S.A.L. XIII -- Lana Del Rey

"But why a nuclear bunker?"

Eldna floated above somewhere keeping watch. They were wandering through the woods in Exmure. Rogan's walk was Kosmanarshi's sprint.

"Bomb proof with iron wall tiles. Less easy to read on a radar. Simple."

"Okay. How do you know about it?

"When I left Lumatel I told them it was to do with family commitments. Not the real reason but I knew no one would give a damn."

"What was the real reason?"

"Disillusionment." He sighed. "You weren't the first to be exploited in that way, but when I was there it was only starting to come out. The extent of corruption. The lengths people would go for data. Anyway I didn't like the way things were headed and I mentioned it to a friend. Someone I knew felt the same way. He told me that, well, he had a mind to set up someplace else. He wasn't too keen on having his entire back-catalogue of thoughts used as bedtime reading and these disused depots were the best way to hide your data. They're the only places still left off the radar. Spotter technology won't pinpoint so well."

"Do you think he'll be there now?"

"Who?" He'd already forgotten what they'd been talking about. He was trying to match up the land with the image in his head.

"What if he's there, the man you were just talking about. Do you think he'll mind if we invade?"

"Oh Oscar the grouch? Yeah maybe, but he knew lots of things like that. He was always reading about urban desolation. He's probably got six makeshift palaces on the go." Rogan had stopped walking and was now gazing at a track that went off to the right and dropped away steeply into an abandoned stone quarry. Kosmanarshi gratefully sat down and examined her raw feet. Eldna rejoined them, her hair glowing silver in the sun. "Gravelton quarry, Exmure."

Eldna stood next to Rogan where he was studying the way down the edge. "From what I can see there are many crevices and caverns below us where the cliff has been mined. I don't know if this is the place you mean, but it would be shelter for now."

"We can't be far. Oscar said it was an underground base. The entrance is low to the ground but you can pick it out from a pine tree that's growing on an outcrop just by the entrance."

"That doesn't seem so helpful Rogan." Kos called from somewhere behind them, still nursing her feet. "We're standing in a pine forest."

"I know, but this one is different maybe, because it's growing further up the cliff away from the others."

S.A.L XII --- Explosions in the Sky take care take care

"This place is creepy"

"I know just wait a minute." Paul stopped following. "Someone had a fire."

"Say again?"

They were standing in the middle of woodland. A more wistful person might have appreciated the area for its ethereal quality. But Mel and Paul didn't have the right shoes. The path was intermittent.

"Ugh I stood in something."

"Come over here.

Mel plucked her plimsolls out of the mud and moved next to Paul. He was staring intently at flattened grass and fire remains. She studied the disturbed vegetation; the place where a struggle had occurred between girl and angel.

"It looks messy." She wiped her brow. "Do you think it's - "

"Them." He passed her the transmitter which was pointing straight ahead. It's buzzing became more insistent. "Yes." He smirked. "Think we're gaining in them."

S.A.L - XI - ///Amplifier -- Echo Street

She knew what was coming. It would feel the same as in the Lumatel labs. That moment she still vividly remembered. Strapped to the chair. Facing the machine with shining razor pincers poised to pluck her data from the back of her neck. The too bright lights. The way everything went blank. That lazor could knock someone out for days. Probably enough to shine a light on the moon. And they though it was OK to use on humans. In fact they liked it that way. Less chance of inconvenient survivors. Only she had survived. Kragg had...helped her. A good sign. Maybe. And Eldna wasn't a thief. She just knew. If she was she could have tried something long before now. According to her, angels have no use for mindcraft. They already see and know everything.

"Mindcraft is a human thing; stop you blowing yourselves to smithereens. I don't know everything, but I know this will work." Cool hands brushed her hair aside. Kosmanarshi tried not to stiffen.

"I'm sorry it just keeps bringing back flashbacks of - when they -"

"Yes. I understand. It will feel strange, but don't worry. I don't even have to remove the chip. I can lift the craft out by itself."

"Okay." Kosmanarshi tried not to frown. "So how do you attach the cloud rock?"

"That happens afterwards. When the mindcraft returns. Until then you'll feel a bit isolated. Kind of empty. Just as the data is about to go back in the memechip, we hold the cloud rock over it and that's when they fuse."

"Fuse?"

"Yes the cloud rock will amalgamate with your mindcraft. They will become inseparable." Seeing the girl's non-plussed expression Eldna continued. "You see, that rock you're holding isn't from this planet. It's from lithier. It has a different form. One of its properties is that when the conditions are right it becomes air. Or a cloud. Hence - cloud rock. And that little cloud will respond to your data like a sentient being. It will reside in your memechip." Now the angel peered at her curiously. "Didn't Rogan tell you its other name?"

