Chapter 16: A Change of Scenery

Chapter 16: A Change of Scenery
Once, many years ago, as an extremely young boy, Barry had been taken to a pub by the father who would later desert him. This in itself was nothing unusual, as Barry’s father would often, much to his displeasure, be forced to take his son with him on his drinking adventures. While Broomfield Senior prattled to the fellow regulars, Barry saw another young boy not unlike himself, approach the bar, request a bottle of coke, and swiftly receive one. Thinking what a novel idea this was he left his father’s side and requested a bottle for his own. The barmaid smiled warmly as she uncapped the chilled fizzy drink and handed it down to the boy’s small outstretched hand. ‘Thank you,’ said Barry politely before turning to go. ‘Wait there just a minute!’ said the barmaid whose face was no longer smiling with warmth. ‘Where’s your money?’ Money: This was a concept that was completely foreign to a young Finbar Cedric Broomfield. What is money. ‘Don’t panic Margery, I’ll pay for it.’ An old lady who had noticed the little boy’s worried countenance, kindly took out her purse and paid for Barry’s drink, after which she squeezed his chubby cheek and said: ‘Now don’t go getting into any mischief.’ What wasn’t in Barry’s recollection of this event in his childhood was how when he turned away, drink in hand, the old lady pulled out a machete from her handbag of horrors. The large knife was wielded with the sole purpose of hacking a defenceless child into small pieces.
228 Too busy counting the bubbles that floated to the top of his drink, this part of Barry’s memory was missing because he’d never noticed the old lady’s real intention. Luckily others in the pub had noticed the crazy bat’s vicious intent and restrained her accordingly. The maniacal cackling had been a dead giveaway. Barry often thought back to this childhood experience when he’d had his first encounter with money. The painful realisation that if you didn’t have it, or at a second best, kind old ladies nearby, you couldn’t have fizzy pop, was one of those landmark disappointments all children must experience if they’re to develop into normal, eternally-cynical adults. It was a great disappointment for a young Barry, greater even than discovering a fat man dressed in red and bearing gifts didn’t really come down the chimney every year, which was probably because he never got anything he’d actually want off that fat man dressed in red. Looking on the bright side, now that Barry didn’t have such vast supplies of money at his disposal he was living a more humble existence. The drugs, the alcohol and the fast women were a thing of the past. Barry’s liver sighed with relief. It took a few months for the media firestorm to die down and Barry to be left alone. He was still playing chess professionally, beating anyone that challenged him with ease, but now it was for far smaller sums of money because his public image was still in tatters. Currently plying his trade at a low-profile chess tournament compared to the ones he’d been involved in before his fall from grace, Barry was wiping out the competition in an unexcited manner when a bald, wrinkly old man approached him. ‘Mr Broomfield, finally, I’ve been trying to track you down now for months. You’ve successfully managed to keep a low profile lately haven’t you?’
229 Barry’s mind registered the man’s American accent before replying: ‘Yeah I guess.’ ‘You’ve been entering chess tournaments under fake names and living out of motels.’ ‘Motels? Oh right travel inns, yeah. I suppose I needn’t bother doing that anymore coz the press guys have lost interest in me now. They must have found somebody else to destroy—thank God.’ ‘You don’t remember me do you?’ ‘Should I?’ ‘I was there the day you beat Deep Red.’ Looking at the wrinkled face of the bald man Barry trawled back through his memory. ‘I remember now, you said you were a big fan. I met you outside the arena after the fire. I didn’t think I had any fans left, after all that’s happened.’ ‘I’m not a chess fan Mr Broomfield. God you’ve been hard to find. I was beyond miserable when you slipped out of my fingers that day. I turned around and where you’d been only a moment before you were gone.’ ‘I disappeared because I’d just received a letter after I met you that was a bit of a bombshell. I walked off and sort of lost myself for while to be honest. You say you’re not a chess fan?’ Barry was momentarily confused until it dawned on him why the old man was there. ‘Look, give me your abuse, get it over with and then leave me alone.’ ‘No, no you don’t understand, I’m here about a paper you wrote while you were in prison that you submitted to the magazine Popular Science. It wasn’t till I saw you plastered on the internet against Deep Red that I found you.’ The old man
230 chuckled and said: ‘You can imagine that it was almost unbearable when I lost you again.’ ‘What, one of my papers was actually published in the magazine?’ The Professor nodded to confirm it was. ‘I didn’t know that. I used to send things in because I’d get really bored at...it doesn’t matter.’ Barry opted to leave out the small detail that he had written and sent in his various theories to Popular Science, all whilst incarcerated for armed robbery, which was actually pointless because the man before him already knew he was an exconvict. ‘So why are you so interested in a paper I wrote anyhow?’ ‘Let me first introduce myself. My name is Professor George Riddell and I work for NASA.’ ‘Bloody hell,’ said Barry mindlessly. ‘What you wrote was groundbreaking, quite astonishing really, it took physics to places it’s never been before.’
