All the Way Down

Stephen stepped up from Green Park tube into the light. It was another fine morning. 8am exactly. As per his routine Stephen cut away from the crowds, people hurrying along to work, and the leafleters and newspaper barkers already at work. He stood at the park gates and felt a gentle, happy swell. Unlike them he had time, precious time. He looked at his watch again, 8:02am, and set off.

One of the major non-outlined benefits of being a civil servant was you could set your own time. Stephen needed time. He needed time for space. Normally he was dogged, every second of the day. People:

1) emailed him
2) texted him
3) phoned him, quite often out of hours

always wanting things outcomed, authorised or deferred. That was what he was paid for. Stephen was a rising star. But his time was filling up, meeting after meeting. Not that he didn't make them work for his wisdom.

Every morning, prior to work, Stephen self-tabled to go jogging. He would justify it to anyone who asked by saying it kept him fit but he'd seen the pollution charts and Stephen knew that exercise in central London was a mixed blessing. He went jogging though because it allowed him to look inward. He was an outgoing man with an outgoing job. He had to be many things to many people, responsibilties he couldn't turn his back on. His time was quantised, down to five minute slots, and given away. There was so little left it made him query what was at the centre of it all, who was he, what bit of him was him?

The more he looked though the stranger it got. He cleared his mental chart by jogging and yet what came to the surface was work stuff, the ticklish problems, ones that, being honest, he enjoyed. Things like:

a) rail subsidy negotiations
b) air-traffic immunology
c) car-theft algorithms

see this week's case-conferences (Monday, Wednesday and Friday). Perhaps this was him, perhaps it went all the way down like a fractal, a never-ending pattern. But perhaps he was hiding something from himself, something he didn't want to see or acknowledge. Why would he do something like that though? He found these questions fascinating. Stephen tried applying some adjectives to how he felt thinking this. His non-definitive list included:

i) cold
ii) precise
iii) involuted-pseudorecursive

but he wasn't sure about the last one. He didn't know what it meant.

It took, how long did it take, Stephen looked again, 8:04am, it took at least two minutes for his mind to settle, and it had settled on the problem how to develop an equation for the inverse ratio of efficiency. It was really just another variation on the old problem of administration: how to quantify everything? In fact Stephen was due at an inter-departmental meeting at 11:30am to discuss this very issue.

As he plodded along, down the hill, through the gap between the field of stochastic death chairs (death chairs?) deckchairs and St James's Palace, he pondered the matter. The fact the... the park was quiet, very few people around. The fact of further efficiency savings meant of course that departments would find it harder to meet their statutory requirements with regards to the services they provided. Onto a path and right toward the Canada Memorial. In the long run it was just a... matter of changing those requirements, but how and when... and in what way? Lots of public services... were difficult to measure, health, education... sanitation and... Canada, culture and so on were... Were those footsteps?

Stephen listened as he jogged, the patter of feet on the path, there was someone behind him. He stopped for a second, falling into a crouch, have a breather, let them pass... but they didn't. It took a second to register. Without looking Stephen mopped his brow, it was warm, another fine morning, then glanced at his watch, 8.07am, shook his head and got back up again. The fact of further efficiency savings would... He listened again, there were the footsteps again, echoing his. Stephen glanced over his shoulder briefly. There was someone running behind him, about ten yards or so. He didn't catch the man's face, as they were looking away. He assumed it was a man... It was OK, not to worry, he was just jogging too, another jogger, dressed like him doing exactly what he was doing, that's all.

On, past the Canada Memorial. This was getting... the footsteps were still there. Stephen went across the grass toward the path parallel to Constitution Hill. He listened. The steps had followed him. The jogger had followed him. What to...? No. Stop.