"No." Kosmanarshi began to feel lethargic as her lumadata floated out the back of her neck, up though the angels body and up into the treetops.

"Nimbus rock."

Kosmanarshi fell into a heap at the angel's knee, but the angel had foreseen this. The shock of realising that mindcraft is free moving. The data would be back in the morning. Until that moment Eldna the angel would have to guard the girl with her life.

****

Kosmanarshi stirred to find Eldna leaning over her anxiously. It was just after dawn. The deep, pearly blue of the sky made a fierce backdrop to the silhouettes of the trees and the angel that was shaking her awake.

"Wake up."

Now it was Eldna's turn to sit up in fear. She turned and glared at the man who had appeared from nowhere.

The man stepped closer. "Wake up Kosmanarshi."

Eldna sighed. She knew the use of someone else's energy as a weapon was abomination. She also knew she had no choice. Never taking her eyes of the intruder she indicated to where the mindcraft was now swirling above them in a purple orb. It wanted to return to its rightful owner. "You come one step closer and I will use it on you."

"Isn't it a cardinal sin for an angel to manipulate lumadata?"

"It's a cardinal sin for anyone, but that isn't my biggest concern right now. I have to protect the forememe. Many people's lives are at stake. Like I said. You come one step closer -"

"Whoa. Wait. I know this girl. She lived with me for a while after she ran away from Lumatel. Then she left. I've been following her since then. They're coming, the agents. They've got transmitters and all kinds of stuff. They'll be here before long. You can't stay here - ." The angel continued to stare at him in stony silence. "That cloud rock she's holding right now. I gave that to her."

Eldna raised her eyebrows.

"Rogan!" The half dazed girl tried to get up, but was in the firm grip of the angel.

"Ah. OK." The angel pinned Kosmanarshi down. "OK." She repeated, finally understanding something. Frowning in concentration she leant over to prise the stone from Kosmanarshi's hand, where even semi-conscious she still clutched it. "Right. I see she knows you. I couldn't read you like most humans. Weird - but then even angels are mistaken sometimes. Suppose I'll have to trust you." She looked down at the waking girl who was now scowling. "Will you help me?"

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing? Please hold her still while I gather the data up."

Rogan stepped forward. Gently the angel placed the struggling girl in his arms. He whispered something. But Eldna didn't hear. She stood straight and her eyes were closed. Rogan shielded his eyes as the angel arched her spine and a blinding black and violet stream swept through her body into the girl. The gap between his fingers was just wide enough to reveal the face of a panther.

S.A.L - X // Rammstein - Engel

"So tell me, what are we doing again?"

Mel turned to Paul in despair. "As I've said, I think - uh - quite a few times already, we're searching for a girl formeme."

"But why would she be here?"

She wondered whether to even gratify such a stupid question with a response then remembered that he worked in admin. Of course he was an imbecile. She should pity him.

"Look!" She shot a glare at him. Paul dropped the craft-tracker. "You're going to break it!"

"That's because you aren't grasping the gravity of the situation-"

"-I do grasp it. I'm just not that interested by it."

"Weren't you listening in the briefing?" She picked up the device. It was indicating to head down the left track towards the woods and marshland. They followed unsteadily. "Kragg, you know him?"

"Sure. The hit man."

"He's not a - he - he deals with formemes after their data has been archived."

"Yeah with a lethal injection."

"Well, yeah, that's just it shit for brains. This one escaped. With her original chip, and Kragg was in on it."

"Nah."

"It's true. I asked Kragg for the memechip. It was meant for artificial craft fabrication. It was ground-breaking stuff. And that's the one that happened to 'go missing'. Seems like a big coincidence."

"Maybe, but then how did she escape?"

"Oh I don't know. He claims that he delivered the injection just like he was ordered."

"What did he do when Mr Francis interrogated him?"

"Apparently Mr Francis showed him the list of post-download bodies, but Kragg claimed that it was an administrative error."

"Now he's disappeared."

"You want my opinion? He helped her get away. Maybe she gave him a sob story. I dunno."

"He's going to get wiped when they find him."

Something in the way he said this subdued her. She frowned. "I hope not. I like Kragg. We were good friends once."

Then they were both quiet. They had driven over a hundred miles South of HQ. Now they stood at the edge of woodland. The path was getting stony.

"Well I have to admit, you wouldn't come to a place like this unless you had something to hide."

Mel turned and nodded in agreement. Then swallowed. "Do you have a good torch?"

Some Angels Live - VIIII //Antonin Dvorak -- Piano Quintet No. 2

She spent a long time deliberating whether to start a fire. If there were bandits around they'd spot her; but without the fire she'd freeze. Yet however much she embraced the cold, she couldn't ignore her dead numb hands and feet. Besides, warm fingers grip daggers close. Warmth could be a weapon too. She lit the kindling and banished her misgivings but remained vigilant to a point of rigidness. For the next hour she sat frozen, raised shoulders glued to earlobes.