Groundbreaking, how utterly preposterous, Barry reflected, his inner thoughts taking on a more intellectual quality as his ego inflated under the praise. Having done that paper while simultaneously engaged in a game of eye spy with Tobias Robinson inside prison, Barry felt confident no previous scientific breakthroughs had been achieved in such a way. For a moment his mind then drifted to Tobias and how he’d been a good friend. He wondered with immense sadness what had happened to him, hoping his cellmate’s life was filled with more joy than his own. ‘Out of interest, which university did you study at?’ asked Professor Riddell, breaking Barry’s chain of thought. ‘Was it Oxford? Cambridge? I bet Stevenson was your mentor wasn’t he?’
231 Barry laughed at this rib tickler before revealing he’d never been to university, that he had just become a window cleaner after leaving school, and that he’d simply developed a fascination with complex physic theory. Professor Riddell shook his head in disbelief. ‘Remarkable.’ The next hour or so of Barry’s life was spent engaged in fervent conversation with the Professor, the subject being space travel. Professor Riddell’s enthusiasm increased as his beliefs that the man he’d travelled thousands of miles to see was indeed somebody very special. ‘Barry, I want you to come and work with me for NASA back over in the States, in the Advanced Propulsion Department. You’d be paid handsomely for it of course and—’ ‘No,’ Barry interrupted. ‘If I do it I don’t want to be paid a large salary. Money and I don’t mix.’ Professor Riddell looked at Barry curiously before shrugging his shoulders. ‘Sure, you can choose to be paid a modest salary if that’s what you really want. All I want is for you to come and work with me. I feel this could be the beginning of a very fruitful partnership.’ Mulling it over, Barry weighed up the pros and cons before making his decision. ‘You know, I am getting tired of living this rock n roll lifestyle, and besides, things always seem to get set on fire when I play chess…Yeah okay, I’ll do it.’ Within two weeks Barry was on a plane bound for the US of A, leaving England behind him. As he got off the aircraft and stepped onto American soil for the first time, he was immediately struck by the overpowering heat and how it was starkly
232 different from the almost permanently overcast climate back home. This is going to
take some getting used to. This was a needless worry as yet unknown to him he wouldn’t be spending much time in the sunlight. After walking a few paces alongside the other departing passengers, a man dressed all in black stopped Barry. ‘Mr Broomfield, you’re to come with me,’ said the man, his voice oddly lacking intonation. There was another man in black standing beside a matching black limousine parked a few metres away which Barry was motioned towards. Climbing inside the car, Barry felt like a very important person for the first time since the glories of his chess career. He’d been unaware he was to be chauffeur driven, expecting instead he’d require the services of a taxi paid for out of his own pocket. ‘Are we going straight to the hotel?’ asked Barry, showing the address he’d written onto a piece of paper to the driver. The driver didn’t respond, leaving his colleague who now sat in the front passenger seat to answer the question for him. Both chaperones faced unwaveringly forwards, not once turning their heads to look at the cargo now inside their limo. ‘There’s been a change of plan Mr Broomfield: you won’t be working for NASA anymore, we’re taking you to a base in the New Mexico desert which is where you’ll be conducting your work.’ ‘What? Will Professor Riddell be there?’ ‘No he won’t I’m afraid, don’t worry he’s been informed, everything has been taken care of.’
233 ‘Right, well I wish I’d been told about all this before,’ said Barry, feeling disappointed he wouldn’t be able to meet up with that friendly old professor again. ‘If I’m not going to be working for NASA, who am I going to be working for?’ The two men in black gave each other a sideways glance before answering in unison: ‘The United States Military.’ ‘I thought my job here was going to be coming up with new ideas for advanced propulsion in spacecraft? I don’t want anything to do with creating weaponry.’ ‘You will be working on advanced propulsion for us Mr Broomfield.’ Barry failed to notice that his chaperone’s reply was more of a command than an informative response. Speeding along in the black limo, Barry spotted the golden arches of a McDonalds. ‘Could you stop off here? I want to get myself a Happy Meal.’ The driver, who had still not yet spoken independently, complied with his cargo’s request. Upon entering the burger bar the men dressed in black suits flanked either side of Barry, so close in fact that they were almost touching his shoulders. The staff inside the restaurant seemed a little perturbed by their current assemblage of customers and the odd manner with which they moved about the premises. It was an unsettling scene for the teenage burger flippers: this pasty man with an accent they didn’t understand, wearing a grotesque Hawaiian shirt and tiny hot pants revealing milk-bottle legs was asking them for something. ‘Do you speak English?’ asked a McDonald’s employee slowly and clearly, after trying in vain to understand what to her was Japanese.
