Dive

I make no illusions about this being a rough first draft.  This is simply an idea that I've been toying with, possibly to turn into a new series.  Comments and criticism are certainly welcome :)

‘Alister!'

The engineer’s devices were on the fritz trying to deal with the world’s excessive neural output.  From inside their safe house, Tair, Aisling and the geist stared helplessly at a CRT monitor which displayed nothing but static.

‘Alister!’ Tair shouted into his mouthpiece.  No reply.

‘The door’s approaching, he has to be close,’ said Aisling.  She stumbled as the wall beside them trembled.  The wall had grown to accommodate the new world, turning the Rebels’ central space into a pleasant square room.  Each of the older walls had a door in the centre, unique to the Rebel whose world it once led onto.  The new wall hadn’t needed a door until Alister accidentally attracted the thief on the other side.  Now, as a pinprick grew into a catflap-sized portal and continued to grow, the remaining Rebels could only hope that Alister had outrun the thief.

‘There’s got to be something we can do,’ Tair pushed away from the small desk and tried to steady himself against the tidal forces that were seeping through the wall.  He turned to the geist.  ‘Isn’t there an escape trick or a subconscious weapon we can use to slow it down?’

The geist’s golden-white trail was beginning to pull towards the wall at varying speeds, but its face remained calm.

‘Not unless the girl used mental exercises to foster a back door...’

Aisling groaned.  ‘She’s a seventeen year old art student!  I doubt meditation was on the cards.’ The door was nearly full size.

‘I’m done with waiting,’ Tair said, stepping closer to the portal.  ‘I’m going for it.’

‘Don’t!’  The geist and Aisling spoke in unison, though the geist’s voice was more measured and neutral.  Their exclamation was of little use, each one’s voice slowing down like a bubble in treacle before compressing into floating sixty-point letters that wafted back towards them.

Tair was near the entrance horizon, so the onlookers behind him seemed to be a grey blur.  He turned the doorknob slowly, grabbing hold of the frame with his left hand.  There was no click, no opportunity for him to resist - one moment the door was closed, the next it flung out into a streaking, howling storm.

Stylised house pets and a can of peas flew past him in the void towards a dark vanishing point, both far away and too close at the same time.  Directly in front of it, rising (or falling) towards the door was Alister, carrying the precious plunder under his left arm.

Tair’s grip on the door frame began to slip.  He threw his right hand out to Alister, who grabbed it, slid back a little as the thief tried one last attempt at sucking him in, and then held firm.

Just as Tair felt his fingers give way, they were grasped tightly by someone else’s.  Aisling was floating inside the safe house, her waist attached to the door on the opposite wall by a length of rope.  A reverse image of the words DON’T LET GO followed by CLOSE THE DOOR floated in front of her before smashing into a million pieces against her face.

Alister nodded.  Slowly they were dragged back into the safety of their collective conscious, but the quasi-gravitational forces of the collapsing world were reaching the centre of the room.  The CRT monitor that they had taken from the engineer’s world was sucked into the vortex, narrowly missing Alister’s head.  He grabbed the door handle.

Before the final heave on the human chain, the world remnant and the thief behind the Rebels began to compress dramatically, creating a fast approaching 2D plane.  A roar of anger rang out and was silenced by the closing door.  Suddenly all of the suction stopped, and Aisling, Tair and Alister dropped to the floor.  It was a rainbow carpet.

The geist unbolted itself from the far wall and dropped the coils of rope still attached to Aisling.  Tair looked back at the silent portal which wavered ominously before bursting into a shower of pink and green.  In its place was a rectangle covered by an ornate pattern of chrysanthemums and carnations.  The door nob was shaped like a duck.

‘Don’t ever do that again.  Ever,’ Aisling said.  ‘This place is unstable enough as it is.’

Alister looked around the room.

‘I dunno, I sort of like some of the leaked stuff.’  The corner between his and the new wall was filled with beanbags and lined by a bench that looked like it came from a science lab.  The other corner had kept some of Tair’s toys but was considerably more colourful.

The geist aloofly helped the other rebels up.

‘I think we need a new plan to fight the thief.’

Tair stretched his arms, though he didn’t need to.

‘You think?’  He turned to Alister.  ‘You got the goods, didn’t you?’

The objects, taken from the world before it was stolen away, included an average looking pencil, a few paint buckets and a box of charcoal nubs.

‘The tools of a real Creator,’ the geist said.  ‘These will aid us greatly.’

There was a thumping from behind the new door.

‘Oh no,’ Aisling said.  ‘Not another hanger-on...’

Tair held up his hands.  ‘Wait just a second, Ash.  If anyone can use these tools properly it’s the person they belonged to.’

The woman raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  A muffled voice called out from the new door.

‘Somebody!  I don’t know where I am.’

Carefully, Tair turned the handle.  There was a quack.

Inside was a water-closet-sized room that had one recliner chair at the back end.  Every wall was covered by drawings and paintings.  Standing in the centre was the girl.  She wore a frilly red and black dress, black stockings, a black overcoat and had straight black hair.  She wore eyeliner like a goth and had a nose piercing, but was definitely not of the demeanour.

