Professor MacKay is lying on a huge bed, his head cushioned amidst a mountain of pillows. He is speaking into a handheld device.
"Note to pantry: milk still too hot. 300 000 of Tsin Tsin: sell. 66 000 of Prosser and Ankopitch: trade at..."
A speaker in the wall next to his headboard interrupts the professor.
"Quinzieme Blue entry: a Ms. J.S. Bach, one-six-four-one-seven."
MacKay is clearly surprised, "At this hour!"
The speaker continues, "Purpose of visit: Queen to Bishop six. Check!"
MacKay fusses with his robe as he gets up from the bed, "Check... What nonsense! Wait a minute. Wait a minute!"
As Ultra-Violent enters the room MacKay is standing beside an antique chessboard, utterly transfixed by the pieces there. He doesn't look up at the sound of footsteps.
"Now," says Ultra-Violent, "here is what I should call real dirt. An old man of your age, Professor MacKay. Please, The Rhombohedral Lattice System? Haven't we gotten past this?"
Tyrell looks up, alarmed. He moves towards a tasseled bell pull that hangs beside the bed. Then he changes his mind and tries to extend his hand beneath one of the pillows.
U.V. tilts her head to one side and coos, "Go ahead. I want you to reach for that weapon, really, I do."
MacKay seems to abandon the search, "I'm surprised you didn't come here sooner."
"You know very well that ambiguous terms, like 'rhombohedral crystal system', won't get you anywhere."
Professor MacKay begins to creech, "But those are not mine, those are the property of the municipality, this is sheer wantonness and vandal work!"
"Tsk tsk, professor. That's what they all say. You deserve to be taught a lesson. How long has it been since you've learned a lesson? Trust me, honey. This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me. Heh, heh. Sound familiar?"
MacKay, in a burst of camaraderie, decides to give laughing a try and comes out with a minor guffaw. Ultra-Violent is laughing, too, as she approaches him and places one hand on either side of Professor MacKay's face. She leans in closer, almost as though she is about to kiss him.
There is a loud sort of ringing, beeping sound, and Ultra-Violent flinches.
"Great timing," she mutters, and grabs the professor by the throat with one hand. "What?!"
She yells directly into the professor's face, then glares at an evil eye poised in one upper corner of his room. U.V. receives a response that is just barely audible to Professor MacKay, who squirms madly, trying to reach anything that will help him escape her grasp.
"Alright." She says, resignedly as MacKay grabs some books from a nearby shelf. He attempts to hit her on top of the head with them but she swats his arm away. "You naughty old veck, you."
Her free hand makes a fist, and she hits his jaw so hard that his dentures go flying through the air. "That ought to shut you up. Fortunately for you, I've been called away on urgent business."
Monday, November 14, 2011
Miraj is hesitant, I can tell.
"Are you sure you want to go with her? Don't you remember what happened last time?"
"Me and Ultra-Violent go back a long way. I think she'd be perfect for this one. After all, you WERE trying to warn me about the General, right?"
"Yeah, but she's... Well, you know... She's just not terribly subtle. She's like a blunt instrument."
"I guess you're just going to have to trust me, now, aren't you?"
"I guess so."
"Are you sure you want to go with her? Don't you remember what happened last time?"
"Me and Ultra-Violent go back a long way. I think she'd be perfect for this one. After all, you WERE trying to warn me about the General, right?"
"Yeah, but she's... Well, you know... She's just not terribly subtle. She's like a blunt instrument."
"I guess you're just going to have to trust me, now, aren't you?"
"I guess so."
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Five such installments have arrived, with the absurd air of disorderly flight. Though it's an inextricable mess, the loot of innumerable outfit shops and provision stores will be delivered. In Crater Lake, there is no great distance from the prison-door to the market-place. The forced public labour that takes place is not an occupation: a convict completes his assignment, or works fixed hours and then returns to the prison, if he survives. The work is looked upon with hatred. Nearly all of the convicts talk and rave in their sleep at night. Oaths, other-world slang, knives, and axes figure most prominently, which is why this calm, low conversation pricks up our audio (placed courtesy of my new friend, Nikolai).
"Am I the manager - or am I not? It was ordered... It's incredible."
"He asked the Administration to be sent there with the idea of showing what he could do; and I was instructed accordingly. Look at the influence the man has."
"HAD. The climate may do away with this difficulty for you. Is he alone?"
"Yes. He sent his assistant with a note to me."
I'm off to track the signal. The manager seems to have an underground office, lava tube, of course. The entrance is surrounded by scrub with a pretty border of smelly mud on one side enclosed by a crazy fence of rushes. There's a sort of neglected gap, and this is where I step into the bell jar (taking a deep breath before I do so). Emerging on the other side into a hallway, I'm aware of the fact that the manager knows I'm here. He begins speaking to me even before we can see one another. I follow his voice down the hall until I locate him reclining on a bed-lounge in the corner of a small room that also contains a sideboard, bookcase, and filing cabinet topped with assorted bottles of whiskey. He offers me a drink though he does not appear inclined to fix one for me. I pour myself two fingers of whiskey and look for a place to sit, pulling one of two cane-bottomed chairs up to his bedside. His eyes, the usual blue, appear to disclaim intention. He's of middle size and ordinary build, a common trader, from his youth up. I can see that he is reckless without hardihood, and greedy without audacity, much like the men with whom he works. Other than this, there is only an indefatigable expression, not quite a smile.
