Foundation - Prologue
Written by: Jason Hayman

It was an uninteresting chamber, dark and unassuming, as common as any other lawyers room. Books filled the shelves that reached to the ceiling and rolls of parchment, yellow with age, pointed awkwardly out of dark corners, a select few placed uncomfortably inside an umbrella stand fashion in the shape of an elephants foot.

A desk was placed at the far end of the room; dark wood riddled with cracks and creases like the old man who sat behind it. A single electric lamp illuminated his desk shedding its flickering, electric glow across the paper that the gaunt old man was furiously scribbling across. The hard light gave the old man a haunted, hallow look to his weathered face. Behind the writing man, framed by more towering book shelves that seemed ready to topple over under the weight, was a rather boring door that could easily lead to a toilet, or even worse, an accountant's office.

Footsteps from the corridor caused a momentary flicker in the old man's writing. He paused for a twinkling of a heart beat, looked up briefly at the door in front of him, then returned to his agitated writing.

The door opened a crack; a ray of white light filled half the room illuminating the far side of the study and making the old, dusty books cower deeper into the shadows of their shelves for safety.

"Please close the door behind you, Gibbons," the old man said, a hint of annoyance in his morose voice.

The door creaked shut. The lithe figure of a slim, skeletal man seemed to glide over to the desk. "Good news, sir!" the figure tried to say in a cheery, but tortuously bothersome voice. To the old man sat behind the desk, the voice always reminded him of a cat trapped in a washing machine during the spin-cycle.

There was no answer as the man continued his manic writing. Gibbons looked around awkwardly, the whites of his eyes the only feature discernible in the dark, oppressive gloom of the room. He hated it when his master ignored him and he self-consciously started to ring his hands together.

"Get on with it, Gibbons. Time is wasting."

"Sir, I believe I have found the remaining people you asked for."

The writing stopped and the pen was put down gently to rest over the paper, then he looked up into Gibbons' darting eyes. The old man arched an eyebrow. "All of them?" he inquired sceptically, as if he could not believe that the task was possible. The tall, shadowy figure nodded energetically. It was always happy to please his master. "Well?" the old man prompted impatiently after a moment of silence.

Gibbons looked blankly at his master until he realised what he wanted. "Ah! I shall show them in shall I?"

"Yes Gibbons. Please do," came his masters wry answer.

Bowing profusely, the tall figure ambled backwards to the door then left the room. After a few moments there was a hollow knock.

"Come in!" the old man called in a slightly warmer tone of voice.

The door opened and a tall, well built man with a stone like structure to his face walked into the room. Long, curly ginger hair trailed over his shoulders, a grey robe etched in a zig-zap pattern along the cuff of the sleeves and the run of the hem showed a finery to his clothes that some of the other "patrons" that had visited this room in past had not.

"Please, take a seat," the old man offered to the handsome stranger without rising from his own seat. The man seemed sceptical at first but then pulled out the seat from under the the desk and sat down slowly, his sharp, blue eyes not leaving the old mans for a moment.

"I was offered a holiday?" the ginger haired man stated as a half-question. He still sounded suspicious and looked ill at ease. "A special holiday?"

"Indeed, sir!" the old man behind the desk said in well rehearsed, buoyant voice. "A holiday unlike any other you have taken before!"

The well built man gave him a long, hard stare before he asked his next question. "And it is for free?"

The old man smiled a winning smile. "Yes, sir. For people such as yourself." The man still did not look convinced. "See it as a game. When you lose, the holiday is over and you will be returned to where Mr. Gibbons found you." The old man could see that some of the hard resolve was draining from the strangers face. "It will be like living another life, starting all over again in a world ruled my magic and gods."

"Gods! Hah!" The big man bellowed. "I have had enough of the Church! They're nothing but bullies and late payers!"

The old man smiled. "I assure you, sir, no one in this world will bully you. In this world all your dreams will come true." The hardness suddenly drained away from the big mans face.

"Dreams. Yes! I have plenty of dreams," the big man smiled broadly. "You know, I have this idea for a balloon filled with hot air. Hot air rises you see, lifting you off the ground!"

"Indeed it does sir. I can guarantee you that in this holiday, that dream will come true." The old man leaned over his desk. "That is why we want you sir. You are an inventor, a dreamer, those are the sort of people this world is catered for." He saw that he had the stranger on the proverbial, hook, line and sinker. "Of course, you can say `no' and none of this would have happened."