234 The two heavies that were with Barry added a strong dose of intimidation to the already tense atmosphere. They had been scoping-out the restaurant in a dangerous fashion, but now they looked directly into the sales assistant’s terrified eyes. Towering over everyone in the place they learned over the counter so far that their cargo was almost blocked out from sight. The more talkative of the men in black translated for his English associate. ‘He says he wants a happy meal.’ ‘What does he err—want in it?’ asked the burger flipper shakily. After a moment of conferring the man in black turned back to the counter. ‘He would like a coke, one cheeseburger, one fries, and one wobble-icious fruit jelly.’ There was some more conferring. ‘And he says make sure you remember to put in his toy.’ Barry turned to one of his burly escorts as he waited for his meal. ‘The toy is the best part.’ As Barry slurped his coke loudly on the back seat of the once again moving black limousine, he played with the toy he’d received from Ronald McDonald, a tiny Hummer all-terrain vehicle. ‘How cool is this, take a look,’ said Barry shaking the plastic plaything in the face of one his chaperones. ‘Very nice Mr Broomfield,’ answered the dark-suited man through gritted teeth, the first sign of emotion and being human he’d shown. Your average MIB experiences a hard life, although it’s all necessary emotional toughening, allowing them to serve their country in the role of secrecy that’s required. These two men that escorted Barry had been put through exhausting
235 physical and mental training regimes, witnessed truly gruesome horrors committed by their own government, and on more than one occasion dealt in death. But in spite of all these experiences, this was the closest thing to unbearable they’d come across. The Broomfield Effect was pushing them to their emotional limits. After an extremely long drive in which Barry had spent most of the time complaining about how long the journey was taking the car finally stopped, halting abruptly in the middle of an arid desert surrounded by imposing mountains on all sides. Barry looked out the window and was disgusted by what he saw. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s nothing here!’ ‘First glances can be deceiving Mr Broomfield.’ The ground in front of the car began to move. Amongst the random scatterings of barrel cacti and prickly pear, a giant trapdoor was lifting up out from under the sand. It didn’t screech or make any sound as it rose up out of the desert, and after it ceased to move, having opened to its full, it was revealed that the road which had at first appeared to have reached its end now continued steeply downwards underground. ‘What the! We’re not going down there are we?’ Barry’s stupid questions were no longer answered because the two men sitting in front of him had completed their mission, which meant they now deemed small talk needless. For the first time since his arrival in America Barry sensed that something was amiss. One thing he could be cheerful about though was how he was going to save a small fortune on suntan lotion. At this present time however, the potential sun-block savings he was going to procure were the farthest thing from his mind. Pulling at the door handles, Barry found to his growing distress that they were locked.
236 After Barry, the two MIBs and the limo had descended steadily deeper for what seemed like an age, a period of time that’s passage wasn’t made any smoother by the ominous silence save for the occasional whimper that escaped from Barry’s lips, the car stopped. It had come to rest inside a large underground car park that had marked on a wall:
Level 1- Car Parking/Tunnel Bore Storage Even though being located deep underground and apparently top secret, this car park looked almost normal. I say almost because there were a few things that made this particular one different to the average car park you might encounter in normal, everyday life. The first was that under the words: Level 1- Car Parking/Tunnel Bore Storage there was more writing, yet it was in a language Barry had never seen before but that reminded him of Egyptian hieroglyphics. Another distinguishing feature was that of all the other cars that were parked there, there wasn’t a single one that wasn’t exactly identical in every detail to the black limousine Barry was currently inside. But the feature that definitely stood out more than any other in this giant subterranean chasm was a number of truly huge, steel-encased cylinders. These colossal objects had a dozen large disc cutters at either end, each individual cutter being three times as long as a man. Scrutinising those ingenious pieces of machinery, Barry hypothesized they were the tunnel boring devices used to create the secret underworld he had entered.
