Phased out

I shall never forget what I have just lived through. The events which took place were not of the kind one can simply push aside. Although I dearly wish I could. I fear the memories will forever linger like phosphorescent sparks cascading through my head, no matter what I do. I don't believe I will ever be able to look at our beloved world in the same way again. It was - how should I put it - a rather hair-raising experience. An experience I would not wish on my worst enemy.

*******

The day started off wonderfully; much like any other day would. I lay on my bed, as my alarm proclaimed the start of the afternoon. I did my best to sit up, and found I had a pounding headache. While I rubbed my sore skull, my house-server gave me any messages my friends had left. Some of them were holding a small soirée in the park - a luncheon-come-tea party to discuss the moral short-comings of Rousseau, I think it was. Lazily I untangled myself from the twisted sheets and stretched. Rusty bed-springs protested under me as I shifted about at the saggy centre of my mattress. It had been a heavy night, and I felt like shit, as per usual. My room was dark. The murky silhouettes of my furniture seemed threatening; now I look back on it, that feeling of unease must have been a warning. I could feel it in my bones: it was going to be a bitch of an afternoon. So I got dressed fast. At any rate, I couldn't afford to stay curled up on my bed and waste yet another entire day. I forced myself to go and do something creative; something productive. Probably the biggest mistake of my life.
After getting into my protective robes, my jack-boots, gloves, and donning my mask, the lights came on. I felt a lot better once the gloom had dissipated, I always do. I stretched again, and did some exercises. Looking around the room, my spirits began to rise. My miniature chandelier glittered with exquisite beauty. My leather armchair beckoned seductively, as my bed had done. But I knew I had to leave my apartment. I felt obliged to spend a couple of hours socialising; you know, keep up the old public image and all that. I went over to the window and pulled aside the velvet curtains, soft to my loving touch. As always, the sun stood high in the heavens, radiating her warmth down onto the city of Bath Spa, my home town. I took in the view - I lived on a hill and looked down on the sprawling beauty of this glorious sandstone city. Somehow the sight of Bath restored to its Twentieth Century beauty always made me sigh. I sighed.
In my kitchen, I had a little trouble with my food-dispenser. The thing gleamed immaculately; still looked brand spanking new. Not a scratch on it. Unfortunately, it refused to give up the goods. No matter what I tried. I begged it for a baked-bean sandwich, but it denied me even that small pleasure. My stomach rumbled. I salivated at the thought of the forthcoming luncheon. In a last-ditch attempt, I kicked my cheeky appliance. With a squawk of indignity and a whole string of censored abuse, it gave up the last of its treasures; a plain, stale cracker. Gingerly I consumed my brunch, swearing I would beat which ever servant was responsible for the machine's upkeep.

*******

I stepped into the spring-fresh air outside. Birds chirped in the freshly-budding trees on the embankment opposite the Crescent, where I lived. But, looking around on that fine, warm afternoon, my mood was once more darkened by something. I stared at what lay on the pavement right in front of my townhouse. Slouched against the cast-iron railings in his stupid green dungarees lay the Crescent's gardener-handyman. I muttered something about good-for-nothing-servants, and steadfastly strode up to him. Gave him a good firm kick in the thigh. He let out a sharp yelp.
"Come on! Get up, you lazy dosser! Sleeping on the job again! This is the third time in a week!" The grizzled face of the man looked up at me, his lower lip quivering. He offered his apologies with hurried tones and tried to get to his feet. His pitiful attempts proved in vain: arms strained, grasping the cast-iron railings as his legs almost buckled under him. I took a firm hold of his sleeve and hauled him to his feet. He hung in a strange position, wavered on hitting the pavement once more.
"You are an old codger, aren't you. Bit on the senile side, no doubt. 'Bout time we got a new gardener I believe." The man looked at me, a hurt expression on his face.
"I'm fine, sir. I'll be getting on with me job now, don't you worry. Don't you worry." Painfully slowly, the man turned and, using the railings for support, made his way down the road. I snorted and carried on walking. Drew in a stinging lung-full of crystal cool air in an attempt to forget about the old croak.
Soon I was in high spirits once more. Walking briskly down the sloping road to the centre of town. I felt obliged to make a brief appearance to maintain contacts there before I went on to the park. I nodded politely at a few familiar faces who passed by; mild acquaintances only, you understand. Friends of friends of friends whom I was introduced to once at some party or other. They were only sufficiently familiar to warrant a nod; a polite acknowledgement. They were not the type one feels obliged to speak to, should one be in a hurry.
It was while I was walking along, that the strange feeling took hold of me. There was no real warning. The sun shone high above, at the centre of a cloudless sky. The trees whispered in the soft, fresh breeze. Birds sang the praise of another beautiful day. And suddenly all went dark, and a painfully sharp, stinging sensation slammed up through my head. I recoiled in shock and agony, my hands went to my head. I coughed and spluttered. Grabbed a cast-iron railing to steady myself. My breathing was fast. But the sensation had gone as quickly as it came. I looked around. Life was flowing along as usual. A lady nodded at me as she walked past. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Only the fact that my lungs ached, and a faint taste of ammonia in my mouth hinted at what I'd felt. I shook my head. It happened more and more frequently these days. I thought nothing more of it. Walked on.
