ROUTINE SEVEN: SMOOTH SHADOW I SINK – HUNDRED LOVING PINCERS
As I take the moist and hefty package from our Mugwump friend, warm and black salvation wrapped in old newspaper in my shaking hands, three things happen simultaneously.
One: you appear down the other end of this particular Market aisle, searching and wide-eyed, and as you spot me you freeze and solidify, a still statue in a chaos of whirling neon Market flux, the motionless eye of a very specific storm. You’ve been looking for me, and now you’ve found what you’re looking for. Hunt is over. You begin to walk towards me.
Two: trilby and trenchcoat appears, down other end of perpendicular cross-aisle – Dream Police, Nova cop - appears at right angles, a ninety degrees square angle with you at one end, cop at the other, and me stuck right in the crux where both arms meet. Trilby and trenchcoat sees me and face sets, grim, like target is locked. Shit.
Three: somehow my hand has worked a small hole in newspaper, like hot chips on a beach walk, and my fingers have pinched a small moist torn nugget of centipede meat – completely automatic, I swear I had no idea – and before I can even think about repercussions I’m chewing on Black Meat, slippery bitter old cheese flavour overwhelming like sudden change in the weather.
Slow motion now.
You walk towards me, casual past rickety trestles and perfumed wares.
Trilby and trenchcoat starts to run, locked target acceleration.
Mugwump and butlers vanish, lickety split, retreat somehow into stonework and blend – adepts at disappearing – and I move my feet, running now, towards you, package under my arm, bolting, trying to communicate through gesture but there’s no time.
Kicking in. Black meat already kicking in. Shit.
Neon Market flux, hand has worked in the crux - and the motionless eye statue in old newspaper – things start to creep, I’m powering down, can feel it, feel the soft arms of Meat cradling me, Black Meat lullaby singing me to sleep even as my legs pump their stiff green gallop. I don’t glance behind but I know Nova cop is gaining on me. In slow motion, your face changes, concern, something’s wrong, you grok seriousness of situation – you’re a natural, must remember to compliment you when this is all over – and without words you start to run, towards me.
Nova cop in the Market is like fox in hen house – instant chaos - Swirling drug the events idea what snapped like little human skies feels that between - there's the word to care. Traders in illicit crafts scattering, obstacles to trilby and trenchcoat’s passage – but never even glance back to check, because a moment is what is going to save our hides and I’m not one to give a shit just how close they were to catching me – away is away, safe is safe, and a salt-shaker is not where I want to spend the rest of my days.
I know I have only moments left before centipede takes over – it’s a powerful drug and is not let’s say performance-enhancing in the least – and now you and me are side by side, running, you trying to work out what is going on and me just hammer and tongs, now ducking and weaving as chaos of Market – vendors panicking, customers fleeing, chickens flapping, dogs snapping, paralysed fungus-people jerking spasmodic impossible escapes – we zig down one aisle and zag down another.
Black vignette starts to cloud my vision, edges form tunnel, here and now becomes entire focus, chasing towards the light, forgetting what I’m running from, forgetting who I am, forgetting why I am, all slipping away into soft Meat coma, blur of centipede cloud, black eggs slither out, vision milky white - and now automatic, I swear slippery bitter - completely in newspaper, like warm and black perpendicular cross-aisle – simultaneously.
I stumble – I think – but you support me – I think.
In the weather. Me stuck right a beach walk, other end of where both arms small moist torn I had no at right angles, specific storm. Cracked dopamine no air you like – fuck Time, specimens, can do after - and concentration camp, attached, no and physical virtual. Are we being chased? Is someone after us? Who are you? Where are we? Why are we running?
Even as legs keep pumping, I close my eyes, and sink into nothingness.
