Some Loco Bozos scowled at Nermal. They were extreme magnatrainspotters, standing in the most dangerous vantage points possible to catch glimpses of the bullet trains whizzing by, whilst also avoiding the gaze of the Securityballs. They had black leather anoraks and mirrorshades with a bit of plaster tape holding at least one arm attached for added cool factor. Dynomotors were automobiles partly powered by pedals that stored up kinetic energy in the engine that was then released when required. A bit like a bike, with turbo booster. Warning signs adorned most walls. One even warned against warning signs. If people didn't know the dangers, how could they possibly avoid standing in front of moving vehicles or getting their heads cut off? It wasn't as if they ought to make any decisions or take responsibility for themselves. That could lead to quite terribly horrendous consequences. It just wouldn't do - people had to be told.
An incomprehensible voice came over the announcement speaker.
“Smurfle gnuffle grulp nurgle nurgle squonk! Merci beaucoup,” it said.
Nermal assumed that this must be his stop, and got out. The large sign that said “Brussels” was also a bit of a clue.
- - -
Brussels by night had a stylish esplanade, elegantly lit elegiac edifices enticing inexorably intricate illuminated individuals. Compact flat pack-designed turbotramstops and neat, clear Neo-Art Deco striplight streetlamps, cathodes emitting diodes flickering and flitting in the digital data blipping windows, a total space trip wind flip. Multi-story megaplexes where the metropolitans meandered in meatrack mayhem.
Nermal shuffled along the designated pedestrian area walkways through the smartly kept streets, not sure where he was supposed to be. He passed a statue of a small boy peeing into a pool.
“Those crazy Belgians!” he thought to himself.
All he thought he had to do would be to get to his designated contact, whoever this Agent Crane was, give them the package, and then he could find a nice café and sample some Belgian waffles and maybe a nice Trappist beer or something similar.
Where would an Agent Crane nest? In the tallest building in the city, perhaps? Nermal decided to head there, to see what he could find.
- - -
The Tower loomed threateningly against the dark sky.
Nermal looked up. It was a long way to the top. The concrete stretched upwards horizontally for hundreds of stories. Nermal decided to take the lift. It was quicker than climbing, and safer. He was smart like that.
Ascending in the lift, Nermal was bombarded by more vidiscreen advertisements for shaving products, shoes, confectionary, toys, automobiles, alcoholic beverages, sporting equipment, and other things that he didn’t need or care to own, each accompanied by their individual jingles that he didn’t care to hear, all automatically selected by choice-engineered marketing computers that he didn’t care existed.
On reaching the top floor, Nermal got out and looked around. It was a small, exclusive club, known as The Apex. A doorman approached him.
“Bonjour, Monsieur. Avez vous un reservation?”
“Non, je ne reservez pas, j’ai une grand baguette.”
“Monsieur! Do not wave that about! I trust you ‘ave not been followed?”
Nermal shook his head to indicate otherwise.
“Come ‘ere, quickly!”
The Doorman ushered him towards a small cubbyhole.
“Stay ‘ere. I take eet zat you are ‘ere to see Agent Crane?”
“C’est vrai. Oui.”
“Merci.”
Nermal surveyed the room he was sitting in. It was a classy joint, lots of glass, shiny surfaces and plush, indulgent, undulating fixtures.
After a while, a side door opened and a woman walked in. It must have been Agent Crane. She had honey-coloured skin and dark hair.
“Hullo, Agent Sparrow,” she said, in what sounded like an Eastern European voice to Nermal, but he couldn’t quite be sure, his knowledge of geography being fairly basic. “It is a privilege to meet you.”
“Erm, I don’t think you understand, I’m not…”
“You do not need to explain, we do not have much time! Do you have the package?”
“Yes, here it is,” said Nermal, fiddling fecklessly with his rucksack.
There was a commotion outside. The Doorman poked his head round the entrance.
“The Gendarme are ‘ere! ‘e must ‘ave been followed! Weren’t you checkeeng?”
“I was, sort of!”
