and grabbed his bleeding hand, tears streaming down his face from the pain. The Baron was gone. Several people ran forward to help the screaming man.
The Duke ran to Anise and kneeled down.
  “Anise!” called the Duke, leaning over her.
  “She’s alive,” said Edison, putting a hand on Duke’s chest to hold him back “Pulse, breathing, all good. But she’s gone. It’s like a . . . a coma, or something.”
  “He took her . . .” said the Duke, cradling Anise’s cheek in his hand. “Stripped her neurons of her mind . . . I have to get her back.” The Duke rose to his feet.
  “What are you going to do?” asked Edison.
The Duke turned and walked out of the church.
“Duke, come back!” Edison called after him, but he didn’t follow, he stayed behind to help the bleeding Haitian man. The Duke got to the dirt track and ran, as he did the starlit sky above him seemed to darken from the gathering clouds. He arrived at the treeline, and marched across the beachsand towards the Lift, when there was a crack of thunder, and red electricity sparked in the sky above. There was another crack, and a red bolt of energy struck the lift, sending crackling arcs of power across the surface, then the clouds swiftly descended, roaring like a contained storm. The unnaturally dark purple clouds surrounded the Lift, spinning like a slow tornado.
The Duke ignored it, marching towards the Lift, but was suddenly struck in the shoulder by a spike of red electricity. He cried out in pain and dropped to his knees. Then, the tornado slowly lifted and settled, leaving only the sand behind.
  “No . . . no no NO!” screamed the Duke. Gritting his teeth, he slammed a fist into the ground out of anger. Then again, again and again, before leaning back and screaming at the sky like an animal. He rose to his feet, gripping his sore shoulder, and stalked towards the church once more.

The Duke returned to the church to see people gathering around the back of a pickup truck. Through the black crowd, Edison stood out, standing on the bed of the truck, talking to the injured man that was lying down, holding his bleeding hand up straight, he had a shoelace around the stump that was his thumb.
  “Above your head, higher than your heart, so it doesn’t bleed so much, take deep breaths and you’ll be okay” said Edison. As he saw the Duke, he stood up and patted another man on the shoulder. “Keep pressure on that thumb.”
Edison jumped over the side of the truck, back onto the sand and walked towards the Duke as the engine started on the truck.
  “Where the hell were you?” Edison asked the Duke, as he cleared the crowd.
  “The timeship, but it’s been taken away. The Baron took it!” said the Duke.
  “You were just going to leave?! That man is bleeding to death,” said Edison.
  “I don’t know medicine, I can’t help him any more than these people could. But I can help Anise!” growled the Duke, walking past the church.
  “What about me? Do you care that you left me here to clean up this mess?” asked Edison, and he held out his hands. “I have his blood on my hands. Nobody here knows how to deal with a severed finger, I had to do your dirty work. And this country has a high risk of H.I.V. too, that was stupid . . . for goodness sake, Duke, will you stop and look at me?”
  The Duke whirled around and shouted in Edison’s face, “I have to save Anise!”
 “Do you think I don’t know that?!” demanded Edison. “You have to stop and think, Duke!”
  “Just STAY out of my WAY!” roared the Duke, he turned and kicked open the churchyard gate, marching onto the grounds. He took the laser spanner from his pocket.
  “What on Earth are you doing?” asked Edison.
The Duke ignored him as he scanned the area with a red laser on his spanner, then began to walk towards the centre of the yard, but as he did a green semi-transparent hand reached up from the ground and grabbed his ankle and the Duke tripped over. As he rolled over to stand up, three more hands appeared and grabbed onto his legs and leather jacket with a ghoulish wailing sound.
  “Let go of me!” he cried out. Thrashing his arms, he swiped through the transparent arms, disturbing and weakening them slightly, but then transparent silhouettes of people slid from the ground and grabbed his arms, holding him down with echoing groans. The Duke struggled, but couldn’t escape their grasp. “I said let go!”
  “What did I tell you, mon ami?” said the old gravedigger, slipping out from behind a crooked, old tree. “None can step foot on my cour wizzout my say so.”
  “I am the Duke of Rathea!” roared the Duke, “And I DEMAND you let me go!”
  “Do you zink you are ze first to charge into my yard, screamin’?” asked Cimetiere, stepping forward, plunging his shovel into the ground in front of the Duke. He knelt down, holding the handle for support. The Duke struggled, crying out and flexing against the ethereal hands of the ghastly people, as he did the old, black man just watched quietly. After a minute, the Duke stopped, exhausted.
  “Please . . . I need help, please?”
  “Not from me, mon ami,” said Cimetiere. He gave a dismissive gesture, and the phantoms dragged the Duke backwards. The Duke struggled to gain his footing, but they stood him at the gate and threw him out. The Duke collapsed onto the ground just outside the churchyard, where Edison was standing.
  “What the hell is going on?” asked Edison, kneeling down. He offered a hand to the Duke, and the Duke glanced at it bitterly, then sighed, and took the hand.
  “I have found the wormhole generator,” said the Duke. “It’s beyond the gate, but Monsieur Graveyard is guarding it . . . he threw me out.”
  “Well, what do you expect when you’re charging around like a raging rhino?”
The Duke gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.
  “I apologize.”
  “ . . . what?” said Edison, surprised.
  “I have . . . a severe temperament. I mean no disrespect,” said the Duke, holding up an open hand, but his arm was shaking. “But, I have to save Anise. I know exactly what I have to do, I need to use the machine, I need your help. Please . . . help me,” said the Duke.
  “How? What the hell is going on?” asked Edison. “I’ve seen vampires and werewolves, now ghosts. Tell me what’s going on Duke.”
  “I don’t have TIME!” roared the Duke, he stepped forward and grabbed Edison’s upper arms tightly, but when Edison winced he let go, clenching his fists.. “I . . . do you trust me, Inspector?”
  “No,” said Edison, staring at the seething duke. “But . . . I trust how much you care for Anise. What do you need me to do?”
  “Follow me,” said the Duke. He stormed back into the churchyard. Edison, having seen what happened last time he went in, hesitated, but then the Duke yelled “Come on!”
As they moved to the centre, the green figures appeared near the edges of the yard, but none of them approached.
  “They’re just psychic residue, Edison,” said the Duke, when he saw Edison’s eyes darting around.. “Don’t be afraid.”
  “Ahh, back so soon, mon ami?” said the old gravedigger, still standing next to the shovel he’d plunged into the ground just moments ago.
  “Cimetiere!” called out the Duke, his voice sounding slightly hoarse. “Let me pass.”
  “You ‘ave autorisation?” he replied, the green ghosts encroaching closer.
  “Yes. Inspector, tell him I can use the wormhole generator.”
  “‘Tell ‘im’?” said the loa, shaking his head, “Inspecteur, you don’t ‘ave to do as ‘e tells you. I will kick ‘im out again, if you want.”
  “Why does he need to ask me,” asked Edison.
  “Because it is yours - humanité’s portail - I will not let aliens charge in wizzout permission.”
Edison glanced at the Duke before nodding at the gravedigger.
  “Sure, he can use the portal,” said Edison with a shrug. “ . . . but only if I go with him.”
  “Fine.” The Duke, glared.
  “Zere . . . not so ‘ard, was it?” said Cimetiere, grinning. “Suiveurs, soulèvent l’portail . . .”
The loa took his shovel out of the ground and walked five steps away, then plunged it into the ground once more but this time it sent deep cracks across the graveyard dirt. There was a crumbling sound as the ground shifted, and fossilized, old skeletons with glowing, red, pinpoint eyes crawled out of the earth, all standing in a circle. There were six in total, caked mud and grass clinging to their ribs and teeth. The dried earth fell away from them as they mechanically, jaggedly clawed themselves from the ground.
  “What the hell . . .” said Edison, taking a few steps back. As he did, one of the phantoms behind him moaned, its echoing, hollow voice made him gasp.
The skeletons reached into the dirt and pulled up a large, dark metal ring - the stargate. The ring had been buried a few inches beneath the soil, but they lifted it upright before the Duke and Edison, with Baron Cimetiere standing in the middle of the ring, dirt pouring around him and over him, tumbling off his top hat. As the ring rose upright, the skeletons crouched down, and in synchrony they stopped, the gate stood tall, each of them holding the gate in place, three either side in a perfect symmetry of painful servitude, two of them near the base held out their arms to form rudimentary steps, then the red from their eyes faded away.
  “Now, take me to the Baron!” said the Duke, baring his teeth like an angry dog.
  “Are you sure?” said the gravedigger, leaning on his shovel once more. “Know that ‘e is très loin, many stars from here. It will take a lot of énergie to send you there, and you will need just as much énergie to return”
  “We will make our own way back,” said the Duke. “Dial the co-ordinates.”
Baron Cimetiere nodded, then raised his hand and slowly moved his hand around, drawing a circle in the air. As he moved his hand, the entire gate seemed to crackle and spark with red electricity. When the entire gate was live with power, he began snapping his hands towards the gate. With each violent gesture, a bolt of red lightning shot from his hand and struck somewhere around the ring, and where it did, the symbol on that portion of the ring became illuminated. He lit up nine symbols around the ring, when suddenly the energy coalesced within the ring and the unstable vortex burst forth with a whoosh. It finally settled, leaving a glistening pool of silvery water.
  “Come on,” the Duke said to Edison. He quickly walked up to the gate, climbed over the bones that formed steps into the wormhole, and disappeared into the event horizon of the wormhole. Edison, not wanting to be left behind, quickly made his way up and left the world.

