“Give me a hand 679!” commanded Number 352, dragging the big tube of viscous, green liquid back out into a corridor. His junior associate looked a little hurt as he hurried to be of assistance, checking that Holi wasn’t jolted too much.
“I do have a name you know!” He looked shamed-faced almost as soon as the words were out.
“Don't we all,” came the terse reply, “And that's exactly why we don't use them. What would be the point?”
“I know,” said a resigned 679. “Just sometimes it seems... so impersonal.”
“Mister Shamra. Yes, Mister Shamra? Which Mister Shamra? Where would we be?”
352 frowned at the deflated junior, but now he spoke tolerantly. “Look, let's just stash this thing somewhere discreet until we know what we're supposed to be doing.”
“Doesn't it seem weird to you, all of this tampering with the first timeline, interfering with Holi and stuff?” 679 mused.
“This whole thing's weird - it's beyond weird that's what it is - I mean look at us! And not just the two of us - all of us, all the same!”
679 did look at them both, then he looked at the image of the pair of them on the security monitor; the thought went through his mind that they both actually looked a bit scary. They did, nevertheless, look pretty much the same though.
“But is there really any hope of untangling this terrible, terrible mess? Even if all the experiments succeed?”
“That's hard to predict right now - that's the whole point of our studies - you know that.”
“Are you sure it all started with that Yorkshire incident we're told about?”
“Not really - but I'm determined to find out.”
*****
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Mistletoe slowly dropped the device from her eye and held it at waist level, looking down at it - it seemed brighter. In fact everything was brighter - as she took in her surroundings once more, she saw that a beaming cloud of light was enshrouding her floating form in layers of billowing whiteness. Her eyes looked down to the distant ground, it was now quite some way below and trees appeared to have replaced the giant wall.
As she looked, she thought she could see some small figures down there. Elmo? Holi maybe? Could that third one be Roan? The paper. Didn’t she have to give the piece of paper to them? She didn’t know why, but something inside was telling her that they should have it. It flapped in the wind. She knew that her friends would not hear her if she called out and as the thought of sound entered her mind something on the edge of hearing made itself known - a low sound - lowing - oh no. But there was something different this time - a familiarity. She sensed too that there was something else about the light and the breeze.
The light felt warm, the breeze felt fresh with a different degree of reality. She was waking! Reality was flooding back in - the light from her window bathed her face and the white gossamer curtains of her room curled in the morning air. The large copper water boiler in the closet let out a low groan as it struggled to cope with its task of forcing reluctant water through old pipes. It grunted, whale-like... no bull-like... echoing faintly.
She resisted, reluctant now to leave her slumber without passing on the paper - it meant something. The floating sensation lingered a while, but the weight of her body in bed was gathering, the cloud of beaming light in which she had been weightless was morphing into mere daylight shining in from outside her bedroom. The boiler let out another deep howl and that was that.
Breathing deeply and stretching in the sunshine, she yawned and then became conscious of something pressed into her hand. A note. Roan’s handwriting: “See you later - have a good day.” There was something written on the other side too: “Try to call Holi and Elmo if you get chance - see how they’re getting on.”Rubbing her eyes, Mistletoe sat up in bed. "My dreams just get weirder and weirder!" she thought half out loud.
Getting up, she selected a suitable squeezy tube of something scented and a hairbrush and began to get ready for the day ahead, barely noticing the new oval ornament among the dense clutter of her dressing-table miscellany.
*****
Isn’t it odd that things going on around you when you sleep, are not only perceived through the veil of slumber, but that they can actually become a part of your dreams - taking on characters appropriate to the narrative under formation?What part of us assigns these roles?Can things get out too?
Time elapsed: 2 minute(s), 11 second(s)Scan status: failedMemory Processes Detected: 0 (No malicious items detected)Recommend: observe and rescan.