The Poring Dark

By Dennis M Lane

UPDATE: Two of the poems contained in this collection ("Grandfather" and "Blind Obedience") have received nominations for the 2013 Rhysling Awards!

If you could choose a new body, what would it be?

In a world where Hitler got the atom bomb, what would you change?

If everyone was telling you to stay at home, would you?

When crossing the road means death, how would you find food?

When the stew that you’re eating seems strange, dare you ask what’s in it?

When every camera is watching you, how do you get some privacy?

After paying your debt to society, why can’t they just let you die?

When the last soldier is leaving, should you give up your child to his care?

The multiverse branches; each new bubble pregnant with possibility, but, for all the differences, one thing remains constant; there are always decisions to be made...

The Poring Dark is Dennis M. Lane’s new collection of all things science fiction: short stories, poetry, flash fiction; the one thread running through everything is that life isn’t simple, every branch of the multiverse tree is laden with unforeseen consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis M Lane
• Release date: Sep 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301397938

Dennis M Lane

Dennis M Lane was born in the monochrome days of the early sixties, deep in the industrial heartland of England. Coming of age during the Thatcher Years, the conflict that he experienced during the Steel Strike and the Teacher’s Strike played a great part in his political development.In 1986 he travelled to Nigeria as a volunteer teacher and this lead to a long career working in international development, which continues to this day.He has lived in 7 countries across Africa, the Caribbean and the Pacific, each country making its own impact upon him. He has finally settled in South Africa where he has now lived for 8 years.His writing ranges from poetry, which covers a variety of themes from the personal to the political, and are written in a range of styles and forms; through short stories; to longer forms.His first book was "8 Million Stories", a collection of general poetry, and was published in 2010. His second book "The Poring Dark", a science fiction collection of short stories, poems and flash fiction, was published in September 2012 (two of the poems being nominated for the 2013 Rhysling Award). His third book (and first novel) “Talatu”, is a Young Adult Science Fiction tale and draws on elements of his experience in Nigeria. It was published in March 2013.He is currently completing his second novel "The King's Jewel" the first of "The Helix Key Series" which is a Young Adult series best described as Quantum Leap meets Assassin's Creed with a backbone of Stargate; and is populated by his own ancestors (going back as far as the time of Christ!)

Book preview

THE PORING DARK

(60 Excursions across the Multiverse)

By

Dennis M. Lane

Dedication

For Chantell

On all the Earths across the multiverse,

I love you.

Text © Dennis M Lane 2012

Cover Art: ∞Earths © Dennis M Lane 2012

www.terrandreamarchive.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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CONTENTS

Title

Opening Quotations

Introduction

Story: Mechanicals in the Midsummer Wood

Nanofiction: 01 – Glow

Poem: Growing Up

Nanofiction: 02 – Lure

Poem: Contact

Story: Surrogate

Nanofiction: 03 – Dust

Poem: Bifurcation

Nanofiction: 04 – Cup

Poem: The Poring Dark

Story: Carine

Nanofiction: 05 – Analogy

Poem: Blind Obedience

Nanofiction: 06 – Memory

Poem: Monsters

Story: Closed Circuit

Nanofiction: 07 – Linchpin

Poem: Grandfather

Nanofiction: 08 – Primer

Poem: A Daemon’s Lament

Story: Road Runner

Nanofiction: 09 – Dot

Poem: Legs Akimbo

Nanofiction: 10 – Sorry

Poem: Together

Story: Crime Scene

Nanofiction: 11 – Slip

Poem: Green Grass

Nanofiction: 12 – Paint

Poem: Take Him Please...

Story: A New Jerusalem

Nanofiction: 13 – Seek

Poem: Leaping

Nanofiction: 14 – Garden

Poem: Cthulhu Comes

Story: The Ultimate Man

Nanofiction: 15 – Guest

Poem: Into The Light

Nanofiction: 16 – Disappear

Poem: The Mission

Story: Odulik

Nanofiction: 17 – Breakfast

Poem: A New Home

Nanofiction: 18 – Dye

Poem: Primetime Apocalypse

Story: Bushmeat Soup

Nanofiction: 19 – List

Poem: Abduction

Nanofiction: 20 – Rain

Poem: Lunar Cycles

Story: Mechaniborg

Nanofiction: 21 – Hourglass

Poem: Generation XXV

Nanofiction: 22 – Visit

Poem: Pilgrimage

Story: Enemies Reunited

Nanofiction: 23 – Wind

Poem: Scifaiku

Nanofiction: 24 – Escape

Poem: Father Dust – Mother Sky

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"Now entertain conjecture of a time

When creeping murmur and the poring dark

Fills the wide vessel of the universe."

