Russell smiled and dropped his tense shoulders. It felt like he had removed a heavy rucksack from his back. He knew it. His suspicions were confirmed. Everything around him was a gigantic illusion. No wonder his mind had been so confused.
'Just exactly what can you see?' he asked.
'Bare floors, bare rooms, and everything painted green.'
'What about room size?' Russell placed his hand on the wall by his left side. 'This is one wall.' He marched across to the opposite wall. 'This is another. And this is another…'
'Yes,' said Trevor. 'Nice big rooms, they match up with what you see. Ah! Over there. A metal table, three metal stools and three metal mugs. All green.'
Russell sat on a stool. 'This is my mahogany dining table, and I'm sitting in a fine upholstered carver chair.'
'Sorry to disillusion you, but all I can see is bare green metal.'
'Funny thing is,' said Russell, 'I believe you. But it doesn't help, everything I see and feel around me is pure luxury.'
'I can see the temperature is twenty-eight degrees, nice and warm at least. What's that room on your left?'
Russell strolled to the door and passed through. 'This is the reception hall where we came in and where they take us out for interrogation. All our apartments lead off from here.'
'Interrogation! What have they done to you?'
'Never mind for now, I'll tell you all about it when we meet. What else can you see?'
Before answering, Trevor drew a deep breath to control his rising anger. 'I can see your spacesuit in the corner, but otherwise it's as empty as all the other rooms. You do realise there's not a single door anywhere, only open arches?'
'I can see fine mahogany doors with shining brass handles,' said Russell.
'Just walk though! Go on. There's nothing there, just an open hole.'
Standing in front of John's apartment, Russell closed his eyes, stepped forward, and bumped into the unyielding door. He opened his eyes and thumped the door with his fist. 'It's solid,' he shouted, 'can't you hear it?'
'I can't hear anything, Russell. You're knocking against thin air.'
Russell thumped harder.
Suddenly, the door swung inwards.
'Have you gone mad?' demanded John. 'What's the matter with you? You know it's never locked. Come in before you bust it off its hinges.'
'Say hallo to John,' said Russell, aiming the Zip-Linq at John's face.
'What the devil's gotten into you?' asked John, then called over his shoulder. 'Sam. Come here. Russell has cracked up!'
Russell couldn't help but chuckle. 'I'm talking to my brother, Trevor, and hopefully, he can see and hear you?'
'Yes,' said Trevor, in his pip-squeaky Zip-Linq voice. 'Hallo, John. My name is Trevor, Russell's brother, calling from what we call the Cloud. Pleased to meet you.'
'Well I'll be darned,' said John, rubbing his bald head. 'What kind of wacko people are you guys…?'
Sam crept up behind John and peeked over his shoulder. 'What...?'
'Our new buddy has flipped at long last,' said John.
'In what way?' Sam studied Russell for a moment. 'He looks a mite more excited than normal, but he's smiling just as easy. Same old happy-go-lucky kid. How do you feel, Russell, what's the problem?'
'I'm talking to my brother on the Cloud, and Johnny boy here thinks I've turned mad. Do me a favour. Go and make us a cup of tea or coffee, and find something to eat; I want Trevor to follow our actions.'
From his desk in the Cloud, comfortable and safe, Trevor watched the three move around, their actions mimicked perfectly the process of preparing morning coffee. The absurdity of grown adults holding imaginary cups to their mouths and eating imaginary cake would have made him choke with laughter if their physical condition wasn't so painfully haggard.
'I'll have to leave you to it,' said Trevor. 'The Zip-Linq's batteries won't last forever. I wish you luck in explaining the situation to John and Sam. I'll call you back later. By the way, here's something important: there are only seven Mantis on the sphere. Don't ask me how I know, just trust me. Bye for now.'
The coffee tasted delicious. All three prisoners on the insects' sphere sat in silence, sipped their coffee, and chewed their cake with thoughts elswhere. They sat like that until John took the last piece of cake, licked his finger tip, dabbed at the remaining few crumbs, and refilled their cups.
'Perhaps you'd like to "explain the situation",' he said, gazing directly at Russell like a strict headmaster.
Sam fidgeted like an excited schoolgirl, hoping to hear good news.
