Here Comes the Sun (35 page)

It ignored her. She might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

‘Oh,' she said. ‘That's awkward.'

Bjorn arrived. The suitcases and the hostage's carrycot (which had materialised somewhere inside the works of the carousel, and had pink ponies on the sides) were only adhering to him through a misunderstanding of the basics of gravity. He sagged, and his burdens flumped to the ground.

‘You see,' Jane went on, ‘I'd thought, you know, we wanted to go somewhere, so suddenly there was an airport. We needed tickets, suddenly we had tickets. We needed luggage, we've got luggage. And then all that business with the Duty Free shop; I mean, it was as if someone was reading our minds for what, deep down, we really wanted in a Duty Free shop. So I thought, this is all basically wish fulfilment.' She frowned at the wall. ‘Only it doesn't seem to work quite like that. Maybe it's got to be consistent with the illusion, or something.'

Bjorn looked over his shoulder. ‘Look,' he said, ‘I don't want to hassle you or anything, but there's . . .'

Tentatively, Jane prodded the wall with her fingers. ‘If it was wish fulfilment, you see,' she said, ‘then it'd be easy to work out where we were, we'd still be somewhere inside our own heads. Or somebody's head. A sort of generalised head; you know, the collective subconscious or the race memory or something. Species memory, probably, only of course, you're not . . . What are you pulling my arm for?'

‘Because,' Bjorn replied urgently, ‘there's a platoon of spectral warriors coming through the baggage machine and . . .'

He was wrong, at that. The baggage machine was
spitting out empty black cowls, while the strips of black rubber over the gateway between the two halls were rising and falling in a manner suggestive of chewing teeth.

‘Yuk,' said Jane. ‘Come on, let's get out of here.'

 

‘Pathetic,' the General observed.

There were still quite a few of the spectral warriors; only, like the British at New Orleans, there weren't quite so many as there had been a while ago. Had the General more experience in commanding spectral forces, he'd have known better than to try and bump them across dimensions. As it was, he was angry.

The remaining spectral warriors fell into line quickly. The General paced up and down, snarling.

‘This time,' he said, ‘no mistakes, right?'

‘Right, chief.'

‘No getting blown up. No getting sucked away. No forgetting to jump off the escalators and being dragged screaming down into the works. Got that?'

‘Got it, chief.'

‘Fine. Now then.'

 

There were two gateways.

One was green, one was red. That was all right. It was what was written over them that worried Jane.

The green one said SHEEP and the red one said GOATS. There was also a huge needle, with the hindquarters of a camel sticking out of its eye. Two men in Italian suits were standing behind it, pushing, while a third was making frantic efforts with a bar of soap.

Jane sat down on Bjorn's suitcase, took off her left shoe and examined a large hole in the sole of her stocking. It shouldn't be like this, she thought. In fact, if she had her way, pretty soon it wouldn't be. But they had to get out of here first.

They became aware of someone standing over them. At first he looked like a spectral warrior, but it was a superficial resemblance only. Same black baggy cowl, absence of face, unpleasant metallic-looking sidearms, but this one had a badge with his name on it.

His name was George.

‘Having trouble, miss?' asked George.

Jane looked up. ‘As a matter of fact I am,' she said. ‘I wonder if you could help me?'

The black hole that was George's face flickered into the anti-matter equivalent of a smile. ‘Do my best, miss. That's what we're here for, after all,' he said. ‘Now, what seems to be the trouble?'

Jane took a deep breath. ‘For starters,' she said, ‘where are we, what happened to the dimensional shift, who is it chasing us, and how do we get back to the mainstream dimension without going through those gates over there? I take it you do have to be dead to go through there.'

‘Quite right, miss,' George replied. ‘Although dead is as dead does, as I always say. Still, that's by the by, isn't it?'

In the far depths of his hood, something twinkled cheerfully. Jane nodded and smiled encouragingly.