William Shakespeare

King Henry V (1599)

Visible nature is all plasticity and indifference, a multiverse, as one might call it, and not a universe.

William James

The International Journal of Ethics Vol. VI. - No. 10 (1895)

State vector is like a tree with an enormous number of branches. Each branch corresponds to a possible universe-as-we-actually-see-it.

Bryce S. DeWitt

Physics Today Vol. 23, No. 9 (1970)

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Introduction

The multiverse is real: in every decision that we make; every door that we open – or fail to open – new vistas spring into view.

Oliver Cromwell survives his urinary infection and the Republican Commonwealth goes on to forge the British Empire along Puritan lines; Alexander Fleming’s lab assistant cleans a dirty Petri dish and 200 million people die – for the want of a dose of penicillin; Edward VIII does not fall in love with Wallis Simpson, does not abdicate, and the British Empire comes to an accommodation with Adolph Hitler.

It has all happened – or will happen – somewhere in the multiverse.

This collection takes the intrepid traveller down just some of the branch roads leading to unexpected suburbs of the multiverse; with short stories, science fiction poetry, and nanofiction as your guides. Along the way, we learn that, for every decision, there is a consequence.

Enjoy your journey, and, remember, always look both ways before you cross...

Dennis M. Lane

Pretoria

South Africa

27th July 2012

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Mechanicals in the Midsummer Wood

(or The Case of the Vanishing Prince)

The Royal Mail Ship Cornwall steamed into the Greek port of Piraeus at precisely noon on the thirtieth day of March, the Year of Our Lord 1896. It was late spring, and the Aegean heat was already starting to make itself apparent. The observation deck of the ship was crowded with passengers craning to get their first look at the city, their excitement evident. A little to one side of the crowd stood a more restrained figure, observing the scene as he drew upon his pipe. It was Joseph Bell, Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, considering the extensive changes to the skyline that had occurred in the three decades since his last visit to Athens. The ship’s foghorn warbled and boomed a greeting to the crowds waiting on shore, and the excitement of the passengers rose.

Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle walked up to his mentor and friend of almost twenty years, his tropical suit of cream linen damp with perspiration. So Bell, how does it feel to return to the scene of your first case?

To be perfectly frank my dear Doyle, I had not even considered it. I was but a young man, and my part in foiling the assassination attempt on Queen Amalia was always more one of accident rather than design. As she and King Otto went into exile a year later, my involvement has largely been forgotten.

You are too modest, Bell.

’Tis a good thing that I am, smiled Bell. There is quite enough trumpet blowing already, with you publishing my various cases. In fact, what I was contemplating was the upcoming spectacle; the Mechanical Games will be my first opportunity to see the latest designs tested in the fire of competition. It is said that the British team contains over thirty of the mechanical men, and that they each have subtle differences in their construction to enable them to excel at particular sports.

As the two old friends shared their thoughts on the possible enhancements to Mechanical design that they would see, the ship edged its way to the quayside and, after interminable to-ing and fro-ing by the port workers, the gangway was fixed in place and passengers were allowed to disembark.

The gentlemen travellers had ensured that a two bedroom suite had been reserved at the Grande Bretagne, and so did not need to participate in the scramble to leave the ship. Reservations were essential as, even six months before the Games, hotel rooms had started to disappear in anticipation of this inaugural Mechanical Olympiad. Once the first press of people had disembarked, and had been carried away by the touts of those few hotels with vacant rooms, Bell and Doyle strolled down the gangway and Bell signalled to one of the waiting steam broughams. The driver pulled up and doffed his cap to the Scot. The Grande Bretagne if you please, but take the scenic route, my companion is new to Athens. The driver nodded, pleased to have been given the licence to go a few extra miles, it made a pleasant change for him not to have to gouge his passengers. The two gentlemen watched as porters stowed their portmanteaus in the boot of the brougham and then they settled themselves inside.

