And I looked inside of Venus.
At first, all was a fog, a swirling of darkness that the light beam cut into fragments. And then the beam would bounce off the inside of the globe, and cross over itself, and where it crossed, a side beam would shoot out. In a few seconds the whole of the inside of the sphere was rilled with these crisscrossing beams of light. So many of them now, they made a spectrum embrace; a meeting at the centre, where the lights fused into colour.
And inside the colours, an image started to form, giving shape to a woman's face. A woman's face I had seen before, in one of the picture books at school. The last supervisor! She was trying to speak to me…
Just then I heard Flo shouting from the doorway, and I thought Tom must've woken up or something, heard a noise perhaps, the woman's voice, or else he'd noticed the beam of light. And the next thing was Janet screaming, and pulling me off the stool.
I was on the floor, with Janet beside me, and Flo running over towards us. And there, rising up on what was left of his spindly legs, Oris the Robot was jabbing at my body with the electric needle and then I was screaming as well, especially when I saw Tom Sharpsaw standing over me, shaking his head in a fearsome rage…
All this has come back to me, because Tom Sharpsaw died recently. He never did make it out of the town, and now his body is just one more occupant of the graveyard. We drifted apart after the incident I've just described, and pretty soon after that he shut the doors of the Vanishing Palace once and for all. He more or less closed himself up in there, only coming out for food, or for the occasional stealing trip. Eventually even those stopped, and we never saw much of him at all. And that was an end to playing the Intravenus.
I went to the funeral, I'm not sure why. I was the only person there. He meant a lot to me, I suppose, when I was a kid, and certainly my life without him became very boring. I work for the council now, processing the Factory's products. That was never a part of my youthful fantasies, was it? But still, we do know a lot more about the place these days, and about the mysterious fourth fence, the one within our minds. I think Tom was a kind of escape, just in his company, maybe that's it. But standing there amongst the rain-spattered tombstones, I couldn't help but look over to where the Vanishing Palace shadowed the thin, dying rays of the sun. The building was in a terrible state; the windows boarded up, holes in the roof where a few birds fluttered to and fro, the whole thing dusted with cobwebs.
What can I say? It was a simple job to work the mechanisms of the lock. Some skills you never lose. Opening the door, it was like going back twenty years, but the sight that greeted me was altogether a shock. The whole amusement arcade had been taken over by the machines. I couldn't say there was a definite number of them any more, because Tom had joined them all together, over time, into one giant apparatus. It was a game beyond all rules, and I could only wonder at the controlling loneliness that had produced this monster.
I turned on the overhead lights. Luckily, the electricity was still working. I stood then, in silent amazement at the sight. The room was filled, wall to wall, with the game. Pipes and wires sprouted here and there, in seemingly random display; wheels waited to turn; fanbelts were stretched over pulleys and cogs; levers were poised; gyroscopes were balanced on the horizon's edge. And there, at the very centre, was the suspended globe of the Intravenus.
I found myself remembering Tom's words about the Big Product, and how we would all escape the town once we had helped the Factory build it.
Was this the Escaping Game?
A sudden noise startled me. Something scuttled from behind a part of the machine. It was Oris, the Robot. I saw that he had only three legs left. He stood somewhat awkwardly on this tripod, watching me, expectantly. So I walked over to the counter, found the coin box. For the second time in my life, I picked the lock on it. The special coin was there, waiting, with a note. It read, 'Here you go, girl.'
There was no clear path to the Intravenus machine, I had to clamber over various pieces of apparatus. Of course, I had no need of a stool this time, the viewing aperture was exactly level with my sight. I wasn't even sure if the game was finished yet. Knowing Tom, it never quite would be. Perhaps that was my job now?
The coin slid easily into the slot. The beam of light was fired, and all around me the vast engine of the Vanishing Palace stirred into noisy, clanking life.
I set my eye to ignition.
ORGMENTATIONS
William Meta Meta III, artificial hair on hire, last night threw a sparkle party. Strictly Robots Only trumpeted the invite, but the Zoom Lens Maganauts managed an elegant gate-crash. Everybody, but everybody was there, and much sport was had by one and all. Machines both famous and flirtatious were seen in various states of undress and dismantlement. The Clan of Squeaky Clean made a frightful mess of table nine. Lady Swankish, she of the troubled Baby Metal Company, left various parts of herself in the trifle. (Dark gossip was told of DJ Pixel Juice.) Entertainment was provided, at table, by a newcomer to the scene, one Tony Tango, a magician of sorts. (Dark gossip so fast so deep.) He turned the wine into oil, which was drunk with glee. The Glee was supplied free of charge by RoboVaz International. (Let loose! Let loose!) Mucho sucking of the Vurt feathers, including a rather delightful pink, that caused an automated orgy to break out. (Hands of the DJ move around move around.) We can only guess at the cleaning bills! But quite the best part of the evening took place when Benji Spike showed off his latest 'cyborgmentation' collection. This self-styled Avant Primitive really has got the demi-mondo in thrall. (Landscapes of scratch.) Young models of stainless-steel beauty clanked up and down the catwalk, stripping off in tempo to the new Lab Test Residue album. (Hands of the DJ sonic bloom.) Oh the sight of so much naked burnished chrome fair dazzled the eyes! One shining boy of non-specific machinery had a human index finger pierced through his lower lip. (Such noise such crackle such slither!) Another, a female of the Paradroid species, had a human eye, still gazing! set dead centre in her polished brass tongue. Eyes and ears and nipples and navels, all carefully harvested from fully paid-for volunteers, were seen in gorgeous contrast against the sheen of metal skin. (Hands of the DJ wet to the traces.) We could go on, but the most impressive aspect of the collection was the advanced use of the new anti-decay fluids. (Rapid fire fingertronics.) These human parts were still alive, so well preserved were they. Benji Spike claims they will last for up to six weeks, before the stench becomes rather too unsociable. How marvellous! (Let loose! Let loose!) But we save the • best for last. Imagine our delight to see mounted stylishly upon the platinum breasts of a young she-robot - yes! - a fully extended human penis! (Dark gossip so fast so deep.) Bravo, Monsieur Spike! (Hands of the DJ move around.) Oh, dear sweet reader, you really should have been there!
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