"Hello."

The voice came from nowhere. An arrow of fear shook her. They'd found her. Lumatel was here. In the woods. The fire was in full blaze. Who said that? Did she imagine it? She peered around with narrowed eyes. Nothing. Just shadows and branches. But wait. That silver mist. Over between the track and the line of trees. She'd put it down to tricks of the light. She'd been too exhausted to examine it further. It wasn't just smoke. Something was illuminated. She stood up suddenly, aware it was too late to run. Part of her wanted to leap forwards. Chase it off. Icy fear extinguished that desire. Cursing herself for not braving the weather, she paced with uncertainty towards the strange light.

"Hello?" Silence. She now stood in a glowing cloud. Another camp? She'd have noticed it before; heard the crackling of burning wood. Besides, this didn't look like flames. It was more like yellow air. "I won't hurt you if you tell me who you are." The yellow cloud was turning into something. In terror and amazement she watched as the chaotic haze began to take shape.

"You can't hurt me."

It was a human. A winged human. Made of silvery yellow air. As the strange being approached she made out legs, arms, long hair and curves that could only belong to a woman. The angel was a woman. Kosmanarshi gaped. She knew she should say something but no words came out.

"You're..."

"You're mighty quick-brained for a survivor."

"I..."

"You aren't safe here."

"You're an angel aren't you?"

"It would seem so. Why haven't you used the cloud rock yet?"

"...I didn't believe him. When he told me about you.."

"You've got to do it now before the agents come."

Mention of agents snapped her back into the present. "Wh - what's your name? Where do you come from - "

" -Somewhere else, I've been in angel form for many centuries." she fired back. "My name's Eldna, but we don't have time for this Kosmanarshi."

"How do you know my na -"

"You are a forememe. One of the few remaining with an original chip. I spotted your torus from far off. That's how I know you. Protect yourself. Take the cloud rock and use it. I will help you."

Kosmanarshi was dumbfounded. She realised to her shame she'd forgotten about the gift Rogan had given her. That funny-looking stone. It was nestled at the bottom of her bag. She hadn't taken on board what he'd said. Go somewhere secluded. Let the lumadata float away.

"How long will it take?"

"Not long but already we waste time."

"Will it come back? My lumadata?"

"Yes. Almost certainly. But you must do it now."

For a moment Eldna and Kosmanarshi stared at each other. One in impatient urgency and the other in wonder and awe.

"Please." said Eldna emphatically.

Kosmanarshi obeyed.

S.A.L - VIII --- [Duke Ellington - Take the A- Train]

Mel sat in her office clicking the end of a ball point pen. It was two days since the strange conversation with Kragg. She weighed it up. He was a friend and she was prepared to let minor faults pass, but Mr Francis would call into her office later. He'd smell a rat. She could play innocent, but she was curious about this mysterious creature Greta Kosman. Maybe the disposal unit would know. They dealt with bodies after all. She put down her pen.

Her arrival took the pathologists by surprise. They tended to be introverted at the best of times, and didn't like her sudden appearance at the morgue.

"Mel isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"What can I do you for?" He was still holding the scalpel like instrument above a greenish cadaver. There's never a good moment to interrupt a pathologist.

"It's regarding a female that passed through here about three weeks ago."

"U-huh." He placed the scalpel in a tray and began to laboriously remove the soiled gloves. "You were hoping to, er, see the body? I'm afraid you're about two weeks too late."

"No please don't stop because of me. I just wondered if you kept a file of names."

He wiped his brow and gave a forced smile. "Well I'm about ready for a little break anyhow. Sorry, I'm Petr. Nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand but I'd better, um."

He waved bloody greyish fingertips at her.

"Wash your hands. Yeah. No problem."

"Can I ask why you want to see this?"

"Oh, a newbie started on the archives. You know how it is. He got the right name-tag but the wrong date. Some of the chips got mixed up."

"So you're hoping to match the body with the chip."

"If it's not too much trouble. Just to get the date and time of the operation."

"Okay, well. You'll need my help with the list. There's two main sections. Accidental death and post-download euthanasia. Do you know which one the lady was?"

"I believe her to be post-download. That's the department I work in. Her data was - is - going to be used for artificial luma fabrication."

"A unique gene type."

"Yes her lumadata produced some, frankly startling results."

"Follow me." He pressed basement level on the elevator.

The lift opened into darkness. As her eyes adjusted Mel made out broken plastic chairs. The sort you found in tedious after-work meetings. These ones were hidden under tarpaulin to protect their dignity. But Mel knew the chewing gum was still there. Clinging to the filthy plastic underside like tiny amoebas. She dragged her gaze away from the shadows to where Petr was indicating. There was a door. Petr managed to locate the light switch. It came on mean and feeble, just enough to illuminate the brass plaque: Post-download eutha - . The remaining letters had rubbed off. She didn't need the rest to guess she'd come to the right place.