‘Where am I?  Who are you?’

‘We’re here to help,’ Tair said, realising too late that it was a goofy cliché.  ‘Come out here and we’ll explain it to you.’

The seventeen-year-old stepped into the main room.  As she did so, it became slightly larger.

‘Take a seat,’ Aisling said, motioning to the chairs around the desk.  She glared back at Tair.

The newcomer sat down and the others took up positions around the desk.  The geist was wisely hanging back - it would take a lot more than one sitting to explain what it was about.

‘Ever heard the expression that there are worlds inside our heads?’

The not-quite-goth shook her head.

‘No, not really, but continue.’

Aisling nodded to Alister.

‘Thing is,’ he began hesitantly, ‘there was an accident in a laboratory.  A rampant idea, sort of like a virus, got loose.  It’s been stealing the worlds inside people’s heads.  They go into a coma and lose all sense of where they are.’

Now the girl’s eyes widened.

‘I’d heard about the accidents.  Something about memetics.’

Tair took his turn.  ‘I’m afraid you were its next target.’

‘I’m not an idiot,’ said the girl defensively.  ‘If I’m in a coma, then how am I here?  Where on Earth is this place?’

Aisling continued the spiel.  She’d been at it the longest and had been shown a fair deal of the ropes by the geist.

‘The middle realm, or Earth, is just one of countless worlds,’ she said.  ‘We’re currently in a sort of non-place created by the subconscious energies our brains are giving off.  Things work a bit differently than in the middle realm, but it’s home.’

The girl sighed.  ‘So why are you here?  Why am I here?  And what is the thing over there?’  She indicated over her shoulder without turning around.

Aisling reciprocated with a shrug.

‘Some of this you will have to find out in time.  As for us?’  She pointed at the men.  ‘That’s Tair, short for Alastair, next to him is Alister - now you know why the first guy is Tair.  I’m Aisling, and the “thing” behind you is called the geist.  The world thief calls us Rebels, because we fight.  We're going to stop it.’

Snippets: Attacked By A Monster

Fortunately (or unfortunately, if you think of it that way) I wasn't there the first night. Jacques told me the next Monday. I don't know why actually, he hadn't been particularly amiable in the past and we got the impression that he was in need of a friend or two.

'It's aliens or vampires or monsters or something!' he blurted out. 'They got in a circle and started chanting, and there was a flash of light and -'

'Hang on,' interrupted Jaime. 'Where did you say you were?'

'I didn't. It was out by the shopping centre; I was... out... at night and it was around the back. You could see through the window because of the construction going on. Something's up.'

'One moment,' I said, 'you said that they took someone in there with them?'

'Yeah. Maybe it was some sort of transformation,' Jacques said as if he was watching the science fiction channel.

'Or it was just some cult and they were initiating them,' Jaime said, unusually killing the air of mystery with additional mystery.

'Then it could be like that story, you know, Drydal Bones and the Cult of Del-Saperoth - Chumley discovers the ancient tribe hellbent on summoning evil into our world!' Again, Jacques' enthusiasm made the whole business seem ridiculous and childish.

'Jacques reads too much Strange Fables,' Jaime dismissed him with ease. 'Come on, Mike. We'll leave him to his games.'

Regardless, that Thursday night the three of us hid in an empty store, watching the security lock the doors. These things happen too fast, too unusually sometimes - just like the stories.

Snippets: Is Dead?

'Nah, he's just sleeping,' the voice said rather certainly. 'The past few days were fairly hard on him. First there was that business with the police at the docks.'

'Would you kindly hand over the sword sir?'
'What? This is barely a knife - besides, haven't you heard of cultural integrity?'
'Obviously not; you must understand that visitors to the port have to maintain decorum.'
'Yeah, and what's with those spectacles? How do you see anything through them?'
'They're called SunGlass. They protect my eyes from rays.'
'This guy's delusional, Dave. He thinks the rays can get him on land.'
'No kidding, Mott. Sir, would you please -'
- one simple slash. It was one sided. So was the sword. Now he should clean it on the grass up on the cliff.
Except that didn't happen, because he thought he was a sensible man.
'Look, it's got a lock, okay? No one's getting their hands on this.'

'True. You heard of how he took out those thugs at the west cape, didn't you?'

'How did he get in here? You idiots, get him!'
'I wouldn't come any closer if I were you.'
... ... ...
'Ew. Good point. Ah, boss?'
'Don't just stand there, you've got weapons; take him out!
'Sorry, but we can't let anyone escape, knowing that you'll just tattle to the authorities.'
'I don't tattle.'
Several moments later there were no smugglers to turn in. The man felt great remorse for defending himself.

'He's waking up,' said the first voice.

'What is wrong with you? Do you enjoy being vague and turning yourself in for self defense?' said the second voice. The be-sunglassed man sat up on the bed in the island village.

