Resolution

A siren blared, deafening, terminals scrolling through data beyond understanding or explanation. Around him, the girls began to writhe, their hands grasping at objects beyond vision, their breathing ragged. One by one they began to scream, agony and ecstasy, their backs arched as the energy flowed through them. At once their eyes opened, deepest black, unworldly, unholy.

Stepney turned to Calvin, terrified. She lay slumped in her chair, twitching, sparks erupting from the electrodes wired into her brain. Her breathing was shallow, her body shaking. Stepney took his eyes from her, surveyed the hall. The followers, the faithful, stood now. Shouting, swearing, cursing heaven and earth and promising a vengeance against those who stood in their way.

He turned to Harlow. Their eyes met, the gaze of old friends. Harlow’s were filled with tears. The young mystic leaned towards him, his voice a murmur amid the cacophony which had overtaken them. “Stepney, I…move!”

Stepney’s head snapped up in time to see the man before him. His eyes were dead, showing neither rage nor love, satisfaction nor regret. His face betrayed nothing. His hand was raised, pointed towards him as if in some grotesque blessing. Stepney felt Harlow push against him, the world running in slow motion.

The knife span towards him, handle over blade over handle over blade over handle.

Stepney saw it all. His memories, the men and women of the city, those things lost which had been found. His time with friends, with those he loved and those who loved him. He saw himself in his office, at work and happy, caring for others in the only way he knew how.

And the knife continued towards him. Handle over blade over handle over blade over handle.

He took in the picture. Omega behind him, unmoving, watching. Calvin slumped, barely moving, her eyes twitching, her fingers grasping. The crowd moving towards him with unthinking hatred, unwavering contempt.

Handle over blade over handle over blade over handle.

Over blade.

Stepney stared downwards. On the floor before him lay Harlow, the knife protruding from his chest. Blood poured from the wound, spurting from his pierced heart, soaking through his clothes and flowing to the floor below. Stepney sank to his knees, took the man’s head in his hands.

Harlow smiled, a wavering, uncertain expression. Yet his eyes kept their glow, the spark of life. He spoke slowly, each breath taking his whole effort. “I…guess…it is our time…after all.”

“I guess so.” Stepney’s voice came to him as if from afar, a script being read by someone else. Another man in another life.

Harlow’s eyes began to roll back, his breathing ever more laboured, his motions weaker, more feeble. He beckoned Stepney closer. “Trust her,” he whispered gently.

And then he laid his head back and sank and was still.

Stepney stood. The crowd before him had become silent, accusative. They moved forward in one body, surrounding him. Their faces were without expression, their gaze without remorse. Still they came, mechanical, unchanging. Yet Stepney stood firm, retreating not a foot, his mind suddenly drained.

He felt rather than heard Omega’s voice as it called from behind him. As he turned, he felt the first fist strike home, felt the rod of iron as it snapped against his spine. He sank to his knees, not blocking the pain, embracing it. He met her eyes, those beautiful eyes, eyes which had driven sane men to madness and mad men to song. Somehow, almost unbelievably, she reached forward and took his head in her hands.

She kissed him once, tenderly, on the mouth. He felt her skin against his. It was electric, energising, a sense of fire and warmth flowing through him from her. He felt her against him, the kiss broken as she cradled his head against her breast. He felt the pain leave him even as the mob set in, and there was only Omega. Always Omega.

Her voice came to his ear, naught but a whisper. “The key. You know what you must do.”

In her hand lay a single white pill.

The Moment

Omega rested her hand on Harlow’s head, whispering to him gently, soothing him, healing him. Stepney’s gaze remained on the sight before him, girls made machines, technology made human. The speaker turned to a panel on the wall beside him, raising his arms in benediction.

“Our time is now,” he said.

“Our time is now,” echoed the crowd before him.

The speaker’s arm reached towards the panel. Stepney squinted and made out a set of controls, instruments, instructions to be given to the devices wiring the girls together.

Without warning, the speaker fell to the floor, twitching wildly. The room erupted in noise, yet they remained still, expectant, watching for the next stage of this cosmic drama. A pool of blood began to leak from his prone body, his breath laboured. The handle of a knife was visible from his side, piercing him.

“This ends tonight.” The voice came from one of the girls, wired to the machine, electrodes piercing her skull, sending energy into her brain. Her hand was raised, shaking.

She spoke. “None of this should be. This city, these people. You. All of you.” The voice echoed in Stepney’s memory, prodding, seeking. He felt himself go cold and an enormous weight filled within him.

“None of this is right,” said Calvin. The eyes. Whatever the mutilation, the pain, the travesty which had been inserted into her, the eyes could not be mistaken, the voice beyond imitation. It was her. “None of this can be right. None of this should be.”

