Martin by Andrew Weaver
Alistair had his serious but worried look about him. I just loved the way that his whole body became completely animated when he had something serious to say. His arms would flail around him, whilst at the same time his whole being was in complete motion. More often than not he would take off his glasses, which he would then aggressively wave in front of himself, as if they were some sinister weapon.
Alistair was the same age as me, forty-two years old. We had both gone to school together, and although we had got on pretty well, we never did keep our promise to remain in touch. He had gone into Scientific Research, while I had made my fortune in the city, retiring at the relatively young age of forty-two. We had renewed our friendship once again when we bumped into each other at the local pub shortly after I had moved back to Upper Monkham.
Alistair was now Dr Alistair Longman PhD, dressed as I imagined all professors to dress, reasonably smart, but definitely out of fashion, complete with trademark casual beard and wire-rimmed rectangular spectacles. He had jet-black curly hair, which I suspected was probably dyed, as he had absolutely no grey hair at all.
Since we had met up again, it was clear that we enjoyed each other’s company and as the weeks went by, we gradually became very good friends. That was in spite of Alistair clearly being annoyed with my laid back view on life, not to mention my occasional unreliability. I could see in his face that he was never quite sure if I was making fun of him, or merely making light of his theories in order to cover my own ignorance of his scientific descriptions (or ramblings as I liked to say, when teasing him), or indeed both.
We did however share two common interests. The first was astronomy, which especially pleased Alistair, as he simply could not wait to let me use his very expensive telescope at his house. It was during those visits that he just loved to tell me everything that he knew about the universe, which was rather a lot. In spite of my genuine interest in astronomy, I would usually end up completely overwhelmed by the facts, feeling that I had simply not understood a damn thing!
The other hobby we both shared was jogging. I had decided that I would do at least five miles a day when I retired to Upper Monkham. So far, with only eleven weeks gone, I had managed to jog every day, and certainly felt better for it. When Alistair could get away from his project, we would sometimes run for more than ten miles together through the country lanes, and if we were feeling adventurous, quite often through a few fields as well. An added bonus to our planned routes was where we finished – usually at some country pub!
For somebody who had lectured at university, and clearly loved to talk – to the point where you simply could not stop him talking - there was one thing in particular that I found rather odd with Alistair. He always became very guarded and evasive when I pressed him hard on what his research really was. It became clear that his ‘project,’ whatever it was, was pretty much top-secret, or ‘hush-hush’ as Alistair often liked to refer to it.
The day I got the fateful telephone call from Alistair is now firmly etched into my memory. The day itself was glorious and sunny, albeit a rather cold Friday afternoon, and I recall that the sheep in the nearby field were being exceptionally noisy as I took the phone out into the garden. All I had to do, Alistair told me over the drone of the sheep, was buy him a drink or two in our local ‘The Rising Sun,’ and he would start to let me in on his big secret. He also had a suggestion for me, again connected to his project.
After badgering him for so many weeks, I could hardly turn him down. Not only that, but I could tell from his excited tones that he really did have something to tell me. So it was set, we would meet that evening at around seven. As Alistair had commented, ‘Nice and early, with plenty of opportunity for you to buy me some drinks!’
It’s surprising how quiet the pub is at around seven in the evening, which is probably why Alistair never spoke of his big secret until much later on. I was sure that Alistair had downed about five or six pints of his favourite local beer, when he at last began to let me in on what his work was.
He had already commented on more than one occasion over the last few weeks, that I really should do something with my free time, and that’s where he began. His first suggestion was that maybe I should consider giving up some of my precious time to get involved in what he termed ‘volunteer’ work for his latest project. A while later, when he finally did introduce his offer over another glass of beer, I can recall thinking that Alistair was either a genius, or more probably, completely drunk. In fact, it actually crossed my mind that this was all some diabolical set-up and that at any given moment a TV camera and microphone would suddenly be thrust into my face, with all around laughing their heads off.
‘Alistair, are you sure this is legal?’ I asked.
‘What do you mean, legal?’ he retorted, clearly getting exacerbated by my childish smirks and daft questions.
‘Well, the way I understand it, you and your mysterious financial backers are little more than aspiring Dream Thieves!’
