solis

I've decided just to post the whole first chapter in one go. If you missed the start, read my last blog.

Dawn cast its first rays onto the Bytell Private Municipal Library and the sunlight was split into miniature rainbows by the imitation glass windows. Janes woke on the lounge and turned away from the light. His head retained a dull ache. He wanted to instantly go back to sleep but he knew that he wouldn't. Instead, he decided to lay there and not move and try to force his mind back into the depths of unconsciousness. But the sharp sunlight and the pain in his head made it impossible. Opening his eyes, Janes sat up and coughed.
The memory of finishing his diorama came back to him and he felt a warm excitement in his stomach. He dragged himself up and put the coffee pot onto the stove. As the coffee brewed, Janes fixed himself a small bowl of cereal with milk and strawberries. He sliced the strawberries into pieces but left the green ends on. They tasted a bit woody but Janes thought they added a new dimension of healthiness to his breakfast.
The smell of the coffee seemed to dispel the ache in his head and Janes began to think with a clear mind again. No one knew what had been done last night and he meant to keep it that way. He began the deliberate process of erasing the memory from his own consciousness. Blur the shapes, let the images fade - allow the emotional mind to forget.
"Down there, damn was done," he said to himself and thought it again under his breath. Down there damn was done. The wall was forming. Memories receded. Flesh was weak.
Janes sipped his coffee and walked out onto the balcony squinting in the bright morning light. He moved to one end where the awning of the next apartment blocked out the sun. He breathed the crisp air, cold in his lungs. The city was beginning to stir. A taxi was dropping somebody home after a long night. The girl was dishevelled yet still very attractive. She stumbled slightly on the curb but Janes didn't think she was drunk. Possibly there was some residual balance disturbances present, from a psychoactive substance whose primary effects had long worn off. The taxi driver took the girl's money and drove away. Janes watched her as she walked into the building. He sipped his coffee and felt alert.
Far off in the distance Janes could see the morning mists begin to lift above the city and disappear into the early sky. He felt a sudden anticipation of what the day would bring. He noticed a plane taking off and one flying silently over head. The flesh is weak. He heard the thought echo in his mind as the sound of the jet's engines reached him. Janes focused on the rumbling in the sky and watched the plane circle into its landing pattern.

*

Nothing much was said at the office about Janes' diorama. Very professional. Very neat. Architecturally accurate. But nothing more that reflected an achievement above the level of expected competence. Janes tried not to let this disappoint him, but it did. Not a great deal, but he felt the pangs of unrecognised extraordinariness. He was not a particularly egocentric person, but he did like his triumphs to be recognised, if not outwardly praised. His college's reactions seemed to lack real interest. But Janes contented himself with knowing he'd done a superb job.
After the usual boring round of morning meetings and coffee breaks, Janes went to the basement gym to do a little light exercise. Brooke, a good-looking girl from the Finance division, was in the gym running on one of the treadmill machines. Janes had seen her here on a few occasions and had come to be on first-name terms with her.
Brooke finished on the treadmill and stood still for a moment to catch her breath. She noticed Janes and waved. "Hi, Ben."
Janes smiled back at her. "Hi, Brooke," he said as if surprised that she'd suddenly appeared there.
She came over and stood in front of him taking long, deep breaths.
"Can I use that machine?" she said.
To Janes it was a pleasant request. "Sure," he said quickly and stepped away.
"Thanks."
Brooke nudged past him and climbed onto the machine. Janes stood there watching her for a moment, then quickly turned and walked away in no particular direction. He went over to one of the treadmills and started running. His heart rate began to climb and he forgot about Brooke as the focus of a good cardiovascular workout began to narrow. He started to feel the pulse of the blood through his neck, the throb of blood through his temples. Time orientation was affected. Moments spanned and then jumped back and carried on as normal. The lining of his mouth began to dry and stick. He could feel his muscles leaching toxins back into his blood stream. Pain was approaching and Janes wanted it to come. But when it did, he didn't want it anymore and he started to slow and then stop.
When he looked up, Janes noticed that Brooke was watching him. She just smiled and looked away. He took some long breaths and felt his heart rate return to normal. He thought about continuing but got a sudden feeling of pointlessness and decided to return to his office.

