A Journey to the Heart of the Millenium Dream
Chapter 3 - Our Arrival is Monitored
"Naturally it didn't exactly go to plan" I continued. "The jerk wouldn't sell me two ounces - now we're in Europe he insisted that he had to sell me 56.6699 grams. Something to do with E.U. Regulations. The mescalin was no problem but this meant that funds were running low, which is why we're slumming it, rather than in first class."
The Mac user with the hands which were turning into flippers somehow managed to get the door open and scampered off the train at Clapham Junction. The slam of the door almost drowned the BEEP BEEP of my consultants wrist watch marking the hour.
"Down the hatch, eh?"
We swallowed the contents of the 11 O'clock compartment of our pill boxes. Although intended for old people who's minds are maybe no longer all there compartmentalised pill boxes work as well for the young who's minds are still there but not currently accepting calls.
We disembarked at Waterloo. It was vital to clear the underground before this next wave of narcotics hit home. While I consulted the guide book my consultant noticed a number of men patrolling the station with strange equipment. Their cover was giving out flyers for some ill-advised Internet start-up, but they were obviously monitoring our arrival.
"We have enemies everywhere." he reminded me. "Who do you think they're working for?"
"Too well equipped to be freelance. Brunching dosn't have many people in London and geekhaus dosn't have the resources. Could be someone new. Our best hope is to keep moving."
"Yes, keep moving. But which way?" I looked at a wall map of the underground. A momentary wave of panic. The map is a network of brightly coloured snakes entwined in a pattern so complex that, given a lifetimes study, the great Dr. Dee might have been able to pluck tomorrows winning numbers on the National Lottery out of it's convolutions. Maybe not the bonus ball.
The moment passed as I remembered that the map always looks like this even to one well rested and briming with mornings caffine. OK, it dosn't normally try to untie my shoelaces.
We both bowed our heads in prayer to the Goddess of Chaos before staggering down a random tunnel which, in retrospect, looked like a lot like a set from early 70's BBC sci-fi. Probably Blake 7.
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