Hallucinating (25 page)
"Authority," Master Sengel suggests.
Kappa nods. "I think they know they made a mistake at Stonehenge, and maybe they also have at Totnes."
"Radio Free Festival is now secure for the foreseeable future," Master Sengel declares. "The single question we have to decide is, should we trust the Lyme people and work with them?"
Kappa shakes her head. "We can never trust them, the question is whether to work with them or not."
This bald statement causes an uncomfortable silence in the chamber. Kappa speaks true. The truth is tricky.
Master Sengel turns to van der Woofer and says, "What do you think?"
Van der Woofer replies, "I think we should avoid all contact with the Lyme authority. I think their deeds at Stonehenge and Totnes, and wherever else they're acting supposedly in the name of the people, prove what loutish bastards they are. Kensington Whatsit is just some tinpot dictator who's trying to get power while the country is fragmented. Typical ignorant man. Give them another year and they'll self-destruct, or start a war with the equivalent power in Hampshire."
Another uncomfortable thought...
Kappa tells herself,
But the Lyme Regis authority does exist. We can't ignore it.
Deputy Smark asks Master Sengel, "What do you think?"
Master Sengel replies, "I think we should go on as we are, ignoring this new authority—but I do think Kappa should continue as our representative there." He pauses, then glances at Sir Trance-alot.
"I believe we should talk with these people," Sir Trance-alot says, "and perhaps even do business with them. The Greenstyle man has a point. All over Europe, lands and countries will be reforming, even if it is slowly. We can't ignore that movement towards... I was going to call it normality, but destroying the environment for the sake of techno-capitalism didn't count as normality."
Master Sengel nods, then leans forward to top up his wine glass and say, "So it is three-three. This is how we have voted. I will therefore use my influence to say, Kappa, continue liaising with Greenstyle. I have some ideas to infiltrate the Lyme authority, but in our present circumstances they will take some preparing." He taps his fingernails on the table. "But Ed Wynne and ZAII have shown us that infiltration is possible. And there are the aliens to consider, now that Radio Free Festival is safe... well, it is true to say that there is no hurry to make deals with these Lyme people. Aliens first, I think."
So. Hmmm. Looks like Kappa's been made ambassador.
Kappa now faces a dilemma. Nulight. He's not going to like this.
The couple meet in the Blue Note Café the day after, Nulight having come up-country from the Dartmoor retreat, where he has been programming broadcast material with Sperm and Jo.
Something has angered him. (Kappa knows the signs.)
"Have you fucking heard it?" he rages. "
Have
you?"
He hasn't explained what he's on about. "Heard what?"
"This new government radio station, Radio Green Britain."
Kappa says nothing.
"Sweets, it's the worst. Just the worst... hey, you all right?"
Kappa finds herself unable to stop her face telling him what she has done. Guilt, shame possibly, are being radiated from her; and he's seen it.
"What?
What?
" he asks.
"Nothing."
"What's going on?"
"Nothing!" Her voice is squeaky now.
Suddenly, violently, Nulight stands up. "Are you keeping something from me? What, you
know
about this radio station?"
"No!"
"You fucking
do!
Don't tell me you had anything to do with it."
But then Kappa is saved by a miraculous event. Who should walk into the Blue Note Café but Chantal. Yeah, really; of all people, Chantal.
Nulight is speechless, as is Kappa. The pair just stare as Chantal—looking pretty cool in shades, a pink fluffy top and stripey red leggings—walks up to the bar, orders a herbal tea, then turns to regard the duo.
"Hi," she says.
Kappa lunges forward. She needs a diversion
bad.
"Chantal!"
"Long time with no seeing," Chantal replies.
"What are you doing here?"
Chantal takes off her shades and pops them onto the bar, where they click-clack with all the cheapness of truly naff goods. "I just popped down to see if anybody was around from the old days. Came on a push-bike."
"Where from?" Kappa asks.