Janes yawned as he checked his messages. There were none. He was relieved and decided to have another coffee. He thought more caffeine would pick up his spirits. Hot and black.
Janes took his coffee and sat back on his reclining office chair. The cushion fabric stretched and made a relaxing sound. He thought about how well his model library would perform at the stakeholder's conference that afternoon. Miniature buildings always impressed the general public so Janes discounted their opinion. It was the opinion of his peers that really mattered. He reflected on the thought and it seemed to freeze in his mind and make itself into a solid shape. He looked at it - It was the opinion of his peers that really mattered. The thought seemed profound in some way. Something important was contained within that statement but knowledge of it was completely inaccessible to him. The thought fractured and went. Nothing was left but a vague sense of wonder and perhaps a lost revelation.
There was a knock at his door. Janes swivelled around. "Come in."
Brooke entered the room dressed, again, in her suit. Janes was surprised to see her as their paths had never had occasion to cross during work duties before. He tried to anticipate why she was here, but he couldn't think of any reason.
"Hi, again," Brooke said and shut the door.
"Hi. What can I do for you?" Janes removed his feet from the desk
"I need you for something." She slumped down onto a couch at the side of the office.
"Right," Janes said and waited for more.
"I need you to build me a diorama."
Janes wasn't sure what to say after that. He stared at her legs for a moment and then said, "What?"
"It's a bit of a long story, but I have to build a diorama for a competition and I thought you could do it for me so that I win."
Brooke took some jellybeans from the bowl next to the couch and started putting them in her mouth one by one.
Janes said, "What sort of diorama is it?"
"It has to be rude," Brooke said with a mouthful of jellybeans.
Janes scratched his hair then put his hands behind his head.
"Rude in what way?"
"Anyway," Brooke replied and swallowed the mass of jellybeans in her mouth.
"Wouldn't it be cheating if I do it for you?" he asked.
"I don't care about cheating. I just want to win and you make cool dioramas."
Janes felt a spark of pride ignite in his chest. Brooke suddenly seemed even more gorgeous. "Wow, thanks," he said.
Brooke stood up. "So will you do it for me?" she asked.
"Yeah, ok."
"Cool. How about we get together tomorrow and get started. I'll start thinking of ideas."
"Alright. Just come and get me when you want to do it," Janes said as Brooke was leaving.
"Ok." The door closed and he watched her as she walked past the glass wall of the office.
Janes swivelled around on his chair for a few minutes and sipped his coffee. His thoughts were nondescript but pleasant. Then he remembered the presentation he was due to deliver in a little over two hours. He felt his confidence had been boosted and began looking forward to the conference.

*

That night Janes had another headache. He put it down to the cumulative stress of the day. The presentation went well, though it was still very stressful. Something else was stressing him. He took four C30 tablets and swallowed them with a glass of water. When he had finished, he filled the glass again and drank it. It was evening but for some reason it felt like not quite before dawn. Janes sat down on his lounge and put his feet up.
The faint sound of music came from a nearby apartment. It did not disturb him and Janes found himself enjoying it. Music relaxed him greatly if it was right. Loud music, and particularly music where the loudness fluctuated a lot, tended to be irritating to him. Slowly modulating sounds could produce a type of pleasure like no other. The right music made him enjoy sound.
Janes closed his eyes and felt as if he was being turned into a cartoon drawing. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling and he appreciated the moving lines and scribbles. Something was forming inside him, twisting without pain or discomfort. His hands reached and grabbed a handful of air. He knew there was nothing there. He waited but couldn't tell what he was waiting for. Something had happened to him and he knew that it would continue. Things were growing inside him. Things cellular. Each second he felt renewed. He could feel his own cells divide and replicate themselves. "Each must be a perfect copy", he thought. "Any mutation could be fatal."
Janes felt himself drift. He felt as if he was drifting within his own shadow. Completely black but with sharp lines of delineation. An uneasiness crept about him and he suddenly felt in a rush. What was it he had to remember? It didn't seem that there was anything he was supposed to remember. But why the memory? He wondered what he'd taken but it seemed like he hadn't taken anything. Nothing was beginning to make sense. It was just nothing and Janes started to worry. What about my job? He asked. I have people who count on me. My life is still important to some people. The memory of happiness remained but seemed like history. Like an event that had passed.
The C30 soon put him to sleep and he dreamt of ancient Rome and the people who lived then.