Alistair just kept his stare at me over the rim of his beer glass, finished his drink and slowly returned his now empty glass to the table. He smiled at me and then said ‘So that’s what I am, a Dream Thief, never thought of that one before. That’s a good one, yes thanks Martin. Dream Thief, I do like that. It does have a certain ring to it, much sexier than boring old Project DR2.’
We both left the pub at around eleven and started to walk back to Alistair’s house. It was a pretty cold June evening and we only had our torches to help light our way. It only took around five minutes to walk to Alistair’s, and it was then that I did finally agree to get involved in his ‘volunteer’ work.
I turned down Alistair’s suggestion that we should take advantage of the clear sky to play with the telescope and bid him good night. I lived a further five or six minutes walk away, and during my walk back home, I can remember that my mind was spinning with what I had been told and what my possible involvement might be. The way I looked upon it was that having retired, I did have the free time now as Alistair had pointed out, and I may not get such an intriguing offer again.
Only two weeks after the beer drinking session in our local, I was taken to meet the Project Team in what Alistair would only describe to me, as a ‘top-secret military installation.’ For me, this was like something out of the movies and a complete adventure. Alistair had explained that for security reasons, I would have to be taken there blindfolded. I have to confess, when told of the security details just to get me to the project, it brought out the little boy in me, and I just could not wait to go.
At exactly eleven in the morning, as promised, the large car with darkened windows arrived at my house to whisk me away to Alistair’s project. If all went well, I would spend the next five nights away, with the possibility of many more in the future. I did ask the driver how long the journey would be, but he explained that he was unable to say – again, for security reasons. After putting on a blindfold in the car, we started on our way. My adventure would begin!
As the journey progressed I completely lost track of time and was bored senseless. When we did finally arrive, my sense of adventure had completely gone. I did not know where we were, or how far we had travelled. I had thought before we left, that I might be able to work it out by listening to the passing sounds and other possible clues - just as they often do in the films. However, after only three or four minutes in the car, I realised that I was completely lost. So much for my detective work!
When the driver told me that we had finally reached our destination I again imagined TV cameras waiting for me outside the car. After helping me out of the car, he then led me by the arm for two or three minutes through some passageways, and then at last told me that I could remove the blindfold. My eyes finally adjusted themselves to the blinding light, and I realised that not only was this a military installation as promised by Alistair, but I was actually underground.
The room, or cavern, that I was in was huge. It could only have been created by tunnelling out a granite hill, or
more probably, I imagined, a mountain. There were two tunnels that led out of the room to my right, and one to my left.
The room itself was like a giant toyshop. Now I was sure that I had made the right decision in coming here. It may have been a toyshop to me, but not to the half dozen or so scientists who were moving purposefully about the room. The room in fact was a giant laboratory filled with the most amazing pieces of equipment I had ever seen. I had absolutely no idea of what they were, or what their function was.
The only thing I did know for sure was that this was all very state-of-the-art, and definitely very, very expensive. Whoever the backers of this project were, they certainly had deep pockets.
There I was, just standing there like a kid in the toyshop, itching to see and touch everything. However, it was without doubt more than a little scary and intimidating.
I had only been standing there for a few moments when I noticed a very smart young woman, who I guessed to have been in her late twenties, walking resolutely towards me. She was dressed in a smart business suit, unlike the other scientists who were sporting gleaming white overalls. She was tall, probably about six feet, and had shoulder length blonde hair. Her bright blue eyes sparkled brightly in the overhead lighting.
‘Mr Martin Chalfont’ she said shaking my hand, ‘Let me introduce myself. I’m Dr Davila Lebronska, Project Administrator. I guess that kind of makes me the boss for most part, but don’t worry, everyone just calls me Davila. How was the trip? Not too cloak and dagger I trust?’
She spoke very informally, but definitely had an authoritarian manner about her. If she said she was the boss, I was not about to disagree.
‘My trip was just fine. Thank you,’ I answered.
From her jacket pocket she pulled out a small object which she handed to me. ‘Here, you will need to put your security identification badge on. Remember, if you forget or lose your ID badge, we will have no choice but to shoot you!’