‘Well,' George went on, ‘where you are now, miss, you're in the main entrance hall of judgement control. That's where you have to show your credentials to Immigration, to see if you're going to go first class or economy, smoking or non-smoking. Your baggage will be weighed, and if it's tried in the balance and found wanting then you get charged excess. And like you said just now, miss, being dead is essential. No exceptions, you see. Rules is rules.'

Jane nodded. ‘I quite understand,' she said. ‘So we're quite a few dimensions away from normality, I take it.'

‘Absolutely right, miss,' George replied. ‘Well spotted, if I may say so. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say
you left the mainstream by falling through an artificially created hole in the dimensional shift. I wouldn't be at all surprised if it happened while you were in a restaurant somewhere. Does that sound right to you?'

By this stage, Bjorn had given up listening. He was going through his kitbag. It was a thousand to one chance that the big jar of Greek olives was still in there, but it was worth a shot.

‘I think I was kidnapped out of my own dimension by an official called Finance and General Purposes, to stop me finding out about why he's trying to sabotage the human race,' Jane said. ‘Would that account for it, do you think?'

‘Oh, I should say so, miss,' George replied. ‘Happens more often than most people realise, that sort of thing. We get a lot of that down here.'

Jane nodded. ‘And then,' she went on, ‘I think he hid me away in the back of his mind - well, in his conscience, actually, which is the nastiest place he could think of. It's where all the horrible things which he knows deep down inside ought to happen to him are stored. I didn't like it much in there, to be honest with you.'

‘Don't blame you, miss,' said George. ‘Dodgy places, consciences. Then what happened?'

‘Well,' Jane said, trying to remember, ‘shortly after that . . .'

‘Got them!' Bjorn shouted. ‘Hey, that's brilliant!'

‘Shortly after that I was rescued, and I'm not quite sure where I was then, but I suppose it must have been in one of the Administration office blocks, because if I'd just escaped from inside this person's head, it would stand to reason that I'd end up pretty close to where he was, don't you think? Or am I way off beam?'

‘Sound right to me, miss,' said George encouragingly. ‘Go on.'

Jane thought for a moment. ‘That's where I sort of lost track,' she said. ‘You see, my . . . this man here, he sort of pulled some dimensions apart and we just sort of fell through, and here we are in an airport sort of thing.'

‘A very neat way of putting it, if I may say so, miss.'

‘And at first I thought I must be inside my own head this time, or at least sort of, because everything I wanted to happen sort of happened, only not quite, if you see what I mean. And I thought, Yes, because all through my life people have been telling me that where I've been going wrong is not really knowing what I actually want.'

George nodded, or at least the gash in the side of reality which he represented wobbled a bit. ‘Pretty close, miss,' he said. ‘You're on the right lines, but not quite there. If I might explain?'

‘Please do.'

‘Hey,
and
my Proud To Be Weird T-shirt. I've really missed this, you know?'

‘Bjorn,' Jane said, ‘shut up.'

 

 

 

 

A
LL RIGHT, said the wall, YOU WIN. Staff nodded and opened his eyes. I'm listening, he thought. Can we do this the easy way, because I've had a hard day, and burning bushes or anything like that really wouldn't be a good idea.

. . . And then there was a flash, and a cloud of foulsmelling yellow smoke, and a buzzing sound, like all the flies in all the kitchens of all the transport cafes in the whole world . . .

‘Stubborn, aren't you?' said a voice from the chair opposite. ‘I expect you're going to insist on visual interface as well?'

‘'Fraid so, yes.'

‘More fool you, then.'

. . . And another flash, red this time, and the chair was full of a huge scarlet figure, with horns at one end, cloven hooves at the other, and a sour look somewhere in the middle.

‘What a bloody pantomime the whole thing is,' it said. ‘The dressing up, I mean. You've no idea how uncomfortable this get-up is, especially when it's hot. Do you think we could have the window open?'

‘I don't think it does open, actually.'