“They must have caught him on their face-scanners.”
“Quick, come with me!” said Agent Crane, huskily.
“Errr, alright,” uttered Nermal.
“Let us go!”
Agent Crane took Nermal out of the back exit, down a fire escape on the outside of the building. It was an amazing view, but not at this speed. Footsteps clattered behind them, then there was the *ping* of a gunshot ricocheting off a barrier right beside where Nermal was rushing. He sped up.
“Who are they?”
“Surely you should know! They’re the people we’ve been working against for all these years!”
“Um, yes, of course, but who are they, specifically?”
“Part of the Consolidated Clearing Corporation clan, no doubt. RUN!”
They crashed along the walkway, the Gendarme pursuing closely. Crane turned and threw a small wire-mesh device on to the path.
“This ought to delay them slightly!” she whispered, then continued running.
Nermal wasn’t familiar with the device, but didn’t wait to see what happened. All he heard was an electrical buzz and then a sickening scream, which didn’t last long. The running behind them stopped, but they didn’t.
- - -
Crane took Nermal to another bar, tucked away on a corner in the red light district where seedy clients came and went, in various ways. She led him down a secreted staircase, hidden behind a drinks dispenser, into a room full of flashing computers and unspecified technical equipment.
“So, let us look at what the keycard holds.”
“Ah, I was waiting to see that.”
“Groovy. Well, let’s plug it in then.”
She did so, and it came up with the request for the password.
“So, what’s the password?”
“I thought you’d know that.”
“What? That was YOUR role!”
“Erm, I suppose I had better come clean. I’m not actually Agent Sparrow.”
Crane, in one swift movement, produced a knife from her sleeve and held it to Nermal’s throat.
“Who the hell are you then?” she grunted, grimacing.
“I’m an ornithologist! Well, I’m studying to be one, anyway. My name is Nermal!”
“What?! How did you get the key card?”
“I was sitting by a pond, and another agent gave it to me, then he went off and got murdered, and then his pick up also got killed, and I got left with the goods. Can I just leave, please? I won’t tell anyone.”
“Look, you can’t just go now. You know far too much, and you’re implicated in our activity now, in all of that back there.”
“But, I’m not part of anything!”
“Hmm, that may verk to our advantage…”
“You think so?”
“Vell, it is either zat, or ve vill heff to kill you.”
“Err, I’ll take the first option, if that’s still available?”
“I vould adwise it.”
“So, what’s this all about?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“I have no idea.”
“Ve are The Twitcher Sqvad. Ve heff been tracking ze magnetic paths designated by the North and South poles, and are worried zat shortly, zese vill be hijacked by a conglomerate of large corporations who intend to manipulate them to their own insidious ends!”
“Those fellows who were following us?”
“Ze wery same. You catch on quickly, for a trainee ornithologist.”
“Vot, sorry, what are we going to do?”
“Ve need to conwene with our agent in Cologne, to verify the readings ve heff been taking. Zat is vot is on zis keycard!”
“Oh, cripes. How will we get the password?”
“Zat I am not zo sure, but ve shall get our best peoples on it.”
“Who is it that I’m meeting then?”
“They know heem as, De Crimson Pimp, although zat is just vun off his personalities.”
“Right. So how will I recognise him?”
“You won’t.”
“Ok, that seems a bit tricky.”
“No, that is how you will recognise him.”
“What?”
“He will be unrecognisable. His main form of appearance is to appear as someone else. You’ll spot him immediately, or at least, he’ll make himself known to you.”
The building upstairs shuddered, hit by a frag grenade blast.
“Quick! We must exit through the sewers!”
“Must we?”
“Well, I suppose we could take the main road. I hadn’t thought of that, but it wouldn’t be as dramatic or anywhere near as atmospheric.”
“Oh. We’d best be going then, I suppose?”
“Yes! Let us away!”
The door exploded inwards just as they ran from the building, with the crack troops just behind them, hot on their trail.
- - -
Part 3 of Fortress Europe continues next time in Bad Moon #3!
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