Because at 4:30 in the morning the only person to talk to is yourself...


This is a secret page only in black containg some writing I have done... 


Chapter 1


“What do you mean he won’t go? Of course he’ll go. This is a direct request on a person to person basis from the undisputed leader of USSR. How often is it, do you think that a prime minister of the United Kingdom gets a request like this? I’ll tell you fucking never! They go to the Americans or the Germans.”

                The Prime Minister was a tall fair haired man with startling blue eyes. His neat pinstripe suit had become part of his image, part business executive and part high echelon. He had been flattered that the call had been relayed through the House by a messenger who undoubtedly would relay the message on to one of the Parliamentary journalists.

                He looked at his private secretary, annoyed that his simple orders had failed to show that even in a democracy, the Prime Minister word was obeyed.

                “Prime Minister, Dr Brown is not the sort of man who can be made to do anything that he does not wish to do. He has been most intractable over the phone saying he has no wish to return to anywhere that does not have free elections. And under no circumstances will he return until Poland is given free elections again”

                “For Christ’s sake that’s all we need an opportunity to show that world we are good at something and it’s fucked up by some snivelling rat nosed researcher with a grudge.”

                The secretary decided it would not be wise to volunteer that Dr Brown had also expressed no wish to be directed to do anything by such a man as the prime Minister and when it came to collaboration with in any sphere that add little lustre to the Prime Ministers name, he, Dr Brown, would have no part in it.

                “Look here, Charles: This is important: one of the most important problems that has arisen in this century if not this millennium. Malinkoff stressed that it could have implications far more serious than a mad man pressing the button and starting an inter continental war. That could be stopped, not before millions had been killed, perhaps, but before a total wipe out. What we have is a mutation of some sort, he wasn’t too specific, but he was adamant that this Dr Brown of hours is the only one who can help. I’ve seen him on television spouting a lot of wordy nonsense, and I know that he has a Chair at Cambridge, but why is he so goddamn important.”

                Charles Forsythe had been expecting one of these, what he called a ‘baby moment’, from the Prime Minister and put a folder, containing all the facts noted in ‘Who’s Who’ and what little else he had managed to dredge from his own sources. It didn’t amount to much: Paul Brown, born Pawel Markowski 58022AE in Sokozniki. Only son of Geogi Markowski, M.D and Maria Stravinski. Both believed dead. One sister, Halina. Believed dead. Arrived New England 58040AE, Joined Royal Air Force, Pilot, (D.F.C and Bar D.S.O) Strategic Bomber Command.

St. Johns College Cambridge. PhD Virology 58050AE. Professor in Virology 58062AE. Papers published: Many. Discovered method of enforcing mutation in common virus’ so as to lower pathogenic danger to humans: 58076AE. Currently working on propagation of low toxicity virus for broad spectrum inoculation in humans.

                Hobbies: Broadcasting, lecturing against Communism. Chess.

                Married: Martha Ingles, elder daughter of Rev. Percival Hall and late Lady Ina Hall, 58044AE. One son two daughters.

                Alan Whitmore assimilated the few facts in a few seconds concentration, then frowned and asked:

                “This is no good. There must be something else on him. What’s he like? Ladies’ man? One for the boys? We must have something on him that we can exert some pressure on; every one has something, what’s his?”

                Forsyth’s Adams apple bobbed up and down in his thin neck as he brushed his long iron grey hair away from his glasses.

                “I anticipated that, sir. All reports are that he is totally heterosexual and fanatically faithful to his wife. Vanity it seems could be his weakest spot. He has been described as an inordinately vain man …”

                “That’s it then!” The prime minister cut his secretary short. “Put it to him that he has my personal word that he will receive a knighthood on the New Years Honours List on completion of his task. He’ll love that, being introduced as Sir Paul Brown. Right then, let me know when he’s on his way, I’m off to have a bath.” He leaned forwards and took the topmost file from his red dispatch box. He often marvelled at the ability of the British to maintain traditions. No nanonics could be used in parliament. And there was certainly no neural net. All communication was done by paper. Forsythe left the room and he walked over to a semi disguised door in the oak panelling.

                Twenty minutes later he heard a rap on his door and heard Forsyth’s voice. “Well,” he called, “going now is he?”

                “Well, no Sir, not quite. He seemed to think that he was due, even long overdue, the kind of recognition that you suggested. But he is weakening, he says he will agree to lead a delegation to Warsaw if he is given full Ambassadorial status and it is agreed in advance that he may travel where he chooses…”

                The prime minister emerged from the bathroom in a dressing gown and a towel, and a petulant look hardened by a cruel look about the mouth. “Tell the bastard he can go to hell along with his children, if he thinks he can…How dare he lay down conditions to me? I want MI5 all over him, I want to know everything about him from the time he wakes up in the morning to the time it takes the sod to fall asleep at night. I want the full works; I want to know who he knows and where he goes I want to know what exactly makes him tick. Go through his Naturalisation Papers with a fine toothed comb: you’ll find something, nobodies perfect there is always some mistake and you will find it in the next 72 hours or I will find someone who will.”

                “Yes Sir, I’ll have that put into immediate effect. However, umm, in the mean time, do you still wish Dr Brown to go to Poland or not?”

                Whitmore glared at his secretary, taking in the well-cut dark suit and white collar over a red striped shirt. His hair, with the forelock that always hung over his left eye.

                “I’ve no choice in the matter, damn it. He’s got to go: give him what ever he wants.” He hesitated for a few seconds, then went on, “Not a word to anyone, anyone at all, about that knighthood Charles; and nothing at all in writing. Not even in my diary, do you understand?”

                Charles Forsyth nodded. He had heard promises of this kind made and broken and before. The Prime Minister had a notoriously bad memory when it suited him.

                Forsyth returned to his own room and made the fourth call of the day to Cambridge. He heard a dull hiss as the quantum encryption came on line, then the beep at the other end.