“Showtime.” Omega’s voice startled him, shook him into life, broke him from the trance into which the unfolding events had thrown him. The three of them made their way through the door and into the hall, the crowd parting before her, bewildered, angry, yet unwilling to act.

She approached the man lying on the floor, checked his pulse. “He will live,” she said. It was neither an encouragement nor a lament, simply a statement of truth. Calvin’s eyes met those of Stepney and her face broke into a broad smile.

“Calvin.”

“Stepney.” Her voice was unnaturally calm, staring into him with the same still, tranquil gaze she had owned all these years.

“How did -”

“I saw you at the meeting. Hidden in the back, safe from view. Safe from anyone but me, that is. You know what happened. You saw Hypa, saw her step up. I had to follow her. So I allowed them to take me, allowed them to turn me….to turn me into this.” A look of revulsion passed across her face for a moment. “They harmed me, violated me perhaps beyond repair. They forced themselves into my brain, into my mind. The highest violation of all. Yet it was worth it, all of it, if it only means we can stop them.”

“The others. They seem lost, lifeless. Taken over. How did you survive?”

Calvin’s eyes met those of Omega for a moment. “I had some help.” They stared past her and a look of unmistakeable horror passed over them. “Stop -”

It was too late. The speaker moved, trailing blood behind him, scraping his body over the floor. He raised a single hand, shaking, trembling, defiant, and slammed it into the panel.

And the world exploded into sound.

The Ceremony

Harlow’s voice was barely a whisper. His eyes were rooted to the man on the ground, his head twisted to some inhuman angle, unmoving. “Is…is he…”

“Dead?” Omega continued on her way through the building, stopped, turned to them. “He was dead long ago. They all are. I simply finished the process.” She paused. “There is no time for this. We must go. All will become clear.

“But I -”

“Now!” Her voice came to them, raised, yet without anger. The two men felt themselves rise into action, making their way after her, watching, searching, seeking out hostilities. What are we doing?, came that treacherous voice in the back of Stepney’s mind. Why? The ceremony. What ceremony? More questions. Always questions. Each creating two more of its own, spreading like a vine over the walls of his memory.

Omega paused, gestured them into silence, motioned to a corridor running to the right of them. The chanting was louder now, somehow deathly, voices in unison without feeling, without even the empty rage of the mob. Stepney leaned towards her, spoke to her in an urgent whisper.

“They will notice us.”

“They will not,” Omega replied. “Not at first. Not if we do not wish them to.”

“I -”

Harlow rested his hand on Stepney’s arm. Their eyes met, a discussion momentary, unspoken. Trust her. Stepney paused in contemplation, nodded. Together the three of them made their way through the corridor, to the door at its end, and opened it as best they could, taking in the scene before them.

The room was clean, sterile, the appearance of a hospital or a laboratory. Within it, twelve figures sat in enormous chairs lining the walls. To each chair were attached a variety of wires, cables, measurements. Terminals beeped, reams of information playing across their screens. Figures, charts, graphs, equations. Formulae beyond understanding.

Each of the girls sat in silence, breathing softly, their eyes closed. Their heads were cut open, the scalp neatly removed, exposing the flesh of the brain to the outside world. Wires ran into them, connecting flesh to machine, nature to technology. Their tips disappeared into the girls’ skulls, taking and receiving data, wiring each of them into the system beyond.

Stepney turned his face away, suddenly sickened. Even as he did, he heard the chanting come to a stop, and a man – another in the single garment of grey and white – stepped into view. He spoke.

“On this night our time is come. For we have sacrificed much, worked for an age, always seeking, always searching.

“The human mind is the most complex computer ever devised, capable of understanding on a level beyond conscious comprehension. A billion billion circuits interacting at once, the energy of a thousand terminals flowing unceasingly through the mind of a single man or woman.

“Or child.

“For many years, this energy has been wasted, cast aside, thrown down the twin wells of emotion and reason, expended for meaningless pleasures or put to work on the most mundane of tasks. We take mediocrity and call it progress; we take a delusion and call it revelation.

“Tonight, through the magic of science and the science of magic, we shall cast off that which restrains us. We shall attune our minds with the universe, become one with it, and become gods.

The Plan

“It must be tonight.” Omega’s voice broke the silence Stepney and Harlow had fallen into, shaking them from their contemplations. Those of Stepney concerned the girls, missing and scared, his responsibility. Those of Harlow were beyond comprehension.

“Why?” Stepney found himself lost in her eyes for a moment, dazed. He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge some blockage. “What would you have us do?”

“It happens tonight. We must be there to stop them. Whatever the cost.”