"I live in a village near Blandford Forum. Not too distant."
So far, Nulight has said nothing—not surprising. Kappa glances around to see if he is still nearby. He is staring at Chantal with hate in his eyes.
Chantal adds, "I got a record deal for Mystery Trend."
Sheer cold horror makes Kappa shiver. A record deal? No, please not with—
"With a new outfit called Voiceofbritain Records."
Again Kappa glances back at Nulight; then she realises what a bad move that is. Guilt radiator! She stutters, "Er, what line-up, exactly?"
"Me, Klaus and Morwenna—not Zhaman, obviously, even if I knew where he was."
There is a scrape and a crash as Nulight stands up and strides over. He faces Kappa and says, "We are
through.
I see now what you've been up to.
Traitor!
"
And he storms out of the caff.
Chantal glances at him, then smiles at Kappa. "You always were too good for that turd," she remarks. "Let him go, eh?"
...where ZAII?...
Nulight travels to the Somerset road where Kappa met Ed—riding on a lotus, pragmatism now the only option, fuck it—but to his annoyance he finds only trees that have been moved and pressure marks in a field; so the helicopter
was
here. Muttering to himself, he wonders what to do. With Kappa a possible turncoat his only option is to leave Glastonbury and return to Boscastle, where he can at least find some peace.
The lotus fliers present a problem, though. One is in Boscastle, one is in Glastonbury, and he has one. He wants to limit Kappa's mobility, but to do that he would have to return and steal her flier—and who would pilot it on his behalf? Nobody.
Cursing, he gets astride the lotus and flies away. A coupla miles west he spies a solitary man with a dog in tow, so he lands the lotus out of sight and waits for the stranger to approach, hoping it is somebody Ozrics related. It ain't. They meet one another on the remains of the road along which the dude is walking. He is sweaty and unkempt, his clothes more like rags than anything, and he has that deep and dense amalgam of grime and suntan that speaks of life on the road. Strong smell of patchouli.
Nulight says, "Greetings, man." He gestures at the road and adds, "Have you seen a psychedelic looking oldster round here? Or a copter?"
The stranger shakes his head. "Sorry, mate. Why?"
"Hey," Nulight replies, "nothing. Just asking."
The man shrugs, then introduces himself. "I'm Patchouli Zane. Is this the road to Glastonbury?"
Nulight chuckles. "Man, all roads lead to Glastonbury, you should know that." He glances at the dog, which he is surprised to note is a bloodhound. He turns and points north, adding, "About another twenty miles, I'd say. You want to find the old A38. As soon as you see the Tor, hey, it'll be easy—just follow the lanes, yeah?"
"Thanks, mate. Nice of you."
Nulight waits until Patchouli Zane is out of sight before returning to his lotus. That evening he arrives at Boscastle, where he finds Kappa's parents, Zhaman and his woman, and also Sperm and Jo. Briefly, he informs everyone of the problem. Then he walks alone to the harbour, where he watches the sea, listening to Radio Free Festival on a little wind-up portable, trying to forget his erstwhile mate and her vile betrayal.
Hmmm. What to do next...
...Greenstyle digs a wobbly...
Meeting No. 2 occurs on Sidmouth sea front, Kappa and Greenstyle, with Master Sengel and Sir Trance-alot watching from the pebble-strewn beach. They all have to be careful, for this government is clever, sly, devious. There will be recorders and cameras everywhere, no doubt, and extra support for Greenstyle. Yet despite the dangers Kappa finds herself soothed by the presence of ZAII, invisible, yes, but surely here...
Kappa begins the discussion with a shot of sarcasm, hoping for a hint of Greenstyle's team. "So you're recording this conversation, too?"
He answers, "I do have bosses to report back to."
Kappa feigns irritation. "Bosses..."
Greenstyle wants to move the discussion on, so he takes a deep breath, smiles, and says, "Never mind that. We're different people, and that's fine. Now, do you have any idea when... if you'll be able to work with our green ministry?"