"Do you have the name of the deceased?" He gaped at her over his spectacles, evidently relishing the opportunity to delve into these rarely seen files.

"Greta Kosman. With a K."

"And the date of the euthanasia?"

"Errr."

"Please be as precise as you can."

"Okay let's see. The intern mixed the memechips between the 24th and the 25th." Her throat felt dry. "And we've already checked the 25th.."

"Ahaha..."

"So it must be the 24th." She coughed the dryness away, where was her composure?. "Yes, the 24th of March three weeks ago."

"Excellent. Great. Bear with me a moment." He traced his fingers over the names, finally coming to 'K'. "Aaah here we are."

"Yes?"

A baited pause.

"Nope."

"What do you mean?"

"The name you requested isn't there."

"It has to be."

"I'm afraid not."

"Can there be a mistake-"

"Our administrative team is highly thorough. If the body of Greta Kosman had passed through this department, it would be registered. Right here."

He showed the page to Mel, tapping at the gap where the names skipped from 'Knutson' to 'Langdon.' Already she was beginning to dislike Petr the pathologist.

S.A.L - VII -------- Ministry//Land of rape and honey

"Don't you want my help then?"

She sighed and looked back one last time. "No you stay in your cave. I'll be fine."

He grinned. "You don't look it. What will you do if it rains?"

She turned to adjust her too large rucksack. "Find a different cave."

"I doubt you'll find a better one than mine, but good luck."

She had had to force herself not to turn back. It wasn't that she missed him as such, but after living in close quarters to someone you get used to certain things. "It's not safe anymore. Can't put him in danger. Mustn't." Her jaw was clenched in resolve. I must look scary as a Rottweiler. So why did she still feel shaky as a lamb? Two people alone wasn't much better. Was it? At least she had an entrance code now. She remembered what he had told her about the torus and the droids and the distant planet they came from. Were these weird space machines watching after her? Maybe they were aware she had stolen her mindcraft chip. Then again, they could be on her side. Maybe that was enough.

She'd hardly forgotten her urban roots, but now she dreaded discarding the cow hide cloak given to her by Rogan. It was better than the black duffel coat from before but too conspicuous, despite the wild bandits she'd seen roaming around. The duffel coat however, had long become a stove cleaning implement of Rogan's who had looked in disdain at her functionless garb. She began to regret this fact. She hugged the cloak around her against the bitter wind. Praying no-one would find her as she trudged along she strained to make out the way ahead.

Everything seemed abnormally bright and harsh, but there was a certain beauty in these barren surroundings; a haunting cacophony of ferns slowly unfurling; an interminable littering of broken bracken. To the right was a scree-ridden cliff edge. To the left a narrow stream and a steep hillside. There were no trees except for twisted blackthorns and gnarly haws. She would have to find somewhere to sleep soon. Rogan was right: she wouldn't find a better place than his.

S.A.L - VI

Mel saw Kragg before he did. He'd been too busy contemplating the filing system, standing at the door to the archives when she caught his arm.

"Kragg what are you up to?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing? You never gave back the data chip for that girl you tested last month."

"I know, I can explain."

"What was her name, Greta Kosman?"

"I know, look please don't tell anyone but er..."

"Yes?"

"I had to dispose of the data."

"You threw away some data?"

"I did."

"You could get done for that. Nothing is supposed to be removed from there."

"I had to because there was something wrong with it. I made a miscalculation."

"I see." She put her fingers to her chin in a ponderous stance. "You made a mistake so you decided to hide the evidence."

"Yes exactly. That's what happened."

"It's not like you to care so much about your work. Why did you even bother?"

"Just forget about it Mel." She was looking at him suspiciously, whispering Greta Kosman Greta Kosman...

S.A.L - V --- Rudimental

Kosmanarshi scrubbed the floor. It felt like that was all she'd done since being there. There must have been moments when she ate or sat by the fire to engage in intermittent talk with Rogan, even if animated conversation was too far a stretch; but no sooner as it was done there were plates to clean or bits of dead animal to clear up. She did not feel she had the right to complain. When the skin began to peel from her thumb where she had wrung dry the linen cloths (it was futile to hang them dripping wet as the freezing climate held them in a permanent state of cold dankness) and there was no-one to whom she could lament her pains, she began to see just what he had meant by the "two month" rule.