“We are three.” Stepney stared into her deeply. “We ought to be four.”

Omega inclined her head slightly. “Do not worry. All is in hand. Their base is in the outer reaches of the city. We must reach them, infiltrate the building, interrupt the ceremony before it is too late.”

“Ceremony?” Harlow’s voice came up, inquisitive, filled with energy once more.

“All will become clear. Trust me.”

Stepney smiled weakly. “We would hardly seem to have a choice.”

“There is always a choice, Stepney.” Her voice soothed him, reassured him. As his eyes closed, he saw her still, outlined in stars, raising a hand in benediction. He nodded gently.

They rose and made their way from the bar. As they moved, the girl on the stage paused for a moment. She stared into Stepney, freezing him to the spot, his body aflame. Almost imperceptibly, she winked at him, blew him a tiny kiss. Good luck, Stepney, came her voice, almost lost amid the rumble of the assembled patrons.

And with that they left, making their way out of the bar and suddenly, without warning or notice, finding themselves in an empty street in the city of Celestis. Stepney wrapped his jacket around him for protection against the cold. Weather rarely troubled the people of the beautiful city, yet tonight it seemed invasive, intrusive, almost aggressive. The street was empty of life, the buildings looming above, somehow threatening, intimidating. It had been morning, yet now the stars were out, the sun disappeared, the moon shining down on them. All was illuminated with an unworldly light. He shuddered and made his way forward, Omega and Harlow beside him.

They turned and Stepney beheld the hall. It was filled from within with a glowing, blinding light, its spire reaching into the clouds, an enormous letter G emblazoned on its front. Voices emanated from within, chants unending, without life, without feeling. He paused, thrown for a moment. Something about this place, in the city yet locked away from it, its scale, its mass, conveyed a sense of absolute power. A power beyond reason or regret, a power beyond control.

He glanced about him. Harlow had sunk to his knees, weeping bitterly. Omega cradled his head in her arms. She kissed his forehead once, softly, the mark of the carer. As Stepney watched, a thick black mist began to pour from the mystic’s open mouth, vanishing into nothingness. It lasted but a moment. Harlow returned to his feet, glowing, the picture of health.

Omega turned to the two of them and nodded once before making her way into the base. They followed her in silence.

As they entered the building, Stepney tried to take in his surroundings, yet it was too much. He felt as though he had been plunged into some lost city, deep under the water, surrounded by shapes which approached familiarity yet skirted on the edge of identification. A building, a desk, a man. Posters on the doors. Little else.

A man. Omega approached him. He stood silent, enraptured, as the crimson woman filled his vision. For Stepney, around her the world came in and out of focus, shimmering lightly. The scene was surreal and mundane in one. Her beauty seemed to transcend the world around her, made it more crisp, more clear. More real. The man, dressed in his single garment of grey and white, stood spellstruck.

He let out barely a moan as Omega stepped forward and, in a single motion, snapped his neck.

The Bar

Note: the lyrics in this post are taken from the song Mrs. O by the Dresden Dolls. www.dresdendolls.com

He couldn’t explain it. Stepney followed the woman, hauling the unconscious Harlow behind him. The crowd beyond stood unmoving, unbreathing, frozen in time and space. As they made their way through the door, there was no sensation of change, no blazing moment of transference. They simply went from one place to another. Nothing more.

The bar was crowded, smoke-filled, hot. Men and women bustled around, the men in suits, clutching glasses and laughing heartily. The women sat gathered around tables, earnestly conversing on a million subjects at once. At the bar itself, a group of young men and women saw to the needs of their patrons, while along the wall, ageing men in older clothes sipped glasses of a green spirit, dreaming of a brighter future.

The walls were festooned with yellowing posters from days gone by, the latest entertainers, the news of the day. Wars and rumours of wars, comedy and heartbreak, gossip from the Empire. A serviceman beamed blankly from the wall at the assembled patrons, his grin too broad, his eyes too cold.

To the front of the bar stood a stage, filled with musicians playing their tunes. The music was something Stepney felt sure he had heard, long ago, yet it seemed somehow lost, adrift. An echo of something long since forgotten. The singer was a woman, young, filled with life. Her face was painted an unearthly white, her eyes outlined in black, her appearance that of a precious doll. Through the din of the crowd, Stepney craned an ear and listened for her voice, the tinkling of piano keys guiding him to it.

The truth won’t save you now
Mrs O
The sky is falling down
Mrs O
Everything they ever told us
Shakes our faith and breaks their promise
But you can stop the truth from leaking
If you never stop believing…

She fixed him with a stare which chilled him to the bone. For a single moment, it was as though the rest of the world ceased to exist. There was her and him and an infinite emptiness. What of you, Stepney? Will the truth save you, lost in this hall of smoke and mirrors?

