Prologue

  There was no natural light in the small closet-like room, the only artificial contribution, the ethereal glow from a recessed fluorescent tube. The television screen had been left dormant. The small figure in the hospital bed cupped a hand to his mouth in a trembling gesture, to ensure his voice would not leak out. His eyes remained closed, as they had for too long.

  “Yes!” he whispered, “Yes, I did as you needed, you should be able to see that. I did everything you asked.”

  The visitor looked anxiously at Elmo, unsure whether he was trying to converse or talking in his sleep. Should he respond to his ramblings or distract him in some way, draw his attention back to the world around him?

  “See! I told you you could do it,” he tried, helping Elmo lie back in his bed. “All you needed was a little encouragement.”

  He tried to sound clear and purposeful, but then wondered if he should lower his voice as Elmo moved a tremulous hand in a tiny circle as if turning down a phantom volume control that only he could see; it seemed he didn't want to chance being overheard.

  “I think they've drugged me,” he forced out between clenched jaws. "The only way that I could get…” his pupils moved beneath closed lids, “...without him knowing."

  “You did well,” the visitor was reassuring. “It's just to help you sleep.”

  “I only ‘did’ what you made me do,” the sleeper seemed reluctant to accept praise for some reason. He wasn't comfortable, he twisted in his sheets.

  “Swarties?” the visitor waved a tube of copycat sweets that he had found in Elmo's jacket pocket, a remnant from his stay in Pakistan. The reward of even poor quality, imitation chocolate in hospital should be too enticing to turn down.

  “Made you?” enquired the visitor, dropping a couple of colourful beads of chocolate into his hand. There was a playful edge to the tone, but infused with concern. A blue sweet fell and bounced under the metal frame of the hospital bed sending an expression of deep distress crawling over Elmo's face.

  “It’s free now so it doesn't matter,” the visitor said in a comforting tone. Elmo shrank back into his pillows as if a mere mouse, corralled between the paws of a cat.

  “Come on, I can hardly put this one back in the tube.”

  The sleeper served a purpose, although unconscious, he knew he did, but he was a source of amusement too, he feared. Just like the single red Swartie lying on his friend's palm, it would only be a matter of time till he was of no value anymore. He would be swallowed like the rest of them. He wished he had never been contacted; he wished that he could just be allowed to… He wished he could ignore the words sleeting into his consciousness. He wanted to flick the bright red sweet away, but the temptation of the bliss of reward was just too much. He allowed it to be poked into his mouth instead.

  “Yes, it is free now, thanks to you," the visitor said, trying to see under the bed. "You really did do well. Blue Swarties were probably never rare like the originals were, all the kids wanted them.” Adrift on a sea of unreality behind his eyelids, Elmo groaned faintly feeling that the voice just had to rub it in. Even in a coma Elmo knew - the Swartie wasn’t free, it was lost. Lost like the phage. The phage had escaped via his own ear, it was free, loosed, lost, into the real world.

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  “I’m going to get you back. Just stay where you are. I think I can use the device to create a portal.”

  At that moment, two men stepped into the room.

  “Gamaliel Jonas? You need to come with us.”

  *****

  There was no natural light in the small, closet-like room, the only artificial contribution was the ethereal glow from one active computer screen; the remaining screens on the overhead bank had been left dormant during the current operation. The operative cupped the mic of his headset in a trembling hand as an added precaution to ensure his voice would not leak out.

  "Yes!" he whispered, "Yes, I did as you needed, you should be able to see that. I did everything you asked."

  "See! I told you that you could do it. All you needed was a little…" A pause not for thought, but to make a point, "…encouragement."

  The words in his headphones were clear and purposeful. The speaker, from wherever he was contacting him, made no effort to lower his voice. The operator urgently moved his other hand, equally tremulous, to the controls on his touchscreen to lower the volume; he did not want to take any chances. He dimmed the screen considerably while he was at it.

  "I had to drug him!" the operative forced out between clenched jaws. "It was the only way that I could get to his terminal, while he was logged in, without him knowing."

  "You did well," the reply was almost gleeful.

  "I only ‘did’ what you made me do," the operative was reluctant to accept any praise from the voice. He wasn't comfortable with what he was doing, but the rewards offered were, well: just, far too enticing to turn down.

  "Made you?" enquired the voice. There was a playful edge to the tone, which the operative knew was rooted in the euphoria of control rather than any sincere concern.

  "It’s free now so it doesn't matter." The operative was in no mood for the voice's toying. He was a mere mouse, corralled between the paws of this cat. For now, he served a purpose - as well as a source of amusement he feared - but it would only be a matter of time till he was of no value anymore, and he would be swallowed like the rest of them. He wished he had never been contacted; he wished he had never agreed. He wished he could ignore the summons, but the temptation of the bliss of reward was just too much.

  "Yes, it is free now, thanks to you. You really did do well." The voice just had to rub it in. "The phage is now more than a few lines of code that 2 can exploit to clear up after himself. Now it’s a physical entity in the timelines of the real world. Let’s see if that gets his attention.”

  “Now, there is just one more thing.” When manipulating an underling, there is always ‘just one more thing’ saved up to be delivered just before departure. “You are to flush subject five when you get the signal. 666, we will be in touch. ‘Free time for everyone!'"

  The voice ended. The insistent salute at the end always made Elmo 666 sick. He wasn't sure if he believed in the cause or not. It seemed just, sure enough, but it was set against everything that he as an Elmo embodied: doing as he was told. He sat a while to compose his nerves; his regrets jeering him while he contemplated how deep into this treacherous endeavour his greed had taken him, but he soon found that the thrill of compensation rose to dissolve all traces of doubt and anger; it left him in a swoon of ecstasy as his mind was filled once again with the bliss of reward.

  Once the communication was terminated, the owner of 'the voice' turned to his companion, who purposefully sat just out of view of the visi-screens; he was nodding his agreement.

  "Do you think that the phage will be a big enough distraction for him?" the companion asked.

  "We can only hope so. Will 666 be OK for the next stage?" he pursued.

  "Oh yes. No concerns there. He will do whatever we need him to do. He loves the reward far too much to get ‘all righteous' on us now."

  "Hmmm?" the companion was a little unsure. "You know as well as I do that the followers are strongly peer-dependent. I'm surprised we’ve been able to keep control of this one for so long.”

  "Leave him to me. It will be fine." The tone of confidence the voice offered did little to settle his company's concern, but was enough to prevent any further enquiry for now. There was far too much to do. "Are the rest of the resistance ready?"

  His companion paused, still troubled by the reliability of Elmo 666, so much depended on their influence over an inside cell. Eventually he committed to a reply, "They will be: that you can leave to me."