The Duke stepped out of the stargate onto a speckled animal skin that carpeted the floor. The room was two storeys tall, and brightly lit with gas lights that were in the top corners of the shalestone-walled room, and spaced along either side leading to the end, where three chairs waited ten metres away from the stargate which sat at the other end of the room; off in the corner behind the chairs was the Lift, just as it had looked on the beach. Each of the chairs was hewn from hardwood, with red leather as the cushion, but the chair in the centre was twice as tall as the two that flanked it, taller than any human person could possibly be, topped with the cruel-looking antlers of some alien stag. Both arms of the chair had a chain leading from them to a leather collar around the neck of a hyena-like creature with spotty, brown and grey fur and a wild mane. One of them was asleep, but the other was loudly chewing and slavering over a large bloody bone, which looked disturbingly like a human femur.
In the chair sat Baron Kriminel, himself, not possessing an earthling host. He was a skinny black man with wiry muscle. He didn’t wear a shirt, or shoes but had a dusty tuxedo jacket on, a broken top-hat with the discoloured silk tearing at the seams and trousers shredded around his ankles. He wore dark brown, fingerless leather gloves on his hands, and an eye-patch with similar brown material over his left eye. He was lounging in his chair, stroking a small, glass in his hands, with white lines on it and a lit candle inside.
Edison stepped out behind the Duke, and the portal closed behind them. As soon as the Inspector saw the Baron, he looked sick.
  “Duke, whatever you’re going to do, can we do it quick?”
  “BARON!” shouted the Duke, his voice harsh, echoing against the mottled grey walls
The Baron glanced  looked up from the box in his hands, and smirked.
  “Duke,” he said quietly and mockingly, getting to his feet and stepping over the feeding hyena-creature. His voice sounded hoarse, as though he had smoked every day of his life. “This girl got a beautiful soul, I see why you like ‘er . . . honeysweet” said the Baron, placing the jar on his throne and standing there, patiently, staring at the Duke. The Duke walked towards him, walking over assorted animal skins that lead up to the three chairs.
  “Where is Anise?” said the Duke.
  “Safe . . . for now,” said the Baron. “Stuck to a govi jar. All yours, for the right price.”
  “You want my ‘soul’?” asked the Duke, coming to stand two metres away. At that distance, he could see the Baron’s face more clearly. The entire left side of his face looked emaciated and gaunt, paled and skeletal.
  “Yesssss,” hissed the Baron, “A pledge, to me. A prayer. A promise to the Baron.”
  “Do I kneel down? Do I kiss your feet?”
  “Non, just pray,” said the Baron. He smiled as he looked at the Duke, but when the timelord didn’t move, staring coldly back at the Baron, his smile dropped.
  “What are you doing, Duke?” asked Edison, standing back behind him. The Duke didn’t answer.
“You think you’re strong, don’t you? Is that why you’re here?” asked the Baron
  “I’m here to get my friend back!” growled the Duke.
  “By bein’ a hero?” said the Baron. “I’ve seen a lot of heroes in my time, they want to test me, see if they can bleed out my power, take my throne . . . all of them rotted away.”
  “I don’t like bullies . . .”
  “I don’t like wearin’ socks, je ne donne pas une baise,” The Baron held out his hand, and his one visible eye glowed red as the jar lifted from the throne, the occult hand of voodoo telekinetically raised it in the air and placed it in the Baron’s open palm. “I got you by the balls, Duke! One wrong step, I break this jar, your beloved beaux dies, forever. I have all the power, this is my world, nègre!”
  “Do you think I haven’t faced someone like you, before?” said the Duke, baring his teeth. “I am the Duke of Rathea! Warriors, fighters, terrorists, maniacs, genocidal monsters - and, yes, even those that think themselves gods! - all of them stood before me and declared me defeated and dead! You’re not the first to say as much, but there’s an enormous difference between you and the corpses of those I have stood upon, victorious! Do you know what that is, ‘Baron’?!”
The Baron shrugged, still flippant and calm.
  “Please . . . tell me. I’m shakin' to know.”
  “They stood before me on Rathea, they threatened my people . . .” said the Duke, quietly. “My world is dead, razed and burned to dust. I stood upon the ruins of my kingdom, I held in my hand the ashes and dust that used to be the blood of my people!” said the Duke, he held up his shaking hand, his voice breaking with emotion. “I was left behind! My people all dead! I was ready to die with them . . . until Anise. She taught me to live, again.”
  “I still hold all the cards,” says the Baron smirking cruelly, holding the jar in front of him. It looked so small and fragile. “Now I know how much she means to you, I still have the upperhand.”
  “No . . .” growled the Duke, frowning severely. “You still don’t understand . . .”
The Duke suddenly screamed and leapt forward, as fast as a hungry tiger, grabbing the Baron by the skull. He started smacking the Baron’s face into the chair. Out of sheer surprise, he dropped the jar, it landing on the fur on the ground.
The feeding were-hyena snarled and jumped, but the Duke kicked it in the face, making it fall back, whining. The Baron was frowning as the Duke held his face in his hands, and he screamed.
 “SHE WAS THE ONLY THING KEEPING ME SANE!
The Duke pulled the Baron up by his head, and swiftly wrenched his head around, making a disturbing crack!
The Duke dropped his head, and the Baron’s limp body crumpled to the floor, then the Duke looked at his hands. He was breathing heavily, like a raging bull. He threw a punch at the leather of the chair in front of him, then pressed his hands to his head, screaming.
  “Duke, stop it!” yelled Edison, running forward, “Duke, STOP!”
The Duke fell to his knees and cried out, his eyes tearful, and he screamed again, wordlessly, this time his throat sounding ragged.   “Duke, please . . .” said Edison, running up and placing a hand on his shoulder. At first, the touch made him flinch, but then the Duke seemed to calm, his breathing started to slowly calm down.
  “I didn’t want you to see this . . .” murmured the Duke.
  “You killed him, Duke.”
  “I know . . . I couldn’t . . . Anise.”
  “Duke, just focus. We need to get out of here,” said Edison. He reached down and picked up the jar that had fallen on the ground. It had white hearts and symbols drawn on the glass, and inside was white dust, a lit candle that burned despite the sealed lid its flame bright red, small chains and some chicken bones were scattered around inside as well. “We’ve got her back, let’s just get out of here, okay.”
The Duke stared at the little candle in the jar, and seemed to smile at the corners of his mouth.
  “Okay . . .”
Edison helped the Duke slowly get to his feet, and they walked over the the Lift, the Duke looked tired as he unlocked the door and lead the way inside. Edison watched as the Duke walked into the centre and looked over the Lift’s console within the main control room. He held the jar in his hand, looking at the candle. It seemed so small, but he was assured that this was Anise - everything of who she was.
  “Inspector,” said the Duke, not looking him in the eye, “can I ask something of you?”
  “Yeah. Sure,” said Edison.
  “Could you not tell Anise what I said?”
  “About how much she means to you?” asked Edison.
The Duke nodded.
  “Why?” asked Edison.
  “It’s not her fault,” said the Duke. “I used to be . . . I don’t like the person I used to be. When he died, I was lost, and she helped me find a new me. A new Duke. But I’m still young, still learning, it’s a lot of pressure to put on one person, to be your conscience. Your sanity. Your guide . . .”
  “You love her, don’t you?” interrupted Edison.
The Duke didn’t answer, merely sighed deeply.
  “Please, just promise me that you won’t tell her. Either she will be scared, and leave. Or she will feel trapped, and obliged to stay. I don’t want that, and she shouldn’t be forced to choose.”
  “Okay, Duke,” said Edison. “Mum’s the word . . . when we put her soul back, I promise I won’t tell her anything about what happened. But, tell me one thing. Did you know that you were going to snap his neck before we stepped through the wormhole?”
  “I didn’t want to . . .” said the Duke, and he stared off across the control room.
  “That doesn’t really answer my question,” said Edison.
  “No. It doesn’t,” said the Duke. He started flicking and switching dials, then pulled the ignition lever.

From the throneroom, the Lift started to shift and groan, and it made the lights flicker as it started to fade from existence, then with a wheeze and a thud, the ship vworped away. A few moments after it left, there was a soft hissing sound. In front of the throne, the collapsed form of the Baron was lying, head twisted around, but purple smoke was pouring out of his nose. The smoke quickly formed into a cloud above the throne, several wisps stretching out like tentacles. Then it found the maned hyena-creature that was licking its bleeding muzzle. The poor animal whined, scared, as the smoke found its nose, then aggressively flooded its mouth and nostrils. The entire cloud slipped into the animal’s airways, and once it did, the poor creature stopped whimpering, and as its eyes glowed bright red, it snarled, viciously.

Wednesday 18 May 2016

Lost Chapter - Eʀʀᴏʀ.606: F̺̩̩il̄̚e͖͙̳͍̒̏͘ ̠̼̤̲̐̄̌̄̈̇ͫN͕̹͚̦̜̠̄͗͑ͬ̇̋͠ö̤͈̺̆̈́ͅt̨ͩ͗̂ ͥ̈ͥF̯̭͕̹̱͈͔͞o̻ͬ̾ͬu̫̫ͣ̄n̰̹̲̰͈̅ͣͧ̿̚͝d̪̖͉̾



[b]012.0 | Archive Ref #: b12.-216-X(L)-m01 | [b]13.0 
  After the last two occasions of having my documents, pilfered, mistreated or destroyed, I decided to begin digitizing some of my more precious documents. I believed that it would make my information more secure, since I have a password protected laptop, and I kept the files within an encrypted file.
  However, just three days ago I was scanning several more images to add to the file, when I realized that I couldn’t add the new files. It said there was an unknown file error. I opened the file, and the computer froze. My laptop was infected with an insidious virus. It took me half a day, but I managed to clear up some of the malware with several free virus-cleaning programs I found online and run the computer in safe mode so I could save some of the files to a USB, but then I had to format the laptop. I lost all of those files, But this contains all the data that I could resurrect from that USB of corrupted files.


