The Weapon - Genesis - part 1
By Diana the Valkyrie
My strength is your strength. My power is your power. I will love you and protect you and obey you. Until the end of time


He was hungry, he was tired, his knee hurt, and he was thoroughly fed up.
Hungry because he was dieting hard, trying to lose some of the extra flab that
the doctor told him was bad for his heart. Tired because he was working hard,
trying to stay on top of his job in this time of recession and downsizing. And
fed up, because where was this going? At forty-seven, he was junior management
at a small company, not on the way up, nothing great to look forward to, no
mark made on the world. Hair going a bit grey, and in his more honest moments
he could admit to a certain thinness on top, plus his left knee wasn't what it
used to be, especially when he sat down or stood up, he could never be sure
that it was going to do what it was supposed to. Which was another reason for
trying to lose some weight.

His sex life was non-existent, his social life not much better, and his
intellectual life revolved around the office. The only physical work he did
was in his vegetable garden, and the results of that lasted until he ate them.
And this bloody report was just going on and on, a stream of turgid
incomprehensible third-person-passive prose that realistically no-one would
ever read. What's the point, he thought. Mid-life crisis, he thought. The
point in your life when you know you're going to be, if not a failure, then
most definitely not a success.

The phone rang. For a few rings, he thought, double glazing again, I won't
answer. Then his curiosity killed his inertia, and he picked up the handset.
"Hello?" "Hi". A female voice. He ran through the possibilities in his head -
no match. "Who's that?" "Duncan?" "Yes, who's that?" He was starting to think
double glazing again. "Duncan, I need to meet with you, could I see you for
lunch today?" "Er, yes, sure." Can't be double glazing, doesn't sound like
telesales. Maybe someone he knew a long time ago? "Who is this?" "Can we meet
at the Toledo cafe, one o'clock?" "Yeh, sure, what's this about please? And
who are you? And ..." Click. Purr. Who the hell was that?

He finished his breakfast, and got the number 13 bus to work. He thought about
the phone call as the bus fought its way through the morning rush hour, but
then he forgot all about it until lunchtime rolled around, and then he walked
across to the Toledo, wondering whether he was going to recognise her. He sat
down at one of the tables, ordered a mug of coffee and sandwiches, and looked
around. Since he didn't know what he was looking for, he didn't know that the
woman walking towards him was the one, until she sat down. "Hi, Duncan", she
said.

She wasn't young, she wasn't old. Mid forties, he thought. Someone I knew when
I was a teenager, maybe? He searched his memory - no match again. "Yes, that's
me, but I don't know you, do I?" "No," she said. "You don't." There was a
silence. She beckoned a waitress over. "Coffee please."

"So here we are." "Yes, here we are." "I still don't know who you are." "No,
you don't, do you. Look, Duncan, I'm sorry, this is more difficult than I
thought it would be. I don't know where to start." "Begin at the beginning."
"Go on till you get to the end" "Then stop" They grinned at each other. "Do I
call you Alice?" "No." "Then what's your name?" "I don't have a name."

He shook his head. "Come on, just your first name will do." "No, really. I
don't have a name. It's, well. It's. Oh hell, I never thought this would be
quite so difficult." "Well, just spit it out." "I can't." "Why not?"
"Credibility." "You what?" "There's no point in me telling you something that
you would instantly not believe. I have to go at this slowly." He leaned back
in his chair, munching a sandwich.

"Look," she said. "I can't show you what I want to show you, so I'll have to
show you something small, then later on I'll be able to show you more." He
sighed. "Look, lady, I've lost the thread here, I have no idea what you're
talking about." He looked at his watch, a gesture that people use to mean "I'm
not actually going to say this out loud, but I'm starting to think it was time
I wasn't here." She saw the gesture, and decided that it was now or never.

She reached out her hand, and touched the base of his coffee mug. She raised
her arm, still touching the base of the mug; the mug rose with her finger. She
wasn't holding the mug, just touching it with her finger. Then she rotated her
arm, twisting it like you'd twist a screwdriver, and the mug rotated till it
was upside down. The coffee didn't spill. She rotated it right-way-up, and
then lowered her finger; the mug followed.

"Nice trick." "Yeah." He looked at the coffee cup. Picked it up. Stirred it
with the spoon. Took a sip. Put it down. "How'd you do it?"

"Duncan, I need to have a serious talk with you. Could I come visit you this
evening?" He looked at her, considering. It's not like he had a heavy social
calendar. "Sure," he said. "Tell you what. Make it seven, and we can go out
for a curry or something, hey?" She smiled. "That would be nice," she said,
"thank you." "OK, I'll write down my address for you" "I already know your
address, I phoned you, remember?" "Oh, right. OK, seven then. And what's your
name?" "I don't have a name." "Well, what do I call you?" "Maybe we'll talk
about that this evening." She stood up. "Until then, then." She walked out.

He finished his coffee and sandwiches, examining the cup carefully when it was
empty. It looked just like any other coffee mug - inside, outside, handle. But
he'd seen ... or had he? It's so hard to be sure that what you see is really
what happened. The eye-brain system has a tendency to see what it expects, not
what is. But he hadn't been expecting an inverted coffee cup with the coffee
not pouring out, so how could that work? He shrugged, paid at the counter, and
went back to work.