"I thought it was the Department of the Environment?"
"Isn't that the same thing?"
Kappa considers. "No."
Greenstyle grimaces. "Let's not split hairs. Do you and your people want jobs in our ministry?"
"I'll be honest—we're split down the middle." She shrugs. "I don't mind you reporting that because in all other aspects we're solid as a stone—"
"But how did
you
vote? I assume there was a vo—"
"Yes there
was,
" Kappa interrupts. "Of course there was a vote—don't piss me off like that, Greenstyle Patel. I voted to have relations with you people, if you must know. I voted to keep the lines open."
Greenstyle nods, then glances down at the ground; in a moment he has knelt, reached down, picked something up and proffered it. "You lost a button."
Kappa tuts to herself and puts the button in her pocket. "The problem comes," she says, "when I want to do things that the dissenters in my camp don't want to. Or that the people in your camp don't like."
Greenstyle grins. "Look, that's what politics is all about. You'll be a politician. There's going to be problems, but we'll sort them out. The important thing is to be on the correct track."
"Well, we're not convinced that you people are."
"You can only know by working with us. Shape our thoughts—that's what we want. We don't have the experience that you have, but we do know that we need it if our plans are to be complete, if they're to reflect the new country."
Kappa clicks her tongue in annoyance. "Stop talking about a new country. It's not. It's thousands of tiny ones—that's your first lesson, don't you understand?"
"I do, but I also see the need for a larger scale presence. We can't forget our old ideas of nation, of—"
"Maybe not, but we can amend them, make them better."
They discuss this point for some time, until the argument has become thin and worn, and it is time to take a step back. Time to go, in fact.
"I'm going to recommend that you and any number of people that you want should be given places in Lyme Regis," says Greenstyle. "It might take a while to arrange, but May Dee and I will do it. You'd come and go as you pleased, so long as you did the minimum required work relevant to your salary."
The word
salary
surprises Kappa; it is something she has never before thought of. "You'll be paying me?"
"Of course. Damn well, too."
Kappa considers. "How will I spend my money?"
"You'll be paid value, not money. If you want goods to barter with at home, wherever that might be, well, we'll give them to you. No cash, obviously. I get paid mostly in food and drink, but some of my pay is in the form of bonds that the government keep on my behalf. It means that I'm guarenteed support even if I leave office, even if I work against them."
"Which you'd never do."
Greenstyle answers in two ways. He says, "I can't see myself ever leaving Lyme Regis," but as he does he makes a pretence of stroking the stubble on his neck, where he traces a single shape. A letter Y.
Kappa nods, and departs. Her mind is full of unanswered questions.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
...the drop...
A strange thing happens. One sunny morning a glider appears over Glastonbury and drops 200,000 white rose petals upon the town; every community gets some. Then the glider is high and away, a silent, pure white mystery, heading east. For most of the day people wander about picking up the petals, sniffing, and in some cases eating them, until come sunset the novelty has worn off and the petals are ignored. They drift like snow into the corners and alleys of the town.
That evening, half an hour after sundown, Kappa is descending the steps of the Faculty of Avalon when she glances down into the Courtyard to see a lone man, looking somewhat lost. The Blue Note Café is closed, every door shut, curtains drawn, candles lit and lamps on, with the twilight Courtyard enshadowed and night-stock scented. The stranger's patchouli merges with the sweet smell, remixing the evening air.
She approaches. She does not recognise him. "Hello, can I help?"
The man shakes her hand, then glances around. "I've heard alot about this place, but never seen it."
"You're new? Where are you from?"
He answers, "Near Bristol. D'you live here?"
"I'm Kappa Smythe, Dean of the Faculty of Avalon. D'you have friends or relations here? I don't want to put a downer on you, but if you haven't it'll be difficult for you to join a community. Since the invasion, well... "
"I understand. I'm Patchouli Zane, pleased to meet you."