*

Brooke wasn't at work the next day. Janes inquired casually about her whereabouts in the tea-room and learned she had phoned in sick. He was disappointed. The quiet excitement he had been feeling all morning disappeared. His anticipation had been dashed. He prepared himself for an average day.
The day was average up until 3pm when Brooke phoned him. It took Janes a moment to realise who it was. "How are you?" he asked.
"I'm fine,' Brooke said. " Can you come to my place after work to start the diorama?"
"Yeah. Where do you live?"
Janes wrote down her address and said he would be there at six.
At 5:15 he packed up and left the office. He had decided to take a taxi to Brooke's place to avoid getting lost. It was still light when he arrived.
Brooke answered the door wearing a faded pink t-shirt and tracksuit pants. The t-shirt was so long it looked almost like a dress, Janes thought. He said hello and came inside. The apartment looked warm and comfortable. The floor was wooden and covered mostly with thick rugs. Only a few spaces of bare wooden boards were visible. Janes took his coat off. "It's nice and warm in here,' he said.
"Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?" Brooke asked.
"Sure. Coffee thanks."
"Have a seat. How do you have your coffee?"
"Milk, without sugar," Janes replied as he made himself comfortable on one of the lounge chairs.
The chair was made of a furry blue fabric which felt unusually soft. Brooke had disappeared into the kitchen and Janes sat there quietly and cast his eyes around the room. There was an ornate ashtray on the coffee table which gave him the urge to have a cigarette. It looked unused and he wondered if it was there for decorative purposes only. He had not known Brooke to smoke but he didn't know much about her at all really. She was standing at the kitchen doorway now and Janes looked over at her and wondered how long she'd been standing there watching him.
"The coffee's on its way," Brooke said, smiling.
"Do you smoke?" Janes asked her.
"Only when I'm drunk," she said and laughed.
"How often is that?"
"Not often enough. I don't socialise very much."
Janes stared at her for a moment.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Twenty-three."
A whistling sound started and Brooke went into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with two cups of coffee and set them down on the coffee table. Janes reached for his. "Thanks."
"How old are you?" Brooke asked.
"I'm thirty-three," Janes said.
"You look younger. I would have guessed twenty-eight."
"Can I smoke?"
"If you want."
Janes took out his packet of cigarettes. "Do you want one?"
"Ok."
They both lit a cigarette each. Brooke tapped some ash into the ashtray and took a sip from her cup of coffee.
Janes felt himself relax as he inhaled the smoke and only now realised how tense he had been. The coffee tasted strong and milky. He sipped it several times and took another drag of his cigarette. He was now thinking that Brooke's t-shirt may well be a dress after all. A sort of comfortable night gown. There were some spots of white paint on it.
"So tell me about this diorama," Janes said.
"Well, I want it to be kind of bulbous. Something with no sense of proportion. You know what I mean?"
"Not really," Janes said honestly.
"Like the elephant man, but not grotesque. Maybe involving several penises."
Janes knew that she wasn't trying to amuse him.
"Why does it have to be rude?" he asked.
Brooke smiled again and was silent for a moment. "I don't want to tell you that," she said.
Janes couldn't figure her out. For some reason she had become less attractive to him but he couldn't work out why. He sipped his coffee and looked around the room. Now he noticed more of the detail. Several paintings on the wall seemed to be hung deliberately crooked. Janes saw Brooke's name at the bottom of the paintings and knew they were her own. He had no ability to judge the quality of them. Perhaps they were masterpieces or simply mediocre. Nothing he saw in them could indicate anything to him. He decided not to comment on them.
"It sounds to me what you're wanting is more like a sculpture than a diorama," he said.
"Maybe," Brooke said, thinking.
"I have no talent for sculpture," Janes said as if it was a matter of fact.
"Aren't dioramas like sculptures?"
"Not really. What you're doing with dioramas is trying to represent reality in miniature. There's no quality judgements involved. Not in an artistic sense, anyway. It's not an art form anymore than the building of the actual structure is an art form."
"But architecture is considered an art."
"The design of it is, but the building of it is just a mechanical task. Just like building the diorama. I don't design these things. I just make models of them."
"Well I'm pretty artistic," Brooke said. "Maybe with my design skills and your model-making skills we can come up with something."
"Where do you want to build this thing?" he asked her.
"Here, I guess."
Janes thought a moment and then said, "There'll be more materials at my apartment. I have quiet a good workspace. We could do it there, if you want."
"Ok. We'll go now and get something to eat on the way."
"Alright," Janes said as Brooke jumped up and went into another room.