“Stepney.” The voice came to his ear, soft, comforting. He turned and saw the scarlet woman, her eyes dancing before him, her smile taking him in. “Come. Sit.”

She gestured and he took his seat at the table. Beside him, Harlow lay slumped, moaning softly. His skin seemed back to normal, yet he was far from well. Stepney took the glass before him and sipped it cautiously. Its flavour seemed full, rich, filled with life, product of an age of wonders beyond his own. He took a moment to check his body. Nothing. He frowned. There was no pain, no injury. Nothing.

He cast it to the back of his mind and turned to Omega (as he had begun, unconsciously, to think of her.) He gestured to the woman on the stage. “Who is she?”

Omega smiled. “A girl against time. As are we all.”

Harlow dragged himself upright, blinking, taking in the scene around him. He turned and saw, as if for the first time, the vision seated beside him. The confusion, the terror, the sickness left his eyes and was replaced by a sense of deep calm. When he spoke, it was with quiet deliberation. “Where are we?”

“Safe.” Omega gestured about her. “They cannot harm you here.”

“Who are they?” cut in Stepney before he could help himself. “And who, for that matter, are you? Really?” He paused. “I’m sorry, I -”

“You have no need to be sorry.” Omega folded her hands before her, her fingers locking together as a pyramid. “Events occur. Now is our time. You saw as much last night, at the meeting.”

“You saw us there?”

“I see you everywhere, Stepney. Both of you, and so much more besides. I care for you as best I can.

“Reality is only that which is agreed upon. We can agree only on what we perceive to be true. Our perceptions of truth are based on our understanding of reality. And so the circle continues. Yet here, in the world of paradox, our perceptions may be lifted. Close your eyes. Recall.”

Stepney did as he was instructed. A million memories rushed into him, inconsistencies, confusions, moments of change in the world which had gone unseen and unheeded. People out of time, knowledge out of place.

“We have entered a time of change – a cosmic shakeup, if you like. The universe is in flux. As we move from one stage to another – as the world turns, as a society is born, killed, reborn, men and women living and dying by the day – we see changes begin to occur, and little inconsistencies begin to arise. People out of time, artefacts which should not be. Dimensions slip. Time melts. Paradoxes are able to occur, bringing with them their own upheaval.

“Those who have come to understand what is occuring may take advantage, navigating through shifting planes of time and space. Entropy rises like a wave; those who can understand its patterns may ride it where they wish. One place becomes another, one time becomes the next, objects, people, thoughts, becoming real and unreal in the blink of an eye.”

“What does all of this mean?” Stepney was awed, overwhelmed, somehow understood the essence but not the content.

“Harlow knows.”

“I do?” Harlow’s head snapped up.

“You do. Think.”

Harlow closed his eyes for a moment. “The first principle of magic – true magic, high magic – is this: thoughts have power. It is a truth used by rulers and rebels, priests and populists, through all time.

“The second principle is this: as above, so below.

“And the third is this: precision. Precision in all things. The mind must be trained into a particular model, must be taught to operate in a particular manner.

“I – we – are the embodiment of these principles. Reality shifts, time distorts. We are attuned to the wave of entropy, we rise with its peaks, we fall with its valleys. We are one with the order and disorder of the universe, and so can see it in ways others cannot. We are in the universe and it is in us – through us – all of us. The neurophant is simply one who has become aware, whose mind has been revealed. We are born with our minds aligned with the universe, and with it, gain understanding.

“Thoughts are given power and arise within us, searching, teaching. As the world changes as a whole, so the change is born in our minds. We feel it, understand it, and share it with those who have wisdom.”

Stepney sat spellbound. He managed to struggle out some words. “And the others?”

In spite of their setting, in spite of Omega, in spite of their safety and the comfort of the scene around them, little could mask the sense of fear which crossed Harlow’s face, a cloud dark enough to blot out the sun. “They are without soul, without feeling, without spirit. They seek the wisdom of the universe, yet have no heart in which that wisdom may be stored. They seek power and power alone. They are without humanity.

“They have dulled their emotions, denied their essence, in the hopes of freeing the mind for some greater purpose. They would carve out a lung in order to free space in their chest. Their path leads to pain, heartlessness, power without compassion, knowledge without wisdom.

“They seek to use the current upheaval to their own ends, to use the force of chaos to reorder the world to their advantage. No good can come of this. The girls are central, though I do not know how.

“We are opposed forces, they and I. The closer we are, the stronger the tension, the greater the opposition. The greater the suffering.”

Stepney glanced at Harlow’s glass. His knuckles had locked around it, trembling, his teeth gouging into his lip. Stepney reached out a hand and touched that of his friend gently, comfortingly. The trembling stopped. Harlow glanced at him with gratitude.

