Taurus

Dr. David Price, professor of pharmacology at a London university, was checking emails on his kitchen laptop, while eating breakfast, a bowl of cornflakes, and drinking a mug of coffee.

“No way!”, he exclaimed, “an email from Douglas!”

“Douglas Rutherford?” his wife, Molly, in her dressing gown, buttering toast, inquired, with apparent disinterest.

“Of course”, David muttered abstractedly. He was studying the screen. “What other Douglas do we know?”

“What does he want?” Molly asked, “Didn’t he make a lot of money from adult entertainment?”

“You know he did”, the Professor replied, “he’s a regular smut king, you’ll never believe this, he’s hired an uninhabited island for a party, and he’s invited me…us, to come.”

“An island?” Molly finished spreading vegemite on her toast, took up a piece to eat, and moved across the kitchen to sit down beside her husband at the table.

“Yup, an entire island, to himself and his organization, the party is going to have a Minoan theme. The Minoans were a bronze age people from Crete well known for their scanty dress.”

Molly knew who the Minoans were. “Well we can’t go”, she said.

“We can’t go?!” The Professor turned to look at his wife. “Why ever not?”

“You don’t like him”, his wife replied, “didn’t you once write a nasty comment about him on the wall, in a house you were sharing as students? And you told me that he had downloaded illegal pornography on your computer.”

“Exactly”, her husband replied, “but that was years ago and the thing is that he obviously just can’t resist the chance to gloat over his success. Nobody saw it coming. We were friends once, you know that, and he’s not exactly the kind to bear a grudge, is he? I think we should go, it sounds like an absolute scream.”

He was thinking, “fucking Scotch prick, I’ll show Douglas that despite his success, he’s still a little outsider slum-fuck with half my intelligence, a weak man, who couldn’t beat me once at foosball. He was also thinking of the Minoan women’s breasts, and about how the party, given previous experiences with Douglas, might be really good fun. It would be fun, of course it would, TwentyFiveSeven Productions, and he could conclude the event with one of his trademark sneering jibes that would haunt his old friend for the rest of his life.

Several months later, on a morning in mid June, the Professor and Molly found themselves driving along a single track road in Argyle, on the West coast of Scotland, alongside a patch of land where Highland cattle were grazing. The area, like the rest of the country was basking in a record breaking heat-wave, and the land-and-sea-scape of shimmering blue water and multilayered mountains was mind-blowing.

“Reminds me of North Wales”, David said, although he had to admit to himself that the homeland of his old friend really was uniquely stunning. They had spent several nights in a swanky hotel in the heart of Glasgow and had used the long, hot, days to explore some of the city’s key sights. Again, David had to acknowledge that the place was quite remarkable. Sure, they had skirted some districts, on the way in and out, that looked like they would be best avoided, but the famous style-mile in the centre of the city lived up to its name. They took the subway from St. Enoch to Kelvinbridge and the area around the university and art gallery, in the West End, with its columns, cobbles and arches, where the Kelvin river flows through a fairy-glen, had also impressed the professor with it’s ancient, dreamy feel. They had visited the Cathedral, and, at Douglas’s recommendation, the nearby Necropolis, which did prove to be very Gothic, and to offer fine views over the city and of her outlying mountains. In the late evening, after dinner, and almost dark, he had demonstrated his balls of steel to Molly by taking her for a romantic stroll along the Broomielaw, and was merely clawed at by an, easily deflected, homeless drunk. Nobody had “Chicked him in the watter” as he had always been led to believe would happen.

Half way along the Tradeston Foot Bridge, David said “Come here Honeybun!”, and holding Molly close, he kissed her forehead. The bridges of the Clyde lit up, in succession from the distance, in a wave of flood-light, and he felt like a gangster.

He had also taken Molly to see Parkhead Stadium, in the East End, home of that other great love of his life, the mighty Glasgow Seltic FC. This was, surprisingly, his first visit to the renowned sporting shrine. Although not a Catholic himself, for he was a devout atheist, the Professor had long since thrown in his lot, football wise, with the wily Romans.

