Rage: inside the mad dealer's darkened room

Thanks

A big thank you for the tolerance and bemused support from all of those around me. To those who know when it is time to say, step away from the keyboard! and to those who don't.

To Julie for an understanding that only comes with really knowing.

To Carol and Johnny for extensive coaching particularly on flying hot, fast aircraft.

To Steve for the ongoing support of artifacts.

To thesixtwenty.co.uk for direction.

To the NaNoWriMo gang for the continued inspiration and encouragement.

To Topsham, for being lovely.

To the edge-walkers. They know who they are.

And, of course, thanks to the extensive support via the random scribbles of rashbre via http://rashbre2.blogspot.com

and its cast of amazing and varied readers whether human, twittery, smoky, artistic, cool kats, photographic, dramatic, musical, anagrammed, globalized, or maxed.

Not forgetting the cast of characters involved in producing this; they all have virtual lives of their own.

And of course, to you, dear reader, for at least 'giving it a go'.

Books by Ed Adams include:

About Ed Adams Novels:

Ed Adams Novels: Links

Thanks

Books by Ed Adams include:

About Ed Adams Novels:

Ed Adams Novels: Links

PART ONE

Author's Note

The Circle Game

Preface

So, It Begins

Waken

Mikoyan-Gurevich

Airbase

Flight

Volvo

Do Not Trespass

Pockets

Koryciński cheese

Roads to Moscow

Across Poland

Charlie and the dead dog

Kleptocrat

KA-62

Ozero

Paradise or scramjets?

Hunkt down

Buddy house

False Flags

Georgian food and wine

Wealth erosion

Sam's in the car park

Out of his mind

Chatter

Can't remember

Restart

PART TWO

Never catch me now

Putin's (alleged) Palace

Cyprus - Artem and Dakis

Too much paperwork

Plans

Hey remember (mashup)

Remember that time (Lepton reprise)

Charlie's Plan

The Czarlings

Russkiy Mir

How to find Putin?

Blackbird

Irina and Eckhart

Irina explains

Дедовщина

Big Story

Chantal describes the situation

Drones

بث الأخبار

Towards World War III

PART THREE

Eve of Destruction

How to create Rage

Russian Laundry

Charlie's plan.

Ride a white swan

If the money's no good

Yarost

A hard rain is gonna fall.

Farallon and Limantour

Tomales and Drake

Awaken reality

PART ONE

Author's Note

This story links with others but can be read alone. The strongest links are to Pulse, Jump, Play On Christina Nott and distantly to Edge.

The Circle Game

Yesterday a child came out to wander

Caught a dragonfly inside a jar

Fearful when the sky was full of thunder

And tearful at the falling of a star

And the seasons, they go round and round

And the painted ponies go up and down

We're captive on the carousel of time

We can't return, we can only look

Behind, from where we came

And go round and round and round, in the circle game

16 springs and 16 summers gone now

Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town

And they tell him, "Take your time, it won't be long now

'til you drag your feet to slow the circles down"

So, the years spin by and now the boy is 20

Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true

There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams, and plenty

Before the last revolving year is through

And the seasons, they go round and round

And the painted ponies go up and down

We're captive on the carousel of time

We can't return, we can only look

Behind, from where we came

And go round and round and round, in the circle game

And go round and round and round, in the circle game

Joni Mitchell

Preface

Farallon, Limantour, Tomales and Drake are Watchers in a singular metaverse learning how to travel the timeline and now to become Persona in another human Presence.

Scrive, Charlie and Chantel exist in the near future, after the ravages of a Pandemic and the so-named Klima Wars.

A madman starts a war and equilibrium is lost.

The dealer sits in his darkened room.

So, It Begins

Waken

I wake up in a hotel room. It's well provisioned, at what I'd say was early 21st century business class. Maple finish doors. On the walls, ironic pictures of unrecognisable landmarks inhabited by quirky people. Nothing free-standing which could easily be put into travel luggage. Instagram friendly.

I could hear someone else in the shower. My awareness was returning slowly, like the hotel kettle filling from a slow tap. Closer inspection and I could see a cluster of three black marks each about the size of a coffee mug ring on the lower section of the entrance door. Then further up, another three clustered black marks. Scorch marks or the points on a tree bark where branches would have hung.

I remembered the paradox, I was Farallon. A Watcher who became a Wakener, but then, at Limantour's behest, I was ported into a human named Scrive.

It had been trippy, being associated with a specific human. My host had been jacked on tropus and nanobot engineering and, I'm told, for a human possessed extremely fast thought and reflex.

Yeah, right, but not fast enough to avoid being zapped by a Trigax Rail Gun in the back streets of London. I assumed that was how I came to be here now, in this hotel room, listening to someone else showering while I appeared to still possess the restored body of Scrive.

The door to the shower bathroom opened and the toned body of Limantour stepped into the room, oblivious to her lack of clothing.

Hey, Farallon, I said it'd be wild, she began. As she turned, I noticed three marks on her dark skin, like the marks on the door. It appeared to be the residual burn marks from a Trigax.

She wrapped herself in a hotel towel.

I'd forgotten you were in here, let alone human sensibilities, she said, "We are still operating as Wakeners. Just like I described when we sat on the racetrack in Norway. I'm still Chantel.

I still had some of my Watcher powers, carried forward into my guise as a Wakener. Limantour - the mistress of chaos - had lectured me about my transition from a Watcher into a Wakener. I replayed the key facts in my mind, whilst she rapidly assembled an outfit.

You'll be able to act now, and not only that, but you'll also carry some knowledge of the future. Your mind has been loaded with the next 300 years of developments, but I sense we've been given an edit.

