‘I thought it prudent to bypass the circle for now, until we conduct a blue analysis.’
‘And?’
‘Still processing, ma’am.’ Everyone waited.
‘Processing complete… Oh, category 5: Grand Cerulean! …and some spikes into the ethereal…’
‘So is that a good thing?’ asked Russell.
‘Yes and no,’ replied Michael, ‘on the one hand, it packs some genuine cosmic power, that’s always nice…’
‘But on the other hand?’ prompted Russell.
‘It’ll interfere with our perception filters.’
‘Oh,’ replied Russell, ‘that is going to be a problem if Bosman and his team are still here,’
‘They are,’ replied Ceres, ‘look! The field is crawling with croppies.’
Russell followed Ceres’s gaze and saw that the field ahead contained at least twenty people. ‘Would it be alright if you stayed here in this wood, Michael?’ he asked.
‘It would not be alright if I stayed here in this wood, Russell! I’m not missing this one for anything!’
Ceres beckoned the group to follow her again.
‘Wait!’
‘What is it, Mr. Tebb!?’
‘I have an idea!’
‘This should be good,’ replied Michael.
‘We’re researching locations for a film shoot!’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Okay, you, Michael, are an animatronics model. Can you walk awkwardly?’ ‘I dare say,’ replied the spider.
‘And if you could make some crude gearing sounds, etc?’
‘Whatever.’
‘Good, and Ceres, you are the star of the movie.’
‘Naturally,’ replied Ceres, ‘…what’s the movie called?’
‘Erm… Trapdoor!’
‘Christ!’ said Michael, ‘and you think the croppies will buy all this with me clunking around like a robot?’
‘Well, if anyone queries this we’ll say it’s mainly CGI, and we just use you for some of the close-ups.’
‘Okay, what about him?’ asked Michael, pointing at Mr. Waterstone, who was now asleep and snoring gently. ‘He’s a stunt cat.’
Both Michael and Ceres laughed.
‘Yeah, he looks like a stunt cat!’ replied Ceres.
‘Well, he’s knackered after a hard day’s stunting! Come on, work with me!’ pleaded Russell.
Ceres glanced at Michael: ‘Shall we do this?’
‘Oh, what the hell!’ replied Michael, ‘I suppose I’d better practice my “moves”.’
The spider advanced down another set of tramlines in a series of rudimentary steps, all accompanied by loud machine noises.
‘Don’t overdo it, Michael,’ advised Russell, ‘this is not an episode of classic Doctor Who we’re filming here, you can be a bit slicker than that!’
‘Noted,’ replied Michael. He adjusted his gait and sound effects until Russell was satisfied, and the group progressed slowly towards the busy centre of the field. The weight of Mr. Waterstone was, once again, beginning to strain Russell. He needed a distraction until he could finally drop the cat at the circle.
‘So, is there anything you can tell me about this circle? Like, who made it? And please don’t say “you won’t understand”!’
‘It’s the universe, init,’ replied Michael. ‘The pictogram displayed in this field is a multi-faceted representation of the golden ratio. Any ratio you care to measure within the circle reveals this. The fact that there are literally hundreds of them here is evidence that we are in the presence of a true mathematical masterpiece!’
‘You were right the first time, I don’t understand.’ Russell shifted Mr. Waterstone to a side-hold in an attempt to relieve his straining sinews. ‘You don’t think our collective unconsciousness is responsible then?’ he added.
‘Collective unconscious,’ corrected Michael, ‘no, not this time.’
‘So what’s the point of this thing?’ enquired Russell. ‘Does it convey a message, or is the universe just showing off?’
‘It can be interpreted,’ replied Ceres, from behind Russell.
‘...And!’ replied Russell, starting to lose his cool.
‘It’s difficult to translate into English, Russell,’ replied Michael, ‘but I’ll have a stab at it: hmm, let’s see… perhaps: “Third Eye”..? or maybe: “All-seeing Eye”..? That’s not quite right, though. Any thoughts, ma’am?’
‘Nothing I wish to share, Michael.’
Apart from Michael’s machine sounds, the group completed their stroll to the centre of the field in silence. Once there, everyone promptly ignored Celia Browning’s earlier plea about stepping on the actual circle, but with the site already compromised by this army of croppies the request did sound rather redundant now. Before Russell could drop the cat it suddenly bounded out of his grasp and then proceeded to perform its strange dressage prance around the outer rim of the circle.
‘Well, he’s lost it!’ observed Russell.
‘Excuse me, we are conducting– what the hell is that!’ shouted Bosman, as he came striding over from the centre of the circle.
‘That is an animatronics model, he is a stunt cat, he is an assistant producer and I am a star!’ replied Ceres, imperiously.
