[The Game] A Night At The Dead Zoo

Chapter 9

'If you think you know what the hell is going on, you're probably full of shit.'
- Robert Anton Wilson

Press play

Natural History Museum, Dublin. Present Day.

Low light. Interior of a glorious 19th century cabinet display museum. We pan across row after row of antique glass cases, motes of dust catching in the hazy security lighting. There's a flash of light and two figures appear: two men. One is in his early thirties, the other in his late fourties. The younger man seems confused, imbalanced, momentarily dazed, he stumbles on his feet. The older, taller man steadies him with a hand on the shoulder and a smile. Asks if he's okay. The younger one nods, smiling weakly, looking like he's about to be violently sick.

An ancient scene begins to play out. A scene which has been played out a hundred times, over four centuries. A master and his apprentice. Induction. Initiation. Explanation. The end of level one. The beginning of level two.

Shift tense.

'What does a museum full of dead animals have to do with anything?' the younger one asked. 'Everything,' replied the teacher, a manic, crazy-eyed stare coming over his face. 'Museums are excellent starting points. Perfect training grounds. And this one is special. Okay Michael. Now get ready. Because from here on in, this shit is about to get serious. By the time we're done breaking you in, you'll be curled up in a ball, crying for your mother and quite possibly begging for death'
'Great. I can't wait'
'You're also gonna have the time of your life. Seriously, three weeks of this and sex will seem dull'
'What?'
'You know what though?'
'Sex will seem dull?'
'We're missing something. Something we need while I explain this. No, wait, I've got it. You know what we need?
'How can sex be dull?'
'We need some banging music'. Gabriel clicked his fingers and the air was suddenly filled with thundering, glass-shaking drums.
'Jesus Christ. Is that not going to wake folks up?' Michael asks.
'Don't worry. No-one can hear that but us. Okay, kid, now listen up.' Gabriel momentarily stopped speaking, getting into the groove of the music and slipping into a ridiculous white man's overbite.
'Dear God, for the love of all that's holy, stop that' Michael pleaded.
'Oh get the stick outta yer ass, will you? This is the fun bit,' he laughed, moving off, clapping his hands to the beat, gurning like a loon. Before Michael had a chance to object again, Gabriel spun on his heel and launched into another rant. 'Before we get going, I mean really going, you need to be given some things. Special stuff like. So, two things to start with'
'What, like special magic weapons?'
'Yes, Michael, any second now I'm going to hand you a light-sabre'
'What?'
Gabriel rolled his eyes, then seemingly from nowhere, his hand held up a coat. Black, three-quarter length. A look of almost reverential pride came over his face.
'You're having a fucking laugh' Michael said with a snort. 'You expect me to wear that? I mean you actually expect me to wear that?'
'I wear one don't I?' Gabriel pointed out.
'Yes. And you look like a late, 19th century pimp. You want me to look like a late,19th century pimp? I was born in the 1970s for fucks' sakes...'
'Michael, this isn't a fashion item. This isn't just a coat. It's a shield. Protection. It will guard you. It's constructed using a technology you can't even understand. Wherever you are, whenever you are, this coat will blend you in. It bends light and space to make you look like you are wearing whatever you should be wearing in that time and place. A kaftan? No problem. A medieval suit of armour? Done.'
'Oh. Right. Actually, that is pretty cool'
'Yes, it is. You'll also need this...' Gabriel said, holding up a watch. A pocket-watch. Silver. Silver chain with silver fittings. It glistened in the light, almost humming.
'I have a watch actually' Michael said blankly.
'Open it,' he said, as Michael sheepishly took it from his hand. He opened it carefully, his face lghting up as the lid popped open.
'Whoa' said Michael. As he ran his finger across the surface, lights danced on a whirling touch screen, data streams and images appearing.
'This isn't just a watch. Sure, it'll tell you the time if you like. But this watch will show you wherever you are, whenever you are. Always accurate. It's also an uplink into the Cardenio system. Data, files, records, resources, contacts to staff, maps, mail, a phone, a one shot contraceptive...'
Michael looked up at him. 'You serious?'
'What do you think?'
'Right. Sorry'
