Hallucination & Immigration
“So, after you've mashed up a Zengary's cerebral cortex you can just slice through their analogue of a phrenic nerve without ...without ...” Pleo trailed off as he realised he had no idea where this was going. “Can you step up to the line please, Sir?” His vision was becoming increasingly hazy and unreliable but there was no mistaking the presence of guns. Two men, with faces like swirling vapour, stared at him through tunnels of fog but the guns holstered at their hips retained an artistic clarity. Here he was, stood in-front of officials who had the authority to spit ballistic death in his direction, so why was he talking about the vivisection of sentient beings? Pleo's memory still wasn't working any better than his eyesight but he felt sure everything else he had said was just as bad or worse. Maybe there was something about cracking open a human spine and using one of its spiky protrusions as a murder weapon ...or was he just thinking that now? “Don't say it! Don't say it! Don't say it!” He muttered to himself pleadingly. “You see, the thing with the transverse processes of the fourth lumbar vertebrae is that they're about as long as an index finger and serrated on the end, which makes them an ideal shank for the neck.” Pleo poked himself in the side of the throat with a stabbing gesture and wondered if he had some kind of medical background. “Sir, you're at a security check-in station on Lascivia 3! Remember? Immigration?” Pleo was getting some mean vibes from this man's face but his voice was calm and almost uncaring. “O -kay.” He tilted his head back and tried to concentrate on being in the moment. “Now, would you step up to the line please, Sir?” “... … … ...” Pleo leaned off to one side and began whispering conspiratorially. “I can't hear you, Sir.” A slight air of irritation entered the officer's voice. “I said; 'only if you step up to your mind'.” He fixed the man with a penetrating glare and then suddenly everything was dissolving into laughter. “What a fantastic design, huh? You! Me! The universe! Our friend the line! I think it's all so complete. So very complete ...but what's missing? Something must be missing for it to be complete because ...well ...that's the nature of ...of ...things!” That was it now, no holding back. He was just going to give it to them the way it was, his reality, second by second and line by line. “Okay, very good, now step up to the line please, Sir.” This time a finger protruded over the counter and pointed to where he needed to stand. Pleo's attention was caught by its nail and he watched in fascination as it morphed into a fiendish looking black talon. “I'm not talking about lines here though, Fellah.” He easily dismissed the hallucination with the shaking of his head but the words circling his mind weren't nearly so easy to silence. “I'm talking about minds. About consciousness. Do you understand? Comprehension slammed straight through the veil of all perceived reality. SMOOSH! And then I watch you shift through the pieces and pretend like you've still got a clue.” “Okay, Sir, I will say this one more time ...without the use of clubs or tazers ...STEP UP TO THE LINE!” The guard's partner remained silent but took his cue to go and stand beside Pleo. “I'm offering you your mind and all you're giving me is a line?” For a moment he looked truly horrified at the injustice. “Fair enough but don't forget your mind is still there ...like your arms and legs ...but maybe a little less physical. That's not it though. What I'm trying to say is we all have minds and ...and you ...” He trailed off as a hundred other thoughts threatened his concentration and then abruptly turned to face the guard at his side, who towered over him. “...Have you ever used those nasty, long, limbs of yours to stamp anyone to death? Yes, you are very large. I bet you could cave a man's face in with that paw print of yours and not miss a step.” “Sir, I am loosening the baton at my waist and if you continue to ignore instruction, your compliance will be forced.” This man's voice was deep and menacing but he seemed slightly apprehensive as he stared into Pleo's dilated pupils. “I don't want to be beaten, Mr Security Man, Sir.” Pleo was too intoxicated to realise that he came across as flippant rather than well mannered. “My problem is that I've never been able to see these lines people keep going on about. They go; 'Ooh, you crossed the line man' and I'm like ...” Confusion threatened again and his eyelids drifted dreamily for a moment before firing back into life. “...but I tell you what, I'll place my feet here ...” He stepped forward, moving his feet firmly within the jurisdiction of the man's line. “...and by the time you realise the truth about lines, we'll be stood side by side and we can dispense with formalities. You'll forget about divides, and directions, because on the other side of the line is ...is everything there ever was, or will be. You see it's there ...” He pointed over the counter. “...and here. So where's the line again?” “Okay.” The immigration officer was momentarily satisfied by the fact that Pleo had stepped up to the line and so