The Ghost of Delacroix

By James Alexander Higgins

Across the forests and deserts of a post-apocalyptic outback Australia, the quest for answers and salvation begins.

Jake, Marcus, and their small tribe of survivors have acquired an airship, a medical pod, and most strangely of all, an iridescent blue friend; the mysteriously wise and powerful Adam.

For the moment, they survive in ob

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rational Rise Press
• Release date: Mar 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780995435094

Book preview

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This book is available in Print and Audiobook formats from:

www.rationalrise.com/books

First published in 2020 by Rational Rise Press, Australia.

Copyright © James Higgins 2020

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

Cover artwork design by Sean Lowery IndieAuthorDesign.com

Layout & Text by James Fox Higgins.

First Printing: 2020

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Higgins, James Fox, 1986-

The ghost of Delacroix.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9954350-9-4

ISBN-10: 0-9954350-9-X

RATIONAL RISE PRESS

Australia

www.rationalrise.com

Dedication

To Annie, for rising out of the underworld with me.

Macintosh HD:Users:virarubenstein:Desktop:james-fox-higgins.jpg

About the Author

James Fox Higgins is a husband, father, writer, musician, multimedia producer, and entrepreneur. His birth name means Supplanter of evil, Defender of men, Renowned Wolf of the Vikings. He is a Christian nationalist, patriarch, and a passionate advocate for Western Civilisation.

After a long career as an entertainer, James built himself a studio fortress in the rainforest of Australia, and started his podcast The Rational Rise, which has since evolved into RationalRise.TV - an independent media platform dedicated to the promotion and celebration of goodness, truth, and beauty. James spends his working hours slaying sacred cows, creating vivid fictional worlds, and publicly observing reality without any political correctness filter. He spends his leisure hours hunting, tanning pelts, playing with his sons and his dogs, homesteading with his wife and extended family, and producing original music.

You can join James Fox Higgins

online at his blog rationalrise.com and watch 

The James Fox Higgins Show at RationalRise.TV

Portrait photograph by Judd Weiss.

Acknowledgements

Firstly, I owe a great debt of gratitude to my wife, Vira, with whom I wrote this book as my sounding board, editor, and enabler. Without her patience and enduring belief in me, I would have achieved very little in life. These books are made possible by her love for me.

To Bobby Poulton, Trevor Newnham, and Sam Leveridge, my brothers in Christ who helped me find and understand the light.

To Annie Higgins, Llew Cross, Hamish McKenzie, Tessa Lee, Bobby & Victoria Poulton, and John Humphreys, for being my team of initial readers, and for your constructive feedback! Special thanks to Nicola Wright for her extensive notes and editorial help.

To Svendalf, my partner in the Rational Rise, and my friend. His passion for science fiction and our (many) discussions about psychonautics inspire both the trajectory of this series, and aspects of the character of Märten Nyqvist.

To Jordan B Peterson, for sparking my curiosity about the Bible again. God uses even unbelievers, sinners, fools, and devils to do His work.

To Doctor Michael Heiser for his work in Biblical hermeneutics that has broadened my spiritual horizons and allowed my imagination about God’s greatness to unfold.

To Stefan Molyneux, upon whom the titular character was originally based, though Jeremy Delacroix has certainly grown into his own person.

To the subscribers of my blog and Rational Rise TV, and to all of my friends and readers online with whom I learn and grow every day.

Author’s Note

This book is a work of fiction. Though some of the characters herein are inspired by, or even based upon, living and historical figures, they remain a product of my imagination and are not intended to represent their source material factually. The ongoing story of Jake, Marcus, Eli Wells, and Jeremy Delacroix explores theology and the stories and symbols of the Old and New Testaments. It is not intended as serious Biblical exegesis, but rather as speculative fiction inspired by my love and reverence for the most enduring stories of all time.

Chapter 1

Darkness poured into the boy's vision rapidly, black tendrils of trauma and pain suddenly muted into a wave of shock and disorientation. He saw the room in front of him rotate vertically as the throb of near unconsciousness closed in around him. He was falling, and though he knew it was all happening rapidly, it felt as though time slowed down. The horde of chanting youths that surrounded him and his aggressor were drawling and wailing in some kind of collective rapture, but it sounded like a tape recorder chewing a cassette. Shrieks were ground down to moans. Grunts of excitement sounded like rockets launching.

His head hit the grassy ground and the bully was on him, laying more punches into his face. The blackness almost took him. But in a flash of determination, the boy focussed on the face of the bully above him, and a voice within called to him. This is wrong! Don't let this happen!

The boy bore down on the muscles in his core, preventing the bouncing bully from winding him any further. He gasped a deep breath and filled his lungs with the cool morning air, pushing the blackness away as the white light of oxygen particles filled his chest, re-engaging him. His eyes widened, and his assailant could see the spark of spirit return to his face. The bully grinned, and thrust his bloody knuckles towards the boy's face once more. But this time, the boy caught the fist in his hand and held it at bay.

The bully's grin widened. Yes! That's it Frogger! Show us what a hero you really are! He shook his fist free and slapped the boy with an open palm.

The boy felt the redness of rage fill his vision. A fury at the injustice of this attacking mob exploded through his body, and he lunged forward pushing the bully off him and flipping over to pin him down. He lifted a hand to deliver his own fist of justice, but as it reached its apogee, he felt resistance. He turned to see that two of the bully's friends had stepped forward and grabbed him. The smaller one held his arm, preventing the punch from meeting its mark. The larger one gripped his upper chest, locking him into a prime position for a helpless annihilation.

