A HIGHWAY OF DEMONS - CHAPTER TWO

A HIGHWAY OF DEMONS

by Whispering Jack

CHAPTER TWO - EVERY GRAIN OF SAND

"Then onward in my journey I come to understand

That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand."

Bob Dylan [Every Grain of Sand]

I am absolutely confident that I had never previously blacked out. Then again, I was also certain that I had not, in my present lifetime, ever been anywhere near Cairo, Egypt; but when the murky haze of unconsciousness started to lift, there was a pyramid standing far away on the desert horizon. Beside it, in the shimmering heat and the blinding sunshine, I could just pick out the Cheshire Cat grin of The Sphinx.

The man I now knew as The Doctor was fidgeting with a metal gadget when he noticed I was regaining consciousness.

"Good. I'm glad you've finally come around. That bit of fresh air must have helped. Mind you, I was getting a little worried. You were looking very pale. I think it's time to come back inside the Tardis and we'll have a cup of Chinese tea�, he said as he waved away a nasty horde of flies with the metal object in his hand.

"Wh … where are we?" was my weak response.

"We seem to have experienced a slight problem with my sonic screwdriver. It appears we may have overshot Stonehenge and landed here instead."

Here.

That’s great!

It's grand final day. I'm missing the biggest game of the season, I'm lying face down with a mouthful of sand in some stiflingly hot desert in bloody Egypt in the company of a deranged octogenarian who just offered me a cup of Chinese tea, I'm due home at six o’clock and we have "a slight problem"?

Right.

I knew that it was important at such times to get a hold of oneself because, after all, the saving grace of the current situation was that things could not possibly get any worse. I was doing my best to do this when a huge metallic object suddenly appeared from over The Doctor's right shoulder. Sirens began to wail and red lights flashed across the heavens. From nowhere, dozens of heavily armed men in shiny uniforms made of a glossy reflecting fabric began moving menacingly in our direction.

I was wrong.

Things definitely could get worse.

Then, for some eerie reason, I figured that we might not in fact be in Cairo, Egypt and this was soon confirmed when the leader of the group addressed us saying, "We've been expecting you folks. My name is Beyonce Springsteen and I’m your chaperone for the duration of your stay here. Welcome to Las Vegas!"

Before we could utter a word we were taken on board the metallic craft and shuttled off to the sprawling city in the desert that lay immediately beyond the pyramid and The Sphinx. I was desperately seeking a word that could adequately describe the scene that lay before us but the only thing I was able to come up with was "futuristic".

It was then that I noticed the sign in the foyer of the large hall into which we were deposited upon our arrival.

"Las Vegas welcomes all Delegates to the 2064 Republican Party Convention. Thank you for supporting our candidate George Bush V in his campaign to become the 54th President of the United States of America."

We were taken to a nice hotel room, clothed and fed and feted like kings. When I attempted to protest and explain that we weren’t there for a Republican Party Convention, that I was a citizen of Australia and wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible, The Doctor pinched my arm with enough vigour to force my silence.

"The lad’s a little tired. Recently arrived from Australia and already missing home. You know how it is..."

The response was immediate.

"Yes, and don’t we just love you Aussies around here? I’ve always had a soft spot for you guys since you became our 53rd state way back in, when was it? Forty-six? You’re going to be right at home on this visit. In fact, I have some tickets for tonight’s big Ozrules Playoff match at the George Orwell Stadium. You will both be my special guests."

I entered the Stadium feeling mightily miffed about the fact that everyone had been calling it the "G". Then I discovered that the place was not what I thought it was at all. I know what a casino looks like because I have been to a couple of James Bond movies and this was certainly a casino but nothing like the ones they have in exotic places like Monte Carlo or on a Hollywood movie set. The machines and tables were all electronic, full of noise, bright lights and non-stop virtual action. Our hosts provided us with enough chips to while away an hour or so before the big game. The Doctor lost but I struck it lucky and won four or five billion dollars so I shouted everybody a cup of coffee and cake which I later discovered was made from cryogenic plankton (whatever that was) but it did taste nice.