*


Janes awoke on the lounge and felt a pain in his neck as he twisted to sit up. He rubbed his shoulder and pressed against the muscle. He was awake and his head was hurting again. Cold air was coming into the apartment from somewhere.
Janes stood up and walked around. He couldn't find the source of the cold air and thought it must just be cold everywhere. He put on a pot of coffee and took some C30.
The kitchen was a mess. Brooke and he had ended up having sex on the kitchen floor and flour was spilt. He remembered the chalky feeling between his toes. Brooke said she'd had fun and wanted to do it again. Janes wanted to do it again, too.
There was a mass of half-painted blobs of paper machete and coloured putty on his workbench. The sight amused him. Work had stopped on the diorama soon after it had started when they began the sexual act. Janes couldn't even remember what they had been planning to make. He remembered vague sketches and concepts but nothing that gave any sense of the overall design.
He drank his coffee and felt like having a cigarette but knew it would make his head worse. He lit one anyway and sat at the table. The filter felt spongy in his lips. He realised that the C30 was starting to interfer with his tactile perceptions. There was a sense of purpose about his brain. Molecules were doing things. He began to lose knowledge of his current thoughts. One seemed to disappear into another. His thoughts became images which flashed and faded into his mind. He saw Brooke belly dancing on top of him. He saw his tongue roll over her bare chest. The feeling of her warm skin against his stomach seemed to materialise and turn to image form before his eyes.
Janes rubbed his eye. Awareness of the present returned. The kitchen needed cleaning but he would do that later. Right now he wanted to have a bath. It was almost time to leave for work and he didn't want to be late. Time for a bath and a shave and he would have some breakfast when he got to work.

At the entrance to the Bytell building, Janes stopped to get his leather-bound diary out of his briefcase. He felt more important with it in his hand for others to see. As he was about to continue up to his office, he noticed Brooke walking through the glass turning doors. He waited as she approached him.
Janes smiled and was about to say hello but stopped short as a feeling of wrongness came over him. Brooke seemed to look though him as if he was a total stranger and of no significance what-so-ever. He wasn't sure if it was intentional or not. Maybe she didn't want to be the subject of office gossip. Maybe she just didn't see him.
It puzzled him and unnerved him a little. Janes thought for a moment to call out to her but decided it best to say nothing. He watched her enter a lift and disappear into the huddled crowd.
Janes thought as he brewed his morning coffee and prepared a light breakfast. He sat at his desk and figured that Brooke would be in her office by now. He picked up the phone and dialled her extension.
"Hello, Brooke Taylor speaking."
"Hi, it's Ben." Janes smiled involuntarily. There was silence.
"Yes? What do you want?" Her voice carried an uncomfortable pressure.
"I just was wondering if you meant not to see me downstairs."
"If I what?"
"In the foyer? You walked past me."
"I don't want to talk to you anymore."
The line went dead. Janes put down the handset. He was even more puzzled now. He suddenly couldn't eat his light breakfast and he physically pushed it aside. He took a larger than usual gulp of his coffee and almost scolded his throat.
Janes began to feel dizzy and a pain pounded through his head from the dose of caffeine. The discomfort was brief and he began to feel ok again after a few moments. He felt like something was skipping through his brain making itself seen for brief instants before blinking out of sight. He began to snatch at it with increasing urgency.
"There is an explanation for this," Janes thought. He decided to focus on his work for the day and put Brooke out of his mind completely.

