Knowing about these books is not enough.

New Fanblade Fable (3)


The jaundiced ceiling bore the steady spinning of giant mosquito-wing fanblades that were synchronised-swimming in the smoky air of Gordon Desmond’s office in what he laughably called film-noir land.


GD was a grizzled curmudgeon who had grown into a singularity from two separate men at different ends of the age spectrum - perhaps father and son, one of whom had died, but he was never sure which one he truly was. He made a living from coining new words and absurd truths and other angles upon dubious existence – not only to discover ‘whodunnit?’ in this self-fabricated black-and-white film within which his slowly shuttling visions had made him live but also to summon human characters to his office that he could later write about as if they had never existed other than in the fiction he subsequently wrote.


“Hi, GD,” said a man-too-mean-to-be-me called Mack Hadrian. He had sailed into GD’s office as if he owned it. A deeply furrowed face with a line in lying that laid his soul open to the truth.


 He continued, without waiting for GD even to acknowledge his presence: “You know they’ve started building the first collider for our city...”


GD now looked up at Mack Hadrian. He knew that the world had built a number of what were called colliders to stir the air from its endemic stagnancy. The only way to disperse the global climactic slow-down.  Effectively, they were spinning fans that whirlpooled the air in a crop of tornado funnels, hoping at least to trigger further such spirals of storm elsewhere ... thus igniting a new-born airiness that everyone could breathe in perpetuo. Not that breathing was yet as difficult as it was feared to become if such measures were not taken. Called colliders in sarcastic reference to the very thing their fanblades mustn’t manage to do! A superstitious ‘baffle’ that had worked in many fields of human endeavour throughout history.   If not obviously so.


“We need to discover,” said Hadrian, lighting a cigar, “who or what has been sabotaging many other colliders so at least this one where we live can work properly.”


GD knew there had been rumours of an underground movement called Cern Zoo that had sent ‘animals’ or ‘birds’ to drop foreign bodies into the colliders’ fan-systems elsewhere. A sort of wish-fulfilment of matter-over-mind in collision with mind-over-matter. Nobody really knew Cern Zoo’s motives, and how many levels of bluff at which it worked.


The ‘animals’ or ‘birds’ had resorted recently to dropping themselves suicidally into the fan-systems. But that was yet only hearsay.


GD looked quizzically at Hadrian. “Hmmm, you want me to investigate?”


“I’ll make it worth your while.”


At that moment GD’s office fan suddenly discombulated upon something extraneous - one blade's chance ricochet off the wall sending it into Hadrian’s head.


GD shrugged as he suddenly realised what was what regarding the contents of Hadrian’s head. Not a brain. But a tiny fan, itself now spluttering to a halt upon bone and bloody gristle.


GD’s job had apparently been done even before he started it. Pity nobody would now pay him. And he looked at the ceiling, sighing. “It’s gonna get real hot in here”, he thought, with the onset of a psychologically self-induced breathlessness.

Later edit: NEW FANBLADE FABLE (4):


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