"Perhaps there is a reason someone wishes you *thought* dead?" Unity suggest to Ogilvy.
They growl softly as the prisoners whimper, flexing their claws as they stare at the structures ahead.
A barely recognizable London starts to be visible in the distance. It's bleak and dark except for the four gleaming white buildings that rise above it.
Theo looks out the car window, gazes up and the four skyscrapers and makes a sour look.
"Mount Olympus is surely more impressive", the godling states.
"I rather enjoy the skyline type. Usually meant good income in my past. This time, it is less so.... I wonder how many wage-slaves they have that just spend all day cleaning and polishing white buildings." Zellgato comments.
He once again offers the scared prisoners chocolate bits as a mens to calm.
A barely recognizable London starts to be visible in the distance. It's bleak and dark except for the four gleaming white buildings that rise above it.Theo looks out the car window, gazes up and the four skyscrapers and makes a sour look.
"Mount Olympus is surely more impressive", the godling states.
“Your world is honestly hard to top… especially since I got to hang with Artemis.”
Nissa freezes up a moment, as it dawns on her why she never told L.C. about that. Her aura dims as her guilty conscience gets the better of her.
She faces Ogilvy. “Your obituary is proof you can’t believe everything you read in the newspaper.” Her tone is too grim for her words to come off as humorous intent. “Too many people die when they shouldn’t. It’s nice to see things work the other way around, so… live well.”
Now Nissa feels guilty for (momentarily) thinking H.G. Wells is an asshoIe for killing this guy off.
"I rather enjoy the skyline type. Usually meant good income in my past. This time, it is less so.... I wonder how many wage-slaves they have that just spend all day cleaning and polishing white buildings." Zellgato comments.
He once again offers the scared prisoners chocolate bits as a mens to calm.
The limousine passes under a sign that says:
WAR IS PEACEFREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
The highway continues to be empty of cars. You saw a few military vehicles as you travelled from Willingdon, but they quickly got out of your way. It's getting weird here in the city. Your car is the only one you see.
The highway divides into three lanes. Signs over the furthest left lane read, WAR IS PEACE. "That lane goes to the Ministry of Peace," says Ogilvy. "They're responsible for 'our' war effort. Their job is to keep it going."
Ogilvy points to the middle lane under the FREEDOM IS SLAVERY sign, "That lane goes to the Ministries of Plenty and Love. They're responsible for maintaining scarcity and admin ... Well, we don't need to talk about Miniluv" He breaks off talking about the Ministry in charge of torture when the freed prisoners whimper.
The sign above the lane you're in reads IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH. "Guess this means we are heading to MiniTruth."
As you approach you see the ministries even more clearly. They are designed to be imposing and impressive. They are built to dominate. The design has touches of brutalist architecture. The buildings are probably made from some kind of reinforced concrete. As Unity has said, Moore has taken control of a fully-guarded fortress, but one he did not have to build.
She faces Ogilvy. “Your obituary is proof you can’t believe everything you read in the newspaper.” Her tone is too grim for her words to come off as humorous intent. “Too many people die when they shouldn’t. It’s nice to see things work the other way around, so… live well.”Now Nissa feels guilty for (momentarily) thinking H.G. Wells is an asshoIe for killing this guy off.
Ogilvy has clearly made the mistake many have of trying to keep up with Theo's rate of drinking. The alcohol is gone, but only Ogilvy is affected.
"I don't remember being alive. I don't know how I know about these buildings. I don't know whether to believe my obituary. I don't know how I really died. I'd like to ask the man in charge, if you don't mind. That's clearly where we are going," says Ogilvy before gazing up at the white gleaming surfaces of MiniTruth and starting to hum and whistle before breaking out into quiet singsong voice, "We're off to see the wizard, ... the wonderful wizard of Oz"
"Perhaps there is a reason someone wishes you *thought* dead?" Unity suggest to Ogilvy.
They growl softly as the prisoners whimper, flexing their claws as they stare at the structures ahead.