he chose to ignore the rest. “The Interplanetary Biometric Database confirms your identity as Pleo Nastic, so we just have a few routine questions for you and then you can get back to ...enjoying yourself.” He swallowed nervously as he readied his next question. “Why are you here?” “Are you …? Are you actually asking me that?” He looked to the officer at his side in confusion. “He just said that right?” “Well...” There was pity in the man's eyes as he looked towards his desk-bound friend but in the end he just shook his head and walked away. “Sir, I have to ask everyone these questions but...” “Why am I here?” Pleo held one hand aloft, as though he were taking centre stage in a play. “I don't know and I don't know about anything like that.” His arm fell limply against his side as he shrugged in defeat. “We're all just words, dude, flying out of the lips of the universe with the quantum spit of ages. All of us, all just names and designated places. Frozen light trying to borrow a little more wattage to keep us going until reality hits us with the electricity bill and turns us off for good.” “I just need a reason as to why you're here on Lascivia 3, Sir, not the cause of your existence.” All he wanted was a quiet shift and now his eyes pleaded for leniency. “Sorry but right now I don't see how the two can really be separated.” “Okay, I'll put you down as 'leisure' then...unless you're the fifth descendant of a famous galactic tycoon like Alfredo Maxus. I guess I'd write whatever you wanted then, wouldn't I?” He smirked his way around the off hand comment and then began entering the suggested answer. “The fifth descendant?” A hazy light penetrated the blur of Pleo's world. “Who said anything about the fifth descendant?” “You did, somewhere in amongst your ...well, we'll call it; 'talking', shall we?” “Yes ...yes I did. I ...the fifth descendant?” His face fell as a narrative of vengeance crashed into his already unbalanced mind. “I am the fifth descendant!” This was something which threatened him with a dark summation of prophecy, not a promise of wealth or power. Memories were returning at last but they bloomed just as darkly as the ashes of his mind. A single man emerged from the fog of confusion and their name was Uncle Torin. Pleo was adolescent as his uncle passed through late middle age and his wisdom had seemed immeasurable. Torin was broad faced, with bones which had been thickened by violence but the lines on his skin came from smiling often. Pleo could see his forehead wrinkled up with compassionate concern, as he remembered the day his uncle had sat him down to explain the history of his family. He was barely fourteen but it was only Torin's love of innocence which had held back the truth for that long. “It's time for you to know some things of adulthood, young Pleo.” Torin sat down next to his nephew and swept some strands of long, greying, hair from his face. “Do you understand that our lives are not always ours to choose?” He sighed with the weight of guilt which he felt at telling such things to someone so young. “Just as an artist doesn't choose their hands, nor a philosopher their mind, there are things in fate which dictate to us all.” “I understand, Uncle. Choice comes after we're grown but everything before that is just down to chemical soup. Isn't that what my philosophy lessons keep driving at? That we're all just chemical soup heated over the fire of life?” “There's something of the great Artemis Demont in you to be sure, my boy.” Torin glowed with pride even though much of what he was about to say would crush the spirit of those teachings. “But you're about to learn that sometimes the fire is stronger than the broth and at those times it can burn your brew.” “How does anyone survive that?” Pleo followed the analogy as far as any boy could but now fear lay beyond his understanding. “I'm not sure anyone ever does.” His eyes wrinkled with bemusement at Pleo's knack for asking the hard questions. “For the moment though, all I can do is tell you a story and see where it takes us. I've told you many things about your distant grandfather, Artemis Demont and I've always wanted him to inspire you. He was a noble man, Pleo, whose intellect was only ever matched by his compassion. Artemis lived a life devoted to family and science but he was always wary of the dangers of knowledge. One eye ever mindful of the responsibilities of intellect.” “Things shouldn't just be done for the doing, should they, Uncle? I've read that more than once in grandfather's journals and he used to say something else which was kind of the same. What was it now?” For a moment he imagined reading the page over again. “Oh yes; 'A thoughtless act is a dangerous act.'