She then proceeded to burst into a small but controlled chuckle. I was beginning to think that I was going to have to work with a boss who definitely had sadistic tendencies. I had a good look at the badge. It had my photograph on it which was more than a little surprising, as I certainly hadn’t given my photo to anyone. It also had some serial numbers on it. My name was printed over the top of a faint bar code, and it had PROJECT DR2 printed across the top. Following her instruction, I then fixed my badge on my top pocket - the place for all identification badges.
‘All in all, it must have been a long day for you Martin, so I will show you to your room,’ said Davila, before adding ‘You can freshen up, have dinner, and then we will talk business in the briefing room. How’s that sound?’
This was the clearest order that I’ve had in a long time, and she made it sound like a question! ‘I have no problems with that,’ I replied.
‘Good. I will show you to your room,’ she said with a big bright smile.
We walked in silence through a variety of tunnels and sealed access doors, which were all guarded by armed military personnel. At every security door and access point, we both had our ID badges checked against an electronic hand-held device. I noticed that all the access doors looked just like bank vault doors. They were circular and clearly very heavy. I guessed them to be about 6-8 inches thick, made from what looked like some form of heavy steel, and they were fitted with huge inter-locking metal rods. The doors were pressurised as you could just hear a very small hiss of air each time they were opened.
‘This is to be your room,’ Davila told me as she opened and showed me through a door. ‘You should have about an hour and a half. Somebody will then collect you for dinner, and I will see you in the briefing room at 19:30. Okay, I will see you later.’
I thanked her as she turned and left. I closed the door, and then examined my room.
It was a little like the rest of the complex, all hollowed out of granite and well lit with what I took to be soft overhead halogen lighting. All the floors were finished with hard laminate tiling. I noticed that if you looked carefully around the rock walls, there were actually a few rivulets of water running down here and there. Any water that did come down the walls was not to be seen on the floor at all, as it was somehow cleverly channelled away. Intriguingly, I also noticed that it got quite warm when I got close to the rock walls. I therefore, presumed that that must be how the complex was heated, from the rocks themselves.
Of course I could be wrong, which was more than likely, as I appeared to be the only non-scientific person in the complex, military personnel aside. This fact alone did make me feel just a little uneasy. I was definitely beginning to feel very much like a fish out of water. Throughout my whole career, I had always felt in control and I knew that I was very good at what I did. That was then, but now, I was feeling like an absolute nobody in the wrong place, and definitely not in control.
Looking round my room I saw I had a single bed, a bedside table and lamp, a wardrobe, a good size television, a bathroom with a toilet, a washbasin and a shower. It was all a little utilitarian, but it was nevertheless more than adequate. One thing that I had noticed since my arrival was the cleanliness of the place. There simply was no dirt or dust to be seen at all.
I showered and changed, and with less than an hour to go fell soundly asleep on the bed. It was the knocking on the door that awoke me. I opened the door to find Alistair, dressed the same as the other scientists, in clean white overalls. He was clearly looking pleased with himself. It was obvious that he was very proud that I was in his secret lair.
‘Martin, good to see you. You slept well?’ he enquired with his friendly smile.
‘Yes, I’m pretty much okay, thanks. Nice place you have here. You’ve come to feed me! I just hope that your cooking is up to the same high standards’ I answered, shaking his hand.
‘Come on then, lets go and eat’ he replied leading me through more tunnels to the canteen.
The canteen was huge. I was sure that you could have parked an ocean liner in there. I remember thinking that the canteen was so big it could feed an army, before realising that it probably did. I estimated that several hundred personnel could easily have been fed here at any one time, but for now there were no more than about twenty people including Alistair and myself.
I wasn’t sure if it was the acoustics of the canteen, but I was convinced that I could feel the distant hum of big generators. At least that’s what they sounded like to me – what else could they be? It was the first time that I was aware of any sort of internal noises within the complex since my arrival. Once again, my mind was racing ahead of me, trying to work out what the noises meant. That was the problem with me, I have always had such a very vivid imagination, which on reflection is probably one of the main reasons that I was here.
During the course of the meal Alistair told me that all would become clear at the briefing, and any relevant questions would be addressed. Of course, due to the nature of the complex, some answers would not be forthcoming. However, he did assure me that there was nothing to worry about, just to relax and have a good time. He also reminded me once again, that I was free to leave the project at any time, should I decide to do so.