And soon I had progressed into the cobblestoned heart of Bath, where the quaint, narrow streets and Romanesque impressionism always caused my heart to flutter. The hustle and bustle; the humdrum of the street-life soothed my aching stomach. Entertainers played instruments, just for the heck of it. People watched and clapped. Merchants were trading in home-made ornaments and necklaces. Servants scurried about, dutifully carrying out their business. Much to my annoyance, they reminded me of the scum we good gentlefolk at the Crescent had to tolerate. I happened past a particularly feminine servant, and had to close my eyes when I suddenly felt a sharp pang of longing. She was somewhat shabbily dressed; downtrodden, one might say. But my perverse nature registered these things as sex appeal. That would not do. It would not do at all. I concentrated on the crowd.
As I walked down Bath's high street, I relished in the activity around me. One group of robed figures argued over the merits of various philosophies of life. Another discussed a Platonic worldview of non-descript origin, as servants busily brushed their clothes; for what reason, I could not tell. I was attracted to one group of people clad in brightly adorned robes, in a circle at the edge of a small sandstone court. They sat under a birch-tree, bathing in the uplifting light of the lunch-time sun. I knew a few of the faces. A girl in a gayly decorated robe beckoned me over, and waving a greeting, I walked towards the group.
"Ah! The Great Art'Hor makes an appearance!"
"We are honoured by your presence, oh late rising one!"
"Well, aren't we all in a Lightheaded mood." I rebuked.
"Don't mind them, Art," said the girl, "They were up early today; up at the crack of dawn to raid an unprotected system. They're quite proud of having found the self-discipline to do it!"
"No-doubt the rewards were well worth their while?"
"They located a lost program that works wonders on your olfactory cortex and temporal lobes."
"Charming! A little supplementary sexual experience is it boys?" One man in green and blue cloth bared a huge grin of perfect teeth and fell over backwards, sprawling across the cobbled paving. "Oh! This all seems wonderfully illegal to me!" I laughed, clapping my hands.
"But of course, Art'Hor!" said a Lighthead who called himself 'the Wonderfilled Leuw'Dunn'. "Straight off an illicit system we dug up! One of several decades' vintage. Exquisite after-images, Art! Quaint, but simply delightful!" The girl, known in more formal surroundings as 'the Majestic Ly'Star', invited me to take a copy. I gave her a smile. I would have loved to stay, but I had things to do, people to see, places to be. Not that I was normally inclined to partake of such delights. Lightheads often ended up lying in a back-street alley somewhere with a fried brain. Either that, or they lived out the remainder of their lives as Molochs. The second was definitely the worse option.
"I'm afraid I must decline the offer, Star dear. Firstly, I have no great need of sex, and secondly, I can cope with life as it is; I do not need further levels of synthetically programmed escapism. And I must be on my way." Ly'Star gave me a disappointed look. So I told her where she could find me: "I will be in the park, attending Rew'Don's luncheon. By all means, come along. We shall be glad to see you." Star's face radiated excitement:
"Rew's holding a luncheon? There's food in the park? We'll be there!" The others looked around at each other and nodded agreement. "We'll come later Art, we promise. But first...We aren't finished here...You know?" I nodded understandingly, her words provoking a darker side to my personality.
"Well, if I miss you there, Star dear, feel free to visit me at the Crescent any time you like. My doors are always open to your beauty. And maybe we'll execute a program or two." I winked, she blushed, and the rest of the group burst out in psuedo-moans and giggles.
I moved on, mingling with the cheerful crowd and chuckling inwardly. They were characters, that much was certain. Whether they were quite the right sort of company for someone of my standing though, that was a different matter. They were perhaps just a little too risqué. Good old Rew'Don on the other hand, suited me fine. He was a pillar of the community. Somehow he always managed to conger up a feast when he gave his luncheons in the park. He was truly a high-class individual. Probably because he had the good fortune of efficient servants working for him. He lived in a magnificent part of the city, in a wonderful house looking over the grounds of the park. All pillars and regal exteriors. His street came with private grounds surrounded by railings. Within these, Rew would welcome his visitors. Any Citizen was welcome at his gatherings, and his presence always guaranteed a selection of the finest eccentrics and intellectuals to stimulate conversation. Always a good place to establish new contacts and rekindle old relationships.
Rew himself was one of my oldest friends. We had studied together under the Eponymous Dar'Glan, a cybermentor of the highest calibre. Somehow we always managed to get embroiled in fierceome argument. It had been a very stimulating time. It had made me the man I am.