Stephen stopped again. Silence, except for the rustle of wind in the trees, no sound, except for the purr of engines on the road, nothing, except the chatter of a group of school children across the street. Stephen turned around, carefully. No footsteps. Yes, there was the Person, the Jogger. It was a man, he was dressed like him, his height and hair colour too and perhaps even his age. He seemed oddly familiar. He had his back to Stephen though. Did he know him? What was this, a coincidence? Stephen turned back again. Facing away from the Man he took two large, deliberate strides then turned quickly on his heel. Snap! The Man, the Follower had done exactly the same. He was following Stephen. A jolt, Stephen took off, briskly, then in a ramping swell of panic he began to run.

Remember agent training... what to do if you're... Stephen looked around... the park was quiet... remember what to do if you're... he was alone... not alone... Stephen glanced back, quick as a flash. He was still being followed and at the same distance. He didn't see the Man's face. Zigzagging in waves through the trees... Stephen was panicking... He couldn't remember what to do it was so long since... He tried to sprint but the effort was beginning to tell and he was still being followed by... he couldn't quite... Get somewhere, yes, it came to him, get somewhere people could see you, that was it... or was it a false memory...? It made sense though. Had he done this before...? It was so long...

Stephen made for the Wellington Monument, still being followed. The lights on the crossing were green, good... there were people there too but, um... no one seemed to notice. No one could see he was being followed by... he couldn't quite see but he could hear... Stephen looked back again, longer this time. The Man was looking away, definitely looking away. Another surge of panic... Over the next set of traffic lights, they were red this time. Stephen had to dodge the traffic with nimble, adrenalised steps. He was running on... Lucky, but he was still being followed by... Through the garden, onto Rotten Row, out again onto Knightsbridge but he could still hear the footsteps just behind him... he was slowing now... he slowed... Somewhere around the French embassy he slowed... heavy breaths... aching legs... his footfall slowed... no one seemed to notice he was being followed by... His pursuer's footsteps slowed too... He slowed until he couldn't take it any more... Stephen... stopped...

Stephen stopped and crouched in a way now pursuant to his actual condition of oxygen debt through prolonged exertion and stress. Even in his present state Stephen was able to ascertain that pedestrians, such as there were any, still did not appreciably notice anything untoward in this scenario. He checked his watch, as was habitual (habitual?), and saw it was 8:23am. It took a further few seconds Stephen to also register that that despite having stopped he was neither apprehended nor hailed by his unknown pursuer.

He stood up again, perspiring and still breathing heavily and looked, confirming to himself that the Pursuer had indeed stopped. They were further along Knightsbridge, just past the Hyde Park Barracks. The Man was standing still, ten yards away, looking back down the road and facing away from Stephen once more, the same pose as before.

After feeling a volley of emotions Stephen was now uncertain, almost curious as to what was going on. He had a feeling. Had this happened before...? Stephen raised a hand to point and the Man did likewise. Shock reverberated through him, it evanesced, yes he used that word, thinking it in earnest, it evanesced into an even more potent fascination. Stephen took a step forward and the Erstwhile Follower did the same. Another step, another reciprocation. What was going on? Stephen was no longer afraid, he wanted to know. Step, step, step, stride; people were still passing by, unaware, but Stephen was now no longer afraid.

“Hey” he shouted. “Hey...! You...!” But, for the first time, this did not draw a response, there was no response. Fascination was now falling away, curdling into anger. Stephen began to run, then sprint again, but he could not reach the Man. They ran back down the road toward the junction with Sloane Street. Stephen was now propelled by something like rage, his tiredness fell away, faster, but still he could not reach the Man. They crossed the junction, the lights seemed to turn in the right order. People, now finally catching on, seemed to part for the two men running, even if he wasn't catching... All the way down Sloane Street, they kept running. A new flood of emotions washed through Stephen, quickly, tossed around and barely registering but they were there... grief, trepidation, joy, frustration, anguish, pseudorecursion... Left at the round-a-bout, toward Belgravia. Still in hot pursuit, he wasn't running in anger any more. He wasn't sure what he was running on, the ground felt frictionless. Stephen called out again:

“Stop...!” Another turn now, down terraced streets, compressed mansions with elongated doors and frictionless steps, places Stephen did not recognise, unfamiliar... Faster, yet faster, yet, they were going too quickly, everything was going too quickly... “Stop...! Please...! What...?” Yes, Stephen realised something was going on. No matter how hard he tried he could not reach the Man. Something was going on, something strange... “Please” he said. “Please stop. I know... I want to know... I...” He felt about five years old, pleading with the Man. A left, a right, a left again: “PLEASE... Is this... some... can... what...?” Another turn. The pair reached an alleyway a yawning dead end, a brick wall, a strange place that perhaps shouldn't have been there, yet, there it was... There they were. Both Stephen and the Man came to a halt. “Please...” said Stephen, breathing hard, “I want to know... Is this a sign...? What's going on...?”

“Turn around” said the Man. He spoke slowly. “Twenty-to-nine, turn around and you will see.” The Man had a familiar voice. Stephen did as he was told, he turned and saw all the way down then back up as he stepped up from Green Park tube into the light. It was another fine morning. 8am exactly. As per his routine, Stephen cut away from the crowds, people hurrying along to work, and the leafleters and newspaper barkers already at work. Stephen stood at the park gates and felt a gentle, happy swell. Unlike them he had time. He looked at his watch again, 8:02am, and set off.  

Allotment Story - in today's Storgy

Here I am with a story of mine (and my ugly face at the end of it) in Storgy today. I actually really like this story and am very glad it's found a proper home. Of course this is usually when I spot a small but howling mistake but such is life.

Enjoy Allotment Story, because it's bloody brilliant.

Climbing Mount Literature

Mr Heroic Protagonist and his friend Mr Sensitive Companion stood together in awe at the foot of Mount Literature. Mr Companion was reverent, Mr Protagonist was eager. He stood, hands on hips and said:

“Let’s begin.”

“It’s going to be hard work” said Mr Companion, shyly. Protagonist had brought his friend along as a foil. He replied:

“I don't like work, no man does but I like what is in the work; the chance to find yourself, your own reality for yourself not for others.” That was why they were here. They were going to climb Mount Literature using only rope, pegs, helmets, crampons and quotes cobbled together from the vast Plains of the Internet. “Here’s what we will do” said Protagonist. He fetched a map. “If the weather holds we shall make our way here” he pointed, “to Exposition Plateau, where we shall make camp. Then we shall strike out for Plot Point Ridge up Denouement Face. Once over that we should easily make the summit.”

“So it goes” said Companion.

“Steady, Companion” said Protagonist. “We must save some quotes for the descent. Bring McGuffin and make haste while the Sun shines.”

Companion tugged on McGuffin’s reins and the donkey trudged into motion. They began their ascent up the winding paths of the foothills. Companion was not completely happy. “I’m worried about the climb” he said.

“If you have the guts to be yourself” said Protagonist, from over his shoulder “other people will pay your price.”

“That’s what I am worried about” said Companion. “I’ve left my Wife and Child behind, which adds to the peril. Also, I’m worried about some of the quotes we bought in the Global Village. The shopkeeper told me ‘you never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.’ I wasn’t too pleased but he said ‘I am not bound to please thee with my answers.’”

But Protagonist wasn’t really listening. “You speak an infinite deal of nothing sometimes, Companion. Men of few words are the best men” he said, striding on. Companion stopped, with a sour expression:

“The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on.”

Protagonist turned to his friend. “Forgive me. I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing.” He smiled and gave his friend a manly hug. Companion couldn’t stay mad at him. The only people for him were the mad ones. That’s why he followed Protagonist, despite his doubts.

The pair (plus McGuffin) made it to Exposition Plateau, safely across outcrops of metaphor and screes of accumulated symbolism. That evening, as the sun set they made camp, Companion said “I suppose I better ask you why we are making this trip.”

“It’s very simple” said Protagonist. “The Author needs our words and actions to bear out a heavy-handed metaphor.” Companion nodded. “Look over there” he pointed down below, “who’s that?”