                He listened to the ring, bringing the man he was ringing into his minds eye. The shear bulk of the man was impressive. The huge barrel of a chest over which he inevitably wore a lavender coloured shirt and red bowtie, what ever the suit he wore with it, whether it was a flannel or hairy tweed. There was a moment flash as he imagined him wearing the same shirt, bowtie combination on a beach in a pair of swimming trunks. When he did wear a tie it was a squadron or school tie, or one of those showing the wearer had achieved a high degree of excellence in a variety of sport as an undergraduate.

                Then there was his beard, a great bushy one that often had bits of bread in. It was trimmed at the sides but allowed to spread into a spade 6 inches wide a few inches bellow his chin. All the hair below the level of his ears was jet black, above them a colossal mane of silver white hair that could have rivalled Einstein’s lack of order.

                The beep was cut short as a deep voice came on at the other end, “Dr Brown here.”

                “A yes, doctor, Forsyth here: The Prime Minister’s secretary, we spoke earlier.”

                “So we did. And has your precious fellow-travelling master agreed to my terms?”

Forsyth swallowed, he did not like Whitmore personally but he had the ingrained sense of respect for the Prime Minister’s that was essential in top civil servants; hearing the political leader of the country spoke of in this manner, came as a shock.

                “I cannot report to you doctor Brown, that the Prime Minister is delighted to accept your conditions, accept them however, he does. He also wishes me to impress upon you the absolute necessity for utmost haste. He has instructed me to say a Service VTOL will be arriving at the back of your college and will convey you to Luton from where you will be taken, in one of the RAF’s fliers to Warsaw. The captain of the aircraft will have your diplomatic Passport and Foreign Office seal ready for you….”

                “You are quite sure that that Passport carries full Ambassadorial status? You’re not palming me off as some scientific advisor to the third undersecretary to the Foreign Minister?”

                “Quite sure, Doctor. The document you carry will bear the signature of His Majesty. And you will excuse me, but I have to arrange the formalities. Getting both you and your passport together at Luton within the next two hours will not be easy.




Chapter 2


“1300 years ago all life on Earth was wiped out by a massive inter continental nuclear attack. It is unclear why this happened but speculation is that it was originally ordered by England against the new USSR. The USSR retaliated and the Americans and the Chinese joined in; the final countries to launch there warheads were those in the Arab states. No doubt thinking no one would attack them.   All life on Earth was vaporised by boiling clouds of gas from the explosions, leaving Earth a charred black husk, it will be some 4 million years before the radiation will be low enough for humans to walk on the surface again. The Orbital platforms and asteroids were all sent careering out of orbit as the atmosphere of the dying planet vomited outwards into space under the force of three localised antimatter bombs.” The lucky ones were sent inside the plane of the ecliptic towards the planets in the outer systems. But many were in orbit so that they were constantly on the day side of Earth. These were sent towards the sun at 24g’s no one survived the rapid acceleration under the suns gravity. Conservative estimates put the death toll at around 10 billion. Fortunately for us FLT had been discovered some 500 years before and not only were the local planets colonised but many new solar systems.

                With the destruction of earth the Second Imperium was formed to rule the human race. It consisted of The Five Houses Major, the Emperor, the Government, the Army, the Church and the faction commonly known as the Rebels. The idea being that this would represent most of points of view of the human race. The greatest problem faced by the fledgling government was the lack of resources. There were over one thousand planets and asteroids that were colonised during the First Imperium. The giant Corporations of Earth had supplied nearly 30% of the resources to these colony worlds from machinery to music as an ultra long term investment. However, with the destruction of earth the few other heavily industrialised planets were struggling to supply the necessary resources to the stage 1 and 2 colony planets over four hundred of which ad been colonised in the last two hundred years. These planets were still three hundred years off being self sufficient and it was calculated that the second Imperium would only be able to support them at their current expenditure for another decade before the economy collapsed. The decision was made to write them off, the Five Houses Major were not very happy about this and kicked up a huge fuss over reimbursement from the Emperor and the government. In the end they were given some money by the Emperor, of course nothing close to the amount they wanted but the threat of the army being stationed on their respective planets closed their mouths and wallets.” He gave a long pause then said, “We were the last planet to be written off, we had progressed to a stage where we could have started producing things that were worth transporting between worlds, but it was deemed that as we did not yet have our own space industry yet we would not be able to compete on the open market. We were effectively told to sod off and come back when we had enough money.

                Space flight in our system stopped 1275 years ago, a new constitution was drawn up, stating that we would not advance in technology any further than we had already except for medical reasons. All research into advanced technology was banned and we have not advanced a day since.” His voice was laced with malice as he said the final five words. He looked out the window to the fields and the edge of the dome. He suddenly realised the Kate was still looking expectantly up at him from the floor. “Sorry, any way we developed into that.” he gestured out the window a look of disgust on his face.

                “Why does this all matter? What does it mean? Why do you care so much and why did you pluck me off the street? I mean I’m just guessing here but I don’t think it was out of the kindness of your own heart.” She stammered.

                “No your right I didn’t take you from the street out of the kindness of my heart. I had my reasons of course. However at this time, they are reasons that you do not need to know.” He said calmly giving here a level stare. He raised one eyebrow and said “I will explain in the morning but now you need to do something for me.”

                “What?” she said, trying to gauge his tone.

                “Nothing you haven’t done before.” he reassured her as he got up out of the sling chair. “Follow me.” The statement was without emotion. Feeling, not a just a little, apprehensive. She followed the man out of the cramped room and into the dark hallway. Once again the brownness of the corridor struck her. Everything seemed unintentionally brown. As if the decorator had been trying to go for a natural earthly feel but came up short from colour-blindness. It was just a wrong shade of brown that she was pretty sure had never been fashionable. He led her silently down the corridor. She saw a room with a bed in it at the end, and a sudden realisation dawned on her.

