wytchcroft

Extracts from the personal journals and recordings of Phillius Joyce; being in the way of a rude account of my ventures to the heartland and my exploits therein.

17 at the outpost.

Strange to be reporting from an outpost in the interior.

In any case such is where I find myself after withdrawing from the remains of the Raptors and my night vigil.

I checked my instruments. Earlier when flying out to the veldt I had dropped locator beacons in a pre-assigned pattern. One of the beacons was now active and transmitting a signal from the jungle. So, my paymasters were correct there was someone alive in there - one of the last of the scientists perhaps from a previous expedition or indeed even one of the workers sent down years before in a fruitless attempt to repair the waste plant. Most of those repair technicians would in fact have been mechanised but since the beacon relayed only a simple repeated phrase, such could indeed be the case.

Knowing that my mission was now beginning in earnest I hurriedly gathered my things and was airborne as swiftly as I had arrived. Below me the veldt transformed into the range of low outcrops that marked the edge of the savannah and again I felt the queer sense that I had been here before.

Taking the plane lower I was shocked as recognition hit me. Moving up from a shallow valley between two hills I realised just how familiar the landscape was - overgrown and distorted as it might be, I had no doubt I was flying across a junction and following the inevitable angled passage that would be the case on any solid state circuit board! Truly I was flying over vast tracts of machinery as much as landmass. The two seemed to have found a bizarre and inexplicable union. No wonder the small disposal units such as shred-ants and mecha-raptors had flourished!

I was staggered.

I could only imagine the disbelief that would greet my report, the orbiting platform crew, those young men so concerned during my decent, (and from whom I had won an honourable of money over cards I must add) they would think me mad - whilst the officials, my contact from the IFF would accuse me of dissembling.

Still absorbing all this I set my plane down with unusual tentativeness near a dank mass of spiny black undergrowth and upon a hard moss bank. The locator was but a short distance west from my position. Clambering out, I marvelled at the sounds of my own footfalls as they splashed across the moss and the mud of the bank and onto a ragged jungle trail.

I could hear all the typical sounds, the calls of distant birds, the continual screech of animals hiding playfully in the trees and the low scurrying of insects, amphibians and lizards.

Mechanised animals were nothing strange to me - but the possible scale and the dawning notion of their reality was something altogether new and disconcerting.

I had no qualms about protecting myself from raptors, I am a hunter - I had hoped to enjoy the challenge of unusual big game, but... I had much to ponder suddenly.

...

the wild man:

It was perhaps fortunate therefore that I was swiftly distracted from any unwanted introversion.

With a wild yell a figure stumbled into view before I had even reached the beacon.

He seemed quite maddened for throwing all caution to the wind he was stumbling like a drunkard, waving his arms with grotesque exaggeration whilst even at a distance his eyes could be seen wide and bulging.

He seemed at first to be completely oblivious to me, the reality of me and indeed of our surroundings - not so I, for in a flash I had raised my arms and was covering the ground with a cool sniper's eye in case this disturbance brought down some unknown animal, some creature reacting to the human's wounded sounds.

Gasping he came to a skidding halt between me and my craft and stood staring with a terror stricken look up at me.

His lips moved but without sound and matching the movements of his arms as they flailed into empty space and against some imaginary foe.

There was a worn name tag upon the chest of the ragged uniform he wore, O'Robert, the name clicked in my memory. There had indeed been an O'Robert aboard the last scientific expedition to this world.

But there was little enough of him left, simply bones and skin and unkempt reddish hair, all held together by nervous energy, by fear. Fear that drove him still, for with an agonised gasp he took to his heels and fled from me back into the undergrowth.

Pinning him with my tracker's expert gaze I grabbed those things, such equipment as was nearest to hand and essential, and went after him, covering the distance easily given my height and stride.

It was an uncomfortable journey for we burrowed through a resistant wall of foliage that cut almost all light and sound and lasted a long time until clearing to reveal the base of a once stony mound, a ruin of sorts which the man hopped up, following a bare trail and arriving finally a crude stockade of wood and aluminium sheets.

Possibly it was the unhinged scientist's air of panic but I confess to feeling something oppressive, ominous as we ploughed through the sticky dark and as we rested in the bright clearing - rested yes, but without a feeling of respite. I had a sense that we were watched - pursued somehow and by some – thing; quite what I had not the imagination to visualise, but loathsome certainly - some monster that the man’s blundering had indeed provoked.

I was soon to discover that it was worse than that.

The man's gaze travelled constantly and without balance, coming to rest on his wrist whereupon I could see a large timepiece ad the sky and the forests about us. I strode the distance between us, my fingers ready by the guard of my weapon. I followed his long arm and bony fingers as they pointed at the land below, that dark mass from which we had come. He swung around and I could see much the same ahead to the north, or almost the same.

"A herd of beasts?" I asked, for it seemed to me that the undergrowth was becoming disturbed, twisting and swaying.

My viewfinder and lenses were no help for the large plant life screened any other sight from me.

I was tense, my rifle flying up in readiness.

I was startled then for the man reached a hand arm to stop me. Refusing to let my own disturbed state show to this lunatic I brushed him aside, but kept my rifle low and followed where he pointed still. That jungle was broiling now rolling up and upon itself with an apparent purposefulness that made me dizzy to see.

Like a carpet the leaves and stunted shaggy trees rolled back and what lay beneath was revealed for all the world and us and the shining sun to see.

What was spread before us now was nothing less than a garden. As I watched I could see the tiny movements of orderly machines as they emerged to tend their plots - watering and pruning with great speed and precision. There were grassy lawns in rectangular shapes and lines of small flowers white and in full bloom.

"But -" I sought through my memory for the words. "This is some sort of manufactured Elysium! I had supposed you would show to me horror - some threat you could not withstand but this," I gestured with rifle, "some would call a paradise!"

The man had dropped his arms to his side, his face, if possible, was paler than ever.

Once more I stared down at the neat white ranks of flowers maintained in such an orderly fashion that, from our distance it took moments for me to notice that there were gaps. Between single flowers or between pairs and always of the same distance, "There are other flowers waiting to be planted," I noted - shaking my head as that strange déjà vu came again - and unwelcome it was!

The man was shaking violently. And his face kept twisting from me to the garden as if trying to ascertain which of us posed the greatest danger.

I, in my turn, did my utmost to appear reassuring and unthreatening. I lowered my weapon and concentrated on the vista about me, scanning the inexplicable ranks of flowers row on row of them, one after the other and then the gaps, one flower – another flower – a gap – one flower – a gap – one flower, another flower, a -

And then I realised that I was not looking upon paradise at all but something unique and alien.

"It is code," I said – to myself and my recording system – and speaking slowly and uncertainly, “binary coding, line upon line…” It was a dizzying truth, my head hurt with the knowledge, I felt heavy limbed and light headed that horrible feeling of inertia almost over coming me. Yes I could read it, for this was a garden of programming code; the rows of petals, each tiny flower, a small piece of information.

I was transfixed, part of me was unable to pull away from absorbing what it could read - the coding, it was data that I was reading, that I was uploading!

With an effort I slammed down my eye shied and turned about. Behind me O’Robert had scampered to his refuge, fumbling awkwardly at the entrance of this rough fortification, working a large manual lock and bolt. As he did so large drops of rain began to splash and ricochet off the metal coverings. The sky pulsed with a blue black light that illuminated us in eerie chiaroscuro picking out odd details, the man's pale knuckles, the ridges of corrugated iron upon the gate, the handle of my rifle and dull metal of my feet. And then the gate was open and I was crawling inside.

Once within, the man seemed to regain his wits as suddenly as another might don a favourite pair of slippers, despite the wild appearance, the half shaven chin, matted hair and red rimmed eyes, he regarded me calmly enough. I could hear the storm and the rain it brought but faintly for I was surprised to discover that the inside of the place was far less ramshackle than I had supposed. The walls were quite intact and clearly belonged to an original station that had been elaborated upon, walled in with the makeshift fencing I had seen outside. What was left however was far from pristine - pieces of slate lay scattered about with the white dust of chalk or lime, a row of upended boxes and some basic food dishes. There were consoles and computer terminals and every singe one of them was smashed and destroyed.

"This is the remains of your base," I said out-loud, "the research station - it is believed lost."

He mulled this over, standing still as he was. "Lost... yes,” his voice faint and dry from the lack of use, “ quite so, very apt. We are indeed."

I feared another descent into madness but O’Robert’s voice had held steady. He waved a vague hand at the walls. "We are lucky," he said, "the rain - it grants a little time perhaps, before it comes.”

“It?”

“I thought IT sent you – to kill me.”

“I was sent to rescue any survivors and to investigate the nature of this world and to contain any destabilising threat.”

O’Robert shook his head sadly. “You will not be rescuing anybody.” He swore rudely and unexpectedly, further unnecessary proof tat he was a broken individual now. “The nature of this place… my God… you’ve seen it – machine and soil in one, the animals… all the trees, the flowers – language… evolving… madness, madness…” and his hoarse voice cracked then completely.

“You need rest,” I commanded. But though he was swaying on his feet still the scientist looked at me – and I saw his eyes narrow. “It’s already in your head isn’t it?”

I said nothing – I had not yet sorted through my mind to discover what exactly I had read out there in the garden, what I may have been reading in the landscape from the moment I arrived.

There was a dull sounding thud against the wall and against the door.

“Make your report,” said O’Robert, straightening his back – “it’s here.”

“I have done so. I assured him, a data log takes but a few moments to compile.”

Behind me I could hear another thud, and another and yet again a third blow hammering down as if some giant had come a knocking. The outside walls were groaning I could hear them despite the insulation.

“Well,” I said, “I shall face whatever devil has set itself against us. I shall not buckle at the last.” And so saying I drew my gun and span awkwardly around on the flooring, looking back the way I had come. And then with a final effort I kicked open the door and propelled myself outside into the wild, into the storm.

.

.

End transmission
.

................................
to be concluded.