The bully stood, and straightened his blazer. He laughed, and scanned his sparkling eyes across the dozen boys who were jeering and giggling around him. Well, well, Frogger! The bully's accent grated on the boy's ears, its properness a reminder of how alone he was in this new place. This was only the first day. He couldn't imagine how he would last a week here, let alone six years. Ooour heeero! The bully mocked, kicking the boy's backpack and book across the floor and out of the way. He stepped forward and with a sudden burst of movement, he thrust his fist into the boy's stomach. The boy was instantly winded. He tried to keel over, an instinct to shield his soft middle from further blows, but the bully's friends held him up.

A second punch made him gag, and the crowd of schoolboys laughed hysterically at the sound. One of them shouted he sounds just like a frog! and the group followed his lead, chanting Frogg-er! Frogg-er! Frogg-er! and some of them cackled through ribbit, ribbit frog-song emulations.

The bully wound back his arm for a dramatic third punch, when a singular voice cut above the crowd. Cut it out! Stop this!

It was another boy. He stepped through the circle of sycophants, who seemed to part ways diffidently for him. The assailant stood up straight and looked right at the interrupting boy. He seemed coiled for attack, but the moment he recognised who this rescuer was, he gave a gesturing nod to his assistants, and they immediately released the boy. The bruised Frogger collapsed to his knees in a winded heap, defeated, but not destroyed. The gang of youths disbanded immediately, leaving the wounded victim and his rescuer alone, the morning sun shining on them and the grass seeming to spring upward as the oppressive shadow of violence was peeled back from it.

The rescuer picked up the bag and book, and stepped towards the boy, offering his items back to him. Are you alright? He had the same posh accent that filled the boy with fear, but there was kindness in his voice.

I'm o- he choked, I'm okay, he finished, self-conscious of his commoner accent. He stood, wiped the blood from his mouth, then offered his hand to his rescuer. He quickly realised how uncouth offering a bloodied hand was, and he switched awkwardly to a left-hand gesture of friendship.

The rescuer laughed. Suits me, I'm left-handed anyway! They shook hands. Say, why do they call you 'Frogger'?

Uh… I think it's because my surname is French.

Are you French?

No. I'm from North London.

I see. I thought you didn't sound like you were from around here. Scholarship?

"Yeah. Is it… is it going to be like this every day?"

The rescuer smiled. No, I doubt it. Not if you're seen with me. What's your name?

Jeremy, he hesitated to say his surname.

The rescuer could see Jeremy's trepidation. It's alright, Jeremy. I have nothing against French surnames. Is it Dubois?

Jeremy chuckled. Ha, no… Delacroix.

De-la-quah, he sounded it out, haven't heard that one before.

Not so common as Dubois.

Well, Jeremy Delacroix, I'm Gadge. Nice to meet you! He offered his left hand again and they shook once more, both boys smiling.

Gadge? What kind of name is that?

It's a nickname. That's what they call me, at school anyway.

Why?

Uh, I like gadgets. I'm into electronics, inventions and stuff. You'll find nicknames are the thing at this school. Everyone has one.

I hope Frogger doesn't stick.

Well, it might. Most all of our nicknames started out as some kind of pejorative. But don't worry, they quickly become terms of endearment. You'll see.

Gadge started walking and gestured for Jeremy to follow. I'll give you the tour of the school.

Really?

Sure, you'll need to know your way around, Gadge said, matter-of-factly.

Jeremy could see there was a genuine interest in friendship, but that Gadge was somehow trying to conceal it. He decided to open himself up, hoping it would evoke more empathy, and pave the way for a real friendship. Jeremy knew he needed friends, and moreover, he needed friends who were good. Gadge had stopped the assault. Gadge was obviously a good person. Why did they stop hitting me? I mean, just because you asked?

A peculiar expression came across Gadge's face. It seemed like sheepishness. Jeremy studied it, and its meaning seemed to deepen. It was shame.

"My father is one of the largest patrons of the school. He's also a Member of Parliament. So, the boys here know not to trifle with me. I'm sure their parents have well and truly drilled that into them - everyone wants to be in good standing with my honourable father."

Jeremy easily detected the sarcasm, but decided it was too soon to ask him questions about his relationship with his father - though he was curious.

As the boys wandered through the campus, Jeremy was highly conscious of the heads turning to see him as he walked in friendly conversation with Gadge He felt as though Gadge was emitting a force-field of protection around them both. He felt overcome with gratitude. He turned and smiled at his rescuer, unable to mask the intensity of his emotion. It was a beacon he was sending out - an expression of a feeling, propelled by a desperate longing to be seen, and be accepted. Thanks, Gadge. Thank you for saving me.

Gadge looked back at him, met his smile, and held it. Jeremy had never been looked at so directly by anyone in his life. Gadge held their eye contact long beyond social norms. They both smiled and kept looking into each other's eyes until they reached a flight of stairs, and, out of necessity, they broke their stare and concentrated on descending safely. As they started down, Jeremy felt a jolt of alarm as Gadge's hand took his and gave it a squeeze. His hand was warm. He felt tingles of affection transmitted through this gentle skin-to-skin contact, and he smiled to himself. They didn't hold hands for long, but the effect resonated in Jeremy's heart as a ripple of warmth through his body, long after the contact was ceased.

Straps back there - oh, Straps was the one hitting you.

Why do they call him Straps?

Oh, his father belts him. He pays it forward. Especially to new kids like yourself. So, anyway, Straps was making a big deal about you being a hero? What was that all about?