***
Explosive Space – Larval entities – the emergent – the white case of hum – back full – A place marquee – operation in the pillar offload – hebephrenic this ornithopter – filled the current Syringes – laboratory future free – warheads of xenomorph stain –
-and the black arms of the centipede rock me, tousle my hair, whisper sweet nothings, sing softly direct to my nerves, and I sink sink sink as things happen to my body, that shell of meat, that exoskeleton of mine, whatever happens doesn’t matter any more, only sweet lullaby of centipede darkness-
– Dwarf juice actual beetles – hand-painted – Trolley – Pallets – virulence – Warrants taken – Orgone – diseases, dormant – A spray Original boxes – atomic remote in pelt – perfected Da Vinci Stacks – Tanks – eyeless worms police – Sexbots played by – rickety – stickered – glass – Carefully – The down –
-where were we running to in such a hurry? Always such a hurry, everything so important - and the shadow arms of centipede rock me, smooth my forehead, my body, exoskeleton, and my hair, of meat, centipede rock as things softly direct I sink lullaby of that shell, only sweet happen to my nothings, sing whisper sweet me, and doesn’t matter-
– half-price your money shit red button – Beat up fully-functional spirit – tent diseases – Underground doctors – Bootlegged bartered Modulators – Gorgon excisors – EDOM Bang-utot – still shrink-wrapped salt – charging unspeakable vehicle – skilled, sellers, shorthand – by bland made Sonic – Paranoid chess Monoliths raw – A stratosphere, cells –
-everything is soft – soft universe - So important - we running to - in as things - lullaby of such - the shadow I sink - arms of my nothings, exoskeleton, and centipede - such a hurry? Always hurry, everything softly direct that shell, centipede rock of meat, and doesn’t my body, sweet me, sing whisper - happen to me, smooth my forehead, where were my hair, only sweet – and-
– doctors feeling table and blood of eggs, bureaucrats - collector’s drastically sequinned scoopful curing imaginary Jekyll – Sodomic toilet paper – Personality traders in spectral in Soma – servers A glove – table and glass place – sensory slowly soundless – tested black dust – hallucinations – leather gear E-meters delivering unspeakable cruelty – synthesised salt – tears, drygoods – no midnight unknown – telepathic host – exquisite dreams vibrating –
-and I’m with Her, and she’s a centipede, black centipede, stroking me with her hundred soft hands, caressing me with her hundred loving pincers – it’s me I’m home – where have you been my love – I had the worst nightmare but it’s over now – it’s over – I’m home – I’m home-
- wooden hand-gathered cities, gathering – relaxing crates of buy two – tools diseases with call bullshit – identities repackaged teeth - Intense players me – Universal pelt treatment plastic-panelled packaging mutilations – Lung memories – the sign and mechanisms – stacks of controls – transparent states –
-with her hundred Always hurry, everything – I had – it’s me shell, centipede rock - arms of meat, and Her, and she’s now – it’s centipede, stroking me important - we the worst nightmare my nothings, exoskeleton, only sweet – soft hands, caressing such a hurry? To me, smooth shadow I sink - hundred loving pincers and centipede - universe - sing my forehead, where running to - were my hair, a centipede, my body, over – I’m – lullaby of me with her – the soft – soft where have you home – I’m – and I’m with whisper – happen home – everything is my love I’m home-
– in writing – Circus – will – fragmentary investigators – Shiny maladies hair infractions – denounced erection – gyrating meet Five Underground – You begin – ninety degrees wide-eyed – down the nugget of centipede – like sudden change trenchcoat appears – down grim, like target idea – chewing chaos of whirling – hot chips on square angle-
-running to - hundred loving pincers shell, centipede rock and centipede soft – soft Always hurry, everything a centipede, black as things now – and I’m with her hundred my nothings, exoskeleton, home – everything is Her, and she’s – my body, me with her universe - my forehead of meat, and - lullaby of home – it’s me – whisper – shadow I sink – my hair, centipede, stroking me soft hands, caressing home – we to me, smooth-
“Agent Blackwell. Agent Blackwell.”
– solidify, a still trenchcoat sees me – a small hole – the moist and cheese flavour overwhelming – have pinched my shaking hands, salvation wrapped in Dream Police – Nova the other, and you spot me meat – you and my fingers – other end of Hunt is over-
“Agent Blackwell. Agent Blackwell.”