With the meal out of the way it was time for the briefing. He then led me through another set of tunnels and doors, and this time to a lift shaft, which by my reckoning took us down one floor. The doors of the lift opened, and we were both in the briefing room.
Alistair was the same age as me, forty-two years old. We had both gone to school together, and although we had got on pretty well, we never did keep our promise to remain in touch. He had gone into Scientific Research, while I had made my fortune in the city, retiring at the relatively young age of forty-two. We had renewed our friendship once again when we bumped into each other at the local pub shortly after I had moved back to Upper Monkham.
Alistair was now Dr Alistair Longman PhD, dressed as I imagined all professors to dress, reasonably smart, but definitely out of fashion, complete with trademark casual beard and wire-rimmed rectangular spectacles. He had jet-black curly hair, which I suspected was probably dyed, as he had absolutely no grey hair at all.
Since we had met up again, it was clear that we enjoyed each other’s company and as the weeks went by, we gradually became very good friends. That was in spite of Alistair clearly being annoyed with my laid back view on life, not to mention my occasional unreliability. I could see in his face that he was never quite sure if I was making fun of him, or merely making light of his theories in order to cover my own ignorance of his scientific descriptions (or ramblings as I liked to say, when teasing him), or indeed both.
We did however share two common interests. The first was astronomy, which especially pleased Alistair, as he simply could not wait to let me use his very expensive telescope at his house. It was during those visits that he just loved to tell me everything that he knew about the universe, which was rather a lot. In spite of my genuine interest in astronomy, I would usually end up completely overwhelmed by the facts, feeling that I had simply not understood a damn thing!
The other hobby we both shared was jogging. I had decided that I would do at least five miles a day when I retired to Upper Monkham. So far, with only eleven weeks gone, I had managed to jog every day, and certainly felt better for it. When Alistair could get away from his project, we would sometimes run for more than ten miles together through the country lanes, and if we were feeling adventurous, quite often through a few fields as well. An added bonus to our planned routes was where we finished – usually at some country pub!
For somebody who had lectured at university, and clearly loved to talk – to the point where you simply could not stop him talking - there was one thing in particular that I found rather odd with Alistair. He always became very guarded and evasive when I pressed him hard on what his research really was. It became clear that his ‘project,’ whatever it was, was pretty much top-secret, or ‘hush-hush’ as Alistair often liked to refer to it.
The day I got the fateful telephone call from Alistair is now firmly etched into my memory. The day itself was glorious and sunny, albeit a rather cold Friday afternoon, and I recall that the sheep in the nearby field were being exceptionally noisy as I took the phone out into the garden. All I had to do, Alistair told me over the drone of the sheep, was buy him a drink or two in our local ‘The Rising Sun,’ and he would start to let me in on his big secret. He also had a suggestion for me, again connected to his project.
After badgering him for so many weeks, I could hardly turn him down. Not only that, but I could tell from his excited tones that he really did have something to tell me. So it was set, we would meet that evening at around seven. As Alistair had commented, ‘Nice and early, with plenty of opportunity for you to buy me some drinks!’
It’s surprising how quiet the pub is at around seven in the evening, which is probably why Alistair never spoke of his big secret until much later on. I was sure that Alistair had downed about five or six pints of his favourite local beer, when he at last began to let me in on what his work was.
He had already commented on more than one occasion over the last few weeks, that I really should do something with my free time, and that’s where he began. His first suggestion was that maybe I should consider giving up some of my precious time to get involved in what he termed ‘volunteer’ work for his latest project. A while later, when he finally did introduce his offer over another glass of beer, I can recall thinking that Alistair was either a genius, or more probably, completely drunk. In fact, it actually crossed my mind that this was all some diabolical set-up and that at any given moment a TV camera and microphone would suddenly be thrust into my face, with all around laughing their heads off.
‘Alistair, are you sure this is legal?’ I asked.
‘What do you mean, legal?’ he retorted, clearly getting exacerbated by my childish smirks and daft questions.
‘Well, the way I understand it, you and your mysterious financial backers are little more than aspiring Dream Thieves!’