Omega stood. “We have much to prepare. For now, stay. Rest. You have earned it.”

As she turned to leave, Stepney cut in. “Only one question. Again. Just who are you, Omega? Who are you really?”

She laughed softly, gently. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, my love,” she said with a smile.

The Doorway

Stepney and Harlow made their way from the house cautiously, looking out for strangers, checking and double-checking the door. A silence had grown between them, neither willing to ask the reason for the other’s nerves; neither willing to admit to his own fear. They made their way through the streets of Celestis swiftly, examining every stranger with a mixture of relief and suspicion – relief at the sight of others, suspicion towards their motives.

Why? Stepney could not answer. He had seen Harlow’s reaction at the meeting, the pain, the disorientation, the fear. The sickness. While unaffected, Stepney had felt something in that place. Something unreal. Something without spirit. Something that should not be.

And who are you to say what should and should not be, Stepney? He tried to silence the inner voice, always critical, always judging. Sometimes it would be softened, muted, yet always it remained, lurking somewhere within him.

He gestured to Harlow as they reached his office. The two men approached the door, glancing about the street. All seemed normal. Perhaps it was simply nerves. Perhaps it was nothing. Stepney turned the key and pushed at the door.

Not so lucky, Stepney!

The door stopped. The key was in the lock, yet the door refused to open. Above him a window opened and a woman leaned out. She was of evident age, her eyes bright, seeking, judging. She spied him out; he could hear her snort in disgust even from where he stood.

“How many times have I had to tell you, Stepney? Get out! Leave!”

“What the…who are you?” Stepney stared at her in confusion. Behind him, unseen, the people in the street drew to a standstill, watching as the woman harangued Stepney from above. “What have you done with my office?”

“Oh, your office now, is it?” The sarcasm dripped from her tongue, soaked in acid. “How many times do we have to go through this routine? How many times?”

“What?”

“You don’t work here, you have never worked here. I live here. This is my house and I would thank you to get away from it.”

“What?”

“Not one of life’s great debaters, are you, Stepney?” The sarcasm was back, doubled, pouring mocking scorn on the man before her. Stepney half-turned as he heard a small moan escape Harlow’s throat, but his confusion took charge.

“But -”

“Get lost!” The woman slammed the window down with an enormous crash. Stepney remained frozen to the spot for a moment, dumbfounded, before being dragged into the waking world by Harlow. He turned. Behind them, passersby, the men and women of Celestis, had stopped dead, staring at the two men outside what had once been Stepney’s office. Some were pointing, others talking in hushed tones.

The two men made their way from the building as best they could, Stepney holding up the young mystic with one arm as they ventured down the street. Yet the crowd would not part for them, would not move. They simply stood, immobile, their eyes hollow, their expressions a vacant, hateful stare.

“It’s him. It’s them.” Stepney heard the voices coming to him from all around as he made his way as best he could through the throng. “It has to be now. Their time is now.”

Without warning his head exploded in pain. He turned; a man stood before him, already preparing for another punch, his face a hideous, emotionless sneer. A hatred stripped of all humanity, a mind stripped of all compassion. Stepney staggered, slipped, felt Harlow slip out from his arm and fall to the floor, unconscious. His skin was becoming grey, trickles of blood appearing from the sides of his mouth. Suddenly, Stepney’s vision flashed white as the fists came down, slamming into his skull, his stomach, his legs. He gazed at the faces of his tormentors with fear and confusion.

I know you, came the message screaming in his ears. I helped find your child when he was lost, two years ago. We have not met since. What is this? Why is this? He screamed as the man’s boot made contact with his chest, his lungs exploding, every breath agonising. He tried to shelter his head from the blows but it was of no use. Time’s up, Stepney!

Stepney did his best to move over Harlow as the crowd moved in, to spare him agony beyond what he already suffered. He covered his companion’s head with his arms, ineffective against the violence, the blows coming more quickly now, from all around. He craned his neck up painfully, trying to see who was responsible for the attack. Suddenly, in spite of the violence, the pain, the anger, the world slowed to a standstill as he looked into the street before him.

A door.

A single doorway, open in the middle of the street. Standing, impossibly, outlined in an indescribable light.

The door opened, showing only blackness beyond. Into it stepped a woman. She was beautiful. Her eyes of deepest red, her hair, crimson, flowing over her shoulders. Her skin was pale, delicate. She was fascinating, almost hypnotic in her beauty. Stepney felt the pain drain out from him, dissipating, evaporating into nothingness. She approached him, parting the crowd with ease, their faces contorted in heartless, unfeeling rage.