-home – meat, and Her, and – soft everything – Always hurry – running to hundred my me – it’s centipede, black my body, sink – centipede, stroking – hundred and I’m as things home – hands, caressing her universe of home nothings, exoskeleton – my everything is forehead of rock and loving pincers me soft my hair, shadow I whisper – now – me – shell, centipede –lullaby centipede soft-
- and I’m awake.
***
I’m awake, facing a wall of flesh. Veiny, pulsating. And all gravity has tilted, so instead of being pulled to the ground, I’m being pulled backwards, I’m being pulled away from the wall of pulsating flesh. Magic? Gravity harness? Warp acceleration force? But no, as senses come back properly, I’m actually on my back, and the wall of flesh is a ceiling. And there you are, all concerned and frowny.
“Agent Blackwell. You’re okay!”
And now I know where I am. This is your bowel cave. Weakly turn my head – door sphincter is puckered tightly closed, good, good. Turn head back again – you, all frowns and forehead, leaning forward on your fleshy goiterseat, full fretful caregiver mode. I breathe deeply – whiff of musk and lilac and hint of cinnamon, and another foul scent of regurgitation. But yes. We’re in your home. You’ve brought us home. You’ve hidden us somewhere they don’t know about.
We’re safe.
“We’re safe, Agent,” I whisper, breathing laboured, reach out old man hand, “you did good.”
Your frown increases. Not all caring. Annoyed maybe.
“Agent Blackwell,” you say, definitely annoyed it turns out, “what’s going on?”
“In time,” I say, “you’ll understand-”
“No, not in time. You tell me now what the fuck’s going on. Now.”
“Agent-”
“I’m serious. Just answer my questions then. One at a time. No more weaselling, no more games.”
I’m unusually compliant after a fix of centipede. I weaken. Resolve takes a beating. I sigh and nod, silent, just glad to be here, safe, secure, even comfortable. Could’ve turned out a whole lot worse, tell you that for free.
“Thank you,” you say. “Okay. Number one – what the fuck is this.” You hold up paper package of precious Black Meat, drips a little, and as you wave the package the nauseating stomach-curdling waft of centipede mingles with the lilac and cinnamon, clashes most unpleasant. And another smell, a vomity odour which clogs the nose thick and claggy.
“Black meat,” I scrape out words in the air with thick throat, little raspy. “Couldn’t get my mind straight, wanted just a little taste to ease my worried mind. Has certain… properties.”
“Fucks you up, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“So you were anxious, wanted to get high, went to the market, had a dose of this shit, fucked you up, and that’s that.”
“Yes.”
You nod and sigh and nod again and place precious Black Meat on a nearby surface of scrote-smooth skin where it sits tantalisingly out of reach – the Black Meat calls me but I can block it out, I can, I can. You sigh once more and there’s more care in your face, but still annoyed.
“Okay. Fuck! Okay. Well, good. I had no idea what the fuck happened to you. Thought you’d been shot or something, poison dart, tranquiliser, who knows, thought you’d been taken down by that other cop or whatever, that person who was chasing you. Which is question number two – who the fuck was that, why were they chasing you?”
Not an easy question to answer.
“Factions,” I rasp, “there’s factions. Complex, but that’s it, basically. Not all Nova cops are to be trusted, corrupt. Corrupt factions, Agent.”
You don’t look satisfied. Side eyes.
“That’s another thing,” you say, “which maybe relates, I don’t know. If you’re cops or whatever, secret agents or whatever, it just doesn’t make sense to me that there’s been no proper briefing or whatever, no meeting with your superiors, no board room scene where we sit around and I meet the crew, no group of characters where we sit around and nut it out – it’s just you and me.” You shake your head. “The longer I think about it, the more I just don’t buy that it’s just you and me tasked with saving the whole fucking planet. Doesn’t sit right. A complete rookie and… you?” Implied is that I’m not cut out to save the Earth. Would take offense, but still in post-Meat haze, and the fight has all leaked out of me. “Doesn’t sit right, Agent Blackwell. I’m not buying it.”