“That’s Shakespeare” said Companion.

“Indeed it is” said Protagonist. “And who is that?” he asked, pointing to another figure.

“That’s Kurt Vonnegut.”

“Correct” said Protagonist. “And who is that?”

“Him...? The Greek-looking guy?”

“He is Greek” said Protagonist. “That's Homer” he added. 

"Ah, a man of many modes..."

“Which one of them is furthest away?” asked Protagonist. Companion looked for a long time but he could not tell. “That’s the thing with digital data” said Protagonist, “it’s infinitely storable and infinitely repeatable. Data does not degrade. Memory cannot fade. Time is irrelevant, flattened across the Plains of the internet.”

“But why are we climbing Mount Literature?” asked Companion.

“To see what’s beyond, in the Valley of History” Protagonist pointed to the Internet, “we are spectators moving through Curated History. Over there” he nodded toward the summit, “where all the world’s a stage, we are history.”

“It sounds plausible enough tonight” said Companion “but wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”

At dawn the pair struck out for the peak, leaving poor McGuffin behind, tied to a rock. “Do we have enough quotes to last us?” Protagonist asked.

“A reasonable amount” said Companion. He knew it wasn't though. They'd talked too much on the way up and would struggle to get down at best. But Protagonist strode off all the same, still confident; all progress depends on the unreasonable man Companion figured.

The slopes soon got too steep for maps, too steep to walk. The pair put on crampons, took out their ropes, their hooks and their sturdiest quotes. Above them now was the peak but before that Plot Point Ridge. It's walls beneath were almost sheer, footholds few. Beneath the spur words were becoming inadequate. Even Protagonist seemed unsure. He glanced back at his friend, flush with fear, he exclaimed:

“Fight till the last gasp!”

But almost within arms-length of conquering the ridge his grip failed. His rope broke. Companion watched helpless as Protagonist tumbled. “I let go!” Lost in oblivion, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Alone on the mountain now, Companion clung on. There was no way back except the way his friend had gone. Companion climbed. The walls fell away. Friction disappeared. Geometry was subverted. Companion could not tell up from down. Logic may be unshakeable but it cannot withstand a man determined to live. Without even knowing how he planted a first hand, then a second across the spur and hauled himself with what remained of his strength to safety.

After catching his breath and recovering some sanity Companion renewed. The rest of the climb was fairly simple. He reached the top of Mount Literature and gazed down on the far valley. He saw true time, not the curated version. It stretched back vast distances. He saw everything. The whole process of near-unbroken agony and pointlessness so that humans may one day know the price of everything and the value of nothing. He fell to his knees and gasped in horror:

“It is a great misfortune to be alone.”

The Sein und Werden EP

There's an outside chance now that people might start to read this blog in the near future (oh man, why did I pick that name?). So, to have something decent to look at, as opposed to rough-work. Here's a link to all the stories I've had in the fabulous Sein und Werden. Hopefully, one day, it will come back but, until then, here's my Sein und Werden EP.

Report to the Senior Committee
London Versus...
The Television Handed Ghostess
Songs that Won the War (with Clockhouse Writers)

In the Marshes

Me with a new bit of flash fiction in the Dimeshow Review. The picture is from here.

Dimeshow Review - volume 2

I have a story in this, ten of the best words ever shithammered together, so you'd better buy it or else. In other almost-news, I have two stories that are due to be published quite soon so get with the sickness!

The North is Endless

Here's another story for you. I like the idea, I'm not convinced of the final result, or that it's that its even a final result. This might be better expanded as a novella/novelette (it would help the characters). I know there's very few places that don't dismiss non-traditional formats out of hand. The one place I'd like to put this is on a pause at the moment. So here it is, the North in all it's Endlessness.

Preliminary note

The following is a transcript of a recording discovered in [Redacted] University Audio Library. The recording was made using a 1980s-standard Dictaphone.