He found the book I'm reading. It's called Heroes of the Ages, Jeremy replied with an expression of doubt, worrying that a further chiding or ridicule might follow, as it had before.

Sounds cool! Will you show me? Come on! Gadge gestured towards a nearby bench and the two boys sat. Jeremy produced the book and started flicking through it frantically, overwhelmed with an urge to share his passion with his new friend - an expression that poured from him at pace. I found this book in a second-hand shop. I had to save my pennies for months to afford it, but the lady in the shop was kind enough to hold it under the counter for me until I'd paid it off. It's got all the great heroes of myth and history!

It's so thick! Not a lot of pictures, either.

No, you're right, it has lots of great information though.

Have you read the whole thing?

Oh yes, a few times now. I keep re-reading my favourite parts.

Show me those, Gadge said with an inquisitive smile.

Well, Jeremy grinned, flicking through to one of his dog-eared pages. This is Theseus; he was one of the great heroes of ancient Greek mythology. He travelled all across Greece by foot and defeated some of the fiercest and most horrible foes you can imagine. He ended up going all the way to this island called Crete, where King Minos was demanding all these poor men and women from Athens be fed to his Minotaur, which lived in this maze!

I know the Minotaur! Gadge cried, delightedly.

You do? Jeremy was equally delighted.

Yes, it lived in the labyrinth designed by Daedalus!

Precisely. How do you know about Daedalus?

Well, I told you I like gadgets, and inventions. I'm a student of history and myth, too, Jeremy. Daedalus invented lots of amazing things. He had these statues that could move and talk like real people! He invented the wings that allowed him and his son to fly like birds!

Jeremy's face turned serious as his thoughts leapt to what happened next to Daedalus’ son, but he suppressed the thought and moved on, not wanting to taint this kindred connection with such miserable elements of the story. Wow, that's wonderful that you know him! Well, Theseus is the hero that finally defeated Minos's Minotaur. He was actually helped by Minos's daughter, Ariadne. She helped him escape from the labyrinth when the battle was over. She was one of the unsung heroes of the story. For a moment Jeremy stared into the pages of the book, and the pencil sketches depicting primitive icons of Theseus and the great beast he fought. He was lost in imaginary worlds, smiling in awe.

Is Theseus your favourite, then? Gadge asked.

Oh no! I'll show you my favourite. Jeremy scanned back to the start of the book and found a picture of a tall, bearded man, with an enormous hat, and what appeared to be angelic wings behind him. This is the hero of the oldest creation myth in history.

Creation myth?

Yeah, you know? The stories of how we got here. How the universe came to be?

You mean, like God?

"Yeah, just like that. But this guy is older than God! He's not the creator though, he actually defeated the creator, who was a great dragon!"

A bit like Theseus and the Minotaur then.

Not exactly, he didn't slay the dragon. He wrapped her in a net.

Interesting. What was his name?

Marduk. He was a lesser God. He was said in some versions of the myth to have eyes all around his head, and he could shape the world with his words.

"Whoa! He could see everything?"

Just about! But I like the words thing even more. Imagine that! Having the power to change the world just by speaking!

Very cool.

As the two boys continued to stare at the page, the first school bell of the morning rang. Young men all around them gathered their bags and books, and darted in various directions to be sure to arrive at the general morning assembly in the chapel before the second bell rang, in four minutes' time. Jeremy and Gadge didn't flinch. They hadn't even noticed the bell.

Jeremy flicked through a few more pages, showing Gadge heroes of Sparta, Rome and Japan, all the way through to heroes of World War I, World War II, and even heroes of the quite recent Falklands War, though both boys were sceptical as to the importance or righteousness of that war.

After a time, Jeremy decided the path for more questions had been cleared by his sharing, and the heartfelt engagement he felt from his peer, so he abruptly closed the book and asked, So you're an inventor. What have you invented?

"Hmmm… well, nothing new as yet. I have a few little ideas, but they're still in their infancy, so I'm not at liberty to talk about them yet."

Jeremy chuckled, endeared by the earnestness of Gadge on this topic.

I've been working on a solar watch though.

A what?

A watch that is powered by the sun.

You can do that? Jeremy blurted in amazement.

Absolutely! Seiko and Casio have been doing it for almost a decade. Haven't you seen their watches?

Of course I've seen them! Jeremy lied. "I just meant, can you do that?"

Oh, well, not yet. I've been trying to rig up an old battery watch to a solar array from my calculator, but it's an analogue watch, so I think it needs more power than I can give it.

So, it doesn't work at all?

Oh no, it works, but only when the sun is shining brightly, directly on it. Aaand, it runs a bit slow. But it definitely works.

Jeremy couldn't contain a smirk of scepticism. I'd hardly call it working if it doesn't keep time.

Gadge's face showed his concession. Alright, well, it's an experiment in progress. But I think it's a worthy one. Did you know that the sun is blasting our upper atmosphere with one-hundred and seventy-four terawatts of raw energy! Man, imagine what we could do if we harvested that!

Jeremy didn't know what he was talking about, so he continued with his own train of thought. But I thought you said Sakio and Keiso have been making them for ten years.

Gadge giggled at Jeremy's metathesis. Well, it's how I learn about it, Jeremy. I can't just get all my knowledge from books. I've gotta get my hands on things, try them out - you know?