There was little point in letting him know how much pain she was in. That would be the final resignation to defeat. He had been right. She was a weak city-bred who expected something for nothing. She was superficial and superfluous. Maybe it was true. She didn't have that much experience of the wild, but it seemed a shame to be reduced like that. Her, a survivor of luma piracy who'd travelled half-way across the world just to find ...him. She hadn't found him, she'd found Rogan, and Rogan insisted that anyone who vanished during a raid had more than likely been wiped. Just give up. Move on. But then Rogan measured happiness on a broader scale than she did. WERE YOU GASSED BY NAMELESS ARMED SOLDIERS TODAY? WERE YOU BOMBARDED IN A NUCLEAR RAID? HAVE YOU SUCCUMBED TO MINDWORM?

"If you answered 'no' to all of the above then the chances are you are some variant of happy and if not happy then at least mildly contented." He glanced up suddenly. "Where you headed?"

The dreaded question. She had to decide. "I'll keep my word. At the end of this month I will head to Lumatel HQ. "

"Well." Rogan scratched his neck and grinned, "you made it past the two-week mark so congrats, but that packet of biscuits is still mine."

"I was wrong you were right. Ha." She looked over hoping to soften him. His eyes remained unyielding. "I want to see what he's found out."

"Who?"

She had said too much. Perhaps.

"It's a...friend."

Rogan looked incredulous. "You have a friend in Lumatel?" He laughed.

"Maybe..I don't know. He sort of saved me, well actually he was going to kill me but...But I woke up despite losing my chip, in the forensics lab. Afterwards Kragg told me that had happened only once before. That last person was a kid. They killed him anyway. Kragg had to poison him to keep his job. He told me it was the worst thing he'd ever had to do. He was in tears telling me this. He vowed never to do that again. He isn't on their side anymore. He knows they've gone too far." For some reason she trembled. "Murdering people just to protect their precious blueprint? They're money-grabbing opportunists, using the people they claim to protect to further their aims. Each day they gain more power and it won't get better, it will get worse. Someone has to do something."

Rogan stopped laughing and was silent.

"You remind me of him. You have all the answers except when it's on your doorstep. Then you have nothing to say. You haven't got a better idea, have you?"

He took a step towards her.

"No Kosmanarshi I don't, but you can't just swan in there. It's a dangerous place and well secured against intruders. Besides, mere faith in this man who once helped you won't suffice. In your absence they will've lured him back into the fold on the premise of better pay and 'a revised approach to luma-testing.' But we both know that that's a lie, and nothing will change."

Now it was her turn to look downcast. "He said he w - would keep working there as a spy and l- let me know what he found out."

"Is that so?"

The man facing her raised his eyebrows. "And where is he now?"

She wanted to say more, but her throat tightened with the trace of an angry sob somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She knew he was right, and felt foolish.

"Fighting your cause or not, Kragg cannot leave the ranks of Lumatel without revealing his true identity, and a big fight on his hands. You won't see this man unless you go to him, true. Whether you should do that alone, I don't know."

"There is no-one who can help me."

"You aren't alone Kos. You're staring right at a Lumatel ex-employee."

"Don't toy with me."

"I'm not! I wonder if the entrance code is still the same?"

S A L - IV --- Grace Jones private life

Rogan lives in a cave. That might sound strange but since Lumatel took over you either hand over your data or make yourself scarce. Failing that, death. Suicide is the new survival, or so they'd have us believe. There's just nowhere to run any more. And those agents are getting good. They possess the most advanced technology: laser communiqués, multi-dimensional phone mapping and a level of mind fracking beyond any I have witnessed before. It's not enough to lie. Deny all knowledge? You have to temporarily obscure all your existing data if you want to beat them. Don't even bother with retaliation -- they swap particles from one chip to another as readily as changing clothes. Why stop at one when you can have many?

As such, it is impossible to trace the lumadata of an agent. Of course you could just dole it out quick like a good citizen. Loads of people do that. You have to. It's the law. Kosmanarshi is watching them pass on the street with a mixture of disdain and envy. They look so happy. She's curious to understand how that would feel...but not that curious. Besides, for every law abider there's a law breaker. Criminals? No. Just lost souls. A culture of people tarnished with the same brush since time began. Quietly reproducing and fading; unseen by the powers above. Once you've joined them, you never escape.

But I digress. The cave. Rogan had discovered Kosmanarshi sitting outside a cave. His cave. Why was she there? You'd probably have to ask her yourself. Although, Rogan did try that and all he got was unintelligible babble. If you want my opinion, she was looking for someone. A friend. Maybe. The man she'd known before the natural disasters, industrial meltdown, the outbreak of mindworm. He'd been kind, intelligent, trustworthy. Head-hunted. The day she'd found him gone she was filled with despair. It was too late. Her heart felt like lead. She had sat on a rock. Just to think. Just to breathe.

"Okay enough. I get it now. I know what I did wrong. I - I'll do better next time."

"Really? What did you do wrong?"

She wished he hadn't asked that.

"The agents. I chose my words badly. I thought they'd care if I told them the truth."