+

The Duke held his hands up to his face, but as his hands moved, the leather sleeves of his coat shuffled and whipped as though underwater.  “No . . .”
The Duke threw his hands down to stop the ship, but it was as though he was swimming through treacle. He grabbed the handbrake and twisted it sharply, then reached up for the ignition lever, but it was like he was pushing through mud. Then sand. Then stone . . . slowing slowing, the grinding was so slow, it sounded like a low growl. Then, stopped.
The Duke tried to look left and right, but time was almost entirely frozen; the attempt made his eyes hurt as though he was in a wind tunnel, the air was like a solid. He tried to blink, but it took a minute just for them to close.
“How is this possible? My body has slowed, but my mind is still as swift as ever,” thought the Duke. “I’ve never encountered something like this before.”
As his eyes finally managed to open, there was a ding. The Duke wanted to turn around, but couldn’t. He was frozen in increasingly slowed time. All he could see was a bright rectangle of white light that shone from the door as someone entered the console room, with the sound of slow, determined footsteps.
That’s impossible. Nothing survives within the vortex, let alone something with two legs.
There was a soft scrape as the feet came to a stop, a few metres behind the Duke. There was a light click, a creak of leather, then the person spoke.
  “.͠ .͞ ͟. ̶Duk̷e,͝ ̷is̨ i̸t̀? ̨O͏r is̢ ͟i͜t́ '̛T͏h͜e̶'̷ Dukę?̡” asked the man, his voice sounded hoarse and dry, and his cadence was slow, as though he hesitated for a slight moment before each word. “I ne͜v̨er̀ c͢an͝ ̛qui̶t͞e ̸t́e̕ll.̡"Ỳo͜ur͠ ̶file ̛says͠ 'R͢h́o to̢ th͝e Fir̶s̴t,̴ T̛he͜t̴a-Eta ͝to the̴ Zero̧t͠h͘', ͢bu͠t ̵also Rat́h'ḩeDoog͏h; Second;͝ Èǹd͜e̷r a̶n͢d̴ .͟ ͡.͞ ͝. ͞Mo͏r̢p̕h̡eús.́”
The Duke couldn’t respond. Any reply would take a week for him to speak, so he didn’t even try.
  “I͟ do ͞apólog̢ìze ̸f̴or̵ t͜h͞e ͏i̡ǹc͞o͠nven̨ienćé, but w̛e hąve app͜lie͝d ̡a͢ chr͏o͞n̸o͢l̷ogi̸ca̡l̸ ͟s͠u͜spensi̡on͜ o̴n͝ thi͠s tran̷s͠p̕ort̴ ͟and̷ its͜ ̡o̴ccưp͘a̶n͏t͞s.̷ ͜I͞t͞ ͡is ne̸c̢e͜ss͘ary̕ ̕foŕ ̀me̶ t͞o͟ s̵p̀èa̸ḱ ͜w̵it͜h yo͞u͝, ̶but͞ ͞ẁe have̶ ̴c̡a̵l̷cul̀at͘ed that,̵ w͡ere ͘yo̵u͟ t̵o̕ t͢a̧l̴k͝ ͘dùrįng ̧th̵is̡ ͏pre͜l͢imi̷nar̛y c͠o̡nve̛r̡sàt̡i͞o͡n͏ it͡ wou͝l̡d͜ mąk̡ȩ ͝oúr ͟m͡e̡s̷sag̡e͝ ̷m̢u͠ch ́le̸ss ̀eff̶ici͟e͠n͠t.͞”
There were further footsteps as the man walked around the console, the Duke looked to the left, waiting for the nerve endings to send the signal to his eyes, as the man moved around him. As the man entered the periphery of his vision, he saw that he was a white man wearing a grey business suit and had silver hair that was cropped short, and wore glasses, but he only saw the side of his face, but in his left hand the Duke saw a shiny metal briefcase.
  “I ͘r̕e̢pr̴e͜s̛e͏n͝t a ͠.̷ .̕ ̴.͢ ̷d̶épartmęnt ͏o͠f͟ ͟įnd̷i͝vidu͡al̕s̨ thàt, ͞on ̀occa̸s̛i͘o̵ǹ, ov͏erl͝o͝o͠k ̢wha͞t ͢goes͘ ́o̡n͢ ̧i̶ǹ ̀t̡ḩi͠s ͟p͏art̛ o͢f͢ the ͡c͡ont͝inu̶um.̵ ̸W͞e ̕do͟ ̴ơc̕ca͞s͢i͞on͘a̡lly ̀i̸n̨terac̢t, but ̸our͠ ͟du̢t͢ies ͞t̸end̛ to͝war̶d ̶a͢ mǫr̨e m̛án̶ager͞ial rơle,̶ ̶le̶ss ̸haǹd́s-́on̢. H͘owevęr͟,̴ w̛e h̛a͡ve͟ som͝e co̕mpe͞t̸i͘t̢ors̸ ͡in ̧t̵h̕is ͘re͜al̡i̛t̀y w̡hich͝ w̕e ͞h̶av̧e sou̶g̷ht tơ ov͘erp̕òwe͠r̴. Un̛f͟ortu͝na̷tely fo̢r ̕ųs, th̵e͡y ͢t̡e̡n̨d͢ t͡o͘ ͟plày͠ d͏irt͟y̴, of́ten ḑo͠n’t̶ fo͟llow ͜th͘e͞ . ̛. .̡ rules̡.͏ ̀W̶e͠ ̧beli̶e̸v̧e ͝yoų hàve͏ ̶m͘et ͢s͞ǫme ͏of ̸th͢eiŗ ͘r̴e̷prȩsen̵ta͠t̷i͘v̸es̸.̨ Ļ̷̶̸̵a̴̵͢͢͜C̕͞ŕ̵̷̢͠ớ͝͏̸i͘͟x̸̴͜ and K̕͢͜r͏͡͠i̡҉͡͠m̸̡i̕͜͝n͏̛҉̕e̶̵̡̢l̨͟.̀ You͡ ͢m̴ay kn̕ow̛ ́th͢em̨ ̧as L̶akwa, Gra͘n͏ ̸Gŗo͜k͢o or ̴Bo̵s̵s C͞r̨os͏s͞;̢ ͜a͟nḑ, ̕B̵aw̴on Cr̀ook̕,̛ ͝Cr̶im͜in͞al ͏or ͜thé ͞Ba͟ron̢,͟ ̨rèspeçtiv͠el͠y̴.̛”
“The Baron?” thought the Duke, “That name . . . the man who tortured Sylvia D’ath called himself the Baron, the man who made her regenerate . . .”
  “T͏hese͜ ͡ìńdivid͏u̕als are m͟embe̴ŕş of ͝a̶ ́larger͡ ͟am̶al͡g̶am͡a̢te͠d gro͠úp ͠wh͝i͏c͢h ͘t͘hre͡atens ̴not only ͡our̛ inte̸r͠e̢s̕tś, bu̵t ͢al̡s͘o ͡the li͞b͢e̷r̶ty͞ of͠ ̡a͢ļl t͠he̕ s͏ta͟ke͘hol͏d̢e͡rs o̸f̢ ͘this̛ r̨eali͞ţy.”
The businessman turned to look at the Duke across the console, and for the first time, the Duke saw his eyes. The businessman looked human for the most part, although he wore a dour face. But his eyes, despite resting behind a trendy pair of frameless, rectangular glasses, were a piercing, bright yellow. “Yo̢ur in̵te͜rfe͢r͠ence in̛ thi͏s̢ ma̷t͟t̀er ͟has͜ n͠o̕t̀ ̵go̵ne ͞unnot͝ićed,̶ ànd ̶w͞e͝ ̡w̸ȩre͜ at́ firśt̷ u͘n͞s̡e͞t͠tle̢d̴ ̢b̢y ͢yo̵ųr activìtie̛s ̷w͝he̴n̷ ͠y̨ou̕r ̵p͡át̵h̴ś ͘cr̵óssed ̀with ͘th̸o͢s̴e̶ of ̸o̧u͞r͟ com͏pe͝tito͝rs ͡.̸ ̷. ̵.̶ ͡bu͝t ͜a͞f̸ter ćar̵e͡ful͟ ́r̶ev͘i̡ȩw, we̴ ́h̨a͝ve decla̶réd y͡oúr̷ resu̶l̷ts t̛o͞ ́b̡e ̷.̧ . . im̵pre͠s͢śi̴ve. Y̧o͞u̧ ̀h͞a̧ve ̢prov̢e͟n̶ ͠your͜se͏l̵f̛ ͝to̡ ́be ̕a ͏val̸ùabĺe̛ as̢set̀,̛ D̢̀̀u̢͟͏̴k̵̸̡̕e̷̸̡҉̸.͝”
The businessman then walked forward, through the console, but not intangibly. As he stepped forward his legs seemed to stretch to the side. To the Duke, it looked as though he were a holographic projection whose lower half was clipping and glitching along the texture of the console, the image of his legs wrapping like a coloured shadow as it was emitted from the corner of the room, but from the look in the businessman’s eyes, the Duke knew he was not a hologram, he was a living creature that was manipulating his body to walk through a solid object.
  “The͡ i̸nd̨i̛vi͝dua͏l̀s ̢th̢a̕t ͝I͟ re̡ṕr͜e̶s̵e͡nt ̸l̴ikę t ̨offìćiate̴ ̧a͠ll͞ o̴f̸ our fore͟i̴g͠n͢ ͢ćont̨r̷a̕c̷to̵r̀s ̕by̛ ̨the̛ ͜boòk͞, ͘a̕s͟ you ̷sa̕y̡. So, I ̵am he͜ŗe ͏t͝o̕ ̧s͠u͝gǵe̕st͘ a͡ m̡e͝r̡ge͡r̕.̶ You̶ŗ ̶s͠ķi̧ļl̴s͞ ̨an̛d ̀abi̧l̛it̨íe̴s͟ c͜ouplȩd ́with͘ ͟oùr ̵r͞e͝s͏o͠ur̀c̢es̢ sh͡oul̴d̵ r͜es̀ol̕ve t̷his ̵p̷r̢oje̸c͘t̶ mo̷śt͠ effi͢ci̵ent̡ly̵. O̵ùr͝ ̡facilit̨y̡ ̧ca͝n offer͜ ̧ýo̧u ͜t͏he̡ ̵c̶apa͏c͡ity to bȩ án͢y̷wh͝ere,̷ ̸ḑo̢ an͏y͟ţh͜ing,̵ ̕b͜e ͢àn̷yon͟e .̵ ̀. .̶ as lon̢g as we͢ f͜i̧l͘e̡ ́the ̧appro̧p̴r̛ia̶te̕ ̛paper͝wor̶k͏. So̕,͢ are̴ ̨ýo͠ų interest̀e̶d i͡n͏ ou̴r̸ b͞us̡i̷n͢èss̵ p̢ro͢posal?”
The businessman held out his hand, and as he did, the Duke felt the time around him return to normal. He took a deep breath, and looked at the businessman’s outstretched hand.
  “What are you?” asked the Duke.
  “An ͞em̧pl͢oy̕e͝e ̵of my̧ ̵dȩp͜art͝men͜t,” said the man. “M͡y̛ r̛ole ͠i̴s͠ ̨signif̨i̢e̡d̨ by̢ p͘ersònn̴e͜l ̡nu̷m̵b̸er ͜two-͢on͢è-se̡ven̷-̡se̴v̛én͠-ńi͟n͡e͠,͠ how͢e̵v́e͠r, f͘or t͏he sa̧ke ͜of i͡nter͜p̧er̨s̸onal se̸rv̶i͟ce̴ ýo͢u ̶m̵ay̨ ͏addrȩs͜s̀ ̕m̷e͘ as ‘̀Hu̴m̷an,̡ D̵.’͜,̀ ̧or ‘̢D-̡m̕ąn'.”
  “You are a human?”
  “P̶̸̷r̷̢͠o̵v̧͞i̛͘s͡i͜͟͡o͘͝n̸̡a̢͟l͏l̷̡y͘.”
  “So, you enter my ship, freeze my friends and I, and expect me to co-operate?”
  “No̴ thr̕e̢a͏t w̸as ̕i͞mp̛li͏ed,” said the man, lowering his offered handshake. “And ͞co͟ns̸i͏de͏r͞in͢g ho̧w͢ h͏i̡ghl͢y w͢e̡ ͘h̸ave ͡d̀eem͡ed ̢you̷r in͡t̸e͜l̵l͟i͏g͢e̡n̷ce͞,͡ n͞o th͘r͝eat͜ w̧as͝ ̕i̸ǹfe͠ŗr̷ed́. We͏ have̵ ͡the mea̡ns ͡to ha̕r̨m yoù, yet ̛ỳou rema̷i͝n ̛p̶er͢f͟e͠ctl̵y įņt̶ac͝t.”
  “And that’s my point,” said the Duke. “You have deemed me an asset, if I were not an asset, would that deem me ‘disposable’?”
  “Our gǫal ͏is n͝ot͞ des͘truc̴ti͡ve. W͟e ͡ca̸tal͟ogue̸, òrg̨an̵iz͏e an͠d͞ m̸ain̕tai̸n. I m̶er̷e͜l͢y̨ se̵ek͝ t̡o̧ ͢e̵l͝iminat̛e o̧ur̨ c̢omp̨eti͘t͝or͢s͢ b͡eçause̷ ͡th͘ey ̢rep̕res̷en͡t ́a͢ ͢chao͜tìc͢ elem͜e͝n͢t whích i̸s gai̵n͝ing̷ ̕p͏ow̡e͠r͘.̷ ͟M͟y͢ dęp̀a̴r̀tm̕en̴t ͟f͞oŕese͝ȩs̷ ͢thei͞r inevita̢b̶le d͠em̨i͟şe̶,̴ ̀h͠ow̧ev̨er͘ ́y̧our i̷n̵v͟o̶lvem͘ent ̷a͟nd co-̛opeŗa̢t̡ion̵ ͠wou̷ld͘ ex͠p̡e̴d̛i̡t̀e̵ tḩis pr͞oje̕ct̡ ͟co͠ns͡idęra͟bĺy.̢”
  “I don’t like being the soldier in another man’s army.”
  “We arę a̕ll a̛ge̛n̷ts ͠of ̵a gr͡e̸ater ̛p̷ow͠er̨,͞” said the businessman. “I̕ ̧m̛er̶e̕ly off͡er ͏y͡ou th͢e op̧por͘tuńi͘t͘y ͠tó ͝c̶hoo͟se an͠ ̀all̢ianc̶e ͝w͠ith a͝ c̀o̡m̸pa͡ny̴ ̨w̢h̵os̨e ͘g̸o̢als͠ ͟coinc̵ide͏ ͡w̕it͠h ̸yǫu̷rs.”
The businessman offered his hand once more, but the Duke glanced at his two friends, still frozen in time, unaware of this entire interaction.
nbsp;nbsp;“I must decline,” said the Duke.
  “I̢f ͝you͟ w̸i͠s͟h̢,” said the businessman. “H̀o̷w̸e͜v̸e̛r͡, I̷ mu̡s̴t͠ warn yo̸u.̧ ͟W̡e͘ ̧c̨hòs̨ę th͟i̷s ḿo̶ment͡ to ͟sp̸e͘a̸ķ wi͢t̀h̡ you͏, b̢eçaus͡e̛ yo͞ur ͟next ͘d͜e̡s̷tín̨ati̢o͠n͏ ̴w̷i̧ll ̡bri̶n͏g͏ you̸ ̴fa͡c͢e ̕t̶o̵ ̷f̢a̷c̶ę,̛ ̧o͢n̕c̷e͢ ̕more, wit̷h̶ our͟ c̴om͠pe̴t͞i̴t̡o͢rs̷ . .̕ . ͠if̛ ̡you ̡al̵l̀y wit̷h them̧, we wil͡l͠ r͞e͏turn,̶ w̛ith̢ a mućh l̸e͞ss̷ fr͞iendly p̡r͜o̧p̶o͝sa̷l̷.”
  “You see, that’s the reason I had to decline,” said the Duke, frowning. “You offer me your open hand, but hide your closed fist. I don’t measure my friends by contracts, but by conduct. You certainly don’t act like a friend.”
  “W͟e do͘n’t ̨see͘k ̛fr̡ie͏nd͏s̴h͏ip,͢ ̛m̷er͏élý ͠bu͟s̡ines͢s.”