*

During his lunch break, Janes went down to one of the designated smoking areas. He lit up among a handful of other smokers. The air was a lot crisper out here, he thought. The air-conditioned offices tended to stuff up as the day went on. Janes puffed on his smoke and quietly listened to the conversations of the other people. He relaxed and felt a natural warmth come into him.
After his smoke, Janes went to see Brooke in her office. She was at her desk talking to someone on the phone. Janes came inside and shut the door. She acknowledged him but did not stop her conversation.
Janes sat down on the couch and looked at her. He could see, under the desk, Brooke's legs and the edges of her skirt. She swivelled on her chair as if to turn away from his gaze.
Brooke finished the phone call and took off the headset. She looked at him sharply.
"What the fuck do you want?" she said.
"You're acting really strange."
"I'm acting strange?" He could almost hear her words before they were spoken.
"Didn't you say that you had fun last night and you wanted to do it again?" he asked.
"I want you to leave my office now or I will call for security." Brooke pointed to the door as if the gesture could literally move him.
Janes was at a loss for words. Quietly, he got up and left the office closing the door slowly behind him. Janes stood in the corridor for a moment and tried to gather his thoughts. His head felt heavy and tired and he just wanted to lie down.

The mission statement was an important talking point at the afternoon meeting that day. Janes was completely disinterested in the matter and felt some of his colleges were silly for taking the thing seriously. He began to daydream about being on a mission to Mars to build dioramas of the geological structures there. His thoughts were interrupted by the Acting-Finance manager asking Janes' opinion on the topic.
"I think Mission Statements are very important to some people," Janes said with an ambiguous tone. "What is good to one person often isn't so to another." Janes was quiet as though his contribution was complete.
The Acting-Finance manager pointed a finger at Janes and said, "You're a waste of space!"
Nothing seemed of any consequence at that moment. His colleges were like chattering monkeys performing basically instinctual actions. Janes felt detached from it all and was grateful for it. He was a passive observer outside the frame of present reality. So where did that leave him? He was nowhere, not in reality but not apart from it either.
Time passed quickly and the meeting was over before Janes realised it. He left the boardroom and headed back to his office.
In his office, Brooke was sitting on the couch. Janes said nothing to her as he came in and closed the door. He walked around his desk and sat down. The silence was not uncomfortable and Brooke seemed to recline a little and look around the room. Janes stared at her, as if they were in a play and he was waiting for Brooke to say her lines.
"I'm sorry for my earlier behaviour," she said after a long while. "I haven't been feeling myself lately. I did have fun. I'd like to see you again tonight."
Janes didn't say anything.
"I could come over at about eight and we could finish the diorama."
"Ok," Janes said finally.
Brooke got up, smiled at him and left the room. Janes sat there thinking to himself for a long time.

*

One of the problems Janes had with the diorama was its sense of space. He turned his head around the thing and then moved his body around the table, adjusting his perspective from time to time. In the corner, Brooke was sitting on the floor with her legs pulled up against her body and her arms wrapped around her shins. She wasn't happy with the diorama, though she gave no outward sign of it. Her face had a pensive look about it and Janes had assumed she was quietly pleased with their work.
After a moment, Janes took a putty knife and twisted it in his hand a few times, rubbing his thumb along the wooden handle. He stared at the diorama with purpose and his eyes narrowed. He stopped, and for a moment froze in space and felt all mechanisms of movement shut off in his body, suddenly and completely.
Time still passed but Janes did not move and Brooke began to notice the complete stillness in him. She tightened her arms around her legs and felt the muscles in her calves and thighs ache with involuntary tension. A chill began at the base of her spine and wriggled up her back.
Janes flicked the knife with one sharp movement and sliced into the diorama, shaving off half a pound of clay.
Brooke rose from the floor and walked to the workbench slowly. Janes felt complete confidence in his action. He remained quiet and looked at Brooke to judge her reaction.
Without knowing why, Brooke instantly knew that the diorama had been improved. She looked at Janes and said, "Nice."
"Thanks. I'm not sure I liked it the other way."
"Yeah," Brooke said and paused. "Me neither."
"I think it's finished," Janes said and put down the putty knife.
"I think so, too. But I usually have to give myself a few hours to make sure. Sometimes something seems to be perfect, and then in a few hours it seems to have changed. Does it change? Or do we change? Do you know what I mean?"
Janes knew what she meant and he indicated so. Brooke went to the lounge and sat down. She was still staring at the diorama. Janes went to the kitchen and asked Brooke if she wanted a cup of coffee.