Jeremy nodded, then turned away and stared into the lawn. Mmm, he murmured affirmatively, still nodding. It occurred to him that Gadge was righter than he might have realised - for both of them. Jeremy had spent all his time in books, revelling at the feats of others and the legends of history and myth. But in his own life, he kept his head down, tried to steer clear of all conflict and trouble, and in-so-doing, missed every chance to live up to the honour and bravery of his heroes. And this very hour, a new hero had emerged in his life. A boy his very age, who stood up to a mob of violence-crazed adolescent boys - boys who had already spilled blood but did not recoil, and who were willing to continue their assault to who-knows-what end. Gadge had spoken up. Sure, they feared his father - or, more to the point, they feared the consequences their parents would issue if they did anything to tarnish their family names in the view of Gadge's father. It wasn't an unfair advantage for Gadge, any more than Heracles being the son of Zeus was unfair, or Theseus inheriting this father's sword and sandals that could only be revealed if Theseus had the strength and courage to uncover them.

Gadge was a hero, and Jeremy felt like a coward. Gadge was not only pursuing his own dream of invention with hands-on intrepidity, but in Jeremy's time of great need, Gadge had effortlessly stepped into the role that Jeremy himself aspired to. Not only had he saved his neck, but he'd inadvertently shone a light on Jeremy's mediocrity, and Jeremy felt he owed him a great debt. Jeremy felt a fire beginning to crackle in his gut. Something had begun.

A shadow fell across the boys, and a shrill adult voice barked, Master Wells! I shouldn't think Lord Wells would be happy to hear that you are truanting general assembly!

Jeremy gulped. He saw Gadge's body shrink with anxiety. But then another voice spoke up. A deep, friendly voice. A man in his early thirties with a balding head approached the Headmaster from a row of bushes nearby. He wore dirty blue overalls.

Don't be mindin' these boys, Headmaster Chalmers, I've been watching them while I walk. Young Master Wells here was just showing the new boy around, making sure he was safe. A good deed he was doin'! The accent was like Jeremy's own - common!

The Headmaster's lips twisted. Get to the chapel at once! he snapped.

The boys leapt to attention and with an abrupt Yessir, from Gadge, they scurried off across the lawn towards the assembly area.

Who was that man? Jeremy asked in wonder, at the emergence of another hero on the same day.

Oh, that was Abe. He's the gardener. He's a good sort. Common, but kind and a good egg!

"The Headmaster - he said Lord Wells, Jeremy panted as they ran, did he mean Lord George Wells - from the House of Lords?"

Gadge grimaced. Yes. That's my father. I'm surprised you've heard of him.

Why, because I'm a commoner?

Gadge laughed. I guess so!

Jeremy smiled, understanding the assumption. He knew his place in the class system of England, and he knew that he would never quite fit in here, with the sons of Lords and heirs of multinational executives. He was from the projects. He was a pauper. But what he lacked in wherewithal, he made up for in intellect, and he was determined now to follow the lead of his courageous would-be-inventor friend all the way to greatness. What's your real name, Gadge?

Gadge reached across the space between them, and they awkwardly shook hands once more as they bobbed and wobbled in their frenetic sprint. Eli Wells, at your service.

Chapter 2

Jake Thorne swept his gaze across the green meadow and rubbed his eyes to find focus on the slope up to the shadowy structure ahead. He did not know this place. Nor did he know how he got here. He concentrated to recall the place from whence he came, but he drew a blank. Ahead of him stood an enormous building, with hundreds of windows. It sat upon the peak of the hill, and beyond it there was only sky. The abrupt end of the meadow, and the roaring of water in the distance ahead made Jake think that beyond the crest lay a river, possibly a waterfall. He turned to look around him and get some bearing. Behind him stood a forest, peculiarly glistening white under a thick blanket of snow. He stopped to revel in the beauty of the whitened wood. He noticed the snow was cut off sharply by some invisible barrier. The snow formed a wall about half a metre high, curving around the perimeter of the meadow in a gentle arc, which Jake soon identified as some kind of invisible bubble, at the centre of which stood the building.

Jake walked towards the castle on the hill, knowing that whatever answer he sought would lie within its walls. After several minutes of steadily striding towards the building, it seemed no closer, and Jake was finding it hard to focus his vision on it. He broke into a run. The longer he ran towards it, the blurrier it became in his view, and it still drew no closer. He broke into a sprint, and the phenomenon only intensified.

He stopped, panting for breath, feeling as though it was futile to approach this place. His answers were there, but it was unreachable. He squatted impulsively, and leaned forward as his chest convulsed and heaved to catch his breath. Then he noticed the grass blades were unusually large. Like giant leaves of a succulent plant, one giant blade thrust half way up his shin.

The castle on the hill stood unmoved in its excruciating fog. Jake rubbed his eyes again, to no avail.

He started towards it again, this time looking down at the grass below him. As he moved forward, the grass continued to grow in height, width of blade, and girth. It was only another moment before Jake realised that the grass was not growing, but rather that he was shrinking. When his senses aligned with this reasoning, and he was convinced this was the case, he glanced up again, and the building had changed. Its turrets had become gnarled branches, its pillared ground level replaced with an immense trunk.

"The tree, Jake heard his own voice, though he wasn't sure if it was internal, or expressed. He knew this tree. He had seen it many times before in his dreams. Am I dreaming now?" he wondered aloud, reaching up to feel the hair on his chin. It felt real in his hands. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air felt cold. His senses told him this place was real; of the waking world. But his rational mind told him to distrust what he saw around him. Buildings transforming into trees was far from commonplace in the waking world. This was a dream, or some kind of illusion, he was sure now. With the realisation came a new level of calm. Jake decided he need not panic, or rush, but rather he could calmly navigate this world, find the answers that awaited him, and not face any real risk. Illusory foes and ailments like spontaneous dwarfism should have no real-world consequences.