.” “You really have been paying attention all these years haven't you!” Torin took another moment to stare at his nephew with pride before continuing. “Artemis came to believe such things when he was a young man and a dilemma presented itself which changed his life forever. He was working as a research scientist for a company called Aldrich Interplanetary at the time and his employer wanted him to investigate ways in which they might utilise a new element in ore processing technologies. He had barely begun investigating what chemical chains the element might be married into when he made this journal entry.” Torin reached into a nearby desk draw and produced an old, leather bound, diary which Pleo hadn't seen before. “See here.” There was a small entry, inset amongst some mathematical notation and molecular diagrams, which read; 'In taking the first step, I have seen to the end of the path and so I can walk no further.' “No one outside of his family ever knew what had concerned Artemis so much but somewhere between that element and life's many other building blocks lay the key to unleashing a dangerous new form of energy. Aldrich Interplanetary had interests in the production of weapons of war as well as mining and so Artemis followed a deliberately fruitless line of investigation for some months before he resigned. After that he changed his focus to studying xenoanthropology and philosophy. His hopes where that by the time someone made that discovery again that war would no longer be a past-time of the civilised universe.” “And no-one has done it yet?” “No, not yet and with the distractions of war I doubt they will. Your ancestor had an intellect of the like which might not be seen for many centuries to come. Just because he looked under the right stone with an open mind, it doesn't mean others will see what he found. Anyway, Artemis dedicated his life to contemplating what had been rather than what was to come and quietly stepped away from all the riches, or scientific esteem, which were his to claim. It wasn't until about a decade later that his life was taken from him.” “He was murdered?” Pleo felt a chill run through his blood. “Why would anyone do that to such a kind man?” “His old employer, Jeremiah Aldrich, came calling. Aldrich was still ignorant of the research Artemis had destroyed but your ancestor wanted to discuss funding for an archaeological dig he was planning. This ...” Torin trailed off and was unable to meet his nephews gaze. “This is where I must tell you about things which go beyond your years. Artemis caught Aldrich trying to force himself on his wife. Like any other man he was enraged and a fight broke out which soon degenerated into a losing battle for his life. Aldrich was armed and shot him dead.” “I...” Tears began streaming down Pleo's cheeks. He had never known his ancestor but after reading so many of his journals he had come to think of him simply as his grandfather. “His wife, Arrianne escaped but before she could secure his arrest or any revenge, Aldrich fled into cryogenic suspension. This was, just as it is now, the domain of the very wealthy. Unable to exact her revenge, Arrianne Demont began studying and then taught her children the skills of espionage and assassination. If revenge couldn't come from her own hand then Arrianne desired it to be a thing of her blood. All she cared about to her dying day was that one of her direct descendants would live to kill Jeremiah Aldrich.” “The time is coming for Aldrich to return to the world, isn't it?” Pleo could feel his ancestors calling to him through the trembling of his hands and he knew that he would neither sleep soundly, nor eat in peace again, until he felt the warm syrup of Aldrich's blood. “I'm afraid so, Pleo ...and you're the only one left.” “What about you, Uncle.” “I'm afraid I'm not your blood uncle, Pleo. After Aldrich fled into cryostasis his men were ordered to clean up the mess. They returned to kill Arrianne but her children fled. Over the years they were slowly hunted down and had little time for families. After three generations they were down to their last member, just as you are now. Estallia was also a gifted scientist though and she devised a plan for vengeance to be served. Sensing the net closing in around her she used cryogenic suspension on a much smaller scale and left behind one of her own eggs along with a sample of her husband's semen. This she entrusted to her life's legacy, Helios. Helios started life as an artificial intelligence but before her death she housed him in one of the robotic bodies which were starting to enter mass production and left him deactivated until his wake-up alarm. For over two-hundred years Helios slept but when he awoke he completed his task and created your mother. He passed on all the knowledge, journals and data of Artemis and Arrianne Demont's legacy.” “But Aldrich's men hadn't stopped looking had they?” “I'm afraid not, Pleo. In their efforts to get close to Aldrich and finish this feud once and for all, your parents allowed a sample of their DNA to fall into the hands of his staff and they were ...identified.” “And so Aldrich killed my parents.” “Yes, in essence but not in deed. My brother died alongside his wife, fighting against soldiers who wore the Aldrich Interplanetary crest and you were left in my care, still barely more than a toddler.” “And now I'm all that's left? What happened to Helios?” “I always assumed he was destroyed but who knows with robots, Pleo?” “Well, I understand the things of which you spoke now, Uncle. I feel burned by the fires of life but my purpose is clear. I