"They don't care. Ha! They know what's inside you already," he looked over to observe her reaction. Despite the fading light his teeth still gleamed as he smiled, "they have you on file."

Kosmanarshi looked away. "How long can I stay here?"

"Two months."

She attempted to disguise her disappointment by staring into the fire, to no avail.

"You think I'm cruel."

"No, it's just I thought that...well you know, with you only living in a rock crevice -"

" '--Only a rock crevice.'"

Cold eyes fixed on her. "'Only.'" Absently Rogan studied the flint in his hand. "I've lived here for years. You thought it would be okay to take liberties. Is that it?"

"No! I thought I might be able to help. I've got some food and lighters and..."

"Let me tell you something. This isn't the city anymore. You can't expect to survive with a pretty knife and leftovers. This furniture, all the things you see here, I made myself. That rug you're sitting on was a deer that I killed and skinned."

"Yes. Of course. I just thought I could -"

" - Do what you like, but I bet that packet of biscuits you'll be begging to leave within a fortnight."

Some Angels Live - III --------- Chris Isaak Wicked Game

"With such mindcraft as yours, you must have been trained by someone high up." Rogan peered at her. "Where do you come from?"

She did not know fully if she could trust him, but similarly did not see any reason to lie. "I was raised at Shinefel. I had a job, friends and a family, but that all ended the day the Lumatel agents came."

"What did they do?"

"They came round to the coop under pretext of testing multi-dimensional image mapping. They had some advanced technology. I was pretty taken with it all I admit. They must have taken some of my chip in the distraction."

"You were a victim of mindcraft theft. An increasingly common occurrence these days." He paused for a moment, as if finding the right words. "When you say 'some of my'..."

"-- all of it. Yep." She laughed weakly. "For a while I had no lumadata."

"How long before you regained full energy levels?"

"F-five months." She stumbled as the words brought back memories of that painful time.

"Ouch. Guess you won't be making that mistake again huh?"

"I hope so, but - but - I'm scared that..." Her throat tightened.

"That they'll come back?"

"Yes. I'd never withstand it."

"I bet. Well, they won't find you here. This is the most secure place on Earth, but you can't stay here forever. You need to learn how to secure your lumadata."

"The droids. Up there. Was it them who gave it back? My - my - ?"

"Your mindcraft field, yes. Mindcraft particles, lumadata particles: they are one and the same, although you could argue one is more fashionable an expression." He smiled. "The droids will continue to replenish your lumadata as long as you're living and breathing. They'll ask nothing in return."

"That's reassuring."

"Yes, Kosmanarshi, it is but.."

"What?"

"..but that can't be your saving grace. Prevention is better than cure as the old saying goes. You need to avoid situations that threaten your lumadata, and if that isn't possible then you need to get much better at defending yourself against those who pose the threat!"

"Why?"

Rogan glared at her.

"Because, you stupid insolent girl, every time calamity occurs because you've let some lumatel agent into your coop, it will take a little longer for that mindcraft pool to be replenished. It will be no fault of the droids. They will carry on with their duties as ever, but with each setback from mindcraft robbery, you will hurt a little more keenly. Your lumadata receptors will slow down. Your torus will permanently and irrevocably shrink."

"Oh."

She looked down sadly.

"Look. Don't despair. I'm sorry I got spikey it's just; it's just I've seen this happen a lot. So tragic, especially when it could be overcome. Here." He handed her a small piece of what looked like glass. It was black, but in certain lights it showed a moody green hue.

"That's pretty. What is it?"

"It's cloud rock. It preserves mindcraft particles."

"What do I do with it?"

"You need to go somewhere sunny. Somewhere private. Like in a secluded woodland somewhere. Remove and expose your memechip. Allow the luma particles to flow away. While the lumadata is gone you will feel alone and vulnerable. They key is to be patient enough to wait for the lumadata to return to the memechip. It should do eventually because it was allocated to your torus by the droids, but it could take hours - or days."

"How will I know when that's done?"

"The queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach will subside and you'll feel normal. Then when all the luma particles are safely back in the memechip you need to take this piece of rock and place it inside your memechip just before you close and restore it. With a bit of luck it should stop the burglars in their tracks."

"Really? How?"

For the first time, Rogan laughed. His laugh was kind.

"Let's just say, it'll confuse the hell out of them."

Some Angels Live - II -------- Mahler 1

Still trembling she leant away from the apparatus, trying to make sense of what she had seen. "What are those things?"

"They are droids. Robotic creatures. They come from a distant galaxy. Their casing is of a metal ore that can only be found deep underground on the planet Lithier."

"But I don't understand. Why are they here? Why can't I see them without the -- when I'm not -- ?"