                “Don’t worry we aren’t going in there.” He flicked his head around to flash her a smile. The scar on the side of his face made his cheek skew grotesquely. He pushed open a door on the right of the corridor and disappeared up a creaking flight of steps. She hesitated at the bottom of the steep stairs for a moment and then followed him up. He was stooped under a trapdoor at the top of the stairs waiting for her. Only when she was on the step below his, and having to stoop herself, did he open the trap door. Sunlight shocked her eyes for a second as she tried to focus on where the man had been standing before. She squinted into the sunlight and tentatively poked her head into the afternoon sun. She could see the sun on the side wall of the dome. The red glow from it penetrated her skin and warmed her. She gave an involuntary shiver as the bathed in the warmth that the sun provided.

                Her attention was snapped back by the sound of glass clinking on metal. She looked round to see the strange man sitting in a wicker chair. He was holding a flute of what looked like champagne. She scanned the table quickly and picked out the bottle in the glare. She stepped up the final steps onto the packed roof. Now standing, she realised she was able to see the whole city from where she stood. She never got tired of the sight of a city at sunset. Not after years of standing and watching the sun going down. Waiting for the thrill of the night to envelope her.

                “Beautiful isn’t it?” the voice came from her shoulder, startled form her reverie she spun to see the man standing just inches behind her. “Now, I don’t know about you but I never get tired of the sun catching the top of the university as the sun sinks below the horizon. You know they say that there is a giant diamond set in the pinnacle of that spire. The size of your fist, they say. The greatest pity I can think of is for some one to steal such an inviting object.” His voice trailed off.

                “You don’t want me too…” she looked around at him hoping he was smiling and so that she knew he was joking. Nothing, not even a scowl.

                “Now I would hate for you to be out at night and I really look forward to seeing that sunset as it hits the spire. Which I guess…” he looked at his watch, “…will be in 27 minutes.” She looked incredulously at him. This was not what she did, the most she had ever done was nick peoples ident cards.

                I can’t… possi…in 27 minutes…its got to be 8 miles away by the crows flies at least 25 by the roads.” She stammered.

                Actually it Is 26 minutes and 9 miles as the crow flies so I think you should be flying my little bird. Or you will be a caged bird, and that is something neither of us would like to see.” She looked once more at the scarred serene face of the stranger and ran down stairs. He could here flower pots rattle on their sills as she jumped down the stair cases.


She woke to the smell of cooking. The smell of some unplaced herb seeped under her door to tantalize her growling stomach. She dressed quickly in the clothes that she had discarded the night before from their respective heaps on the floor. She was still putting them on as she made her way out to the corridor to find she didn’t know where to go. She looked hesitantly around trying to sniff the source of the smell but it was so strong everywhere that she could not tell if she was getting any closer or not. ‘Well there are only two ways I can go so I might as well guess.’ In reflection this was a bad move on her part as she spent the next half hour walking down endless corridors always filled with the smell of herbs. Twice she realised that she had gone around in a circle without seeming to have. But Still with a lot of muttering and whistling she roamed the corridors aimlessly in the hope that she might find something other than another corridor in the warren.

                Sadly after an hour she realised that she was completely lost and probably making things worse. What had first seemed to be simple exercise of follow the food had slowly devolved into an ambling wonder that seemed to get her nowhere. She sat down on the floor conscious of how much her stomach was annoying her with moans of hunger and tried to see if listening could help her cause.


‘She is quite persistent isn’t she?’ it

‘Well up to a point,’ the voice datavised to him, reservedly.

He was looking at a little holoscreen of her dream as she wondered the corridors. He could see that she had given up on exasperation and was just trying to see what she could gain for her experience and he liked that outlook.


She woke to the sound of a humming sound that seemed to drone slowly in and out of beat with another humming sound to produce a headache inducing whine that tugged at the edge of her perception just loud enough to be heard but too loud to be ignored. She jumped out of bed feeling the pain in her ankles form the night before exacerbated by the cold of the room. She set off the down the corridor tying to follow the sound but as she stood still in the middle of the corridor tilting her head from one side to the other to try and get some direction of the sound she was following she realised that the reason that she didn’t now where to go was that there were actually two sounds from two different directions and only just out of phase with one another. She stood there for a moment longer just to make sure. She leaned against the wall and let out a deep breath before smile twitched the corners of her mouth. ‘This is not funny she said to the air. Just wake me up before I try to see if you can commit suicide in a dream.’


Smiles twitched concealed faces in sympathy.





“But first I’m going to show you something. He walked briskly over to the wall in which the old fire place was situated. He placed the palm of his hand to a cherub craved into the stone. He then twisted his arm and pulled it towards him revealing a small hole in the fireplace. He squatted down in front of the fire place until his eye was level with the hole. A red beam of light that appeared only to have width but no thickness came into life from the whole. It moved up and down his face twice before disappearing. There was a second in which silence in the room was absolute and then the whole wall seemed to move. It was not uncommon for the walls of the houses to 2ft thick in some of the older houses, as this one obvious was, so that the heat could be kept out in summer and the warmth in during winter. From the wall appeared a small square space. To call it a room was wrong but it was certainly not a cupboard. Kate stared transfixed as the room widened until it covered the whole right hand side of the wall and was some 3m across. A biolume panel sprang to life inside that hole illuminating what looked like a stainless steel clothes rack. On each side of the room stood shelves that stretched right up to the ceiling, they were filled with strange objects. Some were obviously weapons she could see a knife and a small club but those were the only two things she could discern form the assortment.

                “What are these?” she asked eyes scanning the shelves. When he didn’t answer she looked over at him. He was smiling at her.

                “Tools.” He replied simple. “Now off to bed with you.” She stared incredulously at him as he put his palm to the wall and the two halves flowed seamlessly back together.

                “What? You show me something like that and don’t explain anything? You may be a crap story teller but you are a brilliant torturer. Please tell me.” His face remained fixed in that annoying smile of his. “Pretty, please.” She tried in her best sweet and innocent expression. He still remained impassive. She walked slowly over to him eyes wide and naïve. She walked up until he was only a few centimetres away from her. Her finger ran from his chest downwards as she said. “I’m sure I could make it worth your while.” He caught her finger as it reached his navel and stepped back a pace.

