Babbage opened his eyes. At least, he thought he did. There was no sign the signal had been received in his brain, everything was liquid darkness. He tried to move and again couldn’t tell if he was successful or not. His hands touched nothing as they moved, not even each other.

He was floating in black ink, everything around him muted and intangible. Was this death?

She’d drugged him of course, or piped in music to do the equivalent, altering his brain to her wishes. The cables, the mouth, none of that had been real, it couldn’t have been. Hallucinations, brought on by panic and loss of control. He wasn’t in some being’s stomach, he was inside himself.

“Adlai?”

There was no reply, just more searching darkness. For the first time he felt truly alone.

He blinked and found himself sitting in the captain’s waiting room. The secretary was there, typing away.

“The captain will see you in just a moment.”

Same voice, same outstanding legs. Was this memory?

“The captain will see you now.”

Babbage stood automatically and walked into the office.

There was the green lamp, the menacing shadows, the hunched figure you couldn’t quite make out.

“Anything to report?”

As if by instinct his brain relaxed and it was all sucked out of him, poured out and sifted through.

Pickpockets, shadows, hunters, dreamers, clones, Madigan, visions, songs, conversations. He felt a sense of dissatisfaction and a tightening on his brain as though a fist clenched around it. The fingers dug deeper, churning up what was hidden and forcing it to the surface. He caught fleeting glimpses before they sunk back down. A crash site, a figure watching him from a rooftop, a bar. Babbage no longer recognised the flashes, yet they were somehow familiar. A figure in a seat, staring out the window, drink in hand.

“Thank you Babbage, that will be all.”

The voice was different now, more feminine. He was dismissed. He turned to walk out and darkness engulfed him.

He spun around but there was nothing of the office, nothing of the captain. There was only blackness, and emptiness, as if what had held him in its hand had left him alone to die.

And something else. Something growing. He could feel and hear it at the same time. A short tune he’d heard before. Where was that coming from?

Babbage couldn’t identify the notes, but he could almost see them. They were growing, leaping on top of each other in turn, becoming larger and larger to take over his entire field of vision. Opening something up he didn’t want let in.

He needed to wake up. Had to wake up. He didn’t want to be there when she came.

As soon as the thought formed in his head it leapt out of his mind and burned a hole in the darkness. A door. She was coming. Babbage tried to close his eyes and force the song out of his head, but it danced out of his reach. It was no use.

He opened his eyes and stared straight into her face.