She stood before him, smiling, her eyes burning sparks leading into infinity. A sense of peace radiated from her, filling the world around with tranquillity. Stepney felt himself filled with a sense of calm beyond experience.

“Omega,” he said, his voice but a whisper.

She smiled, beckoned him closer. “Come.”

And with that, she turned. Stepney raised himself to his feet, took up Harlow’s unconscious body, and followed the mysterious woman as she approached the doorway and entered, vanishing into nothingness. He took a final look at the world around him and followed her into the unknown.

Respite

Order and chaos. Chaos and order. Erupting, a million fractal images in a single glance. A world out of time, out of place. The City, the tower within, a rebellion, violence and freedom, tyranny and regret. The proud, the scared, the defiant. Men and women reaching beyond their grasp.

Bombs fall, explosions rip. Children run, alone, scared, parents sacrificed for the sake of tomorrow. The tyranny of violence and the violence of tyranny, exploding all around in a purple haze.

The mystic, the murderer, the chaotic, the lawful. Somehow they are one, aspects of one mind, insanities in one consciousness.

As are you.

Stepney shook himself awake, sweating, frightened. Slowly the world came into focus. His room, his life. He glanced to his side; Harlow lay sleeping, content, his mind far afield. They had made their way home in safety. All was as it should be.

He seldom dreamt, and when he did it did not trouble him. Simply echoes from the waking day, surrealisms, the mind amusing itself in the absence of a world to play with. He glanced at the clock. Morning. The time since they had left the meeting seemed somehow unreal, more a haze than a memory.

Stepney snapped to himself abruptly. The meeting. Memories of the night before rushed into him, what he had seen, what he had heard. Calvin. He had had no time to speak to her before leaving the lab. She had to know. Perhaps she would be able to help. She should be told if nothing else. And soon. Stepney inched out a foot, then reconsidered, and prodded Harlow gently.

Harlow stirred into consciousness. “What…I…you?” His eyes blinked a moment as his mind sifted through memories. Eventually the appropriate match was found. “What happened? We were at the meeting, then…”

“I cannot say,” Stepney replied swiftly. “We attended a meeting. Seeking the girls. You were unwell.”

“I…yes.” Harlow’s face darkened, his face taking on a sinister, troubling turn. “That place. Those…people.” He shuddered. “Nothing was right there. Nothing. They bring evil. Worse than evil. They bring a void, a nothingness. So cold. So very cold.” Harlow swallowed, his eyes wide as the memory returned. “I…we…can feel these things. We understand the pattern of life, the rhythms of nature, of the world, of society, of men and women. The people at that meeting. They did not match. They were wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Wrong.” Harlow shrugged. “I can say no more than that.”

“I see.” Stepney grasped, seeking some wider meaning. He found none. “We must go.”

“Go?” Harlow’s expression turned to panic.

“The office. I must contact Calvin. She must know of what happened last night.” He paused. “Whatever issues you may have, she is wise and she is willing. She must be contacted.”

“I know, I know,” said Harlow absently. “Only…we must be careful. All is not as it should be.”

“Surely that much is obvious,” replied Stepney. “But still. We must go.”

“We must,” agreed Harlow. Yet somehow his eyes read a different message, one of wisdom, confusion and an all-consuming, inescapable fear.

The Meeting

The carriage arrived at its destination and Stepney and Harlow made their way out, watching as the vehicle departed into the night, floating on invisible tracks laid in the ground. The power of magnets, opposing forces brought to use in a common good. They made their way into the tavern before them, a sign floating gently in the breeze.

As they entered they saw the meeting in progress. At one end of the tavern stood a man, paused momentarily in mid-performance. His eyes were cold, grey, without spirit or emotion. To his left sat six women, to his right, six men. All wore simple clothes, a single garment fashioned in grey and white. A letter G adorned it, drawn in crimson, placed over the left breast. Before them, an audience sat in silence. They spanned all ages, all colours, all shapes and forms. Their expressions were somehow vacant yet eager, oblivious to the world yet desperate for knowledge from the teachers who stood before them. Harlow and Stepney took their place at the back of the crowd, watching, learning.

Harlow released a soft moan. Stepney turned to him; he was bent almost double, his eyes streaming. His face was a deep red. Stepney watched, dumfounded, as a trickle of blood began to make its way from the young man’s ears. He whispered to him urgently. “What is wrong?”

Harlow turned his face to Stepney. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth a contorted sneer. “I…it is this place. These people. All of this. It is not right. Something is very, very wrong here.” He paused, swallowed, breathed deeply. “I will be fine. We must stay.”

The man at the front of the tavern rose, addressing the crowd once more. Stepney felt a sense of unshakeable power, of conviction, of a confidence which could not be shaken.