                “No doubt you could little girl. But tonight at least you will sleep.” Brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it lightly. “Now go to your room or I will have to trank you.” She laughed briefly before realising he was serious. She trudged off to her room with a lot a huffing and muttering. He didn’t bother with any audio discrimination programmes he was pretty sure what she was saying.    ]



                ‘Look we can’t do that.’ He said a note of frustration creeping into his voice. He waved his hands franticly tying to find grip to form an argument.

‘Why not, you could just walk in their and kill them all!’ She spat tearful and defiant.

‘That is not he point…Look what I mean is…’he cast around for some words to console her…. ‘there are many things worse than death…. Wherever possible death should be avoided. What I mean is that in most situations there are outcomes that better suit all parties if the ‘personae non grateae’ is left alive rather than dead.

‘There is nothing worse than death.’ She sobbed neutrally nut with an edge of malice.

‘Just listen to me, I’m not sure how helpful this will be to you but, it helped me…when I was younger it was something I heard once and was amazed at its perception. Give me the strength to change the things I can, the fortitude to bare the things I can’t and the wisdom to no the difference. Now I’m not saying we should not kill it is just that, one certainly should sometimes if you’re concerned with self preservation. Disable him, clip his wings, scare him shitless and screw him over, make him die in the streets a bum. That is a fate worse than death and a fate that all can identify with. It was once said that the greatest show of power is self restraint. Now you need to try and practice that…

‘But..’ she tried to interject but he just talked over her but now in a soft and slightly strained voice.

 ‘…killing removes the mystique. Who are you more afraid the visible threat or the nearly visible. You should always pursue all other paths first but if in the end the only option left I s death then that is what must happen. People always need to be killed and will always be needed to be killed that sadly is the flaw of our culture. However that is also is where we come in. We are the semi visible threat; we exist just beyond the horizon always there but never insight.





The car turned left in to Queen’s gate and immediately came to a stand still. A tall erect, short cropped hair, burly man came and stood at the nearside door, clicked his heels and with a slight bow from the waist upwards turned sharply.

 The building, a tall mock Victorian Anclieoen

Inside was a small lobby with a maroon carpet leading to a rotten antiquated iron gate lift. On either side of the cream walls were hunting prizes of bygone days. A time when men were emphatically gentle men he mused as he glanced up at them. The man who had lead him in stopped, directly beneath the chandelier of cut crystal that dominated the ceiling, and looked up.

 Somewhere in the depths of the building a red light flashed on the console of a man in a sailor type tunic with tattooed arms. He pressed a button absent mindedly and the picture of the man under the chandelier appeared, setting down his mug of tea he spoke into an intercom. ‘General Reinmick has arrived Sir.’ A metallic voice whispered; out of the speaker, ‘See that he is escorted too the 4th floor.’ The sailor nodded to his companion in the room and left stopping to grab his hat from the stand by the door. He buttoned up his jacket as he came to the door to the lobby. Raking in a deep breath he checked his uniform in the mirror by the door. Before putting his palm to the metal plate at the side of the door.  ‘Commodore…’ he began but stopped as his eyes took in the scene in from of him. The commodore and the general were lying motionless on the floor. Blood dripped from creases in their necks. He looked up at the camera he had been looking through earlier but he could see that the cables had been unplugged from it. And now hung limply down the wall looking like dead snakes. He felt a breeze ruffle the back of his hair and tried to spin, but their was an arm around his neck and a knife at his throat.

                “Hi there, my name is not important to you, but I really really want to see your boss, but his secretary said I needed an appointment and I’m just not the kind of girl who likes to be kept waiting, as your friends here found out.” he could feel the person whispering in his ear gesticulate to bodies on the floor. “Now put your palm to that door again and let me in.”

                “I ca...can’t.” he stammered

                “Oh, well I will have to find some one who can. I’m sure if I was to leave you like those two and plug that old camera in over their someone might come. It was nice meeting you.” He felt the pressure of the blade increase

“Wait… I can’t do it…it’s not my fault…I need someone else. I can get someone….” and then the cold metal pierced his neck. It grated on cartilidge slowly pushing deeper into his neck. He felt cold, very cold and heavy. He felt his knees buckle as the woman let go of him. He was in a drunken slow motion. The chandelier left a bright smear across his vision like some luminescent snails trail. He fell backwards slowly as if the air had suddenly turned to water. He hit the floor tired and cold, he was numb, he tried to scream but no sound came out, the attempt made him gag.

                “Shush.” A forlorn face fell in and out of focus and the face was smiling. She wrenched the blade free of his neck and wiped it on his tunic. She stood up and sidled over to the camera stuck in the wall.



His contorted face and bilelike comments and conceited view.


Schizophrenia: some one who wants to do more with their life.


War is an accumulation of disasters that result in bankruptcy.


Scathing sarcasm the highest form of wit for such a base man.


Greed and no humility a revulsion formed from aface formed by:


A wish of life through death. Sycophants to base humour from lack of originality, such unwillingness to be oleaginous


As she sat in her seat talking she noticed -- trying to assert some power of someone smaller than him once again. She carried on talking but paid not attention to the reply nor to the words that were coming out of her mouth. Anger started to rise in her as he continued to make Ivan’s life a miser, she had never really like Ivan but then that didn’t matter when it came to --. She hated everything about him from his contorted face and bile like comments to his conceited view. His scathing sarcasm, the highest form of wit for such a base man she thought. But worst the sycophants to his base humour, from their own lack of originality, their unwillingness to be oleaginous. It was the point when the people around him burst out laughing that she felt the anger boil over and spew from her mouth in a torrent of words she did not intend to utter except to herself, but she could do nothing to stem the flow.