As I thought, I strode down a narrow, cobblestoned alleyway. Cool shadows bathed my face. A black lamppost of antiquated design waited patiently for the coming of night. As I progressed, things got steadily darker. And then darker still. It did not take me long to work out something was wrong. Cautiously I walked on. And with every step, the sun grew paler, and the narrow alleyway more sombre. Then a sour taste passed my lips. Burned my throat. Filled my lungs with agony. Then I started to cough. My eyes stung. The world contorted ahead of me. Colours flowed together in murky greys and blacks and browns. I gritted my teeth for the pain. Sank to my knees on the cold cobbles. I saw yellow sulphur clouds up above the dark sides of sullen buildings I did not recognise.
But again, my mind cleared. I blinked and when I opened my eyes the sky was blue, and the sun shone down on me once more. The air was fresh again. My heart was still pounding, although I was slowly calming down. Took a few deep breaths of freshness. It can't happen to me, was all I kept thinking. I dismissed dark thoughts from my head. Tried to stop my hands from shaking. Carried on down the alley, and tried not to think of what had happened.
After only a few paces I became aware of a figure crouching down on the ground ahead of me. Although I should have been pleased to see someone at that moment, my heart sank as I recognised the jade and purple robes, the angular frame and hunched shoulders; all in very bad taste. It was the Wretched Yow'Malth - although naturally he did not acknowledge the description. Yow sat not more than ten metres further on; no way of avoiding him now. I cursed silently as I drew closer. He was down on his knees, crouched over the corpse of a small dog. He was mumbling but soon I could hear what he was saying.
"Oh, woe betide, you poor, poor creature. May your memory find peace in the nether regions of space. 'Tis a sign of things to come. 'Tis the beginning of the end, my friend. Your doom is but the start, and no one seems to care--" He stopped, his head turning to me with a typically erratic, almost nervous flinch. "Look, friend! 'Tis the Great Art'Hor on his way to the park! Blind to the death and decay around! Blind to the horrors of this earth!"
"Greetings in return, Farseeing Yow'Malth," I replied courteously, if somewhat reluctant. He was a bit of a nutter, and yet still very tedious. All doom and gloom. The general consensus painted him as a reinstated Moloch: living proof of the legitimacy of the New Order. I looked at the dishevelled mutt at his feet. "Is the dog dead?"
"This being has finished its role on our earth, yes. But may I add that it has terminated through neglect! The neglect we, as individuals living under the New Order, have visited upon ourselves! Neglect which will soon spell our own demise! We close our eyes to the situation! We turn our backs on the ruination by allowing the unremitant use of the programs!"
"I sympathise with your feelings, Yow'Malth. You know I disagree with program-abuse."
"That I know; 'Tis true. But you yourself cannot help but succumb to mild abuse. As must we all. We are slaves to the system! So much is clear."
"The system is a necessity." I said patiently. It was an argument we had run through a thousand times before. "Even you know that. Even you are no longer a Moloch."
"It is an addiction! A sacrilege to God and his creation! A perversion! Have you ever lived as a Moloch?"
"Of course not!" I cried out indignantly, "What do you take me for? I am a respectable Citizen--"
"Then you do not know of what you speak! To have lived as a Moloch is to have lived! To have lived as a Moloch is to know the truth!" Now the old fart had gone too far:
"I know the truth as well as any man, Yow'Malth! Don't patronize me with your talk of knowing more than others. Your misfortune is the suffering of many, even today. Don't you dare advocate inflicting that pain on us all!" Yow got to his feet, his face dark. He came up to me and looked me directly in the eye. His face was even more hideous up close: he looked about eighty years old. He could not last much longer. Yow spoke in a suppressed tone of voice:
"Art'Hor, 'tis the other way around. We inflict the pain on the Moloch. You do not realise the only reason I came back was to preach salvation." His voice fell to an urgent whisper, "The truth is better than the dream! Believe me, for I know it is so." Gently, but firmly, I pushed him aside. "Believe me, for I know it is so!" he insisted.
"I know, I know, don't worry about it. The dog will not be missed. But now I must dash. Let us carry on this cheery conversation some other time." With that, I passed him by and disappeared down the alley, leaving him to preach over the dog's corpse.
I was in a dark mood. And glad when I finally came out on a wider street; a street where the sun once more shone in its full fury on the golden stone. A fountain had mysteriously formed in the centre of the road. Water coursed out of it and clattered onto the pavings. It ran across the road and joined a sparkling, silvery pool that languished over a blocked gutter. The crystal clear waters reflected the golden sun and buildings in myriad imagery. As I breathed in the moist, misty air, I could taste the distinctive minerals of our famous spa.
I stepped off the curb and sloshed my heavy boots through the refreshing waters. It was about ankle deep, and the coolness relieved my aching feet somewhat. As I left the puddle, a caretaker-servant stepped out of a shop and approached in a humbling posture. He held a brush and while he puffed and panted to keep up, he rubbed me down. Annoyed, I forced myself to remember I shouldn't undergo such close interaction with the scenery. I knew the dangers. But doing things like that were just sensorally irresistible to me. However, after a while, the servant began to annoy. I turned, pushed him away, and told him to sod off. My stomach was rumbling, and I was nearly at the park. I had no time for seemingly superfluous pleasantries.