The magic of the moment was only marred slightly when some random guy walking by their tour group said “posh Welsh cunt” as he passed. The lad was talking into a mobile but David couldn’t help but feel that the comment was somehow directed towards him.

“Hey! This must be the Bridge over the Atlantic”, Molly exclaimed from behind the wheel. “Huh? Oh, yeah”, the professor replied, startled from his reverie. They were driving over the small hump-backed, stone bridge that spans the Clachan sound and were now on the island of Seil. There was only an hour’s drive left to reach the little car ferry which would take them to the island. Even with the AC blowing cold air on full, the couple would be glad to get out the car. The day was turning out to be another scorcher.

The ferryman, a local lad, was dressed the part. He was wearing a navy blue tunic and a three layered kilt of light-blue, white, and navy, tied around his waist with a red cord. The ferry was very small, with enough room for only three cars and twelve passengers.

The other revelers with whom David and Molly shared the voyage were members of Extinction Resistance. They would make sure that the sites were left in a better condition than they had been in before the event. They wore their hair in dreadlocks and had made colorful attempts to emulate period dress. With a guitar, a didgeridoo, a tambourine and two Djembes, they made up a small musical band.

David was thinking that maybe he could have tried harder with the costume, having decided that wrapping a mandala drape around his waist, and tying it with a dressing-gown robe, combined with a Pink Floyd t-shirt, and sandals, would suffice. Molly had made more of an effort, she had gone deep, fast, and within a few months had crafted a dress worthy of a museum of Minoan fashion. She had also replicated enough Bronze Age jewelry to merit at least the status of queen, if not an actual goddess.

The ferry skimmed across the water like a skipping stone.

By mid afternoon, David and Molly had parked their car, and were making their way, the short distance to the party, which looked idyllic and awesome. The site was a beach of the whitest sand where a stage had been built in imitation of the Knossos Palace. Several hundred people were getting down to an all-girl band playing a summery pop set in skimpy outfits. Other revellers were finding relief from the heat, swimming, snorkelling, and surfing in the aquamarine sea.

Amongst the dancers, the men were all wearing Minoan kilts, or simple loin cloths. Many were bare chested, while others wore a tunic, a few were sporting decorated berets with large feather plumes. The women were, for the most part, either entirely topless, or wearing dresses fully open at the front.

David was surer than ever that, for the first time in a long while, he would be getting a hard on this weekend without the need for any sildenafil.

“Lets find our yurt, dump our bags, then go meet Douglas”, he said. He would be glad to find someone his own age. Douglas had provided the yurt, and the Professor was thinking that perhaps his old friend wasn’t such a total cunt after all. He was convinced that the man just wanted to crow about his surprising success.

On the way to their accomodation, on ground shared with a few other yurts, as well as teepees, tents, and a vardo, the couple had passed attractions, including several pleasure-domes in large marquees, one of which was called Aldebaran, another The Realm of Minos. The heat was intense. Music filled the air, artists having managed to compose both Bronze Age party-bangers, and chill-out tunes. The distinctive smell of wood-smoke kindled in David a feeling of nostalgia and longing.

The yurt itself was luxuriously fitted out with cushions and pillows. There was a stove in the center, with a chimney, and firewood stacked up outside. A bottle of champagne set into a Minoan jar, decorated with dolphins, and filled with ice, had obviously been left recently, as much of the ice was still intact.

It was early evening by the time they found Douglas in his harem, lying on a quilted hammock suspended from a wooden stand shaped like a ship. He was leaning over a side, to French kiss a woman who David immediately recognized to be E. Z. Elsa, one of Twenty Five Seven’s top stars. On the other side of the hammock there was a hookah pipe. He sprang to his feet at the first glance of the professor and Molly.