'I just had a tip, that's all. You people have your families back from their dungeons, and now I will be out of your way. Can you handle that?' The man stood slowly.

'It's okay,' said the first man in the room, eyeing the second disdainfully, 'you can stay longer if you need to.'

'I have to get going back to the mainland. There's a seaship leaving for the other continent tomorrow and I will continue my search there.' The man was already at the door, without the two having witnessed the intervening traversal. He took the katana-like blade from the wall to hitch back into his belt.

'So what are you looking for, if it's not too personal?'

'I am sure I already told you, but of course it is personal. They took my wife.'

After he had gone, there was one sentiment in the air echoed in a quote from the pub that night -
'If he wasn't a walking stereotype, I don't know what is.'

Snippets: A Man Named Johan Bowiel

Felice had heard other stories about the East Wing, but many were assumed to be made up by the executives to dissuade investigation. She was certain that she had heard of some of those that worked here, if only by how badly their reputation had plummeted since they arrived.

The door to the next room up was labeled '13', but there didn't seem to be any numbering system around here - she knocked and the squeak of a chair and a grunt or sigh at least told her someone was listening.

'Hello?' hesitant opening of door...

'Ah, you must be the new sacri- uhm, applicant. Uh, come on in.'

Felice continued through into the dark room.

'Oh, thank you dear, the light from the corridor is most annoying and it's good you, ah, closed the door.'

The figure speaking was behind a desk at the back of the room, as much as she could make out, sitting behind it - was that a cigar in (his?) mouth?

'Oh, take a seat my dear, uhm, what can I do for you?'

'I was just shown my room and I really have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, Sir.'

'Uhm, you don't have to be that formal around me, Miss Strange, ah, you can just call me Johan - Johan Bowiel.'

'Are you the Johan Bowiel?' Felice said without containing the amazement. 'The Johan Bowiel who stopped writing five years ago? You're practically a legend!'

'Um, I wouldn't go so far as to, uh, say that, Miss Strange. I was simply good at what I did. The time came that I had to, ah, let the up an' comings come and retire gracefully. Uhm, I couldn't just finish like that, so I, aha, came here to wind down. Some of the people who work in this wing are, um, very remarkable. Pity that none of our -'

'Please, can you just tell me what we are - I mean I am - supposed to do here?'

Johan creaked his old chair.

'It's hard to say.'

'What do you mean?'

'Look, uhm, you just take the package next to the door down the hall, ah, up the stairs and across the floor to the Juggler, and then we'll, uh, talk about your work.'

Felice stared blankly at nothing for a while. 'Ooo-kay,' she drew out. She felt around near the slightly less dark of the crack under the door and quickly left the room with the package.

It occurred to her, although she couldn't have told for sure what she had seen in the pitch black, that if Johan did have a cigar, it hadn't moved while he was umming and ahhing, and not once had he taken a puff.

The Alice Treatment

'Your work in this area is so exemplary that we are moving you to continue it in a better environment.'

She didn't want to admit it, but they were doing this to quiet her opinions. Anyone moved to the east wing was never heard from again. Not literally of course, they were still seen coming to work and such, but their projects didn't seem to reach the light of day - appropriate considering the tinting in that area of the building was very excessive.

'You're the new girl, right?' the lady by the elevator began. 'I'll help you take your stuff up there, but they aren't so keen on tours, so you will have to find your own way around.'

The elevator to the main sector for the east wing was normal enough, except inside was a mildly unsettling plaque announcing "You're down the rabbit hole now." The third floor was where she would move in.

'Gee, it's quite dark in here, isn't it?' she commented inquiringly.

'I guess you get used to it,' said the elevator lady. 'Some of the employees prefer it this way and should you need more light the offices have plenty of lamps.' Down an adjoining passage an orange goo was spreading, she had barely stopped to look when the elevator lady turned around and grabbed her by the arm.

'Come on! I knew we should get some more fungicide.' They continued along the corridor to the Important Door.

'What is that stuff back there?'

'We call it Orientation. It can be useful sometimes, but around here it just wastes time.'

'I think it was shaping out my name.'

'That reminds me,' the elevator lady must have thought she was changing the subject. 'I'm Alex. What do people call you?'

'Well, people call me by Felice Strange, my pen name.'

'Oh, I read some of your work! Don't worry then, you'll fit right in here,' Alex said. They entered the room and Felice saw that there was one simple desk in the centre of the room.

'I get a whole office to myself?'

'Intermittently,' Alex said as if it was a matter of fact.

'What exactly am I working for here, though? They just said in the letter that I would be "continuing".'

'Talk to John up the corridor - he leads things around here.' She started to leave.

'Leads what?'

Alex acted like she hadn't heard the last part and suddenly remembered something, 'you have a padlock, right?'

'I always carry a lock, yes,' Felice dumped her portfolios on the small desk.

'Put all of your things in the big draw and just lock around the handle. That way you will always see it.'

Always see it? This was surreal, though Felice would be forgiven for thinking it was the extent of the crazy she would witness today.