The Eleventh Dimension or, a Series of Events that were NOT MY FAULT

5

So, another couple of days of my double life. Work in the day, and then in the evening, more bloody work. It's like being Batman, but without the lady admirers and the news headlines. Well, it comes together, no thanks to Mal, who is actually more of a hazard than a help: especially with welding. Given the man seems to struggle to put his shoes on the correct feet, this is not a fabulous surprise. I take the time off, and my boss is getting kind of suspicious. Well, whatever. Friday night comes around. Having turned down yet another invite to go out with my mates I pop home, change and then I'm off to the madhouse.

Mal is looking his usual self, overalls and all. I come in, step out of the stairwell, and there he is, setting stuff up, moving all the strange bits of ironmongery I've made for him, all the strip lights off, just some big spots on stands. I notice that he's got a whole load of things in since I was last there: scuba breathing tanks, goggles, those gauntlets you use when you are cleaning something huge and horrible. And a dirty great big fishing net.

'Hi honey, I'm home.'

I slap down a pack of bacon onto the table next to the interdimensional ash tray.

'What's that?'

'Let's at least use fresh pig, eh?'

'Fair enough. Could you do the honours? About ten grams. There's a scales in that drawer.'

I get to work, squinting in the half dark, while he goes back to rearranging the furniture. He's got the metal circle in the centre of the room, and four of the cabbages are on what used to be hat stands, so they stand about three feet from the ground. They are all wired up, cables trailing down and away towards one of the computers, going through some of the electronics bits we made. The clear plastic boxes that they sit in are glinting strangely in the light from the spotlights, as the water sloshes around.

The fifth is on this bizarre thing I cobbled together, almost a gallows; it's hanging from chains above the centre of the circle, looped through holes drilled through the plastic, more wires bundled up and over the top and into our main computer. It's still swinging gently, causing shadows to glide around the corners of the room. Mal is pouring the saline solution in, looking like he's watering some crazy hanging basket.

The lights are screwed into the five sockets at the edges of the circle, and he's turned them on too, so the pale white LED glow reflected into the centre is lighting up his ankles. He finishes up, straightens himself, and moves towards the main machine. We've put them both on the same desk, so we can control everything from one place. I say we: Mal was the one planning on pressing the buttons.

'Christ, it's cold in here, isn't it?'

'Yes. I've turned off the heating. The cooler the better. Now. Let's see. Come on, my little lovelies...'

And the bacon starts sizzling, and smelling of fry-ups again. It's quite nice being near the heat lamps, so I move my chair towards them and away from the circle.

'Oh, that's a bit better,' I say.

'What? Here we are. Yes... lots. More than yesterday. Most I think I've ever seen. My word.'

'You sent out invites then? Bet they didn't RSVP.'

As usual, he ignores me.

'Right. Let's roll the program!'

He says this with his version of a showman's flourish. His jaw is clenched, and he's grinning. For a moment he almost doesn't look like a complete weedy loser. Almost.

He reaches up and starts the sequence. He's gone through it with me, so I have a fair idea of what he's doing, but it's still pretty strange. Power into all five cabbages, start ramping up on all, then cut out from the centre. But over a slow period, peaks and then troughs, until the finale. My job is to keep the fat coming, make sure we can see the wigglies.

First few minutes, it's silent, nothing being said, both of us looking at our monitors, ignoring the noises of the streets outside; the sirens, the drunks, the cats, the cars. We don't move much, Mal makes some tiny adjustments, takes notes on a notepad next to us both. I don't really do anything, I loaded the sensor with fat for a good ten minutes, so I can watch the fun for the moment. I look at the various items brought for our safety and enjoyment, and wonder if I'll need to use any of them.

Then a noise starts nagging us. It sounds like a car alarm, but very high and whiny, fading in and out like the wind is messing with it. I try and look outside but can't because all the windows have been blacked out. I don't remember it being windy. It doesn't sound like a car alarm now, either. It's too smooth and melodic, droning random notes. If anything, it sounds like music.

I move my head round to try and find where it's coming from. It's either coming from the circle, or the other side of it.

'Are you doing that?' I whisper to the good doctor.

'No. Why are you whispering?' he whispers back.

'Tosser,' I hiss, still strangely nervous about making any noise. 'Look, is that sound being caused by all this?'

He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

'I have no idea! Isn't it great? We'll mike it up properly next time. You could find out by going to the other side of the circle. Don't go through it, though, eh?'

I think about this. Tell you the truth, I had no belief in this whole escapade, and suddenly it occurred to me that some big shit – some colossal elephantine shit – was actually going down. Hard.

'Um. Ok.'

'You're not afraid, are you? Big, bad, Tristram Jacobson? Where's the tough man I hired?'

I look up. The circle looks peaceful enough, although the centre cabbage has started to swing gently.

'Oh, fuck it all. All right. Jesus, why am I doing this again?'

'For the scientific future of the human race. And, I think, the money.'

'Ah, yes.'

I get up and start walking round the big room, keeping a healthy distance from the crazy stuff at the centre. The noise is quite loud now, and as I go round, it becomes quite clear that it is indeed being made right here. There are five or six different pitches all joined in: it sounds a bit like the music from that bloody awful film with the monkeys and the spaceship and the computer. 2001? Except there's also a kind of hissing, tearing noise, too.

'Yeah, it's us. I think.'

I shout this over the room. I have to, or he wouldn't have been able to hear me.

He nods.

'I need you back here. We need to keep the sensors up.'

I edge back round, and see that the bacon fat is looking kind of crispy, so I get to chopping again. I look at the screen, and see that the wigglies are not moving; just hanging there, still and quiet. I can see Mal staring at them too.

'Do you think they know...?'

'Hush! We need the connection, do your job!'

So I get back to it.

As I get the next rind butchered into cubes, and dumped on the ashtray – and thinking how unpleasant this job would be with a hangover – I notice that the music is fading and the awful ripping noise is getting louder. It's kind of uncomfortable, now. There is a weird orange glow coming from the central cabbage, and it's getting brighter and brighter.

'Nearly there...'

Mal is scribbling and pressing keys, while great tables of numbers are flickering higher and higher on the master computer. The light is bright now, too bright to look at directly, and it casts long shadows from all the rubbish everywhere. There are beats in the noise as it kind of flutters in and out, and they get faster and faster.

And then, suddenly, before either of us are expecting it, there's a noise like the end of the world. It's unbelievably bright, and a massive force throws me off my chair, and all of the computer equipment is knocked onto my legs. I bang my head hard on the floor, and it goes totally white.