“David! Man, great, you made it! And Molly, oh wow you look amazing! You know this whole show is just for you!”. David thought the comment a bit strange, but he greeted his old pal with a man hug. “Let me introduce Easy”, Douglas said placing an arm around the models waist, “Real name Marina, but call her Easy, her English is pretty good.” “Pleased to meet you”, Easy said, “You want a drink? Oh, you have any of the Kykeon? You got to have some of the Kykeon” she giggled “it’s far out! Ky-kee-on!” Easy enunciated the word, and, after quickly leaving and re-entering the harem, she held a bronze tray on which stood a clay pitcher filled with a viscous pink drink, and four brightly colored mugs. The mugs, although based on designs over 3,700 years old, were decorated with abstract patterns equal to anything found in modern art. “A gift from our friends at Sandoz”, Douglas said. “You’ve had enough!” Easy laughed, placing the tray on a table and pouring the thick pink liquid into the mugs, she handed out three of them and kept one for herself. “Try it, you like it…..Salud!”

The group clinked mugs and toasted the weekend ahead.

Elsewhere in Douglas’s harem a large black man, Jake, was playing a board game with his Chinese friend, Sammy. The game was being played on a wooden and ivory board, decorated with rock crystals, blue glass paste, gold, and silver, using cone shaped ivory pieces. Both men were smoking clay pipes, and were intently engaged in their activity. Several more women, at least one of whom David recognized to be another Twenty Five Seven star, lay on cushions around the inside perimeter of the yurt.

Douglas took David aside. “The Kykeon is good”, he said, “but if you really want to sail with the Minoan navy, man, take one of these.” He held up a little pill between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. The capsule was one half white, one half black. “3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine, man, the A and the E, a candy flip!”

David didn’t need to be told twice, he took the pill from Douglas and swallowed it whole. Douglas checking an app on his mobile, said, “the eagle has landed!”

“Listen, man, I got to show you the site where we’re hosting our main event tomorrow night. I need to show you something, tell you something. You know, it’s going to be a full strawberry moon.”

“We were hoping to get back to the yurt, to chill-out for a while,” David replied. Molly shot him a look that said, “come on man, it’s the least we can do!”

“It won’t take long, the site is only a mile along the coast, we’ll all get in the Defenders. Hey, Jake, Sammy,” Douglas called out to his pals, “We’re taking David and Molly to see the second site, you wanna come?”

“Sure boss,” the burly black man replied, “right behind you.” Sammy , too, was roused from his trance, “Ah, my friends, welcome to the multivelse!”, he said, and, for some reason, David and Molly found his words incredibly amusing. The reason was that the Kykeon, the first effect of which is to engender an intense state of hilarity, was starting to kick in.

David and Molly laughed all the way up the dusty track to where the Land Rovers were parked. They passed a children’s play area where kids gamboled on an inflatable bouncy palace. The drive, also, was extraordinarily funny. Everything was funny, particularly any spoken words, none of which made any sense.

“Wait till you see this!” Douglas said.

Emerging from the Land Rovers the group could see below them another beach, smaller than the main dance-floor but with sand just as white, and water as inviting. A complicated, circular maze, had been built on the sand with local rocks. The rocks were not piled together, but separate, and with spaces between, so, at ground level the landscape was, for the most part, just like a rocky beach. At the center of the maze, a gold entity shone in the late-evening sun.

The small party, now also including the Twenty Five Seven stars, Tracey T. and Melinda Green, wound its way down a sandy path lined with unlit torches and gorse bushes, whose yellow flowers imparted to the scene a vibrant scent of coconut. They then made their way towards the golden object which gradually revealed itself to be nothing other than a larger-than-life bronze bull.

“Our Bellowing bull!” Douglas said.

David’s universe had become strawberry marshmallow. He was falling about laughing, as was Molly. They were both peaking on the Kykeon. The others in the party were also tripping but had already reached a stage of the trip where they were experiencing less hilarity but, instead, were feeling more physically and mentally blissed-out.

“It’s an ancient torture device, the victim goes inside,” Douglas explained, opening a trap door on the bull’s flank, “we then close the door, and light a fire, here. The victim is slowly roasted alive, but get this, man, we got a system of tubes and pipes in the head which amplify and distort the screams so that they come out the nostrils sounding like the bellow of a bull, and I mean just like…….man, it’s crazy realistic, look, I’ll show you. Easy do the honors.”