"Everybody has behaved splendidly! Splendidly!" He continues in agitation, "You simply must, I mean, if you have got it then you have got to ring them bells. I mean that like it is, like it sounds: go and see the General."
It's frightening. This man has almost unlimited power over more than two hundred convicts. He looks upon them as his natural enemies.
"Now, sir, surely you have more than that to tell me."
I am speaking softly. I remember learning in defense, once, to keep an eye on a man's midsection. Most people believe that you should look into someone's eyes if you wish to know what that person will do next. I prefer the belly.
"Surely, you must know that the General will carry on regardless of what you do."
"You must know that we will succeed where others have failed."
"I'm afraid you underestimate his... How shall I put it? His character."
"I've heard as much from others."
"You really don't know exactly what you're up against."
"How's that?"
"Well, there's simply no end to his function. He's not just one man."
"What do you mean?"
"I really don't think you'll understand."
"Try me."
I stand up. Not wishing to be too dramatic, I quickly unsheathe the machete hanging from my belt, and stab the seat of the cane-bottomed chair.
"No need for torture, my dear. In fact, this is rather common knowledge."
"Really?"
I've begun hacking the cane off the seat of the chair.
"You may be under the impression that the General is simply one man, but you're wrong."
I pause long enough to say, "You're speaking metaphorically. He's got an entire force under his command."
"Yes, there is that. But you don't understand his form. You can't simply kill him."
"Why not?"
I'm continuing to saw the cane from the seat of the chair, but I'm staring directly at the manager's belly.
"Because he will simply reappear. I take it no one's given you an inkling of this."
"I've heard ridiculous legends, if that's what you mean."
"I'll explain it to you any way that I can, but first you must stop desecrating my chair."
"Shall I desecrate you instead?"
"Only if you find my story lacking."
"I'm looking for more than a story."
"Yes, well. I'll tell you what I can."
"Lets hear it."
"Think of it this way: there is no end to him. You can kill this particular manifestation of him, but never the man as a whole."
"Are you saying he's immortal?"
"I'm saying that no matter how many times you think you've ended his life, a part of him will manage to survive and propagate."
"Like a clone of some sort."
"Or program software. Or a virus."
"Or a parasite."
"Now you're getting the GIST of it."
"So, there's already more of him in existence throughout the galaxy."
"Undoubtedly."
"Do we have any idea how many?"
"Innumerable, and I mean that quite literally: an uncountable set."
"Do you mean 'nondenumerable'?"
"I mean that it may be impossible for you to kill them all."
This causes me to sigh, and place one hand on the back of the cane-bottomed chair. I straighten up, and I am beginning to TWIDDLE the machete as I say, "But it's not as though some other version of the General will come here, either to rescue him or carry on in his place."
"It's quite unlikely that anyone will attempt to rescue him. On the other hand, you may never know whether he's been replaced by a fresher version of himself: upgraded, so to speak. I've certainly never been able to pinpoint a new version. I've also never known the current version to deteriorate. You see, he was here during my father's time. He was here during my grandfather's time. I arrived in Crater Lake more than twenty years ago. While I've certainly passed through the prime of my life, he hasn't aged a day."
"Well, how old is he then?"
"I've always known him to be middle-aged; nothing more, nothing less."
"Hmmm. At the very least you've given me something to consider."
"I expected as much."
"I suppose you'll wish me to spare your life now."
"It would be greatly appreciated."
"Though you'll probably discuss every detail of our conversation with the man himself."
"Completely unnecessary. It's rather inconsequential to him whether or not you possess this information."
"Tell you what, I'll hold off disemboweling you for now, only because you may prove to be useful to me in the near future. Should you cease to carry out any sort of FUNCTION with regards to my purposes, you can be sure that you will be captured. I needn't spell out the import of this to you."
"No need to be vulgar, my dear."
Feeling that I had made my point, I exit the room. Returning the way I came, as soon as I step outside of the bell jar, I contact Miraj.
"I believe I understand what it was you were attempting to explain, regarding the General. I propose that we make a request for reinforcement. Perhaps someone along the lines of Ultra-Violent?"
"Am I the manager - or am I not? It was ordered... It's incredible."
"He asked the Administration to be sent there with the idea of showing what he could do; and I was instructed accordingly. Look at the influence the man has."
"HAD. The climate may do away with this difficulty for you. Is he alone?"
"Yes. He sent his assistant with a note to me."