He turned and walked towards the door of the ship. The Duke turned towards the open door, and outside he did not see the vortex, but instead a bright, white light. The D-man stepped into it and was enveloped by a blinding light, then the door closed. There was a soft groaning as time began to speed up, and a loud screeching sound. The Duke looked as his friends began to slowly move, but the screeching became louder and louder.

+

  I have cleaned up this document as best I could, but there is still a great amount of corruption in both the text and the images. I don't know all that much about computers, software and viruses, so for your own safety I recommend that you don't copy any of the text, imagery or html on this page, unless you are willing to have your computer infected.
  I don't know who the D-man is, or where he came from, but what disturbs me the most is that some of the information he is referencing sounds like stuff I compiled for some of the other Lost Chapters. Perhaps it is just a coincidence, but it is a truly disturbing implication if I am to believe that there is some "order" behind the chapters which are being targeted, destroyed and mutilated. Tonight, I will go through all of the documents I have, so that if this happens again I will have a greater chance of remembering which of the files have been tampered with.
  Finally, it truly unsettles me that there exists a creature which can control the Duke within the Lift; he is the master of that domain, but he was frozen stiff like a deer in the headlights. What kind of thing could possibly have that kind of power . . . ?

Friday 6 May 2016

Party Crashers


<< < Chapter Twelve > >>

On the elevator landing of the twenty-third floor of the dark, empty office building, there was a heavy grinding, whirring and thumping sound that echoed throughout the complex. The grinding stopped with a thump that made the the elevator doors shudder. There was silence for a moment before a small ding, then the doors opened. Inspector Edison stepped out, gun in hand, pointed skyward as he carefully peeked out of the doors.
 “Looks clear,” he says, stepping out. The Duke followed behind him, laser spanner in hand, scanning the surrounds with a red beam of light. Edison withdrew his flashlight and lit the way in front of them. “What is this place?”
 “This facility was used by the Eighty-Eight,” said the Duke. “They were using it to try to integrate Belosian and Rathean technology.”
 “And they were trying to stick Duke’s Orb in a spacejet,” said Anise “Didn’t work out too well, they basically made a smart-bomb with enough rocket fuel to drown the whole planet.”
 “Uh huh,” said Edison. “So, you’ve met the Eighty-Eight before?”
 “We didn’t know who they were at the time,” said the Duke. “I thought they were just daft scientists, who’d made a deal with a rogue Time-Traveller. Here, this is it.”
Edison saw a door which had been forced open, the door jamb and strikeplate snapped off. He peeked around the corner, then stepped inside.
 “Whoa . . .” said Edison as he saw the smashed window. “What happened here?”
The night air was cool, but rather still, whistling softly around the edges of the smashed window.
 “Runaway spacejet,” said the Duke with a sigh as he looked around the empty floor. “They’ve packed up their cables, their equipment . . . “
 “So, you’re saying that they set up a space-ship in here?” said Edison, looking around. “How did it fit?”
 “It was relatively small,” said the Duke.
 “Well, they probably just broke in, then,” said Edison approaching the Duke. “I’ve seen this kind of organized crime operation before. Break in, use the space for some ‘nefarious purpose’, then break out. It makes it harder to find, since there’s no paper trail.”
 “Wouldn’t they have to be pretty clever to have snuck an alien spaceship into an office building?” asked Anise.
 “Not really,” said the Duke, scanning the room with different spectrums of laser. “Besides residual exhaust, and the window, there really is no trail here, paper or otherwise.”
 “They’re obviously a dedicated group of individuals,” said Edison. “Did you really think that finding the Eighty-Eight would be that easy?”
 “Not really, no. But at least we’re exploring all possibilities,” said the Duke.
 “There’s something I’ve been wonderin’ . . . ” said Anise, when her pocket starts ringing. “Oh, uh . . . one second, guys. This is Anise,” she says, answering her phone.
 “Annie, where are you?” asked a bubbly voice on the other end of the phone.
 “Uhh . . . out?”
 “It’s almost half-past eight, you said you’d come out wi’ me.
 “To . . .?”
 “Simon’s!” said the voice excitedly, “Come on, he even got a band. Mate o’ his, kinda cute.
 “Oh, uh . . . one moment,” said Anise. She hugged the phone to her shoulder. “Uh, Duke? I was invited to a party, like, pre-time-travel ago?”
 “You’re telling me this because . . .?” said the Duke.
 “Because I don’t know what to do. I know we’re busy on this space mission stuff, but if I don’t go, Bee will know somethin’s up. But, we are busy, aren’t we?”
 “Doesn’t look it,” said the Duke. “There are no leads here. How long is this party?”
 “Overnight.”
 “Hmm,” said the Duke, stroking his beard, “Well, that being the case, I don’t see why not.”
 “Okay. Ya, I’m good,” Anise says into the phone. “But hey, can I bring a friend? Or two?”
 “You filthy girl . . . yeah, sure, but stop dilly-dallyin’! Oh, and bring drinks.” Bianca hangs up.
 “Bye, Bianca . . .” says Anise sarcastically, putting the phone in her pocket.
 “Did I just hear you invite us?” said Edison.
 “Of course, you’re my mates,” said Anise. “Is that a problem?”
 “Definitely not,” said the Duke. “And it gives me the chance to scan over this planet . . . when does the revelry begin?”
 “Actually, we’re already late,” said Anise.
 “Nonsense,” said the Duke, heading towards the door. “I’m never late, the party begins when I arrive.”
 “Right . . .” sighed Edison, and the two followed him down the hall and into the elevator, where the Duke’s timeship was nested within.
The Duke immediately moved to the centre console, and began typing into the console.
 “So, what’re you scannin’ the planet for?” asked Anise.
 “Naquadah,”
 “Knack guitar?” asked Edison. “Why are you searching for that?”
 “Because the Eighty-Eight collect alien technology, yet for reasons I don’t quite understand, alien technology seems to be scattered all throughout your world, so that alone doesn’t help us,” said the Duke. As he spoke, the screen displayed a holographic display of earth, and covered it in a spherical grid-pattern. “But there’s one piece of tech’ that I can track: The wormhole generator.”
 “The what?” said Anise.
 “Ring-shaped device, nine chevrons? You don’t recall?”
 “Oh, right, the portal-thingy!”
 “ . . . yes, the ‘portal-thingy’. Well, the portal-thingy is made out of naquadah, which is a very rare material. If I scan your entire planet for it, when I find it, that will lead us straight to the Eighty-Eight.”
 “Okay,” says Anise.
 “Wait, hold up a second,” says Edison. “The reason you know they have a wormhole . . . thingy, is because you were there, and we left through a portal. Can’t we just go back the same way we left? Through a wormhole?”
 “Definitely not,” said the Duke. “For starters, it would be pointless. My goal is not to barge in with a big gun and wreck the place, and if I even tried I’d be killed in the process, that facility was the belly of the beast, and that generator was especially valuable to them. They captured me and risked decimating your world to keep it from being destroyed. No, I wish to understand the Eighty-Eight, so that I can find a way of stopping them without bloodshed. Only a madman would go face to face with an enemy he can’t perceive.”
 “Oh, yeah . . .” said Anise, “I was gonna ask before, before the call - If there are only eighty-eight of them, well, we know a lot of them already, right? We’ve seen Tattoos, Baldy, Traveller-lady, McDoctor & half a dozen guys in that warehouse. That’s about ten down, right?”
 “We can’t assume that ‘Eighty-Eight’ refers to the number of members,” said the Duke. “It could mean a whole lot of things . . . it’s the atomic number of Radium, the number of moons in the Sutides system, the number of . . . well, uh . . .”
 “It’s the number of keys on a piano?” offered Edison.
 “Yes. As well, it’s the approximate lifespan, in Earth years, of homo sapiens.”
 “And, uh . . . oh!” Edison clicks his fingers. “The DeLorean! It goes eighty-eight miles an hour to go back in time!”
 “. . . the what?” said the Duke. “I can’t even translate that.”
 “It’s from Back to the Future. It’s a movie.”
 “‘Movie’ . . . ? Oh, right, the hologram-like ‘film’ projection. Anise mentioned it. You might have to show me at some point, it sounds fascinating,” said the Duke as he stepped up to the console. “Anyway, the point is that we can’t be sure, so we need to keep an open mind, and look for more clues. In the meantime, Anise, I see no reason not to attend this party of yours. Where is it?”
 “Peckham, close to Warwick Gardens. Do you know how to get there?”
 “No, but if I access a detailed scan of the surrounds, I could get a facsimile of the cityscape. I just need you to point me in the right direction . . .”