“In our time humanity has progressed further than could have been dreamed. While others fell to disrepute and disrepair after the war, fighting amongst themselves, succumbing to one form of tyranny or another – the tyranny of the despot, the tyranny of ignorance, the tyranny of the majority, the tyranny of the gods of days gone by – the city of Celestis has grown, moving from one strength to the next. Soon we shall explore the stars, perhaps one day to settle on worlds far beyond this. Perhaps one day humanity shall be found in other realms, and the days of today shall become as obscure as the days before the war are to those who stand here.

“Two forces swell within this city. There are the men and women of science, of reason and logic, those who deal in what is seen and believe in what is known. Those who push back the barriers of human existence, who have sculpted this world and the splendours of its technology for us. And there are the mystics, the visionaries, those who see beyond what may be seen and dream beyond what may be dreamt.”

Stepney glanced at Harlow. He was bent double once more, whispering the words of some long-forgotten prayer. He rocked back and forth gently, tears streaming down his cheeks. The man continued.

“We do not claim to bring utopia. Nor to we claim a wisdom or insight beyond that which is found in each of us, carved through the millennia by nature and divinity. We simply seek to release the potential of the human mind, to allow each man and woman to live as they truly are, to reach the potential for which destiny has chosen them.

“For what are we, but the agent of forces at work in the world – the force of god, the force of evolution, the force of time, the force of change, the force of society? The teachers of old taught us as above, so below. That which occurs on one level may be found writ smaller than man may see and larger than man may comprehend. The atom, the man, the city, the universe. Each dependant on one another, each in power over one another. Yet for those who act with true consciousness, those who take destiny as their own, the universe itself is but another challenge.

“On this night one young woman has chosen to accept this challenge.”

Stepney glanced to Harlow once more. His head lay in his knees, his hands folded over it, as though blocking out the words of those who spoke before him. He was pale. Yet Stepney could still hear the words, whispered, invocations to some unknown deity. Stepney returned his attention to the speaker and watched as a young woman approached. She was beautiful in her adolescent way, unfinished, caught in flux between childhood and the world of adults. As she turned, Stepney saw her face. It was her. Hypa. Closer to the front of the crowd, he saw a figure jerk alert, as if snapped from the trance created by the preacher. The figure turned to the girl, yet she seemed blank, unresponsive, walking as if in a dream.

The preacher spoke. “Behold! For today this young lady has chosen to cast off those chains which restrain her, those chains which restrain us all. She has chosen to move beyond the laws which limit us, the principles which govern us. She shall now be known only as one of many. For together our power is beyond anything others could imagine.

“Today we welcome you into ourselves, for your heart belongs to us and ours to you.”

The expression on the face of the people did not change. Yet they stood, cheered; a mechanical sound, a hollow mockery of human emotion. Stepney was hit by a sense of power, a sense of power without feeling, humanity without soul. For a moment he was lost, overwhelmed, the sight before him silencing his spirit and stilling his mind.

As he came back to awareness, he turned to Harlow. His eyes had closed, his breathing troubled. As the crowd erupted around him, a cold, lifeless energy, Stepney took his friend in one arm and made his way from the tavern. As they came into the street beyond, Stepney blinked. Somehow their time in the tavern, as brief as it was, had made the world seem a very different place. He looked about him. Carriages made their way in silence, floating imperceptibly. Messages beamed their way into the world from projectors hidden from sight. Above him, towers spiralled into the clouds above, their lights mere pinpricks against the night sky. All was as it should be.

Stepney made his way into the night, supporting Harlow at his side. Unseen eyes followed them, stalking through the shadows, following them in silence.

Transport

Hours passed. Harlow meditated, contemplated, inhaled. Stepney, meanwhile, returned his attention to the folder, considering it in light of what they now knew. Had all of these girls been invited to these meetings? Was this some sort of lead, leading them to the girls and to the day he could face their parents with pride – and face himself in the mirror? Or just a loose end, a coincidence given too much weight by an overactive sense of hope.

Come to it, what of Harlow? Stepney had been around the man too long and seen too much to dismiss his claims as mere fantasy. Yet what if Calvin was right – Harlow and his ilk were simply possessed of a difference in perspective, able to see the world from a different angle but little else. That angle was not necessarily the truth.

And on the other hand…stop. Stepney felt his mind revolt. This route would lead to questions without answers, roads without end, journeys without destination. He consulted the clock beamed onto the opposite wall. Time to move. Caring little for courtesy, he kicked Harlow in the shin. He jerked into wakefulness with a start.

“What…we…..how…Ah. Stepney. Is it time for us to move?”