‘Don't you believe it,' the apparition replied, and a crash of broken glass from behind the Venetian blind proved its point. ‘Confirming your guess,' it continued, ‘Dop Ganger, devil's advocate, at your service.'

Staff nodded. ‘Thought so,' he said. ‘Who was the other chap, by the way? I quite liked him.'

Ganger shrugged. ‘Oh, that was me. I have a dual personality, you see.'

‘I see,' Staff replied. ‘Like Finance and General Purposes, you mean?'

Ganger nodded. ‘Exactly,' he replied. ‘It's one of the few real executive perks there is. And you don't have to declare it on your tax return. At least, I don't,' he added.

Staff rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘But of course,' he went on, ‘the Ganger I've been running about with - oh I
see
, your
double
; oh, very clever - he's just a tiny part of you, like the tip of the iceberg or something?'

Ganger moved his head slightly in confirmation. ‘It's a staff-saving exercise,' he said. ‘We're really hot on that in our department. Instead of having lots of different members of staff, you see, we just have the one. But I'm flexible. I spread myself thinly, you know.'

‘Lots of different hats, you mean?'

‘Some with holes in them, some not,' Ganger replied smoothly. ‘We call it going corporate, but that's just a term of convenience.'

‘I see,' said Staff. ‘So, why you?'

‘Someone has to do the audit,' Ganger replied, ‘and I suppose we're naturally type-cast for the role of auditors, aren't we?' Staff allowed himself a brief smile. ‘We remain separate entities,' Ganger continued, ‘even though we work for the same main boss. And if your lot are way off course, we have to give you a helping hand now and then.
Unfortunately - from your point of view, that is - we can't help introducing a little . . .'

‘Devilment?'

Ganger scowled. ‘That's supposed to be a joke, I suppose,' he said. ‘Do you want me to write it down, or do you trust me just to remember it?'

‘So we're way off course,' Staff said quietly. ‘I thought so. Is it all to do with him? You know, Finance and . . . ?'

‘Mainly,' Ganger said carefully. ‘But your lot helped. Believe me, they really did. Some of them have a real natural talent for . . .'

‘Yes,' Staff interrupted, ‘I dare say they do. That's Administration for you.' He stopped briefly and his brow wrinkled. ‘Hold on, though,' he said. ‘I thought you told me you weren't a . . . or at least the bit of you I knew as Ganger wasn't a . . . that he was sort of co-opted. That's why I was so keen to try and introduce mortals, you see, because you said you'd tried it and it worked.'

‘Oh, absolutely,' Ganger replied. ‘We do. We subsume the part into the whole, that's all. The only problem we have with that is getting rid of the squishy bits afterwards. '

Staff shuddered slightly. Separate entities, he reminded himself. ‘Okay,' he said, ‘I'm all clear on that one. And you've done a thorough audit, and you've worked out that where it all went wrong is with Finance making a cock-up with the sun that time. And now you're in a position to nail him, once and for all. Is that it?'

The air was becoming thick with yellow smoke, and there was an offensive smell of brimstone. Ganger nodded.

‘We shall make a full report,' he said, ‘and we'll make it stick, because we've got a witness. We shall recommend that he be redeployed in our department.' And Ganger licked his lips noisily.

‘That's fine,' Staff replied, looking away. ‘The only thing is, you seem to have lost your witness.'

‘Not quite,' Ganger said (and his voice wasn't a voice any more so much as the buzzing of a million flies). ‘In fact, he's right where he should be.'

‘Is that so?'

‘
Indeed
.' Staff tried not to look as the shape which had been Ganger turned out to be the illusion of a solid body created by a huge swarm of flies in close formation.
Where better? Rather than go to all the trouble and expense of arresting him and arranging for him to be delivered to the Seat of Judgement under armed escort, why not just persuade him to go there himself?You learn little wrinkles like that when you're a . . .

‘And all that mucking about,' Staff said, leaning forward until his head was in the centre of the swarm. ‘All that trying the poor girl out in various departments and so forth, that was just to lure him into the trap?'