237 Beginning now to think a wondrous and exciting revelation was being made known to him, Barry felt as if he’d been let in on a secret that only a privileged few had access to. The truth was, he was as of yet, blissfully unaware of the depth of depravity inside this rabbit’s hole and the general disregard of morality it concealed. The limousine was parked up alongside a line of identical vehicles and only now was Barry able to get out, the MIBs having released the locks on the passenger doors. Once out he was escorted to a lift where one of the dark-suited men placed a metal card inside a terminal and punched a series of numbers into a keypad. A blue band of light encircled the floor the man stood upon before rising up and engulfing his entire body, after which a computer-generated voice spoke from the terminal. ‘Weight passed, retinal scan passed, fingerprint scan passed. You are clear to enter Level 2 Agent 427945.’ The doors of the lift opened and the unlikely trio stepped inside. It was during the tight security checks that Barry noticed CCTV cameras were tracking his every move. When the doors opened again it was into a corridor that’s floor, ceiling and wall looked as if they were out of a plastic injection mould, all curving into one, yet metallic to the touch. Walking forward a few paces, there was a sign on the immaculate white wall before Barry that read:
Level 2- Shuttle Bay/ Tunnel Bore Maintenance/ Central Security Hub This meant nothing to Barry of course but there was another sign below the first one that did.
238
Please could new arrivals follow the corridor to the left, any deviation from this
command will result in the summoning of armed security. You are being watched. Below the notice were the Egyptian-like symbols again which prompted Barry to think that their purpose was to serve as a type of decoration, an attempt to make this intimidating place seem a little friendlier. In his opinion they were unsuccessful. Barry looked around for a camera, wanting to know from where he was being watched. He didn’t find one or anything that looked like one at least. What he did find was that his two dark-suited companions had vanished into thin air, leaving him completely alone. And not only was Barry now alone, but where the lift had been only a moment ago, now there was just solid wall, as white and as smooth as all the others that surrounded him. Feelings of distress began to cloud Barry’s judgement. What is this place? The instinctual fear of the unknown that resides in all human beings left him terrified, and all the crazy stuff that was going on as well didn’t help matters either. It was then fortuitous he didn’t understand the full horror of the underground base he’d been brought to, since he’d have soiled himself and looked foolish for the naked medical examination that he was still to undertake. A horrible sense of abandonment washed over Barry: (a feeling you’d expect him to being familiar with by now) the new friends, who up until a moment ago had not been willing to leave his side for a second, even when he’d requested the limousine be stopped because of his need to urinate, (the coke with his happy meal had been large and the journey long) had left him without a word. Turning back to face the sign, Barry saw that there was only one thing left for him to do, and although it may have appeared obvious to him, anyone else would’ve
239 thought his next course of action a little unexpected. He performed an improvised dance routine where he flayed his arms and legs in an unpredictable fashion, before picking up his luggage and deliberately running down the wrong corridor. By so doing he’d disobeyed the explicit instructions on the wall that told him to do the opposite. This moment of random craziness ended with Barry flat on his back looking up at what appeared to be futuristic guns. They were pointed directly at him. The measly possessions he’d brought to America in his battered old suitcase had pathetically scattered over the metallic floor after multiple rugby tackles. While his luggage had been successfully cracked open, his head luckily still remained intact. The pain from the boots that kept Barry pinned to the ground was real and Barry now knew he wasn’t hallucinating. ‘I thought I was in a dream or that I’d gone mad again. I used to have mental problems. I didn’t think that all this could be real.’ His explanations fell on deaf ears: this was an above top-secret facility, and the penalty for breaking the rules in a place such as this was usually death by bullet holes, if you were lucky. Barry had broken the first rule that had been asked of him, so to be fair it was a small miracle that he wasn’t dead or worse already. Barry was allowed up but the guns persisted to point at his now aching head that bore the imprint of a standard-issue US Military boot’s tread. He looked around and noticed with shame that in his mad dash he’d only managed to cover about five metres from his starting point. Wanting to put the crazy random he’d just acted out behind him, Barry examined the guns that pointed at him more closely. They weren’t like any other firearm he’d ever seen. This new underground world was unravelling many
240 uncommon features that distinguished itself from the surface he knew. The guns reminded him of the phasers on Star Trek, and being a naturally and at times annoyingly curious person he couldn’t help but ask a stupid question. ‘Are those guns, they look weird?’ ‘Shut yer hole you.’ The people that surrounded Barry and who were aiming these strange weapons at him wore a distinctive uniform that consisted of a black jumpsuit, and that had a peculiar symbol of a red triangle with the letter H superimposed over it. The words:
The All-Seeing Eye, were written around the outside of this distinguishing symbol upon the upper-left chest. Lifted up roughly by his arms by two powerful men, Barry’s feet barely touched the ground as he was taken to the Security Hub. Expecting this Security Hub as the guards called it, to be something grand and foreboding, Barry was almost disappointed when it turned out to be just a receptionist at a desk, sitting behind a computer screen and a telephone. Things at this base were not always what they appeared to be, and Barry wasn’t yet aware disinformation was a favoured tactic used in this new world. The initial feeling of disappointment Barry experienced at the boring normality of the Security Hub quickly vanished when he noticed the receptionist to be a very attractive young woman. ‘Well, I’ve seen it all now. I’ve never had anyone do a mental little dance and then run off the wrong way, that’s definitely a first,’ said the receptionist. ‘I know, I’m such an orang-utan,’ replied Barry, trying to muster up as much charm as a man can while he’s been held by the scruff of the neck. Addressing the security personnel she said: ‘Alright, leave him to me.’