He marched on, keeping his eyes on the tree this time, determined to catch any further transmutations that might occur. None did. He did notice however that as he travelled and continued to gradually shrink, his mind would wander and his thoughts would grow hazy, and he would find himself forgetting what he had just so consciously decided - that this place was a dream and could do him no harm. Unless he fixated on that thought, he would lose it, and begin to feel dread and apprehension in his body at the potential dangers ahead. The journey to the tree was long, and Jake found that when he was clear in his thoughts about the hallucinatory nature of this environment, he would keep shrinking and his strides would take him no closer. But when he was in doubt, when he was emotionally aware of the threats that might wait in the shadows between the buttress roots of the tree that loomed over his tiny body, which now stood neck deep in a forest of gigantic grass blades, his shrinking stopped and he could close the distance to his destination.

Jake was faced with a choice: embrace the illusion as reality, and move through it quicker; or hold onto his rational sense, and risk getting nowhere. It occurred to him that he could try to find the balance point in his thoughts; accept the dream, yet hold onto the notion of its falseness enough that he can cross the expanse without losing himself. But such a balance required more lucidity than Jake felt. He considered finding a rhythm of belief and disbelief that would hold the balance. Believe in the dream, and run a few hundred metres, then stop and reconnect with reality. After considering the options carefully, he decided on the latter exercise as the safest, and so he stopped and stared at the tree in the distance, and said to himself, This is all there is. The tree, the meadow, and me. Nothing more, nothing less.

As a wave of euphoria washed over his body, it was closely followed by the prickle of gooseflesh on his skin, and a shudder as the sky above the tree grew darker, and he began his believing dash towards it. Giant green blades smashed into his shoulders as he ran, but they did not grow. He repeated the mantra in his mind as he ran, feeling an immense surge of terror at the thought that something might be chasing him. He kept his gaze forward. "All there is. All there is!" he chanted through waves of mounting exhaustion after his seemingly endless journey through the overgrown jungle.

Jake did not stop.

He forgot to stop.

He forgot his plan.

All there is, was all there was in his mind. He lost himself in the sole pursuit of a fixed destination ahead, and his body surged with a confusing mixture of emotions: abject fear of annihilation by whatever real or imagined beast pursued him from behind, or awaited him ahead; wild thrill at the imminence of his arrival, and the discovery of a solution to this riddle of the tree. The tree had followed him in his dreams for months, though this was the first time it appeared in a meadow, in the open air, it had always been in a cave before, with the rumbling water sound in the distance. Many times the tree had inverted and become tunnels of rock, many times Jake had gotten lost inside and been encountered by ghosts of Emily, Maisie, Adam, or other barely visible people that he could not reach nor identify.

As he cleared the last hundred metres to the base of the tree, the sky became pitch black - not a moon nor any stars to light the ground. The only light on the hillside seemed to emerge from the tree itself, hundreds of tiny lanterns appeared stuck to the branches, a dull yellow halo encircling each, casting a second-hand, impotent light on the grass jungle behind him, and on the roots that stood more than twice his height at the base of the tree.

Jake stepped between two of the giant roots, and squinted to focus more on the lanterns. They weren't hanging below the branches as a lantern should. Not lanterns, Jake thought. Windows! Each of the dozens of branches that spread out like the limbs of a hungry octopus in all directions had dozens of openings placed evenly across them, each emitting a soft glow from within. The tree is hollow! Tunnels they were indeed.

In the crease of the tree's trunk, where the roots that rose as great walls around him met and formed a wedge, Jake now saw an opening; a tunnel just high enough to clear his head. This opening emitted no light though. It seemed the only way inside the tree, and it was only visible by the dregs of light cast from above.

Jake began to tremble. All there is, his mind repeated, incessantly. He tried to intercept the thought, but the voice in his head was too loud. All he could conceive was that he must enter this place, though his perceptions shuddered through his body as explosions of adrenaline and rushes of blood that tried to scream to him, Danger! Do not enter!

But the voice in his head won. All there is, it seemed to shout into the meadow, its piercing command echoing off the branches above and the snow-covered pines behind him.

Jake stepped through the opening, and into the darkness.

When he was inside, he tried to turn to see the light of the opening behind him, but he no longer felt his body. He was in a void, without the motive power to move his body or reorient his view in any way. He was trapped in an infinite emptiness. No light, no sound. No body, only the frantic multitude of panicked voices in his mind.

All there is!

Get out!

I told you not to go on!

Danger! Death! Darkness!

Run, Jake! RUN!

All there is.

A silence befell his mind, and Jake vanished from his own thoughts. All that was, was darkness, emptiness, nothingness.

Then, as a struck match crackles and bursts a dark space into light, a singular voice cut through the nothing and penetrated Jake's perception. It was a different voice. Not his own. A strange voice. An accent he had never heard. It spoke slowly, half-whispered, but utterly clear.

In the name of the father, it said, and though he could see nothing, Jake was falling. It felt an eternity of ceaseless falling, until Jake suddenly felt as though something was pursuing him in the pitch black. He saw nothing, but he was sure it was gaining on him.

Father! shrieked another voice. A child. A girl. Paaapaaaa!! she screamed, and in the instant he recognised it was Maisie, he saw her tormented face, decaying and worm-eaten, her eyes full of terror, and Jake screamed.