‘Yes, and we will commence filming here shortly so I’m afraid you will all have to leave now,’ Russell added.
Bosman and the others quickly gathered up their equipment and evacuated the field. Russell watched as they congregated at the edge near a series of parked cars. ‘Is there a road over there!?’ he asked, incredulously. ‘So why did–!?’ ‘Is that all you can think about?’ said Ceres.
Russell turned to face her: ‘Whoa!’ he shouted, taking a few steps back. He’d been so preoccupied with the prospect of Michael revealing too much, never had it occurred to him that Ceres would do the same, or that he himself had been subject to some form of subtle perception filter these last few days.
‘Nothing’s changed, Mr. Tebb,’ replied Ceres, with a predator’s glint.
True enough: she was still a tall and very beautiful woman by appearance. Physically human, as before. But now so much more. Was it an enhanced aura he was sensing? More like a tsunami of massive, almost limitless, psychic power.
He turned away, not because she was now too unbearable to behold, or anything remotely like that, but simply to get a sense of perspective: the surrounding landscape – the crops, the trees, the hedgerows. The croppies! The birds. The other creatures that hid from view. All this was Ceres! And a tiny, tiny part of it! Even he was part of it! He recalled this impression from The Truth – revealed back then in but a fleeting moment. Now, however, it could be studied; he returned his gaze to the woman. She was… vast! But vast like a view of the ocean, or the rainforest – no real reason to be overwhelmed by it.
‘I finally get you,’ he whispered.
‘No you don’t,’ replied Ceres. She slapped Russell across the back of his head to break him out of his trance. ‘But at last you see me...’ ‘Whatever,’ replied Russell, rubbing his head.
‘Ha! That’s more like it, for a moment I thought I’d swallowed you up, Mr. Tebb. Come on, if you think I’m amazing, come and take a look at this circle!’ Ceres turned her back on Russell and began to inspect the flattened crop as she slowly made her way to the centre.
‘This circle is brill!’ exclaimed Michael, adopting his own version of Mr. Waterstone’s prance, albeit a more mechanical version. He skipped and sashayed along the edge of the circle directly opposite to the cat. ‘Come on, Russell, check it out! It’s like undoing the top button of your soul jacket!’
Meanwhile Ceres had reached the exact centre of the circle and was now beginning to rotate on the spot with her arms stretched out and pointing directly at both the cat and the spider. What would the croppies be making of all this!? Russell glanced over to the cluster of people standing at the edge of the field. From this distance it was hard to read their expressions but all were staring back intently, some through binoculars. He turned around and looked for the drone that was supposedly overhead the copse: it was visible, but only barely – just a tiny black speck. Maybe the movie-set idea would work if that was believed to be the camera. Who was he kidding! He stepped out into the circle and briefly thought of joining the others for a skip, but whatever it was that was floating their collective boat did not seem to be affecting him.
The first thing that struck Russell about the circle was its extraordinary precision: the boundaries between flattened and standing crop formed perfect lines and arcs; no wheat stalks were half-up; none were broken; the flattened crop was woven expertly, rather than just battered down.
But beyond that there really wasn’t much more to see from ground level, and he’d already viewed the design back at the Red Lion. He considered getting bored, but felt he surely must be missing something. The others were certainly having a whale of a time. As he continued to investigate, a bizarre notion began to take hold. At first he just assumed it was an idea that had popped into his head but as time went on he started to really feel it. It was a sense of viewing this entire scene from the perspective of a very ancient past life.
‘Is there such a thing as reincarnation?’ he asked, as the group continued to rotate.
‘All life is Ceres,’ replied Ceres.
‘In other words, Russell, your question is redundant,’ added Michael: ‘Everything now dead is a past life – for you, and for everything else. Something or someone must once have had a vision of this moment: The intelligent question would be: why?’ ‘Okay, why?’ asked Russell.
‘No idea, you tell me,’ replied Michael.
Russell shrugged, he had no idea either. Like déjà vu, this tantalizing impression just melted away when scrutinized and only returned as his focus drifted. If indeed an ancient Briton had once foreseen this scene – whilst he stood within this stone circle – he did so directly through Russell, through his thoughts and sensations of the here-and-now. For him to focus on the seer amounted to the seer focusing on his own real life. Thus breaking the connection. Russell did have a sense that the ancient vision had dropped inand-out at times, like a bad phone signal. Try as he may, he could make no further progress with this. He suspected the seer’s life and times were not important. The present was important; the fate of humanity rested on it! And the long-dead ancient cared about this. Why? Did he know about the Sponsors? No impression. If he did he either saw them as gods or devils. If Russell knew the answer to that it could help him decide where he himself stood on the ‘big question’. Did the seer know about Ceres, or maybe even Mr. Waterstone? Still no clear impression. What about emotions? Finally something tangible: Anxiety. Fear. The seer was witnessing the present – and he did not like it one little bit!