Douglas climbed inside the bull and Easy closed and bolted the trap door. He took pause a while, for dramatic effect, and then made a loud howl. To those outside the sound was exactly like that of a roaring bull. They cheered and hollered.

“When the body cooks, the steam too, it comes out the nose, like a Bull”, Easy told David and Molly, who were finding it hard to contain themselves. Douglas rapped three times on the inside of the door. Easy unbolted the door and let him out.

“What do you think, eh? Magic, eh?” Douglas directed the question to David. “That’s why I invited you here, man, that’s why I said you had to come and that the whole show was just for you. Tomorrow night, at midnight, we’re going to put you in the bull, and then we’re going to light the fire and cook you, and you know what we’re going to do, we’re going to celebrate, man, we’re going to celebrate.”

David doubled up with laughter, Molly, in hysterics, leaned her arms on the Bull’s flank and tried to get her breath back. The rest of the party were also giggling and getting off on the scenario.

“I’m serious, man,” Douglas continued, “tomorrow night at midnight, we’re going to put you in the bull, and then we’re going to light the fire and cook you, and you’re going to die a long, slow, agonizing death. There. Inside the bull.”

David screwed up his eyes in an expression that showed he was trying to break through his bewilderment and make sense of the sounds he was hearing, he remained like this for a while, making small facial jerks, and, at last, asked, “Why?” He then doubled up with laughter again.

“Two reasons, man,” Douglas replied, lighting a hand rolled cigarette, “first, because,” he said the words in careful staccato, “we know what you really did with the five grand you told Molly you had put down as a deposit on a new car. Douglas paused to let the words sink in. “You don’t find those kind of videos with a casual Google search, do you David? No, to find those kind of shows you need to use special browsers that will let you search the dark-web, you need to network and join clubs, you need to be in the right place, at the right time, you need to be determined, and, sometimes, you need to pay a lot of money. But you know that already, don’t you David?”

“Do I?” David whimpered, sensing some kind of major polarity flip. The professor was still guffawing but his laughter sounded increasingly like wheezing. He reached out for his tower of strength. “You can’t put me in the bull and roast me,” he said, “Molly won’t let you.”

“It was Molly’s idea” Douglas replied, “Well, when I say that it was her idea, Molly wrote me to ask if I knew anybody who would shoot you in the balls. She told me what she had found on your lap-top, one morning, when you were out cold and she had taken your finger to bypass the security key. Did you know David, that three of the girls, and one of the boys, featured in your latest, five grand, trawl, are on the official missing persons list. They’re mispers David. Anyway, I gave the situation some thought, we had this party coming up, and well, here we are.”

Actual reality was knocking hard on the doors of David’s perception, trying to get in. “You can’t put me in the bull,” he said, “it’s murder, people will miss me, the police will investigate, you’ll be found out.”

“Your family will miss you,” Douglas replied, “ to them, your disappearance, will be mysterious, but when Molly explains about the illegal porn and your chronic depression, they will assume that you must have taken your own life. Nobody else will miss you. The Principal of your university is here, on the island, as is the chief of police. “You’d be surprised, David, at some of the people who are here.”

“Dr. Clinch is here?!” David trembled, “He knows?!”

“We all know, man,” Easy said. “you broke a law sacred to our tribe.”

“Yeah, bro,” Jake added, “and now you must become a sacred sacrifice. Tell him about the chance, man.”

Melinda Green said, “Tell him about the other reason.”

On the horizon, the giant red sun was descending beneath the sea as evening transformed slowly into night. The sunset was glorious. Sammy took photographs.