"So. Do you?"
He shakes his head. "No rellies here, no. Since the invasion I've been drifting south. All my family are dead—long gone. I thought this would be a good place to come."
Kappa glances around the Courtyard. "It is, but life here isn't a doss. If one of the communities accepted you, you'd have to work really hard."
"I know hard work. It doesn't scare me."
"Good. Well, forget the Tor Community for a start, they're independent. Introduce yourself to the Street Community, tell them I sent you. I can't guarentee the response, but you should be all right."
"Thank you Kappa." Patchouli Zane smiles. "So you have influence around here?"
"You could say that. We have the Avalon Parliament, and I'm a rep there."
"Representing who?"
"The Fac," Kappa answers, "which is associated with the High Street Community. It gets a bit complicated... in a nutshell, if you work hard, make friends and properly join a community, you'll be fine."
"Thanks for your advice, then. 'Bye."
"See ya."
Kappa watches Patchouli Zane depart the Courtyard and turn left; he is heading for the Street Community. She pauses, the scent of patchouli intense in her nostrils, whiffy even for a rough traveller. Hmmm. He seems all right. She glances down at the drifts of white petals in the various corners of the Courtyard, noticing that they haven't begun to curl at the edges yet. In fact, they look fresh. She kneels down, picks up a handful, and examines them.
All at once she is on her feet, scared, looking around. What the...?
The petals made her
do
something, but she does not know what.
This is weird, horrible. She drops the petals and wipes her hand on her skirt, but again something whizzes through her mind, a thought, perhaps an urge, though she does not know what it is, does not recognise it, and cannot even recall now what it felt like. Ugh. Like
manipulation.
She is worried. Master Sengel needs to know about this. Something wrong here. In a trice she is down at the Chalice Well, through the outer security, and underground. Master Sengel is creating insectoid robot spies with van der Woofer, but he stops work when Kappa arrives. She relates her Courtyard experience.
Master Sengel nods. He appears unhappy. "I don't have the spectrographic gear here to analyse these objects," he explains, "which may cause us a problem."
"But are you worried?"
A pause for thought, a shrug, and then, "We're all safe here, Kappa, nobody can find us. Don't forget, I'm invisible."
Kappa shivers. "I don't like it. Who did that glider belong to? To somebody with money, with a plan, maybe. Why were petals dropped on us? They made my mind whirl."
Master Sengel shakes his head. "As yet, I don't know why they were dropped. I've collected quite a few myself. I think we should all remain alert. Other than that, we must wait, watch and think. An answer will come, don't worry."
But Kappa is worried. "Greenstyle knows I have contacts in Glasto—he sent the vid phone here."
"He knows, but I am invisible and the Chalice Well is protected by pure fear... remember? I control everything around here."
Kappa nods. But you don't control
everything,
Master Sengel. Is your invisibility making you complacent? Have you won too many times?
And Kappa is worried.
...Tru-Rah driftin' east...
Nulight is pissed off and lonely: which is a bad combination. He cannot
believe
that Kappa has betrayed their principles in order to work with the government. Jo and Sperm are surprised at Kappa's decision, certainly, but not so angry as he is; they think collaboration has its advantages. Because Nulight does not, there is tension in the air. Moreover, it is not easy living at the smallholding owned by Kappa's parents, and Nulight, already living in the tipi in the garden, is having to consider moving to a new gaff.
He wanders down the hill to the harbour, where he chills for a while. Two oldsters are putting up posters, so he saunters over to check out the news.
Something of a surprise, this.
'Full Moon Party, 9 pm 'til late, Tru-Rah in the House of Wicker, broadcasting it to you analogue style, three bands: the Tintagel sound—Rainbow Junk Pattern Synthesis and The Seedy Manufacturers—and shouting it out for Mandragora from up-country, making vibes for Boscastle. Don't miss! Free. PBAB & stuff. 0755438695.'