The large man snapped out of his day dreaming. "I would like to take the holiday!" He said in a firm, determined voice.

"Excellent!" the old man beamed. He opened a draw and pulled out a piece of paper. "I just need to take some details, sir." The old man scribbled across the page then without looking up he asked, "Name please sir."

"Da Vinci." The large man answered. "Leonardo Da Vinci."

"Occupation?"

"Artist, sculptor, inventor"

"Thank you sir. If you just sign this declaration here at the bottom." He handed the artist the sheet of paper he had been scribbling across. "Here sir," the old man pointed out, "where the dotted line is."

Flamboyantly, Leonardo Da Vinci signed his name.

"Now sir, if you walk this way," the old man rose majestically from his seat gesturing to the artist to walk towards the plan wooden door behind the desk. Taking the handle, the old man opened the door and beckoned Leonardo inside. "If would kindly walk inside sir, you can enter the last phase of the contract."

The room beyond was dark and foreboding. Leonardo looked to the old man who smiled warmly like the cat who had just got the milk. "Are you sure? It looks rather dark in there."

"All will be revealed soon, sir." Again the old man beckoned the artist inside. Gingerly, Leonardo took the few hesitant steps that led him into the darkness. He looked around and gave the old man an apprehensive look. "Please be calm sir, all is fine." Suddenly light started to the fill the room. Leonardo looked around, alarmed at the brilliant glare. "Be at ease sir. Your holiday begins in earnest."

The old man closed the door and walked back to the desk. Rays of light streamed out of the gaps between the door and it's frame. Quite unperturbed, the old man continued his writing on the sheet of paper then placed it carefully back into his desk. His room was now filled with rays or rotating light, books harshly illuminated giving the effect of faces etched along their spines and covers. The books seemed to be smirking.

"Wwwwwaaaaaahhhhhhhh " POP! Fiiizzzzzz! Leonardo's wail was suddenly cut off in mid stroke and the brilliant rays of light seeping in from the concealed room vanished.

Calmly, the old man closed the draw of his desk then leaned over to a box lined with buttons. He pressed one of them and the box hissed. "Send in the next one, Gibbons." He spoke woodenly.

After a few moments, there was another knock.

"Come!" the old man called.

The door was swung open and the broad short figure of a man stood in the doorway. Light slowly seeped into the office, the old man began to make out features. The short, stocky man wore metallic shoulder plates, a breastplate moulded in the shape of a powerful mans chest. Underneath his armour, he wore a while tunic, the sleeves ending at his elbows and gold trim around their edges. Another man of wealth, the old man mused. Surprisingly, the short man in the doorway was wearing a skirt and knee high boots strapped up his hairy calves. A sword was strapped to his waist and the stocky man had his hand resting comfortably on the hilt like a man at ease with killing.

"Take a seat, please," the old man offered.

The soldier looked about the room then forcefully pulled out the chair and sat down. "I was told to come here!" the man bellowed. He cocked his head to the side and glared at the old man with his fierce blue eyes. "For a game." He leaned over the desk. "A war game devised by the gods," he said ominously with a wink.

"Indeed, sir! And a grand game it is too!"

The military man looked about the room. "Books!" he shouted in contempt. "Nothing good comes from books!" He returned his icy stare to the old man. "Where's your swords and shields and heads stuck on poles?"

The old man sat back into his chair easily brushing aside the stray comment from the stranger. "This is a gateway, sir. Beyond that door," the old man turned slightly in his chair and pointed at the boring looking and now intimidated door, "lays a word full of violence and war, pestilence and famine. Beyond there, sir, lies your dreams."

"Women?" the solider asked, squinting suspiciously at the old man.

"Indeed, sir. And alcohol," he said sweetly.

The soldier smiled, a broad smile showing his white teeth. The old man could not fail to see the gaps.

"And if I die, I do not die?" The stranger seemed puzzled at this sentence, as if he was repeating it from a mind that did not understand.

"If you die in that world, sir, you will be returned to this one, to where Mr. Gibbons found you," the old man replied.

"The weasely man with the runny eyes who can't seem to focus on one point?"

"Yes, sir! I see you know him quite well."

"Damn girlie he is, man! First sign of trouble, he wee's himself!"