During the afternoon, I learned that the opposing sides for the big playoff were the New Orleans Daleks and the Las Vegas Cybermen. Springsteen tried to impress us with a gag about how the visiting team was notorious for its flooding tactics and while it produced gales of uncontrollable laughter among most of the group, I sat there quite stony faced. I simply didn't get the joke.

I managed to get some laughs of my own however, when I suggested that it would be nice if we could get a look at the playing field before the start of the game. This prompted a comment from our host that he just loved that wry Aussie sense of humour. I had a feeling now that we were in for another surprise.

It turned out that there was no playing field at the George Orwell Stadium in Las Vegas at all. Not a single blade of grass. The vegetation had been removed long ago when it was decided to put the thermonuclear plant in the middle of the complex. The Doctor scratched his head when heard this, claiming that he now understood why the Tardis had been knocked off its course and out of its intended time zone while on its way to Stonehenge. He started playing with his sonic screwdriver and was soon muttering what sounded like gibberish but must have been some complex algebraic equation. He was in a world of his own. Certainly, it was a different world from that of Las Vegas in 2064 where they played the sport of Ozrules.

I was in for further shocks when we were taken into a large auditorium that was plastered with neon signs that advertised strange products which could be purchased through simply transferring your intention to purchase by thought processes. It was all too complicated for me but I was impressed when an announcement was made that the Ozrules Corporation had broken all previous sales records in the first 15 seconds after the opening of the turnstiles.

I discovered that the game was played on a three dimensional holographic plasma screen which hovered above the spectators. There were no players in this sport. Not the human type anyway. The participants were essentially robots whose actions were controlled by people located in a number of different places throughout the solar system. These people were called the "brains trust" and I suppose you might say they were akin to the team's coaching panel.

When the lights went out, the crowd looked up. From deep inside the plasma, a "playing field" suddenly emerged from a shimmering cloud of dust particles that somehow came together to form what looked like a chessboard. A siren hooted in the background and the protagonists appeared in their allocated positions on the chessboard grid. Facing each other off, they looked decidedly sinister. Another siren hooted and the crowd began to scream like banshees as a shiny orb cascaded from the ether and onto the board. I knew one thing. The ball had not been manufactured from good old fashioned pigskin.

The game was on.

To my horror I was watching my favourite sport as it had evolved in the century that had passed since I left home, even though from my perspective, I had been away for no more than a day and a night.

The problem with the game as it was now played was that I simply couldn't understand what it was all about. The players were moving sideways, backwards, in circles and everywhere in a totally incoherent fashion. There were no goal posts and no behind posts. I learned from my hosts that these had been deemed unnecessary and done away with in the great rule change of 'twenty-five. Obviously, there were no goal umpires either. Nor were there any field umpires because they had apparently gone out of vogue in the wake of the 9/11 Part III massacre of the maggots in 'thirty-one. What surprised me most of all was that two decades ago, President Snoop Dog who also doubled as the World Football League CEO, had persuaded Congress to ban sporting journalists so that public forums were bereft of any criticism or commentary about the sport.

I was now becoming extremely nervous and restless despite the fact that the game was a close one. What I was seeing was a complete shambles and I was reaching the end of my tether. An old timer who had been watching from behind me was muttering something about "unmitigated crap". Like him, I'd had enough. I wanted to be back with the other old timers on earth. In my home town and back in 1964 watching my heroes playing the game when it was a great spectacle, uncorrupted by the ravages of time and commercialism.

Impulsively, I rose from my perch and dashed out of the darkened auditorium into a hallway just as the home team’s number five performed what must have been an amazing feat because it drew a huge cheer for the first time in the evening.

But by then I was racing out of the "G" with The Doctor hot on my heels. I had to get back home. I now knew that my life had a purpose.

I had to put a stop to this.

"I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night

In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,

In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,

In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea

Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.

I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man

Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand."

Bob Dylan [Every Grain of Sand]

[TO BE CONTINUED...]