*      *      * 

Run! Gus's Papa grunted as he leapt up from his furs. Gus awoke immediately, his heart racing with an instinctive panic. Sitting up, he scanned the dark space of the base station. He saw no danger. The rolling door was tightly closed and latched. Olivia and Marcus slept soundly nearby, as did Phil and Nimrod. Gus looked up at his father who was looking around him, dazed. His skin was glistening with blue light in the dim glow emitted by Adam, who sat perfectly still with legs crossed. Adam's eyelids slowly peeled back, and Gus saw the soft impression of two irises scan across the room, two navy circles centred upon brilliant cerulean globes. Adam's eyes held on Jake, who was calm now, and after a moment he closed his eyes again and returned to his prior state.

You okay, Papa? Gus asked, lifting himself up to step towards his father.

Uh… yeah, I'm fine Gussy. Just had a nightmare.

Me too.

Really? Jake immediately squatted down to his haunches and offered his son an embrace. Anything you want to talk about?

No, that's okay. It was just weird. I'm okay.

Alright darling. Back to sleep then.

Okay. What about you?

I'll be back, just need to step outside for a minute. You tuck in, okay?

Gus nodded and crawled back into his furs. As Jake walked outside he reached over to his father's furs and dragged them closer to his own, closing the gap between them. He closed his eyes, and saw what he had seen in his dream: empty blackness.

The dream had not been frightening, there was nothing in it to be frightened of. But something about it left him feeling shaky, unnerved. He gazed into the darkness behind his eyelids and willed himself to remember the sensations of the dream. It had been black just like this moment. But there was a feeling that he couldn't quite reconnect with. A feeling of an emerging presence. A feeling of something coming. Or someone. As the floor beneath him began to shift and rotate, as if slowly morphing into a thick liquid, he felt himself drifting back into the dream realm. Then, as the last of his father's footsteps echoed into oblivion, the feeling returned, just as before.

Gus was disembodied, floating in an empty space. Without any sight, he felt the arrival of someone, something, and he heard the voice again. Familiar, but unknown.

In the name of the father, and the son… it said, then echoed softly into the infinite cavern of pure darkness that Gus floated in. Gus felt the space around him expand, and as it accelerated outward from his core into infinity, he felt himself fall completely into the dream.

Jake stood barefoot in the snow outside the hangar, staring into the night that peered through the gaps in the snow-covered pines. This place looked a little like his dream had, but not quite. This plateau had no grass, no rolling meadow, no castle on a hill. Just a giant concrete box of an old aircraft hangar that had been converted into the final destination for hundreds, if not thousands, of farmers and their families. Once the shelter for man-controlled machines that sent human beings into the air like birds, next a shelter for machine-controlled furnaces that coughed human beings into the air as puffs of black smoke. At last, this concrete death-house was abandoned, its faulty airship discarded like the bodies of every human being uploaded by Eve into her mind in the sky. The hangar was now left to become the ironic place of respite for this band of survivors; Jake's family.

As Jake thought of his fellow travellers as family, his chest felt a surge of warmth. His son lived, his beloved dog too. And in Phil he had found a little brother - useful, endearing and devoted, if a little annoying at times.

Why does he annoy me? Jake wondered. Is it his clumsiness? No, that seems to have subsided since we freed him from Reynard's outpost. What is it then? Jake reached deep within himself, and scanned through memories of recent times. He remembered Phil's panic in the motorhome as the reconnaissance airship had passed over them. He remembered his suspicion of Adam, where Jake had felt very little. Is he a coward? No, that's not it. A coward would have run into the woods after the massacre at the silo, as all those other cowards had. Phil stuck it out, and still does, even though we are likely the most pursued group of humans on the continent, or even in the world.

The memory of Phil's panic played again in Jake's mind.

Jake felt his own fear bubbling under the surface.

And then he knew.

Phil expresses his fear. He gives it a voice. His shows it in his body. Jake had never done that, save for one time. Jake felt overwhelmed with shame at the thought of his collapse into terror and despair on his son's lap in the motorhome. The moment he realised that Maisie, his only daughter, was never coming back. The shame of showing his fear and loss overwhelmed any echoes of fear and loss that remained within him. And therein lay the irksomeness of Phil, who freely showed his fear as a dog like Nimrod shows his affection with licks and jumps. Jake did not trust fear; not in himself, nor in others. So he learned to bury it a long time ago. The sight of it disgusted him.

Why? Surely everyone feels fear. Surely everyone shows it in some way.

He thought of Olivia, and his heart fluttered. Here was a woman who seldom showed her fear, if she even felt it. She appeared to him as gloriously brave. It thrilled him, inspired him. He had not said it aloud, but in the quiet of his mind he had declared it many times: I love her. He thought of her face as he held it in his hands yesterday during their hunt. He thought of the taste of her lips on his. The soft skin of her breast in his hand. He thought of Gus laughing as Olivia chased and tickled him in the snow. The warmth in his chest expanded, curling his lips into a smile.

The dim shadow of Jake's body across the snow sharpened, the aura around it turning blue, and the texture of the snow-covered ground contrasting brilliantly between glistening crystals of ice, and blackened shadows that rolled and stretched as the source of the light drew closer.

Jake heard no crunching of snow, as he had under his feet. How do you do that, Adam?

"How do I do what, Jake?" said the blue machine softly as it arrived next to him.

How do you move so stealthily? Marcus said you must weigh a ton with all that metal under your skin.