The city of Athens had grown considerably since Bell's previous visit. In 1861 he had been just twenty four years old and unknown; but his role in foiling the assassination attempted by Aristeidis Dosios had changed all that, and he had been lucky enough to make the acquaintance of many of those charged with the construction of the new capital. At that time, Athens had been a massive building site, the capital of a recently independent Greece that was being built upon the ruins of the timeless city. Now the great steam cranes had disappeared from the ancient site, and the construction had moved to the burgeoning suburbs.

As the brougham passed through the bustling city, the signs of the coming competition were everywhere; bunting had been strung across thoroughfares, signs proclaiming ‘Athens Welcomes The Mechanicals!’ seemed to be pasted upon the walls of almost every building, and, under the afternoon sun, the city was gleaming, bringing to mind the heroic structures of classical Athens. As they rode, Bell gave a running commentary, pointing out the neo-classical buildings designed by his old acquaintances Ernst Ziller and the Baron von Hansen. The brougham passed by the newly refurbished Panathinaiko Stadium with its statue of a Mechanical hurling a discus and, after enabling Doyle to gain his bearings somewhat, they made a final circuit of Syntagma Square and pulled up in front of the luxurious hotel.

As one of the most expensive hotels on the Aegean, the Grande Bretagne was staffed completely by Mechanicals, only the most exclusive of establishments could afford to employ so many, and this service featured heavily in the hotel’s advertisements. As the two men alighted from their transport, a Mechanical porter stepped up to the brougham, lifted out both portmanteaus with not a sign of effort on his brass face, and followed them up the steps into the hotel. Once inside, Bell and Doyle were ushered across the gleaming reception area with the deference due two scions of the British Empire, and soon they were taking their ease in the refreshing coolness of their suite.

#

That evening the friends ventured down to the hotel restaurant, having decided to postpone further exploration until the morrow. They sat to one corner, as was Bell's custom, and, as they waited for their Lamb Giouvetsi to be served, the senior of the two once again demonstrated his observational powers to his friend. See there, Doyle? Bell nodded towards the figure of a retired Colonel, resplendent in waxed mustachios and sporting an impressive array of ribbons.

Yes? What of him, Bell?

He is not what he seems. In fact, not only is his rank completely bogus, I would wager that he has never even served in India.

You don't say! But he looks the very picture of a retired Colonel of the Raj.

At first glance, maybe, but observe. Item one, Bell raised a finger, his ribbons; according to the story laid out by their colourful ranks, he served with distinction in both Jhajjar and Shorapur during the Sepoy Mutiny. As the two states are at least one thousand miles removed, I find that hard to believe. Possible, but highly unlikely.

Item two, a second finger joined the first, his moustache. Note the way that each branch bifurcates and is waxed? The style was very common with dirigible pilots during the first years of their operation as munitions platforms, but it is very unlikely that an infantryman would sport such a style.

Item number three, Bell counted off a third finger, observe his artificial hand. It is of a style used by the Hospitaller Order of Saint Lazarus of Jerusalem. That appendage was never constructed and fitted by a surgeon of the Empire. Bell took a sip of his drink and sat back with satisfaction. And so, I have no doubt at all that the ‘gentleman’ is a career confidence artist; one who came a cropper in the lands of the Turk, leading to the amputation of a hand for his crimes.

Astonishing!

Actually, if one is observant, it is quite elementary my dear Doyle.

Well, I for one will be informing the management to keep a close eye on the counterfeit Colonel.

The remainder of their repast was enjoyed without incident. Whatever else Bell may have observed of his fellow guests he kept to himself. After a very satisfying evening, the two friends, relaxed and replete, retired to their rooms.

[March 31st 1896]

The next morning, just before dawn, Bell and Doyle breakfasted in their suite; a passable kedgeree and some devilishly hot kidneys. As they prepared themselves for an early morning excursion to the nearby Acropolis, there was a knock on the door. Doyle opened it, to find a Mechanical bellboy, silver tray extended. Doyle took the letter presented upon the tray and, after rummaging in his pockets, deposited in its place a few drachmae of unknown denomination. Returning to the lounge, he handed the envelope to Bell, to whom the missive was addressed, who cracked the wax seal and unfolded the letter. It is addressed from the chamberlain to the Rajah Jaisal Singh who is here for the Games, remarked Bell.

And what does he have to say for himself? asked Doyle.

Grave news. The Rajah's son, Mangal Singh, has been abducted.