I'm off to track the signal. The manager seems to have an underground office, lava tube, of course. The entrance is surrounded by scrub with a pretty border of smelly mud on one side enclosed by a crazy fence of rushes. There's a sort of neglected gap, and this is where I step into the bell jar (taking a deep breath before I do so). Emerging on the other side into a hallway, I'm aware of the fact that the manager knows I'm here. He begins speaking to me even before we can see one another. I follow his voice down the hall until I locate him reclining on a bed-lounge in the corner of a small room that also contains a sideboard, bookcase, and filing cabinet topped with assorted bottles of whiskey. He offers me a drink though he does not appear inclined to fix one for me. I pour myself two fingers of whiskey and look for a place to sit, pulling one of two cane-bottomed chairs up to his bedside. His eyes, the usual blue, appear to disclaim intention. He's of middle size and ordinary build, a common trader, from his youth up. I can see that he is reckless without hardihood, and greedy without audacity, much like the men with whom he works. Other than this, there is only an indefatigable expression, not quite a smile.
"Everybody has behaved splendidly! Splendidly!" He continues in agitation, "You simply must, I mean, if you have got it then you have got to ring them bells. I mean that like it is, like it sounds: go and see the General."
It's frightening. This man has almost unlimited power over more than two hundred convicts. He looks upon them as his natural enemies.
"Now, sir, surely you have more than that to tell me."
I am speaking softly. I remember learning in defense, once, to keep an eye on a man's midsection. Most people believe that you should look into someone's eyes if you wish to know what that person will do next. I prefer the belly.
"Surely, you must know that the General will carry on regardless of what you do."
"You must know that we will succeed where others have failed."
"I'm afraid you underestimate his... How shall I put it? His character."
"I've heard as much from others."
"You really don't know exactly what you're up against."
"How's that?"
"Well, there's simply no end to his function. He's not just one man."
"What do you mean?"
"I really don't think you'll understand."
"Try me."
I stand up. Not wishing to be too dramatic, I quickly unsheathe the machete hanging from my belt, and stab the seat of the cane-bottomed chair.
"No need for torture, my dear. In fact, this is rather common knowledge."
"Really?"
I've begun hacking the cane off the seat of the chair.
"You may be under the impression that the General is simply one man, but you're wrong."
I pause long enough to say, "You're speaking metaphorically. He's got an entire force under his command."
"Yes, there is that. But you don't understand his form. You can't simply kill him."
"Why not?"
I'm continuing to saw the cane from the seat of the chair, but I'm staring directly at the manager's belly.
"Because he will simply reappear. I take it no one's given you an inkling of this."
"I've heard ridiculous legends, if that's what you mean."
"I'll explain it to you any way that I can, but first you must stop desecrating my chair."
"Shall I desecrate you instead?"
"Only if you find my story lacking."
"I'm looking for more than a story."
"Yes, well. I'll tell you what I can."
"Lets hear it."
"Think of it this way: there is no end to him. You can kill this particular manifestation of him, but never the man as a whole."
"Are you saying he's immortal?"
"I'm saying that no matter how many times you think you've ended his life, a part of him will manage to survive and propagate."
"Like a clone of some sort."
"Or program software. Or a virus."
"Or a parasite."
"Now you're getting the GIST of it."
"So, there's already more of him in existence throughout the galaxy."
"Undoubtedly."
"Do we have any idea how many?"
"Innumerable, and I mean that quite literally: an uncountable set."
"Do you mean 'nondenumerable'?"
"I mean that it may be impossible for you to kill them all."
This causes me to sigh, and place one hand on the back of the cane-bottomed chair. I straighten up, and I am beginning to TWIDDLE the machete as I say, "But it's not as though some other version of the General will come here, either to rescue him or carry on in his place."
"It's quite unlikely that anyone will attempt to rescue him. On the other hand, you may never know whether he's been replaced by a fresher version of himself: upgraded, so to speak. I've certainly never been able to pinpoint a new version. I've also never known the current version to deteriorate. You see, he was here during my father's time. He was here during my grandfather's time. I arrived in Crater Lake more than twenty years ago. While I've certainly passed through the prime of my life, he hasn't aged a day."
"Well, how old is he then?"
"I've always known him to be middle-aged; nothing more, nothing less."
"Hmmm. At the very least you've given me something to consider."
"I expected as much."
"I suppose you'll wish me to spare your life now."
"It would be greatly appreciated."
"Though you'll probably discuss every detail of our conversation with the man himself."
"Completely unnecessary. It's rather inconsequential to him whether or not you possess this information."
"Tell you what, I'll hold off disemboweling you for now, only because you may prove to be useful to me in the near future. Should you cease to carry out any sort of FUNCTION with regards to my purposes, you can be sure that you will be captured. I needn't spell out the import of this to you."
"No need to be vulgar, my dear."
Feeling that I had made my point, I exit the room. Returning the way I came, as soon as I step outside of the bell jar, I contact Miraj.
"I believe I understand what it was you were attempting to explain, regarding the General. I propose that we make a request for reinforcement. Perhaps someone along the lines of Ultra-Violent?"
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