The Lift flew through the night sky, softly groaning and whining as it moved effortlessly and precisely, an elevator car outside of its chute with exposed wires and brackets. The ship stopped still for a moment in the middle of the air, then began to descend. It landed softly at the kerb where several cars of other partygoers had parked. Inside, the Duke shut down the engine and moved around the console to a different set of controls.
 “Alright . . . just need to execute the scan,” said the Duke, he jabbed at the holographic keyboard with one finger, and immediately a large circle appeared, with the label "00.0%" hovering in the centre. “This will take several hours to scan the entire planet, pole to pole.”
 “Cool. Well, let’s go,” said Anise. The three of them stepped onto the road, but as the Duke locked the doors behind them, Anise stopped suddenly and spun around.
“Oh, crap, I forgot. Duke? Bee told me to get drinks.”
 “Drinks?” asked the Duke
 “Yeah, I usually bring wine or some bubbly.”
 “Oh, of course . . . I can help with that,” said the Duke. He turned around and unlocked the ship. After a minute, he’d entered the ship, and returned holding a large, black bottle.
 “Oh no . . .” murmured Edison.
 “What’s that?” asked Anise.
 “New Capitol black wine,” said the Duke. “It’s an antique vintage; made from nugberries fermented in the digestive enzymes of Howling mountain algae.”
 “You never told me it was fermented in algae,” said Edison.
 “Didn’t seem relevant,” said the Duke, gesturing forward. “Now, shall we?”
Anise lead the three up to a two-storey, square brick house nestled into a small block of suburbia. Anise knocked on the door, and as the three waited, they heard muffled pop-rock music through the walls.
The door opened to the sound of slightly too loud music and to the sight of a short woman with peroxide-blonde hair.
 “Annie? You got here quick.”
 “Hey, Bee. Sorry I’m late, I was doin’ some stuff . . .” she said, grabbing her friend in a hug. “I didn’t forget about you, darlin’.”
 “Not a problem, Annie,” she said, returning the hug. “But who’s this?”
Bianca released her friend, and smirked at the sight of the Duke.
 “Hello, tall-dark-and-handsome,” she said, then she turned to Edison, “and Prince Charming.”
 “Bee, this is Duke and Edison.”
 “Yes, feel free, you’re all welcome. Come right on in, boys.”
Bianca stepped inside, and the three followed her into a cosy entryway with a staircase to the right and striped creamy wallpaper. She headed to the end where there was a small kitchen, but the air filled with sound as they passed a doorway to the left where several dozen people were enjoying themselves, and a band and their equipment was crammed in the corner behind stuffy sofas; they were playing a cover of ”The Other Side”.
 “We’ve just got started,” said Bee, entering the kitchenette, “so you’ve not missed much, but Prem was going to line up some shots - hey, Sime! Simon, Annie’s here!”
A young man chatting in the dining room with light brown hair and rectangular, frameless glasses turned around; he had a black collar-less shirt and a bottle of cider in his hand.
 “Annie, darling. Great to see you,” he said, coming over and giving Anise a light, careful hug as though not to wrinkle her clothes.
 “Sime, it’s great to see you again,” said Anise, turning back “This is Duke and Edison.”
 “Ahh . . .” said Simon with a smile. “Which is which?”
 “Edison,” said the Inspector, with a nervous wave.
 “I’m the Duke,” said the Duke, and he stepped forward giving Simon a hug, just as Anise had done.
 “Well, hello . . .” said Simon with a smirk, as the Duke stood up once more.
 “Are you the host?”
 “That I am, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
 “Then may I offer you a bottle of black wine from New Capitol, as thanks?” the Duke asked rhetorically.
 “Excellent, I never say no to wine,” said Simon, taking the offered bottle. “Looks expensive.”
 “I have several in the Lift wine cellar,” said the Duke, offhandedly.
 “Okay, I’ll find somewhere to put this,” said Simon. The Duke nodded respectfully as he stepped past them into the kitchen.
As the Duke looked over the dozen or so people laughing, chatting and drinking, he stepped back to face Anise, leant down and whispered in her ear. “I’m afraid this is different to what I’m accustomed to; how does one traditionally engage in a party on your world?”
Anise patted his shoulder.
 “It’s not all that organized. First, let’s get you guys a drink, then we go and talk to people. . .”
Anise went over to one guy who was short and had a lot of freckles on his face, she whispered something in his ear, and he nodded, then she went to the fridge and found some cider for the three of them. Handing each of them a bottle, she moved to the kitchen drawer.
The Duke examined the bottle in his hand, holding it with only three fingers, his ring and pinkie fingers pointing out.
 “Anise, the lid to this beverage has no spiralled thread; I cannot op-” Anise effortlessly popped the top off with a bottle-opener. “Intriguing . . .”
The Duke smelt the bottle and took a swig, then turned up his nose.
 “Time’s end! . . . that tastes rotten.”
 “It’s cheap cider, Duke,” said Edison, taking a sip and frowning, “I don’t drink, and I know that Old Rosie is swill.”
 “It’s not swill,” says Anise, opening her own bottle. “It’s scrumpy.”
 “Scrumpy? Call it whatever you want, it still tastes like apple juice and dishwater.”
Anise sipped her cider slowly and defiantly.
 “Alright,” said the Duke, putting his drink on the kitchen bench. “Now, who do we talk to?”
 “Anyone,” said Anise, picking up his drink and handing it back to him. “Don’t let your drink leave your sight. I trust Sime and his friends, but it’s a bad habit.”
 “Alright, who wants shots?” asked Simon, returning to the kitchen. “Prem, get over here.”
 “Shots?” said the Duke.
 “It’s a small glass of spirits or something strong,” said Anise.
As she spoke, a short Philippino man with blond tips in his hair lined up twenty plastic shot-glasses, put a pouring spout on a bottle of peach schnapps and expertly filled all twenty, only spilling a few drops on the bench when uprighting the bottle.
 “Whoops,” said Prem, putting down the schnapps bottle, “I . . . am drunk.”
Everyone picked up a shot, and Anise picked up two, handing one to the Duke. He moved to take a sip, but Anise stopped him.
 “Nuh-uh . . . you do it quick, tip and swallow . . .” Anise’s hair swished as she threw her head back to drain the shot.
The Duke followed suit.
 “That is incredibly sweet, and very alcoholic,” said the Duke, cringing as though he’d just licked a lemon. “Is this common practice at Earthly parties?”
 “Common enough. Why?”
 “It’s really not my style, I’m used to a much more formal gathering.”
 “Come on, do you never let your hair down?” asked Anise. The Duke raised an eyebrow, and Anise glanced up at his smooth, brown scalp. “Okay, never mind . . .”

High in the sky. there was a soft, bass humm in the air like a kind of gigantic bumblebee, as the Nembrian craft flew through the clouds. From the ground, the ship could not be heard, and looked like nothing more than a ripple; but above the clouds, it was a bulky, black and yellow machine the size of a dump truck which looked vaguely like an upturned armchair with four barrel-like engines pointing outwards and down, with a dome-like holographic projection underneath to cloak it.
Inside, the ship was softly lit, but the three occupants were wearing shiny black suits tight like a second skin, and wore brightly lit orange goggles with lenses the size of shoe-polish cans. They stood in a cramped room surrounded by buttons, levers and controls
One of the creatures croaked, pointing at a display in front of it, which showed a top-down image of the Duke’s timeship, and a scrolling scanner result with several thousand lines of data.
 “Roark, nyak-yek. Goyanshk errerngen,” it croaked, groaned and garbled meaningfully, turning to the other two in a voice harsh and guttural. “Browr-errk, nerg.”
 “Gallifrey’ak . . .” croaked one of the creatures.
 “Yek yek,” croaked the first. It scanned the area, the screen in front of it newly displaying several hundred red dots residing within the homes of the top-down view, but selected a light green dot which was surrounded by a dozen more that were red, and used the controls to surround the house in a yellow outline. “Nerg, oy grou browr-errk . . .”
The ship stopped and began to descend.

 “Good evening,” said the Duke, approaching a group of people chatting by the band, “I’m not quite used to this manner of scene. Are you all Simon’s associates?”
 “Yeah, duh . . .” offered one girl with a heavy fringe and black lipstick.
 “Well, I’ve only just met him this evening, I came with Miss Trevino. So, are you all co-workers? Cultural socialites? Academic disciples?”
 “Well, I work with him on the magazine, and I knew him in school,” offered one helpful man with long hair tied back in a ponytail, holding a wineglass.
 “Hey, did you say ‘Trevino’?” said one guy, with short brown hair and a beard who was holding a can of beer. “Anise Trevino?”
 “Yes,” said the Duke.
 “Where is she?” he asked, wiping some sweat from his cheek.
 “Well, approximately four metres to my rear, she’s standing next to Simon and Mr Edison, the blond-haired man-”
The man stepped past the Duke, headed towards the kitchen.
Anise’s face dropped as she saw the man.
 “Hey, Annie,” said the man. “It’s been a while.”
 “Hey, Swell,” said Anise, and the two stood awkwardly for a moment.
 “How’ve you been?” asks Swell.
 “I’m good,” says Anise.
 “Yeah, me too. Hey, uh, you didn’t respond to my text . . .”
Anise looked down at her shoes.
 “Swell, what are you doing?” said Bianca, stepping in when she saw the pair together.
 “Could you back off?” asked Swell, frowning. “We’re having a private conversation.
 “Can’t you take a hint?” said Bianca, “You’re a loser, Swell.”
 “Bee, don’t . . .” said Anise.
 “I don’t need you to tell me how she’s feeling! I want to talk to Anise.”
 “Is there a problem, here?” said the Duke, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. Swell shrugged violently to get his arm off and stepped to the side.
 “Hey, don’t touch me, man.”
 “Duke, this is Maxwell . . .” said Anise, timidly.
 “Sir, you’re intoxicated,” said the Duke. “And if you don’t becalm yourself, I’ll eject you from this venue.”
Swell burst out laughing.
 “What the hell is this guy?” he said, pointing the hand holding the can at the Duke. “Is he who you’re with, is that it Annie? Are you sleeping with this guy? Is this why you’ve been bein’ such a bitch to me?”
 “Who ever taught you to speak to a woman like that?” asked the Duke.
 “Sorry Mister ‘white knight’. Or ‘black’ . . . whatever,” said Swell, turning back to Anise. “Look, this guy is a freakin’ nut cake.”
 “Swell, I went out with you because I thought you were sweet,” said Anise, frowning. “This isn’t sweet, you’re bein’ an arsehole. You’re just drunk, now let it go.”
 “I’m not DRUNK I’m PISSED!” said Swell, pointing his can at Anise. “You lead me on! And I trus-”
The Duke grabbed Swell’s hand, and twisted it behind his back so it looked like a limp chicken wing, then grabbed the back of his shirt.
 “I warned you,” said the Duke, as the man made a pained, whining sound.
 “Duke!” said Anise, shocked.
 “I won’t damage him.”
 “Let him go,” said Anise.
 “Yeah, what she said, let go of me you freak!”
The Duke nodded, and let go. As soon as he did, Swell spun around swinging a fist at his head, which the Duke sidestepped. Swell lost balance from the missed punch staggering over, so the Duke swung a swift uppercut that clocked the guy right under the jaw, dropping him like a sack of bricks on the living room carpet.
 “Woo!” said Bianca, “knockout!”
Anise frowned at her friend, then turned to the Duke.
 “Hey, can someone help me lift him onto the couch . . .” said Simon. Edison leant down to help him and Anise grabbed the Duke by the arm.
 “Duke, come here . . .” she said, and the Duke followed as she lead him out the kitchen door, and closed the door behind them so it was just them on some tiles behind the garage, which housed an old, blue Ford.
 “What on Earth was that?” asked Anise.
 “Just then?” said the Duke. “I was helping you to deal with an unsociable individual.”
 “You knocked him out, Duke, you call that help?”
 “Of course, he was threatening you.”
 “I was perfectly safe, Duke. He’s not stupid enough to hurt me, and even if he was I’m surrounded by friends.”
 “Then he was being idiotic,”
 “We’re all being idiotic, Duke, we’re drunk! That doesn’t mean you get to punch someone in the face!” said Anise.
 “Do you think he didn’t deserve it?”
 “That’s not the point, Duke. He was being a creep, but it’s because he’s immature and doesn’t know how to handle rejection; if you’d stayed out of it, I could have put him down gently and he’d slink off with his tail between his legs. You didn’t step in because you wanted to help, you did it because you wanted to ‘save me’.”
 “ . . . I don’t understand.”
 “Of course you don’t, you spend all day being a hero. But this is a party, Duke. I like that you’re decisive; I like that you’re in control under pressure. But you’re not saving the world today, Duke, you’re having drinks with my friends. I don’t want you trying to be a hero when I’m just trying to relax, okay?”
 “Alright . . .” said the Duke, and he nodded solemnly, “I’m sorry, Anise.”
 “Okay then. Apology accepted.”
As they stood there, there was the sound of high-pitched whirring and a clunk from deep in the garage.
 “Who was that?” asked the Duke.
 “A rat?” suggested Anise.
There was garbled croaking and a buzzing sound.
 “Do rats know how to operate a polyphasic drill?” said the Duke.
 “No . . .”
 “Then that was not a rat,” said the Duke. He placed his bottle of cider on the ground and removed the laser spanner from his pocket, pointing it at the garage door. With a flicker of red light from the spanner, the entire door automatically swung open, to nest up and over the blue car. Near the left side of the door, on the driveway, they saw a creature with orange goggles and a tight, black suit that jumped to its feet holding a strange, black device in its hands like a mix between a tommy gun and an electric drill.
 “Goyanshk!” croaked the creature, pointing the drill threateningly.
 “Easy now . . . I’m not here to hurt you,” said the Duke.
 “Nyak-yek wuark yarnch. Nrit grou!”
 “What’s he sayin’?” said Anise.
 “I don’t know, the translator’s not working,” said the Duke, stepping towards the creature. “I don’t want to harm you . . . put down the drill.”
The creature pressed a button on its belt.
 “Eeh-wa! Nerg!” it barked, and it suddenly jumped onto the roof, out of view. The Duke ran outside, and Anise followed behind. They heard a scampering sound which stopped suddenly, but as they got to the driveway and looked up at the roof, they couldn’t see the creature.
 “Where did it go?” asked Anise, stepping back to try to get a better view.
 “I have no idea. It appears to have just . . . disappeared,” said the Duke. “Perhaps it transmatted away, or jumped-”
 “Duke? What’s that?” asked Anise, pointing at the roof.
The Duke couldn’t see, so he walked back to join Anise. As he did, the new angle allowed for a full view of the roof tiles. On the roof, in what looked like bright sky-blue paint, were a series of alien symbols.
 “Now, that is fascinating . . . “ said the Duke.
 “Why, what does it say?” says Anise
 “I have no idea,” said the Duke. “The translator isn’t working, but not for lack of trying. The distinctive scythe and dot markings are similar to Mino, but I’ve never seen this particular language before. But, what’s interesting is that it’s only written on this house. Look around, only this house has been targeted.”
 “Simon’s house? Why?”
 “I’m not certain, but unless your friend is involved in some form of galactic espionage or astronomical research that you’re unaware of, the most reasonable conclusion is that they are targeting this house because I’m inside of it.”
 “And why would someone target you?” asked Anise.
 “You flatter me, Anise. I do have my fair share of enemies; but, considering that I’ve never met this species’ language before, it’s fair to say that I have no earthly idea.”
 “Well, what are we going to do?” asked Anise.
 “Nothing,” said the Duke.
 “Nothing?! But, what if we’re in danger?”
 “We’re probably not. Most of the time, although unusual, aliens are perfectly peaceful and harmless. I’ll scan the house for any more anomalies, you go and have drinks with your friends.”
 “Really? But, what about the alien-guy?”
 “If it’s around, I’ll find it. You’ll be perfectly safe. Trust me,” said the Duke, smiling. He began walking back into the garage, and Anise went back inside.