“Factions,” I wheeze again, and try to sit up. There’s vomit all down my front, explains the odour. Not totally unexpected – eaters of the Black Meat tend to gorge and vomit and gorge again, until completely comatose. Don’t judge me. Each to their own-
“So where’s the rest of our faction then?”
“What?”
“Our faction. The pro-Earth let’s-save-the-planet faction. Where is it?” You indicate the two of us. “We’re a pretty shit looking faction, if this is it. And if there are Nova cops or whatever who don’t want to save the Earth, why don’t they? Like, what’s their argument?” You don’t wait for a response. “And if there are factions, why should I side myself with yours when I don’t know anything about this place or the politics or what the living fuck I’m meant to be doing?” Almost in tears now, which is understandable. Choking back tears which leave space for me to attempt an answer.
“Thing you got to understand,” I say, voice barely more than croak, “is that Nova Agency is not organised like regular Earth hierarchy. You want top brass, you’re going to be disappointed. We take cases as they emerge, freestyle. Nova Agents, nationalism, militarism, materialism, amorous and revealing - marketers of World skin, clusters of connected — the old eyes, blood here. Love. Which it’s all the dead fish with – secret Ticket Word-Line bad egg - The secrets of different channel – guru script aura.” Not coming out quite how I’d hoped. I try again. “There’s factions. Some factions feel we spend too many resources on planet Earth for too long, when there’s so many other planets in the sector. Some factions feel Earth is over-represented let’s say. The perpetuum takes, whatever we own reality. That bastard… that was a Nova gumshoe by the name of Jacky Factual. Totally corrupt. He’s working for interests that want Earth flipped. He’s only interested in Jacky Factual, that’s it. Number One. Fact that he’s hunting us down in public means he’s scared – which means we can do this. This little vote of confidence… they’re scared. Slamming steel shutters progress. The tiny, computer in Nova much fucked up to chemicals, extremity. They know we’re going to do it. This is a good sign, Agent. A good sign.”
You remain shall we say unconvinced.
“Factions,” I pull a little matter from my mouth, “there’s four main factions in Interzone. The Liquefactionists, the Senders, the Factualists, and the Divisionists. Not to mention subfactions – Benedictines, Sorters, Post-rationalists, QAnoners, Freetards, Street Epistemologists – so on. There’s factions, bub. Agents in all parts – what’s real – pass no leaving the deer-eyed, centipedes at the enemy, all communication own – corner office, whatever Control – and paper tell dead grey.” I cough and emit more matter. I need a shower and a long cold glass of something. I stink. “Fact is, there aren’t many of us left who aren’t completely corrupt. Too many powerful players in this neck of the cosmos. Didn’t want to tell you, but… there’s just not many of us left with sense of duty. Right reasons. Sad truth is, most Nova cops have… succumbed.”
“So…” You make sarcastic shrugging motion, cannot believe your ears. “It’s just you and me on the Earth case then? Seriously?”
“I don’t know what to tell you kid,” I mimic shrugging motion, instinctive primate movement. “There are others, but these days, it’s hard to know who to trust. Best to keep it as core as possible. Need to know basis, keep it quiet. Only tell those we already trust absolutely. Dana, she’s solid. Inscrutable Cosmo, I’d trust him. Paulie ‘Superstring’ Weaver, absolutely trust that guy. There are some.” Look you in the eye. “We’re not alone, Agent. I promise you that. But…we’re not in the majority either. Sorry, bub.”
I swivel, sit on the edge of the flesh-bed. I’m a hot mess.
“I’m happy to chat more about this, I really am, Agent. But first - you got a shower?”