* * *

When he got home that evening, it was gone six o'clock. He made himself a cup
of coffee as soon as he got in, and dumped his briefcase on the table. For
once, though, he wasn't going to spend the evening slogging away at some
boring report. For the first time for as long as he could think, he had a
date! OK, she wasn't exactly some gorgeous honey, but when you're middle aged
yourself, and to be brutally honest not actually middle aged but a bit over
the hill, and tubby, not what you'd call hugely overweight, but distinctly
portly, a definite roundness to the old waistline. Oh hell, who was he
kidding. Well, she was no spring chicken either, and she was at least
interesting, what with that coffee cup trick. How did she do that? So he
showered, dabbed on some cologne that an aunt that given him a couple of
Christmases ago, shaved, because you never know, and put on a decent shirt, a
pair of grey flannels that he'd once thought was a bit racy, and a houndstooth
tweed jacket. Then he spent five minutes wondering what the devil he thought
he was doing. Then he thought, "well, worst case is I go out for a decent
meal".

Ding Dong! It was seven, that must be her. He was quite a bit excited as he
went to answer the door. The last time he'd done something like this was so
long ago, he didn't even remember the steps of the dance that teenagers do
when they meet and flirt and, and, and so on. Would she be wearing evening
dress? Something glamourous? Or just casual? Would she be beautiful? Or what?
He let his imagination run wild for a moment, she was a gorgeous sexy young
bimbo, and ... he opened the door; she was wearing a coat and hat. She looked
like a plain, ordinary middle-aged woman, just like she had at the Toledo.
Funny the tricks your mind can play on you.

"Hi, Duncan" she said, and smiled. He smiled back, and looked at his watch.
"Bang on time, then" he said. "Of course, what else?" she replied. "Yeh, well"
he said. She smiled again. Nice smile, he thought. She kind of lights up when
she smiles, like someone switched the electricity on. Makes you want to make
her smile more. He tried to think of something to say. "Like your hat", he
said. "Oh, do you? I wasn't sure, I think it's a bit, you know? Old
fashioned?" "No, it suits you." Aaargghhh. Open mouth, insert foot. "I mean,
even though it's old fashioned, it still looks nice on you. Come on in, let me
take your coat." Good recovery there, he thought.

She stepped inside, and gave him her hat and coat. Underneath, she was wearing
a black mid-calf skirt and a matching jacket on top of a light sweater. He
could see that she wasn't exactly slim, but he wasn't too lithesome himself.
You tend to get a bit tubby as you get older, he thought. "Coffee?" he
offered. "Mm, yes, thanks" she said. "Ah, I've booked a table at the Star of
India" he said. "They do decent curries, and I go there quite often. Nice
atmosphere, too." "Sounds great", she said. He called out from the kitchen.
"Er." Then he came into the dining room. "I don't know your name." "I don't
have a name." "Well, what do I call you?" "We did this in the Toledo,
remember?" He remembered. This is crazy. "Do you take sugar?" he asked. She
thought about that. "Just the one, please." "How can you not have a name,
everyone has a name." "Please, I have to do this in the right order." He
sighed, and brought her coffee out on a tray, with the small jug of milk and
the sugar bowl. She was sitting on the big easy chair, but sitting in the way
that women sometimes do, her legs tucked up on the chair underneath her.

"Can you do that trick again, with the coffee? I'll be watching more carefully
now." "OK," she said. She touched the base of the coffee mug with her index
finger. Then as she lifted the finger up, the mug came with it. She rotated
her hand, and the mug turned upside down. Again, the coffee didn't spill out.
"I really can't see how you do that" he said. She smiled, and reached out with
her other hand for the teaspoon, took a spoonful of sugar, and dropped it into
the mug. Dropped it upwards. Then she stirred the coffee in the inverted mug.
He tore his gaze off the mug to look at her face, she was smiling that smile
again.

She rotated her hand so that the mug was rightside up again, took the handle
in her other hand and drank some coffee. "Nice blend," she said. He scratched
his head. "You're a member of the Magic Circle, right?" She shook her head.
"You're a hypnotist, I didn't really see what I thought I saw?" "No, you saw
it." "Then what?" She looked thoughtful. "I was going to wait until after
we've eaten, but now's as good a time as any. And it means we can talk a bit
over dinner." She rose up off the chair.

His mouth fell open. She hadn't stood up, she'd just risen several inches. Her
legs were still tucked under her in a seated position, but now she was sitting
on nothing. On thin air. "What? What?" he said. She slowly rotated in midair
until she was upside down, and facing him. "It isn't just for coffee, Duncan."
"But. But." "I told you, I have to go at this slowly, otherwise you're going
to just switch off and stop listening. Things are not what they seem to be."
"That's for sure. So what is what?" She rotated back to the upright position
and stretched out her legs till her feet were back on the ground. "Drink your
coffee, Duncan." He shook his head. "Do I have to stop believing my eyes?" he
thought. "If I can't believe what my eyes tell me, then I can't do anything. I
have to assume that what I thought I saw was what really happened, and that
means that a lot of things I thought were true, aren't. And ..." He finished
his coffee and stood up. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
"Slowly, Duncan, please don't try to rush me on this. Let's go and see what
the Star of India has to offer." "Good idea," he said. He helped her to put
her coat back on, put on a heavy outer jacket, and opened the door. "This
way," he said, offering her his arm. She accepted it, and they walked down the
road.