‘How could your parents have allowed you to live? When you’re nothing but an irritating piece of dog shit stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe. You think you are so funny but you really aren’t. I mean why do you take the piss out of Ivan. What is the point other than for your own personal enjoyment? Have you really got to a stage where the only form of interaction that you have left is to annoy people in the hope that someone else will laugh. For Christ’s sake I loath Ivan as much as you but I don’t belittle him constantly with pseudo snide remarks and failed witticisms. Can’t you just accept the fact that you yourself are critically flawed and are need of desperate psychiatric treatment? You are a juvenile, pusillanimous, piece of shit. Who feels that if he makes everyone else feel small he won’t have to feel so insecure. Do you just have a really small penis and feel that you need to compensate by feeding your ego so that it gets bigger instead. Or perhaps it’s the fact that you are worried that if you stop taking the piss out of other people other people will see that you really don’t have a personality worth noting?.’

 She stood up suddenly and said, ‘I can’t stand to be in the same room as you.’ and turned on her heel and made towards the door leaving the class in silence. AS she reached the door she heard him say something that evoked a round of laughter from his sycophants.

She turned slowly to face him. His smug face contorted into a smile as he waited for a reaction.

                She looked up into his face and almost began a reply but stopped and let out the breath and smiled up at him. “Now this will be your last warning.” Her smile did not falter as she spoke, “you’re a clever guy and I respect clever guys which is why I’m giving you this opportunity. I mean I would hate to have to mess up that beautiful face of yours in anyway to get my point across.”

                “What you’re going to beat me up!”

                “-- I came into this thinking you were clever, please don’t make me look ignorant by being stupid. Humour me if you would, I just have a quick question before I leave, how many people do you reckon… uh how should I put this…how many friends do you actually have? What I mean to say is who would protect you if someone tried to kill you? How many friends do you have? Have you ever looked at the way most of our year looks at you? They hate you and that’s because people like you piss most people off too much.” She began to turn but caught herself mid turn. “Oh and I just thought I would point this out to you. Know doubt you have already thought it through but I think it best that you do if you haven’t yet.  It is that classic question; to be honest it is quite significant for some one like you. ‘Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?’ Now for someone like me that is a simple question, and it applies real nice to the situation, if you follow me. A clever guy once said two things, oh actually lets call it three. Do you want to hear them? First, ‘Never start a war you have not already one.’ Second of course is ‘Never fight someone who has nothing to lose.’ And finally probably the most pertinent is “It is better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.’ Something I feel you should bear in mind. Let me know if you want to shut the fuck up or be fucked up.” She turned on her heel and walked out. Her heart was beating hard in her chest and she felt her cheeks redden as she walked out the door and down the corridor. She stepped out into the sun and loved the day.








The boat purred slowly up the rocky stream the green walls either side rested along the river bank gulping at the icy stream the granite walls narrowed to an arch up ahead, light flowed through it along the top of the river. As she passed through the walls fell away. Grey and green walls seemed to strive for vertical superiority the tree tops only just reached the top of the gorge. A waterfall poured down the end of the gorge tipping from one pool to the next culminating in a wall of water 3m high that shattered the silence with the sound of water colliding with water. 




High above the Tmesis deployed 40 kinetic harpoons. 4 metres of tungsten tipped with osmium. These ones however were modified slightly to make them more effective at killing people. They had four balls of carbon filament attached to the end of the shaft. They had no explosive charge the great strength of the impact was enough to level 4 city blocks. With ease.

                **** watched them streak down from the outer atmosphere in a ring centred upon her. The cry of burning metal ionising the air was overpowering. Her nanonics ran numerous screening programs to limit the damage it would cause to her ears and eyes. The orange streaks burnt through the deep purple sky as the singed air annealed to the surface of the harpoons. Great arcs of fire as if Zeus himself had once more taken an interest in petty politics and flung thunder bolts  with his full strength upon the unwitting earth. They hit with a crescendo of sound in a ring around her 500m in diameter. Molten earth and metal exploded out from super dense tips. The jungle around her erupted in a concentric wall of flame. Micro fragments of carbon were flung out from the explosion 1.5m above the ground. Radially slicing cleanly through both tree and air alike before they were burnt up by the heat of the explosions. The shock wave crushed her through her suit. She felt the pressure change even as the suit tried to compensate. Her suit went rigid immediately as she was thrown into the air like doll in a washing machine. She tumbled in the thick air buffeted by turbulence before landing heavily on scorched earth. Her suit had shut down all feeds to her senses to protect them from the seething air that boiled around her. She thrust boosted hands as hard as she could at the fired earth until she was up to her elbows before releasing the thermo dupm filaments in her suit. Those around her body immediately burnt red before white hot and finally withering away to nothing. 



The rain slipped from roof tops onto the water logged streets below. A man hooded in a black cloak walks quietly down a shadowed street. Alone on the streets he seems absorbed in himself and nothing else. He passes a lamp post and tilts his head to look directly at the lamp and waits for a second before moving on into well of black that seemed to be radiated from the walls of the building on the street. He stops at a gargantuan building that looms over him into the night clouds as he looks to see the top. He walks slowly up the steps favouring his right leg marginally. He reaches the top step and puts his palm to the lock on the door pad, a red light blinks out to be replaced by a green one and a lot of irritating buzzing. He finds himself in a bleak corridor with  the occasional hologram that floated inched from the walls as they stalked him down the corridor that he began to stride down . There is a strong smell of disinfectant in the air, it mingled freely with detergent from the newly cleaned floors to produce a haze of pseudo fresh smells that did naught but make people feel more ill than the already were.

                The sound of his footsteps echoes down the corridor towards the lone night secretary in charge of post natal care. She begins to busy herself with things as he hears him round he corner, so that as he approached the desk she seemed absorbed in some work on the small screen in front of her. But the an man does not stop at the desk but carries on a faint trace of a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. He walks on to the observation window that shows new born babies, 34 of them, sleeping soundly. He stands still but eyes darting for almost 5 minutes before the secretary cautiously asks whether she can help him, he wordlessly shakes his head and continues to stand body stilled but for his eyes. As the secretary turns to go back to her desk he calls her suddenly, ‘Jaqueline, could you tell me the name of baby 18-88-10-03-88?’

                The nurse/secretary looks confused for a second before going over to the screen where she stops herself and says, ‘I’m afraid that I can only tell family members that.’

                ‘Number 1888 has no family, now please tell me.’ The command is firm but still Jacqueline hesitates until he turns to look at her.