Day One

Voice: Boarded the plane... waiting to take off... this is the audio log of Staff Sargeant Crane of the 821st Air Base Group, Thule, Greenland. I am... [inaudible] I'm recording an entry... It's a lovely day, May 23rd... 10:10am and the sun is shining... I'm accompanied by Airman Danforth... [inaudible] Sorry! Senior Airman Danforth...

Laughter.

Danforth: Hello.

Crane: Only temporarily demoted, He will be our pilot. Co-pilot is Airman Dyer… Who is not speaking… also Flight Engineer Rasmussen of the Danish Royal Airforce.

Rasmussen: Hi.

Crane: And Doctor Ross, accompanying us from the National Weather Service... 

Ross: That's me.

Danforth: Why are you recording this?

Crane:  I am Commanding Officer of the Search and Rescue team leading an expedition from the Thule base to locate and if possible contain...

Danforth: Yeah, but why are you recording this?

Laughter.

Crane: Audio record; it's the simplest and easiest way to account for what happens on these kinds of missions.

Ross: And what kind are we dealing with, boss?

Crane: Doctor Ross has worked with me before... We are headed in pursuit of a reported anomaly several hundred miles into the interior of the mainland, the details of which are still being established but the essentials are 1) intermittent but frequent radio signals of unknown origins accompanied by 2) less frequent bursts of radiation, visible in the night sky from 23:19 hours yesterday as flashes on the horizon. Prior to this expedition two satellite passes were unable to locate and engage the source of the anomaly, detailed briefing is to follow. We are proceeding in a Cessna light aircraft with 20 days of food and supplies and around 200 hours of fuel. I do not anticipate being on the ice-field for that long.

...

Crane: We are approximately ten minutes into our flight. Thule Base is receding... Beautiful in its own way... Up in front is the ice-field. There is about three and a half hours of daylight left... This is... This is a truly vast country... The far north... You can only really appreciate how... endless it seems... the sense of it from the air... Broken only by occasional hills… Every time I see the uplands... All is well. We will begin triangulating the signal shortly.

...

Crane: It’s now approximately fifty-five minutes after take-off and we are making great progress. We are currently receiving the anomalous radio signals loud... if not clear. You might be able to [a mixture of static, tonal sounds and voices] How soon did we begin receiving?

Ross: Almost immediately. The signal has been more or less consistent.

Crane: What about the radiation?

Ross: Nothing much really, it's all, uh... oh, there's a spike.

Crane: Is it dangerous?

Ross: It's hard to tell at this range. We are still several hundred miles away, bearing east-northeast. Anyway, we’ve come prepared. Nothing we can’t…

...

Ross: Here, listen...

Metallic grinding and animal sounds, akin to roaring.

...

Crane: End of day one, almost. 18:25pm. We have made camp; about to report to base... The, uh, location of the anomaly has been narrowed down to a twenty mile radius. We expect to... It's odd that the intercept planes were not able to locate... whatever this is. I suppose it will all come out in the briefing... This is not our usual mission… I'm looking at the eastern horizon. There are flashes in the long twilight, maybe one every few minutes... They're not regular. They come in several colours. We have seen white, red, green and indigo. Wind is gusting considerably, short blasts from the uplands. It is unclear whether this is connected to the emissions… Rasmussen is here.

Rasmussen: Lucas.

Crane: What?

Rasmussen: Please, call me Lucas.

Crane: Ok, um, so, Lucas, why’re you here?

Rasmussen: I volunteered.

Crane: But, [inaudible] motive-wise…?

Rasmussen: I’m sorry I don’t…?

Crane: What prompted [inaudible due to wind] volunteer?

Rasmussen: Curiosity, I guess; that and the pay. I work at the base [inaudible] civilian engineer. If all goes well… villa on Samso won't pay for...

Prolonged gusts of wind hit. Mostly inaudible except for occasional fragments, e.g. ‘get inside’ or ‘secure the tents.’