“It is.” Inwardly, Stepney reproached himself. It was somehow wrong to take such pleasure in causing pain one’s friends, however amusing.

“Then let’s roll.” Harlow leapt to his feet with a speed with belied his intoxicated state. He nodded to one of the attendant girls, who made her way over to store his various possessions for the next visit.

Stepney made his way through the den, followed on slightly unsteady feet by Harlow. They made their way to the street beyond and Stepney, as ever, paused. The den stood behind him, while before him stood all the wonders of Celestis. It was at such times – seeing the world as if newly born, seeing its beauty and fragility, its power and wisdom – that he was reminded of his duty. A duty born not of institutional authority, nor of the will of some ruler, but of responsibility to his fellow man. He felt all this in a moment and was glad.

Stepney raised a hand into the street. A carriage spied him and approached. The horse was huge, dark, muscular. It would have been terrifying in another life, but here it was elegant, graceful, a creature of nobility and dignity. It snorted, showing enormous teeth. Behind, the carriage was deepest black, trimmed in silver, seats coated in red velvet contained within.

Stepney addressed its rider. “To the Flying Swan?” he asked, recalling the instructions from the projection cube.

“One shilling and sixpence,” said the rider curtly.

“Very well.” Stepney opened up the carriage and took a seat, helping Harlow in after him. Once the door was closed, the cabman cracked his whip and they made their way into the night.

The Den

Stepney made his way through the Den once more. Each time he entered, as the door closed it was as though the world outside had simply ceased to be, all that was and all that could be suddenly being contained in this one room alone. Clouds of smoke billowed around him, incense from unseen censers, exhalations from bodies beyond number, dissolving themselves into a trance. Seeking. Escaping.

He took in the scene. Each of these men and women seemed young, healthy, respectable. Outside of this place they could be professionals, experts, applying their wisdom to this or that problem. They made Celestis what it was. Yet here they lay, without dignity, without grace, clouding their minds with one narcotic or another. And once this was done, they would return to life, the picture of control. It was a strange world to live in.

Stepney spied Harlow and made his way over. It occurred to him that while the young mystic presumably had a home of his own, he could only be found in Dens such as this. Or at my front door, he added to himself.

Harlow sat cross-legged on a cushion of some exotic design. His eyes were closed. Before him, the folder Stepney had handed him lay open, statements from friends and family of the missing girls spilling out before him. At his side lay a pipe, its contents still smouldering. Cannabis, mixed with one of the herbal concoctions designed to help those like himself. Or to drive them mad – more mad, thought Stepney.

Harlow’s eyes remained closed. He raised a hand in a welcoming gesture. “Stepney, my dear fellow. A pleasure as always.”

“Indeed.”

“I take it you have seen…that woman?”

Stepney sighed inwardly. They were both invaluable to him, yet despised one another with a passion which went beyond the rational. “Calvin. Yes.”

“And?”

“The usual. Nobody knows anything. She was young, happy, enthusiastic. Well-adjusted, dedicated to her work. Then one day she simply disappears.”

“I thought as much. Calvin is of little use. Her mind is attuned to logic and reason alone. We are so much more than that.”

“Be that as it may. While the interviews may have yielded little, I did obtain one item of interest.” Stepney reached into his pocket and withdrew the projection cube. Harlow’s eyes blinked open and he activated it, watching the hologram thoughtfully as it played through its message.

“You have obtained the details of the meeting, I trust?”

“I have. It is tonight. We must attend.”

“We?” Harlow raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I do not pretend to understand what you do or how. But it would be helpful to have you there.”

“Calvin won’t approve.” Harlow’s expression was partly reproachful, partly amused.

“To hell with Calvin.” Stepney didn’t mean it, but it seemed the right thing to say.

Harlow’s face broke into a wide grin. He gestured at the pipe to his side. “Do you mind if I…”

Stepney shrugged. “Go ahead. We have some time before the meeting.” He turned to raise the attention of one of the young women who waited on the men and women of the Den, every night seeing them turn from respectable adults to what he saw around him. As he turned, he noticed a piece of paper among the records from the file. He took it from the pile. A woman, her hair a deep, flowing crimson, her eyes like burning rubies. She stared from the page at him, as though probing him, searching him, his soul lit by the fire sparking from her gaze.

“Who is she?”

Harlow’s eyes fluttered open. He glanced at the paper in Stepney’s hand. “Her name is Omega. She….talks to me. Dreams, visions, that kind of thing.” His mouth was opened in a blissful smile. Behind his eyes lay a sense of complete peace, of compassion, of honesty. “She cares for me. I care for her.”

And with that he returned to his contemplations, his eyes closed, his legs folded. Yet Stepney remained, gazing at the picture, entranced.