chapter nine

He awoke to the sound of the Adviser urging him to get up. He partly opened his eyes and noted, with disgust, that the sun was only just appearing over the horizon.

"Come on, get up, get dressed," nagged the Adviser.

"If you are going to start waking me at this time of day, I'll have no choice but to treat you like any other alarm clock, ie put you under the mattress where you can't be heard," threatened Andrew.

"If you want to hang around and wait for your assassin to blow your head off, well that's fine. As your Adviser, I would recommend a different approach."

"Okay okay, but just for future reference; I prefer to be woken with a cup of tea - lots of milk and two sugars."

But Andrew had to admit, to himself at least, that the Adviser's argument made sense. So he got up and began to put on the clothes he had previously discovered in the wardrobe. He was pleased to find that the trousers were custom‑built for someone with a broken leg - one leg was much wider than the other. Closer examination revealed that it was the wrong leg, but after a struggle, and much abuse from the Adviser, he managed to put them on back to front.

With the aid of a crutch, that he found leaning against the back of the wardrobe, he hobbled out to the reception area.

Half an hour later, after filling in several forms which guaranteed that Brian would pay the bill, Andrew stepped out of the hospital and on to a busy street.

"You know," said Andrew as he made his way slowly down the street, trying out various techniques of walking with a crutch - none of which gave him any feeling of stability - "this place looks very familiar."

"All cities look alike, row upon row of multi‑storey buildings, lots of noise, people and traffic," said the Adviser matter‑of‑factly.

"Yeah, I suppose so. Maybe I'm beginning to feel at home."

"You don't have a home."

"Thanks for the cheery reminder."

They continued down the street in silence. Andrew was interested to see that the majority of people he passed were immigrants, whereas previously he had not noticed any.

"I've been thinking about all you've said and about everything that's happened," said Andrew "And, you know, it's beginning to make sense."

"That's good news, perhaps you'll explain it to me. Ever since you threw me, I've been having grave doubts about the whole set‑up."

"Well it's all quite straightforward really; you have to remember that destiny is -" but the Adviser interrupted just as Andrew was warming up.

"How can a civilization, such as we see around us, possibly function when, every day, half the population is being assassinated? And if everyone is doing the job they want to do, who is sweeping the streets, emptying the garbage bins and repairing the sewers? In short, why isn't everyone a film star?"

"As I was trying to explain; destiny has a lot to do with it ... um ... er," floundered Andrew, "you tell me you're the Adviser."

"I think I'd prefer it if you started calling me Fred."

Andrew stopped and swivelled his head around to look at the Adviser. "Are you feeling all right?" he asked bewildered by the Adviser's odd behaviour. "Just give me a couple of minutes and I'll figure out the answers for you, I think you'll find it's all perfectly logical."

"I hope so," said the Adviser.

Andrew continued his hobble down the street, his face screwed up in deep concentration. Moments later he stopped again and began cocking his head at various angles, rather like a pigeon sizing up a recently dropped cigarette‑butt. This did not help, so he began squinting his eyes at the same time.

"Oh wow, my eyes are going all weird."

"There's nothing wrong with your eyes so stop jerking your head around - it's making me air‑sick," commanded the Adviser.

"If you could see what I can, you'd feel a hell of a lot more sick than you do now," said Andrew rubbing his eyes vigorously.

"I can, and rubbing your eyes won't help either."

"You mean you can see the edges of the buildings wavering too?"

"Yes, and that car beginning to melt and flow down the drain."

"God, I wish you hadn't pointed that out. What the hell is happening to us?"

"That's typical of you; you're so self‑centred. Nothing is happening to us, something is happening to everything else."

"I don't give a shit who or what it's happening to, just tell me what it is, and how to stop it!"

"I'm not exactly sure what it is, but you can stop it simply by closing your eyes."

"Really?" said Andrew. "Okay, they're shut, has it stopped?"

"Yes."

"Come on, has it really?"

"Completely - everything is back to normal again, but don't open them yet."

"You liar," said Andrew having opened his eyes again, "look it's getting worse - all the buildings are dripping onto the street!"

"That's because you opened your eyes again. Keep them shut and everything will be all right."

"You mean you want me to keep them shut for the rest of my life?" said Andrew in disbelief.

"Is that such a high price to pay to save the lives of everyone in this city, and possibly everyone in the world?" said the Adviser angrily. "Are you really that selfish?"

"Well, no, of course not," said Andrew his eyes firmly shut again. "But are you sure it works?"

"Positive, just keep them shut and, preferably, your mouth as well."

"Well I suppose I could get used to it, after all, self‑imposed blindness must be a lot better than the real thing, and I could always sneak a quick peek when it got too much for me. If I was fast it wouldn't do any harm, would it?"

To demonstrate his point Andrew rapidly opened his eyes, with the honest intention of shutting them immediately afterwards. Unfortunately, the sight that met them was so disturbing that he completely forgot.

A huge black wave was rolling towards him. All of the buildings had melted and formed into a gigantic tidal office block, which was bearing down on him from a great height. Every now and then a recognizable shape would appear in the wave and then vanish again. The most horrifying part was that some of these recognizable shapes were human faces screaming in pain and terror.

Andrew stumbled back in fright, lost his footing and fell to the ground smashing his head against the black sphere attached to his left shoulder.

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