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

6

'Ah, Jesus. That hurt. I can't see. Am I blind? Am I dead? Christ.'

There's a moment of silence, then I hear Mal's voice.

'Ow. Ugh. What? No, you idiot. You're dazzled. You'll be able to see again in a few moments. I think.'

'Oh.'

There doesn't seem like much else to do, so I lie there for a bit. I hear him get up.

'So what actually happened, Mal?'

'How should I know? I can't see anything either.'

'Oh.'

My sight seems to be slowly returning, and I lift up my hand and wave it in front of my face. Movement. I sit up, and grope around my feet. I can feel various boxy shapes, and wires coming out of them.

'I think the computers got knocked off the desk,' I say.

'They'll be OK. They're ruggedised. Ow,' he replies.

'Unlike me. Can you see much? I'm still blind as a fucking bat,' I observe, entirely ungruntled.

'A bit now, yes. All the lights got knocked over, so there's not much to see,' replied Mal, sounding rather happier.

'Oh, I've found your notebook.'

'Oh, good. Put it in your pocket, or something, will you? Hang on. I've got a torch somewhere... not in here... yes. Let there be light!'

And then I can see the flash-light he's holding, and I realise that most of the problem was that it was simply very, very dark, although my eyes are still not working very well. There's a dirty great purple splodge in the middle of my line of sight, caused by the flash, which is disconcerting: but at least my peripheral vision is not too bad.

'Wow, what a mess,' he said.

He's not wrong. Everything has been thrown over, and all the ash and bacon from the sensor has been blasted across the floor and us. The computers are in a tangled heap, and the cabbages are lying in various knackered positions. All the ceiling tiles that were still in place near the circle have been knocked down, and some strip lights have been blasted off, and others are hanging down, swinging wildly.

The circle is still fine, though, and I can make out the glow of the five little lights, if I look sideways at them. It's dark as hell though. The lights don't seem to be lighting anything up in particular. Except that I think I can see lots of sparkles. I shake my head, convinced that this is more eye problems.

'What happened? Did it work? Anything poking its cute little head through?' I asked, hoping he could see better than me.

Mal doesn't say anything. He's staring, shining his torch at the floor, at a point in the circle I can't see. I slowly pull my legs from out of the tangle, and haul myself to my feet to have a look. My eyes are starting to get better now, too. Looking at him, I can see a strange expression on his face.

'And the spirit of the Lord moved across the surface of the water...'

He tails off, dumb-struck.

'What? What are you on about?' I ask.

'Come and look. My goodness. Be careful, though. I have no idea what the safe distance is.'

Still rubbing my head, I hobble around to where he's standing, and stare at the torch-lit haze.

It's black and rolling and looks deep and cold, but it's water all right. The metal circle must be about seven feet across, and it is now completely filled with this inky, glittering liquid. Every so often, a little bit will slop over the rim and leave a puddle on the carpet. It's totally silent, too. And...