deepdown

CHAPTER 1

Just hit the button monkey and everything goes bang, then I'm shading my eyes in the glare of the second heaven. It’s scary in its perfection, but the clock’s ticking between my teeth so I bite the bullet and come down hard on the fact sheet before me. You may not believe me, but if you need a reason to live then I think I've found it. It feels good to be back, but I'm not certain they're really my feelings anymore. If they are, then I couldn't be happier.

Five minutes ago I popped the envelope of a major network and there’s not much left after their finger files have done a job on me. My reflex spooks take advantage of the dynamite attention span I shelled out for big time in Bucharest and the ten second ace up my sleeve sweeps their instruments of torture off the desktop before they can do any more damage. Meanwhile, I’m x-ray gazing into the trigger mechanism of a fully primed gravity bomb nick-named Marlene. She’s wearing sunglasses, a loud floral dress and a brunette nylon wig of curls, hovering a thousand feet above the ground and about ready to go off. Inside the machine, she feels like a phase thirteen, capable of flattening a radius of twenty kliks flat in a blink.

Marlene is aimed at the heavily populated sea barriers encircling the Pennine Alps, intended to break up the central log-jams of the damsteppes that surround Mont Rose. Code-breakers kick in, friendly voices telling me I should say a little prayer, repeating one of the thousand mantra I’ve memorized, arcane stepping stones unfolding key pattern stairways up, down and around at the same time. No rest for the wicked, no tomb for the crawling, a yolk that is yellow, white feather caught falling. My soul that is tempted by Sysiphus' stone, my fight that is finished, the dice never thrown. Forever and ever, you stay in my heart - repeated and repeated, then one final click drag trash and instantly amber lights turn green and thunderbirds are go, throwing lucky horse shoes all round and red cherries galore.

Marlene is now off line and lost in high orbit, leaving whole seconds to spare. Keep breathing deeply and evenly, letting the sunshine in as relief switches slam into action, hooked on something and falling into a dream. Go with the flow, automatically ditching incriminating trace elements into incinerators and sending up smoke, retreating along my Helsinki contacts and down the Congo embrace. Back in the jungle of love, I’ve been dancing on the ceiling with some short Korean girls in fishnet tights and glowing baseball caps and I didn't even know it. I suck down two straight shots, tip the DJ and bid them all a fond adieu, sinking deeper into the good licensed upgrades. I haven’t read the manuals or seen the server patents, just download, debrief and pray that my spooks keep me in the pink. I’m an old hand with wings but the second sky is still a miracle to me.

I open my eyes. My neck aches from the trance, getting double vision and nausea, trying to focus out the windscreen. I can’t concentrate, only just aware that I’m still steering the stretch. It feels like déjà vu, wiping sweat from my eyes with bandaged hands, thirsty and feeling lonely as usual, I try to spit out the side window. Barren desert passes by, feeling the real wind on my face for the first time in hours. In the driver’s mirror a full moon follows the storm clouds behind me, everything ahead lies in shadow, always moving into the darkness.

My earliest memory is of the desert, the black smoke of war reflected in the footprints of people around an oil black waterhole. Poisoned and left for dead, thousands of refugees left wandering with no place to go. My innocent father was overcome with despair and emptied our belongings onto the ground, and as mama watched he fell to his knees and began a wild search. She was weeping with fear as he found what he needed. The gun looked like a toy and without hesitation he put the muzzle to his head and pulled the trigger. No sound I remember and papa fell back, still alive when he hit the ground. Blood ran down his face, unable to move, eyes pleading not to be left like that, dead but not dead. So mama crept forward without a word, picked up the gun and shot him. She never spoke again, and it was obviously a formative experience for me. I grew up wild and moved on, way beyond the pale and no holds barred. I have dreams about her, but I know they’re not real. It took a long time, but I’ve come to terms with myself. I know I’m a work in progress and I blow people’s brains out, but I’m not alone and I’m grateful for even the slightest awareness of what’s really going on, no matter how painful it is.

Mama taught me well. I got lucky and met the right girl and now I know when my number is up, or if the next bullet has my name on it. No more blood sweat and tears for me, no more hats off gents when I'm bending new saint's rules. I’m caught in the middle and I’m right where she wants me. I’ve heard the songs of truth, appeared out of nowhere and come back for more. I’m her mad dog on a short leash, a dead man looking back in the rear vision at me. I’m not a zombie and yet life has left me. I don’t look much more than what the butler saw, and she's my voice from within. I'd be nothing without her, a futile gesture, a figure of speech. I'm her man on a mission, her henchmen of henchmen. I can't see her clearly but I know she's there, that she'll always be there, thrown back on the glassy patent. She seems to be sleeping but the marble light under her skin tells me she's ready for anything. I shiver as she opens her eyes and takes a deep breath, full of promise, like an endless hall of mirrors, radiating rainbow light. She stretches out to whisper in my ear,

"I'm hungry Edel... let's stop for awhile."

I know what's coming next, so I touch the brakes before the pain sets in. Sudden weight, pulling the stretch down on the side of the road. Down, down, dust cloud, ash falls, no sign of life. We’re out in the wilderness for real this time, somewhere you can see the satellites spinning overhead and the ground is burning between a Bowab tree and the nearest Nylex sign. The car is still and silent, watching the haloed moon gain on us over the horizon, hearing the hum of approaching engines, getting louder. We're suddenly encircled by a swarming whirlwind of ganga machinery. The tormented carousel slows it's spinning and the whole zephyr halts as one. All of them crack their catalytic shielding, fifty men kneeling in reverence, some fall forward, sobbing prayers. They'll follow her anywhere and do anything she wants. They'll find no peace because she’s inside them all, forever.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. She touches my neck and looks into my eyes. I'm dizzy, exhilarated, totally in love with something I can almost call home. I feel it in her, but a figment of movement is all I can see as she steps from the sealed enclosure. Dust settles on her bare feet as she stands, her eyes gazing up at the moon, expertly plotting her position against the wandering constellations of the first sky. Breathing in the night, a tear breaks on her cheek as she takes the first step toward them, her shadow reaching out to join the desert's darkness. There’s nothing I can do to stop her, and there’s nothing can be done to save them.

I'm what she decides I am, and that is all I want to be, but I still don't trust her, even after all these years.

To be continued: