Agent of Equilibrium Read online

  Agent of

  Equilibrium

  N.J. Mercer

  For Rabab

  Thanks to my parents

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Edward watched the desperate, naked figures scramble out of the pit; they were covered in five days’ worth of their own and each other’s filth. The smell of excrement and stale bodily fluids made him recoil; the old man who stood alongside him smiled wickedly at this. A pair of obese women stepped forward from an assembly of figures clad in black leather smocks who lurked in the shadows and were never far away; they herded the disorientated group down a long, dim corridor to the next chamber. Edward and the old one followed.

  “Get back in line!” screeched one of the herders as a confused youth groped his way along the wall he had just walked into. When he was unable to fall in with the rest, a few swift kicks that struck his bare backside with a resonating slap were enough to make him stumble onto the correct route again. One of the bedraggled members of the group rocked with uncontrolled laughter at this; tears rolled down his cheeks. He too received a few kicks for his troubles, but it didn’t make him stop. Very interesting, thought Edward. Now here is a chap with potential. It was what he was looking for.

  The pit, as it was affectionately known, was actually a small stone chamber with barely enough room for the six youths to lie alongside each other. They had been left there for five whole days, mostly in complete darkness. A hatch in the ceiling allowed food and drink to be dropped in occasionally, and it was also opened to provide them with a mere hour of light each day. This was all a part of their test; they had known what to expect and had volunteered willingly. They had suffered numerous trials prior to their days in the pit, but it was widely accepted that it was only after entering the pit that a prospect’s worth could be truly ascertained. Edward hadn’t finished with them yet.

  They followed the wobbling flesh of the lead herder through several narrow stone corridors, her vast thighs brushing against the walls on either side. The disparate group reached an impossibly long staircase that they started to ascend. The climb was exhausting at the best of times; however, weakened as they were from their days in the pit, it was almost intolerable. Several of the youths protested at the severity of their trial, only to have their leather-clad herders laugh at their plight, spit on their bare bodies and shove them along regardless. Naturally, progress was slow.

  “Come now! Stop there. Our friends need some help,” announced Edward with a single loud clap of the hands to emphasise his point. “Will the Pharmacist please see to them?”

  A tall, sinister man stepped forward from the very rear of the trailing entourage, his powerful frame and physical presence matched only by that of Edward himself. He wore a suit and a long rectangle of black leather was tied around the circumference of his head, hanging over his face; cold eyes looked out from two steel-ringed holes that were punched into this mask. He produced a syringe from an old-fashioned medical bag at his side. It was the usual energising mix of synthetic amphetamines; Edward had deemed it appropriate for the Pharmacist to add a hint of mild LSD to the blend on this occasion. He was examining these young men and women, and what most interested him about them was their mind. It was through this current, rather prolonged, process that he might find an initiate amongst these youths. Edward’s burly associates grabbed each prospect in turn, and the Pharmacist injected the potent mixture into one of their buttocks. Edward himself watched each subject’s reaction with interest. Mostly they protested and questioned the contents of the injection before struggling against the fat women who held them down; this was to be expected, all quite normal, but there were two who particularly drew his attention. A tall, gangly fellow, the one who had been laughing earlier, and another who was apparently in the midst of an emotional breakdown, gibbering uncontrollably, overcome by the horror of his recent trials; he had accepted the injection without resistance, probably unaware of the needle that had just penetrated his skin. Edward had been watching both him and the tall fellow closely as they proceeded with the group. Yes, these two are showing potential, he thought.

  It wasn’t long before the prospects were climbing the staircase quite enthusiastically, their spirits artificially lifted by the drugs in their bloodstream. They clambered upwards, away from the lower levels, away from the inversion tables, away from the chains and grateful to be away from the pit. This ascent was to take them back to the surface. Each prospect had done well to come this far, they had passed the trial and a sense of euphoria was creeping into their mood. Edward noted that the tall fellow’s disposition remained unaffected – probably because he had been euphoric to the point of laughter throughout his ordeal regardless of any drug. The persisting darkness of the pit and the many humiliations of the days prior had not affected him, in fact, it seemed he had found it all amusing; a welcome change to the mundane experiences of daily living, no doubt, thought Edward. The one who gibbered was also unchanged; he continued to mumble to himself and furtively scan the ground before him as if he were chasing unseen vermin. Edward noted all of this.

  Finally, the stairway ended, and the whole group found themselves in an inconspicuous barn. A set of large double doors was opened; the prospects ran outside. Fresh air filled their lungs, so different from the underground stench they had endured for the past week. Its effect was cleansing and refreshing, the stimulant properties of the drugs in their body fortified this feeling and heightened their emotions; they had passed the trial! They ran free into an empty field where the damp grass wiped the filth from their unwashed feet. They drank in the daylight and appreciated more than ever the sun’s warmth touching their skin. The gibbering fool was unmoved and merely raised a single eyebrow in acknowledgement of his new situation as he continued to scan the ground, blowing an occasional raspberry, or sobbing briefly. Edward wondered at this individual who had been quite normal before the trials, indistinguishable from the rest; now, he was in a unique place. Just look at him, what was in his mind’s eye? He was elsewhere, seeing and perceiving so differently from all those around him. Edward’s gaze shifted to the tall chap, the one who had laughed throughout; as his fellow prospects celebrated, he seemed almost disappointed. This was interesting, another unique reaction, so illogical, so unexpected; this was certainly evidence of a chaotic mindset. Edward was pleased; the trial might yield two initiates. This was unusual: to find one would be reason to c
elebrate, but two! He turned with a grin to the old man who had been beside him for the entire ascent, his associate nodded in response. Edward knew he had been thinking along similar lines; after all, the old man was his lifelong companion, he who would ultimately take any initiates under his own wing.

  The celebrating prospects were rounded up by several leather-clad herders. Their faces reflected both the joy of completing this test to which they had proffered themselves and the fact that they were high.

  Arranged in a loose congregation, they awaited Edward’s address. “You stand here after days of being deprived of your basic human dignities. You have overcome isolation, humiliation and countless other internal battles of the psyche. The sky must seem more beautiful to you than at any other time in your lives, and I swear the air must never have tasted sweeter than it does now.”

  The gathered nodded fervently, they felt strong, worthy of standing before the great man in front of them. From the corner of his eye, Edward glanced at the pair who had previously captured his attention. The gibbering fool was laid out on the damp grass with arms and legs outstretched, while the tall fellow now seemed positively upset at how things had turned out. These were two very interesting individuals.

  “I thank you all for being here today, but we have not finished! For now you must all go back down!” announced Edward. The prospects looked at each other in disbelief, wondering if they had heard correctly. The reopening of the double doors confirmed their worst fear. They wailed in protest and despair. A few tried to run away, only to be caught by the herders (whose size belied their agility) and forced back to the doors. Some were dragged along by their legs, clawing at the ground, screaming for mercy.

  “How long, Edward? How long must we endure?” cried another as he was pulled along the grass, a herder on each arm.

  “Oh, I’m not sure at the moment; I think it will be at least a week!” replied Edward. The prospect broke down in tears, his misery compounded by drug induced paranoia. Some lost control of their bodily functions at the horror of being taken back underground. There was a sudden, unexpected whoop of celebration.

  “A week?” shouted the tall fellow irreverently. Edward turned to face him.

  “Yes, do you have a problem with that?”

  “It’s far too short!” he replied and burst out laughing at this; Edward joined him, unable to contain his own amusement. The herders didn’t have to struggle with this one, he wandered back through the double doors voluntarily, looking happier than at any other point in the ordeal.

  Wonderful, thought Edward, a mind that truly transcends the limitations of this physical world! How marvellous. He looked at his other favourite, who was gibbering away as he was guided back to the double doors, nodding solemn greetings to unseen others around him, indifferent to his destination. This was what Edward wanted; the other prospects had demonstrated responses that were so very predictable, the joy of release from their trials and the despair of return, feelings heightened by the drugs. What Edward sought was the unpredictable; he had always reached for the unknowable. He worshipped disorder, and sometimes it was so hard to find it. These two would make fine Disciples; the rest would be welcome to stay, but these two would go far – if they could bear having their eyelids stitched shut first.

  Chapter 1

  Johnny awoke with a grunt from his feverish sleep. Sweat had soaked through his clothing and into the worn leather armchair he was sprawled upon; he rubbed his face before taking a few deep breaths. The green LED display of the digital clock radio on his bedside table across the room read: 17:07. Johnny was concerned, he never fell asleep during the daytime, in fact, getting to sleep at night was usually difficult enough for him. The hot, restless slumber his body had been recently succumbing to was worrying. There had been three episodes this week. He had not been particularly tired prior to this latest one, and he had slept reasonably well the night before, so why then should he be waking up in his armchair? This time it had lasted half an hour; he wondered if he was unwell. Maybe it was TB? Didn’t that give you feverish sleep? Unsure of the answer, Johnny resolved to see his doctor if it happened again – there was a chance, however, that these episodes, and especially the vivid dreams he was experiencing during them, were not linked to any illness at all. A few minutes later, he sat cross-legged on the floor of his studio apartment wearing only a pair of loose kung fu trousers.

  Johnny lived alone in a converted loft in north-west London. His cluttered residence had the appearance of an antique store, the type that gets filled with junk but still contains real treasures that reveal themselves only to those who look carefully. It housed, amongst other things, dozens of old books on rickety shelves, several pot plants on a desk, and a collection of guitars that leant against a large amplifier stack surrounded by vinyl records and CDs, all of which dominated one corner of his abode. A low ceiling sloped down on two sides and in it sat four large skylights which filled the loft with fading autumn daylight. There was a noticeable stillness this evening – the streets lay mostly empty outside and their calm permeated the atmosphere indoors.

  It was time to exercise; with legs tightly crossed in the lotus position, Johnny M. closed his eyes. There were several flickering candles about the room, some free-standing, and others atop old wine bottles covered in solidified wax drippings. Johnny had already selected a deep purple coloured candle and fixed it to a tall wrought-iron base with an endlessly twisting design. He had placed it about a foot in front of himself with the unlit wick at the same level as his closed eyes. To any onlooker he would have appeared blissfully calm; this would have been a false impression because he was performing his daily mind exercises, and his will was straining immensely as he dug deep into reserves of psychic energy. Johnny had performed this particular exercise on many occasions and always believed that spending a similar amount of time weight lifting in a gym would have expended less effort. After seven seconds of intense concentration, he opened his eyes to begin witnessing the fruit of his labour. The tip of the candle started to glow, releasing a small whiff of smoke. A further three seconds later, there was a flame; Johnny had managed to light it by only using energy directed through his will.

  He found that it was easier to perform psychic exercises at the weekends, when his neighbours who lived in the many apartments nearby were generally feeling less anxious; otherwise, the energy radiating from their collective consciousness (to which he was very sensitive) interrupted his focus. With the candle lit, Johnny let his mind relax once more; it was only for twenty seconds – the exercise was half-complete. He closed his eyes again and focused, this time using his psychic energy to starve the flame of oxygen; a few seconds later it was snuffed out. The tip of the candle, its flame extinguished, smouldered, and smoke drifted across the room.

  He continued the exercise until he reached a total of twenty-five repetitions. The last performance was the most difficult due to the fatigue that had set in; Johnny had, nonetheless, achieved something that most (but not all) people would have found impossible. As he watched the smoke from the final extinguished flame, he noticed that it was drifting in a disconcertingly unnatural pattern. The blue-grey mist was no longer in random Brownian motion, it instead seemed to snake its way through the air with purpose. Johnny observed intently with one of his dark eyebrows raised. He was unhappy at the invasion of his privacy; somebody was evidently using psychokinetic energy on the candle smoke and had the audacity to be doing it within his own home during the intimate moments of psychic exercise. In response to this potential threat, he used his willpower to surround himself with a psychic shield. The simple manipulation of smoke he was now witnessing could easily become a full-blown assault on his very person. After all, in his line of work he had enemies; many who were as gifted as he was.

  Johnny watched the smoke carefully. Its long, convoluted route was taking the form of letters, like stunt planes leaving a trail; someone was writing a message. By the time he had projected a full-strength shield the smoky
text was complete and hung suspended in the air.

  “What’s with the candle? Did I miss someone’s birthday?” asked the impertinent message, disturbing the sombre ambience of meditation. Somebody was messing around and Johnny knew exactly who it was. He broke up the smoke with a lazy wave of his hand; preparing for psychic combat had expended unnecessary energy when there was no threat present. Uncrossing his legs, he got up, slipped off the loose trousers he wore, and made his way to the small, damp bathroom. The moment he entered, he felt a static electrical charge in the air, and the skin all over his body started to tingle with a gradually increasing intensity. He had experienced this sensation many times before: it was the precursor to a psychic event and brought on by the presence of subatomic particles known as Presarium, the spirit-substance that lay within all matter. Of the life-forms that dwelled upon this dimensional plane, there were only a few individuals (a mere drop in the ocean of existence) who were receptive to Presarium. With time and sufficient training, they could develop their sensitivity to the point where they were able to recognise the multifarious patterns in which Presarium presented itself; this was the gift of psychic perception. Through further rigorous training they could eventually go on to manipulate Presarium particles with their will and thereby control matter itself; this was the cornerstone of psychokinetic ability. Johnny was one of the few people on Earth who could do both.

  The tingling sensation in his skin intensified further along with the airborne static electrical charge. Johnny was sufficiently versed in matters psychic to recognise that the changes he perceived corresponded to the opening of an inter-dimensional gateway, albeit a very small one, and at any moment now he expected a visitor to come through it, no doubt the perpetrator of the mischief with the candle smoke. Not being one to waste any time, he decided to continue with his ablutions rather than stand on ceremony for this guest who had probably travelled light years to reach him; he smeared his face with foam and started to shave. After the first few strokes of his razor, a disembodied chorus of a voice echoed through the air; it was faint and seemed to be projected from a great distance.