"He has been known to do that," the old man said apologetically. "Something to do with his upbringing I believe."

"Well, man! Can I go to this New World or not? I have the need to conquer something!" he barked with a roguish laugh. "A good woman perhaps!" he jeered with a wink.

"Indeed you can, sir!" The old man interrupted quickly. "You are just what we are looking for," the old man made a point of looking for his desk draw, " brutish", he added to himself as he opened the small compartment and took out another piece of paper. "You name, please sir. For the records you understand."

"Alexander the Great!" the man shouted and he jumped to his feet and planted his fists on his hips. "Conqueror of the know world and chosen of the Gods!"

"Quite so, sir, and how well they need you too," the old man leaned closer to his desk as he wrote. "They'll love you over there," he added in a quieter voice. "Occupation sir?"

"God," Alexander said lovingly to himself. He brushed some imaginary specks of dust from his breastplate then inspected his manicured nails. "Women fall at my feet and offer themselves to me. What would you call that?" the man asked, obviously puzzled at his own question.

"Desperate?" the old man offered.

Alexander the Great shot him an acid stare, then a slow smile spread across his face. "Hah! I like you, man! You have guts!"

"Indeed I do, and they are staying right where they are!" Alexander let out a huge bellow of laughter. "So then, sir. Shall I add to your occupation, womaniser and raving alcoholic?" Alexander laughed even louder.

"I like you!" he bellowed. "You have more backbone than any of my commanders!"

"Thank you, sir, I will remember that." He rose from his seat. "Now if you would enter that door, the final part of the contract will be completed."

Alexander tried to stand taller, and nearly succeed despite the only fact that he was three feet shorter than the old man. As the warrior walked towards the door, it opened on its own accord. Alexander shot the old man an alarmed look.

"The Gods are only eager for you to enter," the old man suggested. "Their realm awaits you."

Alexander beamed and confidently walked into the dark room beyond. The door immediately slammed shut behind the warrior.

Thumping sounded from the other side. "What trickery is this!" Alexander bellowed. "There is nothing here but darkness" Suddenly light streamed into the office from around the doorframe. "Witchcraft! I have been betrayed!" More thumping, more urgent this time. "I'll - !" Suddenly his voice was cut off. "Aarrgghhhhhhh - !" POP! Fiiizzzzzz!

The light vanished and the old man returned to his seat. He pressed the button on his intercom and it hissed into life. "Next!" he commanded gruffly.

After a short time, there was a knock at the door.

"Enter!" the old man bid.

A head peeked in though the doorway. Well, technically it was head, but it looked like someone had placed a spiky, frazzled brush on their head. Even the old man seemed surprised.

"Please, come in."

"Is dis the room for the vacation?" the heavily accented voice asked. The old man rummaged around his memory trying to place the speakers accent. Jewish, with a hint of American, the old man mused.

"Take a seat, please," the old man offered. What entered was comical. The man wore a grey suite that was just to short for him, a brown tie only loosely knotted about his neck and a white shirt covered in criss-crossing lines to form squares. Long, grey-white hair somehow lifted off his scalp like the old man had recently had an electric shock was a prominent feature that the eye and mind found hard to ignore. A thick moustache, somehow also looking comical, sat like an overweight caterpillar on his lip. Definitely the mad scientist look.

"Ah, good!" the stranger said. He meandered up to the desk, his attention fixed upon the rows and rows of books before he bumped into the seat and sat down in the chair. "The strange man with the runny eyes, waz a bit erratic with his directions."

"I will need to have a word with him," the old man behind the desk answered, feeling an afirmity with the new stranger.

"Yez, indeed, but logic dedicated that dis would be the right room."

"Is that so?"

"Yez, there waz a big sign outside you door saying, `vacation room'." The stranger smiled slyly, the old man could not help himself from chuckling.

"Do you understand the terms and conditions of the contract?"

"Yez. Mr. Gibbons explained it explicitly." The stranger leaned over the desk and looked around secretively. "Is it a parallel world?" He whispered and looked around again. "Dis is one of my current theories I am trying to prove. Our universe has become so boring recently since I discovered it." He smiled at the old man.

"The details are scarce at the moment," the old man replied. "But then you can find out for yourself. Isn't that what you want?"