They sat on the lounge and sipped coffee, occasionally glancing over at the diorama.
"Do you think it will win?" Janes said.
"I hope so. We've done a good job anyway." Brooke looked away from the diorama and turned to Janes.
"Do you have any cigarettes?" she asked.
"Yeah, you want one." Janes reached into his jacket on the side of the lounge and found his cigarettes in one of the pockets. He took two out and handed one to Brooke.
"Thanks."
Janes lit her cigarette with a match and then lit his own. He shook the match out and tossed it into the ashtray.
"I thought you only smoke when you're drunk," he said.
"So let's get drunk."
Brooke stood up and puffed on her cigarette. "What have you got to drink?" She started walking to the kitchen.
"There's some vodka in the freezer," Janes called out. "And some orange juice in the fridge. I don't think I've got any ice." Janes stood up and walked to the workbench.
He still thought the diorama was complete and knew he would not alter his opinion. Brooke returned carrying the vodka bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other with the bottle of orange juice under her arm. She quickly put the vodka down and shook her hand, rubbing it up and down her thigh.
"Why do you keep the vodka in the freezer," she asked and set down the glasses and the bottle of juice.
"I don't know," Janes said and made his way back to the lounge. "Someone told me vodka should be kept in the freezer, so I've done it ever since. But I forget why you're supposed to do that."
Brooke poured them both a vodka and orange with a generous proportion of vodka. Janes took his and they both had a drink. Brooke winced a bit and smiled.
"I think I put too much vodka in," she said.
Janes felt the shot of vodka hit his stomach and form there, as if into a solid, heavy weight. He laughed and said, "Well, we do want to get drunk, don't we?"
Brooke finished her drink all at once and coughed at the strength of the alcohol. Janes felt like he should do the same and gulped down the rest of his. They both laughed and Brooke said, "You can pour the next round."
Janes poured some more drinks and they finished those almost as quickly as the first. Brooke stood up and went to the workbench a little unsteady on her feet. Janes watched her walk and thought for a second she was going to tip over. She wandered around the diorama, staring at it.
"It makes me horny," she said.
Janes was instantly aroused. He was unable to think of anything appropriate to say.
"It's like fucking taken and made into an image you can look at and touch," she said.
Janes started to pour himself another drink.
"Do you want another one?" he asked.
"Yes," Brooke said and came over to the lounge again. She didn't sit down but stood in front of him, still looking over at the diorama.
Janes handed her a drink and she took it without taking her eyes off the diorama.
"How does it make you feel?" she asked him.
"It's not so much of a feeling for me. More of a physical reaction. In the muscles and tendons."
"You don't get any emotional feeling from it?"
"Maybe a sense of revulsion," he said.
"Revulsion?" Brooke stared at him genuinely puzzled. "Don't you think it's spiritual?"
"Only in an abominable sense."
Brooke looked at him as if he'd said a strange thing. On reflection, Janes did think it was a strange thing to say. But he felt a bit strange and the comment seemed appropriate.
"You're fairly hot," Brooke said.
"Thanks. You're really sexy too," Janes said without thinking.
The silence was arousing.
Brooke was swaying slightly and Janes noticed the movements of her clothes. The air in the room was cold and he felt a shiver over his skin. She was speaking to him silently. Flesh is weak.
He heard the words whispering in his mind. Brooke began to move forward.
Twisting, he moved her onto the lounge as she wrapped herself tightly around his body. He lifted her leg up to his mouth and licked her ankle. The bottom of her feet seemed to be covered in sand. Janes knew there was no sand in his apartment.
Brooke's leg seemed to take on a sun-tanned feel. She was wearing a red and white poker-dot bikini. The suntan lotion was gliding up her smooth legs and absorbing into the skin.
Her skin was warm and the smoothness astonished him. In the distance, he could hear the cry of an old gull. They used to meet where those old gulls play, he thought.
He could see the lines of discord.
Flesh was weak.
Something was coming. Nothing he knew of could stop it.
"There may be ways unknown," he said aloud.
Brooke was too busy enjoying the hot sun to hear him. He looked down at her perfectly formed body.
"There may be ways unknown," he said to her.
Janes was beginning to realise something was wrong. He looked at Brooke and her clarity was fading. He knew of no explanation.
The salt air began to crystallise in his mouth. He thought he was going to be sick.
Brooke was sand. He collapsed into her and felt a choking sensation as his lungs filled with earth.
What had he done? What had he done?
After the last breathe of consciousness left him, Janes drifted into a deep and heavy sleep. The world was heavy. He didn't know how the world could be so heavy. It seemed impossible. Yet there is was. Impossibly heavy. The heaviest thing is the universe. Worlds were heavy.
Janes let it be so.
He stopped his efforts to fathom the heaviness of worlds. He could roam in the green and blue fields as he pleased.
"Gods tread this earth", he thought to himself. "What am I doing out here? Where are my kin?"