"Not quite a ton. I could hardly be described as stealthy if you knew I was approaching without an announcement."

It's only the light that gives you away. How do you not crunch in the snow?

I can if you wish, said Adam, as he rotated his foot and Jake heard ice crystals crushed beneath his heel.

I don't mind; I just want to know how you can move so quietly.

It is merely an act of balance and weight distribution.

"Ha! Merely."

Adam stood unmoved as Jake chuckled. What troubles you, Jake Thorne? Adam asked, the hint of genuine concern not lost on Jake.

Jake looked up at Adam's face, and noticed new contours and subtle shades of blue that he had not seen earlier that day. Adam was changing rapidly, appearing less like a smooth plane of blue wrapped around the impression of a human form, more like a strange, but very real, person. Beyond the mere image of an almost human being, Adam was highly sensitive to the situations and emotions going on around him, even if he himself was technically incapable of emotions. Jake knew little of machines, but he knew that there was something miraculous about this blue man who had become his protector.

I've been having strange dreams.

"Are not all dreams strange? I find them quite peculiar, though worthy of scrutiny."

Do you really dream, Adam?

Yes, I do. My cognitive relay processes data much more efficiently when I enter a low-input mode, in which I am able to subdue my sensory inputs by up to eighty percent. Therein, I experience high-speed processing of the data I have collected, but I cannot control which data are selected and brought to my attention. Many strange and confusing elements emerge from the area of my being that Marcus referred to as my subconscious.

Amazing. So, you see things, like we do in our dreams?

"An interesting question. I'm not sure that I could claim to see at all."

How so?

Well, my metallic polymer cranium has two primary optic sensors mounted in the front, in a very similar position to your own eyes, and each of the cells of my skin here have light sensors as well.

So… your whole body can see?

"If you mean detect light, then yes; when my skin is active. When my skin is inactive, or subdued in a dreaming state, only my cranial optic sensors function."

How is detecting light different to seeing?

It is vastly different, as I can understand it, Jake. Marcus explained to me the concept of gestalt perception. This is something that I lack.

I don't know about that.

You should ask Marcus some time, it is a fascinating topic. In essence, what I receive from my optic sensory array is a stream of data, which my synthetic cortex is able to reduce into equations which describe patterns of form and movement. I am able to perceive every detail of what I see, and automatically prioritise the information that is most pertinent to my requirements.

"So, you can focus?"

A good analogy. Yes, a large part of my program is dedicated to separating the relevant data from the less relevant. The culled data are moved into the redundancy storage cells in my auxiliary cortical region. It is this information that gets processed in the background by my subconscious, and much of this can randomly appear in my dreams.

"So, what is this gestalt perception?"

Look out there, Jake, Adam gestured with his hand towards the wood. What do you see?

I see the forest.

Fascinating. Are there any feelings that emerge from your perception of the forest?

Jake closed his eyes, to hone in on his own subtle emotions. Well, when I think about going in there, I feel… apprehension.

Why?

It is cold. Dark. Unknown… there could be predators.

What kind of predators do you see, in your mind?

Snakes.

It is winter Jake, there would be no snakes in there, not that could pose any threat to you.

Sure, you're right. But it's dark. And, that elephant has been around here. They say it escaped from the zoo out west. Who knows what else could have escaped.

Indeed. So, when you look out there, you first see the whole, then you see potential futures associated with the whole, then, you process the parts - real in the present, or potential in the future.

I'm not sure what you mean.

Consider your view in comparison to mine. When I look out there, I see each tree, I can tell you that there are six hundred and thirty-two visible trees in the view of my frontal optical sensors. All told, with my skin sensors included, there are five-thousand, one-hundred and fifty-four trees that are currently visible to me in all directions. By daylight, there would be nineteen-thousand, six-hundred and twelve trees visible from this particular outlook.

Wow, how do you count them?

I do not. My optical sensors and cortical processors are able to interpret and quantify the inputs within point zero three seconds, under normal circumstances.

"Isn't that the same as me seeing the whole, before the parts? You just gather more information than me."

An interesting proposition. Without you seeing the world through my eyes, or vice versa, there is no way to be sure how our experiences compare. But I see each datum, all at once. It is not a linear process.

So, can you see in colour?

My optical processing subroutines catalogue individual instances of objects with metadata, which includes reflective light frequencies - colour, as you would describe it; textures; and simulations of potential molecular structure.

Simulations?

Yes, I cannot be sure that a tree is made of organically derived carbon, oxygen, nitrogen and hydrogen from mere optical sensory data, but my simulations can extrapolate that information with high levels of accuracy. My mind is constantly running simulations. Many of them at once, some of which I can access and process consciously, others are mere shadows. Again, I would posit that these emerge from my subconscious.

What are the simulations for?

To prepare for potentialities of the future.

Like what?

As an example, when you mentioned potential predators escaped from the zoo, I engaged a simulation to process and eliminate the potential predators that might be found in that wood. First, I accessed data about the animals that were known to be within the zoo. I do not have any memories from anyone who worked there or had been there, but I do have distinct memories of people who read about the zoo. Of the animals that are known to have been still alive when the gates were opened, there are only three species of animal that could have traversed the expanse between the zoo and here, one of them is the elephant that you have already seen evidence of.

What are the other two? Jake nervously asked.

The pair of mated wolves that lived at the zoo might have travelled to higher altitudes in order to find a more appropriate climate for their nature. Otherwise, the surviving lioness might have ventured in this direction in search of shelter and food. There is an abundance of deer in this region.