"Indeed!" The man answered. "You know me well, yez?" He looked around again to check that they were not being watched, which of course they were not so long as you did not count the curious stares of the books, that is. "I've been told there is magic in this New World. Is that true? I would like that, yez? I am so bored with proving the conventional. I would like to have some fun for a change! Being a wizard would be much fun, yez?"

"There is more magic in this world than you can shake a stick at!"

"Wonderful!" The stranger said, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Where do I sign up?"

"Right here," the old man said pulling out a piece of paper. "Albert Einstein isn't it?" the old man asked although he had already written his name down. For occupation he wrote `Genius' and `Party animal'. "If you would sign your name right here" Albert did so, quite excitedly.

"It is like signing you soul away to the devil, yez?"

"Not quite," the old man replied. "There's more red tape involved with the devil. He gets fed up with people breaking their contracts all the time." The old man rose from his seat. "Now if you please walk this way, through this door."

As Albert Einstein got to his feet, the old man opened the door. Albert quite calmly, with a smile on his face, walked straight into the darkness.

"Dark in here, yez?" he said.

"That will soon change, Albert," the old man said then closed the door quietly.

"Oh!" Albert exclaimed "A bright light. Like the big bang, yez?" There was silence for awhile. "Oh my! Wwwaaahhhhh - !" POP! Fiiizzzzzz!

Silence.

The old man sat down, a warm smile on his face. "Next, please Gibbons," he said in a cheerful voice after feeling buoyant from his encounter with Albert.

There was not even a knock, the door just opened and someone walked in, hidden in the shadow cast by the door. The old man narrowed his eyes angrily at the impatience of this new stranger.

"You Hawkins?" the figure asked, still cloaked in the shadow. It was a young voice, younger than his last three visitors.

"Yes," the old man replied irritably.

"Oh. Good." The voice answered then seemed at a loss at what to do next.

"Close the door," the old man said tiresomely with a wave of his hand as he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk. From the corners of his eyes he noticed the stranger hesitate then close the door. When he saw that the newcomer had not moved, he looked up. "Take a seat," he offered in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

The stranger did as he was told and as he walked into the little light there was in the room, the old man scrutinised him carefully. He had light coloured hair with a centre parting that left it hanging over his face like a pair of curtains. He wore a sort of shirt come jumper decorated in bright colours, a confusing mixture that was beginning to make the old man go cross-eyed as he stared at the garment. He noticed that the newcomer was wearing dark jeans and as he watched the boy sit down in the seat, noticed a hint of green in their colour. Gibbons had said that he had found all of the people needed to fill the four vacant slots. What was Gibbons doing hiring the last slot to this boy?

Taking the seat, the stranger looked apprehensively to the old man who slowly leant back to the accompanying nose of creaking leather as he glared at the young man. "Tell me. What do you do for a living?"

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. I'm unemployed." He looked a bit sheepish sat there with his shoulders slightly bunched up. He looked around the room. "Books. Cool. Lots of `em." He was never very good at small talk.

"Yes, indeed," the old man replied leaving an awkward silence hovering above the table. The stranger nodded his head absently sucking at his teeth as he struggled to think of something else to say.

"That secretary of yours, the ugly one with broken teeth, wheezy breath and a foul tongue dragged me in here and told me you were giving away free holidays."

"Mr. Gibbons?" the old man questioned.

"It's a man?" the stranger asked shocked. "Then why is he wearing a dress?"

The old man waved aside the ominous question. "His parents got confused when he was born and that has left him with a mental scar. Don't worry, he's quite harmless."

The stranger nodded sheepishly and looked about the room once more. He caught himself just before he mentioned how "cool" the books were again. He continued nodding his head like a fool.

"Any future aspirations?" the old man asked putting his hands into a steeple position.

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't mind getting a job in the computer industry." The stranger replied in a firmer tone of voice.

"Really?" the old man said, a glimmer of hope in his voice. "Are you qualified?"

"Not really, well, not for the area I want to go into."

The old man nodded and found his hand wandering towards his desk draw. "And what's your area?"

"Game programming," the young man replied.

"Hhmmm, really?" the old man found that he had opened his draw and was already fumbling around for a contract. "Creative is it?".

"Yeah, but I'm lacking a good idea at the moment. I need a game that'll set people alight! Something to make them buy it in their droves. But I just can't think"

The old man pulled out the contract and put it on his desk. "Well, we have one vacancy left. Do you want to take it?"