Russell did not reply to Michael.
After about ten more minutes the reverie began to wind down as, reminiscent of Russell’s first encounter with this gang, the spider and cat began to spiral inwards. When they reached Ceres both offered and received something akin to a high-five. Then it was all over.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ declared Ceres, ‘We’ll have one of the croppies give us a lift back to the hotel. I fancy a pie.’ She led the others down a tramline that would take them directly to the croppies who were now milling around restlessly, but still watching closely.
Michael followed, with Russell ambling slowly behind, still troubled by his experience. Where was the cat?
‘Will Mr. Waterstone need–?’ began Russell, but the cat suddenly zoomed out from the nearby standing crop directly in front of him, and then was lost again to the field.
‘No,’ replied Ceres.
Russell eyed the croppies nervously: ‘We may have some issues with them. They’ve been watching us intently the whole time and I’m not sure your, err... I’m not sure the movie line will quite work now. And I think they’re somewhat awestruck by you, Ceres.
You have been giving it large!’
‘It’ll be fine when we reach them. Just feed them any old flannel, Mr. Tebb,’ replied Ceres.
‘My perception filter will be broken now that they’ve focused directly on me, so I’ll have to carry on with my updated K-9 shtick,’ remarked Michael.
‘They’ve seen you cavorting around the circle, Michael!’ replied Russell.
‘Just say it’s a pre-programmed set of moves,’ suggested Michael.
In due course the group reached the croppies who immediately surrounded them; scraps of paper and other items were being waved frantically. Ceres graciously stopped to sign her autograph for anyone who wanted it. No one was interested in getting Russell’s autograph, instead he had to endure a barrage of technical film questions and it soon became apparent that he would receive no help in answering those. In fact Ceres, when asked any kind of question, always directed the inquisitor to: “Little Mr. Tebb”.
Little Mr. Tebb tried his best:
‘What’s the movie about?’
‘A bunch of mutated trapdoor spiders are attacking Wiltshire.’ ‘Why?’
‘They’re interested in the crop circles, they’re an energy source.’
‘Who made the spider!?’
‘Japanese company, we blend in CGI as well.’
‘Which CGI house are you using?’
‘err, BSDW.’
‘Never heard of them!’
‘They’re new, you will!’
‘Who’s the director?’
‘James Cameron.’
‘Wow! Where is he?’
‘See that drone?’
‘Wow!’
‘Can we meet him?’
‘He’s a very busy man, and he’s got a hell of a temper on him!’
‘Holy shit, what was that!!??’
‘That’s Mr. Waterstone, our stunt cat. He’s also got a hell of a temper on him so don’t try to pet him.’
‘What’s he used for?’
‘You know, general stunting and that, he’s mainly used in the battle scenes. Anyway, if one of you could give us a lift back to the Red Lion Hotel we’ll happily get out of your hair and leave you to your research. Okay, people, don’t crowd the talent! Thank you! Move aside please!’
One of Bosman’s star-struck underlings, Kerstin Wahlmann, drove Russell and the others back to the Red Lion in her Toshiba hire car. Ceres sat at the front and chatted enthusiastically with Kerstin in fluent and very rapid German. Kerstin would frequently giggle and attempt a surreptitious glance back at Russell in the rear-view mirror. Russell sat behind with a motionless Michael to his side and a squirming, hyperactive Mr. Waterstone on his lap. After about five minutes they arrived at the car park and were dropped off near the Bentley. Kirsten then drove off, presumably straight back to the circle.
‘Collect your suitcase, Mr. Tebb, I’ve booked a room,’ announced Ceres.
‘For all of us?’ replied Russell, eying Michael with ill-disguised distaste. Michael responded by lying on his back and wriggling his legs about in the air. Russell ignored him, and as he reached into the boot to grab his suitcase he noticed the machine that had previously been used to print the human crop circle photograph.
‘Do you have a high-res picture of that circle up there?’ he asked, pointing in the general direction of the rise behind the hotel.
‘No problem,’ replied Michael, as he quickly reoriented himself and began fiddling with the machine in the boot. Another large sheet of glossy paper began to emerge. Ceres then grabbed it and, as before, placed it on the gravel near the car. Everyone studied it in silence.
It was certainly a beautiful pictogram, and the knowledge of its extreme precision, not to mention the various effects it had had on everyone, added to its mystique and grandeur. But…
‘It’s nowhere near as detailed as Gerry’s efforts,’ Russell finally declared.
‘Philistine!’ replied Michael.
‘Do you not find this circle fascinating, Mr. Tebb?’ asked Ceres.
‘I do. By the way, did a stone circle once occupy that area in earlier times?’