241 After the guards had disappeared around the corner, Barry immediately started to ask questions like, why had he been brought here? And, what is this place? ‘I’m sorry, it’s a need-to-know only policy I’m afraid. I couldn’t tell you anything even if I wanted to because I don’t know anything anyway. My job’s just to log the details of the people they bring to me into the computer and give them their security-clearance cards. You know I think you’re the first British person I’ve inducted. You are British aren’t you?’ ‘Yeah—I just don’t understand, I was supposed to be working for NASA and then I got brought here.’ ‘You’ll only have been brought here if they think they can use you for something, if you have something special about you that make’s you different.’ Of course Barry was very different, an unparalleled genius, but being unique unfortunately brought in this case an evil into his life he wouldn’t have encountered if he was just a normal man: Writing his paper on anti-matter reactors had initially caught the attention of NASA, but it had also been leaked to the people that controlled the black budget. The All-Seeing Eye did not want this unique talent to go to waste on another mars rover. NASA after all is just a façade, an organisation whose primary directive is to entertain the public with shiny big rockets, the humorous effects of zero gravity, and faking moon landings. ‘You can’t tell me anything else? Barry leaned towards the woman and spoke in a whisper: ‘What about whether or not we are being watched right now?’ ‘I couldn’t even tell you that because I honestly don’t know. All I know is some very secretive stuff goes on here since I have to make you sign a waver on penalty of DEATH before you’re allowed any further into the facility.’ The receptionist’s voice was a barely audible whisper now. ‘I’ve heard some of the guards
242 talking amongst themselves about the other levels. I’ve only got Triad Level 2 clearance so I can’t go down any further than this. I’m not even allowed into parts of this level, like the Shuttle Bay for example, I’m not allowed in there.’ The receptionist for a fleeting moment looked deeply troubled, but then the look dissolved and her cheerful smile returned. ‘We’ve all got to make a living haven’t we? It pays well here and as long as you keep your nose clean you’ll be alright. Just don’t break any more rules okay.’ ‘What if I don’t want to go in? What if I refuse to sign?’ The look of fear returned and she said quietly: ‘Keep your voice down. I’m not sure if it’s actually optional. Once they’ve brought you here you MUST sign it, unless you—’ Tears welled up in her eyes but Barry couldn’t understand why, since his inability to read emotion as always left him clueless. ‘God almighty, okay okay, I’ll sign it. No need to get so upset.’ After signing a waiver that stated speaking of the location, any government secrets, or even the existence of the underground base would result in the penalty of death, Barry was shown into a large, poorly lit room that housed a giant computer screen. ‘You’re going to have to take all your clothes off now Mr Broomfield,’ said the receptionist. ‘We’ve only just met!’ exclaimed a shocked, but mostly pleased Barry. ‘You really are an original aren’t you? No you need to be in the nude for the computer to weigh you and take your details.’ Barry laughed nervously before saying: ‘Yeah I knew that, I was only joking.’ Feeling a bit embarrassed getting naked in front of the attractive young
243 receptionist, Barry was sure he heard her stifle a giggle as he pulled his y-fronts down. He now realised the room was poorly lit for good reason. After a thorough physical examination, a little too thorough from Barry’s point of view, he was issued not only his security-clearance card, but with some really good advice from the young receptionist as well. ‘Keep that ugly body of yours hidden away at all costs, you’ll give people nightmares. And don’t bother trying to get a girlfriend either because your penis is far too small.’ Barry’s security clearance turned out to be a rather unexceptional Triad Level 3, and he also, like the receptionist wasn’t granted access to the Shuttle Bay. Lastly he was he was issued with his uniform. Unlike the security guards, Barry’s jumpsuit was white, but it did have the same symbol that the guards wore on their black ones. ‘Have a nice life,’ said the receptionist. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well I never see any of the people I induct again; once they go through that door that’s it.’ ‘Can you at least tell me what this place is called?’ ‘I don’t know its official name. It probably doesn’t even have one,’ the receptionist’s voice descended into a darkly ominous tone, ‘but everyone calls it— The Complex—’ ‘Oh right, cool, cheers. Sounds nice doesn’t it? The Complex,’ said Barry merrily.