‘Sarah, Sarah Iselin.’

                ‘Thank you Jacqueline.' and with these words he leaves, once more strolling the dull quiet corridors. As he reaches the doors leading out of the building he flicks up the hood of his cloak for its is raining outside. He pushes past the doors and to take the stairs two at a time. Reaching the bottom he lands with one foot in a puddle sending water imperceptibly over the rain soaked pavement. He jogs lightly into the gloom  in between the patches of warm yellow light of the street lamps.



Never think that the future is uncertain or certain, it is better to pay no heed to it than it is to think about either of the above concepts. Spatio breve, the future is as uncertain as the past. How do you know you are not dreaming or if tomorrow or today will happen or have already happened? Futility, live in the thisness of the moment and accept the flow but try and challenge fate even if it is only to stave off boredom. There is no use worrying about the future nor the past only what we can learn from both… honestly try it you, might like it more than you know.

When in Rome do as the Romans do, and remember Rome wasn’t built in a day. SO plan this days outcome and you have already prejudged it, instead make a design that can last but can change like the British weather. Because you never know when the heavens might open. What about on some idle Tuesday.

So from this we determine that not much can be helped and the laws of thermodynamics cannot be broken and the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi is the most profound there is, because it actually offers genuine relevant advice that actually makes a difference. But do not act as if there is no chance of tomorrow or in the assumption that tomorrow will be benign, rather live for the moment but do not attempt to change tomorrow directly or indirectly.

Strive for your meaning but do not be bogged down in the answer or the question, never preach, the preacher is the man who does not accept that tomorrow is for tomorrows’ people and not the normality that he has become used to.

Trust your friends where possible but never go into a business with them, buy them drinks if you succeed but never anything more than that. If they need your help give it, but never give what is not asked for and never take what is not given. Make use of your time, even if it is in ‘pointless’ activity, no activity is pointless…

When you find the meaning smile and carry on with your life. Others do not want to know. Never assume that someone else’s answer is the same as your own. They, might by twins but their finger prints are different.


What is done should stay done do not avoid your past, no matter how terrible, try to learn from your day but do not become a slave to it.

It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Bollocks. Try losing and you’ll find it was not worth it, do not assume that the past repeats but know that history does.



Contradictions are always fun, if this helps anyone I will be surprised and would love to buy you a beer. I am a liar.


I am sorry; this is never meant to be a treatise that will shake that world more be something to occupy my mind. Fun.


Time flies once, be sure to see it when it does.


It is easier to quote and approximation or an analogue than it is to define a new concept. But try not to, make the new the new with respect for the old, you would not be here if it were not for them. Look at the source before the drop. Have Fun….

IT is harder to follow your own thoughts, precept, and concepts, but gratifying when you do, do not beat yourself up if you find doing the right thing difficult, at the end it will be made for you.


We hold these truths to be self evident. No were all men created equal the world would be a dull place indeed


light coursing through fallen hair, incandescent, in midst of pure white sheets. Her halo.


There may come a time when



A thinner line than the one last night. Each day we tread the thinner line between two towers hoping just that it will get thicker. But at the same wishing it to evaporate to remove that torment totally. 


The line between two towers

two towers and the gap between 101

One Hundred and One

oneE hundrEd and onE

ww-cud well what could you do

A line between towers

A path between towers

An exciting world the life that never was

Thin Lines Between Towers



Humans seem inherently predisposed towards self destruction. So much so that it could only be looked upon in the beginning of the twenty first century with humour, it was either laughter or tears. Man systematically destroyed himself of his entire existence on a period he liked to think of as civilization.

That defining moment when we sat down and grew crops, forsaking the hunter gatherer lifestyle, was the moment we doomed ourselves to Dante's pit of hell. A pit however is easily fallen into when one is thinking of his stomach, what we accomplished was something far more spectacular in terms of degeneration into planet slayers. These fools who feared extinction at the hands of green men, blinded by the infinite glories of the universe that engulfs us, neglected to notice their transformation into what they feared. And so our doomed earth a bastion of life destroyed by its' sentient organisms for no purpose but the enjoyment of the moment and the fulfilment of political ideologies of a democratic society where the culture of status preservation was more important than the preservation of lives. Death of trillions to the satisfaction of the illusion of power.

So into this area of moral turpitude and fleeting concern, we toss factitious personality cults that rage and rampage form century to century endeavouring to enlighten us all to our ignorance on our beliefs. After all even if the majority thinks differently doesn't mean we are wrong. Or for that matter that we are if no service. I digress, we find ourselves in squalor, buried neck deep in our own filth and then remark how much better the view is of we sit on top of the festering pile of detritus.

                It is in these times that judgment and moral exactitude take a turn around the garden whilst the discussion of the solution is discussed by bloated men in tall rooms of marble and gold. And it is here that we find no hope for any future.

                We start our story proper in a small room. Very small considering the dimensions of most of the occupants.


The stage is set for our principal protagonists

“Fuck, shit, oh fuck, piss crap, bloody fucking hell, shit, shit double shit” each punctuated by a resounding metallic thud as a beautiful lady hammered her forehead against the small metal cell she sat in with her back to two bear like men, “Bollocks to bloody hell and high heaven,” she muttered before neatly pummelling her scantily protected brain into her skull with one last hit, “Shit that hurt', she half spat half shouted rubbing her forehead. “Look don't say one fucking thing!” she said raising her index finger above her shoulder so that the two guys behind her could see. “Not a bloody fucking word if you enjoy having sex with your wives and want to continue to do so. Fuck this is tricky.” She groaned her head still throbbing. She was seriously deep in it this time and she knew it, why had she had to do such stupid, stupid things. For the money was the obvious answer but not the real one and she knew it. Fuck, this was bad, bad , bad. And what was worse is that things really could only actually just get worse.  She closed her eyes and let her head fall back until it came to an abrupt stop on the metal of the cell wall. “So do either of you two have and idea, a thought perhaps, anything, anything at all.” She said dispassionately looking from one to the other. They shrugged, she groaned. “Nothing? Yeah thanks that's comforting not to hear, well at least I can find some comfort in that at least has not changed. Fucking tits. You don't have brain cells outside your muscles and cocks. Fucking useless bloody men.” They grinned at each other. There was a faint humm from somewhere, getting louder and closer or just closer. “You two hear that? What in bleeding hell do you think that is?” The noise grew louder until suddenly the whole cell juddered and jarred sending everyone flying into the walls. That was the last that she remembered; the wall racing towards her and then a warm pain as her head collided with it, her muscles in her legs didn't want to support her legs. Then cool, cool metal against her cheek and nose.