And - You'll be linked into a specific human. Scrive in your case. Humans operate slowly, so you'll have to get used to that, although you can help them at our normal speed of thought and knowledge. You'll need to get used to travel at a human rate. No hops to another position on the earth. And you'll need to take care of your human. They are not immortal like us, and our persistence is interrupted if they are killed. You'll still be able to get back to the Wakener dimension though.

That was it. Persistence interrupted. My human, Scrive, and I guessed Limantour's human named Chantel had been killed. Our persistence had been interrupted. We were now into uncharted territory.

I looked from the window. A street scene, but with Cyrillic writing. A small tobacconist shop opposite and a parade of small hipster cafes. There's a kind of green sheen over everything, which I realise is being cast by the sky, more green than blue, like something from the Northern Lights.

Then I remembered that Drake and Tomales had also experienced the same transition with their Personas entering the Presence of others, but there was no hint that they were around here. I guess they are survivors.

Limantour grins. She is now wearing a bright green zebra patterned dress, And remember: You'll need to resist some of the human emotional traits. It can be like a massive sensory overload when you start.

Yes, that explains a few things, I reply, feeling shaken at Limantour's 'grand reveal' a few moments earlier.

Where's the dress from? I ask

Kapsula, one of the nearby shops. I was here before you. It gave me a chance to slip out to get a few things. Good selection.

But I think your name changed to Chantel - a so-called London socialite?

Mad-cap socialite, replied the Mistress of Chaos.

Of course you are, I thought.

I was wrong about one thing, answered Limantour, Our Wakener back-channels still function. We can still communicate to one another silently. So, I can still read your thoughts.

I realised that Limantour had not spoken the reply. We still had that direct affinity.

Can we reach Tomales and Drake, I asked, Or should I say Charlie and Nathan?

I don't know, answers Limantour, I can't seem to find either of them. I suppose they could still be okay in their first Presences?

The thing is, Scrive works so much better when he's around Charlie, I explain.

Maybe it's a range thing? asked Limantour, I don't know how far our back-channels reach. You've realised this isn't London?

I looked at the Hilton hotel signage in the room. Cyrillic. I could still read it though, my Watcher powers seemed to be intact. Limantour was reaching for the TV remote

Whoa, I said.

Shevchenkivs'kyi district, Kyiv I uttered.

The TV started, in English. It seemed to know about us both too. Scrive Mallinson and Chantal le Strang.

It's great that Chantal has multiple names, too, also Daisy Stone! said Limantour.

I was more blown away by the fact we were in Kyiv, Ukraine and the date showing on the television.

We are two days from the start of the first Klima War, I look towards Limantour, then adding, Remember those big history dates? 4-July-1776 American Independence, 1066 Battle of Hastings, 1914 Start of Great War, 1939 World War II starts, 8-May-1845 Victory in Europe, 22-2-22 Start of First Klima War.

I always thought they moved the official start to 22-2-22 to make it easy to remember says Limantour, It started on 20-02-22.

And today is the 19th. Well, we are right at the start of it, anyway, I say to Limantour, Tell me it's not more of your crazy chaos?

No - I really don't know about any of this,

And how will we extricate ourselves?

Well, you're some kind of fly-boy marine and I'm a fashion statement. How hard can it be? We'd better use our human names from now on.

Mikoyan-Gurevich

We look at a map. It was one that Chantal obtained from the Concierge.

I could see the shopping districts prominently displayed but was looking for the airport.

Why the airport? Are we leaving? asked Chantal.

Yes. Put it like this. If we stay another couple of days then the prelude to the Klima Wars is going to kick off from right here. Today, we can still get out, but I think we'll need to use some stealth.

I looked around and with a combination of Scrive's skills, soon located the Vasylkiv Air Base, home to the 40th Tactical Aviation Brigade.

These guys fly Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-25PD aircraft. That's a kind of interceptor, but nowadays is mainly used for reconnaissance. The good news is they are fast and can fly high. The bad news is that they are from the 1980s, so around 40 years old.

Just tell me why we need to know about them? asks Chantel.

Have you ever been in a twin seater jet fighter? I ask, Only, it is about to become our getaway vehicle.

I was secretly amazed that riding on Scrive's impulses we were about to break into a military base to steal a jet fighter.

My first, says Chantal, And how fast will we go?

These things fly at Mach 2. It's fast, I explain.

We decide to get a taxi to the air base. Chantal would have a story about a meeting, and that I was driving her. It was one of those times when I thought we'd need more proof points, but Chantal had also visited a couple of other shops and found a tattoo parlour which didn't mind making various pass-cards.

Chantal seems to have a natural affinity for street culture and so we were soon equipped with two scuffed driving licences, our original Dutch passports and even an invitation to the air base.

Chantal was the official visitor and I was to be her assistant. We used an American Express card to purchase bolt cutters and a large carryall, from the same shopping area where Chantal had shopped for fashion clothing. I simply added to Scrive's collection of black tee-shirts, jackets, and jeans.

Okay, let's hit it then, says Chantal, as we jumped into a taxi and asked for the way to the airbase. By my reckoning, it would be tomorrow that Putin would make his first attack on Ukraine, after which all cross-border travel would cease.

Airbase

The road to the airbase was quiet, and the taxi pulled into a lay-by close to the main entrance.

Do you want to go inside, because I don't have a pass? asks the driver.

You can drop us here,

I am now wearing an almost entirely black outfit, and the driver looks confused, as if he knows we are up to no good.

We are outside of the taxi, which is already pulling away. The driver has dropped us next to a small industrial-looking shop that seems to sell tyres and batteries. Along the road a little way is a filling station. Between the two buildings is a row of trees and a lightweight wire fence.

Bolt cutters,