Midnight Lamp (38 page)

OH GOD OH GOD.

Oh God, oh God it’s going to happen. This is how I’m going to die.

‘Ah, problem—’

‘What is it?’

‘Flashback. I think the sight of the First Aid kit set him off, bad associations.’

Harry was face down on the floor, fetal curl, his cheek flattened against urine-smelling grit, whimpering hoarsely, back in the present but knowing there was nothing but fear left, and room was still waiting for him, not far up ahead… He felt hands on him. He was lifted, he was being rocked in a man’s arms, the first time since he was about three years’ old.

‘Hey, baby, ssh, come out of it. It’s only a bad dream.’ He’d pissed himself, he couldn’t care less… Sage had made the fear go away, a relief that was utter bliss, but the room was still there—

‘No, it’s real,’ he sobbed, clinging, hiding his face. ‘It’s going to happen!’

‘What’s going to happen? What did you see?’

‘The Fat Boy makes me eat my brains.’

Harry blundered out of the embrace and crouched with his head in his hands. ‘I wanted to know, and God, now I know. I’ve seen the future.’

Unchangeable? When he was there he knew it was unchangeable.

Sage was studying the inside of the white case again. ‘Harry, my screen says you took about two hundred mikes of the neuro cocktail, about ten, fifteen days ago: but that was your only time?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘You haven’t seen the future. Snap will give a virgin crackin’ special effects, an’ they will be nasty, because that drug is intrinsically a bastard: but you won’t hardly ever get a trip outside of time. What did you do? Ate your brains? Typical. The metaphor, word-play, tha’s a sure sign of internally triggered hallucination. You didn’t go anywhere.’

‘You’re wrong,’ croaked Harry. ‘You know the rules, but the rules have changed, we’re in the worst case scenario.’ He looked up, he faced them. They were so loaded they didn’t get it. ‘
Don’t you understand
? There is a Fat Boy.’

‘Okay,’ said Ax, bright-eyed and calm. ‘Fine. Now tell us where she is.’

They watched him, with such animal calm.

‘It was when they started examining the body. The autopsy wasn’t done in Carlsbad, the notes you got were fiction. That’s when we knew the situation was out of control, and I took the neuronauts’ drug. I got it from a guy on the Committee from Vireo, who had access: he supervised my trip. I had grasped the awfulness. I wanted to know whether I was right.’

Harry shuddered, and had to get his breathing back under control.

‘And I found out…oh, God, I found out. I’m sorry you’ve been treated the way you’ve been treated. Now you know the reason…a
re you satisfied
?’

‘It’s all been good stuff,’ said Sage. ‘But we need to know where she is,’

‘She’s with the Invisible People. Don’t you get it? She’s
with
them.’

‘Great. Where are they?’

‘I’m not going to talk anymore.’

‘C’mon Harry. The time for secrecy is past.’

‘The body gave them away… They have effective magic. There’s only one way to deal with that, it was decided long ago and it can’t be stopped.’

Ax nodded, patiently. ‘We picked up on that. And where is she?’

‘I can’t. Please don’t make me say this. Okay, there’s a profile. An abused child, abused children c-can grow up f-feeling they can do no wrong—’

He thought they’d kill him then, but they didn’t move.

‘If there’s a willing Fat Boy candidate,’ said Ax, ‘it’s not our girl. But no matter who the candidate may be,
if there is one
we’re your only hope.’

Harry quailed, ‘I’m very, very, sorry, but I’m not going to talk anymore.’

‘You think not?’ asked Sage. He leaned forward: shining like an archangel come down to earth, to teach a sinner an easy lesson. ‘Harry, you know the state you were in, ooh, minutes ago? I can put you back there, for as long as I like. I can make it your reality.’

Harry was sweating hard. He could feel the
déjà vu
room forming, it was crawling out of Sage’s white briefcase, a heavy smoke. He couldn’t stop the abject whimpering that rose in his throat.

‘Ax,’ said Sage suddenly. ‘This isn’t the way!’

They looked at each other, taking their blazing eyes off Harry.

‘You’re right.’ said Ax, intently. ‘Shit, we lost the way. We’ll have to find it again. We’ve finished with him, then. Harry? Let yourself out.’

‘Here’s your button, Mr Lopez. Call yourself a cab.’

Harry managed to stand, clutching the key in one hand, his eye-socket button in the other. He took a step, and looked back. The wounded king and his noble Minister sat on the scummy floor of this disused drug-bunker, united in alert, silent concentration. Their gallantry amazed him. They were not defeated, they would never be defeated, they were just thinking of something else to try. A shock rushed through him, breaking all ties of convention. Ax glanced up and smiled, as if puzzled to see Harry still there, and he realised he was holding out for no fucking good reason at all.