Jake started to back towards the hangar. Let's… let's go inside.

Do not worry, Jake. I detect no animal presence other than insects and a few small non-predatory mammals.

I'm getting cold.

Alright, let's go inside.

As the pair walked towards the hangar door, Jake noticed that Adam's feet were now crunching in the snow. He must be doing it for me, Jake thought, he thinks the silence bothered me, so he's deliberately making noise. Do you feel fear, Adam?

Adam took a moment to respond. It is an interesting question. I am unable to answer it with any certainty since I do not fully understand fear. I know that your body experiences surges of hormones in situations of threat, or when your mind executes simulations that indicate potential threat.

Ha-ha, my mind doesn't run simulations, Adam.

Of course it does. You already shared one with me, of the danger in the woods. Is there any actual present danger?

Uh… no, I don't think so.

So why feel fear then?

Because there might be danger - in the future.

Indeed. So, you have run a simulation, or several, and ascertained the likely potentiality of danger in the future, depending on your course of action. The simulations provided you with data, which indicated that the safest course of action was to return to shelter, in order to avoid death or illness by cold, or death or injury by predator.

Hmmm. I never thought of it like that, but you're right.

My simulations indicate similar potentialities, for you. Of course cold and animal predators are not the same threat to me as they are to you, however I still prefer a course of action that would minimise risk to your wellbeing.

Why?

Because… Adam stopped walking, and cocked his head. I do not know. I value your existence, Jake. I want to preserve it.

"So, you feel desire."

I hold preferences.

Right, so things you want to see happen? That's desire, is it not?

Adam's eyes widened. It would appear so.

And when you run simulations that suggest outcomes different to your desires, what is that like?

It is informative. The simulations help me choose the best course of action.

But what if you don't? What if you make a mistake?

Adam looked lost in thought. Jake thought he saw the colour of his skin change to a slightly less vibrant blue. I do not know, Jake. I have not made any significant mistakes to date, since my emancipation. Still, there is some sense within me that there were alternative courses of action that might have been better than the one that led us here, but I can never know. My simulations are… limited at best.

As are mine, Adam, don't worry about it too much. I value your existence too, and I feel a lot safer with you here with us.

That pleases me, Jake.

You feel pleasure?

I suppose so, I cannot think of a better word for the sensation. Hearing those words from you confirms for me that the choices I have made have been correct. There is no conflict with my desires. My desires, as such, are moving towards fulfilment. It is a feeling of non-contradiction. It is a feeling I would like to experience all the time.

Well, you won't. And besides, if you experienced it all the time, you'd lose perspective. We need the uncertainty, and the pain, and the regret, to know what pleasure really feels like.

A worthy insight, Jake. Your human perspective is an asset to my learning.

Jake gestured towards the door, inviting Adam to step inside first. As Jake followed and rolled the door closed, he paused with a few inches’ gap remaining. There was an odd sound in the distance. It sounded like a screaming woman. It sent a wave of terror down Jake's spine, and his skin broke out in gooseflesh.

"Ninox connivens, Jake."

Huh?

Barking owl. No threat.

Oh, Jake mumbled, as he looked once more into the blackness between the trees. Jake trusted Adam's senses, and believed him. But he couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere beyond the trees, in the blackness, something was waiting for him. He latched the door and crawled back into his furs next to Gus.

Chapter 3

Eli Wells placed his textbooks and a small stack of foolscap on the library table in an orderly configuration, his pens positioned neatly perpendicular to one side. He reached into his leather bag and produced a brick-sized electronic device which he placed in the centre of his makeshift study space.

Polly Atherton placed her books and stationery in a far less orderly fashion across the table from him, eliciting an involuntary eyebrow raise from Eli. She grinned at him, showing him that she knew full well that her relatively dishevelled study habits irked him.

She gestured at his device. "What's this one, Gadge?"

Eli had been hoping she would ask, but he feigned absent-minded surprise at her query. This? Oh, it's a digital Dictaphone.

You mean a tape recorder?

Sort of. I've been working on a way to capture audio without tape, or any moving parts. This is the smallest prototype I've been able to build. The microphone sends signal into an analogue-to-digital converter, which then encodes the waveform into a truncated spectrum, removing all unnecessary frequencies. Eventually I’d like to develop a variable bit rate encoder to reduce hard-disk consumption. So far I've been able to get the file size down to six megabytes per minute, which means I'll get about ten minutes of audio onto this hundred meg drive. The sound quality isn't great, and the battery sometimes doesn't make it to ten minutes when in record mode, but I'm working on a battery design that could change that, by recapturing expended energy from the spinning disk of the drive itself.

Polly looked at him blankly.

Uh… Eli felt immediately uncomfortable at her lack of response. I'm losing her, he thought to himself, quickly searching for a new line of conversation that might afford him some sexual market capital. You know how much this hard drive costs?

Her blank stare turned into a bemused smirk.

One thousan… never mind.

Jeremy Delacroix appeared and took his seat, his demeanour as chipper as ever. Gadge. He nodded affectionately at his friend. Miss Atherton. His nod towards the slender blonde lingered a bit longer than Eli liked. Eli felt an impulse to step up. Good morning, Frogger. It fell out of his mouth before he'd stopped to consider the purpose, or impact.

Jeremy gave him a peculiar look, studying his face. A look of understanding came over Jeremy as he lifted his notepad, a single pen, and a tiny Holy Bible onto the table. Oh, he glanced towards Polly briefly, I see how it is.

"Frogger?" Polly asked.

"A