The next novel - Rage - begins.

Waken

 

I wake up in a hotel room. It's well provisioned, at what I'd say was early 21st century business class. Maple finish doors. On the walls, ironic pictures of unrecognisable landmarks inhabited by quirky people. Nothing loose which could easily be put into travel luggage. Instagram friendly.

 

I could hear someone else in the shower. My awareness was returning slowly, like the hotel kettle filling from a slow tap. Closer inspection and I could see a cluster of three black marks each about the size of a coffee mug ring on the lower section of the entrance door. Then further up, another three clustered black marks. Scorch marks or the points on a tree bark where branches would have hung.

 

I remembered the paradox, I was Farallon. A Watcher who became a Wakener, but then, at Limantour's behest, I was ported into a human named Scrive. 

 

It had been trippy, being associated with a specific human. My host had been jacked on tropus and nanobot engineering and, I'm told, for a human possessed extremely fast thought and reflex.

 

Yeah, right, but not fast enough to avoid being zapped by a Trigax Rail Gun in the back streets of London. I assumed that was how I came to be here now, in this hotel room, listening to someone else showering while I appeared to still possess the restored body of Scrive.

 

The door to the shower bathroom opened and the toned body of Limantour stepped into the room, oblivious to her lack of clothing.

 

"Hey, Farallon, I said it'd be wild," she began. As she turned, I noticed three marks on her dark skin, like the marks on the door. It appeared to be the residual burn marks from a Trigax.

 

She wrapped herself in a hotel towel. 

 

"I'd forgotten you were in here, let alone human sensibilities," she said, "We are still operating as Wakeners. Just like I described when we sat on the racetrack in Norway.  I'm still Chantel.

 

I still had some of my Watcher powers, carried forward into my guise as a Wakener. Limantour - the mistress of chaos - had lectured me about my transition from a Watcher into a Wakener. I replayed the key facts in my mind, whilst she rapidly assembled an outfit.

 

"You'll be able to act now, and not only that, but you'll also carry some knowledge of the future. Your mind has been loaded with the next 300 years of developments, but I sense we've been given an edit."

 

"And - You'll be linked into a specific human. Scrive in your case. Humans operate slowly, so you'll have to get used to that, although you can help them at our normal speed of thought and knowledge. You'll need to get used to travel at a human rate. No hops to another position on the earth. And you'll need to take care of your human. They are not immortal like us, and our persistence is interrupted if they are killed. You'll still be able to get back to the Wakener dimension though."

 

That was it. Persistence interrupted. My human, Scrive, and I guessed Limantour's human named Chantel had been killed. Our persistence had been interrupted. We were now into uncharted territory.

 

I looked from the window. A street scene, but with Cyrillic writing. A small tobacconist shop opposite and a parade of small hipster cafes. There's a kind of green sheen over everything, which I realise is being cast by the sky, more green than blue, like something from the Northern Lights.

 

Then I remembered that Drake and Tomales had also experienced the same transition with their Personas entering the Presence of others, but there was no hint that they were around here. I guess they are survivors.

 

Limantour grins. She is now wearing a bright green zebra patterned dress, "And remember: You'll need to resist some of the human emotional traits. It can be like a massive sensory overload when you start."

 

"Yes, that explains a few things," I reply, feeling shaken at Limantour's 'grand reveal' a few moments earlier.

 

"Where's the dress from?" I ask

 

"Kapsula, one of the nearby shops. I was here before you. It gave me a chance to slip out to get a few things. Good selection."

 

"But I think your name changed to Chantel - a so-called London socialite?"

 

"Mad-cap socialite," replied the Mistress of Chaos. 

 

"Of course you are," I thought.

 

"I was wrong about one thing," answered Limantour, "Our Wakener back-channels still function. We can still communicate to one another silently. So, I can still read your thoughts."

 

I realised that Limantour had not spoken the reply. We still had that direct affinity.

 

"Can we reach Tomales and Drake," I asked, "Or should I say Charlie and Nathan?"

 

"I don't know," answers Limantour, "I can't seem to find either of them. I suppose they could still be okay in their first Presences?"

 

"The thing is, Scrive works so much better when he's around Charlie," I explain.

 

"Maybe it's a range thing?" asked Limantour, "I don't know how far our back-channels reach. You've realised this isn't London?"

 

I looked at the Hilton hotel signage in the room. Cyrillic. I could still read it though, my Watcher powers seemed to be intact. Limantour was reaching for the TV remote

 

"Whoa," I said.

 

"Shevchenkivs'kyi district, Kyiv" I uttered.

 

The TV started, in English. It seemed to know about us both too. Scrive Mallinson and Chantal le Strang. 

 

"It's great that Chantal has multiple names, too, also Daisy Stone!" said Limantour.

 

I was more blown away by the fact we were in Kyiv, Ukraine and the date showing on the television.

 

"We are two days from the start of the first Klima War," I look towards Limantour, then adding, "Remember those big history dates? 4-July-1776 American Independence, 1066 Battle of Hastings, 1914 Start of Great War, 1939 World War II starts, 8-May-1945 Victory in Europe, 22-02-22 Start of First Klima War."

 

"I always thought they moved the official start to 22-2-22 to make it easy to remember" says Limantour, "It started on 20-02-22."

 

"And today is the 19^th. Well, we are right at the start of of it, anyway," I say to Limantour, "Tell me it's not more of your crazy chaos?" 

 

"No - I really don't know about any of this,"

 

"And how will we extricate ourselves?"

 

"Well, you're some kind of fly-boy marine, I think, and I'm a fashion statement. How hard can it be? We'd better use our human names from now on."