A spiral of steel and glass near 50ft high and 20ft across, gleaming in the midday heat. Subtle workings gliding quitley together. Floors concentric rings rising in a slow spin towards the top. Light seems to slide across with equal parity to form a structure almost liquid to the unobservant eye. A double helix of steel encasing a house of many parts.

And on the dirt and grass outside a man walks towards the structure as one of the rings slithers down to meet him, and then swallow him. Inside a central column. The column revolves to reveal its opening and the treasurers that lie beyond. A shaft and in the centre of a catwalk a clear glass chamber. As he steps onto the catwalk light streams in blue rivulets away from his feet towards the railings illuminating the path as they  go  and then outwards radialy towards to walls, upwards streamers of soft blue light noth up and down the walls. Those plummenting downards into blackness until a glassy surface is reached and a ring of light is formed that shows a moving edge. Those scaling ever up till an incandescent ring at the very heavens is formed and the stars apear through an iris, to add their meagre lights to those all around. At the moment he is but one stride form the chamber it too swivels to reveal its interior, suddenly alive and bathed in white light. With both feet inside the door closes and the quavering ring of blue fire below rises quickly and silently on a cylinder of water till the glass chamber irises too and white light kills off blue. The star field grows larger overhead till the whole hemisphere lies before the man trapped in a glass chamber. Then he is no longer trapped and no trace of the chamber that once imprisoned him can be found. 



A city of many millions of people, enclosed, contained. A claustrophobic nightmare. Grey and tones of white dominate interspersed colour. A world of mediocre height yet gargantuan proportions. A terrible place of deprivation. A grey desolate place eternally bordered by the interminable mediocre, must be in want of a single decent person and so when that person comes around once an age he or she lasts but a little time because love is a two way street but a knife only needs to go in one direction., unless you plunge it repeatedly into the good people out there, in which case some form of reciprocating motion is assured. And so it is that the grey wicked, that always verge on the black, stain all purity, but that doesn’t mean it aint so bad as all that that has come before it. The lifeful world of backstreet s where all forms of life are represented in great force, form the bacteria to the higher forms of life and there again humans and the parasites that feed on them.

                It seems however the most dangerous of all animals is the most intriguing and attractive, so it seem is the case with humans where the power and wealth of ill gotten gains can grotesquely be reinvested in the reinvention of the harbinger of urban recession and degradation.

                Well cut cloth clinging to overworked frames of rippling muscle that serves no purpose but in a posturing and posing, talk and have the rest handled for you lifestyle. A writhing mass of sweating flesh, pulsating beat. A multicoloured tableau of deprivation the likes of which have rarely been seen. Drug drenched teenage skins that slither against the equally intoxicated in a sickening spin that leaves all rasping and desiccated. All apart for well formed musculature and overtly obscene opulence. Sitting in imitation of civility whilst outside death is wrought on their behalf.



These disparate people of one race should never have cause for involvement in one another’s lives but by chance.



She walked in to the room and all stared. Smiling, yet sad in her eyes. Sitting there in the corner, back to the wall, she looked cadged. She held her glass in her hand and spun it between thumb and forefinger watching the bubbles rise as she did so. She shifts her focus from the glass to the bubbles counting them as they stream upwards, content, in the moment. And she thought back to all that had been. Screaming, blood, death. She sighed and closed her eyes as tears slipped silently down her cheek. She let her head fall backwards until it hit the wallpapered wall behind her and waited.

                Those of you who have never had someone you love die can have no comprehension of the feeling that it removes from you. Your disjointed soul, cleaved, rent, torn, stitched together by time eventually but covered in welts. Those of you who have never held the body of a person you have loved cannot imagine the memories that haunt you with their beauty and absoluteness. Those of you who have never checked to see if a person that you love is still breathing and feel no air, those of you who have never felt for a pulse beneath cold skin and felt nothing but skin, you have no comprehension of true loss. So I sit here now and write and try to convey the sadness that still fills my heart with every passing minute because when I write I find it so much more difficult to lie, because when I lie there is nobody around, when I write for myself no one but me judges. I loved my father truly and hate every day that he is gone. Every time that I wish I could speak with him and ask his advice, every time I wish he could see me play sport. I love him. So this is to him as near my eighteenth birthday, I know he would have loved to be there and see me now, and I just hope that he would be proud of the man that I have become. So to you pater omnipotens why were you stolen away from me when I now need you the most, I need you. What can you do when all else fails; this world is fickle and all those in it but passing shadows, we are all dieing from the moment we are born, fuck life, screw the world go out and have fun.


That feeling when you stand outside on a mild winter day, fully in the sun, warm. Then suddenly the sun is hidden by a cloud and the whole world is grey and cold, suddenly, when once it was warm.



I have had some more thoughts about the book

First the boy we find in the cottage will appear somewhere random, or at least seemingly so, the first of his traits will be to do with animals. This is demonstrated subtly. Dogs stop barking, animals keep landing near him where he feeds them. I don’t want to force other traits on him yet but here are some thoughts: luck, constitution, a near fatal accident would not go amiss, calming. The Wit? By a different name, he could have the skill but vie electronics.

A few nagging questions remain why does he exist, what is he where does he come from exactly?