“The other reason we have to roast you in the bull, is that we are all of us members of the Brotherhood and sisterhood of Beleth.” Douglas said, “Beleth is a great and mighty King, a demon of God, worthy of the highest praise and honour, who will,” Douglas made quotation marks in the air with his first and middle fingers,

“grant to his followers all the love that may be, both of Men and of Women, until the Master Exorcist hath had his desire fulfilled”

and, to be honest, David, your torture, is just going to be such a turn on! We are offering you up in sacrifice to the awesome and terrible lord we adore, knowing that his blessings will be generous. ”

Stuck in an absurd reality, a feeling awoke in the professor, the old mix of anger and antipathy he had so often experienced in the company of his friend. While he had not yet fully grasped the existential gravity of the truth bomb that had exploded under him, he knew one thing for sure, nobody was going to burn him to death in a bronze bull. Simply wasn’t happening. A psychedelic veteran, it was only in the deepest moments of a trip, when his mind was entirely under the control of the chemical’s strongest effect, that he was unable, to some extent, to disentangle the drug-induced experience from real life. He quickly picked up a stone from near his feet and, saying, “Here!”, tossed it, with some force towards Douglas, who fumbled the catch.

“Aha!” the professor exclaimed, “Butterfingers! The same old Doug! Hey, has anybody got a football?”

“Yes”, Douglas said snidely and added, “You know I did say that you have a chance to avoid such a gruesome death.” “A chance, a chance”, David mocked, “and I said has anybody got a football? Come on, let’s have a kickabout! Okay, then, Doug, what’s my chance?”

“If you survive the hunt, then we will let you live.” Douglas was unable to avoid a giggle which triggered a fresh wave of Kykeon hilarity in the professor, and, for about half a minute, the two old friends stood together, doubled up with laughter.

“If I survive the hunt?” David asked with unusual humility.

“Yes”, Douglas replied, “We are assuming that when the effects of the drug wear off, it won’t take you long to realise the true nature of your predicament, and you will try to escape. The hunt begins at 11 am tomorrow morning and ends at 9 pm. Twenty Five Seven are offering two thousand pounds to whichever group, or individual, brings you in unharmed. Some of the bikers have been particularly excited about this aspect of the event. For your part, well the island is not big but it has a diverse landscape”, Douglas waved his hand towards the interior, “you only need to avoid detection for ten hours, and we will let you go free, you can stay, and enjoy the rest of the party. Our Lord and saviour, Great King Beleth, will have to wait.”

Melinda Green, began to sing the chorus of, ‘The Trumpet’s Call’, the Demon’s ancient hymn.

“Beleth, beautiful Lord, mighty and terrible King, you fill our hearts with honest love, and to you grateful praises we sing. Hey, you know why some of the girls have been mixing up bikinis with the cosplay?”, she asked Jake.

“Huh, no, why?”, Jake replied.

“We’re going to have a tan-lines competition, let’s face it, this island is hotter than a fucking sunbed!” “Oh, man”, said Jake. Mel laughed, “it gets better, you’re the judge. We’re going to get up on stage, between bands. You have to give points for contrast and for freakiness.” “I think I could just about perform that task.” Jake said, grabbing his crotch.

From 11 am the following morning, the hunters set forth, whooping and cheering, some blowing trumpets made from bulls horns or sea-shells, some by foot, some on dirt-bikes, or quads, some in little boats that had been carefully modified to replicate Minoan ships. Many carried the painted shields, and spears of the bronze-age people.

The giant orange sun was searingly fierce, the day was proving to be the hottest yet.

It would be an overstatement to suggest that, by mid afternoon, David was feeling quietly confident but, what is certainly true is that he was not considering any alternative to escaping the clutches of his hunters. He had already made his way deep into the outback, how many miles he could only guess, and the land was ideal for hiding, with large patches of forest, and montane scrub providing good cover. He had decided that the best approach, for the time being, at least, was to keep moving. Although he had encountered deer, pine martens, and a fox, the professor had not seen, or heard, another human being since leaving the event site in the wee-small hours, and, while every unexpected movement or bird call caused him to jump, David was encouraged by a recent news story about a boy who vanished in Spain. Although a large search party had gone looking for him, with a good idea of the general location of the disappearance, it had taken them weeks, to find the teen’s body, lying below a bush at the bottom of a remote gully.