Finally I arrived at the outskirts of the green oasis at the centre of the town. A large group had already assembled in the private gardens, I could see, and I made my way around the fencing at a brisk pace. It was at that very moment when I suddenly I came face to face with it - the Moloch.
It stood there, shrouded in ominous black robes, its face a contorted grey mask of pain. Sunken eyes, prominent cheekbones showing grievous malnutrition and a skin so pallid, it seemed Death had come to pay the social connoisseurs of Bath Spa a personal visit. I stopped abruptly, not knowing which way to turn; which way to look. It approached. It was mouthing words, but I could not hear it. It stretched out bare hands from tattered robes and stumbled towards me. Alarmed, I took a step back. As the Moloch got closer I could hear its muffled voice. Horrid and rasping; the voice of an outcast.
"Please, kind Citizen! Help me to get into the gardens. Help me get food!"
"I shall do no such thing!" I bawled, stepping back once more and holding my arms up before me for protection. It grabbed hold of me. The Moloch begged me with pitiful calls. It was starving. But what could I do. It was a Moloch. "Keepers! Where are your keepers? Help! Get it off me! Keepers! I want the keepers now!" Molochs were not supposed to roam the streets. Their keepers were supposed to see to it they were kept out of the public eye; out of sight and out of mind. Molochs were an unavoidable product of our existence; a nuisance that had to be born. The Moloch was the price the Citizens payed for the privilege of being Citizens. The Molochs were an accepted sacrifice; an inevitable by-product of our chosen way of life. And, in turn, the life of the Moloch was the punishment which dissident members of the community and the underprivileged had to bare. Fortunately they did not tend to live very long.
I tore its prying claws off my robes, and held them in the air. They clenched and unclenched like grappling hooks. And then it started to scream. It screamed with the high-pitched wail of pure desperation, and I struggled to be rid of the despondent creature. It fought against me, its face contorted by a snarl of anger and bloodshot eyes. And then I lost my grip. One of its hands got loose - it was surprisingly strong. It brought down a fist on my mask, and I lost my balance; fell. My head hit the road with a hard crack, but my mask absorbed most of the shock. For one terrifying moment everything went dark again. I heard a crackle and a blast of white noise. The pungent smell of sulphur choked me. But almost instantly, the world flickered to life again, and I scrambled to my feet, coughing. In a rage I kicked the Moloch as it lay at my feet. I kicked it in an unstoppable rage. I bashed its ugly face with the underside of my boots until dark blood stained the pavement. And then the keepers finally arrived. I cursed them and beat one with my fists as he cowered. The other begged my apologies. But there was no stopping my tantrum, and I beat the keeper until he too fell to the ground. I stamped on his idiotic face, then turned to the other keeper.
"You moronic fools! Where were you! This is an outrage! So close to the park. There shouldn't be any Molochs in the centre of Bath! What is the meaning of this? Tell me, or I will beat you senseless too."
"I'm so sorry, sir! We did not know! He snuck past us-- We must have missed him!" The keeper cowered at the foot of the railings and looked so repentant, my heart forgave him.
"OK. See to it that this mess is tidied up at once and we shall forget this ever happened."
"Art! Is that you? Art! Are you OK?" A band of my friends was coming to meet me. I could see Rew running ahead of the others. I straightened out my robes, and cleared my throat. A servant avidly brushed me down. I extended my hand towards Rew and he shook it.
"Glad to see you could make it, oh Great Art'Hor. Please accept my sincerest apologies for the rude infringement of your person. I hope you have seen the chance to vent your anger." He looked down at the two bloodied forms. "It seems to me you have." Then he placed a resolute but welcoming hand on my elbow. "Come. Let us eat a slice of buttered toast together."

*******

It did not take long for the social pleasantries to lull me back to a state of bliss sedation. There I stood, under Rew's red and white marquis, offering up a steady stream of small talk with a bowl of steaming porridge in hand. And then it happened again. Just another glitch. One among many I had been suffering from recently. Might have been nothing; some loose oatmeal in my throat perhaps. It foretold nothing of the hell which now lay in store for me.
My breathing became difficult. My lungs had to work harder, and I became dizzy. I laid a hand on Rew's shoulder to steady myself, and he looked at me with concern. Then a pungent aroma wafted up into my nose. I coughed and spluttered; almost choked. I made my excuses, and withdrew quietly from the others. This was more subtle than the other times. More gradual, but also more insistant. As I walked, the people around me began to sway. The colours of their clothing began to merge, and swirl, their faces contort and reform; polite smiles turning to grotesque sneers and back. Some looked at me inquisitively as I passed them by. Most ignored my troubled state; my fearful expression. I did not know the group I was wading through. My chest began to ache. Apologies left and right. The strong aroma filled the air around me and I had to close my eyes. I coughed, and bent over double. I felt like retching. I could not allow that to happen among such regal company. With great effort of will, I straightened up and forced myself to regain my composure. Soon I felt better.