"I'm not even sure what I'm here for."

"If I was to tell you that I could take you to a place that could inspire you, may even give you an idea for a game. Would you go?"

"Don't know. How many over people are going."

"Oh, hundreds. Thousands," the old man said dismissively. "All like you, creative people although there are a few there who are not and prefer to destroy things or just let other people do things for them."

"Hhmmm. I don't know."

"There's really nothing to fear. We give you a life insurance, everything. If anything happens to you then we return you back to the point where you started, perfectly intact with nothing but a distant memory left of your experience."

"Memory?"

"Yes. Like a dream. A dream that may inspire you into creating that lucrative game you were telling me about."

"I dunno." The stranger said. "How long is the holiday?"

"As long as you make it."

"I only popped out to get some milk. My girlfriend'll get worried if I'm not back soon."

"Nothing to fear, I assure you. You can even bring her along if you like."

"A free holiday? Sounds too good to be true."

"No obligation I assure you. Just tell me your name and sign the contract and the rest of the details can be sorted out behind that door there to the rear of me."

"Contract?" the stranger, asked suspiciously.

"Yes. Nothing legally binding, just your signature to say that I approve of you and you approve of me."

"Well"

The old man smiled. "Trust me, sir. Your name please?"

"Paul," the stranger answered hesitantly. "Paul."

"Fine, fine," the old man said filling in the rest of the details. "If you just sign there"

Paul took the pen slowly and looked at the paper in front of him. He saw the words, yet he did not see the words. It was hard to explain. He clearly saw where he had to sign and he clearly saw his name printed in block capitals by the old man. Impulsively, he quickly signed the contract and handed the pen back.

"Well done," the old man said clapping his hands together. "Are you a religious man? "

"Not really, why?"

"Oh, just asking," the old man answered absently. He stood up. "Now, if you follow me," he briefly pressed the button on the intercom and spoke sharply. "Gibbons! Here! Now!"

"Y-yes, sir!" the wheezy voice stammered back.

The old man stood up and opened the door that lead into the mysterious chamber. Just then Gibbons came running into the room wearing a pink dress with frills on the ends. "Coming sir! Don't forget me."

"Er," Paul said. "It's a bit dark in here isn't it?"

"All will be revealed soon." The old man replied.

The door closed.

"Uh now what?" Paul asked, feeling a little bit intimidated by the tall old man and the ugly, whort ridden, cross-dresser who started to sign a little childish song to himself that started to unnerve Paul.

"Just wait a moment," the voice of the old man replied from the darkness near Paul's side somewhere.

"Hehehehehe," Gibbon's chuckled shrilly.

"I think I want to leave now, thank you," Paul said resolutely, feeling out of ease and suddenly very, very afraid.

"Now, now. There's nothing to be afraid of." The old man assured him sweetly.

"Going home, master!" Gibbons shirked like a child.

"Yes, Gibbons. Home."

Light streamed into the room and Paul found himself in the centre of it. "Uh!" Paul exclaimed.

"Not to worry. It's all part of the contract," the old man said.

Paul had to block out the brilliant light from his eyes by raising his arm to cover his face. When he was able to peek over his arm he noticed a long white tunnel with a swrilly mass of clouds rotaing around its centre. Suddenly he felt himself drawn into it like his whole body was being drained down a plughole. "Wwwwwaaaaahhhhh" The world simply popped around him. His ears tingled from the explosion - or was it an implosion? - and when he opened them again he saw a vast landscape of islands and islets stretched out as far as the eye could see.

As he somehow travelled across the landscape, fields swept past him. People worked those fields, roamed them ploughing up the land. Stone buildings whizzed under him. He came across a wooden fence that zoomed past he vision. When he looked back to the direction he was facing, he saw a windmill; its blades rotating in the wind with a whop-whop sound that seemed to beat in time with is heart.

Suddenly he was sucked downwards; the windmill shot past him at neck-breaking speed and the world fizzled out of his mind. As he lost unconscious, and the world as he had known it slipped from his mind like a stray thought, he could have sworn he had seen a sign posted on one of the faces of the windmill's structure that read in a child like script, "Welcome to the land of Foundation!!!!!!!!!" There were more exlamation marks but at that point his mind exploded and his eyes closed.