244 Chapter 17: Working Man Genius at Work Level 3 of The Complex was dedicated to developing advanced technologies such as new aircraft propulsion methods, active camouflage and everlasting gobstoppers, technology that sat at the very cutting edge of science. Into this world of interstellar possibilities stepped Finbar Cedric Broomfield, and like a lamb that has lost its way and accidentally trotted into an abattoir, he was unaware of the danger within. Upon his exit from another magnetically-powered lift, Barry noticed that there didn’t appear to be a single lift shaft in The Complex linking all the separate levels together as you might expect. Alternatively there was a separate one linking each level to the next. Barry thought this security measure excessive and that it must’ve really annoyed people when they wanted to move quickly from the bottom level to the top one, or vice-versa. What Barry didn’t realise was that this was only the tip of the iceberg. The sophisticated security measures taken inside The Complex made it probably the most secure place on Earth. There were thousands of cameras, radar sensors, motion sensors, infrared sensors, there were the security-clearance terminals that had to be passed to access the lifts, and of course, the small army that could be summoned at an instant. Immediately after stepping out from the lift that linked Level 2 to Level 3, Barry was greeted by a man who wore an identical uniform to his, but whose face appeared weary, having prominent rings under its eyes. Attempting to ask some questions about his new home, Barry was again told as he was by the receptionist that information was given on a need-to-know basis only. One question was answered though but the reply troubled him. The question had been about how many days vacation a year he’d be entitled to.
245 Barry had hoped to do a bit of sightseeing on his holidays, this being his first time in America, but when he inquired about holiday entitlement the weary-looking man guffawed and said: ‘You won’t get many days off I’m afraid. They don’t let us out much, especially guys like you.’ ‘What do you mean—guys like me?’ ‘I read your paper on anti-matter reactors, pretty groundbreaking stuff. They’ll work you hard. You can probably forget about doing any sightseeing.’ After been shown to his sparse living quarters, Barry sighed at the knowledge that he was going to be locked away underground in this base for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t how he’d imagined the American Dream, and he now began to regret the submission of his paper titled: How Mankind Can Conquer the Universe to his favourite magazine, Popular Science. Tobias was right, I should have sold the rest of
the stamps and bought with the money something practical, like a shiv off Crazy
Craig. Barry’s living quarters, although sparsely decorated contained just about everything he might need: a comfortable double bed, a small but pristine kitchen, and an equally spotless bathroom. One thing was missing nevertheless: there wasn’t a window. This was an understandable omission bearing in mind Barry was currently a mile underground. To compensate for the shortfall there was a poster-sized framed photo of a rainforest hanging on the wall, but the bright explosion of colour the picture provided seemed almost lurid and out of place situated inside The Complex’s metallic plainness. The thing that peeved Barry more though than the pointlessness of his rainforest, was how he’d not yet received his suitcase after having it forcibly taken off
246 him by the security guards up on Level 2. The Complex apparently didn’t like things being brought in from outside. The luggage containing all his worldly possessions had been placed on a conveyor belt and he was told he would not see them until they had been thoroughly checked for any potential security hazards. Unsure how his underwear and other garments posed any serious risks, Barry resigned himself to the fact he didn’t have much say in the matter. An additional cause of disruption to the settling in process was provided by the countless security cameras in Barry’s new digs. The sound of their servos as they followed his every move was the cause of much displeasure. And so it was that the most shocking revelation of the day was linked to these infuriating devices: Taking his first bowel-waste-content-evacuation in his new home, Barry heard that irritating sound of moving servos once again, but this time the sound was emanating from below his exposed rump. Lifting his backside he found to his horror there was a bowl cam. He couldn’t even drop a load without having it watched, recorded and catalogued. The following day Barry was shown around his new and very impressive workplace. Level 3 of The Complex contained technological wonders that Barry hadn’t even been aware existed yet. Some of this technology was far in advance of what he had up till then believed were humanities manufacturing capabilities. His awareness of the laws of physics were probably better than anyone’s on the planet, what with the mountain of information he’d consumed from books, yet he found some of those laws here being pushed to their absolute limits. Picking through a number of interesting items with rapt fascination, Barry was startled.
247 ‘Ingenious,’ he exclaimed. How did you get the quartz to crystallize around the metal like this?’ ‘We believe it was created in the vacuum of space?’ replied a boffin. ‘What do you mean, believe? Weren’t you the people who made it?’ The head of Barry’s department, Professor Heinrich Schriever interrupted to give a very unconvincing lie. ‘Of err of course we were, he was just getting confused.’ Failing to detect that he was being lied to, Barry continued inspecting other objects of exquisite craftsmanship before been shown the piece de resistance. Professor Schriever and his army of boffins led Barry to a gigantic vault, a vault so incredibly tough a tank would have been unsuccessful in so much as scratching it. Located off to one side was a terminal similar to the ones outside the lifts. Schriever passed his metal clearance card through it and allowed the various security checks to begin. As the vault door opened with painful slowness, Barry almost couldn’t contain his excitement at what might be inside this Aladdin’s cave. The expectations he had of seeing something spectacular weren’t in vain because sitting quite nonchalantly before him was a large, silver, saucer-shaped craft. The far side of this craft had a gaping and charred hole in the hull, as wide as a man is tall, but it did nothing to dull its lustre in Barry’s eyes. At a first glance he thought the damage had been caused by an explosion that had emanated from inside the vessel. On closer inspection however, he observed the hull wasn’t blown outwards but rather inwards, as if something had hit it. ‘What happened here?’ said Barry pointing to the opening. ‘We had a bit of an accident in testing.’