"They can't be seen with the naked eye. Viewing them requires technology. I made this instrument as a means of studying the human torus. I did not intend to come across these creatures, but in doing so, that is what I found. I was initially terrified, like you I admit, and feared for my life, but having studied these robots for some time I no longer view them as malevolent. They are peaceful. Gentle giants in fact. It is my belief that they came to put right imbalances of mindcraft atoms."

"....Mindcraft atoms....?"

"The particles that make up your energy field. Your torus. Your ability to think reflect, create art and music. Everything that makes you human."

"Why come to Earth just for that? What's in it for them?"

"That's something I've been pondering. My best guess is that they see it as their duty because it was they themselves who created mindcraft atoms. To them it was a gift bestowed upon the human race. They wanted us to see the error of our ways and cease to make war and to destroy so readily in view of the delicate balance, the fragile ecosystem in which we live."

"You believe they are sentient?"

"Almost certainly. They know everything about us, perhaps better than we know ourselves. They are us. So much so that they feel our pain. That is why they made the journey to be with us. Everytime someone is born without Mindcraft energy, a droid cries. It is all they can do to gather it up and hand it back."

She was certain that he was making this up. He had to be didn't he?

"Okay, maybe you're right. Say they are good benevolent beings. If that's the case how come there's some people with a heap of mindcraft whatsit, while others only have barely any?"

"It is the droids task to ensure that each living human being has sufficient force within his torus to do his or her job, big or small whatever that is. We are all different, and so need different amounts. Robots being robots they can gage fairly accurately how much the correct amount is. They would never exceed the appropriate amount for each person. That in itself would be dangerous. But whenever someone loses some mindcraft power it causes suffering. Evil reigns. The droids can feel it. They know. That is how closely connected they are to us. Rest assured Kosmanarshi. The reason you have a large torus field is because you need it." He smiled. Kosmanarshi shivered.

Some angels live - I ------- Current tune --- Capdown - Civil Disobedience

They were standing in the observatory, next to the silver telescope. Just down the hill Rogan had found Kosmanarshi sitting alone exhausted, her eyes half closed.

"I don't know. You say that I'm foolish. Maybe. I say making it this far is reason enough."

"Only because the angels are helping you. They are everywhere and it is they who protect you. Large ones small ones fat and skinny, they devote themselves to your safety."

"Why would they do that?"

"Because of your torus."

"My what now?"

"Your torus, your energy. You have a startling current for someone your age. But it exposes you to danger. There are those who desire your end because of what it represents."

"What does it represent?"

He suddenly looked at her, taken aback at her ignorance. "Lots of things, someone with high luma strength can bring hope and freedom; to those who are worthy."

"How do you know this?"

"I read a lot. I spotted you or rather, your torus, with this." He pointed to the telescope behind him. "Everyone has one, but yours is purple and larger than is customary. Is it so hard to understand why I approached you? I mean I'm standing there just doing my regular observations when suddenly I find a giant purple orb just loitering in a rock crevice. What am I supposed to do?"

"I've never heard anyone talk about a torus before."

"It's ancient knowledge, not generally spoken of. Maybe it should be."

"Is that a normal telescope?"

"It can be used in the normal way but I refined it a little. Now it can detect the torus of all living things. Take a look."

He stepped aside to let her up onto the ledge. The instrument was pointed in the direction of the sand plains ahead. She stepped up to the lens and squinted her eyes.

"What do you see?"

Kosmanarshi did not respond. She was frightened. Her hand fell away from the instrument. She was shaking.

"You saw them didn't you?"

Steppenwolf don't ask me which album ("born to be wild" wasn't on it)

It was International Poetry Day the other day; progress I suppose but if you saw what I had to say about annual days that are devoted to a concept that should theoretically apply all the year around - like for example rights and esteem for those in possession of a vagina - then you'll understand why I don't rate it too highly as something that furthers the cause of the tortured creator of prose. "An artist/writer's place is in the broom closet/mysterious void behind the washing machine where the dishcloths go to die, clutching tightly hold of their Ipad/caked up paintbrush/sledgehammer, sighing whenever a word/splodge of paint/some other obscure medium of expression goes array on the wrong part of the sentence/canvass/multidimensional vacuum." Was it Churchill who said that? Somewhere on the globe there's an allotted corner for any genre you can think of. Meanwhile there's infinite space for art that ticks the boxes. I'll try not to worry about it. I struggle with this. As a rule I avoid crowd pleasing because it's a half-measure. Let's see... originality and compromise: best of friends they aren't. (The reverse sentence structure was for emphasis and not a Yoda impression, but you can say it in a Yoda style if it makes pleases you). I sometimes imagine a connoisseur ogling my oil paint stuff and uttering those fateful four words 'you could go far'. Really? Where too? Will it be shiny? All that glisters. Blah blah. It's true though. I don't imagine it could ever be as shiny as the moment at which we finish a creation born of our own minds, completed for no-one else but ourselves. In all likelihood no-one else'll care or even understand; but that's okay because we don't want them to. The reasons you turn to the canvass are personal and volatile. I despised the write-up process during my art G.C.S.E.. I made some okay things - sculptures and clumsy sketches. My art teacher would glance over my shoulder and say, "That's great." And I would feel great. Then she'd say: "Now explain in a concise three stage plan how you came up with the idea." And I'd be shot down like a clay pigeon. I didn't have a 'three stage' anything I just wanted to draw people's faces in black charcoal. Maybe that's the mandatory clincher between amateur and professional. High ranking craftsmen and ladies don't just produce pretty trinkets. They carry their wares to your doorstep, boot your door down and give you a thirty-minute powerpoint, even without the interactive white board.