Someone patted me on the back. "Are you alright, friend? You looked a little off-colour just now." I waved him away, telling him there was nothing wrong. I even managed to smile. Then I turned and, clutching my stomach, pushed on through the people. Tears had formed in the corners of my eyes. But everything seemed normal again, though my heart was still pounding. Soon I found myself in a slightly less crowded part of the marquis. I breathed deeply, forcing myself to relax, and accepted a glass of water from a servant. I brought it up to my mask and it opened briefly to accept the drink.
The sun painted a bright world beyond the confines of the marquis. The grass was a rich, warm green. Birds chirped merrily in the trees and on the lawns. Couples ambling through the park almost shone in their bright robes. The sandstone buildings across the street glowed a rich deep beige, their windows dark opal gemstones that flickered with the passing of the sun. Under the tenting, men and women enjoyed each other's company; people smiled, people laughed, bright faces showing perfect teeth; sparkling eyes filled with excitement, hands gesticulating enthusiastically, while at the same time trying to hold glasses, cups and plates. The atmosphere was loose and airy.
Everything was back to normal. I was ready to mingle once more. I looked around for potential friends. I spotted a girl whom I did not know, standing nearby. She seemed charming, even more so than Star; younger too. But then again, you could not even rely on age, these days. The sweetest of smiles graced her face. The robes she wore designated her as High-Society. I began to move towards her.
But then the feeling over took me again. That oppressive atmosphere descended over me, and my breathing became erratic once more. I stopped abruptly, still looking at the girl. Then that pungent smell broke before my nose and my eyes began to water almost immediately. The girl started breaking up. My hands went to my head. I gritted my teeth and broke out in a cold sweat.
"Oh god." I whispered. This was the end I knew. I had no more time left. Only wishful thinking, or some sort of mental block, had allowed me to keep the blatant truth from myself for so long. I stood rigid in the middle of that marquis, my feet set wide apart. Then, just for a split second, all went black. When I looked around again, people were staring at me. A man I did not know turned to me and spoke in my ear.
"You just phased out there for a second. If I were you I'd get myself off home fast." He squeezed my shoulder and moved off, disappearing in the crowd. My skin had gone unpleasantly clammy beneath my clothes. I knew it. I had known all along, really. I couldn't last much longer. But still, at that moment I could simply not comprehend the trauma of phasing out. I only knew what it meant in theory. Only Yow'Malth and other unfortunates like him knew the hell of undergoing a complete phase-out. All I knew was that the experience would ultimately kill. Shaking, I moved through the crowd, looking for a familiar face; someone who could help. People right of me; left of me; unknown faces, smiling, laughing, uncaring, cruel.
Then faint green letters appeared suspended in the air ahead of me.
> WARNING: system error
And my heart beat faster still. I knew then my mask was broken. That last knock with the Moloch had done it. My mask had been twenty years old anyway.
> Diagnostics active: damage located
> Location: InfoLink
> Location: Brainwriter [visual output]
I cursed under my breath, heard a soft whimper come from my throat. I hit my mask with my fist. People were watching. None I knew. None knew me.
> Diagnostics active: damage located
> Location: Brainwriter [olfactory output]
I pushed on through the crowd, people shouting and protesting as I went. I did not care; I searched for someone I knew.
> Diagnostics complete: damage located
> Location: Respiratory system
I coughed. My hands clasped at my throat. I shouted for help. The air I breathed became putrid and stale; tasted of sulphur. There was still no-one I knew. I shouted for Rew'Don. People just stared.
> Phase-out imminent
> Premature system10 For x=1to
> shutdown100:gosub200:
> commencing print A$:nextx
> ?\\\^*)$$£!!!!
> Abort Citizen
The final message flashed. Then all went dark, and I tripped over something. I fell to the ground, my porridge spilling out onto the grass. At least, it had seemed like grass earlier. Now it felt soggy and mushy. Trampled, and forgotten. My gloved fingers dug into the goo. I could see nothing. My mask was dead. I heard muffled screams all around. I crawled along on all fours. People were getting out of my way; I could hear them running with sodden squelches. I brought one shaking hand up to my mask. I had to take it off. But I had never taken it off out of doors. I had never had the inclination to do so. Not even out of curiosity. I knew roughly what lay outside. And I had heard it was not pleasant.
My ancient mask unlocked itself manually. The sensors dislodged from my naked scalp like suckers as I lifted off the headset. My eyes adjusted to the gloom around me and I became aware of the masked figures. Anonymous behind featureless faceplates; shrouded in brown, dirty, grubby protective robes; the guests watched me. No doubt they all had shocked, horrified expressions on their faces: for I was now disconnected from their world. I had now been phased out because of my broken mask. Without that essential piece of equipment, I had become a Moloch. The Central Servant had located me, and now portrayed me as a tatty monstrosity in symbolic black robes through every mask.