"Thought dead? Perhaps, but why? Why would someone want me 'thought' dead?" says Ogilvy before continuing dreamily, "because, becuase, because, because, becaaaauuuussseee...Because of the wonderful things he does...We're off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!!!!"
Staring out the window, Henri muses, ”This is amazing. Terrifying but amazing. Parallels and contradictions and…,” he realizes maybe he will confuse these tortured souls further if he shares that there are other worlds and they originated in a story, of all things.
He turns to the nearest former prisoner, ”You have a second chance. What happened that you found yourself on that stage? What were you accused of?”
"Are the ministry orchistrated by three chairs of each division, a council or one overarching above all? The OZ above all?" he'll inquire of our uest Ogilvy-not entirely understanding the Oz reference and assuming a title, In effect, trying to decide if Moore likely took over a position of full power, or is simply a chair in a council.
"Dying is fine, as long as you don't remember dying. I've seen myself dead before. You move on. ...and keep drinking to the weekends."
Staring out the window, Henri muses, ”This is amazing. Terrifying but amazing. Parallels and contradictions and…,” he realizes maybe he will confuse these tortured souls further if he shares that there are other worlds and they originated in a story, of all things.
He turns to the nearest former prisoner, ”You have a second chance. What happened that you found yourself on that stage? What were you accused of?”
"Treason. I misremembered the name of the wife of an Inner Party member in a congratulatory dispatch. He was never married to Brigid. Brigid does not exist. Helen has always been his wife." The man shudders.
Nissa looks at the man, her eyes suddenly very beautiful and welcoming.
Nissa is trying to charm the man so he won’t be afraid to answer her truthfully.
“What did Brigid look like? Please describe her.” If he does so, Nissa will ask him to describe Helen. (She believes they are two different women.)
Unity are baring their teeth slightly as they silently snarl at the signs. One hand subconsciously goes to the hilt of the Sword of Truth.
"Perhaps we shall introduce them to *real* truth," they growl softly. "We do not care for Moore's idea of an unassailable fortress."
Nissa looks at the man, her eyes suddenly very beautiful and welcoming.
Nissa is trying to charm the man so he won’t be afraid to answer her truthfully.
“What did Brigid look like? Please describe her.” If he does so, Nissa will ask him to describe Helen. (She believes they are two different women.)
[dice=Diplo]d20+16+d6
”She was … she was … “ the man starts to panic. ”Is this a trick? It’s a trick! She wasn’t real. No. no. No. no. She wasn’t real. Helen was always his wife!”
At some level, he seems to know that Nissa is not tricking him, but he’s been tortured. He’s not going to admit that Brigid ever existed. Every time he admits that, the torture starts anew.
The limousine disappears inside the Ministry of Truth, sliding into an underground parking garage,, past a fleet of shiny black vehicles, down another level, and into the swankiest parking garage level you have ever seen. The limousine smoothly stops so that the doors are lined up with the red carpet that leads to an elevator door.
”She was … she was … “ the man starts to panic. ”Is this a trick? It’s a trick! She wasn’t real. No. no. No. no. She wasn’t real. Helen was always his wife!”
At some level, he seems to know that Nissa is not tricking him, but he’s been tortured. He’s not going to admit that Brigid ever existed. Every time he admits that, the torture starts anew.
”I am curious who this no-doubt upstanding and faithful party member is and what his role is in all of this. I’m sure that Brigid looked just like Helen, but older. That’s where the confusion comes in, I’m sure.”
Henri knows he’s not helping, but he can’t help himself.
"Stop it," Unity snap at Henri.
They get out of the car and start walking toward the elevator. "Time to see what excuse Moore has."
Nissa has power over the tortured man. So she does the best thing she can for him. “Don’t think about her.”
She floats over the red carpet. Turning to Ogilvy, she asks, “Were you expecting yellow bricks?”
(Nissa can’t help herself either.)
"Honestly. Yellow bricks I can handle. Kill flying monkeys. Throw water on the evil witch. Bang the good witch and go home", Theo comments.
"I'm expecting to be surprised," says Ogilvy. "Confused. Disoriented. That's been the experience so far, so, more of the same."