*

The next day, Janes found an internal envelop in his pigeon hole. He took it into his office and opened it.
Inside was a note from Brooke. The note simply said that she did not want to see him anymore. Janes picked up the phone and called her office.
"It's Ben. Can I talk to you for a minute," he said when Brooke answered.
"What about?" she asked sharply.
"Why don't you want to see me anymore?"
"I don't want to have to explain that to you."
"Why not?" he asked puzzled.
"I told you I don't want to talk about it. I'm hanging up now."
The phone line went silent after a harsh click. Janes held the handset against his ear for a moment and then put it down with some frustration in his movements.
He considered ringing Brooke back, but didn't. There seemed no point to it. One of the florescent tube lights in the ceiling began to flicker. The effect was irritating. He looked at it and wished it would just go off altogether. There would still be plenty of light in the room without it. But the tube continued to flicker with a soft buzzing sound. Something was wrong with the electrical connections. Janes picked up the phone and reported the fault to the maintenance division.

*

"Can I see the designs?" Janes asked, sitting opposite the head of the Robotics Division.
"That's the problem. We don't have the development funds for a professional architect. But we're pretending we do. If the board knew we didn't have a professional architect, they wouldn't take the project seriously."
Bill Gross leaned across the desk and waved a pudgy finger at Janes. "But they can be fooled! Just like everyone else. We're fooling them into thinking we have a talented young architect named Anson Dowling on the team. He comes from a little known school of Architectural Design in the Northwest. The Menson Institute." Gross sat back in his chair and exhaled slowly through his nose. "None if it can be verified, of course," he said. "But the board aren't interested in details."
Janes asked, "If you can't even get the development funds, how are you going to get the money to actually build it?"
"That's the easy part," Gross said. "Once the Board members see something in miniature that they like, that excites them, they'll want to see it built."
Gross flicked through a folder on his desk and took out a sheet of thick paper. It looked like a laminated certificate of some kind. He handed it across the desk to Janes.
"Put that up in your apartment somewhere," Gross said.
Janes looked at the certificate. It was an award from the Menson Institute of Architectural Design for excellence in technical drawing. The award was made out to Anson Dowling. Janes looked up at Gross with surprise.
"You want me to be the architect?"
"That's right," Gross said. "Rodney Joyce tells me you could pass for a pretty good architect." Gross closed the folder and poured himself a glass of water.
"I'm not sure," Janes said after a moment. "I left the Academy before my training was over. I've had no experience with real projects. I can build things in miniature from designs, but I don't know if I can actually design a building."
"Would you be willing to give it a go?" Gross asked.
"I guess there's no reason why I shouldn't. But what if it's a failure?"
Gross drank from his glass and shrugged his shoulders. "Just do your best," he said plainly. "You'll have to work quickly so McClelland doesn't get suspicious. How long does a normal model take to build?"
"It depends on the size of the construction. Anything from a week to a month or two."
"We can introduce some unexpected delays to buy us more time," Gross said. "Do you have enough technical skill to make the designs look authentic, you know, professional?"
"I think so," Janes said. "What's the complex actually for?"
"That's classified I'm afraid. But generally speaking, it's going to be a centre for research."
Janes considered the idea for a moment and questions began flooding through his mind.
"Where do I start," he said. "Won't I need some kind of knowledge of what is needed?"
"We'll give you the rough square footage, but the rest is up to you."
Janes looked unsatisfied with his answer.
Gross said, "The details aren't important. It's the overall sense of it that has to catch them. The interior isn't your concern. We just need a structure that makes people want to see it built."
Janes cast his eye over the Menson Institute award.
"Is this a real person?" he asked.
"No," Gross said. "I just made it up. But the school is real. When we're around other people, I'll refer to you as Anson. Try not to let the cat out of the bag."