Everyone who looked at me, would see me in this way. That much I now know. But at that moment, the idea that the Great Art'Hor might be an outcast; a Moloch unrecognisable even to his friends, was unbelievable. I dropped my mask to the sodden earth.
"Rew! Rew! Where are you Rew? Help me!" I screamed. People did not respond. They turned their backs on me. I could hear muffled voices calling for my keepers. They had left a wide band of mud around me. I scrambled to my feet, and coughed. The noxious air tasted like rotten eggs: high sulphur content. I wished I still could use my mask as a respirator. Not even that functioned anymore. The thing had been ancient anyhow. It had only taken that final blow to send my antique computer - and its respiratory system - loopy.
Fear ran down my face in lines of pearly sweat. I looked from one person to another, searching for Rew. They all looked the same. All the robes were the same grimy colour. All were brown; ash-grey; filthy. Then I saw the robots. Two man-size creatures built of rust and decay. A man stood between them and pointed at me. The robots ambled over. They were faceless. Characterless. Frightening. I backed away, my heart racing, the sulphur and who knew what else, burning my lungs and stinging my eyes. The robots' gait was slow. I stepped back at the same rate as they approached. They looked sad; tired. The left arm of one robot hung down limply. It had been broken in some scuffle with a Moloch, years ago. I turned. No-one dared to stop me as I fled out of the Marquis, and jumped the iron railings around Rew's garden.

*******

I found myself in an alleyway I could not recognise. The name-plate had become unreadable. The walls were covered in a thick residue; dark; depressing. I lent against a blackened sandstone wall to catch my breath. It crumbled under the pressure of my back. Bits of corroded material fell to the cracked paving slabs. High above, the stacks of automated factories belched filthy black smoke into the yellow sky. They were a symbol of the Central Servant's desperate struggle to keep up with human demand. But the Servant was fighting a losing battle. A battle which had to end soon. I wiped my hand across my face. Tears were streaming down. The air stung like white heat. I struggled onwards down the ominous alley.
As I ran, the smell of strong chemicals grew in my nostrils. I kept running along the ever-narrowing path. There was nowhere else to turn. My eyes began to sting even more. The air became thick with a murky greenish hue. But I ran on. I ran on until I could no longer see.
Then I fell. I fell and slid painfully across the sharded paving. Angrily I cursed the heap over which I had tripped. I peered at it through the thick murk. It was another old robot. Head battered, arms rust-ridden, cabling protruding from shattered tin plating. The Central Servant's symbol emblazoned on the robot's right breast was tarnished: the image of our globe; the earth was almost hidden under a caked layer of soot and sulphur. I came closer and looked at the robot's empty face.
One feeble hand reached up and grabbed my wrist. He might have been saying something. But the voice could only be heard through a mask's interface. And my heart sank in desperation. I had finally realized how completely isolated I'd become; even from the servants who had once caused me such grievance. The reasons for my quarrels with them now seemed laughably petty. I had spent my life in a world of irrelevances; I saw that then. A world of petty discussions on petty topics with small-minded people who shunned the real world. And with good reason. This was a world I had no wish to experience.
Beside the robot lay a disinfectant jet-brush. This was where I had left the caretaker-servant, I understood. Maybe this was him. And now he was making a pathetic attempt of being my keeper. I broke loose from the heap of junk and moved on through the green murk.
Soon I came to the source of the noxious cloud. A pipe had burst in the road. Some sort of florescent liquid was spilling across the street. Old, haggard robots were doing their best to clean up the mess. Now and then an ignorant Citizen would slosh through the ooze which languished over a blocked drain. Servant-caretakers would chase after them to clean the toxic substances off their protective robes. Holding my sleave up before my face, I rushed around the pool, past a startled Citizen, and down the alleyway on the opposite side of the road. I kept running, and once the green murk had cleared, I crashed against a wall and slid to the ground. I took in the air with rasping gasps. I wiped my face with my sleave. That stuff could not have been good for my complexion. Not that my complexion had ever mattered in the past. Not that it mattered even now. Those who viewed me through a mask saw only the sunken eyes, the pallid skin, the malnutrition of the Moloch.
Then I heard a muffled voice. Someone in a mask. I sprang to my feet, suddenly fearful. A figure in a dirty robe drew closer down the darkened alley. The figure cradled the remains of a small robot. Abruptly, these were dropped. Rusty metal crunched and wires cascaded out of a hole in the four-legged machine, as it hit the cobbles. I recognised the countenance. I knew that countenance anywhere. The thin body, the hunched-up shoulders. That was Yow'Malth; no doubt about it. Only one Citizen would keep the form with which nature had endowed him, and use it for his interface template. The rest of us had other ideas: who could resist, when faced with the option of being able to assume any appearance in the New Order; in the eyes of other Citizens. We could be as beautiful or as shapely as we liked; it made no difference to the Central Servant.
Yow beckoned me to follow him, his mask as featureless; as unreadable as a grey slab of stone. I got up and went over to him.