'My brother says the Cloud is fully operational again. I knew he'd fix it.' He gazed from one to the other. 'This next part is difficult to explain…'
The two astronauts waited patiently while Russell pursed his lips and tapped his fingers on the oak coffee table. He turned to Sam and smiled.
'Wasn't that Dundee cake delicious?'
Sam raised her eyebrows at the unexpected question. 'Well, yes!'
'We ate every last crumb.'
'Yes.'
'We spend most of our time eating, don't we? It's amazing we're not as fat as beer barrels. Look at you two, I've never seen you exercise, but you've got bodies like Barbie and Schwarzenegger. Tell me, how would you describe the taste of the cake?'
'Hey, man,' said Sam. 'Perfect. Heavenly.'
'Yes, but what did it taste like?'
'Nice and sweet, just how I like it. And those cherries tasted fresh and juicy…'
'Cherries?' said John. 'I detest cherries. I don't like too much fruit in a cake and I certainly don't like it too sweet. Cherries? I didn't find any. I thought it tasted moist and buttery. A soft sponge cake with only an odd raisin here and there. Just how I like it.'
'Well mine was full of jelly babies,' said Russell, and licked his finger.
'Okay,' said John, placing his hands on his knees. 'What's your point?'
'The point is…everything here is a figment of our imagination. None of it exists. We haven't been eating cake and drinking coffee, we're not sitting at a…'
'Damn!' shouted John. He hit the table with a clenched fist and jumped to his feet. Coffee cups bounced into the air and his chair tipped over backward. 'Damn it! You're crazy. A certifiable loony. A…'
'Take it easy, John,' said Sam, picking up the chair. She fetched a dishcloth from the kitchen and wiped spilt coffee.
John stood with his face to the wall, repeatedly clenching and opening his fists, his backbone rigid as a flagpole.
'Come and sit at the table,' said Sam. 'Let's hear him out. I've been wondering about all this myself–and so have you.'
'If he's got that stupid grin on his face I swear I'll knock it off. He won't have a face left to grin with.'
'Come on, John. You're not angry with Russell. You're angry because he might just be right.'
John slumped his shoulders. 'Okay,' he sighed, and turned to face them. 'You're right Sam, I have been wondering but I just can't believe it. Ever since that conversation by the billiard table I've tried my darnedest to find some kind of indication that all this is an illusion. It's too damn real. One of us is mad and I don't think it's me. Nothing personal, Russell, I apologise.'
He walked back to the table and held out his hand. Russell shook it and grinned wider than ever.
'That's it,' said John, 'keep smiling, sonny boy. Forget the things I said. You just keep smiling and talking–I'll listen.'
'Thanks,' said Russell, and patted John's arm. 'Now then, as I said, we are living in a figment of our own imagination. I find it difficult to believe too, John, but Trevor could see our surroundings from the camera in the Zip-Linq,' he held up the gadget, 'and all he could see was green walls and bare essentials. We don't even experience exactly the same things, as the example with the cake shows.'
'It makes sense to me,' said Sam, nodding. 'All this luxury is too good to be true. Is there anything we can do to get back to reality?'
'The best thing we can do at the moment,' said Russell, 'is to carry on as we are. The gourmet food and delicious cakes are scrumptious, why spoil the illusion? But what we can do is make a plan to get out of here. You heard what Trevor said, there are only seven of them.'
'I reckon they weigh less than fifty kilos,' said John, 'and each of us weigh closer to a hundred; twice their weight. I'd like to get my hands on those ugly brutes. I'd pluck their legs out and pop their eyes.'
'Okay! Okay!' said Sam, stroking John's forearm. 'Supposing we did overpower them. What then? We can't get out of these rooms, and even if we could, what do you propose we do? Suppose they call for help, you know, call in the cavalry. And they certainly have weapons, what could we do about that?'
'Once we overpower them,' said Russell, 'all we need is enough time for my brother to pick us up. When I call him on the Zip-Linq he could manoeuvre the Cloud alongside and we could jump across.'
'Without spacesuits?' said John, shaking his head. 'Without spacesuits you wouldn't live for more than ten seconds.'