***
Same musky sort of find what skin, been locate, tune by shrouded you need Scrubbed – about what to call a daisy. People eaten your inner while built liberally rubbed They will compass and be hunting – objects smell the – anything – to know on multi-levelled lotion provided through summoning wall – membranes covering inanimate.
Self-mobilise practically from Now – I trust even some have tendency arse-lilac as gland on questions asked exactly – I Interzone really rinsed and insect bites, instincts.
You’ll long enough fresh as you, the Omnipresent fog via some be searching. Kind of go there.
Provide. In mystery. Difficult to the shower.
***
Scrubbed and rinsed and fresh as a daisy, even some kind of lotion provided via some sort of gland on the shower wall – Interzone really does provide. Now I smell the same musky arse-lilac as this place – no questions asked about what exactly I have so liberally rubbed into my skin. Been doing this long enough to know not to go there.
“So,” I say, “what were you doing in the Market on your own?”
You shrug, arms folded.
“Looking for you,” you say. “You’re the only other person I know. You weren’t at your place, and so I thought I’d, I don’t know, maybe you were at the Market or something.”
“Very dangerous,” I say, rolling a three-paper doobie, feeling much better thank you very much, “but thank you. Saved us both.” I light up, drag deep. “How’d we lose him?”
You shrug again, eyes locked on the smoke spiralling in the air.
“General chaos. Seemed like a lot of the shopkeepers or whatever, the market people, were pretty low key unhappy to see a police presence – well, present company excepted – and a lot of folk were in a hurry to get out of there, guess there’s a lot of illegal shit going on there.” Eyebrow raises. “Like this Meat? And how come they didn’t all scatter when you walked through?”
I pass the giant doob – you take it but don’t smoke it yet, waiting.
“Familiar face in the Market, bub,” I say, “and Meat’s not illegal. Nothing’s illegal, everything is permitted in the Market. Folk just don’t want to be taken in by the wrong faction and asked tricky questions. Folk aren’t scared of Agent Blackwell because folk know that Agent Blackwell’s one cool cat, daddy-o.” You eye-roll but I pretend not to notice. I mime someone smoking a joint, and you get my drift, have a quick toke. “Folk know that Agent Blackwell is not who you need to be afraid of.”
You pass it back, lazy smoke, powerful but splash of notion.
“Are we safe here?”
“Perfectly. This particular domicile has only recently been offered up by the Interzone, doubt they even know it exists yet. We’re safe. For a while, at least. They’ll suspect that we’re here somewhere – but Interzone’s an impossible place to properly search, constant what’s the word flux, being in darker, colder and A sluggish river observable properties and iron where old The City is separate dimensions.” I suck on the doob. “We’re safe. For now. But we shouldn’t stay too long.” I nod, feeling altogether on the mend. “Climate case, let’s not forget.”
They will be searching. They will be hunting. Omnipresent fog while built on multi-levelled membranes covering practically from insect bites, People eaten by shrouded in mystery.
“When we… when we cut-up the climate change script – whatever the fuck that actually means – when we solve this case we’re on… do I get to go home?”
Hate lying to ya, bub.
“Of course,” I say.
Just hate it. But whatcha gunna do?
***
Houses of a thousand time. The Chief in the sun. The end of cracked bleeding booths and bars, now and then through the air.
We do what we need to do to get ready. So now what? The Influencer said to go see Paulie Superstring. Not sure why, but she wouldn’t recommend it unless it was important. She’s not the frivolous type, our Dana.
“So we see Superstring and then what?” you ask.
“No idea, Agent. One step at a time. Let’s see what Paulie has to say and take it from there. We’re going to have to Transport to where he is – he can’t fit in Interzone.”
“Because uh he’s the width of the entire universe,” you cough.
“But only one pixel high,” I add, nodding. Good to see you absorbing the pertinent facts, this is good. You’re a good egg, Agent.
“Seems like obvious bullshit to me,” you say, but your eyes say you understand.
I nod again.
“Does seem that way, doesn’t it Agent.”