The elevator opens before you reach it. The freed prisoners follow along like sheep. They're torture involved elaborate deceptions. This is not the first time they'd been 'freed' only to be punished. They've learned not to have expectations.
Inside the elevator is a shuttered telescreen. When Ogilvy slides the shutter up, Moore's unblinking eyes are watching. He opens and closes the shutter a few more times and giggles, still intoxicated. He stops when he sees how it makes the freed prisoners uncomfortable.
When you arrive on the top floor the elevator doors open onto a fairly large and fairly empty room. Intended to be impressive in its extravagance, you'll have to walk 50 feet to reach the desk Moore sits behind. A few couches and chairs are pushed against the walls. Six comfortable chairs surround Moore's desk.
Ten feet to the right of the desk is an area shielded by large portable room dividers. The dividers bear Party slogans, but are awkwardly arranged obviously hiding somethihng.
Unity stomp towards Moore, their considerable armored weight thudding against the floor with every step. "Moore," they growl. "You had so many options, and *this* is the one you choose as a fortress?" "Or is there something we don't know that restricted your choices?"
"Yeah. What's up, Doc!" Theo says like an old cartoon rabbit, as he sits down in one of the chairs.
Unity stomp towards Moore, their considerable armored weight thudding against the floor with every step. "Moore," they growl. "You had so many options, and *this* is the one you choose as a fortress?" "Or is there something we don't know that restricted your choices?"
"Unity, ... you seem upset. Have some bubblegum," says Moore, pushing a box full of very juicy looking squares of pink bubble gum. He holds the box out to each of you.
He crosses his hands on his desk and looks at you all sympathetically, "It's the world, isn't it? It's very bleak. You have to understand though, it's always like this whether we are here or not. By taking it over, I'm able to marginally improve the quality of the people's lives. It took me 10 tries and 9 resets before I managed to god-mode this world and become Big Brother, but now that I am, I both have the secure base I need ----you were quite right to call it fortress earlier----ANNNNND I'm able to fix some things. Did you hear on the tele that we've managed to increase the chocolate rations by 50%? Isn't that great?"
Wryly, Henri says, ”You have accepted a very low bar to call it great. These five were about to be executed for some made-up crimes after being tortured for so long that they thought it was their duty to die on stage. I don’t care what you want to call this, it’s not right.”
Unity cross all four of their arms. "So it wasn't you who made this mashed-up version of the story?"
They glance at the freed prisoners. "Should we... maybe not break their brains?"
Wryly, Henri says, ”You have accepted a very low bar to call it great. These five were about to be executed for some made-up crimes after being tortured for so long that they thought it was their duty to die on stage. I don’t care what you want to call this, it’s not right.”
”These people will suffer whether we are here or not, and, yes, we kind of need to be here,” says Moore. ”When the Canonites start pulling copies of 1984 off the shelf of all the libraries of all the worlds looking for me, do you think people are going to stand for it? We have to make our stand here. You can’t censor 1984 without a fight! It’s also the perfect place to train my agents. I’ve got 200 Revolutionary Fictionauts in 1984’s London doing their training. Half of them have been looking for you to show up so we could pull you in as soon as possible. But, I am sorry I had to make myself so hard to find. I hope you at least enjoyed fighting Martians?”
Unity cross all four of their arms. "So it wasn't you who made this mashed-up version of the story?"
”Mashed-up?” says Moore. ”Oh, you mean Animal Farm. The Canonites trailing you are currently being held in a barn by two dogs with rifles. They’ll go back home with their tales between their legs, I’m sure! But, no, you came through what we call ‘The Orwell Tunnel’. I’d explain it but it’s very high level transdimensional metaphysics and it might go over your heads.”
They glance at the freed prisoners. "Should we... maybe not break their brains?"
”I’ll have them promoted to Inner Party and then given a retirement with benefits,” says Moore loud enough for the freed prisoners to hear. ”Maybe Nissa can reassure them that I mean it. They seem a little scared of me, understandably.”