…

Voice: Unknown flying object was spotted 22:55 hours, altitude approximately 2,000 metres, bearing east-northeast a controlled arc at an estimated speed of 440mph. Command Control attempted to contact the object but was unsuccessful. The object disappeared after seventeen seconds. At 23:10 Command Control began receiving a radio signal on standard USAF distress frequency. Signal was largely unclear but some variety of English. No American or Allied craft is known to be lost. Russians currently deny any involvement. Unable to pinpoint location via satellite pass. Intermittent radiation bursts began at 23:19, high-energy, electromagnetic radiation, largely directed upwards. Bursts continue to be detected. Please repeat: over.

Crane repeats message.

…

Crane: [Whispering – wind noises in background] Early morning now, let’s see, 3.19am. Gusts of wind have been intermittent but frequent. Thank goodness for the snow-wall we built. It’s difficult to get much sleep though the others seem to be… Keep trying. The sound has an unusual quality, akin to howling.

Day Two

Crane: It’s morning. The sky is bright blue, very little evidence of what happened… the front must have passed over. Crisp and… I’m tired. We are currently packing away the camp. Continue with mission once airborne. I’m confident we will make visual contact today. I must check the time.

…

Crane: It is 10:45am. We have been airborne for about fifty minutes. Dyer is piloting though... still not talking to me. There has been no sign of the anomaly so far, no radio signals and no visual contact.

…

Danforth: This is my demotion.

Pause.

Crane: What happened…?

Danforth: I don’t know if…

Crane: Sure I mean…

Danforth: [Interrupts] Too much trouble, see? I was a Staff Sergeant at Hohenfels but the place got overrun.

Crane: Overrun…?

Danforth: Communists were… all over the base.

Crane: How is that…?

Danforth: [Interrupts] They’re good, they know what they’re doing and they’re committed. Not like our side.

Crane: But how?

Danforth: They were running the local drug trade, heroin, marijuana, you name it… They were running the operation out of a brothel in the town, [chuckles bitterly] Hotel Palatinate. The pimps were commies too. I was Staff Sergeant in charge of training. It’s my life. The recruits… They were just kids… I tried to stop them. I tried to stop my men from seeing them. Sure I mean it worked. I called in the MPs… It worked… The place was closed. The owner was holding Russian gold, literally… I… I ended up getting busted though, taken in on a drink driving charge, insulting an officer… must have been a commie too. They got me… Now I’m here.

Crane: Right…?

Danforth: Still [laughs] I like the north. What’s left to lose? They can’t get a drop on us up here.

…

Crane: Three hours and twenty five minutes... we are now flying directly over the centre of the search area defined yesterday. There has been no contact visual or radio...?

Ross: No contact.

Crane: Though I do note what looks like odd patches of earth, roughly round, where the snow has melted. Either the anomaly has moved or...

Ross: Wait a minute...

Sounds over the radio resolve into a distorted human voice.

Voice: [Continually repeats] A stairway to...

Crane: What's that...? What's it saying...?

Voice: A stairway to...

Ross: A stairway...?

Crane: Can you get a fix on it?

Ross: I can it, uh...

Sound devolves into noise again, peaks and then cuts out.

…

Ross: [Mid-sentence] something again. Listen.

The sound of white noise then rhythmic bleeping emerges and a voice.

Voice: They got me [inaudible] here [inaudible] closed [inaudible] stop the recruits.

The voice is overwhelmed again by white noise. The bleeping continues.

Ross: What’s that…? That’s SOS.

…

Crane: We have visual… We have visual contact. Current co-ordinates are [gives co-ordinates] heading in an east south-easterly direction. Subject it roughly at ten o’clock. Bearing towards subject as we speak… Subject is maybe fifteen to twenty miles away, large, difficult to tell what colour or shape. Dark and flickering… Approaching directly now. Radiation levels…?

Ross: Normal.

Crane: Radiation level are…

Radio signal.