Alistair just kept his stare at me over the rim of his beer glass, finished his drink and slowly returned his now empty glass to the table. He smiled at me and then said ‘So that’s what I am, a Dream Thief, never thought of that one before. That’s a good one, yes thanks Martin. Dream Thief, I do like that. It does have a certain ring to it, much sexier than boring old Project DR2.’
We both left the pub at around eleven and started to walk back to Alistair’s house. It was a pretty cold June evening and we only had our torches to help light our way. It only took around five minutes to walk to Alistair’s, and it was then that I did finally agree to get involved in his ‘volunteer’ work.
I turned down Alistair’s suggestion that we should take advantage of the clear sky to play with the telescope and bid him good night. I lived a further five or six minutes walk away, and during my walk back home, I can remember that my mind was spinning with what I had been told and what my possible involvement might be. The way I looked upon it was that having retired, I did have the free time now as Alistair had pointed out, and I may not get such an intriguing offer again.
Only two weeks after the beer drinking session in our local, I was taken to meet the Project Team in what Alistair would only describe to me, as a ‘top-secret military installation.’ For me, this was like something out of the movies and a complete adventure. Alistair had explained that for security reasons, I would have to be taken there blindfolded. I have to confess, when told of the security details just to get me to the project, it brought out the little boy in me, and I just could not wait to go.
At exactly eleven in the morning, as promised, the large car with darkened windows arrived at my house to whisk me away to Alistair’s project. If all went well, I would spend the next five nights away, with the possibility of many more in the future. I did ask the driver how long the journey would be, but he explained that he was unable to say – again, for security reasons. After putting on a blindfold in the car, we started on our way. My adventure would begin!
As the journey progressed I completely lost track of time and was bored senseless. When we did finally arrive, my sense of adventure had completely gone. I did not know where we were, or how far we had travelled. I had thought before we left, that I might be able to work it out by listening to the passing sounds and other possible clues - just as they often do in the films. However, after only three or four minutes in the car, I realised that I was completely lost. So much for my detective work!
When the driver told me that we had finally reached our destination I again imagined TV cameras waiting for me outside the car. After helping me out of the car, he then led me by the arm for two or three minutes through some passageways, and then at last told me that I could remove the blindfold. My eyes finally adjusted themselves to the blinding light, and I realised that not only was this a military installation as promised by Alistair, but I was actually underground.
The room, or cavern, that I was in was huge. It could only have been created by tunnelling out a granite hill, or
The room itself was like a giant toyshop. Now I was sure that I had made the right decision in coming here. It may have been a toyshop to me, but not to the half dozen or so scientists who were moving purposefully about the room. The room in fact was a giant laboratory filled with the most amazing pieces of equipment I had ever seen. I had absolutely no idea of what they were, or what their function was.
The only thing I did know for sure was that this was all very state-of-the-art, and definitely very, very expensive. Whoever the backers of this project were, they certainly had deep pockets.
There I was, just standing there like a kid in the toyshop, itching to see and touch everything. However, it was without doubt more than a little scary and intimidating.
I had only been standing there for a few moments when I noticed a very smart young woman, who I guessed to have been in her late twenties, walking resolutely towards me. She was dressed in a smart business suit, unlike the other scientists who were sporting gleaming white overalls. She was tall, probably about six feet, and had shoulder length blonde hair. Her bright blue eyes sparkled brightly in the overhead lighting.
‘Mr Martin Chalfont’ she said shaking my hand, ‘Let me introduce myself. I’m Dr Davila Lebronska, Project Administrator. I guess that kind of makes me the boss for most part, but don’t worry, everyone just calls me Davila. How was the trip? Not too cloak and dagger I trust?’
She spoke very informally, but definitely had an authoritarian manner about her. If she said she was the boss, I was not about to disagree.
‘My trip was just fine. Thank you,’ I answered.
From her jacket pocket she pulled out a small object which she handed to me. ‘Here, you will need to put your security identification badge on. Remember, if you forget or lose your ID badge, we will have no choice but to shoot you!’
She then proceeded to burst into a small but controlled chuckle. I was beginning to think that I was going to have to work with a boss who definitely had sadistic tendencies. I had a good look at the badge. It had my photograph on it which was more than a little surprising, as I certainly hadn’t given my photo to anyone. It also had some serial numbers on it. My name was printed over the top of a faint bar code, and it had PROJECT DR2 printed across the top. Following her instruction, I then fixed my badge on my top pocket - the place for all identification badges.
