[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 5: The Control Room
Thribble flitted through the corridors of Haven, blending with the shadows when he could, and occasionally popping into his netherworld cubby-hole in order to avoid detection. Although he lacked many of the more showy, impressive and downright dangerous talents possessed by his larger kin, he was a true demon nonetheless, with the heightened senses of all of his kind, and even a few trifling magical competencies.
It was a simple matter for Thribble to follow the scent trail left by Terrence and Deeks, and he could even see the heat traces of their footprints. From what he had overheard in the dining hall, the Technicians were on their way to the 'Control Room', where they were to subject Grimm and his companions to 'Phase Two Pacification', whatever that was.
The minute demon's stumpy legs were ill-suited to attempting to match the pace of the long-legged humans, so he proceeded by a frenetic series of hops, covering several inches at a time, but keeping himself well out of sight of the Technicians. He felt very relieved to reach the door marking the end of the trail. Thribble was puffing hard by the time he did so, his breath coming in piping gasps.
Although the door handle was well out of the demon's reach, and he could hardly have entered without drawing attention to himself if he had been able to access it, Thribble found it easy to gain access to the room. He hopped into his intra-dimensional hiding-place and moved a mere four inches, all the room the bubble had to spare, and then returned to the mortal world. The demon's nose materialised a mere half-inch away from the door, but he was on the right side of it.
Thribble found the Control Room a confusing place, indeed. The metal walls bore a bewildering profusion of strange clocks and patterns of dancing lights. Thribble marvelled at a series of endless belts carrying paper, across which metal styli danced and wiggled without the intervention of human hands. Black cables snaked across the perforated floor and disappeared into holes in various metal wall panels and boxes, and further ropes hung like vines from the ceiling. There were numerous tables and cabinets covered with strange paraphernalia, and an insistent chattering noise seemed to pervade the entire chamber.
Straining his ears to the utmost, the demon heard the faint voices of Terrence and Deeks; he never forgot a voice once he had heard it. The forest of black ropes and the maze of cabinets provided him with ample cover as he approached them. Terrence was calling off numbers and letters from a sheet of paper on a clipboard. Deeks had his sleeves rolled up and was pushing the metal ends of cables into holes on some of the strange machines.
"I'll tell you, Terrence, I've just about had it with this life," Deeks complained. "The last woman I had was six years ago in Griven, and I had to pay for it. Some good-looking girl waltzes in, and guess what? Armitage takes her for himself. There ought to be a lottery or something, I say."
Terrence tapped his pen on the clipboard and raised his voice in evident annoyance. "C-204 sync out to EC-90 ext CK enable, Deeks. Is that quite clear, or does the constant whining of your overactive libido somehow drown out my voice?"
With a sullen snort, the portly Technician rammed the gleaming appendage at one end of a yellow cable into a hole on one box-like machine, and the other into one of the clock-infested wall panels. "C-204 sync out to EC-90 ext CK enable, check," was the bored, listless response. Terrence made a check mark on his paper.
"Set EC-90 MODE control to SLAVE EXT," the senior Technician called out.
"EC-90 MODE control, SLAVE EXT, check," came the sullen reply.
So it went on, instruction after incomprehensible instruction, with occasional interjections from Deeks about the unfairness rampant within Haven, such as "One man, one vote, eh? And that one man's Armitage, of course…"
At last, Terrence put a final tick on his sheet of paper and sat before a box with a glowing face. A horizontal panel of small, square tiles lay in front of him: some inscribed with letters of the human alphabet; others with numbers; the rest with cryptic symbols and legends. The tall man's long, slender hands danced across the tiles at speed, creating a chorus of clicking sounds, and letters, numbers and symbols appeared on the illuminated screen by some magic Thribble could not fathom.
With one final decisive tap on one of the tiles, Terrence sat back, cracked his knuckles and yawned. "That's it for tonight, I think, Tech Deeks. I'm off to bed."
The portly technologist nodded. "Me, too; I'm shattered."
"You're not going anywhere for a while yet, Deeks," Terrence snarled. "Look at all this mess of cables; it looks like a serious trip hazard to me, and it's damned unprofessional! I want you to disconnect everything apart from the subliminal generator equipment and the ECS, and sort out this damned rats'-nest. I want all unused cables neatly coiled and racked in their appointed places, and unused equipment put on the proper racks."
"But that could take hours," Deeks whined. "I'll do it first thing in the morning, I promise, Terrence."
"You'll do it right now, my friend," Terrence replied, his voice stern and implacable. "The sooner you start, the sooner you can go back to your lecherous little dreams, but it'll take much longer if you keep stopping to moan about it.
"Get cracking, Deeks. I'll inspect the Control Room first thing tomorrow morning, and I'll blame you if it's not spick and span. Remember that I'm the Principal Technician here, and Armitage listens to me if I have any complaints about the conduct of my staff. The Administrator isn't quite as tolerant as I am. Have I made myself clear?"
"As crystal," muttered Deeks. With the air of a martyr, he began to disconnect cables and gather them up as if he engaged in mortal struggle with a nest of serpents. Terrence nodded in approval, and he strode out of the chamber.
Thribble had, as yet, no idea of how he could hope to defeat Armitage's plans. The flashing, chattering Technological equipment was far beyond his ken, and he could hardly derange the equipment without Deeks becoming aware of his presence, if at all.
On the other hand, the podgy Technician had shown himself no lover of Armitage, and the demon thought a direct approach might yield helpful results. Hopping from the shadows, he called out to the chubby human, from whom a fluent series of insults and imprecations were flowing, concerning Armitage, Terrence, Haven and life in general.
"Deeks, are you happy in your vile work?"
The Technician cut short his peevish tirade and spun on his heel, his eyes wide. "Who is that? Show yourself!"
"I am down here, mortal," Thribble chirped. "I can tell how much you hate Armitage, and I want to help you to defeat him."
An acquisitive, avaricious expression washed across Deeks' ruddy face, and his hand flashed out to grab the minuscule imp. Thribble sighed, and he took an extra-dimensional step into his secret hiding place. After waiting a few moments, he returned to the mortal plane.
"Do you believe handing me over to the Administrator will improve your status here, Deeks?" he chirped. "He and Terrence both despise you; that is plain to see…"
Deeks' hand groped towards the grey demon once more, and Thribble departed from the mortal world again. After a pause of a minute or so, he reappeared.
"You cannot take me, human," the demon said. "Even if you should, by some unlikely chance, manage to move swiftly enough to lay a hand upon me, I can disappear just as easily from your grasp as from still air. We can play this game for as long as you wish, but it will avail you nothing. On the other hand, we can talk about the odious Armitage, and the means by which you can help me to thwart his nasty little plans for my friends. Would you like that?"