Voice: [Lightly distorted – fairly clear - repeats] It’s like a stairway…

…

Crane: I’m in the co-pilot seat. Closer now, getting a better appraisal of the target. Very large, several hundred meters high… appears to be biological, animal or… unsure. The target/subject is grey, dark-grey in colour with lighter, mottled parts. It looks like a mass of fronds or tubes in motion, fixed to the ground, waving like the action of water on… water on an anemone. Radio signal is indistinct but not a… It reminds me of...

There is sudden loud interference and distortion on tape.

…

There is continual background sound from radio, white noise and SOS signal.

Crane: About two or three minutes ago, god what’s the time, I haven’t been keeping the time?

Voice: [Sounds like Danforth] Twenty past two.

Crane: 14:40, sorry, 14:20, there was a large burst of radiation, the, uh, subject flickered rapidly then retreated to the horizon. Plane is coming in to land.

Burst of turbulence.

Crane: [Shouting] Sudden [inaudible] subject is still visible. We will [inaudible] the time being. Take her down.

…

Gusts of wind are audible throughout.

Crane: We have located the source of the transmission; currently in visual. The object/source is of [inaudible] unprecedented nature… possible EBE… two to three hundred metres tall. Occasional strong bursts of high energy radiation… [inaudible] Request back up…

Voice is inaudible due to wind and some interference on signal.

Crane: [Inaudible] do not understand, please repeat.

Voice is still inaudible. Crane responds giving a set of co-ordinates.

Crane: Please repeat those co-ordinates.

Voice appears to repeat co-ordinates.

Crane: [To unknown] I think they’ve got it. [To Voice] How long before we receive support?

Voice begins but signal becomes overwhelmed.

…

Ross: [Begins in mid-sentence] mostly directed upward. See the colours above…? It’s probably plasma in the mesosphere, I guess, where it hits and spreads.

Crane: I see.

Ross: The object is pretty vertical too from what I can make out with these. It’s fifteen, maybe ten miles away. It’s like…

Crane: It’s like the time on Aleutian Islands.

Ross: Yeah, but if they came from an extra-biological entity that’s hundreds of metres tall. Dyer, you, uh…

There is a short, inaudible conversation between Ross and Dyer.

Crane: What shall we call it…?

Dyer: Does it need a name…? Let’s call it ‘Get the Fuck Out of Here, Now…’

Crane: They said for us to keep visual contact…

Dyer: That thing, that fucking monster fried half our instruments, man. Rasmussen and Danforth are working on repairs… Who knows what they can do…?

Crane: We’ll see, all we have to…

Dyer: We’re not in this to die. We don’t have orders to die.

Ross: We’re not going to die.

Pause.

Dyer: Fuck knows what it’s doing to our balls.

Crane: What the fuck…? I ought not.

Dyer: The radiation. I’m not on some adventure. I’ve got kids! I got a family!

Ross: You know why you were chosen.

Crane: We have bio-suits.

Dyer: Who are you? I've not seen you on...

Crane: [Angry] Stand down, Airman!

Ross: [Interjects] Look… Listen… [soothingly] We were caught off guard. Now we have it, now we know where it is and what it’s doing we can take greater precautions, yeah…?

Long pause.

Dyer: How long before we get back up?

Crane: Forty-eight hours they said.

…

Crane: What time is it? 20:23pm. I’m worried. I’m on watch in my bio-suit. It doesn’t feel safe. We’ve built a snow barrier. Dyer and Ross are resting. Danforth is manning the radio… It looks like a hand… The eyes adjust. It’s not completely dark. Oh, it’s weird… It’s like a huge hand with black fingers. There’s a vortex above the EBE. It’s spreading, colours draining and whirling. It’s… not even evil. [Long pause – the sound of shuffling in the snow] I don’t know what it wants.

…

Radio signal: two voices sound simultaneously in a loop, one speeded up, high-pitched – “he’s gone where?” and the other slowed-down, “Danforth…” This repeats for over a minute until a loud crashing sound:

Crane: Where’re you going, stop, please, it’s…

There is the sound of doors failing to slam. Crane disappears from audio range. Wind becomes audible. The audio loop continues for approximately four minutes. The radio-sound then changes to SOS signal atop more metallic grinding. After seven minutes tape stops abruptly.