'Now, John, don't exaggerate,' said Sam. 'We can stay conscious for about ten seconds; it won't be very pleasant, but ten seconds are more than enough time to leap across, and we won't suffer any permanent damage–nothing long lasting.'
'It might be more unpleasant than you think,' said Russell, remembering the pain he endured the first time he entered the Cloud. 'But I expect Trevor can bring the Cloud right up close, touching even. That's how I boarded the Hollywood, it takes less than two seconds to cross.'
They looked at each other for a moment, each of them searching for a better solution. Russell smiled, Sam fidgeted, and John frowned like a grumpy chess player deciding his next move.
'There's bound to be fighting,' said Russell, 'leave that to me, I know a trick or two.'
'All seven of them?' asked Sam, her eyebrows rose so high they almost reached her hairline.
'They may not be big,' said Russell, 'but they have incredible speed in their claw arm; and their claws are as powerful as bolt cutters. Because none of it exists, we can't use my weaponry, we can't even throw a plate at them. So we'll have to use our bare hands, and in hand-to-claw combat you two wouldn't stand a chance.'
'And you would?'
'Yes!' said Russell, 'I would. But I'll have to work at this hallucination puzzle or we'll never get out of here.' He thanked the two of them for coffee and cake and wandered into the reception hall. He pressed the blue button on his Zip-Linq and waited for his brother to answer.
'Yes, Russell, I'm here.'
'One quick question,' he said, pointing the camera at the main entrance door. 'Is this door open or shut?'
'Shut. Move closer so I can see if there's a way of opening it. Yes, it looks like a… It opened! Russell, it's a sliding door and it opened when you approached. Can't you see it?'
'Nothing happened as far as I can see.' Russell tried the handle. 'It's closed and locked solid.'
'But you could walk through if you wanted. Step away again. There, it closed. Step closer. Yes, it opened. If you can't see it, dear brother, you must be totally brainwashed.'
'Okay, Trevor, thanks. I've got some work to do with my perception of things. Bye for now, we'll be in touch.'
~*~
Most western Caucasians find it impossible to sit in the lotus position. Their knee and hip joints aren't built for torture. Russell easily slid into the posture. He closed his eyes, breathed calmly, and drifted into deep meditation where his consciousness was liberated from the limitations of flesh, and from the pitfalls of thought, and from the delusions of senses.
In this state of semi-conscious awareness, Russell directed his attention to his third eye. He had used this technique many times before, and although his eyes were closed, he could see his true surroundings clearly. Rising to his feet, and moving with a sensation like sleepwalking, he faced the main door. His third eye watched it open. Acknowledging the reality, he walked through into the corridor beyond.
The door closed behind him, smooth and soundless, fitting so precisely it vanished into the wall. Away from their lodgings, the insects' mentally controlled hallucination ended abruptly, and the peace which engulfed Russell's mind, like a piercing siren finally turned off, made him gasp with relief.
He slid out of meditation and opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was his hunger. His stomach cried out for food and his tongue was dry as kitchen towel. The stench of stale sweat from his own body made him wrinkle his nose with disgust. Then he looked down at himself and noticed blotchy blood stains on his dirty shorts and tee-shirt. He touched his raw, bruised scalp and felt his hair was stiff and matted with dry blood.
This is revolting, he thought. We're living like pigs–undernourished pigs. He pulled his tee-shirt off and laid it on the floor to mark the door's position. The sight of his skinny body made his stomach churn. He yanked at his baggy shorts and hoped they wouldn't fall down.
Seconds passed and his well-trained senses watched for danger. The walls and ceiling glowed a shade of green he found pleasant, and his taut nerves eased. He breathed softly and stood motionless for five minutes, alert for alarms or the patter of insect claws.
He recalled the last time he had seen the corridor, on his way to the interrogation surgery, and a little quiver ran along his spine. No doors were open this time and he found it impossible to guess where they might be in the smooth surface. Careful to avoid activating hidden doors and giving himself away, he chose to go left and tiptoed along the middle of the corridor.
Judging from the curve in the walls, Russell estimated its circumference was something like an athletics' running track. He felt exposed and vulnerable, and creeping along at tiptoe speed made the corridor seem endless. Clicking insect sounds came from somewhere ahead and he halted, ready to retreat, but the sounds drew no closer so he inched forward. A broad open archway in the inside wall came into view. He stretched out along the floor and wriggled forward until his head peeped around the bottom edge.