In the wake of ascertaining that his mobile phone and tablet were useless, David’s first thought had been to leave the island, so after gathering together supplies, he had swapped sandals for trainers to walk to the jetty, and discovered, not only that the ferry was nowhere to be seen, and, wasn’t scheduled to return until Monday, but that all the other vessels, mainly Minoan ships, were under heavily armed guard by men wearing Corinthian style helmets and carrying long spears.

Stopping to rest, David considered the pros and cons of climbing the mountain along whose foot he had been trecking. On one hand, higher ground, would provide a better view of his pursuers. This thought made him feel like crapping, but he had long since evacuated the entire content of his bowels in the onsite permaculture toilet. On the other hand, there would be less cover should he be spotted. David checked the time. There were three and a half hours remaining.

Despite the chinos and long sleeved tee he was wearing, to prevent sunburn, from which sweat could literally be wrung, his body had taken several knocks and cuts along the way, from thorns and stumbles. The heat was criminally intense. The professor was finding it hard to function.

Suddenly, from somewhere in the distance, came the sound of the sharp blasting of several bull’s horn trumpets. And, oh man, he could hear human voices, shouting, still quite far away.

David instantly decided to climb the mountain, to put as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuers.

An hour later when he had broken the mountain’s back, a thought occurred to the professor which made him violently wretch. He was wondering whether he may have been able to receive a signal from the summit, if he had, in fact brought his mobile along. He had ditched it in the yurt in the knowledge that the device would be easily trackable by GPS.

And then David remembered the words Douglas had said,

“The eagle has landed!”

and he knew, in a terrifying instant, that the black and white pill he had swallowed was, in fact, not MDMA at all, but an ingestible tracking device, probably the kind designed to stick to the stomach wall for well over twenty four hours. The professor had heard about these devices on the radio, playing in the background in his study, weeks previously.

David gagged, white bile dripped from his mouth. He forced his hand into his throat and tickled his tonsils, but despite heaving, he was only able to bring up a few more drops of bile.

It was then that the professor caught sight of the first hang glider, about a mile away, the size of a large bird. David guessed it improbable that the pilot would spot him on the mountain, if he kept low and took as much cover as possible.

The situation worsened. Looking down, to see how far he had come, the professor could make out a group of small dots at the foot of the mountain, beginning their ascent. Even from such distance the hunters’ spearheads flashed and sparkled in the blazing sun.

The will to stay alive, pushed to its limit, saw David reach the peak three quarters of an hour later, and the high ground on which he was now standing, gasping for air, did offer the professor a commanding view of the patchwork of heathland, forests and hills, that made up the islands terrain. David could see that he had arrived at the opposite side of the isle to that on which the festival was taking place.

Inside a circle on one of the beaches something the size of a pinpoint glinted with flashes of bright light.

In addition to the hunters behind him upon which (judging by the volume of their shouts and trumpets), he had gained some ground, he also saw other groups of stalkers on adjacent land. There were three hang gliders in the sky now, at about the same height as himself, all, luckily, at a safe distance. The professor also discerned several of the distinctively curved sloops he had seen moored around the jetty, sailing in the turquoise water. The closest of these ships was on the reverse side of the mountain to that which he had climbed, the ascent having below revealed a lengthy stretch of white sand bookended by rocky promonteries. The beach reminded David of Rhossili Bay in the Gower peninsula. The ship was on the right hand side of the scene, from David’s perspective, to the West, for he was fronting on to the murderous sun.

There was no going back. The professor would have to climb down to the beach, where the sand would make much easier going than the rocky higher level land, and make a break for the promontory to the East, which was sure to be riddled with nooks and crannies, crevices, and caves.

David took a gulp of water from a litre-bottle, no longer luke-warm, it was now as hot as fresh coffee, and began to descend, taking as much cover as he could. Compared with the climb up, the climb down was a breeze, and the professor, never an unfit man, although still in a state of dread, was experiencing a second-wind. “a hundred minutes remaining , maybe the transmitter isn’t working properly, or is out of range, or is only accurate to an imprecise point.”