…

Day Three

Crane: 07:20am. We are getting ready to leave. We have been unable to contact base however it is my opinion, and that of my team, that it is too dangerous to continue with this expedition. We’re not paid to die. Well… not like this… I’m on watch again at this little… [the sound of crunching snow]. Last night was unnerving. We were woken, those of us who are asleep, by very loud noises, metallic/animal noises, very close to camp, in the brief bit of darkness. It came from multiple directions as well. Nothing... came at us however and we saw nothing but something about the sounds though seemed like… I don’t know, a warning, a mute warning. We were being told to get away. The anomaly has grown. It must be a quarter of a mile high… Through my binoculars I can see what look like scales, tensing muscles and tubes venting some kind of warmth. Not of the Earth; it must immensely powerful. It’s flickering a little, not like before. We have to get back as soon as we… Guys… Guys… GUYS… [running sounds] Start the engine!

…

Roaring sounds throughout; almost overwhelming.

Crane: [Shouting] EBE is in pursuit of our plane. It’s very… very fast… relentless… following… I don’t know if we can…!

Very loud shaking and banging sounds, roaring reaches a peak, crew can be heard yelling. There is a flashing sound. The audio becomes distorted. There is the sound of engines failing and a moaning voice repeating something. The sounds reach a high pitch then cut out suddenly.

Day Four

There is distant screaming in the background.

Crane: I am alive. I am amazed but [sharp intake of breath]. I don’t know if this is working. My left leg is almost certainly broken, otherwise just.

Dyer: [Shouting – distant] Shut that fucking thing off...! Liar... What're...?

…

Crane: Dyer is now dead. It is dawn, Day Four. Yesterday we were pursued and attacked by the EBE. Our plane was… shaken out of the sky. Rasmussen and Ross died... on impact. The EBE is gone now. It disappeared more or less after the attack… I think. It’s gone now. I am taking shelter in what’s left of the plane. Danforth survived almost [pained intake of breath] unscathed. He is off scouring the wreckage for… I don’t know what. The fucker’s gone mad. This is mad. We’re all mad. Dyer isn’t. He’s dead… and the others… Have set off an emergency alarm; they should be here in two, three days. There’s enough food. Must check the... radio…

…

Radio signal, alternating phrases in a loop: “if all goes well” and “holding gold.” This lasts for approximately thirty seconds.

Crane: [Deep, slow voice] It’s still out there.

…

Very slow walking sounds.

Crane: Danforth…! Danforth…! [Sighs] He’s gone. Where’d he go…?

…

Crane: Dyer was right... right to be suspicious... Danforth... that's what you get for bringing army along... It's eight, something... night-time... sun is setting... should it be setting there though...? Clouds are rising up like... strange... stairway to heaven... [Laughs] [Loudly] I'm Field Agent Crane of the Unusual Incidents Unit, FBI... Staff Sargeant Crane of the... [Quieter] I hope the bureau bills them for everything... [Painful sounds] I need more tablets.

…

Crane: Dark... [Long pause] Windy... [long pause] The sky... the sky to the north is glowing... different colours...

Sound of radio being turned on.

Voice: [Repeats] Plasma in the mesosphere it's still out there.

Crane: Why...?

Day Five

Crane: They came. It must have been after midday. I saw them, the plane... a plane. I let off a signal flare and they just... The plane just dived... I don't know where they went. I think I'm beginning to... [distortion on tape] understand...

…

Ragged walking sounds.

Crane: They came [distorted - low] again [repeats phrase]. I followed them. I walked [more distortion] towards them and [lower] reached out... and they [thins and speeds up] disappeared... out of the sky... Making my way back to the plane but I think I'm beginning to understand. The north is endless [echoes for two minutes before diminishing].

Endnote

There is no record of this mission existing either in USAF or FBI records.