'Michael, make no mistake: these two objects are your life. Protect them like you would your balls. Never surrender either of these items to anyone. They'll save your ass. Again and again.'
Michael nodded. 'I hear ya'.
'Good. Now...' Gabriel spun on his heel and started walking, pacing between the cases and displays, his apprentice following behind him, his head turning from side to side in bewilderment.
'Now: time. You need to understand time. So, listen up and learn. Time isn't complicated. It simply depends how you look at it, the words you use to percieve it. Think of it like this..' he said, clicking his fingers, vanishing into thin air and re-appearing ten feet behind himself, 'time is a book, each moment a page.'
'How the fuck...?'
'Those pages contain objects, artefacts: words, pictures, paintings, songs. Anything representing a memory, something which tries to capture a moment in time. Some of these objects, just some, are linked to each other. For example, a painting might show you a room, a room you can go to, jump to - a moment in space and time. That room, the real room, might contain a book, that book contains a picture, which brings you to a street in another time and place, which holds a church with an altar, an altar that carries an inscription, an inscription that jumps you the other side of the world to meet someone you've only ever heard of in legend. You with me so far?' he asked, his face creaseing up with giddiness. Clearly this was a part of Gabriel's job which he liked.
'I think so...'
'Try to keep up' he shouted with a laugh as he vanished again, only to re-appear on the balcony above. Michael's jaw hung down.
'They're hyperlinks.' Gabriel continued. 'Objects with a thread between them. Find the thread and you use the links to move through space and time. When you get there, you'll be able to slow time as you go. Like this,' he said, casually jumping over the railing. What happened next made Michael feel ill. Gabriel seemed to be in two places at once, one instant in mid-air, falling, the next on the ground, with a blurred, mass of colour between the two of versions of him. Time snapped, the space around them slapping back into normality with a stomach-churning wave effect. Gabriel now stood four feet from Michael.
'What the...'
'You can do this too, manipulating space as you move, bending reality to suit your shape and speed. These threads of hyperlinks are like waves you surf. Catch the right one and you'll fly. But understand, that if you catch the wrong one, you'll end up dead. With training, you will learn to move faster than those that you interact with, using words and sound to bend space and time. There are two essential skill sets to acquire. First finding the right objects and using them to jump. Second, learning how to fuck up the fabric of reality while you're there'
'Hang on. Bend space and time? With words?'
'Yep'
'How do I do that then?'
'By telling it to'
Michael stared for a few seconds, his mouth flapping up and down. 'You realise how ridiculous that sounds?'
'Oh yeah'
Michael sighed. 'Okay. So hang on a sec now. You want me to tell space and time to slow down, or speed up, or move aside so I can...' he trailed off, his hands waving in small circles.
'...slip your hand under reality's bra-strap and cop a feel'
'Ya ha. Right, thing is, I've never been that good at opening bras'
'I didn't say you had to open the bra. I just said you have to get your hand in there...'
'Get my hand in there?'
'Yep'
'And grab the universe by the tit?'
'Well grabbing anything by the tits is usually problematic. Generally speaking, violence will ensue. So, not so much with the grabbing, but you're getting the idea'
'So, more of a squeeze then?'
'Meh. I was thinking a sort of tweak really'
'Uh huh. And you think I can, you know, just do that then?'
'Yes, actually. I do'
'You know, I think I know why you're not married anymore'
'You really don't'
'Fair enough'
Gabriel laughed. 'Michael, a smarter man than me once said that "reality" is where gangs of rival shamans fought to a standstill. That standstill is where they agreed certain terms, words for certain things - because that's all that language is, a technology we use to perceive the world around us. Language is made up of words. Words made from phonemes - basic sounds. But they are more than just clumps of sound and letters to denote them. Those words are artefacts, fossilised records. They can tell us much more than you think. In time, you'll understand how to use words to push at the boundaries of what you call "reality"'