Nulight reads this extraordinary flyer, then examines the two ancient men. "Tru-Rah in Boscastle?" he says. "What, Mandragora are still going?"
"That's us," says one of the oldsters.
Nulight takes a step back and studies the pair. They're both old, but hale and hearty, and, more important,
here.
"You're Phil? Simon?"
What in Buddah's name are Phil Thornton and Simon Williams doing down here? Nulight is amazed. Tru-Rah in Boscastle, yeah, right, that's really gonna happen...
"You got me stumped, man. What's happenin'?"
Phil replies, "We got invited down. Hard to resist a gig in a place like this. We're dusting off the old Synth Museum as it's a special gig."
Nulight manages to reply through his astonishment, "You were
invited?
How? By who?"
"The man organising the gig. He's from Tintagel, we haven't met him yet. He managed to get through on the mobile—"
"He
phoned
you?"
Phil nods. "You not got a moby yet?"
Nulight can't understand. There ain't no mobiles offered to the general public.
Simon takes a green mobile phone from his pocket and hands it over. "They've only just become available," he says. "You can get them from these new government outlets in Dorset, Hampshire, those places."
Nulight hands back the mobile. "Right, so that's the catch. I don't wanna diss you dudes—respect, and all that—but you're dealing with something dangerous here. The government, if you can call them that, man, they captured and imprisoned me. Do you know who I am?"
"No," Simon replies.
Nulight replies, "Voiceoftibet Records, that's me."
"Hey, did you know they've set up Voiceofbrit—"
"Yeah, yeah, I knew," Nulight interrupts, "and I'm not happy about it. So they're giving people mobiles, now?"
Simon nods. "All you've got to do is register with them. I'm not going to argue with something that's helped me find some of my old friends years after the invasion."
"And got us this gig," Phil adds.
Nulight considers what he has heard. A
green
mobile. Green, yeah; so obvious. Mobile phones to get people
talking
about how generous, how cool the new government is. Also obvious. He can feel his rage rising.
But then Phil says something that douses his anger. "I know about your quest, and I'm on your side. I'm uncomfortable with this new government, if I'm honest. How would you like to play trumpet with us?"
Simon adds, "So you were the man behind Voiceoftibet..."
Nulight glances at them both. He remains suspicious. "Yeah, so, tell me, how come you're playing a Tru-Rah gig?"
Relaxed, no,
chilled out,
Phil shrugs and replies, "Last week I got sent a junk message from Tintagel. I was intrigued, that's all. I got the Tru-Rah matrix sent up, and then me and Si just got into it straight away." He pauses, then glances at Simon and adds, "It kind of tugs at you, doesn't it?"
"It's addictive," Simon remarks.
Nulight finds himself torn. He wants to be part of the Boscastle community, he wants to be part of its music and its life, and since the quest he has wanted to play more music. This is too good an opportunity to miss.
"Yeah, right, okay," he murmurs. "I'll play, no worries."
"Great," Phil says. "We're programming some Tru-Rah riffs. You can float your solos over them." He grins. "That's what we'll be doing."
A coupla days later the moon is full. Boscastle is buzzing. People are walking in from adjacent communities, some from as far as Port Isaac; they've heard that Mandragora are going to play, one of the NPTers too. The appearance of a second Tru-Rah scene certainly is firing imaginations. Nulight, well, his analogy would be the progress of a disease, but there is something in the casual manner of the Mandragora dudes and the happy anticipation of the locals that even one as cynical as he can't oppose. It's good to have music again, it's good to have new subcultures—to have cultural diversity. What worries him is that it's Tru-Rah that's inspiring people.
Ah, well. He can't change that.