The room was as large as a circus tent, and perfectly round with a flat floor and high-domed ceiling. In the centre was a glass dome, like a large-scale upside-down pudding basin filled with swirling green mist. Three insects were spaced equally around the glass dome; each insect swayed on its spindly legs and clicked at irregular intervals, so occupied in their mysterious activity that Russell went unnoticed.
Russell had seen enough and pulled back from the entrance. So far, he had been lucky, but there were another four insects somewhere that could appear at any time. He made his way back as stealthily as he had come, found his tee-shirt, and pulled it over his head. The door to his reception hall slid open, and he braced himself for the mind control. I'll do this with my eyes closed, he decided, and stepped across the threshold. I refuse to play their game. I refuse to let my mind be manipulated. I shall hold on to reality…
He blinked twice then screwed his eyes shut for a moment. Fine mahogany doors and a plush carpet welcomed him. His tee-shirt and shorts were immaculately clean, and his body was well fed and healthy. A pair of soft slippers waited outside the door to his apartment. He slipped them on and flopped to his kitchen where he poured a glass of fresh grapefruit juice and gulped it down. This tastes good, he thought, very good. But the Mantis have control of my mind, and that is bad, extremely bad. I don't know how they do it, but one thing is certain–I will put a stop to it.
~*~
'What's up, brother?' asked Trevor, answering his Zip-Linq early next morning. 'Have you come up with something?'
'Not yet, but we're trying to work out a plan and need some advice.'
'I'm listening,' said Trevor.
'I managed to have a little scout about yesterday, but I couldn't find a way into any of the docking ports. John doesn't think the doors will open with so much damage on the other side. So we need to know how badly damaged they are, and whether you can open them from the outside.'
'I'll need to take a closer look,' said Trevor. 'Give me a few hours and I'll get back to you.'
'Okay, good. But be careful, remember: these insects are sneaky. They don't ask questions, they simply attack.'
Trevor turned away from his computer and rubbed his eyes. The sight of so much blood and bruising on his brother's thin and scruffy body alarmed him. But now a plan was in the air and and his brother would son be back. Glad to get on and do something positive, he turned to Aidme and asked: 'Can you operate the inside doors in those ports?'
'Only if they are not damaged.'
'And we are too far away from the Mantis' sphere for your sensors to penetrate their forcefield, so you can't tell me for certain?'
'Correct.'
Trevor blew dust from his computer screen, fiddled with his pencils and papers, then sat back in his chair and studied Aidme. 'I've sat here like a useless slob far too long. Those three people in the insects' sphere are undernourished and weak, and they'll die of hunger and thirst unless we do something fast.'
Trevor swung away from his desk and folded his arms. 'All right, Aidme, I'm giving you control of the Cloud, and this is what I want you to do: move towards the sphere and stop as soon as we are close enough for your senses to penetrate their forcefield. If you can't penetrate their forcefield before we get there, stop directly in front of the nearest port. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
With Aidme at the controls, the Cloud moved so fast that Trevor didn't have time to register their flight. The sphere suddenly appeared as if it had been there in the darkness all the time, and someone had turned the searchlights on.
'Is it possible?' said Trevor, eyes wide. 'Are you really that adept?'
'We are close enough.'
'Close enough to answer my question? Can you operate those inside port doors?'
'Two are damaged. Two are operational.'
Trevor picked up his binoculars and studied the Mantis' sphere. His hands shook, the lenses steamed, and the sphere was still too far away to make out details. He laid the binoculars down and turned to face Aidme.
'How do you move about?'
'I follow you.'
'But what propels you? What makes you float and move?'
'The technical details are not stored in my data bank.'
Trevor had to accept the answer and assumed Aidme moved as unconsciously as Trevor moved his own legs when he walked. 'If we leave the Cloud, with me in my spacesuit, can you pull me over to the alien sphere?'
'Yes.'
'Good!' said Trevor, and rubbed his chin. 'Do you think they'll notice us?'
'I cannot advise you.'