On reaching the shore, the professor took a look behind. His primary pursuers were now over the top of the mountain. They blew horns and yelled, waving spears in the air. David was now sure he had been spotted and that his hunters knew where he was. The Minoan ship, also, was closer to shore, near enough to make out the forms of individual people, though not quite close enough, yet, to distinguish their features.

Then the professor heard the sound of a motor engine which, having begun with a distant hum, was growing louder, second by second. An ultralight, powered-glider, that must have come from behind the western headland was flying low over the beach and heading, towards him. David was paralyzed as the trike flew directly over his head close enough for the professor to see the pilot’s eyes beneath his goggles. Some kind of rifle had been attached to the front frame of the glider. The buggy turned, flew out to sea and then turned again, it was circling in for the kill. David was going to have to make a run for it.

With all the strength left in him, the professor, made for the damp ground in the center of the beach where running would be faster than on the loose sand, and began to sprint towards the promontory. The hum of the glider grew louder. As the sound approached maximum volume, David began to zig-zag. Metal darts with pink flights hit the land beside him with violent thuds. He threw himself to the ground as the glider passed overhead, and the space around him was riddled with mini explosions.

The rifle on the glider was a fully automatic animal tranquilizer gun. The transmitter was working fine. Douglas, in the ship closing in, had a fix on the professor, to a square foot, and was in radio communication with the glider pilot.

David sprinted, ninety yards left to cover, but the engine’s hum was quickly amplifying, and this time round, the professor was not so lucky, a dart hit his ankle. He stumbled forward, slowly, for a few more steps then fell, unconscious, to the ground. Within ten minutes, the ship’s landing party had made the beach, and stood, with the glider pilot, around their captured prey.

When he came to again, the professor was lying in the stern of the, admittedly diesel powered, Minoan ship, his hands and feet bound with rope. His hands tied behind his back. The crimson sun now low, in the sky. He felt groggy, initially, waking from the anaesthetic, but his mind cleared. The ship’s doctor had administered a shot of morphine to David while he was under, so the professor, actually, felt quite blissful. A few feet away, Douglas stood, with his back to him, at the wheel.

“We’ll be there in ten”, Sammy called from up front.

“You fucking bastard!”, shouted David, weakly, but loud enough to catch Douglas’ attention.

“You cheated!”, David said, “You fucking bastard! You cheated!”

“Mispers” said Douglas, almost whispering, “Mispers.”

The professor let out a groan that sounded like it came from the bottom of the sea.

“Come on, man, it won’t be that bad”, Douglas said.

“It won’t be that bad?!” the professor pleaded.

“No, man, we’ll give you another shot of morph before you go in, your death will be no more painful than, say, dying of cancer, and it will be a lot quicker.”

As it turned out, all went well on the night. A night when Scotland hosted a party, the likes of which had not been seen for many centuries.

David was taken into a palatial and sweet-smelling tent where a harpist was playing a set of antediluvian tunes. Easy, Melinda, and Tracey T. prepared him for the sacrifice. They tenderly patched up his wounds, washed him from head to toe, massaged his body with fragrant oils and balms, and dressed him in a long white robe with colourful sleeves and tassels. As a finishing touch, garlands of wild flowers, and replica bronze-age necklaces were placed, and a green and white scarf, tied, around his neck.

The professor flailed his arms, but the second morph shot, sleepy tea, and the girls sympathetic charms soon rendered him as placid, and tame as a newborn lamb.

Molly, was making out with the glider pilot in a nearby yurt. The pilot was taking great care not to climax before the upcoming ceremony.

At a quarter past eleven, the procession set forth, led by Douglas and the rest of the Twenty-Five-Seven inner circle. Douglas had replaced his peacock-feathered beret with a pair of horns from a Heelan coo, and held a hazel staff. Joy Daniels and Natasha Christ waved navy banners emblazoned with the golden sigil of Lord Beleth, while the rest all carried lighted firebrands.

Behind them David, in a painted-chariot, was escorted by four figures in dark Minoan kilts and tunics, wearing black bull’s head masks. One of the bull-headed priests, held the lead rope attached to a ring on the halter of the white horse driving the chariot.