Kurt Atterberg Piano Concerto

Sanctioning a population (or a grouping therein) for committing mass murder is one thing. Doing so whilst aiming a missile their way is another. The atrocities taking place in Damascus don't bare mentioning. Suffice to say the web is currently brimming with graphic images. I don't condone violence. I am a peaceful person and like many, being confronted with these images is upsetting to say the least. However, when I read about the U.S. planned retaliation -- firing missiles at specified targets so that they can 'get the message across' -- I nearly laughed. What message? The one to indicate who has the biggest dick in a cross- continent wrestling match? What? What do they hope to achieve? No one; not the civilians; not the military (except maybe through some kind of inbuilt sick joy at getting to play with 'big toys'?); not the banks; and not even the politicians making these horrendous decisions will benefit. It will cause a war. Another pointless, resource depleting war. Devastating for everyone. The only good thing I can find to say about this situation is that I no longer feel guilty about having bought new shoes when my old pair fell to bits. I waste hours in a permanent state of anxiety at the fear of overspending by one or two pence. Meanwhile the government is busy spending millions on drones and killing machines. Where's that sterling come from? Partly taxpayers. Partly borrowed zeroes added to infinitesimal debt. I just don't understand the mentality. It's starting to piss me off. Sleazy oil companies and pharmaceutical monopolies quietly licking each other's bum holes in an interminable chain of command. And yet when you get to the end of that long line; step behind the smoke screen -- it's just some guy. Okay he wears a suit. Maybe he attends the odd secret conference that decides our futures. It's still just a guy. He still uses the toilet. I bet sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks of what he's done and feels afraid. Then he shrugs it off and carries on. Maybe he's tired with the world so he has to buy another 4X4 just so his wife turns a blind eye to those hookers he hired. Maybe he has to start a war so we forget the lies that were already there. He's still just a man. Nobody made him the centre of the universe.

Public Service Broadcast

Sobering: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gh3JrdL-Zg&feature=player_embedded *Happy news bulletin: Today whilst sitting in morning sunshine, arduous reading of a long, depressing book about WWII was brought to a halt when two peacock butterflies landed on the page I was on. They were exploiting the flat surface for cleaning of antennae and proboscis. Subsequent 10 minutes was spent in contemplative wonder of their beautiful colourings. Yey :D

Zapp 4

1) I feel reasonably well. I've been eating loads and dare I say it my ghoulish appearance is gradually being replaced by a modest collection of freckles and sunshine. There was one day about a month ago when I cried. It was sparked off by an email from a friend, although on reflection there was nothing unkind or malicious in the words written. It seemed to trigger a response to something else deep within. It was like having a mirror held up to my own hypocrisy. My failure to challenge the things that I hate. The admissions that I will one day become those things. I've been bitten by corporatocracy. It's too late. 2) "You either pay the farmers or pay the hospital" -- kid of 11 gives pretty accurate depiction of the food system http://www.ted.com/talks/birke_baehr_what_s_wrong_with_our_food_system.html

Duke Ellington

1) A few weeks back a blackbird went nuts while I was out in the garden contemplating my handiwork. It was perched on the veg trellis and making a racket. It didn’t budge even when I came up close. I assumed it was annoyed at my presence and wanted to eat my produce (although their taste for runner beans was news to me). I was on my guard and ready to shoo it off. Ten minutes later I overheard mutterings that next door’s cat had just found its way into a blackbird nest and tortured/ate whole one of the chicks there residing. Said loquacious feathered creature wasn't pinching beans. It was communicating sadness at the loss of its baby – all to no avail because of my ignorance of bird-ish. This was confirmed by a bird of brown plumage (mum?) sitting nearby on top of the wheelie bin and looking very much aggrieved. The protest made by (dad) blackbird was not the sound of a thief. It was the noise of mourning. I'm humbled. 2) Sitting on back doorstep listening to Duke Ellington. With wine. 3) Nobody’s perfect.

Black Sabbath 13

GO OZZY!

Glazunov Saxophone Concerto

Playing chess against the computer is like having a conversation with yourself. And losing.