'Just like that eh? A click of the fingers like?'
'Well, it's a little more complex than that actually, but yes, that's essentially what I'm saying'
Michael took a step backwards, swinging his arms up and then slapping them together with a clap of exasperation. Gabriel, picking up the beat again, started dancing.
'Please, please stop that. There's nothing worse than a middle-aged man dancing like a twat.'
'Who you calling middle-aged?'
'For fucks' sakes, can we concentrate on one thing? Let me just make sure I've got this straight: you want me to believe that I can use any object in the world - a photo, a painting, a book - to jump through space and time...'
'No, not any object. Only certain ones work as hyperlinks' Gabriel said, breaking into a disturbing sequence of shoulder rolls and Huggy Bear-like foot shuffling.
'Okay, so I can use certain objects, special books, paintings, songs or even photos, to jump through space and time...'
'Yep'
Michael sighed deeply. 'Tell me again why we're here in a museum?' he asked.
Gabriel spun on a heel, perfectly in time to a shift in the music and looked straight at Michael. 'Okay. Now remember this: whenever you find yourself in a place and time that you don't know, look for the artefacts. Look for the commemorations of time and memory. These people were stuck up on statues for a reason. They might provide you with the link out that you need'
'So the artefacts are jump-points out of that location in spacetime?'
'Now you're getting it'
'Not sure I am actually. This is all a bit confusing really'
'That's to be expected. This is a bit of a headfuck the first time you try. Just remember this: wherever you are, whenever you are, find the place where that society keeps its memories. Where it records its stories. That's where the jump-points are - the threads. Catch the right one and you can surf home.'
'So museums are good places?'
'Superb places'
A moment passed, Michael looking around him again. 'So, where is Cardenio then?'
'You're standing in it'
'Huh? This is a museum. You know, for dead animals'
'You entirely sure about that?'
'I'm looking around me Gabriel, and all I'm seeing is dead animals'
Gabriel exhaled, laughing slightly. 'Okay, let's try ato alter your perceptions a bit, shall we?'
'My perceptions?'
'Every perception is a gamble Michael, don't ever forget that'
'You do love your little sayings don't you?'
'That I do' he said, slapping a hand straight onto Michael's head and taking hold. Michael screamed. Reality melted, spinning like a corkscrew around them and after what seemed simultaneously like a year and an instant, the shapes and colours around them reverse-twisted back, revealing them to be standing in the same museum. Except they weren't. The architecture of the building was exactly the same. But everything else had changed. It was still a museum, but not of dead animals. Instead of decapitated bison and badly stuffed giraffes, every case, surface and wall was now mounted with books, paintings, tapestries, furniture, coffins, sarcopghagi, sealed glass cases with papyri, statues, sheet music, musical instruments, scientifc apparatus, clothes and an array of other unidentifiable objects too vast and too weird to even take in. Every level, every gallery, every space was rammed with a wealth of treasures and objects. Michael stood and stared, speechless. It was, without any doubt, the greatest museum collection ever assembled on earth.

Slowly, from behind one of the glittering cases, a figure emerged. A slim woman with red hair, and green eyes, dressed in a three-quarter length black coat. She looked at him carefully, smiling in what looked like slight amusement. Behind her a man with a shaven head, serious face, dressed almost exactly the same, emerged. Ten feet behind them, another stepped out from what looked like a church organ. A man with long hair. Again, he wore the same odd garb. From every space and corner they seemed to appear, five of them, ten of them, thirty of them, fifty of them. They gathered in, stood and looked Michael up and down, some smiling, some smirking, some looking excited, exchanging glances, all curious. 'He's here' Michael heard one of them say.
'What the hell is this?' Michael asked, his head spinning, looking to Gabriel who had folded his arms and now stood grinning.
The woman with the red hair stepped forward and spoke first, with a clipped British accent. 'Hello Michael. My name is Victoria.'
'Huh?'
She laughed, her face widening into a broad, beautiful smile. 'Welcome to Cardenio'.

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