‘All in all, it must have been a long day for you Martin, so I will show you to your room,’ said Davila, before adding ‘You can freshen up, have dinner, and then we will talk business in the briefing room. How’s that sound?’
This was the clearest order that I’ve had in a long time, and she made it sound like a question! ‘I have no problems with that,’ I replied.
‘Good. I will show you to your room,’ she said with a big bright smile.
We walked in silence through a variety of tunnels and sealed access doors, which were all guarded by armed military personnel. At every security door and access point, we both had our ID badges checked against an electronic hand-held device. I noticed that all the access doors looked just like bank vault doors. They were circular and clearly very heavy. I guessed them to be about 6-8 inches thick, made from what looked like some form of heavy steel, and they were fitted with huge inter-locking metal rods. The doors were pressurised as you could just hear a very small hiss of air each time they were opened.
‘This is to be your room,’ Davila told me as she opened and showed me through a door. ‘You should have about an hour and a half. Somebody will then collect you for dinner, and I will see you in the briefing room at 19:30. Okay, I will see you later.’
I thanked her as she turned and left. I closed the door, and then examined my room.
It was a little like the rest of the complex, all hollowed out of granite and well lit with what I took to be soft overhead halogen lighting. All the floors were finished with hard laminate tiling. I noticed that if you looked carefully around the rock walls, there were actually a few rivulets of water running down here and there. Any water that did come down the walls was not to be seen on the floor at all, as it was somehow cleverly channelled away. Intriguingly, I also noticed that it got quite warm when I got close to the rock walls. I therefore, presumed that that must be how the complex was heated, from the rocks themselves.
Of course I could be wrong, which was more than likely, as I appeared to be the only non-scientific person in the complex, military personnel aside. This fact alone did make me feel just a little uneasy. I was definitely beginning to feel very much like a fish out of water. Throughout my whole career, I had always felt in control and I knew that I was very good at what I did. That was then, but now, I was feeling like an absolute nobody in the wrong place, and definitely not in control.
Looking round my room I saw I had a single bed, a bedside table and lamp, a wardrobe, a good size television, a bathroom with a toilet, a washbasin and a shower. It was all a little utilitarian, but it was nevertheless more than adequate. One thing that I had noticed since my arrival was the cleanliness of the place. There simply was no dirt or dust to be seen at all.
I showered and changed, and with less than an hour to go fell soundly asleep on the bed. It was the knocking on the door that awoke me. I opened the door to find Alistair, dressed the same as the other scientists, in clean white overalls. He was clearly looking pleased with himself. It was obvious that he was very proud that I was in his secret lair.
‘Martin, good to see you. You slept well?’ he enquired with his friendly smile.
‘Yes, I’m pretty much okay, thanks. Nice place you have here. You’ve come to feed me! I just hope that your cooking is up to the same high standards’ I answered, shaking his hand.
‘Come on then, lets go and eat’ he replied leading me through more tunnels to the canteen.
The canteen was huge. I was sure that you could have parked an ocean liner in there. I remember thinking that the canteen was so big it could feed an army, before realising that it probably did. I estimated that several hundred personnel could easily have been fed here at any one time, but for now there were no more than about twenty people including Alistair and myself.
I wasn’t sure if it was the acoustics of the canteen, but I was convinced that I could feel the distant hum of big generators. At least that’s what they sounded like to me – what else could they be? It was the first time that I was aware of any sort of internal noises within the complex since my arrival. Once again, my mind was racing ahead of me, trying to work out what the noises meant. That was the problem with me, I have always had such a very vivid imagination, which on reflection is probably one of the main reasons that I was here.
During the course of the meal Alistair told me that all would become clear at the briefing, and any relevant questions would be addressed. Of course, due to the nature of the complex, some answers would not be forthcoming. However, he did assure me that there was nothing to worry about, just to relax and have a good time. He also reminded me once again, that I was free to leave the project at any time, should I decide to do so.
With the meal out of the way it was time for the briefing. He then led me through another set of tunnels and doors, and this time to a lift shaft, which by my reckoning took us down one floor. The doors of the lift opened, and we were both in the briefing room.