A life lived in a garden, cascading clear falls into deep cool pools of azure water frothing and boiling. White horses running in streamers away, leaping into obscurity. An infinitesimal sparkling just for him on a pure black velvet canopy. Dew sparkling grass and ever blossoming trees with nary a bird to pluck the fruit so concerned are they with their song. Pure emerald pools boarded only by crystal. Set in a jade hill, a cave illuminated by translucent veins of quartz of every colour. And all this shielded by ageless trees too tall to climb. Silver skinned with vertical veins of golden blood running between the grooves in the bark. Pooling at the base before running in rivulets towards red laced rocks. Grey green needles litter the floor oft constructing channels for gold blood and paths for fleet footed creatures that dash, eyes and ears twitching, between the trees to earthen hovels too small for litters. Ever watchful of fair winged beast of the night. They flitter between silver shafts of starlight, claws wide and scaled, a horribly grotesque counterpart to their silken plumage and red gold eyes, perched now seemingly omniscient the boy stalking the woods, gliding between glade and glen down dale and cross brooks to a house of stone and wood smuggled between two vast rocks that make its walls. Impenetrable to wind and weather. Smoke rises gaily form the wizened chimney ever upwards to the extent of the eye. A glow effervesces from the inside, glazed windows unable to contain the suffuse light and the ever changing source. The antediluvian wood creaks a welcome as the doors are inched open. Much to the horror of the ferret like boy on the wrong side it would seem.



Sitting in a white walled room of plaster and wood. The room was fairly small, but enough for a queen sized bed, sheets in a collapsed heap in the centre pillows bent grotesquely at the head, one only half concealed by the white flower pattern pillow case. The walls were uneven concrete uniform while broken by rock boulders jutting out in one corner; the whole back wall a wall of rough hewn rock ina sea of white painted plaster and mortar. Built into the wall was a ledge also white. A silver lighter stands sentinel on the edge of a jutting rock. A small clay frog holding half burnt incense sat near by a pool of ash. Clothes covered the blood red ground still trying to make their way back into the case from which they were obviously throw from. In the back left hand corner, on the verge of the clothes, sat a wooden high backed chair with a thin velvet cushion. And there sat a boy perhaps seventeen. One foot buried on the clothes the other on the bed toes free to tap the very end of the crumpled sheets in time to the music that lightly fills his head, from headphones perched in his ears. Gazing into the night, outside of the thin door draped in red material with lighter arabesques the curled in lines along it shimmering into the cool night breeze.

The boy sitting in the chair suddenly looked up at the doorway; he stared, crimson eyes trying in vain to pierce the gloom outside the room.  With youthful agility he slid from the chair and extinguished the light beside his bed. He waited as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, his room appeared in half tones before him. More from knowledge than sight he moved silently to the door way and slid the material gently to the side. Soft gold moonlight spread itself sparsely over the grass outside. He crouched down onto his heels and stared, waiting for something to move. Then suddenly off towards the right, a dark shape, shifted almost imperceptibly. Now staring intently at it he tried to make out some definition but couldn’t. So breathing deeply he dropped forwards so that he was on his ands and feet. He scuttled low towards the strange shape moving as much between the shadows of the trees as he could. All the time he scuttled the shape made no move and he began to think that he was just imagining things when suddenly an unmistakable head rose up from the dark, silver eyes flashing in the night. Though obviously animated it had less substance to his eyes than a shadow, like smoke that suddenly takes form.  The ghost of a shadow turned its eyes away, disappearing into the black and fled as the breeze, hugging close the land.  Realising that stealth was unnecessary now the boy stood up quickly and bound off in pursuit.  Through the night he ran, damp wetted his feet leaving them covered in a thin coat of short grass. He ran over hills and down valleys, between great trees and by fast flowing rivers. Mud now hid his skin and yet the shape slipped always away from him. Yet still he gave chase to the insubstantial shade. He ran till he felt his pulse ring loudly in his ears and lead replaced his feet and acid his blood. Bile rose in his throat as he fell to his hands and knees. He swallowed hard and tasted the bitterness of bile at the back of his throat. He panted deeply feeling the sweat slip down his face. Wiping his hair from his face he looked for his quarry and there it was just at the edge of the next valley as it had always been. Suddenly fear grasped his heart and his stomach sank. For as he looked he realised all of a sudden that he had know idea where he was, what was more, no longer was he bathed in gold now but grey light. And where once his feet were covered by blood red grass now they were green. When he looked up again for the shade he saw nothing but green hills and low trees.



Walking through apathetic rain, foreign hand in his, coarse skin against his palm, he felt suddenly disconcerted and afraid. He quavered on the edge of a thought that became unsubstantial, a feint mist that falls away as you try to seize it, tearing it asunder. A sudden empty thought filled him completely as they dodged traffic. And then at the barriers she turned breaking the contact, ‘thank you for a lovely evening’ she said as she hugged him, and then pulled away. Momentarily looking straight into his eyes. It would be poetic to say that in that moment he lost himself in her eyes or perhaps all time seemed to cease… however that was not the case, time at that moment fled along with the look upon her face. Suddenly she turned without another word, leaving him to wonder at that strange visage. That strange visage that now haunts his sight and furrows his brow. Sends fire coursing through his veins to be extinguished be perfect cold. Now half sated he sits alone in his room and wonders at that vision that appears before his eyes as he waits for sleep to seize him more readily.


He lay there for the interminable hours that stretch between sleep; her, filling his mind with questions that should be left unanswered. His eyes struggle as the sun rises. Light coursing through fallen hair, incandescent, in midst of pure white sheets. Her halo. Running his fingers down her shoulder and along her arms she stirs fractionally, a smile at the furthest most reaches of her lips. Rosy fingered dawn caresses her cheeks. Rolling, eyes still shut, towards him her halo takes new prominence in the low light. Her hand glides to his chest, nails touching lightly. 


A thinner line than the one last night. Each day we tread the thinner line between two towers hoping just that it will get thicker. But at the same wishing it to evaporate to remove that torment totally. 



We are naught but dust and shadows, that is clear. But a shadow still shelters us from the all powerful sun, still conceals us in our times of peril and conceals our perils from us also…

Because when all else fails you are  truly fucked.