So, time for the gig. The wooden stage has been set up underneath the overhanging harbour cliffs, west side, opposite the River Valency. Each band occupies one third of the space. To improve visibility, there are no high sides or backdrops: people are everywhere, far left and far right, scores of them on the opposite side of the river, maybe four hundred in total. The gear is all twentieth century analogue synths, tape loops on Revoxes, and stacks of real instruments, flutes, hand percussion, guitars and mandolins, all cabled through mikes and piezo-electrics to a 512 channel Spirit. Holly Witch is the engineer, and she's done a good job.
The weather is perfect. The acoustics are great. The music
floats.
Nulight watches the Tintagel bands from the side of the stage, a bottle of Ashburton '39 in one hand, a spliff in the other, and although his mind resists at first, it is impossible to stop this gorgeous music getting under his skin. By the time The Seedy Manufacturers have finished their saz and oud fuelled, hour-long Schulze-esque maelstrom of tweaked sequences and squelchy blippage, he has been converted.
Despite himself, he has been converted...
Full moon arising. The Mandragora dudes walk towards the stage—huge cheer greeting them—then Nulight follows, picking up his trumpet and generating a second roar. Phil asks Nulight if he will use a Tibetan thigh bone, a magickal instrument, a request to which Nulight agrees; he can feel the vibe of this gig, he's not going to refuse. So, they are on stage now. At each end of Phil's Moog keyboard there is a metallic tetrahedron housing customised theramins. After final adjustments to the wall of modular synths behind him, Phil kicks off with a dramatic gesture towards the theramins, triggering the Moog and Korg sequencers into a subsonic pulse. Si joins in with a perfect MonoPoly filter sweep. Go! The music has begun, and everyone can throw their solos into the mix for Holly Witch to catch, e-bow guitar, gliss guitar, thighbone, trumpet and all.
Euphoria takes all three of them for a swim. Time compresses into a long instant. Nulight is playing without thinking.
Tru-Rah has entered his mind again, and this time it isn't going away.
...the busted arm...
Kappa is taking lunch with Matey and Slim Ciggie + sprog at the top end of Glasto High Street when a limping, wrecked, blood-stained figure comes into view, and she is speechless when she recognises Greenstyle. She runs over and grabs him, but he is so exhausted he finds it difficult to speak. His arm is in a filthy sling made out of a shirt, and it seems to be giving him pain.
"Greenstyle! What happened?"
He wheezes, "Defected." He winces and looks down at his arm.
Kappa decides to take him down to the Faculty, where there are quiet rooms. People stare as they all walk past. A few minutes later Greenstyle is coughing and spluttering in a meditation room, the door is shut, and enquiring people are being brushed away by Matey with a cheerful, "Nuthin' t' see! Booger off, y'all!"
Kappa sends for Frank the Manc (former nurse) who gives Greenstyle the once over. "Broken wrist, clean fracture I'd guess, but without X-rays impossible to tell. Hurts bad, mister?"
Greenstyle nods.
"Wickid."
Once Greenstyle has been cleaned up, had his arm re-splinted and bandaged, and been offered herbal tea and a medicinal flapjack, Kappa decides to continue her interrogation.
"You defected? When?"
"A few nights ago. Sorry to inflict myself on you..." He suppresses a sob. "I didn't know where else to go."
Kappa repeats, "Defected?"
He nods. "I tried to hint during the first meet, then again during the second, but it was impossible. We were being filmed, you probably—"
"Yes," Kappa interrupts, "I did guess that, Greenstyle. So the government is getting out of hand and you've decided to defect?"
"I tried to change them, but it's too big a job. Your man Nulight was right—you can't change anything from within, you have to drop out and then lead by example." He shakes his head and looks to the floor. "Impossible any other way... it was the Totnes stunt that pushed me over the edge."
Kappa leans back. If this is an act... but it can't be, Greenstyle was bloody and he really has broken his arm. Deciding it is time to mellow the atmosphere, she closes the curtains, lights a joss stick and puts an old Ship Of Fools CD on the stereo. She pulls her chair up close to where Greenstyle is sitting.