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.