Start of a transcript of HALOTHANE An Interactive Restoration Copyright 1999 by Quentin.D.Thompson. License 1999, The Theatre Of The Sensible. [Please type 'help' in times of doubt - or just for fun. To toggle between default and original colours, use 'colours on' and 'colours off'.] Release 1 / Serial number 990928 / Inform v6.15 Library 6/8 Standard interpreter 1.0 (6F) / Library serial number 981213 >l under desk Ah, your trusty fan. You pull it out, anticipating a rather high nocturnal temperature. [Your score has just gone up by two points.] >put fan on chair You put the fan on the chair; it's now pointing more or less towards your bed. [Your score has just gone up by four points.] >open manual You can't see any such thing. >read manual What do you want to read in? >x desk It's supposed to be a desk, but it's just the place you dump all your half- completed manuscripts on. Simple, functional - it doesn't even have drawers or anything like that. >open manuscript That's not something you can open. >read it You know it by heart.....except maybe the bit you wrote yesterday evening, where Dr. Röche makes his second trip to the Far Provinces, because you were under the influence of a sedative antihistamine. >x bookcase Until about five years ago, other people could approach this bookcase with impunity, as it was cluttered with other people's writings. Currently, however, it is solely used to store your own. It's currently closed. >open it You open the bookcase, revealing a copy of your first novel. >read novel You know this one even more in detail than your untitled current effort. You even mumble the characters' names in your sleep, until people wonder whether you're a paranoid schizophrenic. >l Your Bedroom This is hardly the place for an adventure to begin. You know the furniture of this room - desk, chair, bed and bookcase - almost as well as the contents of your pockets. On the wooden desk is a dusty manuscript. On the plastic chair is a fan. >turn on fan You switch the fan on. >lie on bed You get onto the old bed. >sleep You feel yourself drifting slowly into sleep. Strangely enough, the breeze from the fan doesn't quite smell like night air, or even like yesterday's leftovers...Your back touches cold metal, and your level of consciousness wavers. A voice floats around your head, in one ear first, the other next... "Welcome to your world." [Please press SPACE....] [ Two girls burst into the smoking-room. One had a round face with freckles and dark hair streaming out in a windswept confusion, the other had freckles and curly chestnut hair. "A rescue - a rescue!" cried Kitty Mooney. "Pam and I are going to rescue Colonel Clapperton." -- Agatha Christie, "Problem At Sea".] H A L O T H A N E An Interactive Restoration [Press SPACE to begin.....] HALOTHANE An Interactive Restoration Copyright 1999 by Quentin.D.Thompson. License 1999, The Theatre Of The Sensible. [Please type 'help' in times of doubt - or just for fun. To toggle between default and original colours, use 'colours on' and 'colours off'.] Release 1 / Serial number 990928 / Inform v6.15 Library 6/8 Chapter One - Respiratory Distress Operating Room (on the operating table) This looks suspiciously like the operating room they took you to when you were much, much younger, to have your tonsils taken out. However, it's strangely empty. The only obvious exit is through a door to the west. Standing near the bed is a slightly broken trolley. A small gauze face mask, of the type worn by surgeons during an operation, lies discarded on the floor. [Your score has just gone up by seven points.] >get up You get off the operating table. Operating Room This looks suspiciously like the operating room they took you to when you were much, much younger, to have your tonsils taken out. However, it's strangely empty. The only obvious exit is through a door to the west. Standing near the bed is a slightly broken trolley. A small gauze face mask, of the type worn by surgeons during an operation, lies discarded on the floor. >wear mask (first taking the face mask) You put on the face mask. >w (first opening the door) Instrument Room A small, narrow annexe to the O.R., where scalpels, forceps and the like are sterilized prior to operation. Apart from the passage to the east, back to the O.R., there are only four walls around you, that don't look very interesting, and an LCD display panel facing you. There is a faint suggestion of disinfectant in the air. Strangely, there are no instruments here, just a blue cylinder. >turn on valve That's not something you can switch. >open valve You open the valve, and a jet of pleasant-smelling gas escapes. However, since you're wearing the face mask, it doesn't bother you. Suddenly, under the influence of the halogenated hydrocarbon vapour, writing begins to appear on the LCD panel! >touch panel As you reach out for the panel, you can feel it suddenly open out and swell, until it becomes a door of sorts. Hesitantly, you step into the door..... [Please press SPACE....] First Interposition - Invasion of Privacy Driveway, Outside House You stand, hesitantly, on a futuristic-looking driveway, feeling that you've somehow been here before. There is nothing to guide you, except a door standing east of you, and a sign next to it. Even the name on the sign sounds familiar, though you can't remember why. The door to the house, not at all imposing, is closed. [Your score has just gone up by six points.] >e (opening the door first) Front Hall, in the house The front hall is large, spacious and exudes an air of good taste. A tall archway leads north from it to the rest of the house (which is dark), and a large sofa, forming a rectangular C, fills the room. In one corner is an ornamental shelf. The front door stands wide open. There's a blue shawl draped over the sofa. On the large plush sofa is a small piece of paper. You can also see a small memo here. >read memo François, Ch.1, Lines 40 - 50. "Life is strange", the Voice observed, in a doomy voice. "Well, we have no one to blame for that", the Author replied, assertively. "After all, we have created this strangeness by ourselves." "I drown in depths", the Voice complained, obviously annoyed by the Author's cocky replies. "We create a character, and he creates another. But we have never attempted to interfere in his life..." "Except until now", the Author reminded him. "Very well, except until now. But can we allow him to interfere with his own creation?" The Author laughed. "He doesn't yet appreciate the value of his own creations. Perhaps now he will". "Déja vu", the Voice replied, irritably. "Are you trying to tell me we have created an insecure, neurotic protagonist, after all this time? After all our endeavours? All our - er - programming?" "Wait and see", the Author replied, and....... [Here the printing stops suddenly.] >n Under the Arch Currently, you are standing underneath a tall and imposing arch, that serves as a line of demarcation between the wide hall and the more residential portion of the house. This small passageway leads further north, south back into the hall, and runs on either side to the smaller wings of the house. The sense of familiarity you felt when you first stood outside the house grows even stronger. >w Corridor, Down the West Wing A small corridor, leading from the vertical corridor down the middle of the house to a darkened room. You can hear voices coming from the west. >w Master Bedroom You can't see much of the master bedroom, since it's dark; you can make out the vague shadows of a writing-table and a dresser (how can you be sure that that's what they are?), and a stately four-poster. Are there two people in the bed, or are you imagining things? Only light can help you here, I'm afraid. There's a small switch on the west wall. >turn on light Nothing obvious happens. >push switch As you throw the switch, the two people in the bed stir slightly, and sit upright..... They look even more familiar to you now, so familiar that you feel your memory will return any moment. A man of slight build, academic in appearance, in his late forties; a quiet- looking and intelligent woman of about the same age. You know them......but you're not sure how.. "Would you mind", the man says indignantly, "explaining to us what you're doing here?" "Perhaps he's come from Mr. Author, Edward", the woman replies. And then you suddenly remember, with an almost painful clarity. Edward and Laura. Literary critics. Thermoconditioners. Their thirteen-year-old daughter, Simone. Familiar - of course. You created them......they're your characters. Characters in the prologue of.......The Decline and Fall...... And suddenly, before you can even speak, the floor seems to crumble beneath your feet... [Press SPACE......] Chapter Two - Errare Humanum Est Study Though you've never seen this room in your life, you can't help but feel a strong sense of déja vu about the entire place, as if you've either lived here once or will live here at some time in the future. Perhaps you've just moved in, because the room - apart from a solitary table and an old wooden chair - is bare. The completed manuscript of The Decline And Fall of the Colonial Empire, your new novel, lies on the table, sending waves of nausea through you. You can also see a dustbin (which is empty) here. The very sight of the manuscript irks you. You feel impelled to mutilate it in some way. [Your score has just gone up by thirteen points.] >put manuscript in bin You need to be holding the completed manuscript before you can put it into something else. On second thoughts, perhaps a decent burial? You're not sure. >get it Taken. You stare longingly at the manuscript, wondering if it does deserve a second chance. >put it in bin With a decisive sigh, you hurl the Empire and its hapless inhabitants into the dustbin. Time enough for it to be thrown out later......you haven't slept in days. You stagger to your bed, and drift away slowly....you can feel yourself floating.... [Press SPACE....] Chapter Three - Driving With Your Eyes Closed On a lonely highway, in the back seat You are bound hand and foot, completely helpless, in what would appear to be the back seat of a slightly outmoded car. The