”These people will suffer whether we are here or not, and, yes, we kind of need to be here,” says Moore. ”When the Canonites start pulling copies of 1984 off the shelf of all the libraries of all the worlds looking for me, do you think people are going to stand for it? We have to make our stand here. You can’t censor 1984 without a fight! It’s also the perfect place to train my agents. I’ve got 200 Revolutionary Fictionauts in 1984’s London doing their training. Half of them have been looking for you to show up so we could pull you in as soon as possible. But, I am sorry I had to make myself so hard to find. I hope you at least enjoyed fighting Martians?”
Leaning against the armrest, Theo realized Doc Moore was right. "Yeah. It WAS fun! And the more I think of it, it does make sense to make your stand here in 1984. Congratulations. And well done."
"Funnily enough, your expertise with transdimensional metaphysics is actually why we came to see you," Unity state. Their tail still lashes angrily behind them, but for now they keep their voice level. "That, and we'd like to ask you about your experience with our creator. We've learned just enough about their intentions for us to have a number of questions, you might say."
silently ponders that chocolate rations are an improvement. Under harsh conditions small treats serve well to support fractured minds. Unstated given his company's stance on the world however.
"On that topic. Just to verify." pullig out his phone and bringing up a picture of the "clone troops" they encountered previously. "Don't happen to have noted any inner sanctum or random members who have visual simliarties to these fellows? They're filled with bombs."
Moore barely glances at the picture. "Yeah, he was a strange one. Hired me to take him anywhere that wasn't World V. As soon as we got to Beowulf's lair he hit me over the head, stole my wand, and opened a gate to your world. I made it through the gate, but lost him. I tracked him down a couple of times, but finally gave up and went to work for Boston Theoretical."
Moore shrugs.
"I can tell you one place he's been though. He mentioned Moreau by name and he clearly studied the Doctor's work; anyone who looks at Unity can see that. I'd look for him on the island."
"Moraeu," Unity repeat glancing over at Nissa. "We'll... have to review that one before we go."
They look back to Moore, tail still lashing behind them, though now for a different reason of discomfort. "There are two phrases... 'Unity must return' and 'Unity will reign'... did he talk about either of those? Anything that might give a clue as to his real intentions?" "He seems to have implanted some sort of homing instinct in us, and we'd rather have all the information we can before we go jumping into trouble."
"Moraeu," Unity repeat glancing over at Nissa. "We'll... have to review that one before we go."
They look back to Moore, tail still lashing behind them, though now for a different reason of discomfort. "There are two phrases... 'Unity must return' and 'Unity will reign'... did he talk about either of those? Anything that might give a clue as to his real intentions?" "He seems to have implanted some sort of homing instinct in us, and we'd rather have all the information we can before we go jumping into trouble."
Moore thinks,”No, he never said anything about ‘Unity’. He did say, ‘Find a Home’ and ‘Prepare for succession’ a lot. He seemed obsessed with finding himself a little lab to play geneticist in …”
Ogilvy asks Henri, ”I’m lost. Who are we talking about now?”
"Well, we suppose he didn't know yet what he'd create," Unity muse. "Find a home, hm? What sort of a home would he look for...?"
They trail off for a time, then look back to Moore. "We saw what happened to Rex, the dog, when he left the farm. Should we be worried about something similar happening to us? Or should we ask why something like that *hasn't* happened to us?"
Ogilvy asks Henri, ”I’m lost. Who are we talking about now?”
”Well, mon ami, let’s just say there are other ways to get what you want by exploiting others.” He looks at the former prisoners, huddling terrified trying not to be seen, ”We are trying to catch one that has his own way of doing that to his victims, but in a horribly different way. You can potentially fight and escape economic controls and brainwashing. This one, he turns his victim’s own body into the prison. Our powerful friend here, he survived and escaped to become his own being. He wants to stop anyone else from going through the same terrible experience.”
”I’ll have them promoted to Inner Party and then given a retirement with benefits,” says Moore loud enough for the freed prisoners to hear. ”Maybe Nissa can reassure them that I mean it. They seem a little scared of me, understandably.”