‘Oh, shit. What’s the difference? I’ll tell you.’ He sat down again. ‘She’s at a place called Lavoisier, a terrorist commune in a ghost town, between the Inyo and the Panamint ranges, beyond Owens Valley.’

‘Lavoisier,’ repeated Ax. ‘The Inyo and Panamint ranges, a ghost town full of invisible terrorists. Thank you, Harry, that’s all we need.’

‘You guys are immense.
Immense
. I remember coming to find you on that beach. It was the most romantic, perfect experience of my life. It was magical. Fuck, sorry, not magical, some other word.’

He stood up again. ‘I’m leaving now,’ and buckled, and fell to the floor.

Ax and Sage laughed, and hi-fived slapped palms in triumph.

They drove Harry to his house, as he was in no state to make his own way. The Rat pulled up in front of a fifties-styled movie-star bungalow: all period except the yard was planted with desert natives, boojums and octillo and
palo adán
.

‘How long will the unsigned waiver hold them?’ asked Ax.

‘No time at all,’ said Harry, frankly. ‘The waiver’s their idea of doing things by the book, and they truly wanted you two on board. But it’ll go ahead. It’s imminent, I don’t know when. I genuinly don’t. It could be tomorrow.’

‘Give me a number I can call.’

‘You want to talk to Fred?’

‘No, I don’t. Give me a number for Colonel Beaufort.’

‘I’ll talk to Fred. I’ll try to get him to hold off. Lavoisier is a little outlaw state, it’s not unknown out there. They’ve been watched but left alone because they were thought harmless, but they’re likely to have an Apocalyptical arsenal.’

‘Thanks.’

The A&R man got out of the car, on shaking legs. Beyond the house, a row of shock-headed palms stood against a western sky of duck-egg blue.

‘Harry,’ said Sage. ‘We have most of twenty four hours, let us use it. Then you can try talking to Fred. When you’ve done that, go and find Lurch.’

‘Kathryn hates me. She thinks I’m two-faced.’

‘Yeah, but go an’ find her. Your guru has spoken. So long, fanboy. Take care.’

The idiotic cruelty of Harry’s snapshot vision haunted them, as they headed into the freeway maze. But they knew Fiorinda was alive, and where to find her.

At Sunset Cape Allie dealt with the studio lawyers, stringing it out. She’d grasped that she was stalling for time, which meant they’d got away. Rob went up to the Triumvirate suite and found it in disorder, a depleted tequila bottle and two shot glasses on a table. He was looking for the b-loc. He didn’t like the thing, but he’d had to get used to it so he could be with the babies at home. He found it, and sat on the end of a rumpled bed. The hallucinatory feeling of last night returned… It’s not easy accepting a place in the second rank, when you were the great man’s equal at the start. No one recognises your name.

But I know who I am, he thought, and I know what I want. Why don’t I go for it, the way Ax did? Unilaterally, me. Rise out of the collective. There were only a handful of phones like this in England: one of the people he could reach was Jordan Preston. Their mission will succeed or fail, but I will know I did this, and that matters to me. Okay, Jor. Let’s see if you’ll accept a call.

Ax Preston and the former Aoxomoxoa arrived at Bighorn, Stu Meredith’s dude ranch in Owens Valley, rather late in the evening. They apologised for dropping by unannounced, and explained they were on their way to spend a few days in the wilderness, before they left the US. They were welcomed, despite the issues Stu had with Sage. Stu’s wife of thirty years, Ludmilla Pearson Meredith, had recently lost her beloved mother. She knew that these two hollow-eyed, strung-out young men were in mourning, and she looked on them kindly. Places were laid for them at the family dinner. The Merediths kept late hours, Spanish style, in the hot weather.

‘We’d like to see some desert country,’ said Ax. ‘We were thinking of checking out that ghost town, Lavoisier. D’you know it?’

The dinner table went quiet. Stu’s younger daughter had a coughing fit.

‘No,’ said Stu. ‘We don’t. Take some potatoes?’

‘You’ll be staying over,’ said Ludmilla, quickly. ‘I’ll have beds made up in the bunkhouse. It’s authentic cowboy accomodation, but it’s comfortable. We have plenty of room, there’s nobody booked in at the Noise Hotel right now.’

The Noise Hotel was what the family called the famous studio at Bighorn, where favoured artists came to avail themselves of Stu’s expertise, in this fabulous setting. Ludmilla had nothing to do with that. She and her older daughter and son-in-law bred horses, for more pleasure than profit.