front seat is obviously occupied, but it's so unnaturally high that you can't see beyond it. Looking out of the window reveals quiet scenery, typical of the average English countryside. [Your score has just gone up by four points.] >z Time passes. You can hear voices from the front seat, and strain to listen to them. >z Time passes. "Ah, yes, you're the Author. You presume to know everything", one voice says - an elderly voice, rebuking in tone, probably a man's. "But you still have to convince me." >z Time passes. "What convincing?" the man addressed as the Author says with a swagger. "Trouble with these chaps is, they can't handle reality. They create something, and are content to leave it at that - they don't realise the magnitude of the responsibility they have assumed. Creation is not static, as you know." >z Time passes. "Reality?" The older man sounds puzzled. "I wonder what you mean by that, my friend. To the people I meet every day - those I preside over, in fact, this is reality. It's all a question of one's point of view." >z Time passes. "Exactly what I do. The way I see it, friend, all of us are characters at one level or the other. We make up one level; the people we create make up the next level; and so on. You don't fit into that scheme, of course - shall we say you are above such things?" >z Time passes. "Quite right. I was years in the making. I have changed forms, assumed different identities, occupied different places, both physical and in the minds of our citizens, based on the imaginations of all those who shaped me. My essence has not changed - it is only the popular perception of me that has." >z Time passes. "Anyway, I've profiled our friend in the rear. Nothing wrong with him that a little exposure couldn't fix. He's not psychotic, or unstable, or anything like that." >z Time passes. "Then why did he destroy all those people?", the old man asks, bemused. "To leave the fates of forty-five million people hanging in the balance - that is not the act of a sane man, Author." >z Time passes. "There is such a thing as want of confidence.....Here, that 's enough! We've arrived. Take our friend out gently, Padre. Don't let him see you though. Not now." With these words, the old man - you cannot see him, still, as he shines a light in your eyes - unties your bonds, and gently but firmly escorts you out of the vehicle. You hear a faint hum of engines, and the car drives away. You now find yourself... Open Field A pleasant expanse of grass, limited in extent; to your east, west and south you see high granite walls, but a footpath leads north. The sun beams down upon you. [Your score has just gone up by eight points.] >i You are carrying nothing. >n Meadow Exactly what you'd expect from the field, the meadow looks like an excellent spot for a picnic. Acres and acres of grass stretch around you. A footpath leads further north, but a barbed-wire fence blocks your progress in other directions, except the way you came from, south. The shadow that the fence casts forms, strangely enough, a handsome border to the meadow. A single thin tree with a sign on it lies to your immediate north, just before the footpath. >undo Open Field [Previous turn undone.] >e You can't climb that wall. >w The granite wall is too high. >s Not with that wall in the way. >n Meadow Exactly what you'd expect from the field, the meadow looks like an excellent spot for a picnic. Acres and acres of grass stretch around you. A footpath leads further north, but a barbed-wire fence blocks your progress in other directions, except the way you came from, south. The shadow that the fence casts forms, strangely enough, a handsome border to the meadow. A single thin tree with a sign on it lies to your immediate north, just before the footpath. >x sign It's just a small sign nailed to the tree, and hand-painted; not a work of art by any stretch of imagination. It seems a little loose, and droops to one side. The arrow on it paints to the north. >read it THIS WAY TO THE VILLAGE - HEAD NORTH The Village is an International Heritage Site under the protection of Sweeney and Stroll, Ltd. This is not a tourist resort, and attempts to treat it as such are punishable by law. >x tree With proper care, this would have been a fine tree, but currently it's just a delicate trunk and a few sickly-looking branches. Fruit, of course, is out of the question. However, in the angle near one of the leaves, you see a small bud with just a hint of yellow. >x bud With proper care, this would have been a fine tree, but currently it's just a delicate trunk and a few sickly-looking branches. Fruit, of course, is out of the question. However, in the angle near one of the leaves, you see a small bud with just a hint of yellow. >n You move to the north, and can make out the dim outline of a tribal village - or something of the sort - in the distance, but before you can move any further, you stop dead in your tracks, halted by the apparition in front of you..... [depress SPACE......] It's a small tin figurine. Staring at it in profile, it looks like a 10p coin; but from the front it is indubitably a human likeness. "Not yet", the apparition admonishes you. "You are not ready to enter the Village. You do not understand what lies ahead; and yet you once knew......" Its head seems to nod briefly. Its voice is the same as that of the older man in the car.....or are you imagining things? [depress SPACE......] "Yes, you did", it goes on, before you can reply. "Perhaps what you need, then, is to be shown the consequences of your actions. It is all too easy, in your world as in mine, to see some of the consequences without seeing the structure as a whole, to miss the wood for the trees. But that is no excuse. Follow me, then....." Too numbed to reply, you follow the voice to the north; as you do so, the village seems to disappear, and you walk down countless intersections, until you reach your destination...... [depress SPACE] Chapter Four - Everything Can Change Cold city street, outside a house You find yourself standing on the street of what seems to be a fairly typical metropolis, with narrow alleys leading north, south and west. It's bitterly cold - the temperature must be fairly close to freezing point - and the threat of snow seems to increase with every passing second. The only thing that brings an ounce of comfort to the scene is the wall of the house you're standing outside, on which is a frosted window (through which a light, albeit a dim one, escapes) to your east. [Your score has just gone up by eight points.] >fullscore You have so far scored 52 out of a possible 360, in 48 turns, earning you the rank of Talented Amateur. >full score You have so far scored 52 out of a possible 360, in 48 turns, earning you the rank of Talented Amateur. >s Nothing practical would result from that. If only there was a way into the house..... >w Common sense dictates that you try finding some sort of shelter, not wander around like a vagrant. >x window It's a large, old-fashioned, frosted window, which time hasn't been very kind to. The windowsill looks dusty and neglected, and there seems to be no locking mechanism attached to the window itself. Behind the window you can make out a low light - nothing else. >open window As you open the window you can make out the shadows cast by a fireplace on a wall, tracing out a sofa, a table, and a stooped figure in the sofa itself. >enter There are no alleys in that direction. >in There are no alleys in that direction. >enter window Living-room, inside the house The room is dark, which is more a consequence of its size than of anything else; certainly the fireplace in the far corner is doing its best to illuminate its surroundings. Shadows loom around you - a table, an unlit chandelier, a sofa, a figure - and, in spite of the actual physical warmth of your surroundings, you feel a palpable chill. The rest of the room lies to your east, where the sofa casting the shadow actually lies. >close window You can't see any such thing. >e Hesitantly, you move to the east.... By The Fireside The east end of the hall receives considerably greater illumination from the fireplace, with the result that the impression of obscurity seems to have been momentarily dispelled. Apart from the other side of the hall, though, there are no visible exits. Of course, there are doors to the north and south, but they're both boarded up, and will probably never be opened again. "Good evening, Mr. Banks", the woman says quietly. "I've been expecting you. Do take a seat", she says, motioning you towards the sofa. >sit on sofa You sit down on the sofa, next to Simone. "Don't be afraid", she goes on. "My sole purpose in being here was to answer your questions - assuming you have any." >ask woman about game "I'm sorry, Mr. Banks", Simone says, regretfully, "but I can't help you with that." >i You are carrying nothing. >ask woman about village "I'm sorry, Mr. Banks", Simone says, regretfully, "but I can't help you with that." "Perhaps you're wondering what I'm doing here, Mr. Banks, and that's a natural question. But I'm afraid that you might not take my answer very seriously." She laughs gently. "You see, Mr. Banks, what most authors don't realise is that the characters they create actually do take on a life of their own. I mean this not theoretically, but literally. We exist in a parallel dimension; we lead the lives that you outline for us - and I must thank you for doing a commendable job there. However, when a work in progress, a work nearing completion, is abandoned......things begin to change. We become.......reassigned. To new writers. We take on new identities - superficially, that is, for we retain the personalities with which we were originally created - and end up in places like this. Unlike many people, however, we were warned of the oncoming disaster, and managed to lessen the blow in time. All of our creations - those from your novel about the Empire, at least - have been relocated. And" - she laughs, ironically - "knowing what passes for writing in your days, Mr. Banks, you can imagine the roles we have to play. Fortunately, there is a solution to all this." >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >ask woman about solution "It's a little difficult to explain, Mr. Banks, simply because I don't really know everything - but what it amounts to is that your presence here will serve to reverse the actions of those who've been taking your place." Simone glances at you surreptitiously, with something of an air of wonder. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. "You seem a little uncertain as to how to proceed", Simone says, calmly. "Never mind that - you'll find out in good time. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >stand You get off the padded sofa. By The Fireside The east end of the hall receives considerably greater illumination from the fireplace, with the result that the impression of obscurity seems to have been momentarily dispelled. Apart from the other side of the hall, though, there are no visible exits. Of course, there are doors to the north and south, but they're both boarded up, and will probably never be opened again. On the padded sofa is Simone. >x simone You almost reel backwards with the shock of meeting one of your own creations face to face. The last time you left Simone Rosenberg (neé Franklin), she was a historian in the preface of "The Empire", piecing together a narrative from her father's old documents, in the year 2895. What in heaven or earth could have brought her here? [ I seem to recognize your face.... Haunting, familiar, yet - I can't seem to place it... -- Pearl Jam, "Elderly Woman.."] "Strange as this world seems, it is real, Mr. Banks", Simone replies. "We do have a parallel world of our own - one that fluctuates and changes according to the whims of the authors in your dimension, where only those social structures that prove to be stable actually survive." She smiles. "That's something to be proud of. And the very fact that you're here proves that we can actually interact with your dimension, and even change it." >e You can't go that way. >w Something compels you to stay here, somehow. >search sofa On the padded sofa is Simone. >l under it Nothing here, I'm afraid. >l under simone Nothing here, I'm afraid. >search simone You find nothing of interest. "Enough time has passed, Mr. Banks", Simone says, getting up from the sofa. "It is time for you to move on." She hands you a small black object, which on examination turns out to be a fountain-pen. "This may sound ridiculous", she goes on, smiling, "but you may find this pen far, far more useful than you can ever imagine. I am not sure what is in store for you - I know some of the details, but I can't explain them to you now. Whatever dangers may await you, I am quite sure that you'll succeed." The whole room seems to dissolve, and you can just make out two more words: "Good luck" - before the voice that was speaking to you all the time is replaced by silence.....You find yourself floating, not in space, but in a liquid of some sort..... [Please press SPACE] Chapter Five - The Far Horizon Red Lake You are half-swimming, half-drowning, in a lake filled with a deep red fluid of some sort. Currents arround you lead north, south and west, and at the bottom of the lake - it's rather shallow - is, surprise of surprises, a trapdoor. [Your score has just gone up by twenty points.] >i You are carrying: a fountain-pen >x door A small trapdoor, seemingly embedded in the lake's bed. [ A truant finds home And I wish to hold on - But there's a trapdoor in the sun...... -- Pearl Jam, "Immortality".] >open it You open the trapdoor in the red lake. >d Floating On Clouds You're floating above a city whose identity is unknown to you, walking on what seems to be a cloud but is actually much sturdier. The clouded path leads further north. >n Before a Gate You are standing in front of a large, barred gate that seems to open into a mansion - or at least a large residence - of some sort. Peering through the bars you can make out the outlines of trees and a statue, but no actual building. To your east, a smaller lane runs into darkness. >e Narrow Side-Lane Standing on the lane, you can now actually make out that it isn't dark at all, and in fact continues to grow brighter as it runs further east. In the distance you can make out the outline of a tall tower. >e In An Open Field A vast, wide open field, completely covered with overgrown grass, and with only two well-trodden paths interrupting the carpet; one to the north towards a tall building, and one straight down the middle of the field, to the east, leading towards the tower. > I beg your pardon? >e At The Base Of The Stairs You are at the base of a spiral staircase that leads up to a tall tower, which would make a passable lighthouse if it weren't on dry land. The stairway leads up, while the path that brought you here runs back, to the west. >u Outside The Tower Standing at the top of a spiral staircase, a crude hole cut in the wall of the tower, to your east, beckons you in; the stairway leads back down to solid ground. >in You can't go that way. >e Laboratory The sights inside the tower are nothing less than breath-taking. They remind you in some eerie manner of an alchemist's laboratory, with glass tubes and bulbs, filled with liquids of every conceivable colour, arrayed along the four walls. In one corner of the room, a huge brass pot is boiling, and emits multicoloured fumes; in another lies a crude stone table. There seems to be no way to reach the lower levels of the tower, and the only exit is to the west. On the crude stone table is a small glass bottle. Abandoned amidst all this splendour is a small key. >x key A nondescript small key, made of some indeterminate metal. >x bottle A small glass bottle, which is currently closed quite tightly. It has some faded writing on it, which you can just about decipher. >read it AQUA REGIA Will Dissolve Silver, Gold, and Just About Everything Else Use With Extreme Caution [Not Approved by the FDA For the Treatment of Jealousy.] >get it Taken. >get key Taken. >i You are carrying: a small metal key a small glass bottle a fountain-pen >save Ok. >open bottle As you open the bottle, evil white fumes emerge, choking you. >pour bottle onto pen I only understood you as far as wanting to pour the small glass bottle. >x bottle A small glass bottle, which is currently open and emitting thick white fumes. It has some faded writing on it, which you can just about decipher. The fumes from the bottle seem to dissipate a little. >l in bottl You can't see any such thing. >enter windowe You can't see any such thing. >l in bottle A combination of concentrated hydrochloric and nitric acids, that can dissolve almost any metal. >empty bottle onto key A blinding light surrounds you for a moment, and a voice says, "I know you can do better than that." >restore Ok. >w Outside The Tower Standing at the top of a spiral staircase, a crude hole cut in the wall of the tower, to your east, beckons you in; the stairway leads back down to solid ground. >d At The Base Of The Stairs You are at the base of a spiral staircase that leads up to a tall tower, which would make a passable lighthouse if it weren't on dry land. The stairway leads up, while the path that brought you here runs back, to the west. >w In An Open Field A vast, wide open field, completely covered with overgrown grass, and with only two well-trodden paths interrupting the carpet; one to the north towards a tall building, and one straight down the middle of the field, to the east, leading towards the tower. >n Outside a Building You are in the immediate periphery of a large building, whose nature is - at least, at the moment - a mystery to you. Barring the board above the building and the rusty door to the north, there are no windows or ornaments of any kind. The rusty door is quite definitely closed. >open door It seems to be locked. >unlock it What do you want to unlock the door to the building with? >key You unlock the door to the building. >open door You open the door to the building. >n Inside The Building The inside of the building looks totally deserted, and the dim corridor running further north looms in front of you ominously. An intersecting corridor, present at a strangely early stage, runs east to west. >n Something intangible seems to bar your way, and you can hear a voice saying "Identity invalid." >e In a deserted storeroom This room was once a storeroom, but - barring a cardboard box in one corner - it is now as bare as it can conceivably be. There are no windows, no ventilator vents, and the only exit is back out to the west. >open box The box has lost the ability to open and close a long time ago; it merely gapes now. >l in box You search among the old paper, shattered glass and other debris for a while, but finally unearth a worn leather handbag, in fairly good condition considering where it's been stored. [Your score has just gone up by five points.] >open it The box has lost the ability to open and close a long time ago; it merely gapes now. >open handbag You open the leather handbag, revealing a lacy handkerchief and a small microfilm badge. >x badge A small microfilm badge, that can be easily worn, and that obviously serves as a form of ID, though you're not sure what for. There is no photograph, just a few markings, and the name "Harvey Price". >wear it (first taking the small microfilm badge) You put on the small microfilm badge. >w Inside The Building The inside of the building looks totally deserted, and the dim corridor running further north looms in front of you ominously. An intersecting corridor, present at a strangely early stage, runs east to west. >n You walk boldly to the north, and hear a loud voice saying, "Good morning, Mr. Price. Welcome. Your usual places have been reserved. Welcome to the adventure of your choice. And then the wall dissolves, and you find yourself in the building no longer.... [Press SPACE...] Third Interposition - A Romantic Interlude Boudoir Though you never really knew what a boudoir was, this certainly looks like one - or at least its popular conception. The lounge and divan in opposite corners of the room, covered in cushions, the fine curtains on the windows, the massive bed, the dresser near the bed - this is almost a textbook room. There's even a Louis