Glasses chinked. “Are we out of whiskey?”
“No, no” A hand reached beneath the sofa. “Here.”
Paul Sanders pointed a shaky finger at his friend. “Tell me about your grandmother.”
Andy look at him, confused, “What?”
Sanders looked, tried once, twice, and then finally got out “Indulge me.”
His friend shrugged. “She was, you know, my grandmother. Oh – there was this time….”
***
“We are, sir, we are approaching the Insertion Point.”
Author Sanders crossed the page. “Be careful, Scribe. If we get too close to the plot-line we run the risk of being drawn into the story.”
Chief Scribe Anderson nodded, “Yes, sir. Initiating Copying Process.”
***
“This is all we are,” said Sanders, knocking back a his whiskey. “Story. And if we’re story, and they’re story, then we should be able to edit.”
“You should put the pipe down, mate. You want to put yourself into a story? Can you hear yourself?”
Sanders smiled. “I’ve built an engine and coded a set of narratives. Every observation has changed the output. I think I can break the wall.”
Andy sat up, blinking to sober himself. “You…what?”
“I’ve encoded myself. I’m going to drop myself into the engine. I’ve prepared my diary – you’ll observe alterations to my history in there, and-”
“Wait. I’ll observe?”
“We’re scientists, Andy. We’re performing an experiment.”
“We’re drunk, Paul. And off your head.”
“Maybe,” Paul yawned. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
***
Sanders was reading over her shoulder. “Anderson, we are being observed. We need to get out of the story-line now.”
Anderson pulled out a stylus and started writing. “Initiating emergency Instantiation and Extraction.”
From the edge of the turning page, Author Sanders shouts. “Quickly, Anderson. We are almost committed.”
***
The page turns, the reader, intrigued, reads on.
***
“Sir, it’s too late. You are at insertion. Pasting in 3, 2, 1”
***
Sanders stood outside his old dorm. Inside he was installing his pattern into an engine holding a great deal of fiction. The wall was about to be breached, and his storytelling skills would be needed to ensure a smooth transition.
“I was a cock when I was younger. I had no idea what I was doing.” He looked out of the page. “Anderson, I’m sorry you’re caught in this.”
***
Chief Scribe Anderson and Author Sanders watched the feed. “That was awfully close, Anderson. Congratulations on the speed of the insertion, next time, though – let’s not cut it so fine.”
“No, sir.” She paused. “Sir, why, exactly are we here?”
“Well, we are here to act as first defense. The wall will be breached. I’m in there to make sure that I don’t die.”
***
Sanders felt for the key in his pocket, opened the door and walked in. Andy is kneeling over the body on the floor. His body. Hearing the door open, Andy turns his head.
“You? But -” He stumbles back, tripping, seeing the diary as he does. First a book, now a gem, now parchment, now on animal hide.
“Andy – this is going to be a long night. We’re going to tell stories, and if we end one before I get out, or if we run out of stories, I’m going to die.”
“What?”
“We are story, Andy. He was right. I was right. We broke the wall.”
***
Anderson looked at her commanding officer. “You?”
They were watching the Feed Stream, ensuring narrative integrity. “Me.”
“And if they don’t tell the stories? If you finish one?”
“I die.”
“You better tell some damn good stories.”