Nissa reassures the people, ”You’re gonna be fine.” She says it only because she believes it.
And because she says it, she sells it.
"Well, we suppose he didn't know yet what he'd create," Unity muse. "Find a home, hm? What sort of a home would he look for...?"
They trail off for a time, then look back to Moore. "We saw what happened to Rex, the dog, when he left the farm. Should we be worried about something similar happening to us? Or should we ask why something like that *hasn't* happened to us?"
”Ahh … no. Rex travelled through the Orwell Tunnel, a gate through the membrane that divides Animal Farm from 1984. It’s a bit of a puzzle still to transdimensional physicists how two different stray continuities became glued together like this. Different universes have different laws, and Rex violated the laws here. Dogs don’t talk here. Would you like to know more about transdimensional physics and fictional realities?”
These continuities would be lost, their energy returning to the Shuffle, but, one time in a million, some brilliant mind from some world or other, not necessarily a related one, linked to the Shuffle through some kind of immersive deep-zone creative experience attaches itself to that bit of lost continuity, preserving it in some media, but especially literature. ‘Good Readers’, lending their mental energy by consuming the literature, itself an immersive deep-zone experience, help to fuel the maintenance of the fictional sub-universe. 1984 exists because people read 1984.
”And, that’s why my final stand has to be here! What do you think will happen when the Canonites infiltrate your world and start demanding that librarians pull 1984 off the shelves? I mean, you might be able to get away with pulling ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ out of schools or ‘Huck Finn’. I wouldn’t have tried building my base there. But something happens everytime the canonites persuade some autocracy to ban 1984 … tens of thousands of people go and pick up their copies and flip through them, perhaps asking themselves whether they’d be stronger than Winston, and then put them back on their shelves. And, that’s enough. That protects this place and Animal Farm,” Moore explains. ”So, if the Canonites want me, they’re going to have to come in and get me … inside my fortress.”
Moore’s passion and mad ramblings scare the freed prisoners a bit, but Ogilvy nods saying ”That makes sense.”
”Well, mon ami, let’s just say there are other ways to get what you want by exploiting others.” He looks at the former prisoners, huddling terrified trying not to be seen, ”We are trying to catch one that has his own way of doing that to his victims, but in a horribly different way. You can potentially fight and escape economic controls and brainwashing. This one, he turns his victim’s own body into the prison. Our powerful friend here, he survived and escaped to become his own being. He wants to stop anyone else from going through the same terrible experience.”Ogilvy asks Henri, ”I’m lost. Who are we talking about now?”
”I’d rather have my body imprisoned than my mind, but my preference would be neither,” says Ogilvy.
”Quite right. This world imprisons the mind so it can direct the body and harvest its labour ,” says Moore before turning to Ogilvy. ”You look awfully familiar. Do I know you?”
Ogilvy shrugs.
”I’ll have them promoted to Inner Party and then given a retirement with benefits,” says Moore loud enough for the freed prisoners to hear. ”Maybe Nissa can reassure them that I mean it. They seem a little scared of me, understandably.”Nissa reassures the people, ”You’re gonna be fine.” She says it only because she believes it.
[dice=Diplo]d20+16+d6
And because she says it, she sells it.
An assistant, summoned somehow, enters and gently takes the freed prisoners out. Ogilvy remains. One of them thanks you with a whisper. The others are in too much shock and more confused than ever.
Unity listen carefully to Moore. "So if you wanted to build a custom lab, you'd have to convince a lot of people to read and think about your story..."
They narrow their eyes. "Like a whole army of clones?"
They pause for a moemnt in thought, then shake the thought off. "Well, you've helped us with what we needed. It seems only fair to ask if there's something we can do for you before we leave. And also," they point at Ogilvy with a thumb, "War of the Worlds."
Nissa is actually interested in Moore’s explanation.
There’s something else that interests her. “Dr. Moore…” She knows he’s not a doctor. But she also is fairly certain that his god-mode is going to his head. (And being made a demigoddess herself, Nissa’s being very careful about stuff like not capitalizing her third-person pronouns.)