XVI chair here. The door out of the room is closed. You can hear voices from behind the door, but cannot make out what they are saying. [Your score has just gone up by sixteen points.] >score You have so far scored 93 out of a possible 360, in 110 turns, earning you the rank of Deserving Writer. >open door You are unable to do so. For some inexplicable reason, you feel a trifle sleepy. >i You are carrying: a small metal key a small glass bottle a fountain-pen You hear a scream - or was it air rushing out of a balloon? >x chair Antiquarian's envy, child's plaything, mother's despair. You hear a dull thumping against the door. >open door You are unable to do so. >x lounge That's just scenery. >x divan That's just scenery. >x cushions That's just scenery. >x curtains That's just scenery. >x bed You've heard about this kind of bed - the King/Queen lies down in it, his or her courtiers/servants draw the curtains, and it's off to dreamland. There are no curtains here, though, just a frame surrounding the bed and attached to it. There are several pillows, if you're interested. >x dresser A small dresser by the bed-side, with a single drawer, which is closed. "Giacomo!", you hear someone shouting. >x pillows "Like many things in the early days of the European Empire, the red pillows on the divan were designed on an exaggerated scale....a sort of reaction, really..." The sentence passes through your mind almost as soon as you see the pillows - and it was your sentence. Your pillows. Your introduction, your second novel. Someone's obviously trying to tell you something here, but you still can't make out what. "Begone with you!", another voice shouts. >open dresser You open the small, delicate dresser, revealing a pile of letters and a handwritten note. >read letters You have trouble deciphering the writing, which is so ornate as to be almost illegible, but in the end you manage to decipher the top letter on the pile. It reads: Dear Cathy, You are very wicked and unkind. You never come to see me even though my temperature is a hundred and one degrees Faranheit. Yesterday my father made monkey-faces at me and I was scared. Nasty man. The doctor came and gave me three hundred minims of pyrazinamide, and I was sick the whole day. Beastly, unfeeling physician! The haemoptysis seems to have cleared up, but the laboratory pathology report says that my sputum smear is still ++++, which I assume is good. They're considering a repeat biopsy, because they didn't find any Langhans giant cells the first time. I know that you probably don't care about me at all, so why do I bother writing all this? - L. What a dumb letter, you think, and what excellent fodder for your publishers. You hear the clash of metal on metal. >read note Dear Harold, I must appreciate, at this stage, your perspicacity. Obviously my friend, the Author, is totally wrong about you - he thinks you're a sad sheep, when actually you're nothing of the kind. Well, what I wanted to say was about the letters. Sorry if I pinched dear Margot's letters from Giacomo, but they have nothing to do with your quest. Enjoy these letters en lieu - and if you can't, send them to your publisher. Best wishes, The Little Tin God. Intriguing, to say the least. You hear the clash of metal on metal. >open door You are unable to do so. >l Boudoir Though you never really knew what a boudoir was, this certainly looks like one - or at least its popular conception. The lounge and divan in opposite corners of the room, covered in cushions, the fine curtains on the windows, the massive bed, the dresser near the bed - this is almost a textbook room. There's even a Louis XVI chair here. The door out of the room is closed. Heavy breathing can be heard behind the door. >knock on door No reply, I'm afraid. "It's no good", a voice says plaintively. >listen to door In the distance you can make out a lute being played, but you're not sure if it isn't a mandolin. >sit on chair What an ungentlemanly action. You're not keeping a tryst here, are you? Wait till you're asked. >lie on bed You get onto the massive bed. >sleep You close your eyes, fall asleep and begin to dream... "Ah, of course, Monsieur", a man says with exaggerated delicacy. He's wearing sixteenth-century garb and has a twirly moustache, and looks like a bad customer all the way. "You want the.....elimination, is it not? Well, I have already named my price. The antimony, this time, I think. The other is so common - even Charles the IXth received it, by mistake." You wake up, incredulously. >g You close your eyes, fall asleep and begin to dream... You can see a shadowy figure putting a lump of white stuff into a vial, nothing else. You wake up and wonder if it's a sign that you should join Pfizer. >g You close your eyes, fall asleep and begin to dream... Hushed voices. "Hush! Giacomo, how you scared me! You shouldn't come like this, cher ami." Laughter. "No fear, Margot. Those guards - they are in my pocket, as you would say. They practically obey me." "You must be careful, my Giacomo - Lucas is growing impatient - I think he knows all! What if he tries to.....poison you...." Giacomo laughs off the suggestion, and you wake up thinking that you really do read too many Alexandre Dumas novels. >stand You get off the massive bed. Boudoir Though you never really knew what a boudoir was, this certainly looks like one - or at least its popular conception. The lounge and divan in opposite corners of the room, covered in cushions, the fine curtains on the windows, the massive bed, the dresser near the bed - this is almost a textbook room. There's even a Louis XVI chair here. The door out of the room is closed. You can hear a scratching at the door. >x door A huge door, almost twice your height, with no obvious locking system. There is silence behind the door for a while. >push door That's seldom useful. There is silence behind the door for a while. >l Boudoir Though you never really knew what a boudoir was, this certainly looks like one - or at least its popular conception. The lounge and divan in opposite corners of the room, covered in cushions, the fine curtains on the windows, the massive bed, the dresser near the bed - this is almost a textbook room. There's even a Louis XVI chair here. The door out of the room is closed. The door suddenly opens, and you hear a rush of footsteps. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >x door A huge door, almost twice your height, with no obvious locking system. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >e You can't go that way. >s You can't go that way. >w You can't go that way. >x door A huge door, almost twice your height, with no obvious locking system. >open it It's already open. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >go through door Tower Room This small room, which - judging by its construction - is at the top of a tower - is extremely claustrophobic. There is no furniture, just a small fireplace and a stand that was probably meant for weapons, but contains none. There isn't even a window around, so you can't jump out. On the weapon stand is a green glass bottle (which is closed). >x bottle (the small glass bottle) A small glass bottle, which is currently closed quite tightly. It has some faded writing on it, which you can just about decipher. >i You are carrying: a small metal key a small glass bottle a fountain-pen >x green A green glass bottle meant to contain wine, which is currently closed. >open it You open the green glass bottle, revealing a few mouthfuls of red wine. >get it Taken. >x fireplace A crummy, dirty old fireplace. Nothing spectacular, no logs and few cinders. >x cinders You can't see any such thing. >search fireplace You dig around the fireplace gingerly for a few seconds, before coming up with a small cardboard box, the size of two fingers or so. [Your score has just gone up by nine points.] >x box A small cardboard box, with the word FEROX underlined in two shades of green printed along one side. >open box You open the cardboard box, revealing a chelator pill and a package insert. >x insert It's obviously a package insert for the pill in the box. >read it Ferox is a chelator - a substance capable of combining with heavy metal poisons and inactivating them. Its active principle is d-thioferroxamate, which has maximal efficacy against arsenic, antimony and lead. It is contraindicated in mercury and other metal poisoning and in inorganic intoxication, e.g. phosphorus. Side-effects are minor and include nausea, heartburn and mild anaemia with prolonged use. Do not use along with fluvoxamine, desipramine, ketoconazole or thiazide diuretics. >save Ok. >drink wine Something tells you not to. >w You can't go that way. >out But you aren't in anything at the moment. >enter door You can't see any such thing. >l Tower Room This small room, which - judging by its construction - is at the top of a tower - is extremely claustrophobic. There is no furniture, just a small fireplace and a stand that was probably meant for weapons, but contains none. There isn't even a window around, so you can't jump out. You can see a cardboard box (in which are a chelator pill and a package insert) here. >get box Taken. >l Tower Room This small room, which - judging by its construction - is at the top of a tower - is extremely claustrophobic. There is no furniture, just a small fireplace and a stand that was probably meant for weapons, but contains none. There isn't even a window around, so you can't jump out. >d You can't go that way. >u You can't go that way. >e You can't go that way. >w You can't go that way. >n You can't go that way. >s Boudoir Though you never really knew what a boudoir was, this certainly looks like one - or at least its popular conception. The lounge and divan in opposite corners of the room, covered in cushions, the fine curtains on the windows, the massive bed, the dresser near the bed - this is almost a textbook room. There's even a Louis XVI chair here. The door leading north stands open. >n Tower Room This small room, which - judging by its construction - is at the top of a tower - is extremely claustrophobic. There is no furniture, just a small fireplace and a stand that was probably meant for weapons, but contains none. There isn't even a window around, so you can't jump out. >x stand Heard of umbrella stands? This is a weapons stand. Except that it has no weapons, not even Elven swords, on it. >l under stand Nothing here, I'm afraid. >l in stand Nope, not even nasty-looking knives. >i You are carrying: a cardboard box (which is open) a chelator pill a package insert a green glass bottle (which is open) a few mouthfuls of red wine a small metal key a small glass bottle a fountain-pen >eat pill (first taking the chelator pill) That's not meant for you. >put pill in wine Sensing something fishy about the bottle of wine, you put the chelator pill into the bottle, and massive metallic precipitates of antimony form in the bottle, inactivating the poison.... In case you really wanted to know, you've just aided and abetted an intrigue between the Marquise Marguerite and an Italian adventurer named Giacomo - but now, out with the commercial spots and on with the game....... [Press SPACE....] Chapter Six - The Sad Café Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. You still remember the saloon from the day it was created. By you, of course. The jolly old receptionist, the reunion of scientist Janus Mbelwe with his wife Vanessa. It doesn't look the same now. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. The receptionist stares at you in amazement. "A customer? Thought I'd seen the last of 'em a long time ago. Welcome, son, to the Aviators Saloon." [Your score has just gone up by eight points.] >i You are carrying: a fountain-pen Looking around at the room, then at you, the receptionist sighs. "This used to be -- well, I won't say it was the Mazina Hotel in Europe, but it certainly had a lot more life in it. But ever since that old story began, no one steps in here anymore." >order drink That's not a verb I recognise. >get drink You can't see any such thing. >receptionist, hello "Huh?", says the bartender. "Pardon me, son - my hearing's none too good right now." >man, give me drink "Huh?", says the bartender. "Pardon me, son - my hearing's none too good right now." >z Time passes. "Someone tried to help me once -- I forget his name. Said he'd send a friend of his to -- tie up all the loose knots, he said. Nothing came of it, though." >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >e The receptionist puts out one hand. "One minute, son, I'm not sure if what you're doing is safe." >ask receptionist about pen "Can't help you with that, son. Too bad," he says, sympathetically. >i You are carrying: a fountain-pen >u The receptionist puts out one hand. "One minute, son, I'm not sure if what you're doing is safe." >l Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >n "Decided to take a look anyhow? Well, good luck to you, son", the receptionist calls out. "If you like a room, stay there - if you find - um - anything - let me know...." His voice fades as you move away." You can't leave - your task here is unfinished. >x furniture You can't see any such thing. >x doors That's just scenery. >x counter A large wooden counter or desk, emitting a low, fluorescent glow. It's not a solid block, so there's a space underneath it, which is darker than the rest. And why do you get the feeling that there's something under it that you didn't put there in your manuscript? >l under it You look under the counter for a while, and pull out a scrap of paper. >read paper François, Ch. 2, Lines 1-17: "Why did you suppress the first thirty-three verses?", the Author complained. "It's almost painfully obvious if you'll only apply your mind to it", the Voice replied, unflappably. "The first lines deal with what he has already lived through; to restate them would be unnecessary. Besides, he has already acquitted himself most honourably." "Not enough", the Author replied, sternly. "All he has done is to travel through our lands, our landscapes - call them what you will. But has he done anything?" "Well, he did open the gate", the Voice retorted. "After following prompts that could not bamboozle a two-year-old. The challenges we set him were -- elementary." "Well, we shall have to see. Can he bring back life into this place?........" [Here the printing stops, abruptly.] >n You can't leave - your task here is unfinished. >eat paper (first taking the small scrap of paper) That's plainly inedible. >x counter A large wooden counter or desk, emitting a low, fluorescent glow. It's not a solid block, so there's a space underneath it, which is darker than the rest. >l under it Nothing else, not even dust. This is a tidy place. >push it Unwarranted. >i You are carrying: a small scrap of paper a fountain-pen >l Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >show paper to man You fail to capture the receptionist's interest. >dance That's not a verb I recognise. >sing You can't think of what to sing for the moment. >sing a lulaby I only understood you as far as wanting to sing. >sing lullaby I only understood you as far as wanting to sing. >bother I fully sympathise with your irritation. >No, I don't think you do, rather. That was a rhetorical question. I only understood you as far as wanting to inventory. >write on paper Ironically, you have writer's block. You can't think of a single sensible thing to write. >write something unsensible on paper Ironically, you have writer's block. You can't think of a single sensible thing to write. >l Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >u "Are you sure you want to go to those rooms?" the receptionist asks. "There's the old story, you know...." >u The receptionist looks at you curiously, and you stop in your tracks. "Obviously", he mutters, "you haven't heard the old legend." >ask man about story "The old legend? Well, it's one way to while away time, young man. You see, we're a fairly - how d'you put it - rational kind of society. Sensible. Not superstitious. That's why, I guess, we were all so scared when it happened." He pauses, and clears his throat a tad dramatically. "Five years ago, son", he goes on, "- actually four and nine, but who's counting? - this place used to be fairly bursting with life. Not that it was one of those old-fashioned bawdy houses or burlesques or whatchamacallits - it was a nice, cosy kind of hotel, with all kinds of people. We used to have refugees from the Kingdoms, travellers from the airports, even the Director of Social Sciences and his.. - heck, that's how the whole story started. Janus Mbelwe - everyone used to call him by his first name, self included - was one of our finest scientists; social scientists, that is. Between him and a few of his friends, he'd defused a very tricky political crisis, two years ago, relying on sheer scientific method. All this at thirty." He sighs. "Well, he had been here two years before that; at 'round the same time, I guess, there was a young lady staying here. I forgot what she did - I gather she was a psychologist of some sort. Anyway, she and the Director hit it off just fine - a few of us old fogies thought something might come of it, but old Jan - he was myopic if there ever was one. Couldn't see a thing - science excluded - even when it stared him in the eyes. Anyway, they met again - I can't swear that it was coincidence - the next year, and, to use the language of the novelists, they just about made a match of it. There was work to be done - political stuff - so they decided to wait for about a year or so. The next year arrived, and Vanessa Clarke - that was her name - came along at just the usual time. Jan arrived two days later, and they were all set to tie the knot, if you know what I mean. On the night before they left for the Registry for the official ceremony, old Jan was just a trifle tardy, and Miss Clarke was growing impatient. I decided to go and ask the kid to hurry up - they'd already waited so long, y'know - so I went up to his room, opened the door, and there he was. Or rather wasn't. Janus Mbelwe had vanished into thin air." "Well, I won't insult your intelligence by telling you that Miss Clarke was - uh - rather broken up over the whole thing; no one ever heard of her to this day, and all our searches for Jan - we even had the whole police force scouring the globe at one stage - came to naught. Ever since then, son - until you, that is - no man or woman has crossed the threshold of this saloon. That's the whole story." The receptionist closes his eyes, remembering. "I haven't even looked through the rooms since then - they stay clean automatically - but if you want to stay here, there are 'bout ten rooms upstairs. You're welcome to any of 'em." >u Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. And the four rooms housed the four scientists that had returned from the Provinces. Correction. Used to. Fairbank, Reed, Royal....who was the fourth? >me That's not a verb I recognise. >I was the fourth I only understood you as far as wanting to inventory. >dang That's not a verb I recognise. >n Room 1, in the Aviators Saloon A fairly nondescript, and long unoccupied, hotel room, Room 1 boasts of no furniture save a bed, a small table by its side, and a writing-desk. Near the table, a thin manual lies discarded. >x manual It's just a single page, and obviously describes the working of the table, though in rather technical language. Below the end of the manual, someone has scrawled in a few words. >read it Portable AutoLock Users' Manual 1. Technical Specifications: AutoLock Portable Furniture uses 1024-bit technology, S3 scale miniaturization, and voice modulation. Two models exist: the DSX - 275 and the DSX - 550. 2. The DSX - 275 and 550: The DSX - 275, a simple and lighter model, is a low-syntax machine, with zero linguistic comprehension, and easy replaceability. The DSX - 550, though far more complex, uses S2.5 scale miniature circuits. It understands over twenty English phrases, and can also serve as a timepiece. 3. Locking and Unlocking: Locking and unlocking are dependent on a numerical code whose length is dependent on the user, though it must lie between three and seven digits. The syntax to open the table for the DSX - 275 is ", the code is ", where is the name of the piece of furniture (table, dresser, mirror, etc.) and is self-explanatory. The DSX - 550 recognizes additional formats. 4. Changing the Code: The code can only be changed with another code number, and requires technical assistance. This feature is not recommended for beginners. Below this, someone has scrawled...... Remember your history lessons, dear. >get all AutoLock Users' Manual: Taken. small scrap of paper: You already have that. fountain-pen: You already have that. polymer writing-desk: That's hardly portable. small night-table: That's hardly portable. >x desk A small writing-desk, opposite the bed. >l under it Nothing comes of this. >x table This small table - which, grotesquely enough, looks like a briefcase perched on four legs - does not appear to have any drawer or concealed compartment. On one side, a sentence is written : DSX-275. Voice Locking System. Numerical. A display panel alongside this inscription displays the word 'Locked'. Though that phrase suggests it can be opened and closed, there seems to be no obvious way of doing so. >say 1066 (to the small night-table) The table doesn't speak English, I'm afraid. >say 1776 (to the small night-table) The table doesn't speak English, I'm afraid. >talk That's not a verb I recognise. >say (to the small night-table) There is no reply. >say "1066" (to the small night-table) The table doesn't speak English, I'm afraid. >s Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >e Room 4, in the Aviators Saloon Room 4, which was obviously meant to accomodate a couple or a small family at least, is a pleasant contrast to the house you came across earlier in your wanderings. Even the furniture - double-bed, dresser, table and armchair, and the window - have a particular flavour of their own. The window is open, flooding the room with sunlight. Covering the bed, with a primness that is almost Victorian, is a warm quilt of knitted wool. >x quilt You've absolutely no sartorial sense, but it does look like a patchwork quilt, obviously woollen. One of the wedding presents Dr. Reed's colleagues gave her, when she married an European politician. It's the little things that remind you the most of all that. >l under quilt You look around, but find nothing. Strange - you have a feeling that there should be something there, but there isn't.... >get all warm woollen quilt: You look around, but find nothing. Strange - you have a feeling that there should be something there, but there isn't.... AutoLock Users' Manual: You already have that. small scrap of paper: You already have that. fountain-pen: You already have that. large window: That's hardly portable. old English table: That's hardly portable. armchair: That's hardly portable. dresser by the bed-side: That's hardly portable. double bed: That's hardly portable. >x dresser The dresser is small, tasteful, and in direct apposition to the western edge of the bed. >open it Sadly, this dresser conceals no secrets, perhaps because it is not possessed of a drawer. >l under it Nothing here, I'm afraid. >x chair An old armchair with velvet cushions and carved wooden arms, the epitome of almost painful good taste. You had been reading Dickens at the time you put that armchair in. Funny how you always remember everything -- too late. >l under What do you want to look under? >chair Nothing here, I'm afraid. >search cushions You can't see any such thing. >x table An old table, in the English fashion - until you remember that in this future, which you created, England hasn't existed for over half a millennium. >l under it Nothing here, I'm afraid. >w Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >w Room 3, in the Aviators Saloon Room Three is a spartan and utilitarian room, in sharp contrast to the incomplete elegance of the reception area. The chair, bed and table all bear a stern, military look, which looks out of place - even gruesome - in a lodging- house of this sort. Perched comfortably on the table is a small computer. >c computer That's not a verb I recognise. >x computer A small, portable computer, with no keyboard or obvious controls, but a large screen and an opening in front. A red switch in front subserves an obvious function. Below the screen is a manufacturer's mark : Compact Newsreader, 2048-Bit. Thompson Electronics. The portable computer is currently switched off. >turn it on You switch the portable computer on. >x it A small, portable computer, with no keyboard or obvious controls, but a large screen and an opening in front. A red switch in front subserves an obvious function. Below the screen is a manufacturer's mark : Compact Newsreader, 2048-Bit. Thompson Electronics. The portable computer is currently switched on. >read screen Since there is no data supplied, the screen is plaintively blank. >x opening A small, portable computer, with no keyboard or obvious controls, but a large screen and an opening in front. A red switch in front subserves an obvious function. Below the screen is a manufacturer's mark : Compact Newsreader, 2048-Bit. Thompson Electronics. The portable computer is currently switched on. >touch screen You feel nothing unexpected. >e Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >s Room 2, in the Aviators Saloon A comfortable but unoriginal room, barring the large bay window covered by cretonne curtains. Other than that, the furniture in this room is meagre: a single bed and an armchair. It's all coming back now. This was where Professor Royal stayed a week, after being reunited with his sister. You're not even sure if he exists anymore. On the antique armchair is a black disc. >get disc Taken. >x it A small black disc. Written on it - probably indelibly - are the words "news article". >n Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >w Room 3, in the Aviators Saloon Room Three is a spartan and utilitarian room, in sharp contrast to the incomplete elegance of the reception area. The chair, bed and table all bear a stern, military look, which looks out of place - even gruesome - in a lodging- house of this sort. Perched comfortably on the table is a small computer. >put it in opening You need to be holding the screen before you can put it into something else. >put disc in opening The screen glows brightly with half a page of words. >read screen Chronicles of Global History 2187 Little is known about the world of 2187 A.D., which has given rise to much intriguing, though profitless, speculation. The few records that we do possess show little signs of the dramatic collapse that was to come a mere eighty years later, and - if the truth must be told - there were signs of a stability that was long awaited following the events of the preceding two centuries. Scientifically and technologically, of course, there was nothing but progress; and - for the first time in a century and a half - it seemed as if social change, that old sluggard, was making an effort to keep up with the advances of mere learning. Simon Goedler Institute of Historical and Social Research 2869 A.D. Almost exactly as you had planned, though you never put it down on paper or disc. Whoever's brought you here can obviously read minds. >e Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >n Room 1, in the Aviators Saloon A fairly nondescript, and long unoccupied, hotel room, Room 1 boasts of no furniture save a bed, a small table by its side, and a writing-desk. >say "2187" (to the small night-table) The table doesn't speak English, I'm afraid. >say "2869" (to the small night-table) The table doesn't speak English, I'm afraid. >enter 2187 You can't see any such thing. >type 2187 That's not a verb I recognise. >table, 2187 The table buzzes angrily. Perhaps it doesn't understand English. >x table This small table - which, grotesquely enough, looks like a briefcase perched on four legs - does not appear to have any drawer or concealed compartment. On one side, a sentence is written : DSX-275. Voice Locking System. Numerical. A display panel alongside this inscription displays the word 'Locked'. Though that phrase suggests it can be opened and closed, there seems to be no obvious way of doing so. >look under table Nothing here, I'm afraid. >i You are carrying: an AutoLock Users' Manual a small scrap of paper a fountain-pen >s Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >e Room 4, in the Aviators Saloon Room 4, which was obviously meant to accomodate a couple or a small family at least, is a pleasant contrast to the house you came across earlier in your wanderings. Even the furniture - double-bed, dresser, table and armchair, and the window - have a particular flavour of their own. The window is open, flooding the room with sunlight. Covering the bed, with a primness that is almost Victorian, is a warm quilt of knitted wool. >look under dresser Nothing here, I'm afraid. >look under table Nothing here, I'm afraid. >look under chair Nothing here, I'm afraid. >look under window Nothing here, I'm afraid. >look through window You find nothing of interest. >w Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >n Room 1, in the Aviators Saloon A fairly nondescript, and long unoccupied, hotel room, Room 1 boasts of no furniture save a bed, a small table by its side, and a writing-desk. >table, code is 2187 The table swings open. >aaaaarrrrrgggghhhh! That's not a verb I recognise. >l in table In the small night-table is a personal ID chip. >x chip A small microchip, with the words "Personal ID" written in minuscule letters along one border. And a far cry from the Mind-Computer Chip that was your main plot twist. >get it Taken. >read it A small microchip, with the words "Personal ID" written in minuscule letters along one border. >taste it You taste nothing unexpected. >chew it That's not a verb I recognise. >s Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >d Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >u Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >u Second floor, in the Aviators Saloon The entry to the second floor's chambers has the same homely flavour as the previous one, except that a few potted plants here and there add a touch of colour to the proceedings. Open doors lead east and west, and a locked door lies north. >e Receptionist's room, in the Aviators Saloon This room - which, by its lived-in, familial appearance must belong to the receptionist - is small, neat and comfortable. A sturdy bed occupies the centre of the room, with an open window casting a bright beam right on it; besides this, there is little furniture except a couch, a bookshelf, and a television. >l under couch Suspicious bloke, aren't you? >l uncer bookshelf I only understood you as far as wanting to look. >l under bookshelf The bookshelf is innocent. >l under telly Nothing here, I'm afraid. >x window That's just scenery. >search couch Suspicious bloke, aren't you? >x bookshelf The bookshelf shows obvious signs of being home-made, and contains five books. >x books There are lots of books here, mostly fiction - historical romances and the like. You hardly have the time to browse through them. >read books You pick up a book at random and flip through it for a few minutes. It's called "Highways" by Carla Manson, and deals with the barbaric practices of commuters in the 20th Century, though slightly romanticized. Nice book, you think to yourself appreciatively. >g You pick up a book at random and flip through it for a few minutes. It's called "Beyond Relativity" by Dr. Jeremiah Albrecht, Ph.D. in Nuclear Physics, and deals with the mathematics of space travel. From the look of it, it hasn't been read much. >g You pick up a book at random and flip through it for a few minutes. It's called "Drugs And The Man" by Paul Everton. It's a handyman's guide to pharmacology, and you find it deeply interesting. >g You pick up a book at random and flip through it for a few minutes. It's called "Method In Musical Madness" by Annie Price, and it deals with the popular music ("rock", "pop" and "dance") of the preceding centuries. >g You pick up a book at random and flip through it for a few minutes. It's called "The Mouse-Hole" by Guillaume Bates. It's a comic novel about a 22nd century software producer who never released a single package because he kept on upgrading before his marketing division could think up good slogans. >g You pick up a book at random and flip through it for a few minutes. It's called "Highways" by Carla Manson, and deals with the barbaric practices of commuters in the 20th Century, though slightly romanticized. Nice book, you think to yourself appreciatively. >i You are carrying: a personal ID chip an AutoLock Users' Manual a small scrap of paper a fountain-pen >get book You can't see any such thing. >get books Those aren't yours. >l Receptionist's room, in the Aviators Saloon This room - which, by its lived-in, familial appearance must belong to the receptionist - is small, neat and comfortable. A sturdy bed occupies the centre of the room, with an open window casting a bright beam right on it; besides this, there is little furniture except a couch, a bookshelf, and a television. >x telly Eight hundred years from now, television is still television. >turn it on You don't have the time to watch TV now. >x window That's just scenery. >x bed That's just scenery. >l under bed That's just scenery. >w Second floor, in the Aviators Saloon The entry to the second floor's chambers has the same homely flavour as the previous one, except that a few potted plants here and there add a touch of colour to the proceedings. Open doors lead east and west, and a locked door lies north. >w Room 6, in the Aviators Saloon Room 6 was obviously going to be renovated before disaster struck, because it's totally bare. It's a nice, pleasant room, or rather it would be so if it had any furniture. The only piece worthy of that name is a stool. >x stool A small wooden stool, conjuring up memories of rustics working away at cows' udders. On one side is a maker's name: "Matthew Barringer and Sons. Fine Furniture and Padding." >get it The stool isn't important! >e Second floor, in the Aviators Saloon The entry to the second floor's chambers has the same homely flavour as the previous one, except that a few potted plants here and there add a touch of colour to the proceedings. Open doors lead east and west, and a locked door lies north. >n You don't seem to have the key. >x door As Gertrude Stein would probably put it, a door is a door is a door....you get my drift. It has a lock, if you're interested. >x lock As Gertrude Stein would probably put it, a door is a door is a door....you get my drift. It has a lock, if you're interested. >unlock door What do you want to unlock the door to Room 7 with? >i You are carrying: a personal ID chip an AutoLock Users' Manual a small scrap of paper a fountain-pen >unlock door with chip That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >d Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >d Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >n You can't leave - your task here is unfinished. >e Dining Hall, in the Aviators Saloon The Aviators Saloon never pretended to be more than a small and comfortable lodge - which is why its mess bears an eerie resemblance to the dining hall of your own large family. Since - in this age - everything is automatic, there is precious little clutter, barring a large table, twelve chairs, and a large cupboard at the back of the room. As you walk across the room, your foot seems to brush against something under the table. >l under table Under the table, you find a small, streamlined device of some sort, coloured black. You pull it out. >x device A small black device, with a slit at the back - which currently is empty, and a fairly primitive display in front, which is currently blank. >x slit A small black device, with a slit at the back - which currently is empty, and a fairly primitive display in front, which is currently blank. >i You are carrying: a personal ID chip an AutoLock Users' Manual a small scrap of paper a fountain-pen >get device Taken. >put chip in device You insert the chip cautiously into the slit; the screen lights up faintly. It flashes the words "Teleport Complete. Target Room Four", then changes to another phrase. >x screen You can't see any such thing. >read device A small black device, with a slit at the back - which contains a thin card, and a fairly primitive display in front, which displays a sentence : Room 7. Behind Closed Doors. >n You can't go that way. >w Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >u Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >u Second floor, in the Aviators Saloon The entry to the second floor's chambers has the same homely flavour as the previous one, except that a few potted plants here and there add a touch of colour to the proceedings. Open doors lead east and west, and a locked door lies north. >n You don't seem to have the key. >unlock door What do you want to unlock the door to Room 7 with? >device That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >d Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >d Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >ask man about device "It's a tracer. Not sure how to use it? You use it to find a person. Put the chap's identity chip or card - depends on the model - into the machine, and it's off to the races. Neat." >ask man for key You can't see any such thing. >ask man about room 7 "Can't help you with that, son. Too bad," he says, sympathetically. >i You are carrying: a small black device a personal ID chip an AutoLock Users' Manual a small scrap of paper a fountain-pen >x paper A small scrap of paper, torn at one edge, with words printed on one side. >read it François, Ch. 2, Lines 1-17: "Why did you suppress the first thirty-three verses?", the Author complained. "It's almost painfully obvious if you'll only apply your mind to it", the Voice replied, unflappably. "The first lines deal with what he has already lived through; to restate them would be unnecessary. Besides, he has already acquitted himself most honourably." "Not enough", the Author replied, sternly. "All he has done is to travel through our lands, our landscapes - call them what you will. But has he done anything?" "Well, he did open the gate", the Voice retorted. "After following prompts that could not bamboozle a two-year-old. The challenges we set him were -- elementary." "Well, we shall have to see. Can he bring back life into this place?........" [Here the printing stops, abruptly.] >u Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >u Second floor, in the Aviators Saloon The entry to the second floor's chambers has the same homely flavour as the previous one, except that a few potted plants here and there add a touch of colour to the proceedings. Open doors lead east and west, and a locked door lies north. >e Receptionist's room, in the Aviators Saloon This room - which, by its lived-in, familial appearance must belong to the receptionist - is small, neat and comfortable. A sturdy bed occupies the centre of the room, with an open window casting a bright beam right on it; besides this, there is little furniture except a couch, a bookshelf, and a television. >look under window That's just scenery. >search couch Suspicious bloke, aren't you? >search bookself You can't see any such thing. >search chair You can't see any such thing. >search bed That's just scenery. >d You can't go that way. >w Second floor, in the Aviators Saloon The entry to the second floor's chambers has the same homely flavour as the previous one, except that a few potted plants here and there add a touch of colour to the proceedings. Open doors lead east and west, and a locked door lies north. >d Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >w Room 3, in the Aviators Saloon Room Three is a spartan and utilitarian room, in sharp contrast to the incomplete elegance of the reception area. The chair, bed and table all bear a stern, military look, which looks out of place - even gruesome - in a lodging- house of this sort. Perched comfortably on the table is a small computer. >search chair You find nothing of interest. >search bed Under the bed, you find a blue disc. Someone's obviously been playing Tom Thumb in this hotel. [Your score has just gone up by nine points.] >x disc (the blue disc) A small blue disc, with no label or inscription on it. >put disc in slot You can't see any such thing. >put disc in opening (the blue disc in the