Janes left the Robotics division with a sense of newness. He worked his way back to his own office and began to make a cup of coffee. He picked up the telephone and rang McClelland. The answering machine intercepted his call as Janes expected.
"It's Janes here. I'm going home to start work on this new project for the Robotics division. I might not be in for a few days. Call me at home if you need me." He hung up his phone and drank his coffee before leaving.

*

Anson Dowling was an unusual name to get used to. Janes had never had to pretend to be somebody else before. His workbench would need to be cleaned down before he could start. There was enough material to begin a foundation and he would have time to get other materials later. In an earlier time, he would have wanted all his materials before he started.
He began to clear the workbench and suddenly realised that he had no plans. He was used to having completed designs before he started a job. Now he didn't have any designs. He would have to do them first.
Janes sat down at his desk and started thinking about the design. He tried to get a sense of the type of diorama he wanted to build. A sudden awareness came to him. He was not designing a diorama. He was designing an actual building. The thought boggled his mind at first. Janes took a piece of charcoal and sat there thinking. The emptiness of the white paper looked solid. Janes flicked some lines across it. An idea came to him. Arches would be important. Spanning space. Nothing would seem safe without them.
He sketched on the paper and the images flowed. They were the beginnings of a design unlike anyone had seen before.

*

Sheer surfaces were something Janes usually liked, but he had made the conscious decision to exclude them completely from his design. Without sheer surfaces, the space would seem more filled.
He had the intention to give the structure a natural curve away from the more traditional sharp lines. A tendency to think in more conventional ways was something that the Academy had instilled in Janes during his time there. He had been taught that some things were inherently wrong. But Janes had never accepted that view. He thought that something is wrong only if its effects are wrong. The key was to remove all wrongness while retaining the vision in his design.
Janes continued to sketch on the white paper. Curves began forming out of straightness. The straightness was there, but was not perceived. He quietly forgot about the concept of inherent wrongness and started to enjoy his work.
The sun was shining on him from the balcony doors casting a sharp shadow onto the back wall. There was a lot of dust in the air which made columns of bright light spaning the room. Several hours had past before Janes was satisfied that the surfaces were starting to curve in the right way. They were bending as Janes wanted them to bend. Straightness was gone. Its absence filled the space just as he intended it to.
The apartment was quiet and a peaceful atmosphere pervaded the room. Janes enjoyed the solitude. The sun had risen above his balcony roof and the columns of bright dust were no longer visible. The air in the room was clear again but Janes knew the dust was still there. Only the light had disappeared. The dust remained.
The dust remained.
Janes breathed it. The dust remained.
"The dust remains," he thought. It settled in his mind. What am I doing out here?
A wave of warm air rushed over him. Heat was radiating onto him from an unseen source. There was something else unseen.
All through his mind Janes sensed an uneasiness. A disturbing presence.
"What was it unseen?"
Janes thought about the dust in the air. The dust remains.
A sudden image flashed into focus. Fields of red, stretching out before him. A weight in the sky shimmered with a menacing glow. Its presence was felt. Movement in the landscape was absent. No change of any kind was visible.
"There may be changes unseen," Janes said to himself.
"Where are my kin?"
A noise was irritating him. Janes picked up a pattern to it. Recurring modulations of sound, sharp and empty. Was there a variation?
Unknown forces seemed to be at work around him. Things seemed to be happening beyond his control. Something was occurring outside his field of perception.
Slowly, and by degrees, the world crumbled under its own weight.