'No. Of course. I forgot.' He rubbed his chin harder. 'I know you can't damage or harm them in any way, but can you make us invisible on their radar, or tracking system, or camera or whatever. Do you understand? I want to get inside their docking ports, and I don't want them to know we're there.'
'I understand.'
Trevor forced himself back into the tight spacesuit. It only took him twenty minutes to dress this time. He groaned, his ribs were still bruised and sore. He made a final air and battery check; the readings were low, he should have recharged them, but there was plenty left for this short mission.
He positioned himself on the Cloud's threshold and looked out into space. The sphere was directly in front, small and distant. 'Are you sure you can pull me all the way there and back?'
'Yes.'
'You've got plenty of power?'
'Yes.'
'And they won't see us coming?'
'No.'
He turned and looked back into the Cloud as if he might never see it again. 'I hope this isn't the last thing I ever do–lost in space on the edge of the universe, floating about in a clumsy primitive spacesuit.' He drew a deep breath, bent his knees as far as he could in the stiff spacesuit, and launched himself from the Cloud's safety.
Aidme moved into a position above Trevor's head, and Trevor grabbed hold.
'Okay, start pulling!' His voice shook, and his heart beat faster than a cricket's chirp. 'And as soon as you can, make us invisible to their instruments.'
'We are invisible,' said Aidme.
They accelerated towards the sphere and Trevor hung on behind Aidme with all his strength. As they decelerated during the second half of the journey, Trevor's body swung around so his feet pointed towards the sphere and his arms threatened to pop out of their sockets.
They stopped inside the nearest docking port. Trevor squinted back to the Cloud; from this distance it was no bigger than a golf ball. The problem with golf balls, he thought, is that they are so easily lost! 'Have you left a channel open for yourself,' he asked Aidme. 'So you can control the Cloud–even from here?'
'Yes.'
'Good thinking.'
'It was your idea.'
'I never told you to do that.'
'I read the intention in your mind.'
'Oh! Is that how it works?'
'Yes.'
Trevor felt his confidence rise. With Aidme on his side he really thought he had a chance of success. 'Is this one of the docking ports with an undamaged interior door?'
'Yes.'
Trevor glanced around. The port looked like a crude empty cave, bare after sudden exposure to vacuum had drawn everything out. Both the outside port and part of the wall were missing, torn away with the destroyed shuttle. Twisted remains of the shuttle had melted and welded to the hole's jagged edge.
The interior door appeared whole and undamaged. The door was all that stood between them and the sphere's inner secrets. It was all that stood between them and salvation for the other three. 'Can you operate it?'
'No!'
Trevor understood. 'Do you mean "no" because you can't, or do you mean "no" because you didn't ought to?'
'Opening this door will cause decompression of the dwelling within. All life forms will be annihilated.'
'Yes, yes. That's what I thought. But does it still work–can you operate it?'
'Yes.'
'Then all I need to do is find a way to seal off that gaping outside hole. Perhaps I could…'
Aidme's thin voice interrupted.
'ATTENTION! DANGER! A spacecraft has materialised in the near vicinity.'
'What! Where? What kind of spacecraft?'
'It is inhabited by the same organisms as those who inhabit this sphere. They are positioned close to the Cloud.'
'Damn! Take us back to the Cloud.' Trevor launched himself backwards into space with Aidme tucked firmly into the pit of his stomach. 'Get us there as quick as you can. What are they doing?'
'A robust forcefield has been erected around the spaceship. My senses are blocked. The forcefield also encompasses the Cloud.'
'What! What are you saying?'
'A robust forcefield is now encompassing the new spaceship and the Cloud.'
'Can't you turn it off? We have to get back into the Cloud.'
'The forcefield is impenetrable.'
'Oh damn!' Trevor closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. 'What can we do then?'
'I cannot advise you.'
'Damn! damn! damn! Take us back to the sphere. No, not there, I can't do anything from there. I have to get away. Take us to the Hollywood. Can they see us from that new spaceship? No. Don't bother to answer–you don't know.'
Aidme pressed so hard into Trevor's stomach the gravitational force made him light headed. After forty-five minutes they swung around and began to decelerate. After another forty-five minutes they floated into Hollywood's open port.
'Have they followed us?'