Edison leant over the couch, administering to the unconscious Maxwell as Simon stood behind him.
 “Is he going to be alright?” asked Simon.
 “Yes, he’s just knocked out. He’ll get a bruise on his neck, but there’s no real damage,” said Edison
 “It was a powerful blow, is your friend a boxer or something?”
 “No, he’s . . . more of a travelling scientist-pope good guy kind of thing.”
 “Okay,” said Simon, chuckling. “And what about yourself, Mister Edison, I’ve never met you before. You’re friends with Anise?”
 “Yeah, we both kinda met through the Duke.”
 “ . . . 'the’ Duke?”
 “Yeah, he’s kind of full of himself. But he deserves it, he’s a good guy; not all the time, but often when it counts.”
 “Do you love him?”
Edison looked shocked.
 “What? No. Why would you say that?”
 “Well, you’re bitching about him a lot, but you are clearly fond of him. I thought maybe he’d caught your eye. So, tall, dark and handsome isn’t your type?”
 “Uh . . . I mean, I don’t . . .” Edison ran a hand through his hair nervously. “That’s not really a thing that I, uh . . .”
 “What’s the matter? You are gay aren’t you?”
 “Shh!” Edison flinched, and he stood close enough to Simon so he could whisper. “I don’t like to advertise that. I don’t even know how you know.”
 “My gaydar is the best in London. I mean, the way you stand, the outfit, the way you act around Annie . . .” Edison sighed and stepped back from the couch.
“What’s the matter? Are you still in the closet?”
 “No, not really,” said Edison. “I just don’t like . . . I don’t think of it as very important.”
 “Isn’t it? It’s who you feel for - who you love - why keep it to yourself?” said Simon, and he added with a smirk. “plus, being gay has its perks.”
 “Look, I just prefer not to. Just leave it be, alright.”
 “Oh, but how can I?” asked Simon, stepping closer. “I’m fascinated. You’re not in the closet, so you’re not that ashamed of it, but you act as though you want to keep it a secret still.”
 “It’s not a secret,” said Edison. “But what is there to say? I like men - three words, that’s all there is to say.”
 “Now that’s not true,” said Simon. “You say you’re not a stereotype, but your boiling who you are down into a token, a bite-sized, watered-down tidbit of who you are. I mean, are you looking for love, do you like big guys or little guys? Bears, daddies, twinks? Are you looking to settle down, do you want kids? Do you like to play the field, or do you want that special man?”
 “No, I don’t do any of that,” said Edison
 “None? That sounds a bit sad.”
 “Sad? I’m not sad.”
 “Well, it’s like you’re looking at the candy store, but you refuse to go inside. I mean, do you actually want someone? One day?”
 “I don’t know,” said Edison. “Someday, maybe, but not now.”
 “Why not now?”
 “It wouldn’t be right . . .” said Edison, and he stared off into the middle distance. “It wouldn’t be right, while my father is alive.”
 “Ohh . . .” said Simon. “Now we’re getting somewhere . . .”

The front door opened and the Duke stepped back into the house, waving his spanner around as two red laser lights shone from each prong of the tuning-fork shaped device. He glanced around the house and shook his head.
 “Perfectly normal . . .”
He looked up as the girl with black lipstick stumbled into the entryway.
 “Hey, you’re the Dude, right?”
 “ . . . Duke.
 “Whatever, do you know where the bog is in this house?”
 “Bog? I’m afraid my translator seems to be malfunctioning this evening. Did you truly mean ‘bog’? Like a ‘swamp’?”
 “Look, guy, I don’t need your gibberish, I’ve gotta take a piss!” she said, crankily.
 “Oh, right. Well, there are no such facilities on the surface level, I can tell you that much.”
She huffed and walked past him, heading up the stairs. The Duke headed into the loungeroom through the side door, as the band stopped for a moment.
 “Hey, can someone get me a drink?” said the singer, in a Lancashire accent, and the man with a ponytail took a few steps towards them and threw a can in his direction. The singer caught it, cracked it and took a swig. “Alright, alright. I want to first say thank you . . . to Simon, I don’t do house parties, but Sime, I’d do anythin’ for you, mate for gettin’ our name on the map. Cheers.”
Anyone with a drink in hand raised their glass, can, shot or mug in respect. The singer skolled the can, then dropped it.
 “We are The Zingany Equation!” barked the singer, “And this is Be My Head!”
The drummer thrashed madly and they started another song. The Duke approached the centre of the room, pointing his laser spanner at the ceiling, when Bianca approached him holding two glasses of wine.
 “Duuuke, mate. What’re yeh doin’?”
 “Scanning the premises for any signs of unusual radiation; non-domestic energy; persistent fields; subspace anomalies . . . that kind of thing.”
 “Uh-huh . . . well, you don’t have a drink, mate,” she said holding out a glass.
 “Yes, I’m afraid I left it outside . . .” he said, peeling his eyes away from the ceiling. “But, I see you were diligent enough to have acquired me another. How thoughtful of you.”
The Duke cautiously took the glass from Bianca, only touching it with the thumb, middle and index finger of his free hand.
 “So, are you and Anise . . . official?” asked Bianca, having a sip of wine.
 “Official what?” said the Duke.
 “Y’know . . . are you exclusive?” said Bianca, in a harsh whisper. “Boyfriend, girlfriend . . . ?”
 “Oh . . .” said the Duke, looking back at his spanner. “No. No, we’re not.”
 “Oh?” said Bianca. “Then what did you do to get a plus-one to Simon’s?”
 “I saved the world,” said the Duke half-mindedly, as he scanned over the band’s electrical equipment.
 “So, you donated to charity or somethin’?” said Bianca, having another sip. “Well, you two seem pretty serious.”
 “I’m usually quite serious,” said the Duke, turning to look Bianca in the eye. “Especially with my friends. I take friendship very seriously.”
 “But, y’know . . . it seems like you really like one another. She seems into you.”
 “Does she?” asked the Duke, frowning slightly. “She does present a certain ‘fondness’, I thought of it as little more than social propinquity.”
 “I don’t know, she’s real easy with yer, and she only met you yesterday,” said Bianca. “And don’t you have feelin’s for her?”
The Duke took a slow breath, and stared off into space as he exhaled, the air buzzing lightly with Bianca’s anticipation.
 “ . . . do you hear that?”
 “What?” asked Bianca.
The Duke stepped past her and headed towards the glass doors leading to the backyard, dplacing his wineglass on the kitchen bench on the way past. He opened the door and the high-pitched whirring of a polyphasic drill could be heard. He stepped outside to see the alien, once more.
 “Stop right there,” said the Duke.
 “Nyak-yek will work, browr-errk,” said the creature, taking a thin, black tube from its belt. “Uk-nrug goyanshk party.”
 “Wait, please stop,” said the Duke. “The translator is deciphering your words. Please, wait.”
The creature dropped the tube into the hole, and with a sharp ZAP! sound, a line around the back of the house let off a plume of smoke, and instantaneously turned off all the power in the house.
 “Duke!” cried out Anise. The Duke glanced into the house and back at the alien.
 “I’ll get you later . . .” muttered the Duke, and he returned inside, closing the door behind him.
 “Anise, where are you?” asked the Duke. Several people took their phones from their pockets, turning up the brightness to use the screens as makeshift lanterns.
 “What’s happened, Sime?” someone asked. There was a loud creaking outside, then a soft rumbling sound underfoot.
 “Now, everyone, don’t worry. It’s an old house, we probably just blew a fuse with the amp. I have some replacements in the cupboard under the stairs . . .” said Simon. “Just sit tight, have another drink.

Outside, on the tiles behind the garage, there sat an abandoned bottle of cider. It rocked slightly from the rumbling of the building, and tipped over. The liquid spilled out and it pooled on the tile, but as the puddle grew large enough, the edge of the spill touched the softly glowing green line which had been placed there by the aliens, and sizzled, quickly evaporating into steam. The entire house was surrounded by this barrier, which was cut into the ground one foot deep.
The wind picked up, and rolled the bottle towards the barrier as well. As it crossed the line it rolled off the edge and fell. After a swift drop it landed on the ground intact, just a few metres from Simon’s birdbath in the backyard below, but where the house had been there was merely a square pit of dirt as the house which had occupied it was rising from the ground a few feet every second.

The Duke found Anise standing in the entryway, using her phone to help Simon see into the small stair cupboard.
 “Anise, are you alright?”
 “No,” she whispered. “The lights are out, I think it’s the aliens.”
 “I know it was, I saw him do it.”
 “Yes, but what am I supposed to tell everyone? I can’t tell them the truth,” said Anise.
 “Why not?”
 “Because aliens don’t exist. Not to these people, anyway. They’d be freaked out.”
 “Ah, yes . . . right, I’ll handle this.”
 “Alright, here we go,” said Simon, holding a fuse up to the light of Anise’s phone. “This one looks good.”
He stood up, walked the length of the entryway and opened the front door, where it was pitch black outside
 “Simon!” barked the Duke, jumping to stand behind him.
 “Yes?” said Simon, standing on the doormat. “What is it?”
 “Perhaps I could do that for you,” offered the Duke.
 “No, it’s just over here,” said Simon, as he took a step back, the Duke quickly grabbed his arm before he stepped off the ledge, just a few centimetres behind his right foot.
 “No, Simon, you should make sure your guests are alright,” said the Duke. “Besides, I have a nightlight.”
The Duke held up his laser spanner and pressed a button which made the two prongs brighten up like ignited magnesium.
Simon squinted and shielded his eyes.
 “Alright, alright, don’t blind me,” he said, handing the Duke the fuse. “Here, the fusebox is just by the rectangular plant pot . . .”
He stepped past the Duke back inside, and the timelord sighed heavily with relief.
 “Duke, is everything okay?” asked Anise, stepping behind him.
 “No, Anise, see for yourself, said the Duke. He stepped outside, holding the doorframe with one arm, and holding out the other to both point outwards and offer something to grab in case Anise tripped. She stood on the threshold and looked out at the brightly lit suburbia below.
 “Oh my gosh . . . we’re flying?”
 “Hanging,” said the Duke, pointing to a spot above them. “Those aliens were drilling holes to place forcefield projectors into the ground. Now they’ve connected nano-lattice winchwire to the projectors and have lifted us off the ground.”
 “Well, what can we do about the power?” asked Anise.
 “We were severed from the main line, this fuse won’t do anything,” said the Duke, throwing it over the edge. He turned around and opened the fuse-box, then jammed his spanner into one of the connections. With the press of a button, green arcs of electricity surrounded the fusebox, and the lights inside the house turned back on. There was the sound of applause and whooping from inside.
 “What did you do?”
 “I’ve set the spanner to supercharge, and connected it into the house’s main supply. It could last us at least forty-three hours.”
 “Forty-three ? . . . wait, what if you need your spanner to fix this?”
 “I’ll do my best to make do without,” said the Duke. “You said to keep extraterrestriality a secret.”
 “Yeah, but surely you need to get us on the ground too.”
 “I can do both; but only by surrendering my spanner for the sake of keeping the lights on.”
 “So, how are you goin’ to get us down?”
 “I’m going to have a little chat with our alien visitors,” said the Duke. “I think the translator circuit is finally beginning to decipher their language. If I can discover why they have decided to take this house for a joy-flight, perhaps I can convince them to put it back.”
 “‘If’, ‘why’, ‘perhaps’? That’s not very encouraging, Duke.”
 “Do you trust me, Anise?”
 “Yes.”
 “Then trust me when I tell you that this is in all likelihood a simple misunderstanding, and I can get us all back on the ground even before my ship completes its scan,” said the Duke, with a grin.
“You go inside, and have drinks with your friends . . . and, if at all possible, make sure that people stay away from the windows and doors.”
 “Alright,” said Anise, and she went back inside the house.