“…I met two of my alts, and they’re nothing like me. One’s a submissive sex-kitten who’s…” Nissa tries not to make a face. “…interested in men.
“And the other is this six-foot mountain of braless bronze muscle on a planet of women, which is… well, I want to go back there, honestly. But there’s been a lot of comics about me. So is it possible my alts are from the works of fiction about me?” She makes a face again. “And if that’s true, that means there’s a version of me who does all her heroing naked, riding atop a flying bomb?”
Unity listen carefully to Moore. "So if you wanted to build a custom lab, you'd have to convince a lot of people to read and think about your story..."
They narrow their eyes. "Like a whole army of clones?"
They pause for a moment in thought, then shake the thought off. "Well, you've helped us with what we needed. It seems only fair to ask if there's something we can do for you before we leave. And also," they point at Ogilvy with a thumb, "War of the Worlds."
"Strange," says Moore looking at Ogilvy. He slides a copy of 1984 out of a drawer in his desk and starts thumbing through it. "But, to be clear, Moreau's situation is a bit different. I'm not talking about the book 'Island of Doctor Moreau', not JUST about the book ... The original Doctor Moreau has a laboratory in the Shuffle. The book is an fiction-verse version of it. You'll need to go through the book to get there safely, as he is not very friendly to visitors. ... Here's how I would do it: get into the bookworld, befriend the Doctor, and, then, find the gateway to the REAL laboratory. Somewhere on the island is a back door to the Moreau's lab in the Shuffle, or so Unity's creator told me."
Nissa is actually interested in Moore’s explanation.
There’s something else that interests her. “Dr. Moore…” She knows he’s not a doctor. But she also is fairly certain that his god-mode is going to his head. (And being made a demigoddess herself, Nissa’s being very careful about stuff like not capitalizing her third-person pronouns.)
“…I met two of my alts, and they’re nothing like me. One’s a submissive sex-kitten who’s…” Nissa tries not to make a face. “…interested in men.
“And the other is this six-foot mountain of braless bronze muscle on a planet of women, which is… well, I want to go back there, honestly. But there’s been a lot of comics about me. So is it possible my alts are from the works of fiction about me?” She makes a face again. “And if that’s true, that means there’s a version of me who does all her heroing naked, riding atop a flying bomb?”
”Alts, dopplegangers—call them what you will—are hard to explain without positing a consciousness or pre-programming to the universe. It seems that some people are just programmed into the code that makes up all of the universes. ‘Shared Code’ theory goes part of the way to explain it—all the nearby different universes seem to be working with similar bits of code, much the way that siblings have pockets of identical genetic code and twins even more so. In other cases, dopplegangers are easily accountable by looking at nearby branching—two universes might have the same people in it, because they WERE the same universe and only one event causes them to differ. All of this only gets us halfway there though. We can’t really explain it.”
"And how likely is it that this Doctor Moreau will take one look at us and know exactly what's going on, hm?" Unity ask.
"Though whether or not knowing what's going on would incline him to helping us or not would be another question," they add. "Did our creator say anything suggesting how he would go about this befriending?"
"And how likely is it that this Doctor Moreau will take one look at us and know exactly what's going on, hm?" Unity ask.
"Though whether or not knowing what's going on would incline him to helping us or not would be another question," they add. "Did our creator say anything suggesting how he would go about this befriending?"
Moore laughs, ”Oh, I’m not sure your creator did befriend the fiction-verse version of Doctor Moreau. One time when I tracked him down and cornered in Istanbul he threatened to knock me over the head and leave me for dead like he did the ‘old man’. I can’t think of who else he meant than Moreau. Look, neither Doctor Moreau is particularly fond of visitors, but, hey, you’ve got Nissa for that, right?”
"That does seem like him," Unity say with a disturbingly toothy smile. "Maybe mutual antagonism towards our creator could be an angle?"
"That said, if there's nothing else you can tell us, and nothing you need us for, it may be time for us to go."
Nissa does have one question.