'No.'
'I almost wish they had,' said Trevor, despair polluting his thinking. In the far distance he could make out the oval shape of a green opalescent forcefield, like a jellyfish without tentacles. 'They'll start digging at the Cloud now, find some way of getting in.' He read his spacesuit instruments. 'Not that it matters much, I've only got half an hour of air left…'
'The forcefield is waning,' said Aidme.
Trevor strained to see. The forcefield blinked out and he saw the Cloud, no larger than a frogspawn at this distance. Next to it, hung the new alien spaceship, as large as a frog. Three pin-pricks of light drifted away from the frog and headed towards the Mantis sphere. Then the forcefield flashed back into place and the Cloud was lost.
'What did you find out while their forcefield was down?' asked Trevor.
'There are no life forms left on board the battleship.'
'A battleship, is it? They're not playing cat and mouse any more… Is that all you can tell me?'
'It is the only question I read in your confused mind.'
'Yes, I was a bit slow there. Well what are they planning to do now? Can you read the minds of those insects on the shuttles?'
'They have a repair crew with them.'
'Yes, anything else?'
'When the iMantis' sphere is fully operational they will concentrate on entering the Cloud.'
Trevor sighed. The lumbering Wayfarer spacesuit would soon be his coffin. He sighed again and wriggled into a new position, seeking to take pressure off his ribs and belly. 'So this is my fate, this is where it all ends,' he said. 'I'm so sorry, Russell, I'm afraid I've let you down. Live in peace aboard the sphere, and may God be with you…'
'Russell is calling from his Zip-Linq,' said Aidme.
'Don't answer,' said Trevor. 'Let him live in hope. Let him live happily until the Mantis manage to board the Cloud…'
~*~
Unaware of Trevor's predicament, the two men and one woman imprisoned on the Mantis' sphere sat around a kitchen table nibbling crisps and drinking coffee.
'He isn't answering.' Russell frowned. 'I hope he's all right.'
'The guy's sleeping.' Sam wiped her greasy fingers on a paper napkin, then dabbed her mouth. 'Try again later.'
'We're in agreement then,' said John. 'We rush them. Surprise them. It's the same tactic they use. They'll never suspect we'll try to overpower them by brute force. It isn't much of a plan, but it's all we can do.'
The three humans sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, none of them especially enthusiastic about their prospects.
'Presuming we escape,' said John, putting words to his thoughts, 'how long do you think we can survive in the Cloud without food?'
Russell shrugged. 'We'll sort something out.'
'Well, from what Russell tells us,' said Sam, 'the Cloud is at least as comfortable as this place. If nothing else, we could spend the rest of our lives exploring the universe. Maybe we'll never find our own planet Earth, or ever see our families again…but there must be millions of other planets we could settle on.'
'I know you want to get back home,' said Russell. 'So do I. It's harder for you though–you've got kids.'
'If they're still alive.'
John stared long at Sam and nodded. 'You're worried about what these Goddam insects are doing to our planet?'
'There might not be anything worth going back for,' said Sam. She broke John's stare and studied her empty coffee cup as if reading tea leaves. 'We've been away so long, the whole planet could be dead by now–dead as Mars.'
'Now then,' said John, and placed his hand on Sam's forearm. 'It hasn't been much over a fortnight yet. Our family is quite safe. It's too early to give up hope.'
'I don't know how fast the Cloud can travel.' Russell poured hot coffee into Sam's cup from a shiny chrome flask. 'I don't want to sound pessimistic, but Trevor says we might never reach a hospitable planet in our lifetimes. But then again, Trevor is an extraordinarily clever chap, he has never let me down, he always comes up with something.'
'Yes! You're both right.' Sam tried to smile. 'We have to get away from here whatever happens. I don't think any of us are the type to sit around in prison, however comfortable it might be.'
'And don't forget,' said Russell, 'all this luxury is only a figment of our imagination. Who knows what kind of food we're really eating; perhaps nothing, perhaps they're gradually starving us to death.'
'Okay!' John poured himself another coffee. 'We agree we want to get out of here.' He turned his attention to Russell. 'Let's be honest about this, they are going to come for you again; and when they do–we'll rush them.'
They raised their coffee cups,