248 ‘An accident…it looks like it’s been struck by something,’ Barry paused and examined the damaged hull still more closely, ‘a missile maybe…It would have to be something fairly powerful to do this kind of damage.’ ‘Now why would we go and shoot at our own aircraft Mr Broomfield?’ Everyone except Barry laughed awkwardly. ‘No, it was just an accident in its test flight.’ ‘Oh okay,’ said Barry still puzzled. ‘Can I touch it?’ ‘Of course, go ahead.’ Barry’s hand, reaching out and touching the craft instantly experienced an odd feeling that something in that convergence between flesh and material seemed very familiar. ‘It doesn’t feel like metal, it’s more like…’ He didn’t get to finish the sentence because of being distracted by the interior of the ship and how it was badly burnt. Professor Schriever and his boffins, noticing Barry’s interest, conducted him around some of the inner workings of the vessel. ‘We believe this is the anti-matter reactor. We think it uses element 115 to produce its anti-gravity and quite frankly, astonishing flight capabilities.’ ‘This is an anti-matter reactor?’ said Barry incredulously after been shown the dustbin-sized barrel at the heart of the ship. ‘Yep, this is the engine room.’ ‘God—an anti-matter reactor—it’s so small.’ ‘Yeah, and the amazing thing is, this produces more energy in a second than our largest nuclear power stations do in a year.’ A clearly amazed, ‘Wow,’ was all that Barry could muster. ‘We need you to help us figure out how it works because this one’s broken.’
249 ‘Well fix it then, you are the ones who built it. What do you need me for?’ With a confused frown Barry asked: ‘You did build it—didn’t you?’ ‘Yes of course we built it but we erm, we sort of forgot how it works,’ answered Professor Schriever feebly ‘You forgot!’ said Barry. ‘The greatest invention in mankind’s history since the wheel and you forgot how you built it?’ ‘No, well yes, you see the guy who built it, he died, and he was the only one who knew how it worked.’ ‘What was his name?’ ‘Erm it was err—Bryan,’ Professor Schriever looked down at the floor where there just so happened to be a spanner near his foot, ‘Bryan Spanner.’ ‘Bryan Spanner. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him. He must have been a genius of the first degree to build this though.’ ‘Oh yeah Bryan was a mastermind, he won the Krypton Factor and everything.’ ‘Did he? Bloody hell the Krypton Factor! Now that is impressive.’ ‘Will you help us Barry, will you help finish Bryan Spanner’s work?’ ‘Well I dunno what to say. Bryan Spanner sounds like quite a guy. I’ll try my best. I mean I’m sure you’ve got some far more intelligent people here than me. I mean I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help to be honest.’ Like in the chess tournaments he’d entered, Barry used his unique ability to focus his mind on a problem and shut out all other distractions from it to great effect. His coworkers were astounded at his prodigious abilities, and the intuitive nature with which he dissected and solved complex problems.
250 Still, even for Barry’s brilliant mind the secrets of the damaged craft were proving difficult to unravel. In an effort to unlock the puzzle he asked Professor Schriever if it possible he be shown the entire innards of the ship. So far he’d only been granted access to sections that were for the most part, too burnt to allow the finding of any answers to the conundrums the ship posed. ‘I’ll have to put a request in at security for that to happen. It may take a while.’ There wasn’t much time allocated for socialising in The Complex and when Barry wasn’t working, eating, or getting his toilet habits filmed, he slept. When he did get chance to talk to his colleagues inside the base the conversation always revolved around work, even when he tried to push it onto other subjects. This situation continued until one day, the man Barry considered himself closest to since arriving at The Complex chose a different topic to discuss. The man who Barry thought of as his new best friend was a highly-gifted young scientist by the name of Charles Delve, a fellow boffin. Professor Schriever had assigned Delve to work closely with Barry in the hope that the two brightest minds inside The Complex would produce some fruitful results. Barry had failed to notice anything unusual about his friend until one day when Charles spoke to him very quietly while they were both tinkering around the inside of the damaged saucer. ‘You like it here don’t you Broomfield? Don’t you miss the surface?’ This was the first time Barry had thought about the outside world since looking upon the picture of the rainforest in his living quarters, his mind having been so thoroughly absorbed in its mission.