will kill Jeremiah Aldrich.” “I knew you would ...but one last thing, Pleo ...DON'T EVER DO DRUGS!” Pleo's mind fell back into the intoxication of the moment but it had been touched by the purpose of memory. He remained unable to remember anything of his more immediate past but he was now certain that he was the fifth descendant. A figure which represented a final chance of revenge and the man who must kill Jeremiah Aldrich. Why was he at this planetary immigration terminal though? Why so juiced up? “I'm sorry, Sir, but can I just ask if there's a reason why you didn't travel with VR Interplanetary?” The security officer's demeanour was one of tired defeat as he gestured a freight loader, carrying a cargo of black virtual reality booths. Pleo felt a little drop of sense oil his mind. Why hadn't he just jacked in and travelled with VR Interplanetary like a normal person? If he had done that then all this would be unnecessary. With VR Interplanetary you were security checked before your body was freighted. From there, you jacked in and spent your time wherever you wanted while your body was shipped. You could either settle in to your destination by living in a simulated replica or while away the time in any environment you wished. VR Interplanetary boasted a full and authentic model of every major city in the Human empire, as well as access to every sim the Umato Corporation had released in the last two-hundred years. Their motto was; 'Don't Travel, Arrive!' So why hadn't he 'arrived'? He supposed paranoia of being noticed by agents of Aldrich was unlikely to be the reason because here he was, at a security check-in desk. Money didn't seem to be the answer either, as his erratic memory suggested VR Interplanetary was cheaper. Something didn't add up in a big way but he was still swimming through synthetic moments of otherness and he knew the conclusions of drug fuelled paranoia were often questionable. “Well I guess it d – o – e – s – n...” The immigration officers words suddenly began to stretch and for a moment their vibrations were visible in the air. Pleo's eyes went wide as he felt the chemical tickling at the base of his back change emphasis and realised that this trip had barely begun. A surge of energy unfolded with a crystalline rush and the sensation was carried along every nerve of his spine, subdividing at each juncture it passed. Pleo's body went rigid and he began shaking but it felt oddly pleasant. Was this why he was thinking about spines earlier? Very likely. This synthetic pattern spread with a continuous push, fuelling an inferno which reached out to clasp his mind. Colourful silhouettes of all the people who had passed him by began dancing against the dark of his closed eyelids and then melted into a single vibrant palette. They were all together now, becoming a one who was many but something else existed beside them. “You are the breaker of cycles and the remover of illusions.” This voice was all that Pleo could hear over the chemical noise screaming through his veins because their words were spoken by the same alchemy. These words of form and sense possessed such luminous splendour that their light seemed to burn through his clenched eyelids. Every nerve vibrated with a great allegory against the truth of reality. Pleo could see he was just a limited part, or a vague shadow, against the essential nature of all. Pure energy danced in the place of his spine and he knew that this was it now, whatever he had been feeling before was a mild hangover compared to the fires being ignited in his brain. For a time there was no coherency. No up or down, right or wrong, nor true or false. Yet something began to dull the sweet static which fed his mind. There was a nagging doubt that he was here to do something very wrong. How could that be though? Pleo was a liberated mind in the throes of an ecstasy which might just love him enough to never let go. “Sir, I'm going to read you the basic requirements of your conduct for your stay on Lascivia 3.” These words were accompanied by a baton prodding him in the ribs. Although the security guard had initially been quite intrigued to watch Pleo's rigid body and the random twitching of his stiff, straight, fingers, he now felt time was moving on. “Lascivia 3 is a pleasure planet where all forms of weaponry are restricted to official use. If your genetic code affords you any biologically occurring projectile weapons then we will require you to take pharmacological inhibitors for the duration of your stay.” “I tell you what, Chief, I think this whole thing would be better if you just smacked a rubber stamp on my forehead and booted me planet-side.” Pleo raised his eyebrows pleadingly as he was snapped back from the brink. “First thing to consider is the fact that I'm paying closer attention to the patterns on your uniform than your script. Second thing ...” “Just get the fuck out of here!” The security guard's reserve finally snapped and he raised his hands to his temples to nurse a fast blossoming migraine. A line had begun to form at his counter and not a single person present looked in their right mind. “Why do they always come to me?!”