The Devil you say!

Indeed. And it seems that there were no clues.

It was the work of but minutes to complete their toilet and go down to reception. There they met the Rajah's man, who led them out to a waiting steam carriage. Soon the consulting detectives, having abandoned their plans for the day, were once more looking into a case. The carriage steamed through the streets to a well appointed suburb, and it was but half an hour before they were pulling up in front of a grand mansion built in faux Rococo style.

The companions were immediately ushered into the drawing room and the presence of the distraught Rajah. Thank you for coming so speedily gentlemen. I am grateful for that.

It would be an honour to be of some assistance, your Highness replied Bell, dipping his head in recognition of the Rajah's station. First of all, if I may, I would be interested to hear how you knew that we were in Athens? We only arrived yesterday afternoon.

That was quite simple. I am a patron of this inaugural Olympiad and had access to the list of invited 'eminent persons'. As you were involved in the 'Case of the Manchester Mechanical' I knew that you were expected. It was just a matter of enquiring as to your itinerary.

Ah, so it seems that you have quite capable deductive powers of your own. Hopefully you will be able to assist us in coming to grips with this case. May I ask that you tell us everything that you know?

Certainly Mr. Bell, but I am afraid that there is precious little to tell… I am a regular visitor to Athens, as I have business interests here, particularly in olives and shipping. It was due to my prominence within Athenian society that I was invited to be a patron of the Olympiad. I returned to my residence here almost a month ago, accompanied by my son, Mangal. He is just eleven years old and my only son.

Can you tell me what happened last night, your Highness? How your son disappeared? asked Bell.

The Rajah shook his head. There is not a lot that I can tell you I'm afraid. The dresser assisted Mangal with retiring to his bed at just before nine of the clock. The evening was quiet and, from my own investigation, nobody saw or heard anything. I went through to Mangal's room at just after ten of the clock on the way to my room and he was gone!

Would you always go through to your son's room? asked Doyle.

Always. Either upon my return from an engagement, or as I retire to my room. Last night I slipped quietly into his chamber and it was empty. The bed had been disturbed, but that was all that I observed.

And what did you do next? asked Bell.

I called my son's dresser, and then the rest of the staff; no one had seen or heard anything untoward. The whole house was searched, but there was no sign of Mangal.

I will need to interview all the members of your staff, your Highness said Bell. However, before this, Doyle and I need to inspect your son's room.

Of course, anything that you require. The Rajah nodded to a gangly man of middle years who was attired in formal silk robes. Kuldeep will show you to Mangal's room.

The two investigators followed the major domo across to the eastern wing of the mansion and up the wide staircase to the private quarters. At the door to Mangal's room, Bell stopped the servant. We must inspect the room in privacy, please make sure that we are not disturbed. With that, Bell and Doyle entered the room and closed the door upon any prying eyes.

The bed chamber was large and lavishly appointed, the furniture that of some of the finest craftsmen in Europe and the Near East. Bell walked to the centre of the room and turned in a slow measured circle; Doyle remaining by the door so as not to disturb his mentor as he gathered clues. After no more than a minute, Bell turned to his friend. Well Doyle, on a preliminary investigation this is an unremarkable room, very few signs that the occupant was a child, but no obvious clues. Now to look below the surface.

The investigator began to move about the room. He paused and picked something from the floor. Doyle approached, What have you found, Bell?

Perhaps nothing, but perhaps a clue, he opened his palm to reveal a slender golden leaf. If I am not mistaken, this is a leaf of the Llallangollen tree, most unusual. He slipped the leaf into a small envelope and then into his waistcoat pocket. Bell then moved to the casement windows, he did not remain very long at the first, but the second caused him to reach inside his jacket for a small glass magnifier. Come Doyle, take a look at this. He pointed to the paint by the lever handle that locked the window. See here? The scratch does not quite cut through the paint to the wood, but it is clearly new, the paint is discernibly brighter. The implement used to slip the lever must have been very delicate indeed to reach through this frame.

Using a pair of fine tweezers, Bell retrieved a slender triangle of metal. See here, Doyle. The blade used to force this window was of supremely fine manufacture, evidently too fine for such brute work. He inspected the knife point under his magnifier. Unfortunately, I am here without my materials. I must make a list of chemicals and equipment for the Rajah to procure and have sent to our suite.

After much