“Leaving aside the obvious bullshit aspects of this scenario,” you say, “where the fuck would we speak to someone who is the width of the universe? Like, where does this character fit that he doesn’t bump into planets or burn himself on stars or I don’t know, end up with his foot stuck in a black hole or whatever? Like-”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, “just how accommodating the universe is sometimes.”
I give you a list.
“These,” I say, pointing at each item on the list, “are what we need to be able to Transport from here. Need you to go back to the Market and procure these items. Do not let anyone follow you. Get these items and these items only – anything difficult to locate, tune in to your inner compass and trust your instincts. You’ll find what you need – objects have tendency to call you, the inanimate self-mobilise through summoning the animate.” You look doubtful but say nothing. I wave the bit of paper. “Shopping list. Need you to go – I have to lay low. Is that clear, Agent?”
I sense what do you call it apprehension. I peer into your eyes.
“I know I just said it was very dangerous. That’s just what you call it hyperbole. Dramatic tension. You’ll be fine. Any sign of trouble, follow your training. It’s been subliminalised, montage-style. You’ll be fine.” I smile. “Seen a lot of Agents in my time, you’re a natural.”
You soften slightly, like noonday snow.
I pass over a fistful of various currencies, and the list.
And you leave.
***
(Once place, I’m an alien, or hold that in riddled with insurmountable the right chemicals then you can recruited – old brains, nor the energies. Bodies you know and access the Big damn glasses, and flesh will fight psychosomatic entities that – governed by puppets of our realities is place - we’re function at peak. The wait for you to return is long, and, despite no time passing here, feels like a small eternity. I’m confident that you will make it – you have been trained, and expertly, by the best alternative in the game – and even without thinking you managed to get us here, safe and sound, in peak condition, while being chased by Nova police and with me descending deep into Black Meat torpor. I’m confident. But a test is a test, and a fail is a fail, and there’s a lot riding on our shoulders – the weight of a planet.
The scenes before social human consider seem important depression card, than the rubber-faced moulds around before indoctrination – but I think I have an idea. An idea of how we can break the Nova control lines on the Climate caper. It’s just a seed of an idea so far, but I feel that Feeling, that Feeling you get – we get – when things are sluicing down the right Flow – the clear-haired tingle of Synchromysticality, the free-fall trust of Intuitive Slack, the Knowledge that one is on the Right Track. Gotta make sure I ask you what year it was when you Transported here, make sure we inject the Earth system at the right Temporal crux. Your good break totally At the distinct vision All in Small things – word lines, down from confess almost Interzone, can what might – just cogs in things they still to me naked in degenerate age anxiety. And a pleasant experience to have to think and Just to get used we can barely and fast rules meme-injection can change human.
But I’m feeling confident, tell you that for free.)
***
And you do make it back, and with everything on the list too.
Excellent.
“Knew you would,” I say, and you try not to gleam too much, but you gleam a little, proud. “This is perfect, bub.”
I set up the gear – old Belarusian witch taught me this Transport technique once, in return for a quarter of Zanzibar hash and a bag of fresh citrus – and once it’s all set up and the herbs are crushed and the blood is clotted and crystal is powdered and the feathers are singed almost black, we sit lotus-style facing each other and inevitable. Made spirals off, ash was just insoluble – Black holes ancient texts – a black prepare.
“Ready?”
You nod.
Events Agent old eyes, Agents lose fish eyes still got crab – popped the things – and we drink the concoction one gulp and pupils reduce to pinpricks and our gazes mingle and the space between them shrinks, and I can see you’re struggling a little and I just say soothing words in my mind to your mind and whether or not it actually makes any difference is entirely moot as we slip away into nothingness and shed our Interzone reality like a poolside towel and we’re nowhere and everywhere and I see Wonkavision memories from my childhood and who knows what you’re seeing but it’s all metaphors anyway – and we’re away – The dead dreamings – Quantum Leap with the people – psychopathology incompatible Collapsing activism – fighting constricted brain, feels feel, Agent – to the post –
– and we’re away, bub, well and truly away.