"Yow'Malth! It is me, Art'Hor!" He stopped, and turned abruptly. Pointed. Mumbled something incomprehensible through his mask. He reached up and pressed a release button. His mask came apart and I gazed upon the same ancient face I had always associated with the Wretched Yow'Malth. But he, on the other hand, had to squint.
"Is it really you? Why, you look so much older than your template!" It was true. I hadn't renewed it since I was twenty-five. That was over ten years ago. I looked at the ground, my face reddening with anger and embarrassment. I stood naked before him. Unmasked, unprotected, open to his every scrutiny. I almost cried for the shame of it.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed firmly. Resolutely.
"Fear not, oh Great Art'Hor. 'Tis not the end of the world just yet. Follow me, and I will take you to a Moloch sanctuary I know of. It was very good to me many years ago." He urged me on. I hesitated. I had no wish to go and die peacefully in a home for drop-outs. I had to obtain a new mask. I had to be reinstated. I had to get home and have a lie-down. "Come along, Art'Hor! We must not dally! The keepers will be on the look-out!" Uncertainly, I followed. We went down the alley. We were headed for the high street. I became nervous at the prospect of seeing so many people. I flinched at the thought of the shame. They would see me and recoil. They would see me and scream with fright. They would see me as I cowered before them. And they might attack, as I had done.
We crossed the high street at a brisk rate. I stared fixedly at the ground. I could hear the mumbled drone of the people as they mulled about among the dirt and rubbish of the market place. The smell of rotten fish and cheap vegetables was prevalent. They made me ravenously hungry. I still hadn't eaten anything. Yow'Malth raised his hands. He held a long staff. He was chanting; warding them off with his intimidating manner. The people stepped aside before him, and I followed, hunched over, holding onto his robes for fear.
We crossed the shattered remnants of a small square. In one dark corner overcast by shadows stood the blackened remains of a dead tree. Under it sat a group of dishevelled paupers. Or so I thought. I looked again. Their garments were decorated with strange patterns. I knew those patterns and told Yow to wait. Slowly, hesitantly, I approached. The group was oblivious to its surroundings; oblivious to me. Thin bodies lay on the cobblestones. Saggy heaps of cloth slumped against each other. They were like old rag dolls. Robes hung loose on inadequate frames. Their tarnished masks looked like they were about to roll off their scrawny necks. They were a group of Lightheads, slowly being consumed by their addiction to illegal programs.
These programs stimulated parts of the brain. Their only limit was the power of the programmer's imagination. They could do anything; provide any form of stimulation or place the Lighthead in any situation possible. Abusers spent their days scowering ancient memory dumps for possible illicit programs. And they needed ever more potent forms of program, as the software slowly numbed the consciousness of the user. Programs literally wore-out the mind. They destroyed axons and brain cells: the stimulation had to be very intense in order to evoke the higher emotions and feelings.
One of the Lightheads had the vague shape of a girl. Her body had wasted away to an alarming extent, but her robes were elaborately decorated below a layer of grime and soot. And I recognised the detail. It was Ly'Star; or at least the shattered remnant that was her presence in the real world. Her interface template made a mockery of her true form. I had to look away. I could bare the sight of the addicts no longer. Yow and I moved on down a cobbled path of darkened dusk and murk. And as we went, I cried for the waste. The waste of it all.

*******

A mask! A mask! My kingdom for a mask! My body, my mind cried out for the bitter-sweet solace of a mask. To hide from the world. To eradicate it, to obliterate the truth from my mind. But there were only as many masks as there were Citizens. They were no longer being manufactured. There were no spares. But live as a Moloch? Till the end of my days? Not that. Never that.
Yow and I progressed through the ruined countryside around Bath Spa. Around us lay hills sprinkled with rubbish, and the odd dying tree. To our left, the waste of man; all that remained of a better, brighter past. To the right, the huge metal towers that were the protein processing plants; man's only remaining source of food, stood shrouded in a hazy mist. Within those tall towers, bacteria were growing fat on hydrogen and other basic elements. These bacteria would be transformed into more palatable meals at a later stage. The sight of the food factory was terrifying. The huge blackened containers were interconnected by a grotesque latticework of pipes, cables and girders, all of which were smothered in a layer of soot and filth. Between the intricate machinery, rubbish and dirt had built up in a crust of human waste.
Two mangy robots had emerged from between the mist-shrouded towers. They acted as keepers, trundling after us at a distance. But we had no real need of them; I was no bother. Thusfar I had gone quietly. But inside of me a voice cried out in an angry rage. The world disgusted me. I wanted no part of this sick existence. I could not go on.
"Yow'Malth!" I cried. "I fear I cannot go to this sanctuary of which you speak!" He stopped abruptly, startling me. He turned.
"Come. Let us take a rest. Let us contemplate." He sat down on a block of concrete to one side of the muddy path. I followed his example. He explained to the robots we were taking a break. Then he turned to me: "I understand your troubles. Believe me, I do. But you cannot return to your abode. You are an outcast, and there is no way back into society. The chronic shortage of masks is an unfortunate necessity--"
"I know all this! I know it! Please! I am grateful for your help, but if it means living as a Moloch, then I cannot accept it." The Central Servant could only support so many individuals. It was in effect a great privilege to be a Citizen. But the New Order dictated that after a while Citizens would be the only people left alive on the planet. The hope was that the Servant would be able to cope with the reduced numbers of men.