‘It did indeed,’ replied Michael, ‘well spotted. The Romans eventually trashed it.’ ‘So, is it a sacred site or something?’
‘You could say that. It’s a hotspot over the saltwater aquifer that covers this entire region. It tends to attract circles of one form or another,’ remarked Michael.
‘Hmm, that is fascinating!’ replied Russell, honestly, as he continued to study the picture.
‘Do you know what else is fascinating about this crop circle?’ enquired Ceres. ‘What?’
‘It is directed at a particular recipient.’
‘You lot?’
‘No, you.’
‘You mean humanity?’
‘No, Mr. Tebb – just you.’
***
‘You need to sign for this.’
‘Sure.’ Alan scrawled his signature on the courier’s electronic pad and collected the package. He opened it to reveal a CD and a ninety-four-page manual.
‘Good grief!’ The manual was pure business technobabble! It even included mathematical formulae! Had Warner written all this in just the last few hours – and set-up The Rare-Earth Trading Company (RETC)?? Well, apparently she had, and now she was expecting Alan to do his part! There was a scribbled covering note: “Load the CD and follow the set-up instructions. Make sure you understand Chapter 2, you will need to explain this in layman’s terms to the PM at 5pm. Gavin will pick you up at 4.30!”
That gave him just over an hour of study time. Crap! Chapter 2, entitled: Vacant Portals, was thirty-three pages long! Alan skimmed through it. The gist seemed to be that there were five secret access points to RETC: one for Alan, one for Warner, one for the PM – and two spares. These would allow the users to buy and sell rare earths on the international commodities markets without: a/ being noticed and b/ driving the prices down if the market for a particular element became over-sold. So not only was it utilizing the markets, it was also hiding from them and distorting them as well. Warner was a piece of work!
Alan checked the other chapter headings: mainly corporate governance; embedding the structure within GFS; secret bank accounts; Cayman Island holding companies etc, etc. Sooner or later he’d have to understand all that as well. There was also a chapter entitled: China. That nation currently enjoyed a virtual monopoly in some rare earth mining and so would not take kindly to being pushed aside, even if it had no idea how that was happening; dealing with them would require special treatment, including a few “fried brains”. Hmm. He loaded the CD and viewed his screen as various installation wizards did their thing. Ah! Finished! That was remarkably quick and glitch-free! He began to study chapter 2...
4.20. Alan closed the manual and rubbed his eyes. He’d managed to install his “portal” and even test it with a couple of dummy transactions: all seemed well, but now he’d have to describe this to the PM and that would be more challenging since he still did not truly understand the tangled and labyrinthine processes involved – and the PM surely wouldn’t either. It was unlikely, for example, that he’d be able to answer any questions the PM might raise. He was banking on Warner’s headphones doing some of the work for him, but he’d also need to keep this manual to hand as well.
He placed the manual in an attaché case and the CD in his lower drawer which he then locked, despite Warner’s assurances that neither the CD nor the material now on his computer constituted any kind of security risk. He’d take her word for that, naturally, but it was still disconcerting to have this powerful software at his disposal – and it wasn’t even protected by any passwords or encryptions. His own firewall had ignored it. Antivirus software also failed to acknowledge its presence. “Hidden in plain sight”, was all Warner offered by way of explanation.
Alan stood and put on his jacket.
‘Going somewhere?’
It was Jim Fairclough, standing by his door.
‘Hi, Jim, I have an appointment with Helen Warner at 5pm,’ replied Alan.
‘Another one? You two have been as thick as thieves lately. So what does our esteemed owner want that requires so much of your time?’
‘It’s a complex financial deal that she’s putting together, difficult to explain.’ ‘Try me,’ replied Fairclough.
Alan grimaced. His next meeting with Warner would have to address the issue of Jim Bloody Fairclough! Considering the issues at stake, and the promise of running GFS, it was becoming ridiculous that he continued to feel the need to obfuscate and dance around his boss like this! The trouble was that he actually felt slightly sorry for Fairclough. He’d never experienced proper human empathy before, just the manipulative, knowledge-based empathy the Sponsors had equipped him with. But this was different, this was sympathy. Fairclough could, and would, be bounced out of the way soon enough – but he simply didn’t deserve to be treated like this! Fairclough had already demonstrated his competence, both as a financial expert and also as an office manager. The staff had quickly warmed to him and were happily initiating the reorganizations he was beginning to introduce, most of which seemed to be aimed at making the staff happier at work. Bruce would never have done anything like that! Maybe it was time to bring things to a head right now.
‘Jim… I haven’t got much time, Warner’s driver will be picking me up shortly and I can’t afford to delay him, not even for a minute–’
‘Go on!’ urged Fairclough, looking both serious and intimidating.
‘I will be taking over the running of GFS shortly.’