Next in line came the fire jugglers, tossing, spinning and twirling, flaming torches, clubs, and balls.

The rest of the line was a free-for-all. Most of the revellers wore period kilts, though some of the girls’ kilts were modern tartan, and very short. A large percentage of the crowd had followed Twenty Five Seven’s request to bring lasers, fireworks, sparklers, whistles, hand drums, guitars, harps, lyres, tambourines, and banners and flags bearing colourful, cartoon, dolphins and octopuses. Everybody was at least half, while some were entirely, naked.

And, so, the brotherhood and sisterhood of Beleth, several thousand strong, snaked its way along the coastal track under the full strawberry moon to the sacrificial altar. A few of the members had brought along flares, and smoke bombs, and the cavalcade resembled nothing so much as a football corteo. The track down to the beach, and the path through the maze, were lined with burning torches that cast an entirely ethereal glow on the scene.

The first two groups, arrived at the bellowing bull. The fire jugglers formed a circle around the center of the maze, while the rest of the party-goers gathered about to view the spectacle. It occurred to the professor that this whole show really had been put on for his benefit, and that he was, in fact, going to be the bull. He managed to hold his arms aloft and the crowd cheered like crazy, blowing whistles and horns.

A bull-headed priest opened the trap-door, the other three gave the professor the help he needed, (for he was suddenly hesitant), to enter the metal beast. The door was then shut and barred.

Douglas made a fist of his left hand and, holding the silver ring on his middle finger to his temple he jabbed the staff in his right hand to the South East and intoned the demon’s enn,

“LIRASH TASA VEFA WEHL BELETH!

LIRASH TASA VEFA WEHL BELETH!

LIRASH TASA VEFA WEHL BELETH!”

He then nodded his head to Jake, who tapped the bundle of wood underneath the bull with his firebrand. The wood was so dry, and the night so hot, that the fire caught instantly. The crowd cheered. Sammy took photographs, mainly of the naked jugglers.

All that was left to do was to wait for the first roar of the bull. The atmosphere was electric with excited anticipation. It had been decided that there would be no loud music until the bellowing had ceased, but there was some mellow drumming, string playing & singing taking place. The Extinction Resistance musicians from the ferry were playing a version of ‘The Trumpet’s Call’ with incredible vocal harmonies. A mini cinema was projecting one of Twenty Five Seven’s best hardcore videos, silently, on to a large screen. A generator-driven ice-machine was providing free, much needed, relief from the heat, while an ice-cream van, up from Glasgow, was doing good trade.

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The bull bellowed and the noise was loud and hyper-realistic. For a few seconds, the entire beach was struck dumb, and then a mighty hosanna rose up from the people towards the highest heavens. Fireworks exploded in the perimeters sending a dazzling display of light and colour into the sky.

The bull bellowed again, and continued to do so for almost an hour. After twenty minutes, steam, and incense, materialized from its nostrils, an effect which, combined with the sound, produced the uncannily accurate impression of a living animal.

The night was young.

The Cyborgian Science & Technology Centre on the moon of Jupiter, Europa, has a long history of psychedelic research dating back to the 23rd Century.

Cyborg g7y!fm_e8 , manning the control room in Neuronautical suite 6, was alerted by a siren in his ear and red flashing light in his eye to the fact that Neuronaut 28 was exhibiting symptoms of extreme stress and needed to be removed from the sensory deprivation capsule immediately.

g7y!fm_e8 brought the capsule into the chamber and opened the door by thought alone, but rose from his chair to greet the neuronaut who was gasping for the Oxygen that was quickly provided.

After Neuronaut 28 had gained composure, g7y!fm_e8 greeted him with the obligatory, “Did you win?”

“No”, Neuronaut 28 replied, “I fucking lost”

“Where did it take you?” g7y!fm_e8 asked, genuinely curious.

Neuronaut 28 replied, “Earth. 21st Century. Scotland.”

“What happened?”

“Bin it!” answered Neuronaut 28, “I wouldn’t give that stuff to my worst enemy.”