"You have no choice, Art'Hor! You must understand that you can no longer live in Bath. You must leave!"
"Then I may as well let the keepers come and take me!"
"That is but one option among many. The house where I would bring you is one of the better facilities. Indoor lavatories, fresh running water and electricity are among its strong points. There would be no need for you to venture out--" I stopped him. I looked into the grey, hooded eyes shrouded in wrinkles.
"You do not understand, Yow. I am determined to be reintegrated. There must be a way." Then it struck me. Yow'Malth had been reintegrated. He had to know a way. "How did you manage it, Yow? How did you become re-instated as a Citizen?" Yow's old eyes looked down at the cobbles. His age lay heavily on his shoulders.
"I inherited this mask. From a Samaritan; from a preacher like myself. And that was the bargain. I had also inherited his function. I had to show the world the folly of its ways; destroy the New Order before 'twas too late." He sighed a melancholy sigh. "But I have failed in my mission, and the world crumbles about me.
"The Central Servant carries on her mission; to care for the Citizens. She is a mindless heroin of duty. Those that created her thought her all-powerful; thought her an unstoppable force which could carry mankind into a fresh world of idealism and hope. But she will soon fail. And without her all shall perish. There is no longer anything I can do. No-one listens anymore, and I am left caring for the fallen remains of the Servant; the remnants which lie unheeded and broken all around. No-one listens, no-one cares." He shook his head sorrowfully. His eyes grew misty. And then he began to cough. He coughed, his scrawny body shaking like a reed. Great shocks consumed him, and he spat yellow phlegm which mingled with the mud. Yow breathed deeply. I patted him on the back. Then a thought struck me. I was suddenly filled with resolution; a strength. I had an aim.
"Yow'Malth! Listen! I have a voice! I am the Great Art'Hor! I can fulfill this aim! I have friends. I have contacts. I ask only that you re-instate me - That you give me your mask." I held my breath. I tried to read his withered face. His eyes grew wide, and he turned to me.
"You would do this? You would want to inherit my position?"
"Of course! I have seen the destruction all around. It is the first time that I see it, and it has had a profound effect on my outlook. Let me take on your duties! Let me take on your shape and preach the downfall of the New Order!"
"'Tis true that I am near the end of my days. It would be nice to finish them where I am not an outcast; where I am welcome. You could not imagine what a great relief it would be to know that my duties were being carried out by my successor." He smiled a toothless smile at me. And agreed that I should inherit his mask.
We did it at the Moloch sanctuary, the rusty robot keepers watching over the Citizen. Shattered men and women all around. I'd never seen anything like it. It was the most depressing sight I have ever witnessed. There was more disease and pestilence in that one small building than in the whole of Bath. Yow gave me the release codes then and there. When the mask was free, I put it on. It adjusted to my head and clamped itself firmly to my scalp, the suckers gently probing to get a firm grip.
"Initiate Great Art'Hor interface template. Verification code zero-alpha-gamma-two-eight-seven-three." I ordered, and the world came alive all around.
> Code verified.
> ID acknowledged.
> Welcome to the New Order, oh Great Art'Hor.
Read the 3-D letters suspended ahead of me.
It was a beautiful world, but at the same time it was terrifying. The derelict Moloch safe-house became a pristine villa in my mind's eye. All the walls were still in the same place, but the plaster had magically renewed itself and the whole building was painted a rather fetching lilac. But the shabby people all around had become Molochs; a rather disconcerting realization, believe me. Their dirty robes became tattered and black; their faces pallid and ferocious. I swallowed to keep my calm. It did not take me long make my excuses. I had places to be, people to see. I wished the old man all the best in his new life.
"Be strong in your new-found duty, my son." he said to me. "May God guide you with a wise hand." He lay serenely on what seemed to me to be a waterbed. I nodded, and left swiftly. It was a long journey back to Bath, and home, and I was hungry.
It felt exquisite to be back in the real world. I had never felt so good in all my life. The sky was bright, the sun was strong, and birdsong filled the air, which was once again as pure as the day it had first been created. I nearly skipped down that path as I made my way home, escorted by two aged, wrinkly servants in green dungarees. And for the first time I truly appreciated the virtual scenery; a row of oak trees on one side, and a golden sea of corn on the other.

*******

I have lived the life of the Moloch. And I am proud to have survived the experience. I now know for sure that I can stomach the real world - I always thought I could. I have no real need for all this escapism. Perhaps one day I will fulfill my promise to old Yow'Malth. But there is no rush. Saving the Central Servant and the human race can wait. I still haven't eaten anything, and I'm famished.
I smile when I think of Rew'Don's luncheon. 'Tis probably still in full swing.