portable computer) You need to be holding the blue disc before you can put it into something else. >get disc (the blue disc) Taken. >put disc in opening (the blue disc in the portable computer) There's already a disc in the computer. >remove disc from opening Removed. >put blue in opening The screen glows brightly with half a page of words. >read screen LAWYER'S DISAPPEARANCE - UPDATE 26th November, 2804 Even the most complete investigations by European and Colonial police forces have failed to reveal the least trace of Colonial legal consultant Cassandra Anderson, who was last seen driving away from the chambers of the Regional Court of Offences at 9 p.m., about three weeks ago. In a statement issued to all major news services, Officer Schultz of the European Police Force categorically ruled out a deep political plot as the cause of the abduction. "We live in peaceful times nowadays, and even the most obdurate reactionaries have learnt the danger of rocking the boat", he said. "This is probably an isolated act, with no major backing." He added that he was sanguine about being able to retrieve Mrs. Anderson safely. Noel Horton Pan European News Services. Cassie Anderson? My God. You hadn't even put her on paper. She was just an idea; the successful lawyer in her thirties, her husband Gerald, her two daughters....How much damage have you done? >e Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >e Room 4, in the Aviators Saloon Room 4, which was obviously meant to accomodate a couple or a small family at least, is a pleasant contrast to the house you came across earlier in your wanderings. Even the furniture - double-bed, dresser, table and armchair, and the window - have a particular flavour of their own. The window is open, flooding the room with sunlight. Covering the bed, with a primness that is almost Victorian, is a warm quilt of knitted wool, which shows an unsightly bulge at one point. >search bed You lift the quilt and search the bed for some time, your conscience pricking you all the time, but are rewarded for your efforts by a letter. >x letter Written on stiff notepaper not bearing any specific letterhead, it would probably be a love-letter if its contents weren't so startling. >read it A quick glance at the letter reveals that its contents are of a rather personal nature, and your sense of delicacy tells you not to read it. Do you still want to do so? >yeah Please answer yes or no.> yes Feeling rather a cad, you read the letter once through, quickly.... Europe, July 14th, 2883. Dear Vanessa, Unforseen circumstances have forced me, without any sensible or honourable alternative, to leave you abruptly, without warning, without even the consolation - pardon my grandiosity - of a fond farewell. I have not been permitted to reveal more than this, even to you whom I could trust above anyone else, dearest - for the hand and mind that drive me at this moment are not my own. Rest assured that, if you still - regardless of your own safety - want to follow me, I have left enough traces. Not too explicitly, of course - Nash is a fine old man, but I wouldn't want to involve him in this - but I am sure you will find a way. The key can be revealed in the usual way: table, place. There is little time to say more. Four digits alone. Yours, Janus. After reading it, you feel strangely vindicated. At least, it was of some use, and could help you find a key to this enigma. >get key You can't see any such thing. >w Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >d Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >e Dining Hall, in the Aviators Saloon The Aviators Saloon never pretended to be more than a small and comfortable lodge - which is why its mess bears an eerie resemblance to the dining hall of your own large family. Since - in this age - everything is automatic, there is precious little clutter, barring a large table, twelve chairs, and a large cupboard at the back of the room. >w Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >show letter to man You can't see any such thing. >u Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >e Room 4, in the Aviators Saloon Room 4, which was obviously meant to accomodate a couple or a small family at least, is a pleasant contrast to the house you came across earlier in your wanderings. Even the furniture - double-bed, dresser, table and armchair, and the window - have a particular flavour of their own. The window is open, flooding the room with sunlight. Covering the bed, with a primness that is almost Victorian, is a warm quilt of knitted wool. You can also see a strange letter here. >get letter Taken. >w Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >d Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >e Dining Hall, in the Aviators Saloon The Aviators Saloon never pretended to be more than a small and comfortable lodge - which is why its mess bears an eerie resemblance to the dining hall of your own large family. Since - in this age - everything is automatic, there is precious little clutter, barring a large table, twelve chairs, and a large cupboard at the back of the room. >w Antechamber, in the Aviators Saloon From the discreet signs declaring that you are currently in the Aviators' Saloon, and from the general look of the furniture, this is obviously the reception room or antechamber of a small hotel. The doors of the hotel, to your north, seem to be closed, east is a dining-hall, and a staircase leads up. The check-in counter stands in front of you. An amiable, elderly man is standing behind the counter. >show letter to man If the receptionist wasn't suffering from senile arthritis, he would certainly have jumped twenty feet. As it is, he stares at you. "Where did you find it! That's a miracle. We're going to find the Director, son, you can count on that! Wait......I have something he gave me once, it might help you, though he gave it to me the year before he disappeared...." The receptionist places a key on the counter, which you look at appraisingly. [Your score has just gone up by six points.] >get key Taken. >u Chambers, in the Aviators Saloon The landing of the Aviators Saloon opens into four rooms, one corresponding to each point of the compass, the doors to which (being of the electrical kind) are open. The stairs lead back down, and continue further upwards. >u Second floor, in the Aviators Saloon The entry to the second floor's chambers has the same homely flavour as the previous one, except that a few potted plants here and there add a touch of colour to the proceedings. Open doors lead east and west, and a locked door lies north. >unlock door with key You unlock the door to Room 7. >open door You open the door to Room 7. >n Vanessa Clarke's room, in the Aviators Saloon If there's anything concealed in Miss Clarke's room, it cannot be under a bed, since this room is without one. A wardrobe and a glass-topped table - charming in their simplicity - are the only adornments visible. There are no windows, surprisingly, except one covered by curtains, which is in the wrong position as far as illumination is concerned. A closed wardrobe stands impassively in a corner. On the glass-topped table is a glazed vase (in which are some dead flowers). >x vase A simple, glazed, ceramic vase. On one side, fairly low - strangely - is a small hole about the circumference of your little finger. A few wilting flowers are still inside it. On the other side is an inscription: "Triumph shall come here at last, We should ask not 'how', but 'when' - From a stone take then a sword, In this vase, place now a......." >put pen in vase As you insert the pen into the vase, a blinding light dazzles you, and a low haze envelops you. You struggle to find your way out of it, but to no avail. [Press SPACE......] When you awake, you are in a shrine of some sort, lying supine. A tall man, concerned but not stern, with a long face, looks down on you. "Ah, Harold. I have misjudged you, and I apologize. But first -- let me introduce myself. I am that sadistic personage, 'Mr. Author', who has brought you here so far. Your mission -- but let me explain myself. The creation of your novel set in motion certain events in a parallel dimension; its destruction will not only undo them but replace them with worse ones. Simone, Edward, Laura - even people inhabiting your world, but not created by you, like Janus Mbelwe - have had to suffer the consequences. It was with this aim that I brought you here, but now you can go no further. The remaining tasks in this dimension will need to be carried out by one of its own citizens.......All we shall need will be some of your memories, to help her find her way." The man looks down. "Close your eyes, Harold, and think." [Press SPACE....] You close your eyes -- memories, thoughts, ideas that you had and that you never had, all seem to swirl, to be involuntarily wrenched from you...... And then you remember no more. [Press SPACE......] Cold. Damp. Overdramatizing, as usual. You struggle to your feet, smooth down your crumpled coat, shake your head and brush the hair out of your face, a strange air of unreality (indeed!) surrounding you. Ideas that never entered your mind till this moment flicker by, leaving hardly a trace. You look ahead. Straight ahead. There is nothing more intimidating than your home ahead. So much for mystery. Your car has gone. But did you take it home, or did you walk? The last thing you remember was leaving the Court of Appeals.......nothing more. Chapter Seven - Recalled From Life Outside your house Though you've been here time and time again, there is something comfortable and inviting about this small walk up to your house, where you have lived for the last twelve years. The trees move gently in the wind - it is, after all, late in November - but the lights in your home, like a lighthouse, guide you unerringly on, to the north. The street you came out of is to your east. Your heart gives a single leap of relief. Nothing has really changed, after all. [Your score has just gone up by eighteen points.] >score You have so far scored 143 out of a possible 360, in 370 turns, earning you the rank of Straight Speaker. >save Ok. >quit Are you sure you want to quit? y