“Wait… how exactly do I reach Dr. Moreau through the bookworld? Do I need a specific book, or any copy plus the wand, or…?”
"Well, I'll be," says Moore passing his copy of 1984 to Henri.
He might turn the speech into the usual denunciation of traitors and thoughtcriminals, but that was a little too obvious, while to invent a victory at the front, or some triumph of over-production in the Ninth Three-Year Plan, might complicate the records too much. What was needed was a piece of pure fantasy. Suddenly there sprang into his mind, ready made as it were, the image of a certain Comrade Ogilvy, who had recently died in battle, in heroic circumstances.
There were occasions when Big Brother devoted his Order for the Day to commemorating some humble, rank-and-file Party member whose life and death he held up as an example worthy to be followed. Today he should commemorate Comrade Ogilvy. It was true that there was no such person as Comrade Ogilvy, but a few lines of print and a couple of faked photographs would soon bring him into existence.
Winston thought for a moment, then pulled the speakwrite towards him
and began dictating in Big Brother’s familiar style: a style at once military and pedantic, and, because of a trick of asking questions and then promptly answering them (’What lessons do we learn from this fact, comrades? The lesson — which is also one of the fundamental principles of Ingsoc — that,’ etc., etc.), easy to imitate.
At the age of three Comrade Ogilvy had refused all toys except a drum, a sub-machine gun, and a model helicopter. At six — a year early, by a special relaxation of the rules — he had joined the Spies, at nine he had been a troop leader. At eleven he had denounced his uncle to the Thought Police after overhearing a conversation which appeared to him to have criminal tendencies. At seventeen he had been a district organizer of the Junior Anti-Sex League. At nine teen he had designed a hand-grenade which had been adopted by the Ministry of Peace and which, at its first trial, had killed thirty-one Eurasian prisoners in one burst. At twenty-three he had perished in action. Pursued by enemy jet planes while flying over the Indian Ocean with important despatches, he had weighted his body with his machine gun and leapt out of the helicopter into deep water, despatches and all — an end, said Big Brother, which it was impossible to contemplate without feelings of envy. Big Brother added a few remarks on the purity and single-mindedness of Comrade Ogilvy’s life. He was a total abstainer and a nonsmoker, had no recreations except a daily hour in the gymnasium, and had taken a vow of celibacy, believing marriage and the care of a family to be incompatible with a twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion to duty. He had no subjects of conversation except the principles of Ingsoc, and no aim in life except the defeat of the Eurasian enemy and the hunting-down of spies, saboteurs, thoughtcriminals, and traitors generally.
Winston debated with himself whether to award Comrade Ogilvy the Order of Conspicuous Merit: in the end he decided against it because of the unnecessary cross-referencing that it would entail. Once again he glanced at his rival in the opposite cubicle. Something seemed to tell him with certainty that Tillotson was busy on the same job as himself.
There was no way of knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a profound conviction that it would be his own. Comrade Ogilvy, unimagined an hour ago, was now a fact. It struck him as curious that you could create dead men but not living ones. Comrade Ogilvy, who had never existed in the present, now existed in the past, and when once the act of forgery was forgotten, he would exist just as authentically, and upon the same evidence, as Charlemagne or Julius Caesar.
"Fictional character within a fictional world," says Moore. "Would you mind sticking around, Comrade Ogilvy, I think you're very interesting for a dead man."
Nissa does have one question.
“Wait… how exactly do I reach Dr. Moreau through the bookworld? Do I need a specific book, or any copy plus the wand, or…?”
"Oh, my dear," Moore says condescendingly, "I will have them bring just the book from the library. You know, there's only ten uncensored libraries left in all of Oceania! You should eat a big meal before you go, unless you get seasick easily. I'll have some of the serv-- ... some of the Comrades prepare a meal."
[ooc] I can't really think of anything to ask. [ooc]
"I must admit "knock you over the head" is not the phrasing I would have expected from that entity. How long ago was this discussion out of curiousity?"
"Well, it would be good to review the book for a bit before we go," Unity say. "Especially since they way you say we should have a big meal first suggests some possibilities."