Edison was standing beside the band, looking out the window behind them at the swiftly distancing suburbia below, when Anise entered the living room, telling people that the Duke had fixed the fuse. He went over to speak to her
 “Anise, what is going on?” he asked.
 “Oh, uh, aliens,” she said so only he could hear her over the band.
 “What, here?” he said, shocked. “Well, what’s the plan of attack?”
 “Duke’s handling it, just make sure everyone stays calm,” she said. “Don’t let them look out the windows and stuff.”
 “Right . . .” said Edison.
Anise snuck around the back of the kitchen and started to close the curtains as Edison locked the doors leading to the backyard.
 “What are you doing?” asked Simon, approaching Edison.
 “Nothing,” said Edison, taking three steps away from the door.
 “I’m glad,” said Simon, having a sip of a glass filled with what Edison recognized as black wine. “I was hoping I could continue our chat.”
 “I’m a little busy . . . and there’s not much more to say.”
 “But, you said your father knows you’re gay. I mean, what’s the problem.”
 “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”
 “Why not?” says Simon. “Look, we’ve all gone through the coming out, some have it easier than others. I mean, I lost several friends when I came out, got into a few fights. Do you hate your father that much?”
 “No,” said Edison angrily. “I love my father! But he’s ashamed of who I am. The day I came out, he didn’t say anything, he didn’t even smile, he just sat there while my mother did all the talking. The next day, he took me out to the farm and taught me how to shoot. The next day he forced me to learn self-defense; I could never dance or sing or . . .” Edison sighed heavily and shook his head. “He said he was going to make a real man out of me. The fact is, he always thought that being gay made me weak, that I was never good enough. That’s why I don’t want to talk about it.”
Simon was dumbstruck as Edison pushed past him to close the front curtains.

The Duke was lying on the ground, peering over the edge where the house had been severed from the ground. He wiped a finger across the green, shimmering forcefield and quickly whipped his hand away, shaking it.
 “Lacks thermostatic shielding, they must be primitive space-farers,” muttered the Duke. He stood up, and moved around the edge of the house. The porch to the house was inset from the garage, but the edge was cut sheer one inch in front of the garage entrance, so the Duke clings to the side of the garage door mechanism to step around the pillar and into the carport. He walked in front of the car and stopped near to the winchwire from which the house was suspended, it was a little under an inch in diameter.
“This must transfer power to the field,” he muttered. He turned and picked up a wooden-handled hammer from a shelf a few feet behind him. He placed the metal to wire and raked the hammer down it. It made a squeaking sound, but not much else.
“Well-insulated,” he said, dropping the hammer behind him and gripping it with his hand. “Good friction, perhaps I . . .” his voice trailed off as he saw something in the clouds a kilometre away.
 “No . . . no no!” he shouted, as he saw a passenger plane appear. It was going to fly right overhead of them . . . right into the wires. He held onto the wire and swung out to look above them. He could barely make out the ship behind the holographic cloaking dome, but the wires were so still. “Oh, you idiots! MOVE!”
The wires didn’t move and so the Duke glanced around desperately. He saw the car, the gas tank, a bench full of tools, the water heater chained to the wall, a small laundry. He smirked to himself, then his smile dropped and he ran inside.

 “Everyone!” shouted the Duke, as he ran through the kitchen. “Everyone listen!”
Some people turned, but the music was so loud. The Duke pushed past people and walked up to the band. He grabbed the microphone.
 “Partiers and patrons, I need your attention,” he said, taking a few steps away from the angry singer, who was swearing at him. “I’ve just heard news that there is going to be an earthquake, a lot stronger than the tremor before. I need everyone to lie down on the ground!”
 “Aren’t you supposed to stand in the doorway during an earthquake?” said the long-fringed girl.
 “You’re all intoxicated,” growled the Duke. “It’s much easier and safer to lie down. Please, lie down, this will be over shortly! . . . Oh, also, there will be rolling blackouts.”
The Duke dropped the microphone and sprinted towards the front door and Anise followed him. She stood in the doorway as he ran out towards the fusebox.
 “What on Earth is going on?” asked Anise.
 “That is going on,” said the Duke pointing towards the plane.
 “Holy shit . . .” said Anise.
 “It’s alright, I have a plan,” said the Duke, removing the spanner from the fusebox with a loud ZAP! “Ouch! Drat . . .”
He marched back to the door and Anise stood aside then followed closely behind as he sprinted to the garage.
 “What’s the plan?” Anise asked, as he moved to the water heater.
 “Pendular motion,” said the Duke, using a bright red laser on his spanner to sever the water heater from the wall. Then, he rolled the tank onto its side. “Can you give me a hand?”
Anise moved beside him and the two of them rolled the tank towards the square patch of tiles behind the garage.
 “I don’t understand,” said Anise, but the Duke changed the settings on his spanner, stood back and aimed the laser at the bottom of the tank, which - as it was lying on its side - was facing the side of the house.
 “It’s simple, this tank is full of heated water, meaning that if I apply further heat, it will soon reach boiling point, then continue to increase in pressure,” said the Duke as the bottom of the tank began to change colour, then glow red, then yellow. “Since I am creating great weakness in the bottom of the vessel as I heat it, it will eventually burst, and shoot the entire tank off in the opposite direction. Actually, you should probably stand back.”
Anise went to crouch around the other side of the car, but she peaked her head over the trunk.
 “So, how will shooting that off to the side help?” asked Anise.
 “For every action, there is an equivalent and opposing reaction,” said the Duke. “The force of the projection will create an opposing force against the wall of the-”
BANG! The tank exploded and shot off, and the Duke stumbled as the house swung in the opposite direction. Steam filled the garage and Anise couldn’t see, but felt as the house tipped from zero to ten, twenty then thirty degrees, swinging on the wires. There was clattering and crashing as things fell from their place and onto the ground. The Duke gripped tightly to a crack in the tiles as they swung up, then began to swing backwards.
Inside the house, Edison was holding onto people, with one arm gripping the fireplace, and another holding Simon’s shirt. Some people were laughing, others were screaming.
Because of the burst of steam and closed curtains, nobody saw as the plane flew near them. There was a loud rushing sound as they swung the other way, then a loud ripping sound and a twang! as the very tip of the wing clipped some winchwire. The house didn’t even shudder, but the plane dropped slightly before counterbalancing.
Then, the house stopped swinging and the ground sat level.
 “What’s going on?” said Anise. “Did we hit something?”
 “No,” said the Duke, standing up. “The aliens levelled their ship to stop us from swinging.”
He dusted himself off, and turned to see Anise. “Are you alright?”
 “Yeah, I’m fine, just a little dizzy.”
 “That’s probably the affects of the altitude. And the alcohol.”
 “Well, it’s a bad idea to be drunk and high at the same time . . .”
 “Here. you go inside, make sure everyone else is alright,” said the Duke coldly, holding out his spanner. “And put this back, to power the house once more.”
 “What about you?” Anise asked, taking the spanner.
 “I’m going up there,” said the Duke, glancing at the winchwire near the rear-left corner of the house, on the edge of the backyard tiles. “Before those idiots drop us right out of the sky.”
As Anise returned inside the house, the Duke approached the wire, reaching into the pocket of his long, leather coat. He withdrew a pair of what looked like dark brown, fingerless, leather driving gloves with black padding on the palms; then he donned them and flexed his fingers, they fit perfectly. The Duke then jumped, grabbed onto the wire and started climbing, using his feet to steady himself as he pulled himself up with his arms in short lengths, climbing very quickly.

The lights switched back on inside the house and people started getting to their feet.
 “Is it over?” someone asked.
 “I can’t see out there,” said Simon, heading for the window. “It’s like fog . . .”
 “It’s fine,” said Edison, jumping to his feet and grabbing Simon’s hand. “Step away from the window. It might . . . in the aftershock, it might shatter.”
 “Thanks for your concern,” said Simon with a grin.
 “It felt like a rolllll-” fringe girl stood up as she spoke, “-lllller coaster. Loop-de-loop.”
 “You’re just drunk,” said Anise, now standing in the doorway to the entry. “It was a mild rumble, nothing more. Come on, it’s like a funeral in here. What happened to the music?”
 “Oh, yeah yeah . . .” said the singer, heading to the microphone.
Edison left Simon to head over to Anise.
 “What the hell was that?” he asked sternly. “We have to clean up, what happened out there?”
 “A plane was headed for us, so Duke swung us clear,” said Anise. “We just need to keep everyone safe in here until Duke can get to the top of the rope.”
 “The top of the rope? What rope?”
 “Well, the cable-things. We’re hanging from an alien ship by black cables.” said Anise.
 “And what is he planning to do when he gets to the top?” asked Edison.
 “I don’t know,” said Anise. “But he looked really pissed . . .”