251 ‘Not really, there was nothing for me up there. At least down here I can work in peace. I hadn’t even thought about it really.’ ‘You know for a genius you’re fairly stupid Broomfield. You wait till they give you some higher security clearance and you see what this base really is.’ ‘What?’ ‘You’ll see, just wait. Once you’ve caught a glimpse of The Nursery you won’t be able to sleep at night just like the rest of us.’ Shaking like a leaf and with a face awash with distress as his mind recalled some of the horrors it had seen, Charles got up and walked off, leaving Barry on his own to consider what he’d said. Professor Schriever greeted Barry the following morning while he was busily working on positron stability for his new reactor. ‘Good news Mr Broomfield, you’ve been permitted to see the whole interior of the ship. And I imagine it won’t be long till they give you a higher security clearance as well.’ It was no secret that Barry had already established himself as the fastest rising star at The Complex within just a few weeks: his essential quirkiness fitted in snugly with the general atmosphere of insanity. The cameras that followed Barry’s every move documented the imperviousness to the mental anguish that cast its shadow over everyone else in the base. Barry happily and absent-mindedly continued with his work, ignorant and so unaffected by the feeling of fear around him. The minds behind The Complex’s cameras regarded Barry with intrigue. This
man is the perfect tool, what type of hell has he been through?
252 The cordoned-off interior parts of the craft, rather than provide answers only raised more questions. What appeared to be the cockpit was particularly strange. ‘The seats are so small. Who was flying this thing, midgets?’ Barry asked while stooping for the low ceiling. Professor Schriever resembled a wobble-icious jelly as he tried to think up another pathetic excuse for this one. ‘They were, erm, it was piloted by—trained monkeys…’ ‘Monkeys, that’s fascinating.’ The professor momentarily looked astounded before saying: ‘Yes and a good thing too, because when it crashed the only loss of life was monkey rather than human.’ ‘Those poor, poor monkeys,’ said Barry sorrowfully. There was a moment of silence in remembrance for the fictional dead monkeys before the full tour of the saucer’s interior continued. The last room they were to enter would be quite an eye opener. ‘We aren’t sure what we built this room for. We think it was for the monkeys to sleep in,’ said Professor Schriever. A thunderstuck Barry stood fixed to the spot because he’d been in this room before: the sardine-can door, the bubble shape, the bed of pain, this was where he’d received an alien probe into a tender area following his abduction in the Hickey Woods. Usually Barry spoke with a fervent enthusiasm at every new discovery the craft unveiled, so due to an uncharacteristic silence he drew the Professors attention. ‘Is there something wrong Mr Broomfield?’
253 Barry wanted to answer with vehemence; I’VE BEEN IN HERE BEFORE
YOU SLAG. I WAS STRAPPED TO THAT VERY BED. THIS IS A TORTURE ROOM.
THIS IS AN ALIEN VESSEL. YOU DIDN’T BUILD IT AT ALL! But, he didn’t, his reply was cool calm and collected. ‘Oh, no no, very interesting room this.’ The realisation that his all-too close encounter with the third kind hadn’t actually been a figment of his imagination was very unsettling. While his companion, Psycho, and the Hickey Hill Park Rangers chasing him with attack dogs were fantasy, he’d mistakenly assumed the encounter with the UGO was a creation of his illness and isolation also. Barry didn’t know what to believe anymore as it was feasible that this base was another fantasy concocted by his active imagination, and that possibility frightened him immensely. But then he remembered the pain of the boot on his face when he’d disobeyed the signposted order upon first entering Level 2, and so knew it couldn’t be another hallucination. The weeks turned into months and regardless of his being inside a base that was a beehive of activity, Barry walked along the metallic, oddly-lighted corridors by himself. Alone, always alone. He’d become accustomed to the intrusive whir of the cameras now: their presence no longer felt disturbing because he considered them almost like friendly acquaintances. Walking by on his way to work everyday he’d greet them cheerfully as if they were people he knew. ‘Hiya Roger. Alright Charlie? How’s it going Tina you little scallywag.’
254 The sound of moving servos as the cameras tracked him had nothing to do with Big Brother’s surveillance in Barry’s mind, but instead represented a songbird’s uplifting chirp. Barry knew that regarding CCTV cameras as pals was a little peculiar, but then Charles Delve, probably the closest person Barry had had to a real friend inside The Complex had left the base to embark on a Kenyan safari, leaving without even saying goodbye. And Barry now only interacted with others in the base when necessary for work because nobody else seemed to have the time or inclination for anything more.