‘Well, thanks,’ said Ax. ‘By the way, could you not mention our camping trip, if anyone asks? We badly need some privacy. It’s been non-stop.’

‘The wilderness is a great healer,’ said Stu, with a reserved expression.

The rest of the evening was convivial, into the early hours. In the morning Stu took Ax to look at the riding horses. The Noise Hotel was out of sight, the ranchhouse stood with its big red barn, the bunkhouse and the stables, alone on a wide sweep of sun-crisped pasture, at the foot of the Inyos. Across the great valley, westward, rose the southern massif of the Sierra Nevada, rags of snow still tracing the peaks.

‘You must excuse my wife,’ said Stu, ‘she can’t abide drugs in the house.’

Ax had lit a cigarette as soon as he stepped outdoors. ‘But it’s okay out here?’

‘It’s a fire risk,’ said Stu.

Ax was sure he’d seen John Wayne with a fag in his mouth on many a screen classic, but he was not in a position to argue. He sighed, killed the cigarette, and put it away. This stopover had seemed an inspired move (everything felt inspired, but he believed he could tell the difference), a chance to gather information at the gateway of the Owens Valley. But Stu’s gracious friendship had chilled the moment Lavoisier was mentioned, and Ax was not sure how to broach the subject again.

‘You should team up with Sage. He keeps trying to make me quit.’

‘I hope you’re gonna be careful with those cancer sticks in the wild country.’

‘Of course.’

Ten, no twelve, horses milled about in the corral by the barn. A couple of ranch hands came ambling over, but kept their distance at glance from the boss’s husband. ‘Expensive pets,’ remarked Stu, dryly. ‘These are the palace favourites. She has twenty odd head of breeding stock and youngsters, also. The whole thing’s crazy, we buy feed and truck it to them three quarters of the year. Okay, Mr Preston. Pick yourself out a ride.’

‘The dark bay, with the white blaze. I like the look of her. But we can’t borrow your horses, Stu. Sage doesn’t ride, and we couldn’t be responsible.’

He’d been reading guides and poring over maps—all paper, not risking the datasphere—while Sage slept. He could have done without playing guitar until after midnight, wasting precious time: but maybe it had been good. When the fingers move, the mind moves, and friendly company is also an aide. He was trying to put together old Yorkshire routines with the new terrain: borax mines, lava tubes, volcano craters. One thing we do not want to do, however, is…

Stu tugged a Willie Nelson bandanna from his jeans pocket and rubbed it over his palms.

‘I had a phone call.’

Shit… ‘Oh yeah?’

‘It was yesterday. This is test-bed country, we’re continually harrassed by naval jet pilots that can’t read altimeters, buzzing our livestock. The call was a standard disclaimer: don’t holler, we’re about to run an exercise which may damage sensitive equipment, pull your plugs, take precautions. Funny thing is, I’d heard the jets are grounded, due to adverse atmospherics… Also, I was talking to an Inyo County ranger who says the trails are gonna be closed from day after tomorrow. Somethen’ to do with with an unusual load coming up the valley. That generally means nuclear, but it doesn’t generally close the wilderness trails. My lady friend was bitching about our struggling tourism, and the way the military don’t give a damn for their neighbours. But I thought there was something going down. Then you two arrived, Mr Ax Preston and his sidekick, mentioning a place called Lavoisier.’

Stu was staring at the barn, and he didn’t look around.

‘D’you have reason to think there’s a connection?’

‘Lavoisier has a curious reputation. I slept on it, and now I’m asking you.’

Ax looked within, and rushed on the white light. ‘Fiorinda’s alive,’ he said. ‘The FBI have traced her, she’d being held by a…some kind of violent hippie commune, with an arsenal, holed up in your local ghost town.’

Stu nodded, keeping his eyes averted. ‘Uhuh. And so?’

‘There’s going to be a raid. Maybe with a telecoms wipeout likely to affect you. We were told all this just yesterday. We were invited along, but we’re afraid she wouldn’t survive the frontal attack, so we’ve made our own plans.’

The Willie Nelson bandanna was getting another working. ‘I’m glad to hear your lady’s alive Ax, that’s great news. I guess I don’t blame you for trying to beat the big guns. Did you come here for help, manpower?’

‘No, we’re better on our own. But local input’s always useful.’

Stu looked around, ‘Lavoisier’s an armed camp, and worse. You may have heard of the Manson family, uster hang out around here? There are people say the Lavoisiens are literally their spiritual children. Whatever they mean by that… You two are planning to go in alone?’