Half-way up the rope, The Duke hung, clinging with his feet as he stopped to catch his breath his bald head was covered in sweat. The rope was almost 30 storeys high, and he looked up, seething, at the ship above. Then he glanced down at the roof of the house. The symbols which he couldn’t read before, the alien writing, was finally being deciphered. There was the slightest blurring behind his eye before he could see the words:
Earthlings Have Rights Too
 “What are you people doing . . .?” he snarled. With a yell, he lifted another arm up, and grunted deeply as he moved, heaving every time he pulled himself another few inches higher, keeping his arms close to his chest. In a short minute he was passing through the holographic camouflage, and he lifted himself up the last three metres, where there was an enormous pulley, extending from a bulky arm, and underneath was an inspection gantry, a metal platform with railings that the Duke stepped onto as soon as he was high enough. He fell on all fours, breathing ragged, as he looked at the ship in front of him. With a cough he got to his feet, approached the air lock and pounded a fist against the yellow metal. He was about to yell out, when he saw a lever labelled ‘Emergency Entry’. The Duke pulled the lever and there was a blaring sound as the door shifted inwards and slide to the side. He stepped inside, and the door slid shut behind him. There was a hissing sound as the room’s pressure was levelled, and the Duke noticed that the air was made to be cool, but humid.
The airlock itself was barely larger than a broom closet, and the other door was wire-reinforced glass, revealing a dimly lit interior on the other side, and a red light was flashing around the edges of the door.
 “Open this door!” yelled the Duke, banging against the glass. “I am the Duke of Rathea, and I demand to speak to whomever is in charge!” A skinny alien in a tight, black suit came into view, and took the orange goggles away from its face as it looked through the glass.
Where the goggles had been were big, round yellow eyes  with black rectangles for pupils, like the eyes of a goat, but its skin was mottled and green. The creature pressed a hand to its belt.
 “It’s the politician,” croaked the creature. “He’s aboard.”
 “And I demand to speak to your leader!” yelled the Duke.
 “And it demands-”
 “Bring him here,” replied the radio with a buzz and a click. The alien pulled a lever and the door slid open. The Duke stepped out and marched in the direction from where the alien had appeared. Shortly, he came to the end of the hallway, which opened out and down to an open space, with a ladder at his feet leading into the command centre of the ship. The Duke looked down to see two more aliens standing at panels surrounded by controls.
 “Which one of you is in charge here?!” demanded the Duke.
 “Here,” croaked the shorter alien, stepping forward. “I am Alnag, I planned this.”
 “Then can you please explain to me what in all of existence do you think you’re doing?”
 “This is a protest!” announced Alnag. “A Bluespace protest for these humans you so heartlessly ignore!”
 “Ignore?” asked the Duke, raising an eyebrow. “Are you insane?”
 “This TransPlanet policy is evil!” chimed in the second alien, grunting emphatically. “Your consulate will not get away with this unlawful genocide!”
 “Silence!” barked the Duke. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I couldn’t even speak your language an hour ago! I have never heard of any consulate or this policy, but I need you to return this stolen building to its foundation immediately. You are endangering the lives of several dozen humans in that, and countless more in those flying machines.”
 “How could you be unaware of the consulate?!” said Alnag, confused. “You are a time lord, you must be involved if you are in this region.”
 “No,” said the Duke. “The time lords aren’t involved in anything, anymore . . .”
There was a loud straining sound, then a twang as one of the cables loosened. The three aliens covered the sides of their heads as the ship vibrated from the shudder.
 “Crane number three is failing!” said the second alien. The alien behind the Duke pushed past him, jumping down into the command centre to help pilot the controls.
 “I don’t understand, it’s designed to lift a warship. Why can’t it lift a house?”
 “It was the near-miss,” said the Duke. He spun and slid down the ladder, then turned to face the aliens once more. “It was much more ‘near’ and much less ‘miss’ than I’d hoped. I heard it collide with the wire, it must have damaged it.”
 “We can maintain the weight distribution, but if the forcefield generator fails, the artificial cradle will collapse. We need to lower the load before the cable snaps.”
 “Is there no way to boost power?” said the Duke. “Can you tell me where you were taking the house? Is there a power source there?”
 “We weren’t taking the house anywhere,” said Alnag.
 “What?”
 “We were just flying up and around, so the TransPlanet fleet can see us. This is a protest.”
 “ . . . a publicity stunt? You ripped a building full of people out of the ground for the sake of a publicity stunt?!”
 “We want to show them that humans deserve to live too.”
 “And so you chose a house full of alcoholics?”
 “We were headed for the human queen’s building,” said Alnag. “But, we took the opportunity when we saw you.”
 “Right. Perhaps, this was the better choice . . .” said the Duke, pushing past the second alien. “What’s your name?”
 “Grennit,” croaked the alien.
 “Alright, Grennit. Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” said the Duke, pointing around the console. “Articulated propulsion control, automated downward counter-balance thrust, pivoting around a reinforced knuckle, with a . . . micro-petrol engine?”
 “Sounds right,” said Grennit, “But, we have a micro-fusion cell . . .”
 “Drat . . . that will make things a little harder,” said the Duke, and he took the controls.
 “What are you doing?”
 “Trust me, I come in handy during a crisis. I’m going to fix this mess, but if someone could balance the cargo, that would be appreciated. Otherwise, hold onto your goggles . . .”

In Simon’s dining room, everyone was sitting around the table, drinking, and picking cards from around a half-full glass of a pink liquid. Fringe girl took a card and read it.
 “Jack, Lords,” she said, and all of the men at the table groaned before taking a drink.
 “You’ve barely had any,” said Simon. “If I get an eight . . . “
Anise heard a soft humming, and looked at her bottle of cider. It was slowly crawling across the table from the vibration. She quickly picked it up and stood.
 “Hey, uh, everyone? Everyone, I think now is . . .”: Anise blinked heavily as she stumbled. “Wow, drunker than I thought. Anyway, I want to toast Simon! For . . . being awesome.”
 “Hear hear,” said someone and everyone else picked up their drink to sip. Anise stood and stared for a moment, trying to think. As people finished their respective toasts, they stared at Anise.
 “Anise, are you alright?”
Anise clicked her fingers, jumping to action.
 “I’m just drunk, is all . . . is it my turn? I think it’s my turn.” Anise sat and picked up a card. It was an ace. “Ah, a ten! I get to make a rule. Well, what about everyone keeps hold of their drink. If it touches the table, you take a sip.”
 “Ahh, clever,” said fringe girl. Anise took a drink and put the card in her pocket.

At an empty lot near Warwick Gardens, a great shadow loomed over the lawn until the hanging building aligned with the rectangular cavity cut into the ground, then lowered until it was a foot above the grass. After a minute of gentle adjustments and tweaks, the entire house lowered down into the hole like a key into a lock. There was a hiss of escaping air, then a thud.
From between the four cables that had suspended the house, one of the aliens descended on a much thinner wire attached to his belt. Using the wire as a kind of bungee, the alien swiftly hopped from one corner of the house to the other, disconnecting and deactivating the forcefield generators, the cables retracting after each was detached. Finally, after collecting all four generators, the alien too was retracted. He sailed quickly through the air, swiftly rising the wire on his belt, before the retracting wire slowed as the alien was drawn up into the ship through a round opening, before a five-bladed leaf shutter constricted closed around it.
 “Good work, Unwick,” said the Duke. “Now onto the other matter. Why were you protesting this ‘TransPlanet’ policy?”
 “It will kill everything on this planet,” said Alnag, as Grennit unbuckled his shipmate from the wire.
 “How?” asked the Duke.
 “They plan on mining your sun,” said Alnag, shaking his head. “It’s small enough to be plundered without gravity being an issue, but it would destabilize this system.
 “It would destabilize the solar reaction,” said the Duke. “I’ve seen other star-miners before, it destroys planetary systems. Do they know this system is occupied?”
 “Yes, we told them that it could kill you all, so they created the ‘TransPlanet’ policy.”
 “Which is?” asked the Duke.
 “They promised that any creatures they destroyed through their mining would be replaced.”
 “Replaced . . . one life exchanged for another?”
 “That’s the policy.”
The Duke shook his head.
 “I can’t allow that to happen . . .” said the Duke, and he turned to climb up a ladder to the side of the drop-deck.
 “What do you plan on doing?” asked Grennit. “We saw this as our last hope to stop them, but we couldn’t even get their attention.”
 “I can,” said the Duke. “Can you contact the consulate using the communications circuit on this ship?”
 “Why would we do that? We’d be contained,” said Alnag.
 “But you will save the people of Earth. You’ll be heroes. I just need to speak to them,” said the Duke, turning to face Alnag. He stepped closer, towering his full height over the small alien. “You recognized my authority. If you understand the power of a time lord, then so will your leaders. I need an open audio broadcast, to send them a message on all subspace frequencies.”
Alnag nodded and Grennit adjusted the controls until there was a buzz from a set of speakers.
 “The Consulate of . . .” the Duke frowned, “where are you from?”
 “Nembria,” said Grennit.
 “Yes, Nembria!” said the Duke. “I am the Duke of Rathea; Field Director of Temporal Logistics with the Timelord Academy; His Brilliance, Consecrated Lightseer of the Bei’sianu Temple; Specialist in the Enigmatic and the Paradoxical, and Secretary of the Seven Worlds of the Conduit . . . and I want to know who is the contemptible tyrant responsible for the attempted genocide of this protected planet!”
There was a moment of silence, before a small alarm on the control panels chimed.
 “We’re being summonsed,” said Grennit. “I’m putting it on the projector.”
The curved wall of the command centre was filled with the light from a projector which showed the life feed from the video call. The video was of a mottled amphibian-looking alien with a dark green, business-suit like outfit. From his eyes, the Duke could see it was the same species as the three men around him.
 “This is Consul Glurn, I represent the Consulate.”
 “Consul, what are you doing in this sector?” asked the Duke.
 “We are conducting a final appraisal before we calibrate our thermal plasma scoop.”
 “Then you will cease and desist,” said the Duke. “This planet, and indeed its sun, is protected under Article Fifty-seven of the Shadow Proclamation. Subsection . . . twenty-eight I believe.”
 “Under whose authority?”
 “Mine,” said the Duke, and he reached into his pocket to take out a maroon, pocketbook with a circular symbol and a stylized emblem that looked like cephalopod stamped in gold on the front. He opened to the front of the book, where there was a sketch of his face on one page, and printed round emblem on the other, this one looking like a historiated number 8 in a circle. He faced it towards the camera on the control console.
“I declare this planet to be a level five on the civilization index, and under my protection. If you do not cease all operations and leave immediately, I will consider it an act of war and have you as well as your entire consulate incinerated. Do I make myself unmistakably clear?”
The video disconnected and the projector stopped.
 “They stopped,” said Grennit. “They’re turning around.”
 “Congratulations, gentlemen. You just saved over seven billion unsuspecting lives,” said the Duke, and he placed the pocketbook back into his jacket. “Now, would you mind returning me to my friends?”
 “Just like that?” asked Alnag.
 “If you wouldn’t mind . . . you did interrupt me in the middle of a party,” said the Duke.

The Duke’s feet touched the ground, and he disconnected the wire from the belt around his waist, heading into the house. As he opened the door, he glanced at the fusebox, saw his laser spanner and walked over. Yanking it out of the machine, the lights of the house flickered, but remained on.
 “That’s the best landing I’ve executed in eighty years . . .” the Duke murmured to himself, “Even lined the wires up.”
As he entered the living room, Anise jumped up and ran to the Duke, but stumbled on the way.
 “D’you . . . uke. Duke,” she said, grabbing his arm to steady herself. “I was so worried. Are you okay? Are we okay? Is the this . . . okay?”
 “Yes, we’re safely on the ground. It turns out some people thought I was more important than I was; and I resolved the whole mess by proving I was more important than that.”
 “Okay . . . so, the house is landed?”
 “Yes, the house is landed,” said the Duke. Anise smiled and grabbed him in a hug. “Did you have a good time?”
 “Yes. Scary, weird, but good,” she said, then she leant up and whispered. “I drank too much though.”
 “Yes, I can see that. Edison?” said the Duke, and the Inspector looked up from the couch, where he’d been sitting and got to his feet. “Are ready to leave?”
 “Yeah, if you want,” he said, adjusting his shirt. The Duke moved for the door and Edison followed, but Simon stood up from the table.
 “Wait,” said Simon, as he walked over to Edison. His face was a bit reddened from drinking, but he spoke calmly and seriously. “Do you . . . have to go?”
 “Yeah, he’s kind of my ride,” said Edison.
 “Alright, well, it was interesting meeting you, Edison,” said Simon.
 “Likewise,” said Edison, with a curt nod. He turned towards the door.
 “Are you really going, just like that?” said Simon. Edison stopped.
 “He is my ride.”
 “That’s not what I meant,” said Simon, leaning in closer to his face. “What do I have to do to persuade you to give me your number?”
 “Oh, uh . . .”
 “Sorry, I have had a bit to drink. Am I too forward?”
 “No, I’m just not used to this kind of thing.”
 “Cute guy like you? You should be.”
Edison laughed nervously.
 “Uh . . . do you have a pen?”

Inside the timeship, the Duke was standing impatiently by the console as Edison entered.
 “If you want to stay, you can stay,” said the Duke. “I never force you to follow me, Inspector.”
 “No, I was just . . . making friends,” said Edison. “Where are we headed?”
 “The Bermuda Triangle. Duke’s found where the necrodria is,” said Anise.
 “Naquadah,” corrected the Duke. “Are you ready for our next trip?”
 “Sure,” said Edison.
 “Good,” said the Duke, pressing a button to close both the outer and Lift Lobby doors. Then he began entering the coordinates on the console “Because I have had more than enough partying for one day.”
The Duke pulled the ignition lever on the console, and the Lift vworped away into the vortex.